Second in Command Read online

  Second in Command

  Lieutenant Jazz Perry finds a young girl wandering the downtown streets alone late at night. As the child becomes attached to her, Jazz is reminded of her own experiences in foster care and takes a personal interest even when she knows she should maintain professional distance.

  Social worker Emory Blake is good at her job helping children in challenging situations. She believes in the system and knows it works if you let it. When Jazz starts interfering in the case and bypassing the rules, Emory is torn between her responsibilities and an unwelcome attraction she can’t deny.

  When on the job responsibilities collide with desires of the heart, becoming personally involved is the only choice.

  What Reviewers Say About VK Powell’s Work

  Take Your Time

  “The last book in the Pine Cone Romance series was excellent, and I reckon VK Powell wrote the perfect book to round up the series. …If these are the sex scenes VK Powell can write, then I have been missing out and I will definitely be checking out more because WOW! All in all… Fantastic! 5 stars”—Les Reveur

  Captain’s Choice

  “VK Powell is the mistress of police romances and this one is another classic ‘will she won’t she’ story of lost loves reunited by chance. Well written, lots of great sex and excellent sexual tension, great character building and use of the setting, this was a thoroughly enjoyable read.”—Lesbian Reading Room

  Side Effects

  “[A] touching contemporary tale of two wounded souls hoping to find lasting love and redemption together. …Powell ably plots a plausible and suspenseful story, leading readers to fall in love with the characters she’s created.”—Publishers Weekly

  To Protect and Serve

  “If you like cop novels, or even television cop shows with women as full partners with male officers…this is the book for you. It’s got drama, excitement, conflict, and even some fairly hot lesbian sex. The writer is a retired cop, so she really writes from a place of authenticity. As a result, you have a realistic quality to the writing that puts me in mind of early Joseph Wambaugh.”—Teresa DeCrescenzo, Lesbian News

  “To Protect and Serve drew me in from the very first page with characters that captivated in their complexity. Powell writes with authority using the lingo and capturing the thoughts of the law enforcers who make the ultimate sacrifice in the fight against crime. What’s more impressive is the command this debut author has of portraying a full gamut of emotion, from angst to elation, through dialogue and narrative. The images are vivid, the action is believable, and the police procedurals are authentic. …VK Powell had me invested in the story of these women, heart, mind, body and soul. Along with danger and tension, Powell’s well-developed erotic scenes sizzle and sate.”—Story Circle Book Reviews

  If you like cop novels, or even television cop shows with women as full partners with male officers…this is the book for you. It’s got drama, excitement, conflict, and even some fairly hot lesbian sex. The writer is a retired cop, so she really writes from a place of authenticity. As a result, you have a realistic quality to the writing that puts me in mind of early Joseph Wambaugh, before his writing became formulaic…in a serious and at the same time rollicking and frolicking sexually novel, the good guys—or gals in this case—win out and good triumphs over evil. And the right girl ends up with the right girl.”—Rainbow Reviews

  “To Protect and Serve drew me in from the very first page with characters that captivated in their complexity. Powell writes with authority using the lingo and capturing the thoughts of the law enforcers who make the ultimate sacrifice in the fight against crime.”—Just About Write

  Suspect Passions

  “From the first chapter of Suspect Passions Powell builds erotic scenes which sear the page. She definitely takes her readers for a walk on the wild side! Her characters, however, are also women we care about. They are bright, witty, and strong. The combination of great sex and great characters make Suspect Passions a must read.”—Just About Write

  Fever

  “VK Powell has given her fans an exciting read. The plot of Fever is filled with twists, turns, and ‘seat of your pants’ danger. …Fever gives readers both great characters and erotic scenes along with insight into life in the African bush.”—Just About Write

  Justifiable Risk

  “This story takes some unusual twists and at one point, I was convinced that I knew ‘who did it’ only to find out that I was wrong. VK Powell knows crime drama, she kept me guessing until the end, and I was not disappointed at the outcome. And that’s not to slight VK Powell’s knack for romance. …Readers who appreciate mysteries with a touch of drama and intense erotic moments will enjoy Justifiable Risk.”—Queer Magazine

  “Justifiable Risk is an exciting, seat of your pants read. It’s also has some very hot sex scenes. Powell really shines, however, in showing the inner growth of Greer and Eva as they each deal with their personal issues. This is a very strong, multifaceted book.—Just About Write

  Exit Wounds

  “Powell’s prose is no-nonsense and all business. It gets in and gets the job done, a few well-placed phrases sparkling in your memory and some trenchant observations about life in general and a cop’s life in particular sticking to your psyche long after they’ve gone. After five books, Powell knows what her audience wants, and she delivers those goods with solid assurance. But be careful you don’t get hooked. You only get six hits, then the supply’s gone, and you’ll be jonesin’ for the next installment. It never pays to be at the mercy of a cop.”—Out in Print

  “Fascinating and complicated characters materialize, morph, and sometimes disappear testing the passionate yet nascent love of the book’s focal pair. I was so totally glued to and amazed by the intricate layers that continued to materialize like an active volcano…dangerous and deadly until the last mystery is revealed. This book goes into my super special category. Please don’t miss it.”—Rainbow Book Reviews

  About Face

  “Powell excels at depicting complex, emotionally vulnerable characters who connect in a believable fashion and enjoy some genuinely hot erotic moments.”—Publishers Weekly

  Deception

  “In Deception VK Powell takes some difficult social issues and portrays them with intelligence and empathy. …Well-written, enjoyable storyline, excellent use of location to add colour to the background, and extremely well drawn characters. VK Powell has created a great sense of life on the streets in an excellent crime/mystery with a turbulent but charming romance.”—Lesbian Reading Room

  Second in Command

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Second in Command

  © 2018 By VK Powell. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-186-0

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: December 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri (hindsightgraphics@
gmail.com)

  By the Author

  To Protect and Serve

  Suspect Passions

  Fever

  Justifiable Risk

  Haunting Whispers

  Exit Wounds

  About Face

  Side Effects

  Deception

  Lone Ranger

  Captain’s Choice

  Take Your Time

  Second in Command

  Acknowledgments

  I’ve been blessed to pursue two careers that brought me great satisfaction. The first, law enforcement, allowed me to help people and to work for the advancement of women in a profession that often overlooked them. In the second, I parlay that career into stories of survival, the struggle to balance love and livelihood, and the fight between good and evil. To Len Barot, Sandy Lowe, and all the other wonderful folks at Bold Strokes Books—thank you for giving me and so many other authors the chance to tell our stories.

  To Cindy Cresap, many thanks for your extra time and attention on this project. Your fresh perspective and insights were invaluable. The steady doses of humor didn’t hurt either.

  To my beta readers—D. Jackson Leigh and Jenny Harmon—you guys are the best! This book is so much better for your efforts. I am truly grateful.

  And last, but never least, to all the readers who support and encourage my writing, thank you for buying my books, sending emails, giving shout-outs on social media, and showing up for events. Let’s keep doing this!

  Chapter One

  Lieutenant Jazz Perry closed the door of her patrol car on the top level of the Bellemeade parking deck and walked to the edge overlooking downtown Greensboro. Without the steady beat from nearby clubs echoing between the buildings and beckoning patrons, the sidewalks were quiet and deserted. Cloud cover of the day had lifted, leaving the night air chilly and exhilarating. Nothing beat the feeling of being on top of the world, but nothing reminded her more of how alone she was either. Her position as second in command to a district captain was her ideal job, but in these quiet, solitary times she longed for more than the satisfaction of a career.

  She wiped a hand across her face, and the cool air momentarily revived her. Lack of sleep and an overdose of marital bliss. That’s why she was so pensive bordering on morose. The hectic activity of early night shift had waned, and boredom and fatigue were setting in. After spending the day furniture shopping with Bennett and Kerstin, she’d gotten little rest.

  Jazz hated shopping but wouldn’t dampen Bennett’s happiness by refusing their invitation. Being around two women who were obviously in love, had just gotten married, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other had stirred Jazz’s desire to seriously date again instead of just playing the field. She wanted to belong to someone special and have a family someday, but moping about it wouldn’t make it so. She scanned Elm Street one last time and started back to her vehicle.

  “All units, be on the lookout for a possible lost child in the Aycock neighborhood. Communications has received two calls of a young girl wandering down the sidewalk alone.”

  She stuffed her problems down. Other people needed help with theirs. The dispatcher repeated the alert as Jazz wound her vehicle down the exit ramp. Her stomach churned. She’d been that child—running away from some group home or foster parent, roaming unfamiliar neighborhoods, and looking for a way to escape the family du jour. She prayed this child wasn’t doing the same.

  Jazz stopped at the intersection of Elm and Bellemeade and listened for anything unusual. The Aycock Historic District was adjacent to downtown, so a determined kid could’ve easily made it this far. Nothing moved, and only the occasional whir of an industrial heating unit disturbed the quiet.

  She stepped away from the motor noises of the car and heard vicious growling and pounding feet. The sounds ricocheted off the buildings which made pinpointing the direction difficult. Behind her? She drove through the alley beside the parking deck onto Greene Street. About a hundred feet to her left, a grayish dog chased a child, pumping her arms like a distance runner, down the middle of the street. Jazz sped toward them, horn blowing, and slid to a stop beside the child. The dog retreated, but the child kept running.

  Jazz pulled alongside again. “Stop. I’m here to help.” The little girl looked at her with wide eyes and kept running. “Seriously. Stop.” Jazz parked and ran after her, caught up easily, and matched her pace. “So, where are we heading?”

  The girl waved at her to go away and tried to speak, but was breathless.

  “You might as well stop, because I’m going to stick with you until the end, wherever that is.” She looked back, hoping to reassure the girl. “The dog is gone, by the way.”

  The girl stopped, placed her hands on her knees, and bent over pulling for breath. “Thought…he was…going to…eat me.” Her torn jeans and scuffed tennis shoes with broken laces could’ve been those of an active kid or a child who had to make due, but the stained gray sweatshirt she tugged on as she puffed for air clued Jazz it was the latter.

  “You’re safe now.” Under the streetlights, Jazz stepped closer for a better look. The girl was still terrified, searching behind them constantly. Blond bangs covered a scrape on her forehead that had begun to swell, blood stained the rips in the knees of her jeans, and dried blood and dirt caked the palm of her right hand.

  “Safe from the dog maybe.”

  The child mumbled the words, but Jazz heard them. What was this kid going through? Jazz knew from her own experience and from dealing with other children on the job not to ask directly. “So, respect. You’re fast.”

  “I run a lot.”

  The comment triggered a familiar ache and a fierce protective streak in Jazz. Nothing was worse than being a child and feeling unsafe and afraid. “How about a break? My car is warm and dog free.” She nodded toward her vehicle behind them in the street. The girl shook her head unconvincingly. “Can I give you a lift home?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Not sure.”

  If she pushed too hard, the girl would shut down, but she had to ask certain questions in order to help her. “You don’t have a home?”

  “Been in three. Not sure where I’m staying tonight.” The girl scuffed her shoe against the sidewalk, obviously frustrated.

  “It’s all right. We’ll figure it out. How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  Jazz guided her gently toward the police car, hoping she wouldn’t bolt. Eleven-year-olds liked their independence, and this one appeared more headstrong than most, like Jazz had been at that age. “What’s your name?”

  “Shea. Shea Spencer.”

  “I’m Jazz. Can we sit? You wore me out.” She opened the front passenger door. “Ever been inside a police cruiser?” The minute she asked the question, she regretted it.

  “Plenty of times. No big.” Shea climbed in and propped her feet on the dash.

  Jazz breathed a little easier to have Shea corralled for the time being. Before she got in, she keyed her walkie-talkie. “Car 101, I’ve located the child downtown. Will advise transport location on arrival.” She settled beside Shea and stared out the window, letting her take the lead.

  “Knew where I was until the dog came after me. Lost track of the turns.”

  “Do you have your folks’ phone number?”

  “It’s just my dad, and he got a new number yesterday. Don’t know it yet.” Shea stared at her shoes, occasionally fiddling with her loose strings or glancing at the police computer.

  “Okay. I’ll drive around a bit to see if anything looks familiar. We at least need to let him know where you are. I’m sure he’s worried.”

  “Doubt it.”

  Shea was quiet, shaking her head at each house, while Jazz cruised the streets in the Aycock Historic District. Either Shea really didn’t know what her new home looked like or she simply didn’t want to go back. They circled through the area for over an hour with no luck.

&n
bsp; “Anything look familiar at all?”

  “Nope.”

  Jazz eyed the knot that had blossomed on Shea’s forehead and the cut to her hand. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay, except for a little headache.” Shea wouldn’t look at Jazz, instead scratching at the dried blood in her palm.

  “Would you mind if I take you to the hospital for a quick checkup? You’ve got a nasty bump on your head, scraped knees, and that cut might need stitches.”

  “Probably not a good idea.”

  “Why?” In her last foster home before the Carlyles, Jazz had experienced severe abdominal pain, but she’d kept it to herself for two days, fearing her guardians and the doctors. The next day her appendix had burst at school, and the teacher called an ambulance, resulting in emergency surgery and a month of restrictions at home. “Are you afraid of your dad, doctors, or something else?” Shea didn’t answer. “Never mind. I get it.”

  Shea finally glanced at her with a scowl that said probably not. “All three.”

  “I understand. Been there. Done that.”

  “No way.”

  “I was eleven once.” She waited until Shea gave her a tentative nod. “Went into foster care at four. At least you have a dad who cares about you.”