away in a matter of seconds. Add a set of tight, trim curves and world-class legs, showcased by her knee-length skirt, and he was ready to let her take out his other taillight if it meant he got to look at her a little longer.
But he wasn’t about to let her off scot-free.
“You might have seen me if you weren’t peeling around the corner like Jeff Gordon,”
he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Since you were backing out, technically I had the right of way, Cochise.”
Just like that, he’d been toast. So when she gave him her phone number, supposedly to exchange insurance information, he knew he was going to use it to ask her to dinner. And even when he was trying to convince himselfthat she was too young, too wide-eyed and idealistic for a cynical bastard like himself, every male instinct was firing on all cylinders, demanding he grab hold and never let go.
Instincts that roared to life again, things he had no business feeling given their history and the grisly circumstances that had brought her crashing back into his life tonight.
He and Petersen had briefly stopped at the crime scene to take a look before going to the witness’s trailer. They both wanted to get the girl’s statement while everything was still fresh and raw in her mind. The longer she had to think about it, the more the memories would fuzz as her brain started to fill in missing pieces until she forgot things that were there and started believing things that weren’t.
The patrolmen had been short on details—like the witness’s name—when they called it in. It had never occurred to him that the “woman identifying herself as the girl’s advocate” would be Megan.
He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and deeply inhaled the cold night air, trying to calm the blood rushing through his veins. Adrenaline made him jumpy. Always did when he was called to a scene. Seeing Megan had kicked it into overdrive, along with a whole host of other things he was unprepared to deal with right now. They had a dead woman, tortured, raped, and killed. This was no time to deal with the need that twisted him in knots every time he so much as thought of Megan.
Forget actually getting close enough to touch her soft skin, smell her flowery musk scent. One look at her—pink lips pressed tight, stubborn chin pointed in the air as she’dmouthed off to Detective Petersen—and he was practically shaking with the need to pull her into his arms. Because under all that bravado, he knew there was an ocean of pain, thtening to consume her. She’d fought its pull for the last three years.
And now it had gotten even worse.
“Good news, Cole. Flynn’s going to get it.”
His former partner had called Cole. Under normal circumstances, Cole might have shared his sense of triumph, that rare satisfaction he got when he really nailed the bad guys. No plea bargains, no deals cut, no endless taxpayer dollars spent keeping a worthless turd alive on death row while he filed appeal after appeal.
But he couldn’t shake thoughts of Megan and what this must be doing to her. He’d brushed it aside, told himself her grief was collateral damage, nothing he could help or prevent.
Seeing her tonight had brought it back into razor-sharp focus.
Gravel crunched behind him. “Is her involvement going to be a problem for you?” As usual, his partner cut straight to the quick. Cole turned to face Petersen. The streetlights bounced off her sculpted features and light blond hair.
“Of course not,” Cole replied. He could feel her studying him, and he shoved all thoughts of Megan aside and schooled his face to reveal nothing. Petersen had worked vice for years before moving to homicide, and she could read almost anyone like a book. Her skill was invaluable, but he didn’t want her using it on him.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Petersen’s phone rang.
“Crap, it’s Karen. I need to take this.”
Saved by the lesbian.
Petersen had married her partner, Karen, a little
But he wasn’t about to let her off scot-free.
“You might have seen me if you weren’t peeling around the corner like Jeff Gordon,”
he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Since you were backing out, technically I had the right of way, Cochise.”
Just like that, he’d been toast. So when she gave him her phone number, supposedly to exchange insurance information, he knew he was going to use it to ask her to dinner. And even when he was trying to convince himselfthat she was too young, too wide-eyed and idealistic for a cynical bastard like himself, every male instinct was firing on all cylinders, demanding he grab hold and never let go.
Instincts that roared to life again, things he had no business feeling given their history and the grisly circumstances that had brought her crashing back into his life tonight.
He and Petersen had briefly stopped at the crime scene to take a look before going to the witness’s trailer. They both wanted to get the girl’s statement while everything was still fresh and raw in her mind. The longer she had to think about it, the more the memories would fuzz as her brain started to fill in missing pieces until she forgot things that were there and started believing things that weren’t.
The patrolmen had been short on details—like the witness’s name—when they called it in. It had never occurred to him that the “woman identifying herself as the girl’s advocate” would be Megan.
He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and deeply inhaled the cold night air, trying to calm the blood rushing through his veins. Adrenaline made him jumpy. Always did when he was called to a scene. Seeing Megan had kicked it into overdrive, along with a whole host of other things he was unprepared to deal with right now. They had a dead woman, tortured, raped, and killed. This was no time to deal with the need that twisted him in knots every time he so much as thought of Megan.
Forget actually getting close enough to touch her soft skin, smell her flowery musk scent. One look at her—pink lips pressed tight, stubborn chin pointed in the air as she’dmouthed off to Detective Petersen—and he was practically shaking with the need to pull her into his arms. Because under all that bravado, he knew there was an ocean of pain, thtening to consume her. She’d fought its pull for the last three years.
And now it had gotten even worse.
“Good news, Cole. Flynn’s going to get it.”
His former partner had called Cole. Under normal circumstances, Cole might have shared his sense of triumph, that rare satisfaction he got when he really nailed the bad guys. No plea bargains, no deals cut, no endless taxpayer dollars spent keeping a worthless turd alive on death row while he filed appeal after appeal.
But he couldn’t shake thoughts of Megan and what this must be doing to her. He’d brushed it aside, told himself her grief was collateral damage, nothing he could help or prevent.
Seeing her tonight had brought it back into razor-sharp focus.
Gravel crunched behind him. “Is her involvement going to be a problem for you?” As usual, his partner cut straight to the quick. Cole turned to face Petersen. The streetlights bounced off her sculpted features and light blond hair.
“Of course not,” Cole replied. He could feel her studying him, and he shoved all thoughts of Megan aside and schooled his face to reveal nothing. Petersen had worked vice for years before moving to homicide, and she could read almost anyone like a book. Her skill was invaluable, but he didn’t want her using it on him.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Petersen’s phone rang.
“Crap, it’s Karen. I need to take this.”
Saved by the lesbian.
Petersen had married her partner, Karen, a little
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