One Good Man. Julie Miller

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ break the tension, but she didn’t even look at him.

      “I didn’t call the cops,” she whispered between breaths. “Why are you here?”

      In the shadows of his jumbled vision, he watched her prop herself up to a sitting position, then scoot away on her bottom until she leaned up against a desk. She dug her fingers into her right thigh and kneaded her leg through her jeans.

      Mitch curled his fingers into his palms, squelching the urge to help her. He had inflicted whatever pain she was suffering. He doubted she’d appreciate any attempt to touch her again, no matter how altruistic his intentions.

      Instead, he called upon his years of experience. This woman was a victim. Of his own carelessness, if nothing else. She might be frightened or confused. He gave her the space she needed to feel safe again, backing away even farther. He lowered his voice to its gentlest pitch and spoke quietly. “Are you Cassandra Maynard?”

      The commissioner had only supplied a name and address.

      “I don’t remember your name.” Her clipped response sounded like an accusation.

      He refused the bait and stayed calm. “Mitch Taylor.”

      Automatically, he reached for his breast pocket. He patted the empty space where the brass shield should be and glanced around quickly. Unable to see well for any distance, he apologized. “I lost my ID in our little tumble.”

      Her gaze filled with the same intensity she had trained on him earlier. “A badge doesn’t prove anything.”

      Her chest rose with a huge sigh before she sagged back against the sturdy oak desk. Physical distress seemed to finally be conquering her indomitable will. “I’m Casey Maynard.”

      Flattening one palm against the rug, she pushed herself upright and gingerly adjusted to a more comfortable position. Mitch wondered if the tight white lines bracketing the corners of her mouth were a trick of the illumination or a grimace of pain.

      “Do I need to call an ambulance?” he asked.

      “No. It’ll pass.” She breathed in deeply through her nose and released the air gently across the generous curve of her bottom lip.

      Hell. What was wrong with him? He was here as a cop, not a blind date, but he seemed to be going out of his way to notice her striking features, from the unusual shade of her French-braided hair to the delicate bone structure of her cheeks and pointed chin. Though delicate seemed an odd impression since she had almost bested him in their fight.

      “Why did you attack me?” he asked, forcing himself away from unprofessional concerns. “Who did you think I was?”

      Casey shook her head. “I get to ask questions first. How the hell did you get up to the house? What do you want?”

      The whole evening took on a surreal quality. Lights flashed on and off at regular intervals. An alarm blared in the background. They sat on a patterned Persian rug. The victim questioned the cop.

      Mitch needed his world back in order. He stood up and straightened his clothes, taking his time before answering her. “Police Commissioner James Reed called me this evening and asked me to check on your family and the house. He gave me his key to bypass the security gate. He said he was watching the property for a friend. He thought there might be some trouble.”

      “Uncle Jimmy always was a worrywart.”

      Uncle Jimmy?

      Casey twisted her body, grabbed the top of the desk and hauled herself to her feet. Bracing her weight against the solid oak top, she hobbled around the desk. Her full mouth narrowed into a grim line with each step. Had she dislocated something? Twisted her knee?

      In two steps, Mitch was at her side, cupping her elbow and waist and taking her weight into his hands.

      She stiffened when he pulled her against his side. “Don’t.”

      He’d never met such a stubborn woman. Mitch tightened his grip, but his voice was gentle. “I’m going to help you, no matter what, so shut up.”

      She didn’t exactly relax, but some of the tension eased from her. She inclined her head toward the swivel chair overturned on its side behind the desk. “I just need to sit down.”

      Though she continued to favor her right leg, he noticed how she carried her shoulders and chin with grace and determination. Mitch righted the chair and steadied it when she turned to sit. The crown of her hair brushed along his jaw, and the faint scent of vanilla filled his senses.

      She might pretend to be one tough cookie, but her ladylike femininity was hard to hide.

      “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

      If he expected to be rewarded with a smile or thank-you, he was destined for disappointment. She twisted the chair away from him and pulled out a sliding keyboard tray. The computer monitor on her desk blinked on, and she pulled up a series of screen commands. She selected one with her mouse, then clicked.

      The lights in the house flooded on, and stayed on. Just as abruptly, the alarm stopped.

      “There’s no problem here, Captain.”

      She raised her head and offered him a fake smile. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I don’t know where Uncle Jimmy gets his ideas. But tell him I appreciate his concern.”

      Mitch knew a goodbye when he heard one. This had turned into one hell of an evening. His skull throbbed with a headache. He’d ticked off an ungrateful woman who had every right to sue him. And he had a growing list of questions that no one wanted to answer.

      It would have required a better man to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “It’s been real fun getting to know you, too, Ms. Maynard. I’ll be sure to pass your regards along to Uncle Jimmy.”

      In the clear light, he easily spotted his badge on the carpet. He picked it up and clipped it to his pocket. He retrieved his gun from beneath a side table and snapped it into his holster. As he straightened, something else caught his attention.

      A brown stick protruded from beneath the corner of a black leather sofa. Is that what she’d hit him with?

      Keeping his back to her, Mitch used his foot to slide the piece of wood into view. A cane?

      His preformed image of Cassandra Maynard, pampered society princess whose elite circle of friends included the commissioner of police, shifted a notch. He’d driven into this ritzy Plaza neighborhood expecting to find people living the lifestyle his late wife had struggled so ruthlessly to attain.

      After the commissioner’s phone call, Mitch had fully expected to find Ms. Maynard preened and poised on her perch high above the mortals like himself who had to work for a living. She’d lie about whatever trouble had prompted the intrusion on private family business, and then politely send him on his way.

      She had the lie part down pat, and she sounded eager to be rid of him. But this wounded woman in the jeans and gray sweatshirt seemed more brittle than icy. And the disdain in her voice didn’t match the terror in her eyes.

      He glanced at the cane again. Richly polished walnut inlaid with a ring of brass at the handle, the item itself СКАЧАТЬ