Page 10 of Smitten with the Single Dad

Bennett was already gone again when the cruiser pulled up, not bothering to actually take a parking spot, but just coming to a stop right in front of them.

Dom groaned and at first Wyatt didn’t know why, until he saw who was in the front seat and passenger seat of the cruiser.

And it wasn’t Myla or Everett.

Now it was Wyatt’s turn to groan.

Climbing out of the cruiser, looking like the perfect number ten, were two of the laziest sons of bitches Wyatt had ever met. Both Officers Duane Fischer and Dan Jenkins were white males who should have retired at least five years ago. They were glorified security guards with guns, batons, tasers, and way more power than brains.

“Gentlemen,” Officer Fischer—the zero in their number ten—said, nodding at Dom and Wyatt. He didn’t look Vica’s way. “What’s the big idea calling us out this late?”

“We called because we need to report a crime,” Dom said. “And you came because it’s your job.”

Officer Jenkins huffed. “What crime is that?”

Vica was practically hyperventilating next to Wyatt now, he reached for her hand. If she pulled away, he wouldn’t be offended, but instead of declining his support, she held onto him like a lifeline.

Wyatt squeezed her hand and cleared his throat. “There’s a gentleman down below the deck, he is with Dr. Brazeau. He attacked this woman tonight. Tried to force himself on her. He hit her, as you can see, and she responded in self-defense.”

“So is he like unconscious, or tied up, or something?” Officer Fischer asked, not moving even a muscle, let alone preparing to walk down to see the perpetrator.

“He’s dead,” Wyatt said. “A harsh blow to the windpipe crushed it and despite Dr. Brazeau’s attempts to resuscitate him, he succumbed to his injuries.”

Now the cops were moving.

Though, not like Wyatt expected. Neither had uprooted their feet from the gravel, but their bushy, gray brows were climbing their foreheads. If Officer Jenkins had a hairline, his brows would have met it.

“So this is a murder now?” Officer Fischer said, his voice jumping up a few octaves as he reached for the cuffs that swung from his utility belt.

“Sure isn’t,” Wyatt countered. “It was self-defense. He assaulted Vica and she fought back.”

The cops’ gazes roamed Vica’s body and Officer Fischer’s eyes narrowed. “How much have you had to drink tonight, young lady?”

“Young lady?” Wyatt snapped.

Officer Fischer cleared his throat. “Miss …?

“Vitale,” Vica said softly. “Ludovica Vitale. And I stopped drinking hours ago. I also didn’t have much today at all. I don’t like to not be in control of a situation or unable to leave because I am too inebriated. I went to the bartender,” she glanced at Dom, “and asked him to no longer serve me vodka, just soda water.”

“Why’d you do that?” Officer Jenkins asked.

“She just told you why.” Wyatt was about to go postal and wind up in handcuffs if he didn’t get a hold on his temper. “Because she doesn’t like not being in control or unable to leave a situation. Are you even listening?”

Officer Jenkins grunted. “We’re just getting the facts.”

“I’m gonna go check out the body,” Officer Fischer said, waddling his pasty-loving ass down to the beach below the deck.

Bennett came running around the corner with an armload of sheets, disappearing after the cop.

“What made you think you couldn’t lose control tonight?” Officer Jenkins asked.

“Because I was with eight men and one other woman. My coworkers. And although we get along and I like them well enough, I don’t know them in this kind of setting. So I don’t trust them. My boss,” she swallowed and bowed her head, “the one who attacked me, has made several advances toward me over the year and I have always said ‘no.’”

“And yet, the two of you are here alone,” Jenkins replied with so much suspicion in his tone Wyatt had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from grabbing the beanpole’s collar.

“He sent them all away while I was in the bathroom.”

“I saw it,” Dom added, corroborating her story. “They left and he paid the tab.”

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