It's like Bridget Jones' Diary, but with a super-powered vigilante.

March 13, 2005


Emma takes me back to her place - a chic brownstone walk-up in Raymond with a rviver view -and we have sex. Good sex.

I don't want to get into explicit detail here, but I will say that Lt. Emma Casperson looks really good naked, is very um, expressive about her needs, and has absolutely incredible stamina. Seriously, it's like she's in training for the Sex Olympics or something. I felt like Tommy Lee.

Emma runs me into the ground at about three-thirty and I pass out in her bed. When I wake up, she's not in bed, but I can hear her clanking around in the kitchen.


She pops in the bedroom, smiling. Emma's wearing an ECPD sweatshirt, Lycra jogging shorts, and Reeboks. She hands me a glass of orange juice and gives me a quick kiss.

"Good morning," she says. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, great. You're up? What time is it?"

"Almost eight." She takes a fanny pack from her dresser and buckles it around her slim waist. "Listen, I gotta get going. You can sleep for a while if you want."

"Where you going?"

She bends over a gun safe in the corner of the bedroom and works the combo lock. I shift in bed a little so I can see her Lycra-sheathed butt. "I'm going for a run, then I'm off to the firing range." She transfers a wicked nickel-plated automatic from the safe into a foam-padded carrying case.

"You don't want to... you know, hang out?"

She turns and smiles, brushing a wave of auburn hair from her eyes. "I'd love to, but I gotta go. Listen, I had fun last night. You're a real tiger."


"There's French Toast in the fridge that you can heat up if you want," she says. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Take your time, sleep, hang out. The door will lock behind you when you leave."

"Okay, but... you sure you don't want to hang out?"

She sits on the edge of the bed and runs her hand down my torso as she leans in for a kiss. Her hair cascades down around my head. She smells like lavender and coconut oil. "I'll have to take a rain check. Thanks, Connor."

Then, with a little wave, she takes her gun case and her perfect body and leaves.

"Call me," I say lamely.

What, am I in Bizarro World or something? I'm supposed to be the one leaving her in bed, wondering if I'll ever call her. This ain't right.

That's it: I'm going on patrol tonight and I'm going to beat somebody up.