It was all very pleasant, all very civilized.
Caitlin had no doubt that the street they were on had suddenly become the safest one in the Western hemisphere. No crook in his right mind would attempt a mugging or a holdup in the area with Lieutenant Alejandro Cruz walking around with his Glock 19, the new weapon of choice of most police officers in the county—she’d checked—snugly fitted into his shoulder holster. He probably had a backup weapon in an ankle holster and his hands looked large and sinewy and strong enough to be considered weapons themselves. He exuded mastery and danger as he walked silently alongside her.
Were cops natural predators, Caitlin mused? Or did the job turn them into predators?
There was a lot of literature on the fact that cops and crooks were the obverse side of each other, operating on different sides of the law, but similarly equipped by nature to prevail. She could even see Alejandro Cruz as a crook. A super-crook, the kind who could coolly steal a billion then fade into the night.
It would be really interesting to see him a bit farther afield, not so close to his home territory, so to speak, and observe his body language.
Law enforcement communities are closely packed entities working toward the same goal, like a wolf pack on the hunt. Most police officers spent more time at work—all of it intense—than with their families. There were ties in a station house fortified by adrenaline and sweat and shared danger. The strict hierarchy allowed it all to work. So how did the alpha male—used to instant obedience and deference in the workplace—function in the outside world? Was he able to impose the ironclad rules of a small nondemocratic fiefdom to the broader world outside?
How would one set up a field study? Caitlin’s heartbeat sped up as she began drawing up a plan in her head for collecting data correlated to a map, to ascertain whether signs of deference and submission decreased proportionately to the increase of the distance from the station house. Surely there would be a mathematical correlation—
A flash of blue, a current of wind whipping at her skirt, a loud car horn honking angrily…
Caitlin found herself hauled back violently and held tightly against a hard, broad chest. In self-defense, her arms had gone up to shield herself instinctively and now they were splayed on his chest, hands over his pectorals. He was in instinctive male protection mode—one hand to the back of her head, one hand around her waist, protecting her vital organs and bringing her flush up against the front of his body.
They stood there for long moments while the sound of the car horn faded into the distance. Caitlin could feel the lieutenant’s steady, strong heartbeat—nothing like her own trip-hammering heart. She could feel crisp chest hairs through the stiff cotton of his shirt and she could feel…
Oh God. His penis, stirring against her.
That often happened to her on dates. A too-tight embrace for a goodnight kiss and her date’s cock surged. Men were programmed that way. A little contact and wham! Off they went. Or rather, up.
However, this time there was something different. For each surge of his penis, there was an answering surge of heat and blood in her womb. It was uncontrollable, unstoppable, pure instinct, wildly delicious.
The lieutenant shook her, hard.
Her mind jerked back to reality, heart pounding. She’d almost been run over by a car and only Alejandro Cruz’s fast reflexes had saved her. His partial erection was a known male reaction to the adrenaline released by danger. Hers, on the other hand…
What was she thinking of?
Finally, reaction set in and she started trembling. The lieutenant’s arms tightened for a moment, then he held her away from him with both hands. There was no expression on his face except for anger. If she hadn’t felt it with her own senses, she’d never have believed that he’d had a partial erection. With her…for her.
“Damn it, woman, what’s the matter with you!” he blazed, jaw muscles tensely bunching. “Do you have some kind of death wish? If you want to kill yourself, do it on your own time! Not while you’re walking with me!”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes wide, seeing the anger on his face. He looked furious, the skin taut across his cheekbones, eyes narrowed until only a black glitter showed.
“Damn it, on this planet a red light means stop!” He gripped her shoulder to turn her slightly, waving at the traffic light with his other hand. He shook her lightly. “What the fu— What on earth were you thinking of?”
You, Caitlin wanted to say, but couldn’t. I was thinking of you, your power and how to measure it.
She was still thinking of him. It was hard not to think of him as she was still feeling him.
All over.
She could feel the steely imprint of his fingers on her shoulders, his hold only now relenting a little. His arms had banded about her as he had pulled her to him, to safety. She could still feel the hard muscles of his arms, the solid strength of his chest, his cock surging against her.
But now the lieutenant was holding her away from himself and she looked up into the furious face, all harsh angles, an angry red flush under the olive-toned skin.
Distract the cobra.
“I’m sorry,” she improvised. “I get so carried away by my thoughts sometimes that I get myself into these messes. I was mulling over a point made by a colleague about the relationship between armies and the police.”
He dropped his arms. She watched, fascinated, as his jaw muscles bunched angrily. If he continued biting his teeth so hard, he’d grind them down to stubs and need massive dental reconstruction.
The department would pay for it. She’d reviewed the PD’s employment contract and health plan before coming. She knew exactly what was refundable under the health plan. Viagra yes, birth control no.
He opened his mouth then shut it with a snap. Lieutenant Cruz was biting back harsh words with all his strength. “Well, I hope it was a thought worth dying for,” he ground out finally.
“No,” Caitlin replied, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “No, it wasn’t. Not at all. Just a minor footnote in a paper.” She stepped back to get a better look at him, gauging his interest. He was listening. “My colleague was speculating that throughout history, when the military divided up into army and police, it signaled the beginning of civilization. Like when the Normans set up the traveling judges for the shires. A police force, separate from an army, means a society can begin the move toward democracy.”
“Well, that’s a dumb thing to be so wrapped up in that you nearly become roadkill—” he began heatedly, then stopped.
Caitlin watched him mull this over. It wasn’t really such a dumb thing, after all. Most police officers never really thought deeply about the history of what they did. They were so busy becoming cops and then being cops that they never gave much thought to the idea of cops. Mostly they assumed that the police had always just…been there. But they hadn’t.
She’d often seen the wheels whirring in their practical, reality-focused heads when she mentioned this point, as they wrestled with the idea of when policing actually sprung up. Policing started after the dinosaurs and before TV, obviously, but when?
He was standing there on the corner, lost in thought. She tapped him on the shoulder and he looked down, blinking. “What?”
Caitlin grinned and pointed at the traffic light across the street. “On this planet, the green light means walk.”
The diner was called the Garden of Eatin’, and Lieutenant Cruz was clearly a treasured customer.
Caitlin was amused by the fact that though a number of attractive women diners and two of the younger waitresses stared at Alejandro Cruz with open appreciation, he didn’t seem to notice them. Instead, he honed in on a bony, middle-aged waitress and swooped down to give her a swift hug.
“Alex,” the waitress said, pleased. A nametag with “Martha” written in pen was pinned to her flat chest. She hung onto the lieutenant’s arms and smiled up at him. “Hey big guy, haven’t seen you around lately. What is it—crime
rate suddenly go up? You’re so busy you can’t stop by to see your friends?”
“You know how it is, Martha,” Lieutenant Cruz said solemnly, releasing her and stepping back. “Been working hard putting the bad guys away. Keeping you guys safe.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t doing a good job of it the other night. Our cook was mugged by a coupla guys on his way home.”
His gaze sharpened. “Hank?” he frowned. “What happened? Was he hurt?”
Martha shrugged. “They beat him up some. Cracked a rib and would have cracked his head if it wasn’t so hard. Took two hundred bucks off him.”
Alex had whipped out a notebook and was taking notes. “Did Hank get a good look at them?”
Martha shrugged again. “Dunno. Hafta ask him.”
“Well, tell Hank to stop by the station house and we’ll run a lineup for him. Round up the usual suspects and let him see if he recognizes anyone.”
“What’s the use?” Martha gave the weary sigh of someone who was used to the cruel ways of the world, with the odds tilted against the powerless. “You’re never gonna catch ’em anyway.”
“We can try.” Alex’s deep voice was quiet, firm. Caitlin knew full well that the statistical chances of finding muggers almost twenty-four hours after the fact were practically nil, but Alex sounded so reassuring, she almost believed he actually could somehow magically produce the two muggers, with Hank’s two hundred still unspent.
Alex released Martha and put a hand to Caitlin’s back, ushering her into a booth with cracked red vinyl seating. Once she’d been seated, he took his place across from her, sliding over the menu Martha had placed on the table. “The cheeseburger’s good here. So are the burritos.”
Caitlin didn’t open the menu. “I’ll have the cheeseburger then.”
Alex signaled and Martha came up, placing two glasses of ice water in front of them. “Here’s two on the city. So—what’ll it be?” She pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “The usual for you, Alex,” she said without looking at him, “and what’ll it be for you, miss?”
“Cheeseburger,” Caitlin replied.
“C.B. and a burrito,” Martha said, writing. “And to drink…” She looked at Caitlin, her brow wrinkling heavily. “And don’t even bother asking for anything alcoholic, because we don’t serve liquor to minors.”
Alex’s hard mouth curved slightly. Lord, was that a smile? “Relax, Martha, she’s of age.” He raised an eyebrow at Caitlin. “So, what’s your poison?”
“Iced tea,” she said.
“And black coffee for me.”
He brought his attention back to Caitlin as Martha bustled off, crossing his arms on the faded linoleum tabletop and leaning forward. He eyed Caitlin for a long moment. His gaze was so intent she felt as if he were seeking the secrets to her soul. Good thing she wasn’t a criminal and had nothing to confess, because she would have. In a heartbeat. Who on earth could withstand that intense black gaze?
“Okay.” His jaw muscles bunched as she watched him try to line up his arguments against her staying at the station house for ten days.
However, something had happened in the past hour since she’d been with him. It wasn’t so much that she’d acquired a backbone—she already had one. Living off peanuts while working on a PhD dissertation took guts, thank you very much—but rather that she’d become a convert to Ray’s thesis. There wasn’t anything that could stop her now. Alex could rant and rave or—since that probably wasn’t his style—talk himself blue in the face, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Oh no. Not when she’d seen with her own eyes how fascinating he was. Just an hour in his presence and she’d written a whole chapter of her dissertation in her head. Not only that, but now she knew she had a powerful weapon in Ray.
Still, it was going to be fun watching him try to dissuade her.
His jaw muscles bunched again. “Okay, Ray wants you to spend a week in the station house. That I get. But I don’t get what it is that you want from us. Or what Ray thought you would get by spending time with us.”
Caitlin took a sip of the ice water. Not stalling for time, really. Just marshalling her thoughts. You didn’t let your mind wander around Alejandro Cruz. He was watching her with piercing dark eyes, his normally full, surprisingly sensuous mouth pursed tight…
Caitlin shook herself slightly and took a deep breath. She had to convince him she was serious. She knew now that she was going to be spending the next week in the Baylorville Police HQ, but it would make a huge difference whether Alex Cruz was going to be quietly obstructive or helpful. So she had to watch her step and she had to find the right words.
“Look. I’ve got a double masters in behavioral psychology and sociology.” She leaned forward as he had done, looking straight into his black eyes and trying to make him understand. “I’ve always been interested in law enforcement theory and I’m writing my dissertation on it. I have basically all the material I need but, as I told you, Ray insisted that I spend time at a police station and I think he’s right, because fieldwork in testing theories is always so important.
“I won’t be a bother, I promise. I have a slightly modified Thematic Apperception Test which I’ll be asking your officers to take, but they can do that whenever they have a spare moment. I would like to interview them as well, but I can easily arrange to do that when they have some down time, if they’re willing. I won’t interrupt anyone’s routine and I promise not to get in the way. When I go back to my hotel in the evening, you won’t even know I had been around.”
It was as if she hadn’t spoken about her work at all. He honed in on something else entirely. “You’re staying in a hotel? Where? Which one?”
“The Carlton,” Caitlin said, wrinkling her nose. She’d been a student all her adult life and was used to ratty student conditions, but the Carlton was, hands down, the worst place she’d ever slept in her life.
He reared his head back. “The Carlton. That’s in Riverhead.”
She blinked at the flat, disapproving tone of his voice.
He shook his head, a sharp blur. “You’re crazy. Riverhead is the worst section of Baylorville, worse than the Trey. Someone who looks like you, someone who gets lost in her thoughts, is ripe prey for the scumbags in Riverhead.” He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop once, hard, and blew out a quick breath. “I knew it. You do have a death wish.”
“No, I don’t.” Caitlin sighed. “I didn’t know the area would be like that. My travel agent probably didn’t either. I told her I wanted a budget hotel. I’m sure she didn’t realize how…how unsavory the area is.” She shrugged. “It’s only for a few days, anyway.”
“A few days are enough for you to get tossed, maybe killed,” he said bluntly, and nodded as she flinched involuntarily at his harsh words. “Good. The more scared you are, the more wary you’ll be.”
He was trying to scare her away, but he didn’t know her. Caitlin didn’t scare easily. “Like I said, it’s only for a few days. I’m expecting—hoping—to be awarded a year’s grant by the Frederiksson Foundation. Once I get the grant, I’ll be looking for an apartment.”
Caitlin tried not to squirm under Alex’s dark, intense, disapproving gaze. She simply met it with her own, keeping her face neutral. But she could feel his strong will beating against her from across the table. To her relief, Martha arrived, neatly sliding his burrito and Caitlin’s cheeseburger in front of them.
As if she didn’t have a care in the world, Caitlin bit into her burger and munched. “Wow. This is really good.”
He was barely listening, simply glowering at her. Caitlin refrained from rolling her eyes or showing impatience in any way as she ate the delicious cheeseburger. She didn’t want to do anything to tip the balance, because they were at a stalemate. His power against her stubbornness. The first person to blink lost.
They stared at each other, Alex doing a very good imitation of a smokestack with steam coming out of it.
After a while, it got ridiculous. Caitlin tried a little convers
ational distraction. She finished chewing and smiled. “Ray told me the cheeseburgers in Baylorville were special.”
Alex just stared. He didn’t want her at the station house, but just as clearly, he was compelled, for reasons she didn’t understand, to accede to Ray’s wishes. As long as Caitlin didn’t do or say anything that could put ammunition in his hands, she’d won.
They were at a tipping point. Caitlin suddenly realized that she needed for him to obey her on something, to establish a precedent.
She nodded at his burrito. “Eat,” she said, trying to inject stern command into her voice.
He looked down, startled, at the food in front of him, as if he’d forgotten all about it. At her command, he picked up his fork.
Though she kept her face impassive, Caitlin rejoiced inwardly.
Yessss!
If he obeyed her once, he would obey her again.
She was going to win this battle. And after the battle, the war.
The aromas of Hank’s food wafted straight into Alex’s system, reminding him that he was running on empty. Or on station house coffee, which was worse.
Alex picked up his fork to dig into his burrito then stopped, running through what Caitlin had said in his mind. He lifted his head, surprised.
“The Frederiksson Foundation?”
The Frederiksson Foundation was the pride of the city—one of the best-known think tanks in the country, run by two Nobel Prize winners.
Alex looked again at Caitlin Summers, this time looking past the incredible prettiness, the absentmindedness, the grad student messiness.
Now he saw the intelligence.
He hadn’t noticed it before because she was so fucking pretty and looked so damn innocent. He didn’t know any pretty, intelligent, innocent women. Most of the intelligent women he knew were cops. A cop didn’t stay innocent after Day One on the job.
She swallowed and smiled at him. “You’ve heard of it? I suppose you would have, being from Baylorville. I’m really looking forward to being a fellow there, if they offer it to me.” Caitlin pursed her lips. “Even though it is full of pencil-dick geeks.” Flashing an amused grin at him, she bit into her cheeseburger again. A drop of Hank’s homemade ketchup dripped from the bun. She licked it off her lip with a small pink tongue.
A Fine Specimen Page 4
