The Do-Over (The Rooftop Crew #5) - Piper Rayne Page 0,1
driver. I won’t even mention the time she rear-ended an armored truck we were supposed to be guarding. She’d just tell you about the time I hit a pothole so fast the tire flew off.
Our sixty-five-year-old dispatcher Mildred’s voice comes through our radios. “Suspects shot paintballs at male and female as they left Cliffton Heights Country Club. Victims believe it to be an attack on the female’s fur coat, but they hit the male in his groin. He’s being transported to the hospital. Suspects’ descriptions are two males in their late twenties. Not any more to go on than that. And a female in her twenties with long dark hair in a ponytail, believed to be Hispanic.”
I drive us in the direction of the country club, looking for the suspects.
Six hours later, we’ve pulled over a few cars, responded to a domestic abuse call, and kicked kids who should’ve been home in bed out of the riverfront area. We stroll around our assigned area, still on the lookout for the suspects of the paintball incident, but no luck. At this point, they’re probably long gone, on the highway back to New York City.
Rumors around the district are that it was the Floyds who got shot with the paintballs. The Floyds are the wealthiest people in our city and tend to have their name listed with top billing at every fundraiser. Another set of partners took their statement at the hospital, and besides having a swollen set on him, Mr. Floyd will be fine in a few days.
“So? Gone on any dates lately?”
I groan that Patrice has chosen to bring up this topic now. She’s happily married, and ever since she said, “I do,” she thinks it’s her part-time job to play matchmaker, though she says her friends are off-limits.
“No.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re still fucking girls and not asking for phone numbers afterward?”
I turn slowly down a dark alley. “Why are you so concerned about my love life? Other than the fact that you’re in marital bliss and seem to think everyone wants what you have.”
She’s quiet for a moment, which for Patrice is unusual, so I arm myself with a few comebacks. “You’re too good of a guy to just be the douchebag who disappoints women all the time.”
“Did you just call me a good guy?” Rarely do I receive compliments from Patrice. We have one of those relationships where telling one another what a dumbass the other is being is our way of showing love.
“You know what I mean.”
I shrug. “Maybe I’m still getting over her.”
She blows out an annoyed breath, not having to ask who her is. “Give me a break. She’s a felon.”
“A few protest arrests doesn’t make you a felon.” And there I go, sticking up for the woman who broke my heart as if it was a twig underfoot—with no care for its fragility and no backward glance. Still, I’m over Leilani now. But I don’t want a relationship, and if I say I’m over her, Patrice will make it her personal mission to give me heart eyes for someone.
I slow down as we near my apartment. My buddy’s shop, Ink Envy, and his girl’s bakeshop, Sweet Infusion, are right here. Rian is usually already baking at this godforsaken hour, but it’s the dark-haired girl walking down the street who grabs my attention. I know the cadence of that walk. I know that ass.
What the hell is she doing here?
Patrice looks at me when I stop the car, then follows my line of sight. “Fits the description of the female suspect, right?”
I hold up my hand, put the car into park, and quietly shut my door. “Leilani,” I say into the cool morning air.
It wouldn’t be the first time a witness has labeled someone with olive skin as being Hispanic rather than Polynesian.
She’s in jeans and a sweatshirt. Patrice is wrong—Leilani can’t be one of the suspects. But on her right jean leg, I spot paint, and the more my eyes scour her clothes, I spot the cast of spray on her clothes.
“Knox.” Her voice is as sweet as candy as she saunters to me, her hips swaying, her eyes eating me up as though she’s going to welcome me with a kiss after she bolted from town. “It’s been so long.”
I nod. “Since you left me, you mean?”
A door chime rings behind me. Although I don’t bother looking, I know it’s Rian.