Jamie Hill Triple Threat (A Cop In The Family)

by Jamie Hill

  Nate shot Mel a questioning glance.

  She shrugged and raised her beer to him, then took a sip. She slid into the chair between Becker and Stone, and watched Nate, obviously uncomfortable, as he sat next to the other detective.

  I could have helped him out. She let her mind wander, envisioned sitting next to him, his knee rubbing hers as they talked and laughed. The thought sent a tingle down her spine to all points south and she shook her head to clear it. He's FBI for goodness sake! Here for the duration of the case then gone again, to who knows where.

  San Antonio? Not that far away by plane. Mel forced herself to stop daydreaming and drained the last of her beer. As she set her glass down she noticed Nate had finished his drink, too, and Tanner was motioning for a waitress to bring refills.

  Her head spun and she realized she hadn't eaten anything all day besides a couple bites of a roll for breakfast and three sliders in the car at lunchtime. "No more for me, thanks," she said to Sara, one of their usual waitresses.

  "Cappie cut you off at one?" Sara grinned.

  "I'm a big girl, I can do what I want," Mel replied, quickly changing the subject. "And right now, I want to dive into a quesadilla with spiced grilled chicken and guacamole."

  "You got it. Anybody else ready to order?" She went around the table and jotted down orders.

  When she got to Nate he said, "I'd like the best steak you've got, king cut, medium-rare, loaded baked potato on the side."

  "Coming right up. I'll bring those beers in a jiff." Sara hurried off.

  He looked at Mel and smiled.

  She grinned. "Eat that much all the time? You must have to spend hours in the gym working it off."

  "I try to vary my exercise routine." He waggled his brows at her.

  Becker placed one hand on Nate's arm. "You're probably so active I bet you barely have to exercise at all."

  He said something only to her and Becker broke into peals of laughter.

  Mel rolled her eyes and looked away. Tanner and Stone were discussing wrestling and as much as Mel despised that, it was preferable to watching Becker throw herself at Nate. She thought seriously about ordering another beer, but her good sense held and she sipped a soda with her meal.

  Sara kept the beer flowing, though, and most everyone grew more jovial as they ate, drank, and the evening wore on.

  Tanner excused himself to use the bathroom, and when he returned he leaned down to Mel. "How about you and I tripping the light fantastic?"

  She turned her head only slightly to answer him. "You better mean dancing, because if you're talking about something else you'll be tripping, all right. When I push you backwards over the table, that is."

  "Of course I meant dancing." He batted his thick lashes at her.

  Mel glanced around the noisy bar. "The first problem I have with that is no one is dancing. The second problem I have is that your fly is down."

  He quickly stood and zipped the errant fly. "Maybe later," Tanner mumbled, and found a seat at the other end of the table.

  Everyone around Mel burst into laughter. She chuckled as she sucked a piece of ice into her mouth.

  Still giggling, Becker stood and pointed to Nate. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." She headed to the ladies' room.

  Nate took the opportunity to switch chairs with her, and slipped into the seat next to Mel. "Hello there." He dragged his beer along with him.

  "Hi." She glanced over at him shyly, fiddling with the wrapper to her straw.

  "Not drinking anymore?"

  She shook her head. "If I recall, you designated me as the driver."

  He waved a hand. "Don't do that on my account. We can call a cab. They have taxis here, don't they?"

  "Here in the sticks?" she teased. "Yeah, we have the occasional horse-drawn carriage that doubles as a taxi."

  "Shush." He bumped shoulders with her and tossed back the last of his beer. "I never said this was the sticks."

  "You implied it."

  "You did imply it," Stone agreed.

  "Christ." Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "I either need to stop drinking, or I need a lot more beer."

  Becker approached from behind them. "I vote for more beer. You grabbed the wrong chair, honey." She pointed to where Nate had been sitting. "You're over there."

  He smiled up at her. "I'm over here now honey. You can sit there, or, if it's getting late, we'd understand if you had to go."

  Her face reddened. "Well, I never!"

  Nate waved his empty glass at the waitress and plunked it down on the table. "Well, maybe you should try it sometime."

  Becker plopped her hands on her hips. "You're drunk!"

  "I'm working on it," Nate admitted. "A smart woman might take this opportunity to flee before she gets taken advantage of."

  Several people watched to see Becker's next move. Mel wondered what Nate would do if the spunky little gal called his bluff, but she suspected the rookie didn't have the guts to do it. She nudged Stone and motioned for him to get Becker off the hook.

  He tossed back the last of his drink and stood, leaving some cash on the table. "Come on, Sam. I think it's time for you and me to call it a night. I'll walk you to your car."

  Becker's expression held a mixture of disappointment and confusion, but she let Stone lead her off.

  "Have a nice night you two!" Nate called after them.

  "Night guys," Mel repeated, and turned to Nate who'd started on another tall cold brew. "You're a mean drunk, Superman," she teased.

  He wagged a finger at her. "I remember that joke. Damned if I can remember the punch line."

  "That was the punch line."

  "Oh, yeah!" He laughed and gently knocked knees with her.

  Mel shifted so their thighs and arms touched. It felt exactly as she'd anticipated, and tingles of excitement shivered through her.

  The bar remained crowded but their end of the table had emptied. Sara came by and removed the dishes, clearing away plates and lots of empty glasses.

  "You didn't eat much of your dinner," Mel observed as the waitress removed his half-eaten meal.

  "Eyes were bigger than my stomach, I guess. Food was good, though." He picked at the soggy coaster under his glass.

  "Real good," she agreed. They didn't look at each other, but friction between them was palpable.

  "So what's up with this bartender, Cappie? Why'd Sara ask if he cut you off after one drink? There's something you're not telling me."

  She nudged his arm. "Maybe I like older men."

  He glanced at her, studying her expression, then smiled slyly. "Maybe. Or maybe you're full of shit. What aren't you telling me?"

  Mel leaned in close. "I'm a Republican."

  Nate clutched his heart and shook his head. "That's it, then. I'm a man who lives by certain rules."

  "Didn't someone say 'rules are made to be broken'?"

  "Oh, most definitely." He grinned. "That's rule number one. Rule number two is be flexible."

  "To back up rule number one."

  "Of course." They rubbed elbows and chuckled.

  "This just gets better. What's rule number three?"

  Nate peered into his beer thoughtfully. "Damned if I can remember."

  Still grinning, Mel looked at him. "You're having some trouble tonight."

  "You think?" He gazed into her eyes. "I thought I was doing pretty good."

  His eyes were the deepest shade of chocolate brown. Mel felt herself melting in their deep pools. She forced herself to look away but got sidetracked by the three-day beard growth, and wondering what the rough stubble would feel like scraping across her cheek. She shook her head and tried to focus on reality. "We should go. We've got to get you to your hotel. Where did you say you were staying?"

  "Damned if—"

  "You can remember. Heard ya. Okay, come on big boy. Your memory isn't going to improve sitting around here. Maybe the brisk evening air will do some good." She stood and he rose with her.

  "Whatever you say."
He removed his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash.

  "Jeez, man!" Mel grabbed the money and glanced around. She looked at his tab and left enough to pay the bill and a generous tip, then tucked the rest safely back inside and handed over the wallet. "Hang on to this."

  Nate clutched her hand. "I'd rather hang on to this."

  "Yeah, I'll bet you would. Hands to yourself, pretty boy. Let's go." She pushed him toward the front of the bar, pausing long enough to say goodnight to her father. "Taking off, Cappie."

  He surveyed them for a moment. "Secret Agent Man isn't driving, is he?"

  "Nope. I'm dropping him at his hotel. Thanks for everything, handsome." She leaned across the bar and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Lovely evening as always."

  "Right back atcha kiddo. See you soon."

  Mel gently shoved Nate out the door.

  "Now she's kissing him," he muttered.

  "He's charming," she teased.

  "I can be charming."

  "I'm sure you can." She opened the passenger door to her Murano and boosted him in.

  She went around to her side and climbed in, looking at Nate. "Seatbelt."

  His eyes were closed. "Can't find it."

  "Well I'm not feeling around for it. Use it or not, up to you."

  He wrangled with the strap for several minutes before it finally clicked.

  Mel drove toward the cop shop. "Seriously, what hotel are you registered at?"

  He sighed, settling into the seat. "Seriously, I'd tell you if I remembered. It was something Hotel or Motel. Something like that."

  "Narrows it down," she muttered sarcastically. "Look, dude, unless you want to sleep in your shiny black rental, you'd best come up with the name."

  A soft, snoring noise came from his side of the Murano.

  "You are totally kidding me." Mel stared at him. What the hell? The guy was asleep. There was no way she could drop him off at his car, let alone the hotel he couldn't name. "Nate! Nathan Willis! Wake up."

  He opened one eye. "Are we there yet?"

  "Where are we going? You need to remember the name of your hotel, please."

  "Tired," he mumbled.

  "Great." Her mind played out various scenarios until she finally decided what she had to do. She drove to her place and parked in the garage. "Come on, Supervisory Special Agent." She helped him from the car and into the house.

  "Is this the hotel?" He squinted, looking around.

  "No, genius. This is my house. You can sleep in the guest room tonight. We'll figure out the hotel business tomorrow."

  For a moment his eyes lit up.

  She scowled. "No funny business. Remember, I have a loaded weapon."

  "Me too. More than one!" He laughed at his own joke.

  "Which reminds me to take your gun for the night." With one arm around his waist, she led him to her spare room and turned on the light.

  Nate closed his eyes quickly. "The light. It burns."

  "Yeah, too bad, so sad. Let's have the jacket." She peeled it off and spotted a Glock similar to hers in his holster. "And the Glock." Mel reached for it.

  "Not my gun." He covered her hand with his.

  "I swear to God you'd best let go right now," she advised him. "You're a guest in my house—a drunk guest, no less—and I'm not leaving you with a loaded gun."

  He raised his hand and let her remove the Glock. "I'm not really that drunk. I just had a few too many."

  "And not enough to eat. I know. Look, Nate, it's okay. I'm not judging you. I just think I should keep the gun until tomorrow. I promise I'll give it back."

  He tried to focus his now blurry eyes on hers. "Are you as drunk as I am?"

  "Yeah, sure. Roaring drunk. We both need to sleep it off."

  "Good. Then you won't remember this tomorrow." Nate slipped his hands around Mel's waist and pulled her close. He touched his upper lip to hers once, lightly, then pressed his mouth against hers in a passionate kiss.

  Mel swooned. He tasted like beer and something minty, and she never wanted the kiss to end. She opened her mouth for more and allowed her tongue to bat against his.

  She felt the ridge of his hardness press against her thigh and the jolt brought her back to reality. Using both hands to push him away, she whispered, "We have to stop."

  The look in his eyes said he didn't want to, but even through his stupor he knew it too. He smiled. "That was amazing."

  "Yeah." She allowed a moment to admit it, and revel in it.

  "Tell me, did Cappie ever kiss you like that?"

  "God no!" She moved away. "Here, let me help you with your shoes."

  He sat on the edge of the bed and she tugged off his expensive leather Bruno Magli's.

  "Bathroom's right across the hall. Don't do much more wandering than that. Remember, I now have two loaded guns."

  He raised his hands. "Not going anywhere."

  Mel leaned against the doorjamb. "You're not going to remember this tomorrow, either, so I'll tell you. Cappie's my father."

  Nate's eyes widened. "Your father? No shit!" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Now I need to remember if I said anything inappropriate to him."

  She laughed. "Live in fear. And sleep tight."

  He looked up at her and smiled, an expression so endearing she found it nearly impossible to leave the room.

  "G'night Mel. Thanks for everything. I'm sorry about … you know."

  "Go to sleep." She waved him off, and closed the door behind her. Walking down the hall to her room, she wondered exactly what he was sorry about. The Cappie business, or kissing me? Maybe he was sorry about getting drunk his first night in town. She pondered that for a moment, then realized she didn't know him at all. Perhaps the drinking wasn't a new thing for him. She knew lots of cops with alcohol problems. In their line of work, with the things they saw on a daily basis, it was sometimes an effort to stay sober.

  Mel tossed one last look at the guest room door. I have no idea what he's sorry about. She wondered again if he'd remember any of it in the morning.

  She peeled out of her clothes, scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth. As she passed her bedroom door for the final time she locked it. With his gun tucked securely in her nightstand, she crawled into bed and tried to sleep.

  Knowing Nate was right down the hall, she tossed and turned and fidgeted until exhaustion finally took hold and she closed her eyes.

  * * * *

  Nate opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His tongue felt thick and dry. The pounding in his head thrummed louder than a drum solo at a Metallica concert. It hurt to move, but the need to pee surpassed all others. He crawled out of bed, stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, and took care of business. He washed his hands, scrubbed some water over his face, then used his finger and some toothpaste he found in the drawer to freshen his mouth.

  He looked disheveled as hell and could use a shower, but he had no idea where his suitcase was. At some point during the night he'd lost his holster and unbuttoned his shirt. He tried for a moment to fasten some buttons, but his fingers didn't want to cooperate. Leaving the shirt hanging open, he padded down the hall in stocking feet and peered around the corner into the kitchen.

  Mel stood in front of the counter making delicious-smelling coffee and what appeared to be toast. Damn, she looks good. Her long hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt with thin blue pinstripes, and a crisp navy vest. Admiring the view for a minute, he finally entered the room and announced his presence. "You always look this good in the morning?"

  She glanced up and smiled. "Good morning." Her gaze ran down his body then back up again. "I could ask you the same thing."

  He laughed. "Wrinkled trousers and an open shirt? My dry cleaner's going to wonder what the devil I've been up to."

  She took a sip of whatever was in her mug. "That's good. Always make them wonder."

  He eyed her drink. "Don't suppose you'd have a cup of that for me?"

&
nbsp; "Absolutely. Take anything in it?"

  "Black is fine." He watched her pour coffee into another tall mug.

  "Toast? Or I could whip you up something more to eat. I have eggs and bacon, there might even be some pancake mix."

  Nate accepted the coffee and raised his other hand to stop her. "Please, no. The mere mention of food is more than I can handle. I'm good."

  She chuckled. "How did you sleep?"

  He tasted the warm brew then nodded. "Good. Wouldn't have thought I moved a muscle except my holster is gone, so at some point I must have yanked it off."

  Mel nodded toward the counter. "When you find it, your gun is right there."

  Nate spotted it, then looked at her. "Thanks. Mel, I'm sorry about—"

  "You don't owe me any apologies." She set her cup down and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, fastening it with a band from around her wrist. "We probably should get moving, though. Stone's going to meet us at the office at nine." She brushed past him. "Hope you don't mind, I made it a little later than usual. Figured you might want to sleep in."

  Nate glanced down at his slept-in attire, and back up at her.

  Mel extended a hand. "Give me your keys. While you shower, I'll run to the office, grab your bag from your car, and bring it here."

  "I couldn't ask you to do that."

  She snapped her fingers. "Keys. The office is close. Besides, you didn't ask, I'm offering."

  He patted his pockets and pulled out the lone key to the FBI's SUV.

  "Thanks. Fresh towels hanging in the bathroom. Help yourself to whatever you need. I'll return in a flash with your stuff."

  "Thank you," he called after her, but she was already out the door.

  Nate drank a few more sips of his coffee, then headed to the shower. Whatever I need? He suspected what he needed had just walked out the door.

  He was towel-drying his hair when she tapped on the bathroom door.

  "Bag's out here," she said loudly.

  "Thanks." Nate opened the door but she was nowhere in sight, just his wheeled travel bag. He pulled it into the bathroom and chose the most casual outfit he'd brought, black slacks, white open collar button-down shirt, and a black sport coat. He thought about shaving but knew Mel waited on him, so he slapped on some after-shave and called it good.