by Julie Miller
“A movement out of the corner of my eye or a scent or I don’t know what made me think I had somebody’s attention when I was in Troy’s neighborhood.” Isaac Rush and his lieutenant, Mr. Lynch, might have topped the list as an in-her-face danger, but Isaac was hardly the love letter type—not when he could use bribery or blackmail or brute force to get what he wanted from a woman. No, this had been something more secret—more sinister—because it lived in the shadows. “I…ran across some people I knew…when I was younger.”
“What people?”
My former supplier and the enforcer who saved me from being raped by said dealer one night.
Jillian’s fingers twitched with the self-conscious shame she still carried with her. Michael Cutler didn’t know what she’d done as a teen, who she’d been. Since she’d been a juvenile at the time, her court appearances as both the accused and accuser had been sealed. Her journey back to sobriety was her business—news that she’d once been a coke addict would probably end this conversation and his concern right now—and jeopardize Michael’s willingness to let her work with his son. She chose her words carefully. “Blake is an old boyfriend, who got me into the party scene when I was in high school. I rebelled big time after my parents died. Some of those parties ended up in No-Man’s Land.”
She sought out his dark blue eyes, wondering if he could piece together the truth, wondering if she’d see judgment there. Nothing. No pity, no condemnation—no understanding or forgiveness, either. Just a cop with an unreadable expression.
Her fingers twitched inside his grasp. “That was my old life, Cap…Michael. I swear I’m not that person I was in high school anymore.”
“Maybe this guy doesn’t know that. Can you get me a list of all the men you’ve ever dated? Starting with those party boys in high school?” He squeezed her hand before releasing her and pulling out his wallet. When he pushed to his feet and handed her his KCPD business card, Jillian wondered if this was his answer to her vague confession. He wasn’t the kind of man to be attracted to a rebellious wild child. But he would be kind and professional to anyone who needed his help—even a handful of past and potential trouble like her. “Call me if you think of anything else, or you feel like you’re being followed again, whatever—day or night, you call. If anything else happens, we’re making an official report. I’m not afraid to look like a fool if it turns out to be nothing.”
Yeah, but he had a stellar reputation to back him up. No one would dare question Michael Cutler’s sensibility or fire up the rumor mill about a past life coming back to give him just what he deserved.
With his card in hand, Jillian followed him to the door. She hated to see him go, but had no grounds to ask him to stay. “I only wanted you to check my apartment for goblins and perverts. I wasn’t asking you to launch a full-blown investigation.”
Michael paused in the open doorway and turned. “I only wanted you to help my son walk again. I didn’t realize I’d be asking you to heal his spirit as well. It’s the most important job in the world right now, as far as I’m concerned. If I can help my go-to woman get the job done with Mike, then I intend to.”
Go-to woman. She liked that. She wasn’t about to let him down. “I don’t mind. Mike’s a cool kid.”
“That he is.” His gaze skimmed over her lips, and Jillian felt the brief but focused interest as intimately as a caress. “I like it when you smile. I like it a hell of a lot better than…” He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, his attention had shifted and the heat had vanished. “I don’t want you distracted by this guy, Jillian. And I sure as hell don’t want you hurt. Mike lost his mom, lost a friend—nearly lost his own life—in a span of two years. I don’t think he could handle another blow like losing you right now.”
With that charge reminding her that Jillian’s mission was to help the son and not lust after the father, she pulled her shoulders back and reassured him—reassured herself. “This guy will lose interest, and it will all blow over soon, I’m sure. Mike won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll be there for him.”
“And I’ll be here for you.” He held up the manila envelope, firmly dismissing any lingering misconception that some sort of personal bond between them had been acknowledged and awakened tonight. “I’ll call you if I find out anything about Loverboy.”
“Good night, Michael. And thanks.”
After she locked the door and hooked the security chain, Jillian headed back to the kitchen. Her stomach growled in protest at being forgotten since her lunch break at noon, but she was so drained by the assault on her emotions tonight that she lacked the energy to do more than grab a slice of cheese and a bottle of water from the fridge. Once the provolone had been gobbled down, she pressed the button on the answering machine and let the messages play while she peeled off her jacket, untucked her top and made her way back to her bedroom.
She shook her head as Dylan Smith’s voice gasped about failing the hot pepper test, and took note of her brother, Eli, informing her that he’d be out of town for a few days while he traveled to Illinois to interview a prisoner for one of the D.A.’s cases. Yes, she had his cell number. Yes, she had Holly and Edward’s number if she needed something while he was away. She cringed as Blake Rivers invited her to meet him for drinks at nine to discuss why she didn’t want to see him anymore, and smiled as Dr. Randolph called to see if everything was all right. No doubt he’d gotten word that she’d stopped off at the clinic to attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting this evening. After the unsettling letters and a run-in with Rush and Lynch, she’d needed a dose of support and a reminder that she had the power to cope with the stress in her life.
She turned on the light, tossed her jacket onto the bed and froze.
“Michael?” She mouthed the word like a prayer.
She was surrounded by cool, icy blue. There was no hot-pink wall left for her to finish this weekend. Every wall had been freshly painted, neatly trimmed. But not by her.
“Michael?” Sense. Security.
Fear tried to jump-start her feet into backing out of the room, but her eyes were drawn with morbid fascination to the mussed-up bed and dented pillow. The same bed she meticulously made every morning of her life, the way she’d been trained to do in rehab.
Her water bottle bounced across the carpet. “Michael!”
Jillian ran through her apartment, unlocked the door, cursed the chain that refused to cooperate with her jerky fingers. “Michael!” she screamed.
Once she slid the chain out of its slot, she threw open the door and sprinted down the hallway.
“Michael! Michael!”
“Jillian?” Michael’s voice boomed from the stairwell. Footsteps pounded each step. “Jillian!”
“Michael!”
Seconds later he materialized at the end of the hall. Tall. He took the last flight of stairs in three strides. Dark. The expression on his face meant serious business. Dangerous. Gun drawn, charging straight ahead.
Jillian flew into his arms and clung tight around his neck. “He was in my apartment. He was in my bed.”
“YOU’RE CERTAIN IT WAS THE SAME GUY who did this?” Detective Edward Kincaid scribbled a detail on his notepad. The paint roller was conveniently missing and the paint can in her closet had been pristinely cleaned.
Jillian hugged her arms hard around her waist, still feeling a creepy sense of violation just standing in the doorway to her bedroom. “Unless you or Eli came in and worked, and then lay down on my bed for a nap, I’m sure there’s no one else who would have painted this today.”
“Easy, kiddo. I’m pretty sure my partner will alibi me for today.” He braced his hand on his knee and pushed to his feet.
“You know I wasn’t accusing you.”
“I know.” Jillian’s brother-in-law was a big, scarred-up man, a little on the quiet side unless he had something important to say—and he took very seriously his role as stand-in big brother while Eli was out of town.
After pocketing his notepad and pen, h
e turned Jillian away from her bedroom and, limping ever so slightly beside her on his rebuilt knee, walked her back into the living room. “So what do I tell Holly about this Cutler guy?”
“I thought you were here to take my statement.”
He scrubbed a hand over his scarred chin and jaw while she took a seat on the sofa. “Not grill you on your personal life?”
Jillian’s gaze darted over to Michael, speaking in a hushed, articulate tone on his cell in her kitchen. He was probably on the phone to Mike, Jr., explaining why he was so late coming home. “Captain Cutler isn’t part of my personal life. I work with his son at the clinic.”
The cushion beside her sank as it took Edward’s weight. “Uh-huh.” He closed his hand over both of hers where they rested in her lap. “And that’s why you were holding on to him so hard when I showed up. Cutler’s lucky he’s got any hands left the way you were wringing on his.”
“Edward.”
“Look, you know I’ve got your best interests at heart. Holly’s going to freak when I tell her you had a break-in at your place. Imagine what she’ll do when she finds out there’s a new boyfriend in the picture, too.”
“He’s not a boy.”
“Interesting distinction to make.” He waved aside any attempt to reword her protest. “Kiddo, you’ve got the oldest soul of anybody I know—except me, maybe. And we all know what a jackass your last date, Blake Rivers, turned out to be. I get why you’d be drawn to a mature man like Cutler.”
“You make him sound like he’s over-the-hill.” Despite the shards of silver in his hair, she knew from very personal contact that Michael Cutler was fit and firm and strong in every way a man should be. With his badge out to warn curious neighbors back into their apartments, he’d carried her all the way down the hallway to her apartment with one arm around her waist. And he hadn’t let go until she’d buzzed Edward into the building forty-five minutes ago. “He’s not.”
Edward squeezed her hands. “Hey, I’m not judging your taste in men. Your sister fell for a beat-up piece of work like me, and I thank God every day she did. I just don’t want to see you have any more hurt in your life.”
“Holly fell for you because you were there for her when she needed a hero. Michael’s just a friend who wants me to help his son. I’ve got a stupid crush on him, that’s all.”
“Whatever you say.” Edward leaned in and teased, “He breaks your heart, I break his legs. Even if he does outrank me.”
“Edward!” Jillian smacked his shoulder with a sisterly jab and laughed.
“I haven’t heard that sound for a while.” Michael flipped his phone shut as he joined them. Good grief! Jillian’s cheeks burned at the idea he might have overheard exactly what they’d been discussing. But if he had, he politely overlooked her misguided feelings and stuck to cop speak with Edward. “Investigating’s not my specialty, but I do know a thing or two about surveillance and protection. I called in some members of my team who’ll take shifts to keep an eye on the apartment building so we can start documenting who comes and goes, maybe have a chat with anyone who doesn’t belong. I’ll see if I can arrange regular drive-bys at the physical therapy clinic next week, too.”
“I’ll get the ball rolling from my end, then—get the history we have so far documented in the system. At the very least we’ve got a crackpot with no respect for personal space, and at the worst…”
He didn’t need to finish that sentence. Jillian knew her brother-in-law had seen the worst life had to offer. She knew her sister’s love had brought him back from the brink of losing himself to an addiction the same way she had. He squeezed her shoulder before standing. “The first order of business is changing your locks. There are no signs of forced entry, so that means somebody has a key.”
“But Holly and Eli are the only ones I gave a key to.”
Michael splayed his fingers at his hips, his gun and badge and guarded stance reflecting something more than the warrior-like persona she was used to seeing in the other men in her life. “It’s easy enough to make a copy if someone can get his hands on the key.”
That something extra was an air of command that even big, bad Edward deferred to. “The building super will be my first stop on the way out.” He glanced down at Jillian. “Who else might have access to your keys?”
It was rare for Jillian to feel short and small, but being flanked by the twin towers of testosterone was a little disquieting. So she asserted her own strength and stood. “I wear them on my wrist at work, or since I don’t usually carry a purse, I stuff them in my pocket. I think they’re still in my jacket.”
“Get them so I can have the lab check for tool marks or any other signs of tampering—and pack a bag with whatever else you might need. You can stay out at our place tonight. I’ll make sure the lock gets rekeyed first thing tomorrow morning.” He flicked a glance over to Michael, then came back to read her face as well. “If you haven’t already made other plans?”
Michael’s dark blue eyes were already locked on to hers when she lifted her gaze to his. That look made her feel important, protected. He made her feel safe. Not new locks. Not the entire force at KCPD seemingly now at her disposal with these two cops reporting the break-in. A ridiculously idealistic thought crossed her mind. Wrapped up in Michael’s arms, breathing in the scent and strength that was uniquely his—that’s where she felt safe. For a woman who had guarded her heart and denied the impulses of her own feminine needs for so long, the urge to reach out to Michael and get closer to him in whatever way she could was suddenly so potent within her that her fingers drummed nervously together and she had to shove her hands into her pockets to keep them at her side.
Michael had a teenage son at home that he wouldn’t want to endanger. Besides, they were friends. Just friends. She couldn’t ask him to do any more for her than he already had. She blinked, and the needy spell was broken. “No, I haven’t made plans.”
Michael’s eyes shuttered and he circled around her to shake Edward’s hand. “You’ll get those letters to the lab?”
Edward nodded. “I’m glad you were here, Captain. If that bastard had still been in here when she got home…”
“I’d have taken him out,” Michael stated matter-of-factly, releasing his hand. “You keep her safe.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael had his hand on the doorknob when he stopped, turned and strode back across the room. Edward must have discreetly stepped aside, because suddenly Michael Cutler was in Jillian’s space, his dark eyes narrowed as he skimmed every nuance of her startled, hopeful expression. With just his fingertips, he brushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. Leaving his fingers tangled in her hair, he shaped his hand to cup her jaw. And then he leaned in, his lips aiming for her cheek, but hovering just short of making contact.
Jillian held her breath as his chest expanded and contracted with a weary sigh that tickled across her skin. With the subtle pressure of his fingers, he angled her face, lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.
The kiss was hard, unapologetic, and achingly abrupt with everything she sensed he was holding back. Jillian’s blood heated in an instant response and her lips softened, parted, wanted. She leaned in.
But the kiss was over and Michael was leaving before she’d barely braced her hand against his chest.
He pulled away, walked away, opened the door. “I’ll see you Monday at the clinic.”
Her brother-in-law’s voice startled her from her prolonged stare at the door Michael had closed behind him. “You sure what you’re feeling is one-sided?”
Jillian was no longer sure of anything tonight. “I’ll go pack my bag.”
THE ELEVATOR BUTTON DINGED.
Ignoring her broken moans the way he’d ignored her wasted pleas, he pulled the old woman out of the shadows and dragged her onto the elevator. He pressed the number 5 button, then stepped over her and walked out of the building into the night. The unscrewed bulb over the super’s door had never o
nce given him away.
After climbing into his vehicle, he pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the blood off the brass knuckles he wore and stuffed them both back into his coat pocket. Once he was out of the neighborhood, he peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the first trash can he drove past.
His message had been clear. The old woman would never make that mistake again. Jillian would be safe.
He pulled down the visor above the steering wheel and smiled at the picture there. Pressing a kiss to his fingers, he reached up to stroke her dark brown hair.
“I love you, Jilly.”
In every way that mattered, he would always take care of her.
Chapter Five
The weekend passed and Monday morning dawned without further incident. No letters, no break-ins, no kissing, no Michael. Jillian wouldn’t have thought the KCPD commander to be the impulsive type, but how else could she explain that kiss?
It hadn’t been any paternal peck on the cheek or kind reassurance. It hadn’t been a clumsy, inexperienced attempt to show off who the big man was in the room, either.
Michael’s kiss had felt passionate, like a man staking his claim. Like a man hungry for something he couldn’t quite put into words. His kiss had slipped past barriers and cracked open the door on something unnamed and unspoken deep inside Jillian, too.
But they were just friends.
Her mission was to help Mike, Jr., heal—not help herself to Mike’s father. She’d done too many selfish, hurtful things back when she’d been using, and there was a lifelong penance to pay because of it. Mike Cutler, Jr., needed her, and that’s where her thoughts should be focused. Michael, Sr., was everything she hadn’t fully realized she wanted in a man until now. But he was off-limits.
