Kansas City Cop
Kansas City Cop
Julie Miller
She cheated death once… But can she a second time?After Gina Galvan is shot in the line of duty, all she wants to do is return to the front line and stop a shooter. Physical therapist Mike Cutler is attracted to Gina, and is ready to face anyone – even a killer – to prove he’s a hero.
She cheated death once... But a killer still lurks.
After a gunshot rips streetwise police officer Gina Galvan from the line of duty, all she wants is to return to the front line and stop a shooter. But good guy physical therapist Mike Cutler won’t back down from a challenge, or his blazing attraction to Gina. Without a badge or a gun, Mike is ready to face anyone—including a killer—to prove he’s every inch a hero.
The Precinct
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to www.juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
Also By Julie Miller
Beauty and the Badge
Takedown
KCPD Protector
Crossfire Christmas
Military Grade Mistletoe
Kansas City Cop
APB: Baby
Kansas City Countdown
Necessary Action
Protection Detail
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Kansas City Cop
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 9-781-474-07865-8
KANSAS CITY COP
© 2018 Julie Miller
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Edna Castillo, reader and bookseller extraordinaire.
A fellow The Wizard of Oz fan, too! Thanks for your help with the Spanish. Any mistakes are my own.
Contents
Cover (#u64018575-5ba7-59ca-a258-b21730e46899)
Back Cover Text (#u5a06440b-fabb-57f6-9035-bcb479e9cb59)
About the Author (#u6512130d-81ce-56e5-bda5-31603f6d213b)
Booklist (#uc6fe8f0a-9e7a-5c7c-9499-61d4c10b1a6c)
Title Page (#uda30d57b-28bc-5adc-ae79-f1a540c9488d)
Copyright (#u2910be18-27a1-5fdc-b9aa-1b985ad551d5)
Dedication (#u4488a19a-5e29-5dca-9e19-a58b5a785d3a)
Chapter One (#u9e46e85a-8e2f-5aff-91b2-415a85776008)
Chapter Two (#u3e5a3ff4-bf07-5232-a1a5-10d3d46a9d51)
Chapter Three (#u38b29b99-f334-56be-8f5b-b0707c473902)
Chapter Four (#u488c0ec3-54d2-5b27-ae32-cd09225a627e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
The bright sunlight glaring off the fresh February snow through the police cruiser’s windshield was as blinding as the headache forming behind Officer Gina Galvan’s dark brown eyes.
“No, Tia Mami, I can’t.” She glanced across the front seat to her partner, Derek Johnson, and silently mouthed an apology for yet another family crisis infringing on their shift time with KCPD. “I don’t get off until seven. And that’s if our paperwork’s done. That’s why I left my car at home and took the bus this morning—so Sylvie could drive you and Tio Papi to his doctor’s appointment.”
“Sylvie no come home from school,” her great-aunt Lupe replied quietly, as though apologizing for the news.
“What? Where is she?”
“Javi said he saw her riding with that boyfriend of hers we don’t like.”
“Seriously?” Anger and concern flooded Gina’s cheeks with heat. The boyfriend they didn’t like had too much money to have gotten it in the old neighborhood by any legal means. But Bobby Estes’s flashy cars and devilish good looks were too much for Gina’s dreamy, dissatisfied baby sister to resist. And if Bobby was a teenager, as he claimed, then Gina was Santa Claus. Clearly, her last conversation with Sylvie, about the definition of statutory rape and learning to act like an adult if she wanted to be treated like one, had not made a memorable impact. “I’m going to have to ground her. That’s all there is to it.”
But dealing with her sister’s rash choices didn’t get Tio Papi to the doctor’s office. Gina slipped her fingers beneath the base of her wavy brunette ponytail to massage the tension gathering at the nape of her neck.
Derek nudged her with his elbow. “Need a ride home tonight?”
Missing the point! Although, in his defense, Derek was only hearing half the conversation. Gina summoned a smile for the friend she’d been riding a squad car with for almost two years now. “It’s okay. Just a miscommunication at home.”
“Gotta love our families, right?” Derek teased. She knew he had a strained relationship with his father. And there was no love lost for Derek’s mother, who’d divorced his father and moved away, leaving her teenage son behind to be raised by an aging hippie who had trouble keeping a job and staying out of jail.
A difficult upbringing was part of the common ground they shared, and had helped solidify their working relationship and understanding of each other. Gina gave the sarcasm right back, whispering so her great-aunt couldn’t hear. “Do we really have to?”
Derek grinned and directed her back to her phone. “Tell Aunt Lupe hi for me, okay?”
“I will. Tia Mami, Derek says hi.”
“You teach that young man to say hola, and bring him to dinner sometime.”
“I’m working on it.” Gina continued the conversation with appropriate responses while her great-aunt rattled on about other concerns she’d have to deal with once she got home. While Lupe talked, Gina concentrated on the scenery as they drove past, partly because it was her job to observe the neighborhood and take note of anything that looked suspicious or unsafe, and partly because she’d already heard the same worried speech too many times before about fast cars and traffic accidents, young men who didn’t come to the door to pick up a date and Uncle Rollo’s deteriorating health.
Now there was something different. Gina lifted her chin for a better look. A tall man in silver and black running gear came around the corner off Pennsylvania Avenue and ran down the narrow side street. A jogger in this neighborhood was unusual. Maybe he was one of those yuppie business owners who’d opened an office in this part of town for a song, or he’d bought a loft in one of the area’s abandoned warehouses, thinking he could revitalize a little part of Kansas City. Not for the first time, she considered the irony of people with money moving into this part of the city, while the natives like her were doing all they could to raise enough money to move out.
But irony quickly gave way to other thoughts. The runner was tall, lean and muscular. Although the stocking cap and wraparound sunglasses he wore masked the top half of his head, the well-trimmed scruff of brown beard on his golden skin was like catnip to her. Plus, she could tell he was fit by the rhythmic clouds of his breath in the cold air. He wasn’t struggling to maintain that pace and, for a woman who worked hard to stay physically fit, she appreciated his athleticism.
As they passed each other, he offered her a polite wave, and Gina nodded in return. Since he already knew she’d been staring, she shifted her gaze to the side mirror to watch him run another block. Long legs and a tight butt. Gina’s lips curved into a smile. They probably had a lot of scenery like that in the suburbs. A relationship was one thing she didn’t have time for at this point in her life. And no way did she want to tie herself to anyone from the neighborhood who might want her to stay. But there was no harm in looking and getting her blood circulating a little faster. After all, it was only twenty-two degrees out, and a woman had to do whatever was necessary to stay warm.
Gina glanced over at her partner. Derek was handsome in his own way. He, too, had brown hair, but his smooth baby face was doing nary a thing for her circulation.
“Do we need to take a detour to your house and have a conversation with your sister? I’d be happy to um, have a word, with that boyfriend of hers.” He took his hands off the steering wheel to make air quotes around have a word, as if he had ideas about roughing up Bobby on her behalf. As if she couldn’t take care of her family’s issues herself.
Since the car was moving, Gina guided one hand back to the steering wheel and changed the subject. She covered the speaker on her phone and whispered, “Hey, since things are quiet right now, why don’t you swing by a coffee shop and get us something hot to drink. I haven’t been able to shake this chill since that first snow back in October.”
Although the remembered impression of Sexy Jogger Guy made that last sentence a lie, her request had the desired effect of diverting Derek’s interest in her family problems.
“That I can do. One skinny mocha latte coming up.”
Distracted with his new mission, Derek turned the squad car onto a cross street, plowing through a dip filled with dirty slush as they continued their daily patrol through the aging neighborhood. With houses and duplexes so close together that a person could barely walk between them, vehicles parked bumper-to-bumper against the curb and junk piling on porches and spilling into yards, this was a part of the city she knew far too well. Add in the branches of tall, denuded maple trees heavy with three months’ worth of snow arching over the yards and narrow streets, and Gina felt claustrophobic. As much as she loved Kansas City and her job as a police officer, she secretly wondered if she was the reincarnation of some Central American ancestor and was meant for living on the high, arid plains of her people with plenty of blue sky and wide-open space, without a single snowflake in sight.
Setting aside her own restless need to escape, Gina turned toward the passenger door to find some privacy for this personal conversation. “Did you call Sylvie?” she asked her great-aunt, once the older woman’s need to vent had subsided.
“She don’t answer.”
“What about Javi?” Her brother, Javier, was twenty-one, although that didn’t necessarily mean he was making better choices than Sylvie. She kept hoping for the day when he would step up as the man of the family and allow their great-uncle to truly enjoy his retirement. “Can he drive you?”
“He’s already gone. He’s picking up some extra hours at work.”
Well, that was one plus in the ongoing drama that was Gina’s life. Maybe so long as Javi was intent on saving up to buy a truck, he would focus on this job and avoid the influence of his former friends who’d made some less productive choices with their lives, like stealing cars, selling drugs and running with gangs. “Good.”
“Papi says he can drive,” Lupe Molina offered in a hushed, uncertain tone.
Gina sat up as straight as her seat belt and protective vest allowed. “No. Absolutely not. The whole reason he’s going for these checkups is because he passed out the last time his blood pressure spiked. He can’t be behind the wheel.”
“What do I do?” Lupe asked quietly.
As much as she loved her great-aunt and -uncle who’d taken in the three Galvan siblings and raised them after their mother had died, Lupe and Rollo Molina were now both close to eighty and didn’t need the hassle of dealing with an attention-craving teenager. Especially not with Rollo’s health issues. “I’ll call Sylvie. See if I can get her home to help like she promised. If you don’t hear from her or me in ten minutes, call the doctor’s office and reschedule the appointment for tomorrow. I’ll be off except for practicing for my next SWAT test on the shooting range. I’ll make sure you get there.”
“All right. I can do that. You see? This is where having a young man to help you would be a good thing.”
Gina rolled her eyes at the not-so-subtle hint. There was more than one path to success besides getting married and making babies. “I love you, Tia Mami. Adios.”
“Te amo, Gina. You’re always my good girl.”
By the time she disconnected the call, Derek had pulled the black-and-white into the coffee shop’s tiny parking lot but was making no effort to get out and let her deal with her family on her own. Instead, he rested the long black sleeve of his uniform on the steering wheel and grinned at her. “Sylvie off on another one of her escapades?”
Gina might as well fill in the blanks for him. “She’s supposed to be driving my uncle to the doctor. Instead, she’s cruising around the city with a young man who’s too old for her.”
Derek shook his head. “She does look older than seventeen when she puts on all her makeup.” He dropped his green-eyed gaze to her black laced-up work boots. “She’s got the family legs, too.”
Ignoring the gibe at her five-foot-three-inch height, Gina punched in Sylvie’s number. Then she punched Derek’s shoulder, giving back the teasing camaraderie they shared. “You’re eyeballing my little sister?”
“Hey, when you decorate the Christmas tree, you’re supposed to celebrate it.”
“Well, you don’t get to hang any ornaments on my sister, understand? She’s seventeen. You could get into all kinds of trouble with the department. And me.”
Derek raised his hands in surrender. “Forget the department. You’re the one who scares me. You’re about to become one of SWAT’s finest. I’m not messing with anyone in your family.”
The call went straight to Sylvie’s voice mail. “Damn it.” Gina tucked her phone back into her vest and held her hand out for Derek’s. “Could I borrow yours? Maybe if she doesn’t recognize the number, she’ll pick up.”
“That means I’ll have her number in my phone, you know. And Sylvie is a hottie.”
“Seven. Teen.” Gina repeated the warning with a smile and typed in her wayward sister’s number.
She’d barely been a teenager herself when her mother had passed away and their long-absent father had willingly signed away his parental rights, leaving the three Galvans orphans in No-Man’s Land, one of the toughest neighborhoods in downtown Kansas City. They’d moved out of their cramped apartment into a slightly less cramped house. Instead of prostitutes, drug dealers and gangbangers doing business beneath Gina’s bedroom window, they’d graduated to the vicinity of a meth lab, which KCPD had eventually closed down, at the end of the block. Naturalized citizens who were proud to call themselves Americans, her great-aunt and -uncle had stressed the values of education and hard work, and they’d grown up proud but poor. With her diminutive stature, Gina had quickly learned how to handle herself in a fight and project an attitude so that no one would mess with her family or take advantage of her. That hardwired drive to protect her loved ones had morphed into a desire to protect any innocent who needed her help, including this neighborhood and her entire city. But she couldn’t forget which side of the tracks the Galvans and Molinas had come from—and just how far she had to go to secure something better for them.
“Hey, don’t jinx the SWAT thing for me, okay?” A little bit of her great-aunt and -uncle’s superstitious nature buzzed through her thoughts like an annoying gnat she thought she’d gotten rid of. If she made Special Weapons and Tactics, the rise in status with the department and subsequent raise in pay would finally allow her to move her whole family into a house with a real yard in a safer suburb. She wasn’t afraid of setting goals and working hard to achieve them, but it was rare that she allowed anything so personal as wanting some open space to plant a proper garden or get a dog or owning a bathroom she didn’t have to share with four other people to motivate her. “I’m not the only recruit on Captain Cutler’s list of candidates for the new SWAT team he’s forming. There are ten people on a list for five spots. Including you.”
“Yeah, but you’re the toughest.”
“Jinxing, remember?” Gina crossed her fingers and kissed her knuckles before touching them to her heart, a throwback from her childhood to cootie shots and negating bad karma. “We all have our talents.”
“I’m just repeating what Cutler said at the last training meeting. McBride scored the highest at the shooting range. And you, my kickass little partner, are the one he said he’d least like to face one-on-one in a fight. Take the compliment.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Derek that she wasn’t his little anything, but she was dealing with enough conflict already today. “You’re doing well, too, or you’d have been eliminated already. Captain Cutler announces things like that so we stay competitive.”
“Hey, I’m not quittin’ anything until those new promotions are posted. I only have to be fifth best and I’ll still make the team.”
“Fifth best?” Gina laughed. “Way to aim high, Johnson.”
“It’s too bad about Cho, though. He’s been acing all the written tests and procedure evaluations.”
Gina agreed. Colin Cho was a fellow SWAT candidate who’d suffered three cracked ribs when he’d been shot twice while directing traffic around a stalled car on the North Broadway Freeway in the middle of the night two weeks ago. Only his body armor had prevented the incident from becoming a fatality. “Any idea how he’s doing?”
“I heard he’s up and around, but he won’t be running any races soon. He’s restricted to desk duty for the time being. I wonder if they’ll replace him on the candidate list or just shorten it to nine potential SWAT officers.”
“Cho’s too good an officer to remove from contention,” Gina reasoned, hitting the phone icon on the screen to connect the call.
“But there is a deadline,” Derek reminded her. “If he can’t pass the physical...”
The number rang several times before her sister finally picked up. “Sylvie Galvan’s phone,” a man answered.
Not her sister but that slimy lothario who struck Gina as a mobster wannabe—if he wasn’t already running errands and doing small jobs for some of the bigger criminals in town. Gina swallowed the curse on her tongue. She needed to keep this civil if she wanted to get her great-aunt and -uncle the help they needed. “Bobby, put Sylvie on.”
“It’s your wicked big sister,” he announced. The sounds of horns honking and traffic moving in the background told her they were in his car. Hopefully, in the front seat and not stretched out together in the back. “What will you give me to hand you this phone?”
That teasing request was for her sister.
Gina cringed at the high-pitched sound of her sister’s giggles. She groaned at the wet, smacking sound of a kiss. Or two. So much for keeping it civil. “Bobby Estes, you keep your hands off my sister or I will—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Sylvie was on the line now. Finally. She could live without the breathless gasps and giggles and the picture the noises created of a practically grown man making out with her innocent sister. “What do you want?”
“You forgot Tio Papi’s doctor’s appointment.” Better to stick to the purpose of the phone call than to get into another lecture about the bad choices Sylvie was making. “You promised me you would drive him today.”
“Javi can do it.”
“He’s at work. Besides, it was your responsibility.” Her fingers curled into a fist at the sound of her sister’s gasp. Really? Bobby couldn’t keep his hands to himself for the ten seconds it would take to finish this call? “Do you want me to treat you like a grown-up or not?”
“I just got home from school.”
“A half hour ago. I was counting on you. This isn’t about me. It’s about helping Rollo and Lupe. Do you want to explain to them why you’ve forgotten them?”
Bobby purred against her sister’s mouth, and the offensive noise crawled over Gina’s skin. “Is big sis being a downer again? You know she’s jealous of us. Hang up, baby.”
“Bobby, stop.” Sylvie sounded a little irritated with her boyfriend. For once. The shuffling noises and protests made her think Sylvie was pushing him away. Gina suppressed a cheer. “When is the appointment?”
“Four forty-five. Can you do it?”
“Yeah. I can help.” Thank goodness Sylvie still had enough little girl in her to idolize her pseudo grandparents. She’d do for them what she wouldn’t do for Gina. Or herself, unfortunately. Her tone shifted to Bobby. “I need to go home.”
“I said I was taking you out to dinner. I was gonna show you my friend’s club,” he whined. “Just because Gina’s a cop, she doesn’t make the rules. She sure as hell isn’t in charge of what I do.”
“Don’t get mad, Bobby. Just drive me home.” Sylvie was doing some purring of her own. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Ooh, I like it when you do that, baby.”
Gina wished she could reach through the phone and yank her sister out of Bobby’s car before she got into the kind of trouble that even a big sister with a badge couldn’t help her with. “Sylvie?”
“I’ll call Tia Mami and tell her we’re on our way.”
“Bobby doesn’t need to go with you.” A powerful car engine revved in the background. “Seeing him will only upset—”
“Bye.”
Bobby shouted an unwanted goodbye. “Bye-bye, big sis.”
She groaned when her sister’s phone went silent. Gina cursed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I want to use Bobby Estes as one of the dummies in our fight-training classes?”
Derek laughed as he put away his phone. “Once or twice.” He opened his door, and Gina shivered at the blast of wintry wind. “I keep telling you that I’d be happy to help run him in.”
At least the chill helped some of her temper dissipate, as did Derek’s unflinching support. “Bobby’s too squeaky clean for that. He does just enough to annoy me, but not enough that I can prove he’s committing any kind of crime. And Sylvie isn’t about to rat him out.”
“Just say the word, and I’m there for you, G.” He turned to climb out. “I’ll leave the car running so you stay warm.”
But the dispatch radio beeped, and he settled back behind the wheel to listen to the details of the all-call. “So much for coffee.”
Derek closed the door as the dispatch repeated. “Attention all units in the Westport area. We have a 10-52 reported. Repeat, domestic dispute report. Approach with caution. Suspect believed to be armed with a knife.”
“That’s the Bismarck place.” Derek frowned as he shifted the cruiser into Drive and pulled out onto the street. “I thought Vicki Bismarck took out a restraining order against her ex.”
“She did.” This wasn’t the first time they’d answered a call at the Bismarcks’ home. The address was just a couple of blocks from their location. Gina picked up the radio while Derek flipped on the siren and raced through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “Unit 4-13 responding.”
Her family troubles were forgotten as she pulled up the suspect’s name on the laptop mounted on the dashboard. Domestic-disturbance calls were her least favorite kind of call. The situations were unpredictable, and there were usually innocent parties involved. This one was no different.
“Gordon Bismarck. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce very well.” Gina let out a low whistle. “He’s got so many D&Ds and domestic-violence calls the list goes on to a second page. No outstanding warrants, though, so we can’t just run him in.” She glanced over at Derek as they careened around a corner. “Looks like he’s not afraid to hurt somebody. You ready for this?”
“I know you’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours.”
She hoped he meant it because when they pulled up in front of the Bismarck house, they weren’t alone. And the men belonging to a trio of motorcycles and a beat-up van didn’t look like curiosity seekers who’d gathered to see what all the shouting coming from inside the bungalow was about.
Derek turned off the engine and swore. “How many thugs does it take to terrorize one woman? I hope Vicki’s okay. Should I call for reinforcements?”
“Not yet.” Gina tracked the men as they put out cigarettes and split up to block the end of the driveway and the sidewalk leading to the front door. Middle-aged. A couple with potbellies. One had prison tats on his neck. Another took a leisurely drink from a flask before tucking it inside the sheepskin-lined jacket he wore. Their bikes were in better shape than they were. But any one of them could be armed. And she could guess that the guy with the flask wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. Judging by what she’d read on the cruiser’s computer screen, these were friends, if not former cell mates, of Gordon Bismarck’s. Gina’s blood boiled in her veins at the lopsided odds. She reached for the door handle. “But keep your radio at the ready.”
Gina pushed open the cruiser door and climbed out. “Gentlemen.” She rested her hand on the butt of her holstered Glock. “I need you to disperse.”
“You need us, querida?” Flask Man’s leer and air kisses weren’t even close to intimidating, and she certainly wasn’t his darling anything.
Derek circled the cruiser, positioning himself closer to the two in the driveway while she faced off against the two on the sidewalk. “In case you don’t understand the big word, you need to get on your bikes and ride away.”
“We gave Gordy a ride home,” Potbelly #1 said, thumbing over his shoulder just as something made of glass shattered inside the house.
A woman’s voice cried out, “Gordon, stop it!”
“I paid for this damn house. And I’ll—”
Gina needed to get inside to help Vicki Bismarck. But she wasn’t going to leave these four aging gangbangers out here where they could surround the house or lie in wait for her and Derek to come back outside. “We’re not interested in you boys today,” she articulated in a sharp, authoritative tone. “But if you make me check the registrations on your bikes or van, or I get close enough to think any of you need a Breathalyzer test, then it will be about you.”
Prison Tat Guy was the first to head toward his bike. “Hey, I can’t have my parole officer gettin’ wind of this.”
Potbelly #2 quickly followed suit. “I’m out of here, man. Gordy doesn’t need us to handle Vic. My old lady’s already ticked that I stayed out all night.”
Potbelly #1 clomped the snow off his boots before climbing inside the van. But he sat with the door open, looking toward the man with the flask. “What do you want me to do, Denny? I told Gordy I’d give him a ride back to his place.”
Flask Man’s watery brown eyes never left Gina’s. “We ain’t doin’ nothing illegal here, querida. We’re just a bunch of pals hangin’ out at a friend’s place.”
“It’s Officer Galvan to you.” She had to bite down on the urge to tell him in two languages exactly what kind of man he was. But she wasn’t about to give this patronizing lowlife the satisfaction of losing her temper. She was a cop. Proud of it. And this guy was about to get a lesson in understanding exactly who was in charge here. “Mr. Bismarck isn’t going to need a ride.” Potbelly #1 slammed his door and started the van’s engine. Gina smiled at Flask Man and pulled out her handcuffs. “Denny, is it? I’ve got plenty of room in the backseat for both you and good ol’ Gordy.” She moved toward him, dangling the cuffs in a taunt to emphasize her words. “How do impeding an officer in the performance of her duty, aiding and abetting a known criminal, public intoxication and operating a vehicle under the influence sound to you?”
“You can’t arrest me for all that.”
“I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you.” Derek stepped out of the way of the van as it backed out of the driveway and sped after the two men on motorcycles. “Not with her.”
Gina was close enough to see Flask Man’s nostrils flaring with rage. “Handcuffs or goodbye?”
“I don’t like a woman telling me what to do,” he muttered, striding toward his bike. “Especially one like you.” Once he was astraddle, he revved the engine, yelling something at Derek that sounded a lot like a warning to keep his woman in check. The roar of the bike’s motor drowned out his last parting threat as he raced down the street, but Gina was pretty sure it had something to do with her parentage and how their next meeting would have a very different ending.
“Make sure they stay gone,” Gina said, hooking her cuffs back onto her belt and running to the front door. She opened the glass storm door and knocked against the inside door. “KCPD!” she announced. The woman screamed, and the man yelled all kinds of vile curses. “Vicki Bismarck, are you all right? This is the police, answering a call to this address. I’m coming inside.”
Twenty minutes later, Gina and Derek had Gordon Bismarck and his former wife, Vicki, separated into two rooms of their tiny, trashed home. Gina had bagged the box cutter Gordon had dropped when she’d pulled her gun and blinked her watery eyes at the stench of alcohol, vomit and sweat coming off Gordon’s body. Either Gordy and his buddies had been beefing up their courage for this confrontation or they’d partied hard and gotten stupid enough to think violating a restraining order was a good idea.
Although the slurred epithets were still flying from the living room where Derek had taken Gordon to put a winter coat on over his undershirt, and Vicki was bawling in the kitchen while Gina tried to assess the woman’s injuries, Gina was already wrapping up this case in her head. Even if Vicki refused to press charges, she could book Gordon on breaking and entering, violating his restraining order and public intoxication—all of which should keep him out of Vicki’s life long enough for her to get the help she needed. If she’d ask for it. Clearly, this wasn’t the Bismarcks’ first rodeo with KCPD. That probably explained why Gordon had brought his friends.
Although she hadn’t noted any stab wounds on Vicki, the woman was cradling her left arm as if it had been yanked or twisted hard enough to do some internal damage. Gina glanced around at the slashed curtains and overturned chairs in the kitchen, her gaze landing on the shattered cell phone in the corner that had been crushed beneath a boot or hurled across the room. Clearly, there’d been a substantial altercation here.
Gina righted one of the chairs and urged the skinny woman to sit. “Will you let me look at that arm?” Gina asked, tearing off a fresh paper towel for the woman to dab at her tears. When Vicki nodded, Gina knelt beside her. Bruise marks that fit the span of a man’s hand were already turning purple around her elbow. But there didn’t seem to be any apparent deformity suggesting a broken bone. Didn’t mean it hadn’t been twisted savagely, spraining muscles and tendons. Gina pushed to her feet and headed toward the refrigerator-freezer. “An ice pack should help with the swelling.”
She heard a crash from the living room and spun around as Derek cursed. “Gina—heads up!”
“Are you turnin’ me in, you bitch? My boys are gonna kill you!”
“Gordy!” Vicki screamed as Gordon charged into the kitchen.
Chapter Two (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
Gina simply reacted, putting herself between the frightened woman and the red-faced man. There was no time to wonder how the drunk had gotten away from Derek. She ducked beneath the attacker’s fist, kicked out with her leg, tripped the big brute, then caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, following him down to the floor. Before his chin smacked the linoleum, she had her knee in his back, pinning him in place.
“He’s too big for the damn cuffs,” Derek shouted, running in behind the perp. He knelt on the opposite side, catching the loose chain that was only connected to one wrist.
Gordon Bismarck writhed beneath her, trying to wrestle himself free. His curses switched from Vicki to Gina to women in general. Locking her own handcuffs around his free arm, Gina twisted his wrist and arm another notch until he yelped. “Don’t make me mad, Mr. Bismarck. Your buddies outside already put me in a mood.”
The mention of his friends sparked a new protest. “Denny! Al! Jim! I need—”
“Uh-uh.” She pushed his cheek back to the floor. “They went bye-bye. Now you be a good boy while my partner walks you out to the squad car so you can sober up and chill that temper.”
“My boys left?”
“That’s right, Gordy.” Derek wiped a dribble of blood from beneath his nose while Gina locked the ends of both cuffs together, securing him. “You’re on your own.”
“I don’t want him touchin’ me,” Gordy protested. “I don’t want him in my house.”
“Not your choice.” Gina stayed on top of the captive, her muscles straining to subdue him until he gave up the fight. She glanced up at Derek, assessing his injury. Other than the carpet lint clinging to his dark uniform from a tussle of some kind, he wasn’t seriously hurt. Still, she kept her voice calm and firm, trying to reassure Vicki that they could keep her safe. “You got him okay?”
“I got him. Thanks for the save. I didn’t realize the cuff wasn’t completely closed around his fat wrist, and I ended up with an elbow in my face.” Derek pulled the man to his feet, his bruised ego making him a little rough as he shoved Bismarck toward the front door. “Forget the coat. Now we can add assaulting a police officer to your charges. Come on, you lousy son of a...”
The door banged shut as Derek muscled Bismarck outside. Gina inhaled several deep breaths, cooling her own adrenaline rush. She watched from the foyer until she saw her partner open the cruiser and unceremoniously dump the perp into the backseat. Only after Derek had closed the door and turned to lean his hip against the fender did she breathe a sigh of relief. The situation was finally secure.
When he pulled out a cigarette and started to light it, Gina muttered a curse beneath her breath. She immediately thumbed the radio clipped to the shoulder of her uniform. “Derek,” she chided, wanting to warn him it was too soon to let down his guard. “Call the sit-rep in to Dispatch, and tell them we’ll be bringing in the suspect. I’ll finish getting the victim’s statement.”
“Chill, G. Let a man catch his breath.” He lit the cigarette and exhaled a puff before answering. “Roger that.”
Gina shook her head. She supposed that losing control of the perp had not only dinged his ego but also rattled him. Maybe she should have a low-key chat with her partner. Aiming for fifth place wasn’t going to get the job done. If he didn’t light a fire under his butt and start showing all the ways he could excel at being a cop, Captain Cutler might cut him from the SWAT candidate list altogether.
But she had more pressing responsibilities to attend to right now than to play the bossy big sister role with her partner and nudge Derek toward success. After softly closing the front door on the cold and the visual of Gordon Bismarck spewing vitriol in the backseat of the cruiser while Derek smacked the window and warned him to be quiet, Gina pulled out her phone again and returned to the kitchen. She found Vicki making a token effort to clean up some of the mess.
“Is he gone?” the woman asked in a tired voice. Although the tears had stopped, her eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of green from all her crying.
“He’s locked in the back of the police cruiser, and I sent his friends away. He won’t get to you again. Not today. Not while I’m here.”
“Thank you.” Vicki dropped a broken plate into the trash. “And Derek’s okay?”
“‘Derek’?”
“Officer Johnson.” A blush tinted Vicki’s pale cheeks. “I thought maybe Gordy thought...having another man in the house...” She shrugged off the rambling explanation. “I remember you two from the last time you were here. So does Gordy.”
“I’m sure Officer Johnson will be fine. May I?” Gina held up her phone and, at Vicki’s nod, snapped a couple of photos of the woman’s injuries and sent them to her computer at work. “I’ll need them to file my report.”
“What if I refuse to press charges?” Vicki asked. “Gordy’s friends might come back, even if he’s not here. Denny’s his big brother. He looks out for him.”
Reminding herself that she hadn’t lived Vicki Bismarck’s life, and that the other woman probably had had the skills and confidence to cope with a situation like this beaten and terrorized out of her by now, Gina took a towel and filled it with some ice from the freezer. “I still have to take Mr. Bismarck in because he resisted arrest and assaulted an officer. And he’s clearly violated his restraining order.” She pressed the ice pack to Vicki’s elbow and nodded toward the abrasion on her cheek. “You should get those injuries checked out by a doctor. Would you like me to call an ambulance?”
Vicki shook her head. “I can’t afford that.”
“How about I call another officer to take you to the ER? Or I can come back once we get your husband processed.”
“No. No more cops, please.” Vicki sank into a chair and rested her elbow on the table. “It just makes Gordy mad.”
“What set him off this time?” Not that it mattered. Violence like this was never acceptable. But if Gina could get the victim talking, she might get some useful information to help get the repeat offender off the street and out of his wife’s life. “I could smell the alcohol on him.”
“He’s been sleeping at Denny’s house.” Gina pulled out her notepad and jotted the name and information. “Gordy’s been out of work for a while. Got laid off at the fertilizer plant. And I haven’t been working long enough to get paid yet. I asked him if he’d picked up his unemployment check. He said he’d help me with groceries.”
“And that set him off?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about money. But no, as soon as I opened the door, he started yelling at me. Denny had said he saw me talking to another man.” Vicki shrugged, then winced at the movement. “I just started a job at the convenience store a couple blocks from here. Guys come in, you know. I have to talk to them when I ring them up. I guess Denny told Gordy I was flirting.”
Gina bit back her opinion of Gordy’s obsession and maintained a cool facade. “When was the last time you ate?” If the woman needed money for groceries, Gina guessed it had been a while. She unzipped another pocket in her vest and pulled out an energy bar, pushing it into the woman’s hand. “Here.” She pulled out a business card for the local women’s shelter as well, and handed it to Vicky. “You get hungry again, you go here, not to Gordy. They’ll help you get groceries at the food pantry. Mention my name and they’ll even sneak you an extra chocolate bar.”
Finally, that coaxed a smile from the frightened woman. “I haven’t eaten real chocolate in months. Sounds heavenly.”
After getting a few more details about Vicki’s relationship with Gordon and her injuries, Gina wrapped up the interview. “You need to be checked out by a doctor,” she reiterated. “Sooner rather than later. Do you have a friend who can take you to the hospital or your regular doctor?”
“I can call my sister. She keeps nagging me to move in with her and her husband.”
“Good.” Gina handed Vicki her phone. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that while I’m here?”
Vicki hesitated. “Will Gordy be back when I get home?”
“I can keep him locked up for up to forty-eight hours—longer if he doesn’t make bail.” Gina had a feeling Vicki’s husband would be locked up for considerably longer than that but didn’t want to guarantee anything she couldn’t back up. “We can send a car through the neighborhood periodically to watch if his brother and friends come back. See a doctor. Go to your sister’s, and get a good night’s sleep. Call the shelter, and get the help you need.”
“Thank you.” Vicki punched in her sister’s phone number and smiled again. “That was sweet to see you take Gordy down—and you aren’t any bigger than I am. Maybe I should learn some of those moves.”
Gina smiled back and pulled out her own business card. “It’s all about attitude. Here. Call me when you’re feeling up to it. A few other officers and I teach free self-defense training sessions.”
Although Vicki didn’t look entirely convinced that she could learn to stand up for herself, at least she had made arrangements with her sister and brother-in-law to stay with them for a few nights by the time Gina was closing the front door behind her and heading down the front walk toward the street. What passed for sunshine on the wintry day was fading behind the evening clouds that rolled across the sky and promised another dusting of snow. Despite the layers of the sweater, flak vest and long-sleeved uniform she wore, Gina shivered at the prospect of spring feeling so far out of reach.
Ignoring the glare of blurry-eyed contempt aimed at her from the backseat of the cruiser, Gina arched a questioning eyebrow at Derek. “Bismarck didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Derek massaged the bridge of his nose that was already bruising and circled around the car as she approached. “Just my pride. I don’t even know if the guy meant to clock me. But I was on the floor, and he was on his way to the kitchen before my eyes stopped watering.”
“Ouch.”
“Just don’t tell anybody that a drunk got the upper hand on me and you had to save my ass. I don’t imagine that would impress Captain Cutler.”
“We’re a team, Derek. We help each other out.”
“And keep each other’s secrets?”
“Something like that.”
His laughter obscured his face with a cloud of warm breath in the chilly air. “Now I really owe you that cup of coffee.” Her aversion to the cold weather was hardly a secret compared to his possible incompetence in handling the suspect. Maybe her partner wasn’t ready for the demands of the promotion. He pulled open his door. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up—”
The sharp crack of gunfire exploded in the cold air.
Derek’s green eyes widened with shock for a split second before he crumpled to the pavement. “Derek!”
A second bullet thwacked against the shatterproof glass of the windshield. A third whizzed past her ear and shattered the glass in Vicki Bismarck’s storm door. Gina pulled the Glock at her hip and dove the last few feet toward the relative shelter of the car. A stinging shot of lead or shrapnel burned through her calf, and she stumbled into the snow beside the curb.
Where were the damn shots coming from? Who was shooting? Had Denny Bismarck come back? She hadn’t heard a motorcycle on the street. But then, he hadn’t been alone, either.
“Derek? I need you to talk to me.” There was still no answer. Bullets hit the cruiser and a tree trunk in the front yard. Several more shots scuffed through the snow with such rapidity that she knew the shooter either had an automatic weapon or several weapons that he could drop and keep firing. Gina crouched beside the wheel well, listening for the source of the ambush, praying there were no innocent bystanders in the line of fire. The bullets were coming from across the street. But from a house? An alley? A car?
“Derek?” The amount of blood seeping down her leg into her shoe told her the shooter was using something large caliber, meant to inflict maximum damage. But her wound was just a graze. She could still do her job. Before she sidled around the car to pull her partner to safety, Gina got on her radio and called it in. “This is Officer Galvan. Unit 4-13. Officers need assistance. Shots fired.” She gave the street address and approximation of where she thought the shooter might be before repeating the urgent request, “Officers need assistance.”
Gina stilled her breath and heard Gordon Bismarck cussing up a blue streak inside the cruiser. She’d heard Vicki screaming inside the house. What she didn’t hear was her partner. Guilt and fear punched her in the stomach. She hadn’t done job one and kept him safe. She hadn’t had his back when he needed her most.
“Derek?” she called out one more time before cradling the gun in her hands. When she heard the unexpected pause between gunshots, she crept around the trunk of the car, aiming her weapon toward the vague target of the shooter. “Police! Throw down your weapon!” she warned.
A quick scan revealed empty house, empty alley, empty house...bingo! Driver in a rusty old SUV parked half a block down. Gina straightened. “Throw down your weapon, and get out of the vehicle!”
The man’s face was obscured by the barrel of the rifle pointed at her.
There was no mistaking his intent.
Gina squeezed off a shot and dove for cover, but it was too late.
A bullet struck her in the arm, tearing through her right shoulder, piercing the narrow gap between her arm and her protective vest. She hit the ground, and her gun skittered from her grip. Unlike the graze along the back of her leg, she knew this wound was a bad one. The path of the bullet burned through her shoulder.
She clawed her fingers into the hardened layers of snow and crawled back into the yard, away from the shooter. It was hard to catch her breath, hard to orient herself in a sea of clouds and snow. She rolled onto her back, praying she wasn’t imagining the sound of sirens in the distance, hating that she was certain of the grinding noise of the SUV’s engine turning over.
She saw Vicki Bismarck hovering at her broken front door. When Gina turned her head the other direction, she looked beneath the car and saw Derek on the ground, unmoving. Was he even alive? “Derek?”
Did someone have a grudge against him? Against her? Against cops? She hadn’t made any friends among Denny Bismarck and his crew. Was this payback for arresting his brother? For being bested by a woman?
Her shoulder ached, and her right arm was numb. Her chest felt like a boulder sat on it. Still, she managed to reach her radio with her other hand and tug it off her vest. The shooter’s car was speeding away. She couldn’t see much from her vantage point, couldn’t read the license plate or confirm a make of vehicle. The leg wound stung like a hot poker through her calf, but the wound to her shoulder—the injury she could no longer feel—worried her even more. Finding that one spot beneath her armor was either one hell of a lucky shot or the work of a sharpshooter. Gina’s vision blurred as a chill pervaded her body.
“Stay inside the house!” a man yelled. “Away from the windows.”
She saw silver running pants and black shoes stomping through the snow toward her. Gina tried to find her gun.
“Officer?” The tall jogger with the sexy beard scruff came into view as he knelt in the snow beside her. “It’s okay, ma’am.” His eyes were hidden behind reflective sunglasses, and he clutched a cell phone to his ear, allowing her few details as to what he looked like. He picked up her Glock from the snow where it had landed and showed it to her before tucking it into the back of his waistband. “Your weapon is secure.”
She slapped her left hand against his knee and pulled at the insulated material there. “You have to stay down. Shooter—”
“He’s driving away,” the man said. She wasn’t exactly following the conversation, but then he was talking on his cell phone as he leaned over her, running his free hand up and down her arms and legs. “No, I couldn’t read the license. It was covered with mud and slush. Yes, just the driver. Look, I’ll answer your questions later. Just get an ambulance here. Now!” He disconnected the call and stuffed the phone inside his pocket. He tossed aside his sunglasses and looked down into her eyes. Wow. He was just as good-looking up close as he’d been from a distance. “You hit twice?”
Gina nodded, thinking more about her observation than her answer. She reached up and touched her shaking fingertips to the sandpapery stubble that shadowed his jaw. “I know you.” Before her jellified brain could place why he looked so familiar to her, he grabbed her keys off her belt and bolted to his feet. She turned her head to watch him unlock the trunk to get the med kit. How did he know it was stored there? He was acting like a cop—he’d provided the squad car number and street address on that phone call. He knew KCPD lingo and where her gear was stowed. “Captain Cutler?” That wasn’t right. But the blue eyes and chiseled features were the same. But she’d never seen the SWAT captain with that scruffy catnip on his face.
She wasn’t any closer to understanding what she was seeing when he knelt beside her again, opening the kit and pulling out a compress. She winced as he slipped the pad beneath her vest and pressed his hand against her wound to stanch the bleeding. The deep, sure tone of voice was a little like catnip to her groggy senses, too. “I’m Mike Cutler. I’ve had paramedic training. Lie still.”
Why were her hormones involved in any of this conversation? She squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate. She was a KCPD police officer. She’d been shot. The perp had gotten away. There was protocol to follow. She had a job to do. Gina opened her eyes, gritting her teeth against the pressure on her chest and the fog inside her head. “Check my partner. He’s hit.”
“You’re losing blood too fast. I’m not going anywhere until I slow the bleeding.” The brief burst of clarity quickly waned. The Good Samaritan trying to save her life tugged on her vest the moment her eyes closed. “Officer Galvan? No, no, keep your eyes open. What’s your first name?”
“Gina.”
“Gina?” He was smiling when she blinked her eyes open. “That’s better. Pretty brown eyes. Like a good cup of coffee. I want to keep seeing them, okay?” She nodded. His eyes were such a pretty color. No, not pretty. There wasn’t anything pretty about the angles of his cheekbones and jaw. He certainly wasn’t from this part of town. She’d have remembered a face like that. A face that was still talking. “Trust me. I’m on your side. If I look familiar, it’s because you’re a cop, and you probably know my dad.”
Mike Cutler. My dad. Gina’s foggy brain cleared with a moment of recognition. “Captain Cutler? Oh, God. I’m interviewing with him... Don’t tell him I got shot, okay?” But he’d left her. Gina called out in a panic. “Cutler?”
“I’m here.” Her instinct to exhale with relief ended up in a painful fit of coughing. “Easy. I was just checking your partner.”
“How is he?”
“Unconscious. As far as I can tell, he has a gunshot wound to the arm. But he may have hit his head on the door frame or pavement. His nose is bruised.”
“That was...before.” She tried to point to the house.
“Before what?”
The words to explain the incident with Gordon Bismarck were lost in the fog of her thoughts. But her training was clear. Derek was shot. And she had a job to do.
“The prisoner?” Gina tried to roll over and push herself up, but she couldn’t seem to get her arm beneath her. The snow and clouds and black running shoes all swirled together inside her head.
“Easy, Gina. I need you to lie still. An ambulance is on its way. You’ve injured your shoulder, and I don’t see an exit wound. If that bullet is still inside you, I don’t want it traveling anywhere.” He unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. He draped the thin, insulated material over her body, gently but securely tucking her in, surrounding her with the residual warmth from his body and the faint, musky scent of his workout. “The guy in the backseat is loud, but unharmed. The lady at the front door looks scared, but she isn’t shot. Lie down. You’re going into shock.” He pulled her radio from beneath the jacket and pressed the call button. “Get that bus to...” Gina’s vision blurred as he rattled off the address. “Stay with me. Gina?” His warm hand cupped her face, and she realized just how cold she was. She wished she could wrap her whole body up in that kind of heat. She looked up into his stern expression. “Stay with me.”
“Catnip.”
“What?” Her eyelids drifted shut. “Gina!”
The last thing she saw was her blood seeping into the snow. The last thing she felt was the man’s strong hands pressing against her breast and shoulder. The last thing she heard was his voice on her radio.
“Officer down! I repeat: officer down!”
Chapter Three (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
Six weeks later
“He shoots! He scores!” The basketball sailed through the hoop, hitting nothing but net. Troy Anthony spun his wheelchair on the polished wood of the physical therapy center’s minicourt. His ebony braids flew around the mocha skin of his bare, muscular shoulders, and one fist was raised in a triumphant gloat before he pointed to Mike. “You are buying the beers.”
“How do you figure that?” Mike Cutler caught the ball as it bounced past him, dribbled it once and shoved a chest pass at his smirking competitor. It was impossible not to grin as his best friend and business partner, Troy, schooled him in the twenty-minute pickup game. “I thought we were playing to cheer me up.”
Troy easily caught the basketball and shoved it right back. “I was playing to win, my friend. Your head’s not in the game.”
Mike’s hands stung, forgetting to catch the pass with his fingertips instead of his palms. He was distracted. “Fine. Tonight at the Shamrock. Beers are on me.”
He tucked the ball under his arm as he climbed out of the wheelchair he’d been using. Once his legs unkinked and the electric jolts of random nerves firing across his hips and lower back subsided, he pushed the chair across the polished wood floor to stow the basketball in the PT center’s equipment locker. At least he didn’t have to wear those joint pinching leg braces or a body cast anymore.
But he wasn’t about to complain. Twelve years ago, he hadn’t been able to walk at all, following a car accident that had shattered his legs from the pelvis on down, so he never griped about the damaged nerves or aches in his mended bones or stiff muscles that protested the changing weather and an early morning workout. As teenagers, Mike and Troy had bonded over wheelchair basketball and months of physical rehabilitation therapy with the woman who had eventually become Mike’s stepmother. Unlike Mike, because of a gunshot wound he’d sustained in a neighborhood shooting, Troy would never regain the use of his legs. But the friendship had stuck, and now, at age twenty-eight, they’d both earned college degrees and had opened their own physical therapy center near downtown Kansas City.
“C’mon, man. Don’t make me feel like I’m beatin’ up on ya. I said you didn’t have to go back to the chair to play me. I could beat you standing on your two feet. Today, at any rate.” Troy pushed his wheels once and coasted over to the edge of the court beside Mike. His omnipresent smile and smart-ass attitude had disappeared. “Losing that funding really got to you, huh? Or is this mood about a woman?”
He hadn’t put his heart on the line and gotten it stomped on by anyone of the female persuasion lately. Not since Caroline. “No. No woman.”
Troy picked up a towel off the supply cart and handed one to Mike, grinning as he wiped the perspiration from his chest. “No woman? That would sure put me in a mood.”
“You’re a funny guy, you know that,” Mike deadpanned, appreciating his friend’s efforts to improve his disposition. But he couldn’t quite shake the miasma of frustration that had plagued his thoughts since opening that rejection letter in the mail yesterday. “I had a brilliant idea, writing that grant proposal.” Mike toweled the dampness from his skin before tossing Troy his gray uniform polo shirt. “We had enough money from the bank loan and our own savings to get this place built. But it’s hardly going to sustain itself with the handful of patients we have coming in. If we were attached to a hospital—”
“We specifically decided against that.” Troy didn’t have to remind him of their determination to give back to the community. Mike opened the laundry compartment on the supply cart and Troy tossed both towels inside. “We wanted to be here in the city where the people who needed us most could have access to our services.”
“I still believe in that.” Mike stared at the CAPT logo for the Cutler-Anthony Physical Therapy Center embroidered on the chest of his own shirt before pulling it over his head and tugging the hem down to cover his long torso. “But those are the same people who don’t always have insurance and can’t always pay. I was certain that urban development grant for small businesses would help us.”
“There’ll be other grants.” Troy donned his shirt and peeled off the fingerless gloves he wore when he played anything competitive in his wheelchair. “Caroline said she’d fund a grant for us. To thank you for being there when she needed you.”
“And that would be right up until the night she turned down my proposal?” The fact that he could talk about it now told Mike that his ego had taken a bigger blow than his heart had. But that blow had been the third strike in the relationship game. He had no plans to step up to the plate and put his heart on the line anymore. If he couldn’t tell the difference between a friends-with-benefits package and a connection that was leading to forever, he’d do well to steer clear of anything serious. He’d been the shoulder to cry on, the protective big brother and the best friend too many times to risk it. He could rely on his principles, his family and friends like Troy. But he wasn’t about to rely on his heart again. “No. No asking Caroline. I didn’t propose because I wanted her money, and I’m not going to take it now as a consolation prize.”
Troy knew just how far he could push the relationship button before he made a joke. “Maybe you could hock the engagement ring. That’d keep us open another month.”
Mike glared down at his friend for a moment before laughter shook through his chest. “More like a day and a half.”
“Dude, no wonder she said no.”
The shared laughter carried them through the rest of putting away the equipment they’d used and prepping for their first—and, as far as Mike knew, their only—appointment of the morning. But even Troy’s mood had sobered by the time they headed toward the door leading into the entry area and hallway that led to a row of offices and locker rooms. “You’re a smart guy, Mikey. You’ll figure out a way to keep us solvent.”
“Without losing your apartment or my house?”
“I’d be happy to go out and recruit us more female clientele. It’s Ladies’ Night at the Shamrock tonight. I can pour on some of that legendary Anthony charm.”
“Creeper.”
“You got a better plan?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You’re thinkin’ too hard on this, Mike. We haven’t even been open a year. We’ll get more paying customers soon. I feel it in my bones.” He held up a fist and waited for Mike to absorb some of his positive thinking.
Trusting his friend’s outlook more than his own, Mike bumped his fist against Troy’s. “I just have to be patient, right?”
“Nobody waits out trouble better than you.”
Mike shook his head. “Is that supposed to be a compli—?” The door opened before they reached it, and the center’s office manager, Frannie Mesner, stepped into the gym. “Good morning.”
“Hey, Sun...shine.” Troy’s effusive greeting fell flat when they saw the puffy, red-rimmed eyes behind Frannie’s glasses. He rolled his chair over to get a box of tissues off the supply cart and take them to her. She sniffed back a sob as she took the box.
Was she hurt? Had she gotten some bad news? Mike moved in beside her and dropped a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. “Frannie?”
The flush of distress on Frannie’s pale cheeks made her freckles disappear. She pulled out a handful of tissues and dabbed her eyes before blowing her nose. “Leo gets released on parole today.”
Her ex. She wasn’t hurt. But definitely bad news.
“Has he contacted you?” Mike asked.
“He’s not supposed to.”
“Has he contacted you?” he repeated, articulating the protective concern in his voice. Frannie shook her head, stirring short wisps of copper hair over her damp cheeks.
Troy set the tissue box in his lap. “Is the restraining order still in effect?”
Mike watched the confidence she’d built over the past few months disappear in the span of a few heartbeats.
When she didn’t answer, Mike pulled away to face her. “Take a few minutes to call your attorney and make sure it is. If not, make an appointment to get it reinstated. Troy or I can go with you, if you want.”
Troy slid Frannie a worried glance before spinning away from the conversation to return the box to its shelf. “Yeah. I can do that. We’d have to take my van, though. If you don’t mind riding shotgun. And you trust my driving.”
What happened to that legendary Anthony charm? The Troy he knew was all mouth and swagger 99 percent of the time. Except when it came to the office manager Mike had hired for their fledgling physical therapy center. Frannie had been their first client. But more than rebuilding her physical strength after a beatdown from her ex that had cost her the sight in one eye, she had needed a job, and Mike and Troy had provided it. He suspected she also appreciated the office’s predictable routine and the haven of a well-built workplace run by the son of a cop and a paraplegic, whose friends were also cops.
Mike might not carry a gun but, because of his dad and friends at KCPD, he knew how to keep a woman safe. Avoiding dangerous situations in the first place was rule one. “You know we’ll give you the time off for personal business like that. Make sure that protection order is in place. Beyond that, Troy or I will escort you to your car and follow you home. You notify the police if he calls or you see his face anywhere close to you.”
“I can swing by your place and double check the locks on the windows and door,” Troy offered.
Mike nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“My building isn’t handicapped accessible.” Frannie sniffed away the last of her tears and dabbed at the pink tip of her nose. “I’m sorry.”
Troy shrugged, then reached for her hand. There was definitely something going on with him where Frannie was concerned. “Don’t you apologize for that.”
Mike wasn’t sure how to help his friend, other than alleviate his concern about Frannie. “I’ll stop by after work, then.”
At least she felt safe here at the clinic. She tucked the used tissues into the pocket of her khaki slacks and dredged up a shy smile. “You guys are the best bosses ever. Thank you.” Although she’d started the job with no secretarial experience, Frannie had eventually found her feet and her own system of organization that worked—for her. And, when she wasn’t afraid for her life like she was this morning, she was a friendly, quiet presence who made their patients feel welcome at the clinic. She wound her arm around Mike’s waist and squeezed him in a shy hug. “Thanks.” She turned toward Troy with her arms outstretched and leaned over to give him a hug, too. “Thank you.”
Troy turned his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. “No sweat, Sunshine.”
Either sensing Troy’s interest or feeling a similar longing herself, Frannie quickly pulled away and tipped her face to Mike. “Your eight o’clock appointment is here. He’s already changing in the locker room.”
Chaz Kelly, a retired firefighter with a new knee, opened the door behind Frannie, startling her. “Hey, pretty lady. You weren’t at your desk to greet me this morning when I checked in.” Bald and blustery, his gaze darted over to Troy and Mike. “Morning, boys. Ready to put this fat old man through his paces?”
Frannie’s body visibly contracted away from Chaz’s pat on her shoulder. Uh-huh. So much for feeling safe. She scooted closer to Troy’s chair and didn’t look any more comfortable there. “Your dad is here, too, Mike.”
“Here?” It was rarely a good thing for the supervisor of KCPD’s SWAT teams to make a surprise visit. Mike’s concern instantly went to his stepmother and much younger half brother. “Is everything okay? Jillian? Will?”
“He didn’t say. But I think it’s work related. He’s in uniform. There’s someone with him. I put them in your office. I’ll go start a pot of coffee.” Her hand went self-consciously to one tear-stained cheek. “And wash my face.”
As Frannie left, Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, wondering if he’d missed a text or call during the basketball game. The lack of messages altered his concern into curiosity.
Troy tapped his fist against Mike’s arm and pointed at the door. “I got this. Better not keep the captain waiting.” Troy spun his chair around toward the door on the far side of the half gym that led to the equipment room and treatment tables. “Come on, Chaz. Let’s get you on the treadmill and get you warmed up. Did you stick to that diet we gave you?”
Their conversation faded as Mike hurried down the outer hallway to his office. “Dad?” Michael Cutler Sr. was on his feet to greet him with a handshake and a hug when Mike rounded the corner into his office. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Not to worry. I’m fine. The family’s fine.”
Both standing at six-four, father and son looked each other in the eye as Mike pulled away. “What’s up?” His eyes widened when he saw the petite woman waiting behind his father. “Officer Galvan.”
Her dark eyes shared his surprise. “Catnip...” Mike arched his brows at her stunned whisper. She blinked away the revelation of emotion. “It was you.”
“Excuse me?”
Gina Galvan was shorter than he remembered. Of course, his perspective was a little different, standing upright versus kneeling over her supine body. Without the hazards of gunfire or a medical emergency to focus on, Mike stole a few seconds to take in details about his visitor. She’d changed her hair. Instead of a long ponytail spilling over the snow, short, loose waves danced against the smooth line of her jaw. She wore a black sling over her right shoulder, keeping her arm immobile against her stomach. And he shouldn’t have noticed the athletic curves arcing beneath the narrow waist of her jeans. But he did.
“The day I got shot—you were the runner who stopped to help us.” Her gaze shifted between Mike and his father. “You two look so much alike, I guess I convinced myself I’d hallucinated you.”
Mike chuckled at her admission. Although there was a peppering of gray in his dad’s dark brown hair and Mike didn’t shave as closely as KCPD regulations required, it wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for his father. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s hallucination before. Fantasy, maybe, but...”
She frowned as if she didn’t get the joke. His father looked away, embarrassed at his lame attempt at humor. Right. Leave the jokes to Troy.
The proud tilt of her chin and intense study from her dark eyes warned him that Gina Galvan wasn’t inclined to laugh at much of anything. Which was a pity because he suddenly wondered what those pink lips would look like softened with a smile.
Reel it in, Cutler. Clearly, this wasn’t a social call. And he already had enough on his plate without letting his errant hormones steer him into another misguided relationship.
Starched and pressed and always in charge of the room, Michael Sr. turned to include them both. “I wasn’t sure you two would remember each other after a meeting like that. I guess there’s no need for introductions.”
“No, sir.” Off-duty and out of uniform, she still talked like a cop.
“Nah.” Mike invited them both to sit in the guest chairs in front of his desk before circling around to pull out his own chair. “How’s the recovery going?” Gina’s gaze drilled into his. He interpreted that as a Don’t ask. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”
“No.”
He’d suspected that was the case, or else a detective or investigator from the DA’s office would have been back to question him on his account of the incident. “Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give KCPD a better description of the shooter’s SUV or license plate. The whole back end was covered in frozen mud and slush.”
She nodded. “He probably went straight to a car wash afterward so we couldn’t even look for a dirty vehicle.”
“Probably. How’s your partner?”
“Back on active duty.”
“That’s good news.” Or not, judging by the scowl that darkened her expression. Even with a frown like that, Mike had a hard time calling Gina Galvan anything but pretty. High cheekbones. Full lips. Dark, sensuous eyes. Hair the color of dark-roast coffee. “You cut your hair since I saw you last.”
“I was bleeding in the snow when you saw me last.” The subtle warmth of an accent made an intriguing contrast to the crisp snap of her words.
“I like it—the hair, not the blood. I didn’t realize how wavy your hair was.”
“Well, long hair is hardly practical with—” she gestured at her arm in the sling “—this. And I am not going to rely on my aunt or my sister to put my hair up every day.”
“Sounds smart.”
“Why are we talking about my hair?” The accent grew a little more pronounced as a hint of acid entered her tone. Was that anger? Frustration? A clear message that she wasn’t interested in his compliments or flirtations—idle or otherwise. She froze for a moment before inhaling a deep breath. Then, oddly, she crossed her fingers and brushed them against her lips and heart before settling her hand back into her lap. He thought it must be some kind of calming ritual because her posture relaxed a fraction and the tension left her voice. “I owe you for saving my life, Mr. Cutler. Thank you.”
He’d heard the gunshots on his morning run through the neighborhood just a mile or so from the clinic. What else was he supposed to do besides try to help? “It’s just Mike. And you’re welcome.”
Was that what this visit was about? A proud woman wanting to thank him? But she’d indicated that she hadn’t remembered him.
Mike’s father clearly had a purpose for coming to the clinic. “Could you give us a few minutes, Galvan?”
Gina popped to her feet, eager to please the captain or simply eager to escape the uncomfortable conversation. “Yes, sir.”
Mike stood, too, as Frannie stepped into the room carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs with packets of sugar and creamer. He scooted aside a stack of bills for her to set the tray on his desk. “Thanks. Why don’t you give Officer Galvan a tour of the facility while Dad and I talk.”
“Okay.” Frannie’s eyes were still puffy behind her glasses, but the pale skin beneath her freckles and pixie haircut was back to normal. She smiled at Gina and led her into the hallway. “We can start with the women’s locker room.”
Mike closed the door and returned to his seat, looking across the desk as his father picked up a mug and blew the steam off the top. “How worried should I be about this impromptu visit?”
Chapter Four (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
His father pursed his lips and made a rare face before swallowing. “Um...”
Mike took a sip and spit the sour brew back into his mug. “Sorry about that. Frannie must have cleaned the coffeemaker out with vinegar again.”
“Did she rinse it afterward?”
“I’ll sneak in there and make a new pot later this morning while she’s busy.” Mike spun his chair and emptied his mug into the potted fern beside the door. “She’s a little distracted. Her ex gets out on parole today.”
“Leo Mesner?” Mike nodded, returning his mug to the tray. Michael Sr. followed his lead, dumping out his coffee. “I’ll find out who Leo’s parole officer will be so we can keep tabs on him for her.”
“Thanks. After that last assault, he shouldn’t have any contact with her, but you never know if prison sobered him up and made him rethink hurting his ex-wife or just made him even angrier and bent on revenge. We’ll do what we can to keep her safe from this end, too.”
“I know you will, son. You’re too kindhearted for your own good.”
“You know it’s not all kindness, Dad.” His father’s blue eyes pierced right into Mike’s soul, understanding his need to atone for the damage he’d done in his youth—and wishing his older son would forgive himself already. Mike smiled a reassurance to ease his father’s concern. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my problems. I’m assuming this visit has to do with Officer Galvan?”
His dad nodded. “I’m bringing you a new client.”
He pointed briefly to his own shoulder. “She had surgery?”
“Stitches in her leg to seal up the bullet graze there. Emergency surgery to repair a nicked lung. She’s recovered from those without incident.” His dad’s expression turned grim. “But the second bullet went through her shoulder and tore it up. The doctors had to rebuild the joint. The PT is for muscle and nerve damage there.”
“What kind of nerve damage?”
“You’re the expert. But I know it has affected her hand. She can’t hold a gun.”
“Only six weeks after getting shot? She shouldn’t be trying.”
“You don’t know Gina.” His dad leaned forward, sharing a confidence. “She’s nobody’s pretty princess. Not the easiest person to get along with, especially since the shooting. She’s already quit one therapist, and another refused to work with her after the first session.”
“But I’m so desperate for patients, you think I’ll take her on?”
“No.” He leaned back, his features carved with an astute paternal smile. “I know how tough you are. All you’ve survived and been through. I know how resourceful you can be. If anybody can stand up to Gina, it’s you.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere, one that ranked right up there with Troy’s claim that he could outlast trouble. Maybe his dad and friend were subtly trying to tell him that he was too hardheaded for his own good. “What was the issue with the other therapists? She wouldn’t do the work?”
“Just the opposite. She pushed herself too hard.”
Mike nodded. “Did more damage than helped her recovery. You think Troy and I want to risk that kind of liability?”
“She’s an ambitious woman. Trying to do better for herself and her family. Other than her great-uncle’s disability and social security, she’s their sole support. But she’s a good cop. Good instincts. Well trained. Gina can think on her feet. Once the bad guys realize they’ve underestimated her, they discover they don’t want to mess with her. I was ready to put her on my new SWAT team until the shooting. I’ve still got a spot for her.” His dad’s shoulders lifted with a wry apology. “But if she can’t handle the physical demands of the job, I can’t use her.”
“You want me to fix her so she can make the team?”
“I want you to fix her so we don’t lose her to No-Man’s Land.” Just a few city blocks north of the clinic. Poverty, gangs, drugs, prostitution, homelessness—it was a tough place to grow up. His dad’s second wife, Jillian, had barely survived her time in one of Kansas City’s most dangerous neighborhoods. Troy had almost lost his life there. Mike knew his father and his SWAT team had answered several calls there over the years. There was a lot to admire about a woman who held down a good job and took care of her family in the No-Man’s Land neighborhood. In this neighborhood, where he and Troy were determined to make a difference. Michael Cutler Sr. was a professional hostage negotiator. He knew what buttons to push to ensure Mike’s cooperation, and helping someone deserving in this part of the city was a big one. “Help her realize her potential. KCPD needs her. She needs the job, and I want her if she can do it.”
Mike scrubbed his hand over the stubble shading his jaw before deciding to swallow a little pride. “Can she pay?”
“I’ll cover whatever her department insurance doesn’t.”
“You believe in her that much?”
“I do.”
“Then I will, too.” Appreciating the faith his father had always had in him, Mike rolled his chair back and stood. “I’ll get the job done for you, Dad.”
“Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” With their business completed, Michael Sr. stood as well, adjusting the gun at his hip and pulling the black SWAT cap from his back pocket. He tipped his head toward the unpaid bills that Mike had pushed aside earlier. “Did you get the grant?”
“No.”
“I suppose applying to Caroline’s foundation is out of the question.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head as he crossed to the door. “To be honest, I think you dodged a bullet there, son. Caroline was a nice girl. But Jillian and I were never so bored out of our minds that night we had dinner with her parents. And, of course, if she can’t appreciate you for who you are and not who she wants you to be—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mike grinned, patting his dad’s shoulder to stop that line of well-meaning conversation. “Nice Dad Speech.”
“I’m really good at ’em, aren’t I?” They shared a laugh until Michael Sr. paused with his hand on the door knob to ask, “Say, what was that ‘catnip’ thing about with Gina?”
“Beats me. She said it to me before she lost consciousness the day of the shooting. Maybe she was delirious and thinking about her pet.”
They both suspected there was more to the story than that but Mike didn’t have the answer. His dad paused before opening the door. “You’ll give me regular reports on Gina’s progress?”
“Does she know you’re setting this up for her?”
“She knows I want her on my team and that I was happy to give her a ride this morning. She still can’t drive for another two weeks.”
“And she knows this is her last chance to get her recovery right in time for you to name the new SWAT team?”
“Very astute. You got your mother’s brains.” They stepped into the hallway and Michael Sr. pulled his SWAT cap on. “See you at Will’s science fair presentation Thursday night?”
“I already told the squirt I’d be there.”
A small parade, led by a grinning Troy, stopped them before they reached the clinic’s entrance. Troy held out his hand. “Hey, Captain C. I wanted to make sure I said hi before you left.”
“Troy.” The two men exchanged a solid handshake. “Good to see you.”
“You, too, sir.”
Frannie and Gina waited behind Troy’s chair. The two women were a stark contrast in coloring and demeanor—pale and dark, subdued and vibrant.
“How’s Dex doing in med school?” Unaware of Mike’s distracted gaze, Michael Sr. asked about Troy’s younger brother. Since Mike and Troy had practically grown up together, Dexter Anthony and their grandmother who’d raised the boys were like extended family.
“Long hours. But he’s killin’ it.”
“I knew he would. Jillian wants to know when you’re coming over for dinner. More for the games afterward than the food.”
“Just give me a time, and I’ll be there. And tell her I’ve been reading the dictionary every night. I’m not losing that word game to her again.”
“Will do.” The two men shook hands again before his dad nodded to Gina over the top of Troy’s head. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”
“No, sir. Thank you, but you need to get to work. Besides, I’ve been getting home all by myself for a lot of years now.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home, Dad.”
“Son.” Michael traded one last nod with Mike before he left.
There was an awkward moment between the four of them in the congested hallway before Mike stepped to one side. Gina politely followed suit, giving Troy room to spin his chair around and head back to his patient in the workout room. Frannie quietly excused herself and slipped into her office, leaving Mike and Gina standing side by side with their backs against the wall. The woman didn’t even come up to his shoulder. But he appreciated the view of dark waves capping her head and the tight, round bump of her bottom farther down.
One by one, doors closed behind Frannie, Troy and Mike’s dad. The second her potential boss had gone and they were alone, Gina turned on him. “I didn’t ask you to be my chauffeur.”
Forget the raw attraction simmering in his veins. Her hushed, chiding tone gave Mike an idea of what the next few weeks were going to be like, and it wasn’t going to involve fun or easy. But he’d been rising to one challenge or another his entire life. Five feet and a few inches or so of attitude wasn’t about to scare him off. She might as well get used to how he intended to run things with her. “You didn’t ask me to be your physical therapist, either. But it looks like that’s going to happen.” He took her into his office and closed the door. “Have a seat. I need to do an informal assessment before we get started.”
She eyed the chair where she’d sat earlier, and obstinately remained in place. “I’ve already had two evaluations, three if you count the orthopedist who sent me to PT in the first place.”
“Well, none of them reported to me, and I’ve got no paperwork on you, so have a seat.” Mike sat and pulled up a new intake file on his computer screen.
She poked a finger at the corner of his desk. “Listen, Choir Boy. Your father outranks me and can give me orders. But you can’t.”
Choir Boy? What happened to Catnip?
And why couldn’t the woman just call him Mike? “Fine. Stand. I’m still asking questions.”
He typed in her name as she snatched her hand away. “Are you making fun of me now? You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”
If he recalled correctly, he’d saved that life.
“Age? Address? Phone number? Surgeon?” He typed in the answers as she rattled them off. “What are your goals?”
She puffed up like a banty hen, swearing a couple of words in Spanish, before perching on the chair across from him. “My goals? Isn’t it obvious? I want to be a cop again. And not just some face sitting behind a desk, either. I want to be able to pick up my gun and take down a perp and be the first Latina on one of your father’s SWAT teams.”
“You want me to put in a good word for you?” He met her gaze across the desk. “You’re going to have to earn that. I warn you, Dad and I are close, but he doesn’t let anybody tell him what to do when it comes to the job.” Mike leaned back in his chair. “But I have a feeling you’re familiar with that kind of attitude.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Apparently I don’t have to work very hard at it.”
Her eyes widened and the tight lines around her mouth vanished. “Things have been a little tense...” She parted her lips to continue, closed them again, processed a thought, then leaned forward to ask. “Can you make me whole again? If I can’t be a cop, I don’t know... My family is counting on me... I’m used to dealing with problems myself. But this...” She tilted her chin, as if the proud stance could erase the vulnerability that had softened everything about her for a few moments. “I need this to happen.”
In other words, Rescue me. He’d just taken a hit to his Achilles’ heel. Not that this woman looked like she wanted a knight in shining armor, but a woman in need had always been a problem for Mike. Caroline had needed him to build her confidence and stand up to her parents. Frannie had needed him to feel safe. They weren’t the first, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be the last. Maybe it had something to do with atoning for the mistakes of his rebellious youth after his mother had died of cancer. Maybe it had something to do with finding a purpose for his life the day he helped rescue his stepmother, Jillian, and Troy from a bomber. Maybe it had something to do with that lonesome need to be needed—to be the one man that a woman had to have in her life.
And maybe he was too hardheaded to accept defeat because he heard himself saying, “I can help it happen if you let me. You’re going to have to take orders from someone besides my dad. Can you do that? Do what I tell you? Not do more than I tell you?” he emphasized, suspecting that slow and easy weren’t in Gina’s vocabulary. “You can do as much damage by pushing too hard too soon as the original injury inflicted.”
“I can do more than those other therapists were letting me. I can handle pain. And training is something I’ve done in sports since middle school, and certainly at the police academy. I’ll do my job if you do yours.”
Not exactly the clear-cut agreement he’d been looking for. But he’d take it. If Gina saw this as a competition, he’d give her a run for her money—and then make sure she won. He reached across the desk with his right hand, purposely challenging her to respond with the hand that rested limply in the sling.
A light flashed in her eyes, like a sprinkling of sugar dissolving in rich, warm coffee. Not the sour kind Frannie made, either. Then she thrust her hand out of the end of the sling. Her thumb and forefinger latched on to his hand with a decent grip, but the last three fingers simply batted against the back of his knuckles. Mike stretched each limp finger back, checking the muscle tone, before he finished the informal assessment and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then he pulled away and pushed to his feet. “You accept that I’m in charge of your recovery? That when it comes to your health, I’m the boss?”
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Julie Miller
She cheated death once… But can she a second time?After Gina Galvan is shot in the line of duty, all she wants to do is return to the front line and stop a shooter. Physical therapist Mike Cutler is attracted to Gina, and is ready to face anyone – even a killer – to prove he’s a hero.
She cheated death once... But a killer still lurks.
After a gunshot rips streetwise police officer Gina Galvan from the line of duty, all she wants is to return to the front line and stop a shooter. But good guy physical therapist Mike Cutler won’t back down from a challenge, or his blazing attraction to Gina. Without a badge or a gun, Mike is ready to face anyone—including a killer—to prove he’s every inch a hero.
The Precinct
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to www.juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
Also By Julie Miller
Beauty and the Badge
Takedown
KCPD Protector
Crossfire Christmas
Military Grade Mistletoe
Kansas City Cop
APB: Baby
Kansas City Countdown
Necessary Action
Protection Detail
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Kansas City Cop
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 9-781-474-07865-8
KANSAS CITY COP
© 2018 Julie Miller
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Edna Castillo, reader and bookseller extraordinaire.
A fellow The Wizard of Oz fan, too! Thanks for your help with the Spanish. Any mistakes are my own.
Contents
Cover (#u64018575-5ba7-59ca-a258-b21730e46899)
Back Cover Text (#u5a06440b-fabb-57f6-9035-bcb479e9cb59)
About the Author (#u6512130d-81ce-56e5-bda5-31603f6d213b)
Booklist (#uc6fe8f0a-9e7a-5c7c-9499-61d4c10b1a6c)
Title Page (#uda30d57b-28bc-5adc-ae79-f1a540c9488d)
Copyright (#u2910be18-27a1-5fdc-b9aa-1b985ad551d5)
Dedication (#u4488a19a-5e29-5dca-9e19-a58b5a785d3a)
Chapter One (#u9e46e85a-8e2f-5aff-91b2-415a85776008)
Chapter Two (#u3e5a3ff4-bf07-5232-a1a5-10d3d46a9d51)
Chapter Three (#u38b29b99-f334-56be-8f5b-b0707c473902)
Chapter Four (#u488c0ec3-54d2-5b27-ae32-cd09225a627e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
The bright sunlight glaring off the fresh February snow through the police cruiser’s windshield was as blinding as the headache forming behind Officer Gina Galvan’s dark brown eyes.
“No, Tia Mami, I can’t.” She glanced across the front seat to her partner, Derek Johnson, and silently mouthed an apology for yet another family crisis infringing on their shift time with KCPD. “I don’t get off until seven. And that’s if our paperwork’s done. That’s why I left my car at home and took the bus this morning—so Sylvie could drive you and Tio Papi to his doctor’s appointment.”
“Sylvie no come home from school,” her great-aunt Lupe replied quietly, as though apologizing for the news.
“What? Where is she?”
“Javi said he saw her riding with that boyfriend of hers we don’t like.”
“Seriously?” Anger and concern flooded Gina’s cheeks with heat. The boyfriend they didn’t like had too much money to have gotten it in the old neighborhood by any legal means. But Bobby Estes’s flashy cars and devilish good looks were too much for Gina’s dreamy, dissatisfied baby sister to resist. And if Bobby was a teenager, as he claimed, then Gina was Santa Claus. Clearly, her last conversation with Sylvie, about the definition of statutory rape and learning to act like an adult if she wanted to be treated like one, had not made a memorable impact. “I’m going to have to ground her. That’s all there is to it.”
But dealing with her sister’s rash choices didn’t get Tio Papi to the doctor’s office. Gina slipped her fingers beneath the base of her wavy brunette ponytail to massage the tension gathering at the nape of her neck.
Derek nudged her with his elbow. “Need a ride home tonight?”
Missing the point! Although, in his defense, Derek was only hearing half the conversation. Gina summoned a smile for the friend she’d been riding a squad car with for almost two years now. “It’s okay. Just a miscommunication at home.”
“Gotta love our families, right?” Derek teased. She knew he had a strained relationship with his father. And there was no love lost for Derek’s mother, who’d divorced his father and moved away, leaving her teenage son behind to be raised by an aging hippie who had trouble keeping a job and staying out of jail.
A difficult upbringing was part of the common ground they shared, and had helped solidify their working relationship and understanding of each other. Gina gave the sarcasm right back, whispering so her great-aunt couldn’t hear. “Do we really have to?”
Derek grinned and directed her back to her phone. “Tell Aunt Lupe hi for me, okay?”
“I will. Tia Mami, Derek says hi.”
“You teach that young man to say hola, and bring him to dinner sometime.”
“I’m working on it.” Gina continued the conversation with appropriate responses while her great-aunt rattled on about other concerns she’d have to deal with once she got home. While Lupe talked, Gina concentrated on the scenery as they drove past, partly because it was her job to observe the neighborhood and take note of anything that looked suspicious or unsafe, and partly because she’d already heard the same worried speech too many times before about fast cars and traffic accidents, young men who didn’t come to the door to pick up a date and Uncle Rollo’s deteriorating health.
Now there was something different. Gina lifted her chin for a better look. A tall man in silver and black running gear came around the corner off Pennsylvania Avenue and ran down the narrow side street. A jogger in this neighborhood was unusual. Maybe he was one of those yuppie business owners who’d opened an office in this part of town for a song, or he’d bought a loft in one of the area’s abandoned warehouses, thinking he could revitalize a little part of Kansas City. Not for the first time, she considered the irony of people with money moving into this part of the city, while the natives like her were doing all they could to raise enough money to move out.
But irony quickly gave way to other thoughts. The runner was tall, lean and muscular. Although the stocking cap and wraparound sunglasses he wore masked the top half of his head, the well-trimmed scruff of brown beard on his golden skin was like catnip to her. Plus, she could tell he was fit by the rhythmic clouds of his breath in the cold air. He wasn’t struggling to maintain that pace and, for a woman who worked hard to stay physically fit, she appreciated his athleticism.
As they passed each other, he offered her a polite wave, and Gina nodded in return. Since he already knew she’d been staring, she shifted her gaze to the side mirror to watch him run another block. Long legs and a tight butt. Gina’s lips curved into a smile. They probably had a lot of scenery like that in the suburbs. A relationship was one thing she didn’t have time for at this point in her life. And no way did she want to tie herself to anyone from the neighborhood who might want her to stay. But there was no harm in looking and getting her blood circulating a little faster. After all, it was only twenty-two degrees out, and a woman had to do whatever was necessary to stay warm.
Gina glanced over at her partner. Derek was handsome in his own way. He, too, had brown hair, but his smooth baby face was doing nary a thing for her circulation.
“Do we need to take a detour to your house and have a conversation with your sister? I’d be happy to um, have a word, with that boyfriend of hers.” He took his hands off the steering wheel to make air quotes around have a word, as if he had ideas about roughing up Bobby on her behalf. As if she couldn’t take care of her family’s issues herself.
Since the car was moving, Gina guided one hand back to the steering wheel and changed the subject. She covered the speaker on her phone and whispered, “Hey, since things are quiet right now, why don’t you swing by a coffee shop and get us something hot to drink. I haven’t been able to shake this chill since that first snow back in October.”
Although the remembered impression of Sexy Jogger Guy made that last sentence a lie, her request had the desired effect of diverting Derek’s interest in her family problems.
“That I can do. One skinny mocha latte coming up.”
Distracted with his new mission, Derek turned the squad car onto a cross street, plowing through a dip filled with dirty slush as they continued their daily patrol through the aging neighborhood. With houses and duplexes so close together that a person could barely walk between them, vehicles parked bumper-to-bumper against the curb and junk piling on porches and spilling into yards, this was a part of the city she knew far too well. Add in the branches of tall, denuded maple trees heavy with three months’ worth of snow arching over the yards and narrow streets, and Gina felt claustrophobic. As much as she loved Kansas City and her job as a police officer, she secretly wondered if she was the reincarnation of some Central American ancestor and was meant for living on the high, arid plains of her people with plenty of blue sky and wide-open space, without a single snowflake in sight.
Setting aside her own restless need to escape, Gina turned toward the passenger door to find some privacy for this personal conversation. “Did you call Sylvie?” she asked her great-aunt, once the older woman’s need to vent had subsided.
“She don’t answer.”
“What about Javi?” Her brother, Javier, was twenty-one, although that didn’t necessarily mean he was making better choices than Sylvie. She kept hoping for the day when he would step up as the man of the family and allow their great-uncle to truly enjoy his retirement. “Can he drive you?”
“He’s already gone. He’s picking up some extra hours at work.”
Well, that was one plus in the ongoing drama that was Gina’s life. Maybe so long as Javi was intent on saving up to buy a truck, he would focus on this job and avoid the influence of his former friends who’d made some less productive choices with their lives, like stealing cars, selling drugs and running with gangs. “Good.”
“Papi says he can drive,” Lupe Molina offered in a hushed, uncertain tone.
Gina sat up as straight as her seat belt and protective vest allowed. “No. Absolutely not. The whole reason he’s going for these checkups is because he passed out the last time his blood pressure spiked. He can’t be behind the wheel.”
“What do I do?” Lupe asked quietly.
As much as she loved her great-aunt and -uncle who’d taken in the three Galvan siblings and raised them after their mother had died, Lupe and Rollo Molina were now both close to eighty and didn’t need the hassle of dealing with an attention-craving teenager. Especially not with Rollo’s health issues. “I’ll call Sylvie. See if I can get her home to help like she promised. If you don’t hear from her or me in ten minutes, call the doctor’s office and reschedule the appointment for tomorrow. I’ll be off except for practicing for my next SWAT test on the shooting range. I’ll make sure you get there.”
“All right. I can do that. You see? This is where having a young man to help you would be a good thing.”
Gina rolled her eyes at the not-so-subtle hint. There was more than one path to success besides getting married and making babies. “I love you, Tia Mami. Adios.”
“Te amo, Gina. You’re always my good girl.”
By the time she disconnected the call, Derek had pulled the black-and-white into the coffee shop’s tiny parking lot but was making no effort to get out and let her deal with her family on her own. Instead, he rested the long black sleeve of his uniform on the steering wheel and grinned at her. “Sylvie off on another one of her escapades?”
Gina might as well fill in the blanks for him. “She’s supposed to be driving my uncle to the doctor. Instead, she’s cruising around the city with a young man who’s too old for her.”
Derek shook his head. “She does look older than seventeen when she puts on all her makeup.” He dropped his green-eyed gaze to her black laced-up work boots. “She’s got the family legs, too.”
Ignoring the gibe at her five-foot-three-inch height, Gina punched in Sylvie’s number. Then she punched Derek’s shoulder, giving back the teasing camaraderie they shared. “You’re eyeballing my little sister?”
“Hey, when you decorate the Christmas tree, you’re supposed to celebrate it.”
“Well, you don’t get to hang any ornaments on my sister, understand? She’s seventeen. You could get into all kinds of trouble with the department. And me.”
Derek raised his hands in surrender. “Forget the department. You’re the one who scares me. You’re about to become one of SWAT’s finest. I’m not messing with anyone in your family.”
The call went straight to Sylvie’s voice mail. “Damn it.” Gina tucked her phone back into her vest and held her hand out for Derek’s. “Could I borrow yours? Maybe if she doesn’t recognize the number, she’ll pick up.”
“That means I’ll have her number in my phone, you know. And Sylvie is a hottie.”
“Seven. Teen.” Gina repeated the warning with a smile and typed in her wayward sister’s number.
She’d barely been a teenager herself when her mother had passed away and their long-absent father had willingly signed away his parental rights, leaving the three Galvans orphans in No-Man’s Land, one of the toughest neighborhoods in downtown Kansas City. They’d moved out of their cramped apartment into a slightly less cramped house. Instead of prostitutes, drug dealers and gangbangers doing business beneath Gina’s bedroom window, they’d graduated to the vicinity of a meth lab, which KCPD had eventually closed down, at the end of the block. Naturalized citizens who were proud to call themselves Americans, her great-aunt and -uncle had stressed the values of education and hard work, and they’d grown up proud but poor. With her diminutive stature, Gina had quickly learned how to handle herself in a fight and project an attitude so that no one would mess with her family or take advantage of her. That hardwired drive to protect her loved ones had morphed into a desire to protect any innocent who needed her help, including this neighborhood and her entire city. But she couldn’t forget which side of the tracks the Galvans and Molinas had come from—and just how far she had to go to secure something better for them.
“Hey, don’t jinx the SWAT thing for me, okay?” A little bit of her great-aunt and -uncle’s superstitious nature buzzed through her thoughts like an annoying gnat she thought she’d gotten rid of. If she made Special Weapons and Tactics, the rise in status with the department and subsequent raise in pay would finally allow her to move her whole family into a house with a real yard in a safer suburb. She wasn’t afraid of setting goals and working hard to achieve them, but it was rare that she allowed anything so personal as wanting some open space to plant a proper garden or get a dog or owning a bathroom she didn’t have to share with four other people to motivate her. “I’m not the only recruit on Captain Cutler’s list of candidates for the new SWAT team he’s forming. There are ten people on a list for five spots. Including you.”
“Yeah, but you’re the toughest.”
“Jinxing, remember?” Gina crossed her fingers and kissed her knuckles before touching them to her heart, a throwback from her childhood to cootie shots and negating bad karma. “We all have our talents.”
“I’m just repeating what Cutler said at the last training meeting. McBride scored the highest at the shooting range. And you, my kickass little partner, are the one he said he’d least like to face one-on-one in a fight. Take the compliment.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Derek that she wasn’t his little anything, but she was dealing with enough conflict already today. “You’re doing well, too, or you’d have been eliminated already. Captain Cutler announces things like that so we stay competitive.”
“Hey, I’m not quittin’ anything until those new promotions are posted. I only have to be fifth best and I’ll still make the team.”
“Fifth best?” Gina laughed. “Way to aim high, Johnson.”
“It’s too bad about Cho, though. He’s been acing all the written tests and procedure evaluations.”
Gina agreed. Colin Cho was a fellow SWAT candidate who’d suffered three cracked ribs when he’d been shot twice while directing traffic around a stalled car on the North Broadway Freeway in the middle of the night two weeks ago. Only his body armor had prevented the incident from becoming a fatality. “Any idea how he’s doing?”
“I heard he’s up and around, but he won’t be running any races soon. He’s restricted to desk duty for the time being. I wonder if they’ll replace him on the candidate list or just shorten it to nine potential SWAT officers.”
“Cho’s too good an officer to remove from contention,” Gina reasoned, hitting the phone icon on the screen to connect the call.
“But there is a deadline,” Derek reminded her. “If he can’t pass the physical...”
The number rang several times before her sister finally picked up. “Sylvie Galvan’s phone,” a man answered.
Not her sister but that slimy lothario who struck Gina as a mobster wannabe—if he wasn’t already running errands and doing small jobs for some of the bigger criminals in town. Gina swallowed the curse on her tongue. She needed to keep this civil if she wanted to get her great-aunt and -uncle the help they needed. “Bobby, put Sylvie on.”
“It’s your wicked big sister,” he announced. The sounds of horns honking and traffic moving in the background told her they were in his car. Hopefully, in the front seat and not stretched out together in the back. “What will you give me to hand you this phone?”
That teasing request was for her sister.
Gina cringed at the high-pitched sound of her sister’s giggles. She groaned at the wet, smacking sound of a kiss. Or two. So much for keeping it civil. “Bobby Estes, you keep your hands off my sister or I will—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Sylvie was on the line now. Finally. She could live without the breathless gasps and giggles and the picture the noises created of a practically grown man making out with her innocent sister. “What do you want?”
“You forgot Tio Papi’s doctor’s appointment.” Better to stick to the purpose of the phone call than to get into another lecture about the bad choices Sylvie was making. “You promised me you would drive him today.”
“Javi can do it.”
“He’s at work. Besides, it was your responsibility.” Her fingers curled into a fist at the sound of her sister’s gasp. Really? Bobby couldn’t keep his hands to himself for the ten seconds it would take to finish this call? “Do you want me to treat you like a grown-up or not?”
“I just got home from school.”
“A half hour ago. I was counting on you. This isn’t about me. It’s about helping Rollo and Lupe. Do you want to explain to them why you’ve forgotten them?”
Bobby purred against her sister’s mouth, and the offensive noise crawled over Gina’s skin. “Is big sis being a downer again? You know she’s jealous of us. Hang up, baby.”
“Bobby, stop.” Sylvie sounded a little irritated with her boyfriend. For once. The shuffling noises and protests made her think Sylvie was pushing him away. Gina suppressed a cheer. “When is the appointment?”
“Four forty-five. Can you do it?”
“Yeah. I can help.” Thank goodness Sylvie still had enough little girl in her to idolize her pseudo grandparents. She’d do for them what she wouldn’t do for Gina. Or herself, unfortunately. Her tone shifted to Bobby. “I need to go home.”
“I said I was taking you out to dinner. I was gonna show you my friend’s club,” he whined. “Just because Gina’s a cop, she doesn’t make the rules. She sure as hell isn’t in charge of what I do.”
“Don’t get mad, Bobby. Just drive me home.” Sylvie was doing some purring of her own. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Ooh, I like it when you do that, baby.”
Gina wished she could reach through the phone and yank her sister out of Bobby’s car before she got into the kind of trouble that even a big sister with a badge couldn’t help her with. “Sylvie?”
“I’ll call Tia Mami and tell her we’re on our way.”
“Bobby doesn’t need to go with you.” A powerful car engine revved in the background. “Seeing him will only upset—”
“Bye.”
Bobby shouted an unwanted goodbye. “Bye-bye, big sis.”
She groaned when her sister’s phone went silent. Gina cursed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I want to use Bobby Estes as one of the dummies in our fight-training classes?”
Derek laughed as he put away his phone. “Once or twice.” He opened his door, and Gina shivered at the blast of wintry wind. “I keep telling you that I’d be happy to help run him in.”
At least the chill helped some of her temper dissipate, as did Derek’s unflinching support. “Bobby’s too squeaky clean for that. He does just enough to annoy me, but not enough that I can prove he’s committing any kind of crime. And Sylvie isn’t about to rat him out.”
“Just say the word, and I’m there for you, G.” He turned to climb out. “I’ll leave the car running so you stay warm.”
But the dispatch radio beeped, and he settled back behind the wheel to listen to the details of the all-call. “So much for coffee.”
Derek closed the door as the dispatch repeated. “Attention all units in the Westport area. We have a 10-52 reported. Repeat, domestic dispute report. Approach with caution. Suspect believed to be armed with a knife.”
“That’s the Bismarck place.” Derek frowned as he shifted the cruiser into Drive and pulled out onto the street. “I thought Vicki Bismarck took out a restraining order against her ex.”
“She did.” This wasn’t the first time they’d answered a call at the Bismarcks’ home. The address was just a couple of blocks from their location. Gina picked up the radio while Derek flipped on the siren and raced through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “Unit 4-13 responding.”
Her family troubles were forgotten as she pulled up the suspect’s name on the laptop mounted on the dashboard. Domestic-disturbance calls were her least favorite kind of call. The situations were unpredictable, and there were usually innocent parties involved. This one was no different.
“Gordon Bismarck. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce very well.” Gina let out a low whistle. “He’s got so many D&Ds and domestic-violence calls the list goes on to a second page. No outstanding warrants, though, so we can’t just run him in.” She glanced over at Derek as they careened around a corner. “Looks like he’s not afraid to hurt somebody. You ready for this?”
“I know you’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours.”
She hoped he meant it because when they pulled up in front of the Bismarck house, they weren’t alone. And the men belonging to a trio of motorcycles and a beat-up van didn’t look like curiosity seekers who’d gathered to see what all the shouting coming from inside the bungalow was about.
Derek turned off the engine and swore. “How many thugs does it take to terrorize one woman? I hope Vicki’s okay. Should I call for reinforcements?”
“Not yet.” Gina tracked the men as they put out cigarettes and split up to block the end of the driveway and the sidewalk leading to the front door. Middle-aged. A couple with potbellies. One had prison tats on his neck. Another took a leisurely drink from a flask before tucking it inside the sheepskin-lined jacket he wore. Their bikes were in better shape than they were. But any one of them could be armed. And she could guess that the guy with the flask wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. Judging by what she’d read on the cruiser’s computer screen, these were friends, if not former cell mates, of Gordon Bismarck’s. Gina’s blood boiled in her veins at the lopsided odds. She reached for the door handle. “But keep your radio at the ready.”
Gina pushed open the cruiser door and climbed out. “Gentlemen.” She rested her hand on the butt of her holstered Glock. “I need you to disperse.”
“You need us, querida?” Flask Man’s leer and air kisses weren’t even close to intimidating, and she certainly wasn’t his darling anything.
Derek circled the cruiser, positioning himself closer to the two in the driveway while she faced off against the two on the sidewalk. “In case you don’t understand the big word, you need to get on your bikes and ride away.”
“We gave Gordy a ride home,” Potbelly #1 said, thumbing over his shoulder just as something made of glass shattered inside the house.
A woman’s voice cried out, “Gordon, stop it!”
“I paid for this damn house. And I’ll—”
Gina needed to get inside to help Vicki Bismarck. But she wasn’t going to leave these four aging gangbangers out here where they could surround the house or lie in wait for her and Derek to come back outside. “We’re not interested in you boys today,” she articulated in a sharp, authoritative tone. “But if you make me check the registrations on your bikes or van, or I get close enough to think any of you need a Breathalyzer test, then it will be about you.”
Prison Tat Guy was the first to head toward his bike. “Hey, I can’t have my parole officer gettin’ wind of this.”
Potbelly #2 quickly followed suit. “I’m out of here, man. Gordy doesn’t need us to handle Vic. My old lady’s already ticked that I stayed out all night.”
Potbelly #1 clomped the snow off his boots before climbing inside the van. But he sat with the door open, looking toward the man with the flask. “What do you want me to do, Denny? I told Gordy I’d give him a ride back to his place.”
Flask Man’s watery brown eyes never left Gina’s. “We ain’t doin’ nothing illegal here, querida. We’re just a bunch of pals hangin’ out at a friend’s place.”
“It’s Officer Galvan to you.” She had to bite down on the urge to tell him in two languages exactly what kind of man he was. But she wasn’t about to give this patronizing lowlife the satisfaction of losing her temper. She was a cop. Proud of it. And this guy was about to get a lesson in understanding exactly who was in charge here. “Mr. Bismarck isn’t going to need a ride.” Potbelly #1 slammed his door and started the van’s engine. Gina smiled at Flask Man and pulled out her handcuffs. “Denny, is it? I’ve got plenty of room in the backseat for both you and good ol’ Gordy.” She moved toward him, dangling the cuffs in a taunt to emphasize her words. “How do impeding an officer in the performance of her duty, aiding and abetting a known criminal, public intoxication and operating a vehicle under the influence sound to you?”
“You can’t arrest me for all that.”
“I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you.” Derek stepped out of the way of the van as it backed out of the driveway and sped after the two men on motorcycles. “Not with her.”
Gina was close enough to see Flask Man’s nostrils flaring with rage. “Handcuffs or goodbye?”
“I don’t like a woman telling me what to do,” he muttered, striding toward his bike. “Especially one like you.” Once he was astraddle, he revved the engine, yelling something at Derek that sounded a lot like a warning to keep his woman in check. The roar of the bike’s motor drowned out his last parting threat as he raced down the street, but Gina was pretty sure it had something to do with her parentage and how their next meeting would have a very different ending.
“Make sure they stay gone,” Gina said, hooking her cuffs back onto her belt and running to the front door. She opened the glass storm door and knocked against the inside door. “KCPD!” she announced. The woman screamed, and the man yelled all kinds of vile curses. “Vicki Bismarck, are you all right? This is the police, answering a call to this address. I’m coming inside.”
Twenty minutes later, Gina and Derek had Gordon Bismarck and his former wife, Vicki, separated into two rooms of their tiny, trashed home. Gina had bagged the box cutter Gordon had dropped when she’d pulled her gun and blinked her watery eyes at the stench of alcohol, vomit and sweat coming off Gordon’s body. Either Gordy and his buddies had been beefing up their courage for this confrontation or they’d partied hard and gotten stupid enough to think violating a restraining order was a good idea.
Although the slurred epithets were still flying from the living room where Derek had taken Gordon to put a winter coat on over his undershirt, and Vicki was bawling in the kitchen while Gina tried to assess the woman’s injuries, Gina was already wrapping up this case in her head. Even if Vicki refused to press charges, she could book Gordon on breaking and entering, violating his restraining order and public intoxication—all of which should keep him out of Vicki’s life long enough for her to get the help she needed. If she’d ask for it. Clearly, this wasn’t the Bismarcks’ first rodeo with KCPD. That probably explained why Gordon had brought his friends.
Although she hadn’t noted any stab wounds on Vicki, the woman was cradling her left arm as if it had been yanked or twisted hard enough to do some internal damage. Gina glanced around at the slashed curtains and overturned chairs in the kitchen, her gaze landing on the shattered cell phone in the corner that had been crushed beneath a boot or hurled across the room. Clearly, there’d been a substantial altercation here.
Gina righted one of the chairs and urged the skinny woman to sit. “Will you let me look at that arm?” Gina asked, tearing off a fresh paper towel for the woman to dab at her tears. When Vicki nodded, Gina knelt beside her. Bruise marks that fit the span of a man’s hand were already turning purple around her elbow. But there didn’t seem to be any apparent deformity suggesting a broken bone. Didn’t mean it hadn’t been twisted savagely, spraining muscles and tendons. Gina pushed to her feet and headed toward the refrigerator-freezer. “An ice pack should help with the swelling.”
She heard a crash from the living room and spun around as Derek cursed. “Gina—heads up!”
“Are you turnin’ me in, you bitch? My boys are gonna kill you!”
“Gordy!” Vicki screamed as Gordon charged into the kitchen.
Chapter Two (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
Gina simply reacted, putting herself between the frightened woman and the red-faced man. There was no time to wonder how the drunk had gotten away from Derek. She ducked beneath the attacker’s fist, kicked out with her leg, tripped the big brute, then caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, following him down to the floor. Before his chin smacked the linoleum, she had her knee in his back, pinning him in place.
“He’s too big for the damn cuffs,” Derek shouted, running in behind the perp. He knelt on the opposite side, catching the loose chain that was only connected to one wrist.
Gordon Bismarck writhed beneath her, trying to wrestle himself free. His curses switched from Vicki to Gina to women in general. Locking her own handcuffs around his free arm, Gina twisted his wrist and arm another notch until he yelped. “Don’t make me mad, Mr. Bismarck. Your buddies outside already put me in a mood.”
The mention of his friends sparked a new protest. “Denny! Al! Jim! I need—”
“Uh-uh.” She pushed his cheek back to the floor. “They went bye-bye. Now you be a good boy while my partner walks you out to the squad car so you can sober up and chill that temper.”
“My boys left?”
“That’s right, Gordy.” Derek wiped a dribble of blood from beneath his nose while Gina locked the ends of both cuffs together, securing him. “You’re on your own.”
“I don’t want him touchin’ me,” Gordy protested. “I don’t want him in my house.”
“Not your choice.” Gina stayed on top of the captive, her muscles straining to subdue him until he gave up the fight. She glanced up at Derek, assessing his injury. Other than the carpet lint clinging to his dark uniform from a tussle of some kind, he wasn’t seriously hurt. Still, she kept her voice calm and firm, trying to reassure Vicki that they could keep her safe. “You got him okay?”
“I got him. Thanks for the save. I didn’t realize the cuff wasn’t completely closed around his fat wrist, and I ended up with an elbow in my face.” Derek pulled the man to his feet, his bruised ego making him a little rough as he shoved Bismarck toward the front door. “Forget the coat. Now we can add assaulting a police officer to your charges. Come on, you lousy son of a...”
The door banged shut as Derek muscled Bismarck outside. Gina inhaled several deep breaths, cooling her own adrenaline rush. She watched from the foyer until she saw her partner open the cruiser and unceremoniously dump the perp into the backseat. Only after Derek had closed the door and turned to lean his hip against the fender did she breathe a sigh of relief. The situation was finally secure.
When he pulled out a cigarette and started to light it, Gina muttered a curse beneath her breath. She immediately thumbed the radio clipped to the shoulder of her uniform. “Derek,” she chided, wanting to warn him it was too soon to let down his guard. “Call the sit-rep in to Dispatch, and tell them we’ll be bringing in the suspect. I’ll finish getting the victim’s statement.”
“Chill, G. Let a man catch his breath.” He lit the cigarette and exhaled a puff before answering. “Roger that.”
Gina shook her head. She supposed that losing control of the perp had not only dinged his ego but also rattled him. Maybe she should have a low-key chat with her partner. Aiming for fifth place wasn’t going to get the job done. If he didn’t light a fire under his butt and start showing all the ways he could excel at being a cop, Captain Cutler might cut him from the SWAT candidate list altogether.
But she had more pressing responsibilities to attend to right now than to play the bossy big sister role with her partner and nudge Derek toward success. After softly closing the front door on the cold and the visual of Gordon Bismarck spewing vitriol in the backseat of the cruiser while Derek smacked the window and warned him to be quiet, Gina pulled out her phone again and returned to the kitchen. She found Vicki making a token effort to clean up some of the mess.
“Is he gone?” the woman asked in a tired voice. Although the tears had stopped, her eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of green from all her crying.
“He’s locked in the back of the police cruiser, and I sent his friends away. He won’t get to you again. Not today. Not while I’m here.”
“Thank you.” Vicki dropped a broken plate into the trash. “And Derek’s okay?”
“‘Derek’?”
“Officer Johnson.” A blush tinted Vicki’s pale cheeks. “I thought maybe Gordy thought...having another man in the house...” She shrugged off the rambling explanation. “I remember you two from the last time you were here. So does Gordy.”
“I’m sure Officer Johnson will be fine. May I?” Gina held up her phone and, at Vicki’s nod, snapped a couple of photos of the woman’s injuries and sent them to her computer at work. “I’ll need them to file my report.”
“What if I refuse to press charges?” Vicki asked. “Gordy’s friends might come back, even if he’s not here. Denny’s his big brother. He looks out for him.”
Reminding herself that she hadn’t lived Vicki Bismarck’s life, and that the other woman probably had had the skills and confidence to cope with a situation like this beaten and terrorized out of her by now, Gina took a towel and filled it with some ice from the freezer. “I still have to take Mr. Bismarck in because he resisted arrest and assaulted an officer. And he’s clearly violated his restraining order.” She pressed the ice pack to Vicki’s elbow and nodded toward the abrasion on her cheek. “You should get those injuries checked out by a doctor. Would you like me to call an ambulance?”
Vicki shook her head. “I can’t afford that.”
“How about I call another officer to take you to the ER? Or I can come back once we get your husband processed.”
“No. No more cops, please.” Vicki sank into a chair and rested her elbow on the table. “It just makes Gordy mad.”
“What set him off this time?” Not that it mattered. Violence like this was never acceptable. But if Gina could get the victim talking, she might get some useful information to help get the repeat offender off the street and out of his wife’s life. “I could smell the alcohol on him.”
“He’s been sleeping at Denny’s house.” Gina pulled out her notepad and jotted the name and information. “Gordy’s been out of work for a while. Got laid off at the fertilizer plant. And I haven’t been working long enough to get paid yet. I asked him if he’d picked up his unemployment check. He said he’d help me with groceries.”
“And that set him off?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about money. But no, as soon as I opened the door, he started yelling at me. Denny had said he saw me talking to another man.” Vicki shrugged, then winced at the movement. “I just started a job at the convenience store a couple blocks from here. Guys come in, you know. I have to talk to them when I ring them up. I guess Denny told Gordy I was flirting.”
Gina bit back her opinion of Gordy’s obsession and maintained a cool facade. “When was the last time you ate?” If the woman needed money for groceries, Gina guessed it had been a while. She unzipped another pocket in her vest and pulled out an energy bar, pushing it into the woman’s hand. “Here.” She pulled out a business card for the local women’s shelter as well, and handed it to Vicky. “You get hungry again, you go here, not to Gordy. They’ll help you get groceries at the food pantry. Mention my name and they’ll even sneak you an extra chocolate bar.”
Finally, that coaxed a smile from the frightened woman. “I haven’t eaten real chocolate in months. Sounds heavenly.”
After getting a few more details about Vicki’s relationship with Gordon and her injuries, Gina wrapped up the interview. “You need to be checked out by a doctor,” she reiterated. “Sooner rather than later. Do you have a friend who can take you to the hospital or your regular doctor?”
“I can call my sister. She keeps nagging me to move in with her and her husband.”
“Good.” Gina handed Vicki her phone. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that while I’m here?”
Vicki hesitated. “Will Gordy be back when I get home?”
“I can keep him locked up for up to forty-eight hours—longer if he doesn’t make bail.” Gina had a feeling Vicki’s husband would be locked up for considerably longer than that but didn’t want to guarantee anything she couldn’t back up. “We can send a car through the neighborhood periodically to watch if his brother and friends come back. See a doctor. Go to your sister’s, and get a good night’s sleep. Call the shelter, and get the help you need.”
“Thank you.” Vicki punched in her sister’s phone number and smiled again. “That was sweet to see you take Gordy down—and you aren’t any bigger than I am. Maybe I should learn some of those moves.”
Gina smiled back and pulled out her own business card. “It’s all about attitude. Here. Call me when you’re feeling up to it. A few other officers and I teach free self-defense training sessions.”
Although Vicki didn’t look entirely convinced that she could learn to stand up for herself, at least she had made arrangements with her sister and brother-in-law to stay with them for a few nights by the time Gina was closing the front door behind her and heading down the front walk toward the street. What passed for sunshine on the wintry day was fading behind the evening clouds that rolled across the sky and promised another dusting of snow. Despite the layers of the sweater, flak vest and long-sleeved uniform she wore, Gina shivered at the prospect of spring feeling so far out of reach.
Ignoring the glare of blurry-eyed contempt aimed at her from the backseat of the cruiser, Gina arched a questioning eyebrow at Derek. “Bismarck didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Derek massaged the bridge of his nose that was already bruising and circled around the car as she approached. “Just my pride. I don’t even know if the guy meant to clock me. But I was on the floor, and he was on his way to the kitchen before my eyes stopped watering.”
“Ouch.”
“Just don’t tell anybody that a drunk got the upper hand on me and you had to save my ass. I don’t imagine that would impress Captain Cutler.”
“We’re a team, Derek. We help each other out.”
“And keep each other’s secrets?”
“Something like that.”
His laughter obscured his face with a cloud of warm breath in the chilly air. “Now I really owe you that cup of coffee.” Her aversion to the cold weather was hardly a secret compared to his possible incompetence in handling the suspect. Maybe her partner wasn’t ready for the demands of the promotion. He pulled open his door. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up—”
The sharp crack of gunfire exploded in the cold air.
Derek’s green eyes widened with shock for a split second before he crumpled to the pavement. “Derek!”
A second bullet thwacked against the shatterproof glass of the windshield. A third whizzed past her ear and shattered the glass in Vicki Bismarck’s storm door. Gina pulled the Glock at her hip and dove the last few feet toward the relative shelter of the car. A stinging shot of lead or shrapnel burned through her calf, and she stumbled into the snow beside the curb.
Where were the damn shots coming from? Who was shooting? Had Denny Bismarck come back? She hadn’t heard a motorcycle on the street. But then, he hadn’t been alone, either.
“Derek? I need you to talk to me.” There was still no answer. Bullets hit the cruiser and a tree trunk in the front yard. Several more shots scuffed through the snow with such rapidity that she knew the shooter either had an automatic weapon or several weapons that he could drop and keep firing. Gina crouched beside the wheel well, listening for the source of the ambush, praying there were no innocent bystanders in the line of fire. The bullets were coming from across the street. But from a house? An alley? A car?
“Derek?” The amount of blood seeping down her leg into her shoe told her the shooter was using something large caliber, meant to inflict maximum damage. But her wound was just a graze. She could still do her job. Before she sidled around the car to pull her partner to safety, Gina got on her radio and called it in. “This is Officer Galvan. Unit 4-13. Officers need assistance. Shots fired.” She gave the street address and approximation of where she thought the shooter might be before repeating the urgent request, “Officers need assistance.”
Gina stilled her breath and heard Gordon Bismarck cussing up a blue streak inside the cruiser. She’d heard Vicki screaming inside the house. What she didn’t hear was her partner. Guilt and fear punched her in the stomach. She hadn’t done job one and kept him safe. She hadn’t had his back when he needed her most.
“Derek?” she called out one more time before cradling the gun in her hands. When she heard the unexpected pause between gunshots, she crept around the trunk of the car, aiming her weapon toward the vague target of the shooter. “Police! Throw down your weapon!” she warned.
A quick scan revealed empty house, empty alley, empty house...bingo! Driver in a rusty old SUV parked half a block down. Gina straightened. “Throw down your weapon, and get out of the vehicle!”
The man’s face was obscured by the barrel of the rifle pointed at her.
There was no mistaking his intent.
Gina squeezed off a shot and dove for cover, but it was too late.
A bullet struck her in the arm, tearing through her right shoulder, piercing the narrow gap between her arm and her protective vest. She hit the ground, and her gun skittered from her grip. Unlike the graze along the back of her leg, she knew this wound was a bad one. The path of the bullet burned through her shoulder.
She clawed her fingers into the hardened layers of snow and crawled back into the yard, away from the shooter. It was hard to catch her breath, hard to orient herself in a sea of clouds and snow. She rolled onto her back, praying she wasn’t imagining the sound of sirens in the distance, hating that she was certain of the grinding noise of the SUV’s engine turning over.
She saw Vicki Bismarck hovering at her broken front door. When Gina turned her head the other direction, she looked beneath the car and saw Derek on the ground, unmoving. Was he even alive? “Derek?”
Did someone have a grudge against him? Against her? Against cops? She hadn’t made any friends among Denny Bismarck and his crew. Was this payback for arresting his brother? For being bested by a woman?
Her shoulder ached, and her right arm was numb. Her chest felt like a boulder sat on it. Still, she managed to reach her radio with her other hand and tug it off her vest. The shooter’s car was speeding away. She couldn’t see much from her vantage point, couldn’t read the license plate or confirm a make of vehicle. The leg wound stung like a hot poker through her calf, but the wound to her shoulder—the injury she could no longer feel—worried her even more. Finding that one spot beneath her armor was either one hell of a lucky shot or the work of a sharpshooter. Gina’s vision blurred as a chill pervaded her body.
“Stay inside the house!” a man yelled. “Away from the windows.”
She saw silver running pants and black shoes stomping through the snow toward her. Gina tried to find her gun.
“Officer?” The tall jogger with the sexy beard scruff came into view as he knelt in the snow beside her. “It’s okay, ma’am.” His eyes were hidden behind reflective sunglasses, and he clutched a cell phone to his ear, allowing her few details as to what he looked like. He picked up her Glock from the snow where it had landed and showed it to her before tucking it into the back of his waistband. “Your weapon is secure.”
She slapped her left hand against his knee and pulled at the insulated material there. “You have to stay down. Shooter—”
“He’s driving away,” the man said. She wasn’t exactly following the conversation, but then he was talking on his cell phone as he leaned over her, running his free hand up and down her arms and legs. “No, I couldn’t read the license. It was covered with mud and slush. Yes, just the driver. Look, I’ll answer your questions later. Just get an ambulance here. Now!” He disconnected the call and stuffed the phone inside his pocket. He tossed aside his sunglasses and looked down into her eyes. Wow. He was just as good-looking up close as he’d been from a distance. “You hit twice?”
Gina nodded, thinking more about her observation than her answer. She reached up and touched her shaking fingertips to the sandpapery stubble that shadowed his jaw. “I know you.” Before her jellified brain could place why he looked so familiar to her, he grabbed her keys off her belt and bolted to his feet. She turned her head to watch him unlock the trunk to get the med kit. How did he know it was stored there? He was acting like a cop—he’d provided the squad car number and street address on that phone call. He knew KCPD lingo and where her gear was stowed. “Captain Cutler?” That wasn’t right. But the blue eyes and chiseled features were the same. But she’d never seen the SWAT captain with that scruffy catnip on his face.
She wasn’t any closer to understanding what she was seeing when he knelt beside her again, opening the kit and pulling out a compress. She winced as he slipped the pad beneath her vest and pressed his hand against her wound to stanch the bleeding. The deep, sure tone of voice was a little like catnip to her groggy senses, too. “I’m Mike Cutler. I’ve had paramedic training. Lie still.”
Why were her hormones involved in any of this conversation? She squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate. She was a KCPD police officer. She’d been shot. The perp had gotten away. There was protocol to follow. She had a job to do. Gina opened her eyes, gritting her teeth against the pressure on her chest and the fog inside her head. “Check my partner. He’s hit.”
“You’re losing blood too fast. I’m not going anywhere until I slow the bleeding.” The brief burst of clarity quickly waned. The Good Samaritan trying to save her life tugged on her vest the moment her eyes closed. “Officer Galvan? No, no, keep your eyes open. What’s your first name?”
“Gina.”
“Gina?” He was smiling when she blinked her eyes open. “That’s better. Pretty brown eyes. Like a good cup of coffee. I want to keep seeing them, okay?” She nodded. His eyes were such a pretty color. No, not pretty. There wasn’t anything pretty about the angles of his cheekbones and jaw. He certainly wasn’t from this part of town. She’d have remembered a face like that. A face that was still talking. “Trust me. I’m on your side. If I look familiar, it’s because you’re a cop, and you probably know my dad.”
Mike Cutler. My dad. Gina’s foggy brain cleared with a moment of recognition. “Captain Cutler? Oh, God. I’m interviewing with him... Don’t tell him I got shot, okay?” But he’d left her. Gina called out in a panic. “Cutler?”
“I’m here.” Her instinct to exhale with relief ended up in a painful fit of coughing. “Easy. I was just checking your partner.”
“How is he?”
“Unconscious. As far as I can tell, he has a gunshot wound to the arm. But he may have hit his head on the door frame or pavement. His nose is bruised.”
“That was...before.” She tried to point to the house.
“Before what?”
The words to explain the incident with Gordon Bismarck were lost in the fog of her thoughts. But her training was clear. Derek was shot. And she had a job to do.
“The prisoner?” Gina tried to roll over and push herself up, but she couldn’t seem to get her arm beneath her. The snow and clouds and black running shoes all swirled together inside her head.
“Easy, Gina. I need you to lie still. An ambulance is on its way. You’ve injured your shoulder, and I don’t see an exit wound. If that bullet is still inside you, I don’t want it traveling anywhere.” He unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. He draped the thin, insulated material over her body, gently but securely tucking her in, surrounding her with the residual warmth from his body and the faint, musky scent of his workout. “The guy in the backseat is loud, but unharmed. The lady at the front door looks scared, but she isn’t shot. Lie down. You’re going into shock.” He pulled her radio from beneath the jacket and pressed the call button. “Get that bus to...” Gina’s vision blurred as he rattled off the address. “Stay with me. Gina?” His warm hand cupped her face, and she realized just how cold she was. She wished she could wrap her whole body up in that kind of heat. She looked up into his stern expression. “Stay with me.”
“Catnip.”
“What?” Her eyelids drifted shut. “Gina!”
The last thing she saw was her blood seeping into the snow. The last thing she felt was the man’s strong hands pressing against her breast and shoulder. The last thing she heard was his voice on her radio.
“Officer down! I repeat: officer down!”
Chapter Three (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
Six weeks later
“He shoots! He scores!” The basketball sailed through the hoop, hitting nothing but net. Troy Anthony spun his wheelchair on the polished wood of the physical therapy center’s minicourt. His ebony braids flew around the mocha skin of his bare, muscular shoulders, and one fist was raised in a triumphant gloat before he pointed to Mike. “You are buying the beers.”
“How do you figure that?” Mike Cutler caught the ball as it bounced past him, dribbled it once and shoved a chest pass at his smirking competitor. It was impossible not to grin as his best friend and business partner, Troy, schooled him in the twenty-minute pickup game. “I thought we were playing to cheer me up.”
Troy easily caught the basketball and shoved it right back. “I was playing to win, my friend. Your head’s not in the game.”
Mike’s hands stung, forgetting to catch the pass with his fingertips instead of his palms. He was distracted. “Fine. Tonight at the Shamrock. Beers are on me.”
He tucked the ball under his arm as he climbed out of the wheelchair he’d been using. Once his legs unkinked and the electric jolts of random nerves firing across his hips and lower back subsided, he pushed the chair across the polished wood floor to stow the basketball in the PT center’s equipment locker. At least he didn’t have to wear those joint pinching leg braces or a body cast anymore.
But he wasn’t about to complain. Twelve years ago, he hadn’t been able to walk at all, following a car accident that had shattered his legs from the pelvis on down, so he never griped about the damaged nerves or aches in his mended bones or stiff muscles that protested the changing weather and an early morning workout. As teenagers, Mike and Troy had bonded over wheelchair basketball and months of physical rehabilitation therapy with the woman who had eventually become Mike’s stepmother. Unlike Mike, because of a gunshot wound he’d sustained in a neighborhood shooting, Troy would never regain the use of his legs. But the friendship had stuck, and now, at age twenty-eight, they’d both earned college degrees and had opened their own physical therapy center near downtown Kansas City.
“C’mon, man. Don’t make me feel like I’m beatin’ up on ya. I said you didn’t have to go back to the chair to play me. I could beat you standing on your two feet. Today, at any rate.” Troy pushed his wheels once and coasted over to the edge of the court beside Mike. His omnipresent smile and smart-ass attitude had disappeared. “Losing that funding really got to you, huh? Or is this mood about a woman?”
He hadn’t put his heart on the line and gotten it stomped on by anyone of the female persuasion lately. Not since Caroline. “No. No woman.”
Troy picked up a towel off the supply cart and handed one to Mike, grinning as he wiped the perspiration from his chest. “No woman? That would sure put me in a mood.”
“You’re a funny guy, you know that,” Mike deadpanned, appreciating his friend’s efforts to improve his disposition. But he couldn’t quite shake the miasma of frustration that had plagued his thoughts since opening that rejection letter in the mail yesterday. “I had a brilliant idea, writing that grant proposal.” Mike toweled the dampness from his skin before tossing Troy his gray uniform polo shirt. “We had enough money from the bank loan and our own savings to get this place built. But it’s hardly going to sustain itself with the handful of patients we have coming in. If we were attached to a hospital—”
“We specifically decided against that.” Troy didn’t have to remind him of their determination to give back to the community. Mike opened the laundry compartment on the supply cart and Troy tossed both towels inside. “We wanted to be here in the city where the people who needed us most could have access to our services.”
“I still believe in that.” Mike stared at the CAPT logo for the Cutler-Anthony Physical Therapy Center embroidered on the chest of his own shirt before pulling it over his head and tugging the hem down to cover his long torso. “But those are the same people who don’t always have insurance and can’t always pay. I was certain that urban development grant for small businesses would help us.”
“There’ll be other grants.” Troy donned his shirt and peeled off the fingerless gloves he wore when he played anything competitive in his wheelchair. “Caroline said she’d fund a grant for us. To thank you for being there when she needed you.”
“And that would be right up until the night she turned down my proposal?” The fact that he could talk about it now told Mike that his ego had taken a bigger blow than his heart had. But that blow had been the third strike in the relationship game. He had no plans to step up to the plate and put his heart on the line anymore. If he couldn’t tell the difference between a friends-with-benefits package and a connection that was leading to forever, he’d do well to steer clear of anything serious. He’d been the shoulder to cry on, the protective big brother and the best friend too many times to risk it. He could rely on his principles, his family and friends like Troy. But he wasn’t about to rely on his heart again. “No. No asking Caroline. I didn’t propose because I wanted her money, and I’m not going to take it now as a consolation prize.”
Troy knew just how far he could push the relationship button before he made a joke. “Maybe you could hock the engagement ring. That’d keep us open another month.”
Mike glared down at his friend for a moment before laughter shook through his chest. “More like a day and a half.”
“Dude, no wonder she said no.”
The shared laughter carried them through the rest of putting away the equipment they’d used and prepping for their first—and, as far as Mike knew, their only—appointment of the morning. But even Troy’s mood had sobered by the time they headed toward the door leading into the entry area and hallway that led to a row of offices and locker rooms. “You’re a smart guy, Mikey. You’ll figure out a way to keep us solvent.”
“Without losing your apartment or my house?”
“I’d be happy to go out and recruit us more female clientele. It’s Ladies’ Night at the Shamrock tonight. I can pour on some of that legendary Anthony charm.”
“Creeper.”
“You got a better plan?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You’re thinkin’ too hard on this, Mike. We haven’t even been open a year. We’ll get more paying customers soon. I feel it in my bones.” He held up a fist and waited for Mike to absorb some of his positive thinking.
Trusting his friend’s outlook more than his own, Mike bumped his fist against Troy’s. “I just have to be patient, right?”
“Nobody waits out trouble better than you.”
Mike shook his head. “Is that supposed to be a compli—?” The door opened before they reached it, and the center’s office manager, Frannie Mesner, stepped into the gym. “Good morning.”
“Hey, Sun...shine.” Troy’s effusive greeting fell flat when they saw the puffy, red-rimmed eyes behind Frannie’s glasses. He rolled his chair over to get a box of tissues off the supply cart and take them to her. She sniffed back a sob as she took the box.
Was she hurt? Had she gotten some bad news? Mike moved in beside her and dropped a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. “Frannie?”
The flush of distress on Frannie’s pale cheeks made her freckles disappear. She pulled out a handful of tissues and dabbed her eyes before blowing her nose. “Leo gets released on parole today.”
Her ex. She wasn’t hurt. But definitely bad news.
“Has he contacted you?” Mike asked.
“He’s not supposed to.”
“Has he contacted you?” he repeated, articulating the protective concern in his voice. Frannie shook her head, stirring short wisps of copper hair over her damp cheeks.
Troy set the tissue box in his lap. “Is the restraining order still in effect?”
Mike watched the confidence she’d built over the past few months disappear in the span of a few heartbeats.
When she didn’t answer, Mike pulled away to face her. “Take a few minutes to call your attorney and make sure it is. If not, make an appointment to get it reinstated. Troy or I can go with you, if you want.”
Troy slid Frannie a worried glance before spinning away from the conversation to return the box to its shelf. “Yeah. I can do that. We’d have to take my van, though. If you don’t mind riding shotgun. And you trust my driving.”
What happened to that legendary Anthony charm? The Troy he knew was all mouth and swagger 99 percent of the time. Except when it came to the office manager Mike had hired for their fledgling physical therapy center. Frannie had been their first client. But more than rebuilding her physical strength after a beatdown from her ex that had cost her the sight in one eye, she had needed a job, and Mike and Troy had provided it. He suspected she also appreciated the office’s predictable routine and the haven of a well-built workplace run by the son of a cop and a paraplegic, whose friends were also cops.
Mike might not carry a gun but, because of his dad and friends at KCPD, he knew how to keep a woman safe. Avoiding dangerous situations in the first place was rule one. “You know we’ll give you the time off for personal business like that. Make sure that protection order is in place. Beyond that, Troy or I will escort you to your car and follow you home. You notify the police if he calls or you see his face anywhere close to you.”
“I can swing by your place and double check the locks on the windows and door,” Troy offered.
Mike nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“My building isn’t handicapped accessible.” Frannie sniffed away the last of her tears and dabbed at the pink tip of her nose. “I’m sorry.”
Troy shrugged, then reached for her hand. There was definitely something going on with him where Frannie was concerned. “Don’t you apologize for that.”
Mike wasn’t sure how to help his friend, other than alleviate his concern about Frannie. “I’ll stop by after work, then.”
At least she felt safe here at the clinic. She tucked the used tissues into the pocket of her khaki slacks and dredged up a shy smile. “You guys are the best bosses ever. Thank you.” Although she’d started the job with no secretarial experience, Frannie had eventually found her feet and her own system of organization that worked—for her. And, when she wasn’t afraid for her life like she was this morning, she was a friendly, quiet presence who made their patients feel welcome at the clinic. She wound her arm around Mike’s waist and squeezed him in a shy hug. “Thanks.” She turned toward Troy with her arms outstretched and leaned over to give him a hug, too. “Thank you.”
Troy turned his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. “No sweat, Sunshine.”
Either sensing Troy’s interest or feeling a similar longing herself, Frannie quickly pulled away and tipped her face to Mike. “Your eight o’clock appointment is here. He’s already changing in the locker room.”
Chaz Kelly, a retired firefighter with a new knee, opened the door behind Frannie, startling her. “Hey, pretty lady. You weren’t at your desk to greet me this morning when I checked in.” Bald and blustery, his gaze darted over to Troy and Mike. “Morning, boys. Ready to put this fat old man through his paces?”
Frannie’s body visibly contracted away from Chaz’s pat on her shoulder. Uh-huh. So much for feeling safe. She scooted closer to Troy’s chair and didn’t look any more comfortable there. “Your dad is here, too, Mike.”
“Here?” It was rarely a good thing for the supervisor of KCPD’s SWAT teams to make a surprise visit. Mike’s concern instantly went to his stepmother and much younger half brother. “Is everything okay? Jillian? Will?”
“He didn’t say. But I think it’s work related. He’s in uniform. There’s someone with him. I put them in your office. I’ll go start a pot of coffee.” Her hand went self-consciously to one tear-stained cheek. “And wash my face.”
As Frannie left, Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, wondering if he’d missed a text or call during the basketball game. The lack of messages altered his concern into curiosity.
Troy tapped his fist against Mike’s arm and pointed at the door. “I got this. Better not keep the captain waiting.” Troy spun his chair around toward the door on the far side of the half gym that led to the equipment room and treatment tables. “Come on, Chaz. Let’s get you on the treadmill and get you warmed up. Did you stick to that diet we gave you?”
Their conversation faded as Mike hurried down the outer hallway to his office. “Dad?” Michael Cutler Sr. was on his feet to greet him with a handshake and a hug when Mike rounded the corner into his office. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Not to worry. I’m fine. The family’s fine.”
Both standing at six-four, father and son looked each other in the eye as Mike pulled away. “What’s up?” His eyes widened when he saw the petite woman waiting behind his father. “Officer Galvan.”
Her dark eyes shared his surprise. “Catnip...” Mike arched his brows at her stunned whisper. She blinked away the revelation of emotion. “It was you.”
“Excuse me?”
Gina Galvan was shorter than he remembered. Of course, his perspective was a little different, standing upright versus kneeling over her supine body. Without the hazards of gunfire or a medical emergency to focus on, Mike stole a few seconds to take in details about his visitor. She’d changed her hair. Instead of a long ponytail spilling over the snow, short, loose waves danced against the smooth line of her jaw. She wore a black sling over her right shoulder, keeping her arm immobile against her stomach. And he shouldn’t have noticed the athletic curves arcing beneath the narrow waist of her jeans. But he did.
“The day I got shot—you were the runner who stopped to help us.” Her gaze shifted between Mike and his father. “You two look so much alike, I guess I convinced myself I’d hallucinated you.”
Mike chuckled at her admission. Although there was a peppering of gray in his dad’s dark brown hair and Mike didn’t shave as closely as KCPD regulations required, it wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for his father. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s hallucination before. Fantasy, maybe, but...”
She frowned as if she didn’t get the joke. His father looked away, embarrassed at his lame attempt at humor. Right. Leave the jokes to Troy.
The proud tilt of her chin and intense study from her dark eyes warned him that Gina Galvan wasn’t inclined to laugh at much of anything. Which was a pity because he suddenly wondered what those pink lips would look like softened with a smile.
Reel it in, Cutler. Clearly, this wasn’t a social call. And he already had enough on his plate without letting his errant hormones steer him into another misguided relationship.
Starched and pressed and always in charge of the room, Michael Sr. turned to include them both. “I wasn’t sure you two would remember each other after a meeting like that. I guess there’s no need for introductions.”
“No, sir.” Off-duty and out of uniform, she still talked like a cop.
“Nah.” Mike invited them both to sit in the guest chairs in front of his desk before circling around to pull out his own chair. “How’s the recovery going?” Gina’s gaze drilled into his. He interpreted that as a Don’t ask. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”
“No.”
He’d suspected that was the case, or else a detective or investigator from the DA’s office would have been back to question him on his account of the incident. “Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give KCPD a better description of the shooter’s SUV or license plate. The whole back end was covered in frozen mud and slush.”
She nodded. “He probably went straight to a car wash afterward so we couldn’t even look for a dirty vehicle.”
“Probably. How’s your partner?”
“Back on active duty.”
“That’s good news.” Or not, judging by the scowl that darkened her expression. Even with a frown like that, Mike had a hard time calling Gina Galvan anything but pretty. High cheekbones. Full lips. Dark, sensuous eyes. Hair the color of dark-roast coffee. “You cut your hair since I saw you last.”
“I was bleeding in the snow when you saw me last.” The subtle warmth of an accent made an intriguing contrast to the crisp snap of her words.
“I like it—the hair, not the blood. I didn’t realize how wavy your hair was.”
“Well, long hair is hardly practical with—” she gestured at her arm in the sling “—this. And I am not going to rely on my aunt or my sister to put my hair up every day.”
“Sounds smart.”
“Why are we talking about my hair?” The accent grew a little more pronounced as a hint of acid entered her tone. Was that anger? Frustration? A clear message that she wasn’t interested in his compliments or flirtations—idle or otherwise. She froze for a moment before inhaling a deep breath. Then, oddly, she crossed her fingers and brushed them against her lips and heart before settling her hand back into her lap. He thought it must be some kind of calming ritual because her posture relaxed a fraction and the tension left her voice. “I owe you for saving my life, Mr. Cutler. Thank you.”
He’d heard the gunshots on his morning run through the neighborhood just a mile or so from the clinic. What else was he supposed to do besides try to help? “It’s just Mike. And you’re welcome.”
Was that what this visit was about? A proud woman wanting to thank him? But she’d indicated that she hadn’t remembered him.
Mike’s father clearly had a purpose for coming to the clinic. “Could you give us a few minutes, Galvan?”
Gina popped to her feet, eager to please the captain or simply eager to escape the uncomfortable conversation. “Yes, sir.”
Mike stood, too, as Frannie stepped into the room carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs with packets of sugar and creamer. He scooted aside a stack of bills for her to set the tray on his desk. “Thanks. Why don’t you give Officer Galvan a tour of the facility while Dad and I talk.”
“Okay.” Frannie’s eyes were still puffy behind her glasses, but the pale skin beneath her freckles and pixie haircut was back to normal. She smiled at Gina and led her into the hallway. “We can start with the women’s locker room.”
Mike closed the door and returned to his seat, looking across the desk as his father picked up a mug and blew the steam off the top. “How worried should I be about this impromptu visit?”
Chapter Four (#ue35f0078-abf5-506b-ab1c-926de9bf1c86)
His father pursed his lips and made a rare face before swallowing. “Um...”
Mike took a sip and spit the sour brew back into his mug. “Sorry about that. Frannie must have cleaned the coffeemaker out with vinegar again.”
“Did she rinse it afterward?”
“I’ll sneak in there and make a new pot later this morning while she’s busy.” Mike spun his chair and emptied his mug into the potted fern beside the door. “She’s a little distracted. Her ex gets out on parole today.”
“Leo Mesner?” Mike nodded, returning his mug to the tray. Michael Sr. followed his lead, dumping out his coffee. “I’ll find out who Leo’s parole officer will be so we can keep tabs on him for her.”
“Thanks. After that last assault, he shouldn’t have any contact with her, but you never know if prison sobered him up and made him rethink hurting his ex-wife or just made him even angrier and bent on revenge. We’ll do what we can to keep her safe from this end, too.”
“I know you will, son. You’re too kindhearted for your own good.”
“You know it’s not all kindness, Dad.” His father’s blue eyes pierced right into Mike’s soul, understanding his need to atone for the damage he’d done in his youth—and wishing his older son would forgive himself already. Mike smiled a reassurance to ease his father’s concern. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my problems. I’m assuming this visit has to do with Officer Galvan?”
His dad nodded. “I’m bringing you a new client.”
He pointed briefly to his own shoulder. “She had surgery?”
“Stitches in her leg to seal up the bullet graze there. Emergency surgery to repair a nicked lung. She’s recovered from those without incident.” His dad’s expression turned grim. “But the second bullet went through her shoulder and tore it up. The doctors had to rebuild the joint. The PT is for muscle and nerve damage there.”
“What kind of nerve damage?”
“You’re the expert. But I know it has affected her hand. She can’t hold a gun.”
“Only six weeks after getting shot? She shouldn’t be trying.”
“You don’t know Gina.” His dad leaned forward, sharing a confidence. “She’s nobody’s pretty princess. Not the easiest person to get along with, especially since the shooting. She’s already quit one therapist, and another refused to work with her after the first session.”
“But I’m so desperate for patients, you think I’ll take her on?”
“No.” He leaned back, his features carved with an astute paternal smile. “I know how tough you are. All you’ve survived and been through. I know how resourceful you can be. If anybody can stand up to Gina, it’s you.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere, one that ranked right up there with Troy’s claim that he could outlast trouble. Maybe his dad and friend were subtly trying to tell him that he was too hardheaded for his own good. “What was the issue with the other therapists? She wouldn’t do the work?”
“Just the opposite. She pushed herself too hard.”
Mike nodded. “Did more damage than helped her recovery. You think Troy and I want to risk that kind of liability?”
“She’s an ambitious woman. Trying to do better for herself and her family. Other than her great-uncle’s disability and social security, she’s their sole support. But she’s a good cop. Good instincts. Well trained. Gina can think on her feet. Once the bad guys realize they’ve underestimated her, they discover they don’t want to mess with her. I was ready to put her on my new SWAT team until the shooting. I’ve still got a spot for her.” His dad’s shoulders lifted with a wry apology. “But if she can’t handle the physical demands of the job, I can’t use her.”
“You want me to fix her so she can make the team?”
“I want you to fix her so we don’t lose her to No-Man’s Land.” Just a few city blocks north of the clinic. Poverty, gangs, drugs, prostitution, homelessness—it was a tough place to grow up. His dad’s second wife, Jillian, had barely survived her time in one of Kansas City’s most dangerous neighborhoods. Troy had almost lost his life there. Mike knew his father and his SWAT team had answered several calls there over the years. There was a lot to admire about a woman who held down a good job and took care of her family in the No-Man’s Land neighborhood. In this neighborhood, where he and Troy were determined to make a difference. Michael Cutler Sr. was a professional hostage negotiator. He knew what buttons to push to ensure Mike’s cooperation, and helping someone deserving in this part of the city was a big one. “Help her realize her potential. KCPD needs her. She needs the job, and I want her if she can do it.”
Mike scrubbed his hand over the stubble shading his jaw before deciding to swallow a little pride. “Can she pay?”
“I’ll cover whatever her department insurance doesn’t.”
“You believe in her that much?”
“I do.”
“Then I will, too.” Appreciating the faith his father had always had in him, Mike rolled his chair back and stood. “I’ll get the job done for you, Dad.”
“Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” With their business completed, Michael Sr. stood as well, adjusting the gun at his hip and pulling the black SWAT cap from his back pocket. He tipped his head toward the unpaid bills that Mike had pushed aside earlier. “Did you get the grant?”
“No.”
“I suppose applying to Caroline’s foundation is out of the question.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head as he crossed to the door. “To be honest, I think you dodged a bullet there, son. Caroline was a nice girl. But Jillian and I were never so bored out of our minds that night we had dinner with her parents. And, of course, if she can’t appreciate you for who you are and not who she wants you to be—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mike grinned, patting his dad’s shoulder to stop that line of well-meaning conversation. “Nice Dad Speech.”
“I’m really good at ’em, aren’t I?” They shared a laugh until Michael Sr. paused with his hand on the door knob to ask, “Say, what was that ‘catnip’ thing about with Gina?”
“Beats me. She said it to me before she lost consciousness the day of the shooting. Maybe she was delirious and thinking about her pet.”
They both suspected there was more to the story than that but Mike didn’t have the answer. His dad paused before opening the door. “You’ll give me regular reports on Gina’s progress?”
“Does she know you’re setting this up for her?”
“She knows I want her on my team and that I was happy to give her a ride this morning. She still can’t drive for another two weeks.”
“And she knows this is her last chance to get her recovery right in time for you to name the new SWAT team?”
“Very astute. You got your mother’s brains.” They stepped into the hallway and Michael Sr. pulled his SWAT cap on. “See you at Will’s science fair presentation Thursday night?”
“I already told the squirt I’d be there.”
A small parade, led by a grinning Troy, stopped them before they reached the clinic’s entrance. Troy held out his hand. “Hey, Captain C. I wanted to make sure I said hi before you left.”
“Troy.” The two men exchanged a solid handshake. “Good to see you.”
“You, too, sir.”
Frannie and Gina waited behind Troy’s chair. The two women were a stark contrast in coloring and demeanor—pale and dark, subdued and vibrant.
“How’s Dex doing in med school?” Unaware of Mike’s distracted gaze, Michael Sr. asked about Troy’s younger brother. Since Mike and Troy had practically grown up together, Dexter Anthony and their grandmother who’d raised the boys were like extended family.
“Long hours. But he’s killin’ it.”
“I knew he would. Jillian wants to know when you’re coming over for dinner. More for the games afterward than the food.”
“Just give me a time, and I’ll be there. And tell her I’ve been reading the dictionary every night. I’m not losing that word game to her again.”
“Will do.” The two men shook hands again before his dad nodded to Gina over the top of Troy’s head. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”
“No, sir. Thank you, but you need to get to work. Besides, I’ve been getting home all by myself for a lot of years now.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home, Dad.”
“Son.” Michael traded one last nod with Mike before he left.
There was an awkward moment between the four of them in the congested hallway before Mike stepped to one side. Gina politely followed suit, giving Troy room to spin his chair around and head back to his patient in the workout room. Frannie quietly excused herself and slipped into her office, leaving Mike and Gina standing side by side with their backs against the wall. The woman didn’t even come up to his shoulder. But he appreciated the view of dark waves capping her head and the tight, round bump of her bottom farther down.
One by one, doors closed behind Frannie, Troy and Mike’s dad. The second her potential boss had gone and they were alone, Gina turned on him. “I didn’t ask you to be my chauffeur.”
Forget the raw attraction simmering in his veins. Her hushed, chiding tone gave Mike an idea of what the next few weeks were going to be like, and it wasn’t going to involve fun or easy. But he’d been rising to one challenge or another his entire life. Five feet and a few inches or so of attitude wasn’t about to scare him off. She might as well get used to how he intended to run things with her. “You didn’t ask me to be your physical therapist, either. But it looks like that’s going to happen.” He took her into his office and closed the door. “Have a seat. I need to do an informal assessment before we get started.”
She eyed the chair where she’d sat earlier, and obstinately remained in place. “I’ve already had two evaluations, three if you count the orthopedist who sent me to PT in the first place.”
“Well, none of them reported to me, and I’ve got no paperwork on you, so have a seat.” Mike sat and pulled up a new intake file on his computer screen.
She poked a finger at the corner of his desk. “Listen, Choir Boy. Your father outranks me and can give me orders. But you can’t.”
Choir Boy? What happened to Catnip?
And why couldn’t the woman just call him Mike? “Fine. Stand. I’m still asking questions.”
He typed in her name as she snatched her hand away. “Are you making fun of me now? You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”
If he recalled correctly, he’d saved that life.
“Age? Address? Phone number? Surgeon?” He typed in the answers as she rattled them off. “What are your goals?”
She puffed up like a banty hen, swearing a couple of words in Spanish, before perching on the chair across from him. “My goals? Isn’t it obvious? I want to be a cop again. And not just some face sitting behind a desk, either. I want to be able to pick up my gun and take down a perp and be the first Latina on one of your father’s SWAT teams.”
“You want me to put in a good word for you?” He met her gaze across the desk. “You’re going to have to earn that. I warn you, Dad and I are close, but he doesn’t let anybody tell him what to do when it comes to the job.” Mike leaned back in his chair. “But I have a feeling you’re familiar with that kind of attitude.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Apparently I don’t have to work very hard at it.”
Her eyes widened and the tight lines around her mouth vanished. “Things have been a little tense...” She parted her lips to continue, closed them again, processed a thought, then leaned forward to ask. “Can you make me whole again? If I can’t be a cop, I don’t know... My family is counting on me... I’m used to dealing with problems myself. But this...” She tilted her chin, as if the proud stance could erase the vulnerability that had softened everything about her for a few moments. “I need this to happen.”
In other words, Rescue me. He’d just taken a hit to his Achilles’ heel. Not that this woman looked like she wanted a knight in shining armor, but a woman in need had always been a problem for Mike. Caroline had needed him to build her confidence and stand up to her parents. Frannie had needed him to feel safe. They weren’t the first, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be the last. Maybe it had something to do with atoning for the mistakes of his rebellious youth after his mother had died of cancer. Maybe it had something to do with finding a purpose for his life the day he helped rescue his stepmother, Jillian, and Troy from a bomber. Maybe it had something to do with that lonesome need to be needed—to be the one man that a woman had to have in her life.
And maybe he was too hardheaded to accept defeat because he heard himself saying, “I can help it happen if you let me. You’re going to have to take orders from someone besides my dad. Can you do that? Do what I tell you? Not do more than I tell you?” he emphasized, suspecting that slow and easy weren’t in Gina’s vocabulary. “You can do as much damage by pushing too hard too soon as the original injury inflicted.”
“I can do more than those other therapists were letting me. I can handle pain. And training is something I’ve done in sports since middle school, and certainly at the police academy. I’ll do my job if you do yours.”
Not exactly the clear-cut agreement he’d been looking for. But he’d take it. If Gina saw this as a competition, he’d give her a run for her money—and then make sure she won. He reached across the desk with his right hand, purposely challenging her to respond with the hand that rested limply in the sling.
A light flashed in her eyes, like a sprinkling of sugar dissolving in rich, warm coffee. Not the sour kind Frannie made, either. Then she thrust her hand out of the end of the sling. Her thumb and forefinger latched on to his hand with a decent grip, but the last three fingers simply batted against the back of his knuckles. Mike stretched each limp finger back, checking the muscle tone, before he finished the informal assessment and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then he pulled away and pushed to his feet. “You accept that I’m in charge of your recovery? That when it comes to your health, I’m the boss?”
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Julie Miller
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: She cheated death once… But can she a second time?After Gina Galvan is shot in the line of duty, all she wants to do is return to the front line and stop a shooter. Physical therapist Mike Cutler is attracted to Gina, and is ready to face anyone – even a killer – to prove he’s a hero.