by Dana Corbit
“Come on, Lindsay. Kids cry in every neighborhood. Some even have nightmares. It’s annoying, and a few people might consider aggravated assault over it. But eviction? Oh, no. That’s too extreme.”
Joe had hoped Lindsay would laugh at his joke, but she only looked back at him with a stark expression.
“You should have heard her screaming. It was horrible. She was crying for her mommy. I didn’t have any way to comfort her.”
“You were doing a good job when I got here. She was sleeping like a baby.”
That fact had shocked him and disappointed him more than he cared to admit. Had Lindsay needed his help with her niece so badly, or had he only wanted her to need him? Evidence wasn’t in his favor, especially when it had taken him only thirty seconds to throw over the promise he’d made to himself to back out of Lindsay’s life.
He hadn’t even taken the time to wonder whether rushing to her rescue might hinder rather than help her to get on her own two feet. Didn’t he want to ensure that the victim became self-sufficient, so he could put that accident behind him and restore his confidence on the job?
When the teakettle whistled, Lindsay carried it to the table and poured. “Emma just cried herself out and was exhausted. I only happened to be there when it happened.”
Joe knew he shouldn’t speak up, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You were with her. In fact, you’ve been there for Emma as much as you possibly could since you got out of the hospital.”
“What if it isn’t enough?”
Her whispered words tore at his heart. He knew what it felt like to wonder if his best wasn’t good enough. He understood the helplessness and regret intimately. Never would he wish that uncertainty on anyone.
“It has to be enough,” he said. “You’re all she has.”
“Except my parents.” Instead of adding more, Lindsay sat staring at her hands that encircled her coffee mug.
“Why didn’t you call your parents when you couldn’t get Emma to stop crying?”
“I couldn’t.” She shook her head hard, as though she couldn’t fathom the thought. “They already think I’m not the best guardian for Emma. If I called them in a panic, it would only prove them—”
“Right,” they said at the same time, his word a question, hers a statement.
She looked so miserable that Joe was tempted to reach out and take the hand that still cradled her mug. Why did some unwelcome protective side of him rise up right then, like a mother grizzly standing on hind legs to protect her cubs? Come to think of it, why weren’t Lindsay’s parents rising up to support her, rather than questioning her?
“So you called me instead—as the less horrifying of the two choices?”
“No, it wasn’t like—” She stopped herself and frowned as she must have realized he was joking. “Funny.”
“I have my moments.”
“And she did sort of ask for you, too.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Anyway, I had to call someone,” she explained. “All of my church friends are also my parents’ friends, and they might get worried and tell Mom and Dad. And my work friends…well, they’re all busy and already sacrificing so I can work part-time, and…”
“And I did offer.”
“Yes, you offered.”
“So that means we’re friends now?”
She smiled this time. “Guess so.”
He couldn’t help being pleased that she’d reached out to him, even if she’d considered all other choices first. He liked that she thought of him as a friend, too. She didn’t seem to have many of those, at least not many real ones whose loyalty was to her alone. He might not have been able to tell her the whole story about the accident, but she’d asked for his support, and he could give that.
“Why don’t your parents think you’ll be a good guardian?”
“You’ve seen me with Emma.” She shrugged. “I’m not exactly a natural with kids.”
“A lot of people don’t have strong natural instincts for working with kids. They still do just fine as parents. Like in everything else, determination and effort are more important than natural ability.”
“I sure hope so.”
Joe had seen Lindsay with Emma, all right, trying so hard when the child was tired and frustrated. He’d watched her tonight, too, rocking her little niece from her uncomfortable seat on the stairs, with fear and worry etched on her face. The image had nearly dropped him to his knees when he’d stood watching her in the doorway, and even now the memory of it touched a place inside him that had been clearly marked “No Trespassing” for a long time.
But he couldn’t tell Lindsay that. He was the kind of guy who took down armed suspects and then stopped for a hearty breakfast, not the kind of guy who became choked up watching a woman cradling a sleeping child.
“Anyway, I can’t be upset with my parents about this.”
Her words drew him back from his strange thoughts.
“Why not?”
“Mom and Dad just have Emma’s best interest at heart. With Delia gone, they can’t help wanting to protect their granddaughter.”
“From their own daughter?”
“It’s not like that,” she insisted.
“Then what is it like with you and your family?”
“It’s just that it’s tough following behind a sibling who was so good at everything.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “I was beginning to think you were incapable of jealousy.”
“What? Oh, I wasn’t jealous. Not really.” But then a smile spread on her lips. “Okay, maybe I felt a little invisible around her sometimes. Could she help it if she was amazing? If she deserved to shine?”
No wonder Lindsay had wanted to know why he’d saved her first instead of her sister. That Delia was needed more because she had a child was only part of it. Long before the night of the accident, someone had convinced her that her sister was more valuable than she was. After realizing this, how could he tell her the rest of the story about the night of the accident, about her pleas on the sister’s behalf?
“Did your parents make you feel invisible?”
“No. Or at least if they did, they would never have intended to. They just wanted me to be more like her. To be more dedicated. More determined to succeed.” She held her hands wide. “None of those were bad things. How could I blame them for wanting me to be more like her?”
Maybe she couldn’t blame them, but he could. What kind of parents so obviously favored one of their children over the other one, no matter how awesome she was? And what kind of parent could fail to see how amazing Lindsay was? But he didn’t tell her any of that. How could he without admitting that he’d been thinking about her too much himself?
“I know something about high expectations,” he said instead.
“How’s that?”
“I’m a third-generation Michigan State Trooper, and my grandfather and father were Gino and Leo Rossetti, two of the most decorated post commanders in Michigan history. Do you think there are any expectations in that?”
“Some,” she said with a smile.
“For Christmas every year, Dad got my brother and me new police badges, holsters and model police cars. Joey Rossetti never would have been caught dead playing cowboys and outlaws. David and I were hard-nosed police detectives, and we were always chasing fleeing suspects.”
“Joey?”
“Old nickname,” he explained. “I outgrew that one a few decades ago, so it’s off-limits.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sipping her tea, she set the cup back on the table. “You do understand.”
He lifted a brow, waiting for her to explain.
“The expectations.”
“I understand, all right.”
“So, is your brother a trooper, too?”
“Surprisingly, no. There was practically a national incident when David decided not to join the ‘family business,’ but Dad and Grandpa eventually got over it. David
didn’t escape the whole law-enforcement bug completely, though. He and his wife are both assistant prosecutors in Kalamazoo.”
“Then let me guess. Your mom’s a judge.”
His game face must have faltered a bit because her gaze narrowed. “Oh, no. You haven’t mentioned your mom at all. She’s not—”
He nodded. “She died when I was eight and David was twelve. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t have known. Don’t worry about it.”
Strange how he was tempted to tell Lindsay more about his mother. He never talked about her. But for some reason, he wanted Lindsay to know that it was his mother’s death, rather than his father’s life, that led him to a career in law enforcement. He wanted to tell her other things, too, as if Lindsay’s accident bound them somehow, making him want her to know as much about him as he knew about her.
It was a bad idea for him to allow himself to get too close to Lindsay and Emma. He didn’t do that with people. He’d tried that once with Chelsea, but that relationship had gone up in flames as a reminder that his walls were there for a good reason. Lindsay was wearing down his defenses now, and he was letting it happen.
“I’m sorry I bought it up.”
Joe blinked, realizing that she’d guessed he was still thinking about his mother.
“No. It’s fine, really. I was just thinking about work.” As far as work involved a certain victim in one of his accident cases, anyway.
She nodded, accepting his flimsy explanation.
“It’s going to be really hot again tomorrow,” she began. “I was thinking that…maybe…since I don’t work tomorrow…that Emma and I would go to the beach at Kensington Metropark.” She cleared her throat. “Would you like to meet us there?”
“The beach?”
Joe was grateful that at least his voice hadn’t cracked. This was different from yesterday, when he’d invited himself to her condo to give her unsolicited advice, or even an hour ago, when she’d called him out of desperation. She’d invited him.
“You know, the place with the water and the sand?”
“Oh, I meant which beach at Kensington. You know there are two at that park, right?” And good thing for him that there were because he hadn’t been this awkward around a female since the eighth grade.
“Martindale Beach, I guess. If you’ll be too tired after tonight and after your shift tomorrow, I’ll under—”
“Sounds like fun,” Joe answered before she could offer to understand anything. She’d spent too much time understanding. From parents who didn’t deserve any excuses to a sister who probably hadn’t tried hard enough to share the stage. Even from a guy like him, who didn’t have the guts to tell her the whole truth.
“Are you sure? It’s just that I wanted to take Emma, and I’m worried that I might need an extra pair of hands.”
“I’d be happy to go.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Lindsay needed him, after all, as a friend. She deserved to have someone on her side for once, at least until she became confident enough to challenge her parents’ belief that she wouldn’t make a good guardian. He shouldn’t get closer to her. It was a risk, and he had enough of those at work with him clearly being off his game. But there was no way that he would leave this condo without letting Lindsay know one thing: she was not alone.
Chapter Six
Joe threw his police cruiser into Park and slammed his laptop next to him with such force that he had to open it again to see if he’d caused any damage. He would have a tough time explaining to Lieutenant Dawson that he’d destroyed state property all because he was frustrated.
He shook his head as he shoved open the car door. Frustrated didn’t begin to describe what he’d been feeling from the moment he’d pulled his patrol car out on Interstate 96 this morning. Okay, he was exhausted from operating on less sleep than even the minuscule amount that had been his norm since a certain redhead had shown up and sent his focus careening off course. Still, even that didn’t account for the sense of foreboding that had settled like a concrete block on his chest.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Joe jerked at the sound and turned to give Trooper Celeste Addington a look that could kill. But Celeste and Trooper Brody Davison were standing less than ten feet away from him, and both were grinning like they knew a secret. His secret. How could he have missed their approach, if not in his side-view mirror, then at least from the thuds of their boots? Were his nerves wound so tightly that his hearing was on the blink, too?
“Both of you will give me some space today, if you know what’s good for you.”
He tilted his head, trying to stretch his neck, but he doubted even a masseuse could get the kinks out after an eight-hour shift with his muscles in a constant state of flex.
Brody, one of the new academy graduates to be assigned to the Brighton Post, bent his massive frame and leaned his head toward the petite brunette. “He’s telling us to back off. I think that’s downright unfriendly.”
“Yeah. The cat that dragged him probably wishes she’d left him outside.” Celeste removed her hat and brushed at the few hairs that had escaped from her tight bun.
Straightening, Brody looked over to Joe again. “I sure hope you weren’t using that nice-guy treatment when you were dealing with the public today.”
“Just part of my charm.”
“Yeah, you’re charming the way Oscar the Grouch is charming,” Celeste said. “Especially the last few days.”
Joe frowned. So much for nobody noticing that his head was out of the game. “I don’t know about you two, but I’ve got work to do.”
He brushed past them and headed to the building’s back entrance. That laughter followed him all the way inside and only unsettled him more. Usually, he would have been telling the jokes, but there was no “usual” for him since the accident had messed with his confidence.
He’d just slumped into one of the open office chairs and logged on to the desktop computer when he had the prickly sense that he wasn’t alone. He glanced back over his shoulder to find his best friend, Brett Lancaster, watching him.
“What are you looking at, Lancaster? I mean Lieutenant, sir.” He stood up from his seat. For some reason, he just couldn’t remember to call his former partner by his new job title.
Brett crossed his arms. “Chill out, Rossetti.”
The two stood in a staring standoff until Brett spoke up again. “I hear you were in rare form all morning. All week, if we’re being honest here.”
“I was unaware my bad moods made headlines.”
“They do, when even Clara comments on it.”
It was Joe’s turn to cross his arms. “List a few things that Clara Morrison hasn’t made a comment on in the past two years.”
Brett’s eyes narrowed, but instead of warning Joe about insubordination the way he had every right to, he smiled. “Guess that would be a short list.”
“Sorry,” Joe said, as he dropped back into the chair. “I’ve just had some things on my mind.”
Brett watched him too long not to be reading something into the conversation. The last thing Joe needed was to have the lieutenant realize he didn’t have his head together on the job. Best friend or not, Brett would be duty-bound to speak up about it to the post commander, Kowalski, which would mean a psych consult that could waylay Joe’s attempt to make sergeant.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain redhead who was in here the other day, would it?” Brett asked finally.
“Why do we even have police radios or laptops or cell phones when we have Clara to keep communication flowing?” Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Joe looked over to Brett, who was grinning at him.
“What?”
“I happened to be in the office myself that day.” Brett held his hands wide. “I do occasionally hang around this place. I have to put in a few hours if I’m going to get that the cushy state workers’ pension.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So…Lindsay Collins. Age twenty-eight. Wixom.”
The side of Joe’s mouth lifted despite his best effort to keep his face blank. “Guess you haven’t forgotten how to read a police report.”
“Guess not.” But then Brett’s expression became serious. “It’s always a tough case when there’s a loss of life.”
Joe could see the wheels turning inside Brett’s head, the same wheels that served the lieutenant well on an investigation.
“Miss Collins came to you for…?”
“Answers,” Joe said, completing his sentence. “She can’t remember what happened in the accident that you read about, and she asked me to fill in some of the blanks.”
“And were you able to…help?” Brett’s serious expression broke into a grin as he said the last.
“That’s what we’re supposed to do,” Joe grumbled, his jaw tight. “Help people.”
“It had to be a hardship to come to the aid of a lovely woman like that, but somebody had to do it, right?”
“Knock it off, Lancaster. I mean…sir.” Joe cleared his throat. “Look, Miss Collins is just a victim in a case I investigated. That’s it. I told you I’m not even doing the dating thing right now. With anyone.” And certainly not with her, he somehow managed not to add.
“Funny. I didn’t mention dating.”
Joe frowned. Brett didn’t appear to be buying anything he said, but he couldn’t blame him. Joe didn’t have much credibility regarding women after so many years as a confirmed bachelor. He’d also always been able to take a joke before, so this new sensitivity was telling.
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “She just needed help with the accident details, and then she was named guardian of her late sister’s child, and she needed some support—”
“The kids always get to guys like us, don’t they?”
“What?” Joe was relieved for the interruption to his rambling that could only confirm that Lindsay Collins was part of his problem, but when the meaning of Brett’s words dawned on him, he grimaced. “You mean like you and Tricia?”