Chapter 1
The police cruiser crossed the railroad tracks and turned left on Harrison Avenue. It moved slowly, almost idly, along the wide, tree-lined street and up the gradually ascending hill of the fashionable Embassy district. There was no particular need for hurry or caution, this being a very quiet neighborhood in very quiet Butte City, on a very quiet summer's night. It merely drifted along, keeping an eye out.
The cruiser was a tan sedan with Butte City's crest on the front door, and POLICE painted on the back door, hood, and deck lid. There was a large red spotlight on the top of the car, a tall, sturdy radio antenna at the rear, and a chromed siren mounted on the right front fender. Otherwise it was a stock Ford, except for the screen mounted behind the front seat and the lack of handles in the back.
Sitting in back was a dog. The dog's name was Brutus, and he was a specially trained German Shepherd, answering only to one master with the obedience of a slave. He was not a killer, as K-9 Corps dogs are trained to be, but was sleek and strong and fearless, and would kill if necessary on command. Brutus was a guard dog, and would "guard" his master unquestioningly, even at home, for Brutus lived with his master just as his six brothers lived with their respective police masters. It was a very intimate relationship between man and animal, as it had to be, and in this instance, the man was a woman.
Driving the cruiser was Sergeant Sam Palmer. He was tall and muscular and in his early thirties. He had the broad shoulders, narrow hips, flat stomach, and the tanned, healthy complexion of a man who had always prided himself in keeping at top physical condition. His hair was a little too dark to be called true blond, and he had large, piercing blue eyes in a lean, high-cheekboned face. His mouth was possibly a little too generous, but his chin was square and firm.
He yawned and flexed his shoulders, turning to his partner and Brutus' master. "Dull as dishwater tonight, Lonnie," he said.
Lonnie Winston rode next to him, and when he spoke, she was watching out the window as the fancy mansions gradually passed by. The glass was rolled down, and she could smell the sweet fragrance of summer in the air, a warmth which could not be dulled by the breeze which stirred among the many hedges, trees, and shrubs of the expensive property around her. She glanced up at the cloudless sky which was illuminated by an opalescent moon in its second quarter, then turned her face to smile at Sam Palmer.
"Always is on Tuesday, Sam. Especially after midnight."
"What time is it?"
She looked at her wristwatch. "A little after one."
"You want to start your patrol now?"
"In a few minutes."
Sam searched Lonnie's face for a moment. The policewoman was wearing the same tan uniform as he, except that she had on a modestly chic pleated skirt instead of his regulation trousers. She wore a wide leather belt and holster, and in the holster was a .38 revolver, and pinned to her high, full breast was a five-pointed star. The badge was bright silver, and in the occasional winks of moonlight, it reflected with an almost iridescent quality like a burnished nipple. Her long brunette hair was turned under at the ends, the bangs failing to cover her wide forehead completely, and they were ragged but very attractive.
Her eyes, which met Sam's and held them, were nearly as dark as her hair and had a greenish tinge to them. Her face was just a trifle too long to be considered beautiful in the classic sense, and possibly her generously formed mouth was a bit too large. But she was the picture of sultry femininity, and men found her completely stunning. Even women found her attractive. She looked like what everyone that knew her believed her to be-a young, twenty-four year old divorcee who was determined to prove she could do a man's job in a man's business. It had taken a great deal of persuasion and pressure to convince the department to promote her from being a "meter maid" and though she was not a militant "Fern Lib," she was proud of her victory and her chance to show she was equal to the job of patrol woman.
"You don't have to go on patrol tonight," Sam said.
Lonnie, eyes widening in surprise, replied. "Of course I do, Sam! That's my job! Besides, Brutus needs to get out for awhile."
Sam Palmer remained silent for a few moments, his attention returning to the task of driving. Then once again he turned to the lovely woman beside him, his face sober and a petulant expression in his eyes.
"I thought ... Well, I thought we could talk, Lonnie," he said unhappily.
"You can let us off at the next corner, if you like."
The sergeant's voice turned sullen. "You mean I talked too much at dinner tonight, is that it? You want to break it off?"
She reached quickly for his hand, caressing it as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, and there was a throb in her voice as she answered him. "No, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, too. I don't want you any more upset than you are already, Sam, you and me both. I'm not breaking it off with you," she added tenderly. "I ... I just don't want to get married again right now. Perhaps in a year...."
"Lonnie, I love you!" Sam said, his voice impatiently high. "I mean, I can understand your reluctance, after having been married to a man like Bill Winston. But I'm not like him!"
"I know you're not, Sam. If you were, I'd never have anything to do with you at all. But I need time, time to be sure of myself and heal my wounds. And ... And I like this job, and you've spoken so many times of not wanting me to work if we were married."
"Damnit," the older man snapped irritably. "What the hell makes you want to play cops and robbers?"
"The same reason you've made it your career, I would imagine," she retorted sharply. "Please, this is the corner. Pick us up in the parking lot of Hillside Park in an hour."
Sam slowed the cruiser, pulling it over to the curb. "I'm a cop because it's the only work I know, Lonnie. You don't have to, and you could live a great deal nicer than you are on the miserable salary they pay you, if only you'd say the word."
Lonnie's lips compressed tightly, making a little white ring about the edge of her pale, lightly applied lipstick. She opened the car door firmly, then paused before she got out to tell her partner: "I realize I must seem stupid to you, the menial pay and all, but it isn't just the money or how I live. I'm accomplishing something which I must satisfy within myself. Yes, and I'm accomplishing something for every woman in the United States who ever wanted to do more than wash dishes, make beds, and cook dinner for her husband!"
Sam Palmer watched Lonnie as she jerked open the rear door and let the powerful German shepherd out of the back. She stood patting her handsome beast, checking Brutus' choke-chain and her own equipment, and Sam stared at the way the moonlight sparkled over her dark hair and made it shine like a shower of rippling jewels. For the millionth time since he'd first met her a year ago, his eyes played down over her sensual face and ivory neck to the well-rounded curves that were barely concealed under the thin summer-issue blouse she was wearing. And below the windowsill of the car, just out of his immediate view, he knew she was even more of a provocative and enticing woman. Her short skirt tapered down over a slender, girlish waist to lush, full-swelling buttocks and thighs, then ended at the hem to expose breathtakingly curved legs and slender, well-formed ankles. Just looking at her now, as angry as she was, was enough to send ripples of lecherous desire running through him! And Christ! Only once, only once in the whole time of his months of earnest courtship, had he been able to sexually arouse her sufficiently to strip her naked!
In those full short seconds he sat gazing at Lonnie from the car, Sergeant Palmer recalled that erotic episode last month. It had been a lazy, unbearably hot afternoon, and he'd come by her small house to take her swimming-her favorite sport. But before either of them had realized it, they were kissing on the couch, holding one another passionately. He remembered his hands on her breasts, outside the flimsy material of her bikini top, and how she had made no move to stop him when he'd undone the clip in back, wanting to believe that going this far was all right. Then had come the tender, tingling feel of her warm, naked flesh against his lewdly roving fingertips, her moans and gasps as he'd lightly pinched her hardening nipples, her unconscious undulations as he'd pressed her down against the cushions and teased her flat belly with his hands. He had moved boldly downward over the sensitive areas of her body to the inside of her quivering thighs, and in one smooth unhesitating execution, had pushed his fingers straight up under the thin wisp of cloth to the warmly moistened lips of her passion-swollen pussy....
A dryness crept into Sam's throat now as he thought how close he'd come that day. The memory was indelibly etched on his mind of how he'd damned near gone crazy when he'd tenderly massaged her budding clitoris, then slipped his outstretched middle finger deeper into the throbbing, pressing passage up between her legs. But then, as he'd tried to pull down that bottom part of her bikini, something had evidently snapped in the voluptuous woman's head. She'd made the big effort, stopping him just in time. Naturally they'd argued: then he'd threatened, and at last, pleaded. In the end, he had gotten up shakily, his balls feeling like lead-weight sinkers, and had lit cigarettes for both of them in an effort to cool down his unwanted ador.
But he had known then, and was just as intuitively sure of it now, that beneath her conservative exterior was a latent hot streak which only a false sense of propriety and the scars from her previous marriage held in delicate check. Well, he'd been trying everything, even the promise of marriage, and he would continue to until he finally possessed all of that tender cunt of hers. He could think of nothing better than having a cute little hot-pants like the ex-Mrs. Winston to grab when he had the urge while on duty....
Now, Sam Palmer leaned across the seat and stared up at Lonnie with eyes dancing with warm affection. He said in a soothing tone: "I guess I should apologize a second time tonight, because I shouldn't have snapped at you that way. It's just that I do love you so very much...."
"I ... I understand, Sam, I really do. We'll just have to see how things work out, I'm afraid."
"Sure, sure. The date's still on for tomorrow, isn't it?" Wednesday was, coincidentally, the "day off" for both of them, and he was determined to make the most of it.
"Yes ... but only if you promise not to be so, so pushy. "
"Well, now," he kidded, "I'm not promising anything like that! Every man has the right for unlimited tries. Hell, it's an obligation!"
She laughed then, her momentary despondency turning into her usual good humor toward him. "Oh, you nit!" she smiled. "Let me get on with the patrol, or we'll be here all night!
Don't forget-Hillside Park lot in about an hour."
"Over and out," Sam said, and then with a wave, he put the cruiser in gear and continued his route through the streets of Butte City.
Lonnie Winston stood on the sidewalk, Brutus next to her and sitting on his haunches. She watched Sam's taillights recede in the distance, affection welling in her heart and unable to know that his air of chagrin he'd portrayed was so shallow he feared she would see through it. Her own mind was in a turmoil over the need to reject his overtures of love, and not because she didn't care for him, for she did, very much so. He possessed an affable charm and a forceful personality, and he was one of the most eligible and desirable bachelors she knew, with only an eight-year difference between them. The urge to shout yes! to him was very great indeed, but not powerful enough to overcome the fear of what that yes would entail ...
Sighing, she turned back to Brutus, stroking the fur of his neck with affection. "Come on, we better get started," she told the dog. "We've got a lot of walking to do."
Brutus rose, head cocked to one side and intelligent eyes gazing up at his master. Then, tongue lolling, he began trotting alongside of her, its great body pressing against her legs. Its toenails clicking along the concrete sidewalk was the loudest sound either of them made as they commenced their nightly routine.
On the surface of it, her foot patrol with Brutus sounded odd. However, when faced with her determination to be a full-fledged cop, the department heads decided this duty was the best compromise they could make. It was obvious that she would not stand for some inconsequential job, and to try and slough her off with one would only cause further eruptions and bad press. Then again, they didn't want to risk Lonnie down in the rougher sections of Butte City, like along Third Avenue or over by the mill. So they teamed her up with an experienced officer and protected her with a guard dog, and had her pounding the beat in the Embassy district, and because shifts changed every two weeks, half her time was spent walking at night.
The Embassy district was unique in itself, its formation dating back from when it was a small area reserved for the rich mill owners last century. Then Butte City was just another industrial village along the Ohio River, with the mills and workers' shanties down along the river flats and later, stretching along the railroad right-of-way. The owners wished to get away from the stench and commonness of the workers and factories, and so built their lush mansions along the craggy butte which jutted to the west of the town and which gave it its name.
Today there were many more houses of various sizes hanging by their nails to the side of the cliff, and looking as if a good wind would topple them down among the slums they'd helped create and wished to avoid. Connecting them were flights of wide stone steps and broad, pleasantly landscaped walkways. The few streets were designed in a pattern of interesting but intricate curves, and people were known to wander about in them for several hours without making any more progress than worms in a bait can. Hence, the steps and walks had to be patrolled, and it seemed like just the job for a resolute and obstinate young lady like Lonnie Winston. It would keep her out of their hair and relatively safe, and the exercise might just help tire her of the whole idea sooner than any other method.
She'd been on this duty for four months now, and showed no signs of weakening. In fact, as she hiked up the stairs and paused beside one of the lampposts for a breather, she was pleased to see how the exercise had firmed her muscle-tone and kept her weight down. She looked at her body in the dim glow of the lamp above her, noting how her thin blouse, tightened by the wide leather belt around her waist, caused the rounded peaks of her breasts to jut out defiantly; and glancing behind her, she could almost see the taut curve of her buttocks where they flowed gracefully into her firm legs. I have a good body, she thought sorrowfully, but it has brought me little happiness....
Lonnie Winston had been raised in a strict, religious family, and her mother had pressured her to attend church every Sunday while the other boys and girls were out playing. Her training since childhood had been that the body was fundamentally sinful, and as added pressure, her mother had instilled in her child that a girl should save herself at all costs for her wedding night. But she failed to teach Lonnie how to judge a man's approach, and so to the girl, the slightest advance or friendliness was taken to be inherently evil and sordid. The frustration had been almost insurmountable, and if she hadn't found a certain amount of release in fingering her tight little cunt in the privacy of her home, she would have gone out of her mind!
Eventually that had not been enough, and after her mother had caught her masturbating in the shower and had taken a belt to her. Lonnie had known something had to be done. It didn't take much persuasion to convince her to marry Bill Winston, for in his oafish, adolescent way, he was about the only teenage boy who had not tried to "do things" to her. Her mother was glad to get that problem off her hands, having nothing more important on her program than to see her child with a wedding ring on her finger and a Mrs. in front of her name before something happened.
The marriage, however, had been a disaster from the start. Her wedding night had been a horror for her, a night of terror and agony as her virginity had been ripped from her without regard for her feelings or fears. Bill Winston had been, unfortunately, exactly the sort of brutal and uncaring sadist she was inwardly afraid all men were. She had been unable to respond with the passion she'd thought she should, and growing frigid, she soon proved impossible for the doltish Winston to stand as a wife. The fights, the lies, the teeth marks on her breasts ... God, she still woke up nights in a cold sweat over those tormenting days and nights with him!
Eventually Bill had walked out, leaving her the small house and car in exchange for the blonde waitress at the Bijou Cafe. Lonnie then had to make her own way, and with her high school diploma, she looked around for possible jobs. She considered secretarial work or, like the blonde tart at the Bijou, waiting on tables, but somehow she couldn't bear the idea of ever knuckling under to another man. She'd had enough of that with her husband, his interest in her as a person a pure facade, and he'd treated her as chattel, a maid to cook and a whore to pummel with brutish lovemaking. No, she had to find a position where men could never treat her with the same callous disregard ... and it was then that she saw the advertisement for "meter maids". She'd applied and been tested by the police "meter maids". As a policewoman, she would be in a position of strength, but after she'd been hired by the department, she discovered the insistant urge to move on up through the ranks and consolidate her advantages. And so she had....
Yet then she'd been teamed with the ruggedly handsome Sergeant Palmer. It was obvious that from the very first he was attracted to her young, lithe beauty, and over the months she worked in close harmony with him, she found understanding and gentleness in the man's maturity and experience, and had grown genuinely fond of him. But to be fond of a man and to love him are two entirely different things, and Lonnie spent many sleepless nights in confused and troubled indecision.
Oddly pleasurable sensations would begin to tingle up between her thighs when she dreamed of Sam and how he wanted her. It would perversely revive a sudden twitch inside her belly until she was forced to squeeze her legs together in an effort to stall the teasing emotions. She had been fingering herself to orgasm since Bill deserted her, finding no other way to quench her wicked impulses, yet masturbation hardly satisfied her passions, especially now when her mind would dwell on Sammy's throbbing masculinity. She wished she could truly loose her inhibitions and do what should come naturally to her as a mature woman, but even the one time Sam had broken down her resolve and stripped her naked in her living room last month, she had subconsciously frozen up at the last possible moment. In spite of the intensity of her sexual reaction to him, there still had been a frightening hollowness alive in the pit of her stomach. No, it would not be right to marry Sam Palmer under the false pretenses of being normal. She had to stall him or break it off entirely, and hope that time would heal her wounds. Surely there would come a time when there would be nothing left but a minor scar to remind her of her wretched marriage, and she would be able to respond to a man with pride and yearning! There had to be! It was her only hope!
Stifling a soft, low moan of anguish that her thoughts produced, Lonnie started walking again. A little whine from the great German shepherd beside her made her look down at him, and in a tone she somehow had adopted especially for him, she asked: "What is it, Brutus? What's the matter?"
The pleasing sound of her crooning voice filled the dog with warm-hearted relish. Instinctively, he raised his head, licking at her smooth hand to convey his growing attachment to her, and Lonnie understood that he was only trying to comfort her-as if the dog had been able to realize her troubles with his sensitive animal intuition.
"That's awfully nice of you to care," she said with a smile. "You're the best friend a girl could ever have, Brutus, you really are...."
And, able to show him the affection she was afraid to give a man, Lonnie lovingly stroked the mighty beast's big, glossy-furred head, hugging him to her fleshy, outer thigh.