One Good Man

Joe smiled innocently. “Most of the guys say you’re going stag to the big event. Ginny thinks you’ll take an old friend.”

“Save your cash, Joe. Isn’t that fourth baby due pretty soon? I figured you’d have more sense than to waste your money like that.”

“Impending daddyhood just makes me all the more romantic. I know you got a pretty lady stashed away somewhere.”

He dismissed Joe with a cajoling smile. “Back to work, Lieutenant.”

The two men stood, old friends at ease with each other’s various moods. Joe feigned hurt feelings. “What about the morning report?”

Mitch shooed him toward the door. “Let me return these calls on my desk. Then you can update me on our priority cases. And Joe…?”

Hendricks turned in the open doorway and waited expectantly.

“Step up patrols in Ms. Maynard’s neighborhood. But nobody goes into that house unless I give the okay.”

Joe touched a finger to one eyebrow and saluted. “Will do.”

“You’re a good man.”

“That’s what my wife says.”

Mitch smiled and dismissed him with an answering mock salute.

Poor Joe. He could kiss his money goodbye. Mitch had no intention of spoiling that banquet by sharing the evening with a woman who didn’t understand what that service award and promotion meant to him. Who couldn’t understand.

Women wanted attention. They demanded the spotlight. They expected to be spoiled. And if good ol’ Mitch Taylor, the Fourth Precinct’s resident old man, couldn’t give a woman what she thought she deserved, then she’d look elsewhere. Jackie had.

Mitch swallowed hard, sending the bitter taste in his mouth down to his stomach. His work had saved him from hell and given him a chance to be somebody. It had given him an identity. A power and an authority that he’d earned with blood and sweat and a lot of hard work.

But his work was a mighty cold companion when he lay in bed at night. It didn’t laugh with him over his mistakes, nor rally him when his faith faltered. It wouldn’t grow old with him.

Ignoring the debilitating influence of his own thoughts, Mitch unbuttoned the cuffs on his broadcloth shirt, rolled up the sleeves and sat down to do some of that work. He noticed the full mailbox on his computer screen and brought up the messages.

He scrolled through work-related contacts, but stopped when he came across an all too familiar name.

Captain Taylor

A convict named Emmett Raines escaped from Jefferson City. If you wish to alleviate your guilt from last night, you can tell me what KCPD knows about this.

Casey Maynard

“Guilt?” Mitch berated the computer screen. “She thinks I feel guilty?”

He ignored the fact that guilt had plagued him since learning he had used force against a handicapped assault victim, no matter how deadly her right hook might be. But her smoky eyes and proud little mouth had teased his dreams last night. Today Miss High-and-Mighty’s note aggravated that awareness into a full-blown distraction. He switched screens and typed in his response. “She’s got a hell of a nerve.”

The message he left was equally concise.

Look, princess, that kind of information is confidential. The state patrol and area enforcement officers will handle the case. Questions by vicarious thrill-seekers would only interfere. BTW, the number of forms I had to fill out last night more than makes up for any guilt I might have felt.

Your ever faithful civil servant,

Mitch Taylor

There. He clicked the send button and enjoyed a buoy of satisfaction that he had reminded her arrogant highness of her place in his life.

After that, Mitch dug into the paperwork on his desk. He worked steadily, ignoring the faint tickle at his nape. It was probably just his hormones working overtime. Casey Maynard had really gotten under his skin. He hadn’t quite felt sorry for her, but he’d felt for her.

Her grace. The delicate scent of her. That memorable shade of strawberry-gold hair. He might have found all of those things attractive. But she’d been so cold, so haughty.

So scared.

Mitch paused in his work. He leaned back and pressed his fist to his mouth. Is that what this was all about? She had needed him. For a few moments, anyway. When she’d been too weak to struggle. And later, when the blue-suits had walked in.

For a brief time, he’d gotten caught up in her need. He’d deluded himself into thinking she needed him.

He slammed his fist down on the desk, stirring papers and sloshing the dregs of his coffee. You’d think he’d learn. Hell. Jackie had needed him. She’d wanted someone solid and reliable to get her through those last days after her boyfriend had dumped her. A lot of people needed him because of his job. To protect and serve the citizens of the community. He was good at that.

But it could have been any decent guy. It could be any cop.

That’s why the princess was such an irritation. Wounded pride. He almost laughed. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel that in a long time. It was because of the bad day he’d been having, he rationalized. Casey Maynard had caught him at a weak moment.

Well, it wouldn’t happen again.

Mitch pulled out a handful of tissues and blotted at the coffee spots he had splashed across a memo. A blinking light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. An incoming message on his e-mail.

Great. Just when he’d talked himself out of messing with her.

Mitch,

What kind of forms are you talking about? Police reports? I think it would be best to draw as little attention to me as possible. Please leave my name out of anything you file.

Casey

How about that? She’d deigned to move to a first name basis. He turned to the keyboard and answered her.

Princess,

Of course police reports. I discharged my weapon and investigated what I thought was a suspicious situation. It’s standard procedure. And your name is already on the dotted line.

Mitch

He pressed the send button and waited, almost relishing the anticipation of what she’d say in response. She didn’t disappoint.

“I didn’t ask you to come last night.” Several moments passed, and then another message appeared.

“What if I talk to Jimmy for you? Maybe we can forget the whole thing.”

Just what kind of pull did she think she had? Every officer, no matter what his rank, had to file reports whenever he used his weapon, whether it be against a perp or a door lock. Why did she think he’d change the rules for her?