Deborah Fletcher Mello - Seduced By The Badge

The task force had put her up at the Chicago Lake Shore Hotel. Located in the Hyde Park neighborhood, it was clean, cozy, convenient to the downtown area, and the staff was pleasant. She had six weeks before she would have to return to Atlanta or find her own place to lay her head. Six weeks was at least four weeks too long, Danni thought, determined to bring down someone named Pius and anyone else involved in their case before then.

Thoughts of Armstrong Black suddenly pitched through her thoughts, a cavalcade of energy shooting through her body. The palm of her hand trailed a soapy path from her shoulder, down her arm, to rest against her abdomen just below her belly button. A quiver of energy rippled through her midsection. The man was as intense as she was, and there was no mistaking how seriously he took his job. As he had dropped her off at her hotel, he’d given her a list of directives, his tone brusque and commanding. Clearly, he expected that she would follow orders and do what she was told. Danni had never been one to take direction well, but she was determined not to rock the boat when he could be the help she needed to finish her task.

Stepping from the flow of water, she turned off the faucet with one hand and reached for a stark white towel with the other. Moving naked into the other room, she dropped onto the corner of the bed as she dug into her luggage, looking for a jar of Cetaphil lotion, a clean pair of panties and something to wear.

Minutes late she was moisturized from head to toe, spritzed with the light scent of lavender and dressed in a pair of frayed and torn denim jeans, a cotton T-shirt and black, steel-toed work boots. Taking a quick glance at herself, she pondered whether or not to put on makeup and then decided against it. She pulled her fingers through her hair, twisting the strands up into a high knot atop her head. Satisfied with the reflection staring back at her, she moved to the window to stare out to the parking lot and wait.

* * *

She looked like a grade-schooler, Armstrong thought as Danni sauntered out of the hotel toward his car. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been excited to get back to her. Because he had. Overly excited, and it surprised him. He’d been thinking about her since they’d parted ways, him headed home to shower and change while she returned to her hotel room to do the same.

She’d become an irritation, a prickly thorn in his side determined to have his attention. Despite his best efforts he was finding it difficult to get her out of his head. He hadn’t expected to like her, but he did. He liked her gumption and the fire in her spirit that would probably prove to be a challenge for any man. She had managed to do what few women ever had before and that was to hold his full and undivided attention. Now she was walking toward him looking like a twelve-year-old and not the stunning woman who’d been with him most of the day. Well, maybe not twelve, but definitely younger than she had hours earlier. It was unnerving, and he didn’t mind saying so.

“How old are you?” he asked as he moved to open the car door for the woman.

Danni laughed. “Old enough. Why?”

He shook his head, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. “You look like you’re just starting puberty. It’s scary.”

“Starting puberty? Really?”

He shrugged.

Her rich laugh echoed in the early-evening air. “As long as I don’t look like a cop!” She pulled the seat belt across her lap and engaged it. “And I’m thirty-four, so puberty has surely come and gone.”

Armstrong shot her a look, surprise creasing his brow. “Thirty-four? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m very serious. How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Oh.” Danni turned to stare out the window. A smile pulled gently at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh? Why did you say it like that?”

“I thought you might have been in your forties,” she answered, turning back to stare at him.

Armstrong bristled. “I do not look that old.”

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “If you say so.”

“Do I look like I’m forty?”

She laughed heartily. “You look like you’re well past puberty.”

Armstrong laughed with her. “Touché! At least I don’t look like I need my mommy’s permission to come outside and play.”

Danni rolled her eyes skyward. “So where are we going?” she asked as he pulled his car out of the hotel parking lot.

“We need to stop by a house party not far from here. No time like the present to introduce you to some of the South Side’s criminal element.”

“So does it live up to its reputation?”

“If you’re asking me whether or not the South Side of Chicago is the dregs of hell like the media has made it out to be, then the answer is no. Those of us who live here actually love it. The diverse neighborhoods that make up our side of town are one of our city’s best-kept secrets. And trust me, Lincoln Park and Wicker Park are a hell of a lot scarier between the hours of midnight and six. We also have Harold’s, and they have the best fried chicken around.”

Danni smiled. “How’s the shopping?”

“You’ll get your best deals on Eighty-Seventh and Dan Ryan. White socks and T-shirts, candy, soda pop and bootleg movies are all cheap.”

“Good to know!”

* * *

Stalled in traffic, they fell into a quiet reverie. Armstrong gave her a look as she sat staring out the window. He really liked her. Despite his best efforts not to feel anything at all for her. He found himself drawn to her spirit. She had an energy that he rarely found in the women he dealt with. She wasn’t fawning over him like he was the biggest prize at the state fair. She didn’t wear an air of desperation like some women, wanting a husband and kids before plucking the first strand of gray hair. She had a keen sense of humor, and in their line of work one was necessary. He also appreciated that she didn’t seem to be easily frazzled, her nerves seeming as steady as a rock. If he was going to have a partner, he needed to trust that she had his back, that he didn’t have to worry about a crash and burn when he least expected one. Danni seemed up to the task, and he was willing to give her a chance. Clearly, they had made significant progress since that morning and their first meeting.

Danni interrupted his thoughts. “So, tell me more about this house party.”

“It’s at the home of Miss Nanette Perry. She’s a fixture in the neighborhood, the community mother. Everybody knows and loves her. When she needs to pay her mortgage, she’ll cook, throw a party and sell plates. And the woman can cook! She’ll also feed the hungry if they come through and don’t have any money. Her home is considered neutral ground for the gangs, and at any given time you don’t know who you might run into. The lowest of the city’s downtrodden and Chicago’s most elite have dined together at her table. If there is anyone who knows who Pius is, Miss Perry will know.”

Danni nodded. “I look forward to meeting her.”

* * *

A series of turns and two traffic lights later, Armstrong pulled into an open space at the end of West Twenty-First Place. The homes were older brick row houses lining the length of the street. Parking came at a premium, and it was by the luck of the draw that the space became empty as they turned the corner.

Danni paused for a split second as he exited the driver’s side, and then she pushed open her own door and stepped out. Armstrong gave her a look, his eyebrows raised.

“In case anyone is watching,” she muttered, her head tilted toward the men gathered on the front porch a few doors down. “I assume someone may know you’re a cop, but they don’t need to know that I am.”