Ride Along Read online

  Ride Along

  By Meghan Maslow

  Drew Nolan is a loud-and-proud mystery writer with a brutal case of writer’s block. He needs practical experience with the Baltimore police beat to get his latest manuscript to his publisher on time. When he wins a ride along at a writer’s conference, he thinks he’s hit the jackpot… until he meets his partner.

  Closeted cop Josh de Oliveira lost his family, his partner, and the respect of his unit—all for doing the right thing. Recently busted back down to patrol, he’s relieved to get a cushy assignment at the Author’s Police Institute where he’ll take one lucky writer on a ride along. Unfortunately, his author looks like he belongs in the backseat of Josh’s squad car—long, ginger dreadlocks, piercings, and an “I would bottom you so hard” T-shirt. But there’s something about Drew Josh is having a hard time resisting.

  It’s going to be a long night and one hell of a ride as opposites attract and realize they share a lot in common beneath the surface. As animosity becomes desire, they realize they can help each other out—in more ways than one.

  States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Chapter TWELVE

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  About the Author

  By Meghan Maslow

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  To my m/m family, the Brew-ba-Curs (you know who you are). Thanks for welcoming me into the fold. Love you guys!

  Acknowledgments

  MY DEEPEST gratitude to Carla Coupe, Ingrid Hahn, and Jill Smith for reading early versions of this story and making it much, much better. Also, a big thank you to the wonderful DSP staff who amaze me with how they take a story I feel is polished and give it an even higher shine.

  Chapter ONE

  WHY HAD he bothered? The conference had been a total bust so far. No, no, don’t think that way. Stay positive. Positive people attract positive things. Drew believed that wholeheartedly. He did.

  Though it hadn’t worked so far.

  Drew scanned the conference room for a cop he could corner to ask his questions. Authors Police Institute of Maryland had seemed like such a good idea. He needed to get over his relentless writer’s block. He’d hoped that by knowing some procedural details he’d need about the Baltimore Police Department for his latest novel, he could do just that. This conference had seemed to be the perfect way to do it.

  Except he couldn’t get any police officers to talk to him. At all.

  Maybe it was his ginger dreadlocks? Or the fact he was half the age of almost all the other participants? Most were women on the far side of fifty. They looked… well, not like him. Clean-cut. Did one say that about women? Was respectable a better word? It sounded so antiquated. Antiquated? What was he, eighty? Being a writer had obviously gone to his head. Or his vocabulary. Whatever.

  The panelists were currently surrounded by other attendees, the light green room—his sister would call it sage—and the harsh lighting doing little for the pallor of any participants. Drew reached for the pitcher that sat on each round table and poured himself a big glass of water. He gulped it down, tapping his fingers on the notepad the conference organizers had been considerate enough to leave at each place setting.

  After finishing his water, he grabbed his messenger bag and notepad, already more than three-quarters filled, and beelined toward a blue-clad officer who had a growing crowd of participants clustered around him. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous had been on the panel about interrogating suspects that had just ended. He’d given an actual demonstration of what happened in an interrogation room, which was so cool—and gave Drew goose bumps because of the guy’s commanding voice—but Drew had some follow-up questions.

  He always seemed to have more questions. God, he needed to finish this book. The fact that the officer was drop-dead gorgeous had nothing to do with why Drew approached him. Right. Nothing.

  Okay, maybe a little. He wasn’t good at lying to himself. When Drew had first seen the guy, his tongue had practically lolled out of his mouth. He’d had to pinch his leg a couple times during the presentation to stay focused on what the guy said. Sure, lots of the officers were good-looking, but this guy could be a model.

  Serious spank bank material.

  Sinfully long eyelashes, lips most gay guys would kill for, and a masculine jaw with just enough five-o’clock shadow to tickle his cheek if they kissed. And unlike Drew’s sun-kissed skin, this guy came by his complexion naturally. Italian? His spiky, black hair—without a hint of curl—and his slightly Asian features said otherwise. And the way he filled out that uniform…. Le sigh.

  As he approached, Drew scanned the officer’s silver name tag. J. de Oliveira. Spanish? Or maybe Portuguese? The officer’s eyes narrowed, his mouth turning down in a scowl.

  Damn, a real buzzkill. Not that he’d thought the guy was gay or anything. He’d never get that lucky. But Drew at least hoped he’d react differently from the other officers he’d tried to talk to so far. Geez, dude. Dreadlocks. Get over it already. Drew wouldn’t even litter because of crushing guilt, so the guy didn’t need to look at him like he was a criminal. Or a disease.

  Drew did what he always did when someone looked at him like he was a freak. He smiled. His mom had always said he had a killer smile no one could resist. As a kid, he’d used it often to get himself out of trouble. Though he had to admit Officer de Oliveira seemed completely unaffected. Like he was bulletproof or something.

  When the officer’s gaze fell on Drew’s “I’d bottom you so hard” T-shirt, his eyes narrowed farther. Whatever. Drew wasn’t going to hide in anyone’s closet. He’d been loud and proud since high school, and he wasn’t about to change because it might make some straight guys uncomfortable. Besides, this was his lucky T-shirt.

  He patiently waited for the lady currently talking to the officer to finish. He’d ask his questions, then be on his way….

  “Excuse me.” A short woman with frizzy salt-and-pepper hair tapped him on the forearm. “Are you the Drew Nolan who won the best first novel Edgar last year?”

  “Wow, I feel famous. I don’t think I’ve ever been recognized before.” He beamed at her and she laughed, a lilting sound that made his smile grow.

  “I loved your book! It was gripping. Read it in one sitting. Amazing.”

  He could feel himself blushing toe to top. Damn his Scotch-Irish roots. But how cool was that? She recognized him!

  “Thank you—” He scanned her name tag. “—Laura. It’s really nice of you to say. Are you an author too?” He didn’t recognize her name, but there were a lot of mystery writers out there and he was still a newcomer.

  “Oh, no, not yet, but maybe someday.” She launched into an excited discussion about what she was writing and he nodded dutifully, keeping his eye on the officer. When a couple of Laura’s friends approached, she gleefully introduced him to them as though he were some big movie star.

  One of the others had read his book too. At this rate, his cheeks were going to be permanently red. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention. If Officer de Oliveira noticed the women gushing over Drew, he certainly didn’t show it. He turned to another woman who’d come up after Drew and struck up a conversation with her.

  Drew could wait. Besides, Laura was the first person to approach him since he’d come to the c
onference, and he could use a friend. It had been easier at the Edgar Awards Banquet. There everyone knew he was nominated for the award and people had gone out of their way to talk to him. He’d hoped at least a few of them would be here—a couple writers he’d met there were local—but he hadn’t seen anyone he knew yet.

  “Are you doing Meggitt training?” Laura adjusted a pair of big red frames on her nose, her eyes looking owl-like under the fluorescent lighting of the hotel conference room.

  “That’s the gun simulation training, right?” Drew asked. When she nodded, he said, “No, my number wasn’t chosen.” He usually had luck with lotteries, but not at this conference it seemed. But you can’t win them all.

  “That’s too bad,” Laura said. “I did it last year and it was a blast. What else did you put your name in for?”

  “The ride along and the investigation of a murder module. I didn’t get the investigation, but I haven’t heard about the ride along yet.” He’d really, really wanted to get into the investigation of a murder group, but again, no such luck. That only left the ride along.

  “I don’t think they’re announcing them yet. They need to see how many officers they’ll have available.”

  “Are you doing it too?”

  “No, I did the ride along two years ago. This time I’m just enjoying the panels.”

  “So you come every year?”

  “Pretty much. I used to live here, but we’ve moved to Ellicott City now. I like to stay at the conference hotel so I don’t miss anything. I’m not much for finishing my own book, but I sure like to learn new things.” Laura’s smile was infectious, and Drew found himself relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived yesterday morning.

  In retrospect, he probably should have commuted. Greenbelt wasn’t that far from Baltimore, but he’d wanted to be in the thick of things, and rush-hour traffic on either 95 or the BW Parkway was murder. No pun intended.

  And he’d mistakenly assumed he would have one-on-one time with some officers to ask questions. So far, all he’d gotten was rebuffed. But again, it was only a matter of time before someone spoke to him.

  Officer de Oliveira finished answering another attendee’s question, then excused himself.

  “Wait! Do you have time for one more question?” Drew asked, his voice going up an octave. Chill, man. When had he become so high-strung? Oh, yeah, when his publisher said they expected great things from him and his deadline loomed with no finished book in sight.

  Officer de Oliveira glanced at him and Drew could imagine the sneer, though the officer’s face stayed blank.

  “It’s lunchtime. I’m meeting some people.” He pushed past Drew, not even looking back when he jostled Drew in his hurry to escape. “Sorry,” he muttered over his shoulder.

  Only it was obvious he wasn’t sorry at all. Drew’s smile fell. Dammit.

  “Well, I never.” Laura’s eyebrows drew together and her lips were pursed.

  “It’s okay—”

  “Don’t make excuses for rudeness, Drew. It’s not okay. You hold on.” She moved remarkably quick for someone who barely came to his shoulder. Her hair bounced as she chased Officer de Oliveira down and grabbed his sleeve.

  “Ooo, he’s in trouble now,” one of Laura’s friend’s said. The others nodded.

  Drew gaped as Laura proceeded to give the guy a lecture. He couldn’t hear what she said, but her hands were going a mile a minute, emphasizing every point she was making. The guy’s face flushed and he tried to take a step away, but she crowded into his space again. Wow.

  “Don’t mess with Laura’s friends, or you’ll be sorry,” another of the ladies crowed.

  “But she just met me—”

  “Drew!” Laura called. “Officer—” She looked back at his name tag.

  “De Oliveira—”

  “—has something he’d like to say to you.” She kept a hold of his sleeve, towing him behind her like an errant child.

  The guy looked so uncomfortable that Drew took pity on him.

  “Hey, it’s okay—”

  “I’m sorry if I came off as rude.” The guy ran his free hand through his bristly hair and made brief eye contact. But it was enough. For a moment Drew forgot what they were talking about.

  “Sure,” Drew managed to croak out. Smooth he was not.

  “I just need to meet up with some people, and I don’t want to be late.” Officer de Oliveira eyeballed Laura’s firm grip on his sleeve.

  “No problem,” Drew said. “Do you think you might have time to answer questions later?”

  “Uh, sure, I’ll be around.” He didn’t look Drew in the eye this time.

  Another brush-off. But at least he was polite about it.

  “Good, it’s settled, then.” Laura beamed at them both. Releasing de Oliveira’s sleeve, she said, “I knew we could all be civil. So, Drew? Are you free for lunch, hon?”

  DAMN, HE needed to get it together. Josh hurried down the hallway, hoping he hadn’t missed the guys. He’d been given every shitty assignment the department could dole out. Hanging out with a bunch of mystery writers wasn’t his idea of a good time, but it sure beat the alternative.

  So today he was putting on the dog-and-pony show his department had agreed to do, and he’d be taking some “lucky” author or author wannabe—didn’t matter to him—out on a ride along this afternoon. It might actually be fun, right? Yeah, sure.

  He scrubbed his hand through his hair. Being accosted by that woman and then having to apologize to that guy wasn’t a good start to the day. So, okay, his social skills were rusty. His lieutenant would not be amused if she’d have seen that exchange. But she hadn’t. Thank God for small mercies, as his pai would say. Thinking of his dad caused him to flinch. He was opening wounds better left alone.

  Nothing was going right today. Hadn’t been since Josh had seen him. What had she called him? Drew. He rolled the name around on his tongue. Drew had definitely not helped. Admittedly, he’d never seen a redhead with dreadlocks before. He’d always had a thing for gingers, but dreadlocks? And pinned up in a bun to boot. Ugh. That was a new one. It should have turned him off, except it was sexy as hell.

  Hard to believe the guy was an author. An award-winning one, if he’d heard correctly. Between the dreadlocks and lip piercing, the guy looked more like he belonged in the back of his squad car than at some author conference.

  No, that wasn’t fair. But Josh didn’t feel like being fair at the moment. At least the guy didn’t have the facial hair that would proclaim him a hipster or the patchouli smell of a hippie. A nice, smooth jawline and skin that smelled fresh out of the shower. And that tight body in those skinny jeans, those incredibly clear blue eyes, and that sweet smile made his dick perk up and take notice. The ginger dreads just added to his appeal, but he couldn’t say exactly why it did it for him. It just did.

  The shy blushes were icing on the cake. Especially when contrasted to that outlandish shirt…. Jesus, he wanted to drag Drew back to his room and demand a demonstration.

  But it was the last thing he needed. He was on thin ice with his sergeant as it was. Outing himself to the department would make his miserable predicament even worse. Truthfully, he needed to find another job, but he was a stubborn bastard. He’d put up with a demotion to traffic, numerous mandatory visits to the department shrink, and jumped through all the hoops his superiors had demanded. Wasn’t going to let them push him out. When he left, it would be with another job in hand and his head held high.

  He rounded the corner and saw a couple guys from his unit and a few others heading out the door together.

  “Hey, wait up!” He broke into a jog. The guys looked over their shoulders, and Bill Martin said something to the group. Laughter echoed through the lobby. Definitely at his expense. Josh’s stomach tensed, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. It wouldn’t get better if he kept dodging.

  The other officers continued out onto the sidewalk. He caught up to them there, the Baltimore
humidity wrapping around him like a soggy blanket.

  Martin stopped suddenly, spinning so they were nose-to-nose. The other guys clustered around. The analogy about cops being the sheepdogs protecting the sheep from the wolves was mostly correct, but there were times when cops seemed more like the wolves.

  “What the hell, Olive? Can’t you take a hint?” Martin poked a finger at his chest.

  “Easy, Bill,” Mateo Garcia, Martin’s partner, said.

  Josh batted Martin’s finger away, tempted to twist it until it snapped. They’d been calling him Olive ever since his partner had found out his last name translated to someone who lived by an olive tree. Eric had used the term affectionately, but Martin not so much. And his sergeant didn’t need much of an excuse to get rid of him, so he held on to his temper. Barely.

  “What’s your problem, Martin? Can’t a guy grab a bite to eat with his unit?”

  “You think”—Martin waved a hand at the officers surrounding them—“any of us are your friends? You don’t get it, do you? You’re a snitch. A rat. You killed your partner as sure as if you’d wielded the blade. Dubois was our friend. You? You’re just some piece of shit who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” Martin shoved him and Josh stumbled back a step.

  Josh had a black belt in Brazilian jiujitsu, and he also practiced capoeira, so it would take little effort to put Martin on the ground. But that was what Martin hoped for. He could see it in Martin’s angry gaze. He wanted him to lose it. Wanted Josh to get fired. Or resign. And he’d do it too, if he could find another job in the area. But none of the other police departments had picked him up so far. He suspected his sergeant had something to do with that. Or maybe they didn’t want a cop who had turned evidence against his partner. His very screwed-up and violent partner. Eric Dubois. The guy he’d thought he was in love with.

  “Can we just go get some damn lunch, ladies?” muttered Abe Goldstein, a fellow beat cop who was friendly with Josh.