Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold)

by Tee O'Fallon

  Did she remember him?

  Their meeting had been brief, but he damn sure hadn’t forgotten those striking emerald eyes, that cleavage he’d gotten a good look at, and—hell—he hadn’t forgotten a single part of that hot, athletic body. He’d thought about her during his entire drive down to Albany but never expected to come back and find her working at the Nest.

  Ah, shit. Don’t even think it. You don’t need the complication.

  She lowered her gaze to his boots, then began a slow perusal up his legs to his chest. The expression on her face changed from one of shock to disappointment. By the time her eyes locked with his, her luscious lips frowned.

  What, did I arrest her and forget? No way. Not possible I’d forget a woman that looked like her.

  The bell over the Nest’s front door jangled. After a furtive glance at the door, she grabbed what looked like a brand-new menu, stomped toward him, and thrust it at his chest. “What can I get you?” Her face was now a mask of cool indifference.

  Mike furrowed his brows. “Great to see you again, too.” He accepted the menu and sat on the stool at the end of the counter. “We met last week. Or don’t you remember?”

  Green eyes held his, and he took the moment to admire her clear, sun-kissed complexion. He got a strong whiff of the same scent she’d worn last week. Some kind of flower.

  “I remember.” She picked up an order pad and a pen. Her tone was laced with a touch of irritation. “I didn’t expect to see you again. In uniform.”

  Ah. There it is. A cop-hater.

  Last week, he’d pegged her as a lot of things, but not that. Then again, last week he hadn’t been in uniform and his hair had been a lot longer. Hopefully, she wouldn’t spit in his food. Or worse.

  “It pays the bills.” Mike began to scan the menu. The door jangled again, and he looked up, catching her as she cast another quick glance at the front door. When her gaze swung back to him, she watched him with obvious annoyance. And those pink lips were still frowning. “By the way, I’m Mike Flannery.” He held out his hand to her across the counter.

  Better to know your enemy.

  She hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Cassie Younger.” As Mike’s fingers slid over her slender ones, his hand engulfed hers. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his rough fingers. Damned if his heart rate didn’t kick up.

  Shit. Not good.

  He wanted to groan at his stupid, adolescent response. Their gazes locked again for several seconds. Cassie jerked her hand from his as if she’d been burned. She grabbed a cloth and started to wipe the counter. “I’ll give you some time to look at the menu.” More wiping. “It’s new.”

  As he watched her drag the cloth over the already sparkling clean counter, he wondered if she’d felt the same heat he had. Mike cleared his throat and glanced again at the menu. “You’ve got a nice ass—”

  “You aren’t going to start in with the ass jokes, are you?” Cassie propped her hands at her waist, tightening her shirt over her breasts. “Because if you are, I might have to kick yours, uniform and all.”

  He jerked up his head, speechless. The last thing he’d expected when he’d come in for lunch today was to be threatened by a flame-haired bombshell. The customer next to him, clearly having heard Cassie’s threat, paused mid-bite to see how Mike would react.

  He raked his gaze over her figure. The idea of her kicking his ass was ludicrous. She was in great shape but couldn’t weigh more than one-twenty-five. When he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he laughed so loudly every patron at the counter and some of the nearby tables turned his way. From the corner of his eye, he caught Rose sending him a quizzical look. When he glanced back to Cassie, she’d twisted her mouth into the cutest little pout.

  “Relax.” He let out another laugh. “I was only going to say you had a nice ass-ortment of new items on the menu.”

  “Oh.” Cassie bit her lower lip. “Sorry. I’m just sick and tired of people making cracks about my ass.”

  “Fair enough.” He did his best to put on a serious face. “I’ll have the town board pass a law against making ass jokes. But it’s doubtful it will ever be a crime punishable by death.”

  “That’s a shame.” Her tone was contrite. “But thank you. Maybe you’re a gentleman after all.”

  “Maybe.” He shot her a pointed look and lowered his voice. “Maybe not.” Before she could get hostile again, he returned his attention to the menu. “So what’s good today?”

  “Everything.” She watched him with a sour expression.

  For some reason, she’d thrown down the gauntlet. Baiting him. Fine. If that’s the way Rose’s new chef wanted it.

  Right back atcha, babe.

  “Forgive me if I sound skeptical,” Mike intentionally added a dubious note to his voice, “but you seem pretty sure of yourself.” That oughta piss her off.

  It did.

  “I am and I should be.” Another nasty glare. “I’m the new chef.”

  Curious about what broomstick she’d flown in on, he asked, “You live around here?”

  “I do now.”

  Cryptic answer.

  “Where are you from?”

  Cassie pursed her lips, glancing at the front door as the bell jangled and someone walked in. “Here and there.”

  Evasive. That, combined with the way she kept vigilant tabs on who came into the Nest, told him she was hiding something. Witholding information was one thing, but lying outright was something he didn’t tolerate. He’d been taken for a ride once before by the best, and he sure wasn’t about to hop on that train again.

  Mike met her level gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Aside from her ramrod straight posture, the only sign of agitation was the dull thud of her pencil as she tapped it on her order pad. “Not very forthcoming, are you?”

  “A girl’s entitled to have some secrets, isn’t she?” Her lips twitched.

  “Depends on the secrets,” he shot back.

  She leaned in close. “Didn’t your mamma tell you secrets are a woman’s prerogative?”

  With her upper body angling toward him less than a foot away, Mike again caught the subtle fragrance of flowers—lilacs?—mingled with the aroma of all the food in the restaurant. He also got a nice look down her shirt. Unprofessional of him.

  Unavoidable.

  When he looked up, he saw a smirk on Cassie’s face that made him want to kiss it right off her sassy mouth. “My mamma must have forgotten that lesson,” he said, his tone meant to warn her he didn’t appreciate the snide comments. “For now, if you don’t mind, I’ll order lunch. What do you recommend, Chef Cassie?”

  She rested one palm on her hip. “Oh, that’s cute.”

  Enough sarcasm for one day.

  “Sweetheart.” Mike smacked down the menu and leaned forward on the counter. “I give as good as I get. Something you’d do well to remember if you plan on staying in this town.”

  Cassie glared at him for a moment. “Noted.”

  Finally. A retreat.

  Christ, all I want to do is eat and get the hell back to work.

  “So what’s good today?” he asked again.

  “If you like chili, the chili.”

  Then again, maybe a woman after his own heart. “Chili it is. Make it a large. Extra cheese.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  Cassie jotted down his order, took his menu, and headed into the kitchen, giving Mike another chance to admire her exquisite ass. No wonder she was tired of all the comments about it. Damn near impossible for a man not to have something to say on the subject.

  He strummed his fingers on the counter. No need for coffee to wake him up. The Nest’s new chef had already done that. As thorny as Cassie Younger was, she’d definitely gotten his attention. Besides being one hot tomato, she was a puzzle. A mystery he wanted—no, needed—to solve. For professional reasons. If she was going to be a permanent fixture in town, he had an obligation to dig into her story…because something didn’t fit. There were question
s he wanted answered.

  Where had she come from?

  A woman as sophisticated and citified as she was didn’t materialize in Hicktown, U.S.A. out of the blue without a good reason.

  How long would she stay in Hopewell Springs?

  Last week, she’d said she was passing through, yet here she was working at the Nest.

  He watched through the kitchen opening while she expertly ladled up a heaping bowl of chili without losing a drop. His gaze was drawn to her graceful fingers as she sprinkled two handfuls of thickly grated cheese on top. No skimping on the cheese with this woman, something he greatly appreciated. That, and no inedible frou-frou green stuff to make the bowl look fancy.

  Chef Cassie sashayed back to the dining room, toting the large, steaming bowl in one hand. She slid it onto the paper placemat in front of him. “Let me know what you think.” She pressed her slim hip against the counter.

  Leaning over the bowl, Mike inhaled the rich spices. He scooped up a spoonful of chili and shoved it into his mouth. The melting cheese was better than whatever Chef Pierre used. The meat was tender, and there was some other smoky flavor he couldn’t identify. Cassie wasn’t kidding. It was excellent.

  A glance at her face told him she was impatiently waiting for his opinion. Let ’er wait. He’d compliment her when he was damn good and ready and not a moment sooner. After swallowing two more mouthfuls, Mike put down his spoon. He squinted and stared at the ceiling, pretending to be deep in thought.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  “Patience, Chef Cassie.” Mike scratched his chin. “My palate is still undecided.”

  Now it was her turn to strum her fingers on the counter.

  When he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he laughed and admitted, “You were right. The chili is kick-ass.” When she narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, he held up his hand. “Don’t start. That crack wasn’t directed at your backside.”

  A smile lit Cassie’s face, and it did something odd to the inside of Mike’s chest. Like his heart skipped a beat. Shit. He jammed another spoonful of chili into his mouth and swallowed. “What’s that spicy smokiness?” The chili packed more punch than he’d originally thought.

  “Chipotle.” She leaned her forearm against the counter. Her red shirt hugged her breasts tighter, and he nearly choked. “It’s smoked jalapeños.”

  Mike tore his eyes from her chest. “Uh, it adds great flavor.”

  A mischievous glint flashed in her green eyes. “Is it hot enough for you?”

  With his spoon halfway to his mouth, he paused and locked eyes with hers. No doubt about it. The woman knew exactly what she was doing to him. “Hot, but not too hot. No sense adding more fuel to a fire. It’s perfect the way it is.”

  “Thank you, officer.” Her lips twitched. “Coming from you, I guess that makes it official.” She tallied his bill and slapped it onto the counter beside his bowl.

  Mike wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Do you ever say anything that isn’t antagonistic?”

  “Of course.” She grinned, the way a witch grins right before turning someone into a toad. “When the situation warrants it.”

  Jesus, Cassie might be all soft and womanly on the outside, but her disposition had a core of steel that could rival a prison inmate’s.

  Prison?

  Mike narrowed his eyes. She didn’t fit the prison profile, but it sure would explain the disgusted look she’d had on her face when she saw him in uniform.

  “So is it me or the uniform?” he asked.

  Cassie let out an unladylike snort. “You’re the cop. You figure it out.” She flicked her eyes to the front door once more before pivoting and walking her shapely ass back into the kitchen.

  Mike noted one of the town’s locals heading out the door, and he wondered why the Nest’s new chef was surveilling the door as if a terrorist was about to walk in and shoot up the place.

  As he finished his lunch, he could see her through the kitchen opening, chopping carrots like she wanted to kill them. Every time her knife hit the cutting board, it echoed loudly enough for him to hear above the surrounding noise of the restaurant. Maybe she was imagining each carrot was his neck. When she glanced up and found him watching her, she frowned and went back to killing carrots. Mike held back a snort. Even while murdering produce, she wielded cutlery with the grace and precision of a master chef. Probably the kind of woman who’d get all gooey-eyed at receiving a Bowie knife for Christmas.

  The tip Mike left on the counter was more than generous, considering Cassie’s prickly service. He stood and walked to the register, shaking his head.

  What did I do to piss off a total stranger? And why the hell do I care?

  I don’t.

  As much as it annoyed him, he still couldn’t forget their first meeting a week ago. He hadn’t felt as charged since throwing the winning touchdown pass in his college championship game. He could have sworn Cassie had felt it, too. Maybe not the football thing. But he hadn’t done well with relationships in a long time. Not since…

  Mike rubbed the scar on his forehead. That was a time in his life he’d just as soon stop remembering. Too freaking painful. His only interest in Cassie Younger was professional. There was more to her than she let on.

  Yeah, that’s it. Professional concern.

  “What do you think of my new chef?” Rose took the bill from his hand to ring him up.

  “She makes the best chili I ever had.” He turned to see Cassie had taken a break from attacking produce. She stood on the dining room side of the counter, holding a newborn baby swaddled in a pink blanket. The baby’s mother settled herself at the counter while Cassie cooed and smiled at the infant. The two women struck up a conversation he couldn’t hear, but the customer chatted with Cassie like they were old friends. As he continued watching, Cassie drew another patron into the conversation, and for some unfathomable reason Mike couldn’t tear his gaze away. Maybe it was the gentleness with which she held the baby, or the unexpected ease she had with people. Apparently Chef Cassie loved babies and her customers, but hated cops. Then again maybe it was just him.

  “Earth to Chief Flannery,” Rose said with sarcasm. “So?” She raised her brows suggestively.

  Mike turned back to her. “So what?”

  Rose gave him a disbelieving look. “I saw the way you and Cassie stared at each other last week before you left for Albany. The sparks between you could have set off the entire building.”

  “That was before she knew I was a cop. Don’t go playing matchmaker, Ms. Newcomb.” He gave her a pointed look meant to squash any romantic thoughts. “Your new chef doesn’t like me much, and she made sure I knew it. More importantly, I’m not interested.” He pocketed the change Rose handed him and winked. “I’ll be sure to give Jimmy your regards.”

  “Don’t you dare say anything to encourage him!” She widened her eyes. “Jimmy and I are just friends.”

  “Whatever you say, Rose.” Mike grinned over his shoulder before he escaped out the door, wishing like hell everyone would quit trying to hook him up. Particularly with irritating, high-maintenance women. No matter how beautiful she was, he’d bet his badge trouble followed Cassie Younger like a shadow.

  …

  Cassie admired Mike’s athletic gait through the window as he walked to a black Ford Explorer with a gold police emblem emblazoned on the door. Before he got into the truck, he waved to a couple of kids racing down the street on bicycles.

  The man was charming and didn’t even know it. From what she could see and hear, the men liked him, the waitresses loved him, and every female customer ogled him as if he were a Greek god. Well, he pretty much was. The muscles on his forearms were as cut as a piece of Swarovski crystal. His face couldn’t be any more handsome. Ignoring the hypocrisy of the thought, Cassie noted that his ass looked as great in uniform as in the jeans he’d worn last week.

  Maybe it was a good thing he was off-limits, per her own personal rule about never dating a cop again. Besides,
this wasn’t exactly a good time to get close to anyone, especially someone whose business it was to ask a lot of questions. Questions she couldn’t answer without exposing her identity or leaving a trail directly to her and Hopewell Springs.

  And there was definitely more to Mike Flannery than just a hot body in a uniform. The man was a good cop with good instincts. He’d caught her keeping tabs on the front door, and she’d seen the suspicion in his eyes. All the more reason to keep her time in this town short. Laying low as she was, she’d have to rely on Gray and Dom to make quick progress in the hit-man investigation.

  “Cassie? Honey, are you in there?”

  Cassie blinked as she realized Rose was waving a hand in front of her face. “Huh?”

  “He’s not married,” she said.

  “Who’s not married?”

  “Mike. The man whose tight buns you can’t take your eyes off. Here.” She grabbed a napkin. “Let me wipe the drool from your mouth.”

  Cassie swatted her hand away. “I was not drooling, and I wasn’t watching him, either.”

  Although she feigned annoyance at Rose’s teasing, Cassie couldn’t help smiling. She loved the instant friendship that had sprung between them over the last week. They shared a lot in common, including the dream of opening a fancy, high-end eatery someday. Rose had explained she had her eye on a prime location just outside of town for her new restaurant and was waiting for the property to go on the market.

  “Uh-huh, sure you weren’t watching him.” Rose’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Mike is the town’s most eligible bachelor and any red-blooded woman can see why. Not only is he gorgeous, but he’s nice. And you made him laugh. Loudly. A near-impossible feat for a man who keeps his emotions locked up tight. So, why don’t you like him?”

  “I never said I didn’t like him.” Although she had been a bit over-the-top hostile to him. She really ought to have played it cooler.

  “Mike said you don’t.” Rose rang up another customer. “He doesn’t think you like cops.”