Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  The chief cleared his throat. “Damn mutt ate my recliner. I took him home, just until somebody claims him. Nobody’s stepping forward, and now the kids and the wife won’t let that scourge of God go for anything. I don’t want to talk about that dog.”

  “No, sir.”

  The chief’s update put Joe in a better mood as he drove home. He found Wendy in the living room with Justin and Mike. Mike was on his hands and knees, Justin riding him like a freaking pony.

  “What do you call a pig that knows karate?” Mike asked.

  “I know karate!” Justin attacked the air.

  “A pork chop,” Mike said.

  Justin giggled. “Mom, it’s a pork chop!” Then he spotted Joe. “What’s the name of the pig who does karate?”

  “Karate Pig?”

  “Pork chop!” Justin giggled.

  Wendy stood up and walked toward Joe, the same uncertain look on her face that she’d worn for the last couple of weeks. “Your dinner is on the table.”

  “You don’t have to take care of me.” He didn’t want to give her extra work.

  But she recoiled, as if he’d offended her. Since they’d lost the baby, he never seemed to say the right thing.

  Mike came up. “Anything exciting at work?”

  “Thanks for being here.” Joe nodded at him. “Slow day at the station. Robin gave Leila a charm bracelet to clear up her aura. That almost turned into something, but pretty calm otherwise.”

  Mike grinned. Shook his head. “There’s going to be a cat fight. Is it wrong to wish for it?”

  “Only if someone breaks a hip.”

  “Hey, an old woman and a cat walk into a bar—”

  Joe held up his index finger. “You continue that and I’ll tell Leila and Robin that you’re telling old-woman jokes. I’m thinking having a common enemy would bring them together.”

  Mike held up a different finger but laughed as he left, calling back a good night to Wendy and Justin.

  Since Wendy had already gone back to her son, Joe sat down by his plate on the kitchen table. Beef stew. Pretty damn good too. He ate, then cleaned up after himself, walked into the living room, and thanked her. He played with Justin for a while before the boy had to go upstairs for his bath and bedtime.

  While Wendy handled that, Joe dragged the hospital file boxes from under the couch and began going through them again. He was looking for one specific signature this time: Keith Kline.

  People were supposed to print their names, then sign, but only about half of them followed instructions. Out of those, half had handwriting so bad that even the printed name was undecipherable.

  He called the captain to check in while he combed through signatures. But Bing had nothing new on Keith or on the Brogevich case.

  “How’s Wendy?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Guys didn’t talk about their feelings, right? But then Joe said something anyway. “I don’t know how to reach her. I messed up with her, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “I did that with Sophie,” the captain said. “Here’s the thing. When it comes to women, men can be stupider than dirt. With Sophie, I was stupider than dirt under a toad’s toenails. She forgave me anyway.” He paused. “The most important thing is to talk to her.”

  “Yeah.”

  The captain told him to talk to her, Amber told him to show her that he loved her. He used to be so good with romance, Joe thought as they hung up. Except now when it came to Wendy. Hell of a thing was, Wendy was the only woman who ever truly mattered.

  He was still working on the first box, and getting more frustrated by the minute, when she came back down.

  She’d lost weight. She’d always been slim, but now she looked downright thin. He was worried about her.

  “Mind if I watch a little TV?” she asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  She settled in and pulled a blanket over herself as she glanced at his stack of papers. “I thought police work was all chases and excitement.”

  “That’s how we get suckered in. Nobody tells you that most of it is mind-numbing paperwork.”

  She flipped through the channels, picked some cooking show, and turned it way down, probably so she wouldn’t disturb him. She glanced toward him. “I’m sorry we’ve taken over your house. I’m sure you didn’t expect us to stay this long.”

  “I want you here.”

  That had her eyes widen. “Why?”

  Strategy was for football. When you loved a woman, you laid your cards on the table. Another morsel of wisdom from Amber. In case his little sister had that right, Joe put down the paper in his hand and held Wendy’s gaze. “Because I’m falling in love with you.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “And to think that I used to be known for my impeccable timing.”

  She stared at him. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who lost the baby.”

  “I’m not looking for a baby-making machine.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “To be honest, I didn’t think I was looking for anything. And then you came along.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “I already told you none of this was your fault. If anyone’s, it was mine.” He moved over to her and took her hands. God, just being able to hold her hands again meant more to him than all the other women he’d dated before put together.

  “I’d like to kiss you.” He asked for permission, like that first time.

  She looked as torn as she had back then. But, after a moment, she leaned toward him.

  He pulled her into his lap, his arms around her. He wasn’t ever going to let her go, he promised himself, and then he brushed a kiss over her lips.

  “I missed you,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “I missed you too.”

  “I know you want time to yourself to figure out what you want.” He nibbled. “I’m not going to push.”

  “Okay.” She kissed him back.

  “I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t know how to handle it,” he said after a long moment. “This never happened to me before. I don’t know how to do this.”

  “That must hurt the ego,” she joked with him.

  “Yes, it does. I’m used to being good at things.”

  “You’re doing fine.” She pressed her lips against his again.

  Yes, that was more than fine. He took it from there. Hell, he had the ball. If he knew one thing, it was how to run with it. The knowledge that he could have lost her along with the baby gave a whole new layer of emotion to the kiss.

  Some woman on TV rambled on about crème brȗlée, but the words never connected into a sentence in his head, his thoughts and feelings lost in Wendy.

  Her arms went around his neck as she held on to him.

  His right hand snuck up her rib cage, stopped under her breast, hesitated. She shifted, and her breast slid into his waiting palm. Had he ever thought that she wasn’t stacked? Who would even want that? She was perfect.

  He ran his questing fingers over her, going hard as her nipple pebbled under his touch.

  He could barely pull away long enough to say, “Hold on.” And then he went for the hem of her nightgown and gently eased it up, running his fingers along warm flesh, dragging the material over her head.

  He anchored her by holding on to her hip and leaned forward to claim her nipple with his lips.

  She was it. This was what Amber had had with Daryl before cancer had taken him, the kind of love Joe couldn’t even understand back then. And now he had it.

  No way was he ever going to lose this. No way.

  He laved her nipple, tasting her, breathing in her scent, wanting her more than he’d ever thought possible to want a woman. She ran her fingers through his hair, held him to her, her head falling back, her neck bared for him. He traveled up with a row of kisses, then back again, then eased her down onto the couch and settled himself between her legs.

  He kissed one nipple thoroughly, then the other, moved lower, her slim
fingers in his hair.

  But then her hands went still. “Joe.”

  He kept kissing his way down.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped. Too fast. He looked up. He’d promised not to push her.

  But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring pale-faced at one of the papers that had fallen on the floor from the couch.

  He reached for the paper. “What is it?”

  “That’s Keith’s signature. What are these?”

  “I’m still working on the murder of that friend I told you about. Which one?”

  She pointed to a line in the middle. “That’s Keith’s signature.”

  He looked closer, his body rapidly cooling. Now that she brought it to his attention, he could make out the letters in Kline. And if he squinted a little, he could see where the man had scribbled Keith. “Sonofabitch.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that good?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He had Keith in the pool of suspects for another crime. If Keith was the one who’d killed Phil, it would mean that the bastard would go away for a good long time, possibly forever. Wendy would never have to worry about him again.

  He kissed her, long and hard, then pushed to his feet. “I better call the captain.”

  Deathblow: Chapter Nineteen

  The first thing Joe did the following morning was look at local traffic camera footage for the day of the murder. He had the make and model of Keith’s car, the license plate number.

  The murder didn’t look premeditated. The killer hadn’t brought a weapon, had used the phone he’d picked up in Phil’s office. And if the murder wasn’t premeditated, the murderer wouldn’t have come in a rental. He would have used his own car.

  Scanning through the footage on his computer ate up Joe’s entire day. But he didn’t care about any of that when he spotted Keith’s Lexus on the screen. He paused the recording, rewound, played, paused again. He couldn’t fully make out the face behind the windshield, but the license plate matched.

  He printed the screen and strode into the captain’s office with it.

  “I think I have something.” He laid the image on the captain’s desk. “Keith Kline was in one of Phil’s anger management classes. And he was in Broslin the morning of the murder. Means and opportunity.”

  The captain leaned forward and examined the printout. “What about motive?”

  “I’ll be sure to ask him about that when I catch the bastard.”

  * * *

  Wendy kept glancing at the antique high chair in the corner of the kitchen as she was preparing dinner. Joe had fixed it in the garage, good as new, and brought it in. Justin had grown out of it, and she wasn’t going to need it anytime soon, after all. But having it stand in the corner of the kitchen set something right inside her. Fixing it was a gesture of kindness and thoughtfulness. The chair itself felt like some kind of promise.

  She was smiling when her phone rang.

  “Hi. This is Eileen from the diner. I was wondering if you’d like to go over to the battered women’s shelter in West Chester with me next Thursday. I give free cooking classes. Try to sneak some other stuff into it, the difference between a temporary restraining order and a permanent restraining order, some statistics. Over seventy percent of domestic-violence murders occur after the victim leaves. I want those women to be careful.”

  Eileen paused a beat. “Maybe you could do something with photography. If you have the time. Bring some makeup and take some pictures. Self-image is a huge issue. Abused persons see themselves as less than others, unworthy. And if they left everything behind when they ran, they might not have so much as a picture of their kids. Maybe you could help with that.”

  “I’d love to,” Wendy said without having to think about it.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Eileen’s voice was full of warm pleasure. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing better every day.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. How about if I pick you up Thursday, and we drive over together?”

  “That would be great.”

  “I also have another friend interested in a window display consultation, the beauty salon on the corner. Would it be okay if I gave Sharon your phone number?”

  “Of course.”

  She thanked Eileen then hung up and thought about the beauty salon assignment. She had three customers.

  “Hey, this could be the start of something.” She picked up her son and twirled him around.

  Justin squealed. “Again! Again!”

  But before they could swing a third round, her phone rang again. She picked it up with a smile on her face, thinking Eileen was calling her back with some detail. But the voice coming through the line belonged to Keith.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Dark fear filled her up, all the way to the brim. She steeled her spine. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I lost it the other day. You know how I get. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I feel so bad about what happened. I swear it’s not going to happen again. Hey, I signed the custody papers. My way of apologizing.”

  Those three little words—signed custody papers—grabbed hold of her and wouldn’t let her hang up. “Did you really?”

  “I should have done it before. You’re a good mother. All I’m asking is that you have dinner with me. Just the two of us at Torrino’s. It’s our restaurant. Let me apologize in person. Let me give you the paperwork.”

  Torrino’s wasn’t really their restaurant. They’d gone there a couple of times during the short period when things had been working between them.

  “How about at eight?” he pushed.

  She would do anything to have full custody of her son, and he knew it. “All right,” she told him. “I can have Sophie watch Justin.”

  There was a moment of cold silence on the line. “If you tell her about this, the deal is off. This is between the two of us. I don’t want that bitch to be filling your head against me. She’s done enough of that already. She’s the one who poisoned our relationship.”

  Wendy didn’t contradict him. She didn’t want him to get angry. She wanted those papers so badly she could taste it. “I’ll say that I have to run over to the apartment for something. She won’t mind.”

  “All right. See you soon then. We’ll set everything straight.”

  “Okay. But I don’t think I can make it into Wilmington by eight. Would you mind if we met in Broslin? It’d be nice if I didn’t have to drive into the city. There’s a quiet little diner on Main Street. We could get a booth in the back and have more privacy there than we could at Torrino’s.”

  He hesitated so long, she was sure he would say no. But he said, “Of course. No problem. See you at eight.”

  Deathblow: Chapter Twenty

  Keith let the rented black van idle in the back of the restaurant’s parking lot. He flipped on the windshield wipers every couple of minutes to clean off the drizzle so he could see the cars coming and going. She should be here any minute. He had everything in the back he needed, plenty of rope and duct tape.

  Wendy was his. She’d be his or nobody’s. He certainly wasn’t going to allow her to become some cop’s whore. She needed to learn her place. She needed discipline. His jaw tightened when he thought of her calling the cops on him because he’d lost his temper a little in her apartment. He’d been fired because of that arrest, because of the police going to his place of work to ask questions about him.

  Of course, he’d lost his temper again at the bastard cop’s house. She’d provoked him. What the hell did she think was going to happen if she moved in with another guy? Keith had gone to Sophie’s place to read her the riot act. But some old couple opened the door, and they told him that Wendy no longer lived there.

  She should have been moving back with him. At the very least, should have gone back to her own place. Not move in with another man. She didn’t think. Sometimes she could be incredibly stupid. G
od knew, he’d been trying to be patient with her.

  But she kept pushing him, pushing him right over the edge. Almost as if she wanted him to hit her.

  He loved her so much. But their relationship was so messed up. They needed alone time, without anyone’s stupid interference, to work things out. They needed to talk to each other. Maybe they needed to move back to New York. He could get another job. He was a good broker.

  She wouldn’t have to work. He would take care of her and Justin, but the new pregnancy had to go. He was prepared to forgive her for cheating—women were weak—but he wasn’t going to raise some cop’s bastard. She didn’t even look pregnant. She should have no trouble getting rid of the kid.

  They needed a fresh slate.

  He would take them across state lines tonight, to a beach house in Jersey he’d rented with his college buddies a few times back in the day. He still remembered the way. The house would be empty this early in May, the beach deserted.

  He had plenty of cash on him, and the back of the van was full of canned food. That would hold them for a while. Wendy needed quality time with him so he could show her how much he loved her. She needed to see just him, without Sophie the bitch whispering into her ear.

  Once he made love to her, over and over again, she would know that there could never be another man for her but him.

  She would never want to leave him.

  If she did….

  The dark rage took him swiftly, the urge to hit, to pummel the resistance out of her. He started the breathing exercises he’d learned in anger management. Gave up after a few minutes. Fuck Dr. Brogevich. The idiot wouldn’t stamp the paperwork that Keith had completed classes. So he’d missed a few—fine, missed most—so what? Keith clenched his hands. None of that mattered now. He’d gotten his stamp in the end. And now the job was lost anyway.

  He closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. That was over and done with. No way to connect the doctor’s death to him.

  He’d found the shrink while driving through Broslin one day, following Wendy to make sure she was really going to Sophie’s place like she’d told him. He’d pulled over for the coffee shop on the corner of the medical complex, saw the shrink’s office.