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The Cop Chapter 1 | page 1 | page 2 | excerpts
J.C. Riley wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay hidden in the depths of the priest’s cupboard. Patience was not her strong suit. Even as a child, she’d hated to wait for anything. Had enough time passed for that awful man with the snake eyes to go away? He’d shot Father Mike and then turned his gun on her. Just thinking about it made her stomach growl. She was absolutely starving. She always got ravenously hungry whenever she was scared or nervous. She’d made the 911 call eons ago. Shouldn’t the police have arrived by now? She thought she’d heard a siren, but that had been a while ago. And it could have been wishful thinking. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been hiding. She’d tried to say a rosary – something she hadn’t done in years. How long had that taken? Five minutes? Ten? She wanted to check on Father Mike and find out how badly he was hurt. The only reason she hadn’t was that she couldn’t do him much good if the snake-eyed man with the gun was still out there. It was too dark to check her watch. If she could just hear something... Whatever Father Mike’s vestments were made of, they certainly blocked out sound. The police could be here right now, and she wouldn’t know it. What she did know was that her fear of the snake-eyed man was gradually being replaced by her fear of being confined in a small space. And Father Mike’s cupboard gave new meaning to the word confined. She felt as if she were buried in vestments. The incense lingering on them had grown cloying. Keep calm, she told herself. But she could feel her heart beating faster and faster. As the urge to bolt began to grow, J.C. forced herself to imagine snake eyes looking for her – searching the rectory, then returning to the sacristy. At any moment he could fling open the cupboard and start plowing through the garments. She was nothing more than a sitting duck. Well, there was no sense in making it easy for him. Slowly, she burrowed her way toward the front of the cupboard, holding her breath each time one vestment rubbed against another. When she reached the door, she discovered that in her rush to hide herself, she hadn’t closed it completely. Pressing her face to the narrow opening, she peered through it and fear bubbled through her again. A man stood over the body of the dead man. He had his back to her, but she knew he wasn’t snake eyes. This man was taller, broader. Snake eye’s hair had been slicked back close to his head because of the ski mask. This man’s dark hair was dark, curly, and unruly. But she could sense just as much danger emanating from him as she had from snake eyes. He was wearing a tank top that fit snugly over nearly bronze colored skin. As he began to move slowly around the dead man, she caught her first glimpse of his face, and for a moment she stared, fascinated. He reminded her of the Greek gods that she’d read about in books. One in particular, she thought as she searched for the name. Adonis? Except that Adonis hadn’t been a god – just the human lover of two very powerful goddesses, Persephone and Aphrodite, who’d fought over him constantly. She was never quite sure why the story had fascinated her so because it was definitely a male fantasy. Personally, she’d yet to meet a man worth fighting someone over. J.C. gave herself a mental shake. This man might not be snake eyes, but he might very well be the man who’d fired those other shots she’d heard. As she continued to study him, she decided he wasn’t nearly as pretty as Adonis had been in the pictures anyway. This man was more...rugged looking. His nose wasn’t quite straight. Taking in the sharp slash of cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw, she thought of a warrior – the kind of man who would lead armies into war – and win. This didn’t at all explain why she had the oddest urge to touch his face – to feel the planes and angles of those bones beneath her hands. What was up with that, she thought with a frown. Warriors had never been her type. But then when it came to men, she really hadn’t had much experience determining her type. The kind of men her dad and step-mom wanted her to date might as well be clones of each other, successful young metro-males with the right kind of family backgrounds. She’d found them almost as boring as the temperamental prima donnas she’d met when she’d trained at the American Culinary Institute. The man in front of her had circled the body so that he was standing with his back to her again, and she caught herself noticing the way his threadbare jeans molded his butt. Good Lord, she wanted to touch that too. Had Aphrodite and Persephone had felt this almost overwhelming urge to get their hands on Adonis the first time they’d seen him? Whoa! J.C. reined in her thoughts again. A vivid imagination had always plagued her as a child, but she’d never reacted in quite this physical a way to a man before. Just looking at Mr. Adonis made her palms itch. For the first time, she noticed the gun and her throat went dry. It was tucked into the waistband of his jeans – right above his exceptional looking... Stop it, she scolded herself. This man could be working with snake eyes. She could very well be looking at a killer. A ruthless, cold-blooded killer. In that very instant, he whirled on her and she found herself looking down the barrel of a very big gun. “Open the door slowly and keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t make me shoot you.”? (continued...) |
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