Spencer : I need
"You want to come in for a drink?"
I could think of a lot of reasons why that was a terrible idea, but my libido convinced me otherwise.
Ashley looked exhausted, but even in her tired, dust-covered state, she was still incredibly hot. Plus, I had to explain to Kyla Davies why she didn't have a car anymore. Yeah, that's going to go down well!
"One drink, then I really have to go," I sighed in mock fatigue.
Ashley giggled and opened the front door, revealing a party going on inside.
We carefully made our way in through crowds of people. Even though I'd seen their house on photographs before, I was still surprised at how big it was. Ashley grabbed my hand and led me to their kitchen. The swinging doors closed behind us, drowning out the loud music. I winced at the sight of Kyla and her boyfriend on the kitchen island, making out.
Ashley cleared her throat and waited for Kyla to notice her. Relief was written all over the sister's face, but then she saw me…
"Ashley, what the fuck is she doing here?" Kyla had the same angry face on as the other day when she nearly choked me against my dad's pickup. She pulled out of her boyfriend's arms and faced the two of us.
"Oh, she?" Ashley asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "She, picked me up when I was about to get busted." Ashley pointed to me. "And she, saved my ass when Carmen blew up her car!"
Wow. Ashley was really fuming. But why was she lying to her sister? She saved my ass, not the other way around. I guess correcting her now wouldn't be the best idea.
Kyla stared me up and down, the same way she did before she agreed that I could race her. Only this time, I felt even more self-conscious. I was dirty, my jeans were torn, and I had blood dripping down my face. Ashley had tried to wipe it off on our way to their house, but my eyebrow just kept bleeding.
"Thank you, Spencer, for bringing her home safely," Kyla finally said. She stepped towards Ashley and gave her a quick hug. "I'm glad you're okay. And I'm sorry. But you know the rules, we meet back up here. Cool down time is 10 hours. I'm sorry you had a run-in with Carmen."
Ashley accepted the hug, and apologies, but was still irate. "Carmen blew up Spencer's car. So don't hold it against her."
Ashley pulled away, and then tugged on my arm. "Come on, let's go get you cleaned up."
We were about to leave the kitchen, but of course, Madison had to ruin it. She stormed through the door, towards me, and in a swift move pinned me against a fridge. Only this time, I wasn't slapped, and Kyla stopped her to protect me. "Let her go, Mads. She's good."
Madison gave a sardonic laugh. "Good? Good, Kyla? She was out all night, with Ashley! Look at them!" She turned her head to face Ashley, but kept me pinned. "Are you hurt, Ash? Do you need me to have a look at you?" I snorted and Madison's head spun back to face me. "You think this is funny?" she yelled into my face.
"Madison! That is enough! Let her go, now!" Kyla stepped in. Finally! What took you so long? Even Kyla's boyfriend was now more alert to what was going on. He looked ready to grab Madison at any time. "Aiden, take her outside, please," Kyla asked him. I watched as the jock led Madison out.
It was just the three of us left.
"I'm sorry, Spencer. Grab yourself a drink and make yourself at home. Ash will help you get cleaned up." Wait, what? Kyla had totally done a 180 on me! "Ash, I've got a first aid kit in my bathroom."
"So… your sister's quite the badass, huh?" I tried to keep the conversation light when Ashley seemed to grow more quiet as we entered her immaculate room. I glanced around, noticing books stacked onto a small desk, and papers strewn across. Her bed was neatly made, and no clothes covered her floor – unlike mine, where I deemed it easier to find anything I needed.
Ashley sat me down on the edge of her bed, and opened up the first aid kit.
"She just cares. She works hard for everybody to be happy." She lifted a wet cloth to my face and gently started wiping at the dry blood.
My heart started skipping beats, and my breathing became shallow. Having Ashley Davies this close to me had only happened in my dreams before. And I was convinced it was going to stay there. But here she was, tending to my injuries so gently. It didn't even hurt – I never even knew that I got hurt until Ashley pointed it out. Her touch sent shivers down my spine. I watched her as she carefully wiped around my eye. She concentrated hard not to hurt me. She was biting down on her lower lip, and her eyes were a dark shade of brown. Strands of her red fringe would occasionally cover her eyes, and eventually, before she could wipe at them, I reached up and tucked it behind her ear.
Ashley blushed.
I was sure I did too.
She broke our spell by turning away, grabbed a butterfly band-aid, and neatly stuck it onto my eyebrow.
"That should do the trick." She smiled, more to herself. I watched her clean the mess off her bed and sat herself down against the headboard.
Ashley Davies had the most incredible, sexiest, warming smile on earth. Maybe the entire universe as we knew it. I was so relieved to be sitting down because my knees turned into that all-too-familiar mush again. Did I mention she had an incredible smile?
"… home?"
Oh. Shit. Did she say something?! I blushed, and had to ask in great embarrassment that Ashley repeat her question.
She chuckled at my expense. "I just wanted to know if I could offer you a lift home?" Her raspy voice had become even more so as it got later and she became sleepy. I would give anything to prolong our time together, but I'd feel too bad to make her drive me home while she was clearly drained.
"I appreciate the offer, Ashley, but I'll just catch a cab. You should get some sleep, it's been a long night."
"Wait, are you not tired after everything that's happened tonight?" Sexy and adorable? Yes please!
I shrugged casually. "I am." Not really, this was nothing compared to –
"Well then, Spencer, thank you for saving my butt back there. And for bringing me back home. I really appreciate it." Ashley leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my cheek.
I couldn't hold back the blush or awkwardness that suddenly overcame me. Holy crap she just kissed me! "Thank you for saving me too!" Ashley Davies just kissed my cheek! "Goodnight Ashley." I jumped up from her bed and quickly made my way out of her room, and downstairs, where the party was still going strong. Ashley freaken Davies… just kissed me!
"Spencer! Leaving already?"
I spun around from the front door, my hand still on the doorknob. Kyla, wrapped up in Aiden's arms, gave me a warm smile. Ugh, does he ever leave her side?
"Yeah, uh, I've got work tomorrow."
Kyla nodded in understanding and pulled away from the jock who never spoke. She strode towards me and patted my shoulder. Who does that? "You did great tonight, kid." Wait, you're several inches shorter than me and I'm the kid? "With some practice on your double-clutching and timing on gear change, you can start racing the big guns."
Could I get another pat on my shoulder for that compliment? The Davies knew how to stroke egos when they felt like it! "Thanks, Kyla. That means a lot." I'll let the kid-thing slide.
Kyla stepped back, still smiling. "Helping my sister means a lot. You really saved her from a lot of trouble tonight. But you know you still owe me a car, right?"
I smiled as I neared Arthur's Raceway Stop in the red pickup. Nothing could possibly take away my good mood, even if I had to work on a Saturday. Normally I'd kick against it. But today, oh today I felt so good. I subconsciously rubbed my cheek where Ashley had kissed me last night. Butterflies were flying all over. I was even smiling! At 8AM, on a Saturday morning, which was unheard of. My dad was going to be so freaked out. I even bought him a coffee.
My good mood was ruined, however, when I heard sirens behind me, and realized I was being pulled over by an unmarked police car. Maybe I'd have to get laid to not let them ruin my Saturdays for me. I sighed and indicated to pull over.
"Show me your hands," a strong, female voice howled over a megaphone.
What the hell? I held my hands up in the air as they requested, and noticed from the rearview mirror that the male officer had a gun pointed at me. Really?
"Good, now open the door. Then put your hands behind your head," the female voice instructed again.
This is ridiculous! I wanted to protest, but remained calm instead, knowing well how me not following orders got me into trouble. I stepped out of the pickup and slowly put my hands on my head, facing away from the street.
The two officers came closer to me; the female officer patted me down and the uniformed male officer put cuffs on my wrists. "She's good to go, Sarge."
I waited until I was escorted into the car before I opened my mouth. "Really, Sarge? You had to do this in the street, practically in front of my dad's shop?"
Sergeant Chelsea Lewis smirked. "You know the drill, Carlin. This shit has to look real." Then, turning to the male officer. "Drive Jackson, you know the location."
I sighed in frustration. My Saturday was officially ruined. But I should have expected this – we had debriefing after all major events or breakthroughs. I wouldn't say that I had a breakthrough, but my time at the street race had given me some intel on how things worked and possible suspects. And then there was the run-in with that girl named Carmen. Things were about to get very interesting.
I slumped down on the backseat, trying to cheer myself up again by thinking about Ashley. I wondered what she was doing today. Maybe she was working at their coffee shop. Or maybe she was still sleeping – she did look tired last night. I wondered all kinds of things about her. What her daily routine was like, why she had so many Accounting books on her desk, how she learnt to drive so well, why she switched places with Kyla when we raced… And to the more personal; like what it would feel like to kiss her on the lips, what she tasted like, what she looked like underneath that tank top, underneath those sexy fitting cargos, what it would sound like when she screamed my name – Oh God, Spencer Carlin stop!
My face was of course, bright red and on fire. Think… work. Think… debriefing, Think… Paula's snarl – yip, that did it for me. My private blush was instantly gone and a trickle of fear replaced all signs of lust as I thought of my boss's FBI supervisor. Could that lady be any more scary?
I've had a couple of bad run-ins with our FBI supervisor, Special Agent Paula Montanio. She was a tall, skinny blonde, piercing blue eyes, probably in her forties, and very strict. If you put the two of us next to each other you'd probably think she was my mother. I'd just die. This woman was more the mother of the devil. We just didn't click. She claimed I had an attitude problem, while I claimed she had, well, a huge ego. A lot of people let their job titles get to their heads, didn't they? I don't know, there was just something about her… something you'd feel when you're in a scary movie and you're at that point where you see the killer and you make a dash for it, even if it's willingly up the stairs where you're going to die anyway. Yeah, she's that scary.
We finally parked at our debriefing spot; a house in Hollywood Hills, that previously belonged to some actress or something. Who cares?
"Sarge can you please let me out of these things already?" I growled, indicating to the cuffs that were leaving scuff marks on my wrists.
The uniformed officer stepped in and released me from the intimidating article. It makes me feel like such a fucking criminal. "Thanks, officer." No, that was not sarcasm. I could show my gratitude, couldn't I?
Sergeant Lewis only smiled and led the way into the house.
What should have been some lush, open home, was now converted into an undercover headquarter office unit. Several desks were neatly placed all around, but unceremoniously covered in heaps of paperwork. Oh, and computers. Underneath all the junk. The walls were covered with photographs, maps, rap sheets – some stuck on with sticky tack, others with clear tape. Hopefully no gum in that mix! I glanced around to take everything in, suddenly feeling part of something so… dare I say, undercover and TV-like. It really does look like we're in the movies!
It was all so cliché, but all so exciting at the same time; watching detectives scamper around with would-be leads and dead-end paperwork. Sometimes I surprised myself for having chosen this profession.
"Okay, here she is, fresh from illegal street racing and a night out on the town," Chelsea announced to her FBI supervisor.
I had every right to be scared of her. "That was an eighty-thousand dollar vehicle, Officer Carlin."
What, not even a hello today, Paula?
"Hey, did you tell her what happened?" I asked my Sergeant, ready to defend myself. Not even minding my manners, or that they were all superior to my rank. "No, wait, you know what?"
"Spencer – " Chelsea interrupted me.
Of course I didn't stop. "Why don't you send the bill over to Carmen whatever-her-surname-is? Who you conveniently forgot to mention was part of your investigation?" Did I mention before that I always get myself into trouble?
Paula's light blue eyes turned into shotguns. I could hear the fictional pump action as it loaded, ready to blast me. "Kid's giving me attitude again, Lewis? That doesn't speak well for FBI-Police Relations now, does it?" Her threats fell on deaf ears to me, but Chelsea was getting nervous.
"Alright, let's all just take a step back," Chelsea stepped in. "Why don't we talk this out, in the lounge, like adults? Who wants some coffee?"
I admired my Sergeant for her levelheadedness. We've known each other for my entire Police career. Six years to be exact. I had met her while I was at the Academy, I had just started and she was already in her second year. Then, we met up again when I subsequently also joined the LAPD. Along the lines she had been promoted several times and was now my Sergeant, while I was working hard to be a Detective. It had always been my dream. And I was so close to achieving it, if I could just sometimes learn how to keep my mouth shut. Like today. Someone like Paula could make or break your career. I just hoped she was already past menopause and her opinion of me wouldn't accidentally be clouded by PMS or something. I really, really wanted to become a Detective.
"Carlin? Coffee?" Chelsea interrupted my inner rantings.
"Yeah," I shrugged, following them into the lounge. For a supposedly famous actress' ex-house, the lounge was disappointingly small. Crammed. Or maybe it's the ego in here. I sat down on an old couch, wishing it could swallow me in. Instead, it was rock hard and uncomfortable.
Chelsea's tag-along officer dished out coffees, and for the first time since I got picked up this morning, I felt a little bit more relaxed. Caffeine didn't keep me up at night, but the fix definitely calmed me down.
"Five hijackings in two months, and we still don't have anything solid," Paula started. She paced back and forth, making me feel like I was watching a tennis match. I occasionally glanced at Chelsea just to keep myself from getting sea-sick.
"The TV's and sound systems alone were worth two million, which brings the grand total to eight million, give or take." Paula paused to take a sip of her coffee.
"It's not only about the hijackings, safety, and insurance costs anymore, Spencer, this highly organized crime has now landed under the noses of politicians as well," Chelsea mentioned.
I busied myself by taking sips of the coffee, trying hard not to get nervous. This was such a big case. And if I blew it, I would never get that Detective badge. I would probably be demoted entirely, and closest to being in law enforcement was to become a janitor at a local police station.
"Officer Carlin," Paula continued, "the FBI can help you get that Detective badge real quickly, but you really need to help us out here." She looked me right in the eyes, as if having read my mind. Or, what you meant to say was, the FBI can also help you lose your job, real quickly, but you really need to help us screw this up soon then.
I swallowed hard and decided that I had to do everything in my power to keep these people happy. I had the skills. And I had the opportunity. This was the time to prove myself. I faced Chelsea.
"What did the truck driver say?" I referred to the latest incident, the two million dollar heist.
"It was the same modus operandi. Three black Honda Civics, same green neon under glow, same tire treads as proved by the lab results. Tires used in the street racing industry," Chelsea filled me in.
"You know that these truck drivers are threatening to take matters into their own hands. And I don't blame them. But under law enforcement we cannot condone such behavior. We've been telling them that we're on this, but for how long, Officer Carlin?" Paula was really starting to piss me off.
I finally found my mojo and got all serious and down to business. "Look, with the information we have so far, what do we know? Our investigation is focused on the Davies', and I'm not necessarily saying that they're not the ones jacking the trucks, but I can guarantee you that if they're not, Kyla Davies will sure as hell know who it is." I got up from the couch to gain some leverage. No-one would take me serious sitting down. "It's just a matter of time – "
"You want time, you buy the magazine," Paula interrupted me. Are you being serious right now? I was on a roll there, Paula! "We don't have time. You need to give me something to work with, and soon."
I watched Paula leave the lounge, leaving Chelsea chuckling, probably also stunned at the attempted sarcastic joke. "Hey Sarge?"
"Yeah?"
I cleared my throat. "I'm gonna need another car."