More Than a Hotline Fling

-43-

Damian's POV

"Oh wow..." June's breasts heaved with her deep breath. "This is fresh air."

A loud laugh erupted from Nick, the tall, gray-haired man who greeted us at the gate. His eyebrows raised and his index finger pointed up. "The sky looks much larger out here too. Look, there's a cloud."

'Out here' was New Rochelle, an hour north of Rodman's neck. I took a scenic drive straight north out of Manhattan to see if June would fall asleep. She passed out within six blocks of our rental and missed the small downtown area here. I made a note to take her and our hosts out for dinner tonight. It wasn't an Italian honeymoon, but there was a beach here too.

The gray circles under her eyes were lighter but still present and I wanted an overnight distraction

Not that she has to worry.

Hernandez was right; the Bronx and Inwood cliques were involved in a larger, well-organized network of brothel cells that spanned from Mount Vernon to Long Island. MS-13's web was cast wide, but thin enough that it stayed under NYPD's radar. All Vice hands except mine participated in this weekend city-wide raids. No one voiced a single complaint about the OT.

The number of times I was asked about June's state was countless.

June's adoption into the NYPD family came to light after her capture. Also with no complaints, well, other than from Shirley, Jenks, Mattias, and Willis as they rotated through my job while I was out. My first day, I was bombarded with catch-up conversations, all the way up to the Inspector's Office. Free meals poured into my office, more than what June and I ate, but I brought them home anyway.

I wanted none of those initial news broadcasts to hit June's ears. Knowing what was coming, I contacted Nick and asked if I could take him up on seeing his charity. He happily obliged and, by the way the woman with long, flowing gray hair hugged June like her own, I assumed Liz was fine with our overnight visit.

Both she and Nick wore faded jeans and flannel shirts. I frowned at her knee-high rubber boots coated in what I hoped was mud. Their property wore a faint animal smell, which filled my nose with each breath.

I did not factor in the animal shit factor.

"We're here." June's melodic laugh carried through the breeze. A few strands of her hair lifted over her cheek, which she brushed aside. "Where is here?"

Over Bullet's whines and scratches on his crate door, I clipped on his leash and called out, "Dog rescue."

"We are not only a dog rescue." Liz huffed. Her eyes lit up at Bullet, who strained my wrist with how hard he leapt onto the ground.

He took two steps into their grass and froze. Snuffing the ground, he lifted each of his four paws and placed them back down. We laughed at his amazement.

"Real grass, buddy," I teased him.

"I don't know whether that's cute or sad," June whispered.

"If you think he won't go far, you can let him off-leash." Nick pointed to their long drive, fenced off with a white picket fence. At my hesitation over the open pickets, he added, "it's reinforced with chicken wire."

"Alright. Have fun, Bud..." Bullet squirmed as I snapped off his leash, then shot off as his name suggested. His pink tongue flapped out the side of his parted mouth and if a dog could smile, then he sure did.

Back and forth, he zipped from the fence line back to us, then trotted around the perimeter, returning covered in grass and his tongue hanging. With a plop, he laid down, paws extended and his whole body convulsed with loud pants.