Calling the Play (2 page)

“Like hell,” Ty shouted. “Get in.”

“I’m a cop, genius,” she barked at him. “Give me the fucking keys. Two months of undercover work is about to escape in that fucking red Mustang over there, and there is no way in hell I’m going to let you get in the way. So move it, or I shoot it.”

Ty looked over and saw the guy she’d been with jump into a Mustang that barely slowed as it passed him. The car was headed out the opposite side of the parking lot from all the cops. “Why isn’t anyone else chasing him?” he asked incredulously.

“Because nobody listens to me,” she said in disgust. She ripped the keys out of his hand and climbed into his car. She took the time to pull off her heels and toss them out into the parking lot. Ty took advantage of her distraction to throw himself over the hood of his black Porsche and climb into the passenger seat. “Get the fuck out,” she yelled at him.

“No,” he said, trying to sound calm, even though his heart was about to pound out of his chest. “My car. And you need backup.”

At that she barked out a laugh and threw the car into gear. “And that’s you?” she asked, peeling out of the parking space after her quarry.

“Yes, ma’am,” he shouted over the squeal of tires. “Usually I call the play, but tonight I’m going to follow your lead.”

Randi McInish tried to ignore the guy in the passenger seat, but it was hard. He was about six feet two inches of hard muscles in a tight, black T-shirt and blue jeans, with blond hair, dimples, and a great ass. An ass she was going to kick when she finally nailed Tater Sullivan, the drug-dealing piece of shit she’d had to let grope her all night.

“Name?” she hollered at him as she took a corner with a squeal of tires.

“Ty,” he shouted back. “Sissy?”

“Randi,” she said, fighting the steering wheel. The damn thing was tight. She’d thought a Porsche would handle better. She wished she had her Mustang. She’d already be on top of Tater with her own wheels.

“I like it better,” Ty said.

She snorted. As if she gave a shit what he liked or didn’t like. Okay, he was hot and chances were she was going to do him later, but whether or not he liked her name mattered as much as what he wanted for breakfast. She had no intention of staying long enough to find out.

Her phone rang. She leaned forward, keeping Tater’s Mustang in her sights. “Get my phone,” she told Ty.

“Okay,” he said. “Where is it?”

“In my back pocket.” She didn’t really want to talk to anyone right now, especially her brother. It was his ringtone. He was going to flip his fucking lid over tonight. Probably already was. He was the lead detective on the case, after all. Without hesitation, Ty shoved his hand under her ass and pulled out the phone, jostling Randi and making the car nearly run off the road.

“Fuck me,” she yelled. “Ever heard of being gentle?”

“You don’t strike me as the gentle type,” he said. “Hello?” She realized then he’d answered the phone.

“What the fuck?” she said. “Who told you to answer it?”

“You,” he said. “You said, ‘Get my phone.’ ”

“I meant get it out of my pocket,” she explained. Gunfire rang out and she ducked and swerved. Ty yelped next to her and then she heard her brother Johnny’s voice.

“Goddamn it, Randi,” he shouted. Ty must have put it on speaker. “Give off the chase, now,” he ordered. “We’ve got him. I’m holding a warrant in my hand. He’s got nowhere to run.”

“That’s bullshit and you and I know it,” she yelled in Ty’s general direction, knowing the phone would pick it up. “If we don’t pull him in tonight, his daddy’s money and the lawyers will keep him out of jail.”

“So what?” her brother yelled. “We’ve got the leader of the SUR 13 in custody, half of Tater’s known associates, and your tape and testimony. And enough heroin to embarrass the Feds because this was our bust and not theirs. Did you know the deal involved that much? And who the fuck is in that car with you?”

“Some big-ass guy named Ty,” she yelled. “I told him to get out, he didn’t, so he’s along for the ride.”

“It’s my Porsche,” Ty said reasonably.

“Who the fuck are you?” Johnny asked again.

“Ty Oakes,” her passenger said. Randi thought the name rang a bell, but just then shots cut through the night a second time. To her shock, Ty laughed like crazy when she swerved and it threw him against the passenger door. “You throw a mean party,” he told Randi. She just grinned, but didn’t take her eyes off the Mustang.

“
The
Ty Oakes?” Johnny asked, sounding sort of sick. Randi wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Yep,” Ty answered. “Sorry.”

“Where are you?” Johnny asked. “I’m sending backup.”

“We just passed the intersection of Oporto Madrid and Fifth,” Ty told him. “I think he’s heading for I-Fifty-Nine.”

“Do not get the quarterback killed,” Johnny told her, speaking very slowly. “Do you understand? Pull over right now. Uniforms can take over. Do not get on the highway.” He spoke away from the phone. It sounded like he was asking where the nearest uniforms were.

“What are you talking about?” Randi asked, confused. “Who’s going to get killed?”

“You, when I see you,” Johnny told her. “A high-speed chase through Birmingham is bad press. You’ve got no blue lights, no identification on that car. And a civilian passenger.”

“Somehow you make that sound like a bad thing,” Randi told him.

“Don’t listen to him,” Ty told her. “We can catch this asshole. I don’t like how he treated you.”

“Do not listen to the quarterback!” Johnny yelled into the phone.

Randi could hear the sound of approaching sirens. “I hear the backup,” she told Johnny, hoping to shut him up.

“When they get on scene, you back off and let them take over the chase. You hear me, Randi?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, as sassy as she could.

Suddenly the Mustang hung a U-turn and raced back at them. They must have seen the backup, too. This time the shots hit the Porsche and Randi spun it around full throttle, her side of the car facing the oncoming Mustang and the flying bullets. Johnny was right, she couldn’t get Ty killed. He might be stupid, but he was fun and really cute.

The window next to her shattered and she felt a stinging pain in her upper arm. “Shit!” she yelled. The car stopped spinning and came to a shuddering halt on the shoulder of the road as the Mustang flew past them, followed by two cop cars in full pursuit, lights flashing.

“Is Oakes dead?” Johnny yelled over the phone, his voice distraught.

“Nice,” she said. “You don’t even ask about your sister?”

“I don’t give a shit, since your life expectancy is going to be pretty damn short once I get my hands on you,” Johnny said.

“You know, I think it’s unfair that even though you’re my brother, because you’re my superior officer I can’t respond to that accordingly,” Randi huffed in annoyance.

“Boo-hoo,” Johnny said. “I meant it. And if you fucking got the Rebels’ quarterback killed, I will never forgive you even if you’re dead. I think they have a shot at the play-offs this year.”

“Hey, thanks, man,” Ty said into the phone, humble and sincere. “But I think your sister just got shot, so you should send an ambulance.”

Randi just shook her head. This was possibly the most bizarre bust she’d ever made.

“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital or something?” Ty asked her several hours later.

They were standing outside the police station drinking some coffee. His bullet-riddled Porsche was parked on the side street to their left. The police were impounding it as evidence—Johnny’s idea of teaching Ty not to jump into cars with cops on high-speed chases. She’d dragged Ty out here after about five off-duty cops who looked like they’d just rolled out of bed showed up and asked him for autographs. It was embarrassing. Assholes had no pride in the badge. Ty hadn’t seemed to mind, signing shit for them and posing for selfies.
Fucking selfies
. She snorted in disgust.

It was three a.m. and Ty still looked gorgeous. He reminded her of that actor in the
Fast & Furious
movies, the blond one. She figured she looked like hell. Hadn’t stopped her from getting some action in the past, though. Guys were funny that way. Fuck anything, but only feed the skinny, pretty girls.

Randi looked down at her bandaged arm. “Naw. It was just a graze. If I make a big deal out of it they’ll laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” Ty said with a solemn expression. “I know you got shot for me.”

“You’re too cute to get killed,” she admitted. “Anyway, I think the broken glass did more damage than the bullet. I can feel some of it in my hair, still.”

She had changed clothes and was wearing her usual T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Ty peered at the top of her head. “Yep. I can see it shining in the light.” He looked back down and met her stare. “I can help you wash that out.”

“You got a thing for washing hair?” she asked with a laugh. “I’ve sure got enough of it.”

“I’ve got a thing for you,” he said straight-faced.

“All right, player,” she joked. She couldn’t believe he was the actual quarterback for the Rebels. An NFL star. Standing here next to her and offering to wash her hair. She was struck again by how bizarre it was. There was no other word for it. She could tell he was a smooth talker used to getting his share of pussy, that was for sure.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not a player. At least, not like that.”

She stole a quick, startled look at him. Damn if he hadn’t read her mind. “Not what I hear,” she said, vaguely recalling some stories about his wild life off the field.

“I cannot deny that I am very good in bed,” he admitted ruefully, “and have had lots of practice at it. But I’ve grown a little bit more discerning about who gets to find that out live and in person.”

“You had me at very good in bed,” she told him.

“Oh, sweet thing, I am definitely going to have you very good,” he told her softly. His stare was hot as fuck, and Randi was wet just looking at him. He was like some surfer wet dream with that sun-bleached-blond, curly hair and those blue, blue eyes. And a body to die for. Truth be told, she didn’t care if he was a player. She didn’t do more than one or two nights with a guy, anyway. The money, the fame, the whole football life, whatever. She just wanted to suck his dick and fuck him until she couldn’t walk. Her needs were simple.

“Let’s go,” she said, reaching out a hand for him.

“Ty?”

Randi turned toward the guy who’d spoken, stepping in front of Ty to shield him. The man facing them on the front walkway was short, maybe a little taller than her, but not by much. Sort of nondescript, with short, brown hair and a pleasant face. His nose was long and thin, making his eyes look big and wide and pretty. She immediately readjusted her initial impression of a pleasant face to an arresting one. He was muscular in his white T-shirt and dark shorts, but not like Ty. Like an average Joe who hit the gym regularly. His voice was hesitant, not like he didn’t know Ty, but as if he didn’t know if Ty knew him. Randi’s cop training told her all that in the blink of an eye. Ty’s reaction told her more.

“Brian?” Ty sounded like he’d been punched in the gut. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the new quarterback coach,” Brian said. “The cops called the front office and the front office called me.”

“No you are fucking not,” Ty said, suddenly angry. He straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “No one told me.”

“So I gathered,” Brian said. He looked at the Porsche and Randi could see how pale his face was. His lips were thin and colorless. “Yours?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ty said belligerently.

“Jesus, Ty,” Brian said, leaning his back against the wall as if he were suddenly incapable of standing on his own, while he continued to stare at the car. “I thought you’d changed.”

“I have,” Ty said. He grabbed Randi’s hand. “I don’t need you anymore.” He glanced at her. “Let’s go.” Without looking at Brian, he pulled her down the sidewalk. “You can tell the front office I’m fine,” he said to Brian as they walked past him.

“My place?” Randi asked, not really caring to find out the story between these two. Tonight Ty was hers. She needed a good fuck to work off the adrenaline and to forget Tater Sullivan’s hands all over her. She guessed they both had baggage. Tomorrow she’d deal with the fallout from tonight’s events, but for now she was all about forgetting everything in Ty’s arms.

“I wasn’t expecting a house,” Ty said, standing on her front porch while she unlocked the door. There were no streetlights, and in the dark he couldn’t tell much, but he got the impression of a little house with a cottage look to it. He wasn’t familiar with this part of Birmingham. She lived in Crestwood North, an older part of the city with mostly families and stuff. He was out of his element and feeling awkward as hell about that scene with Brian. He was still reeling from the shock of it. The one that got away suddenly showing up out of the blue and throwing your past in your face sort of did that to a guy, so he tried to cut himself some slack.

“What’d you expect? A cave?” Randi asked sarcastically. “Ooga-ooga,” she said, sounding like a Southern cavewoman. “Come into my cave and fuck Randi.” She accompanied her demand by grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in the door. She sort of threw him against the wall and pressed herself to him, from her tits to her knees. His brain got a little foggy at that point. “Unless you’re not into it anymore?” she asked seriously. “Then you can get the fuck out. I’m tired.”

“You say fuck a lot,” he answered, peeling her hand off his shirt. “Fuck this, fuck that, fuck me.”

“Well?” she said impatiently. “Yes or no?”

“I have a choice?” he asked, as if considering it.

“Not anymore,” she answered flatly, pulling away from him and opening the door wide. “See ya around, player.”

Ty laughed and pushed the door closed. “Lighten up, cop. I’ve been dying to fuck you since you sashayed across the dance floor toward me in that crappy bar.”

“Yeah, man, what the fuck were you doing at Kitty Licks in the first place?” She snorted in disgust. “You need a keeper.”

“Come on,” he defended himself. “Kitty Licks? Who could resist that?”

“It used to be a high-class titty bar. But that was years ago, before my time. They just never changed the name.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care much.

“I thought I was going to get laid,” Ty admitted ruefully. “It sounds like the kind of bar where a fuck is guaranteed.” He never thought he’d say something like that to a woman, but Randi just took it in stride.

“You are,” she said pragmatically. “All’s well that ends well.”

She reached for him again, but he grabbed her wrist. “Oh, no,” he said with a little laugh. He walked around her and she spun to keep her eyes on him, her captured hand in a fist. She wasn’t really trying to get away, but she was wary.

“I could take you,” she said, pulling lightly on the arm he held.

“Probably,” he agreed, not doubting it for a minute. She was soft and curvy, but tough as nails. The dichotomy appealed to him. “But I think you’re the kind of woman who likes to be taken instead.” Without warning he gave a hard yank on her arm. She ended up with her front pressed against the wall, Ty pressed against her back. She squirmed, but she wasn’t trying to get away. She was trying to push her ass into his dick. He’d read her right.

“You think you’re man enough to take me?” she challenged him in a sexy, rough voice.