Capturing the Cop

For someone placing a personal ad, the man standing in front of her wasn’t keen on the idea.

He came across like a man sitting in a dentist’s chair, waiting for a tooth extraction. But whatever his problem, she had an ad to sell. “We have three retrieval services, depending on what type of response you’d like,” she said, warming to her sales pitch. She and Chrissy had held a contest to see who could say it faster. “You can place a voice-mail ad, meaning the person calls a special phone number and presses your mailbox number. You receive a code to retrieve the messages. For an additional fee, we can set up a temporary e-mail account for you, meaning we act as your firewall. You can also go with the traditional snail-mail option, which—”

“Which one gets this over with the fastest?”

His blunt query had Olivia losing her train of thought and flubbing her sales spiel. “The phone messages,” she said as she recovered. “The people interested in you dial a nine-hundred number—you retrieve the messages using an eight-hundred number.”

“Fine,” he said with a curt nod that caused a lock of blond hair to fall into his face. “That’s what I want for the shortest period you offer.”

“One week.”

He didn’t smile. “Perfect.”

She pushed the contract under the glass. “I’ll need your contact information. If you could please fill this out…”

As he put pen to paper, Olivia couldn’t help but watch him, observing the way his muscles flexed even when he did something so simple as write. He’d barely finished printing his first name in the required block letters when he glanced up at her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, the words escaping her lips before she could even think to stop them. “Why does a gorgeous man like you need to place an ad?”

His blond eyebrows arched. “For the same reason a grown-up woman like you dresses like a Catholic schoolgirl.”

“Fashion,” Olivia retorted.

His unexpectedly wide smile undid her. It crooked into two dimples, lighting up his whole face. She gripped the countertop.

“No, the obvious,” he said. “Because like everyone else who places these personal ads, I need a date. Just one, but a date nevertheless.”

As his gaze remained locked with Olivia’s, she inwardly melted. All those romance clichés fit. An invisible string tugged her insides and her toes curled. Blood drummed in her ears. The man had turned her into molten jelly with a mere glance. Made her feel wanton with only his simple, sexy manner.

At that moment, Olivia’s inner bad girl roared to life and took over. She wanted to experience life to the fullest, right? This man would make her feel full, that was for certain. Many women had no doubt propositioned this beautiful, sexy man, but the prodigal daughter didn’t care. He only needed one date.

She only needed one night.

She could atone for her many sins later.

Olivia turned on her best smile. Her baby blue-eyes with the outer rim of dark blue—the blue eyes that every Jacobsen family member shared—were her strongest feature, and she refused to blink. The husky voice leaving her lips sounded unfamiliar.

“So if you only need one date,” Olivia said, “why not save your money and just ask me?”

Chapter Two

Had he heard her correctly? Had she just propositioned him? Garrett surveyed the woman behind the counter. She’d finally blinked and glanced away, but Garrett knew his excellent hearing hadn’t failed him. The girl who was doing her best to imitate the cover of Britney Spears’s first album had just made a pass at him.

Was there a woman in the world who wouldn’t?

He continued to study her as she placed some pens in a holder. Admittedly, she seemed different from the others who had hit on him. Very classic. Very traditional. She wore a short-sleeved pink sweater and had pearls around her neck. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders. Her headband matched the pleated skirt he could see because of his height. She had high cheekbones, a straight nose that tweaked up slightly at the tip, and her eyes…those blue orbs were hypnotic. He’d noticed them the moment he’d walked into the office.

An urge stirred in his groin. Did he really want to reach through the glass and feel how silky those dark locks were?

She definitely wasn’t unattractive. Far from it.

But she had boldly propositioned him, and after this past year, Garrett was sick and tired of aggressive women. He couldn’t wait until December, when, he hoped, everyone would throw this year’s charity calendar away and instead ogle the people in the new one.

He couldn’t go back to the station without arranging for a date. One date, to be precise. And if he took her up on her offer, he could have that one date without having to place a silly ad, or ever having some silly ad traced back to him.

He also wouldn’t have to listen to any phone messages. He wouldn’t have to call anyone up and make idle conversation he didn’t have time for. Yes, the longer he considered asking out the counter girl, the more the idea appealed. Even better—since she was a counter girl, she certainly wouldn’t have the upper-crust St. Louis snobbery of his ex-wife.

Having had women throw themselves at him, he’d long ago learned to turn his sexuality down. Now he let every ounce of his male magnetism loose. He leaned on the counter, bringing himself down to her five-eight height and as close to the Plexiglas as he could without causing condensation to form. “You mean you’re offering to go out with me and be my one date? You don’t even know what it’s for.”

He was glad to see that she blushed, a delightful pink that spread across her face and almost matched her sweater. Miss Proposition wasn’t as sure of herself as she had seemed. His cop’s instinct noticed the incongruity and found it intriguing.

“I—” she began.

He didn’t give her the chance to back down. “Do you fit my criteria?” He reached under the divider and withdrew the crumpled scrap of notebook paper. “Let’s see, shall we? You appear to be between twenty-six and thirty-four.”

“I’m thirty,” the girl said.

She fidgeted with her fingers, and he noticed that she’d recently had a manicure.

“Thirty, huh?” He would have guessed she was much younger. Maybe because she didn’t have on much makeup and wore that infernal headband. Then again, unlike his ex-wife, adornments for her weren’t essential; she had a natural beauty, something internal, which he now knew Brenda had always lacked. He shifted his weight.

“Single or divorced?”

She coughed as she said, “Single.”

“Look at me.” She complied, and this time he decided her eyes were the most interesting shade of baby blue, even lighter than his. He tamped down immediate desire. Sure, he’d been celibate since his divorce, but his mission wasn’t about desiring the counter girl. He had a quest to complete. The sooner he got the guys off his back, the sooner his life would return to normal.

“So, how are you with erratic work shifts, kids, quiet family life and cats?”

Her chin lifted defiantly. “I work full-time, my sister has two kids and my brother’s baby is six months old. My family life is quiet and I had a seal-point Siamese when I was growing up.”

“Then you’ll be perfect.” Even he heard the hoarse undertone in his voice.

“Yes.”

Her chin trembled briefly, and the movement fascinated Garrett. Unlike the other women who’d propositioned him, she acted almost regretful. She was also cute and quaint, yet still downright sexy. Definitely kissable.

The paradox interested him. With her sweater and pearls she was a walking advertisement for prim and proper.

Somehow he couldn’t picture the woman in front of him even exposing her navel in public the way some women did. Yet despite her classic clothes and reserved demeanor, she was doing something to his libido.

The way her lips parted like that. Without even recognizing she was making the movement, her tongue flicked out and wet her bottom lip. Garrett groaned inwardly. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to break down the glass barrier between them and plant his lips on hers.

Maybe Cliff was correct. Maybe Garrett should get back in the saddle.

He pushed the Mound City Monitor classified ad form back toward her, the gesture providing his body some much-needed respite. “Since I need a date and you’ve offered, I guess I won’t be using this.” She blinked, and this time her long dark brown eyelashes held him captive.

“You won’t?”

He gave her his best bad-boy grin. “No. I’ll be using your phone number, instead.”

“Oh.”

Her face pinkened again, and Garrett’s body ignored his brain and went into overdrive. He’d never thought pink a sexy color, but darn if he wasn’t curious about what her body would be like naked and all pink from lovemaking, her flesh hot with the sheen of two bodies becoming one.

He inhaled a deep breath, trying to regain some control. Making love wasn’t part of his game plan. He didn’t need a woman in his life, or a one-night stand, no matter how sexy the counter girl was and no matter how long he’d been without. Cliff could keep his saddles-are-for-riding analogy. One date would get Garrett’s life in order and the guys on the force off his back. He gathered his wits.

“I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. I’m Garrett.” He put his hand into the slot.

“Olivia,” she said. She reached forward and touched his.

The moment their hands connected, a spark shocked him. Wow. Static in July? Her wide, beautiful blue eyes told him that she’d felt the spark, too. He dropped her hand and placed his in the back pocket of his jeans, the safest spot he could think of for the moment.

“Well, Olivia, as pleasant as this has been, I have to get home and feed my cat. He gets cantankerous when he’s not fed on time. May I call you so we can arrange our date?”

“Yes.” Her voice gave an enchanting squeak and she nodded. She grabbed a blank piece of paper, took a pen and scribbled down her first name and two phone numbers. She held the sheet out to him. “Home and cell,” she offered.

“Great. I’ll call you soon,” Garrett said.

“Okay,” she said, now seeming shell-shocked at the turn of events.

He hummed as he exited the Monitor office, deliberately leaving the handwritten classified ad behind on the counter.

OLIVIA WATCHED as Garrett moved out of sight. Had he really just asked her out? Had she really propositioned him? Surely this had been some daydream. Some fantasy.

Man, she hadn’t even closed her eyes. Would she look like an idiot if she pinched herself?

“So how did it go? Sorry I took so long. I stopped and got some candy. Did he place an ad?”

Chrissy’s return reminded Olivia that Garrett’s presence hadn’t been a daydream, and she snaked her hand forward and snatched the piece of paper that Garrett had left behind. She crumpled it and the ad form and dropped both into the wastebasket before Chrissy saw anything.

Olivia put on her best wistful expression as Chrissy returned to the counter. “He changed his mind.”

“Oh.” Chrissy sighed wistfully. “The good ones always do.” She dug into the file cabinet and brought out a calendar. “So what did he want?”

“Just some information,” Olivia answered vaguely. Her religious parents had raised her not to lie, but her PR training let her stretch the truth a little. He had wanted information. Her phone number.

The bad girl could do penance later.

“That’s too bad,” Chrissy said. “I bet he’d make some woman pretty happy. I mean, look at him.”

Olivia glanced at the calendar. Now her PR training failed. There, in full-gloss color, one foot on a police-car bumper, stood her man.

He made Erik Estrada in his CHIPs heyday look like a nerd.

Garrett wore his dress uniform and a come-hither smile that could melt chocolate. He dangled handcuffs from his left hand.

“He’s the only one not showing any skin, but he doesn’t need to, does he?” Chrissy blew out a breath of air. “He’s Mr. August, so I can stare at him all next month. And you should see some of the other guys.” Chrissy flipped through the pages quickly. “I had to buy this calendar—after all, it was for charity.”

She held up the photo of another guy, this one a fire-fighter, bare-chested and wearing suspenders and his firefighting pants. “Twelve months of yum.”

Chrissy turned back to Mr. August—Garrett, Olivia thought, remembering his name. He’d be on display for thirty-one days next month.

“He was just as good in person,” Chrissy continued. “If I wasn’t married I’d let him cuff me anytime. Heck, I’d put 911 on speed-dial if he showed up when I called. Wouldn’t you?”

Olivia giggled, her laugh due to from the hysterical combination of having a date with the man and Chrissy’s silly behavior. “You’re funny.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chrissy said with a grin. “Some things don’t change.”

Olivia knew that her friend would never cheat and that her words were all for show. Still, Olivia thought, as she took a final glance at the calendar, Garrett sure did make you aspire to commit a crime. And she had a date with him. One date. One night. If this was what being a bad girl got you, maybe she should have signed up earlier.

Panic suddenly roared in as the full impact of her brash actions hit her. The man was sex personified, whereas she hadn’t seduced anyone. He was excitement; she was boring. Exactly what had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Three

“So, did you do it?”

In the middle of opening the refrigerator in the staff lounge the next morning, Garrett stopped. Cold air swirled around him as he checked his watch. He punctuated his words with a low whistle. “Impressive. You waited all of ten minutes before you jumped me.”

“What?” Cliff frowned. He leaned against the doorframe.

Garrett retrieved a bottle of cold water, then he shut the refrigerator door. “I said, I was impressed that you waited a full ten minutes to find me once my shift started.”

Cliff grinned, his guilt obvious and unabashed. “Yeah, well, I had to stop for coffee. The stuff here is not that good when Cletus brews it, and Tuesday’s always his day.”

Cliff saluted Garrett with his coffee mug and pried himself from the door frame. He walked over to a red vinyl chair and sat. “And you still haven’t answered my question. Did you place the ad?”

Garrett took his time walking to the table. He made a show of opening the plastic water bottle and taking a long sip. Then he set the bottle down, and just to stall for more time, he ran a finger under his collar. Since he was headed into the field, he wore casual clothes: a blue polo shirt and jeans.

Cliff narrowed his eyes, indicating his displeasure at Garrett’s stalling. “Should I get Ben and Mason in here? They’re dying for information, but I told them that you might be threatened by all of us interrogating you at once.”

“Like, that’s probable,” Garrett said, taking perverse pleasure in Cliff’s being antsy. “As if Ben and Mason would intimidate me. You just wanted to be able to spread the news yourself.”

“That, too,” Cliff admitted with a sly grin. “So?”

“So what?” Someone had left the front-page section of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on the table and Garrett pulled the newspaper toward him. The Cardinals had won again.

As for the deliberate delay, Garrett figured his best friend deserved some grief for his impertinence. That Garrett had lost a poker game and gotten himself into this situation didn’t matter; in life post-Brenda, Garrett was a man determined to control his own destiny as much as he could. And that meant making Cliff squirm. Call it part of the guy code.

“Even a few of us against one is intimidating to any man,” Cliff said lamely. “They were going to be here, but I stopped them.”

Garrett grinned, the image of the counter girl in her silly high-school outfit entering his head. He’d been thinking about her all night.

“But I’m not any man. I’m Garrett Krause, bachelor god. All women want me.”

Cliff practically spit out his sip of coffee he started laughing so hard. “Such ego. You’re a thirty-six-year-old has-been with only a cat to keep him warm at night. Now, did you place the personal ad or not?”

Garrett couldn’t resist. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, leaned forward and stared Cliff in the eye. “No,” he said.

Cliff’s reaction was textbook. In the midst of another drink, he muttered and sputtered. His hand shook, sending hot java over the edge of the cup and splattering onto the white table. “Great. Not only did you wimp out, but I could use a paper towel.”

“Napkins are over there next to the fridge.” Garrett gestured magnanimously with his left hand. False concern laced his voice. “You didn’t nail the floor, too, did you? Who knows how often they mop that.”

“No, I didn’t get the floor. I got me, instead. Not that you’d care about that. Tell me why we’re friends?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can tolerate each other?” Garrett quipped.

“Ha-ha,” Cliff said, but a smirk had crept over his face.

Garrett took a drink of water before holding out the bottle. “Do you need some?”

Cliff set the mug down and began to daub the half-dollar-sized dark spot that had formed on his T-shirt. He accepted the bottle. “Yeah, I need some, or I’ll be a leopard all day. That’ll make me seem real professional when we go question the victim’s neighbors.”

“So did he do it?”

Cliff’s jaw dropped as some of the other detectives crowded into the doorway. “I told you they weren’t going to wait.” He turned to the other officers. “What do you think he did?”

“I think he’s a chicken,” Pete said. At fifty-something, he’d been on the force for over thirty years and married equally as long.

“Even I know how to place a personal ad,” Mason said, moving his six-foot-seven frame into the room. He towered over the rest of the men. “Come on, Garrett. How difficult can it be to fill out a simple form? Hell, we fill out paperwork all day. You had to be good at it, or they wouldn’t have made you a detective. No one wants to read a cruddy report.”

Ben simply stared at Garrett speculatively. “I don’t think Garrett’s that stupid,” he said. “He made a bet. I’m sure he followed through somehow.”

Ben was only one year younger than Garrett, but being the youngest didn’t always mean slow to catch on, Garrett thought. No wonder Ben had advanced to detective early.

“So what’s up your sleeve?” Ben asked.

Garrett made a show of studying his bare arms. “I didn’t place the ad,” he said.

“You admit you didn’t!” Pete slapped his hands against his thighs. “We had a deal. Boy, you’ll pay for this one. My wife even agreed you’re lame.”

“Moira said that?” Mason asked, his attention on Pete.

“She did,” Pete said. “Although, I didn’t tell her about the bet. Just that you refuse to date anyone.”

Garrett felt his mouth crook upward. Pete’s wife sent the guys baked goods weekly. She was everyone’s sweetheart. She’d disapprove of the bet.

“Pete, you can tell Moira that I am not lame. The deal was a date. Well, I got that. I will go on one date.”

Cliff looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t place the ad. How?”

Garrett kept his face poker still. “The girl behind the counter asked me out.”

“You—” Mason stopped himself before the foul language he was about to utter spilled out. “You dog,” he said instead.

“That’s me,” Garrett said, grinning. “All I have to do is call her, go on one date and then everyone gets off my back and leaves me alone. Bet fulfilled.”

It was Ben who asked, “Is she cute?”

Garrett paused for a moment and then shrugged. The guys didn’t need to know that she’d appeared in several of Garrett’s dreams last night, forcing him to take a very cold shower this morning.

“The girl I met is fine,” Garrett replied, refusing to describe Olivia in any detail lest she become the subject of gossip. “Besides, it’s only one date. That was the deal.”

Four faces frowned their disappointment. “One date,” Cliff confirmed. “Yeah, that was the deal. Next time we’ll have a Legal Affairs guy sit in on our poker game to make sure the bet’s airtight.”

“You do that,” Garrett said. He retrieved his water bottle, capped it and arched it into the trashcan. “Now, don’t we all have work to do? Brainstorm the motives and possible suspects in the Sampson case or something?”

“The guy was missing two years before that dog found his bones. Five more minutes won’t matter. When’s your date?” Mason asked.

“I haven’t set it up yet,” Garrett admitted. “I’m supposed to call her.”

“Do you have her phone number?” This question came from Ben. “I’d like some verification. Not that I don’t trust you, but…”

“I don’t trust him,” Pete said. “We all know what happens to men who get cornered. Well? Do you have her number, Garrett?”

“Of course I do.” Garrett reached into his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper. He handed it to Pete. “Home and cell,” he said. “Her name’s Olivia.”

The men passed the paper around. Ben peered at it longest, then held it up. “This handwriting might be female.”

“It is,” Garrett said.

He reached for the slip, but Ben stepped back. Then Ben picked up the lounge phone and, before Garrett could stop him, dialed. He held out the receiver to the still-seated Garrett.

“It’s ringing,” Ben said.

SHE WAS LATE. Olivia drummed her fingers against the leather steering wheel of her Saab convertible. The clock on the dash read 9:05 a.m. Her two-hour weekly workout with her personal trainer had gone over, and she was running a half hour behind. She pulled up at a red light and frowned as a strange noise mingled with the music on her radio.

Her cell phone, resting in the cup holder, was ringing. None of her friends or family ever called her this early. Had they panicked at work already because she was always extremely punctual?

But when she picked up the phone, she didn’t recognize the 314 area code glowing on the caller ID display. She pressed talk. “Hello?”

“Is this Olivia?”

The deep baritone voice washing over her sounded oddly familiar, and she worked to place it. “Yes.”

There was a brief pause before the sexy voice spoke again. “Hi, Olivia, this is Garrett Krause. We met yesterday afternoon at the Monitor classifieds office. Remember?”

Oh, she remembered, all right! Butterflies took flight in Olivia’s stomach, and she ignored the car horn blaring behind her. A bad girl didn’t care that she was late for work, or that the stoplight telling her to go had turned green. A bad girl cared that the man who’d haunted her dreams last night was actually calling. Olivia had been betting he wouldn’t phone, and mentally preparing herself not to be too disappointed. But he had—and the next day, too!

“Garrett, hold on,” she said as she dug for the hands-free earpiece she had buried in her purse. She managed to find it and attach the cord to the phone at the precise moment the stoplight turned yellow. She stepped on the gas and waved her apologies to the irritated driver behind her, who was now sitting through another red light.

“Uh, hi,” Olivia said, adjusting the thick black cord as she pulled into the lane for the Forest Park Express-way.

His voice was warm and friendly. “Hi, yourself. How are you this morning?”

“Fine.” Inwardly she cringed at the lame answer. Come on, inner, bad girl. Don’t desert me now.

Another car honked at her, so Olivia put on her blinker and made a quick turn into a Washington University parking lot. Her concentration on driving shot, she idled her car across two spaces. Conversing while parked was safer. The convertible top was down, and a breeze played with the ends of her hair.

“I’m fine, too, even better now that I’m talking to you,” he said. Then he gave a little laugh, as if deliberately teasing her. There were murmurs in the background, as though a television was on. “So where are you?” he asked.