Officer on Duty (Lock and Key Book 4)

by Ranae Rose

  She crossed the street and walked up the sidewalk, stopping when she reached Lucia’s house.

  More baked goods? Lucia didn’t know whether to cry tears of joy for her taste buds, or sorrow for her hips. The lemon bars had left her sure she’d never be able to resist Meredith Connor’s baking.

  “Hey there,” she said, her belly threatening to growl as Paige climbed the steps.

  Paige’s hair barely touched her shoulders. Last time Lucia had seen her, it’d been halfway down her back, a mane of wild, natural curls many women would envy.

  “Hey.” She stopped at the top step, holding up a plate mummified in layers of cling wrap that rendered the contents ambiguous. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?”

  “No.”

  “My grandmother wanted me to ask. She has a friend who’s allergic, and she can’t even touch anything that has them.”

  Lucia eyed the tray with interest, feeling naughty. “Should I take that to mean that your grandmother is spoiling me again?”

  Paige shrugged. “She made peanut butter cookies today and had some left over.”

  Accidental extras? Remembering what Jeremy had said about his mother being both generous and stubborn, Lucia doubted it.

  “Well, tell her I said thank you.” Lucia accepted the plate. “I’ve never been so glad I moved into a neighborhood in my life.”

  Paige smiled, but that expression soon wavered. “Could I, um, ask you something?”

  Lucia raised her gaze from Paige’s mouth to her eyes. They were a smoky grey, not blue like her father’s, but still strikingly pretty. And at the moment, they were about as cheerful as a brooding sky.

  She fought to conceal a frown of her own. She knew that expression – knew it well. Anyone who worked with adolescent girls would. Something was bothering Paige.

  “Anything,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Paige sucked in a breath, then bit down on her lower lip. “I was just wondering: where do you get your hair cut?”

  Lucia blinked. “My hair?”

  Paige nodded, her newly-shorn curls bobbing.

  “I go to a salon in town called Pure Allure. There’s a woman there named Maddie who cuts and colors it for me.”

  She watched Paige’s expression for any sign of change. “Is that all you wanted to ask?”

  She nodded and bit her lip again. “I need someone who can cut curly hair. No one I’ve been to knows how to do it right.”

  Lucia didn’t mention Paige’s new haircut, since she was apparently unhappy with it.

  “My dad said I should ask you where you get your hair done. He thinks my hair could look pretty like yours.” She shrugged, as if she doubted that was possible.

  Lucia had to bite her lip to keep her surprise – and amusement – from showing.

  Jeremy had been thinking about her hair? She fought the urge to run a hand through her curls, imagining his fingers buried in their silky weight, cradling her skull.

  “Your hair is a lot like mine,” she said, trying to seem unaffected by the revelation that Paige’s dad admired her hair. “I’m sure you’ll love Maddie – you should go see her.”

  “Thanks. I think I will.”

  “They have a website. It should be easy to look them up.”

  Paige nodded, appearing less anxious than she had a minute ago.

  “Well, see you later.” She turned, one hand on the stair railing.

  “Paige?”

  “What?” She cast a glance over her shoulder, freezing on the last step.

  “I can’t wait to see your new haircut. Come over and show it off after you get it done.”

  “Okay.”

  Lucia watched her cross the street, then retreated through her own front door. Though she had the air conditioning running, the heat of the summer evening followed her inside, relentless.

  Or maybe that heat was coming from inside her, deep down where she was secretly glowing over the thought of Jeremy noticing her haircut.

  Men were notorious for being oblivious to stuff like that, weren’t they?

  Apparently, Jeremy Connor was a man who noticed details. Was it a habit, or an exception he’d made for her?

  * * * * *

  Jeremy went to Lucia’s door empty-handed.

  It almost felt wrong, after the way she’d helped him and Paige out.

  “Jeremy, hi.” She answered the door in a tank top and jean shorts: a casual summer outfit that might as well have been carefully chosen to make men weep. Women walked around Cypress all day in outfits just like it, but none of them wore it like her.

  So much golden-brown skin on display, so smooth and creamy looking against the dark locks of hair that streamed over her shoulders, streaked with gold. Her eyes were a rich shade of brown.

  He couldn’t stop noticing things like that – all the little details about her. She was a stunning woman, the kind you wanted to stop and stare at. And damned if the sound of his name on her lips hadn’t frozen him in his tracks, right there on her doorstep.

  “Is everything okay?” She arched a dark brow.

  “Just fine.” He kept his feelings out of his voice, like he’d learned to do at work. “I came to thank you for recommending that hair stylist to Paige. She got her hair cut there today, and she loves it.”

  Lucia flashed a wide, uninhibited smile. “I’m so glad to hear that. She came by here a couple days ago and asked me where I get my hair cut.”

  He nodded. “It’s a much bigger deal than it sounds like, at least to her. She’s so excited about it – over the moon. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Lucia tilted her head, that dazzling smile still in place. “It was nothing, and I’m glad to help. It must be hard for Paige to have all that gorgeous hair and no one else around who understands what it’s like to have curls. Did she get them from you or her mother?”

  “Me, but you wouldn’t know it, and I wouldn’t know what to do with hair any longer than mine.”

  “Well, Paige’s is beautiful. I can’t wait to see her new style; she promised she’d come over and show it off.”

  “She’s at a friend’s house now, but if she promised, I’m sure she will.”

  Silence slipped between them, sudden but soft. He tried not to be obvious about watching Lucia’s hair shimmer dark brown and honey gold in the evening light.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Any plans for the evening?”

  “None.” He’d finished his shift; what little of the day he had left was a blank slate that stretched between now and night.

  “Would you like to come in for coffee? I’ve got cookies, too.”

  “I didn’t know you baked.”

  Her lips quirked in a half-smile. “I don’t. At least, not very often. Your mother made them for me. If she keeps this up, a few years in this neighborhood and I’ll slip into a sugar coma. Do you think she’s trying to literally kill me with kindness?”

  “It’s what she does.”

  It was only half a lie. His mother was generous to a fault. And she loved to spoil people with food. But Lucia was the only person in the neighborhood – besides him and Paige – who was being showered with baked goods so regularly.

  Meredith was treating Lucia like family, and as crazy as it was, he knew exactly why she was doing it.

  He just had to make sure Lucia didn’t find out. If she did, the embarrassment might kill him.

  She stepped aside, making way for him to come in.

  He could’ve told her she didn’t owe him anything, that there was no need to reciprocate for the other evening.

  But the way she smiled – the way daylight reflected in her eyes, even though the day was fading – made her invitation seem genuine.

  He stepped inside, drawn over the threshold by the allure of her smile and an uncharacteristic sense of why the hell not?

  CHAPTER 5

  Jeremy didn’t usually do things just for the pleasure of doing them, but Paige wasn’t home and he had nothing else to do. A
nd if Lucia wanted to have coffee with him, why would he turn down something so undeniably appealing?

  “I’m still getting situated,” she said as he entered her home.

  There was a stack of deconstructed moving boxes in one corner of the living room, but other than that, everything appeared neat and in its place.

  “Looks good to me.”

  There was a single couch in the living room, a TV and a bookshelf laden with novels. A coffeemaker and toaster had been assigned spaces on the kitchen counter, which he could see from where he stood. The house was a home, albeit an unusually clean and orderly one.

  But then, she lived alone. Didn’t have anyone else to clean up after. Was she feeling a little lonely in her new neighborhood, despite the sugar avalanche his mother had unleashed on her as a welcome?

  That’d explain why she’d invited him in.

  “I’ll start the coffee.” Her hips swayed when she walked, each mesmerizing step marked by the soft sound of her feet against the kitchen floor.

  “The other day you said you moved here from Wilmington. You grow up there?” He followed her to the edge of the linoleum, standing by a small yellow table with four matching chairs.

  “Yes,” she said, opening a bag of coffee grounds.

  He could smell the richness of the crushed beans, even from two yards away.

  “So you’re a local.”

  “Uh-huh. Technically, Wilmington’s my hometown, but since I work at the Coastal Aquatic Center, Cypress is closer to work for me. Considering that it’s cheaper here too, it just makes sense to live here.”

  “The aquatic center.” Most of the lifeguards there were teenagers. She’d mentioned working there the other evening, but hadn’t specified what she did. “Do you work in management?”

  “I’m the aquatics program coordinator. Basically, I have my nose in just about everything that goes on at the center. I do a lot of organization and supervision. Also…” She snapped the lid on the coffeemaker down and pressed the start button. “I teach our junior swim fitness class twice a week. It’s for kids of any gender ages twelve through sixteen, but it’s all girls right now.”

  His gut clenched at the thought of Lucia in a swimsuit. No doubt whatever suit she wore for work was modest and professional, but with curves like hers, it wouldn’t matter.

  “You like your job?” he asked, exercising his admittedly lame small talk skills.

  She nodded as she pulled two mugs from a cupboard. “I started out as a lifeguard when I was a teenager. I love the water. I prefer the beach to any pool, of course, but I’ll take what I can get. Do you like what you do?”

  She turned to face him, and her eyes locked with his, searching. Expectant.

  If anyone else had asked, he would’ve brushed their question off with some canned answer. But the way she watched and waited, as if she was interested in his reply and didn’t know what it would be, altered his reaction.

  “I wanted to be a cop ever since I can remember. Used to run around with a plastic badge and handcuffs when I was a kid. I went through the academy as soon as I was twenty-one and I’ve been doing it ever since. It’s not quite what I expected when I was arresting my cousins with my dollar store cuffs, but I do like it.”

  It was all he knew. A role he’d stepped into as soon as he’d become a man – a role that had shaped every aspect of his life. His badge defined him in more ways than it probably should’ve. Paige and that shiny bit of metal were the sum total of his purpose on earth.

  “I always wondered what it would be like,” she said.

  “What, to be a cop?”

  She pursed her lips. “Specifically, to have the power to write traffic tickets to jerks who cut you off.”

  A grin burst out of him like a weed sprouting up through concrete. “Dealing with traffic gets old faster than you can blink.”

  “Oh really? In my road rage fantasies, I never tire of enforcing justice on North Carolina’s worst drivers.”

  “You hear so many excuses and arguments, you start to wonder whether you have the word ‘idiot’ stamped across your forehead. People hate you for catching them doing things they know they shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.”

  “I can imagine… But man, it must feel good to slap some of those idiot drivers with fines.”

  “Occasionally,” he admitted, remembering a time when he’d watched a driver speed through a stop sign and nearly hit a kid on a bike.

  She smiled, as if he’d shared some sort of secret with her. “Well, then, I’ll just have to live vicariously through you. What was the most satisfying ticket you ever wrote?”

  He skipped the bike story, not wanting to bring up something that would dull her smile.

  “I once pulled over a guy who was going fifty-five in a thirty-five zone. He said he knew he was speeding and was just trying to get to his favorite drive-through before they stopped serving breakfast.”

  She laughed. “Seriously? Wow. Guess he really wanted those hash browns.”

  “Hope they were good, because I doubt he’ll ever taste more expensive hash browns in his life.”

  “I don’t get to write tickets where I work, even if I am a coordinator. Exercising my authority mostly involves stuff like reprimanding kids for running on the pool deck, or breaking up teenagers who think they’re being stealthy by making out in the hot tub.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet someone else who understands what it’s like to live a life of glamour.”

  She grinned. “Hey, at least you get a uniform. Try seeming authoritative when you’re wearing two square feet of spandex and a whistle.”

  He tried not to picture her wearing exactly that, but the vision was sweet and sticky, like molasses. It sucked him right in and drowned him in all that sweetness.

  The coffee maker gurgled and flashed a green light, saving him from having to comment on the prospect of her exercising her authority while clothed in just a pinch of spandex.

  “Hope you like it bold,” she said, pouring black, steaming coffee into two mugs.

  “Weak coffee is for weak people,” he said, inhaling an aroma that promised a strong brew.

  She grinned. “My thoughts exactly. You take sugar and cream?”

  “No thanks. If I was in the habit of sweetening my coffee, I’d have lapsed into a sugar coma years ago.”

  “You drink that much of it?”

  “Rotating shifts.”

  “Ah, the downside of power.”

  They settled down at the table, and he found himself looking around her kitchen, noting every appliance and utensil out on the counters – anything to keep from staring at her like he hadn’t seen a woman in years.

  That may not have been the case, but it’d been an eternity since he’d felt so compelled to stare. There was something about her: a combination of physical beauty and warm energy that was impossible to ignore.

  Or maybe the thing that really struck him was the difference between them. She was sweet and curious where he was reserved, even jaded.

  They did say that opposites attracted.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” She stood up and turned for a cupboard, pulling out a plastic container.

  It was full of cookies, and the sight tainted his admiration with sudden embarrassment.

  Nothing put a damper on lusting after a woman quite like knowing your mother was trying to get you to do exactly that.

  “I’m sorry if my mother comes on too strong. She doesn’t mean to.”

  “Too strong?” She popped the lid off the container. “Are you kidding? I feel guilty over letting her spoil me like she has, but I can’t deny I’m loving it.”

  Her eyes did brighten when she picked up a cookie, and when she dipped it into her coffee then took a bite, she made a sound of pleasure that had heat creeping up the back of his neck.

  Jesus, he was making way too much – and thinking way too dirty – of this. Maybe it had been too long.

  He tried to remain impassive about h
is situation, tried not to expect anything. There’d been times, of course, when he’d indulged as much as he dared. For months, he’d had some semblance of a relationship with a coworker, but it’d only been physical.

  Strictly physical and secret, something they’d managed to hide from everyone, even nosy dispatchers. Maybe that would’ve been difficult if there’d been real passion between them, but there hadn’t been, and they hadn’t pretended.

  She’d moved away – moved on, like they’d both known she would. It hadn’t been that big of a change for him, when it came down to it. She’d been a part of his life, but only in a shallow sense – they’d been mutually convenient for each other, buffers to stave off the itch that came with too much time untouched.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” Lucia nudged the cookie container. “Don’t be shy. I know I’ll regret all the junk food I’ve been eating next time I step on the scale.”

  Yeah, right. Her figure was perfect.

  “I doubt that, with all the exercise you must get, working at the aquatic center.” He reined in his thoughts, watering them down to something bland enough not to sound like a come-on.

  She shrugged. “These cookies are practically pure butter and sugar; the good ones always are.”

  He picked one up, slipped it into his coffee and then his mouth, letting the rich bittersweetness crumble on his tongue.

  “So, I hate to be the nosy neighbor who asks, but…” She dusted cookie crumbs from her fingers. “Do you know if they’ve made any headway in finding out who killed that poor girl?”

  He shook his head, the sweet taste fading from his tongue. As he pictured Brianna Haynes’ face, all he could taste was the bitter grit that had risen from the bottom of his coffee cup.

  “Not really. The ex-boyfriend turned out to be a bust, and he was everyone’s first guess. Between interviews and the forensic evidence left at the scene, they’re hoping to get some answers, but it’s like panning for gold.”

  “A lot of crap to sift through before you luck out and catch something of value,” Lucia said.

  “Exactly. I’m not a detective, though – not in charge of figuring it all out.”