And if carrying a concealed blunt object in the front of your pants all day is a crime? Then I’m guilty as charged.
Despite all his noise about formal statements and interviews, Frank’s cutting me more slack on this than he has on anything before.
Scanning his desk told me he has more than a tin foil ticket on his squad’s current caseload. So when I ask if he can drive us home, I stretch him ‘til the sun shines through. But he agrees.
Megan climbs in the back of his car once we’re done at the station. Frank already letting me know again that he’s swamped but my place kinda is on the way.
He even keeps quiet when he catches me studying Megan’s fine ass and baby making hips under those sheer slacks that hug her curves like I know my hands want to as she gets into his car.
But it’s a look I never thought I’d see in this life.
The eyes of an overprotective father. Warning off any advances, but at the same time grieving because they know deep down their little girl is all grown up now.
I know Frank has a daughter, probably around the same age as Megan here. But I’ve never thought of how old she might be until just now.
Never thought about how old I am either.
An older guy with a younger girl? Hell, I figure that’s small potatoes compared to what people wanna scream ‘my right to…’ about these days.
Seeing Megan from behind, my caveman instinct is to grab hold of that ass. Grip those childbearing hips of hers and fill her full of what she was designed to carry.
My professional instinct is to keep my eyes peeled for other types of asses.
The ones with giant holes in them that might be trying to get at what I’m trying to claim as my own.
Once Megan is in the back, I climb in front with Frank. One eye on Megan in the rearview mirror and the other working double time to keep up with the world outside as it zooms past the windows.
“It’s just until we can get some more information from our investigations, Megan,” Frank drones. The nearest thing to an apology I think she’s gonna get.
Nobody’s forcing Megan to do anything, but with nowhere else to go and no money until a judge says the ticket’s hers, she’s kinda stuck with me.
And already I can see Frank having second thoughts.
“I’ve put your building on the list for patrol drive by’s,” he informs me casually.
Both of us knowing that’s something nice to tell other people. But anyone with police experience knows it’s probably unlikely to happen.
As has been shown, Megan has more chances of finding a winning scratch ticket than she does having cops on tap to save her if things go south.
Just ask the three contestants from last night.
What I mean is, we can’t be everywhere at once, so Megan really is in the safest hands with me. But if Frank was Megan’s father right now?
I don’t think he’d be driving us there, let alone encouraging it.
“And you’ll call me when you have something,” I tell him, noticing the vein in his temple starting to throb as he grips the wheel tighter.
“You’ll be callingmeif you have any insight into who or exactlywhatwe’re supposed to be looking for,” he snarls back.
I notice Megan make a face that I can’t help smiling at.
“Dammit Harry!” Frank growls, slapping the steering wheel. Looking double mad he’s got no one to flip the bird to in traffic, so he flicks the emergency services light in his car on instead.
I give a little shrug for Megan’s benefit, knowing she’s still wondering like I have all these years. If Frank hates it all so much, then why does he keep turning up for work every day?
But maybe unlike Megan, I know why.
It’s in his blood. Like me.