“If you say so.”
He wished he could blame his countless mistakes yesterday on “regular guy stuff.” In truth, the only thing that might have distracted him was the thought of seeing her, and he wasn’t about to admit his weakness in that particular area.
Could he have been followed? He’d been running full-out over the past few days. Paperwork and court on Wednesday. Late stakeout on Thursday night. Arrest early Friday. But his schedule wasn’t any more hectic this week than any other. He would have noticed some creep tailing him.
“So we start with career guys,” she said, scribbling on her notepad. “Those with long memories and a score to settle.”
“No.” Devin rose. He was wobbly, which he hated, but he was still a cop. It was time he started acting like one. “We start with the scene of the crime.”
* * *
CALLA WASN’T SURE how she wound up in a Midtown alley, peeking around a Dumpster, kicking her way around bits of trash and discarded food containers. The owner of the Chinese take-out joint they were lurking behind was destined to open his back door eventually, then they’d have some awkward explaining to do.
The fact that she and Devin found themselves on the opposite side of his coworkers was a development she’d never anticipated.
Since she’d known him, Devin had used his position to help people and serve the cause of justice. He found himself parted from the law now, and she honestly thought she and her friends might be his only hope. She was going to help him whether he wanted her to or not.
She owed him.
So regardless of what he wanted, she wasn’t going to give up on him. Once he got his badge back, she’d decide if anything personal was worth pursuing.
Seriously, did the man always run from women who kissed him?
Not a reaction she’d expected from Detective Badass, to say the least.
Said detective seemed to have forgotten she was there, though she found it hard to be insulted. He was no doubt reliving the assault from the night before.
She imagined him running into the alley, expecting to see the retreating back of his thief. Instead, he’d gotten clocked.
Had his cell phone flown free in the attack? Had he crawled toward it when he regained consciousness? Had he been afraid?
She looked toward him as he knelt on the pavement, running his fingertips across the ground. “Anything?” she asked as she approached.
Not looking up, he shook his head. “I remember chasing him here, then...nothing.”
“So he was the one who hit you?”
“No.” Slowly, he straightened. “He was running away from me when I got hit.”
“The accomplice, lying in wait. He clobbered you.”
“We’d figured that already, but it’s good to have confirmation.” Laying his hand on the back of his head, he winced. “Though I swear I can feel the blow all over again.”
“Meds haven’t kicked in?”
“I see two of you, so I think they have.” Though he turned away, she heard him mutter, “Not that double vision of you is a bad thing.”
She ignored the compliment. Given their unsteady relationship, she thought she’d be wiser to focus on the assault. “And you never got a sense of anybody behind you? A movement? A shadow? A smell even?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you remember what hit you? The guy didn’t strike you with his bare hand. He had to be holding something.”
“A bat, I guess.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Some guy wandered down Ninth Avenue with a bat, then darted into an alley and nobody questioned him?”
“It was dark and chilly,” Devin said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe the guy wore a coat.”
“Did he?” she shot back.
“How should I—” He paused, cocking his head. “Maybe I passed somebody as I was walking.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know,” he returned, irritated. “I was...
distracted.”
“By?”
“You.” He sighed. “I wanted to see you.”
“Oh.” Talk about lousy timing. What might have happened if he hadn’t run into the thief’s trap? Would they have spent the night together in an entirely different way?
“I need to go,” he said. “I need some space.”
She grabbed his arm as he moved past her. “You can’t wander around the city alone. Let me take you home.”
“Sure.” He shook off her touch and stalked toward the end of the alley. “I’ll hail a cab.”
Watching him go, she noted the distance between them was greater than ever.
He blamed himself, not her, for not anticipating his attack. But if he didn’t stow his temper, they were never going to get through this mess. He’d been there for her and her friends. Even when their actions had skirted the law, he’d stood by them.
As she followed him toward the street, she reminded herself of his guidance and support.
But damned if the man wasn’t the most irritating, prickly, son of a—
Her tirade ground to a halt as she noticed a piece of gold fabric dangling from a shrub branch.
She brought the fabric to her nose and smelled a hint of gardenia, so it couldn’t have been there long. What potential assaulter wore silken gold? None she could think of...unless an early Halloween sale at the costume shop two blocks over had brought out the animal side in a lame-seeking party girl.
The police had certainly searched the crime scene, so the chances of the fabric having anything to do with Devin’s case were less than zero. Still, she shoved the gold scrap into the front pocket of her jeans. Maybe she could find a way to have it professionally examined.
When she reached the end of the alley, a cab was waiting along with Devin, his hand outstretched. “How about if I buy lunch?” he suggested as he assisted her into the car.
He kept hold of her hand as he directed the cab to a deli several blocks away, and less than twenty minutes later, Calla found herself at his kitchen table, enjoying a gooey, piping hot slice of pepperoni-and-sausage pizza.
His third-floor apartment, with a lovely view of the tree-lined street below, was large, though additions were spare. Plain furniture, probably rented, a couple of standard landscapes on the walls and no photographs or mementos. A couple of gun magazines had been tossed on the coffee table, and a book on forensics lay open and facedown on the sofa. The living room and kitchen walls were painted dove-gray, the bedroom—which she’d gotten a peek of from the hallway—was a dark, grayish-blue. Like a storm in the summer sky.
The colors suited him, and she’d bet her next assignment to any tropical paradise that everything that actually belonged to him could fit into a suitcase and two boxes.
“I’m sorry about before,” he said as he pushed away his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “None of this is your fault.”
“Nor yours.”
He said nothing.
“I’m willing to make allowances for your mood,” she added. “Considering the circumstances.” Hiding a smile, she sipped her soda. “You’re not the cheeriest guy when you aren’t accused of assault.”
“And you’re full of sweetness and light.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Stow the sarcasm, Detective. I’m on your side, remember?”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was completely serious.”
“Ah, so I’m sugary and you’re dark and brooding.”
“Yes.”
As silly as the idea seemed, she had a feeling this difference was the reason he was keeping his distance from her. “Do you always run from sweet women who kiss you?”
He rose to clear the table. “Sweet women don’t kiss me.”
“So I’m a...special case.”
He paused, loading the dishwasher before answering. “Yes.”
She followed him into the kitchen. “I made the first move. Somebody had to.”
“I’m not so sure. We need time apart.”
“Why?”
“Since I don’t—” He stopped, shoving the dishwasher door closed. “I’d like your help. There’s nobody else. But I can’t get into anything with anybody right now. I need to get my badge back. I have to.”
Though she didn’t like the idea that she was anybody, Calla walked toward him. “You have my loyalty, Detective. Always.”
“Thanks. You can call me by my first name, you know.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Like you said, we’re friends.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are we?”
“I thought so. Last night...”
“How much of last night do you remember?”
“Bits and pieces.” His gaze connected with hers, then slid away. “I made a move, you rejected. Smart decision.”
“You were pretty out of it. I didn’t want repercussions later. I wondered if you might blame your attraction to me on booze and a concussion.”
“You think I’m attracted to you?”
“Yes.” And she was becoming more confident by the second. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. “And there’s nobody else, right?”
“I’ve had plenty of lovers. Right now I need a friend.”
He was, very politely and firmly, putting their desire for each other aside. Given all he’d gone through in the past day, she’d let him get away with avoidance.
For the moment.
“You have not just one, but three friends.” She paused, reconsidering. “Five, if you count the guys.”
Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Please make it clear to your gang that they’re not allowed to burgle, interrogate or unlawfully enter a residence or place of business.”
She opened her mouth to argue, since—who was he kidding?—she and her friends would likely break all those rules in the first forty-eight hours if they needed to, but he rolled on before she could point out the obvious.
“I’m in charge of this case. And while the NYPD and I might be at odds, I’m the one with the badge, so you girls will follow my orders.” He opened the pantry door and knelt, rummaging around the floor as she glared at his back. “Surveillance would be good. I’ll put you on watching the purse snatcher.”
“As soon as you find out who he is,” she returned smartly.
He either didn’t hear or didn’t care about her sarcasm. “And try not to be too obvious. Wear a hat.”
“A hat?” she repeated.
“Yeah. You glow like the noonday sun.”
“I glow?” she asked, now treading the line between aggravation and flattery. Did the man live to keep her off balance?
When he stood and turned toward her, he was holding a pistol.
Yep, apparently he did.
As much as she liked looking at him, she couldn’t seem to move her gaze from the gun. “Where did that come from?”
“My safe.” He shoved an ammunition clip into the butt of the pistol. “Beretta nine-millimeter. I like a classic.”
“So I see. What’re you doing with it?”
He shrugged on a leather shoulder holster and slid the gun into the slot below his left arm. “Like you said, somebody’s after me. I need to take precautions.”
“But you’re not allowed to...” She trailed off at the fierce look that flooded his face. Clearing her throat, she made herself continue. She wasn’t afraid of guns. She was a Texan. But she was wildly concerned about what Devin might do with his weapon. “You can’t carry a gun in the city.”
“I’m not walking around unarmed.”
“You have to.”
“Weapons laws aren’t my problem.”
Calla had a feeling they would be very soon.
And he was worried about her randomly interrogating people.
“Okay,” she said, backing away while mentally making a note to check if bail could be posted for somebody with a credit card; otherwise, she’d have to run by an ATM. “Let’s get to work on your recent cases. Anybody who outright threatened you should be noted. We’ll fill in the details once we get more information from the department.”
“And how exactly are we going to get anything out of them?”
“We’ll ask.”
5
DEVIN WASN’T SURE HOW she’d done it, but over the next several days Calla had gotten access to closed case files and made copies of all the ones he’d mentioned as possibles for revenge against him. He was grateful and impressed.
At least until she’d turned his apartment into a chick club.
They’d shared wedding pictures, cookie recipes, clothes and shoes, profit margins for their various businesses, city gossip, restaurant health ratings, how men were so cute but dense, the economy, how that was impacting their various businesses.
Devin’s head had starting spinning after the first ten minutes. He’d take a shoot-out in a dark alley any day. He’d stopped taking pain pills days ago, but he was tempted to head to the medicine cabinet.
Instead, he crossed to the fridge for a beer.
“It’s barely four o’clock,” Calla said in reproach.
He made a show of twisting off the top of a bottle. “I’m not on duty.”
“Which is stupid,” Victoria commented. “Aren’t my tax dollars paying your salary? We need good cops on the streets.”
“And we’re certainly less one with Devin on suspension,” Shelby said.
Flicking her dark hair off her face, Victoria scowled, her icy-blue eyes fierce. “Idiotic bureaucracy. I say screw ’em. There’s got to be a law firm in this city that needs a solid investigator.”
“I don’t know about that,” Calla said, shaking her head as she scooped cookie dough onto a baking sheet. “What if he winds up following around potential divorcees, trying to prove adultery or other nasty habits?”
“He’d be terrific as a subpoena server,” Shelby pointed out. “All that dark energy and quiet stares.”
“You three know I’m standing right here, don’t you?” Devin asked. He snagged a warm cookie off the cooling rack. “And I already have a job.” Though the meal perks of being suspended were a nice reward for his troubles.
Victoria drummed her fingers against the kitchen table. “Pretty lousy of your employers to spend their time investigating you when they should be looking at that sketchy thief and this obvious framing.”
“They have to follow procedure,” Devin said—for probably the tenth time.
The Take Matters Into Your Own Hands Gang obviously didn’t know the meaning of legal protocol.
But he could hardly argue with their techniques. They got results, and that was what he needed. Ethics and consequences were on indefinite hold.
Though he hadn’t said so, he understood their drive to circumvent the rules better than most. As a kid growing up in an abusive household, he’d been bitter about teachers and social workers who hadn’t seen what was really going on and saved him from his personal hell.
But once he’d earned his badge, he’d accepted the rules that went along with it. He promised himself he’d make a difference, and he’d do it the right way. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that, though he’d previously adopted an aberrance for vigilantism, he was not just willing, but eager, to compromise when it was his ass on the line.
“Phooey on procedure,” Calla said, making a classic get lost gesture.
A smokin’ hot blond Texan who knew how to tell somebody to piss off without a word? Was it any wonder he was crazy about her?
He had to admit his surprise that for all Calla’s sweet requests and enticing wiles, she still hadn’t gotten the identity of the thief out of his lieutenant. Even the peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies and Calla in a miniskirt had failed.
Being faced with such temptation himself, Devin had to admire Meyer’s resistance.
Seeing her, inhaling her and enjoying her smiles for the past few days had weakened his resolve for keeping his distance to the point that he was seriously considering the idea of
giving in. Just once. Surely if they exorcised their attraction, they’d get past the carnal need and be able to go back to casual friends.
Beyond that torturous indecision, he was also in limbo with his suspension. He expected IAB every day, but was confused why they hadn’t yet questioned him. The delay had him antsy. Something big was going on, and he hoped he wasn’t the prize pig destined for a long, slow roast.
He refused to ask his buddies in the department for help. One, it was humiliating. Two, he didn’t want them tossing in their chips on a bad hand.
Just how thorough was the frame-up?
Devin grabbed another cookie, though the smell of a chicken-and-cheese casserole Shelby had made permeated the apartment. Once this mess was over, he’d be back to burgers and wings at the pub, so he might as well enjoy the unexpected gifts.
Shelby, her expression stern, rushed toward him with a mixing bowl tucked under her arm. “Dinner’s in less than an hour.”
Devin shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “I’ll eat that, too.”
“Bottomless pit,” she muttered, a hint of cinnamon and sugar trailing after her.
Devin followed her. “Don’t worry, my lovely harem,” he said, spreading his arms. “I won’t lose my appetite.”
The three women stared at him.
He surveyed the beautiful group gathered at his slightly battered kitchen table—the blonde, the brunette and the redhead. If he was a bragging kind of guy, he’d take a picture and post his coop online. Though, since he wasn’t sure how long he’d have a job or a reputation, he didn’t have much of an urge to whip out his phone and start clicking.
“Devin,” Calla began, her fingertip tapping a stack of suspect files, “we’re trying to work. You could help by deciphering these notes you made. Your handwriting is terrible.”
And the fantasy comes to a crashing halt....
“Seriously, Antonio...harem?” Victoria snorted with mock laughter. “In your dreams, copper.”
He certainly had plenty of those. But they all involved one woman.
When he moved toward her to help with the handwriting problem, a whiff of her vanilla-scented lotion washed over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to gather his resistance.
“Are you in pain, Detective?” he heard Shelby asked, concerned.
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