Matt was, in fact, feeling rather pleased when he returned to his office an hour later. Surely he could handle his secretary, and even his new boss, by whatever means it took. He'd been a cop long enough to learn that strong-arm tactics weren't the only way to pull someone over to the other side of the fence. He perched on the edge of Margie's desk and smiled at her.
Margie stopped her busywork and looked at him as if he were an annoying speck of dust on her desktop.
"Have you worked here long, Margie?" he inquired congenially.
"Over thirty years, sir."
The reply was brief, even terse, but he detected a hint of wariness in the tilt of her chin as she looked up at him. "That's quite a while," he observed. "All that time for the police department?"
She nodded, but this time there was a flash of pride in her eyes.
He whistled. "You and Chief Nelson must have gone back a ways."
Again she nodded. Ah, Matt thought. It was probably loyalty to Sam Nelson that prompted her leeriness of him. Well, that was understandable. She probably considered him an outsider.
"You know, Margie," he remarked conversationally, "that I'm from Chicago."
"I'm well aware of that, sir!"
Matt ignored her waspish tone and gave an encompassing glance around the office. "To tell you the truth, things were a lot different there. The people were different," he mused in a deliberately casual tone. "There were a lot of times when you had to watch out for yourself because no one else would do it for you." He noticed from the corner of his eye that she was listening intently.
Margie's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "I had a friend who moved to Chicago years ago. I went to visit her once." She sniffed disdainfully. "I've never seen a more uppity bunch of people in my life!"
Uppity? Matt had to resist the urge to laugh. At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor. Not only was his own private version of "uppity" sitting right in front of him, the name Angela Hall came immediately to mind, as well.
"You know, you're right," he agreed. "Why, in the week I've been here, I've wished more than once I'd moved here years ago." He flashed his most disarming smile. "To tell you the truth, Margie, I could use a friend. What do you say you show me around the department, and then the two of us can go to lunch?"
"Lunch?" She looked astonished at the suggestion.
Matt shrugged. "Why not? I imagine it'll be close to noon by the time we're finished. And I can't think of anyone more qualified than you to show me the ropes."
Margie's look of surprise changed to one of beaming pleasure. "Why, thank you." She flashed the first genuine smile he'd seen. "I think I'd like that. But, Chief—" she waved a finger insistently "—only if we go Dutch."
Having come this far, Matt wasn't about to argue- especially since he'd progressed from "sir" to "Chief." He liked the sound of it too much. Though he'd never considered himself the least bit chauvinistic—he wouldn't have accepted a job working for a woman if he was—he hadn't pegged Margie for the women's-lib type. But at least she wasn't immune to a little old fashioned male charm.
He was reminded of his meeting with Mayor Angela Hall that afternoon. One down, one to go, he couldn't help thinking. Would the same tactic work with her? At the thought a wry smile curved his lips.
Where Angela Hall was concerned, he had the feeling it wouldn't hurt to sharpen his ax.
CHAPTER TWO
As much as he wished he could blithely brush aside the incident that morning, Matt experienced a twinge of annoyance every time he recalled that he hadn't been the number one choice for police chief. He knew it was his pride chafing. He also knew that he wasn't going to feel a damn bit better until he'd gotten the whole issue off his chest once and for all.
So it was that there was a certain tension in the air as Matt entered Angie's office early that afternoon. The steely eyes that rested on her were keen, a little too penetrating for her peace of mind. Angie couldn't help but be aware of them as she rounded her desk to clasp Matt's hand in a brief handshake, a move she made graciously if reluctantly.
Their fingers merely brushed; she deliberately made the contact minimal. Yet it was oddly unsettling that he removed his hand first.
She moved back to her chair, wishing she weren't quite so conscious of his stare drilling into the slender lines of her back.
"I can't tell you how glad everyone is to have you on board," she told him, schooling her features into a faint smile as she sat down. "Westridge is very lucky to have someone with your experience."
He inclined his head. "I was just thinking the same thing not long ago."
A hollow silence followed. As polite as his tone was, there was something less than friendly about the way he'd said the words, just the slightest suggestion of sarcasm. She couldn't help but wonder if he had something else on his mind, a bone to pick with her perhaps.
Angie hesitated. She hadn't been looking forward to this meeting, not really. Even before the incident with Blair had come up this morning, something about Matthew Richardson made her uncomfortably aware of each and every thing about him. Shimmering June sunlight shone through the glass window beside him, casting the roughly carved features before her into stark relief. High cheekbones accented a strong jaw line, a thin but firmly contoured mouth. Dark brows arched over flinty gray eyes. It didn't take a second look to ascertain that beneath the navy suit were lean but extremely well-developed muscles—and Angie was trying very hard not to be quite so conscious of the fact. It reminded her of days gone by . . . days that were best forgotten.
But she had learned over the years to know exactly what she was dealing with. Matthew Richardson possessed an intensely masculine aura, an aura that hinted of controlled strength. This was a man who would be at ease, yet in control, of any situation.
Strangely enough, however, intimidating was not a word Angie would use to describe him. Exciting? To other women perhaps. But not to Angie Hall.
When she had scheduled this meeting, Angie intended to talk dollars and cents about the police department's budget. But when she tried to summon the statistics and figures that always came so quickly to mind, they were hardly the ones she expected. Six foot. Narrow hipped with the shoulders of a linebacker. She had to mentally shake herself to quell the renegade meanderings of her mind. She dealt with men on a professional level every day. Was this one really any different? They both had a job to do, and it was time she did hers.
"So," she said finally, "I assume you've had a chance to review the budget material we sent you." The police department's budget was coming up for ratification by the city council in mid-July, some six weeks away.
"Indeed I have, Ms Mayor."
Ms Mayor? Angie had been called a few things during her term, some nice, some not so nice, but his address was slightly irritating.
Business as usual, she reminded herself. Brushing the feeling aside, she clasped her hands on the desktop in front of her. "Any changes or recommendations you'd like to make?"
Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Is it too late to plead for more money?" Her brisk, no-nonsense manner didn't surprise him. It was on a par with the way she'd handled the press conference that morning. He had brains enough to recognize an intelligent woman when he saw one, and he had no doubt she would demand as much of someone else as she did of herself. Everything neat, tidy and in its place.
Exactly the way she looked. Even now, at three in the afternoon, there wasn't a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her clothing, not even a shine on her delicately formed nose. The perfect woman. For just a moment he was reminded of Linda, whom he hadn't thought of in years.
But to his surprise Angie laughed. The sound was pure and sweet, and so unlike the impression he'd just formed in his mind that for a moment Matt was startled.
"That," she commented dryly, "is a question I think I've heard from every department head. And the only answer I can give is that the city's budget has been increased over and above last year's already. Any further increase and I'm afrai
d we'd have a tax revolt on our hands."
It was no more than he'd expected. But Matt could live with the budget as it was, though he planned to do a little juggling before it was submitted to the council in final form. The dispatching system could stand to be further automated, and he wanted to increase public awareness of crime prevention through security surveys and neighborhood watch associations.
"Sam did his best to make the proposal something the next chief could live with," she added.
The next chief? Her choice of words reminded Matt once more that he wasn't the one she had wanted in the position. "Sam seems to have done an excellent job," he remarked. "Very well liked, I'd say." He shifted in his chair, aware of the speculative blue eyes focused on his face. "It was thoughtful of you to send me the budget proposal in the first place," he continued. Just to throw her off balance, he gave her a slight smile. "But no one likes having the bomb dropped on him at the last minute."
There it was again—the feeling that this conversation was double-edged. Angie's eyes narrowed. She wasn't the type to avoid a confrontation—if that's what the two of them were having. She had the distinct impression it was.
Raising fine arched brows, she leaned back in her chair. "Is there something else on your mind?"
The directness of the question caught him off guard, but Matt was growing accustomed to her cool, calm tone. Somehow it only reinforced his impression that she had about as much warmth in her veins as an iceberg at the North Pole. He seriously doubted that Mayor Angie Hall had a loving bone in her body!
Not that he'd known an overabundance of that emotion himself, Matt thought dryly. He certainly hadn't while he was growing up on Chicago's South Side. He suspected he'd known even less while he was married to Linda. Still, although he'd grown rather cynical over the years, he'd never thought of himself as being incapable of loving. He wasn't sure who was worse—the woman sitting primly in front of him or the old battle-ax who stood guard outside her door.
"We can't all be top dog like you, Ms Mayor," he said mildly, crossing his long legs at the knee, he gave her back stare for stare. "But politicians are generally known for their ability to do quite well at double-talk."
"So I've heard." Her tone was flat. "You're not looking at one, however."
Matt smiled.
Angie began to steam. She could almost suspect that he knew
"Your point, Chief Richardson," she said through tightly compressed lips. "You do have one?"
Chief Richardson. Somehow it didn't sound nearly as satisfying coming from her lips as it had from Margie's. Matt shrugged and looked up into his boss's snapping eyes. On one plane of thought, he realized that it was getting harder for him to think of this cold but lovely creature as the mayor of Westridge, let alone his boss. On another, it occurred to him that, as a cop who'd indulged in more than a few brawls and heartily enjoyed it, there was nothing he liked better than a good fight. Good, but fair.
He straightened abruptly. "I was at your press conference this morning," he said evenly. "Needless to say, I was there when a certain reporter started asking a few questions about your new appointment to police chief."
There was no need to go on. Matt could see from her expression that she understood him perfectly. Perfect. It was a word that came to mind rather often with her around.
He could also see he had discomfited her, and he derived a grim satisfaction from that.
"I see," Angie said slowly. And she did. Matt Richardson wasn't the type of man who would like coming in second. Until Blair Andrews had brought up the subject this morning, she really hadn't planned to tell him. But after the press conference she had realized it couldn't be avoided unless she wanted him to learn about it in the morning edition of the Bulletin. And she'd planned to let him know casually at the end of this meeting, to lead into it as gently as she could. Much as she didn't think she liked Matt Richardson as a person, she didn't want him to quit after only one day on the job.
"I had no idea you were there this morning," she said finally. She mulled over her words a few seconds longer, thinking grimly that once again Blair Andrews had succeeded in making waves. "I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't feel it had any bearing on the job. As for now.. .well, I just didn't have the chance. But I can assure you, the fact that you weren't my first choice has no reflection on your qualifications."
"I've no doubt about that," Matt intoned quite pleasantly. "I am, however, rather curious about the man who beat me out."
Angie's gaze sharpened. The expression on his face was indeed curious, but there was also a steely demand reflected in his eyes that set her on edge. She couldn't deny he'd been polite to a fault from the moment he'd walked into her office, but beneath the civil facade lurked a very tough, hard man. And wasn't that why she hadn't chosen him in the first place? Angie credited herself with being professional enough to put her personal feelings aside and concentrate on choosing the best person for the job. But the fact remained she really hadn't liked Matt Richardson from the start, and she was beginning to understand why.
"Beat you out?" she repeated dryly. "That's an odd way to put it when you're the one who got the job."
"I think you know what I mean, Ms, Mayor."
This time there was no denying the harshness of his tone. Angie had the strange sensation she was being interrogated—and Matt Richardson would be a master at getting whatever information he wanted. He'd spent years as a homicide detective for the Chicago Police Department.
She tapped a pencil on her desk for a few seconds. "All right," she said suddenly. "I wanted to hire an undersheriff from Marion County in Oregon. The county seat there is much the same size as Westridge, and like Westridge, it's surrounded by a largely rural area. The budget there is on a par, as well. We may be a growing center of business, but we have a number of residents who have lived in the area for generations. I felt we needed a certain—" she hesitated, searching for the right word "—camaraderie with the people. An ability to relate to the community."
Matt's mouth twisted. "And that's where I fell out of the running."
Angie bit her lip. The explanation hadn't come out quite the way she'd intended. She had sounded just a little lofty, and she really hadn't meant to. It wasn't as if he had fallen out of the running precisely. He'd just dropped one rung down the ladder.
"You have to admit Westridge and Chicago are worlds apart."
So he'd heard, and only that morning from Margie. In a town like Westridge, big-time cops from Chicago just didn't fit in. Matt opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to speak, he heard her voice again.
"The fact remains," she was saying, "that I wouldn't have hired you if I hadn't thought you had your nose to the ground in Chicago."
While hers was turned up in the air here in Washington? He recalled thinking something only that morning about hobnobbing at the local service station. He'd seen Angela Hall pull into the city lot driving a Mercedes this morning shortly before her press conference. Yet here she was, sitting before him in a suit that might well have come from a fashionable boutique on Michigan Avenue and obviously living high on the hog, telling him she was afraid he'd have a communication problem! He wasn't sure if he was more angry or amused.
She folded her hands in front of her on the desk and spoke crisply. "You have an impressive record, Chief Richardson, one that you can be proud of." Angie mentally reviewed his accomplishments. He hadn't earned the rank of lieutenant merely walking a beat. He'd worked in homicide, internal affairs and the organized crime division in Chicago. He'd also been appointed by the superintendent to serve on several special task forces and he'd been decorated several times.
But there was no denying she'd felt Matt wasn't quite right for the job, which was why she had wanted to hire Undersheriff Dennis Morgan. It was all water under the bridge, however. Now it seemed she and Matthew Richardson were stuck with each other since Dermis Morgan had ultimately decided working for a woman wasn't his cup of tea.
Almost a
s if he could read her mind, Matt voiced the question. "Your undersheriff turned you down, I take it?"
Angie nodded.
"May I ask why?"
He could ask, but that didn't mean he would receive. The sharp retort almost slipped out, but then she suddenly remembered what he'd said about politicians and double-talk.
"He decided he didn't want to work for a woman," she told him shortly. "A problem you obviously don't have."
"Obviously." His reply was bland, but Matt had actually harbored a few reservations before he'd finally accepted the offer. During his seventeen years on the force, he'd never had a female partner and hadn't really wanted one, either. Only the certainty that Angela Hall was just as capable of handling her own job had convinced him that the sex of his boss shouldn't influence his decision. He'd wanted a change; a change was what he got. So he couldn't complain, could he?
At least she'd been honest in her reasoning. He couldn't fault her for that. Yet there was something, some small scrap of pride, that made him rise to his feet and say, "At any rate, maybe I should be glad you decided I was better than nothing."
The slight sarcasm in his tone wasn't lost on her. Angie's eyes flashed upward. Her usual calm deserted her when she snapped, "We obviously had to have a police chief."
His laugh grated on her further. "I'm surprised you didn't take on the job yourself. You strike me as the type of woman who can handle just about anything."
"You've decided not to tender your resignation, then?" There was a definite coolness in her tone. Her blue eyes followed him as he moved across the room toward the doorway.
There he paused, one big hand resting casually on the doorknob. "Oh, don't worry," he said with a shrug. "I've never been one to scare easily. So like it or not, Ms Mayor, you're stuck with me. And you can rest assured I won't disappoint you." The smile directed over one broad shoulder might have been beguiling under any other circumstances—and to any other woman. "Who knows?" he added conversationally. "I may even buy a pickup and a pair of cowboy boots."
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