Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  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 wallet.

  “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?”

  “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?”

  When she looked up, some of the light had dimmed in her eyes. For the first time in two weeks, she looked more like the woman I’d seen five years ago than the one who’d come to my dojo.

  “I’ll be honest,” I said gently. “It’s been a long time. Five years with no new evidence isn’t a good thing. I haven’t seen the case file, but my guess is that all of the leads are dead ends.”

  Her shoulders fell and she tucked her hands in her lap. She was shrinking right in front of me—curling in on herself. Is this what happened to her after every one of her visits with Simmons? Because I’d do just about anything to make it stop.

  “I’ll tell you what, when we get back to the station, I’ll take a look at the file. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’ll check into the case. Okay?”

  “You’d really do that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective Simmons has been great. He meets with me every month and is always nice. But, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like this case is his priority.”

  She’d read that right. His priority these days seemed to be doing as little as possible. “Let me see what I can do,” I promised just as our food was delivered.

  “Thank you,” she told me as I said the same to the waitress.

  With my calzone and her pizza, we dug in and ate lunch mostly in silence—just like dinner in her kitchen.

  Poppy didn’t have to fill every moment with conversation. Aly had been a constant talker, always wanting to visit while we ate. It drove me nuts when I’d take a bite and she’d immediately ask a question. Sometimes, I just wanted to eat. Like my parents did for their meals. They talked, they knew about each other’s days, but they were also content to just be with one another.

  The quiet gave me time to enjoy my food and also a chance to think.

  The first thing I was doing when I got back to the station was commandeering Jamie Maysen’s case file from Simmons.

  If all of the leads were dead, I’d do what needed to be done. I’d sit Poppy down and tell her the truth. That her husband’s killer was free and would remain so unless new evidence came to light.

  But if the file had more, if Simmons hadn’t dug into every lead and turned over every rock to find the murderer, I’d be pulling a favor from Dad. I’d do something I’d never, ever done: I’d use my
position as the chief of police’s son to handpick a case. I’d take the case away from Simmons and do my best to bring Jamie’s killer to justice.

  No matter how much stress it would add to my life, I’d do it because it was the right thing to do.

  I’d do it for Poppy.

  36th Birthday: Learn to play the ukulele

  Poppy

  “Jimmy? I’m here!”

  A week after my lunch with Cole at Colombo’s, I was taking the afternoon off from the restaurant to visit Jamie’s grandfather, Jimmy, at his retirement home, The Rainbow.

  “Out in a sec.” Jimmy’s shout was muffled by the closed bedroom door.

  I smiled and took a seat on the couch in the living room as I waited. The housekeepers must have swept through this morning because the normal stack of Mountain Dew cans and old newspapers on the end table was gone and the kitchenette was free of its usual Ritz cracker crumbs. They’d even hung up Jimmy’s coats—the ones he normally just tossed on the couch.

  “Gladys, you have got to see him,” a woman whispered from the hallway.

  “I heard all about it at breakfast,” Gladys replied with a muffled giggle.

  Were they talking about Jimmy? Because it sounded like Gladys and her gossiping friend were hovering right outside his open door. I hadn’t bothered closing it when I’d come over. The door here was never closed. Why Jimmy liked his door open all the time I hadn’t a clue. He treated this assisted living facility more like a college dorm than a place to settle down.

  But at least the always-open door gave me a chance to see the women as they shuffled past.

  “Hello!” I waved and smiled as two elderly women ignored me completely and craned their necks inside, searching the small living room for Jimmy. When they saw he wasn’t in his recliner, they frowned and kept on walking.

  I laughed when they were out of earshot. Every time I came here it seemed like a different resident was crushing on my grandfather-in-law.

  “There’s my Poppy.” Jimmy’s bedroom door opened and he emerged into the living room. “How are you today?”

  “I’m goo—oh my god. What did you do?” I shot off the couch. My eyes were locked on his hair—hair that was normally snow-white, not hot pink.