Page 41 of No Take Backs
“Because I didn’t want to be a cop anymore,” I reply, my voice calm but firm, making it clear that this isn’t up for debate. It’s the obvious answer, and I’m not about to delve into the personal reasons behind it—not to them. I can feel both sets of eyes on me, scrutinizing, evaluating, but I resist the urge to squirm under the weight of their gaze. They can try to read me all they want, but I’m not giving them anything more than that. My reasons are my own, and I’ll be damned if I let them drag me back into a world I worked so hard to leave behind.
That’s not even including Nia’s haunting words.
I don’t date cops.
“You led the special investigations unit for the Maine State Police for five years,” Chief Townsend states, his voice devoid of the earlier amusement, now all business. The way he says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s just another line on a resume, makes my skin crawl. The job almost destroyed me mentally, and he doesn’t care. He’s stripping away the humanity of those years, reducing it to a skill set he can use. “It makes sense that you’d be an asset as a fire investigator for Birch County,” he continues, each word measured, calculated. “Maybe not as a full fire marshal, but in a joint position with the police department and the fire department. We could use someone with your experience, someone who knows how to handle complex investigations and bring them to a close.”
“No,” I try again. “That’s a lot of paperwork and time that I don’t want to take away from the department.”
“I don’t think we’re giving you a choice in the matter,” Chief Hayes announces, his tone as cold and unyielding as a glacier. The words hang in the air, a stark contrast to the earlier casual conversation. “I’m telling you what you’re going to do for the department. This isn’t just about a string of arson cases. We’re dealing with an arsonist who’s also a murderer. I shouldn’t have to explain how serious this situation is.” His eyes bore into mine, and I can see the weight of responsibility in them, the kind that keeps him up at night. The kind that’s now being passed on to me whether I want it or not. There’s no room for argument here. He’s laying down the law, and it’s clear that my options are limited.
Either take the job they’re offering or find a new one completely.
I run a hand down my face, rubbing my cheek before covering my mouth to hide the grimace. He is right. They both are. Arson isn’t anything to screw around with. Not only that, but Birch County has a history with arson, and with a particularly nasty firefighter who’d gone off the deep end before I had anything to do with the department.
“Okay,” I relent against my better judgment.
“Fantastic.” Chief smiles like that is the end of it. Like he hasn’t just ripped the comfortable rug out from under my feet. “There are a few stipulations that came down from the fire marshal’s office.”
“You still have the licensing to be a police officer in Maine, so that’s not an issue,” Chief Townsend says. “And since you have experience with special investigations, I’m not worried about you making headway. I’ll have my department give you everything they have on the case, but you should be able to access the computer system by the end of the day. I’ll need you to come to the sheriff’s office with me before you head home for the day, so that you can get sworn in as a deputy with the sheriff, and so you can get issued a weapon.”
“As for your work,” Chief Hayes interjects. “You’re not going to be working shifts, at least not when you have an active investigation. We’ll call in one of the reserve men, who will be able to cover until you’re done. You’ll still have to maintain your physical and training, but you’ll work out of one of the offices here.”
I literally walked into the trap, and there is no one to blame but myself. “You’ve been planning this for a little while, haven’t you?” My question catches the chief off guard, if the momentary shock is anything to go by.
He recovers quickly, I’ll give him that. “Since I got the first report of suspicious circumstances from the marshal’s office. You used to work with Benton Mays, and he brought your name up as a potential solution to our problem.”
“Mays is a good man. Even if he did start out as a lawyer.” I have to agree. “I didn’t know he was working with the fire marshal’s office.”
“He’s not.” Chief Townsend sighs. “Benton still works for the state attorney’s office. But like you, he’s been put on loan to the various departments that might benefit from his expertise. That includes the Maine Criminal Justice Academy and the various departments.”
“So, essentially what we’re asking you to do,” Chief mutters and then clears his throat. “Except for the fact that we’re going to want you to exclusively work for the fire departments and police agencies in Birch County.”
“Okay, when is all of this supposed to start?” Suddenly exhausted, I want to go ahead and just get done, go home, and spend the rest of the day in bed with Nia.
If she doesn’t run when I tell her the latest shit that’s going to stand in the way of our relationship.
“Now.” Chief taps his desk with the pen in his hand.
By the time I finally make it to Nia’s place, I’m ready to crawl into bed and forget everything that happened or that I wanted to do.
Until I open the front door and she is standing in front of me completely naked.
Her long blond hair is wrapped around her shoulder and cascading down her chest, covering her nipples in a way that sends all the blood in my body straight to my dick.
“What took you so long?” She lifts one hand and her fingers wind in her hair, giving me an enticing peek at the light-pink treasure it hid only a second before.
“Work bullshit,” I answer, unable to keep my mouth closed or my head clear enough to answer her question.
The only thing I can think about is getting naked.
Fast.
Kicking off my shoes, I grab the hem of my shirt as I stand back up from pulling off my socks and tear it from my head. Unsnapping the button on my jeans is the last thing I do before all logical reason flees my mind.
Why?
Because Nia starts touching herself, and I can’t be held accountable for what comes next.