It appeared very cozy. Maybe even intimate.
Maybe he hadn’t lied and fucking her twice to get her out of his system actually worked.
Once the whine of the air guns went quiet, Jet tried to hear what they were saying to each other but failed.
She moved in between the rear of the vehicles and the closed bay doors. The only one noticing her was Whip, who watched her walk past his work bay with a curious look and a slight chin jerk.
She returned it and kept going, waiting for him to shout a warning that “a pig was in the house.” Surprisingly, he didn’t. Maybe because she was in civvies instead of her uniform. Or maybe because the young mechanic and biker didn’t see her as any kind of threat.
Some men didn’t see women cops as real police officers. She wouldn’t be surprised if any of the men in that garage thought the same.
But that wasn’t why she was here, wasn’t why she had decided to seek out Rook.
It didn’t matter what any of them thought of her. She had something to say to the man who still didn’t have any clue she was moving closer since he was concentrating on the blonde who looked a few years older than Jet, now that her hair was no longer covering her profile.
She was frowning at the hand she held. A hand that was swollen and bruised. “You just need a little ice on it, baby. I don’t think it’s broken or anything.” She shook her head. “Why do you guys always have to get physical when words would work just as well?” Her tone wasn’t harsh but more of a soft scolding.
“Words weren’t gonna matter in this case, Lizzy,” came Rook’s answer, just loud enough for Jet to hear.
“Now, let me see you, sweetie,” she cooed using baby talk, releasing his hand and reaching for his chest. “Let me give you a little loving.”
At those words, Jet screeched to a halt behind a car where she was just out of their view, not wanting to watch the two of them embrace. She needed to leave and just come back another time.
Or not at all. This visit had been a bad idea.
A high-pitched bark pierced the air and the woman not only quickly yanked her hand away, but took a step back.
Jet noticed she wore skin tight jeans and high-heeled boots. Unlike the dirty non-sexy Uggs Jet wore. The blonde’s make-up was also flawless. Unlike Jet’s lack of makeup and thin swipe of lip gloss that was probably chewed off by now.
“Now I know why you call him Cujo,” the woman laughed, not at all bent out of shape that the Chihuahua, which must be the bulge in his coveralls at his chest, almost chomped off her fingers.
“Told you,” Rook said with a chuckle.
A damn chuckle.
Bastard.
Lizzy smiled up at him with a soft look in her eyes and ran the backs of the same fingers she almost lost down his cheek.
“Why’s the dog always gotta be a dick, like you?” Cage called out on the opposite side of the garage, not even bothering to lift his head from the engine compartment.
“That’s why the little terror fits right in,” Whip called out.
Rook shook his head, dug into his coveralls and pulled out the little black-and-tan short-haired Chihuahua, putting him onto the floor. The dog, which Jet was shocked to find was wearing some tiny hooded Harley-Davidson sweatshirt, scrambled away from the woman and beelined right toward Jet where her feet had frozen in place. The complete trek to her accompanied by yapping.
“Christ, that bastard’s gonna make me deaf!” Dutch bellowed from the far corner.
“What?” Cage asked in a shout, teasing him.
Cujo began to circle her and continue to bark.
Damn snitch.
All eyes landed on her. Including Lizzy and Rook’s.
The only set of eyes not holding any kind of surprise was Whip, who now grinned.
Rook’s formerly easy expression had become a scowl and his eyes had narrowed.
Jet squatted down and put out her hand. The dog yipped, sneezed and stared at it confused.
“Normally, I carry dog bones in my duty bag, but I don’t have any on me right now, buddy. Sorry.”
“Cujo.”
Jet glanced up at Rook, who had moved closer, his arm thrown casually around Lizzy’s waist.
When she didn’t say anything, Rook said, “Name’s Cujo, not Buddy.”
Her gaze dropped from Rook’s hard face to the arm around the blonde’s waist. She rose to her feet and jutted out her hand. “I’m Jet Bryson.”
Lizzy took it with a smile. Not catty, not fake, but actually genuine. “I know who you are. I’ve seen you around. I’m Elizabeth but the guys call me Lizzy.”
“The guys,” Jet repeated. “What do you prefer?”
She shrugged one shoulder and Rook nuzzled her ear with his nose which made the woman giggle. “Liz or Lizzy is fine. I’m used to it. Stop, Rook!” She slapped him away and rubbed her ear.