Saved By The Cops.

Chapter Eight. Detective Jessie Symons (CID).

Chapter Eight. Detective Jessie Symons (CID).



Kicking my shoes off as I enter my apartment, heading directly to the fridge, and grab a bottle of Stella, popping off the top and bringing it directly to my mouth. I let out a low sigh of approval, because after the day I have had. Well, I need it.

However, the good thing is we caught the suspect that was breaking into the houses. His DNA was a match to an ex-con who was out on probation. The images Jason retrieved confirmed it, even if the blood evidence hadn’t been available there was no denying Richard Micheals was back to his old tricks.

Strange though, the PC would not allow me to look at that video from the house we went to, when we got back to the nick. He had, however, clipped the image, ensuring nobody saw the strange girl with odd socks and covered in cat hair in all her naked glory. Never thought of Jason been the chivalrous type, but it seems he is. I had left him to view the naked video, because, well, he was practically drooling at the mouth when he saw the hot mess of a woman. She was a beautiful hot mess, don’t get me wrong, but I like my women more put together. Plus, with those big hazel eyes looking terrified at the prospect of both of us viewing her impromptu show, she screamed commitment, best to avoid that like the plague. To be fair though, I am glad Jason did crop the images, to protect the woman. If Detective Proctor had gotten a hold of them, he would have played it on repeat. They guy is a sleaze, worse still I am sure he is bent. I f*****g hate bent cops, gives the rest of us a bad name. But he has friends in high places, and an uncle in the police commission. Trust me, we have tried to get rid of him, but he is like Teflon, and nothing sticks to him.

Needless to say, the paperwork from the arrest, along with compiling all of the evidence for court, and submitting it to the CPS, took forever, and even though I am back on shift at six in the morning, and my clocking off time was six this evening, it is now ten PM, and I have only just walked in the door.

I look around my empty apartment, filled with what some might call lavish goods. All of them gifts from my billionaire half-brother, Devon Boaz, and of course my amazing, and gorgeous sister-in-law Ruth.

Talking of which I need to head over to Durham on my next days off and see them and my amazing nephew and God son, David. He is a little tyke, toddling about, ruling the roost. Yeah, I love the little fella, he holds a special place in my heart. I don’t see him as much as I would like, not just because of the long hours I put in at work, but because, it is complicated.

I let out a sigh, because I really do love my nephew, he is the closest I am ever going to get to having my own child.

I am what you might call, happily single. I don’t do relationships, like, at all. A string of one night stands not even getting to the second date stage, is the quality of my love life. I like it this way. Easy. Uncomplicated. I have enough complications with the job, I don’t need a woman to add to that mix. Plus, variety is the spice of life, as they say. Or at least it was.

I have been working at the station for a while now and had secured myself a place on the Criminal Investigation Department. I worked damned hard to get that mini promotion. But. I am not going to lie; I had to pull a bit of a fast one to get me through the door.

You see, news of my many romantic escapades had reached the higher ups ears, and was a cause for concern, a mark against me when my name was mentioned for the promotion. Thankfully, I had a friend in the know, who believed an officer should be promoted by merit alone, my old Detective Inspector Harris, who has since retired, and he gave me the heads up, that I needed to look like I was not the playboy I am and produce a committed girlfriend.

I am not ashamed to say that I did just that. Found myself a woman, who would be my fake girlfriend for my promotion, introducing her at the Policeman’s Ball a couple of years ago. The fake relationship ending after my job was secured and my investigation skills being the reason they kept me in my current position.

Was it underhand of me? Probably, but why should I be discriminated against because I am not a man to be tied to one woman.

I had solicited the help of Diana, my brothers PA and sisters-in-law’s best friend. She was a safe bet. Or so I had thought.

The woman was as allergic to a committed relationship as I am. Plus, she is one of the most beautiful women you could ever lay eyes on. Scrap that, she is not one of them, she is THE most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on. She agreed to help me, and we embarked on our fake relationship, which lasted three months. Both of us on the same page, a ruse to help my tarnished reputation, with no feelings and no risk of anyone getting hurt.

Now I am not going to lie and say we never did the deed during that time. Hell how could a man not take what was offered to him on a plate, especially as she was firmly in the ‘No Strings Attached’ category. Plus, we had already had a few hours of fun the first time we met at my brother’s wedding. I am also not going to lie and deny that she really was the best time of my life. Put it this way she knew what she was doing in the bedroom department. Honestly, I think Dirty Diana, was written for her. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Diana, well, she grew attached, the perpetual single lady, developed feelings. I thought she would be a safe bet; else I would never have gone there with her. Needless to say, I ended the fake relationship as quickly as I could, and the whole backlash hurt not just her, but my relationship with my sister-in-law, who is an innocent soul and was more than a little upset about our deception, and the pain I had caused her best friend.

Hence why I don’t visit Devon and Ruth as much as I would like. It got messy, and I do not do messy. Ruth is disappointed in me, and trust me, I feel like a piece of s**t every time I walk through her front door. Not that she says a word about it now. She is a classy lady and extremely forgiving. Which makes my guilt at how everything played out even worse. So, I avoid going as much as I would like, work being my perfect get out of jail free card.

Hell, if I was the kind of guy to settle down, Diana would tick every single box. She was not only beautiful, but carefree, fun to be around, she had the ability to make me laugh like a hyena without even trying. A little lackadaisical, but not in an annoying way. It was in a way that made me smile. I enjoyed her company and genuinely liked her. But, as perfect as she was, I am just not that way inclined. If I was, she would be the woman I would go for. Believe it or not, I have too much respect for her, to give her any kind of false hope that I could change, even if she had.

The whole thing was a mess, which put Ruth and Devon in the middle, and I hate that I caused my half-brother and sister-in-law to be in that position. They are good people, the best actually. The whole thing just sucks.

What I hate even more than that is Diana got hurt. It was never my intention to do that to her. I feel like s**t, and it is awkward even just calling my brother when he is at work, because she is his PA.

However, since that s**t show went down, I find that, to my utter shame, it is still Diana’s soft moans I hear when I personally relieve my lust, if I cannot find a single woman to do it for me.

Which, over the past two years has become increasingly difficult. Not because I don’t have offers. Hell, I have the Boaz genes, even if my surname is Symons. We are a good-looking bunch. Yeah, I have plenty of willing women happy to give me one night’s worth of entertainment. But for some strange reason, which I am to chicken s**t to explore the possibilities of what this could mean, I compare everyone, to my brothers PA, and ex fake girlfriend. Nobody matches up.

My policeman’s truncheon doesn’t want to play with others and has been lack lustre when opportunities have presented themselves.

So much so, I have thought about buying some little blue pills to get over the affliction. However, that would be on the black market, as there is nothing physically wrong with me, that a doctor would need to prescribe them. Trust me, I asked! If I wanted them then I would have to seek them out from dealers that would be a crime, a conflict of interest, that I must avoid at all costs. I may be a lot of things, but a dirty cop is not one of them.

So, I am left with my hand, and the memory of the woman whose heart I unintentionally broke, to relieve my basic needs.

I tip my bottle back, realising that I have already emptied it, but with the time now past midnight, giving me around five hours of sleep, I resist the urge to grab another, and head to the front door to lock up, and make my way straight to bed. Alone. With nothing more than my memories of that girl with light brown hair, and natural highlights, bright green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and legs that went on for miles, for comfort. Just like that, my truncheon extends, proving once again that he still works, when he wants to, negating any possibility of me getting some blue pills on prescription anytime soon.