Courting the Cop (9 page)

Grimacing, Brody retreated from the living room and slipped into the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he contemplated what he’d discovered. Katherine kept a photo of her son. That spoke volumes. That said she still had a soft spot for him, that she’d help him, even if it meant getting into trouble herself. She was a misguided fool.

He marched back into the kitchen, telling himself to stifle his personal feelings. He had a job to do here. Katherine waved him to the small table and set a mug of coffee in front of him.

“Here, try one of these.” She pushed a plate of cookies toward him as she sat down opposite him.

“Homemade.” He nodded as he bit into a cookie. “These are great.”

Katherine blushed and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I enjoy baking.”

“I’ll bet your grandkids love your cookies.”

The smile faded from her lips. “I-I don’t have any grandchildren.” Lifting her mug, she hid her face from him for a moment.

“Sorry. I just assumed you had children.” He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for anything.

She gulped deeply. “No, I…I don’t.” Her hand lying on the table trembled slightly. “I mean, I have a son, but he and I are…estranged.” The words came out painfully.

“Sorry to hear that.”

She lifted tired, beaten eyes to him. “Are you close to your mother, Brody?”

It took him a moment to get over his surprise before he answered, “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s good,” she replied absentmindedly, one bony finger pushing a few crumbs together on the table. “I tried my best with my son, but somewhere along the line I must have gone wrong.” She let out a tiny sigh. “However, he is my son, and I can’t abandon him, even if he frightens me sometimes…”

Brody glanced up. “He frightens you?” She’d spoken in the current tense, as if Michael had recently frightened her. Which meant…

“Oh, I’m probably exaggerating.” Katherine backpedaled, looking nervous again. “I mean, I’ve given him all the money I have already. He can’t ask for more than that.”

So Michael had come to his mother demanding money. Probably to help cover the money he’d stolen from Fat Eddie. And she’d been scared into giving him whatever she had. Dammit, what a piece of shit. Why the hell hadn’t she told this to the police? If she had, they might have caught her no-good son by now. But of course, he was forgetting—she was a loyal mother, and she wasn’t going to sell her son to the cops, no matter what.

“If your son’s been threatening you to give him money, you should go to the police,” Brody said.

Katherine’s mug clattered as she almost dropped it. “I can’t have the police involved.” Her face was white as tears gathered in her eyes. “I don’t want to get him into trouble. He’s not a bad person.”

Yeah, right. How could she be so blind? But Katherine’s misguided loyalty might work in his favor. If Michael had been such a scumbag to her, and she was still willing to shield him, then maybe he’d come back to her when he’d run out of options. If Brody just hung around long enough, he was confident he’d finally catch his man.

“I’m sure he’s not, Mrs. O’Brien,” he lied through his teeth. “He’s lucky to have you for a mother.” He drained his mug and got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be on my way now.”

Katherine saw him to the door, her expression subdued and worried. He stepped out of Number Three and went directly to the yarn store. As he entered, the doorbell jingled through the empty shop.

“Abigail?” he called out as he moved toward the back room.

The macramé curtain parted as Abigail stepped into the main store. As soon as she saw him, she stopped, the welcoming smile disappearing from her face.

“Oh. It’s you.” Her nose went up in the air. That was because he hadn’t shown up. Was she pissed off because she’d missed him? He tucked that bit of information to the back of his brain for later.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to the Knit and Natter, but something came up.” He moved toward her, satisfaction bubbling up as he relived the past hour. “I carried Mrs. O’Brien’s groceries home for her and she invited me in for coffee.”

The frown disappeared from Abigail’s forehead. “Oh? What did you find out?”

“A lot. Michael’s already been in touch with her. He did a shakedown on her, the dirtbag.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “A shakedown? Was she hurt?”

“No, he wasn’t physically violent with her, though she’s nervous of him now. The thing is, she’s still loyal to him, won’t go to the police about him. He needs a lot of money to get out of trouble, more money than she has.”

“So, if he’s already taken all the money she has, there’s no reason for him to return, is there?” Her mouth drooped a little. “That means you don’t need to continue with this stakeout.”

Was it his imagination or did she seem disappointed at the prospect of not having him around on a regular basis? Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?

“No, it means that Michael knows he can count on her, and when he runs out of options he’ll have to go back to her. I’m certain he’ll come back, if I’m patient enough.”

“Right.”

He closed the distance between them in two strides and wrapped his arm around her waist. “You didn’t think you’re getting rid of me that quickly, did you?”

Her body was taut in his arm, quivering like a drawn bow. “Well, I need a more dependable barista, you know.”

The feel of her supple waist set his imagination on fire. “I’ll admit I’m not the most dependable barista around. How can I make it up to you?” He lowered his gaze to her mouth, making it clear how
he
wanted to make it up to her.

Her tongue darted out and swept over her lower lip, leaving it moist and more enticing than ever. Dammit, she knew exactly how to punish him. His arm was snug around her waist, and she seemed in no hurry to get it off her. He liked holding her this way, liked how her sleek body molded to his like a glove. She was wearing the deep-blue sweater that went so well with her eyes, the soft fabric all that stood between his fingers and the smooth skin of her waist.

“I should make you clean up some graffiti in the back alley,” she murmured, her voice not quite steady.

He narrowed his eyes at her as he recalled last Sunday. “So what’s the deal with you and that muscleman?”

“You mean Carlo?”

“You two seemed pretty pally together. Is he an old boyfriend of yours?”

Abigail spluttered with laughter. “If you mean exchanging a few sloppy kisses in junior high, then yes, I suppose he was, but that was just a phase. We’ve been friends for ages.” She slanted a cryptic look at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m friends with Gina too, you know.”

“Yeah, I noticed she shares your fifties fetish.”

“You two seemed to get on like a house on fire.”

At the pouty note in her voice, he clinched his arm more firmly around her. “She’s not the one setting my house on fire.” He moved his fingers in small circles at her waist, sliding the woolen fabric about as he leaned in closer.

The overhead light caught the flash of gratification in her eyes. “But she looked amazing in that wiggle skirt of hers.” Her voice hitched, and he knew she was attuned to the movement of his fingers.

“Wiggle skirt? Is that what you call it?”

“It’s a kind of obvious name, don’t you think? Once you see someone walk in one.”

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips tantalizingly over her cheek. The buttery smoothness of her skin sent tingles rushing through his bloodstream.

“Would you wear one for me?” Need hoarsened his voice as he whispered in her ear. “Would you wiggle around for me, Abigail?”

He couldn’t stop himself any longer, not with her body arched into his and her scent crowding out his brain. Dipping down, he caught her mouth with his, groaning with satisfaction as he finally got to kiss her. He heard her stifled gasp, and her arms came around his neck as she pulled him in and returned his kiss, her lips eager and sweet. His hand tightened on her waist while the other moved over her shoulder, tugging at the sweater so he could angle his head into the delicious curve at the base of her throat. God, he was crazy over the tender little nooks of her body, the mysterious secrets hiding in her dips and curves. He wanted so badly to strip her clothes off and explore each and every one of them, and he was sure even if he had all the time in the world he’d never grow tired of them.

Lust roiled in him as he walked her backward until they hit the store counter. He swept aside a few balls of yarn before hitching her up onto the wooden surface. Her legs parted automatically as he stepped up to her, her arms tightening around his neck. Oh yeah, he liked this position a lot. Their faces were almost level as he proceeded to rain kisses over her mouth and cheeks, his hands busy with her sweater.

Lifting the hem, he slipped his hands underneath, and his body hummed as he encountered the tight smoothness of her torso. Her fingers roved through his hair, pushing up the strands as she kissed him back, her tongue flitting with hers, teasing and moist. Excitement thrummed through him as he glided his hands up her ribcage and met the lower edges of her bra. Lace beneath his fingers, and soft, warm mounds, smooth cleavage, and a frantic heartbeat, making him slightly dizzy. He slipped his fingers slowly over her bra-covered breasts, relishing them and the little puffs of excitement she gasped into his mouth. Nipples hardened…along with his cock… This was getting out of control, and he never wanted it to stop.

The doorbell jingled, and it was like a bomb going off, exploding in the quiet store. Abigail squeaked and shoved him away. He staggered back, arms spinning like a whirligig, senses scattering. Abigail leaped off the counter like she’d been sitting on a furnace. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were wet, and her eyes were shining. Jeez, she looked so hot… For a moment he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“Sophia!” Abigail piped, tugging furiously at her blue sweater. “What—what a surprise.”

“Heh-heh. Yes, I’m sure,” the old lady chuckled, her gaze zigzagging between Abigail and Brody. Today she wore a pink headband to go with her neon-purple running shoes. “I just came back to pick up the knitting bag I forgot earlier.”

Brody shuffled behind the counter, keen to hide the state of his groin from Sophia’s all-seeing eyes. He must look as mussed up as Abigail, he thought.

Abigail dashed across the store and snatched up a tapestry bag from the table. “Here you are,” she puffed as she handed it to Sophia.

“Thanks, darlin’.” She nodded at Abigail and then Brody. “Sorry I interrupted your little
conversation
. Carry on as you were.” She ambled out the store, her running shoes squeaking.

Brody shoved his fingers through his already messy hair. “Christ, she winked at me as she left.”

Abigail twisted her fingers through her own tangled hair. She was standing much too far away. His heart revved as he closed the distance.

“Right, where were we?”

He reached for her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Uh, we should stop. Sophia is still outside spying on us.”

Brody glanced at the window where a small, round figure peered in, her wiry red hair unmistakable. Damn that secret ninja granny.

“We can pick up where we left off tonight,” he said. “See you at your place around seven?”

“You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “I prefer large, but he doesn’t mind being called pretty.”

She folded her arms, lifted her chin. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint the
both
of you, but we’re not picking up anything tonight.”

Now he wasn’t feeling large or pretty. “Come on. We’re both adults. We know what’s going on here.”

A fresh flush rose in her cheeks. “Okay, I admit you have a certain scruffy
je ne sais quoi
, but I’ve already told you I’m not interested in being another notch on your bedpost.”

“It’s so sexy when you speak in French.”

“Brody!” she huffed, static energy lifting strands of her hair.

Every cell in his body ached for her. He’d never felt this way over any woman, and he was sure it wasn’t just because she was holding out on him. Even if she wouldn’t let him ravish her senseless on her store counter, he still ached to be with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to cradle her into his body, to feel her heart thudding in time with his. His need for her felt fathomless. And slightly scary.

He couldn’t stop himself stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Look, I know things are happening too quickly for you,” he murmured, hoping he sounded more persuasive. “But we both know sticking to first base isn’t working out for us.”

“Which is why we shouldn’t start anything.” With a sigh, she moved out of his reach, but not before he registered how for a few seconds she’d nestled her cheek against his fingers. “I’m sorry, Brody. I shouldn’t have led you on over there.” She waved at the counter where moments ago he’d been positioned between her legs. “It’s my fault. I don’t blame you. You’re probably just behaving the way you normally do.”

“Gee. Well, thanks. Didn’t realize I was such a knuckle-dragger.”

She sucked on her lower lip. “I didn’t mean that. I meant—damn, I meant you’re used to women who aren’t like me.” She heaved out a sigh as if admitting defeat.

Brody wasn’t ready to admit defeat, but pushing the point wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Believe me, Abigail, there is no woman on earth like you.”

She frowned at him. “I don’t know how to take that.”

“Take it as a compliment, because that’s how I meant it.”

Her eyes softened to milky pools of blue, and it cost him everything not to crush his mouth against hers.

“Thank you.” She smiled tentatively at him, as if unsure how to handle compliments from him.

He couldn’t not touch her, or he would fry. Angling forward, he pressed his lips to her forehead for a brief second. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, and he turned and left the store before he could do any more damage.

Chapter Seven

“So, I hear you’ve been getting some nookie on the shop counter, hmm?”

Abigail avoided Luna’s eyes and concentrated on her chimichurri tofu. It was inevitable that word had got out about her and Brody being caught pretzeling in the store.

“Nobody got any nookie,” she muttered. “And definitely not on the shop counter.”

“Oh.” Luna chewed on her mouthful of millet loaf. “That’s a shame. I thought you and Brody were, you know, going hot and heavy.”

Hot and heavy? Warmth rose in Abigail’s neck as she thought how hot and heavy Brody got her. Luna hadn’t seen her and Brody together, so she must have been hearing Sophia’s highly embroidered tales.

“You shouldn’t believe everything Sophia tells you,” Abigail said. “Brody and I are”—she cleared her throat—“taking things slowly.”

Luna tilted her head to one side to appraise her. She was currently deep in midterm papers and assignments, which was why she hadn’t been at the store lately, but she and Abigail were catching up over dinner at Luna’s favorite vegetarian restaurant. Abigail was glad to be away from her apartment and store, but Luna wasn’t helping much in taking her thoughts away from Brody.

“I’m glad you’ve got Brody,” Luna said. “He’s fun. He’ll take your mind off the store and the neighborhood problems.”

Yes, Brody had definitely proved a distraction, one that was too big for her own good.

“It’s good to see you’re over Robert,” Luna added.

Abigail was about to eat another slice of tofu, but the mention of Robert’s name made her lower her fork. She waited for the familiar pang that his memory had always invoked, but this time it was barely perceptible. She was getting over him, at last. Thank heavens. She’d wasted too much energy angsting over the man who’d broken her heart.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m over him.”

Later, as she caught the bus home, she wondered if Robert ever thought about her. He should, she imagined. She’d been his research assistant for more than two years, and his lover for a year. He’d talked about their future together, talked about the cottage on the lake where he would take her one day. One day when he was free. Bastard. Did he remember those plans he’d made, the plans that had included her? Part of her hoped so, hoped he wasn’t as devious and manipulative as his actions had proven. But part of her told her she was too gullible, that she was trying to make excuses for him even now. The fact was, Robert had never intended to divorce his wife to be with Abigail, and she’d done the right thing breaking it off with him, no matter how much it had hurt.

The bus dropped her off a couple of blocks away from her home, and she hugged her coat around her as she headed into the raw night. It was just after nine thirty, and on a cold Wednesday night there weren’t many people on the streets. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as she passed familiar stores, most of them shut.

The minimart up ahead was one of the few stores still open, its neon signs lighting up the sidewalk. As she neared it, a shout came from inside, and a dark figure dashed out and started running away. A heavyset store clerk came huffing out of the minimart and yelled after the disappearing figure. “You son of a bitch, you come back here!”

Abigail ran up to the store clerk. “What happened?”

“That Spike punk did a grab ’n run right in front of me!”

“Spike? You sure it was him?” Abigail stared after the skinny male pelting down the sidewalk.

“Yeah. He’s hit my shop before.”

Spike, the leader of the teenage gang, the scourge of the neighborhood. Hitching her bag under her arm, Abigail took off after him.

A car cruising down the street suddenly shot ahead of her. Tires screeching, it pulled to a halt near the end of the block, and a big guy jumped out and hounded after the shoplifter. Abigail’s heart leaped into her mouth. That tall, athletic figure could only belong to one man—Brody.

As she ran toward them, Brody tackled the skinny figure and brought him crashing to the ground, landing solidly on top. Even from a distance Abigail heard the wincing thud of flesh meeting flesh.

“Brody!” she heard herself cry out.

Why was she shrieking like that? Brody looked like he had the situation under control. He was bent over the thief, his knee resting heavily on his back while he twisted the guy’s arms into some kind of lock.

“Oh, Brody.” She pressed a hand to her chest, breathless and not just from her running. “You caught him. You caught Spike.”

“You got the number for the local police station?” Brody asked her, all brisk professionalism. She nodded, pulling her cell phone from her coat pocket and bringing up the preprogrammed number. “Let me talk to them.”

He dragged the groaning thief to his feet and hauled him against the wall. With Brody’s hands occupied keeping the captive in a wristlock, Abigail held the phone up to his face for him to talk. He spoke rapidly. She realized his need for haste. The store clerk was huffing and puffing toward them, and Brody didn’t want him to suspect he was a police officer.

“Hey, those’re some moves you’ve got there,” the store clerk said as he reached them. “You a MMA fighter or something?”

“I’ve done some martial arts before,” Brody said easily. “The police will be here soon to take this guy away. You’ll have to hang around and tell them what happened.”

“For sure I’ll do that. I’m sick of these punks ripping me off.” The store clerk shook his fist at the shoplifter. “You’re the worst of ’em, Spike.”

The runty guy spat over his shoulder. “Hey, fatso, maybe if you didn’t stuff your face all day you’d be able to keep up with me.” He twisted the other way and smirked at Abigail. “Hey there, sweet thing. What’s your name? I’d let you catch me any day.”

Brody shook him roughly. “Shut your mouth, fuckface.”

The guy whined, and the store clerk yelled some more. Fortunately a cruiser had pulled up, and two patrol officers jumped out to deal with the problem. After handing over the thief, Brody spoke briefly to one of the uniforms before he moved off, taking Abigail by the elbow.

“Let’s go,” he muttered in her ear. “I don’t want to be seen for too long around cops.”

She nodded and allowed him to usher her back to his car, which was stopped in the middle of the road, the driver’s door hanging open. They got in, and Brody drove them down the block to Abigail’s store. He parked around the corner and cut the engine.

“What were you doing here?” Abigail asked, her nerves still jangling from the whole incident.

“Just doing a drive-by, checking up on things. What were you doing out on the streets?”

“I met Luna for dinner, and I was on my way home.” She bit her lip, gripped her trembling hands together. Now that the immediate danger to Brody was over, delayed reaction was setting in, making her chilled and shaky. “I couldn’t believe how you launched yourself at that guy so forcefully. Weren’t you scared?”

“No.” He blinked in surprise.

“But he could have had a knife or even a g-gun.”

Brody stilled, his gaze sliding over her. “You were frightened for my sake?” He sounded surprised and…vaguely pleased.

“Of course!” She sucked in a breath as she caught sight of his hand resting on the wheel. “Your knuckles. You’re bleeding.”

“This?” He glanced at his hand, before lifting a shoulder. “It’s nothing. I must’ve grazed it when I shoved the turd up against the wall.”

“You’d better come upstairs and get it cleaned up.” She didn’t know where that came from; the words seemed to tumble out of her mouth without control.

Brody’s grin widened. “Yeah, I’d better, huh?”

Oh God, she was asking for trouble. Why on earth had she invited him in? His hand was barely scratched. He could take care of that himself. He must think she’d used that as an excuse to get him into her apartment. Which, at some subconscious level, was true.

She flapped her hand in the direction of the bathroom. “Uh, you can clean your hand in there. There’s disinfectant and bandages in the medicine cabinet above the sink.”

Brody’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not going to do it?” He sounded disappointed. “I was looking forward to you kissing it better for me.”

“Yes, I’m sure you were.” She pushed his shoulder to get him moving toward the bathroom. He was rock solid, and he didn’t move an inch. Her fingers itched to slide over his shoulder before she dropped her hand. “I’ll make some coffee while you wash up.”

He pulled a face, a golden glint in his eyes. “Coffee? If you’re not going to play nurse with me, then I deserve a proper drink at least, don’t I?”

“I’ll see what I can rustle up.” She turned toward the kitchen before her will power crumbled.

There was no wine in the kitchen. She moved on to the living room and after some rummaging found a bottle of peach schnapps at the back of a cabinet.

“What you got there?” Brody asked from the doorway.

“Schnapps.” She held up the bottle. “Must have been my aunt’s. It’s all I have, I’m afraid.”

He crossed the room and took the bottle from her. “It’ll do. Got some glasses?”

She fetched a couple of her aunt’s liqueur glasses, and he poured out two generous measures.

“Cheers.”

They clinked glasses and sipped. Somehow they were sitting side-by-side on the two-seater couch, which was on the small side, and Brody was a big man, which meant she was cozily close to him. So close that she was aware of every inch of him.

“Thanks for catching Spike,” she said, anxious to keep the conversation neutral.

“Don’t thank me too much. He’ll be out on bail by tomorrow.”

“But it’s a start.” She hesitated, unable to tear her eyes away from him. “Your knuckles feeling better?”

He flexed his right hand, where he’d cleaned the abrasions. “It’s just a scratch, see?”

She stared at his hand, wanting to trace her fingers over the broad shape. He had the sexiest hands she’d ever seen. Tough and masculine, yet sensitive and tactile too.

“Abby, I want you to promise me something.” There was a serious note in his voice.

“Yes?” she murmured, still distracted by his sexy hands.

“Promise me you won’t run after shoplifters like you ran after Spike, or me. It’s not safe. You might get hurt, and for an orange or a few bucks’ worth of stuff, it’s definitely not worth it.”

She lifted her gaze to his face, surprised that he should be so concerned about her safety. “O-okay,” she stammered, her breathing suddenly in difficulty. She took another sip of schnapps to steady herself, but the alcohol only made his handsome face more fascinating to her. “But you have to be careful too, you know. I’ve never seen you in action before. You pounced on that Spike guy like a lion pouncing on a mouse.”

He stretched out a hand to lift a strand of hair away from her face. His eyes were warm pools of green with amber striations. “Maybe I did that just for you.”

“Me? Why?”

His fingers lingered on her cheek, his gentle strokes igniting sparks of heat all through her limbs. She gazed at him, hypnotized by his caress, his eyes, his voice.

“Because I’m so desperate to impress you, didn’t you know?”

She shifted closer, helplessly drawn in by him. She tried to stop herself.
Moth. Candle. Flame. Terrible burns
. It didn’t help, especially not when the length of his thigh pressed up against hers, and the air between them thickened with schnapps-fueled anticipation.

“Oh.” She moistened her lips. “Well, just so you know. It’s working.”

His eyes flared, and the naked lust in them made her heart stall. His fire blazed out and surrounded her, and suddenly they were kissing wildly, arms tangling around each other in a desperate struggle to get as close as possible. Their mouths clung and smooched together in a glorious, moist dance, tongues flitting, lips sucking, teeth nipping, breaths gasping and fervid.

Peach schnapps had never tasted more divine than that delivered on Brody’s lips and tongue. She was drunk on him, on the taste and feel and sound of him. She speared her fingers through his thick, silky hair, dragged them over his scratchy stubble, then pushed up his T-shirt to glide over the smooth, hard muscles of his back. He groaned into her ear and whispered to her how beautiful she was.

Their legs were twined together, their bodies heaving as they grappled on the couch, the springs sagging and moaning in protest at the sudden activity. She pushed herself on top of him, straddling his lap, and braced her hands against his shoulders. His chest moved up and down with his rapid breathing.

She pushed back a few strands of hair so she could look at him. “This…is…insane,” she panted.

“I agree.” He slipped his hands under her sweater and gripped her quivering flesh at the waist. “We’re going to break this couch. So why don’t we continue this in the bedroom?”

She couldn’t breathe. She stared down at Brody, her body humming in his hands like a racehorse ready to leap from the stalls.
Moth. Candle. Pain
. The warnings faded away.
Brody. Bed. Craving
. That was all she could hold in her head. Nothing else made sense.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. Yes.” She couldn’t seem to say anything else.

At her monosyllabic response, Brody’s entire face lit up. He pulled her to her feet and swept her into his arms, making her squeak in surprise.

He carried her down the hall and into her bedroom, careful not to bump her head against the walls. He set her on her feet, huffing unevenly as he wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans.
My goodness, he was a teensy bit nervous
, she realized in a burst of insight. Brody wasn’t the swaggering lady-killer she assumed he was, at least not tonight, with her. The realization melted her heart, adding fuel to the banked fires roaring in her.

“Come here.” For a second she didn’t recognize the husky demand coming out of her mouth.

Brody’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his familiar cocky grin reappeared. “Yes ma’am,” he drawled as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another breath-stealing kiss.

The kiss quickly burned out of control, and soon her fingers were writhing through his hair and one of her legs was wrapped around his thigh. She couldn’t get enough of Brody, couldn’t get enough of his mouth sliding over her face and throat, exciting pulses in places she never knew she had pulses, igniting fires in areas she’d never thought of as erogenous. Brody’s kisses and caresses burned away all her preconceived ideas of herself and turned her into a heaving mass of desire, ravenous for only one thing—him.