Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (2 page)

I was so tempted to roll my eyes, but I adored Kevin. And I loved Steve. And they loved each other. Hell, Steve sounded just like my pussy-whipped brother Mitch. He’d fallen in love with his fiancée Kristy when we were all on a bizarro drug bust that involved Bigfoot. Kristy had nothing to do with the crimes. She was with a crew of loonies searching for Bigfoot, a project that was unknowingly the cover for a nasty drug cartel. At first I didn’t like her, but she proved herself in the end. Of course, it also helped that she didn’t really believe in Bigfoot.

“So what’s with the trashy novel?” I asked as he handed it over.

“Shoshanna wrote it. I would suggest you read it so you get a feel for her. Inside, I’ve put a list of potential suspects. You can question them this week before you leave for Wisconsin.”

I looked the list over. Several professors at the U where this Shoshanna gal worked seemed to have rather large issues with either her success as an author or her subject matter. And there was some old woman named Evangeline O’Hara, who had been blackmailing Shoshanna for stories for what looked like twenty years.

“Holy shit,” I muttered. “Here’s your threat. This O’Hara woman has a motive like I’ve never seen.”

“I’d tend to agree if she wasn’t still in jail,” Steve said. “Her calls and mail are monitored.”

“I’ll interview her.”

“Absolutely and the professors at the U. Sue’s one of the foremost profs of Women’s Studies and these jack-offs are trying to get her tenure removed.”

“Jealousy?”

“Possibly. More likely closed-minded bigotry toward her subject matter.”

“Women’s Studies?” I asked, surprised. “What are they? Dinosaurs?”

“Not what she teaches, what she writes,” he corrected my mis-assumption.

“What in the hell does she write? Porno?” I laughed.

“Some might refer to it as porno, but it’s technically classified as erotic romance,” Steve said logically.

Again I waited for the punch line. Again it didn’t come.

“So, um . . . is there anything in the university’s by-laws that make her, um . . . sex books negate her tenure?” I asked. I’d almost said fuck books. Thank you, God, that that one hadn’t slipped out.

“It’s somewhat vague, but Shoshanna’s lawyers are convinced she’d win and most of the board is backing her,” he said. “But the controversy is unpleasant and drawing unwanted attention to the university. The longer it goes on, the more precarious her position is.”

“I don’t get it. She would win in court. What’s the biggie?”

“The biggie”—Steve smiled at my choice of word—“is that Shoshanna loves the university and would leave before she caused too much trouble and bad press. It would be a sad day for her, the students, and academia if that were to happen.”

“Why would someone hurt her then? Wouldn’t it be smarter to just draw the situation out till she leaves of her own accord?”

“Yes and no,” Steve said. “She’s up for several prestigious awards, and two of the suspects in particular are up for the same award. I don’t really get it, but apparently in the world of academia the more papers with stars on them, the more important you seem to be in that strange subculture.”

“You think someone would kill or hurt her for that?” I asked, memorizing the names for later.

“Doubtful, but I’ve seen stranger.”

Steve handed me a card.

“Here’s Shoshanna’s address. You’re expected at dinner tomorrow night. Kevin and I will be there, as well as your brother, Kristy, Rena, and Jack.”

That sounded like hell to me. To be stuck in a room with a porno writer and three sickeningly in-love couples would be enough to make me tear my own head off. My brother and his fiancée, Kristy, were bad enough, but their best friends Rena and Jack were downright nauseating.

“I don’t think I can make that,” I hedged, racking my brain for a good excuse.

“You have plans? Cancel them. This is work related, and you need to have a good time occasionally.”

“I have a date,” I blurted out, my mouth way ahead of my brain.

“Bring him,” Steve said, waiting for me to cop to lying.

“Well, um . . . David is a little weird and I’d, you know . . . rather not subject him to my brother before I know if he really, um . . . you know.”

“What does this David do?” he asked.

“I think he’s a . . . banker.”

“I see,” Steve said, seeing entirely too much.

“Fine,” I huffed, pissed at myself for lying and pissed at Steve for making me. “I’ll come. Is Kevin cooking?”

“You bet.” He smiled his first real smile of the meeting. “Shoshanna can’t boil water and Kevin still cooks for her a couple of nights a week.”

“Oh shit,” I muttered. “What about the cartel that wants my ass?”

“Taken care of. Sent two agents to Mexico and ended it.”

Fuck. I hated that. I hated that two people had to risk their lives to cover my fuck-up. Maybe Steve was right. I needed to get my head on straight.

“Are they okay?” I asked.

“Yep. Got back today. Hell of a ride. Been down there three months.”

Three months?
“Can I thank them?”

“Nope. These guys are deep cover. They don’t exist in any database. Not going to screw with that. Just know it’s taken care of.”

“Right,” I said, more furious than ever with myself. My vendetta against drug dealers had resulted in two of Steve’s hard-core guys having to go to Mexico to clean up my mess. Not gonna happen again. Ever.

“It’s done, Candy,” Steve said, recognizing my frustration. “They’re back and fine, but it could have gone either way. I wasn’t planning on this, but shit happens. Remember that next time you want to go Rambo on a job.”

“You have my word,” I promised.

“Good. Now get out of my office. I have work to do. Oh, and by the way,” he smirked, “blonde’s not your color. Stick with your natural brunette. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, sir.” I gave him a mock salute and left. His chuckle followed me down the hall as I yanked the itchy blonde wig off my head and tossed it in the trash. I’d been living on luck and a prayer . . . and that stopped today.

T
he private law enforcement gym was practically empty. It smelled a little musty and the equipment had seen better days, but I loved the place. I’d earned my black belt in karate in this very gym and felt a real sense of peace here that I sometimes had a hard time finding in my daily life. Steve’s implication that I had no life rankled—possibly because it might be true. I just wasn’t sure I was brave enough or cared enough to actually do anything about it.

Scanning the free weights, I settled on the lighter side. My healing knife wound kept me from a full workout, but I was getting stronger every day. My physical therapist was blown away by my progress. I was just pissed I wasn’t back to full form yet. I dropped my gym bag on the floor and grabbed some five-pounders.

“What are you? A pussy?” an unfortunately familiar voice demanded.

Jesus Christ, who in the hell did I fuck over in a former life to keep running into these evil lesbian sisters?

“Nope, I had a little mishap at work and have to take it easy. What’s your excuse?” I asked, eyeing her appalling choice of workout wear. Both Mrs. C and her sister, Edith, were somewhere in their late sixties and tended to favor sequins. Even at the gym.

Edith, clad in a shiny gold exercise top, cackled and punched her sister in the arm. “Yeah, what’s your excuse, you old dyke?”

Mrs. C grunted and walloped her sister back. I idly wondered if they’d get into an all-out brawl. At least they weren’t boring . . .

“Heard you got stabbed in the gut,” Mrs. C said while she simultaneously smacked her sister in the back of the head. Edith came right back and knocked her sister’s feet out from underneath her.

How in the fuck did they know that?
“Well, that seems to be the rumor,” I muttered, wondering how long I could take dealing with them before I did damage. Although, that would be an unwise choice on my part considering they had been in Vietnam, Special Forces . . . four tours. I was fairly sure only a few high-placed government officials knew of their existence.

“Yep,” Edith crowed as she helped her sister back to her feet. “But rumor also has it that you put a dick-weed drug dealer six feet under.”

“How in the hell do you guys hear all this stuff?” I asked. The info was classified and hadn’t hit the media in any way, shape, or form. “You two run a knitting store, for God’s sake.”

The just stood there and grinned. A smile pulled at my lips because they looked so ridiculous, and they either had no clue or didn’t care. I’d met them on the same drug bust where my brother Mitch had met his fiancée Kristy. They’d been part of the certifiably insane group of nut jobs searching for Bigfoot. Turned out they were far more than poorly dressed lesbian Sasquatch enthusiasts . . . they’d helped save the day by booby-trapping the trees with knitted snap traps.

“How is it that you lovely ladies are allowed to work out here?” I asked as I switched to twenty-pound weights. I was no pussy. I was a dumbass.

“Give me those goddamned things,” Edith snapped, yanking the weights from my hands. “You wanna reopen that wound?”

“No,” I huffed, annoyed that my pride had gotten the better of me.

“Anyhoo, we work out here because we’re doing some government contract work and the generous city of Minneapolis has no choice but to let us hone our fine machines in their gym,” Mrs. C said, sliding slowly into the splits. Edith, not one to be outdone . . . joined her.

Had I entered an alternate universe?
I was going to be a bodyguard for a smut writer and these two sparkling, limber dingbats were picking off bad guys for the government when they weren’t manning a knitting store?

As I stared at them on the floor, I idly wondered if I could do the splits. Holy hell, I really did need a life.

“So,” Edith grunted, “heard you got quite the cushy assignment.”

“I would truly love to know where you get your info.”

“Not gonna happen.” She gave me a wink.

“Figures,” I muttered. I walked over to the treadmill and prayed our conversation was over.

“You are one lucky chickee,” Mrs. C said, rolling out of the splits. “Edith here would give her left boob, it’s the bigger one, to go to the SCREW-Con.”

“I’m sorry, what the hell did you just say?” I asked, sure I’d heard her incorrectly.

“I said Edith’s left boob is bigger than her . . .”

“Not that part,” I snapped. “The other part.”

“The SCREW-Con.” She cackled at the look of horror on my face. “Society of Contemporary Romance Erotic Writers. Screw. You get it?”

“Yeah, I got it. Now quit fucking with me.” I blew out an exasperated sigh and waited for the punch line . . . but it never came.

“Sweet baby Jesus in assless chaps, you really didn’t know,” Edith yelled, enjoying my discomfort. I certainly wasn’t a prude, but I had no desire to go to a convention called SCREW.

“Clearly I didn’t.” I put my earbuds in, cranked up the volume on my iPod, and turned on the treadmill. This conversation was done. If there was anything else to know, I didn’t want to know it. Despite the fact that Steve was my boss, I was going to rip him a new one for this. Being taken unaware by two sequin-wearing lesbians with uneven boobs was not on my schedule today . . . and apparently being ignored wasn’t on theirs.

“You’ll be bodyguarding one of the hottest pieces of ass alive,” Mrs. C informed me while removing my earbuds.

“Sweet baby Moses in leather and a ball gag, I pray daily for Shoshanna LeHump to switch teams and come over to the dyke side,” Edith shouted in full agreement as to the sexual magnetism of the infamous LeHump.

Stunned to silence and having no comeback for that one, I stared at them while debating my next move. Taking them down might set me back medically, and running meant I really was a pussy. So I tried the next best thing.

“You guys wanna go shoot some stuff? I’m about to implode and I need to find something inanimate to kill.”

“Now you’re talking, sister,” Edith said, yanking me off the treadmill and out of the gym.

The gun range was empty. After signing in, the old gals announced that the targets were insulting, but they had just what we needed to spice it up. They set up targets that made Mel, the owner, cringe and threaten to ban us for life. Edith had a couple of words in private with Mel, and to my great surprise, he turned a blind eye. Those crazy women set up an old computer, two toasters, a vacuum, and a mini-fridge that they just so happened to have in the back of their car. They drew tiny bull’s eyes on the appliances and started making wagers. Color me impressed. Maybe these gals weren’t so bad.

“Youth before beauty,” Mrs. C grunted, getting into her zone.

Laughing, I put on my ear protectors and goggles. Holding my Glock in my hand made me go to my calm happy place. I aimed and I fired—over and over and over.

“What the fuck?” Mrs. C gasped. “Guns down.”

We holstered. She walked over to the appliances and whistled.

“What?” Edith shouted, still wearing her hearing protection.

“Clean bull’s eye on every one.”

“Clean a bull’s what?” Edith yelled.

“Take your goddamned head gear off and get a look at this shit,” Mrs. C said, squatting down to get a better view.

Both women eyed my handiwork silently, crossed back over to me and stared.

“Do it again,” Mrs. C demanded. “Do it right now.”

“No prob.” I grinned and reloaded. And I did it again—and one more time for good measure.

“Jesus Christ in a corset, you should have sniped with us in Nam,” Mrs. C whispered reverently.

“Wasn’t born yet,” I said, enjoying myself for the first time in a while.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I think I came in my shorts,” Edith added, saluting me.

“Gross,” I groaned, backing away.

“Don’t worry yourself,” she cackled. “You’re too young, too skinny, and too straight. It’s your shooting that gave me a woody.”

“Guys, enough. I’m a good shot. I’m supposed to be. I’m an undercover DEA agent, for God’s sake.” I rolled my eyes and debated whether they needed an anatomy lesson. Although who knew? Maybe they had dicks . . .

“She’s the best I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. C muttered.

“Not better than Mag the Hag,” Edith insisted.

Both women dropped to their knees, genuflected, and quietly murmured Mag the Hag repeatedly.

Fuck, just when I was beginning to think they were kind of normal.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Edith asked her sister, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Could be,” Mrs. C said, rising to her feet.

“Um, guys, you’re kind of freakin’ me out here.” Maybe it was time to go. Mrs. C’s iron grip on my arm made escape impossible.

“She died in my arms. She was the best sharpshooter that ever lived.” Edith’s eyes welled with tears, making me notice her glittery yellow eye shadow.
How had I missed that?

“I’m sorry, I know how it is to lose someone you love.”

“I didn’t love her.” Edith laughed. “I hated her fucking guts, but I admired the hell out of her and would have done her if she was a dyke.”

“Okay, then—gotta go,” I told them, removing my goggles and peeling Mrs. C’s claw off my arm.

“Mag the Hag, are you in there?” Mrs. C screeched into my ear, definitely damaging my hearing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re insane and a menace to society. Not to mention, your fashion sense is vomitus,” I shouted, and put my hand to my ear to check for blood.

“It’s her,” Edith said, dropping to her knees in front of me.

“Who’s her?” I asked, glancing around in alarm.

“You. You’re Mag the Hag reincarnated,” Mrs. C rejoiced, trapping me in a bear hug. “God, I’ve missed you, you stinky bitch.”

“I’m not Mag the Hag,” I said, but because I was wedged in Mrs. C’s armpit, it came out a little muffled.

“Of course you are.” Edith tsked and bent to kiss my feet.

“This is the most glorious and fucked-up thing to happen in at least three weeks!” Mrs. C claimed, hugging me tighter.

“I really think you ladies need some help,” I squeaked, trying to get some air into my squashed lungs.

“I’m gonna call Homer in DC. This will blow his mind,” Edith said, and giggled after she’d finished adoring my feet. “He’ll offer you a job so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I gasped, miraculously breaking away from Mrs. C. “I have a job already and I’m not Madge or whoever you whack-jobs think I am. I’m Candy and you’re bat shit crazy.”

“Exactly what Mag the Hag would have said,” Edith shot back, secure in her debatable sanity that I was their reincarnated buddy.

“Okay then, I’ll just be going.” I grabbed my gun and quickly stowed it away. “I’ll see you guys when hell freezes over and I hope you have an interesting rest of your lives.” I made a run for the door.

“Hell froze over last Tuesday,” Mrs. C shouted joyously as I hustled away. “We’ll see you this weekend. We have a lot of catching up to do. You’ve been dead for years!”

“Not gonna happen,” I muttered as I slammed the door behind me, only to be followed by their laughter as I hightailed it out of the building.