Chapter 1

Doug

I stride down the sidewalk,my boots hitting concrete with a steady rhythm that echoes the pulse of New York City. Im Doug McLean, in my prime at thirty-something, badge polished and presence undeniable. The citys heartbeat syncs with mine. Im part of its veins, a guardian of its restless energy.

McLean, crackles the voice over the radio, we got a 10-31 at Fifth and Lexington.

Copy that, I respond, my voice a low hum as I pivot on my heel, heading towards the call. A shoplifting incident isnt the peak of crime in this city, but to me, every call is a chance to protect, to serve. Thats who I am—protector first, enforcer second.

As I approach the boutique, my senses sharpen. Its not about the thrill of the chase or flexing authority. Its deeper than that. Theres a need in my gut to fix what’s broken, to be the barrier between chaos and order, even if its just stopping a petty thief.

Shoplifting—its often a cry for help disguised as a crime, and I cant ignore it. My heart may pump blue, but its lined with compassion, understanding that sometimes people are just one bad day away from making a mistake like this.

Officer McLean on scene, I report, stepping into the fray, ready to unravel this minor chaos in the heart of the Big Apple.

Glass cases buzz with alarms as I muscle through the boutiques front door, the scent of fear and expensive perfume mixing in the air. Shouts ricochet off luxury handbags and silk scarves flung in disarray. The place is a battlefield of wealth versus desperation.

Stay back! a clerk yells, voice pitching high above the din, her finger stabbing towards the back of the store. I follow the line of terror-stricken faces, each one a snapshot of the chaos at hand.

There, amidst the toppled displays and scattered jewelry, stands a girl—a tempest in her own right—clutching a leather purse like a lifeline. Her jet black hair is a curtain of defiance against the world, swaying with untamed life. Piercing green eyes lock onto mine, fierce and unyielding, as if challenging me to step closer into the storm shes conjured.

Freeze! My command slices through the noise, automatic, but it feels hollow bouncing off her hardened exterior. She doesnt bolt, doesnt scream. She just stares, sizing me up as the keeper of her fate.

Officer, she— A saleswoman stammers beside me, but I raise a firm hand to silence her. My job isnt just to apprehend. Its to understand, to de-escalate. To protect, even those who seem beyond reach.

Hey, I say, voice softer now as I close the distance between us, badge glinting under harsh fluorescent lights. I need you to hand over the bag, okay?

Are you gonna arrest me? Her words are laced with a challenge, but theres an undercurrent of something else—fear? Desperation? Its hard to tell with the facade shes built.

Lets talk first. I keep my stance non-threatening, though every muscle in my body is coiled, ready for whatever move she makes next. But damn, those eyes—theyre windows to a soul thats seen too much darkness, yet they burn with a fire I can’t ignore.

Talk. She echoes, almost mocking, but her grip on the stolen goods loosens ever so slightly. Thats all the invitation I need.

Outside. Less audience, I suggest, gesturing to the gawkers recording every second of this little drama for their social feeds.

She hesitates, then nods, stepping forward with a sort of reckless grace that only someone with nothing left to lose can manage.

Lead the way, Officer. Her tone is edged with irony, but shes coming along. And hell, maybe its the adrenaline or the way New York City never stops surprising me, but as we walk out of the boutique and into the night, I cant shake the feeling that this encounter is going to unravel me in ways I never saw coming.

The cool evening air hits my face as we step outside, away from the chaos of flashing lights and the cacophony of voices. Its quieter out here, but the turmoil inside me is just getting louder.

Okay, were alone. What do you want to talk about? her voice rips through the silence, her words sharp like shes ready to cut through whatever bullshit Im about to serve.

First off, I start, trying to keep my tone even, what’s your name?”

She looks down and blows out a breath before she answers, “Lori White.”

“How old are you, Lori?”

She lifts her chin and stares at me defiantly. “Nineteen.”

Nineteen and already wearing the weight of the world on her slim shoulders, carved from a life that hasnt been kind. Probably an orphan, no family to speak of, no one to miss her if she disappears behind bars tonight. My heart swells for her.

“Whyd you do it?

She scoffs, crossing her arms defensively. Why does anyone steal? Maybe because Im not exactly swimming in cash, Officer.

Her sass hits me like a slap, and a part of me wants to snap back with the full weight of the badge I carry. But another part, a part Im not proud of, is intrigued by her boldness, her spunk. Shes nineteen, for Christs sake. A damn kid whos probably been dealt a shitty hand, and here I am, a cop in his thirties, getting all twisted up over her.

Look, I know things can be tough, I say, softer now. But there are better ways to?—

Better ways? she interrupts, her green eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears. You think I dont know that? You think I wanted this? Her voice breaks, and its like watching a dam crumble.

Hey, hey, I reach out instinctively, then pull back, remembering who I am, what I represent. Im not here to lecture you. Just talk to me. Why tonight? Why this store?

Because Im tired, okay? Lori blurts out, and something in her expression shifts, a rawness that wasnt there before. Tired of being hungry, of counting pennies, of feeling invisible unless Im in cuffs.

The confession hits me hard, a punch to the gut. Theres an ache in my chest that doesnt belong in the job description. Im supposed to uphold the law, not bend it because a pretty girl with sad eyes makes my heart race.

Being down on your luck doesnt give you a free pass to break the law, Lori. My voice is firm, but it sounds hollow, even to my own ears.

Being a cop doesnt give you a free pass to judge my life, she retorts, and damn if she isnt right.

Listen, I say, locking onto her gaze, Im not your enemy.”

“Then what are you?” she asks, her voice a bit breathy, and damn if that doesn’t twist me all up in knots inside.

I don’t answer. Instead, I stride closer, the streetlights outside the convenience store framing her like some kind of modern-day delinquent Madonna. The fluorescent lights cast a halo around her jet-black hair, and those damn green eyes flicker with something I cant quite name. Its vulnerability mixed with defiance, along with an innocence that shouldnt be there given the circumstances. Shes a walking contradiction, streetwise yet somehow unspoiled by the grime of this city.

Officer McLean? Her voice is a whisper, but it slices through the tension like a blade. Whats your verdict?

The badge on my chest feels heavier than ever, but so does the pull to let her off the hook. I step into her space, close enough to catch a whiff of her scent—some cheap shampoo that surprisingly smells like wildflowers. My pulse throbs in my temples as I lean down, bringing my face inches from hers.

Heres the thing, Lori, I murmur, my gaze locked onto hers. Youve got this innocence about you that doesnt fit the crime scene. Its... I search for the right word, ...captivating.

She looks up at me, those piercing eyes narrowing slightly. Innocence? Thats not what most people see when they look at me.

Maybe theyre not looking close enough.

Theres this heat between us, sparking and sizzling in the cramped aisle. My mind races with images I have no business entertaining—not here, not with her, not on duty. But hell if I dont want to explore every inch of that tension.

Captivating or not, though I continue, my voice rough with restraint, I cant just ignore what you did.

Then dont, she says softly. But maybe...give me a chance to make it right.

“Go on,” I urge her, pride swelling in my chest.

Let me work it off. The stuff I damaged—it wasnt much. I can pay back the store.

Its against protocol, bending the rules like this. But looking at Lori, seeing the desperation etched in the lines of her youthful face, Im done for. I want to believe her, to believe in that untouched part of her that seems to be reaching out to me.

Alright. The word comes out before I can stop it. A warning, this time. But Lori,—I take a step back, trying to regain some semblance of authority—if I catch you shoplifting again, it wont be a warning. Understood?

Understood, Officer McLean. Her voice is steady, but her eyes are alight with relief—and something else, something that might just be gratitude.

Good. I straighten up, adjusting the uniform that suddenly feels too tight. Ill be keeping an eye on you.

Is that a promise? Theres a hint of a tease in her tone, daring me to cross the line Ive already blurred.

I crack a smile despite myself. Its a warning, Lori. Dont make me regret it.

As I turn to leave, the air feels charged, electric with unspoken promises and perilous possibilities. Ive just defied my duty, let my guard down for a girl with eyes like sin and a heart that might just be purer than I ever expected. What am I getting myself into?

* * *

I step out into the chaos of New Yorks relentless pulse. I cant shake her from my mind. The look in Loris eyes haunts me, a mix of wildness and vulnerability that Ive never seen before. My boots hit the pavement, each step echoing the rapid beat of my heart—a rhythm set off course by a nineteen-year-old with too much trouble in her gaze.

Dammit, I mutter under my breath, feeling the weight of my badge and the burden of my conscience. What the hell did I just do? The city hums around me, indifferent to the internal storm raging through my veins. I should feel satisfied with handling the situation, but satisfaction is far from what Im feeling. Its more like Im on the edge of a cliff, and Ive taken one dangerous step too close to the drop.

I can still smell her scent, something floral and smoky, a contrast as confusing as the girl herself. I glance back at the store, half expecting to see her peeking out, those piercing green eyes locking onto mine once again. But shes gone, slipped away into the tangle of streets and stories that make up this city.

McLean, youre playing with fire, I scold myself, knowing full well that Im not just talking about bending the rules. Theres a flame inside me now, ignited by her intensity, and its burning a hole through the rulebook Ive followed for years.

The radio crackles at my side, a reminder of the world moving on, of duties and calls waiting to be answered. I give it a cursory glance before clipping it back on my belt. Right now, its just noise, background static to the thoughts of a girl with jet black hair and an air of mystery that could bring a man to his knees.

Focus, Doug, I chide, trying to snap myself back to reality. I need to clear my head, get back to being the cop I know I am, the one who doesnt let pretty faces sway him from whats right. But damn if Lori White hasnt left her mark on me.

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows down the avenues. My shift finally ends, and it’s time to head home.

Im still buzzing from the encounter when I get home. The image of Loris smoldering green eyes is burned into my brain, igniting a fire that I cant stamp out, no matter how hard I try. As I peel off my uniform back at my apartment, each piece of fabric I shed feels like a layer of restraint falling away.

Standing in front of the mirror, I catch sight of my bare chest, muscles tense and skin flushed with an undeniable hunger. My hands run over my torso, fingertips tracing the lines and contours as if theyre searching for her touch, the phantom sensation of her against me. Theres a raw, primal need building inside, and its as intoxicating as it is dangerous.

Fuck, I groan, the word a guttural sound in the quiet room. Its been a long time since anyones gotten under my skin like this—since Ive craved someones body with such reckless abandon.

The shower does nothing to quell the heat—if anything, it stokes the flames higher. Water cascades over me, sluicing down my back, but all I can picture is Lori’s figure beneath the spray, water clinging to her jet-black hair like beads of desire. My hand wanders lower, grasping the length of my arousal, and Im lost to the fantasy.

Christ, Lori, I pant out her name like a prayer or a curse—Im not sure which. The tiles are cold against my palm as I brace myself, my movements growing more frantic as I imagine its her hand on me, her breath hot on my neck, whispering for more.

I finally come with a muffled grunt. I splay my hand against the tiles to keep myself from collapsing as my knees go weak.

But still I’m not entirely sated. This little indulgence has only made me want her more.

What started as a call to a shoplifting scene has spiraled into something wildly inappropriate, yet undeniably intoxicating. Lori White, with her jet-black hair and heart-stopping eyes, has me wrapped around her little finger, and Im not sure how to untangle myself. Hell, I’m not even sure I want to.

I make a silent vow to protect her, from whatever and whoever, including myself.