Heated Moments

by Phyllis Bourne

  She launched into an explanation involving stalker reality shows and clowns that sounded just convoluted enough to be true. Dylan held up a hand to stop her.

  “Let’s just forget it, Ms. Gray,” he said.

  “I’d like that.” She smiled up at him. Different from the wicked grin she’d bestowed upon him earlier, this smile beguiled him with its openness and warmth. “Oh, and about that...um, swat to your, uh, backside.”

  “Already forgotten.” As he uttered the words, Dylan wondered if his own body language gave away the fact he wasn’t being totally honest. He had a feeling it would be a long time before he would be able to put kissing her out of his head.

  “So, did you come to update me on Officer Wilson’s condition?” she asked. “He was still unconscious when I brought him here. I’ve been so worried. I couldn’t leave until I knew for sure he would be okay.”

  “He’s awake. The doc stitched up the back of his head and wants him to hang around for some tests before they boot him out of here. But it looks like he’s going to be just fine.”

  “Great.” She rested her hand on her chest and exhaled. “Now I can get back on the road.”

  Dylan had seen two sides to Lola Gray in the short minutes since they met. One was over the top and sexy as hell, the other conscientious and appearing genuinely concerned about Wilson’s welfare. Neither suggested to him she was capable of assaulting the rookie officer.

  “Not just yet,” Dylan said. “I need to hear your version of what happened out on Old Mill Road.”

  “My version?” She raised a quizzical brow.

  Dylan picked up the pen and pad she’d thrown across the room earlier, and then gestured toward the chairs. “Let’s have a seat.”

  She eyed the clock on the wall. “Okay, but I don’t have a lot of time.”

  Dylan sat down in a chair beside her. “You can start with how you ended up on Old Mill Road. It’s off the beaten path. Not many people travel on it nowadays.”

  “There was an accident tying up traffic on the main road, and my GPS suggested a detour to avoid it,” she said.

  Wilson had radioed in to Dispatch that he’d pulled over a red Mustang, but the rest of what he’d said had been garbled by static. Dylan had spotted the car parked in front of the emergency room earlier and called in the Tennessee license plate. Marjorie reported back that the vehicle was indeed registered to Lola Gray, and it hadn’t been involved in any illegal activity.

  “Why did Officer Wilson pull you over?”

  Dylan watched her as he waited for an answer to the question.

  “Like you said, that road was pretty isolated.” She shrugged, but unlike his officer, the woman looked him straight in the eye. “I couldn’t resist the temptation of a fast car and the open road. So my foot got a bit heavy on the accelerator. Next thing I knew, blue lights were flashing in my rearview mirror.”

  Dylan listened as she continued to explain. Her version of events differed from both the victim’s and the eyewitness’s. She seemed more sure of herself than Wilson, but Dylan had to take into consideration the rookie had a minor head injury. Also, despite his eyesight, Jeb seemed just as certain of her attacking Wilson.

  Dylan had known both Wilson and Jeb a lot longer than he’d known Lola Gray, but his gut instinct told him hers was the most accurate account of the incident.

  A gut instinct that may have been compromised by a sweet mouth and a pretty smile.

  “When I couldn’t summon help by phone or using Officer Wilson’s radio, I dragged him to my car and brought him straight to the hospital,” she concluded.

  “So at no time did you strike Officer Wilson?”

  She scrunched up her face. “What? Of course not. What gave you that idea?” Her confused expression morphed into a scowl. “Oh, I get it now. You saw one of those stupid tabloid news reports. Now you believe I’m a Neanderthal that goes around beating up people whenever the mood strikes me.”

  Dylan looked pointedly at the tiny cut on her hand. The doc had speculated she’d injured it coldcocking Wilson. However, Doc Hadley hadn’t been the one to actually treat what appeared to be a minor injury.

  “I already told you. I cut my hand on a pair of scissors in my bag,” Lola Gray said.

  Scissors seemed like an unusual item to keep in a handbag, Dylan thought. Then again, the thing looked more like a carry-on suitcase than a purse.

  She rolled her eyes and heaved what sounded like an exasperated sigh. Grabbing the bag from the chair on the other side of her, she plopped it on her lap. She opened a side pocket.

  “I put them in a separate compartment so I wouldn’t cut myself on them again,” she said.

  Sure enough, there was a pair of scissors with what Dylan recognized as dried blood on them. She started to reach for them, but he stopped her.

  “Don’t touch them,” he cautioned. “They’re evidence.”

  “Evidence? In what?”

  “The possible assault of Officer Wilson.”

  “Assault? What assault?” Big brown eyes blinked up at him as realization dawned. Her expression made him feel as if he’d just snatched a bucket of candy from a child trick-or-treating. “You think I... B-but I explained what happened. He took one look at my bloody hand and passed out. The only time I touched him was to try to help.”

  “Officer Wilson says different. He claims you took him by surprise and knocked him out,” Dylan said.

  “He’s mistaken,” she countered. “He hit his head hard. It must have left him confused.”

  “There’s also an eyewitness to the incident,” Dylan began.

  “Who? I didn’t see anyone,” Lola said. “And if they claim to have seen everything, why didn’t they help?”

  “He says he was too far away to get to you, but saw Officer Wilson stop your car.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then they should be able to confirm what I told you.”

  Dylan shook his head. “The witness’s account substantiates Officer Wilson’s allegation against you.”

  “He’s wrong. They’re both wrong. Sure, I’m guilty of speeding, but that’s it.” Lola clamped a hand on Dylan’s arm. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  The thing was, he did believe her. Or, deep down, did he just want to believe her? Regardless, he had a job to do.

  “Do you think I would have brought him here or stuck around to see how he was doing if I had hurt him?” she asked.

  Dylan removed her hand from his arm and stood. “I think it would be best if we continued this conversation at the police station.”

  “Police station? But why?” She asked another question before he could answer. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, but I’m detaining you until I know what really happened out on Old Mill Road.”

  Chapter 7

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Lola repeated the words for what felt like the hundredth time. She stole a glance at the police chief’s strong profile as he drove the black pickup from the hospital along the small town’s bustling main thoroughfare.

  Mirrored aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes against the late-afternoon sun, and the rest of his deep brown face was set as if it had been carved on the side of a mountain. Lola would have assumed he was as cold as stone, if she didn’t know better. There was a blazing hot side to this man, and she’d nearly unleashed it.

  Who knows where they’d be if she hadn’t broken off that kiss and pushed him away?

  Deep down she already knew the answer. They would have found a more private location, where they both would have done some stripping, and by the looks of him, she’d be experiencing her second orgasm about now.

  Instead, she was on her way to jail.

  “But you don’t understand. I have a big job waiting on me in New York
.” Lola tried again to get through to him.

  “So you’ve told me.” He slowed in front of a small, one-story brick building that looked decades past its prime. Cooper’s Place Public Safety Department was etched into stone above the entrance. A blue police department emblem emblazoned one of the glass double doors, and a red volunteer fire department emblem was on the other. Lola spied a fire truck parked in a bay at the opposite end of the building.

  “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime,” she continued.

  Parking in the space designated for the chief of police, he rounded the truck and opened the door for her.

  “You told me that, too.” His deep voice was robotic, devoid of emotion or any concern for her predicament. Apparently, he’d had no problem forgetting about their misguided kiss and had snapped immediately into cop mode.

  It was time she wiped it from her mind, as well, and put an end to this small town farce before she got in any deeper. Ignoring the hand he held out to her, Lola remained rooted to the passenger’s seat.

  “I didn’t do anything.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’m not letting you lock me up.”

  Lola uncrossed her arms. She clutched the pickup’s armrest with her fingertips and braced herself to be hauled bodily from the truck. Instead, he rested a hand on top of the side door and removed his shades with the other. He glared at her a moment and then exhaled.

  “Look, Ms. Gray, for what it’s worth, I’m inclined to believe the incident went down exactly the way you say it did, and as the chief here, I’m able to exercise some discretion. It’s why I’m only detaining you, instead of placing you under arrest,” he said. “I need more time to get to the truth.”

  Lola relaxed her death grip on the armrest, but didn’t let go.

  “However, if you insist on making my job difficult, I will arrest you. Then I’ll send for a sheriff’s deputy to pick you up and transport you to the county jail so fast it’ll make that pretty head of yours spin.”

  “Hold on.” Lola blinked. “You believe me?”

  Surprise stole the edge from his threat. Lately, it seemed she was constantly explaining herself, only to get a skeptical side-eye for her efforts. Not even her family believed her side of the story. She never expected the benefit of the doubt from someone she’d just met.

  “At this point, yes, I do.” His face was still impassive, but Dylan Cooper’s deep brown eyes brimmed with a sincerity she didn’t see often. Lola couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment when he covered them with his sunglasses. “So what’s it going to be, wait here while I investigate or a holding pen at the county jail?”

  He held out his hand, and she stared at it.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  Finally, Lola put her injured hand in his, grabbed her oversize bag with the other and allowed him to help her down to the sidewalk. It was foolish to trust a man she barely knew, based on one kiss. Then again, the kiss wasn’t the real reason Lola walked through the glass door with the police emblem he held open for her.

  He believed her.

  Still, common sense dictated she also needed to contact an attorney, ASAP. “Do I get to make my one phone call?”

  He removed the sunglasses and stuck them in his shirt pocket. “Again, you’re not under arrest. You can make as many calls as you wish.”

  He yanked open a second door to a large office space brimming with people and the buzz of conversations. It fell silent when they stepped inside. Every jaw dropped, and Lola could feel every eyeball in the room trained on her.

  “What the...?” The cop beside her swore softly.

  Before he could finish his question, a woman wearing workout clothes, with a baby perched on her hip, called out one of her own. “Is this the gal who beat the tar out of Wilson, Chief?”

  Lola rolled her eyes toward the fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling. “I never touched him,” she said.

  The din of chatter, which had returned with a vengeance, drowned out her denial.

  Another woman, this one in a red-striped waitress uniform with a nametag that read Tammy shouted out her two cents’ worth. “Jeb popped by the diner. He says she was kicking ass and taking names out on Old Mill Road.” Tammy jerked a thumb in Lola’s direction. “Another one of my customers claims there’s a video on the internet of her taking on a planeload of passengers single-handed.”

  A balding man, with what remained of his silver hair swept back into a ponytail, stepped forward, and Lola immediately noticed he’d also made the unfortunate fashion choice of pairing his knee-length khaki shorts with white athletic socks and sandals.

  He examined her and then shook his head. “No way, Tammy.” He crossed his arms over his ample chest, revealing a faded tattoo that read Born to Raise Hell on his forearm. “She’s tall enough. I’ll give you that, but she’s too pretty to go around picking fights and too scrawny to win ’em.”

  The room erupted in laughter, accompanied by a few murmurs of agreement.

  “Hold on a second.” The former hell-raiser unfolded his arms and fished a pair of glasses from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. Squinting through the lenses, he continued to stare at her, and Lola doubted he’d raised much hell over the last decade or so.

  “I know that face.” His own wrinkled face brightened as recognition dawned. “I saw it in one of my wife’s magazines. You’re the lady in the ads for those vitamins for creaky joints.”

  Lola automatically issued another denial that was about as effective as the first one concerning Officer Wilson.

  “No, Gary. That’s not her.” A rotund woman in a floral dress sidled up to the man. She wore a shade of orange lipstick Lola instantly identified as Espresso’s Calypso Coral, and the matching peach blush staining her light brown cheeks was also their brand.

  Finally, Lola thought. There was at least one person here who had a clue about her. It shouldn’t have mattered so much in a room full of strangers. However, these false rumors about her, both in this town and nationwide, had taken on a life of their own.

  The situation was getting out of hand.

  Exhaling, Lola smiled at the woman Gary had called Rosemary, who was wearing products from the cosmetic line founded by Lola’s late mother. The woman returned her smile with a toothy grin of her own.

  “This here is a lady from the denture adhesive commercial,” Rosemary said.

  Lola’s smile vanished, replaced by a frown. It didn’t stop the woman from peeling back her coral-lipstick-covered top lip and tapping her teeth with a fingertip.

  “See? It holds my partial in place all day, just like you said it would.” She whipped out a cell phone from the pocket of her dress. “How about taking one of those selfies with me, so I can show it off at the garden club? Virginia Cooper took a picture with that hunky host of Jeopardy when he stayed at her B and B last year, but I’ll bet none of them have a photo with the denture lady.”

  Lola groaned. This was exactly why she had to get out of this mess and haul tail to New York City, she thought, silently pleading with the woman to close her mouth and take those faux choppers off display. A gig hosting America Live! wouldn’t just show her family they’d made a huge mistake in firing her, it would also help rid her of the senior citizen reputation both she and Espresso were desperate to shed.

  “Enough!” A deep baritone rumbled over the din of conversations, silencing the room again and shaking the floor beneath Lola’s feet. She’d been so caught up in the impromptu welcoming committee greeting, she’d forgotten Dylan Cooper was standing beside her.

  She could feel the annoyance radiating off his big body. However, his face remained unreadable, except for that almost undetectable tic along his jawline.

  He lifted his chin and peered over the heads of everyone as if he were looking for someone specific. “Marjorie,” he called out.
/>   “Is that you, Chief?” a muffled female voice buried in the crowd asked in reply.

  The sea of people automatically parted. Guiding Lola by the elbow, the police chief walked her to the back of the large office, where a woman in a uniform was busy straightening what looked like both a jail cell and filing room. A telephone headset was clamped on her head. She pulled a pink satin pillowcase from the top of a tall filing cabinet and stuffed it with a lumpy pillow. She fluffed the pillow and then placed it on a pink-duvet-covered cot attached to the wall.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” Dylan asked. “And what is half the town doing here?”

  “I’m just straightening the place up a bit for company.” The Miss Clairol redhead answered his question courteously, but her gaze remained trained on Lola. “Can’t have our lone jail cell looking like a storage room when we’re about to have a celebrity occupying it.” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “I sent my sister over to Wal-Mart to pick up this bedding because I read both in the National Enquirer and Vogue that pink was your favorite color and that you only slept on satin sheets. By the way, I’m Marjorie. I’m the police and fire departments’ dispatcher.”

  Marjorie looked at her expectantly, like an overly eager puppy awaiting a pat on the head, and Lola couldn’t bear hurting the feelings of someone who’d gone through so much trouble for her.

  “It’s very...” She searched her brain for the right word.

  “Ms. Gray isn’t under arrest,” the police chief said firmly. “Even if she was, inmates in our custody are not company.”

  Marjorie’s face fell. “But everybody says she assaulted Wilson.”

  Lola opened her mouth to set the record straight, again, but the chief stopped her with a single shake of his head, conveying a silent message for her not to bother. He turned to the dispatcher.

  “You still haven’t told me what all these people are doing here.”

  “They all heard there was a celebrity in town and wanted to get a look at her,” Marjorie said. “Ms. Gray is the most excitement we’ve had in Cooper’s Place in a long time.”