The badge and the bad bo.., p.1
The Badge & the Bad Boy: A steamy small town romance, page 1
THE BADGE AND THE BAD BOY
LENA HENDRIX
Copyright © 2022 by Lena Hendrix
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictional.
Copy editing by James Gallagher, Evident Ink
Proofreading by Laetitia Treseng, Little Tweaks
Cover by Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Sensitivity Reading by Chula Gonzalez
CONTENTS
Reader Note
1. Val
2. Val
3. Evan
4. Val
5. Evan
6. Val
7. Evan
8. Val
9. Val
10. Evan
11. Val
12. Evan
13. Evan
14. Val
15. Evan
16. Val
17. Evan
18. Val
19. Evan
20. Val
21. Evan
22. Val
23. Evan
24. Val
25. Evan
26. Val
27. Evan
28. Val
29. Evan
30. Val
31. Evan
32. Val
33. Evan
34. Val
35. Val
36. Val
37. Evan
Epilogue
Sneak Peek at The Alias and the Alter
Sneak Peek of Finding You
Acknowledgments
Also by Lena Hendrix
READER NOTE
This book contains adult material including references to substance abuse, child neglect (not on page), and elements of life on a rural ranch that includes the natural death of an animal. It is my hope that I’ve handled these topics with the care and research they deserve.
I would also like to extend a special thank you to Chula Gonzalez for performing a very thorough sensitivity read to ensure that Val and her family have been represented with proper care and accuracy. Also, thanks for encouraging me to include a little dirty talk in Spanish–holy hotness!
ONE
VAL
“Pushing those veggies around the plate isn’t going to make them go away any faster,” said Eric, his rumbling voice sounding behind my back.
Shooting my partner the side-eye over my shoulder, I continued to poke and prod my dinner around the sagging cardboard take-out container. It may have been well after midnight, but when you worked the midnight shift on the police force, two a.m. meant dinnertime—usually in the form of shitty takeout from Uncle Mao’s Chinese Restaurant. Giving the repugnant vegetables one last scowl, I dropped the chopsticks into the container and pushed it over the edge of my desk and into the trash.
“You have the eating habits of a five-year-old,” Eric teased as he approached my desk in the bullpen of the police station. The years had been kind to my partner and his salt and pepper hair and slight paunch were the only signs of his long tenure on the force.
“Well, the best thing about not actually being five is I can choose not to eat my vegetables. You ready to roll out?”
Eric and I had been partners in the Eleventh District of the Chicago Police Department for the past three years. Notoriously dangerous—ironically the district with the youngest and most inexperienced police officers—an assignment in the Eleventh District meant that a break for dinner lasted only fifteen or twenty minutes before we had to be back on patrol, doing whatever we could to keep innocent people alive.
Only six miles north and my job would have meant a cushy patrol learning from twenty-year veterans, but that wasn’t all that appealing anyway. I loved the thrill, the challenge of solving a case and keeping my city safe.
I stood, adjusted my utility belt and vest, and slid my chair beneath the desk. I scanned my desk to ensure everything was in place before I was ready to go. “Let’s do it.”
I tucked myself behind the wheel of our squad car. Eric never minded that I preferred to drive—my need for control and order. Usually on quiet nights, I had to make sure his ass didn’t fall asleep on the job. Eric was a lot like the older brother that teased you, but you knew always had your back. He had a decade of experience on me—but he’d also lost the hunger. The hunger to maintain justice and order amid the chaos of the city. Mostly, he looked at his job as a cop as just that—a job. To me, it was a calling.
Sensing the seriousness in my mood, Eric cleared his throat. “You should find out any day now, right?”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and willed my breath to steady. “I’m hoping. So far it’s been a waiting game.”
Eric shook his head. “Man, I can’t believe you’re going to leave me to kiss ass with the ATF. You tell your folks yet?”
I huffed. “Are you kidding? They’re horrified enough that I carry a gun every day.”
He shrugged. “The ATF may not be all it’s cracked up to be.”
I rolled my eyes in his direction. Applying to be a part of the elite Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives unit, more commonly referred to as the ATF, had taken over a year, and there still was no guarantee I’d be accepted to become a federal agent. Women made up less than twenty-five percent of the entire Chicago Police Department, and even fewer had aspirations to become a special agent.
As a first-generation Mexican American woman, if that was my future, I'd have to blaze the trail myself. None of those things meant anything at all to my parents, but I could show them what it meant. Make them proud.
“You’re just pissed you won’t have someone watching your ass while you nap,” I teased.
Eric sank lower in the seat and pulled a baseball cap farther down his brow. “Well,” he grunted as he got comfortable, “you’re not wrong there. Don’t fuck up while I’m out.”
I laughed and shook my head. I’d learned in the academy that to be a female police officer, you had to develop a thick skin and handle a certain amount of ballbusting to have a chance of surviving. It didn’t matter that I had proved my skills; if you weren’t one of the good ol’ boys, you were other.
I glanced out the window and up at the passing streetlights. The rain was a slow, dreary late fall precipitation that kept everyone shuttered away from the damp cold. The twilight hours—known as witching hours by the most superstitious cops—could be so calm they almost made your skin crawl. City streets were all but abandoned. Some houses were so run-down with broken windows and peeling paint it was hard to tell which ones sheltered civilians and which hid away criminals.
Sometimes the answer was both.
Adjusting the volume of the pop music thumping out of the car radio, I turned the squad car for another long loop through our section of the city. Quiet chatter on the police radio became my company while Eric dozed beside me.
Dispatch: Squad 9522 to dispatch.
Me: 9522. Go ahead.
Dispatch: We have a reported 650 in progress. Intersection of Kilbourn and Maypole. Possible 4210.
650, home invasion. 4210, kidnapping. Shit.
I pushed the button on my vest walkie to respond as I hit Eric awake with the back of my hand.
Me: Officers 842 and 1732. En route.
The computer to my right lit up with information from dispatch. Apparently, a neighbor had called with complaints of shouting and glass breaking. One witness reported seeing a white male with a gun enter the home. After flipping on the lights and sirens, I whipped hard down a side street and barreled toward the address on my screen.
Tension curled up my spine and gripped me at the base of my neck. I bumped my partner again. “Wake up, E. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Eric rubbed his eyes and swung the computer his way to get up to speed. I chanced only a glance in his direction as he read through the information and relayed it aloud to me.
Eric’s voice got low, muttering to himself as he scanned the words again. I couldn’t catch all of what he said. “Kilbourn and Maypole. I know that house. Fuck . . .”
“What?”
Eric shook his head. His lips were in a hard line, and I’d learned his body language well enough to know he was amped.
My heart hammered as I sped through the city toward the run-down residential area. Duplexes and apartment buildings encroached abandoned storefronts and were shoehorned between industrial buildings. The dilapidated, deserted buildings were nestled between streets of residential housing. Even knowing the neighborhood, it was difficult to know which were which or what alley led to a courtyard versus a dead end.
Approaching the given address, the commotion outside pointed us to exactly where we needed to go. Two additional squad cars came flying in as I parked. Eric and I exited the car, readying our weapons.
With a series of hand movements, Eric instructed me to fall behind him. The officers behind me began their search on the east side of the looming brick building. As we pushed past the gawkers already forming on the front lawn, I could see that the front door had been kicked in. The frame was splintered around the lock, and chunks of decaying wood hadn’t stood a chance from a boot or a stiff shoulder.
Once inside, I swept right and left, the light on top of my service weapon illuminating the cramped space. The room was musty and damp. More than the rain outside, the wetness clung to the air, coating the walls, ripe with mildew. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to ignore the smell of mold, piss, and dirty laundry.
The only sound was my heartbeat, hammering between my ears as my eyes scanned the rooms. Extensive training ensured my movements were efficient and my senses were keyed into my surroundings. The house appeared empty, but it didn’t feel empty.
The clawing sense of unease prickled my skin as goose bumps coated my arms. The groan of a single loose floorboard had me whipping my weapon to the right. A shadowed figure ran across the narrow hallway, through the kitchen, and shouldered out the back door.
“Freeze!” I commanded.
“Police!” Eric bellowed at the same time.
I called into my radio. “Suspect fleeing. Dark hoodie, denim pants. Dark sneakers.”
Eric burst through the back door. I scanned the room, and instead of following him out, I halted as my eyes landed on a dark, crumpled figure in the corner.
A body.
Instinct took over, and I toed the body with my foot. A pair of wide, frantic eyes stared up at me.
I crouched. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. Stay behind me.” I pulled the young girl up, and she huddled behind me. Her dark hair was matted and hung in tangled clumps. I moved forward through the house, still unconvinced the place was empty.
When movement through the kitchen caught my attention, the young woman pushed past me, nearly knocking me over, and ran toward the door.
“Stop!”
As I reached for her, the girl glanced back and didn’t see the closed patio door. The old glass splintered and crashed around her. She tumbled forward, landing in the shards. I rushed to her. Disoriented, the girl shoved an elbow against my hands, and I turned her over, assessing any injuries. I called into my radio for medical assistance.
Shards of glass pierced her forearm, and deep crimson was rapidly staining the front of her rumpled beige T-shirt. I pulled at the neckline to reveal a deep slash that spread beneath her collarbone and up toward her delicate neck. I pressed my hand into it to try to stop the bleeding, and she called out, crying and fighting against my help.
Pushing onto her feet, she shoved me backward, then scrambled to steady herself. She ran haphazardly into the alley, and I went after her, leaping over garbage and old patio furniture littering the back lawn. The rain came down steadily, obscuring the light mounted to my gun.
I blinked water away and tried to refocus. My body surged forward as I searched the darkness for any signs of movement. The buildings were close together, and it left little room for hiding. In the distance, I could hear the other officers fanning out in different directions, none calling out for assistance.
I took a hesitant step into a dark alley between two brick buildings. It was a long, empty path with nothing but brick doorways to the end. Moving quickly, I pushed forward between the buildings.
Don’t do it.
The words whispered through my skull a millisecond too late.
As I passed one of the darkened doorways, a figure surged out, slamming me into the opposite wall. My head rapped against the brick, and white-hot pain screeched between my eyes.
I shook my head and raised my gun. “Stop!”
It was not the same man in the hoodie, but the figure kept running. I chased after him.
“I said ‘Stop!’” I yelled again. I was within my rights to shoot, but I knew if I could catch him, I wouldn’t have to.
My adrenaline was coursing through my veins. My legs burned as I pushed forward toward where the person had taken off. When I reached the end of the alley, opening into a small courtyard, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. Off-balance, I struggled and rammed a knee into the ground. A strong, heavy force slammed on top of me, pinning me to the pavement. I watched in horror as my gun slid just out of reach.
“You fucking cunt!” the voice growled in my ear. He yanked my ponytail backward as I gritted my teeth.
“Fuck you!” I spat in his direction.
His reaction was to push my face into the concrete. The uneven surface caused water to surge up my nose and burn into my eyes as the gravel bit at my cheekbones.
“Fuck me? How about fuck you, lady cop.” His palm pushed harder and harder into my face and jaw as I struggled to get air around the water filling my mouth and nose.
All the while, I was cataloging.
His voice: noticeable Chicago Italian, scratchy.
His breath: definitely a smoker or tobacco chewer.
His weight: at least two hundred pounds, soft fatty weight, not hard muscle.
Keeping my mind on the suspect and not the fact I was nearly drowning helped focus my thoughts. I coughed and reared my head back just enough to get a gulp of fresh air. The renewed oxygen helped me push and struggle against the knee in my back.
When my knees finally gained purchase, I shoved upward as hard as I could, knocking him unsteady. It was enough to roll and attempt to crawl away. As I turned to face him, a heavy crack radiated across my jaw.
His punch to my face snapped my head back. I moved toward where I last saw my service pistol. In the dim lighting, I felt the ground for the cold bite of the metal against my palm. My fingers curled around the slick, hard barrel as I righted it in my shaking hands. In the predawn darkness, two figures were locked in a stance, both fighting to overpower the other. Another, the young woman from the house, was slumped next to me by an overturned patio table. The sickening thud of punches and grunts filled the air as rain continued to thunder around us and the men continued to fight.
I called for additional backup through the radio on my vest, and I used the brick wall, struggling to push to my feet. As I righted myself, one man reached behind his back, a movement I recognized just as the flash of metal winked from the streetlights. Footsteps thundered behind me.
Officers approaching.
I raised my weapon and pulled the weakening young girl behind me.
Calm.
Ready to defend myself and my fellow officers.
The man raised his arm. I should have shot him. I hesitated. The pop of his gun fired twice. Once to my right and again directly at me.
I didn’t feel the impact of the bullet, as I’d expected. Instead, the suspect in the hoodie had rushed forward, knocking me back against the wall as his body slammed into me. We both tumbled back to the concrete.
My ears rang from the slam of the brick against my head. My limbs were leaden and my tongue felt thick. Colors and noises swirled in front of me as I tried to focus on staying conscious. I blinked away the raindrops as they pattered into my eyes.
Standard-issue boots lay lifeless in my periphery.
An officer down.
I swallowed thickly, trying to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. My head couldn’t make sense of it all, and the overwhelming desire to slip under the heavy blanket of darkness was overwhelming.
Flashes of red and blue shone through the alleyway on the street, muddled and swirled by the puddle water that had seeped into my eyes. The body that had slammed us both into the wall, unmoving and still half covering me, sheltered me from the cold. I attempted to shift from under the weight, but he didn’t budge. I inched my head up, trying to focus on the face in front of me. Blood covered his clean-shaven face in a mask, and one eye was bruised and angry, completely swollen shut. The only distinguishable part of him was a single, faded scar connecting his upper lip and nostril.
