Bulletproof Hearts

“The CSU is taking care of that,” he told her. “And the ME is ready to take possession of the body.”

“Merrick,” she said, hating the cold formalities of death that reduced the individual to a designation.

It didn’t matter to her that the victim had been an accused drug dealer with a record of arrests longer than her arm, he’d been a person. An hour or so earlier, she’d spoken to him on the phone. He’d been scared when he’d called her. She’d recognized the fear, the apprehension in his voice. Had he known, even then, that his time was running out?

She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she hadn’t vacillated over her decision to meet with him. “If I’d come right away—”

“You might have ended up like Merrick,” Creighton interrupted before she could complete the thought. “Whoever did this to him wouldn’t have thought twice about taking out any potential witnesses.”

Natalie shuddered. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider that possibility, hadn’t wanted to admit—even to herself—how foolhardy her actions had been in coming here tonight.

“Coffee?” he offered again.

This time, she drew a deep breath and nodded.

The sign in the window of Sam’s Diner advertised breakfast twenty-four hours a day. It was one of the reasons it was such a popular establishment with the local cops.

“Are you hungry?” Dylan asked, sliding into the vinyl booth across from the A.D.A.

Natalie started to shake her head, paused. “I shouldn’t be. But I missed dinner, and something smells really good.”

“They do a great ham-and-cheese omelet.”

“Maybe I’ll try it,” she agreed, turning over her cup as the waitress approached their table with a pot of coffee in hand.

“Good morning, Sylvia.” He greeted the waitress who was already filling their cups.

“Morning, Lieutenant. Ma’am.”

Natalie frowned; Dylan grinned. “This is Natalie Vaughn—our newest assistant district attorney,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Will you be wanting breakfast or just coffee this morning?”

“Breakfast,” he answered. “Two ham-and-cheese omelets.”

“Can you make mine with egg whites only?” Natalie asked, emptying a creamer into her cup. “And whole-wheat toast, please. No butter.”

Sylvia nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Dylan shook his head.

“What?” Natalie demanded.

“It’s a greasy spoon. You want to eat healthy, you should go to one of those yuppie delis that serve alfalfa sprouts on everything.”

“I like alfalfa sprouts,” she told him, sounding just a bit defensive.

“I could have guessed.”

“That must be why you’re carrying the badge.”

He laughed, pleasantly surprised by her bland touch of humor. He’d invited her for coffee because he’d wanted to get her away from Merrick’s apartment. He wasn’t happy that she’d been at the scene; he was even more unhappy about his fading prospects of apprehending Conroy.

But there was no point in remaining angry with Natalie when Merrick was dead, and nothing to be gained from yelling at her anymore when she looked as if she was beating herself up enough for the both of them. And he had to admire the way she’d held herself together at the scene. He’d have expected her to be crying or throwing up, at the very least cowering.

She’d been shaken, there was no doubt about that. But she’d held her ground and she’d answered his questions, and she’d proven—at least on this matter—that he’d underestimated her.

“Other than tonight, how are you enjoying the new job?” he asked.

The cup Natalie had picked up trembled slightly in her hand. “It hasn’t been boring.”

“I’ll bet you thought you were getting away from the problems of the big city by coming to Fairweather.”

“I did,” she admitted.

“If it makes you feel any better, this town doesn’t have a high rate of violent crime.”

“Except in the neighborhood I walked into tonight,” she reminded him.

“But still relatively low compared to the bigger cities.”

“I’m sure that will help me sleep,” she said dryly.

The simple offhand comment brought to mind images of Natalie in bed. In his bed. Her sexily tousled hair spread over his pillowcase, her stormy eyes heavy with desire, her lips erotically swollen from his kisses. The image was startlingly vivid, the longing achingly real. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, maybe I could help.”

Her cup clattered in the saucer as she set it back down, and her eyes were wide and wary as they met his. Obviously his offer had surprised her. No more than it had surprised him.

She cleared her throat. “Are you propositioning me, Lieutenant?”

Was he? If so, that scene in Merrick’s apartment must have shaken him more than he realized. He hadn’t shared his bed with anyone since Beth died, nor had he wanted to do so. “No.” He considered. “Maybe.”

Natalie chuckled. The soft sexy sound suited her, he thought. It was as unconsciously seductive as everything else about her.

Sylvia returned from the kitchen with two plates, set them down on the table.

Dylan waited until the waitress was out of earshot before continuing. “What would you say if I were propositioning you?”

“No.” Her response was quick and unequivocal.

“Ouch.” But he was more relieved than insulted.

She smiled as she toyed with the fried potatoes on her plate. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just not in the habit of going to bed with men I’ve known less than twenty-four hours.”

Nor was he in the habit of propositioning women he’d known less than twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. Acknowledging the uncharacteristic reaction would be too close to acknowledging his feelings—and he wasn’t even sure what those feelings were.

Instead, he played it casual. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get back to you later, then.”

“Don’t bother. I’m also not in the habit of getting involved with people I work with.”