UNCLAIMED

Streetlights began to flicker on as I pulled my patrol car into the packed parking lot on Main Street. A slight drizzle had started to decorate my windshield, and I groaned internally as I checked the time.

Just after midnight.

Only six hours left.

Usually, I loved my job. One thing I could not stand, however, was wet socks. If so much as a puddle formed outside, my night was ruined. I blamed the Army. I’d spent enough time in wet, uncomfortable clothing to last me the rest of my life.

The computer mounted beside me chimed, pulling my attention back to the message I’d received from my sergeant a few minutes earlier.

City council is requesting more frequent foot patrols downtown. Please complete one at your earliest convenience.

Sure, Steve. I would love to.

I rolled my eyes, closed the computer, and climbed out of my patrol car. I triple-checked that I’d locked it before making a quick retreat toward the sidewalk, hoping to get beneath one of the storefront canopies before the drizzle turned into actual rain.

The tourists apparently had the same idea.

Groups of women in short skirts and poor excuses for shirts hurried toward the bars lining Main Street. Groups of young men wearing uncomfortably short shorts and Hey Dudes followed them.

Summer had officially arrived.

Careful to avoid the puddles already forming along the sidewalk, I started down the row of bars and tattoo shops. That’s all we seemed to have downtown. Bars, tattoo shops, and the occasional overpriced hippie coffee boutique or whatever they were called.

The request for increased foot patrols didn’t surprise me. We got the same one every year at the beginning of summer. Apparently, our city council thought the visual of cops walking around downtown would distract tourists from our rising crime rate.

Not that this was a particularly dangerous town, but every beach town in Florida had crime. Tourists got drunk, fought each other, and left their cars unlocked.

Recipe for disaster.

Great job security for me.

Raised voices caught my attention from farther down the sidewalk. I couldn’t make out the words, but I recognized the tone well enough. Someone was approximately thirty seconds away from doing something stupid.

I slipped my flashlight from the leather holder on my belt and clicked it on as I approached, deliberately casting the beam directly into the faces of the four men gathered outside one of the bars. The streetlights were bright enough that I didn’t actually need it. The flashlight was purely an attention getter.

It worked.

The argument stopped.

Four heads turned toward me.

Of course they were outside Ophelia.

It was one of the nicer bars downtown, if the line routinely stretching around the building was any indication. We almost never received calls there, although I’d heard enough rumors to know things occasionally got rowdy inside.

I sized up the two men standing closest to the street first.

Short shorts. Hey Dudes.

Tourists.

Shocker.

Both had short, curly dark hair and wore shirts unbuttoned far enough that I wasn’t entirely sure why they’d bothered wearing them in the first place. I could practically smell the Crown Apple from where I stood.

Gross.

The other two were considerably more impressive.

The first had neatly combed black hair and wore a simple white button-down with black jeans. His eyes were an icy shade of blue that would’ve looked more appropriate on a Siberian husky. He’d apparently been doing most of the shouting before I interrupted.

The second man leaned silently against the large glass window beside Ophelia’s entrance.

His dirty-blond hair fell in a shaggy mess nearly to his eyes, cut shorter at the sides but left longer across the top and back. His skin was fair, with only the slightest hint of a tan.

His eyes were dark blue.

Not the bright blue of the man beside him. Deeper.

They strangely reminded me of the couch in my old apartment. I’d bought the thing because it was comfortable as hell, but I’d gradually fallen in love with the dark blue fabric because it reminded me of the deeper parts of the ocean.

I stared at him for another second before I realized what I was doing.

Jesus Christ.

I’d just compared a strange man’s eyes to my couch.

“Is there a problem here?” I asked.

Husky Eyes answered immediately.

“No, ma’am. We were just politely asking these two gentlemen to leave our establishment.”

He folded his arms across his chest. Their establishment? Lovely. The only thing I liked dealing with less than tourists was business owners. I turned toward the curly-haired boys and raised an eyebrow, waiting for their excuse.

“They can kick us out. We don’t care,” Curly Hair Number One said. “But we want the drinks we paid for.”

“Yeah,” his friend added. “Give us our drinks and we’ll go.”

I looked back at Husky Eyes.

He nearly snorted. “They were given the drinks they paid for. Then they started getting handsy with our bartender. They spilled them while we were assisting them to the exit.”

Assisting.

Right.

I turned back toward the tourists.

“Sounds like it’s time for you guys to find a different bar. Or an Uber.”

“That’s not—”

I raised one hand.

“I’m not asking.”

The man stopped. They stared at me for several seconds, their faces steadily reddening. I’d learned pretty quickly that some men didn’t enjoy being told what to do by a cop. They enjoyed it even less when the cop was a woman.

Eventually, they elbowed each other like children and stumbled off down the sidewalk, muttering loudly about how I was a bitch and they didn’t even like this bar anyway.

I waited until they’d made it halfway down the block before turning around. The quiet man had pushed himself away from the window.

“Thank you, Officer...?” He extended a hand toward me.

His voice was smooth and deep, and he left the word hanging like a question. My nameplate was clearly visible on my vest, VALENTINA.

I looked at his hand before taking it.

“Liana.”

The word escaped before I could stop it. My first name. Why the hell had I given him my first name? It was always Officer Valentina. Never Liana. Something cold slid down my spine. I released his hand, looking up at the rain that began falling harder around us.

“Connor,” he said.

He gestured toward the other man.

“And this is Caleb.”

Caleb nodded.

The murderous expression he’d been wearing when I first approached was gone. Now he looked surprisingly curious. But strangely, he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Connor.

I glanced between them.

Whatever.

“Well, it was nice meeting you. If you have any more issues tonight, call. I’ll be around. I gave them my best business-owner-ass-kissing smile and turned away.

“Actually.” Connor’s voice stopped me. I looked back. “If you have a moment, I was wondering if you could help us with something. We had a break-in two nights ago,” he continued. “Something valuable was stolen. Would you mind looking at our security footage? See if you recognize whoever took it?”

I glanced toward Ophelia, then toward the rain again. Technically, investigating a burglary sounded significantly better than wandering around outside until my socks were soaked. And it was a crime, so I couldn’t say no if I wanted to.

“Sure.”

Connor turned toward the entrance. I followed, keying my portable radio as we walked.

“Unit 164.”

“Go ahead.”

“Out at Ophelia for a burglary - already occurred.”

“10-4.”

Caleb held the door open for me. Music slammed into me the second I stepped inside. Apparently, Ophelia only looked calm from the outside. The place was packed. Bodies crowded the dance floor beneath low lighting, music vibrating hard enough through the floor that I could feel the bass in my chest. Bartenders moved rapidly behind a long black bar while people shouted drink orders they had no hope of hearing.

Connor moved ahead of me through the crowd.

People moved out of his way.

I didn’t notice it at first. There were enough people packed together that everyone was constantly shifting anyway, but after a few seconds I realized Connor never actually touched anyone. He didn’t need to.

A man backed out of his path without ever looking at him. A woman stepped sideways in the middle of dancing, creating just enough room for Connor to pass.

Weird.

Caleb followed behind me.

“Upstairs,” Connor said.

There was a staircase near the back, guarded by a large man wearing all black. He stepped aside immediately when he saw Connor. He watched me more intently than he needed to, making me start to wonder if he happened to have a warrant out for his arrest.

The second floor was quieter and significantly less packed. Thick walls dulled the pounding music below into a steady pulse. Plush couches and chairs surrounded low tables, creating several private seating areas overlooking the club through dark glass.

“VIP?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Caleb replied.

Connor led me toward one of the couches.

“Can I get you anything? Redbull? Water?”

“No, thanks.”

I sat.

Caleb dropped onto the cushion to my right while Connor sat on my left and pulled a laptop from beneath the table. They were both a little close to my personal space, and I slid the retention up on my holster out of habit. .

Connor opened the computer to a screen labeled “Back door camera.” The footage showed a narrow alley behind the club. A woman appeared a few seconds later.

Dark pants. Dark sweatshirt. Hood pulled over her head. She approached the rear door, looked around once, then produced something from her pocket.

I leaned closer, “Pause it.” Connor did. “Has anyone touched that door since?”

Caleb frowned. “Probably.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

I looked at him, “Because she just spent thirty seconds fucking with the lock. If we’re lucky, she left prints.”

“Oh.”

I looked back at the screen, “Play it.” The woman worked something into the doorframe. A few seconds later, the door opened. “Do you have cameras inside?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

The footage changed. I watched the woman move through a dark hallway.

I blinked. The screen had become strangely difficult to focus on. I rubbed my eyes, vaguely realizing something was wrong. Maybe I was more tired than I thought.

Connor was saying something.

I couldn’t understand him. Not because I couldn’t hear him, but because the words seemed to slide through my head without sticking.

I looked down.

There was a plastic cup in my hand.

Water.

I stared at it. When had I gotten water? I’d said no. Hadn’t I?

“Officer?”

“What?” I met his gaze. His face was far closer than I remembered.

“You weren’t listening.”

“Sorry.”

Caleb laughed softly beside me. Connor’s hand was resting on my thigh. I looked at it. Then at him. Why was his hand on my thigh?

The bass downstairs suddenly seemed unbearably loud. Every beat vibrated through the couch and into my body, making it impossible to hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds.

I looked at the cup again. Had they put something in the water? But I hadn’t wanted water. Had I drunk it? The cup was half empty.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Liana.”

Right. Connor. Burglary report.

I turned toward him.

His eyes caught mine. Dark blue. Deep water. My couch. That was funny. Why was that funny?

“You’re comfortable here with me,” he murmured.

His voice sounded different now. Beautiful. Like music, like something I could sink into.

“I...”

I couldn’t remember what I was going to say.

Connor leaned closer, and I leaned with him. Why did I do that? His nose brushed beneath my ear. My eyes fluttered closed.

“You’ve had a long night.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

His lips grazed my neck. A shiver rolled through me, and a strange humming sensation began deep in my chest.

“Take this off.”

His fingers found the edge of my vest.

My eyes snapped opened.

“What?”

“Your vest.”

I looked down at myself.

Right. My vest. Heavy. Uncomfortable. My hand reached toward one of the straps.

Then stopped.

“I’m working.” Caleb and Connor looked at me increduosly. I frowned, “What?”

“Nothing,” Connor murmured.

His mouth returned to my neck, his sweet voice murmuring “Take it off.”

My hand moved again.

Static suddenly erupted from the radio on my shoulder.

“Unit 164?.”

My eyes snapped open. The room rushed back into focus. I shoved away from Connor and grabbed my radio mic.

“Go ahead.”

“10-4?”

I stared around the room, my heart pounding.

“Yeah.” Yeah? What the fuck was I thinking? I cleared my throat and tried again, “10-4.”

A pause.

“Copy.”

I stood too quickly and the room tilted beneath me. Caleb’s smile disappeared. Connor stared at me.

“I have to go.” Neither moved. “I need to leave.”

I took one step, then another. My legs felt like I’d spent the last hour drinking tequila instead of sitting on a couch.

“Liana.”

I ignored him.

Connor caught my wrist.

I turned.

“No,” he said quietly. “Stay.” His fingers tightened slightly around my wrist.

The word sank straight through me.

Stay.

Of course.

I could stay. We weren’t busy anyways.

I—

I blinked.

Then ripped my wrist from his hand.

“No.”

Connor froze.

Caleb did too.

I didn’t wait to see what either of them would say. By the time I reached the parking lot, the rain was pouring. I barely made it to the grass before I threw up. I stood there afterward, bent forward with my hands braced against my knees, rain soaking through my uniform while I tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

Drugged.

I had to have been drugged.

I made it to my patrol car and climbed inside, immediately locking the doors. Then I sat there breathing. One minute passed, then two. The fog disappeared completely.

I stared through the rain-covered windshield.

I didn’t feel drunk anymore.

I didn’t feel sick.

I felt fine.

“What the fuck?”