Safe in His Arms

Guys like him were hired to play cops on TV, not to strap on the holster and dodge bullets for real. Delia would have called him “a hunk,” and Lindsay would have been too awkward around him to even speak, if this had been a social situation. It wasn’t.

“My sister died in that accident.”

Immediately, Lindsay was sorry for being so blunt, and she felt even guiltier when the woman glanced over at her with a compassionate look on her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said it that way.” She shook her head. “I just can’t recall much about that day, and I’d hoped that Trooper Rossetti could fill in some of the details.”

“I’m sure he’ll try.” Clara turned back to the computer, scanning down through an appointment schedule. “How about at thirteen hundred—one o’clock—tomorrow?”

Not the best time, but Lindsay would try to work with it. “So I’ll meet him here?”

Clara nodded and then turned back to her screen. “I’ll get a message out to him.”

“Thanks.” Lindsay tucked the papers she’d brought with her back into her purse and settled it on her shoulder. Then, retrieving her cane, she started toward the door.

“Miss Collins,” Clara called after her and waited until she looked back at her. “Have you ever considered that you might be better off not remembering every detail of your accident? That knowing might only cause more pain?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that. I’ve been thinking about that for the past six months.” Lindsay chewed the side of her lower lip and then straightened and nodded. She could do this; she owed it to Delia. She would get this right for her sake. “And I still want to know.”

Chapter Two

Joe leaned against the counter in the radio room, crossing his arms and his ankles and putting on his best frown. He didn’t know why he bothered trying to look annoyed when Clara was so obviously ignoring him as she tapped away on her keyboard.

“Why did you set this up on my day off, anyway?” Her shoulder lifted and dropped, but she didn’t turn back to him. “What else did you have to do this afternoon?”

“I’m sure I could have found something.” Joe glanced down at his khaki shorts and striped polo shirt as he stepped out into the visitor area. He felt out of place without his uniform and the air of authority that came with it. The idea of meeting with Lindsay Collins today didn’t sit well with him, but he had no one to blame but himself for agreeing to it. He had to admit, though, that he would have agreed to anything yesterday to avoid the question Lindsay had asked him. Even to delay it. “Pretty, isn’t she?” “I hadn’t noticed.” Or tried not to. And failed.

“You noticed, all right. It’s about time you started noticing again. At thirty-four, you—”

“If you’re about to mention my biological clock, you can stop right there. Wrong gender.”

“You said it. I didn’t.”

The door opened before he could tell Clara to stay out of his personal life. Lindsay started inside, her hair pulled back into a long ponytail, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Effortless beauty. Julianne Moore with all that red hair and none of the paparazzi.

Joe cleared his throat and squashed those thoughts at the same time. If those musings weren’t signals that he should cancel this meeting, then he didn’t know what was. He needed to establish a professional distance with this woman, where he’d failed the night of the accident. He would tell her that everything he knew was already in the police report and send her on her way. Simple, right? Right.

Lindsay was leaning heavily on her cane and appeared to be struggling with the door, so he stepped over and pushed it wide for her. The source of her struggle was attached to her other hand: a preschool-age girl who stared up at him with eyes as pale blue as Lindsay’s.

“Hi, Trooper Rossetti.” Pulling off her sunglasses, Lindsay gestured with a tilt of her head to the child beside her. “This is Emma.”

Joe looked back and forth between them, searching for other similar traits. From the police report, he’d figured Lindsay was single. He didn’t recall anything about her having a daughter and couldn’t remember having seen a child-safety seat in the back of the crushed car. And yet, while the girl’s dark, curly ponytails couldn’t have been more opposite from Lindsay’s fiery mane, those eyes connected the two of them.

He crouched in front of the child. “Hello, Emma. My name is Trooper Rossetti.”

“Hi.” Emma dipped her head, staring out at him from beneath her bangs.

“How old are you?”

She grinned bashfully and held up three fingers.

“Well, then you’re a big girl.”

Joe grinned first at the woman and then at the child. So much for his tough-cop image. Little girls like his own niece had always been able to turn him to mush. Sending Lindsay and her tough questions away would be hard enough. Adding a cute kid to the equation just wasn’t fair.

Lindsay cleared her throat. “I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

“It’s my day off,” he told her as he came to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Lindsay’s gaze darted to the woman who’d scheduled the appointment and then back to him. “If you want to do this another day …”

She was giving him an out, and he was tempted to take it. “Maybe you and your daughter—”

“Niece.” She lowered her voice. “She is Delia’s daughter. Her name is Emma Banks.”

“Oh.” Joe swallowed. He hadn’t seen that one coming. And the fact that he hadn’t considered it was another sign that he wasn’t at the top of his game.

“Delia made me Emma’s guardian.”

That sad, empty look entered her eyes again. Pressing her lips together, as if to settle her emotions, she smiled at the child. Emma had released her hand and was scrambling into a waiting-area chair.

“Emma, be careful. You’re going to get hurt.”

The child barely glanced back at her aunt before righting her backside in the chair and reaching for a brochure on the table next to her. She pretended to read the document on Michigan’s concealed-weapon permit laws, but she held it upside down.

“Honey, why don’t you put that back?”

“No.” Emma clutched the brochure to her chest.

“She can have that one,” Joe said.

Lindsay smiled, appearing relieved to skip the battle. “She’s a great kid … usually.”

“You’re lucky to have each other,” he said, when nothing else better came to mind.

He couldn’t help glancing again at Emma. The girl had lost her mother, a reality that no child should have to experience, and a horror that he knew firsthand. At least he could remember a few things about his own mother. Her sweet spirit. Her soft hair. Emma wouldn’t remember her mother at all, except through pictures and through the stories relatives like Lindsay would tell her.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked back to Lindsay, who was watching her niece, as well. Lindsay’s eyes were moist.

Joe knew he’d lost. Whether or not he was at fault for the accident, he couldn’t help feeling partially responsible for Emma losing her mother and for Lindsay being saddled with the responsibility of a child. The least he could do was to answer a few uncomfortable questions for them.

“How about we get out of here? There’s a park in New Hudson where Emma can play while I answer your questions.”

“Park?” Emma’s eyes lit up, and she was already climbing down from the chair.

“It’s settled then,” he said.