Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (3 page)

Devlin glanced over her shoulder coyly, then looked at Jamie and grinned.

"Knock it off, Natasha," Hailey Wyatt said.

Devlin's eyes widened. "What do you mean? I'm not doing anything."

Jamie stood. "Don't bother, Hailey. I'm leaving."

Tim touched Devlin's shoulder again. She waved him off.

Tim's expression stiffened in anger. "I need to talk to you."

"God."Devlin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Not now, Tim."

He grabbed her arm. "Now."

Devlin turned in her chair, set her wine down, and stood slowly. "I said no, Tim."

He pulled her toward him. He spoke softly, frowning.

Devlin stared over his shoulder.

Tim jerked her arm to get her attention.

When she turned to him, her face was set in fury. "Get the hell away from me."

He grabbed her shoulders with both hands.

Suddenly everyone was watching them. Jamie was embarrassed—for them, for herself.

"Stay the hell away from me," Devlin said and shoved Tim with both hands.

Hailey stood.

Jamie froze.

One of the assistant district attorneys, Chip Washington, stepped in and grabbed Tim's arm. "Is everything okay here?"

"It will be if he leaves me alone right now," Devlin said.

Jamie watched the pain in Tim's face, the cruel smirk on Devlin's.

"Don't do this," Tim whispered.

"God, stop with the drama already," Devlin said, her voice commanding the attention of the room.

Tim reached for her.

Natasha winced. There was a momentary flash of fear. Then she regained herself. "Stay the fuck away from me."

Jamie studied Devlin's face. Why the fear? Was she acting? Tim had never been an angry person.

Tim didn't let go. Instead, he yanked her closer and spoke through gritted teeth. "You'll be sorry, Natasha."

Jamie shuddered at the emotion between them. Unable to stand another moment, she turned away. She took two steps and felt her phone buzz on her hip.

She didn't recognize the number. "Vail."

"Inspector Vail, this is Officer Hamilton. You're needed on a scene."

Christ. She pulled her notepad from her jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Where are you?"

"Eight fifty Bryant, ma'am."

"The station? You got a suspect?"

"No. A scene, ma'am. Main building in the stairwell, bottom level."

Jamie stiffened. "You've got a rape scene at the Hall?"

"Yes, ma'am. We've got medical response on the way for her, but they told me to call you."

Medical response. "How bad is she?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. "Real bad, ma'am."

"I'm on my way." She started to hang up, then added, "You have an ID on her?"

"She's with the department."

Jamie closed her eyes.

"The name's Osbourne, ma'am. Emily Osbourne."

Jamie glanced back at Washington between Tim and Devlin. Jamie turned for the door, didn't look back. She was on her way to another rape scene.

Another police officer raped.

Chapter 3

They stood at the closed office door. He pressed her against the hard surface as his tongue explored her mouth. His huge hands gripped her breasts, then trailed downward, cupping between her legs. She pulled back for a quick breath. Her insides fluttered with the feel of him. She had a buzz, heightened by alcohol and the fight.

She gripped the knob and pushed the door open. With his tie in her fist, they stumbled into her office. He came up behind her, pressed his erection against her. With a sweeping motion, she cleared the papers off her desk and turned toward him, propping herself on the edge. Spreading her legs, she pulled him between them. Crossed her feet on either side of his buttocks and gripped him between tight thighs.

"You're so hot," he whispered, kissing her neck.

She let her head fall back, hair cascading down her back. She knew what this looked like. She'd practiced in a mirror. It was good. Irresistible. And he was no different than the others.

His mouth trailed toward the mound of her breasts. She pulled his head into her, pressed his nose to her flesh. His fingers fumbled on her buttons and she leaned back, drew her feet onto the desk. One at a time, she let her stilettos drop to the floor. His expression grew fierce as her jacket came off. She unhooked her bra, let it fall off her shoulders.

He cupped her breasts, rubbed her nipples. She arched her back, set her feet on his shoulders, tilted her hips toward him. He unzipped her pants. His breath rasped in the silent room. She moaned, watching the reaction it caused. His hands fumbled. His mouth dropped open. He could hardly contain himself.

He yanked at his tie, yoking himself. She laughed and sat up to help him. She moved her fingers slowly, drawing out each motion until he was clawing at his buttons. He tugged the shirt from his pants. A button popped off and struck the hardwood desk. He grunted.

She laughed. He swooped down and grabbed her mouth in his, swallowing the snicker that rose in her throat. She closed her eyes. Her pants slipped off her legs. Her underwear tugged away from her hips. Warm fingers fondled her. She arched, moaned. She gasped as he entered. Then, his motions grew frantic. She clung to the desk as he gripped her thighs.

She lolled her head up, watched the frenzy. A minute passed. Then several. His expression tightened into a grimace. His fingers dug into her buttocks. He stopped, drove again, and she felt the pulsating inside her.

He smiled, proud as he slumped over her.

She ran her hands through his thick hair like she might a child, held him against her.

"Oh God, baby," he whispered.

She smiled. She waited until the pulsing had stopped and pressed him up gently. "You should go."

He lifted his head and kissed her lips. "When can I see you again?"

She held the smile, softened her brow. "Soon, sweetie. Call me tomorrow."

He kissed her lips. She pursed them, let him search for the passion he'd felt. He thought it was still there. It was gone for her. He pulled himself out, grabbed a fistful of tissues, and wiped himself before handing her the box.

She glanced at the red in his cheeks. He looked like an overgrown schoolboy. But didn't they all?

She slipped back into her pants, found her bra, pulled the jacket back over her shoulders. Turned her back to button it.

She saw his button on the floor and pointed to it. "Don't forget that."

He picked it up and cupped it in his palm. "Maybe I'll leave it here as a souvenir." He set it on the edge of the desk and kissed her again. Then, after taking his coat off the chair, he left.

He turned back once at the door and winked.

She smiled, thinking he was an idiot. They were all idiots.

When the department door clicked shut, she scooped the button up and tossed it toward the secretary's trash can. Missed. Next time, my ass, she thought.

Back at her desk, she ran her hands through her hair and pulled her compact out of her purse. The brown eyes in the reflection were wide, flat of emotion. She smiled, watched them light up. Control, she thought.

She clicked the mirror closed and dropped it in her purse. She glanced at the mess. To hell with it.

She heard a creak behind her. She spun around, startled.

His frame filled the doorway. His eyes narrowed.

Her pulse raced. A rush of heat filled her belly. Seeing him created a bigger buzz than the last ten minutes. She thought of the other man inside her. Secretly reveled at the thought of another lay. Line them up like toy soldiers. She stepped forward. "Hello."

He crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. Locked it.

She reached out for him, but he thrust her hand away.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

She frowned, tossed her hair. "What's wrong?"

He didn't speak. His jaw set tight, he reached for her arm.

She pulled herself away. "You should leave," she said, moving to pass him.

He clamped his hand into her hair, wrenched her head back.

Tears flooded her eyes. A wave of panic swelled up around her. She fought it back. "Let me go."

"What the hell game are you playing?"

"Let go now."

He lifted her by her hair. She felt his ragged breath, so much more powerful than the one before. It made her excited. She tried to touch his face.

He shoved her away.

She tumbled to the ground, slammed her face on the edge of the desk. She cried out.

She sat up, felt the fury rise inside her. "You pathetic moron. Did you really think that you'd be enough? That I'd be satisfied by you?"

He bared his teeth, sank them into his lip.

She smiled and reveled in the pathetic expression on his face. "We're through."

"You c-c-can't."

Power streamed through her. She stood, smiling. Touched her lip, licked the warm blood. Shoulders back, she let the power buzz through her. She moved past him, reached for her purse. She turned back, raised an eyebrow. "I just d-d-did."

"You whore!" He spit the words, launched himself at her.

She backed away.

He was too fast.

He knocked her down. She tried to roll over, but he straddled her. Using his hips and thighs, he pressed her to the floor.

She felt fear.

She'd never seen him angry, not even a little. He raised his hand to strike her. Reaching out, she punched him in the groin.

He fell backwards, cupping them. "You bitch!"

She used the break to push him off. Scrambled to her feet. She reached for the door, but he caught her foot. On his feet, he spun her to face him. Anger burned in his cheeks.

She struggled to speak, to try to talk him down. His fingers dug into her shoulders as she shook her head.
No.
His fury grew as he launched her across the room. She caught her foot, tumbled sideways. The desk was coming up at her. She reached to brace herself. Too late. Something like a giant wave crashed down on her head and underneath, there was only the absence of light.

Chapter 4

San Francisco General Hospital was a series of square brick boxes, stacked and connected like a child's LEGO creation but without the color and creativity. The building lacked symmetry. Or interesting architecture. What it screamed was functionality and Jamie supposed that made sense. General was not a particularly happy place.

Though some mothers did give birth at General Hospital, the building had only seven labor and delivery rooms. On the other hand, as the city's only level one trauma center, General Hospital treated more than one and a half million people each year and almost five thousand trauma patients. The city's worst injuries came here. Maybe the architect thought an attractive structure would be hypocritical for the building's grim reality.