“Do I have to leave?” She sat down at the two-seater table.
“You don’t have to.”
“Is there someone you’d like to call to sit with you while you wait?” Kevin asked.
She peeked up at him through her lashes. “No. I’m okay.”
Tim glanced at Chuck, who mouthed, “Hinky.”
Yeah. Hinky was a good word for it. “Kevin? I’m going to step out and call this in.”
Kevin nodded once. “I’m good.”
Tim asked for the woman’s driver’s license and she pulled it from the purse on the table. Stepping into the doorway of the apartment, he kept an eye on the group inside. The call to dispatch only took a few minutes and when he returned inside, the girl, Ashley, was smiling up at Kevin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she took a business card from him. Hopefully it was one of the abuse hotline cards they carried and not his own.
Tim headed to the bedroom and leaned against the jamb.
“Marty, you forgot to mention the assault charge.”
Marty turned from the bed where he was stuffing clothes into a duffle bag. “Man, that was four years ago. Asshole put his hands on my kid sister.”
“So you were defending her honor?”
“Told you I don’t get off on mistreating women.” He zipped the bag and hefted it over his shoulder then leaned down to grab the handle of a suitcase on the floor.
“Can I go?”
“Yeah, you can go,” Tim said.
He gave a nod and shouldered out of the room, leaving the apartment in silence. A door slam and engine rev later, he was gone.
“Now what?” Ashley asked.
“Unless you want to file a report, we get out of your hair,” Tim said.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head, sending her hair over her shoulder only to flip it back. “I just never want to see him again. I have the worst luck with guys.” She giggled and glanced at Kevin.
“Don’t hesitate to call if he bothers you again,” Kevin said.
Only his years of professionalism kept Tim from sighing. Kevin was new enough to the force to still have a hero complex. Tim had learned a long time ago most women weren’t looking for a hero.
On the way back to their cruisers, Chuck stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You gonna talk to him about that?” He crooked his head at the closed door of the apartment.
“Yeah.”
“You headed back to the station?”
Tim checked his watch. “We’ve got about thirty minutes left on shift. Why?”
Chuck grinned. “No reason really. Wondering if you were going to have the rookie type up the report.”
Tim smirked. “What’s the point of being an FTO if I can’t pass off the paperwork to the trainee?”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Kevin asked from behind them.
Chuck looked over his shoulder. “So? Be glad Chief put the kibosh on glitter bombs. McCain had to shave his beard to get rid of it all. He looked like a stripper-fairy had ridden his face.”
Tim grimaced. “Chief banned them because that shit got everywhere. The whole damn department sparkled for weeks.”
“It did help arresting a couple of potheads, though.”
“How’s that?” Kevin asked.
“They got distracted by the ‘ooh, shiny.’” Tim wiggled his fingers. “They thought we were taking them to a rave.”
Chuck laughed and slapped Kevin on the back. “So be glad the only thing you get is paperwork.”
He broke off to his car. “You playing softball Saturday?” he called.
“That’s the plan,” Tim said. As he opened the car door, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he turned to look at the apartment. A gap in the blinds closed. He slid into the car, keeping an eye on the apartment until Kevin pulled away from the curb.
“What number did you give her?”
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked.
“On the business card. Office or cell?”
“Both.” Kevin pulled into traffic, heading back to the station for shift change.
Tim scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing a the five-o’clock shadow that always appeared around noon.
“I get it—the desire to help and save everyone. It’s why we do what we do. Or it should be why you do what we do, but getting involved with people you meet on the job is a bad idea.”
“I didn’t ask her out on a date. I gave her my card and told her to call if she had any problems.”
“So you give her your office number, the non-emergency number, or the number to the abuse hotline, but you don’t hand out your personal info.”
“I’m trying to help. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? She just looked lost. I felt bad for her.”
Kevin was getting defensive.
“Look, I was like you once—thought I could save the world.”
He paused, deciding on the abridged version. “I met my wife on the job. Got a call, very similar to that one, felt the same way. I didn’t set out to get involved—I was only trying to get her out of a bad situation. The more she depended on me, the more I wanted to be her knight in shining armor. Six months into our marriage she told me I was smothering her and filed for divorce.”
There was more to the story, but Kevin didn’t need all the gory details. Only the cautionary tale.
“That sucks, man.”
“It does. All I’m trying to do is help you not make the same mistakes I made. I’m not the first cop to get personally involved with the job and I won’t be the last, but I’ve never heard of one of those stories ending in happily ever after.”
Chapter 3
Tim grabbed his bag from the passenger side of his truck and slammed the door. His cell phone rang as he unlocked the front door. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Tim Larken.” He shouldered open the door.
“Hi. This is Gabriella Carter. I’m Mariana Acevedo’s daughter.”
He dropped his bag inside the door and closed it. “Hi, Gabriella. Is your mom all right?”
“Oh, yes. Unless she’s been kidnapped by pirates in Borneo in the last few minutes, I’m assuming she’s fine.”
What? “Oh-kay. What can I help you with then?”
“It’s about the house—”
His phone beeped and he glanced at it. Seeing Mrs. Wilson’s number, he asked, “Can you hang on a second?”
“But—”
He switched over to the other line. “Good evening, Mrs. Wilson. How is everything?” He worried about his older neighbor across the street. She was cantankerous and called him about every little inconvenience, but he knew she was lonely. Her kids lived on the west coast and rarely visited her. Being close to his own family, he tried to help out where he could.
“Timothy, someone is breaking into the Acevedo house.”
That couldn’t be a coincidence. He walked through the kitchen to the sliding back door.
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Wilson?”
“I saw someone skulking around earlier. They disappeared around the back of the house and I haven’t seen them since.”
If anyone would have noticed a potential break-in, it would be Geraldine Wilson. She was a one-woman neighborhood watch.
“I’ll check it out, Mrs. Wilson.” He disconnected and headed across the shared lawn. Sure enough, a pair of shapely legs stuck out of the kitchen window.
The bottom the legs were attached to was just as shapely. He understood the owner’s predicament—her legs were too short to reach the garbage can she’d obviously used to boost herself up.
Just as he drew close to the potential burglar, his phone rang loudly. A shriek came from the other side of the window and her legs flailed wildly. He dodged out of striking distance and answered.
“Tim, it’s Gabby. I think we got cut off.”
Shit. He’d forgotten to switch back over to the other line. “Sorry about that. Is this about a pair of legs sticking out of your parents’ kitchen
window?”
“Gabby! Who are you talking to?”
The question echoed from the disembodied legs and the phone.
“Sorry,” Gabby said. “I’ve got you on three-way.”
This was not the situation he’d always fantasized about when it came to a three-way. He shook his head at how quickly his mind went X-rated. “No problem. I’m guessing you know who the legs belong to.”
“My sister, Zoe. She got locked out. I told her she wouldn’t fit and she should wait until you got home, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Zoe’s feet kicked again. “You’re the least favorite daughter.”
Tim smiled and covered his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud. This had to be one of the more ridiculous things he’d ever encountered and he’d once had to wrestle a greased-up frat boy to the ground during pledge week at the University of North Carolina.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “She’ll call you back when she’s loose.”
The sisters spoke rapid-fire in a language he didn’t understand. It wasn’t Spanish. He knew Mrs. Acevedo was Brazilian, so maybe Portuguese?
He shoved his phone in his pocket and tried to figure out the best way to get Legs out of the window. Even at six-foot-five, he didn’t have the leverage to lift her hips from the window, never mind the room for his hands.
Pulling the trash can to the side, he looked in the window. “Zoe?”
“Yeah?” A mass of dark curls turned, trying to see over her shoulder.
“I’m Tim, your neighbor. How’re you doing?”
“My ass is wedged in a window, all the blood is rushing to my head, and I’m going to have this window frame permanently imprinted in my hips. Otherwise, perfeito.”
He chuckled softly at her dry tone. “Got it. Well, there’s no easy way to do this so, sorry for any awkwardness from this point forward.”
“Because this isn’t awkward enough already?”
She might have a point. He turned his back to the wall and bent at the knees. Leaning sideways, he maneuvered his shoulder under her thighs and stood.
She yelped as her weight was lifted from the frame.
“Okay, I’m going to walk forward slowly. Use your hands to hold your weight up and let me know when you’re almost clear of the frame so I don’t drop you on your head.”
“Okay.”
Shuffling forward slowly, he moved away from the wall of the house.
“Wait!”
He stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“My hair’s caught.”
“Where?”
“On the frame.”
“Can you get it?”
“I can’t hold myself up and untangle my hair.”
“Are you out of the window?”
“Mostly.”
“Okay. I’m going to back up and hold you up. See if you can get it uncaught.”
“All right.”
He backed up slowly, lowering her part way down his body until her waist was on his shoulder instead of her hips. He felt the wall at his back and stopped. “Is this good enough?”
“I think so. Hang on.”
Her weight shifted on his shoulder as her torso lifted behind him. Her firm breast pressed against the side of his face. Now that he was standing still and not worried about pulling her from the window, he realized both of his hands gripped her round ass. He was pretty sure his pinky has slipped under the edge of her jean shorts.
Little Tim decided to pick that moment to realize he held a lush woman in his arms with equally lush parts of her pressed against him.
“Got it!”
Distracted and unprepared for the sudden shift of her body weight as she raised her upper half, he stepped to the side to try to regain his balance and knocked into the garbage can. His foot twisted when it made contact with the side of the receptacle instead of the ground and he lost his balance. Knowing he was going down, he tried to twist so he didn’t land on top of Zoe.
They fell in a tangle of limbs and he ended up on his back with a face full of cleavage. She pushed up, giving him a clear view down the v-neck of her t-shirt and the black, lacy bra that appeared more for show than functionality as the tops of her tits were spilling over the edge.
“I’m so sor— Come here, you stupid vermin!”
She lunged up, landing a knee dead center of his crotch and an elbow to the side of his temple.
He rolled to his side with a groan, clutching his dick, staring after a crazy woman chasing a raccoon.
She didn’t catch the raccoon, but she did find where it had dropped her keys. Stupid trash panda. Mumbling to herself on the way back to the man she’d…unmanned…she couldn’t come up with a sufficient apology.
Thanks for getting me unstuck, sorry I kneed your junk. If the bookstore failed, she could always start a line of apology cards.
As she got closer, she realized he was in uniform. “Well, shit. I assaulted a cop. Could this day get any worse?” She looked up at the sky. “Don’t answer that.”
Squatting next to Tim, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yup,” he grunted.
“Sorry I abused your…you know.”
“’S okay. Pretty sure it’s karma.”
He sat up and she got a good look at him. E um gato sarado. Que lindo! Gabby had obviously never met Tim or she would have gushed about how good looking he was. A five-o’clock shadow with a hint of gray at the edge of his sculpted jaw showcased a full bottom lip. Speechlessness struck when he blinked watery, gray-green eyes at her.
She pulled her lips between her teeth to make sure she wasn’t gaping at him and tried to think of something intelligent to say.
“You punch a lot of guys in the family jewels?” Yup. Intelligent. She should send MENSA an application.
“No. Worse.” He pushed himself up and stood slowly. “Made fun of my brother when it happened to him.”
She stood as well. Whoa, he was tall. She barely reached his shoulders and had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“Oh.” She held out her hand. “Zoe.”
Remembering the keys she’d found and looped middle finger through, she pulled back her hand before he could shake it.
“I found my keys. A raccoon took them and ran off. I tried to find the hide-a-key, but it wasn’t there. Otherwise I would have just used that instead of trying to climb in the window.”
“I made your parents get rid of it,” he said.
Distracted by the movement of his lips, she lost track of what they were talking about. “Get rid of what?”
“The hide-a-key.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not safe and it invites people to break in.”
“Who would break into a house next door to a cop?”
His eyebrows rose and he looked at the window, then back at her.
She felt the flush rise up her neck. “Well, I forgot you were a cop.”
“Would remembering have stopped you from trying to crawl through the window?” he asked.
She cocked her head an considered his question. “No. And it wasn’t like I was actually breaking in. It’s my house. Well, my parents’ house, but I live here now. Besides, I’d just driven for ten hours. I wanted to get in and unpack.”
When would the word vomit stop?
He crossed his arms. “How’d that work out for you?”
Her brows pinched together. “You and my sister. No one likes a know-it-all.”
He dropped his arms. “A know— I’m merely pointing out that had you waited, you’d be in the house at the same time without any damage to either of our dignities. Or, if you had called, I could have come home earlier and let you in.”
“I didn’t have your number.” Enough chit-chat. She was tired and wanted to blow up her air mattress so she could go to sleep. Walking around his hulking body that filled out his uniform a little too well, she beelined for the front of the house.
“Your sister had it,” he said from behind her.
> “No. João had it.”
“Your brother?”
She stomped passed the suitcases and boxes. “Yes.”
“Why couldn’t you have called your brother?”
“I’m not talking to him at the moment.”
“Why aren’t you talking to him?
Pausing with the key in her hand, she said, “I don’t remember. I’m sure I have a reason.” Lying to a police officer didn’t feel all that great, but she didn’t want to get into the screwed-up relationship between her and João.
“A good enough reason to get stuck in a window instead of calling him to get my number?”
Spinning around, she was confronted by his amused face. She fumed. He was worse than her sister. He was just like her brother. Stupid condescending machismo. He was probably married to a stick-figure supermodel and had beautiful children who modeled for Pottery Barn Kids.
“Look. Thanks for your help. It was suitably awkward. Have a nice night.”
Turning the door handle, she spun and smacked her face on the still closed door.
He cleared his throat behind her. “Deadbolt.”
“Yup.” Lacking all grace and coordination, it took three tries to finally get the door open. She stormed through and slammed it behind her. Leaning back against it, she closed her eyes.
“You need any help with these boxes?” His voice carried through the door.
“I’ll get them after I pee!” She scrunched up her face. Oh my god!
What was wrong with her? She was a thirty-two-year-old divorced woman getting ready to open her own successful-if-she-died-trying business.
Sleep deprivation. That had to be the reason for all the babbling and awkwardness. That and he was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on and she hadn’t missed the fact that his eyes had strayed down her top or that his warm breath had raised goosebumps on the sensitive skin of her breasts.
“Suit yourself.”
She banged the back of her head against the door. “Baby Jesus hates me.”
Chapter 4
Zoe stood in the midst of her life, packed and sorted into forty-eight moving boxes, and stared at the poster-sized to-do list tacked to the wall of her dining room.
Imperfect Heart (Combat Hearts Book 4) Page 2
