by Devney Perry
Then I’d gone home to take a shower and relieve my aching dick. I’d come hard in my fist, thinking of the way Poppy’s breath hitched whenever I’d gotten close.
My attraction to her was stronger than I’d ever felt toward a woman, which is why I’d backed off these last two weeks.
As much as I wanted to spend every night in her restaurant, it would only scare her away.
Poppy was attracted to me. She felt the chemistry between us.
And it terrified her.
If my intuitions were right—and they usually were—I was the first man she’d been attracted to since her husband, and if I wanted the chance to explore things with her, I couldn’t spook her by moving too fast.
I didn’t know where we’d end up. Maybe she’d be a clean freak and drive me crazy. Maybe she’d want to cuddle at night when I just wanted some space. Maybe she’d smack her gum too loud, something I couldn’t fucking stand. I didn’t know.
But I wanted the chance to find out.
“Hey, Cole.”
I looked up from my desk—where I’d been daydreaming about Poppy and ignoring my paperwork—and nodded to Detective Matt Hernandez. “Hey, Matt. What’s happening today?”
He dropped into the seat behind his desk adjacent to mine. “Not much.” He slapped down a thick file on top of a stack five deep. “I’ve gotta get through all these today. You?”
“Same.” I patted my own stack of files. “I’ve been procrastinating.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, me too. I spent all morning running down some leads on a theft case assigned to Simmons.”
I looked over my shoulder and frowned at Derek Simmons, who was sitting five desks down. When I turned back to Matt, he was frowning at Simmons too.
“That theft case might actually get solved if you’re looking into it.”
He huffed. “At least I’m trying.”
I spun and glanced at Simmons again. He was shoving a donut—a fucking maple bar of all things—into his mouth. The arms of his desk chair were digging into his sides and his ass was ballooning through the small space between the seat and the backrest.
Simmons didn’t have stacks of paperwork on his desk, just donut crumbles, because he was the only detective that put a priority on paperwork over fieldwork. It was no wonder his closed-case rate was the lowest in the department. He never left that desk to actually ask any fucking questions.
But he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much the rest of us bitched. Simmons had been on the force for nearly thirty years. He’d die sitting in that chair while the rest of us busted our asses solving our own cases and picking up the slack on the ones assigned to him.
“Lazy,” I muttered, turning back around.
“Uh-huh,” Matt agreed, then jerked his chin at my files. “What do you have?”
“I’ve got one theft and six drug busts we caught last week on the task force.”
“Nice. Sounds like you guys are off to a good start.”
“Hell yeah, we are.” I grinned. “I’ve got six busts, Higgins has four, Smith has five, and Colton two. I’m telling you, having an ex-dealer on our side has been gold. Now that we know what kinds of things to look out for, it’s been a fuck of a lot easier to find out where deals are going down.”
“That was a smart move on your part—getting that ex-dealer to come on board.”
I nodded. “Without him, we’d be at square one.”
I’d gotten lucky when we’d been planning the drug task force last year. Our focus was solely on the meth trade in Bozeman, and I’d known an ex-junkie/dealer who’d been needing some encouragement to get clean. I’d gone out on a limb and personally paid for his rehab. He’d cleaned up and come back a new man.
He’d also come back as my teacher.
I’d spent months with him, learning all about the meth trade and getting names of top producers and dealers. He’d taught me the clues. What to watch for on social media. Street lingo to listen for. Common places for quick exchanges.
Because of his help, my task force was finally starting to put a dent in the meth trade that had gone crazy in Bozeman over the last decade.
My dad had been begging the powers that be for years to get funding to start this task force. It hadn’t been until a middle-school kid—a fucking eighth grader—had overdosed last year that the town had gone into hysterics and Dad had finally gotten some money to kick us off.
Our goal was to get the drugs out of the middle schools this year, then hit the high school hard next year.
“When you get an opening on your team, let me know,” Matt said. “I’d be interested in joining too.”
“You got it.”
I made a mental note to ask for another team member at next month’s task force committee overview meeting. With as much success as we’d had out of the gate, the council might actually consider adding to my crew, and Matt Hernandez would be at the top of the list.
“All right,” he grumbled. “Time to get after it.”
I smiled and swiveled my chair back to my own paperwork that I’d been working on all day—except for the time I’d spent thinking about Poppy.
An hour later, I’d only made it through one file because she’d been hounding my thoughts again. Was she at the restaurant today? Would she care if I came in for lunch? I was hungry and it was almost noon. Two weeks was enough time to give her some space, wasn’t it?
“Hi, Detective Simmons.”
Christ. Now I was even hearing her voice.
“Hello, Mrs. Maysen. How are you today?”
What the actual fuck? My head whipped up from my desk and over my shoulder toward Simmons.
And there she was.
My pretty Poppy, pulling up the gray chair across from Simmons’s desk.
I was out of my seat so fast, my own chair went rolling backward and bumped into the wall. I weaved around the desks between us until I was standing behind Poppy’s chair with my hands on my hips. “Poppy.”
She spun around, her eyes wide as her breath hitched. Damn, I liked that.
Simmons stopped staring at her chest and looked up. “Hiyah, Cole. What can we do ya for?”
I ignored Simmons and focused on Poppy.
Her tawny-red hair was down today, something I’d never seen. It flowed down her back in loose waves, highlighted by a few strands of gold that framed her oval face.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded. “I’m just here checking in on Jamie’s case.”
My eyebrows came together. “Jamie’s case?”
“His, um . . . murder.” Her shoulders fell and she turned back to Simmons.
Simmons had Poppy’s husband’s murder case? I knew that they’d never found the person responsible for Jamie’s death, but after all this time, they should have marked it cold and notified his family. Hadn’t that been closed?
I didn’t need to ask. Poppy’s visit here answered my questions.
A rush of anger heated my chest. Had Simmons been leading Poppy on that he might actually find the killer?
I glared at my coworker as his eyes went back to Poppy’s perfect breasts. She was wearing a simple black tank top with wide straps. It wasn’t low-cut or indecent, but with the way Simmons was drooling, you’d think she was in a bikini.
And those breasts were not his to ogle.
“You and I are going to talk.” I pointed at Simmons, then reached down and took Poppy by the elbow, pulling her from the chair.
“Cole!” she protested but stood.
“Come on.”
“But I need to get an update on—”
“Do you have an update?” I barked at Simmons.
He shook his head and his splotchy skin reddened. “Uh, no.”
“Okay. Update delivered. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” she asked as I dragged her over to my desk.
“To lunch.”
I let her go and opened up my drawer to get out my keys and wall
et.
“Taking off?” Matt asked.
“Yeah.” I shoved the drawer closed and then did introductions. “Poppy, this is Detective Matt Hernandez. Matt, this is Poppy Maysen. She owns that new restaurant on Seventh Street.”
Matt stood and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Poppy.”
She dropped the shocked look on her face and stepped past me to shake hands with Matt.
“My wife was telling me she wanted to head in for dinner there this week,” Matt continued.
She smiled. “That would be great. Thank you. I’ll look forward to seeing you.”
“Be back after lunch.” I grabbed my sunglasses off my desk and jammed them on my head. Then I slipped my hand around Poppy’s elbow again, propelling her forward.
Her feet fell in step with mine. “Cole, what are you doing?”
“Taking you to lunch. I’m hungry.” I led her out of the detective’s office and toward the stairs that led outside. When we crossed into the marble-tiled foyer, I dropped her elbow.
She looked over her shoulder before we started down the steps. “But I needed to check in with Detective Simmons.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be right there at his desk when we get back.”
The bastard was probably stuck in his chair. Usually he’d order in lunch and ask one of the receptionists in the lobby to bring it up. The man took the elevator up two flights of stairs and couldn’t pass our physical to save his life.
Fucking tenure.
Five minutes ago, Simmons was an annoyance. Now, he was a major fucking problem. I wasn’t sure why he was stringing Poppy along, but I was going to find out.
“Where do you feel like eating?” I asked as we turned the corner down one flight of steps. “Your restaurant?”
“No. I can’t go in there today.”
My feet slowed. “Say that again?”
“I can’t go to the restaurant today.” Her hands fluttered in the air. “Molly is an evil dictator and is making me take one day off a month. Since June is almost over, she declared this was my day.”
I chuckled. Later, I’d have to thank Molly for keeping Poppy from burning herself out.
“Besides that,” Poppy said as she skipped down the stairs, “if I went in there, I’d be tempted to check the sales and I am not allowed to use technology today.”
My feet slowed again. “No technology? Molly won’t let you watch TV or make phone calls on your day off either? She’s gone mad with power.”
Poppy laughed. “No, the technology isn’t Molly. It’s an item on Jamie’s list. No technology for a day.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
We hit the landing on the first floor and I nodded toward a hallway that led to the back of the police station. “This way.”
“But my car.” She pointed toward the visitors’ parking lot.
“I’ll drive and bring you back.”
Her hair swung across her back as she looked between me and the main exit.
“We’re at a police station, Poppy. I’m sure your car will be fine.”
I teased but I knew she wasn’t worried about her car. She was debating whether or not she wanted to be in a confined space with me.
“That’s not . . .” She threw up her hands and did her little wrist-circle thing. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
I grinned as she marched past me to the door.
Damn, she was something. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember why I’d waited two weeks to see her again.
“How about Colombo’s?” I opened the door for her.
“That sounds great. I haven’t been there in ages.” Her voice quieted. “Not since Jamie and I were in college.”
“If it’s a problem—”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and smiled. “I love Colombo’s.”
“Okay.” I slid my sunglasses off my head and onto my nose, then led her to the truck.
It couldn’t be easy for her, living in Bozeman. I’d bet she was assaulted with memories of her husband everywhere she went. It was admirable that she hadn’t let them chase her away.
Poppy was a fighter.
I beeped the locks on my truck and opened the passenger door. I took her elbow and helped her up. That familiar zing of electricity shot up my arm the moment my skin touched hers. Wanting to test her reaction, I leaned in, just a bit.
She didn’t step away and her chin lifted an inch as her eyes landed on my mouth.
I wanted to kiss her. If we weren’t in a parking lot, surrounded by patrol cars and the sounds of engines whizzing by, I might have given into the temptation. But now wasn’t the time. Though there was lust in Poppy’s cornflower blues, there was fear behind them too.
“Climb on in.”
She dropped her eyes from my lips. “Thanks.”
When she was in her seat, I shut her door, then rounded the hood to my side. Belted into the driver’s seat, I backed out and pointed the truck down the road. “So, a day without technology. What exactly are you going without?”
She was smiling out the windshield. She’d thrown her hair over her shoulder and a couple of locks were trailing down her bare arm. Her delicate hands were folded in her lap.
That was Poppy’s seat now. Any time I looked at the leather, I’d picture her riding shotgun.
“I’m basically cutting out screens,” she said, reminding me that I’d asked her a question. “I’ve deemed modern-day appliances acceptable because I’m trying to get caught up on laundry. And kitchen appliances don’t count, but other than that, nothing else. No TV. No phone. No radio.”
“Oh, shit.” I smacked the off button on the radio. “Sorry. Did I ruin your day? Do you have to start over?”
Her sweet laugh filled the cab. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wasn’t that you singing? Has anyone ever told you that you sound a lot like George Strait?”
I grinned. “I think you might be the first.”
She was witty too. This woman had it all. Beauty. Brains. And a sense of humor.
The drive to Colombo’s was just a couple of blocks, but by the time I pulled into the parking lot, Poppy’s vanilla perfume had infused the air. I hopped out and slammed the door in one motion, hoping to keep the scent from escaping.
“This place hasn’t changed much, has it?” she asked as we walked to the door.
“Not a bit.” My favorite thing about Colombo’s was that it never changed. It was exactly the same as it had been when my parents had brought my sister and me here as kids.
Colombo’s was a Bozeman institution. Located directly across the street from Montana State University, it was always packed with college students. I all but stopped coming during the school year, but in the summer, this was my go-to lunch stop.
Opening the door, I let her walk inside first. The minute I stepped in behind her, the smell of onions and garlic and tomato sauce filled my nose.
“Oh, god,” she moaned. “I missed this place. It smells sooo good.”
That moan and the smile on her face didn’t help the problem in my jeans.
“You should know that I’m no good at sharing pizza,” she declared. “You’ll have to get your own.”
I chuckled. “I can live with that. I’m more of a sucker for their pepperoni calzones.”
We wasted no time ordering our meals from the walk-up counter and getting drinks from the fountain. Colombo’s son was manning the open kitchen today and I waved to him before leading Poppy to a booth at the back of the narrow restaurant.
“How’s everything going at the restaurant?” I asked as we sat.
“Good.” She smiled. “Busy, but I’m getting the hang of how much food to make, and so far, I haven’t had any complaints or bad reviews.”
Not that she would. I doubted anyone would find fault with her food, and I’d only ever had a sandwich and salad.
“Are you getting any sleep or are you a slave to the kitchen?”
<
br /> “That first week was rough, but we have a new part-time employee who started last week, so hopefully Molly and I can get into a better routine and not be there twenty-four seven.”
“Good. I don’t like the idea of you coming and going late at night by yourself. Make sure you’re always parking in the space next to the door.”
“I know,” she muttered. “I’ll park by the door. I won’t take the trash out after dark. I won’t forget to lock up the front the minute we close.”
I took a drink of my water to hide my grin. She remembered my lecture from two weeks ago, and from the sounds of it, she’d been following my instructions. Setting down my glass, I leaned forward on the table. As much as I would have just loved to visit with Poppy, I needed some information before I went back to the station.
“So, before our lunch gets here, I have to know. What are you doing meeting with Simmons?”
She sighed and fidgeted with the discarded paper from her straw. “I’ve been coming in once a month ever since Jamie was killed to see if he’s found out anything on the case. He never has information, but I just don’t want him to forget that Jamie’s killer is still out there.”
Fuck.
She was hoping for something she’d probably never get. A five-year-old case without new evidence and Simmons as the lead? Her husband’s killer was probably long gone.
Fucking Simmons.
“I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen you before,” she said before I could think of what to say.
I shrugged. “I don’t love the office and avoid it when I can. Most of us usually only spend time there when we’re doing paperwork.” Except for Simmons. “We all started our careers in the field, doing patrols. Most of us like being out and about, asking questions.”
Because fieldwork was how cases got solved—not by sitting in a chair, eating maple bars.
Poppy’s eyes stayed locked on the rumpled paper in her fingers. “Do you think I should give up? Do you think there’s a chance to find whoever killed Jamie?”
