Deputy's Secret (Welcome to Covendale Book 3)

by Blaze, Morgan

  The sound didn’t change. And she realized it was coming from Nick Donovan’s place.

  She told herself to go inside and ignore it. That was the smart thing to do. But her curiosity and her instinct to investigate got the better of her, and she put the cocoa down and walked across the yard. Maybe she’d just ring the bell or knock on the door and say hello. Be neighborly. Tell him she’d heard a strange sound and wanted to make sure he was okay.

  But his windows were dark behind the curtains. And the sound seemed to be coming from the garage.

  The little voice urging her to stay away got louder. She ignored it and kept going—only to find the garage windows boarded over. Here the sound was stronger, not quite so rhythmic. A solid thwup-thwup, like a heartbeat through a stethoscope wrapped in cotton.

  Curiosity burned through her. She tried to tell herself to just forget it and go back. But then she noticed a faint light around the side of the house, and her feet carried her that way without much input from her brain.

  There was another window here, not completely boarded over. The light spilled from a three-inch gap at the bottom. She approached it slowly, until she could see inside—and then let out a gasp.

  Nick Donovan, wearing nothing but hand wraps and a pair of form-fitting shorts, was pounding away on a heavy punching bag suspended from the rafters.

  Dear God, he was ripped. Sweat glistened on his skin, and his muscles bunched and flexed with every move. The heavy bag was held in place with a second chain that connected to a ring in the floor, but it still heaved out several inches every time he hit. Without meaning to, she found herself comparing him to the fighters at The Vault, trying to envision him in a mask.

  He just about fit The Hammer.

  “Stop it,” she murmured aloud. Just because a guy was working out, didn’t mean he was an illegal cage fighter. Besides, Nick was a cop, and way too goody-goody to be one of them. Those fighters were vicious and driven, merciless. Especially The Hammer.

  The sound stopped. And she realized Nick was looking right at her.

  His eyes blazed with cold fury.

  Not daring to breathe, Emma backed up with rapid steps. She stumbled on something that snapped loudly beneath her foot and almost fell. When she caught her balance, she glanced through the window, but he was gone.

  She managed a single, trembling breath before the side door banged open and Nick stepped out.

  Chapter 5

  Nick’s rage drained immediately when he caught sight of his beautiful neighbor cowering away from him. “Miss Reid,” he made himself say calmly. “I thought you were… someone else.”

  Pinky. He’d thought she was a massive, towering thug with a penchant for breaking fingers, and apparently wrists. How the hell had he managed to think that?

  “Um. I’m sorry. I heard a noise.” She pulled herself straight and absently smoothed her shirt, even though it wasn’t rumpled. “I guess you’re busy.”

  A flash of anger tried to force itself back. Maybe she wasn’t a thug, but she had been spying on him. He’d boarded the windows over for a reason. “A little,” he said. “Did you happen to try the door, before you started looking through windows?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  In that moment he remembered his first impression of her. That odd mix of confidence and fragility, and now the haunted, hollow look in her eyes. He’d seen all this before—at the battered women’s shelter, where all the deputies volunteered for at least a week as county-mandated sensitivity training. Nick stayed on for three, and went back at least once more, trying to help as many as he could.

  Someone in Emma Reid’s past had abused her. Badly.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just startled—obviously, I wasn’t expecting company.” He smiled, relieved to see the lines of her body relaxing a bit. “Listen, this isn’t what you think.”

  Suspicion filtered through her features. “What do I think it is?”

  Damn. So much for avoiding her. Now he had to convince her that he had nothing to do with The Vault, when she might not have suspected it in the first place. “Do you want to come in for a minute?” he said. “I’d like to show you something.”

  He could practically see the wheels turning as she struggled with herself. Finally, she relented. “All right, but make it quick,” she said. “My cocoa’s going to get cold.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.”

  She cracked a smile. “No, we can’t.”

  He led her into the garage toward the back wall, grabbing the towel he’d left on the workbench along the way to mop himself off. Of course she had to turn up when he was sweating like a pig. “Okay, here it is,” he said, gesturing at the framed pictures and the shelf of mementos. “Meet my father, Charlie Donovan.”

  With a slight frown, Emma moved closer. She stared at the trophies, the oversized belt buckle, the photos and newspaper clippings. “Your father was a professional boxer?”

  “Semi-pro,” Nick said. “He won the Golden Gloves six times.”

  “Wow. I…don’t know what that is, but it sounds impressive.”

  He laughed. “It’s a big tournament for amateurs.”

  “Oh.” She reached out, hesitated, and then touched one of the trophies. “This one says Nick Donovan.”

  “Yeah, I competed a little. Right after high school. But I decided boxing wasn’t the career for me, about the second time I got my nose broken.” It wasn’t a lie. What he’d been doing for the past year was neither boxing, nor a career. “I still work out at it, just to stay in shape,” he said. “Plus it’s great stress relief.”

  She turned to him with a smile. “You look like him. Your dad, I mean,” she said. “Is he, um…passed on?”

  “No, he’s just retired. My parents live right here in Covendale.”

  “That sounds nice.” He thought there was a catch in her voice, but he couldn’t be sure. She spent another minute looking at the wall, and then gave a small sigh. “Well, I’d better get back,” she said. “Thanks for showing me this. It’s pretty cool.”

  “Sure. And I’m sorry about before.” Since she was already here, he decided it couldn’t hurt to be a little more friendly. Even if he planned to avoid her after this. “Did those movers ever come back with your stuff?” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “No. And I’m—no, they didn’t.”

  “And you’re what?”

  She stared at her feet. “Stuck sleeping on the floor,” she muttered. “Again.”

  “No, you’re not.” The words were out before he could stop them, so he plunged ahead with the worst idea he’d ever had. “You can sleep with me tonight.” He coughed and looked down. “On the couch, I mean. If you want to. It’s better than the floor.”

  A dozen emotions flitted across her face. “I couldn’t,” she said slowly. “You hardly even know me.”

  If she’d sounded like she hated him and wanted to slap him for even suggesting it, he would’ve dropped it. At least, that’s what he told himself. But he sensed a reluctance to impose, so he said, “Sure I do. You’re Emma Reid, a reporter for the Covendale Banner. And I’m the press liaison for the sheriff’s department. So I’m all about helping the press.”

  Damn. He sounded like a complete idiot, and he wasn’t even trying to this time.

  But she gave him a bemused smile. “Is that what a press liaison does?” she said. “I thought you were supposed to liase.”

  He smirked. “I don’t know how to liase.”

  “You’re not a very good liaison, then. But…you’re a good neighbor.” She rested a hand on his arm, and he held back a groan as a shiver of heat raced through his blood. Just like the first time she’d touched him. “Thank you,” she said. “Normally I wouldn’t impose, but a sleeping bag on the floor just isn’t working for me.”

  “Any time.” He met her gaze and held it for an instant, but she looked away. “Okay, so I’m going to jump in the shower real quick,” h
e said. “You can just grab whatever stuff you want and come on over. The front door’s open.”

  “You don’t lock your door?”

  “This is Covendale, and I’m a deputy,” he said with a grin. “Trust me, it’s safe.”

  “All right. Well…I’ll be right back, then.”

  “See you soon.”

  She walked out the garage side door—and Nick stood there for a minute, his fists clenched hard. This was an incredibly stupid idea. He knew she’d been to The Vault a bunch of times, and the better she got to know him, the greater the risk she’d recognize him if she went back again. Beyond that, he was dangerously attracted to her already. Having her in his house was going to be torture.

  But he hated the thought of her sleeping on the floor, in a bare house with no curtains. That urge to protect her was stronger than ever.

  With a growl of frustration, he treated the heavy bag to one more punishing blow—and decided he’d better make it a cold shower.

  * * * *

  Emma would’ve banged her head repeatedly against something, but she didn’t have anything in the house soft enough to not give herself a concussion. What was she thinking? Staying the night with Nick was a really, really bad idea—especially after she’d just seen him practically naked. Those shorts hadn’t left much to the imagination.

  Okay, she knew what she was thinking. Sleeping on the floor seriously sucked. But what was she thinking?

  That she could somehow resist throwing herself at him…or that he’d turn her down if she did?

  Well, she wasn’t going to do that. She wouldn’t use him for his body—his incredibly hot, practically perfect body—when she couldn’t offer anything more than sex. Even if she might have possibly lost a small piece of her heart to him already.

  He was, quite simply, the sweetest man she’d ever met. Even when he got mad for just a second, he’d backed down and apologized. To her. When she’d been the one spying on him through his boarded-over windows. He was adorably funny, he loved his parents, and he’d invited a virtual stranger into his home because she didn’t have a bed.

  Maybe she’d lost a big piece of her heart.

  Anyway, she’d been crazy to think he could be The Hammer. He was nothing like those fighters. As she stuffed a few items back in her duffel, she decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad getting to know him better. She didn’t have to depend on him. People who weren’t her mother managed to have decent relationships, so it was possible she could manage it, too.

  Not that he’d mentioned anything about a relationship. She was getting ahead of herself here.

  With her bag packed, she headed next door determined to stay relaxed and accept the offer for what it was—kindness. The front door was unlocked, just like he’d said. She entered a tidy, spacious living room with a soft lamp glowing on an end table, and closed the door. There was a wide, soft-looking couch and matching easy chair, an entertainment center with a big-screen TV, and a tall bookshelf filled with books and DVDs.

  She tucked her bag behind the couch and headed for the bookshelf, wondering what kind of entertainment he liked. As she neared the open archway leading to a hall, she heard water running somewhere in the house and remembered he’d mentioned jumping in the shower.

  Her mind immediately tried to conjure an image of Nick naked and wet. She told it to knock it off.

  The bookshelf held mostly novels. A lot of thrillers and mysteries, a few classics. Tom Sawyer, Robinson Crusoe, To Kill a Mockingbird. She giggled when she realized he’d arranged the DVDs by case color, from white through the rainbow to black. Her eye was drawn to the purple section, the smallest block of color with just five movies.

  The middle one was The Breakfast Club. There went another piece of her heart.

  She heard the shower turn off and decided not to look like she was snooping. So she headed for the couch and sat down. It wasn’t long before Nick came out, fully clothed in a t-shirt and sweat pants.

  Part of her was disappointed about that.

  “Hey, neighbor.” He smiled, with his dimples on full display. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  “Thanks. This couch is really comfortable.”

  She cringed internally when the words came out. How lame could she sound? She might as well have said how about this weather, and they weren’t even having any weather.

  “Well, I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Do you want something to drink? Or…I don’t know, dessert? I’ve got ice cream.”

  At least she wasn’t the only one feeling awkward. “I’d love some ice cream,” she said. “What kind?”

  “Cookies and cream.”

  “Really? That’s seriously my favorite.” Great. Now she was gushing over ice cream. Her face flushed hot, and she looked away and cleared her throat. “Um, sounds great,” she said. “I’ll come with you. I mean, we should probably eat it in the kitchen. So your couch doesn’t get sticky.”

  Oh, God. Why couldn’t she just shut up at sounds great?

  Nick smiled. “It’s this way.”

  She got up and followed him, resolved to keep her mouth closed. The kitchen was around the corner—bright and cozy, nearly spotless except for a few dishes in the sink. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a small, round table with three chairs in front of a curtained window. “I’ll get the ice cream.”

  “Thanks.”

  She sat down, and found herself staring out the window at the visible wedge of sky. A full moon had risen, a pure ball of white light with a softer halo around it. Some distant part of her memory called up a name for the halo: it was a fairy ring. She wondered where she’d heard that.

  “Knit me a sweater.”

  The sound of Nick’s voice startled her a bit. She looked up at him. “Huh?”

  “It’s my mother’s saying.” With a slanted smile, he set a bowl of ice cream in front of her and sat down with his own. “When she sees someone woolgathering, she says ‘knit me a sweater’.”

  “That is so cute,” she said. “I love it.”

  “She’s got a ton of them.”

  Emma smiled and took a bite of ice cream. The cold, sweet taste made her ridiculously happy. She hadn’t treated herself to anything in a long time. When the movers finally brought her stuff, she decided she’d celebrate by filling her freezer with cookies and cream. “Thank you for this,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  For a few minutes they sat in silence, eating ice cream, and she didn’t feel awkward at all. Eventually Nick looked at her and said, “So, you’re a reporter. Do you like writing?”

  The question surprised her. Most guys were a little more direct—where are you from, do you have a boyfriend, would you like one and how about we go to my place. But she supposed that wasn’t really fair. To her, “most guys” had been her mother’s parade of assholes and a bunch of horny college boys. “I do, actually,” she said. “But I like investigating even more.”

  “Sure. That’s the fun part.”

  “I guess you get to investigate too, right?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. We have two detectives, so they do most of the investigating. A lot of what I do is pretty routine.”

  “Right,” she said with a smirk. “Second degree cemetery desecration. Very routine.”

  “Happens all the time.”

  “So everybody in town likes to pee on dead people? Do you have a Pee On Dead People Day here?”

  “Yep. Every October first.”

  “You do not.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Maybe not every October first. Last year we celebrated Sidewalk Dildo Day then.”

  She laughed and shoved him a little. It was like trying to push a boulder, and she thought maybe she shouldn’t do that again. It reminded her of all those muscles under his clothes. “So, um,” she said. “Can I ask you something a little…forward?”

  He blinked. “Sure.”

  “Why do you act dumb around your partner? If that’s what Dean is,” she said. “I mean, you�
��re not dumb. And he tries to take all the credit.”

  His jaw clenched in response.

  “I’m sorry. That was probably too forward.” She bit her lip.

  “Oh, God,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  He reached out and brushed a thumb along her bottom lip, sending shivers of pleasure through her. “You bite this,” he said. “And it makes me want to do something I really shouldn’t do.”

  All at once, she knew what he wanted. And she wanted it too.

  She took his hand. His quick gasp made her own breath catch, and she leaned forward to touch his jaw. It was as hard as it looked. “I really shouldn’t do this, either,” she whispered.

  Then she closed the distance and kissed him.

  His lips were firm and hot, with the lingering sweetness of ice cream. He kissed her back, tentative at first, with a growing hunger that matched her own. His tongue parted her lips, teasing and tantalizing. She groaned softly against him.

  Suddenly he pulled back. “We can’t do this.”

  “Nick, wait—”

  “We can’t.” He grabbed his bowl, stood and walked stiffly to the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  She knew she could have ended it there. He was giving her an out, and it would be right to take it. They’d suffer a few minutes of awkwardness, maybe talk for a few more minutes, and go to sleep. In the morning they’d pretend nothing had happened. Eventually, it would become nothing.

  But she didn’t want nothing with him. For once in her life, she wanted to take the chance. Let herself feel something through the walls she’d built.

  She got up and walked over to him. He flinched when she touched him. “Nick,” she said. “You didn’t take advantage of me. I kissed you.”

  He turned slowly. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes betrayed the conflict and doubt in him.

  “I wanted to,” she said. “I want you.”

  “You don’t even know me,” he rasped. “I’m not…what I seem.”

  “I know you’re a good person.” She drew a shaking breath. “If you don’t want me, it’s okay to just say that. I won’t be upset. But if you do…”