The Detective's Midnight Raid

My husband kicked down a door tonight, gun drawn, and arrested me.

Thirty-two days ago, I married him. He's a cop. In thirty-two days he has texted me in one-word replies, slept in the guest room, and touched me exactly zero times.

Tonight he finally got his hands on me.

To put me in cuffs. For staring at another man's abs.

"Vice! Everybody on the floor. Hands where I can see them!"

The door came off its hinges. My finger was one inch from a stranger's six-pack.

He filled the busted doorway in full uniform, eyes dragging down my little slip dress, jaw tight enough to crack.

"Babe. Babe, I can explain"

The rookie beside him turned a tablet around. And there I was, in crisp HD, gazing up at a lineup of oiled abs like a woman at her own last supper.

"Ms. Hayes." His voice dropped somewhere cold and quiet. "Explain."

Chapter 1

Day thirty-two of holy matrimony.

Status report: still untouched.

My best friend Roxy had just forwarded me ten thirst traps in a row, and there I was on my bed, drooling at a screen full of other men's abs like they owed me back rent.

Roxy: [How's that stack up against your precious Officer Cross?]

I stared at the ceiling. The ceiling stared back.

Me: [Wouldn't know. Never seen the man with his shirt off.]

Roxy: [I'm sorry. THIRTY-TWO DAYS? Jump him before his gun rusts, babe.]

Believe me, I wanted to. I was down bad for my own husband.

Here's how it happened. Wes and I met the way responsible adults do: a setup, a matchmaker, a coffee. I fell on sight, shamelessly. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days, all of it buttoned into a uniform, and a face built for felonies. Hot. Feral. A walking felony himself.

"You won't mind that the job keeps me busy?" he'd asked.

"Nope. Not one bit." I'd nodded so hard I nearly sprained something, swallowing around the words. Busy? I love a man with a career.

I did not yet understand that "busy" would turn me into a grass widow with a living husband.

Our wedding night, before our mouths even met, his phone rang and he shot out of bed like the mattress had caught fire.

"Emergency. Got a guy to catch."

I lay awake all night, clawing the sheets.

The next morning, my period showed up before he did.

That's my husband. He is always either catching someone or on his way to catch someone. I fall asleep, he comes home. I wake up, he's gone. I run mean before coffee, so, considerate man that he is, he sleeps in the guest room to avoid waking me.

One month married and we're two strangers three messages deep in a group chat.

His reply speed, though? Biblical. Glacial. The man texts like a malfunctioning vending machine.

Monday.

BarelyBreathing: [Coming home tonight?]

No.1 Manhunter: [Manhunt tonight. Staying out. Lock the door.]

BarelyBreathing: [Amazon Locker: pickup code 5210]

No.1 Manhunter: [I'll grab it on my way back.]

Tuesday.

BarelyBreathing: [Catch him?]

No.1 Manhunter: [Runner. Still on it. Not home. Lock up.]

BarelyBreathing: [Amazon Locker: pickup code 5456]

No.1 Manhunter: [K]

Wednesday.

BarelyBreathing: [Home?]

No.1 Manhunter: [Manhunt. Lock up.]

BarelyBreathing: [Amazon Locker: pickup code 5678]

No.1 Manhunter: [K]

No.1 Manhunter sent you $2,000. Memo: salary.

Thursday.

BarelyBreathing: [?]

No.1 Manhunter: [K]

BarelyBreathing: [Amazon Locker: pickup code 6785]

No.1 Manhunter: [K]

I mean this with my whole chest: the man could book a ghost.

I married a hot, heartless package-retrieval machine.

Chapter 2

I woke up with two stress zits on my chin and the body temperature of a woman on trial.

Roxy had sent over an article titled "What Happens to a Woman Who Goes Too Long Without It," followed by a video of a man cracking a bottle cap with his abs, followed by her professional medical opinion.

Roxy: [Use it or lose it, babe. You're not saving yourself, you're expiring.]

Roxy: [I rounded up your favorite thirst-trap boys. Front row. On me.]

Roxy: [GET here.]

One "on me," and the last shred of my wedding vows evaporated.

"Screw it."

I peeled off my pajamas, threw them at the wall, and poured myself into a short slip dress.

Tonight, I was going to be a wanted woman.

To cover myself, I texted my husband first.

Me: [Manhunt again tonight?]

For once, he answered fast.

No.1 Manhunter: [Affirmative.]

Perfect. A man out catching bad guys can't exactly catch his own wife in the act.

Me: [Cool. Early night for me then~]

It was Roxy's birthday, and Roxy, gorgeous and unhinged and allergic to impulse control, had booked an entire roster of male-model influencers.

I walked into a room full of half-dressed pretty boys.

"You're gorgeous."

"You got a man?"

"I'll dance for you."

"Come feel the abs."

By the time the fourth glistening six-pack leaned into my personal space, I finally, fully understood why grown women lose their minds at a male revue.

"Wanna touch?"

A silver-haired one lifted the hem of his shirt. Eight abs caught the light.

"Been working on the V-line lately..."

I leaned back and swallowed hard. My hand did not get the memo. It drifted forward.

We work hard, we grown women. We earn nights like this.

The abs flickered in and out under the fabric until I went dizzy.

"Why's your hand shaking, gorgeous?"

Because, buddy, my husband's hands were somewhere across town, wrapped around a gun, catching bad guys.

And mine were one inch from a stranger's waist.

I floated on a whole cloud of gorgeous-es, drunk on it, reaching for something I really shouldn't have.

The door exploded off its frame.

"Vice! Hands on your heads!"

Chapter 3

I'd know that voice anywhere. It shot up my spine and left my scalp buzzing.

I looked up. Wes stood in the doorway, uniform buttoned to the throat, belt cinched tight enough to carve out the lean line of his waist. His gaze slid down my slip dress, and his throat worked, once, hard.

Our eyes locked. My hand crept behind my back on its own.

"Babe. Babe, I can explain"

"They all ordered the models. I didn't order a single one."

"I didn't touch anything. I didn't even look."

The rookie beside him lost it, snorting into his sleeve.

"Uh, Detective Cross? This is the security footage..."

He held up the tablet.

And I got to watch myself, in full color, gaping at a wall of abs like they were the last chopper out of a warzone.

I wanted to be reincarnated on the spot.

It got worse.

Wes hit pause.

He zoomed in. On my hand. Frozen a centimeter from a stranger's six-pack, fingers curled into a claw.

"Ms. Hayes."

He tapped the screen with one knuckle. His wedding ring clicked against the glass, sharp and clean.

"Care to explain this?"

My knees buckled. I nearly slid to the floor.

"Babe, listen! It was art appreciation"

His jaw flexed.

"Book her."

He turned and walked, and the murder in that stride could've cleared the room.

Funny thing. Back on our matchmaker date, I'd stared at that uniform and thought about handcuffs. All those filthy dubcon fantasies my romance novels had ruined me with.

Karma has a sense of humor. He cuffed me for real.

Brand-new pair of silver bracelets. Congrats to me.

...Ugh.

Chapter 4

Interrogation room.

Wes stared at my slip dress, face like a storm front. Then he peeled off his uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

I pulled it tight and did my best impression of furniture.

"Name."

"Your wife..."

The pen cracked against the desk. He tugged his collar open and raised his voice.

"Take this seriously."

I watched his throat move and mumbled it.

"Poppy Hayes."

Flat stare. "Motive."

"Thirty-two days alone in an empty bed." I counted it off on my fingers. "Falling for a man who never comes home"

The rookie in the corner honked like a startled goose.

Wes shot him a look that could strip paint.

"Walk me through it. Everything you did tonight."

"Nothing. I drank a juice."

He rapped the table. "Filing a false statement carries penalties."

"...I danced."

"How. What happened."

"I might have. Accidentally. Brushed his abs."

"How many times."

"What does that have to do with the case?" It was out before I could stop it.

His face went very still. His voice went very serious.

"Every detail matters."

I braced. "Two? Three?"

Something behind Wes's eyes went a dangerous shade of green.

"How many. Exactly."

I dropped my chin, guilty. "I'm sorry, babe..."

At the window, a cluster of cops had their faces mashed to the glass.

"Ahem. Detective, regs say we gotta pin down the exact point of contact. Upper abs, mid-abs, or lower abs?"

Wes turned a glare on them sharp enough to draw blood.

"You got nothing better to do?"

"You taught us this!" They backed toward the door, cackling. "Last vice sweep you said collect evidence down to the specifics"

"That was for solicitation!"

"But Mrs. Cross said she reached the V-line."

The note-taking rookie was shaking with the effort of not laughing. He pulled out his phone.

"Detective, look, the whole squad chat's blowing up about your record response time. Everybody wants to know if you ran a hundred-meter dash to get here."

Wes lifted him by the back of the collar and set him outside the door.

The rookie's head popped back through the gap.

"So, uh, if Mrs. Cross ever needs some ab appreciation, the squad's happy to"

"You want to keep your job?"

"Yesyesyes." He grinned, oily. "You two carry on. Enforce away."

Then, "Oh, and one more thing, Detective. Sign the family-release section, or you can't take her home."

Wes signed, the storm still on his face.

Then he reached over and pulled the jacket a little tighter around me.

Chapter 5

He drove the whole way home without a word.

I went small and sweet. "Wes... are you mad?"

Nothing on his face. "No."

Liar.

I stole a glance. Jaw locked tight, those deep-set eyes lowered, thin mouth pressed flat. Long fingers on the wheel, blue uniform sleeves shoved to the elbow, one veined forearm on full display.

Unreal. The man was hot even furious.

I was still working out how to sweet-talk him when my phone buzzed.

I picked up, and Roxy's voice came blasting out at full volume.

"Poppy! Your husband arrested all eight of my models! You got your grope in, and meanwhile I'm still over here combusting!"

"And listen, that whole squad is built like a calendar shoot. The uniforms? I was sweating. I promise you Officer Cross's waist outperforms every model in that room."

The filth on this woman.

I panicked and stabbed at the screen to hang up.

I hit speaker instead.

"Heard he rode home with you. Big night ahead, huh? Man's been on a dry streak this long, his zipper's gotta be on fire."

Wes turned his head and looked at me. Unreadable.

My hand jerked. The phone slid off my lap and vanished under the seat.

"Never home, though. You don't think the... hardware's a letdown, do you?"

"I mailed you the Stud Report Card! I want a full field report"

"And I'm shipping you something to wear. Cuff him to the headboard and report back, babe"

Wes leaned down, fished the phone out, and spoke into it, perfectly calm.

"Ms. Sinclair. About that thirty-thousand-dollar VIP tab you ran up at Club Noir. Would you like us to stop by and walk you through the relevant statutes?"

A fit of violent coughing crackled through the speaker.

"Detective. We were, uh, strictly appreciating art"

The call died.

The car dropped into dead silence.

We passed a convenience store, and he pulled over, face like frost.

He was gone a minute. He came back with two small boxes.

"What did you bu"

He didn't answer. He just pressed them into my hands, cold as ever.

I looked down.

On the box, gleaming: MAGNUM.

Oh. And extra large.

Chapter 6

Back home, Wes went straight for the shower.

I sat on the bed clutching the little box, worrying the plastic wrap until it nearly threw sparks.

The water ran on the other side of the wall.

My mind wandered somewhere it had no business going.

The water cut off.

He came out with his hair dripping, a bead of water tracing down his jaw and over his throat. Shoulders broad, arms carved and solid. Waist lean, eight-pack sharp, a towel clinging to the V-line like it couldn't decide whether to fall.

Every Adonis belt I'd ever read about, made flesh.

I swallowed.

I wanted to touch.

"Was the model's waist nice to touch?"

He stood at the edge of the bed, throwing a shadow over me, voice cold. "Get your fill?"

Something in my chest went clunk.

He was still on that?

"No. No. Not even a little. My husband's is the best."

"I bumped him by accident, I swear, babe"

He leaned in, face grim, and picked the interrogation back up.

"Why did you order male models."

I held up three fingers, wounded to my core. "On my life, Roxy dragged me there. I didn't want to go. She shoved them at me. As if any of them hold a candle to you."

He gave a short, cold laugh. "Roxy's statement says you ordered every single one. Says she never laid a finger on them."

Great. That's what best friends are for.

Still stone-faced, he went on. "You know one of the men in that room tonight was a wanted con artist?"

I tugged at his hand, guilty, and leaned in to butter him up. "Babe, I really do know I messed up. How about you kiss me and let it go?"

His breath hitched. He lowered his head, jaw still tight.

I saw my opening and planted one right on him.

For a mouth that hard, he kissed unbelievably soft.

"I'm sorry, babe..."

"I mean, sure, I was wrong. But refusing to forgive me? That part's on you."

What can I say. I couldn't keep my hands to myself, and I couldn't get enough of him. Coaxing was my only play.

The corner of his mouth finally tipped up. He looked down at me, something dangerous moving through the air.

"Mistakes come with consequences. Don't they."

He opened the box.

And just like that, I was his cornered fugitive with nowhere left to run.

Cold, methodical, he questioned me line by line.

"Going to touch other men again?"

"No. Never."

"Going to lie to me again?"

"Never."

I confessed to all of it.

Right up until three minutes in.

"Poppy..."

"Hm?"

"I I can't hold on..."

His voice came out wrecked, a man white-knuckling the last of his self-control.

Me: ???

The mood curdled.

The silence stretched on.

"Poppy, I..."

Red crept up his face. He was trying to get something out.

His phone went off.

"Detective, the target suspect just surfaced!"

Wes's whole face changed.

He didn't say a word. He came off that bed in one motion, yanked on his pants, buckled his belt at light speed.

"Gotta go catch a guy."

Me: ???

I'm sorry. What.

Three minutes of playing cold and vengeful, and he's off to arrest someone?

I sat there on the bed with absolutely nothing on, watching his uniformed back sprint for the door.

I screamed after him.

"Wes, are you even HUMAN?!"

He didn't look back.

I got completely naked and the man did not look back.

Chapter 7

Not long after, Roxy called to debrief.

"So? How'd the mission go?"

I stared at the ceiling, soul halfway out of my body. "In three minutes I experienced both marriage and widowhood."

I grabbed a pillow and detonated. "Seven-times-a-night book boyfriends? A SCAM. Complete fiction. I read spicy romance now like it's the penal code!"

Roxy shrieked like a kettle hitting a boil. "Poppy, babe, you are genuinely tragic. I'm ordering you the top-of-the-line toy right now. Never beg for what you can DIY."

Truly, what would I do without her. I could have wept.

"But speaking as a woman with eighteen exes under her belt, let me tell you how it is. Either Officer Cross is a quick draw..."

She dropped her voice and gave a filthy little laugh.

"...or he's a virgin."

And it hit me. Three chaotic minutes earlier, in the middle of everything, the condom had been on backwards.

Wes. No way. Was he actually...?

Roxy twisted the knife, delighted. "A man's virtue is his best dowry, babe. That bed is coming down eventually."

That night, I white-knuckled the empty sheets until sunrise.

This sorry excuse for a mattress. One day I'd be the one to bring it down.

Raccoon-eyed, I texted my husband.

BarelyBreathing: [Coming home?]

I waited an hour.

No.1 Manhunter: [On a manhunt.]

Cool. Cool cool cool. Truly the No.1 Manhunter this server has ever produced.

I typed out the word DIVORCE, seething, thumb hovering over send.

No.1 Manhunter sent you $2,000. Memo: salary.

I ground my teeth.

Fine. I'd divorce him next month.

First I'd spend his money and go have myself a very good time.

Chapter 8

I came out of the mall with a fresh haul and a boba in hand, sipping away, feeling like a queen, when I heard it.

A girl. Crying. A little ways off.

"You liar. You have a WIFE and you still came after me?"

"You spent my money, you used me, you took my cash to go take care of your wife. Are you even human?"

My ears pricked up.

Ooh. Drama.

Nosiness is the human condition. A crowd had already formed, and some hyped-up kid was livestreaming the whole thing to his friends.

"Yo, check it, this dude's using his side chick's money to fund his marriage. Wild stuff. Gotta say, though, the pretty boy's kind of fine."

Delighted, I edged in closer to see exactly how fine this pretty boy was.

Then I caught the familiar shape of him.

It took a couple of seconds to land.

Hold on. That's my husband.

Out of uniform, in street clothes, I'd nearly walked right past him.

The gossip, it turned out, was coming from inside the house.

My rage rocketed straight to the top of my skull.

You absolute DOG of a man. Catching criminals, my foot. He was out here catching feelings with somebody else.

I screamed. "WES!"

He turned, saw me, and panicked in real time.

He grabbed the girl's arm to make a run for it.

I ripped off my shoe and threw it at his head. "You freeze right there! You dog, you think you get to make a fool out of me? I will end you!"

That did it. A fresh wall of gawkers rolled in.

"Poppy, you"

He covered his head, reaching to explain.

I launched myself at him and raked a five-claw combo straight down his face.

"DIVORCE!"

"Poppy, let me explain"

"Explain my ass. I'll shred that cheating face clean off