by Julie Miller
That kiss had been a onetime thing—an aberration her bruised heart couldn’t afford to repeat.
She spent the weekend building up her confidence again and locking her protective emotional armor back into place. She let Holly pamper her with hot chocolate and late night sister-to-sister talks about everything important and nothing in particular at their rustic country home on the outskirts of Kansas City. With Edward watching over her shoulder, Jillian herself had supervised the installation of a new door lock and dead bolt for her apartment. She answered Eli’s worried phone call and assured him that there was no need to cut his trip short and have the D.A. send a replacement to conduct the prisoner interview.
She didn’t want her family worrying over her and curtailing their own lives the way they had when she’d been using and on and off the streets. She was an adult now. She carried a ten-year sobriety pin on her key chain. She had a master’s degree and a professional career. Edward and KCPD had an investigation into the letters and break-in well under way. And she was getting to know the members of KCPD’s SWAT Team 1—Michael’s team—by name.
Holden Kincaid.
Rafe Delgado.
Trip Jones.
Alex Taylor.
They introduced themselves when they parked outside her building; she brought them coffee. There couldn’t be a better guarded woman in all of Kansas City. Loverboy didn’t stand a chance.
So why had it been impossible to sleep in her own bed last night and spend any more time than was absolutely necessary at her apartment this morning?
Jillian pressed her fingers to her neck and marked off her pulse against her watch as she started her last lap around the hospital complex. She’d gotten in early enough before the PT clinic opened to put in two miles before hitting the showers and getting ready for her first patient. What she couldn’t forget about the weekend she hoped she could beat back into the recesses of her mind with a good, hard workout.
She waved to Alex Taylor, a young Latino cop who was the newest and youngest member of Michael’s team. Poor guy. Low man on the totem pole got stuck with dawn patrol. He sat in the hospital parking lot in his beat-up Jeep, drinking a super-size cup of coffee and wolfing down some sort of breakfast wrap. He gave her a salute and a smile and was unwrapping a second breakfast item by the time she’d rounded the corner of the building beyond the parking lot.
Jillian was running along the exercise pathway lined with elm trees, just beginning to bud out with their leaves, when she saw that she’d have company on the last leg of her run. “Hey, Smith! So how did those hot peppers work out for you Friday?” she teased, pulling up beside her coworker and matching his pace. “Did you make the bet?”
“Morning, Masterson.” Uh-oh. That didn’t sound too positive.
Dylan’s blond curls were sticking to the perspiration dotting his forehead and temple, indicating he, too, had been running for some time. Their positions on the exercise path must have been staggered just right for her not to notice him until now. “So, are you slowing down or am I catching up?” she asked between breaths.
“It has to be me,” he drawled. “I’m still hurtin’ from Friday. I did great on the first five habaneros. With my glass of milk, I thought I was going to get through all twelve. Then I sprouted a fever. My eyes watered. My toenails were sweating. By the eighth one, I was done.” He buzzed his lips with a cranky sigh. “They’ve been burning through me ever since.”
Jillian couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. “I knew that was a sucker’s bet.”
“Hey, no laughing,” Dylan whined.
“Did you get your date with Miss Hottie in Occupational Therapy?”
“Yeah, but I had to put it off until next weekend, I felt so crummy. How about you? Did you get your paint job done?”
Smile gone. Laughter forgotten. Jillian pretended the uncharacteristic hitch in her step was due to uneven pavement rather than any creepy memory of a stranger violating her apartment. Ignoring Dylan’s question, she kicked her stride into a higher gear and challenged him to beat her to the finish line. “We’d better get those peppers out of your system and get you back in shape if you’ve got a date. Last one to the clinic cleans the stinky towels out of the locker room.”
“You wish!”
She barely beat Dylan around the hospital grounds. She couldn’t run fast enough to outpace her own fears.
“That’s not good.” Jillian slowed her steps to a jog when she spotted Alex Taylor on his cell phone, pacing outside the PT Clinic’s glass doors.
“What’s the scoop, Masterson?” She’d been running so hard, trying to blank out her thoughts, that she’d almost forgotten Dylan Smith had been running the path behind her. She felt his fingers sliding down the length of her ponytail until he caught a handful of her shirt and pulled her back to a cautious pace beside him. “Is he wearing a gun?”
“He’s a cop.” A twinge caught in Jillian’s side as she abruptly stopped and sucked in deep gasps of air to catch her breath. “Officer Taylor?”
Alex cut his phone call short and moved toward her, his dark eyes fixed with a menacing light on the blond man running up behind her. “Everything cool here, ma’am?”
Did he think Dylan had been chasing her? Jillian pinched one hand at her side and held up the other to warn him off. “Friendly race, Officer,” she assured him between breaths. “Dylan Smith. He works with me.”
“We got a call from Dispatch, ma’am. I’ve got to suit up and run.” Alex Taylor was barely her height and no older than she was. Still, he conveyed a pointed look over her shoulder, silently warning Dylan that everything had better be friendly between them. “But I want to make sure everything is all right before I go.”
“A call?” As in something that required guns and body armor and outthinking bad guys who didn’t want to surrender? “With Captain Cutler?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’ll run the team and coordinate with Bomb Squad on this.”
Bomb squad? Oh, Lordy. That little stitch in her side had nothing to do with her vigorous run. She understood cops, understood the danger they had to face—but this morning, the true meaning of that danger hit her square in the gut. Men like Michael Cutler, like her brother, like Alex Taylor, were true warriors. They had bigger enemies to take on than her overattentive fan. The men and women of KCPD were well trained for situations just like this. Michael didn’t need to be distracted by her problems. He needed to focus on the job he had to do, and gather his team around him. Now.
Feeling as if she’d already wasted too much of Alex’s precious time, she waved him away toward his Jeep. “I’m fine. Go.”
“I’m sure the captain will have one of us back at your place tonight.” Alex was already backing toward his car. “Just use your common sense. Try to stay with people you know. Call if you need anything.”
“I will. Don’t worry about me.” She was a little rattled, a little winded, but more than determined to send him on his way. “Now go. Save the day. Kansas City needs you.”
And watch Michael’s back.
Once Alex sped away in his Jeep, Dylan laid his hand on Jillian’s shoulder. “Did he say bomb? Why are you talking to a cop? Are you okay, Jilly? Are we?”
She straightened at Dylan’s frantic tone. “It’s nothing here. Don’t worry. He’s, um…doing some security work for the father of one of my patients.” Smooth way to skew the truth, girl. She pulled her keys from the pocket of her shorts and unlocked the door ahead of Dylan. She was ready to end this conversation and get going on something useful that wouldn’t give her time to worry about the dangers of Michael’s job and would prove to him that she wasn’t a distraction he needed to worry about.
Loverboy had already created enough havoc in her life. She didn’t need to complicate it any further by adding her own misguided feelings about Michael Cutler into the mix.
“I’ve got my first patient in twenty minutes. I need to hit the showers. Stinky towels are on you, Smith.”
“MI
KE?” Jillian halted in the PT Clinic lobby after taking her last patient back to her room in the geriatric wing of the main hospital. Lulu had company at the front desk. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until three o’clock.”
After back-to-back sessions all morning, her stomach had been set on a sandwich from the cafeteria, her mind set on catching up on some paperwork. A blue-eyed teenager with doom and gloom stamped all over his downturned features hadn’t been part of the plan. “There’s no school.”
Spring break, right. Most kids would be celebrating.
“And you’re so bored out of your mind that you came to see me?”
That taunt earned an eye roll. Good. At least now he was looking at her as she walked up to his chair to continue the conversation. “Did your friend Brett drop you off?”
“No. He’s on the school trip to D.C.”
For one fleeting moment, Jillian scanned the lobby and even peeked through the glass doors into the parking lot out front to see if she could get a glimpse of his father. But there was no tall, dark man in uniform, no familiar black pickup parked outside.
Mike must have sensed where her thoughts had turned. “Dad’s at work. His team got called in early this morning.”
“So I heard.”
“Some guy’s trying to rob a bank.” Was Mike worried about his dad? His blasé tone said no. But then stoicism seemed to be a family trait, and Mike, Jr., was a hard son of a gun to read at the best of times. She understood how time alone at home could give a body more time to think about things he or she didn’t want to think about. Maybe he was worried, and showing up for his appointment two and a half hours early was his way of showing it. Wasn’t being trapped with her thoughts and fears the reason she’d gotten up at 5:00 a.m. to go running?
“Any word on what’s happening?” Whether or not anyone’s been hurt? A knot of dread soured the idea of lunch in her stomach.
“There hasn’t been anything on the TV yet,” Mike answered. “That’s usually a good sign.”
“TV is your barometer to tell how well the police are doing?”
“Hey, if Dad’s not on a special news bulletin, then that means he’s got it all under control.”
If that wasn’t the answer a cop’s son would give, she didn’t know what was. For both their sakes, Jillian had to laugh. And change the subject to one that wasn’t quite so disquieting. “So, how did you get here? You didn’t drive, did you? You know you’re not allowed to do that with those braces, right?”
“If Troy can figure out the bus, so can I. I didn’t know I’d get here so freaking early. You’re not going to send me home and make me come back again, are you?”
Instead of teasing him about miscalculating time or the efficiency of Kansas City’s public transit system, she complimented his resourcefulness. “Sounds to me like you’re getting around a lot more independently than you give yourself credit for.”
“Can’t we just do the session now?”
“Well, you’re welcome to come hang out with me anytime.” A sudden inspiration twisted her thoughts into something a little more devilish. “But I’ve got work to do. If you’re going to be here, then I’m going to put you to work, too.”
“Work?” He smacked at the velcro brace on his thigh. “What can I do?”
“You’d be surprised, big guy. Come on.” She unhooked the brakes on his wheelchair and turned him toward the hallway leading to the gym, workout rooms and their offices. “First things, first, though. Have you had lunch? That’s where I was headed. I’ll even show you the shortcut I use to get from the PT wing to the main building.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I thought guys your age ate 24/7. Unless you’re sleeping, of course.” She nudged him a step closer into polite sociability. “My treat.”
“Just a couple of cheeseburgers, I guess. I suppose eating will kill a little time.”
“You sweet talker you. Is that how you charm all your dates?”
“Date? Jeez, Jillian, you’re old enough to be, well, not my date. I came for a stupid PT session, that’s all.”
Over the hill at twenty-eight, hmm? But Jillian took no offense. Mike’s blushing cheekbones indicated a healthy burst of circulation, and sitting up straighter in his chair meant he was tightening those core muscles. Jillian smiled behind his coal-black head. Score one for the PT today.
She bypassed the gym entrance and pushed Mike around the corner toward the recreation lounge, chatting away as they passed the windows and locked door of her office. “There are all kinds of hidden corridors in this complex. In some places, they built a new addition adjacent to an older part of the building, leaving these open passageways between them. Did you bring your cane?”
“I forgot.” Probably on purpose. As if she’d let him sit on his duff for an entire afternoon, cane or not.
“Then I guess we’re limited to wherever the chair can go. But there is this one cool place off the lounge where, if you were mobile on two feet, you could walk through without anyone knowing you’re even there. It opens up in the back of the storage closet next to the pop machine and leads straight to the equipment closet off the gym. Of course, you have to have keys to get into the closets in the first place, but it’s cool if I get really thirsty to just buzz from closet to closet, get a soda and sneak back in without anyone ever knowing I left.”
Mike seemed intrigued by the possibilities. He pointed to the storage closet behind the tables and chairs as soon as they entered the lounge. “It’d be a sweet way to sneak up on someone and scare the crap out of ’em.”
“Hadn’t thought of that. I bet Lulu would jump a mile if you opened up the closet door and yelled ‘Boo’ while she was taking her coffee break.”
“Can I look?”
“Yeah, but you can’t go in with that chair.” Jillian pulled her keys off her wrist and unlocked the door. Then she turned on the overhead light and picked her way through crates of soda pop cans and vending machine snacks. She pushed open the panel at the back of the closet. “See? Would you rather go exploring? Or help me clean equipment and file my reports?”
“I know what you’re doing, Jillian.”
She winked. “It usually works, doesn’t it? Want to check it out?”
He grabbed his wheels and neatly spun himself away from the closet. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get cheeseburgers.”
Quickly catching up to him, Jillian guided his chair through the patio doors and along the walkway that led across a garden courtyard to the cafeteria wing on the opposite side. “Okay. But trust me, filing reports is pretty boring stuff.”
Thirty minutes and three cheeseburgers later, Jillian was pushing his chair back through the lounge and down the hallway to her office. “Okay, Mike, last chance. You can choose alphabetizing files behind door number one or dishpan hands from washing the jump ropes and wiping down the free weights.” She paused to unlock and push open her door, giving Mike plenty of room to roll past her into the room. “I know. There is a third option. You can put that smiling face to good use and help Lulu greet patients at the check-in desk.”
His answering glare was spot-on.
“Files it is.” But when Jillian would have laughed, she choked on a muffled scream instead. “What now?”
In a heartbeat, the world around her shrank down to the bouquet of twelve crimson carnations sitting in a vase on her desk. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She squeezed her keys so tightly in her fist that she nearly pierced the skin of her palm. Locked. The damn door had been locked!
Defiant curiosity drove her feet across the room for a closer look, but the fear that oozed out her pores and crept across her skin kept her from touching anything. Unlike the rose she’d received last week, this bouquet had a card attached. An unsigned card that simply read You’re welcome.
For what? “You think I’m grateful for your help, you sick son of a—”
“Jillian? Are you talking to me?”
Mike. She wasn’t alone.
She whirled around, zeroed in on dark blue eyes.
“Where’s your dad?” She patted her pockets, looking for the business card Michael had given her on Friday. Maybe it was in her jacket. She pulled her running jacket off the coat stand beside the door and rummaged through the pockets. Empty. She tossed it on a hook. “Do you know your dad’s number?”
“Yeah, but he’s at work. It’s for, you know, emergencies. You can leave a voice mail. Is something wrong? Do you need me to leave?”
She was still a bit too dazed by the violation of this latest message to know much beyond one thing right now. “I need to call Michael.”
She needed to hear that deep voice and feel his calming, strengthening touch right now.
With the misfortune of impeccable timing, Dylan Smith chose that moment to show up at her door, knock and waltz right past her to her desk. He touched one bloodred flower and leaned over to sniff it. “Nice. Somebody must have been paying attention to the fact you don’t like roses. You gonna let these die, too, Masterson?” He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. “That’s hard on a man’s ego, you know, to see how little you care about his gifts.”
“I don’t care about…” His teasing transformed her shock into suspicion. She wedged herself between him and the desk and, standing nose to nose, backed him up a step. “How did you know about the flowers?”
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Um, passing by? Door open?”
“Did you put the bouquet in here?”
“I just got back from lunch.”
She advanced. “Answer my question.”
He retreated. “I saw them at the front desk and—”
“Did you put the flowers in here?” She poked him in the chest and nudged him back another step. “Do you have a key to my office?”
“No! Chill.” His raised hands and irritated frown indicated she’d gone past curious interrogation. “Jeez, Jilly. I was just saying, I saw the flowers at the front desk when I went to lunch. Who put the burr up your butt today?”
