Page 313 of The Havenport Collection

Oliver

I sipped my coffee, willing it to hit my bloodstream as quickly as possible. I hated night shifts, and this was no exception. I needed extra caffeine to get me through it.

It’s not like any exciting calls were coming in. Havenport was the definition of sleepy small town. Not much happened here.

Most days I loved it. Moving here had been one of the best decisions of my life.

I needed out of Boston, and Declan never shut up about how great it was here.

So when a position opened up in the local PD, I jumped through every hoop to get it.

This was the dream—protect and serve in a beautiful, idyllic community.

Six months in, the job was going well. People knew me, and slowly, I was getting to know this town. I visited the elementary school and helped seniors and worked security details for the endless town festivals.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it beat the hell out of being in the city. After almost ten years in the narcotics unit in Boston, I couldn’t take much more.

Havenport reminded me so much of Bristol, Rhode Island, where I had grown up. Ocean water flowed through my veins. I found a great place near the beach, and every morning I was either running or kayaking.

But even though I outranked some of the other guys, I was still a newbie, so Friday nights were mine. And breaking up the teenagers who drank and made out in the park every few hours was not enough to keep me awake.

I pulled up to the apartment complex. Ritzy-looking townhomes set on a ridge overlooking the bay. Nice place, well-lit, and, judging by the cars in the parking lot, pretty fancy.

I wasn’t sure what the reported disturbance was, but as I slowed down to assess the scene I saw the strangest thing.

A woman, standing next to a car and attempting to take a selfie. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the silver Range Rover had a broken windshield, broken headlights, and had clearly been vandalized.

“I found the vandal,” I radioed.

“Do you need backup?” came the response from the dispatcher.

I assessed the situation—just one small woman. She seemed familiar, but I couldn’t see her face.

“Not at this time.”

I threw the cruiser into park and hopped out.

“Ma’am,” I said, walking toward her. I couldn’t fully see her face, but she had some kind of stick in her hand and some kind of cape on. Maybe a cosplayer? Despite the ruined car, she certainly didn’t seem dangerous.

My training kicked in. “This is the Havenport Police. Please place your weapon on the ground and step away from the car.”

She whipped around, and I was distracted by long dark hair and some white thing on her head.

“It’s not a weapon,” she snapped back.

“Regardless. Please put it down, step away, and put your hands in the air.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m afraid I’m not kidding, ma’am. I got a call about vandalism and possible assault on the premises. Please put the weapon down.”

She placed the stick on the ground.

“Now put your hands in the air and step away.”

She did as she was told, muttering under her breath, and I approached, picking up the stick. I looked up and saw her face bathed in the streetlight’s glow. Shit. “Alexandra?” I said. This could not be happening. Did I fall asleep in my cruiser?

Her eyes widened and a look of sheer terror crossed her beautiful face. She went to cover her face with her hands.

“Hands in the air, ma’am,” I snapped. I had to be professional. I had to do my job. No matter that thoughts of this woman had tortured me for the past few weeks. She looked different.

I took a quick inventory. She was wearing pajamas—some kind of flimsy top and and shorts. She definitely was not wearing a bra. Was it the light or did her breasts look even more amazing?

Fuck, Hanson. Focus on your damn job. This is a perp not a potential date.

“What is this?” I asked, studying the stick in my hands.

“It’s a field hockey stick. I scored the winning goal in the state championships senior year with that stick. It’s lucky.”

Her attitude was returning, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or terrified. A fucking field hockey stick? What the hell had I just walked into? And was she wearing a wedding veil?

Before I could make sense of this, a man came out screaming.

“That’s her, officer. That bitch ruined my car and threatened me. Arrest her.”

I turned around and found myself looking down at a thirty-something-year-old man wearing Batman boxers. He was skinny with one of those floppy haircuts that was always in your face.

“That’s my car, and that psycho bitch ruined it.”

“I bought the car, you useless fuckboy,” she screamed back.

I raised my arms. “Sir, please return to your residence. I will take your statement shortly.”

I turned back to the woman. “Ma’am, please keep your hands in the air.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old.”

“She’s a dried-up shrew!” Batboy shouted.

“Sir,” I snapped. I had clearly walked into some kind of toxic domestic situation that required de-escalation.

I drew myself up to my full height and glared at him.

Thankfully, he cooperated and sneered at Alexandra as he walked back into the house.

I radioed for backup and approached her again, hoping to get to the bottom of whatever the hell had happened.

“Mind telling me what is going on?” I asked, admiring how her long hair fell messily past her shoulders. She looked good, even intoxicated and enraged. She looked curvier since the last time I saw her, and the clear “don’t fuck with me” vibe that she was emitting was already giving me a semi.

I had been thinking about her nonstop for weeks.

She left my house in the middle of the night after one of the hottest experiences of my life.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt beneath me, the way she cried out my name when I made her come.

And that smart mouth and sharp wit. I had been looking for her everywhere, hoping to run into her in this tiny town.

Of course I couldn’t see her at the park or in the supermarket. Instead I had to arrest her? Just my luck.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was looking at the future Mrs. Hanson. I felt instantly protective of her. Why was she out here in the middle of the night with a fucking stick? Was that hysterical guy her husband? Or boyfriend?

“So you vandalized that man’s car with a field hockey stick?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You got me. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. Havenport’s finest.”

“I just need the facts,” I replied.

“It’s my car. I can key it if I want to.”

“According to the registration, it’s registered to a Mr. Tristian Bramblewaithe.”

“Yes. I let him put it in his name, but I paid for it. It was a gift.”

“That’s not how the law works, Ms…”

She pulled herself up to her full height, which couldn’t have been more than five foot three, thrusting her shoulders back. “Watson. Ms. Maeve Watson.”

My mind spun. “But your name is Alexandra.”

She shook her head. “That’s my middle name.” She held her wrists out. “You gonna cuff me? Gonna haul me down to the station?”

I laughed. Oh how I would love to slap some cuffs on her. But there was protocol first.

Before I could respond, she snapped. “He deserves it. He loves this car more than he loves his mother, and he didn’t lift a finger to pay for it.

I was the dumbass who bought it for him.

And he cheated on me three weeks before our wedding.

The wedding that was supposed to be tomorrow.

Oh wait, actually today, since it’s after midnight.

Anyway. I’m really only committing a crime against myself. ”

I could barely keep track, she was talking so fast. Fiancé? Wedding? I guess that explained the veil. “Please slow down. Do you live here, ma’am? Because if not, you are trespassing. I don’t want any trouble.”

I pulled myself up to my full six feet, four inches.

Between my height, the badge, and the uniform, I wasn’t used to people giving me shit.

In fact, most people were afraid of me. But not Ms. Watson here.

She looked like she wanted to fight me, and the gleam in her eyes told me she might actually have a chance.

I took a step back, trying to regain my authority in this situation. She was, technically, breaking the law, even though I kind of wanted to kick that guy’s ass myself.

“Ms. Watson,” I said sternly.

She took a step closer, and I got momentarily lost in her deep-green eyes. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were rimmed with thick lashes. Her mouth flattened into a straight line.

“Listen. I’ll go home. And we can just pretend you didn’t see anything here.” She waived her hands dismissively and gave me a wink. I admired her bravado, as well as the tiny shorts she was wearing, but I was on the job.

“I’m sorry that’s not possible.” Thankfully, at that moment, Flint’s cruiser pulled up next to where we were standing. Thank God. I needed backup badly. I was man enough to admit I could not handle this woman on my own.

“Ma’am. Officer Flint here is going to take some photos of the damage.” Flint walked around with his camera, and squinted, trying to make out the words scratched in the paint.

“It says pencil dick,” Maeve explained proudly. “I got interrupted so it’s not super neat. Sorry. Do you want me to hold the flashlight so you can get a better photo?”

Flint looked confused. “Are you apologizing for not doing a good enough job keying your ex’s car?”

She shrugged. “I take pride in my work.”

I laughed and Flint rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you haven’t changed, Maeve.” He looked at me. “I’ll deal with the victim. Can you take her down to the station?”

“Are you seriously arresting me, Marcus?”

“I’m not. Sergeant Hanson here is.” He shook his head. “Maeve Watson. I would have never thought the day would come.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and I had to look away. I was dangerously close to turned on and could not be so unprofessional in front of Flint.

“We all break bad sometimes. You would know that better than anyone, Marcus.”

Flint’s face paled slightly, and I wondered what the story was there. We had become fast friends since I joined the department, but I didn’t know much about him other than he took his career really seriously and had grown up in this town.

Something told me there was more to the story.

She carefully arranged her veil. “He’s lucky it was just his car. Boo hoo. Get that shit buffed out. I should have thrown some quarters in a sock and started swinging it around…”

“Please do not threaten assault and battery in the presence of an officer of the law,” I interrupted, walking her toward my cruiser.

“You’re drunk,” I said under my breath as I stopped at the rear door.

She cocked a hip and rolled her eyes at me. “No sir. I am tipsy. There is a big difference.”

I shook my head; she was not going to make this easy.

“I was drunk. You know, earlier? But then I had to walk all the way here in the cold, so I’m not anymore.”

“You walked?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to drink and drive. That’s dangerous.”

“But trolling the streets in the middle of the night isn’t?” I quipped.

She waved a hand at me. “This is Havenport. Plus I brought my field hockey stick. Did you see those headlights?” she whispered. “I smashed the fuck out of them. It was fun.”

“You know you are admitting to a crime right now?” I said.

“I’m no liar, Sherlock.”

After I placed her under arrest and Mirandized her, I headed to the station, trying to make sense of this insane night.

“What is it you do for work, Watson? You are clearly not a career criminal—what with staying at the scene of the crime to take photos on your phone and all.”

“I’m an accountant,” she said primly from the backseat.

“An accountant?”

“Yes. And a really fucking good one too. I know the tax code like you know your donut flavors.”

“Ooh.” I feigned injury. “The bean counter has jokes too.”

“Oh please. You wish you had enough beans for me to count.”

I wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but she was funny and did not let up. Even while cuffed in the back of my cruiser. My crush on her grew a little stronger.

Now, I had never been one of those cops who wanted to bring my cuffs into the bedroom. But hot damn, little Ms. Watson had my mind reeling. Her smart mouth and sinful curves would be making an appearance in my dreams tonight.

“Listen. We’ve all been there. Breakups are terrible. But you can’t turn to a life of petty crime,” I said kindly as we pulled into the station.

“I just got tired of taking the high road. Being the better person. I wanted to hurt him. And he’s such a lifeless loser that his car is really the only way.”

“The car you paid for?”

“Yeah. I know. My logic is shit. But in my defense, I’m kind of circling the drain right now.”

“Well,” I said, helping her out of the car, “let me know how I can help. My job is to protect and serve. And I’ve got a history of mentoring at-risk youth.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Youth? Ha! I’m thirty-five.”

“You are never too old to get on the straight and narrow.”

“Stop trying to help me. Just book me and throw me in a cell. I did the crime; I’m ready to do the time.”