Daddy With A Badge. Paula Riggs Detmer

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      “I need to get Dr. Fabrizio inside,” Rafe informed his partner curtly. “Make sure that rubbernecking cabby’s not thinking about calling out 911 on us, then get the damn groceries.”

      “Yes sir.” Gresham shifted his gaze to her, then asked politely, “Ma’am, are you square with the driver?” His voice was Eastern, the diction perfect.

      “Unfortunately, yes, the jerk.” She drew back to glare at the cab driver who was leaning forward, staring white-faced through the passenger’s window. “Took my tip, then refused to move his fat…self to help me.”

      Rafe’s gaze flicked toward the cab. “Might be a good idea to rattle his chain a little, make him rethink the way he treats his paying passengers.”

      “Be a pleasure,” Gresham said, his grin flashing white again before he turned away. The wind blew his coat back, revealing a gun in a holster hugging his side.

      “Are you sure he’s old enough to carry a gun?” she muttered, feeling more ancient by the moment.

      “He’s old enough.” Rafe tightened his grip and helped her up the two short steps to the brick walk.

      Grateful for his support, she concentrated on sidestepping the puddles formed by the walk’s uneven surface. Water from the gutter squished in her sodden shoes, and her last pair of panty hose were now spattered with mud. To add insult to injury her mashed toes hurt like the very dickens, making her limp.

      “What’s wrong?” he demanded after only a few steps.

      “I was attacked by a can of tomato juice,” she shot back impatiently.

      “Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

      “Because it’s silly and—” Her voice ended in a gasp as she was suddenly swept off her feet and into his arms.

      “Anyone ever tell you you’re supposed to take care of yourself when you’re pregnant?” he grated close to her ear.

      Only everyone from her father and her doctor, Luke Jarrod, all the way down to Bruno of automotive repair fame, she thought peevishly. “I am doing my very best, I assure you,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.

      Behind her, she heard the cab roar away, leaving more foul air behind. Though it wasn’t quite six-thirty, the gloom had caused the streetlights to wink on. The rain was coming down harder, now, driven sideways by the wind.

      “Is your daughter home?” he asked as they neared the small porch with its rose-covered trellis.

      “No, Lys is…” She stopped abruptly and narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “How did you know I have a daughter?”

      “It was in the file,” he said as he climbed the three steps to the porch.

      “What file?”

      “Later.” As he swung her around, her sleeve brushed one of the lavender roses climbing the terraces, and she caught a whiff of its perfume. Roses in the rain, her favorite scent.

      “Where’s your house key?”

      “In my briefcase. If you’ll just put me down, I’ll—”

      “Gresham, get your butt over here and unlock the damned door!”

      She winced. What did he have to be so angry about? She was the one whose life was imploding. Reminding herself that she was a responsible, mature adult and not an hysterical six-year-old, she drew back her head and treated him to her coolest shrink look. “Wouldn’t it be more sensible if you just put me down and let me unlock the damned door?”

      “Probably.” He flicked her an impatient glance. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re still shivering.”

      She hadn’t actually, but she noticed now. Noticed, too, that her head was splitting. Even more annoying for a woman who prided herself on her coping skills, it was becoming a struggle to keep her mind from wandering off on odd little side trips. Like remembering the last time she was smashed up against that muscular chest.

      They’d both been naked and…

      Oh God, don’t think about that now, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. It had taken years—years—before she stopped remembering every touch, every kiss, every fevered word they’d spoken to each other in the heat of passion.

      “Sorry, had to get the rest of the oranges,” Gresham said as he vaulted up the steps. “Sneaky little suckers rolled halfway down the block.”

      Remembering the sodden bags, she started to ask him how he’d managed when she saw the dark blue tote bag slung over a shoulder that wasn’t nearly as broad as Rafe’s. A stalk of celery protruded through the open zipper. Grateful for the distraction, Danni burst out laughing, then winced as pain crashed through her skull.

      Rafe jerked his attention to her face. He’d spent time recently in the sun and the same rays that had burned his tan to a golden bronze had bleached his brows to a tawny hue. “What’s wrong now?” he demanded impatiently.

      “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She sighed. “Even I don’t want to know all the things that are wrong in my life at the moment.”

      His mouth softened, and time seemed to spin backward to the innocent days when she had run to him with all her problems, confident he would make everything better. “Put your head on my shoulder, Daniela,” he commanded in that oddly hoarse voice.

      “No, I’m fine.” But suddenly her eyes were stinging.

      “You always were part mule,” he grated.

      “Like you weren’t,” she muttered, but suddenly her cheek was resting against his shoulder and her eyes were drifting closed. Just for a minute, she told herself firmly. Until her head stopped clanging.

      Vaguely, she was aware of Gresham unlocking the door. She heard the faint creak of the hinges as he entered. She frowned when Rafe didn’t immediately follow. “If you’re waiting for a polite invitation, consider it extended,” she murmured in a voice that seemed oddly slurred.

      “Shut up,” he ordered brusquely.

      Before she could answer, his companion returned. “It’s clear.”

      She blinked. “What’s clear?”

      “Just checking your house for intruders, ma’am,” Gresham said, smiling at her. “All part of the service.”

      Narrowing his gaze, Rafe shot his partner an impatient look. “You want to make sure you got all those canned goods?”

      Gresham’s boyish smile faded. “Yes sir.”

      As Rafe carried her inside with the same loose-jointed stride that could cover twice as much ground as her short legs, Danni roused herself to lift her head. “Okay, we’re inside now. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

      He looked down at her. “To ask you a few questions.”

      “Questions about what?” СКАЧАТЬ