Hitch

by Anne Conley

Amber followed Nena into Batons feeling exhausted. It had been a long day and was promising to be even longer. But Nena was the only other officer who had asked her out for drinks after work at the local bar where all her coworkers hung out, and she was hesitant to say no. No sense in burning bridges before she even crossed them. She was new here, and every friend counted.

  It had been really hard to go home and change out of her uniform and leave her house to come out tonight. But here she was, having drinks, when where she really wanted to be was in her new house, unpacking boxes in her pajamas, drinking tea, and fighting with Salem. Whatever.

  “Whiskey and water, please,” Amber said to the bartender. At least it wasn’t super crowded. Maybe she’d make more friends tonight, although she was pretty sure one a day was her limit.

  After the task force meeting this morning, she’d been given another mountain of papers to go through, mostly phoned-in leads to follow up on. Someone had been setting off bombs with Tannerite around town. Tannerite was something she was familiar with. Exploding targets were popular in Serendipity. Rednecks with guns and too much time and creativity and not enough sense would set that stuff off all times of the year, day or night. Once, someone had filled a lawnmower engine with the stuff and shot it, forgetting to take the blades off the mower. Flying debris had severed his leg. And it was all caught on video—YouTube gold.

  While the stuff itself was perfectly legal for now, shooting at exploding targets in downtown Austin was a no-no, and someone had been doing it on the regular.

  Thank goodness no one had been hurt, but that was only an eventuality.

  Amber could think of a dozen better ways to catch the guy doing this than chasing down phone leads, but as the newbie in the department, she had zero credibility.

  Which was why she was trying to make friends. Starting with Nena.

  “Who’s checking out the pawn shops and gun stores? That’s where I would be looking,” Nena said, looking around the bar with interest.

  “Martin and Gomez are looking in gun stores where they sell Tannerite.” Amber answered her friend’s question while she took a sip of her drink and watched Nena over the rim of her glass. Nena was pretty, in a small, incendiary package. She was short, Hispanic, with long, black hair, enormous eyes, and lips Amber would kill for. Even in her uniform, she exuded a sexuality Amber wished she had a tenth of. Not that she was looking to have sex anytime soon, but it had been a long time.

  “Martin and Gomez,” Nena scoffed into her drink. “If they’re actually looking, I’ll eat my mother-in-law’s tamales. My guess is, they’re doing it half-heartedly while they’re chasing skirts somewhere. If they’re going into gun stores, it’s to pick up women.” She laughed into her beer again before taking a swig. “But I don’t want to talk shop. That’s why I come here, to get away from the bullshit and drama at the station.” The way her lip twisted as Nena changed the subject from one she’d brought up made Amber think she’d had something with one of the men in question at one point.

  Then why a cop bar, Nena?

  Instead of rolling her eyes, Amber remained blank-faced and started asking Nena more personal questions. Apparently, her new friend just wanted a girls’ night. Which was cool; she guessed she could leave the job at work.

  But she’d really like to know who to trust.

  “What did you do in your last job? Where did you work, again? Serendipity?”

  Amber laughed. “A lot of rescuing defenseless old ladies from attack raccoons trapped in their garages.” She took another sip. “Actually, I was the rookie assigned to internal affairs because nobody else would take it.”

  A knowing look stole across Nena’s features. Usually mentioning IA was all it took to stop the questions. Most everyone understood why that wasn’t the ideal job for anyone, much less a police officer. Being paid to snoop and catch co-workers breaking laws they’d been sworn to uphold sucked on any given day. But Amber just hoped Nena didn’t get too curious about the details.

  Amber opened her mouth to say more, but she stopped when the man walked in. The man. That was all. Suddenly, her words were gone, along with her air and all the saliva in her mouth. She swallowed and took another pull of her drink, not paying any attention to whatever Nena was saying.

  He was tall, with hair so dark it looked black, and carried himself like a cop, leading with his shoulders when he walked. Muscles tense, his body tracked his eyes’ movements, as if ready to take on action in a split-second.

  Her eyes stayed with the tall guy. But he didn’t look like any police officer she’d seen. He pinched the bridge of his nose, like his brains were leaking out, and she swiveled back to the bar. But she didn’t stay that way long. As if pulled by an invisible string, Amber found herself swiveling back toward him again.

  And he was leveling his intense gaze right on her. It took her breath away for a minute, but she recovered and turned to Nena, who wasn’t paying Amber any mind. Undaunted, Amber tried to talk to her friend—pretending she wasn’t being ignored—so she could get this guy’s uncomfortable attention off her. It seemed to work because the next time she looked at him, he’d started walking around the bar.

  So she could watch him, unnoticed.

  Walking with the grace of an athlete, he was built well. This dude had no gut, his t-shirt stretched over biceps that didn’t stop, and his casual clothes on a workday said he hadn’t spent his day in a uniform, or even as a plain-clothes member of the force.

  He could be retired but looked a little young for that. If he’d pulled his twenty and gotten out, that could be possible, but his face didn’t have the signs of stress long-term law enforcement typically showed.

  So what was he doing here? And why did she care? A hookup was the last thing Amber was looking for right now. She didn’t have the mental energy for romantic entanglements. With the new job, new house, new city, and the old issue that had followed her, she certainly had no time to deal with this guy she couldn’t take her eyes off of.

  Amber was enthralled as the dark-haired stud walked around the bar, clapping people on the back, smiling jovially, all while scanning the area.

  He had to be an officer. Didn’t he?

  She reminded herself she didn’t trust anybody here yet, wasn’t looking for anything the least bit romantic, and did not need to get caught up in office drama.

  But when his eyes landed on her, something inside her fluttered to life. She tried to kill it and took another sip of her drink, the cheap rot-gut doing its part to stop the flutters.

  After Serendipity, the last thing she needed was to get mixed up with the wrong crowd, so she simply spun around in her seat and sipped on the watery drink until the slurping sound told her she was only left with ice.

  “Tell me about the tall brunette who walked in a few minutes ago.” Amber was speaking to Nena but stupidly mumbled into her drink. She wasn’t hiding anything from Nena. She knew it was futile. There was no way not moving her lips while her back was to the man made him any less her sole focus.

  “Hollerman? Retired a couple of months ago. Works private security now.” Nena said the words like they were poison on her tongue. “He comes in from time to time, but I don’t know him well. Different department. I think he worked vice. Only comes in when he’s asking about something specific.” Her tone of voice changed from matter-of-fact to musing. “He’s not the type who comes in to get lucky, but that may be changing tonight. I’ve never seen him look like that.”

  “Like what?” Amber was still focused on the ice melting in her glass, trying to ignore the fact her stomach plummeted at the thought he was picking someone up.

  “Like he’s working up the nerve to talk to someone, and based on who he’s looking at, I’d say that’s you.” Nena let out a cackle of laughter that had Amber turning her head to look at her friend. She refused to look in the man’s direction, even as Nena tracked him with her eyes, and Amber realized he was coming closer.

  She could feel the air move like the
particles had rearranged themselves, tickling little places on her skin. It was weird and thrilling all at the same time. And then the heat from his body was in the empty bar stool beside her, and the air was sucked out of her.

  His deep voice sent a shiver down her spine when he said, “Hi there.”

  Slowly, Amber turned back toward the ever-entertaining drink in front of her. “Hi.” Don’t burn bridges. Don’t burn bridges. Of course, she didn’t want to burn bridges, but she could tell without even looking at this guy, he would totally wreck her. A romance with someone at this point in her life was not what she needed to focus on.

  “I’m Dex Hollerman.” An enormous hand engulfed her peripheral vision, waiting for a handshake.

  “Look,” Amber said, swirling the tiny straw in her glass of ice and ignoring the hand that would undoubtedly wreak havoc on her body. “I didn’t come here to meet people. I’m having a drink with my friend. That’s all.” Piece of cake. She blew out a breath, pleased with her resolve.

  The giant paw retreated, and a sigh filled the air next to her. “Can I buy you another one?”

  A nice body wasn’t everything, and she’d be damned if she was going to give into a pushy asshole who couldn’t take no for an answer. Amber swiveled so she was facing him. It was almost her downfall.

  Her breath hitched looking at him up close. Dammit. She caught herself leaning into his space, as if she were trying to smell him or something. Amber’s nostrils flared as she sniffed and realized she had to look like a creeper right now, but she couldn’t help herself. He did smell good—like gun oil and Irish Spring, and her insides got all sorts of twisty. Her heart started pounding as she perused him, trying not to ogle, but she had the feeling she was failing miserably.

  Now she could tell what he looked like. Aqua-blue, deep-set eyes set in a wide face with the most perfect strong nose. Eyebrows a shade lighter than his hair, and lips that would rival Nena’s.

  Fuck. He’s pretty, too.

  “Thanks.” He grinned down at her, showcasing bright, even teeth she suddenly wanted to lick. No, she didn’t. Why did he thank her? Oh shit. She’d said that out loud. Shaking her head, she looked back at her drink. Had she suddenly turned sixteen again and lost the ability to function around a hot guy?

  “Um, thanks, but I don’t think I want another drink.” Not on her agenda. As she looked at the disappointment in his eyes, trying not to fall into the Caribbean color of them, she knew she was shooting herself in the foot. Just because he was good-looking didn’t mean he couldn’t someday be a resource for her, and she was turning him down. She didn’t need to sleep with people to network. “I have a cat at home,” she muttered stupidly.

  His grin widened, and Amber didn’t want to even look at him, so she buried her gaze in her empty drink, knowing she should just leave. There was no explanation for why this one guy was doing these things to her insides. It was like a hurricane was happening inside her; all her thoughts and emotions were whirling around, fighting and warring with each other, landing in ruins.

  When she risked another glance at him, she knew she had to leave. Her thoughts were such a mess right now, she was liable to make a monumental mistake if she stayed.

  “Gotta go,” she murmured to Nena, who was barely containing herself. Without a backward glance at Dex, she scurried out the door and went home to her cat. As well as what seemed like four hundred boxes to unpack. There was not enough real estate in her head to deal with tall, dark, and dangerous—not tonight.

  Chapter Four

  “Absolutely not. You know I can’t do that.” Hollerman’s old supervisor, Lieutenant Nguyen, was nearly yelling at him, and all he’d done was ask a tiny favor: tell him everything APD had on Terry Perkins. Turns out, Michelle Perkins and he were common-law husband and wife, which usually meant shacking up, and Michelle was checking into Terry’s extra-curricular activities. Lord knew he’d come up blank last night at Batons, especially after he’d been totally sidetracked by the fresh new face at the bar.

  Dex didn’t know what had gotten into him. He never picked up women at that place. They were either on the force or shield bunnies, and neither one of those were drama he was interested in.

  Nope. Everyone got so tightlipped around him, it was obvious he was being stonewalled. Dex didn’t think anybody was keeping anything from him per se. It was likely nobody knew who Terry Perkins was. But nobody was willing to check for him, either.

  Especially not Lieutenant Nguyen, who was still eyeballing him.

  “Okay. Just thought I’d ask. Thanks.” He turned to leave, walking through the maze of desks and aisles, dodging people at every turn. It was a hive of activity he missed—everyone on a mission to catch a bad guy, follow up on a lead, make some area safer for the general public. It was something that had lulled him to sleep at night; after spending all day in this din of noise, the sudden silence of his bedroom left him with a comforting hum in his ears that always put him under.

  Not that he ever spent that much time at his desk. Looking over, he saw his old spot four rows up, piled high with papers. Gabby leaned on it, his arms crossed over his beer gut like he had all the time in the world. Gabby had been short-timing it for years, counting down the days until he got his forty-year pension watch. Whoever had his desk must be a rookie. Gabby had been assigned to rookies fresh out of the supervised Austin training program for as long as Dex could remember. No one else ever had that much paper piled up.

  Smiling vaguely to himself, he turned around to leave. On his way out, he ran smack dab into soft curves, sweet scents, and a flurry of papers. Reflexively, he reached out, grabbing the woman he’d run into by the arms to steady her and was rewarded with a sharp elbow in his gut.

  “Back off, creep!” He was doubled over from the blow to his stomach, when the stabbing pain in his instep registered.

  Jesus.

  “I’m sorry, it’s okay.” He held up his hands in a wheezy attempt at sanity before he was further assaulted inside the police station. Still bent down, Dex looked up into the fiery, whiskey-colored eyes of the lady from the bar last night, only now they shot sparks at him. He took a knee and started gathering papers that had flown everywhere when he’d bumped into her. “I really am sorry. Let me help.” He was embarrassed to have manhandled her but still felt a measure of satisfaction he’d managed to find her again. Not that he’d been looking, but still ….

  She was snatching papers out of his hand before he could see what they were—not that he was trying—but she was so intent on him not looking, he eventually gave up. Instead, he sat back and watched her.

  She was a cop and wore her uniform well. Her legs were long, breasts full, and waist tiny. Her long, brown hair that had been loose last night was tucked up into some sort of bun at the base of her neck. Her nose was long and straight, her lips a thinning line across her face.

  “Tell me your name.” It had taken a little while for him to get the guts up to talk to her last night, and she’d completely shut him down. There was no mistaking her intentions, but he didn’t see a wedding ring on her hand and couldn’t resist the urge to try again. Dex knew no meant no, but something compelled him with this woman. He hadn’t felt anything like this in so long, if ever, and it was a foreign sensation. But he recognized it. He wanted her, and he would clearly act like a fool to get a chance with her.

  She simply sighed at him, a long, loud, put-upon noise that deflated her stance. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” She was purposely not telling him her name, silently issuing the challenge. But he could see her pulse flutter in her neck, and her breathing turned erratic in the heave of her breasts under her vest and uniform.

  He liked her.

  He held his hand out. “Can we try again? I’m Dex.”

  “You police?” she asked, her eyes cutting around him. She reminded Dex of a skittish stray, standing her ground yet looking for a way out.

  “Not anymore.” He flashed his interrogation room smile, the good cop one, but she
wasn’t fooled. He almost groaned at his own transparency. He had no idea how to talk to women. “You new?” Her interest wasn’t in his head, and hope soared as her eyes traveled his face, from his eyes to his lips, then down to his chest, which he totally puffed up.

  “I’m busy.” Standing, she shuffled the massive pile of papers in her arms and wove through the desks to her own.

  The one with the massive pile of papers already on it.

  So she had his old desk. Which made her the poor rookie assigned to Gabby as a partner. Dex’s gut twinged. She was old for a rookie, but not too old to be a cop. Or in his bed. His groin did that foreign stirring thing again, and he marveled that he could get aroused in this place, where he’d seen so much bullshit over the years. Yet, here he was, ogling a girl, getting turned on while simultaneously getting shot down.

  His gaze landed on Eileen, at her desk behind his old one. The look Eileen gave him was a cross between secret longing and shared naughtiness, and his body flushed with something akin to embarrassment, although the times they’d shared had been hot. The memory flared through him, as they had once had a co-workers-with-benefits relationship. It was one of those itch-scratchers that had ended when she wanted more from him than he wanted to give. And it had been awkward and more than just against policy when she’d had to investigate him as protocol for her job. It hadn’t been difficult for him to break things off, but she’d taken it poorly. Whatever.

  Dex wondered if this stirring in his gut for the unnamed woman was what he’d had with Eileen, just different because she wasn’t as easy. As his eyes slid across the aisle to the woman who’d snubbed him twice now—her soft curves under her uniform, her hair desperate to escape the confines of her bun, the rigid spine warding off naysayers—he knew the thought was wrong. Eileen had been something superficial, a means to the release they’d both wanted. With this other woman, he craved something besides just her name. He wanted to know her. He needed to see what made her tick, scream, cry, rant. Everything.