by V. K. Powell
“No, I do not. I’m going to see Hamilton.”
“Uh-huh. With whom?”
“That’s not important.” She couldn’t look at Bennett because she read her like the clichéd open book.
“Apparently, it’s very important or you wouldn’t be drowning in rejected outfits and flitting around like a teenager.”
Dylan ducked into her closet to hide the flush of heat burning her face and slid her little black dress from the hanger. “Seriously, Ben. I’m not even sure what flitting is, but I’m not doing it. My outfit is important because Hamilton is a big deal. The play won eleven Tony Awards, including best musical. Lin-Manuel Miranda is a theatrical god. He’s won a Pulitzer, MacArthur Fellowship, and Grammys. I could see anyone there, so attire is critical.”
“Because you’re trying out for a part, you want to impress society’s elite, or because of your date?”
She slipped the dress over her head and turned for Bennett to zip it. “Again, no date.”
“Then tell me who you’re going with or I’ll stake out the cottage and wait for her to pick you up.”
Dylan flipped a leather, short-waisted jacket off the rack and dug the matching calf-length boots from a pile on the closet floor. “I’m thinking the dress, but tone down the formal with these.” She held the items up for Bennett’s approval.
“Damn. That’s hot. Not something I should say about my sister. I meant the outfit. Who is she, Dylan? You’re killing me. And your avoidance just fuels the fire. Don’t make me guess.”
“You’d never—”
“Finley Masters.”
Dylan’s jaw tightened, and Bennett added, “Nailed it.”
“I’m going to kill Holly Burns. She swore.”
Bennett reached for her, but Dylan rolled out of her grasp. “Don’t be upset with her. The canary feathers were practically sticking out of her mouth, and she folds like a cheap chair under my considerable charms. She never actually said anything, but I could tell when I got it right.”
Dylan laughed. “She does find you irresistible for some reason, but still…And it’s not a date. Finley had a free ticket, and I’d go with anyone to see Hamilton, so don’t give me grief.”
This time when Bennett moved to hug her, Dylan didn’t resist. “I’m not, really. I couldn’t be happier that you’re going out. I’m just surprised it’s with her.” She kissed Dylan’s forehead. “Please be careful. Fin’s a great cop, but she’s got a reputation, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Aren’t you the one who suggested I give her a shot, big sister?”
“My protection gene is kicking in, and I’m reconsidering.”
“Don’t worry. I know what she’s like. I’ve seen her in action.” Dylan broke their embrace and busied herself with the discarded clothes on her bed so Bennett wouldn’t see the look on her face. She’d slipped up, and if Ben put two and two together, she’d know exactly what Dylan meant.
“Dylan.” She didn’t move. “Dylan Carlyle, look at me.”
She slowly turned to face Bennett. “What? I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Finley was the officer you saw servicing one of the nurses. While she was on duty. In the on-call room.” Dylan didn’t answer, and Bennett continued. “I knew she was a player, but that is totally unacceptable. I have to—”
“You have to do nothing. Promise me. After almost a week, if you say something now, she’ll know I told you. I got the point across, and since she knows we’re related now, I doubt she’ll be so careless again.”
“Not the point. She violated the code of professional conduct, and I can’t let that stand.”
Dylan grabbed Bennett’s arms and rose on her tiptoes so they were closer to eye contact. “Can you please stop thinking like a police captain for one minute and just be my big sister?” She sounded urgent, almost pleading, but she wasn’t just protecting Finley. She hadn’t reported Anita either.
“You like her.” Dylan shook her head, but Bennett held her gaze. “You don’t want to, but you do. I know you, baby girl, and if this is important to you, I won’t say anything.”
Dylan sighed. “Thanks. I’m not sure what I feel, so don’t jump to conclusions. I don’t plan to. Now help me clean up this mess so I can eat my soup and sandwich and finish getting dressed.” Bennett handed her clothes, and she hung them back in the closet, wondering if she’d been honest with Bennett and herself.
* * *
Finley paced her living room in a black sports bra and glanced at the vintage Omega Constellation watch she’d spruced up with a red leather band. Was it still working? The hands had hardly moved since she last checked, but it seemed like forever ago. She hadn’t slept the night before because she’d let Jeremy Spencer get away again. And now, she was skittish like her outing with Dylan was her first date ever. “Snap out of it,” she said aloud, hoping the verbal slap would help. Ten more minutes before her designated dressing time.
She paced through the living room and kitchen again and then stomped into the bedroom. Close enough. Refusing to overthink the evening or her outfit, she grabbed a pair of black jeans and slid into them. Silk briefs. She liked the way they hugged her legs and sent a charge through her when she snugged them against her crotch. White shirt? No harm in playing to her strengths, date or not. Black made her blond hair pop. She exchanged the shirts, stepped into black boots, and scanned herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her red watchband added an unexpected dash of color. Almost perfect.
At the front door, she grabbed her gray leather coat and glanced back inside. She hadn’t thought about being in the house alone today or about its sad memories. Interesting, but she’d been preoccupied about going out tonight. Somehow thoughts of Dylan had temporarily masked the bad in the house and made it tolerable again. Her cell rang, and she answered without looking at the caller ID.
“Fin, it’s Anita. Are we still on for tonight?”
“Huh?” Her gut tightened. Had she made a date with Anita and forgotten about it when Dylan accepted her invitation? She reviewed their last hookup. Nothing. “We didn’t make plans. Did we?”
Anita paused before answering. “Not specifically, but we usually get together for some midweek stress relief.” Her tone was low and teasing.
They did have a fluid arrangement to meet for sex at least once a week, usually Wednesday. The thought brought Finley up short because it suddenly felt like a habit, an obligation she no longer wanted to honor. “I can’t tonight.”
“Why? Are you…” Her words trailed off. Perhaps she remembered their agreement about no questions or commitments. “Okay, sure. No problem. Call me when you’re free.”
“Will do. Thanks, babe.” She slid the phone back in her pocket, feeling almost as cheap as the night Dylan caught her having sex with Anita. What would Dylan think about their arrangement? It was none of her business. She probably had flings too. Nobody really dated these days anyway. They just hung out with friends and hooked up until they found the right fit. But as she drove, she had trouble imagining sex with Dylan as casual.
Finley cruised by the Carlyle home and breathed a sigh of relief when none of the family was on the wide front porch or in the yard. She wasn’t ready for the Carlyles to know she was sniffing around Dylan or for their questions about her intentions when she wasn’t sure of the answers. She turned onto the side street and stopped in front of the cozy cottage that looked like a miniature version of the big house. She cut the ignition, grabbed the door handle, and forced her thudding heart to calm. Why was she nervous or excited…or was it both? She grabbed her crotch. “And you behave tonight. Dylan isn’t our usual type and she’s not for you.”
She plopped a piece of peppermint gum in her mouth to help with the dryness, opened the car door, and started toward the cottage, but the lights went off inside so she leaned against the side of the Jeep and waited. She wanted to see Dylan’s outfit while her expression was partially concealed by shadows from the sun setting be
hind her. And she wanted to watch Dylan walk down the sidewalk, to her.
When Dylan closed the door and turned, Finley stopped in mid-chew and swallowed hard. “Damn.” She should’ve given more thought to her clothes choice.
Dylan smiled. “You approve?”
“Totally. You look unbelievable.” Her heart raced again, and arousal thrummed between her legs. She was in so much trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan walked down the sidewalk toward Finley, trying not to stare, but she failed. Her ash blond hair shone in the waning sunlight, a beacon atop an outfit of black. She leaned casually against the side of the red Jeep with her ankles crossed and a gray leather coat hanging open just above her knees. Definitely drool-worthy. Dylan walked slower to give her heart time to calm and for a flush of heat to pass. She had the same reaction every time she saw Finley.
When Finley looked up, her eyes widened and her lips parted. Slowly, she scanned Dylan. Twice. The smile on Finley’s face told Dylan she’d chosen the right outfit. Finley shot her cuffs, something Dylan usually found arrogant and showy, but Finley looked nervous and sexy as hell. The flash of red at Finley’s left wrist hinted at a secret as elusive as the woman herself.
She offered Dylan her arm. “May I?”
Without answering, Dylan looped her hand over Finley’s arm and followed her to the passenger door. Her chivalry felt a bit like a date, but Dylan rationalized that good manners were never a bad thing. She took her seat, licked her lips, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Finley passed in front of the Jeep, and Dylan studied the set of her shoulders, her confident posture and relaxed stride. Was she as calm and controlled as she looked or was it her cop persona? At the driver’s door, Finley shrugged out of her coat and tossed it in the back seat before climbing in beside her.
Dylan swore the temperature in the car rose several degrees. Her palms were sweaty and she felt jittery. Nerves maybe. Or excitement. Finley was definitely attractive and sexy, but she wasn’t the woman for Dylan. At least not in the long-term. The thought brought her up short. Was she seriously rethinking her once steadfast rule? Finley was like a mirage in the desert—hypnotic and compelling—but Dylan hoped she wasn’t that thirsty. She could control her physical attraction with good old common sense. She hoped.
Finley pulled away from the curb, and Dylan said, “You look handsome.” Understatement. The skinny jeans and shirt looked tailored to fit Finley, and Dylan’s body hummed with arousal from just looking at her. “Very handsome.”
“Thanks.” Finley grinned and steered the vehicle onto the major artery that would take them through town to the interstate.
“What’s the story with your watch? It looks old and well-loved.”
“One of three possessions that I value. My paternal grandfather bought it in Germany during the war, left it to my dad, and he passed it along. It was made in Switzerland. Self-winding and never loses time. It’s the only thing my father ever owned outright, except for the house.” Finley stretched her arm across the console to give Dylan a closer look.
“Very nice, and the red band?”
“My addition. A little flash to go with the traditional.”
“Traditions and reminders of our history can be good.” Dylan fingered the intricate feathered dream catcher dangling from the rearview mirror. “And this?”
Finley shook her head. “You don’t miss much, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer but went on, “You’re right. That’s also a possession I value. It was my mother’s.” Finley’s tone lowered and became more wistful. “She was part native American.”
“That explains your terrific cheekbones.” Dylan nudged Finley with her elbow. She liked that Finley treasured things from her past. It gave her a deeper look into the woman behind the badge and made her feel closer to her. “And the third thing?”
Finley tugged the silver chain over her head and handed it to Dylan.
She turned on the dome light and fingered the intricate figure of a tree on the front before flipping it open. A smiling couple, and Dylan could tell they loved each other. “Your parents?”
Finley nodded. “He gave that to me after she left, but I’d rather not talk about that right now.” Dylan handed the necklace back, and Finley held it in the palm of her hand for several seconds before slipping it back over her head.
Finley shifted uncomfortably and stared straight ahead, so Dylan changed the subject. “Why did we leave so early? The play doesn’t start until eight.”
“We have VIP tickets, which means special parking at the front and drinks in the VIP lounge before the show.”
“Shut up.” Dylan turned sideways to look at Finley. She liked the view and it made conversation easier when she could read her reactions. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Nope. And…if you’re interested, our seats are fourth row center.”
Dylan bounced in her seat. “No freaking way? I would’ve been happy with the nosebleed section. This is too much. How will I ever repay you?”
Finley grinned and even in the low light, Dylan saw her eyes spark mischievously. “Well…”
“No. We’re not doing that.” Even if she had been thinking about it recently.
“What?” Finley seemed genuinely shocked. “No, no. I wasn’t talking about sex. Really.” Her face flushed, and she shot her cuff again. “I mean that would be awesome, and I wouldn’t turn it down, like ever, but I didn’t mean that.”
Dylan liked Finley a little off her game, nervous, vulnerable, and showing more of her true self. Dylan took pity on her. “What then?”
“I was hoping you’d give me a heads up when Josh Spencer comes out of his coma. We’re not having any luck tracking down his brother, and I’m hoping he will give us a lead in return for some consideration at his trial.”
“Oh, I see.” She couldn’t resist teasing Finley. “This invitation is a bribe for first access to Spencer. Are you bucking for detective or something?”
“Yeah, I’d like to make detective, and helping clear this case couldn’t hurt.”
“Thank you for being honest. I’m not sure I’ll be around when Spencer wakes up because I’m not his doctor, but if I am, I’ll let you know. We’re required to notify the department, and you’re with the department, so I wouldn’t technically be violating any rules.”
“I appreciate it.” Finley maneuvered into traffic on I-40. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Dylan nodded.
“Does anyone in your family know about our da—outing?”
So, Dylan wasn’t the only one feeling the dating vibe. “Ben guessed.” She kept the rest of their conversation to herself.
Finley shook her head. “Damn. I bet that went well.” When Dylan didn’t reply, she didn’t push. “Tell me about growing up in the Carlyle clan, other than being the baby girl.”
Dylan laughed to cover a surge of joy followed closely by pain. “A lot of talk about periods, training bras, makeup, and fashion with three girls, two of whom couldn’t care less. Ben and Jazz wanted to play sports and do anything Simon did. My parents were probably relieved when they could give the dating-girls speech to their three oldest. I sometimes wonder if they hoped I’d be different.”
“It is interesting that all three girls are lesbians. Was Simon okay with that?” She waved her hand in the air. “Not that he’d be all manly weird about it. I could just see a problem if two of you wanted to date the same woman.”
Dylan laughed again. “Simon was totally cool. He thought it made him more popular, sort of a novelty. But he, Ben, and Jazz did all go for the same type. Femmes.”
“And you?” Finley passed a few cars before looking at her.
“If you’re fishing, you’re totally my type, at least physically. I prefer butch-lite or androgynous, and you’re all that. Just being honest.” Sometimes she should keep her mouth shut, but if she wanted another real conversation, she’d have to lead the way. “So…tell me about your family. You�
��ve mentioned your father’s problem.”
Finley reached behind the seat, jerked a Kleenex from the box, and spat her gum into it. She slowly rolled the tissue over and over and placed it in the console cup holder. Dylan thought she wasn’t going to respond, but Finley cleared her throat and finally said, “He was an alcoholic. I’d call that a problem.”
Dylan placed her hand on Finley’s arm and felt the muscle tighten under her grip. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’d just like to know more about you.”
Finley nodded. “Guess it’s fair. He was a postal worker with a decent salary, paying for our home, and then…” She cleared her throat several times. “I’m sorry. When I talk about him, I feel like I’m being dragged back into that dark place all over again. He wasn’t abusive, neglectful, yes, but never purposely cruel. I believe losing my mother totally shattered him.” Dylan reached for her again, but Finley waved her off. “Please don’t.
“My mother left when I was twelve—announced she didn’t love my father anymore—and walked out. I blamed myself, and my dad must’ve too because he never looked at me the same again. Guess I reminded him of her. I can see that—dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and the high cheekbones. Not much I could do about that though.” She nervously fingered the hair cut out around her ears. “They seemed happy before that, but maybe I just didn’t notice until things got bad. It’s taken years for me to realize I did nothing wrong. I was just a kid.”
Finley looked ahead, tears reflected in her eyes from oncoming traffic, and Dylan wanted to comfort her but resisted. “I can’t imagine growing up without a mom.”
“I had to learn how while living the nightmare with my dad. He started drinking before work. When I got home from school, he was already in his recliner with a few drinks on board. He talked about how much he loved my mother, how happy they had been, and how much love hurt after she left. I’d listen, make dinner, clean the house, and sit nearby doing homework until he passed out for the night. The only part of his misery I missed was the gallons of alcohol he poured down his throat.” She swiped at her eyes and wiped her hand down her jeans. “But I learned a lot after she left. How to cook simple meals, clean house, do laundry, and lie to my dad’s boss while he lay unconscious in his recliner.”