“Yes. It won’t happen again.”
“I can’t risk it happening again.” Williams rubbed his forehead, and Stone got a bad feeling in his gut. He’d figured on a tongue-lashing, maybe probation, but this looked more serious. What would he do if he got fired? Panic flared, but he fought it back down. No way. He’d do anything needed to stay. “Look, Petty, you’re a good cop. Thorough, badass, and I still think a good addition here. The guys like you. But this anger scares the crap out of me. It’s the reason you left your last precinct, and I don’t need baggage following you here.”
“I’ve been here a year already, sir, without incident.”
“All you need is one incident to banish all the good. If you want to stay, I have some new terms.”
Relief hit. Okay, this he could deal with. A few sessions with the shrink, maybe. A slap on the wrist. Forced vacay. Whatever he got hit with, he’d do it with a smile and show his boss he could be trusted.
“Of course. Whatever you think is best, I’ll do it.”
Williams choked out a laugh. “Let’s hope. You’ll be enrolled in a six-week anger management class.” He pulled out some papers from a thick manila folder and threw them on the desk. “Suspension for two weeks. Devine has already been briefed. He’ll remain your partner when you return, but he’s lead and you follow.”
Stone winced. He hated playing second when they’d been equals, but, hell, he’d swallow it. Two weeks with no work was scary, but he’d swallow it, too, since he had no choice. But anger management? Yikes, that was a new one. He grabbed the paper and began scanning the document.
“And don’t think you’re gonna show up at these classes and breeze through. From what I’ve heard, she’s hard-core and incorporates an array of unorthodox treatments. In other words, it’s gonna be hell.”
Private counseling sessions. Yoga? No way. What did yoga have to do with anger management? Charity and community service? Meditation? His heart pounded and sweat pricked his skin. Holy crap, would she force him to sit on the floor cross-legged and chant to Buddha? This wasn’t a few hours of lying on a couch and sharing feelings. This was sleepaway camp where the serial killer came in and offed everyone in his path.
Yeah. He could only hope.
Williams stared at him as if expecting a temper explosion or strong denials. Stone choked back his righteous refusal to be a trained pony, because his damn job was his life.
He had nothing else left to give.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You need to sign.”
Stone glared but grabbed the pen and scrawled his name on the line. Like he had a choice. Williams actually looked a bit surprised at his easy acceptance.
“You start Monday. Take the weekend off and get your head together.”
“Who’s running the classes?” Stone asked.
“Meadows. Arilyn Meadows. I guess she’s part owner of that matchmaking agency, Kinnections, but she also does classes on the side in anger management, counseling, and yoga.”
Great. That’s where the crazy stuff came from. The name rang a bell in his head, and a faint memory tried to grab hold. How did he know that name? So familiar . . .
“Anyway, do your time, and don’t let me see this trouble again. Now get outta here.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left the office and stopped to talk with some of the other guys who wanted to find out about his punishment. He took some ribbing, but generally everyone had his back. Good thing. He’d just reached his desk when he froze, his brain finally making the connection.
Arilyn Meadows.
He’d met her over the summer during a domestic abuse case with one of her best friends. A long, lithe body. Hip-length strawberry hair and grass-green eyes.
Also the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met.
She was prickly, mouthy, and superior. She razzed him about smoking, accused him of slacking on the job, and had the balls to call him on the endless cliché that he ate donuts in his spare time. She drove him crazy, yet he’d responded to her physically in an instant. A strange, burning chemistry slammed through him when her gaze caught his, and he had the weird instinct to do things to her.
Sexual things.
There was something in those vivid green eyes that called to him. Secrets hidden he wanted to unearth. A demand to make her surrender.
Nuts.
He was certifiably nuts to get a hard-on by a hippie with a God complex. The thought of being tortured for six weeks in a room with her almost made him go back to his chief and tell him no.
Almost.
But he had no choice. The nicotine patch on his arm itched. Oh, he wanted a sweet smoke more than anything else. Would give up his last dime of savings for a puff. Instead, he gritted his teeth and drew out the one crumpled pack of Marlboros he’d left himself as a reminder. Sticking his nose against the pack, he took a deep breath. The faint scent of tobacco calmed him a bit. Ignoring his coworkers’ jibes and laughter, he got himself back together and stuck the pack back in his pocket till the next time. He may miss the habit, but he was nearing forty, loved carbs, red meat, and sugar, and was a walking symbol for an early heart attack. He also despised weakness, and a vice that strong needed to go.