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Possessive K-9 Cop
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My possessive K-9 growls at any woman that tries to chat up this cop.
But for the first time ever my malamute goes mute when this older man lays eyes on a younger woman from my past.
I’m her brother’s best friend and she’s breathtaking, and very apparently all grown up.
My K-9 and I are obsessive about protecting our territory, but suddenly I’m territorial over her and obsessive about making her mine.
I’m a real man who knows what he wants, but will my best friend show a possessive side of his own when he finds out for the first time that this possessive policeman is ready to propose to his sister so I can possess her forever?
*Possessive K-9 Cop is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
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“What is it girl?” I say to my malamute puppy Malia as her ears perk up.
I move the California sagebrush open a little wider to get a better look from our crouched position behind some coastal scrub along the Golden Gate Promenade.
The K9 unit, which I lead, got a tip just an hour ago that one of the top drug traffickers in the country is going to use a female jogger to transfer a backpack full of pure cocaine, and a USB device with trafficking routes and cartel member names, to another jogger in the area where we’re now stationed. The second they go to make that transfer the eight officers we have in place are going to take them down, and then take them downtown forever.
If Alcatraz wasn’t closed I’d make sure that’s where they’d be. And there’s no place I’d rather be on a Saturday morning than protecting and serving the citizens of San Francisco.
“We’ve got eyes on the prize,” I hear Sergeant Smith say into my earpiece.
“Coming your direction Kane. ETA…thirty seconds.”
“Roger that,” I say. “Malia and I are ready.”
“Where’s the pickup perp?”
“Other direction. Also thirty seconds. Kane they’re gonna cross right in front of you. Sit tight and they’ll walk right into your web.”
I feel my heartbeat pickup and I try and slow my breathing. This is my favorite part the job…field work takedowns. It reminds me of my days back in college when my best friend and I were defensive linebackers breaking through offensive lines and taking down quarterbacks all across the country.
I may not play football in packed stadiums to the roar of crowds anymore but taking down bad guys gets my blood pumping just as fast, and I know it’s for an even better cause.
But what’s cause for concern is all the women we see today being used as drug mules and delivery people. It pisses me off that men are using women for this kind of crime, or any crime for that matter. Be a real man and do the dirty work yourself. It just goes to show these drug “lords” really are giant pussies. And I wouldn’t even call them human, let alone men, considering these drugs they deal in destroy homes and communities.
“Twenty seconds, Kane,” comes into my earbud.
Through the crack in the sagebrush I see the first jogger. Malia moves her head to get a better look too.
“That’s her girl. You know what to do…intimidate and locate. Scare the shit out of her and find the drugs like you always do,” I say.
I listen expecting to hear her breathing hard. Malia knows what’s going on and she’s just like me. She always gets excited during a takedown and that’s why I have to keep her on a leash, as much as I hate to.
She’s so eager to do her job she’s practically chomping at the bit to take down bad guys, and god forbid anyone who tries to harm me.
Malia is the most protective dog I’ve ever seen. I think it has something to do with me rescuing her on that Alaskan fishing trip. I found her tail caught in a bear trap when she was barely a week old. She wasn’t big enough to free herself at the time and the vet said another day out there exposed like that and she wouldn’t have made it.
To me it was fate that I found her and there was no way I was ever going to give her up. I adopted her and made her my own, and that means she’s my K9 dog, the top dog of all the sniffers in San Francisco.
And not only is she the best at her job, outside of my best friend Quentin, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
But today, for the first time ever, she doesn’t seem to be at her best.
I turn and look at her and she’s completely frozen, just staring at the girl. There’s no intensity in her body. No desire to spring free for the takedown.
This. Never. Happens.
Something’s off. Something’s wrong.
“Ten seconds, Kane,” echoes into my ear.
I look back through the bushes and dial my line of sight in on the jogger.
She’s got the backpack. I can see it from here.
But wait. Holy cow does she ever have a whole lot more than that.
I consider myself the ultimate professional. Heck everyone at the station jokes that I’m married to my job, and there’s probably some truth to it.
But right now all I can think about is being married to her, the girl in the sports bra that is bouncing just right and I suddenly feel tremendous pressure in my pants as I check out the rest of her curves.
I shake my head left to right and back again a few times as I blink my eyes. This is wrong. I need to focus on my job. And what in the hell is wrong with me? Being attracted to a criminal goes against everything I stand for. It’s absolutely disgusting and repulsive.