by Julie Kenner
They popped into a liquor store where Lacey seemed to be on a first-name basis with the owner and he handed her a Chianti that he knew she liked. Jarod insisted on paying.
“Fine, but the pie is on me,” she said, and while it wasn’t his habit to let women pay for a date, he agreed. It was her city, her pizza place, her expense account, he figured.
They walked a few blocks and turned in through a glass door painted white in order to be opaque into a deep, narrow room that was brightly lit, but nothing fancy. Small, round plastic tables hugged a stark white wall that featured signed pictures of various New Yorkers, many famous, others he didn’t know.
“Interesting spot. I would never have guessed from the street this was even here.”
“Best-kept secret.”
She must be right as they had to navigate the narrow space between the counter and the tables to the far end to find an open table. The place was packed, and the rich aromas and sizzling pies he spotted on people’s tables had his mouth watering.
Locating an empty table, they sat in plastic chairs that he hoped were sturdy as he settled his large frame into one. The napkins were paper, from a metal dispenser next to a small vase with some fake flowers. He wasn’t a fancy guy, but he had to assume all of the money and talent in the place went into the food, not the decor.
“So this is your favorite place, huh?”
“Isn’t it great?” She was all smiles again. If he were prone to it, her mercurial changes would make him seasick, she seemed to shift back and forth so often.
“I found it completely by accident. I was just passing by one night and someone opened the door. The smell of the sauce and spices had me making a U-turn to come in and see where it was coming from. It’s bare bones, but cozy. Warm. And the owners are really nice people.”
“Probably a gold mine, as well. Can’t be much overhead,” he commented.
“I bet you’re right. Locals call it the Pizza Room, though I don’t think it actually has an official name. If you get takeout, it’s just a plain brown box, no logo. They don’t do delivery and aren’t in the directory.”
He grinned, liking the simplicity of it. Lack of marketing was probably the best marketing of all in a world drowning in logos.
“I’m glad you decided to show me one of the city’s secrets,” he said, meaning it. This was much more his speed than some froufrou bistro or someplace where food arrived under silver domes.
“How hungry are you? One pie or two?”
“Are you going to eat?”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What? Of course I’m going to eat. Why do you think I’m here?”
“I meant, you’re so thin, and given your profession, I thought you might be an ‘eat salad and smell the real food’ type.”
She looked as if she couldn’t believe his brashness, and then burst out laughing. At least he hadn’t upset her.
“Ranger, I can put it away. Don’t underestimate me there. I am blessed with what my father used to call a hummingbird’s metabolism—small animal, eats a lot. No animal has a faster metabolism. I can probably eat damned near my own weight in this pizza.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded and gave the waitress their order—two pies—after grabbing a few plastic cups from the counter for their wine and a conversation about the owner’s new grandchildren.
“You seem to know everyone—I always thought New Yorkers were cold and distant.”
“C’mon, you’ve been here before, so you know different. But anyway, I’m not a native. It’s a big city, and it has its share of attitude, but I’ve found the people here to be some of the friendliest I’ve ever met. It’s huge and intimidating, but you find your own corner and settle in. I’ve known small towns a lot less friendly.”
He had to admit that was true. “Where do you come from originally?”
“Nevada. My parents owned a ranch there.”
“Seriously?” He sounded surprised, even though he’d heard her reveal that fact earlier. She seemed tickled by his feigned reaction.
“Yep. Grew up with the desert, rattlesnakes, horses and cattle—probably not unlike you, huh?”
“I actually didn’t grow up on a ranch. Just a small house outside Corpus Christi. I didn’t learn to ride until I took a summer job on a local cattle ranch and got hooked.”
“I thought everyone in Texas was born in a saddle,” she said, obviously teasing.
“My father was a good horseman, but he was all cop.”
“Law enforcement runs in the family?”
“Yep. My sister is a Federal Marshall, Dad’s a lifelong Ranger, though he’ll be set to retire next year. He’s not taking that well.”
“Your file said you were in the El Paso Division?”
“Yeah. I was transferred a few years ago. Dad is still over in Corpus Christi. My sister is based in Dallas, but she’s constantly traveling.”
“That’s a lot. How does your mother handle it?”
“She didn’t. She took off when I was about thirteen after putting up with it for as long as she could. I can’t blame her, not entirely.”
“Really?”
“The job is tough, comes with a lot of risks, makes having a family hard, just like any cop’s life does. My mother couldn’t take the stress. It happens.”
“I suppose. I’m sorry to hear it, though. Are you still in touch?”
“You writing an exposé or taking pictures?” he snapped back, and noticed too late that he shouldn’t have. She’d just hit a nerve.
He’d always felt responsible for his parents’ breakup, though as an adult he knew it wasn’t true. Still, it was hard for him as a boy to ignore that his mother had taken off shortly after he’d said he wanted to be a Ranger, just like his father. Hard to convince a kid it wasn’t his fault, even though his dad had tried.
“It helps me take better pictures if I get to know you,” she said evenly, but her eyes didn’t meet his.
“Apologies, Lacey. Sore spot. Shouldn’t take it out on you,” he said, and she looked up again, her eyes forgiving him. “But, no, we lost contact with her a few years after she left. She stayed in touch for a while, but I guess her new life took her elsewhere.”
“I’m sorry about that. And I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I know.”
Thankfully their pizzas arrived, taking up all of the space on the table and capturing their attention for a good while.
“Wow, this is amazing,” he said, his senses in heaven between the pizza and the wine. “I mean, my God…what do they do? I could eat only this for the rest of my days,” he crooned, meaning it.
“Told ya.” She smiled, as she kept her promise and put away her share of pizza. He couldn’t figure out where she fit it all.
“So, you want to talk about work?” he reminded her as they poured more wine. She wasn’t tipsy by any means, but she was more relaxed and he liked it. The glow she had was real now, and the buzz of attraction in his head became a little louder. She was fun, and good company when she wasn’t acting like something was about to bite her. Whatever cloud had been hanging over her earlier seemed to have lifted.
“That’s what we’ve been doing. I like to get to know subjects before I shoot them, so I can put you into places, settings, poses that are going to really show the real you, not arrange you in some contrived position.”
“I see. That’s interesting.” He was unsure of what else to say, slightly uncomfortable at being analyzed in this manner. He’d thought they were just having a good time. He sighed. “I’m not quite sure how all this model, photographer stuff works. It’s a first, and hopefully a last, for me.”
She grinned. “Maybe you’ll get hooked. You could get catalog ads, newspaper, maybe even hit the catwalks,” she teased. She was playful, something he liked in a woman, and in a bed partner. How playful would his pretty photographer be in the sack? He watched her lick some sauce from her fingers and thought about those long, thin fingers wrapping aro
und him.
He had to stop or he wouldn’t be able to stand up safely, and grabbed his drink and took a long swallow.
“I said it’s time to go, dammit. I gotta get to work,” a rough voice growled, interrupting them. The jovial conversation in the place dulled to a murmur. Everyone looked toward a tall twentysomething guy who stood and grabbed the woman with him by the wrist, pulling her up. She tugged her arm loose, telling him she wanted to stay and pack the rest of the pizza for takeout.
There were several beer bottles on his side of the table and his words were slurred as he objected again. It was obvious he’d had too much to drink.
When the guy lifted his hand toward her, Lacey went very still. Jarod, on the other hand, moved so quickly the guy didn’t seem to realize he was there until he’d grabbed the man’s arms and pinned them behind his back before he managed to deliver the blow.
“This is a nice place, and we’re all enjoying a nice meal. You, however, are not behaving nicely,” Jarod said in a voice that was dead calm.
“Let me go, you moth—”
“Uh-uh.” Jarod yanked harder on the guy’s arms, choking off the curse. “There are kids in here. Watch your words.”
“Let him go,” the girlfriend demanded, her hands on her hips as she stared at Jarod as if he were the enemy.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
While the guy had gone still, the woman didn’t seem to be intimidated by Jarod at all, and walked up as close as she could get to him.
“Why don’t you mind your own damned business? Let him go so we can get out of here.”
“He looked like he was about to slap you. You sure about me letting him go?” Jarod asked.
She glared at him as if he were nuts. “Don’t I look sure? He don’t mean no harm. He just gets worked up.” She blew off Jarod’s concern with a dirty look that brooked no argument.
Others sat down and Jarod let the guy’s arms go, putting his hands up, backing off. When the thug turned on him with fiery eyes and appeared as if he might try throwing a punch, Jarod didn’t move a muscle, but just stared. Something in his posture made the kid think twice. He and his girlfriend charged out the door, cursing. They left their pizza behind.
Jarod returned to the table, shaking his head.
“Unbelievable. I kept him from possibly hitting her and she defends him.”
He sat down, eyes landing on Lacey. It was clear that something had changed. She was white as a sheet. Her irises were open and dark—a classic fight-or-flight response.
“Hey, you okay?”
She nodded, but when she put her fork down, her hand was shaking. Jarod reached across the table, put his hand over hers. It was ice-cold, he noticed, before she snatched it back.
“Want to talk about it? I can be a good listener.”
That woke her up, and she blinked, as if coming alive. “No, I don’t. I should get home,” she stated flatly, and he felt properly put in his place. Thing was, he’d been put in his place plenty of times, and he pretty much knew when he didn’t want to stay there.
“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” he offered, throwing down a few dollars to cover the bill.
“No!” she objected too strongly, and when she glanced at him he could swear she was afraid of him. Where had that come from?
“I just want to make sure you’re safe, is all.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just tired and have a bad headache, from the wine,” she explained, standing and walking rapidly toward the door. When they got outside, she took several deep breaths and seemed to steady. He wasn’t quite sure what to do or say.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding more normal, though she examined the narrow street, up and down, as if she were expecting someone. “I guess I was a bit thrown by that episode. I’m not great with confrontation. It was good of you to step in, though.”
“It’s my job.”
“Not here.”
“Doesn’t matter where I am. It’s still my job.”
She focused on his face, and studied him for a few long moments with those perfect green eyes.
He knew he wanted her. He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but he was going to make it happen.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you back?”
She paused, but then nodded.”
I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”
It hit him then that she didn’t want him knowing where she lived. She was afraid of him—or afraid of men, in general.
There were only a few good reasons women had for this kind of reaction, and thinking about any of them made Jarod’s blood boil. The lady had some serious fear, and he knew he had to find out why. Then he’d make sure she had no reason to fear anything, least of all him.
“Fair enough, then,” he said, knowing when to give in and when not to. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for that appointment, and you can let me know more of what’s expected of me?”
“Yes. Thanks,” she said, though he wasn’t exactly sure what she was thanking him for. He just nodded.
She walked off without another word, and he veered off in the direction of his hotel—at first.
Within a minute he looped back, caught sight of that hot-pink shirt and didn’t take his eyes away from her the rest of the way. He kept his distance and watched. She checked her surroundings constantly, as if the devil himself were after her.
Jarod stayed with her until he saw her turn into a building. He waited, saw a light come on, didn’t see her come out. Walking up closer, he noted the address, the spot, and committed it to memory. Only then did he walk back through the dark street to his own place, quietly planning to find out what had Lacey Graham so spooked.
3
JAROD SAT IN THE SUNLIGHT of the large hotel window, the city sprawled out below him while he perused the Net, making good use of the wireless connection that came with the room. He enjoyed touching base with law enforcement colleagues on various boards and Web sites, and he was taking an online course in further forensics study.
He didn’t particularly want to become a forensics expert. He was more interested in chasing down perps directly, rather than investigating the mess they left behind; still, he found the material interesting.
Mostly.
Today, no matter how intently his eyes traveled over the words on the screen, his mind kept returning to the image of Lacey’s green eyes. He loved her eyes, and the way she pushed her hands through her short blond hair every five minutes. She had hair like corn silk, soft-looking in spite of the blunt edges of the style she wore. He flexed his fingers unconsciously, thinking about touching it. The ring of his cell phone jostled him out of his fantasy, and he recognized the number as his captain’s.
“Hey, Cap.”
“Jarod. How are things in the big city?”
“Noisy. Busy. Damned good pizza, though.”
Tom chuckled. Jarod liked him. He was a good man, no-nonsense, and had as much tolerance for political bullshit as Jarod did.
“Thought you might be out somewhere with twenty half-naked women draped over you for this calendar thing,” Tom said lightly, razzing him. There would be no end to that when he got home.
“Nope, no women, just eleven other guys, unfortunately, except for the photographer, and she’s pretty tough.”
“Would have to be to deal with the likes of you.” Tom laughed again. “Anyway, I’m calling about Darren Hill.”
“What about him?”
“He jumped bail last night, thought you’d want to know.”
Jarod cursed. Darren Hill was the worst of the worst, selling everything he could get his hands on to pay for drugs, including his six-year-old daughter. Jarod had intervened, and the girl had escaped serious harm in the nick of time, taken away and placed in a foster home. No one knew if she’d been born on American soil or not, but Hill claimed she was. Meanwhile, the mother was long gone. Poor kid. Jarod still felt a twist when he thought about it. Still, she had a real chance now, placed with a good f
amily in Houston. Hopefully they would keep her permanently.
Jarod had a feeling they needed to be looking for the mother’s body, unfortunately. Hill was scum.
“How the hell did he even make bail?”
“It was set high, but his drug-dealing friends must have come up with the cash.”
“Great. That’s just great.” Jarod narrowed his eyes, peering out through the window. “Any idea which way he headed?”
“Pretty sure he wouldn’t go back over the border—he wouldn’t take that chance. And he has a bone to pick with you taking away the kid. We wouldn’t want to ignore that.”
“Oh, yeah, he was a really devoted father.”
“It’s about the power and control. You know that. You damaged his rep. He might be looking for revenge.”
“Yeah, well, he can bring it on. I’ll get the first flight back.”
“No, you’re out there until this calendar thing is finished—brass made no bones about that.”
“Dammit, Tom, if Hill’s looking for me, the easiest way for me to bring him in is to be there, not here.”
“It’s being handled, Jarod. Stay there, and enjoy being out of the line of fire for a bit.”
“Tom—”
“Jarod, you know I don’t care about this PR crap any more than you do, but the brass does care and you’re supposed to be doing this. So do it.”
“Aren’t you the brass?”
“You know what I mean. We’ll find Darren. The place does tend to run without you, you know,” Tom added jokingly, and Jarod blew out a breath.
“Fine. Keep me up-to-date on what’s happening?”
“You bet. By the way, you put any more thought toward taking that captain’s position that’s opening up? You’re the perfect candidate. You’d have no problem getting through the interviews. I’d be happy to write you a rec.”
Something nasty squeezed at Jarod’s temples, and he told Tom the truth. “All due respect, and believe me, being asked to fill your shoes is an honor, but I don’t know if I want that, Tom. I like where I am now. Too much paperwork comes with being a captain.”
