Rock Chick (Rock Chick, #1)
Kristen Ashley
Chapter One
The Great Liam Chase
Until now, I’ve never been in trouble with the law.
It’s cosmically impossible, I’m a cop’s daughter.
Cop’s Daughter Karma protects me and seeing as I’m not a drug addict, drug dealer, thief, prostitute, gangster or murderer (all traits that would negate Cop’s Daughter Karma), I’m protected.
This isn’t to say I haven’t done stupid things that are not exactly law-abiding, in fact, I’d done a lot of stupid things that are not exactly law-abiding.
*
Let’s see…
I’ve had a number of parking tickets but they don’t really count.
I’ve been stopped for speeding on occasion, though I never got a ticket.
I’ve been known to jaywalk when I’m in a hurry (which is a lot).
Further possibly-non-law-abiding exploits include the fact that I conned my way backstage at an Aerosmith concert. I went so far as to touch Joe Perry’s chest with the very tips of my index and middle fingers and, after making contact, I felt an electric spasm of sheer delight fly through my body (especially certain parts of my body) that has gone unequaled, before or since. Unfortunately, I only got the touch in before the bodyguard hauled me out.
I’m not certain it’s against the law to lie your way backstage and touch Joe Perry’s chest but considering the experience had to be far better than many illegal activities, it should be.
*
But, twenty minutes ago, my employee, Rosie, told me something I didn’t want to hear.
Rosie could be difficult but this was ridiculous.
And he’d involved another employee (and one of my most favorite people in the world), Duke.
*
Then, five minutes ago, Rosie and I locked up and stood at the front of my bookstore, Fortnum’s, wondering what to do about that something.
Then two guys came up to us, we had a chat that did not go well (and if I’m honest, the reason it didn’t go well is because of me) and then they shot at us.
Shot.
At.
Us.
With guns.
Guns filled with bullets.
We made a hasty getaway which, luckily, didn’t leave a trail of blood.
Now, we’re in my car, hyperventilating, sitting in a dark corner of a dark alley in the bowels of Baker Historical District that hadn’t yet re-gentrified and I’m staring at my cell phone wondering what, in the fucking hell, to do.
*
Let’s rewind.
I’m India Savage, known by all as Indy. I’m Tom Savage’s daughter and practically every cop knows me, even the rookies. That’s because, when I was young, I spent a lot of time at the station waiting for Dad or hanging out with Dad’s friends.
Oh, and Dad and I still go together to the Fraternal Order of Police (or F.O.P.) hog roasts
There is also the fact that I look the way I look. I’m not bragging or anything, it’s just that being a cop means you have to have an overabundance of testosterone and, well, I’m a girl.
Most of Dad’s colleagues noticed me from the age of about sixteen. Unfortunately, if any one of them touched me (even after I came of age), the others would have shot him.
Such is the life of a cop’s daughter. You take the ups with the downs.
*
In my not-so-clean-and-tidy past, I was caught one night by Dad’s friends, Jimmy Marker and Danny Rose. Ally and I were underage drinking and were taken to the station.
My Dad had not been angry at this youthful stunt. Dad had one kid and a dead wife. He’d been hoping for a boy to come along but my Mom died when I was five. Seeing as they had their hands full with me, they’d never got around to a second child and Dad had never got over Mom enough to find another wife.
Dad always said Katherine Savage was the kind of woman you didn’t get over.
He also said I looked a lot like her and the pictures prove it (except, of course, my blue eyes, which come from my Dad).
And everyone says I act exactly like her.
Anyway, Dad thought my drinking binge was kind of cute, and, if I had been a boy, my getting picked up by his cronies would be a rite of passage. His best friend and long-time partner, Malcolm Nightingale, agreed.
Malcolm’s wife, my Mom’s best friend and the woman who swore to my mother on her death bed that she would help Dad raise me right, Kitty Sue Nightingale, did not find my short-lived incarceration amusing.
Kitty Sue didn’t find any of my youthful foibles amusing, not in any way, shape, or form. Kitty Sue worried over my immortal soul.
Kitty Sue had her hands full. Not only did she make a death bed promise to my Mom, she also had three kids of her own to look after. And two of those kids were Lee and Ally and that right there is enough said.