Don't Call Me Hero

Chapter One

The thing about going away parties is they make you want to stick around a little longer. That was the singular thought on my mind as I sat at a bar top table surrounded by the few friends I'd made since moving to Minneapolis less than a year ago. We were all cops on the city police force, but on that particular night we were just five twenty-somethings having drinks on my last night in town.

Brent, a native Minnesotan whom I'd always thought looked like an authentic Viking, raised his pint glass. "To Cassidy!" he toasted loud enough to be heard over whatever mash-up remix the DJ was playing. His chevron mustache twitched above his top lip. "To one awesome chick and one helluva cop."

Everyone around the table raised their assorted glassware, which ranged from pint glasses to martini funnels, and they echoed Brent's sentiment. Glasses clinked together and beverages sloshed over the rims.

I ducked my head at the gesture. I typically hated being the center of attention, but I was trying to let myself enjoy it. It had been a while since I'd experienced this feeling of belonging or that anyone appreciated my existence.

I looked around the table at the faces of the people who had quickly become like family: Brent the Viking, whose shoulders were broader than a doorframe, but whose heart was just as big; Angie, the dark-skinned woman with the quick smile. She was small in stature, but feistier than anyone I'd ever met, male or female. Adan, a slim Latino man, nursed his gin and tonic. He was the quietest of our group, and as the alcohol flowed more freely, he seemed to sink farther and farther into silent contemplation while his toothy grin grew wider and wider.

At the rank of detective, Rich had the most years in the department, but he was also the most immature of all of us. He reminded me of the guys I'd served with in the Marines—young at heart, but serious and professional when the situation called for it. I was proud to call him friend. In fact, even though I'd only been in the Twin Cities for a little over a year, I was going to miss this place and these people.

Angie echoed my thoughts. "God, I'm gonna miss you, Miller. Without you around, I'll be swimming in testosterone." She took a careful sip of her apple martini.

"Methinks the lady dost protest too much," Rich teased. "Don't let her fool you, Cass. Angie's been counting the days down until she gets all the men to herself."

Angie snorted. "Boy, you've got it twisted if you think Miller and I have the same type."

"You're probably right." Rich ran his hand over his shaved head. "I suppose I don't have enough hair to be on Cassidy's radar."

"Or nice enough tits," Angie countered.

A howl of laughter rose around the table. Rich clutched at his heart, feigning being wounded by her words.

Brent palmed his broad chest over his T-shirt. "What do you think, Cassidy? Are these a solid B cup?"

I smirked and took another pull from my bottled beer. I drank using only my thumb and forefinger. It was an unnatural way to hold the bottle, but it mimicked the motion of pulling a bolt from a rifle. I'd been indoctrinated to drink that way at boot camp on Parris Island. "Dude, your boobs are bigger than mine." I grabbed onto his muscled cleavage and gave it a firm squeeze. "I'm kind of jealous."

A loud chorus of laughter erupted from an adjacent table, rivaling our own volume. I glanced in the direction of the noise and saw five women sitting around a bottle service table. It didn't look like a bachelorette party—there wasn't enough penis paraphernalia for that—so I wondered at the cause for celebration. The VIP seating was too pricey for a simple girls' night out, and in a low-key city like Minneapolis, the need for bottle service seemed out of place.