Page 2 of Cutter

Oh, well. Water under the bridge…

As he snapped out of the past, the squad car pulled into the station and stopped hard at the entrance. One officer came outof the building to take Johnny Gun inside, while the second officer in the patrol car opened Cutter’s door.

“We’re here, sweetheart,” the officer sneered. “Someone’s waiting to talk to you.”

Cutter didn’t respond. Why bother? They were on the officer’s home turf, and he was at a disadvantage. He was led past the receiving area to a hallway lined with benches. Johnny went left, and Cutter was led to the right, then ushered into an interrogation room.

Here we go.

If Cutter had expected any physical unpleasantness inside the room, that didn’t happen. The officer removed his cuffs, pointed at a chair, and walked out without another word. Sighing, Cutter sat facing the door, then folded his hands, growing stiff with caked blood, above the table. Any minute, whoever was interested in him would come in. So far, he’d managed to tread carefully around the border of anxiety and fear.

Stay cool. You didn’t do anything wrong, he reminded himself again.

The door opened, and Cutter’s heart skipped a beat.Emily Mayhew.The petite brunette entering the room holding a file and notepad in one hand and a wad of paper towels in the other had been one of his arresting officers at the warehouse after the fight. The woman had captured his imagination and taken center stage in many of his dreams.

Emily had been all business and police-officer-like then, but her putting the cuffs on him had inspired all sorts of titillating and unforgettable fantasies. Although he should’ve been worried about his situation and imminent arrest, his attention had been glued to the officer’s luscious feminine curves, which the masculine uniform and utility belt hadn’t been able to hide.

Something about her that went beyond her looks had left an indelible impression on his mind and libido. While she’d read him his rights and a list of warnings in her clear voice, he'd nodded, half listening as he took in her perfect breasts, intelligent blue eyes, and plump lips…greedy and anxious, stretched around his cock…

Damn, the image had been so vivid, it had stayed with him long after his time in jail. And here she was now, in the flesh.

Tonight, a plain skirt and a long-sleeve blouse, buttoned almost to the neckline, where a thin pearl necklace peeked out, had replaced the austere police blue. This look was softer, made her look more approachable, even though she’d tied her black hair in a high bun, adding an air of formality and distance. But her fragrance shattered her efforts. Like so many of her memorable physical traits, her subtle perfume wreaked havoc and threatened his control. The aroma pulled him in. The desire to run his fingers through that glossy, heavy mass and bury his nose to inhale her scent was nearly unbearable.

His focus was shot to shit.

“Good evening, Mr. Zejak. I’m Detective Emily Mayhew.” Emily quietly placed the file and notepad on the table, along with the wad of damp paper towels, and sat down.

“Cutter.” Snatching the paper towels, he wiped the dried blood off his hands.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, Cutter.” He balled up the dirty towels and tossed them into the corner waste basket.

“Forgive me, I…” She flipped the file open and read. “Says here?—”

“Don’t bother,” he cut in. “I know what it says. The name’s Cutter. C-U-T-T-E-R.” He spelled his name one letter at a time. “And nothing else. The old son of a bitch, Mr. Zejak’s dead. Hard evidence that karma and maybe a god exist after all.”

Emily leaned back against her chair, studying the file, then glanced up at his face. She frowned and nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s coming back to me. I remember. The fight at the warehouse between two rival MC groups. A few years back.”

“Four,” he grunted. “If memory serves.”

Why was he being so aggressive with her? She’d only read the material given in the file.

I’m pissed. She doesn’t remember me, and like the fool that I am, she’s been stuck in my mind for years.

“Congratulations. I see you’re a detective now.” He smiled, trying to smooth his grating attitude. “The civvy clothes suit you.”

Careful.

Well, his expression must’ve said too much, because the girl blushed.

Girl? Where did that come from?

“Um. I ah…” Still blushing, she averted her gaze. On the spot, his dick took notice of the telltale submissive behavior. Did he hear a faint quiver in her voice? Breathing quickly, she scanned the top of the table, looking for… Cutter was reminded of a besieged small creature seeking an exit.

Whatever it was, she didn’t find it. With a jerk, she glanced up. “As I was trying to say. I didn’t call you in to arrest you or your friends. The convenience store situation has been cleared up. I needed to talk to you. In private. Please, if you’ll hear me out.” The pleading in her soft tone cemented his suspicions. A vanilla guy might’ve missed it, but not Cutter. Whether she knew it or not, Detective Emily Mayhew was a submissive.

Need? Private? Interesting.Cutter fiddled with his beard, gathering his wits. He’d prepared himself for a hostile interrogation or an in-depth Q&A session, not meeting up with the cute and feisty police officer who’d once made such a powerful impression.

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