by Kathryn Shay
“I feel the same. But I sure do reckon having those little critters running around my feet would be the best thing in the world.”
She smiled at the image.
“Did you ever talk to other cops about being parents?”
Her face shadowed and he wondered why. “Yeah. One. He agreed with me. His kids worry constantly, and his wife has periods of depression over the danger he’s in every day, especially the couple of times when he got shot.”
“They all say they didn’t think much about the effects of their job on family until...”
A loud noise. A bad jarring. The cart jerked off course.
Ty felt himself hurled up and sideways.
He landed hard on the ground.
Her body landed on top of him.
A crash.
Ty didn’t know how long he lay there dazed, but when he came to fully, Francesca was sprawled over him. He wasn’t hurt, at least not enough to miss the pleasure that shot through him at her full-bodied contact. She braced her arms on his chest and lifted herself up. Looked down at him. For a few seconds, their gazes locked. He raised his hand. Tugged. The loose knot she’d worn this morning unwound, almost as if it hated being confined. And into his hand spilled mountains of thick, dark hair.
“Francesca.” Even to his own ears, his tone was lover-like.
Her lips parted, she glanced at his mouth and for a minute he thought she was going to kiss him.
Then they heard, “What are you two doin’ there? Don’t you know fraternization is frowned upon in the BPD?”
* * *
Francesca rolled off Tyrell and came to her feet, groaning. They’d hit the ground but it was grassy. Besides, he took the brunt of their fall. She held out her hand. “You okay, Ty?”
He grasped onto her and came to his feet. “Arrgh.” His body hurt all over. “Yeah. Sore as the dickens.” He saw Larry Gray and Bruce Metcalf watching them. “Thanks for the concern, guys. We’re fine.”
Slowly, the two walked toward them.
Metcalf propped his hands on his hips. “We didn’t wanna interrupt anything.”
“Seems like you were doin’ just fine.” Gray gave an ugly laugh. “At what, I’m not sure.”
“Are you blind?” She pointed to the golf cart a few yards down path. Its front was crumpled up against a big tree.
Meant-to-be-innocent brows rose. “We didn’t see that,” Gray put in. “Must be I’m mesmerized by all that hair you keep hidden.” He poked Metcalf. “She’s a girl after all.”
“Yeah, I guess. We were headed to the range.” Metcalf pointed to their cart. “Want a lift?”
Frankie started to say yes, and Tyrell stepped in. “No, we’ll call Gabe or Nick. This has to be reported.”
“Yeah, they’ll sure come runnin’ to you.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Frankie felt her temper rise.
“We heard you and the head guy are godparents. How sweet.”
“Fuck you, Gray.”
“Didn’t you turn that phrase on the wrong one of us?”
Tyrell started forward but bent over and grasped his middle.
Sliding her arm around his waist, she braced him. “What’s wrong?”
“Must have pulled something.”
“Aw,” Metcalf said in mock sympathy.
“Get the hell out of here,” Frankie shouted at them.
Gray turned to the cart, they both got in and took off.
“Assholes.”
Tyrell said, “I gotta sit back down.”
She eased him to the ground again and joined him. Taking out her phone, Frankie punched in a number. “Hey, Gabe.” She described the accident, then hung up. “They’re coming.”
He stretched out his legs and winced.
She said, “I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault we blew a tire.”
“No, but I landed on top of you. A hundred and forty pounds of additional weight.”
“It was my pleasure.” He grinned. “A hundred and forty, huh?”
“You’re incorrigible. It’s all muscle.”
When Gabe and Nick arrived, they were stymied. “I don’t get it,” Gabe said as Nick headed over to the cart. “We have mechanics check out these vehicles every morning.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Ty told them.
“It is. What if something happens with the cars we drive at high speeds? This incident has to be investigated.”
Nick assessed the front end, then crouched down. “There’s a nail in the front tire,” he called out.
Gabe’s face reddened. “A nail? From what? There’s no construction on campus this month.”
“Beats me.”
“Well,” Gabe said to the two of them. “Let’s get you back to the administration building. You’re done for the day. We have a medic to check you out.”
“Done? No,” Tyrell said, but moaned as he went to stand up.
Frankie helped him.
“You too, Francesca.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“I’ll drive you back to the hotel after you see the medic.”
“I can drive,” she told them.
“We’ll see how you are.”
Gabe and Nick assisted Ty into the van, and Frankie slid in back with him. What a fluke. She hoped Ty was all right.
* * *
Two hours later, Ty limped into the hotel, leaning heavily on Francesca. The soreness had skyrocketed. With his arm hung over her shoulder, he grunted out, “This is humiliating.”
“I like having you need my help.”
“Why is that?”
“I have no idea.” She read the signs on the wall. “Let’s go right to the pool area. You can wait in the locker room for me while I go buy suits.”
“You’re sore, too, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but you’re bruised.” They made their way into the pool area and she walked right into the men’s locker room with him.
They found a few guys in various stages of undress. One said, “Hell, lady,” but the other winked. “If you see something you like, let me know.”
“Dream on, pal,” Ty threw back at him.
She left him seated on a chair in front of a mirror. What the hell? One side of his face was black and blue. No wonder he felt so bad. His eyes closed.
Francesca’s concern had touched him because it was genuine. She’d worried about him. Then he remembered what she looked like with her hair down. Stunning wasn’t too dramatic a word to describe the thick, straight locks falling down her back. Briefly, he’d wondered how she even corralled them into a knot. She was definitely full of surprises.
He began to doze.
He heard a soft, “Ty?” She was back. With a suit for him. “Can you manage this?”
“It’s a Herculean effort, but I’m going to pass on your implied offer to help me undress.”
Throwing the suit at him, she quipped, “Call me when you’re ready. I’ll come back and help you out to the pool area.”
“Please. I can make it to the hot tub.”
“All right, I’ll meet you there.”
Even though they’d given him some strong pain medication, it took him forever to change into the navy suit. He limped out of the locker room, swearing. She was waiting by the hot tub. His jaw dropped. Francesca was a bundle of curves and indentations, fully revealed by an otherwise plain red Speedo. He had no idea, even though he’d seen her in shorts this week.
She came up to him. “I’m going to get you down the steps. The last thing we want is for you to slip.”
“Okay.”
With his arm on silky skin, he leaned on her. Though her hair was tied up again, he could smell its jasmine scent, like the flower that grew in their garden back home. She helped him down the steps, into the water. He eased onto the bench. As he got used to the heat, he began to feel better.
She lounged a few feet away. “Better?”
“Like I’m livin’ in high cotton.”
<
br /> “I have no idea what that means.”
“It usually means you’re successful, but my mama used it to describe something that felt real good.”
“That Southern accent is more pronounced in your voice.”
“Only when I’m hurting or aroused.” Her face blanked. “Hell, that was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”
“Your defenses are down. You’re forgiven.”
He watched her.
“Why don’t you lean back and close your eyes?” Francesca asked. “Doze a while.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So you were raised out of the country?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why do you conceal it?”
“I have my reasons.”
Which apparently she wasn’t going to share with him. They made small-talk a bit longer, then he felt his eyes grow heavy. Maybe he’d lean back...
“Tyrell, wake up.”
He shook his head.
“We shouldn’t stay in the hot tub any longer than an hour.”
Then he felt gentle taps on his cheek. He pried his eyes open. And there she knelt, in the red suit that revealed the upper swells of her breasts, her color high. She was utterly lovely.
Even bruised and battered, Ty wanted to kiss her in the worst way.
* * *
Gabe and Nick called, and Frankie told them she and Ty were back in their rooms and he’d already fallen asleep. She’d become drowsy too, so she let them know they were both turning off their phones.
Leaving the door open between them, she fell into a deep slumber. When she awoke, she was sore so she took ibuprofen and felt moderately better. No noise from Tyrell’s room, so she threw on a robe and tiptoed to the entrance, then over to him. He was still zonked out. Up close, she saw how his long tawny eyes lashes rested against his cheek; his hair was tousled and...sexy. And she couldn’t believe she had that thought. He stirred, and opened his eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I’ve been in and out of it.”
“It’s time for more pills.”
“Francesca, you don’t have to wait on me.”
Not many men were unselfish like that. Papá was ornery when he didn’t feel well. And once, when Lou got hurt, she’d gone to see him at his house (that was fun!) and his innocent wife asked if it would be all right for her to do some grocery shopping. Lou made Frankie fetch him everything. And complained the whole time.
“Why the frown?”
“No reason.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Nick called. He talked to the maintenance people, and the director swore they’d checked the golf carts this morning. He’d helped them himself today. So they were at a loss. Nick walked the perimeter of where we’d driven and saw no other nails.”
“This must have been a fluke, like you said.”
“Yeah.”
He glanced at his watch. His bare arm was lightly dusted with dark blond hair and his hands...wait a minute. Bare arms? Completely bare arms? “Tyrell, are you naked beneath the covers?”
“I always sleep nude. You?”
“Yeah, I—”
Laughing out loud, “Nice to know. But I meant were you naked under the robe.”
“The robe? Oh my God, I forgot.” Bolting up, she left the room and got dressed in loose clothing.
When she returned, he was seated on the side of the mattress in navy fleece shorts. His legs were long and corded with muscle, his waist trim, with no hint of the man baby some men carried around their middle. And that chest... Shit, why was she finding him so attractive today?
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. The hot tub helped. And modern medicine. You?”
“I’m fine. What can I do for you?”
“I’m hungry.”
“It’s only five. Nick and Gabe are sending over dinner, then coming by later.”
“No need, I’m not that bad off.”
“They feel bad about all this.”
“All right.” He looked around. “So what shall we do until then?”
“I brought some reading.”
“Nah, you have to entertain me.” He put his hand over his heart. “I’m injured.”
“You said you felt better.”
Arched brows rose. “I got some cards in the bureau. Know how to play gin?”
“Every Italian worth her salt knows how to play gin.” When he stood to go to the table, she saw the black and blue marks marring his back for the first time. “Ty, you’re bruised everywhere.”
“I know, but it’ll heal. Cards?”
“Get back in bed. We’ll make do.” Frankie upended a tray that held glasses and an ice bucket to use as a table and found the cards in his drawer. She sat crossed legged on the mattress.
What followed was one of the most spirited games of gin she’d ever played. Nobody could say they weren’t competitive.
Dinner arrived and they ate Southern fried chicken, sweet potatoes and pecan pie, this time at the table. “Do you think they ordered this just for you?” she asked him.
“Nah, I saw it on the menu.”
“Well, dig in.”
He ate with gusto. It was cute. When a knock came on his door, signaling the arrival of Nick and Gabe, Frankie was almost disappointed.
Chapter 8
“Everybody sit.”
At nine the next day, in balmy weather, the twenty cops sat on folding chairs set up in front of Nick and Gabe.
Nick began. “Before we go on to the next skill, I’m sure you’ve all heard that Ty Collingsworth was injured yesterday. Francesca Marcello, too, though to a lesser degree.”
Ty caught sight of Larry Gray sending a smirk to Bruce Metcalf. The jerks. Petty though it was, he took pleasure in the fact that the T-shirt Gray wore showed his belly hanging over his belt.
“I want to assure you,” Nick continued in a grave voice, “that those carts are inspected every day, along with the cars we train with. On this particular cart, we found a nail in the tire.”
Gabe was at his brother’s side. He seemed tired and worried today. Francesca had told Ty what a sensitive man Gabe was. “And there’s been no construction on campus for a month, so we have no idea where he picked it up.”
Gray spoke up. “Maybe a less-than-bright maintenance man let it drop.”
Nick zeroed in on Gray like he might someone attacking the president. “I don’t like your phrasing, Larry. It’s insulting to our workforce.” Nick focused back on the group. “In any case, I want to insure you that you’re safe. We’re being extra careful with all our vehicles.”
Metcalf mumbled something under his breath. Nick’s face reddened. “What was that, Bruce?”
“I said that Marcello and Collingsworth didn’t seem to mind when they landed on top of each other.”
A female major stood. She had daggers in her eyes. “Metcalf, come with me.”
When the commotion ended, Gabe took over. “So, now that’s been explained, we’ll turn to today’s lesson. If you glance to your right, you’ll see what’s called our Tactical Village.”
Several structures had been built next to each other, of varying sizes and shapes, some two-story, some five, made of brick or stone, and took up what might be a regular street. Ty had read about this area—it was expensive to build. “The purpose of the village is to practice for an attack, much like the smokehouses firefighters use to hone their skills.
“When we teach the recruits, we call this lesson an AOP, or Attack on Principal. For you, it’s an active crime scene much like the ones you’re exposed to.”
A sergeant he’d met at lunch raised her hand. “Respectfully, Gabe and Nick, we operate in active crime scenes all the time. Up until now, I’ve learned a lot of new things from you. But this?”
“Good question, Lee Ann. I’ll be sure to ask you afterward if this training gives you any tips for dealing with emergency situations. Know, too, that Secret Service
agents chase bad guys into buildings all the time, and we come back to the training center every twelve weeks to hone our skills. So if you want, you can call this a refresher.”
She smiled. “Fair enough.”
“Let’s move to the village. Ty, you want a chair?”
“No, I’m all right.”
He saw Francesca give him a dirty look. Last night, he’d said he was more sore than he actually was so she’d go back into the tub with him, where they’d languished for an hour. The time there had lessened his soreness if he was truthful, it was a ruse to be in her company. Conversation had been easy, which he enjoyed thoroughly. Maybe too much.
As they reached the buildings, an SUV arrived. “We’ll start off with a simulation of what can happen to you.”
Six men and women exited the vehicle.
“You’ll notice that the agents are wearing two different-colored clothing. The attackers are in red.” He added dryly, “Unfortunately, actual attackers won’t call attention to themselves like this. You have to determine who they are. They might even dress in cop uniforms in order to confuse you.”
The agents in red, aka the bad guys, entered the building, wearing cloth masks and carrying rifles that shot paintballs. Soon, they appeared on the second and third floors of the building. “Note the location of the attackers in the windows.”
A murmur went through the cops, and Ty could feel his instincts go on high alert. The situation felt menacing, even though everybody knew this was a drill.
The other agents, still on the street, aimed their rifles at the wrongdoers. The two moved as a team, covering each other and shooting at the attackers, who backed away from the windows. The agents on the ground raced inside. Gunfire resounded. Then quiet, then more gunfire. Finally people emerged from the building.
They were all wearing masks and dressed in red.
Most of the class gasped, including Ty. He thought for sure the guys in blue would win.
“How’d that happen?” someone called out.
“Let’s ask them.” This from Nick.
Agents in blue exited. The giant splatter of bright pink paint across their chests blazed brightly. One had some paint in her hair. “Thanks, Agent Gerard. What happened?”