LITMIR.BIZ

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a teenager caught scoping out a girl during a bio quiz, which was especially awkward since he was thirty-two and Delia was twenty-six. Luckily, none of the other officers had noticed his gawking. They’d turned to the far doorway where Captain Lou Polaski stood, his beefy arms crossed, his expression stern. But then the hard line of his mouth curled, and he started clapping, setting off another round of applause.

      “Well done, Lieutenant Peterson.”

      “Thanks, Captain.”

      With a nod, the post commander shifted to face the whole group.

      “Yesterday’s events offer the post some positive PR in a time of state belt-tightening and post closures,” he said. “But they should also serve as reminders that we always need to be prepared to react. Even while off duty.

      “We are first responders. Period.” Polaski swiped a hand through the air to emphasize the finality of that point. “The requirement for us to carry our weapons at all times is not just a suggestion. We must always be ready. Lives depend on it.”

      The flash of panic that Ben had experienced inside that bank lobby rose again like bile in his throat. His pulse thrummed now as it had then, while he’d frantically tried to recall whether or not he’d strapped on his ankle holster before running errands. If he’d forgotten just that once, the post might have had little to celebrate today.

      The squad room fell silent at the gravity of Polaski’s words. Was Ben the only one whose insides quaked at the thought of flags flying at half-mast? Who worried that his mistakes could have grave consequences and leave grave markers in their wake? These troopers put themselves in harm’s way every day. They did it for their fellow officers, who were like family, and they did it for people they’d never met. Yesterday’s incident only reminded them of what the stakes were. And how high.

      “So on that note, everybody get back to work.” Polaski pointed with his thumb to the steel door that led to the parking lot. “The state isn’t paying you to stand around, patting each other on the back.”

      Ben breathed a sigh of relief. The rodeo show was over. At least for now. The normal din of the squad room returned as troopers shrugged into their coats, grabbed their radios off chargers and started for the door. Some of the higher-ranking officers drifted down the hall, but Ben waited for the last few troopers to leave on patrol.

      Instead of rushing out to her car to be first on the road the way she usually did, Trooper Morgan took her time collecting her things. When the door closed behind the others, she turned back to him.

      “Lieutenant Peterson, you did a great job yesterday.”

      Ben stared at her. She’d probably felt pressured to say something kind earlier, but this was overkill.

      “It’s what we’re trained to do,” he managed over the awkwardness clogging his throat.

      “But you really did it.”

      “Uh...thanks.”

      The inflection in his last word made his comment sound like a question, and he recognized that it was one. Was that shock he’d heard in her voice? Or awe? It must have sounded strange to her as well because her eyes went wide. He should have looked away. It would have been the decent thing to do when she looked uncomfortable enough to fire through the floor for an escape route. But he couldn’t drag his gaze from her face. Porcelain skin without a freckle anywhere, a straight nose with one of those cute tipped-up ends that women paid good money for and a mouth as close to a perfect bow as any he’d ever seen.

      Why had he never noticed those things about her before? Weren’t details supposed to be the bread and butter of good police work? Maybe it was because she was behaving as suspiciously as a suspect with half a dozen crack cocaine rocks in her pocket. Or maybe because she was treating him so differently today. Like she admired him or something equally unbelievable.

      No matter the cause, it was ridiculous to be seeing Delia Morgan as if for the first time and, worse yet, this time he was noticing all the wrong things. As if to put an exclamation mark on that point, his gaze dipped to just below her silver badge where small breasts softened the boxy lines of her uniform. Would they be as perfect as he imagined? He averted his gaze as heat rushed to his face. He really was just a horny teenager, hiding behind a uniform and a fancy title.

      The trooper must have read his mind because she lifted her chin to stare him down for his unprofessional behavior, an expression that might have been more effective if she’d been standing on the desk instead of next to him where she had to look up. Way up. Nevertheless, she was again that tough young officer, too independent for anyone’s good, including her own.

      “Well, Trooper—” he paused, clearing his throat “—be safe out there. Remember, call for backup when you need it.”

      “I will...if I need it.”

      Ben chose to let the comment pass this time. She couldn’t take back what she’d said earlier, anyway. And if she really did see him differently now, then maybe she would finally listen to his teamwork message. Finally buy into it just a little. He could hope, couldn’t he?

      “Also, you should try to meet up with everybody after your shift. They’re going to the Driftwood instead of Casey’s Diner this time. I’m sure the others would like it if you came.”

      “Okay. Sure.”

      She didn’t look at him as she said it. He made a mental note to remember how she looked, acted when she was lying. She shoved open the door, allowing the frigid air to whoosh inside, and stepped outside. Either she or the wind pushed it closed behind her.

      For a few seconds, Ben could only study the exit and wonder what had just happened. Their strange conversation wasn’t the half of it. Twice, in a matter of minutes, he’d checked out a female trooper, something he’d better stop doing yesterday if he planned to keep his job. What was wrong with him?

      Maybe it was simply this unusual day, surreal in Groundhog Day proportions, that had made him so uncomfortably aware of her. Or maybe it was that Trooper Morgan had surprised him. Only a handful of people had ever been able to do that.

      In his experience, people stayed true to form, no matter what that form was. Law-abiding citizens kept following the rules, and convicted felons became repeat offenders with tragic regularity. He understood too well the collateral damage those habitual offenders left behind, not to mention the worry over apples that fell too close to their second-rate trees.

      Trooper Morgan either didn’t understand the rules of the game or refused to play along. Just when Ben had begun to wonder if he’d ever find a crack in her armor of fierce self-reliance, Delia had shown him a flicker of possibility.

      Somehow he had to help her become a real part of the Brighton Post team before Polaski decided that her independent streak was a bigger liability than her determination and commitment to justice were assets. But how could he convince someone like her that there was no I in team? Maybe he should become more involved in her work development, while maintaining strict professional boundaries, of course. He could do that with his eyes closed, right?

      As he entered his office, giving a self-satisfied nod, an image popped into his head, unbidden and unwelcome. Delia as he’d never seen her, her dark mass of hair flowing down her back, those huge eyes shining with humor and a sexy smile playing on those perfect, kissable lips. He blinked away the rest of the image because in it, besides that smile, she wore nothing at all.

      On second thought, he needed to forget about doing anything with his eyes closed. He’d better keep them wide-open, and if he had any sense, he would stretch a barrier of bright yellow crime-scene tape between him and a certain female trooper. Tape that said Police Line Do Not Cross.

      * * *

      DELIA GRIPPED THE steering wheel so hard that her hands cramped as she merged the patrol car onto Interstate 96, but even focusing on her aching fingers failed to clear her thoughts. She should have felt better in the familiar black interior of her car, where the rules made sense, where she was in control, but everything was out of whack now.

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