Strip Search
A Novel
1
July 11
I don’t care what you’ve seen on television. This is the truth: Most days, being a cop is one of the most boring jobs on earth. Except when it isn’t. Or to clarify, it’s huge patches of tediousness punctuated by brief moments of stark terror. That’s why so many cops turn in their badges before retirement. That’s why eight times more cops die from suicide than homicide. The badge ain’t for sissies.
I love it. All of it—the tediousness and the terror—even now, six months since my badge was officially yanked. I was a cop for almost ten years; now I’m a consultant, which means I work twice as many hours for half as much money. At least I’m in the game. Tediousness and terror. But still in the game.
The officially designated casino escort met Darcy and me at the front door. He was dark and muscular and obviously worked out and I disliked him almost immediately. “You the chick Chief O’Bannon sent over?”
Just to prove that I’m not high-strung, hot-tempered, rabidly feminist, or any of those other ...
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