Damaged Goods(6)

By: Cynthia Dane

“Oh, I feel better already.”

“I’m serious. Think about it.” Joseph slid a card across the table. “Call me if you decide you want to do it. We need to get the ball rolling by the end of next week.”

Sylvia pushed the card back toward him. “Don’t think so. I’d rather deal with the charges.”

Joseph sucked in both cheeks. Don’t give me that look. Sylvia hated it when men looked at her like that. As if she were too dumb for her own good. “Take it anyway.” The card slid back toward her. “In case you change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

He sighed. “Is this about what happened between us?”

“Oh, good!” Sylvia planted both of her hands on the table. “You remember me!”

“Yes, I remember.”

Sylvia glanced around the interview room until she found the camera. Now, was there someone on the other side of the window? Didn’t matter. “We fucked!” she shouted at the camera. “Twice! Two separate occasions.” She held up two fingers in case the person watching didn’t get the point.

“Lovely,” Joseph muttered. “They’re never gonna let me live that one down.”

“That’s what you get for fucking a woman under false pretenses.”

“False… what are you talking about?”

“I had no idea you were a cop!”

“That was the point. I was undercover.”

“And having a ton of fun, huh?”

Aw, he was trying to give her the cop glare. He wasn’t good at it, though. None of the Portland cops were good at it. They either looked lazy or too babyish to take seriously. “I didn’t have as much fun as you might think.”

Sylvia cocked her head. “I was a highlight, though, hm?”

He didn’t answer that.

“Can I go now? I’m pretty sure I’m due in a holding cell for the night.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve already cleared your charge. Consider it a freebie.”

“I know all about freebies.” Sylvia stood up, ignoring the card on the table. “And I know you don’t have that kind of power.”

He held her gaze. What is it with him and making me feel like melted ice cream inside? That was the only way to explain the way he looked at her. Fucking alpha men. All cops are alike in that regard. Every man who joined Crow’s nest of kinksters was pegged as an alpha male. Yes, even the male FBI agent who turned out to be gay enough to have a husband. Didn’t stop him from being an alpha type.

“Think you might be surprised what kind of power I can muster up around here.”

“Oh, right.” Sylvia grinned at him. “Your mommy’s the commander.”

“Indeed she is. Comes in handy sometimes.”

“Yay nepotism.”

“Trust me. A lot of this is my own merit.”

“I’m sure it is. Now can I go? Thanks for bailing me out, I guess. Tell your friend he’s a dick for trapping me like that.”

“Last I checked you were the one engaging in solicitation to begin with.”

“As long as you don’t ask for a freebie in return for yours.” Sylvia snorted. “I’ve got a business to run. Come on, man, you’re not even going to pay me for being your rat? How am I supposed to eat? I’d have to still work on the side.”

“I would make sure you’re taken care of.”

He said that so softly that at first Sylvia fell for it: that tender tone that lured her down more than one bad hallway. Fuck off, Maxwell Carlisle. He was the start of her downfall. Sebastian merely took a vulnerable girl and broke her down some more.

She wouldn’t fall for it again. Especially not with a cop who had no problem screwing her when he was on the job. She didn’t care what he offered her in return. Don’t think about how rich he is. Everyone related to Crow’s case knew that Joseph Montoya was the son of the commander of these investigative forces and a Mexican multimillionaire. I hear the Montoyas are worth over a billion dollars. So what was Joseph doing working like this? Shouldn’t he have been taking over his father’s company, and not pursuing his mother’s legacy?