Out of Control. Julie Miller

the highway, Jack veered onto Broadway—Nashville’s brightly lit, noisy magnet for tourists, partygoers and country-music star wannabes. Maybe there’d be a purse snatcher or scam artist he could haul in to headquarters. That’s it. Make an arrest. Protect and serve.

      That’d get his mojo back. Then maybe he’d believe in tomorrow again, too. Jack inhaled deeply, feeling a surge of renewed confidence.

      Scanning Broadway from sidewalk to sidewalk, Jack watched for anything out of the ordinary. Neon lights blinked on and off in modern contrast to the old brick buildings they adorned, marking open-mike joints, dance clubs and honky tonks. Despite the chill in the air, every door stood open to let the music inside pour out into the street.

      With a beefy bouncer standing guard at every bar, he suspected there wouldn’t be anything to worry about there. Instead, Jack turned his attention to the crowds milling up and down the sidewalk. He took note of the tourists strolling toward a line of horse-drawn carriages, hoping to catch a leisurely tour of the capitol building and other historical and musical landmarks in the downtown area. He spotted a trio of derelict musicians hauling their instruments, bedrolls and backpacks in and out of doorways, looking for work and a place to sleep. Jack nodded to the two uniformed bicycle cops who’d pulled off their helmets and stopped to chat with a street-corner huckster who was probably selling overpriced tickets to something that didn’t even exist. Their answering salute told him the two men had the situation well under control.

      Soon, he’d run out of road—and opportunities—and hit the Cumberland River that looped through the city. Jack rolled to a stop at the next light. He drummed his fingers against the wheel, thinking his apartment and a cold shower were his best bets to save this night, when a shrill voice pierced the night air.

      “You touch me again and you’ll take back a stump.”

      A swirl of honey-gold hair drew his eye to the street-corner commotion in front of Jasmine’s Saloon.

      Petite yet stacked in a way that reminded him of country-music icons and teenage fantasies, a young blond woman marched down the sidewalk, bumping her way through the crowd. Her makeup had been applied with a heavy hand, and the little black dress she wore was far too short—her strappy silver stilettos way too high—for that sexy get-up to be anything other than an invitation for trouble.

      Trouble followed in the form of two college-aged boys who hurried along behind her. “What if we pay you double?” the taller one shouted.

      The blonde spun around on wobbly legs. Before Jack could wedge his truck into the entrance to a parking alley, Blondie drew her arm back and swung. He winced in sympathy at the slap that connected with the cheek of the gangly, red-haired young man. The young man’s buddy laughed, but quickly fell silent as both Red and Blondie turned and glared at him.

      There was a story behind that assault, and Jack intended to find out the details before Blondie struck again or the two men retaliated. Closing the door behind him, Jack jogged down the sidewalk for a closer look.

      While Blondie tottered on her heels in a less-than-dignified retreat, the red-haired kid massaged his cheek and made some kind of suggestion to his shorter companion. With a nod of agreement, Red and Shorty hurried after their target, perhaps intent on taking what she hadn’t been willing to give them.

      “Easy, boys.” Jack quickly caught up to the boys, stopping them with a low-pitched warning. “Nashville PD. Now turn around nice and slow.”

      Shorty thrust his hands into the air and whirled around, completely ignoring the slow part of the command. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

      “Shut up, Duane.”

      The tall one turned, as well, and Jack looked him straight in his bleary eyes.

      Hell. Not one wrinkle on the kid’s face. And clearly they’d already had a few. Were these two even legal? Jack pulled back the front of his leather jacket to give them a look at his badge and gun. “Let me see your IDs.”

      As eager to cooperate as he’d been to laugh, Duane handed over his driver’s license. It looked authentic enough. Red’s ID showed he was old enough to hit the bars, as well. Just barely. Jack did some quick math before returning their licenses. “Celebrating your twenty-first birthday?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Jack looked between their shoulders to see the young woman hugging her arms around herself for warmth as she paused outside the doorway to the next bar on the block. “What about Blondie over there? Is she part of the celebration?”

      The tall one with the fading hand print on his face shrugged. “I thought she wanted to be. She hit on us inside.”

      Duane slurred his words and blinked sporadically, trying to send a double entendre with a wink as he tucked his license back into his wallet. “She asked Isaac if he had a phone in his pocket. I sure had one in mine when I got a load of those gazongas.”

      “Yeah. It was a come-on line if I ever heard one.”

      “I told her that money was no object—that we’d pay the going rate. But she said she wouldn’t take our money—”

      “I thought she meant she was gonna give me a birthday freebie.”

      “Maybe she doesn’t do two at once, man. I don’t mind waiting. It’s Isaac’s birthday, anyway.”

      “All right, boys, I’ve heard enough.” Jack raised his hand to end the discussion. These two were clueless but apparently harmless. “Move along. Make sure you call a cab when it’s time to go home. I don’t want to see either one of you behind the wheel tonight. Understood?”

      Both young men nodded with obvious relief. “Yes, sir.”

      They quickly turned and tottered back into the saloon. “I mean it, boys—” Jack called after them. “No driving tonight.”

      “No, sir.”

      Now, back to the real trouble.

      Despite her lack of height, Jack easily spotted all that pale bare skin and golden hair as Blondie gave up the idea of going into the bar and, instead, joined the stream of partiers and tourists heading on down the street. Jack picked up speed as he threaded his way through the crowd in pursuit. The woman walked with a purpose. Though if she was running to something or running away, he couldn’t tell. He supposed Isaac and Duane back there weren’t up to her standards or they just hadn’t been willing or able to meet her price.

      The spaghetti straps on the little black dress she wore had no chance of holding up those puppies if she continued to bounce along at that furious pace. Jack tried to ignore the rush of masculine appreciation that bubbled through his veins and pooled behind his zipper. Hookers weren’t his thing, but Blondie was hot, in a trashy sort of way that made him long for a fast car and a one-night stand. No commitment. Nothing complicated. Just pure, any-way-he-wanted-it sex. He wasn’t the only male in the vicinity to notice the possibilities, either.

      “Ah, hell.”

      Now she moved to the edge of the curb, stumbling backward in those spiky heels, her thumb in the air. She shouted something obscene to one car that slowed, then sped away without stopping.

      Hitchhiking was just as illegal, and no safer than turning tricks. Jack needed to get to her before she got herself in a train wreck that would completely ruin what was left of this night.

      “Miss?”

      The instant he touched the cool skin of her arm, she started. Before he could identify himself, she jerked away, tilting her chin up, ready to do battle. “If you ask me for a blow job, too, I swear I’m gonna smack you.”

      He crushed the erotic image of honey-blond curls at his crotch that instantly leaped to mind, and did his damnedest to remember he was a cop. Jack pulled his badge from his belt. “Well, that would be assaulting a police officer, and we frown upon that here in Nashville.”

      “You’re a