Cocky Cop: Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23) Page 5

  Whoa.

  It’s coming down really hard.

  A roar of thunder and cracking lightning makes me jump. I shout at the sky, “I will not head back! Nice try though, fucker!”

  Black joggers plaster my skin, weighted now. My coral workout shirt is painted on, ponytail stuck to my right shoulder.

  But I feel great.

  Me against Nature!

  Fight to the diet.

  The feeling is getting stronger.

  Exhilaration?

  Yes, that’s it.

  I feel powerful!

  What kind of person grins during a torrential downpour like this? I’m lucky it’s not cold. Is that bike skidding down the street unattended?

  Bikes can’t fight back.

  I can!

  Something’s taken over.

  I’m not normal me anymore.

  Adrenaline.

  Endorphins.

  Victory.

  This is amazing.

  My heartbeat is pounding as I challenge a furious sky, “That all ya got? Huh? Is it?!”

  Laughter, no, joy, breaks free from my chest as I run harder, and even throw in some jumps for the fun of it.

  Would have been so easy to skip out on this. Miss out on feeling this good. How many times have I done that?

  I’m almost there!

  Will the track be flooded?

  No, not this quickly.

  Soon though maybe.

  There’s the entrance.

  Can hardly see.

  Something grabs my attention.

  A sound.

  Different than wind.

  Higher-pitched than thunder.

  The screeching of brakes.

  I look left.

  See headlights coming.

  Jump for safety.

  But suddenly…

  I’m not running anymore.

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt

  My partner shouts, “Stay here!” and leaps out of the car.

  From the duck to my door handle to the windshield I look, swearing under my breath as he goes to grab the girl from the ground.

  Visibility made it impossible to see her untimely approach. Lucky for everyone, this storm forced us to drive slowly, much slower than we would have.

  While cradling the mallard, I start to open my door. I freeze as two figures rise at once, and take a sharp and worried breath.

  Washington has things under control. I trust him. But I hate taking no action in a situation we’ve never faced.

  The duck looks up at me, beak quiet. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you and your babies.”

  Washington is leading the girl over, not carrying her.

  She can walk.

  A good sign.

  If he carried her, my blood would be ice.

  He yanks the back door open, gallons of water beating the ducklings back from escaping. Using his body to cover the jogger, he guides her to sit.

  As she eases herself in, she’s taken aback by free-roaming foul in the place criminals normally wouldn’t want to be. They can’t quack quite yet. No, our patrol car is filled with something between singing and chirping, tiny webbed feet smacking puddles on polyester.

  He holds back a few cuss-words and shuts the door.

  I ask her, “You okay. You hurt?”

  Our eyes lock and hers widen like she can’t take anymore surprises. Or she recognizes me? Maybe that’s it. But I’ve never seen her before in my life.

  I would remember.

  “Yes,” she whispers, reaching for the ponytail plastered to her neck. Smoothing it out, she glances around at the ducklings, adding a confused, “I mean, no, I’m not hurt bad. Yes I’m okay.”

  Washington leaps inside, slams his door, grabbing the wheel like it’s a buoy and he’s been out to sea for days. There’s water sliding off every inch of both of them.

  “You alright?” he demands, unaware I just asked the same question.

  She nods, dripping eyelashes fluttering between me and my partner before landing on a cute little bird that’s climbed on her lap. With her focus split by so many things, she answers, “I think I’m just bruised.”

  “Don’t think you broke anything? Ribs, leg, ankle, anything?” She shakes her head and he nods like he accepts that, turning to grip the steering wheel again and put it in gear. Under his breath, so quiet she can’t hear, he confesses, “Scared the shit out of me, Wy.”

  My gaze drops to the damaged duck as I say at a normal volume, “Now we’ve got two wounded females to take to a hospital.”

  He cautiously pulls onto the road, exhaling loudly.

  Craning a long neck, our pretty jogger sees what I’m holding. “Oh no, poor thing! These are her babies! What happened? Did you hit her, too?”

  Against a backdrop of straining windshield wipers, my partner grumbles, “We didn’t hit the duck! She was like that!” and pushes a button to engage our loud speaker, warning a two-seater on the opposite side of the road, “Go home! It’s not safe out!”

  The car flashes its high beams, message received.

  “I’ll say,” comes a small, flat voice from the backseat.

  Washington warily looks at her. “You still have your sense of humor, I see.”

  Hearing his sarcasm, she back-peddles. “I’m sorry. That was me lightening up an awkward situation. Don’t mind me. I’m not in a normal headspace.”

  I ask her, “You’re normally not funny?”

  “No, I am.”

  “Then everything’s intact.”

  She shrugs a sopping shoulder on a grateful half-smile as she peels her wet shirt from a sports bra I can see the outline of.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Diana.”

  “Check your leg, Diana.”

  With caution she touches the exterior of black workout pants, or yoga pants, or whatever you call those sexy-as-fuck, skintight, painted on, barely there except for they are, pants.

  “Definitely bruised. Feels um…raw.”

  Washington mutters, “Dammit”

  “We’re going to take care of you.”

  She stares at me, probably in shock.

  Momma duck quacks in my big hands and we all look at her. I adjust my hold to ensure escape remains impossible. “Just give in and let a man help.”

  Diana sighs, “Single mother. Probably doesn’t know how.”

  I crack a grin, “Nice. You are funny.” My smile fades as the mallard struggles. “Shh…I know you’re not feeling too great. I would fix it if I could.”

  We sway left as Washington twists the wheel to avoid a rolling trash can. “I’m going straight to Grady. Was thinking precinct. Should have thought the vet. Now it’s the hospital.”

  Diana and I ask, “What about the duck?”

  I glance back to her smile, and guiltily match it with one of my own. “Guess I should’ve put you first.”

  The left corner of her mouth is higher than the right and it’s cute. “Animal lovers — what’re you gonna do?”

  My eyes narrow. “I’m Deputy Cocker. My partner here is Deputy Washington. If he’d have let me drive, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Laced with reluctant amusement, he grumbles, “Shut it, Cocker,”

  Diana dips her head, “Nice to meet you, deputies.”

  My gaze returns to the now-quiet bird. “I don’t think Momma’s gonna make it.”

  Washington cuts a glance to her. “Sucks.”

  Diana exclaims, “I’m fine! Why don’t you go to a vet first? You just plucked me.” She pauses and corrects herself, “I mean pucked. Wait, no, that’s not what I mean. Plinked? It doesn’t matter. I’m not hurt! That’s what I’m trying to say.”

  I remind him, “A human gets first priority, Wash.”

  “I know that!” He raises his voice to call back, “That’s nice of you and all, but we’re—”

  “—Really! You barely knicked me. That’s the word I was looking for. It’s just a bruise. I’m not dying! She might b
e.”

  He asks me, “What d’ya think?”

  “If her leg was broken, she’d be in more pain than she seems to be. The nearest vet isn’t far. We pop in, drop off the ducks, and then jam over to the hospital.”

  He flips a careful U-turn, but we hydroplane anyway. Diana grabs onto the door to stop from sliding onto six ducklings.

  “Let’s hope they’re open,” Washington mutters as the car rights itself. “And let’s hope she’s not internally bleeding.”

  “The duck?” I ask.

  “Diana.”

  She calls up, “Please stop worrying. My thigh is not internally bleeding.”

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m just following protocol, lady!”

  We’re silent for a block before she asks, “You have a protocol for hitting people with your car? You do this often?”

  Because he hates what he did and knows how much Chief is going to grill us, Washington’s eyes flash anger to the rearview.

  She’s got a cute, closed-mouthed smile, wondering when it’s going to sink into his thick head that she’s fucking with him.

  The yards of his shoulders relax, expression softening. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be.”

  “If you can take it.” She picks up a duckling and murmurs, “We’re going to get your momma some help.” Her eyelashes flutter over as she senses I’m watching her.

  Our eyes hold for a hot second, and I hear Chief’s voice telling me to keep my hands off the victim.

  But Chief, I mentally argue, Diana doesn’t seem like the victim type.

  Chapter 11

  DIANA

  The vet’s office wasn’t expecting anyone today, much less an unlikely arrival such as ours. Two cops, an ailing momma mallard, her singing brood, and a wet rat...me.

  A pink-haired girl behind the desk was happily absorbed in a weathered paperback novel of the mystery-genre from the bold oh-no font and implied shadow of a missing girl.

  Why is it always a woman who is hurt?

  The clinic’s glass doors violently opened and we caused her to drop the book with a fluttery thwack.

  Her eyes went super-sized as instinct carried her away from the swivel chair to gather ducklings from me and Deputy Washington, “Wow, I…” Her now-alert gaze lands on Momma, her sense of purpose a lightning bolt more powerful than those outside.

  Hot Cop relinquishes the broken bird and we all watch as they speed away, disappearing through double doors. One of my charges squeezes free and I gasp in worry. It’s too far for the little buddy to fall and I’ve got two other baby ducks I can’t drop.

  Wyatt reaches out and catches it with his meaty hand. I glimpse callouses before his fingers close.

  Droplets bead and blend before sliding down golden arms, finding paths in his muscles. The uniform clings to every hot inch of him, and it’s impossible not to stare.

  Should I tell him I know his great-grandmother? That she’s the reason I’m seeing Eddie tonight for the first time in a year? We’ve texted back and forth for the past couple weeks and finally made a plan I’m not sure either of us is ready for.

  Deputy Washington is on the other side of the clinic, lowering ducklings onto tile barely scuffed from a slow day.

  “Are you sure you're okay?”

  I blink back to Wyatt, hypnotized by his lips.

  Am I okay?

  I don’t know.

  He frowns.

  My tongue won’t move.

  I won’t let it.

  I’m certain I’ll say dumb things.

  Why don’t you poke around and find out?

  I haven’t peeled these off to see the bruise. Want to do it for me, have a long look?

  I’d feel a lot better if you were standing closer and your mouth was on mine.

  “I asked if you’re okay.”

  I shrug, “Never better.”

  Truth.

  His partner strolls up, three ducklings roaming behind him. Trunk-like fingers drop to his black-leather belt, resting comfortably near his gun as he asks, “What now?”

  Measured amusement taints the returned question, “Should we call in our location?”

  I gingerly bend to place my remaining two feathered friends on the floor, and wince at the sting in my leg as I straighten up.

  Did the cops see me wince?

  I sneak a peek at them, lingering on one in particular while he holds a duckling in his right hand and slides his left into wet-uniform pockets, searching for his phone. The sopping fabric pulls over his ass, flesh underneath so firm there’s no jiggle.

  Suddenly I’ve forgotten my own name.

  He glances to me, and cocks an eyebrow, sexy eyes dancing with caught-you.

  I clamp my open mouth shut and turn around, peeling sticky lycra from goosebumps.

  The double doors open and we all look over to discover a white coat with wise eyes registering there are police officers in her waiting area. “Are you the people who brought in the mallard?”

  I want to ask, Is there anyone else here?

  But I don’t.

  Her shoulders stiffen, guarded. Sizing up the ducklings, she begins, “Officers, I’m Dr. Beth. I see she’s a mother of six.”

  The cool nothing-phases-me expression doesn’t cloak the hope in Wyatt’s voice. “Is that present tense?”

  The vet meets his eyes, aware of how hot he is. She blinks to contain her authority and composure. “For now. I’m not sure how long she will be. I’m not a game specialist, but I’ve sedated her, cleaned and dressed her wounds. I put a brace on her wing. If there’s going to be any healing, it’ll be done while she rests just like it is for all of us. I’ve placed a call to Wildlife but their phone is down or they went home for the day.” Glancing to the window, Dr. Beth sighs, “They might be too busy to answer. Let’s gather the ducklings. I’ll keep them warm until this passes. Best I can do.”

  Deputy Washington nods, “Sounds like a plan. We have to go to the hospital. Kind of on a time crunch.”

  Her lips purse, not pleased. She would rather work miracles and heal everything that came through those doors. But everything takes time.

  The pink-haired assistant, or receptionist — probably both — walks in carrying an electronic chart.

  “Who do I bill, Dr. Beth?”

  “This one’s on us.” Pointing to the ceiling she adds, “And God. Though I doubt I can get a nickel out of him.”

  Wyatt surprises everyone. “Her.”

  The vet’s head tilts. “Excuse me?”

  “God’s a Her.”

  A short laugh ends her debate, and she vanishes.

  Without gathering the ducklings.

  Her assistant hurries to get them, and we all help. “This way.”

  Wyatt flicks me a glance, still carrying the one duckling. “If you’re lying about your leg, I won’t forgive you.”

  His teasing tone makes me grin, “I never lie.”

  Except about you.

  And to you, by saying I never.

  Why do you have that affect?

  He opens his mouth to say something, and thinks better of it, following his partner into the room as the big guy murmurs to two baby birds like a father would his own children. It’s a pretty adorable sight I probably won’t forget for years.

  We tuck all six ducklings into a kennel meant for small dogs. There’s a fuzzy, blue blanket lining it, plus a full water dish.

  As we go to leave, I nearly melt into a puddle of take-me-now as Wyatt leans toward my ear, his voice almost deeper than my resolve to keep my dinner commitment to Eddie. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. Really. If you could just take me home, that’d be great.”

  “Much as I’d like to, this is protocol. It’s time to check you out.”

  “Aren’t you already doing that?”

  His partner chuckles, throwing over his shoulder, “She’s got your number, Wyatt!”

  “She hasn’t
asked for it, yet.”

  My heart beats faster.

  Is he flirting with me?

  For-real flirting?

  Trying not to limp, I smirk, “Please! I’m from the South. I would never ask a man for his number.”

  “And if you were from the North?”

  “We’ll never know, will we.”

  Like a dozen paparazzi wait outside, the glass doors light up, thunder not far behind.

  Wyatt chuckles, “Normally I’d say ladies first, but not today.”

  I whisper, “Jerk.”

  He laughs and grabs the handle. “Here we go.”

  Chapter 12

  Diana

  I groan, “Now I feel guilty.”

  From the radio we learned the storm isn’t classified an official hurricane, but it sure looks like one hit the people in here. To keep from gagging at gruesome injuries, I avert my gaze and focus on the line we’re about to get stuck in.

  I realize from the unaffected expressions of my chaperones that police officers are used to seeing terrible things. I should’ve taken that for granted, but it’s something I’ve never given any thought to until now.

  Under my breath I say, more to myself than them, “I’ll take an empty animal hospital over this any day.”

  Wyatt glances to me. “Can’t handle the excitement, huh?”

  “Is that what you call this?” I slide a grimace around the wounded humanity waiting in a starkly-lit room, two silent television screens playing, of all things, the news. “This is excitement?”

  “This is life.”

  “A harsh side of it.”

  “Most of life is harsh.”

  “I don’t agree with that at all.”

  “These people will heal. Now they have a story.” He walks away, ignoring the line to follow his partner to the front.

  Deputy Washington leans over to the reception nurse as if he knows her.

  Wyatt crosses bulging arms, watchful and patient. After a few moments, he glances right behind him, and does a double-take at my absence. Twisting his body, he scans the room for me.

  Fully turning around, Wyatt stomps his feet in a subconscious release of tension. Is he convinced I went home and didn’t tell them?

  He spots me standing at the back of the line where I belong.