Uncuffed Page 2

  “And she took checks from you?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “On what date did this occur?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replies, as he rakes a hand through his hair.

  “You don’t know when she was in your house?”

  “It could have been any time over the last month or so.”

  “And you’re sure it was this particular woman?”

  He gives me a cocky grin. “Well, there were other women it could have been.” Seriously?

  “How many women did you bring to your home during the last month?”

  “I lost track.”

  “Is this a joke to you? You’re the one who was stolen from and who called us. I’m just trying to figure out how you know it was her, if you had a revolving door of women over the past thirty days.”

  His face starts to turn a lovely shade of red as his blood pressure rises at my questioning. “How many times do I have to tell you? It was Riele! I know it!”

  “Calm down, sir. We’ll run her name and description through our system, since you don’t have her anywhere on camera where her face is visible. We’ll have the checkbook fingerprinted as well. Unless her fingerprints show up, there’s not much we can do. The only proof you have is that checks are missing. You said your assistant has access, as well as an undisclosed number of women, who you’ve had in your home in the past month. It could have been any of them.”

  “Why won’t you believe me?” His voice keeps getting louder. This guy’s been fucking numerous women and that’s not counting his assistant. Who knows if he’s sleeping with her, too.

  “It’s not about believing you, it’s about having the evidence to back up your claim that it was indeed this particular woman. You’ve had a lot of women in your house, not to mention any other acquaintances who have visited you. It could have been any of them. I know you think it was this Riele, but we need proof.”

  “One was cashed at a bank two miles from here. Another, ten miles away. That’s only two. There was one more. Can’t you look at their video footage and see if it’s her?”

  “We’ll be contacting that bank’s manager to get access to the videos, but until then, I suggest you lock up your checks and money in a safe. I wouldn’t want to come up here again next month for the same complaint when you could have prevented it.”

  I’m unsure who the thief is, but after speaking to this man, there’s no way to pin down who stole his checks, along with twenty-four thousand dollars in one day, unless we have fingerprints, which I highly doubt since this sounds like a career criminal. None of the checks were flagged until three weeks later when he looked at his bank statement and reported it. The guy should keep better track of his money. Maybe if he noticed a while ago, I’d have people at the bank who remembered the woman. I’ll have the video at the banks checked, but I’ll bet none of them reveal anything. If this person went to all the trouble to sleep with him, steal his checks, then go to different branches so no one would catch on, I doubt they were in the bank with their natural hair color, face shown, etcetera. No, this person will be very difficult to catch, unless they fuck up somewhere along the line.

  My name is Rowe Falk, and I’m a detective.

  Every day when I get home, I stop and look at the pictures of my dad and brother hanging in the hallway. They are both in their police uniforms. I know I did them proud that day at work. My brother was killed in the line of duty, but my dad passed away first. He never got to see me graduate the academy, but he knew I was going to follow in his footsteps. Cancer took him far too soon.

  I have no family left. My mother left a month after I was born, leaving my dad to raise my brother and me, alone. My grandparents on both sides are gone. No aunts or uncles on my father’s side. I do have some I know on my mother’s side, but they won’t have anything to do with me. It seems that entire side of the family is a bunch of fucked up people. Some are in jail doing time for drugs. The others, I lost track of and didn’t care to look for. If they wanted anything to do with me, then they should have maintained contact when my mom left. But they didn’t. They all disappeared.

  I have zero clue where my mother is. As I grew, I would ask my dad about her, and he would tell me everything he knew, but he didn’t tell me why she left until I was sixteen. Then I heard the truth. She started a relationship with another man two months before I was born, then left to move across the country with him. She can go fuck herself. Yes, she gave me life, but she was never a mother. Only a woman who didn’t think I was worth staying for; who would rather flee with a man she hardly knew than stay and care for her children. She didn’t have to stay with my dad to be a mother to us, but she chose her boyfriend, or whatever he was, over my brother and me.

  I live in the same house I grew up in. Protecting this town and the people living in it are my life. They depend on me, and in a sense, I depend on them, too. I don’t have a wife or children. I don’t even have a dog or a cat. It’s me and only me. My life is simple, and I like it that way. No complications. Nothing to worry about except my job and the people in my community.

  My friends keep trying to set me up with their girlfriends’ friends or whomever. What they don’t understand is I see women as a complication I don’t want or need. My best friend’s wife left him for another man. My other buddies are only in the girlfriend stage. Sure, one of them has two kids with his girlfriend. They are happy, and I’m happy for them. To each their own and all that. That’s not to say I don’t get my needs sated. I just drive into the city and go to different bars. One-night stands are the choices I make and ones I’m very happy with.

  The women in the clubs see me as a tattooed, muscular biker. They think I’m a bad boy, and damn if that doesn’t draw the women in. Maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the hard line of my jaw. Whatever it is, it works for me. I don’t divulge that I’m a cop. That would chase some away, while others would probably think it’s hot and ask me where my handcuffs are. I’m not in to role-playing. I want to fuck and go home. No cuddling, no getting to know them, it’s not for me. I let them know up front I’m not boyfriend material, making sure they understand I’ll be gone before the sun rises, and I won’t be leaving my phone number.

  Tonight, I’m off to the city and a new bar, which is on the smaller side. I’ll take comfort over glam any day. A small bar means a cozy seat and good brew. Not flashy club lights, a rope line, and exclusive entry. I’m a country boy after all. I don’t like clubs.

  I’m not surprised the bar is packed when I arrive. A new bar equals a lot of people. They all want to see what the newest place has to offer before they decide if it will become a regular hangout or not. I’m one of them tonight, only I’m here to find someone to make me feel good and who I can pleasure in return.

  I take a seat at a table in the back, since the bar area is full. Plus, here I can watch everyone around me. With my leather jacket tossed over the back of the chair next to me, I scan my eyes around the area trying to find someone I could spend the night with. There are plenty of attractive women here, but none have caught my eye. That is, until I look to my immediate left and find a woman sitting alone at the table next to mine. Hers is shrouded in darkness, the bulb in the lamp above having burned out. She leans forward to put her elbows on the table with her phone in her hands. The light from the other tables illuminates her.

  Tattoos cover her arms and hands. Her long, jet-black hair hangs over her shoulders. There’s a piercing under one eye and damn, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I’ve been with all kinds of women. Short, tall, thin, curvy. Tattooed, not. You name it. Sure, they’ve all been fun, but none have enraptured me like this woman, and I’ve only just lain my eyes on her. I’m not sure it’s a good thing to be so taken by her, but I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing. Beer in hand, I walk to her table, stopping a foot shy of her.

  She looks up. Dark makeup gives her this badass aura and only makes me crave her more. “Can I help y
ou?” She’s sassy, and I love it.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Her foot hooks under the chair in front of me to pull it closer to the table. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “I don’t bite.”

  “I don’t care.” She focuses back on her phone and resumes typing.

  “Can I at least buy you a drink?”

  “No,” she replies quickly, without looking up.

  I chuckle. “Are you always this pleasant?”

  She stands abruptly. She’s only a couple of inches shorter than me, which is saying something, since I’m six foot four. “How hard is it for you to understand what I’m saying? I’m sitting alone, in the dark, and keep telling you no. Which part is confusing you? The darkness or the word no leaving my lips? I’m not interested.”

  I put my hands in the air in surrender. “Fine. You win. I’ll go back to my table. I’m right next to you if you need anything or want to have a conversation with someone in real life and not on your phone.”

  She puts her hands together and bats her eyelashes. “Oh, goodie.” I chuckle and sit back down at my table.

  Now I’m just bored. No one in here is as interesting as her, and dammit, I love a challenge. Instead of trying to look for other women, I sit quietly and slowly peel the label off my beer bottle. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch men approach her every so often. Some are scared off by a simple glance, while others need some heated words before they leave her table with their tail between their legs.

  I take another sip as a blonde woman walks to me and sits down in the chair next to mine. “Can I keep you company?” She smiles. She’s not my type. Okay, that’s a lie. Almost every woman is my type, as long as they aren’t looking for a relationship. She’s not who I want to go home with tonight, though. I can’t get the woman at the other table out of my head.

  I smile in return. “Thanks, but no. I’m waiting for someone.”

  The woman says, “Too bad. I’m a hell of a good time.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I reply. She gets up and leaves.

  I hear a laugh from beside me. I turn and find my neighbor back in the dark where I can’t see her.

  “Something funny?” I ask.

  She leans forward. “Just wondering why you didn’t want to take her home and fuck her. She was obviously interested.”

  “She may have been, but I wasn’t. I might be a guy, but I’m not a pig.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Besides, she isn’t who I want.”

  Her eyes find mine. “Neither am I.”

  “You don’t know my type.”

  “And I don’t want to.” She stands and slaps a few bills on the table. When she walks by, I can’t help but focus on the way her jeans mold to her ass. My dick stirs to life at the sight.

  As she reaches the door, a guy steps in front of her, but then people fill in behind her. I can’t see what’s going on. I stand, throw some cash on the table to cover my beer and a tip, and grab my jacket. Then I make my way over to where I last saw her.

  Some guy’s words are slurring. He’s easily heard over the other voices due to his shouting. “C’mon, baby, come home with me.”

  I reach her back as she says, “One, I don’t fucking know you. Two, you’re drunk. And three, I’m not going anywhere with you.” Then the guy lifts his hand to grab her. She’s faster and twists away from his grasp, but he manages to put his hand on her waist. She tries to wiggle away from him, but with the packed bar, people coming in and leaving, there’s little room to move. Finally, I’ve had enough. My hand shoots out to grip him by the wrist and remove his hand from her.

  “What’s the deal?” he shouts at me.

  “The deal is the lady doesn’t want you touching her.”

  He’s much shorter than I—his head coming only to my shoulder. His eyes finally meet mine. They’re glazed over from the amount of alcohol he’s consumed. He swallows. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “I am not!” she yells. “I don’t even know you!”

  He turns his attention back to her, but I move to block his view. I’m now standing in between them.

  She smacks my back. “I can handle my own shit. I don’t need you to insert yourself into my business.”

  Glancing at her over my shoulder, I say, “You’re welcome.”

  She rolls her eyes and stomps out the door. The guy moves to follow her, but I plant my hand on his chest.

  “Let her go.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you.” He sounds like a petulant child.

  “You don’t, but there are plenty of cops in this city who would love to know about you putting your hands on a woman who doesn’t want you to.” His eyes widen as I lift my hand, holding my phone.

  “Whatever.” He waves me off. “I don’t need this.” He slinks farther into the bar and away from the direction my mystery woman went. I wave to the bartender, who nods in my direction, an understanding between us for him to watch the guy. Now to find that beautiful, sassy as hell woman.

  Chapter Three

  Hope

  My feet hit the concrete sidewalk as I put distance between the bar and me. With each click of my heels, I walk a step away from the altercation I just encountered. Who the fuck was that guy by the door, and why did he think I should go home with him? I’m so sick of men assuming, just because a woman is in a bar, that they’re easy. Then the guy sitting next to me intervened, which I didn’t need. I had to get out of there before they threw fists and called the cops.

  I try to steer clear of any fights where the cops could be involved. My life is lived in a way that I avoid the police at all costs. I’m also very careful when I’m with a target. I try not to leave any evidence behind when I steal. Sure, I wear gloves, cover my face, or use false fingerprints; basically I do everything I can to ensure I don’t get caught. I think it’s time to pack up and move the fuck out of this city. That bar incident makes me nervous, and I’m not sure why.

  My permanent home is three hours away, but I rent an apartment here to make things easier. Month by month, and no one knows. If I sleep with a guy who isn’t a target, we go back to his place or fuck in his car. I don’t need a lease or the worry of how I’m going to get out of it when I pack up and ship out. Sometimes I leave very quickly.

  I haven’t been home in six months. Maybe it’s time to visit the house and check in on things. I never was able to sell the place where I was raised and where I saw my parents alive for the last time. But I don’t go there often. I can’t. It’s too hard. The memories flood my mind each time I open the door, and it’s more than I can bear. I do go once or twice a year, though. I have to make sure the place is still standing, and the yard is still being mowed by the people I pay.

  Someone with heavy boots is following me, and I have one guess who it is. I need a fucking cab and to get off the street. I don’t want this guy chasing me.

  “Hey!” he calls after me. I’d almost rather have the drunk guy pursuing me. At least then I’d be able to outrun him.

  I don’t turn around. His speed picks up, as does mine, but I can’t move as fast in heels as he does in his boots. Then he’s behind me, his hand on my arm, attempting to stop me.

  I shake him off and spin around. “Don’t touch me,” I seethe.

  He immediately pulls his hand back. “Whoa. I was only trying to get your attention.”

  “It didn’t occur to you that I don’t want to talk to you?”

  “It did, but I had to make sure you’re okay.”

  I turn back around and start walking down the sidewalk again. “I’m fine.”

  He steps up beside me and keeps pace. “Let me at least make sure you get home okay.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can get there on my own.”

  “I’m very aware that you’re a big girl, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk home alone on these streets.”

  “Do you have a savior complex?”

  He chuckles. “Something like that
.”

  Glancing over at him, he smiles, and fuck me—those dimples. The streetlight shines down perfectly on us. I saw those dimples in the bar, but he’s closer now. Sexier. Don’t get me started on his scent, which drifts to me every time the breeze blows in my direction. A spicy, woodsy scent that’s all male. It’s taking everything in me not to turn to him and leap in his arms.

  He has badass written all over him. When he was in the bar, I could make out tattoos on his upper arms. Arms that are muscular as hell. And the leather jacket he’s wearing right now, yeah, I’m in total lust. But then his actions contradict his appearance. Bad boys don’t go around being chivalrous and trying to save damsels in distress. Not that I’m a damsel.

  So, what’s his deal? Is he a bad boy, or a pretend bad boy, who bought a leather coat and tries to rock the look? I can’t forget the tattoos. That shit’s permanent. Maybe he is a bad boy. Bad boys I can handle, it’s the good ones I need to avoid. The ones who, if they ever find out what I do, will have the cops on my ass in no time.

  I stop, causing him to follow suit. Tentatively, I place my hand on his chest under his coat and lean in. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?” A bad boy will say no and fuck me senseless. A good boy will try and be polite at first and keep his hands to himself. In the end, though, his dick always wins out. At least I’ll be able to tell where this guy falls in a few seconds.

  His hand lands on my hip as his eyes meet mine. “I don’t. What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something that involves a lot less clothing.” I drag my hand down his chest, stopping at the waist of his jeans.

  His eyes hood with lust. “Sounds good to me.” He takes my hand in his and starts walking us back to the bar.

  “Wait, we’re going in the wrong direction. My apartment is the other way.” Fuck! Did I just say my apartment? Why the hell did I blurt that out? I don’t want him there. “Why don’t we go to your place?”

  “Yours is closer, obviously. You’re able to walk there. Mine’s out in the country.” Shit. “And we can get to your apartment faster on my Harley.” My apartment or the country? I don’t like the idea of being trapped at some guy’s house I don’t know, with no way to get home. I guess my apartment it is. Now I really will need to get out of the city. One night, and tomorrow I’m packing my shit and hightailing it out of here.