Cops And...Lovers? Read Free

strides. He followed, refusing to let his eyes peruse what he instinctively knew was a nice derriere. He didn't want to know that she was built just the way he liked. He'd just as soon not like anything at all about this woman.
    Once in his office, he slid behind his desk, then watched her take the chair opposite him. Her jacket gaped slightly when she crossed her legs, and he caught a glimpse of lace and the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. Determined to keep his mind on the interview, he forced his gaze to the file in front of him. "Your credentials are impressive," he said. "Frank gave you a favorable recommendation."
    "Frank was a good commander."
    "It's probably no handicap that he's also your uncle." Nick looked down at the file, wondering if she realized Frank had told him about the shooting. "You scored high on your detective's exam. You transferred out of tactical to become a detective after only two years. Says here 'because you like to think.' Your solve rate is high. Your marksmanship is outstanding." He raised his eyes to hers. "Those are some pretty remarkable achievements considering there are over thirteen thousand sworn officers on the force."
    Her gaze never left his. "I like being a cop."
    Despite his resistance to her, the answer scored a point with him. Nick had a pretty good idea how many hurdles this woman had had to leap to reach detective status. He knew plenty of men who couldn't match half her skills. He knew plenty of others who would do their utmost to hold her back just because she was the wrong sex. Yet she'd prevailed. Nick admired tenacity almost as much as he admired guts. He wondered if she was gutsy enough to bring up the subject neither of them wanted to discuss.
    "We don't get much action here in
Logan
Falls
," he said. "A few juvenile delinquents. Domestic disputes. The Brass Rail Saloon got robbed last Friday, but that sort of thing is pretty unusual. Think you can handle that kind of excitement?"
    "If I can handle the South Side of Chicago, I'm sure I can handle anything that happens in
Logan
Falls
."
    He'd asked the question lightly, but she'd taken it as a personal challenge. An ego to boot, he thought. He studied the file, irritated with her for not being what he'd expected, annoyed with Frank for not warning him how good she was to look at—and downright ticked off at himself for noticing.
    "I see you've had a couple personnel problems," he said.
    "They were relatively minor—"
    "It's my responsibility to ask you about them." He flipped to the next page. "You've been written up for insubordination."
    Eyeing him warily, she shifted in her chair. "I didn't like an assignment, and I let my lieutenant know about it."
    "What was it about?"
    "Cases involving unpopular victims that were shoved aside in lieu of the more affluent ones. Prostitutes mostly, because nobody cared about them. I didn't think that was fair."
    Nick nodded noncommittally, not liking it that he agreed with her. He didn't miss big-city police work, or the politics that went along with it. "Any problems with your shoulder?" He could tell by the way her eyes widened that he'd caught her off guard. "Frank told me about the shooting," he clarified.
    "I have a little arthritis," she replied. "Nothing I can't handle."
    "Did you pass the physical?"
    She nodded. "I'm left-handed, so the injury didn't affect my marksmanship. I lost some strength in my right hand."
    On the surface, her answer seemed adequate. To the point. Acceptable. Just the way she'd planned, Nick thought. But he was observant enough to notice the other signs that weren't quite as apparent. He didn't miss her white-knuckled grip on her purse. The slight tremor in her hand. The tight clench of her jaw. All signs of stress; all signs that the shooting had affected her much more profoundly than she was letting on. Just like a cop, he thought, and inwardly groaned. He knew intimately the signs of personal baggage—he was an expert on the subject,