Saving Her Curves (Alpha Authority Book 2) Read online

  Saving Her Curves

  Alpha Authority Book 1

  Regina Wade

  Contents

  1. Landon

  2. Maddie

  3. Landon

  4. Maddie

  5. Landon

  6. Maddie

  7. Epilogue One

  8. Epilogue Two

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  Protecting Her Curves: Alpha Authority 1

  Also by Regina Wade

  About the Author

  Texas-Sized Playlist, Vol 2

  Chapter 1

  Landon

  You can start over, you can run free. You can find other fish in the sea. You can pretend it’s meant to be. But you can’t stand away from me. — Maroon 5, ‘Animals’

  “Bell! Get your ass in here. Now!”

  Every window in the station rattles in place as the chief slams his office door.

  Well, shit.

  I hazard a quick glance at the ancient clock on the wall above my desk. Nearly nine-thirty. I can’t remember the last time I made the boss this mad before noon.

  Weighing the possible repercussions of keeping my own personal Barney Fife waiting, I swing by the break room before reporting for my weekly ass chewing. If I’m going to get strung up this early in the morning, I need caffeine. It doesn’t take nearly long enough to fill my favorite Astros mug with the mud that passes for coffee around here. I add an unholy amount of sugar and briefly contemplate heading out for a bagel to go with it.

  “Landon!” The chief’s second bellow rings out through the station to find me.

  Maybe not.

  By the time I saunter into his office, the boss is glaring daggers at both me and my mug.

  Chief Texas Ranger Ralph Chambers is a living caricature. I’ve never seen him without his gun, badge, and hat. He showed up to last year’s pool party fundraiser in full uniform. The sight of him strutting along the length of a diving board with his boots on will remain embedded in my memory for all eternity.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” I offer Chambers what I’ve been told is my most charming smile. I’ve effectively used it to disarm more than one disgruntled citizen and chronic complainer in my time.

  Unfortunately, the ol’ grin and dimple routine doesn’t work nearly as well on the chief as it does on little old ladies. His round face, normally the shade of a Roma tomato on a good day, deepens to a full scarlet flush. Chambers picks a thick sheaf of papers up from among the files and assorted stacks on his cluttered desk.

  “Do you know what this is, Officer Bell?” he asks without preamble.

  “Plans for expanding the station?” I offer helpfully, settling into the chair in front of Chambers’ desk without waiting to be asked. Stretching my legs out, I cross them casually at the ankle and contemplate my mug. “A budget that finally includes money for an espresso machine? It’s about time. Really, with a little work, we could probably rehab the whole break room into a—”

  “Complaints, Landon.” Chief Chambers cuts me off with a shake of his papers. “Complaints, warnings, and issues. All of them aimed at a single Ranger in this station. I’ll give you one guess as to who that is.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but he continues right over me.

  “Officer Landon Bell,” he reads from the top of the stack, “utilized his patrol vehicle to crash into the suspect’s motorcycle, forcing them to come to stop.”

  The grin falls from my face at that.

  “It was a very gentle tap—” I start.

  Damn it, there were nearly a dozen warrants out on that jackass and I managed to bring him in single-handedly. Who gives a fuck if a drug dealer’s moped died in the process?

  Chief Chambers holds up a finger to stop me. He flips to a new page, scanning to the middle of another complaint before continuing.

  “Officer Bell,” he drags out my name like a curse, “hurled a nearby rookie officer into the lake—”

  “Ok, that’s just a blatant misrepresentation of the facts.” I interrupt. “James was in the line of fire, and he was making stupid decisions. The kid was going to get himself killed.”

  And let the bad guy get away in the process. I stop myself before finishing the thought.

  “I got him out of the way and kept him alive. It was a very shallow lake. More of a puddle, really.”

  “Landon.” Chambers drops the list of my transgressions and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “There are six pages here. Six. Pages.”

  “I’m a good cop, Chief.” I set my mug down on the edge of his desk with a sigh.

  I figure this knuckle-rapping should be wrapping up any minute now, and that works just fine for me. It’s a waste of time and I’m ready to get back out on the street, where I can do what I do best: be a Ranger. I may not handle rules very well, but at the end of the day, I take my job damn seriously. Bullshit aside, my record reflects the things that really matter, and the chief knows it.

  “You are,” Chambers nods. “The best I’ve got. But you’re a goddamn loose cannon. I’m suspending you, Landon.”

  Suspension?

  It takes a second for his words to penetrate. Then they do, and I’m on my feet, all traces of teasing laughter gone from my own voice at the seriousness of his tone.

  “What? You can’t—” I stop myself just before the warning look on Ralph Chambers’ face does. Even the most laid-back section chief in Dallas has his limits.

  “Sir,” I try again, but Chambers isn’t having any of it.

  “One week, Landon.” He shakes his head. “Use it to get your head out of your ass and remember that you’re not a one-man show.”

  He must see the flare of anger in my eyes because he tacks another warning on before I manage to open my mouth and stick my boot back in it.

  “You’re lucky I’m not making you ride a desk for the next six months.” He’s right, I know he’s right, and it only pisses me off more. “Take the rest of the day to wrap up all the paperwork you haven’t bothered to turn in for the last two weeks. Then I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you ‘till Monday. Dismissed.”

  Damn it.

  I close the door harder than necessary on my way out of his office because… just because.

  Nearly three hours of frustrated typing and several cups of terrible coffee later, I look up from my computer screen. The station is quiet at this hour. Only the occasional ringing of a phone and the drone of the outdated copier interrupt the constant clack of keyboards and the low hum of conversation.

  And here I thought the Geneva Convention outlawed cruel and unusual punishment years ago.

  A flurry of activity and noise at the station door an instant later catches my attention.

  “Excuse me?” It’s a woman’s voice— broken and hesitant, clearly upset.

  I’m on my feet in an instant, all thoughts of self-pity and my imminent torment wiped from my mind at the sight of her. The curvy blonde drags a hand through her long tumble of disheveled curls. It’s the mechanical, automatic motion of someone well-versed in fretting and putting the skill to good use. Her free hand is clutching a photograph in a way that’s setting off Missing Person alarms in my head.

  She’s all legs, hips, and tits— the kind of woman that has always dominated my fantasies, even back in high school. Though teenage me never thought to wrap my wet dreams in patterned scrubs before.

  I’m going to have to start.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” I offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m Officer Landon Bell.”

  “Hi, yes. I— I called.” She sniffs again, rubbing her knuckles across red-rimmed eyes.

  I watch her shake her head, seemi
ngly trying to clear it.

  “My name is Madeleine Brown. Maddie.” When she blinks up at me again, it’s like being slammed in the chest with a sledgehammer. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before. One a brilliant green, the other bright blue. It catches me off guard, nearly undoes all of my defenses. Even watery and bleary with recently-shed tears, Maddie’s eyes draw me in, make me want to pull her close and tell her everything is going to be ok.

  It’s an insane, irrational thought. You don’t come stumbling into a police station bawling your gorgeous eyes out if you’re having a good day.

  “I tried to call, and someone brushed me off,” Madeleine says, her voice more sure this time. She squares her shoulders. “My baby is missing and I need some help.”

  Temper flares hot in my chest at the thought of anyone in the station ignoring anyone calling in a missing child report and being mistreated.

  “I’m so sorry Miss Brown. Here, let me—”

  “He’s just out there all alone somewhere.” Maddie’s voice cracks as she holds the picture up higher for my inspection. “My poor Nacho has never been out further than the porch.”

  Nacho?

  The celebrity baby naming trends have clearly gone far beyond my comprehension.

  “I’m here to help now.” I place a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding Maddie over to the empty chair in front of my desk. A thrill shoots up my arm at the perfect way my fingers fit, snugged against the jut of her ass.

  “No, no,” she shakes her head at the seat I offer. “We need to get out there and look for him.” Her voice is tinted with a frustration that I understand all too well.

  “Miss Brown, —”

  “Maddie,” she says flatly.

  “Maddie,” I correct. “Let’s start by taking a look at that picture. How old is— Nacho, is it?”

  She nods once, handing me the dog-eared photograph she’s been worrying between her fingers since walking in.

  “Nearly two. He’s special needs, and really needs to be back home where I can keep an eye on him and give him his medication.”

  I look from the portrait in my hands back up to Madeleine’s worried face.

  This day keeps getting more and more bizarre.

  “This… is Nacho?” I point to the one-eyed orange tabby cat in a green sweater vest.

  Maddie’s gorgeous mismatched eyes narrow, daring me to say something about her ‘baby’.

  “Ignacio J. Chippen, yes.” She plucks the photo back out of my hand. “I bottle-raised him and his sister. They were nearly dead when I rescued them, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to either of them now.”

  There’s a steel edge to her voice, a kind of determination that sounds oddly familiar.

  “Alright, Maddie.” I grab my badge and notepad off the desk, holstering my weapon out of habit despite the fact that I’m still technically suspended. “Let’s go rescue Nacho.”

  Chapter 2

  Maddie

  Straddle the line in discord and rhyme. I’m on the hunt I’m after you. Mouth is alive with juices like wine. And I’m hungry like the wolf. — Duran Duran, ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’

  Hold on, Nacho. I’m on the way.

  Despite the placating looks and eye rolls I’ve gotten all day, I know something is wrong. Really wrong.

  Not just the fact that I’m sitting in a police cruiser, either, though I shudder to think what my folks would say if they knew. Well, I guess I’ll just leave this part out when they make their monthly check-in via Skype.

  Not like we do a whole lot of sharing as a general rule.

  “You ready?” Officer Bell climbs in the driver’s side and shuts the door. It has a sound of finality to it.

  “Yeah.” I nod without looking up, tracing the edges of Nacho’s picture with my fingertip.

  I took it on Christmas morning last year; the first time he’d let me put a sweater on him without a fuss. It was particularly cold for a Texas winter. A hard lump forms in the back of my throat now, wondering where he is and how confused he must be out all alone in the world. He’s never been on his own; I can’t imagine what he’s going through on the streets without me or the comforting menagerie of our little home pack.

  “Thanks for helping,” I do look over at Landon now.

  He’s pulling the cruiser out of the police station lot, guiding us onto the highway with ease. When he glances over at me and smiles, it’s hard not to melt into a puddle right here on the passenger seat.

  “Don’t worry, Maddie, we’ll find your cat.” He sounds so sure that it’s impossible not to believe him.

  Landon Bell looks like the kind of Texas Ranger they write action-adventure movies about. His hair is so black it’s almost blue. Spring sunshine trickles in through the windshield, highlighting the thick waves like a fractured spotlight. The dark shadow of stubble on his cheeks and jaw only serves to accentuate the chiseled lines of his face. He’s like an artists’ sketch, almost too beautiful.

  A wide smile and one deep dimple set into his right cheek are enough to soften the impact, keep him from being all sharp angles and cutting perfection. Even the intensity behind his grey-blue eyes is magnetic.

  “Do you remember the last time you saw him?” Landon’s question pierces my mental appraisal of his physical perfection.

  “At home this morning.” I try my best to tamp down the guilt. “I fed everyone this morning.”

  Landon raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question who I mean by ‘everyone’. It’s a good thing, too. It might take the rest of the trip to go through the whole gang.

  “When I came home from the clinic at lunch to give him his medication, he was gone.” I sigh forlornly.

  “You work at a hospital?” Landon eyes my brightly patterned scrubs from the drivers’ seat.

  “The emergency animal clinic over on First Street.” I give the name tag hanging around my neck a tap.

  His phone buzzes loudly from its spot in the cupholder just as the cruiser comes to an idle at a red light, interrupting his impromptu interrogation. I’m grateful for the momentary distraction, worried about launching into a nervous soliloquy about wounded animals. Or worse, a tearful recollection of the day Nacho and Salsa were brought in. Anything to keep myself from staring, watching the play of muscles beneath Landon’s dark uniform shirt as he navigates the insanity of Dallas traffic with practiced ease.

  “Hey man, is everything ok? I’m on duty.” Landon answers the call on the second ring, sending it straight to the car’s Bluetooth system.

  “No worries.” A second deep voice fills the cruiser around us. “Just regular old best man stuff. You’ll never believe who dad is bringing to the wedding. Call me back later.”

  The look on Landon’s face reminds me of the time I brought a baby anteater home. We were living in Paraguay at the time, and it took my parents nearly two weeks to get the smell out of the rugs.

  “I can’t wait.” The man on the other end is still laughing as Landon disconnects the call.

  He sighs loudly, shaking his head.

  “My little brother,” he explains. “He’s getting married this summer. Who would’ve thought one little wedding would be such a huge headache. You know how families are.”

  There’s obvious affection in Landon’s voice, even as he shakes his head dramatically. It makes me a little nostalgic for something I’ve never had. Sad for the kinds of big family get-togethers and boisterous family in-fighting that all of my friends complain so loudly about. Holiday dinners at my house— wherever they happened to land on a given year— were always quiet, uneventful affairs.

  “Not really,” I laugh a little awkwardly. “I’m an only child. My parents teach English, so I kind of grew up all over. Mexico, South America.” I wave my hand vaguely. “Lived in Brazil for a little while, but I was too young to remember much of that.”

  Landon takes a minute to digest this information, letting the GPS guide us back to the pale blue craftsman bungalow on the edge of town
I’ve been renting for the last year.

  “Still,” he finally says, punctuating it with another one of those killer smiles in my direction.

  “Everyone can relate to the insanity that is a wedding. This is the first time I’ve been roped into being in one. Usually, I just get to nap through the ceremony and then hit the open bar.”

  I don’t bother to suppress the shudder that runs through me at the word ‘wedding’. Just the thought is a terrifying prospect.

  “Oh yeah.” It’s my turn to make a sour face. “My best friend Ginger bakes wedding cakes for a living in Houston. Like, on purpose.” I do my best to make the very idea sound like the nightmare it is.

  Landon’s laugh is rich and sexy as dark chocolate. It reverberates through the confined space of the car, rocketing up my spine in the most delicious way.

  I’m not one for weddings, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind a honeymoon with a big, strong, sexy cop.

  Great. My baby is out all alone in the world and here I am fantasizing about losing my virginity to someone I met an hour ago. Go ahead and give me my animal-mother of the year award now, I’d like to have it engraved, please and thank you.

  “This your place, Maddie?” The way Landon says my name sends another shiver through me. This one ends right between my thighs.

  I guide him to my driveway, frowning when I realize the world’s nosiest neighbor is already waiting on my lawn. Of all the things I don’t need today, Melvin Miller is the one I need the least.

  “Someone you know?” Landon must’ve caught the look on my face because he has his badge out and his door open before I can so much as get my seatbelt off.

  “Melvin lives next door,” I shrug one shoulder apathetically. “Nice enough guy, but once he starts talking it’s impossible to get him to shut up. But—” I give my PI for the day a hopeful look as I open my own door, “maybe he’s seen Nacho?”