Duke continued to rub his hand. “I’d better do it again or they may go easy on him.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brit got up. He wavered on his feet for show, then spit blood at Payne’s feet. The blood was real. Rain washed the red stain away, but not before Payne saw it.
“Maybe do the eye this time. When I see the judge, it’ll look really bad. Maybe bruise the throat. I’ll say he tried to choke me. Get attempted murder slapped on his ass.”
“Fuck!” said Payne. “I’m not going down for this shit.”
Brit looked at him. “But you will.” He brushed the back of his hand over his throbbing lip. “You want to sing, or am I going to let him hit me again?”
When Payne didn’t answer, Brit shuffled forward to stand in front of Duke. “Hit me.” He gave the lowlife another glance.
Payne butted his head against the fence. “Okay. I’ll talk.”
~
“What happened to you?” Adams peered into Brit’s office a couple of hours later.
Brit looked up. His lip throbbed like a son of a bitch. “Football.”
“In this weather?”
“Boys will be boys.” Brit moved some papers on his desk.
“I heard you guys got a lead on Keith’s killer.”
“Yeah.” Brit leaned back in his chair. “It looks gang related. One gang member bragged about what a fellow gang member did. I’m looking through mug shots now to see if I can find someone who fits the description. Our snitch didn’t have a name.”
The sergeant reared back on his heels. “It’s a start.”
“I know.” Brit just hoped like hell it was enough.
“You know I want this guy as much as you do.”
“I doubt that,” Brit said.
Adams frowned. “You sleeping at all?” He tucked his hand into his belt. “You look like shit.”
Leave it to Adams to point out the obvious. “I’m fine.” Brit waved him away. His leather jacket, hanging over the back of his chair, had left a puddle of water on the floor. The coat had dried, while his wet ass still sent a chill through his body.
Adams started to leave, then stopped. He stepped into the office and sniffed the air. “You start smoking?”
“No.” Brit snatched a pencil and rolled it in his palms, wishing Adams would go.
“Smells like it.” The man stepped closer. “A woman just came in to file a report. Said she’d talk to anyone.” He cut a half-ass smile. “Anyone, but you. And here I thought the ladies used to like you.”
Cali McKay was here. Brit dropped the pencil. “It’s not my job to make them like me.” He looked down at his desk, feeling Adams’ eyes on him. But relief fluttered through Brit that she’d taken his advice.
“Losing your edge, huh?” Adams still didn’t leave and neither did the memory of Miss McKay in that damn Mickey Mouse shirt.
Focusing on the mug shots, he pretended he didn’t care that she didn’t want to see him. He’d done his job. He flipped a page and tried to ignore the fact that Adams hung over his desk.
“The boyfriend got to her again,” Adams said. “Roughed her up a little.”
Brit jerked up, his chair banging the wall. “She hurt?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed past the sergeant to go see for himself.
Brit didn’t slow down until he cut the corner and saw her sitting at Jones’ desk. Wet and disheveled, her blonde hair fell out of a clip and hung in a soggy mess against her neck. He studied her face, but didn’t see blood or signs of bruising. He walked over to get a closer look.
Jones looked up and stared at Brit’s face. “What happened to you?”
Focusing only on Cali, Brit answered, “Football.”
“In this weather?” Jones asked.
“Yeah,” Brit mumbled and then focused on Cali. “You went back to your place again, didn’t you?”
She didn’t answer, so he turned to Jones. “Did she go back to her place?”
Jones held up his hands in surrender. “I—”
Brit glared down at her. “What is it? Do you want to get beat up?”
She scowled back, then looked at Jones. Her expression softened. “Are we through?”
Brit answered for Jones. “No. We’re not through.” Brit picked up the report and read Jones’ scribbling. Subject at her lawyer’s office. Boyfriend met her outside by her car. Lawyer’s secretary stepped out to give her paperwork. Boyfriend ran off.
“What’s the lawyer for? Did you get a restraining order?” Brit spouted the first question on his mental list.
She didn’t answer. “I have to go.” She smiled at Jones.
The smile didn’t even reach her eyes. It wasn’t a real smile, but it was more than he got from her.
“Thank you,” she told Jones and stood up, a little unsteady on her feet.
“Did he hurt you?” Brit asked.
“I’m fine.” She slung her purse over her shoulder then started out.
Brit noticed a slight limp as he followed on her heels. After five steps, he accepted the fact that he’d let his temper loose on her again. Which meant he didn’t deserve a smile. “I’m just doing my job. I’m not excelling at it right now, but all I’m really trying to do is help you.”
Ignoring him, she pushed open the precinct door and walked out into the raging storm without even flinching.
He went after her. Rain pelted him again, and without his leather jacket, the cold made his skin crawl. He matched her steps and went for more questions. “Why are you limping? Does Stan know where you’re staying? How did he know where to find you?”
She stopped in front of a silver Honda and began fumbling through her purse. “Blast it!” She tossed a few items from her purse onto the hood of her car. Rain fell on her wallet and a cell phone. She didn’t seem to care. Then a tampon rolled off the hood and landed by his shoe.
She looked at it then continued sifting through her purse. Turning the leather bag over, she shook it. Everything rolled out—pens, pencils, and a few coins. Everything, but a set of keys.
“Dang it!” She snatched open her purse and stuffed the waterlogged items back inside. Then she knelt at his feet and picked up the soaked tampon and a pen that had rolled off the hood.
In her squatted position, she reminded him of someone’s puppy left out in a storm. Lost. Scared. He’d never wanted to save a puppy as badly as he did right now. A blast of wind whipped her wet hair across her face. He saw her shake as the November-cold cut through his own shirt. But something told him it wasn’t just the cold making her shake. How bad had the assault been? His stomach knotted.
Standing, she slung her purse over her shoulder and her blue-eyed gaze locked on him. Her eyes squinted; rain left droplets on her cheeks, or were those tears? “I don’t want to talk to you.” The distant sound of thunder rolled and he saw her hands trembling.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked again, only this time he let his concern leak into his voice.
Ignoring his question, she started back inside. He followed, matching her brisk pace. When they got to Jones’ station, Brit snatched the set of keys off the desk before she did. Jones bit back a grin. Brit wasn’t grinning. The woman wasn’t in any condition to drive. He remembered when he’d gotten the call about Keith, he’d been shaking so bad he could hardly hold the damn steering wheel. And he’d come within a second of driving right into the path of an eighteen-wheeler.
Wet and disheveled, and somehow still adorable, she held out her palm. “Give them to me.” Her voice had an authoritative snip.
Brit remembered her occupation—teacher. Too bad his high school buds had nicknamed him King of Detention and his most common sin had been bucking authority. He wrapped his hand around the keys. “Sit down and have a cup of coffee. Let me make sure you’re okay and then I’ll give them to you.”
“I don’t want coffee.” Her authoritative edge slipped and her lip quivered.
From the cold or emotion, Brit didn’t know. Probably both.
&nb
sp; “Look, you’re too upset to drive. If I let you go and you had a wreck, I’d feel like shit.”
“I’m fine.” She held out her hand again, wiggling her five digits, and he saw her trembling.
“You’re still shaking.” Brit watched her stiffen. He shot her his best smile and spoke in a soft voice. “One cup. Come on. Let me make up for being an ass earlier.”
Her left foot started tapping. “I want to go.”
Damn, he really had lost his charm. He almost handed them to her, then remembered how close that eighteen wheeler had come to ending his life. If something happened… “And I want you to have a cup of coffee.”
Her eyes tightened and brightened with unexpected anger. He waited for the explosion, for her to toss out a few four-letter words. So far he’d only heard the words “darn” and “blast” leave those pretty lips.
God knew he’d drawn swear words out of every one of his high school teachers. Not that an outburst was what he wanted; he just wanted to make sure she was safe. He knew it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t even his job to take it this far. He didn’t want to care. But he did.
Her lips moved as if she counted to ten. Then she looked at the people sitting at the desks spaced around the room. “Would someone please make this jerk give me my keys?”
Lucy, one of the female desk clerks, jumped from her chair and stepped between him and Cali. She shot Brit a look of disgust, then glanced back at Cali.
“Look,” the clerk spoke to Cali. “He is being a jerk, which is unusual for him, but unfortunately, he’s right. You’re not in any condition to drive. So take him up on the coffee, and then, if he doesn’t hand over your keys,” she cut her eyes back to Brit, “I’ll personally hold him down and let you kick him in the balls.”
Brit frowned at the clerk, but when he saw Cali’s expression soften, he accepted the clerk had accomplished what he hadn’t. He couldn’t help but wonder if Cali had just finally listened to reason, or if she was hoping to kick him in the balls. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
“One cup,” he said.
She met his gaze. “Just one.”
“This way.” He waved a hand. At first she didn’t budge, then she started walking, her limp barely noticeable now. He guided her down the hall, two left turns, to his tiny office.
Standing back from the door, he motioned for her to enter. He pointed to the chair across from his desk and kept pointing until she lowered herself into the flimsy piece of furniture. She folded her arms around herself as if to ward off the cold.
“Thank you.” He made a dismal attempt to be polite, because for some reason he got the feeling it mattered to her. “How do you take your coffee?”
“I really don’t want coffee.”
“Cream? Sugar?” He stared at her stubborn expression.
“Cream.” She trembled again as she glanced away.
He darted down the hall to collect caffeine. When he came back, she had her arms locked around her middle. Her hair, and the clip, hung in a wet mess around her shoulders. “Here. Hot is all I promise.”
She took the steaming coffee, curled her hands around it, and brought it closer as if to absorb the heat.
He touched her shoulder and, as he suspected, the sweater felt saturated. “This thing is soaking wet. Take it off.”
“I just want to go home.” Steam whispered up from the cup.
“You can’t go home.” He took the coffee from her hands and set it on his desk beside the cat food. “Take the sweater off before you turn into ice.”
“I meant I want to leave here.” She glared at him again, but Brit decided that even her glares didn’t overshadow her sweet face. The woman didn’t use four-letter words. Maybe that explained the face of an angel. A sexy angel.
He continued to stare. A man could get lost in those blue eyes. “Please, take the sweater off,” he added, sensing that “please” was her favorite word.
The please worked. Shifting, she began removing the waterlogged material. He decided right then to give politeness a shot from now on when dealing with her.
She pulled her arms from the sleeves. A hard task because of the clingy soaked wool. Underneath she wore the beige blouse she’d worn this morning. The rain hadn’t spared it either. Brit envisioned goose bumps rising on her skin beneath the material. Then he saw her breasts, lacy bra, and nipples pebbled against the sheer fabric. Shutting the door on his wayward thoughts, he snatched his leather jacket from his chair and draped it over her shoulders.
His fingers brushing against her neck caused her to jump. “Sorry.” He paused. “He really scared you, didn’t he?” Brit moved back, giving her space.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Fear flashed in her eyes, and it wasn’t because of him. He gritted his teeth and wanted to catch the bastard. Pushing back his protective fury, he picked up her coffee and placed it in her hands again. Her appearance—small, vulnerable, and wearing his coat—had his chest tightening.
He moved to his chair and sat. It protested his weight with a shrill screech. One of these days, the damn thing would fall apart. Readjusting his weight, he wondered which one would hold together longer, him or the chair. He’d put his money on the chair. “You want to tell me what happened? It might help to talk about it.”
“No.” The teacher voice returned, but it didn’t deter him. He was too fascinated by the way her rain-soaked hair clung to her cheek.
He had the oddest desire to push the strands away, to pull her against him because she looked as if she could use a good holding. Not his job. He pushed back the desire; he was a cop, not a personal caretaker.
Elbows on his desk, he laced his hands together. “You were limping. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
Those two words again. Their eyes met again. “Okay. Then we’ll just sit here and stare at each other while you warm up.”
She abandoned her coffee on his desk. “May I please have my keys now?”
He couldn’t force her to stay here. He knew that. Hell, if the sergeant knew he was holding her keys hostage, he’d get his ass chewed up one way and down the other.
“You won’t go back to your apartment, will you?”
“I have to go back there, eventually.”
“Not for a few days.” He shot her a look that he hoped made the message clear. “This guy isn’t someone to mess with.”
Her bow-shaped lips tightened. “Fine. I won’t go back to my apartment for a few days.”
He picked up a pencil and tapped it on a yellow pad. “Where are you staying?”
“With a friend.” His coat around her shoulders shifted, exposing her wet blouse.
Her breasts drew his gaze again. The lacy pattern of her bra showed through her shirt. He forced his eyes up. She hadn’t willingly entered this wet T-shirt contest, which meant he didn’t have the right to enjoy it.
“Does Stan know where this friend lives? What if he—”
“No.” Silence thickened the air.
Brit gave the pencil a few more taps, focusing on her face, and trying not to think about her breasts. “Drink your coffee, then I’ll return your keys.” He ducked his head and pretended to read some paperwork. Instead, he sat there breathing in her scent, for it had taken up residency in his broom closet of an office.
“Oh, that’s awful.” Her words brought his head up.
The way she looked at the cup made him smile.
“Remember, I didn’t promise you it would be good. Only hot.” Their gazes converged. Excitement stirred in his gut, and that stirring said he’d like to get to know her. Like to see all her expressions, even a real smile or two. Bad idea. He tugged her keys from his pocket, dropped them on his desk, and slid them to her. “Drive safe. And if you’re still limping later, see a doctor.”
She set the coffee down and took her keys. She rose. Shoulders stiff, she took a step then glanced back. Those blond strands of hair clung to her cheeks again. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“It was.” She almost smiled. “God awful. But it was nice of you to bring it to me.”
Warmth fluttered in his gut. He chuckled, realizing he’d never come across anyone who had manners so intact. She didn’t curse and always offered gratitude—even for lousy coffee. He remembered her picking up the useless tampon. Hell, the woman didn’t even litter. Obviously, it came from her upbringing. God knew Brit didn’t come by manners naturally. Oh, his sister had tried to teach him a few, but they never stuck.
She stood there as if waiting for a reply and, as crazy as it seemed, he wanted to please her. “You’re welcome.”
He watched her walk out. The seductive sway of her hips, even in those loose black dress pants, reminded him that he hadn’t been with a woman in too damn long. It took five minutes before he realized that those hips had just swayed out with his leather jacket. Damn. He loved that jacket. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. When he heard someone clear his throat, he sat up.
Lucy, the desk clerk who’d offered to hold him down so Cali could kick his boys, stood there grinning.
“Thanks for helping out,” he said.
She chuckled. “Anderson’s right. You’re a softy.”
“I’m not a damn softy,” he muttered after she disappeared.
Chapter Nine
Cali pulled out of the police parking lot before she realized that she’d taken his jacket. She considered turning around. No. She’d drop it off another time.
The rain pelted her windshield and she turned the wipers on high. As she drove, she kept eyeing the rearview mirror, praying she wouldn’t spot Stan’s white truck. The memory of him coming up behind her, pressing himself against her, made her queasy.
What would have happened if Mr. Jones’s secretary hadn’t come out? Would he have really hurt her? Tried to rape her? Cali gripped the steering wheel.
“Don’t think about it,” she mumbled and listened to the squeak of the wipers squeegeeing the rain away. Oh God, she wanted to find herself a soft pillow to cry into. She wished she hadn’t agreed to stay with Tanya. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and have a good cry. But did she really want to be alone? Just me.
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