The Angel and the Outlaw

He turned his attention to the house. When he’d brought Hayley home last week, he’d noticed that the front of the house had a big veranda decorated with gingerbread trim. There was no porch in the back, nothing to use to climb to the second story, and the rear door was solid wood with a deadbolt. But the ground-floor windows were the sliding-sash kind and had conveniently wide ledges.

No dog. No alarm. A yard with overgrown trees that blocked the view of the next-door neighbors. For a family of cops, they should have paid more attention to making their house secure. Cooper used the gas meter that stuck out from the wall for a foothold and hoisted himself onto the nearest window ledge. He scowled as he let himself in. He’d have to tell Hayley to get better locks.

Right. Otherwise, someone like him might get inside.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then scanned the room he had entered. A long oval table sat in the center, surrounded by chairs with curving wooden backs. Teardrop prisms of a large chandelier glinted above the table and the flat glass front of a china cabinet gleamed next to the wall on his left. It looked like more than a cop, even a police commissioner, could have afforded, but Cooper had heard that Hayley’s mother had come from money.

The archway across from him led to a center hall. It was dark, but a sliver of light showed beneath a door to his right. Keeping his weight on the balls of his feet to minimize the noise of his footsteps on the hardwood floor, he moved to the door and eased it open.

The room was lined with bookshelves. The light came from a green-shaded banker’s lamp that rested on the top of an old fashioned roll-top desk. Hayley was sitting on a swivel chair in front of it, the kind with oak slats in the back and casters on the feet. She had her back to him, her fingers clicking at the keyboard of the laptop computer in the center of the desk. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes, then reached for a water glass that sat on a stack of file folders beside her elbow and downed the contents in one gulp.

Cooper’s scowl deepened as he studied her. It was two in the morning, but she didn’t look as if she had been to bed. She was dressed in jeans and an oversize gray sweatshirt, her hair tied haphazardly at the nape of her neck with a scarf. Her feet were bare, her toes curled against the chair casters. She looked lonely, vulnerable and too damn approachable.

So far, she had kept her word—in the four days since he’d agreed to her deal, she hadn’t gone near Oliver. Instead, she had spent most of her time at the nursing home with her father. Cooper had been pleased that she’d been smart enough to stay away from the Long Shot, yet it was as if she had been there anyway. Echoes of her presence lingered. He kept picturing her on the couch in his office, or curled into the chair in his loft.

He kept remembering the taste of her mouth.

But he was here because she could be useful to him, that’s all. She had been right—she had connections and skills that he didn’t. They could help each other. He couldn’t afford to let it get more complicated than that. She had been intruding into his thoughts too much as it was.

She wasn’t his type, no matter how alluring she looked right now. One glance at the kind of place she lived in told him that. So did the room she was sitting in. Scattered among the books on those bookshelves there were framed photographs of men in uniform. Police uniforms. What looked like certificates hung on the wall behind the desk. Those were probably two generations worth of official commendations. He moved his gaze along the frames.

Which one of them was the commendation Adam had received when he’d arrested Cooper?

He gave the door a push to swing it the rest of the way open and stepped over the threshold. “Hello, Hayley.”

She reacted instantly, her head snapping up. She spun the chair to face him. “Cooper! How did—”

Her words cut off at the sound of a crash as the empty glass that had been beside her elbow shattered against the floor.

“Aw, hell,” Cooper muttered, striding across the room.

Hayley shoved herself out of the chair. It rolled sideways and thudded into the front of the desk.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered.

She glanced around quickly, her eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Don’t move or you’ll cut your feet.” He went past her and took the top file folder from the stack on the desk, then squatted down and used its edge to sweep the shards of glass into a pile.

She pressed her hand to her chest and drew in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have boots, you don’t.”

“You shouldn’t have startled me.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” He checked the floor for the glint of stray pieces. When he was satisfied it was clear, he scooped the remnants of the glass onto the folder, then straightened up and looked around. There was a small wicker basket half filled with crumpled paper beside the desk. He dumped the glass into it. “I wanted to make sure you were alone.”

“Of course, I’m alone. It’s the middle of the night.”

He slapped the folder on his leg. The loose neckline of her sweatshirt had slid down when she’d jumped out of her chair, baring her shoulder. There was no sign of a bra strap. Cooper tried hard to keep his gaze on her face. “For a woman who kisses like you do, that’s not something I’d take for granted.”

Color seeped into her cheeks. She grabbed the back of her chair. He wasn’t sure whether it was for balance, or to have something on hand to shove between them. “You could have called first.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see that pulse in your neck. I like seeing you excited.”