Kansas City Cop. Julie Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ her feet and her own system of organization that worked—for her. And, when she wasn’t afraid for her life like she was this morning, she was a friendly, quiet presence who made their patients feel welcome at the clinic. She wound her arm around Mike’s waist and squeezed him in a shy hug. “Thanks.” She turned toward Troy with her arms outstretched and leaned over to give him a hug, too. “Thank you.”

      Troy turned his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. “No sweat, Sunshine.”

      Either sensing Troy’s interest or feeling a similar longing herself, Frannie quickly pulled away and tipped her face to Mike. “Your eight o’clock appointment is here. He’s already changing in the locker room.”

      Chaz Kelly, a retired firefighter with a new knee, opened the door behind Frannie, startling her. “Hey, pretty lady. You weren’t at your desk to greet me this morning when I checked in.” Bald and blustery, his gaze darted over to Troy and Mike. “Morning, boys. Ready to put this fat old man through his paces?”

      Frannie’s body visibly contracted away from Chaz’s pat on her shoulder. Uh-huh. So much for feeling safe. She scooted closer to Troy’s chair and didn’t look any more comfortable there. “Your dad is here, too, Mike.”

      “Here?” It was rarely a good thing for the supervisor of KCPD’s SWAT teams to make a surprise visit. Mike’s concern instantly went to his stepmother and much younger half brother. “Is everything okay? Jillian? Will?”

      “He didn’t say. But I think it’s work related. He’s in uniform. There’s someone with him. I put them in your office. I’ll go start a pot of coffee.” Her hand went self-consciously to one tear-stained cheek. “And wash my face.”

      As Frannie left, Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, wondering if he’d missed a text or call during the basketball game. The lack of messages altered his concern into curiosity.

      Troy tapped his fist against Mike’s arm and pointed at the door. “I got this. Better not keep the captain waiting.” Troy spun his chair around toward the door on the far side of the half gym that led to the equipment room and treatment tables. “Come on, Chaz. Let’s get you on the treadmill and get you warmed up. Did you stick to that diet we gave you?”

      Their conversation faded as Mike hurried down the outer hallway to his office. “Dad?” Michael Cutler Sr. was on his feet to greet him with a handshake and a hug when Mike rounded the corner into his office. “Hey. Everything okay?”

      “Not to worry. I’m fine. The family’s fine.”

      Both standing at six-four, father and son looked each other in the eye as Mike pulled away. “What’s up?” His eyes widened when he saw the petite woman waiting behind his father. “Officer Galvan.”

      Her dark eyes shared his surprise. “Catnip...” Mike arched his brows at her stunned whisper. She blinked away the revelation of emotion. “It was you.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Gina Galvan was shorter than he remembered. Of course, his perspective was a little different, standing upright versus kneeling over her supine body. Without the hazards of gunfire or a medical emergency to focus on, Mike stole a few seconds to take in details about his visitor. She’d changed her hair. Instead of a long ponytail spilling over the snow, short, loose waves danced against the smooth line of her jaw. She wore a black sling over her right shoulder, keeping her arm immobile against her stomach. And he shouldn’t have noticed the athletic curves arcing beneath the narrow waist of her jeans. But he did.

      “The day I got shot—you were the runner who stopped to help us.” Her gaze shifted between Mike and his father. “You two look so much alike, I guess I convinced myself I’d hallucinated you.”

      Mike chuckled at her admission. Although there was a peppering of gray in his dad’s dark brown hair and Mike didn’t shave as closely as KCPD regulations required, it wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for his father. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s hallucination before. Fantasy, maybe, but...”

      She frowned as if she didn’t get the joke. His father looked away, embarrassed at his lame attempt at humor. Right. Leave the jokes to Troy.

      The proud tilt of her chin and intense study from her dark eyes warned him that Gina Galvan wasn’t inclined to laugh at much of anything. Which was a pity because he suddenly wondered what those pink lips would look like softened with a smile.

      Reel it in, Cutler. Clearly, this wasn’t a social call. And he already had enough on his plate without letting his errant hormones steer him into another misguided relationship.

      Starched and pressed and always in charge of the room, Michael Sr. turned to include them both. “I wasn’t sure you two would remember each other after a meeting like that. I guess there’s no need for introductions.”

      “No, sir.” Off-duty and out of uniform, she still talked like a cop.

      “Nah.” Mike invited them both to sit in the guest chairs in front of his desk before circling around to pull out his own chair. “How’s the recovery going?” Gina’s gaze drilled into his. He interpreted that as a Don’t ask. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”

      “No.”

      He’d suspected that was the case, or else a detective or investigator from the DA’s office would have been back to question him on his account of the incident. “Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give KCPD a better description of the shooter’s SUV or license plate. The whole back end was covered in frozen mud and slush.”

      She nodded. “He probably went straight to a car wash afterward so we couldn’t even look for a dirty vehicle.”

      “Probably. How’s your partner?”

      “Back on active duty.”

      “That’s good news.” Or not, judging by the scowl that darkened her expression. Even with a frown like that, Mike had a hard time calling Gina Galvan anything but pretty. High cheekbones. Full lips. Dark, sensuous eyes. Hair the color of dark-roast coffee. “You cut your hair since I saw you last.”

      “I was bleeding in the snow when you saw me last.” The subtle warmth of an accent made an intriguing contrast to the crisp snap of her words.

      “I like it—the hair, not the blood. I didn’t realize how wavy your hair was.”

      “Well, long hair is hardly practical with—” she gestured at her arm in the sling “—this. And I am not going to rely on my aunt or my sister to put my hair up every day.”

      “Sounds smart.”

      “Why are we talking about my hair?” The accent grew a little more pronounced as a hint of acid entered her tone. Was that anger? Frustration? A clear message that she wasn’t interested in his compliments or flirtations—idle or otherwise. She froze for a moment before inhaling a deep breath. Then, oddly, she crossed her fingers and brushed them against her lips and heart before settling her hand back into her lap. He thought it must be some kind of calming ritual because her posture relaxed a fraction and the tension left her voice. “I owe you for saving my life, Mr. Cutler. Thank you.”

      He’d heard the gunshots on his morning run through the neighborhood just a mile or so from the clinic. What else was he supposed to do besides try СКАЧАТЬ