Hot Steel

"Nothing to see here Max." She gripped the top of her towel with her hand.

"I beg to disagree." I turned around to leave. "Call me if you find anything."

* * *

It was about 10:30 at night when my cell phone buzzed on my nightstand. I was a quarter ways into a new handle of vodka and had a decent buzz on. I recognized the number as Rachel's. I answered.

"Found something."

"I'll be over in ten."

I dressed quickly into jeans and a t-shirt (no bra) and drove quickly (but safely) to Rachel's. Fortunately I wasn't yet drunk and had no problem navigating the near empty streets. I ran up the stairs to her apartment and knocked on the door.

She opened it, wearing pajamas. Damn it, how could she look so sexy in those pajamas? She went to the kitchen table, where papers were strewn all over the surface. She sat down and I sat across from her.

"There were two hits on the number you gave me. One call early in the morning and another about thirty minutes before the raid." She handed me two pieces of paper, each with a call highlighted.

"Good work Rachel." I looked at the originating number. A 505 area code. That was an odd one. I went on my phone to find out where 505 was located. New Mexico. Then I remembered seeing a University of New Mexico diploma on Steph's wall. Could it have been her? Was that possible?

I didn't want to share my suspicions with Rachel. Not yet. It was a razor thin connection. I needed more. I saved the 505 number into my phone.

"So what does this mean?" Rachel asked. Her blue striped pajama top was distracting me.

I was determined not to let my baser instincts take me over. "It means we have a solid lead, but now I have to figure out whose phone it is."

"How can I help you?" She looked so doe-eyed and innocent. I could not stop myself from thinking what she looked like without the towel on. Suppress ... suppress.

"You sit tight. Go through the phone log one more time if you're bored. I'll call you when I find something out."

She walked in front of me to hold the door open for me.

"Thank you for helping me." Her body sagged slightly towards mine when she said it. I put my fingers on the top of her towel and rested them there.

"You're my partner," as if I had to say anything more.

* * *

"So what about tonight?" Steph stood in her doorway of her office holding a mug of coffee, leaning against the doorjamb. Others noticed our talking to one another but they didn't pay us any notice.

"Sure. Eight?" We usually met at my place now since I much more likely to be spotted at her house.

I hated to believe it was Steph but I had to know for certain. According to our internal directory the number Rachel found matched Steph's. I was hoping I would get just a moment with her phone to make sure she was actually using it. Had somebody like Hightower "borrowed" her phone? There had to be some plausible excuse. Had to.

I was going to see her at eight. Alone. Why was I getting ready like I was going to have sex with her? Because I wanted to. Because I still believed in her.

My wardrobe was pathetic. Addie tried to upgrade it, but was only partially successful. I opted for a silk blouse and black stretchy pants. The nicer pair of pants that Addie bought me didn't fit any more. I had one pair of dressy shoes, a pair of strappy open toed sandals with a modest heel. They would have to do.

I took the fresh handle of vodka out of its brown paper bag and poured myself a stiff drink I needed it. It was a demon I would deal with late, I swore to myself. I pounded down the double shot, buying me a temporary reprieve of peace. I sat on the bed and waited. It was 7:45, and I had nothing to do but stare at a near full bottle of vodka. Maybe just one more before she arrived.

I hated myself when I downed the third shot, but a nice warm glow enveloped my entire body. The nerves in my skin started to call to be touched, caressed, loved. Not a moment too soon there was a gentle knock on the door. The drapes were drawn so I couldn't see out. I opened the door, to see Steph standing there dressed to the nines and holding a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

There was no greeting, simply a tender kiss. She was wearing a dress, the first time I'd seen her in one, a wraparound with a floral print and dressy heels. She was wearing a string of pearls and a diamond bracelet.

I held up her wrist to see the bracelet up close. It was beautiful, dazzling.

"Bringing out the heavy artillery," I noted, gripping her wrist, maybe a bit tighter than I should have. She winced, but the fire in her eyes grew brighter.

"Nothing but the best for you," she said, drawing me close for another kiss.

"I brought something more fun to drink this time." She pulled the bag off to reveal a bottle of bourbon, an artisan one that said it was cask strength. She opened it and poured each of us two fingers in the plastic glasses that were on the dresser, one of which most recently held vodka. I took a sip and tasted the sweetness of the used sherry barrel it was aged in. A pleasant burn coated my mouth and throat with a hint of sweetness. It was smooth and delicious.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, returning for another sip.

"It's to celebrate two old broads who seemed to have found each other."

"I'll drink to that," I said, tapping my plastic glass against hers.

She fished something out of her purse and threw it on the bed. It looked like a one arm cactus.

"What's that?" I asked, truly clueless.

"It's a rabbit." She paused and looked at me kind of funny. "You've never heard of a rabbit?"

"Can't say I have."

"Take off your clothes and I'll show you."

I'm not a big toy person. I thought they were kind of wonky. I loved the intimacy of skin against skin. I was old school. How could a plastic object improve on that feeling? I slipped off my clothes and threw myself on the bed. The bourbon layered on top of the vodka was giving me one fine buzz. She was standing in front of the foot of the bed.

All thoughts of Rachel, her telephone, and whatever the fuck else was on my mind disappeared at that moment. I could just see her, the lights off, and the silhouette of her tall, rangy body on the wall behind her. She came out of the shadows and knelt in front of me, her right knee on the bed and her left foot still on the floor. She picked up the rabbit and wrapped her lips around it, sucking the long cylindrical shaft as if it was a hard cock. She pulled it out, wet with her saliva, and then used her other hand to part my knees so she could see all of me.

She used her finger to touch the lips of my pussy. I shuddered at her touch and she pulled away her hand, her finger coated with my desire. I remember looking at her with pleading eyes. I wanted her to use me.

She looked at me as if she understood and took her spit coated dildo and pushed the longer arm inside me, just far enough to part the lips of my pussy. I was thrusting my hips upward, trying to push the toy deeper inside me, but she followed my motion with her hand, denying me my pleasure.

"You want it," she said as I fruitlessly lifted my hips off the bed.

I was panting hard. Were we playing a game?

She pushed the shaft in a bit deeper. I grunted like an animal. She was using me. I loved it.

"Beg for it ... beg for this toy in your greedy cunt."

God it felt so good when she moved her hands across my body as if she owned it. So this was her game. I liked this game. I was going to play.

"I want it. I want it bad. Please give it to me," I begged. It sounded trite but it was the truth.

She pushed it in another inch. Then she turned on the vibrator. The unexpected jolt took my breath away. She pulled the shaft out when I gasped.

"You little slut. You were going to cum. That's a no-no."

I think I whimpered.

"I tell you when." She was using her police voice. I thought I was going to cum when I heard her talk to me this way. It was low, throaty, and sexy.

I nodded my head, my eyes cast upwards at hers. Her eyes narrowed and she re-inserted the shaft, as slowly as she could, my body writhing in painful agony, until the smaller arm of the rabbit touched my clitoris.

"Now," she said just one instant before contact.

"My ... God!" I managed to gasp, as that touch triggered an orgasm that brightened the room and made time stand still just for a moment. I wanted to remember that feeling.

Then she pushed the longer shaft further inside me while the smaller arm ground into my nub, as waves of pleasure washed across me. My temples were pounding so hard they started to hurt. I think I started sobbing then, something I've never done during sex.

Steph stopped, and her body language went from playful Domme to concerned lover. She put the rabbit to the side and wrapped me in her arms. The sobbing was making my body heave. Her arms tightened around me.

"It's OK. I'm sorry if I scared you. It was all in fun and I thought you were enjoying it."

She stroked my hair with her hand until the tears stopped.

"I wasn't scared or sad," I said as I caught my breath.

"You weren't?" She was surprised. I guess no one ever cried during sex with her. It was a first for me.

"I was happy." I made a nervous giggle. I never giggle. "I really like you ... you make me happy."

She squeezed me again and then we kissed. Her hand wandered down and started playing with me, her fingers dancing on my unshaved mound, gently pulling the hairs apart to find my drenched lips. I squeezed my eyes shut hard and found her thigh with my hand, feeling the strong, sinewy legs and her unshaved cunt, the lips wet and puffy. Her hand stilled as her head drooped back. I pushed two fingers inside her, her pussy willingly accepting me till they were all the way inside her, sliding within her slick walls, feeling the muscles of her asshole pulsing as I pumped my finger in and out of her.

"Fuck ... Max ... fuck," she huffed as she started coming in waves, her body rippling in a sitting position as her face was inches from mine.

"Max ...". Her head was still bobbing slowly.

Her phone started buzzing. The mood suddenly became real. She jumped out of bed and snapped on the lights. She scattered the contents on the top of the dresser, finding her phone under one of the brown paper bags. She checked the messages on her phone and stumbled to the bathroom. I jumped out of bed and picked up her phone and clicked on "Recents" before the phone auto locked. I scrolled through her call history and sure enough, found the burner phone's number with time stamps that matched the ones Rachel had found on the printout.

Fuck.

I was going to have to confront her.

I heard the toilet flush. I put the phone back on the dresser and hopped back into bed. She had shed her pajamas and seemed interested in more. She slid back into bed and rubbed her body against mine.

"I have to ask you something." My voice sounded serious and she knew something was amiss.

"What?"

I got out of bed and rustled through a sheaf of papers, finding the burner phone's number that I'd scrawled on a piece of notebook paper.

"Do you recognize this number?"

She sat up in bed. "What the fuck Max? Am I under investigation?" Her breasts were bared with her in a sitting position, so it was indeed an awkward situation. But the answers couldn't wait.

"I ... I don't know." I answered. Then I waved the slip of paper in front of her again. "Can you just look at it?"

Steph stared at the number. "No ... no, it doesn't seem familiar to me."

"You called it." I let my statement sink in. She realized the gravity of it and turned and put both of her hands on my shoulders.

"Tell me what's going on."

"The number belongs to the drug dealer we busted. You called him twice, the morning of the raid."

"How do you know that?"

I decided to bare all. I told her about Donovan, and about Rachel's discovery. I didn't tell her that I'd searched her phone.

"So you've been holding all this in. Even though we just had sex? What the fuck Max?"

I held up my hands. "I really don't want to believe it. I'm sure there's some logical explanation. I just don't know what it is."

"Fuck you Max." She got out of bed and started to dress. "Have you been playing me?"

She finished tying the strap on her wraparound dress. She put on her shoes and picked up her phone.

"I can't believe this Max." She stared at me. I was speechless.

Her eyes were boring into me. "So no explanation?"

She opened the door and stood in the doorway. Cold air flooded into the room. It was still pitch black outside and the lights from the parking lot illuminated her face.

"Someone called in that morning with an anonymous tip on our suspect and left this number. I called twice, but there was no answer."

She shut the door behind her before I could answer.

* * *

It was a long sleepless night. I eschewed Steph's expensive bourbon for more of my vodka. So it had to be Chuck. He must have sent in the anonymous "tip" and had Steph call the dealer to throw us off his trail. He knew that someone would check the call logs. But he slipped up. He visited the evidence room and must have trashed the burner phone. Steph was pissed off at me, Rachel was on administrative leave, and Chuck was still on the loose. So far nothing was going my way. I had to turn the tide.

"Donovan." I prayed he would be kind.

"Max, you're calling me ... again."

"I know. I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. You're my last and best hope."

"I hate to ask. For what?"

"You remember Anna, and the meth ...".

"Max, even if I wanted to, you won't let me forget."

"Donovan. We have the chance to put a meth dealer away." I wanted to tell him about Chuck, but I only had my suspicions at this point.

"I don't know ... you're putting me out there ..."

"It'll be the last time ... I promise."

"The last time?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

I gave him Chuck's home address and asked for a download of the calls on the tower closest to his house for the day before and the day of the raid. I knew it was a long shot, but that was all I had. I figured Chuck would be too careful to call from the station, so he probably called when he was at home.

"The usual two hours?"

"How about four?"

"I can make that happen."

"Bless you Donovan."

"We're more than even Max."

* * *

I dropped off two boxes of printout at Rachel's and went to the station. I saw Steph, but she purposely avoided me. I went by Hightower's empty office. I sat in the break room and had two cups of coffee and thought about the great sex I had with Steph and the fact that once again I fucked up the only good thing I had going in my life. Shit, was I ever going to catch a break?

I went to my desk and finished the paperwork I'd been avoiding for a week. Most of it was bullshit reports that no one would read. I was bored shitless and riddled with anxiety.

My phone rang. I almost jumped when it went off. "Rachel, what's up?" I asked anxiously. Time was running out for us. Rachel's disciplinary hearing was just a day off.

"I found it. I found the burner's number. There was one call the day before the raid."

The best possible news. Now what was I going to do with it?

"Fantastic. I should be able to get this evidence in front of Steph. He framed you and implicated her."

"Is the Steph the right person?"

"I'm not going to IA. You know how popular I was there." Rachel knew all too well.

"You've got a point there," she conceded.

"Steph it is." I thought it ironic that she was my prime suspect and now she was going to be Rachel's savior.

It was already 7 p.m., and the day crew had long left the station. I got into my beater and stopped by the liquor store that was also a gas station. The string of bells attached to the door handle chimed as I walked in. The clerk was a bored teenage girl who made it clear that I was disturbing her.

"20 on pump 3. Give me a bottle of that." I pointed to the row of handles of vodka. Cheap. Effective.

She reached up and pulled one down. I threw down a crumpled hundred dollar bill. She straightened it with the edge of her hand, gave me a funny look, then held it up to the light. Satisfied, she gave me the liquor and the change.

I got back to my motel. Imagine the crummy motels you stayed at as a kid when your parents took you cross country for the first time. Mine was like one of those, except it was twenty years older. I plodded up the metal framed concrete steps to the top floor (that would be the second floor as well) and stood in front of my unit. I put down the vodka and fumbled through my pockets for the key. By now, it was dark, and I was standing in shadow. I was already focused on my next drink when the muzzle of a revolver was pushed against my back.

"Easy Max. Get the key out of your pocket ... slow like." It was Chuck. He apparently played chess as well. This looked like checkmate.

"Chuck ..." I started to say. He interrupted me.

He sniggered. "You figured it out. Clever little girl. But you're playing way above your weight class. I'm just a soldier. I'm just following orders."

"Whose orders?" I asked, talking to the door. Maybe Chuck was in a sharing mood. But no such luck.

"Wouldn't you like to know. Now open the fucking door."

My hands were shaking. It was the second time I'd been on the receiving end of a police service revolver and I can tell you that it was not a pleasant feeling. Chuck made sure to keep the gun's nose buried in my back no doubt to intimidate me. It was working. He pushed me in with the prodding of the gun and then shut the door behind us and pulled the curtains shut.

I never liked Chuck. He was an asshole to everyone. He stayed true to my perception.

"You fucking cunt," he started. "You are sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. But you're fucking with the big dogs. They want me to retrieve all the information you have against me and your sources. I know you won't tell me voluntarily but I have something that will persuade you."

He stopped to let me absorb the gravity of his threat.

"You're not going to like this."

He made me sit on the wooden desk chair. He made me pull my pants down to my ankles, and then made me put my hands behind the back of the chair and used duct tape to bind my wrists together. He went over to the bed and threw the pillows in the middle. He gripped his pistol and shoved it into the middle, firing a round into the pillows and mattress. I managed to tuck a bottle cap into my sleeve when he shoved me into the room and against the desk. I was terrified when I heard the muffled gun shot, and calmed myself enough to let the bottle cap drop into my fingers and use the jagged edge to start sawing apart the tape.

He lifted the gun up, the muzzle smoking. He held it in front of my face.

"This is hot steel." His coal black eyes bored into mine. The muzzle was getting uncomfortably close to my left cheek. I could smell the powder and feel the heat emanating from the muzzle. "Now do you want to tell me something?"

"Fuck you asshole," I started to rant as he dropped the revolver down and let the sizzling steel graze the inside of my thigh.

Searing pain rocketed through me. I jumped up, and the sudden motion caused the duct tape to separate where I'd cut it. My hands were now free, and I pushed the startled man into the dresser, crashing the bottles lined up on top of it onto the shabby carpeting below. The neck of a beer bottle fell close to me, so I bent down and buried the jagged edge into his thigh. The glass easily punctured the thin material of his pants and blood quickly covered his pant leg and my hand.

He let out a bellow that could have been heard in the manager's office. I pulled up my pants and ran out of the motel room, praying my car key was still in my pocket. I jumped into my car, found the key in my pant's pocket, much to my relief, and drove to Steph's. Our relationship wasn't common knowledge so I didn't think anyone would look for me there. My heart was still thumping a mile a minute when I pulled up at her house. I had called ahead and she was waiting at the front door. She dashed out to meet me at the car.