Belonging (3 page)

Exactly the way she looked. Even now, at
three in the afternoon, there wasn't a hair out of place, not a
wrinkle in her clothing, not even a shine on her delicately formed
nose. The perfect woman. For just a moment he was reminded of
Linda, whom he hadn't thought of in years.

But to his surprise Angie laughed. The sound
was pure and sweet, and so unlike the impression he'd just formed
in his mind that for a moment Matt was startled.

"That," she commented dryly, "is a question I
think I've heard from every department head. And the only answer I
can give is that the city's budget has been increased over and
above last year's already. Any further increase and I'm afraid
we'd have a tax revolt on our hands."

It was no more than he'd expected. But Matt
could live with the budget as it was, though he planned to do a
little juggling before it was submitted to the council in final
form. The dispatching system could stand to be further automated,
and he wanted to increase public awareness of crime prevention
through security surveys and neighborhood watch associations.

"Sam did his best to make the proposal
something the next chief could live with," she added.

The next chief? Her choice of words reminded
Matt once more that he wasn't the one she had wanted in the
position. "Sam seems to have done an excellent job," he remarked.
"Very well liked, I'd say." He shifted in his chair, aware of the
speculative blue eyes focused on his face. "It was thoughtful of
you to send me the budget proposal in the first place," he
continued. Just to throw her off balance, he gave her a slight
smile. "But no one likes having the bomb dropped on him at the last
minute."

There it was again—the feeling that this
conversation was double-edged. Angie's eyes narrowed. She wasn't
the type to avoid a confrontation—if that's what the two of them
were having. She had the distinct impression it was.

Raising fine arched brows, she leaned back in
her chair. "Is there something else on your mind?"

The directness of the question caught him off
guard, but Matt was growing accustomed to her cool, calm tone.
Somehow it only reinforced his impression that she had about as
much warmth in her veins as an iceberg at the North Pole. He
seriously doubted that Mayor Angie Hall had a loving bone in her
body!

Not that he'd known an overabundance of that
emotion himself, Matt thought dryly. He certainly hadn't while he
was growing up on Chicago's South Side. He suspected he'd known
even less while he was married to Linda. Still, although he'd grown
rather cynical over the years, he'd never thought of himself as
being incapable of loving. He wasn't sure who was worse—the woman
sitting primly in front of him or the old battle-ax who stood guard
outside her door.

"We can't all be top dog like you, Ms Mayor,"
he said mildly, crossing his long legs at the knee, he gave her
back stare for stare. "But politicians are generally known for
their ability to do quite well at double-talk."

"So I've heard." Her tone was flat. "You're
not looking at one, however."

Matt smiled.

Angie began to steam. She could almost
suspect that he knew

"Your point, Chief Richardson," she said
through tightly compressed lips. "You do have one?"

Chief Richardson. Somehow it didn't sound
nearly as satisfying coming from her lips as it had from Margie's.
Matt shrugged and looked up into his boss's snapping eyes. On one
plane of thought, he realized that it was getting harder for him to
think of this cold but lovely creature as the mayor of Westridge,
let alone his boss. On another, it occurred to him that, as a cop
who'd indulged in more than a few brawls and heartily enjoyed it,
there was nothing he liked better than a good fight. Good, but
fair.

He straightened abruptly. "I was at your
press conference this morning," he said evenly. "Needless to say,
I was there when a certain reporter started asking a few questions
about your new appointment to police chief."

There was no need to go on. Matt could see
from her expression that she understood him perfectly. Perfect. It
was a word that came to mind rather often with her around.

He could also see he had discomfited her, and
he derived a grim satisfaction from that.

"I see," Angie said slowly. And she did. Matt
Richardson wasn't the type of man who would like coming in second.
Until Blair Andrews had brought up the subject this morning, she
really hadn't planned to tell him. But after the press conference
she had realized it couldn't be avoided unless she wanted him to
learn about it in the morning edition of the Bulletin. And she'd
planned to let him know casually at the end of this meeting, to
lead into it as gently as she could. Much as she didn't think she
liked Matt Richardson as a person, she didn't want him to quit
after only one day on the job.

"I had no idea you were there this morning,"
she said finally. She mulled over her words a few seconds longer,
thinking grimly that once again Blair Andrews had succeeded in
making waves. "I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't feel it
had any bearing on the job. As for now.. .well, I just didn't have
the chance. But I can assure you, the fact that you weren't my
first choice has no reflection on your qualifications."

"I've no doubt about that," Matt intoned
quite pleasantly. "I am, however, rather curious about the man who
beat me out."

Angie's gaze sharpened. The expression on his
face was indeed curious, but there was also a steely demand
reflected in his eyes that set her on edge. She couldn't deny he'd
been polite to a fault from the moment he'd walked into her
office, but beneath the civil facade lurked a very tough, hard man.
And wasn't that why she hadn't chosen him in the first place? Angie
credited herself with being professional enough to put her personal
feelings aside and concentrate on choosing the best person for the
job. But the fact remained she really hadn't liked Matt Richardson
from the start, and she was beginning to understand why.

"Beat you out?" she repeated dryly. "That's
an odd way to put it when you're the one who got the job."

"I think you know what I mean, Ms,
Mayor."

This time there was no denying the harshness
of his tone. Angie had the strange sensation she was being
interrogated—and Matt Richardson would be a master at getting
whatever information he wanted. He'd spent years as a homicide
detective for the Chicago Police Department.

She tapped a pencil on her desk for a few
seconds. "All right," she said suddenly. "I wanted to hire an
undersheriff from Marion County in Oregon. The county seat there is
much the same size as Westridge, and like Westridge, it's
surrounded by a largely rural area. The budget there is on a par,
as well. We may be a growing center of business, but we have a
number of residents who have lived in the area for generations. I
felt we needed a certain—" she hesitated, searching for the right
word "—camaraderie with the people. An ability to relate to the
community."

Matt's mouth twisted. "And that's where I
fell out of the running."

Angie bit her lip. The explanation hadn't
come out quite the way she'd intended. She had sounded just a
little lofty, and she really hadn't meant to. It wasn't as if he
had fallen out of the running precisely. He'd just dropped one rung
down the ladder.

"You have to admit Westridge and Chicago are
worlds apart."

So he'd heard, and only that morning from
Margie. In a town like Westridge, big-time cops from Chicago just
didn't fit in. Matt opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to
speak, he heard her voice again.

"The fact remains," she was saying, "that I
wouldn't have hired you if I hadn't thought you had your nose to
the ground in Chicago."

While hers was turned up in the air here in
Washington? He recalled thinking something only that morning about
hobnobbing at the local service station. He'd seen Angela Hall
pull into the city lot driving a Mercedes this morning shortly
before her press conference. Yet here she was, sitting before him
in a suit that might well have come from a fashionable boutique on
Michigan Avenue and obviously living high on the hog, telling him
she was afraid he'd have a communication problem! He wasn't sure if
he was more angry or amused.

She folded her hands in front of her on the
desk and spoke crisply. "You have an impressive record, Chief
Richardson, one that you can be proud of." Angie mentally reviewed
his accomplishments. He hadn't earned the rank of lieutenant merely
walking a beat. He'd worked in homicide, internal affairs and the
organized crime division in Chicago. He'd also been appointed by
the superintendent to serve on several special task forces and he'd
been decorated several times.

But there was no denying she'd felt Matt
wasn't quite right for the job, which was why she had wanted to
hire Undersheriff Dennis Morgan. It was all water under the bridge,
however. Now it seemed she and Matthew Richardson were stuck with
each other since Dermis Morgan had ultimately decided working for a
woman wasn't his cup of tea.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Matt
voiced the question. "Your undersheriff turned you down, I take
it?"

Angie nodded.

"May I ask why?"

He could ask, but that didn't mean he would
receive. The sharp retort almost slipped out, but then she
suddenly remembered what he'd said about politicians and
double-talk.

"He decided he didn't want to work for a
woman," she told him shortly. "A problem you obviously don't
have."

"Obviously." His reply was bland, but Matt
had actually harbored a few reservations before he'd finally
accepted the offer. During his seventeen years on the force, he'd
never had a female partner and hadn't really wanted one, either.
Only the certainty that Angela Hall was just as capable of
handling her own job had convinced him that the sex of his boss
shouldn't influence his decision. He'd wanted a change; a change
was what he got. So he couldn't complain, could he?

At least she'd been honest in her reasoning.
He couldn't fault her for that. Yet there was something, some small
scrap of pride, that made him rise to his feet and say, "At any
rate, maybe I should be glad you decided I was better than
nothing."

The slight sarcasm in his tone wasn't lost on
her. Angie's eyes flashed upward. Her usual calm deserted her when
she snapped, "We obviously had to have a police chief."

His laugh grated on her further. "I'm
surprised you didn't take on the job yourself. You strike me as the
type of woman who can handle just about anything."

"You've decided not to tender your
resignation, then?" There was a definite coolness in her tone. Her
blue eyes followed him as he moved across the room toward the
doorway.

There he paused, one big hand resting
casually on the doorknob. "Oh, don't worry," he said with a shrug.
"I've never been one to scare easily. So like it or not, Ms Mayor,
you're stuck with me. And you can rest assured I won't disappoint
you." The smile directed over one broad shoulder might have been
beguiling under any other circumstances—and to any other woman.
"Who knows?" he added conversationally. "I may even buy a pickup
and a pair of cowboy boots."

Angie was too busy gritting her teeth to
think of a snappy comeback. Maybe he was right, she thought with
vexation, staring at the closed door a moment later. Maybe she
should have taken on the job of police chief.

She had the feeling Matthew Richardson wasn't
going to make life any easier for her; in fact, he had a rather
unpleasant effect on her. It reminded her of a pill stuck in her
throat—necessary, but not very easy to swallow.

***

It wasn't the best way to begin a working
relationship, but Angie had little time to think of Matt
Richardson during the next few days. There were the usual
day-to-day meetings and activities, a luncheon address at the
Women's Civic Club on Wednesday, the dedication of the new wing of
the children's section at the city library.

Most people would have said that serving as
mayor wouldn't leave much room for a personal life, but Angie was
very careful to squeeze the most mileage out of her workday. Over
the past three years she had learned to stand on her own two feet.
As a widow with two young daughters she'd had no other choice. From
the time she had started working outside the home, she did her best
to keep her career separate from her home life. Granted, there were
a few times when she was up doing paperwork at midnight, long after
Kim and Casey had been tucked into bed for the night. And
occasionally her presence was required for an evening appearance,
but she tried her best to keep them to a minimum, and for the most
part she succeeded.

But this particular Friday was not one to be
sidestepped, as she soon discovered.

It was just past one when Georgia opened the
door and came in, carrying a cup of tea and a sandwich. Angie's
assistant was in her forties and just this side of plump. The half
lenses she wore would have given her a studious look if she didn't
perpetually have them arched precariously on top of her head. They
were rarely in place at the end of her nose where they should have
been. Angie often thought with amusement that the glasses served a
better purpose keeping Georgia's wiry brown hair off her
forehead.

"Eat," the woman grunted in her familiar
gritty voice. She set the plate on the desktop, then remained where
she was, her arms crossed over her ample breasts, eyebrows raised
threateningly.

Angie hid a smile and pushed aside the
cumbersome budget printout she'd spent the morning poring over. The
age difference between herself and Georgia wasn't all that much,
yet the older woman treated her with a gruff but motherly
concern.