Detective on the Hunt

by Marilyn Pappano

It was forty minutes later when he made it into the station. He stamped snow from his boots at the door, got a cup of coffee and went to Sam’s office. His boss was on the phone, but Lois, seated in front of the desk, waved him in. He sat next to her.

  “School superintendent,” she murmured. “Wants to know if the streets will be clear in the morning or if he should go ahead and cancel classes for then, too.”

  “Does Sam look like a weatherman?” Quint and Lois asked in unison. They’d both seen this exchange plenty of times. With Oklahoma’s fickle winters, the superintendent was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Parents who’d scrambled to make other arrangements for their kids got pretty ticked if the cancellation turned out to be unnecessary, as did stay-at-home parents facing an unexpected day with their little darlings. It was amazing how many of them would risk ice and injury to get the kids to school—and out of their hair.

  Quint didn’t care for the sentiment Better safe than sorry, but it fit here.

  When Sam got off the phone, he dragged his hand through his hair and glowered at them. “Seriously? What makes the man think my opinion carries more weight than the meteorologists’?”

  “At least he listens to you,” Quint said.

  “Yeah,” Lois agreed. “Ever since the time he didn’t, and the school bus slid off the road and scared the snot out of twenty-seven grade-schoolers.”

  Sam picked up his coffee and cradled the mug in his hands. The irritation disappeared from his face, replaced with an easier look. “How did it go yesterday?”

  Inside, Quint was squirming, but on the outside, he kept his body still and his expression blank. “It was fine.”

  “What do you think of Detective Logan?”

  That question came from Lois, whose grin stretched from ear to ear. He didn’t have to be a half-decent cop to know she had an ulterior motive in asking. Lois always had an ulterior motive. She was barely old enough to be his mother, but she acted as if she had mothering rights over everyone in the department. It was easier for all of them to let her boss them than to push back.

  “She’s capable.”

  Lois rolled her eyes. “Let me rephrase that. What do you think of JJ?”

  “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to think anything of her.” The back of his neck grew warm. If he told too many lies, his ears would start burning red enough for any slightly observant person to notice, and Lois and Sam were both way past slightly.

  Lois shook her finger at him. “I know how smart you are, Quinton Foster. Deliberate obtuseness won’t work.”

  Sam took pity on him and stepped in. “Did she mention her chief at all?”

  Quint shook his head. “On the way inside, she asked if you were good, bad or indifferent. I got the impression that hers wasn’t much to work with.”

  “Yeah. That’s my impression, too. When he called yesterday, he asked me to help her out. Implied that she wasn’t his choice for this job and he wasn’t sure she could handle it.”

  Lois gaped at him. Quint was surprised by the information, but he let Lois respond. “A detective who can’t handle a welfare check? How could that possibly be? How has she kept her job? How she’d get it in the first place?”

  “He said he inherited her when he took over the department last year. As far as keeping her, all he said was, ‘Politics. You understand.’” Sam’s put-on Southern accent was exaggerated enough to annoy a true Southerner. He broke off a piece of chocolate-glazed doughnut and gestured with it. “I would never send one of my officers out of town on a job, then tell the local chief he or she can’t do the job without help. It reflects worse on Chadwick than it does on JJ.”

  “That’s because you’re an intelligent man who understands the value of your female officers.” Lois’s turquoise hair fluttered with the emphatic bob of her head. She’d been with the department longer than Quint and Sam combined, and she’d done her gender proud. She’d turned down promotions so she could stay on the street, but she would have been an outstanding detective. She would have been—still would be—an outstanding assistant chief.

  And she could probably kick Chief Chadwick’s ass.

  “I looked him up.” Sam pointed to the computer with the doughnut, then finally ate it. “He retired as chief from a small department in North Carolina, then took this job. A newspaper article said the last department didn’t hire a single woman during his fifteen-year tenure. I’m thinking he might have a few old-fashioned ideas about a woman’s place.”

  Lois snorted, then patted her sidearm. “Don’t tell a woman carrying a gun where her place is. She’s likely to put you in yours.”

  Deservedly so. Quint was no fool. He knew the strongest people in his life were the women: Linny, his mother, his grandmothers, his sisters. Not a man in the Foster family doubted that the women were in charge or that they deserved to be.

  He hadn’t seen enough of JJ at work to wholeheartedly vouch for her, the way he could with Lois, Little Bear or Harper. He could say she seemed competent. Capable. Intelligent. She thought like a cop. She was looking at the situation with Maura the way a cop would. He could say one thing for sure, though.

  “Georgie invited her back for a visit.”

  Sam’s brows lifted, and Lois grimaced. “That old witch. I’ve known her my whole life, and she still treats me like something nasty scraped from her shoe.”

  “Maybe you don’t insult her enough,” Quint murmured.

  Before Lois could question him, Morwenna appeared in the doorway. She was dressed unusually brightly today and seemed unusually stressed. She overlooked the fact that everyone in the room outranked her and snapped her fingers at them. “Come on, guys, we need you on the street. Calls are stacking up.”

  “We’re coming.” Sam stood, shrugging into his jacket before reaching for his Stetson. “On the chance that her chief isn’t just a jerk and has actual reasons to be concerned, keep in touch with her, Quint, would you? Tag along. Drive her places. Tell her I’m covering our bases since she’s in our jurisdiction.”

  Sam looked as if he’d just given a perfectly normal order, but Lois smirked on her way out of the office. Quint could practically read the delight dancing in her brain, that he was going to be forced to spend more time with someone who didn’t suffer silence gladly. Someone who was pretty. Who looked damn good in snug jeans and a tight-fitting shirt. Someone who made him remember—only for as long as it took him to quash it—that he was still living.

  He should have told Sam he had unequivocal faith in JJ’s ability to do her job. He should have described her as Superwoman with a badge. He should have done whatever it took to get back to his usual—solo—routine. Why hadn’t he?

  The scary thing about it, though... He wasn’t nearly as put out by Sam’s order as he should have been.

  That couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

  Chapter 4

  JJ might never be a winter aficionado, but she had to admit, there was something intriguingly clean and fresh and invigorating about the cold, sharp air that filled her lungs and cleared every last cobweb from her brain. She felt as though she could run an easy five miles, then solve a crime before lunch. After inhaling a lot of steaming-hot comfort food, she could then solve another before the workday ended.

  Of course, running five miles depended on keeping her feet underneath her when an inch of ice hid beneath two inches of snow. She wasn’t likely to make any headway on determining Maura’s status when she couldn’t go any farther from the hotel than she could walk. And much as she loved her new coat, hat and gloves, she had gone only a few blocks down First Street and couldn’t feel her toes or fingertips anymore.

  She’d had breakfast at the diner across from the courthouse. Far from her usual milk, coffee and protein bar, she’d indulged in fried eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy and bacon—hence, the cautious stroll before returning to the hotel. She comforted herself
that all those carbs and fats were helping her stay warm, at least until she saw several very good reasons for her blood to pump a little harder.

  A white SUV with police markings was stuck in the parking lot across the street. The exhaust from it turned white as soon as it hit the air, drifting past the men and the lone woman who stood there talking. Officer Turquoise Hair and her band of merry police officers.

  JJ gauged the distance of the oncoming traffic, making sure she had plenty of time for a jog that would take only a few seconds on dry pavement. She reached the opposite sidewalk without falling on her butt, thank heavens, then trudged through snow onto the sanded but still slick parking lot.

  “Is this a privileged conference, or can anyone join in?” she asked when she got near enough.

  Quint looked up, his gaze coming straight to hers. Ah, yes, there was some of that warmth she’d been looking for. She would bet she’d find a lot more of it if he would just wrap one arm around her and snuggle her up to his body, but sadly, that wasn’t on his agenda.

  Yet.

  She did get an arm around her—Lois’s—but it seemed Lois was leaching warmth away from her instead of sharing it. The other woman’s affectionate smile made up for it.

  “How’s this for a welcome?” Lois opened her other arm wide to indicate the scene around them. “Isn’t it a beautiful sight?” Then she winked slyly. “And the snow doesn’t look bad, either.”

  Lois performed quick introductions all around that JJ responded to with nods. Sam Douglas stood next to Quint, and beside him was Detective Little Bear, who was tall enough she had to tilt her head back to see his face. Detective Harper was shorter, leaner and wirier, which had its own advantages over brute strength. The three of them wore black tactical pants, boots and jackets that said Police in gold.

  With their knitted caps and red faces, the other two men—Officers Simpson and Anaya—looked very young. Like Quint, they wore uniforms, but they didn’t wear them as well. For them, the khaki trousers were just clothes. For Quint, they were an accessory emphasizing lean legs, muscular thighs and a nice butt. Even with the bulky jacket, there were hints of similar solidness up above. He didn’t even look cold as he stood there. Instead, he wore this weathered look, like Yeah, it’s cold, but I’m tough.

  “Lois, get behind the wheel, would you?” Sam suggested.

  “Who’s the unlucky—” JJ’s gaze shifted across the SUV to the rear quarter panel signage that clearly read Chief of Police and winced.

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Of everyone in the entire department, I’m the one who gets stuck in the damned parking lot.”

  “I’m sure it could happen to anyone—well, almost anyone.”

  His gaze narrowed in her direction. “But not you?”

  “I can truthfully say I’ve never gotten a car stuck on snow or ice.”

  The men were lining up at the rear of the truck, preparing to give their best at pushing the vehicle free, but Quint took time to respond. “That’s because you’ve never driven on snow or ice.”

  “My statement stands on its own,” she said with a mock frown. “No clarification required.”

  Acknowledging her comment with the slightest lift of his brows, he took the spot nearest her, placing his gloved hands on the vehicle. His jacket that had been spotless yesterday was dirty and splattered this morning. So were his trouser legs and boots. This wasn’t the first car he’d given a push this morning.

  She stepped back and watched. It took several efforts, but through a combination of the men pushing and Lois judiciously using the gas pedal, they got the vehicle moving. She drove it to a clearer spot twenty feet away, then hopped out. “There you go, Sam,” she said with a flourish. “Go forth now and rescue others in need.”

  “Thanks, guys.” Sam turned toward JJ and Quint, who stood nearby, dusting his gloves, and gave a nod before heading for his truck. The other officers dispersed as well, each striding toward their own vehicles.

  They’d all driven away, leaving the air still, before Quint finally gave up on tidying his clothes. “You still want to see Maura today? We’ve got a lot of calls right now, but when we get them cleared, I can take you over there, then we could have lunch if you want.”

  A second invitation to lunch in two days. Hmm. She would like to feel flattered, even hopeful, but the cop in her realized belatedly that the little nod from Sam that she’d thought was a goodbye more likely had been a signal to Quint. What exactly had Chief Dipstick said yesterday? That she couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag with a rip in its side? That the little woman needed watching so she didn’t hurt her little ol’ self?

  The thought annoyed the hell out of her—but with Chadwick, not Sam. Certainly not Quint. She knew she didn’t need any help, and so did Chadwick, but she wasn’t going to turn it down just to spite him. She liked having someone to bounce ideas off, to keep her open to all possibilities, and when that someone was as handsome as Quint...

  “Can I assume you’ll swing by the hotel and pick me up?”

  “Unless you’d rather walk. Or...if you’re interested...” He paused, his gaze flicking away, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked in the direction of the street that ran south of the station, the blocks visible a blend of businesses and houses, then slowly returned his attention to her and finished his faltering words. “You could ride along until I’m clear, and we can check out Maura then.”

  JJ followed his lead, tucking her hands into her coat pockets, finding an extra layer of warmth there. “Ride-alongs at home have to be cleared by the chief four weeks in advance. Only males need apply.”

  “Sam won’t care.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. The invitation had been so awkwardly given that she was pretty sure Sam would be glad he’d managed to find a way to keep an eye on her even longer than just an interview with Maura.

  JJ would be much happier keeping her own eye on Quint for longer than just the interview, so she flashed him her best smile. “Sounds fun. I like watching big strong men working while I stay comfy cozy.”

  His truck was at the other end of the lot, so they started that way. She picked careful steps over soft snow, solid ice and hard-packed slush. Hitting the ground in the course of tackling a suspect was more fun than not. Diving to avoid a punch or a gunshot was natural instinct. Smacking to the ground in front of the man she’d really like to see naked—soon—would be nothing but embarrassing.

  Even if he would feel obligated to help her to her feet. If he took her hands firmly in his and lifted her weight without so much as a deep breath. If he settled his hands on her arms or shoulders for a moment to be sure she was steady and balanced. Even if he offered his arm so she could make it safely.

  Still a trade-off she didn’t want to make.

  “I’m surprised by how many people are out this morning,” she said, glancing at him. The wool cap covered every bit of his hair, reaching almost to his eyebrows, but he managed to look amazingly handsome anyway.

  “You don’t have people out and about when a hurricane hits?”

  “Huh. Yeah.” Hurricanes were common enough in her experience—dangerous, but familiar. Though Evanston got heavy rains, high winds and flooding, the city was far enough inland to escape the brunt of most storms. Snow and ice were probably just as familiar, and a lot less scary, to the locals here.

  Lucky her, Quint did take her arm when she started to climb into the truck. The running board was coated with slush and ice, so there was still a good chance she was going to splat down at least once today, but not this time. He held her just above the elbow as she gingerly stepped up and inside.

  Too bad it hadn’t been skin to skin, so she didn’t have to guess at the texture of his palm—calloused, she would bet—or the heat his body radiated. A lot, probably.

  “What did you say about your chief and ride-alongs?” he asked when he slid into the
driver’s seat.

  JJ hesitated in fastening her seat belt, took a breath and gave him an even look. “He’s pissy about them, and he generally doesn’t allow women to do them. Can’t have a girl get hurt or see or hear somethin’ not fit for a lady’s fragile nature.”

  “He really said that?”

  “To my sister, the contractor, who climbs all over roofs and carries seventy-pound bundles of shingles up ladders. She was so mad, she about broke his legs off at the knee.”

  “But she didn’t because you don’t tick off your sister’s boss.”

  The dispatcher called before JJ could answer, assigning Quint to a car accident on the southwest edge of town. After he acknowledged it, JJ went on. “Elle wanted to slam the chief on Facebook, complain to the mayor, write to the local newspaper, notify the ACLU. With her working in a traditionally male industry, gender discrimination is a hot-button issue for her. Plus, she’s a little bit of a drama princess.”

  “Just a little bit, huh? What about you?”

  She grinned, feeling ridiculously contented right this moment. The snow was beautiful, and she was buckled into a pickup the size of a tank with an experienced and skilled driver who just happened to leave her butterflies dizzy from spinning in time to the pit-pat-pit-pat of her heart. This was a very good place to be.

  In response to his question, she assumed a royal pose. “Me? A drama princess?” Then her grin turned wicked. “Sweetie, I am the queen.”

  He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. But his lips quirked just a tiny bit, as if they wanted to.

  When they reached the scene, he eased the truck to a stop in the outside lane, a safe distance from the wreck, and turned on his emergency lights. Frigid air rushed in when he opened the door, but instead of getting out right away, he gave her a look. Long. Level. Very blue.

  And then he almost smiled. Really. Almost. The corners of his mouth lifted, his eyes softened, his cheeks looked a little fuller. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, because he turned, let his boots slide to the ground and closed the door.