by Izzy Gomez
He loved his mother, but he had no patience for her religious lectures. “Mom…”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Forgiveness is a virtue, Greg.” She was silent for a long pause. “What happened to Phil wasn’t your fault. God forgives you. But you need to forgive yourself.”
Anger and frustration simmered inside, making him antsy. “If it wasn’t my fault, what does He forgive me for?” He tried not to sound like a snotty teenager but was pretty sure he failed.
“For blaming yourself.”
Greg still buzzed with irritation when he pulled out of his parents’ driveway an hour later. He didn’t blame himself for what happened to Phil. Sure, he’d been there. But no one could have saved Phil. There was nothing Greg could have done. He knew it hadn’t been his fault.
So why the hell couldn’t his mom see that?
He drove through the city on autopilot and it was a good ten minutes before he realized he wasn’t heading downtown to work. Instead, without thinking, he’d pulled off the interstate toward the Meridian-Kessler neighborhood.
Where Amanda lived.
He needed to see her. Being with her last night felt so comfortable. She would be able to calm him down.
It didn’t have to be anything serious. Dropping by her house didn’t mean they were involved. They could hang out for a little while. Get to know each other.
He could admit he liked the idea of getting involved with her, but no need to rush things. He knew rushing her would scare her away. Hell, dropping by her house on their day off might scare her away. But he needed to see her. Needed to be near her.
So he’d keep it casual. No mention of the fantastic kiss they’d shared. Certainly no mention of how he’d spent half the night reliving it and the other half imagining where it could go in the future.
Nope, just a casual drop by because he was in the neighborhood.
And by the way, was she interested in swampland in Arizona?
He pulled to the curb in front of a brick bungalow nestled between two houses that had seen better days. Amanda’s yard was tidy with a small flowerbed under a wide picture window. He tried to imagine her gardening but the idea wouldn’t gel.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he got out of the car and started up the sidewalk. She was going to think he was crazy. He should call. She might not even be home.
He should go. He needed to work. If his goal was not to scare her off, acting like a stalker was the wrong move.
He started back to his car but the sound of a door opening stopped him.
“Greg?”
He turned back. She stood in the open doorway wearing baggy sweatpants and a faded flannel shirt, damp hair slicked back from her face.
Even looking like she did, seeing her warmed him. Tension dripped away from his shoulders.
“Hey.” He gave a lame wave.
“I saw you outside. Were you coming to see me?” she asked.
This far away, he couldn’t read her expression. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by.” It sounded as dumb out loud as it had in his head.
“How do you know where I live?”
Good question. He hadn’t thought about it. He’d just driven and ended up here. “I think I heard you talking about it with Al one day.” He shrugged. “I have a knack for remembering random things.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Undoubtedly trying to decide how to get rid of the lunatic on her lawn since calling the cops wouldn’t help.
“Do you want to come in?” She gestured into the house behind her. “Since you were, you know, in the neighborhood.”
Her dry smile said she saw through his excuse. But he couldn’t help smiling back. Lame or not, it had worked. She was inviting him in.
Casual. They’d hang out. Talk. There would be no ravishing. Just two co-workers hanging out. Talking. Getting to know each other.
His body brushed hers as he moved past her in the doorway.
All thoughts of casual evaporated. He stared down at her, envisioning tangled bodies and twisted sheet. A hot, charged moment stretched between them, then he grabbed her face and pulled her to him.
Her mouth immediately opened for him and she didn’t protest when he backed her against the wall. He pressed intimately into her, one hand tangling in her hair, the other palming her hip.
She ground against his already hard dick and he groaned. Fire shot through his body.
So much for casual. The intensity of his response to her was stunning. It might kill him not to have her that instant.
Because they weren't ready for that, he wrenched his mouth from hers. Still, he wasn’t ready to move away, so he rested his forehead against hers.
“That, uh...” he managed, eyes still closed. His equilibrium had to be around here somewhere.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
He smiled. “At least it knocked you on your ass too.”
Her laugh was shaky. “Just a little.”
His hand slipped down and cupped the ass in question. “It’s a nice one.”
When he opened his eyes, he found her watching him. Heat threaded through his veins at the naked hunger in her gaze.
“You kiss like..." He couldn't think of an appropriate comparison. A sex goddess didn’t work. While it was true, he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate it. “I don’t know what you kiss like. But it was damn good.”
She didn’t respond. Just looked at him for a long, intense moment. His body hummed and pulsed. He hadn't come over to seduce her, but damn if he wasn't considering it now.
Finally she ducked under his arm and slipped away. Instantly he missed her warmth.
“In the neighborhood, huh?”
He followed her into the kitchen. Something simmered on the stove and the oven light was on. Now that he wasn’t completely absorbed in Amanda, he smelled something delicious. His nose wasn't refined enough to identify it.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him lunch had consisted of one slice of cold pizza.
“Something like that.” He winked, feeling ridiculous but trying to keep it light. But how was he supposed to go back to light after a kiss that intense? “My parents live nearby.” If by nearby, he meant the same county. “I was at their house doing yardwork. My dad has a bad knee, so he can’t do the heavy lifting.”
She consulted a magazine, then stirred whatever was in the pan.
Detective Amanda Schreiber was a chef. Who knew? He’d definitely have pegged her for a takeout girl.
He definitely liked watching her work in the kitchen. She moved to a cabinet and took out some spices, her body fluid. There was a grace about her that contradicted the tough-girl image she projected. She tried to hide it, but she was seductively feminine. Once again, watching her was enough to heat his blood.
“Your dad was a cop, right? In Chicago?” She tossed him a glance before turning back to her pan. One by one, she added each of the four spices, not bothering to measure them.
“Yeah. More than thirty years on the job.” He heard the pride in his own voice. His dad had been a good cop. He’d still be pounding the pavement if it weren’t for his bad knee.
“So how’d you all end up in Indianapolis?”
She probably thought it was an innocent question. She didn’t know all the history behind the answer. “I didn’t want to work in the same department as my dad. Wanted to build my own name, not piggyback off his. So I came here." It was true. After Phil's murder, the Cole name came with a lot of baggage. "After he retired, they moved. My mom’s from Indianapolis.”
“Is it just you?” She looked up from stirring. The air crackled around them as their gazes met.
Without thinking, he took a step toward her. Her hand stilled. Everything around them faded as he watched her watching him. Still half a room away, he could taste her sweetness.
Before he could close the distance, she broke eye contact and turned back to her food, stirring with more ferocity than it probably required.
> “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Right. She’d asked a question. “I have a sister in Ohio. And, uh, I had an older brother who died when I was in college.”
Her hand stilled and she looked at him again, face creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
Greg shrugged. He was enjoying his time with Amanda. Phil didn't belong here. “It was a long time ago.”
She studied him for a long moment before turning to the magazine.
“I never would have taken you for a gourmet chef.” He needed to lighten things again. Both the attraction between them and the mention of Phil made the mood too heavy.
She laughed dryly. “I’d hardly call it gourmet. I just like to cook. It relaxes me.”
“Anything that involves more than the microwave or a delivery person is gourmet to me.” He moved to the counter and picked up her magazine. Cooks Illustrated. In addition to the recipe, there was a page of discussion on techniques. Way beyond his skill set.
She was making a recipe called "Sautéed Pork Tenderloin Medallions with Apples and Sage Cream Pan Sauce." Not gourmet?
“Looks pretty gourmet to me,” he said, setting down the magazine. “And it smells a hell of a lot better than the leftovers I had for lunch.”
Laughter danced in her eyes. It punched him square in the chest. She was gorgeous.
“Let me guess. Cold pizza you ordered at least four days ago.”
Was he that transparent? “Five days. How’d you know?”
“Because it’s what Al and Adam and Keith all eat. And what O’Donnell eats when he’s between wives.”
“Between wives?” They’d only been partners for a month, and O’Donnell wasn’t the chatty type.
“He’s on his fourth.” Amanda rolled her eyes. “He manages to attract the Badge Bunnies who are desperate enough for a cop they’ll overlook what a jerk he is. At least for a little while.”
“So you guys aren’t best friends?” Greg teased.
“He doesn’t like women unless they’re willing to stay home, cook him dinner and spread their legs at night. He really doesn’t like female cops. And he really doesn’t like female detectives.” She didn’t hide the disgust in her voice. “So no, we’re not best buds. It’s killing him that we have to work the Ryder case together. Even worse, I actually know what I’m doing.”
“You’re a good detective. He’s an idiot if he can’t see that.”
She laughed dryly. “How do you know?”
“Word gets around.”
Still smiling, she looked at him. The humor in her eyes shifted to something darker. Hotter. The air around them sizzled.
He couldn't think of anything but their kisses last night. And how much he wanted to kiss her again. At the same time, they both took a step forward. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. Her hand on his chest sent a shiver through him.
Knowing if he did take the opportunity to kiss her, she might end up with charbroiled meat, he instead brushed his lips along her temple. She smelled like spring and herbs, and a little like pan-fried pork. A surprisingly alluring combination.
"Invite me to stay for dinner." He spoke the words against her hair.
She shuddered, her body trembling against him. "I was planning to take the leftovers for lunch tomorrow, but it serves four, so I guess there's enough." Her fingers dug into his shirt.
It was all he could do not to back her against the refrigerator and rip their clothes off.
It was gonna be a good night.
“Can I ask you a question?” Amanda pushed back her empty plate and stacked her silverware on top.
Damn, the woman could cook. She put Greg's mother to shame, not that he'd ever admit it to Mom.
He spread his arms, a target for her inquiry. “Shoot.”
“Why me? Why now?” She set her napkin on the table next to her plate, leaned back in her chair and looked at him.
She certainly didn’t waste any time beating around the bush. One of the many answers her question of “why me?”
“You realize that’s two questions, right?” He grinned. “But I suppose I can answer both.”
“How generous.”
“You want to know why I’m interested in you.” How did he begin to answer? There were a dozen stupid reasons why he was interested in her above other women. “There’s the obvious answer that I find you physically attractive.”
Amanda sat up straighter and stared at her hands. “I see.”
He leaned forward and tilted up her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re a beautiful woman, Amanda. The fact that you don’t flaunt it makes you more appealing.”
She held his gaze for another of those hot, charged moments. He struggled not to lean closer and kiss her. He could see from the hesitation in her eyes, she needed answers.
Still, he couldn’t help pushing a little. “Unless I’m reading the situation wrong, I’m pretty sure this isn't one sided.”
He forced himself to back off, trailing his finger along her cheek before drawing his hand away.
“I…” She looked down at the table. Up at him. The table. Him. Table. “Yes. I mean, no. It's not. One sided.”
Heat spiked through him. He’d known from the way she responded to him that their attraction was mutual, but it never hurt a guy’s ego to hear it aloud.
Judging by her expectant look, she wanted more. But how the hell did he explain? Something beyond the obvious that she was smart and passionate and kind and all the other generic traits people looked for.
There was something about her, something he couldn't put into words. Something in the sadness in her eyes made him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her from any more pain. Something in her smile made him want to know the woman beyond the cop.
“I don’t know. How do you explain why one person over another?” He tugged on the back of his neck. “I like you.”
That’s what it boiled down to. He liked her. That didn’t happen very often.
She looked at him with something too close to discomfort in her eyes, so he hurried to switch to her other question.
“As for why now? Partly I’m tired of waiting around.” He shrugged. “I’m attracted to you, I like you, so why not?”
And here came the fun part. Phil.
He studied her face. Gorgeous as he thought it was, she’d looked better. The case was taking its toll. Frown lines creased the skin around her mouth. Circles smudged the area under her right eye. The bruise under her left eye had morphed from red to purple; at least the swelling was gone.
Was it completely unfair to tell her about his brother? Was it an emotional burden she wasn’t ready to bear?
Was he completely egocentric to think she’d even care? For all he knew, it would mean nothing to her.
Greg shifted in his chair. He needed to tell her. For himself. If that made him a selfish bastard, so be it.
“Like I said before, my brother died when I was nineteen.”
Her eyebrows creased. “Right. I’m very sorry.”
“Thanks,” he said automatically.
Heavy silence hung between them. What did he say next?
“What happened?”
“I was home on summer break. Phil just graduated from the police academy. His whole life, he wanted to be a cop like our dad.” Greg rarely let himself remember how proud Phil had been that day. But tonight, he let the image of Phil’s grin fill his head.
All Phil’s dreams were falling into place. He’d landed a job in Dad’s precinct. The previous weekend he’d taken Greg with him to buy a small diamond ring. He was going to propose to Melissa the following weekend. They’d been looking at houses and saved enough for a down payment.
Everything was perfect for Greg’s big brother.
“After Phil’s graduation, our dad took us to one of the cop bars. He wanted to show off his son to all his buddies.” Greg could never forget the pride on his dad’s face as he toasted his oldest son. He bought a round for the whole
bar, and everyone there raised their beers–and Greg his soda since he’d been underage–and cheered for the newest member of their team.
Greg practically exploded with admiration for his older brother. He’d never particularly wanted to be a cop, but he was ecstatic for Phil.
“Dad was tired so we left early. Around seven. It was still light out.” As he reached the worst part of the story, his voice grew distant. Like it came from somewhere else. Someone else.
He rarely let himself think about that day, but he forced himself to keep talking. He needed Amanda to know he understood what she was going through. Needed her to understand this part of him.
“We were walking home, and as we came around the corner, these three guys stopped us.” He remembered their faces so clearly. Especially the leader, Martin Gorkey. He’d never forget Gorkey’s sneer or his cold eyes.
“We lived in a Cubs part of town, but Dad grew up in a White Sox neighborhood, so he raised us Sox fans. We got good-natured ribbing from our friends at school, but it was never a big deal.
“I was wearing a White Sox t-shirt. I never thought anything of it. It was one of my favorite shirts.” At the time, he’d tortured himself thinking if he’d just worn a different shirt, his brother would still be alive. It wasn’t until months later they'd realized it wouldn’t have made any difference.
“They started hassling me about my shirt. My dad tried to play peacemaker and I tried to walk away. Phil was always up for a good argument, so he got into it with them. I think he thought it was all in fun, but one of the guys got up in Phil’s face and shoved him. My dad put his hand on the guy’s arm and tried to move him away from Phil. So the guy got pissed and slugged my dad. Split my dad’s lip.”
Greg had been shocked to see his father’s blood dripping on the sidewalk. He thought the guy was going to get in serious trouble for assaulting a police officer. If only that were their biggest problem.
“My dad said he was a cop and moved to arrest the kid.” He no longer remembered the kid’s name. Just his greasy blond mullet. The DA never bothered to charge Martin Gorkey’s friend.
“And his friend says yeah, we know who you are and tells my dad not to touch the guy. My dad ignored him. And the second guy, Martin Gorkey, pulls out a gun. And points it at Phil.”
