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Synopsis
Officer Luc Moretti had no idea that his dive into the East River would have him drowning in a media frenzy. No matter how many times he tells reporters he was just doing his job, they're determined to make him into NYC's newest hero. Coming from a long line of NYPD's finest, Luc knows that being a cop has nothing to do with headlines and viral videos, and he's more than ready to get back to life away from the cameras-until he meets the gorgeous but jaded journalist assigned to film a TV special on him . . . Ava Sims may be the only woman in NYC who isn't in love with Officer Moretti. That's why she's going after the real story-to find out about the man behind the badge. Ava's determined to keep things strictly professional, but the more time she spends around Luc, even she has to admit there's something about a man in uniform . . . and she can't wait to get him out of his.
Release date: July 28, 2015
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 384
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Frisk Me
Lauren Layne
CHAPTER ONE
Holy crap! You’re like, that guy! You’re the cop!”
Luc Moretti deliberately ignored the high-pitched squeal.
He took a slow sip of his much-needed coffee and threw up a silent prayer that for once, the women would be talking about some other cop.
“Tina, it is him! The cop from the YouTube video!”
Shit.
Pray as he might, it was never some other officer who was subjected to overenthusiastic hero worship. Not these days, anyway. It was always Luc who couldn’t do so much as get on the A train without hearing some form of, hey, aren’t you that guy…?
Yes. Yes he was that fucking guy. Unfortunately.
“Can we get a picture with you?” one of the women asked as they both closed in on him.
“Actually, I—”
Luc’s ready protest was interrupted by the deep voice of his partner.
“Ladies, ladies, let’s give Officer Moretti some space! The man likes to refresh his makeup before a photo op. Moretti, did you bring that special lip balm you like to use? The one you say makes your lips all rosy?”
Luc’s eyes narrowed at his partner as he reached up and scratched his nose with his middle finger.
Both women had already pulled cell phones out of their purses, ready for a shot with New York’s latest hero.
Luc shot another fuck you glare at his partner, but Sawyer Lopez was already reaching for the girls’ phones, gesturing his hands in an “all-together-now” motion.
Two curvy blondes flanked Luc on either side. Their too-sweet perfume was ruining his caffeine buzz, but he smiled for the picture anyway. The grin was habit, if not exactly genuine.
Once, Luc’s smiles for pretty women had been easy and authentic. Now they were reflexive, born out of a month’s worth of misplaced hero worship.
Sawyer Lopez, on the other hand, had no such hang-ups, and was in full charm mode.
“So where you ladies visiting from?” Lopez asked, handing the girls back their phones.
Luc took another sip of his increasingly cold coffee and rolled his eyes. At least someone was profiting from Luc’s brush with fame.
“Little Rock,” the taller blonde said, her fingers moving rapidly over the screen of her phone.
Luc had no doubt that his face had just been plastered all over every possible social media site. Again.
“Ah, that explains the cute southern accent,” Lopez told the woman with a wink.
Uh huh. It also explained what the women were doing wandering around Times Square—a place no New Yorker would be caught dead in unless someone paid them to be there.
In Luc and Lopez’s case, that someone doing the paying was the NYPD.
Crowd control in midtown wasn’t exactly the sexy part of being a New York cop, but it was a necessary one, especially on days where the latest teen pop star was giving a concert at 47th and Broadway.
Times Square was every cop’s least favorite gig. But when there was a concert, parade, or holiday, it was all hands on deck.
“How long you here for?” Lopez asked, still trying to get the women to notice that he was giving them his best smile. They barely responded, still busy on their phones, and Luc nearly grinned at the irritation on his partner’s face.
A month ago, Sawyer Lopez could have gotten the attention of just about any woman he wanted. With the dark skin and jet-black hair of his Latino father, and the pale blue eyes of a Norwegian mother, he was never short on female company.
Then Luc had become an overnight sensation, and now Lopez had to work twice as hard for his share of female attention. Luc would be gloating if the whole situation hadn’t been so damned annoying.
“Excuse me, Officer, could you help us for a second? We’re trying to find the Hilton—”
Luc turned to the tired-looking couple dragging around enormous suitcases and a cranky-looking toddler. Their expressions were more exhausted than star-struck, and he smiled when he realized they didn’t recognize him.
He’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to be anonymous.
By the time Luc pointed the tourists to their hotel, his partner had finally managed to recapture the blondes’ attention.
“Oh God, no,” Lopez was saying. “Listen, you want real New York pizza, you’re going to walk a bit. I’d recommend—”
Ah, shit. Once Lopez got started talking about pizza, he could go on for hours.
And since Lopez only shared his “pizza secrets” when he was trying to get laid, experience told Luc he was on the verge of being roped into a double date with a couple of Arkansas tourists.
“Lopez. Let’s move out,” Luc snapped.
The two women blinked in surprise at Luc’s sharp tone, and he felt a sting of regret for being a complete and utter dick.
He used to be good around women. Back when women had liked him for him. Back when he’d been just regular Luc, not Super Cop Moretti.
But then everything had changed. Thanks to a couple of tourists with camera phones and impeccable timing, Luc’s life had become a damned carnival.
Luc gave a slow smile to soften the blow of his irritation. “Sorry, ladies. Duty calls.”
His partner grunted something that sounded like horseshit.
Lopez had a point. Luc’s excuse was a load of BS. The only duty they had at the moment was making sure Broadway didn’t turn into a stampede.
But the women nodded in wide-eyed understanding at Luc. “New York’s so lucky to have a cop like you.”
Luc heard the words like a jab to the jugular, although he forced himself to smile through the wave of darkness that rushed over him. These women didn’t have a clue just how undeserving of praise he was. Nobody did.
Pushing the haunting thoughts away before they could fully take hold, he gave the women a wide smile before dragging his partner away.
“I need a disguise,” Luc muttered.
“Nah. Embrace it, man. Get yourself a cape. I’m thinking velvet,” Lopez said. “I bet Clark Kent knows just the place to get that shit dry-cleaned.”
“Hilarious. I haven’t heard a million superhero jokes from my brothers, so please, bring it on.”
Lopez grinned unabashedly. “I bet the Moretti cop clan is loving their little bambino being all famous and shit.”
“You have no idea,” Luc muttered.
Luc was the youngest in a family of cops. He couldn’t even get in the door to Sunday dinner without his brothers bursting out of the bushes, pretending to be the paparazzi.
Generally speaking, his bambino status was hell, but he’d happily go back to taking shit about being the baby over this latest brush-with-fame crap.
Lopez skidded to a halt beside Luc, his eyes boring through the crowd as he slowly extended a warning finger. Luc followed his partner’s glare to a sulky teen boy in saggy jeans and greasy hair parted down the middle. The kid was seconds away from attempting to ride his skateboard down a very busy midtown sidewalk.
Lopez said it all with one finger and look. Not cool, kid. Don’t make me come over there.
Luckily the kid correctly interpreted the warning and had enough sense to keep his board tucked under his arm until he got to a less crowded part of the city. Or at least until he got out of sight of cops.
“Wish they were all that easy,” Luc said as they resumed walking.
Lopez grunted before turning his attention back to Luc. “So how’s your dad reacting to your newfound celebrity? I bet Big T’s either disgusted at the circus or thrilled at the prestige.”
“A little of both,” Luc said, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “He’s always thought cops were supposed to be unsung heroes, but he’s not above wanting the Department to look good.”
“Even now?” Lopez asked. “He’s retired. He’s not supposed to care about anything other than sports and annoying your mom.”
“Especially now,” Luc replied.
“Ah,” Lopez said, nodding in understanding. “He bored?”
Luc grunted as he surveyed the crowd out of habit. “Just last week he threatened to take up paint-by-numbers if one of us didn’t go over there to watch the game with him.”
“Can’t be easy for the guy,” Lopez replied. “One day you’re head of the fucking NYPD, the next day, bam, you’re looking at a future of mundane arts and crafts projects.”
Lopez had a valid point. Just a year ago, Tony Moretti had stepped down as police commissioner. The adjustment to retirement had been a rough one, made easier only by the fact that four out of four sons were cops to carry on his legacy.
Or so Tony liked to claim.
What Luc was pretty sure his father actually meant was that Luc’s three older brothers were carrying on the family legacy. But Luc…Luc suspected that deep down, his father didn’t expect much out of Luc. Not since the Shayna Johnson case had gone to shit.
Luc’s brothers may push the envelope on respect for authority, but none of them had had their partner die on the job.
No, that horror was Luc’s private torture. Private, because nobody talked about it. Ever.
But at least the rest of the Moretti siblings were on a clear path toward securing the Moretti family name as NYPD royalty. Despite his brothers’ penchant for bending the rules, all had made a name for themselves as some of the city’s best.
Luc’s oldest brother, Anthony, was next in line for captain in his zone.
Vincent was one of the city’s best homicide DTs. The best, according to Vin. Modesty had never been his strong suit.
Marco had taken his fair share of crap for moving to California to follow his girlfriend, but he too was moving up the ranks of the LAPD at an obnoxious rate.
And then there was Luc. Luc was just lowly Officer Moretti. The one with a dead partner. The responding officer on the Shayna Johnson case.
Until now. Now Luc was that cop. The hero. The one who couldn’t get a cup of coffee without the barista doing a double take and writing her phone number on the paper cup of his Americano.
For most cops, the attention would have been flattering at best, a nuisance at worst.
But for Luc, it was pure torture.
Because only he really understood that Luc Moretti was as far from heroic as it was possible to get.
CHAPTER TWO
Back at the precinct, Luc didn’t even make it to his desk before Shitty Day, Part II, came roaring at him.
“Hey, Moretti, Cap wants to see you in his office,” Officer Kerry said, clamping Luc on the shoulder. Luc set aside the coffee mug he’d been about to fill.
“You tell Lopez?” Luc called after him.
Kerry turned around and shrugged as he walked backward. “Cap said just you.”
“Shit,” Luc muttered.
Captain Brinker was a power-tripping prick, prone to sanctimonious lectures and unwarranted pep talks.
Luc, in particular, was a frequent victim of these little chats.
Brinker had gotten it into his head that Luc and his brothers were only in “the business” because their daddy had paved the way.
Never mind that the Moretti brothers had been top of their class at Academy and had flawless records.
Well, flawless if you discounted Anthony’s ego problems and Vincent’s penchant for going off-book.
But Luc? Luc had always played it straight.
It was an approach that worked 99 percent of the time. And as for that 1 percent of the time when going by the book could turn deadly…
Luc rapped a knuckle on the door of Brinker’s office. “You wanted to see me, Cap?”
Brinker gave a jerk of his chin, gesturing for Luc to come in.
“How was Times Square?” his boss asked.
Total bullshit, Luc wanted to say. Instead he shrugged. “The same as usual.”
Brinker gave him a dark look as though looking for sarcasm or something to reprimand Luc for, but Luc gave him a deliberately bland smile.
“You wanted to see me?” Luc asked again.
Brinker nodded once and gave a pointed look toward the back of his office, and Luc shifted his gaze, surprised to realize they weren’t alone.
A woman stood in the back corner of the room, helping herself to coffee from the fancy coffee machine Brinker kept for his own personal use.
Her body was mostly hidden by one of the horrible potted plants that Brinker’s wife insisted gave his office “homey character.”
And then she stepped into plain view.
He couldn’t help it; he checked her out. Everything about the woman demanded a second look, the legs in particular.
Luc had never really considered himself a legs-man, being more of an “equal opportunity” guy when it came to female body parts. (Although, if his mother ever asked, he’d swear up and down that he only ever noticed personality. Maybe the eyes.)
But the legs on this one were damn near perfect. For that matter, the high breasts and slim waist also earned high marks.
Her subdued black skirt and white blouse should have been boring, but they’d obviously been tailored to fit her trim frame perfectly.
Plus, the black high heels added an element of sexy to the otherwise demure attire.
Then he looked at her face, and for a second, Luc felt just a little bit dazed.
If anything, her features were even more appealing than the body. Her eyes were maybe just slightly too large for her otherwise petite features, but there was no doubt about it, the woman was stunning.
And yet, there was something else there too, just beyond the jolt of sexual awareness.
Recognition.
Luc might not have his brother Vincent’s photographic memory, but he was pretty damn good with faces. And he was pretty sure he knew this one. His brain scrambled to place her, but he kept coming up blank.
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly on Luc, and his narrowed right back. He definitely knew her from somewhere.
She came forward and shook his hand. “Fifth and Fortieth, three years ago.”
He shook his head to indicate he didn’t follow.
“You’re trying to figure out how you know me. Three years ago, you gave my news van a parking ticket, and we exchanged…words. That’s where you know me from. I’m Ava Sims.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Luc said quietly as the memory rolled over him. Legs had spotted Luc writing up her crew’s media van and gone all crazy on him, apparently oblivious to the cuffs and gun he carried.
He’d issued countless parking tickets, but rarely was he caught in the act of actually writing one. And when you were caught in the act by someone who looked like her, you remembered it.
She had tried to pull her hand away, but Luc held fast, just to mess with her. She sniffed in annoyance, but he didn’t miss that quick slip of her tongue over her lips.
He nearly grinned at her discomfort.
Yup. That zip of sexual chemistry was every bit as familiar as her legs.
Her eyes flicked to his mouth for a moment, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the grin. The physical appreciation between them hadn’t faded.
But other things had. Ava had changed. She was still beautiful, but back then there’d been a sort of wildness about her. Hell, you had to be half-wild to get into it with a uniformed police officer on a crowded midtown sidewalk.
He had a fuzzy memory of her dark hair in one of those messy knots, with pieces falling down all over the place, her eyes sparkling with passion as she’d raged at him for obstructing her rights, or some hippie shit.
Somehow he couldn’t imagine this version of Ava Sims losing her cool over anything, much less a parking ticket. Not only was the outfit completely buttoned up and tailored, but her hair, while still sexy as hell, had an almost stiff look about it. The lips too were full and tempting, but they had the shiny look of that goopy stuff women put on them. Gloss, or whatever.
Still stunning. But different.
Luc didn’t break eye contact with the gorgeous brunette in front of him.
She was a couple inches shorter than his six-foot-one even with her high heels, but somehow she managed to give the impression that she was looking down at him.
Ava tugged again with her hand, and Luc tentatively released it, searching for the passionate woman he remembered. Instead, all he saw was icy reserve.
This wasn’t the wild, don’t obstruct my rights Ava. This was polished, TV-ready Ava.
He felt the loss more acutely than he should for a woman he didn’t even know.
They continued to hold each other’s gaze until Brinker broke up the moment. “Moretti, you were on traffic duty? I had no idea police royalty stooped that low. Were you grounded?”
Brinker laughed at his own joke, and Luc forced a smile, finally releasing Ava’s hand.
“Well, Officer,” Ava said with mocking respect, “it looks like you’ve come a long way from trying to impede on New York citizens’ First Amendment rights.”
Her voice was all sweetness and honey, but since Luc had a sister and a string of ex-girlfriends, he recognized her tone for what it really was: sugared venom.
He felt a strange surge of relief that she still had sharp edges beneath that tidy outfit and perfect makeup.
Luc moved a half step toward her, pleased that she didn’t move back. “Tell me, Ms. Sims, where in the Bill of Rights does it permit citizens to park next to a Stop sign, in front of a No Parking sign, just three feet from a fire hydrant?”
She rolled her eyes, which up close, he could see were warm honey brown. “Yes, thank God you were there at that moment to keep the city safe. I mean, just where would we be if you hadn’t been there to stop the local media from getting a shot of the mayor leaving a fund-raiser!”
He opened his mouth in anger. Maybe he wasn’t so eager to see the passionate version of this woman after all. She may think the laws were frivolous, but they were there for good reason. He stood by every ticket he’d ever written. He stood by the laws behind them.
She held up a hand before he could respond, her expression all mock outrage. “Wait. Did you never get my thank-you note? I so wanted to express my gratitude for you putting a stop to my life of crime.”
“Well here’s your chance to thank me,” Luc said, ignoring her sarcasm. “It would also be a good time to apologize for physically assaulting an officer of the law.”
Okay, so assault was a strong word. But she’d touched him. He definitely remembered her touching him.
Her eyes narrowed. “Never happened. You’re confused. Must be the sugar-high from too many doughnuts.”
“You shoved me,” he exaggerated. “And I seem to remember a threat…”
She cut her eyes over to Luc’s boss. “Did Officer Moretti hit his head when he dove into the river to save that little girl? He seems to be disoriented.”
Disappointment spiked through Luc at her reference to that damned river incident. She’d seen the damned YouTube video. And if she’d seen that one, she’d probably seen the other.
Luc froze as realization rolled over him.
That’s why she was here.
The pieces fell into place slower than they should. Had he not had a half-mast boner he would have caught on earlier. She was here for superhero Moretti, not parking-ticket Moretti.
Three years ago, Ava had obviously been a hungry-for-the-story journalist, but if her prissy clothes were any indication, she’d moved up the ranks quite nicely. Luc was guessing that these days, Ava Sims spent a lot more time in hair and makeup than she did chasing after fund-raiser photo ops.
Brinker took a sip of his coffee before dropping the bomb that confirmed Luc’s fears. “CBC wants to run a special on you.”
Luc didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “It’ll get national coverage. You’ll go from being locally famous to being a household name across the country.”
Her tone implied that Luc should be doing cartwheels at this development. She had no idea just how wrong she was.
“Oh well, in that case!” Luc said, letting his voice go excited before dropping back down to a monotone. “No fucking way.”
Ava Sims didn’t even flinch.
Captain Brinker broke in. “Listen, Moretti. You know that if it was up to me, you’d be doing the Bronx beat where maybe that pretty face of yours would see some action, not being paraded around like you’re the best thing since Batman. But this directive is above me. The order’s coming all the way from the top.”
Pissed, Luc shook his head. “This isn’t what the NYPD is about. We don’t grandstand.”
“You do when a cop with a Hollywood-heartthrob face can’t resist putting himself in front of a camera,” Ava said, checking out her manicure.
Luc resisted the urge to snap that he didn’t want those fucking cameras capturing his every move. That if he could go back in time, some sort of dire accident would have happened to every one of those damned camera phones.
“We need the good publicity, Moretti.” Captain Brinker’s tone was serious now, and Luc knew why.
The NYPD wasn’t exactly in good standing with the people recently.
Three months ago, an officer in uniform had shot an unarmed homeless man. The officer had claimed self-defense and mistaken identity of a weapon, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the damage.
Trigger-happy cops made people nervous.
The officer had been suspended, and the NYPD had made promise after promise to implement additional training, but it hadn’t done much good. Cops were getting a lot more boos than accolades these days.
Apparently, the higher-ups had just found the ultimate form of damage control.
And Luc was the sacrificial lamb.
“Shit,” Luc muttered, realizing there was no way out of it.
Immediately on the heels of his irritation was just the slightest surge of fear.
Fear that Ava Sims would go digging back to November two years ago when Luc had learned, firsthand, the dark side of being a cop. A dark side where good officers died and little girls in pink dresses went missing.
Luc rubbed a hand over his face and forced the thought back where it belonged. Far, far away from the prying eyes of Ava Sims.
Letting a journalist get to him was one thing. He’d be damned before he’d let her get to Shayna Johnson.
Correction: to the memory of Shayna Johnson. And he wasn’t letting her get at Mike’s memory either. He didn’t know why he’d been spared the media attention when it had all gone down two years ago, but he was damned grateful. Luc wasn’t about to let the legacy of two good people be tarnished now.
Ava Sims reached out and gave his arm a smug little pat, either oblivious or indifferent to Luc’s inner turmoil.
“We start Monday. What time do you get to work?”
“Sorry?” he said.
“Your workday. When do you start?”
He shook his head. “Why does it matter? Don’t you just tell me what day and time to show up at your studio?”
She rolled her eyes. “We can’t just have three hours’ worth of face-to-face interviews in cushy chairs. This is an inside look at America’s Hero.”
“Hold on now,” Luc said, his irritation escalating to panic. “Three hours? And America’s what?”
“America’s Hero. It’ll be the name of the series.”
Oh sweet Jesus.
“Now hold the hell on,” he said. “There’s not going to be a series. Just ask me a few questions and be done with it.”
Her grin had gone beyond smug to full out gloating. “It’s already been approved. It’ll be a three-hour special, divided up over three nights. Pretty standard.”
“Standard, my ass,” Luc snapped. “How the hell are you going to stretch four minutes of amateur video into three hours?”
Ava gave an expectant look at the captain, who cleared his throat nervously before explaining. “Ms. Sims and her team will be shadowing you for a while, Moretti. A day in the life of a New York’s Finest, and all that.”
“Just think, two whole months together!” she said with a mockingly bright smile meant to annoy him. “Won’t that be fun? You can show me all the lives you’ve saved with those parking tickets.”
Luc was too busy grinding his teeth to reply. Ava dug something out of her purse, slapping it against his chest before sweeping toward the door in her sexy high heels.
“See you on Monday, Officer.”
Luc swallowed against the surge of panic. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. It was one thing to be a local hero. Another thing entirely to become a “household name” as Ava had indicated. The last thing Luc needed was an even brighter spotlight on him, shining in places that should remain in the dark forever.
“I don’t like it either,” Brinker said gruffly, d. . .
Holy crap! You’re like, that guy! You’re the cop!”
Luc Moretti deliberately ignored the high-pitched squeal.
He took a slow sip of his much-needed coffee and threw up a silent prayer that for once, the women would be talking about some other cop.
“Tina, it is him! The cop from the YouTube video!”
Shit.
Pray as he might, it was never some other officer who was subjected to overenthusiastic hero worship. Not these days, anyway. It was always Luc who couldn’t do so much as get on the A train without hearing some form of, hey, aren’t you that guy…?
Yes. Yes he was that fucking guy. Unfortunately.
“Can we get a picture with you?” one of the women asked as they both closed in on him.
“Actually, I—”
Luc’s ready protest was interrupted by the deep voice of his partner.
“Ladies, ladies, let’s give Officer Moretti some space! The man likes to refresh his makeup before a photo op. Moretti, did you bring that special lip balm you like to use? The one you say makes your lips all rosy?”
Luc’s eyes narrowed at his partner as he reached up and scratched his nose with his middle finger.
Both women had already pulled cell phones out of their purses, ready for a shot with New York’s latest hero.
Luc shot another fuck you glare at his partner, but Sawyer Lopez was already reaching for the girls’ phones, gesturing his hands in an “all-together-now” motion.
Two curvy blondes flanked Luc on either side. Their too-sweet perfume was ruining his caffeine buzz, but he smiled for the picture anyway. The grin was habit, if not exactly genuine.
Once, Luc’s smiles for pretty women had been easy and authentic. Now they were reflexive, born out of a month’s worth of misplaced hero worship.
Sawyer Lopez, on the other hand, had no such hang-ups, and was in full charm mode.
“So where you ladies visiting from?” Lopez asked, handing the girls back their phones.
Luc took another sip of his increasingly cold coffee and rolled his eyes. At least someone was profiting from Luc’s brush with fame.
“Little Rock,” the taller blonde said, her fingers moving rapidly over the screen of her phone.
Luc had no doubt that his face had just been plastered all over every possible social media site. Again.
“Ah, that explains the cute southern accent,” Lopez told the woman with a wink.
Uh huh. It also explained what the women were doing wandering around Times Square—a place no New Yorker would be caught dead in unless someone paid them to be there.
In Luc and Lopez’s case, that someone doing the paying was the NYPD.
Crowd control in midtown wasn’t exactly the sexy part of being a New York cop, but it was a necessary one, especially on days where the latest teen pop star was giving a concert at 47th and Broadway.
Times Square was every cop’s least favorite gig. But when there was a concert, parade, or holiday, it was all hands on deck.
“How long you here for?” Lopez asked, still trying to get the women to notice that he was giving them his best smile. They barely responded, still busy on their phones, and Luc nearly grinned at the irritation on his partner’s face.
A month ago, Sawyer Lopez could have gotten the attention of just about any woman he wanted. With the dark skin and jet-black hair of his Latino father, and the pale blue eyes of a Norwegian mother, he was never short on female company.
Then Luc had become an overnight sensation, and now Lopez had to work twice as hard for his share of female attention. Luc would be gloating if the whole situation hadn’t been so damned annoying.
“Excuse me, Officer, could you help us for a second? We’re trying to find the Hilton—”
Luc turned to the tired-looking couple dragging around enormous suitcases and a cranky-looking toddler. Their expressions were more exhausted than star-struck, and he smiled when he realized they didn’t recognize him.
He’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to be anonymous.
By the time Luc pointed the tourists to their hotel, his partner had finally managed to recapture the blondes’ attention.
“Oh God, no,” Lopez was saying. “Listen, you want real New York pizza, you’re going to walk a bit. I’d recommend—”
Ah, shit. Once Lopez got started talking about pizza, he could go on for hours.
And since Lopez only shared his “pizza secrets” when he was trying to get laid, experience told Luc he was on the verge of being roped into a double date with a couple of Arkansas tourists.
“Lopez. Let’s move out,” Luc snapped.
The two women blinked in surprise at Luc’s sharp tone, and he felt a sting of regret for being a complete and utter dick.
He used to be good around women. Back when women had liked him for him. Back when he’d been just regular Luc, not Super Cop Moretti.
But then everything had changed. Thanks to a couple of tourists with camera phones and impeccable timing, Luc’s life had become a damned carnival.
Luc gave a slow smile to soften the blow of his irritation. “Sorry, ladies. Duty calls.”
His partner grunted something that sounded like horseshit.
Lopez had a point. Luc’s excuse was a load of BS. The only duty they had at the moment was making sure Broadway didn’t turn into a stampede.
But the women nodded in wide-eyed understanding at Luc. “New York’s so lucky to have a cop like you.”
Luc heard the words like a jab to the jugular, although he forced himself to smile through the wave of darkness that rushed over him. These women didn’t have a clue just how undeserving of praise he was. Nobody did.
Pushing the haunting thoughts away before they could fully take hold, he gave the women a wide smile before dragging his partner away.
“I need a disguise,” Luc muttered.
“Nah. Embrace it, man. Get yourself a cape. I’m thinking velvet,” Lopez said. “I bet Clark Kent knows just the place to get that shit dry-cleaned.”
“Hilarious. I haven’t heard a million superhero jokes from my brothers, so please, bring it on.”
Lopez grinned unabashedly. “I bet the Moretti cop clan is loving their little bambino being all famous and shit.”
“You have no idea,” Luc muttered.
Luc was the youngest in a family of cops. He couldn’t even get in the door to Sunday dinner without his brothers bursting out of the bushes, pretending to be the paparazzi.
Generally speaking, his bambino status was hell, but he’d happily go back to taking shit about being the baby over this latest brush-with-fame crap.
Lopez skidded to a halt beside Luc, his eyes boring through the crowd as he slowly extended a warning finger. Luc followed his partner’s glare to a sulky teen boy in saggy jeans and greasy hair parted down the middle. The kid was seconds away from attempting to ride his skateboard down a very busy midtown sidewalk.
Lopez said it all with one finger and look. Not cool, kid. Don’t make me come over there.
Luckily the kid correctly interpreted the warning and had enough sense to keep his board tucked under his arm until he got to a less crowded part of the city. Or at least until he got out of sight of cops.
“Wish they were all that easy,” Luc said as they resumed walking.
Lopez grunted before turning his attention back to Luc. “So how’s your dad reacting to your newfound celebrity? I bet Big T’s either disgusted at the circus or thrilled at the prestige.”
“A little of both,” Luc said, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “He’s always thought cops were supposed to be unsung heroes, but he’s not above wanting the Department to look good.”
“Even now?” Lopez asked. “He’s retired. He’s not supposed to care about anything other than sports and annoying your mom.”
“Especially now,” Luc replied.
“Ah,” Lopez said, nodding in understanding. “He bored?”
Luc grunted as he surveyed the crowd out of habit. “Just last week he threatened to take up paint-by-numbers if one of us didn’t go over there to watch the game with him.”
“Can’t be easy for the guy,” Lopez replied. “One day you’re head of the fucking NYPD, the next day, bam, you’re looking at a future of mundane arts and crafts projects.”
Lopez had a valid point. Just a year ago, Tony Moretti had stepped down as police commissioner. The adjustment to retirement had been a rough one, made easier only by the fact that four out of four sons were cops to carry on his legacy.
Or so Tony liked to claim.
What Luc was pretty sure his father actually meant was that Luc’s three older brothers were carrying on the family legacy. But Luc…Luc suspected that deep down, his father didn’t expect much out of Luc. Not since the Shayna Johnson case had gone to shit.
Luc’s brothers may push the envelope on respect for authority, but none of them had had their partner die on the job.
No, that horror was Luc’s private torture. Private, because nobody talked about it. Ever.
But at least the rest of the Moretti siblings were on a clear path toward securing the Moretti family name as NYPD royalty. Despite his brothers’ penchant for bending the rules, all had made a name for themselves as some of the city’s best.
Luc’s oldest brother, Anthony, was next in line for captain in his zone.
Vincent was one of the city’s best homicide DTs. The best, according to Vin. Modesty had never been his strong suit.
Marco had taken his fair share of crap for moving to California to follow his girlfriend, but he too was moving up the ranks of the LAPD at an obnoxious rate.
And then there was Luc. Luc was just lowly Officer Moretti. The one with a dead partner. The responding officer on the Shayna Johnson case.
Until now. Now Luc was that cop. The hero. The one who couldn’t get a cup of coffee without the barista doing a double take and writing her phone number on the paper cup of his Americano.
For most cops, the attention would have been flattering at best, a nuisance at worst.
But for Luc, it was pure torture.
Because only he really understood that Luc Moretti was as far from heroic as it was possible to get.
CHAPTER TWO
Back at the precinct, Luc didn’t even make it to his desk before Shitty Day, Part II, came roaring at him.
“Hey, Moretti, Cap wants to see you in his office,” Officer Kerry said, clamping Luc on the shoulder. Luc set aside the coffee mug he’d been about to fill.
“You tell Lopez?” Luc called after him.
Kerry turned around and shrugged as he walked backward. “Cap said just you.”
“Shit,” Luc muttered.
Captain Brinker was a power-tripping prick, prone to sanctimonious lectures and unwarranted pep talks.
Luc, in particular, was a frequent victim of these little chats.
Brinker had gotten it into his head that Luc and his brothers were only in “the business” because their daddy had paved the way.
Never mind that the Moretti brothers had been top of their class at Academy and had flawless records.
Well, flawless if you discounted Anthony’s ego problems and Vincent’s penchant for going off-book.
But Luc? Luc had always played it straight.
It was an approach that worked 99 percent of the time. And as for that 1 percent of the time when going by the book could turn deadly…
Luc rapped a knuckle on the door of Brinker’s office. “You wanted to see me, Cap?”
Brinker gave a jerk of his chin, gesturing for Luc to come in.
“How was Times Square?” his boss asked.
Total bullshit, Luc wanted to say. Instead he shrugged. “The same as usual.”
Brinker gave him a dark look as though looking for sarcasm or something to reprimand Luc for, but Luc gave him a deliberately bland smile.
“You wanted to see me?” Luc asked again.
Brinker nodded once and gave a pointed look toward the back of his office, and Luc shifted his gaze, surprised to realize they weren’t alone.
A woman stood in the back corner of the room, helping herself to coffee from the fancy coffee machine Brinker kept for his own personal use.
Her body was mostly hidden by one of the horrible potted plants that Brinker’s wife insisted gave his office “homey character.”
And then she stepped into plain view.
He couldn’t help it; he checked her out. Everything about the woman demanded a second look, the legs in particular.
Luc had never really considered himself a legs-man, being more of an “equal opportunity” guy when it came to female body parts. (Although, if his mother ever asked, he’d swear up and down that he only ever noticed personality. Maybe the eyes.)
But the legs on this one were damn near perfect. For that matter, the high breasts and slim waist also earned high marks.
Her subdued black skirt and white blouse should have been boring, but they’d obviously been tailored to fit her trim frame perfectly.
Plus, the black high heels added an element of sexy to the otherwise demure attire.
Then he looked at her face, and for a second, Luc felt just a little bit dazed.
If anything, her features were even more appealing than the body. Her eyes were maybe just slightly too large for her otherwise petite features, but there was no doubt about it, the woman was stunning.
And yet, there was something else there too, just beyond the jolt of sexual awareness.
Recognition.
Luc might not have his brother Vincent’s photographic memory, but he was pretty damn good with faces. And he was pretty sure he knew this one. His brain scrambled to place her, but he kept coming up blank.
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly on Luc, and his narrowed right back. He definitely knew her from somewhere.
She came forward and shook his hand. “Fifth and Fortieth, three years ago.”
He shook his head to indicate he didn’t follow.
“You’re trying to figure out how you know me. Three years ago, you gave my news van a parking ticket, and we exchanged…words. That’s where you know me from. I’m Ava Sims.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Luc said quietly as the memory rolled over him. Legs had spotted Luc writing up her crew’s media van and gone all crazy on him, apparently oblivious to the cuffs and gun he carried.
He’d issued countless parking tickets, but rarely was he caught in the act of actually writing one. And when you were caught in the act by someone who looked like her, you remembered it.
She had tried to pull her hand away, but Luc held fast, just to mess with her. She sniffed in annoyance, but he didn’t miss that quick slip of her tongue over her lips.
He nearly grinned at her discomfort.
Yup. That zip of sexual chemistry was every bit as familiar as her legs.
Her eyes flicked to his mouth for a moment, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the grin. The physical appreciation between them hadn’t faded.
But other things had. Ava had changed. She was still beautiful, but back then there’d been a sort of wildness about her. Hell, you had to be half-wild to get into it with a uniformed police officer on a crowded midtown sidewalk.
He had a fuzzy memory of her dark hair in one of those messy knots, with pieces falling down all over the place, her eyes sparkling with passion as she’d raged at him for obstructing her rights, or some hippie shit.
Somehow he couldn’t imagine this version of Ava Sims losing her cool over anything, much less a parking ticket. Not only was the outfit completely buttoned up and tailored, but her hair, while still sexy as hell, had an almost stiff look about it. The lips too were full and tempting, but they had the shiny look of that goopy stuff women put on them. Gloss, or whatever.
Still stunning. But different.
Luc didn’t break eye contact with the gorgeous brunette in front of him.
She was a couple inches shorter than his six-foot-one even with her high heels, but somehow she managed to give the impression that she was looking down at him.
Ava tugged again with her hand, and Luc tentatively released it, searching for the passionate woman he remembered. Instead, all he saw was icy reserve.
This wasn’t the wild, don’t obstruct my rights Ava. This was polished, TV-ready Ava.
He felt the loss more acutely than he should for a woman he didn’t even know.
They continued to hold each other’s gaze until Brinker broke up the moment. “Moretti, you were on traffic duty? I had no idea police royalty stooped that low. Were you grounded?”
Brinker laughed at his own joke, and Luc forced a smile, finally releasing Ava’s hand.
“Well, Officer,” Ava said with mocking respect, “it looks like you’ve come a long way from trying to impede on New York citizens’ First Amendment rights.”
Her voice was all sweetness and honey, but since Luc had a sister and a string of ex-girlfriends, he recognized her tone for what it really was: sugared venom.
He felt a strange surge of relief that she still had sharp edges beneath that tidy outfit and perfect makeup.
Luc moved a half step toward her, pleased that she didn’t move back. “Tell me, Ms. Sims, where in the Bill of Rights does it permit citizens to park next to a Stop sign, in front of a No Parking sign, just three feet from a fire hydrant?”
She rolled her eyes, which up close, he could see were warm honey brown. “Yes, thank God you were there at that moment to keep the city safe. I mean, just where would we be if you hadn’t been there to stop the local media from getting a shot of the mayor leaving a fund-raiser!”
He opened his mouth in anger. Maybe he wasn’t so eager to see the passionate version of this woman after all. She may think the laws were frivolous, but they were there for good reason. He stood by every ticket he’d ever written. He stood by the laws behind them.
She held up a hand before he could respond, her expression all mock outrage. “Wait. Did you never get my thank-you note? I so wanted to express my gratitude for you putting a stop to my life of crime.”
“Well here’s your chance to thank me,” Luc said, ignoring her sarcasm. “It would also be a good time to apologize for physically assaulting an officer of the law.”
Okay, so assault was a strong word. But she’d touched him. He definitely remembered her touching him.
Her eyes narrowed. “Never happened. You’re confused. Must be the sugar-high from too many doughnuts.”
“You shoved me,” he exaggerated. “And I seem to remember a threat…”
She cut her eyes over to Luc’s boss. “Did Officer Moretti hit his head when he dove into the river to save that little girl? He seems to be disoriented.”
Disappointment spiked through Luc at her reference to that damned river incident. She’d seen the damned YouTube video. And if she’d seen that one, she’d probably seen the other.
Luc froze as realization rolled over him.
That’s why she was here.
The pieces fell into place slower than they should. Had he not had a half-mast boner he would have caught on earlier. She was here for superhero Moretti, not parking-ticket Moretti.
Three years ago, Ava had obviously been a hungry-for-the-story journalist, but if her prissy clothes were any indication, she’d moved up the ranks quite nicely. Luc was guessing that these days, Ava Sims spent a lot more time in hair and makeup than she did chasing after fund-raiser photo ops.
Brinker took a sip of his coffee before dropping the bomb that confirmed Luc’s fears. “CBC wants to run a special on you.”
Luc didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “It’ll get national coverage. You’ll go from being locally famous to being a household name across the country.”
Her tone implied that Luc should be doing cartwheels at this development. She had no idea just how wrong she was.
“Oh well, in that case!” Luc said, letting his voice go excited before dropping back down to a monotone. “No fucking way.”
Ava Sims didn’t even flinch.
Captain Brinker broke in. “Listen, Moretti. You know that if it was up to me, you’d be doing the Bronx beat where maybe that pretty face of yours would see some action, not being paraded around like you’re the best thing since Batman. But this directive is above me. The order’s coming all the way from the top.”
Pissed, Luc shook his head. “This isn’t what the NYPD is about. We don’t grandstand.”
“You do when a cop with a Hollywood-heartthrob face can’t resist putting himself in front of a camera,” Ava said, checking out her manicure.
Luc resisted the urge to snap that he didn’t want those fucking cameras capturing his every move. That if he could go back in time, some sort of dire accident would have happened to every one of those damned camera phones.
“We need the good publicity, Moretti.” Captain Brinker’s tone was serious now, and Luc knew why.
The NYPD wasn’t exactly in good standing with the people recently.
Three months ago, an officer in uniform had shot an unarmed homeless man. The officer had claimed self-defense and mistaken identity of a weapon, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the damage.
Trigger-happy cops made people nervous.
The officer had been suspended, and the NYPD had made promise after promise to implement additional training, but it hadn’t done much good. Cops were getting a lot more boos than accolades these days.
Apparently, the higher-ups had just found the ultimate form of damage control.
And Luc was the sacrificial lamb.
“Shit,” Luc muttered, realizing there was no way out of it.
Immediately on the heels of his irritation was just the slightest surge of fear.
Fear that Ava Sims would go digging back to November two years ago when Luc had learned, firsthand, the dark side of being a cop. A dark side where good officers died and little girls in pink dresses went missing.
Luc rubbed a hand over his face and forced the thought back where it belonged. Far, far away from the prying eyes of Ava Sims.
Letting a journalist get to him was one thing. He’d be damned before he’d let her get to Shayna Johnson.
Correction: to the memory of Shayna Johnson. And he wasn’t letting her get at Mike’s memory either. He didn’t know why he’d been spared the media attention when it had all gone down two years ago, but he was damned grateful. Luc wasn’t about to let the legacy of two good people be tarnished now.
Ava Sims reached out and gave his arm a smug little pat, either oblivious or indifferent to Luc’s inner turmoil.
“We start Monday. What time do you get to work?”
“Sorry?” he said.
“Your workday. When do you start?”
He shook his head. “Why does it matter? Don’t you just tell me what day and time to show up at your studio?”
She rolled her eyes. “We can’t just have three hours’ worth of face-to-face interviews in cushy chairs. This is an inside look at America’s Hero.”
“Hold on now,” Luc said, his irritation escalating to panic. “Three hours? And America’s what?”
“America’s Hero. It’ll be the name of the series.”
Oh sweet Jesus.
“Now hold the hell on,” he said. “There’s not going to be a series. Just ask me a few questions and be done with it.”
Her grin had gone beyond smug to full out gloating. “It’s already been approved. It’ll be a three-hour special, divided up over three nights. Pretty standard.”
“Standard, my ass,” Luc snapped. “How the hell are you going to stretch four minutes of amateur video into three hours?”
Ava gave an expectant look at the captain, who cleared his throat nervously before explaining. “Ms. Sims and her team will be shadowing you for a while, Moretti. A day in the life of a New York’s Finest, and all that.”
“Just think, two whole months together!” she said with a mockingly bright smile meant to annoy him. “Won’t that be fun? You can show me all the lives you’ve saved with those parking tickets.”
Luc was too busy grinding his teeth to reply. Ava dug something out of her purse, slapping it against his chest before sweeping toward the door in her sexy high heels.
“See you on Monday, Officer.”
Luc swallowed against the surge of panic. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. It was one thing to be a local hero. Another thing entirely to become a “household name” as Ava had indicated. The last thing Luc needed was an even brighter spotlight on him, shining in places that should remain in the dark forever.
“I don’t like it either,” Brinker said gruffly, d. . .
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