Cuffs Read online

  Cuffs

  (Lesbians Dangereux)

  by Loki Renard

  http://sapphosbrats.com

  http://lokirenard.com

  Cover Image: Vasilchenko Nikita, 2013

  Copyright 2013, Loki Renard

  All Rights Reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter One

  It was a hot-enough-to-fry-a-bunny's-balls day in the middle of June and Jerry was hitting 80 MPH on an arterial street when flashing lights in the rear view mirror put a kink in an otherwise decent drive.

  Cursing, she pulled to a stop, lowered the window, left her hands at ten and two and waited for the officer to approach. Textbook stop stuff. Soon enough, a female officer with shapely hips and a nice rack sauntered out of the cop car and made her way to Jerry's window.

  The first words out of her mouth were also textbook. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

  Jerry smirked up at the mirrored glasses. “Why, did you forget?”

  The feminine jaw hardened. Serious business. “Step out of the car, Ma'am.”

  The officer stood back, hand on her hip whilst Jerry got out of the car. Her demeanor seemed to soften a tad when it was revealed that spiked hair and all, Jerry only stood about 5'1.

  “Hands on the bonnet,” she said, pointing to the front end of the car.

  “You want to frisk me? Is that what you want?”

  Lips thinned and the order was repeated. “Hands on the bonnet, ma'am.”

  “But I'm not wearing a bonnet.”

  There was a jangling as the officer reached for her cuffs. “I'm placing you under arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “For resisting. You want to be a smart-ass, you can leave your car on the side of the road and spend some time in a cell. Hands on the hood.”

  “You must be British,” Jerry said. “Tea and crumpets, matey.”

  “Put your hands on the hood, ma'am, or I'll have to use force.”

  “Use force?” Jerry bit her lower lip and grinned. “How much force are we talking about?”

  She couldn't see through the mirrored shades, but something about the way the officer's lips quirked told Jerry she'd made a chink in authority's armor.

  “Put your hands on the hood.”

  Jerry finally took pity on the cop and put her hands on the hood of the car. Soon slim, strong hands were patting along the lines of her body. They stilled on her inner thigh.

  “What's this?”

  “It's a P-99. Original green polymer frame. Loaded”

  “Do you have a permit for this?”

  Jerry grinned toward the hood of her car. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I have a permit.”

  The hands descended lower. Stopped at her left ankle. “What's this?”

  “Third generation P-99. I like the P-99.”

  “Ma'am, how many weapons are you currently armed with?”

  “Four.”

  The officer stood swiftly. Jerry felt a stilling hand locked on her hip, a silent don't go anywhere.

  “Mind explaining why you feel the need to walk around with an armory?”

  “The world's a dangerous place,” Jerry quipped. “My permit is in my wallet, which is about two inches away from your thumb, and about three inches away from my butthole.”

  “You can cut the back-talk.”

  Jerry felt her wallet being slid out of her back pocket. There was a brief rifling and then a dry exclamation.

  “Why didn't you say you were on the force?”

  “More fun not to?” Jerry wiggled her backside back and forth enticingly.

  The officer tossed her wallet onto the hood. “Get up, Schwartz.”

  Jerry got up, grinning broadly.

  “That was a complete waste of the department's time,” the officer said. She reached for her shades and lowered them, treating Jerry to a serious blue-green gaze. The woman's eyes were the color of the Pacific on a hot summer's day. A blaze of red hair under her ball cap completed the complexion. The woman was beautiful. Drop dead, stand up, knock down, fall over, writhe around for a bit, curse the good Lord, pay for Botox, get a haircut, cry 'cause you hate it, gorgeous.

  “Ginger,” Jerry said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Isn't that what they call red heads where you're from? Gingers?”

  “It's an impolite expression,” Officer Gorgeous said. She hooked her thumbs in her belt loops and cocked her head at Jerry. “You are off duty, I take it?”

  “Nope,” Jerry said. “I'm off to sprinkle some crack on a body.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You missed it when you patted down my pockets. You don't often make stops, do you?”

  The inquisitorial shoe was on the other foot now. Jerry had gotten better pat downs from passing bums. This woman didn't come across like a rookie, but she seemed to have about as much street experience as snakes had legs.

  “I'm spending some time doing road patrols, familiarizing myself with the area before moving into my official capacity.” The woman spoke with a pretty decent American accent, but dribs and drabs of her native English parlance were in evidence.

  “And they let you out alone? Without a minder?”

  The woman's lips thinned at the inference of incompetence. “I could ask the same question of you.”

  “Oh me, all the minders gave up and quit,” Jerry laughed. “I handle things on my own now.”

  “Things like sprinkling crack on bodies.”

  “It was a joke. I'm just going to sell a little.” Jerry held up her hands before more questions could be asked. “It's for a very good cause, I promise. I'm saving up for a new paddling pool.”

  “A pool isn't the kind of paddling you need,” the woman said grimly. “You seem to be an undisciplined brat. Precisely the sort of problem I've been bought in to correct.”

  “Correct away,” Jerry winked. She was not at all threatened by the, well, by the threats. Nor was she put off by the woman's stern demeanor. She was, however, tired of mentally referring to the woman as 'the woman'. “Do you have a name?”

  “Lara,” the woman named Lara said. “Lara Ashcroft.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lara Ashcroft. I'm Jenny Schwartz. I go by Jerry.”

  “You'll be going by bus if you keep driving the way you were,” Lara said, returning to the original subject at hand. “Twenty miles over the speed limit and still accelerating.”

  “That's just how we drive around here,” Jerry said, shrugging. “The roads are wide and flat, so why not?”

  “It's against the law, for starters.”

  “I am the law.”

  “Oh no you're not. The way you're going you'll be stripped of your rank and...”

  “Stripped.” Jerry was beaming broadly. She wasn't afraid. She knew precisely who she was dealing with. Another department supervisor being charged with the impossible task of reining in the vice team. She probably had a box of fancy degrees, but she clearly lacked real world experience – and that meant her opinion and her threats added up to a big fat nothing. Still, she was cute. More than cute, beautiful.

  “You should take this more seriously, Schwartz.”

  “Sure,” Jerry said. “I take it real serious. I take it as serious as anything else. But I really gotta go. This crack isn't going to sell itself.”

  “You are not going to sell crack, Schwartz.”

  “I really think I should. If I don't, people might buy their crack from someone else. And then where would we be, huh?”

  Lara's expression went
from serious to severe. “Schwartz, you are going to get back in that car, you are going to drive your way back to the station you're based at and then you're going to answer some questions.”

  “Sure,” Jerry said. “Just as soon as I sell the...”

  “You are not selling any crack.”

  “Well not now I'm not,” Jerry agreed, her temper heating. “Right now I'm arguing with a misinformed bureaucrat.”

  Lara did not make a reply right away. Her lips went so thin they almost disappeared. Her finely formed brows dipped low over those enchanting eyes. “Put your hands back on the hood, Schwartz.”

  “Why?”

  “Do it.”

  Shrugging, Jerry complied. She bent over, spread her hands wide and looked over her shoulder with a challenging glare. “What now... OW!”

  The question had been answered with a sharp slap which caught her low on her left cheek. Even through jeans, it stung. But it wasn't the sting that really got Jerry's attention. It was the feeling that swept through her body, a rush of emotion, a sensation of smallness which manifested in a rare blush.

  “I don't know what sort of supervisors you've had in the past,” Lara said, her British accent coming even more to the fore. “But I can tell you now, I take this work extremely seriously. You will get in your car. You will drive to the station. And you will take yourself to an interview room and wait for me. Understand?”

  Jerry wanted to tell the woman to go fuck herself, but some impulse told her that would not be a terribly good idea. Smacking people's asses was not part of standard protocol. As much as this woman walked and talked like a stickler for the rules, she'd just broken them. Jerry could respect that.

  “Listen,” she said, straightening. “I've got a delivery scheduled as part of an ongoing investigation. I have to sell this crack, okay? I'll be back at Belfort station in an hour and you can ask me all the questions you like.”

  Lara gave her a long, hard look, then nodded swiftly. “Very well,” she said. “On your way, officer.”

  On my way, how fucking generous of you, Jerry thought to herself as she got back into her car. Ordinarily she would have voiced the thoughts aloud, but the instinctive part of her mind that kept her safe as a vice cop was kicking her in, telling her not to antagonize Lara. As it was the voice responsible for keeping her alive, she listened to it.

  Chapter Two

  Drop made, Jerry felt more like her old self. Nothing like spending a little time rubbing shoulders with the raw edge of society to make her feel alive. On the way back to Belfort, she stopped at a drive-through and picked up some food. Chocolate thick-shake, cheeseburger and fries. Thinking of Lara, she picked up an extra burger and fries and a diet soda. That trim figure of Lara's didn't come from full sugar sodas.

  Back at Belfort, Jerry set her food up in interview room Green and began munching. Selling drugs sure worked up an appetite.

  About three bites into the cheeseburger, Lara made an appearance. She'd shed the uniform and was wearing long black slacks that emphasized the length of her legs. On top was a linen and lace blouse, buttoned all the way up to a high collar. Her red hair was pinned back, not in a simple bun, but something that was probably called a chignon. Quelle refinement.

  Jerry stopped eating mid-chew, her cheek puffed out like a startled squirrel. She stared as Lara entered the room and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

  “I, er...I got you a burger.”

  It felt silly, saying that. It was like telling the queen of England you'd rented her a double-wide for the weekend.

  “That was kind of you, thank you.”

  Jerry swallowed with difficulty and reached for her shake. “So, you had questions?” She took a sip. The traitorous shake made loud slurping sounds. Goddammit.

  “I've had an opportunity to read up on your file,” Lara said. “You've been cited on six separate occasions.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You've faced disciplinary action on more than twelve occasions.”

  “Yep.”

  “None of it seems to have been particularly successful in effecting a change in your behavior.”

  “Nope.”

  Jerry reached for a french fry and was gratified to discover that it was still hot. Like Lara.

  “On the positive side of the equation, you've been very successful in your work. You've been awarded several accolades, including one from the mayor.”

  “Yep.”

  Lara cocked her head to the side and gave Jerry a piercing look. “You were a much more enthusiastic conversationalist when we met earlier.”

  “So far you're just stating facts,” Jerry said. “Isn't much to say about them really, is there?”

  “I suppose that depends on your opinion. I think that your record indicates a lack of direction and discipline. You're not the only one. There are several members of the vice squad who seem to think the law belongs in their hands.”

  “We just know how to get things done, that's all. We know how to keep ourselves alive and we know how to get the convictions that count.”

  “The DA is the one that gets the convictions.”

  “True, but he uses the evidence we collect,” Jerry pointed out. “No evidence, no conviction.”

  “Mhm.”

  Jerry pushed the spare burger and fries across the desk. “You eat this sort of thing?”

  “Every now and then. Thank you.” Lara's long fingers dipped towards the fries. Jerry had never wished she was a french fry before, but as the woman drew the golden potato toward her lips, Jerry found herself staring at Lara's lips. She wondered what they'd fell like pressed against her own.

  “So what are you going to do about us? Try cracking down? Making everybody go strictly by the book? They've tried that before.”

  “I imagine they have, and I imagine it failed.”

  “It did.”

  “That's because this issue is about people, not procedures. The vice squad is suffering from a lack of leadership and oversight.”

  “And you plan to oversee us?”

  “I do.” Lara's beautiful eyes captured Jerry's gaze. “I think I'll enjoy it.”

  Jerry took a deep breath, tried to get her wits about her. It was difficult when she was instinctively clasping her thighs together, feeling a familiar tingle in her clit. God, Lara was attractive. What were the odds she was gay, though? Likely next to none. Lesbians didn't wear lace collars, did they? Mind you, as far as Jerry was concerned, modern women didn't wear lace collars. Lara was like a breeze from another time and place, completely unconcerned, maybe even unaware of the gritty reality she was intervening in.

  “Well, good luck with that,” Jerry said, grinning around the straw of her shake.

  “I don't need luck,” Lara said. “It's a matter of persistence and discipline.”