Emma spent most of the day learning her way around the newspaper building. She finished writing up the police blotter before noon and sent it to Mr. Halstead—a full day ahead of deadline. She was surprised he had an email address. Cheri showed her the archives, and they had a good laugh over the microfiche readers. At least the Banner had taken a step up from paper files.
They did have an ultra-secure email server, which was an outright shock. Cheri taught her how to log in and use it. She said it was supposed to be for anonymous sources, but they’d never had one. Emma kind of hoped she’d get to be the first to need it.
She spent a good hour wandering around the massive printing press, breathing in the scents of ink and metal and pulp. The papers were printed on Saturdays, and she hoped to stop in for the next run. All of these huge and mysterious machines fascinated her.
Toward the end of the day, she was at her desk reading through some of the stuff in the thick folder she’d received—most of it clippings of past police blotters, crime briefs, and entertainment write-ups—when Mr. Halstead’s office door opened. This was a rare enough occurrence to get everyone’s attention immediately.
The editor stuck his head out and fastened his gaze on Emma. “Miss Reid. Could you come here a moment? I’d like to discuss this…police blotter.” Then he promptly withdrew and slammed the door.
“Oh, boy.” Cheri sucked in a breath. “Einstein’s got his crank on.”
Emma frowned. “Is that good or bad?”
“No one ever knows.”
“So it’s bad.”
Cheri shrugged. “Unless it’s good.”
“Oh, boy.” Smirking, Emma pushed her chair back and stood. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck. The good kind.”
She headed across the room, her nerves fluttering more than she expected. The style she’d used to write it hadn’t exactly been the same as the old columns. Okay, it was nothing like them. She’d read through dozens of police blotters Fitzy had written, and they sounded just the way Nick had started out telling her the reports. Dry, stuffy snooze-fests.
She figured just because it was cop news, didn’t have to mean it was boring. So she’d livened things up a bit.
Fitzy had gone home hours ago. As Emma passed Harrison’s desk, he gave her a false sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry about these first few times,” he said. “He’ll probably shred you, but you’ll get it right eventually.”
“Gee, you think so?” she said.
Apparently, Harrison didn’t understand sarcasm. “Sure you will,” he said. “And remember, I’m here if you want some pointers. We could talk it out over a drink.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But I prefer my drinks without a side of withering condescension.”
Ignoring his slack-jawed stare and Cheri’s not-so-muffled laughter, she walked into the editor’s office and closed the door.
“Sit down,” Mr. Halstead said without looking at her. He opened a drawer and pulled out a folder—much thinner than the one he’d gave her yesterday. There was only one sheet of paper in it. He picked it up and glared at her over the top of it. “I’ve read your assignment,” he said.
“Um. Good?”
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the paper. “Mr. Robert Berenson is at it again,” he read aloud. “On Tuesday night, the disgruntled ex-husband smashed through a sheet of glass and kidnapped his former mother-in-law, Mrs. Georgette Voight, for the third time in six months from her final resting place at the Covendale Cemetery. Mrs. Voight, being deceased, did not press charges—though her daughter was only too happy to act on her behalf.”
Emma’s expression froze. “That’s what I wrote.”
“Yes, you did.” The editor put the paper down. “Why haven’t you followed Mr. Hughes’ style on this, Ms. Reid.”
She frowned. “Who’s Mr. Hughes?”
“Fitzwarren Hughes,” he said. “Fitzy.”
“Oh. Him.”
“This is casual narrative. It’s nothing like Mr. Hughes’ police blotters.”
Emma drew a deep breath, preparing to apologize. But the words that came out weren’t the ones she intended.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not like his, because I’m not Mr. Hughes. I know he’s worked for this newspaper for a hundred years or something, but…well, you told me to be enthusiastic about this. So that’s what I did. I wrote it in my own style, because Mr. Hughes’ police blotters are boring.”
She closed her mouth with a snap, and watched her journalism career flash before her eyes.
Mr. Halstead folded his hands on the desk. “They are pretty boring, aren’t they?”
She was so convinced he was going to say you’re fired, her jaw actually dropped. Which prevented her from responding.
“Your own style,” the editor said. “That’s exactly what I like to hear, Ms. Reid.” He turned the folder around and pushed it toward her. “I’ve made a few edits here. Some of your sentences needed tightening, and your lead was not as strong as it could be. Review this, and keep it in mind for next week.”
“Er,” she said. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.” He looked a little strange—and she realized that he was smiling. Sort of. “Nice work, Ms. Reid.”
“Thank you.”
“All right. Now get back out there.”
Grinning, she left the office and went back to the newsroom. She was relieved to see Harrison’s desk empty. As she headed for hers, Cheri looked up from her computer and did a double-take at her expression. “So, good?” she said.
“I think so. He only tightened a few things, and he said nice work.”
“He did?” Cheri clapped her hands together. “That means he’s totally impressed! You rocked your first assignment.”
“Phew.” She smiled and slid the thin folder with the corrections in her duffel bag next to the chair, and started shutting down her laptop. If Mr. Halstead was this impressed with a police blotter, her piece on The Vault was going to blow him away. “Well, it’s just about five,” she said. “Think it’d be all right if I head out? I finally got the movers to bring my stuff, and I want to get things settled.”
“Go for it,” Cheri said. “No one’s going to notice. But if they do, I’ll cover for you.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Night, Emma.”
She went outside to a steel gray sky on the verge of bursting. Nick had been right about the rain. And speaking of Nick, it wouldn’t be long until she got to see him again.
She was unreasonably excited about that.
The first sprinkles started as she walked to her car. By the time she turned onto Main Street, it was coming down steady. She turned her wipers on high, thinking maybe she should’ve taken Nick up on that umbrella after all. But she probably wouldn’t get too drenched dashing from the driveway to the porch.
By the time her house came into view, she was feeling almost great—until she realized there was something very wrong. Her front yard looked like someone had started setting up a lawn sale and changed their minds halfway through.
The movers had brought her stuff, all right. And they’d left it outside, where it was now pouring rain.
* * * *
Nick ended up staying a little late to deal with an accident right outside the police station. No one had been hurt, not even the truck involved—but the fire hydrant had suffered a dent or two. He’d called the Covendale FD to come check it out and make sure it was still functional, and then filed a brief report.
About quarter after five, he headed home through the rain. He’d decided he would still help Emma with her stuff, since he’d already offered, and he had a feeling there’d been a shortage of helpful people in her life. But after that, he had to stay away.
If he survived the next two and a half weeks, maybe he could try again with her. Provided she would still speak to him by then—which he doubted.
Before he reached his driveway, his gaze was drawn to the next house down. T
here were boxes and furniture all over Emma’s front yard. And she was on the porch, soaking wet and trying to shove a couch through her front door. The sight of her struggling tore at his heart.
If he ever saw those movers again, he wouldn’t be as gentle as he’d been with Dean earlier.
He parked at the curb in front of her house and ran out, reaching the porch in five seconds flat. She gasped when he stepped next to her and grabbed the end of the couch before she dropped it again. Then she made a sound that was almost a sob. “Nick,” she said, blinking red-rimmed eyes. “They left everything in the yard. It’s all soaked.”
“I see that.” He had to fight to keep his tone even. The devastation in her hollow gaze made him want to hurt the people who’d put it there. “Don’t worry. We’re going to save it.”
“How?” Her voice was so small. “Most of it has to be ruined, and it’s only going to keep raining…”
Holding the couch with one arm, he reached out and squeezed her hand. “There’s a bunch of tarps in my garage,” he said. “Back left corner. Go in the side door and grab them, and start spreading them over anything that’s going to take the most damage. I’ll get the couch and start on the rest. Okay?”
She nodded slowly, and hitched in a breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you, Nick.”
“Any time.”
He watched until he was sure she’d keep going, and then turned his attention to the couch. It was about half an inch too wide to clear the door jamb at this angle—hardly anything, but couches didn’t exactly bend. He shoved and twisted it to a diagonal and slid it through, pushing it to the back of the mostly empty living room. They could worry about placement later.
When he went outside again, Emma was on her way back with the tarps. He met her halfway and helped her spread them over the larger items, and the boxes she wanted to protect. “Okay, now just grab whatever you can and bring it in,” he said. “We’ve got this.”
Working together, they managed to haul everything inside in about half an hour. The rain had settled into a miserable drizzle as Nick carried the last box in. He set it down on an end table, shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling sharply.
Emma stood in the middle of the jumbled living room, head bowed and shoulders slumped. “Thank you so much,” she said hoarsely, folding a hand across her stomach. “I just…I never could’ve done this without you.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Well, that’s the last time I use AAA1 Movers.”
Nick wiped off as much of the rain as he could and headed toward her—wanting to comfort her, knowing he shouldn’t. “You’re soaking wet,” he said gently. “Why don’t you grab a hot shower and change, and I’ll see what I can do to start drying this stuff out?”
“I can’t. The tub is full of boxes. They’re completely saturated, and I didn’t want them to s-stain the carpet…” Her chest heaved as she sent a helpless glance around the room, and silent tears dripped down her face.
Without a word, Nick embraced her.
She hooked an arm around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Oh, God,” she said. “You’re still in your uniform, and you’re drenched. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He stroked her wet hair, soothing her until her trembling eased. “Okay, new plan,” he said. “Grab some clothes, and we’ll head over to my place. You can shower there. I’ve got a few space heaters and a blow dryer or two, so we can bring them back here and get some of this dried.”
She looked up at him with a hesitant smile. “You’re way too nice,” she said. “I don’t get it.”
“Why I’m nice?”
“No, why some girl hasn’t snatched you up. There’s no way you should be single.”
Something shivered deep inside him. “I guess the right one hasn’t tried yet.”
In that moment, not kissing her was actually painful. He eased back reluctantly and reached for the door. “You find some clothes,” he said. “I’m going to move my car, and I’ll be back with an umbrella.”
She glanced down and smirked. “Kind of pointless now, isn’t it?”
“To keep your other clothes dry.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Be right back.”
Nick went out into the rain, mentally kicking himself. He’d have to work a lot harder to distance himself. Holding her, knowing she couldn’t be his, had almost killed him.
But if he didn’t stay strong, she would suffer. And that would kill him for sure.
Chapter 9
Emma stood shivering in Nick’s living room, waiting for the towel he wanted to bring her. This was unbelievable. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around the thought process it would take to arrive at let’s not even bother checking the door and just toss this stuff in the yard. Now half of her belongings were probably ruined, and she didn’t have that much to begin with.
But she would’ve lost all of it, if it hadn’t been for Nick.
He’d never even hesitated. Most people would’ve seen what happened and maybe stopped to ask if she needed help, hoping she’d say no. And if she did say yes, they’d say all right, well let me run home and change and get some dinner first. They’d take their time and hope most of it was done before they came back.
Not Nick, though. He’d jumped right in and taken charge. Kept her moving when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. He’d worked through the downpour, still in his uniform—and when it was finished, he didn’t excuse himself to pick up his interrupted day and leave her with the mess. He’d seen to her needs first. Was still seeing to them.
In all her life, no one had ever put her first.
And there went the rest of her heart.
Nick strode into the room, holding a towel in each hand. He tossed one on the couch and approached her with the other. Fresh shivers ran through her that had nothing to do with being cold. He’d taken his uniform shirt off, and the white t-shirt he must’ve been wearing beneath was soaked sheer and plastered to his muscles. Somehow that managed to be even sexier than him shirtless.
“Here you go.” He draped the big, fluffy towel around her shoulders and rubbed her arm briefly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of towels.”
“Thank you.” She hugged it around her for a minute, reveling in the warmth, and then started drying what she could. He grabbed the towel from the couch and did the same. Gradually, she moved from soaked to damp, and her shivers calmed. “God, what a mess,” she said. “Can you believe they did that?”
Nick’s eyes flashed dark for an instant, or maybe she’d just imagined it. “I’ve never even heard of anything like this,” he said. “And they need to pay for anything that’s permanently damaged.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Honestly, though, right now I don’t even want to think about that. I just want to be warm.”
“Good idea. Come on, I’ll show you to the bathroom.”
She expected him to head for the bedroom and the small attached bath with the stand-up shower. Instead, he brought her past the kitchen to a separate door, and a much bigger bathroom—with a corner shower separate from the huge whirlpool tub.
“Oh, wow.” She walked in and stared at the deep, tiled tub, a rich blue with black accents. One of her mother’s catches had something like this, but she’d never been allowed to use it. “Does this thing work?”
Nick shrugged. “Sure. It was broken when I moved in, but I figured out how to rig it. After I got them to knock the asking price down.” He smiled. “Do you want to use it? I could set it up for you.”
“Seriously? I’d love to.”
He nodded. “It’ll just take a minute.”
She watched him remove a panel at the base and fiddle with a few things. Then he reached into the tub and did something with the drain, and started the water running. “All right,” he said. “Let me show you the controls for the jets.”
She approached him slowly, a bright and sudden spark of desire growing with every step. Right now, the o
nly thing better than bathing in a whirlpool tub would be bathing with Nick in a whirlpool tub. When she reached him, she said, “You know, this is definitely going to use all your hot water. And you’re just as soaked as me.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I can grab a shower later.”
“Why wait? There’s plenty of room in there for two.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said that. She was never this forward. But being around Nick made her feel safe—like nothing in the world could hurt her, as long as he was there. She knew this wasn’t the kind of crippling dependence her mother had. It felt good to trust him.
He looked at her with burning eyes. “Emma, I…”
Oh, God. Of course he didn’t want to. She was an idiot, acting exactly the way she’d sworn she wouldn’t. He was just being nice, helping her out, and here she was trying to jump him at the first opportunity. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You’re probably exhausted, and it’s not like we—”
He kissed her.
Surprise turned instantly to knee-weakening desire, and she clung to him and returned the kiss with a hunger that matched his. He slid a hand down her back, cupped the curve of her bottom and pressed her against him. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said in ragged tones. “I can’t get enough of you. Can’t stay away.”
“Nick,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stay away.”
He released a shuddering groan. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” he murmured.
When she reached for her shirt, he caught her wrist. “Allow me.”
“Mmm,” she said with a shiver. “Okay.”
He stripped her slowly, almost reverently. “Incredible,” he whispered. “Emma, you are so damned beautiful it hurts.”
Heat suffused her body from head to toe. She realized it was the first time she’d heard him swear—and for some reason, that convinced her he meant it. “You’re pretty incredible yourself,” she said. “And somebody still has wet clothes on.”
Smiling, he peeled his shirt off, then slid everything else down and stepped out of them. She sucked in a breath at the sight of his cock, thick and hard and ready. She hadn’t really seen it last night, only felt it. He was even bigger than she’d imagined.
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