Tracking Tahlula (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  “Something I’ve been hoping to fix.”

  That gets her attention. “Why?”

  I raise an eyebrow and hold her gaze until she starts to fidget. Then I take the few steps separating us and put a hand on the side of her neck.

  “Because I like you. I’m attracted to you, was from that first time you opened the door for me.” I watch as her lush lips fall open at my admission.

  “I thought…but you said goodbye. Told me to take care of myself, right here in my driveway just a week ago. The message was received loud and clear.” She turns to the sink and my hand falls away.

  I close my eyes and inhale her lingering scent, something citrusy and fresh. “That was a mistake I regretted almost immediately. Out of sight, definitely did not mean out of mind. Quite the opposite.”

  She pivots back. “What made you?”

  “Walk away?” I run a hand over my beard, contemplating my next words. “When it comes to women, I tend to end up on the short end of the stick. Call me gun-shy. It didn’t feel good when you assumed the worst of me twice, in short succession, that day.” She drops her gaze down to the floor and I reach a hand out to lift her chin. “A while back, some lunatic set fires to get the attention of a woman I happened to be friendly with. People lost their lives. Some folks suspected me of being the firebug—and a murderer. I think the woman even believed it at some point. That left a sting. It’s not pleasant when people think the worst of you.”

  “And I did exactly that,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, but you see; I’m as guilty as you are. I carry baggage that colors how I see things—how I react to things—you do too. It’s human nature.” I lift my other hand and cup her face. “I’m a decent guy, Tahlula—I don’t willingly break the law or hurt people, although I can have a temper when provoked—and I’d like to get to know you.”

  My body instantly responds when she takes a small step closer, tilts her head slightly, and briefly sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “I think I’d like that too,” she says.

  My mouth is on hers before I can think about what I’m doing. A hint of her toothpaste blends with the dark taste of coffee as her lips willingly open against mine.

  Tahlula

  I’ve been kissed before.

  Kissed well, even, but I can’t recall ever feeling like the ground disappeared from under my feet, leaving me suspended from the lips pressed to mine.

  The slight abrasion of his facial hair against my skin serves as a contrast to the gentle sweep of his tongue in my mouth, raising bumps on my body.

  I barely notice his hands dropping to my shoulders until he ends the kiss abruptly, setting me back a step.

  “That mouth should come with a warning,” he mutters, leaving one hand to steady me while running the other over his face.

  “Why’d you stop?” My voice is a bit hoarse.

  “Because I’m determined to get this right, and I don’t think stripping you naked in your kitchen would be conducive to that.”

  His words incite a full body shiver, which he observes through squinted eyes. “You sure?” I challenge, empowered by the response he seems to have to me.

  “Don’t tempt me, Tahlula. It’s been way too fucking long.”

  A glimpse of blonde hair leaning over him suddenly flashes through my head. Too long?

  “Then who’s the blonde?” Too late I realize, by opening that door, I might as well fess up I was following him. “Never mind,” I quickly add, waving it off as I slip past him to the pantry to grab Luke’s food.

  “What blonde?” he asks, blocking my way when I come back out.

  “It’s nothing. I thought I saw you the other day, but I may have been wrong.” If I hoped that would throw him off the scent, I would be sorely mistaken.

  “Where?” he persists, leaning his hip against the counter as he folds his arms over his chest.

  I fill Luke’s bowl, and get him some fresh water. Evan is still waiting for my answer when I face him. “I thought I saw your truck driving by the City Market at some point, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Only blonde in my truck recently was Blue. She’s like one of the guys.”

  “You kiss them too?” The words are out before I can check myself.

  He looks confused but then a slow smile spreads on his lips. “You followed me.” It’s not a question, but a statement, and at this point I feel it prudent to shut my mouth. “And I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me. A bunch of us had breakfast, Blue hitched a ride with me, and I dropped her back at the station after.” He starts chuckling softly and I feel my hackles go up. “Ironically, as I recall, she just finished telling me I needed a two-by-four over the head for not going after you, when she leaned in and kissed my cheek.”

  “Oh.” Embarrassment complete, I dive into the dishwasher that needs emptying.

  “You followed me,” he repeats, grabbing my hips from behind and turning me into his arms. “I like it. I don’t think I’ve ever been stalked before.” My wince is involuntary and Evan picks up on it, bending down for a brief peck on my lips before creating some space between us. “Bad choice of words, given what Blackfoot shared yesterday. Wanna tell me what happened in Denver?”

  “If you’ll tell me what happened with that arson case.”

  He scrutinizes me for a minute before nodding. “Deal.”

  “In that case, I’m gonna need some sustenance,” I announce, heading to the fridge to pull out some bacon and eggs.

  “I’ll take care of that, you sit down and talk,” he says, taking the carton and package from my hands.

  I take a seat at the table and watch as he moves around my kitchen, pulling more things from the refrigerator and cupboards. “It started when my book hit The New York Times Best Seller list. I received—”

  “Are you kidding me? How come you didn’t tell me that?” He swings around, wielding my chef’s knife.

  “I just did. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Like hell it’s not. That’s amazing.”

  It shouldn’t matter that much, although the resulting boost in income had been nice, but I can’t deny his reaction settles warmly in my bones.

  “Are you gonna let me tell the story?” I tease him.

  “Have at it.”

  He winks at me before he turns back to making breakfast as I fill him in.

  -

  “I can’t believe they’d even think you could do such a thing!”

  Evan just finished briefing me on the case that involved not only Keith Blackfoot, but also his wife, Autumn, the detective mentioned to me yesterday. I’m outraged on Evan’s behalf.

  I can tell from Evan’s description he had more than a passing interest in Autumn when she moved to Durango, but I can’t bring myself to feel sad for him that she ended up married to someone else. I wouldn’t be sitting on my back deck beside him, enjoying the view, after that amazing omelet he made us for breakfast, if it had ended differently.

  The fact he seems to be on friendly footing with the couple now is testament to the kind of man he is. With everything I learn about him, I like him a little more. Especially when he shoots me that lopsided grin like he does now.

  “Don’t judge them too harshly,” he says in their defense. “After all, we’ve both been guilty of similar offenses.”

  “Touché.”

  I’m about to clean away our dishes when my phone rings. It’s Jaimie.

  “I got your message, what happened?” She dives right in.

  “It looked like UPS just tossed the boxes out of the truck. They got caught in a monsoon-caliber downpour.”

  “I don’t get it. I gave clear instructions to leave them on the porch. They’re usually pretty good about stuff like that. Shit, I’ll get the publisher to send you more.”

  “It wouldn’t have been an issue if I’d been home. Tell them I’ll gladly pay for them, or at least share the cost, until we can get this sorted out with the courier.”

  “Fair enough,” Jaimie agrees. “By th
e way, how are you holding up? I just got a visit from Detective Thompson, who filled me in. I’d be freaking out if I were you.”

  I watch from the corner of my eye as Evan walks into my kitchen carrying the plates and cups I was going to clean up. “I was gonna do those dishes,” I tell him, holding the phone away from my mouth.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Whoa, Nellie,” Jaimie hisses in my ear. “It’s early enough I barely got my ass into work and you already have a delicious-sounding man in your kitchen? Are you holding out on me?”

  “Not exactly. It’s new.” I try to be as obscure as possible, but from the look Evan throws over his shoulder, I can tell he knows damn well he’s the subject of conversation.

  “You’re not kidding. And he digs you, preggers and all?”

  “Seems to.”

  “Please tell me it’s not some weird fetish?”

  I snicker at that. “Jesus, I hope not.”

  “I’m guessing he’s around and you can’t talk freely?”

  “That would be an accurate assumption.”

  “All right, then I’ll let you go, but you have to promise to call me with details first chance you get.”

  “Will do. You’ll get after those books for me?”

  “First thing.”

  I end the call and glance up to find Evan still looking at me. “What?” I ask a little defensively.

  “It’s not,” he says, that lopsided grin on his face.

  “It’s not what?”

  “Some weird fetish.”

  9

  Evan

  “Don’t you need to get some sleep?”

  I turn to find Tahlula leaning against the doorpost.

  She’d mentioned earlier she was hoping to remove some shelving in the nursery, so she could paint, and I offered to help. I don’t have to work until Monday and I grabbed the opportunity to hang around. I don’t really want to be anywhere else right now.

  “Haven’t filled the holes yet.” Whoever put these damn closet organizers up used about forty drywall anchors. Not small ones either. It’s going to take both those tubs of drywall patching compound she bought.

  “I can do that. I’m not helpless you know.”

  “I’m aware. I’m guessing it isn’t often you allow others to do things for you,” I suggest.

  She shrugs. “Most of the time it’s easier to do things yourself.”

  “I don’t disagree with that. Back when I bought my place, it needed some work. All stuff I could do on my days off. I told myself I wasn’t in any particular hurry. Then one of the guys from the station swung by to drop something off when I tried hauling out the old bathtub by myself. He stayed, gave me a hand, and ended up coming back the next day. In the end, a couple of the guys would pop in occasionally to help. I never asked, they just showed up, and it was a fuck of a lot more fun to work on the project together.”

  A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “So you’re saying just go with the flow?”

  “Pretty much. I wanna help, not because I think you’re incapable, but because it gives me an excuse to stick around.”

  The smile is out in full force now. “I see.”

  “Right. So unless you don’t want me here…” I move into her space, forcing her to tilt her head back, those remarkable eyes looking up at me. Her hands come up to rest on my chest.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just used to being by myself.”

  “I’m no different. I shared a house with a few guys in college, and shortly after that had a girlfriend move in with me for two months, along with her talking parakeet, but other than that I’ve been on my own.”

  “Did you say parakeet?”

  “Talking parakeet. Damn bird never shut up, and worse, he sounded like her mother.” I pretend to shudder, which makes her snicker.

  “I’m guessing that ended up a deal-breaker?” she asks with an eyebrow raised.

  “Oh yeah. I had a studio apartment, need I say more?” That earns me a chuckle and prompts me to ask the question that’s been burning. “So what about you? Ever live with someone? The father of this little guy maybe?”

  “Girl,” she corrects me in a soft voice. “I found out yesterday.”

  “A girl…” Images of a pretty little tyke with bouncing curls and copper-colored eyes like her mama flash through my mind. I smile down at her. “I take it that makes you happy.”

  “I didn’t really have a preference either way, but yeah, it makes me happy.” She stares with a dreamy look on her face at a spot somewhere on my shoulder. “As for the father,” she suddenly adds, her eyes coming up to meet mine. “I’ve never even met him.”

  Silence stretches as I try to wrap my head around the logistics of what she just told me. Then it comes to me, and I can’t help the tingle of relief hearing there’s not some unknown and unpredictable entity waiting in the shadows.

  “Sperm bank,” I conclude out loud, and she acknowledges with a nod, while scrutinizing my reaction. “What brought you to that decision?”

  “A combination of things; a fortieth birthday come and gone, a rather isolated lifestyle not contributive to making the necessary connections, and a lifelong wish to have a child of my own. When my book went viral last year, I finally had the means as well and forged ahead. It only took two tries.”

  Her expression is almost defiant, daring me to voice objections of some kind, but I have none.

  “Good for you,” I offer instead, which seems to surprise her. “Believe me, if that was an option for a man, I could see myself considering it.” I lean down to brush a light kiss on her lips before picking up the spackle knife and moving to the next patch on the wall.

  “You want kids?” she asks behind me.

  “Didn’t think about it much when I was younger, but now, yeah. I’m forty-three, I think about stuff like that, about time slipping away. I don’t think that’s necessarily unique to women.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see she’s picked up the second knife and compound and moves to the other wall.

  “Trunk wasn’t exactly on board,” she shares. “In fact, other than my agent’s assistant, Jaimie, I haven’t had many reactions like yours.”

  “Your family doesn’t approve?” I probe, keeping the flow of information going. I’m glad she’s sharing, and I’m eager to learn more about her.

  “Trunk is my family. Our mother died of an overdose when I was a teenager and neither Trunk nor I know our fathers.”

  At that revelation, I stop and turn to face her. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

  She shrugs in response. “Life hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk before either. Trunk looked after me, though. Pushed me to graduate high school, supported me through college, and taught me the value of hard work. I owe him a lot.”

  “When did you start writing?” I ask, filling the next hole with compound, scraping the excess off.

  “Since I was a teenager, but I didn’t publish my first book until I was in my early thirties. Nothing serious, I was still working at a dealership at the time, and I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it.”

  “And look at you now,” I point out, throwing a glance at her. She turns her eyes on me and something in her expression has me blurt out, “I try to take my mother out to dinner a few times a month. Have you been to the Diamond Belle Saloon? Not normally my cup of tea, but Ma gets a kick out of the piano player. Have dinner with us?”

  I see I’ve shocked her. Frankly, I’ve shocked myself. Asking her out for dinner is one thing, especially after I’ve already had my mouth on her, but asking her out to meet my mother may be a little weird. What if she thinks I’m one of those guys who needs his mother’s approval? “I mean, the Diamond Belle is a different scene, part of the whole Durango experience. We can do it some other time, I just thought—”

  “I’d like to come,” she finally says. “If you don’t think your mother will run screaming if you suddenly show up with a biracial, pregnant
woman.”

  I drop my spackle knife and reach out to pull her into my arms. “Nothing fazes my mother. She’s got too much common sense for that. I can’t guarantee she won’t ask you what’s on her mind—Ma is a straight shooter—but I can promise you she won’t give the first fuck about the color of your skin.”

  Tahlula

  I’ve changed my mind at least ten times since agreeing to dinner with Evan and his mother.

  “Do you mind if we stop by my place? I want to change quick, it won’t take more than a minute.” Some of my growing panic must be visible on my face, because he grins and reaches over the console to grab my clammy hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re just having a meal. She’s not gonna bite.”

  “If you say so,” I mumble.

  His house is at the end of a cul-de-sac, set back a little farther from the other houses. It’s nice, a smaller one-story house with double garage and a sizable yard. Nothing behind him but mountain.

  He leads me inside and directs me to a sparsely decorated living room. The clean lines and understated furniture might appear impersonal, but the massive shelving unit covering an entire wall adds all the character the room needs. Other than housing a large TV, it is full of books, almost haphazardly tossed on the shelves, with no particular attention to organization. Dog-eared paperbacks mixed in with medical textbooks, biographies sharing space with a back-country cookbook, a copy of The Hobbit wedged in with a couple of gardening books. It’s a smorgasbord of reading and tells me more about the man than any words could.

  I spot picture frames tucked here and there, showing snapshots of his life. I pick up a picture showing a smiling young, gap-toothed boy with a longish mop of red hair, wedged between what I assume are his parents, standing in front of a tent.

  “That was our first camping trip when I was eight,” his deep voice sounds behind me. “We went camping near Sedona which, in hindsight, may not have been the best place for my father to pick for the last week of July. That tent was like a sauna.” He chuckles and takes the frame from my hands, looking at it. “Ma was pissed, Pops was miserable, and I had the best time of my life.”