Kissing Reno(Brac Village 3)(27)

He still didn’t get why his dad had a stick up his rear. His life wasn’t bad. Baker had a job, a mate, and a cozy apartment. Why was his dad all over his ass?

Tossing his dirty clothes into the basket by his bedroom door, Baker felt a low throb in the front of his head.

Great, a fucking migraine. It was only befitting since everything else seemed to be going wrong tonight. But even though his head felt like a sledgehammer was coming down on his skull, Baker couldn’t help but think of Reno’s thick, masculine chest, strong, sure hands, or the way he could use one glance with those sexy espresso eyes to make Baker’s knees quiver.

With that thought in mind, Baker took a quick shower, jacked off, and went to bed.





Chapter Nine




Slipping his cell phone out of his front pocket, Officer Johnson dialed the number in his contacts. He listened to it ring as his eyes scanned over the apartment building. The hour was late but he knew the person he was calling would not only still be awake, but would answer.

From the dark interior of his police car, Johnson listened to the dispatcher’s voice crackle over the radio. He ignored it. There were more important things to do right now than grab some juveniles out past curfew. Let the other officers handle the call.

Just when he thought the call would forward to voice mail, the ringing stopped, replaced by an eerie quietness. But no one said a word. The person who answered his call waited for Johnson to speak.

He shifted in his seat, the groan of his utility belt sounding loud in the hush of his car. “I saw one of them bite a human tonight.” As Johnson sat there and recounted what he had witnessed at the gazebo, there was a grunt on the other end, telling him the person was listening.

“I followed the human to his apartment. I have to tell you, the biter didn’t look like a vampire to me. His teeth were longer, thicker, and he didn’t drink any blood.”

“How do you know this?” Mr. Kenyon asked in a slow, deeply intrigued tone.

“He bit the human on the shoulder, not on the neck. If I had to guess at what I saw, the guy’s teeth looked more like what a dog would have than a vampire.” Johnson turned the radio down so he could hear better. The dispatcher was really starting to work his nerves right now. The upbeat tone was irritating enough, but the guy sounded like he really enjoyed his job. Johnson curled his lip.

In his opinion, the guy needed to be replaced.

“I’ll have my secretary add this bit of information to his file.”

Mr. Kenyon’s tone told Johnson that he didn’t believe him, that Johnson was more of a crackpot than an observant informant. If the money wasn’t so damn appealing, Johnson would tell Kenyon to shove his condescending tone up his ass.

But the money was too good. Johnson wasn’t going to risk losing his pay over his foul temper. His bad attitude had gotten him in enough trouble with the police force. He had a feeling Kenyon wouldn’t tolerate such disrespect.

Johnson didn’t care anything about Kenyon except his wallet. The man was rich as fuck, and Johnson wanted a piece of that cheese. He needed to convince the man he wasn’t a wacko. “I can get pictures.”

He waited, his breath tight in his lungs as he once again glanced up at the apartment building. Kenyon hated chatty people, so Johnson didn’t say a word, letting what he said be absorbed.

“Bring me the person in question and I’ll double your payment.”

Johnson’s cock got hard over the amount Kenyon was talking about. He could retire, tell the force to go to hell, and go someplace with sandy beaches and miles of ocean as far as the eye could see. “I’ll get him for you. Where do you want him delivered?”

“Call me when you’ve secured him and I’ll give you the address.” Kenyon hung up.

Johnson tucked his phone away, smiling to himself as he started his car and headed toward the farmhouse that was on Reno Davis’s driver’s license.



* * * *



Reno felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand as he walked from the diner. The foreboding feeling that trickled over him was a warning that someone was following him. It wasn’t the same feeling he got when he was near Baker, so he knew it wasn’t his mate playing their little game.

No, this one was different.

His coyote was telling him it was a threat. But Reno didn’t need his beast confirming what he already knew. As he walked to his motorcycle, which was parked just outside The Café, Reno pretended to bend down and tie his boot. Using the cover, he casually glanced around, pretending indifference when he spotted the cop car parked a few buildings down. He immediately recognized the officer behind the wheel.