LITMIR.BIZ

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worst night of her life. She’d tried to sleep, but all she’d done was replay the shooting over and over and over. The few times she’d managed to drift off, she’d jerked herself awake, dodging bullets. If she’d thought she’d have gotten any help, she would have called her dad, but even as desperate as she had been, she’d known better. He’d never thought she’d make it on the force.

      And maybe he’d been right, she thought as the microwave dinged and she pulled out her mug. What kind of officer let her partner get shot, point-blank?

      The doorbell sounded and Risa jumped, splashing hot coffee down the blue warm-up she’d put on after changing from her suit and going back to bed. Not nearly enough time had passed for Debra’s IA man to be here, so the damn reporters had to have returned. Risa cursed and brushed at the stain with a cup towel, then she gave up and tossed it to the countertop, the bell pealing again, this time with more insistence. She’d already told two of them she had nothing to say. Storming into the entry, she jerked the door open with harsh words on her lips.

      “Look, I already told you people I wasn’t saying anything.”

      A man stood on the front porch. She didn’t know who he was, but he was not a reporter or a cop. His suit was too expensive and there were no cameras behind him or vans in the driveway. There was a Porsche, however. Her eyes came back to his. They were the color of cold ashes and she shivered without thinking.

      “Risa Taylor?” His voice was deep and smooth, a direct contrast to the chill in his stare.

      “I’m Grady Wilson.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “A lieutenant with HPD Internal Affairs.”

      Risa’s stomach tightened, and she sucked in her breath. So much for her policewoman’s judgment. Score one for Debra.

      “May I come in?” he asked.

      “Of course.” She stepped aside and he brushed past her. He was tall, well over six feet, and he made her five-six height feel insignificant.

      “Please sit down.” She waved toward her living room. “Would you like some coffee? I just spilled half a pot down my pants, but I think there’s some left.”

      He made a wry face then lifted his right foot. His leather shoe—also expensive—was freshly spotted with something dark. “I’m wearing my caffeine today, too,” he replied. “But I’d like to have some to drink, if it’s not any trouble.”

      She nodded. “No problem. Give me a minute.”

      Back in her kitchen, Risa made fresh coffee, her nerves zinging. She couldn’t believe the guy had gotten here so quickly. He was obviously a fast worker…and a fast driver. Watching the first drips of coffee flow into the thermal pot, she tried to talk herself out of being anxious, but she failed.

      She put everything on a tray and returned to the living room, sitting down on the couch. “How do you take your coffee, Lieutenant?”

      He turned away from the photos hanging above her fireplace. “Black is fine, and frankly, I’d rather you call me Grady.”

      She filled a cup and held it out to him as he walked toward the sofa, his request surprising her. “Are you sure?” she asked skeptically.

      He smiled in a friendly way and took the coffee. “I always drink it black.”

      She shook her head. “I’m talking about the lieutenant part.”

      He sat down right beside her. His closeness made her feel uncomfortable, but if he realized it, he pretended he didn’t. Then again, she thought abruptly, maybe that was exactly why he’d sat where he did.

      “I may be in Internal Affairs, Officer Taylor, but I’m not immune to what the rank and file think about my division. I find it more helpful if we try not to get too stuffy during these kinds of investigations.”

      He took a swallow of coffee then looked at her over the mug, his strange gray eyes measuring her in a manner that left her even more apprehensive than his proximity. “If the laxity makes you ill at ease, feel free to use the title.”

      It did just that, but she wasn’t about to let him know.

      “Grady is fine,” she answered.

      “You were wounded.” He smoothly changed gears and nodded toward her bandage. “How do you feel today? Are you in any pain?”

      “I’m okay. I would have gone in but my boss wouldn’t let me.” She touched the patch briefly. “It’s nothing.”

      “But the loss of your partner isn’t.”

      Her eyes went to her hands, which were wrapped around her coffee mug. She’d scrubbed them for a long time last night, removing Luke’s blood. The red stains had washed off easily, too easily, considering what they represented.

      “Luke Rowling was a good cop.” She lifted her eyes once more to Wilson’s. “And a good man. I’ll miss him.”

      “Have you thought about talking to the department shrink? Leo Austen’s very professional and he knows his stuff.”

      “I’d assumed I’d be seeing him at some point during all this,” Risa answered. “He’s part of the package, isn’t he?”

      “‘The package’ varies with each situation, Officer. A lot of what happens next will depend on you.” He put his drink down on the table. “For example, you need to decide if you want to contact your union rep before we talk. That’s your option, you know.”

      “I’m not a member of the union.”

      His dark eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

      “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand,” she said in a dismissive way. “I’m a big girl.”

      He nodded slowly. “I understand, but sometimes it’s nice to have the support.” He tilted his head toward the fireplace and the photos. “How about your dad?”

      “How about him?”

      “Have you talked to him?”

      “Yes.”

      He waited for more, but she gave him nothing.

      “What about your friends?”

      “They were with me last night.”

      “What about the chief? I understand you’re pretty tight with her.”

      Her eyes jerked to his. “Catherine Tanner was one of my instructors at the Academy. We are friends, but you can leave that fact out of this equation, Lieutenant.”

      “I intend to,” he said steadily.

      He held her gaze for longer than was necessary, then he leaned back and put his arm across the top of the couch. His fingertips were an inch away from her shoulder and he seemed totally relaxed.

      “Tell me what happened, Risa. In your own words. At your own pace. I want to hear the whole story and I’ve got plenty of time.”

      IT WAS PAST FOUR by the time Risa stopped talking. She’d been tight-mouthed at first, especially since she’d explained everything over and over the night before, then his gray eyes had warmed and she’d relaxed. Relating the same story to Grady Wilson somehow felt different. For one thing, he was an excellent listener, and for another, he knew the right kind of questions to ask. She’d almost forgotten he was an IA guy—she’d felt as if she were talking to a friend instead.

      Which was probably a big mistake on her part.

      She looked at the man still sitting on her couch. At some point she’d risen from the cushions and walked to the other side of the room. He was in the same relaxed position.

      “Anything else?” he asked.

      “I think that’s it. I did everything by the book, but I know there’s a world of difference between sustained and exonerated.”

      If

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