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  Bulletproof

  Synopsis

  Dylan Prescott has all the answers, even when she doesn’t know the questions. She’s in her element cruising the singles scene and crushing cases as a newly minted NYPD detective. Equal parts free spirit and thrill seeker, catching bad guys and charming good girls are what she was born to do.

  Briana Logan doesn’t play. A successful Assistant United States Attorney with several convictions on her résumé, she’s a commanding presence in the courtroom. In any room, to be honest. Smart and sexy, she’s got her work-life balance down. It’s simple: career first, everything else second. That is, until Dylan Prescott is assigned to the team investigating a sophisticated narcotics ring.

  Their chemistry is undeniable, but the complicated NYC criminal justice system doesn’t leave room for real feelings. Keeping their emotions in check isn’t easy. Where the heart is concerned, no one is bulletproof.

  Praise for Maggie Cummings

  Brooklyn Summer

  “I was glued to the page from the first chapter and couldn’t put this book down.”—Les Rêveur

  “I enjoyed exploring New York City through the eyes of the main characters. Kellan and Ashleigh had amazing chemistry, their conversations flowed naturally, their relationship was very well paced and the sex scenes very well written. I related to and genuinely liked both leads. The supporting characters were also very well developed.”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)

  “Brooklyn Summer definitely made me feel a lot, in a good way. It’s heartwarming and immensely romantic and it makes me happy…The author does a wonderful job of conveying the sensation of falling in love, the way colours are brighter, sounds are clearer, food and drinks taste better.”—Jude in the Stars

  “[A] pretty straightforward romance that will please fans across the board. Of course, my romantic heart was happy with Kellan and Ash…NYC served as a nice backdrop to the budding romance as well, but without taking over the story like some settings do.”—LezReviewBooks

  Against All Odds

  “Against All Odds by Kris Bryant, Maggie Cummings, and M. Ullrich is an emotional and captivating story about being able to face a tragedy head-on and move on with your life, learning to appreciate the simple things we take for granted and finding love where you least expect it.”—Lesbian Review

  “I started reading the book trying to dissect the writing and ended up forgetting all about the fact that three people were involved in writing it because the story just grabbed me by the ears and dragged me along for the ride…[A] really great romantic suspense that manages both parts of the equation perfectly. This is a book you won’t be able to put down.”—C-Spot Reviews

  Perfect Partners

  “If you like friends-to-lovers romances, you will enjoy this book. If you are a fan of books about dogs, you will love this book. I enjoyed it, and I fit into both categories.”—Rainbow Reflections

  “[A] cozy romance with a touch of spice.”—Broome’s Books

  “Maggie Cummings has an amazing talent for writing characters I easily fall for, and she brings them to life with such panache…This is a feel-good tale that left me with a smile on my face. Highly recommended.”—Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog

  Definite Possibility

  “I enjoyed this book, well written with well-developed characters, including some familiar faces from the previous book in the series. The leads had good chemistry and the angst level was just right. It was an enjoyable read for a quiet afternoon.”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)

  “[T]wo parallel romances give a quick pace to the book with more drama and romance…But what I really liked is that the story goes beyond both romances and is a tale of friendship, family, and love. Overall, a heartwarming and feel-good story with a bit of drama on the side.”—Lez Review Books

  Totally Worth It

  “This book was absolutely delightful…A sweet story about love and friendship.”—My Fiction Nook

  “[I]t was…really nice reading about people going through the same transitory period in their lives that I, and many other twenty-somethings, also are…By the end of the book, I was a little jealous that I didn’t live in Bay West like the characters. Needless to say, I was pretty pleased when I found out that this was going to be a series because Bay West has so much potential…I can’t wait to see where Cummings takes us next.”—Read All About Queer Lit

  Bulletproof

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Bulletproof

  © 2020 By Maggie Cummings. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-770-1

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: November 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Jeanine Henning

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  By the Author

  Totally Worth It

  Serious Potential

  Definite Possibility

  Perfect Partners

  Against All Odds (with Kris Bryant and M. Ullrich)

  Brooklyn Summer

  Bulletproof

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, I want to express my sincerest gratitude to Rad and Sandy for giving me the opportunity to share my stories. A heartfelt thanks also to the entire BSB team who works tirelessly behind the scenes. Most especially, thank you to my editor, Ruth Sternglantz, for keeping me honest and on point, for both pushing me and coddling me, and for ultimately transforming my words and ideas into a presentable final product.

  Real life seems to have a way of always working itself into the narrative somehow. Even when I make a plan, I still find myself drawing from the world I know, the family I love, the friends I cherish. This project was no exception. Special thanks this time around to Bobby for the best contribution to my tiny universe. As always, thanks to KC, Cabe, and Ab for the continual love and support. Shout out to Jane Cramer for keeping me young. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, thank you to every single reader for the valuable time and money spent on my books. I simply cannot properly express how much it means to me.

  For my brothers, JPH and Tony D

  Chapter One

  “I’m in.”

  Detective Dylan Prescott registered a distant “10-4” from her sergeant as she ended the call and slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She had to actively dial back her excitement. The buzz of a crowded bar on a Friday night, wall-to-wall coeds, the mask of a fictitious identity to hide behind. She absolutely loved being in the center of the action.

  She made slight eye contact with two NYPD colleagues inside the Lower East Side bar as she bladed her body, manipulating her way through the college crowd.

  Her role in tonight’s operation was minimal—the third ghost. Along with the two other undercover police officers, she was in the bar to keep an eye on the New York City Police Department’s underage intern who would invariably get served alcohol with
out providing proof of age. Dylan and the other covert officers were on the scene to witness the transaction, protect the intern, and provide testimony of the crime.

  Textbook vice work.

  The bartender is a hottie. Dylan shook her head the minute her colleague’s text came through.

  Bro, you’re on point tonight. Pay attention. She hit send but decided to fuck with her partner anyway. Leave the ladies to me ;) She was kidding but only because she never blurred the lines while working.

  Across the room her colleague rolled his eyes, and it made her smile. She sidled up to the bar, pleased when the bartender stopped what she was doing to wait on her. It was hardly the first time she got immediate attention. Genes played a large part. Dylan had been blessed with a killer combo of ice-blue eyes and dark hair, which she wore super short and styled perfectly. The fact that she was six two literally made her stand out in almost any crowd. Still, she loved that her buddy was witnessing the whole thing. She couldn’t wait to rub it in later.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender hit her with some major bedroom eyes, and she felt her ego soar in response.

  “I’ll have a pint of Sweet Action,” she said, leaning her forearms on the lip of the bar.

  “Sixpoint Sweet Action.” The bartender nodded approval, her eyes staying locked with Dylan’s. “Excellent choice.” Her smile was suggestive. “Can I interest you in anything else, or will that be all for now?”

  Game on. The opportunity was there if she wanted it. Her partner wasn’t wrong—the bartender was gorgeous, and under different circumstances Dylan would have taken the bait.

  “I think that’ll be it,” she said, offering her best smile as a consolation prize.

  “I’ll be right back with your beer.” The bartender blushed as she flashed Dylan one last invitation. She resisted the desire but let herself indulge a gratuitous look at her body as the bartender poured the draft.

  Dylan left a generous tip and stepped away as she tried to blend in. She scanned the crowd until she located the intern battling against the masses to earn a spot at the bar.

  “How the fuck are we supposed to talk business here?” A deep voice behind her grabbed her attention with its forceful demanding tone. “I can barely hear myself think.”

  “You said it didn’t matter where we met.”

  “Well, I thought you’d use your brain. This place is jam-packed.”

  Dylan turned her head just enough to clock three guys in conversation behind her.

  “That’s the point. We have our little meeting, then we find some action.” She heard obnoxious laughter and saw two of them high-five. Gross.

  “Enough.” Ooh. Someone was pissed. “Next time, I pick the spot. I’ll make this quick. No more excuses. It’s time.”

  “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

  “Stop being a pussy, Goldenballs.”

  “Yeah, Goldenballs.” This from a third distinct male voice who punctuated his sentence with a high-pitched juvenile cackle.

  Dylan peeked over her shoulder just in time to see one guy jab another in the biceps. “Shut up, dick. Don’t call me that.” Good for you, Goldenballs.

  She turned her attention back to the intern, who was still waiting to order. Dylan shifted her focus to visually check in with her colleagues, but her head was a hundred percent tuned into the conversation behind her.

  “All right. Benji,” the first guy barked again. He was obviously in charge. From her one-second assessment, it made sense. He was older than the other two with a more refined look and a haughty air about him. “I’m serious,” he continued. “You want to make money or not?”

  Her interest was piqued. She leaned back just slightly so she could hear the response.

  “I do, but…”

  “Get your shit together, then. Start moving product. Your little hiatus is over.” Her ears perked up. “Otherwise I’m putting George here in charge.”

  “It’s cool. I got it. I’m just worried about the attention. That kid dying fucked me up. I mean…it messed up sales, big-time.”

  Now this was interesting.

  “Christ, Benji, man up already. It’s been weeks. The heat’s off—everyone’s moved on to the next big story. The only one even still thinking about that kid is you. Get over it. We have a lot of shit to sell. Look at these spoiled kids spending Mommy and Daddy’s money like it’s nothing. Fuck, if they don’t get their fix from us, they’re going to get it somewhere else.”

  They were clearly talking drugs, and maybe the NYU senior who had overdosed recently? She tried to remember details of the story that monopolized headlines for the last month. A clean-cut jock, bright future, family heartbreak, the whole nine. Another typical tragedy at the hands of opioids and heroin. She supposed the conversation she was hearing could be a coincidence. For all she knew, every local pusher had their hackles up.

  Benji and George. She filed away their names just in case.

  “I said I got it.” Benji’s voice was sharper than before, like he had something to prove. “Just chill out, Paul.”

  Paul. The ringleader.

  “Don’t fucking tell me to chill. Do your motherfucking job. Or someone else will.”

  It was an order and a threat rolled into one, and she felt Paul’s body brush her back as he pushed through the crowd to the door.

  Over at the bar the underage intern was about to be served. Behind her, the two lackeys were talking.

  “Come on, Benji. Let’s bail. My buddy just texted me the address of a party on the Upper West Side, loaded with girls. Three-to-one ratio, he says. Can’t beat those odds.”

  Dylan made a split-second decision. The vice team had the operation under control. She let Benji and George get a few steps ahead before she followed them onto the street outside.

  Summer still hung in the air, and the sidewalk buzzed with millennials ushering in the weekend. It was the perfect cover. She reached for her phone and speed-dialed the sergeant.

  “Sarge, I’m on to something,” she said when he picked up on the first ring.

  “Everything okay, Prescott?” Sgt. Schmidt’s voice held distracted concern.

  “Yeah, but I’m off the set. I’m following—” She paused, in the moment trying to articulate what exactly she was doing. “The guys have things under control inside. These two kids were talking about some wacky stuff,” she said, knowing it sounded weak. “I just want to see where they go.”

  “Do you need backup?” he asked.

  “Nah, I’m just walking. These guys are about a block ahead of me.”

  “I see you,” he said. “You just passed by on Thompson Street.”

  Sometimes the intricacy of how the police embedded themselves within the community still impressed her. She knew the sergeant was with a team of detectives waiting to raid the bar, and she still didn’t spot him.

  “Okay,” Sgt. Schmidt said. “Prescott. Don’t do anything lone wolf-ish. This isn’t TV.”

  He knew her better than that, but she also knew he needed her to say it. “Of course not, Boss.”

  “We just got the signal to move in.” Sgt. Schmidt sounded a touch harried. “Stay in communication with me, Dylan.”

  “10-4, Sarge.”

  Ahead of her, Benji and George turned off Thompson Street onto Bleecker. She hung up and squared the corner just in time to see Benji slide into the passenger side of a jet-black Nissan Maxima. The car pulled away from the curb but not before she was able to capture the plate. Huzzah.

  * * *

  The 15th Precinct detective squad was a ghost town, with multiple teams out on assignment. Dylan expected some of her crew would start trickling in any minute now. Once she was out of the mix, Schmidt had instructed her to head back to the precinct, which was perfect because it gave her time to do some digging.

  The wheels of her ancient chair screeched as she slid close to the desk to access the motor vehicle database. She typed in the seven-digit alphanumeric and held her breath. In an instan
t her screen showed the info she needed. A black Nissan Maxima registered to George Rivas. She cross-referenced his pedigree and uncovered a lengthy rap sheet, including narcotics offenses, assault, and a burglary that had been downgraded to criminal mischief. Nice. Now for the real question. Was Rivas a target in any active NYPD investigations? She keyed his name into the department’s case management system and waited.

  “Prescott, there’s fresh coffee.” Captain Calhoun’s shoes squeaked as she walked over and leaned against the corner of her desk.

  It was almost ten p.m. on a Friday night, and coffee was the last thing she wanted. Captain Calhoun was the tour commander, and she drank coffee around the clock. Dylan wondered if the constant yen for caffeine came with rank or age. “How did it go at the Thompson Street operation?” the captain asked, interrupting her idle thought.

  “Good. Pretty straightforward.” Except for the fact she left midway through. Calhoun probably knew that detail by now. “Actually, when I was inside the bar ghosting, I got an interesting overhear.” Her shrug underplayed how significant she thought it might be.

  “What did you hear?” Calhoun’s coffee actually smelled delicious. Maybe she’d get a cup after all once she filled in the details. The caffeine would fuel her stamina in case she found some company later.

  “There were these three guys talking about dealing. One guy was pressuring the others.”

  “Okay.” The captain seemed only marginally interested.

  “I know. Routine,” Dylan said. “But then they started talking about the kid that died. The NYU senior who was all over the news. I think there might be a direct connection.” It was a reach, and hearing it out loud, it sounded downright far-fetched. “I mean, it might be nothing. But, Cap, the way they were talking, one guy sounded nervous. Hinky. Like he might have some personal culpability.”