Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
"Shit. Don't do that. I'll be—"
I hang up on him, smiling. Sometimes, being a dispatcher is fun. They stress us out. We terrorize them. It's a symbiotic relationship built on mutual respect, understanding, and ball-busting.
And just because I never would have dated a cop before Easton doesn't mean I don't respect them. I do. I just…do not understand their life choices sometimes. A lot of the time. I like coffee. It doesn't mean I accept every time someone offers it to me. But for some of these guys, if sex is on the menu, they're gorging themselves every single time. I don't get it.
Ashton isn't one of them. He's a genuinely good guy like Easton, I think. But some of the other guys? I don't get it.
Okay…maybe I get it a little more today than I did yesterday. After being with Easton, I could definitely gorge myself on that every day. Being with him was incredible. But a different penis every day? Yuck.
Sex without emotion is just release. It doesn't mean anything. Maybe that's what I don't understand. Shouldn't it mean something? Maybe it doesn't have to mean marriage and babies and happily-ever-after, but intimacy is…well, intimate. If the people are interchangeable, the emotion is missing. Where are the fireworks? Where's the intensity?
I don't know. Maybe it's just not meant for me to understand. All I know for sure is that sex with Easton meant something. When he touches me, my entire body ignites. I want that feeling. I want the way my heart races and my soul lights up. I want the sparks and the butterflies. I want it all.
"Because you're in love with him," I whisper, admitting it out loud for the first time. "I'm in love with Easton."
My heart flutters and races. I smile like a crazy person. I'm in love with Easton. Good grief. I don't think I even fell for him. I just crashed into it like a dang meteor, leaving a crater behind me. But it feels right. No, it feels better than that.
This is butterflies. This is sparks. This is…good. Really freaking good.
"Unit 100 to dispatch."
I bump my coffee cup, nearly knocking it over as I hit the button on the mic stand. "Go ahead," I squeak, grabbing for the cup before it spills all over the place.
"Show us out at 1197 Robinson Rd attempting to make contact," Dillon instructs.
"10-4." I quickly type in the address. "Do I need to set the channel?"
"Negative, not yet."
I acknowledge his transmission before a 911-line lights up. It takes two seconds for me to turn to answer it, but they've already hung up by then. I hit the button to redial, checking the ping, but it's still in phase 1. Naturally.
Whoever it was sends me straight to voicemail.
I disconnect and dial again.
"Dispatch, give us the channel," Dillon growls.
I immediately set off the tone, reserving the radio channel for their traffic only. My heart races, adrenaline spiking through me.
"White male, blue eyes, dark hair, wearing jeans, black t-shirt, and white tennis shoes stepped outside, saw us, and then bolted back inside," Dillon says. "Believe he's our suspect."
I disconnect my 911 line as it goes to voicemail again and then type in the description he gave me in the call notes, my heart in a vise.
"I'm sending a photo to your phone from my bodycam. Can you confirm if he's our suspect?" Easton asks, his voice calm and steady.
"10-4." I grab my cell with shaking hands, waiting for the photo to come through.
I'm still waiting when 911 rings again.
I snatch it up, refusing to miss it this time. "911, where is your emergency?"
No one says anything.
"Hello? 911?"
My cell phone dings. I glance down at the photo and my vision goes blurry. It's the same man, only he's a lot younger than I thought he was this morning. He's still just a kid.
"Dispatch to Unit 232," I say, my voice shaking. "Picture received. That's him."
"10-4. Thank you."
"911, hello?" I say again, trying to get my caller to answer me. "Can you hear me."
"I…I can hear you," a man whispers so softly I can barely hear him.
"Do you have an emergency, sir?"
"I…I need help."
"What's going on?" I ask, instantly alert. He doesn't sound right. Nervous. I flick my gaze at the screen, and my blood runs cold. It's the same address where Easton and Dillon are right now.
Crap. I think this is their guy.
"Um, I-I don't know. The cops are at my door. I'm scared."
"Okay," I say calmly. "Have you spoken with them?"
"No. I'm scared. I don't want to get in trouble."
"Hey, it's okay," I tell him, my voice soft. "It's always a little overwhelming to have to talk to the police. I work with them, and it still makes me nervous. It's the way they look at you, right?"
"Yeah, I guess so," he whispers.