The Man Behind the Badge

‘Yes.’ She gathered up her belongings and decided she’d get her car keys out when she got to her car.

His face was perfectly calm but there was an acute-ness about the way he looked at her that made her wonder what he was thinking. Perhaps all policemen cultivated that impression of predatory patience. Waiting to see what might be revealed if they waited long enough. ‘Visiting family?’

‘Yes. No. Sort of.’ Her fingers tightened on her bag.

He raised his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth then shut it. He couldn’t possibly be interested in knowing this was her best friend’s last weekend in Melbourne before she returned to the far-flung reaches of North West Australia.

His curiosity was a policeman’s ingrained habit and she was like Pavlov’s dog. A steady stare from an imposing male wearing dark blue epaulettes and it seemed she was still ready to rush into explanations. Her father had trained her well.

Growing up, she’d tried to tell herself it was a sign of his affection that had made him grill her and her sister. But she’d slowly realised it was an uncanny ability to sniff out the tiniest hint of trouble or rebellion.

A fantastic ability in a policeman.

Utterly crushing in a distant, regimented father.

In the end, she’d realised he’d been determined to crush any tendency his daughters might have harboured towards behaving like normal teenagers. Christopher Morgan had been a man with places to go, in line for promotions. No time for messy family dramas and misbehaviour. No taint of gossip would touch him through his family.

She suddenly realised she’d been sitting in the sergeant’s office for far too long, staring back at him. She shot out of the chair. ‘Well, I won’t let you keep me.’

‘Won’t you?’ He stood more slowly, his eyes hooded, a faint smile on his mouth.

She felt the heat rush into her cheeks when she realised what she’d said. ‘I mean, I won’t keep you.’

He inclined his head. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

‘There’s no need. I can find my own way. Thank you, Sergeant.’

‘Tom.’ His fingers fastened around her arm.

She looked at him blankly, her mind consumed by his touch on the tender skin of her inner elbow.

‘My name is Tom.’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ She looked at him helplessly.

‘Say it, Kayla.’

She swallowed. The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. Almost as though he was tasting the syllables, trying out the feel of it in his mouth. At the L-sound, she’d been able to see the tip of his tongue touch the edge of his top teeth.

‘Say it,’ he repeated when she remained silent.

‘Tom.’ Her throat had difficulty making the sound and it came out raw and husky. She’d worked so hard not to even think of him by his name, and now he’d made her say it. She felt something akin to despair. Now he was real, now he was a man, not a uniform.

He nodded. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

He opened his office door and ushered her across to the exit with that gentle but inexorable hold. Her feet moved her along beside him, across the veranda, down the steps to the side of her car. His fingers slid lightly across her elbow joint and finally released her.

He waited while she fumbled in her bag to find her keys to unlock the door. Then he leaned forward to open it for her. ‘Drive carefully, Kayla. See you when you get back next week.’

Not if she saw him first. She slipped into the seat and managed to slide the key into the ignition.

‘Bye, S—’ She gulped the rest of the word when his eyes narrowed. ‘Goodbye, Tom.’

He towered in the opening, one hand on the roof and the other on the door, as though he might say something more. But in the end all he said was, ‘Bye, Kayla.’

He stepped back and shut the door gently.

As she stopped in the driveway to check the way was clear, she caught sight of him in her rear-vision mirror.

Thank goodness she drove an automatic car. It would just be the last straw to grind the gears or bunny-hop out onto the road under his watchful eye.

She didn’t quite know what to make of Tom Jamieson.

But one thing was certain: he was a serious handicap to her enjoyment of Dustin.

CHAPTER FOUR

FROM his position in the corridor just outside the hospital cafeteria, Tom watched Kayla through the glass window and listened with half an ear to his sister’s plans for the coming weekend. Kayla turned from the counter and threaded her way through the tables.

‘Tom!’

‘What?’ He looked down at his sister’s indignant features.

‘You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Mum’s still jet-lagged after travelling back from England on Tuesday and you’re concerned about her overdoing it at the barbecue on Saturday night,’ he said smugly and glanced back into the cafeteria as he spoke. Kayla had selected a seat by the window. ‘You’ve arranged for Dad to get the meat and everyone else to bring salads and sweets.’ He looked back at Charlotte, who gave him a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Am I right?’

‘Do you know how irritating it is when you can do that?’

‘What? Prove I’ve been listening?’

‘Mmm.’ She craned her neck to look into the cafeteria. Tom had an overwhelming urge to block her line of sight to Kayla. ‘What’s so interesting anyway?’

He was saved from answering by the piercing beep of Charlotte’s pager. ‘Damn. Got to run. See you on Saturday night, then.’

‘Sure thing.’

Thankful for the narrow escape, he pushed open the door and headed towards Kayla. A moment later, her head came up, eyes darting around the room as though she’d sensed imminent danger. No mistaking the dismay on her face as her gaze settled on him. He suppressed a sigh. Nothing had changed—he was a sucker for punishment. Continuing towards her, he set his mouth in a grim smile. Her instinctive intention to bolt was plain. He wondered for a moment if he’d get some early cutting practice for the weekend camp draft—perversely, the thought made his smile broaden. Kayla sank back in her chair—he could practically see each muscle relax as she realised that flight was not an option.

She’d managed to avoid him for a couple of days, once in the supermarket and the other time at the library. And she hadn’t returned the message he’d left her but that wasn’t a surprise because he’d made it clear the message was private, not official. Perhaps he’d have to resort to something official to get a response.

A roadworthy check, a breathalyser set up outside the hospital just for a chance to talk to her. She was reducing him to a sad state.

But not today.

He tightened his grip on the bag he carried. Today, he had a cast-iron reason to see her. And plenty of time, too, since he knew she’d only just started her lunch break.