Kansas City Cop

A small parade, led by a grinning Troy, stopped them before they reached the clinic’s entrance. Troy held out his hand. “Hey, Captain C. I wanted to make sure I said hi before you left.”

“Troy.” The two men exchanged a solid handshake. “Good to see you.”

“You, too, sir.”

Frannie and Gina waited behind Troy’s chair. The two women were a stark contrast in coloring and demeanor—pale and dark, subdued and vibrant.

“How’s Dex doing in med school?” Unaware of Mike’s distracted gaze, Michael Sr. asked about Troy’s younger brother. Since Mike and Troy had practically grown up together, Dexter Anthony and their grandmother who’d raised the boys were like extended family.

“Long hours. But he’s killin’ it.”

“I knew he would. Jillian wants to know when you’re coming over for dinner. More for the games afterward than the food.”

“Just give me a time, and I’ll be there. And tell her I’ve been reading the dictionary every night. I’m not losing that word game to her again.”

“Will do.” The two men shook hands again before his dad nodded to Gina over the top of Troy’s head. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”

“No, sir. Thank you, but you need to get to work. Besides, I’ve been getting home all by myself for a lot of years now.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home, Dad.”

“Son.” Michael traded one last nod with Mike before he left.

There was an awkward moment between the four of them in the congested hallway before Mike stepped to one side. Gina politely followed suit, giving Troy room to spin his chair around and head back to his patient in the workout room. Frannie quietly excused herself and slipped into her office, leaving Mike and Gina standing side by side with their backs against the wall. The woman didn’t even come up to his shoulder. But he appreciated the view of dark waves capping her head and the tight, round bump of her bottom farther down.

One by one, doors closed behind Frannie, Troy and Mike’s dad. The second her potential boss had gone and they were alone, Gina turned on him. “I didn’t ask you to be my chauffeur.”

Forget the raw attraction simmering in his veins. Her hushed, chiding tone gave Mike an idea of what the next few weeks were going to be like, and it wasn’t going to involve fun or easy. But he’d been rising to one challenge or another his entire life. Five feet and a few inches or so of attitude wasn’t about to scare him off. She might as well get used to how he intended to run things with her. “You didn’t ask me to be your physical therapist, either. But it looks like that’s going to happen.” He took her into his office and closed the door. “Have a seat. I need to do an informal assessment before we get started.”

She eyed the chair where she’d sat earlier, and obstinately remained in place. “I’ve already had two evaluations, three if you count the orthopedist who sent me to PT in the first place.”

“Well, none of them reported to me, and I’ve got no paperwork on you, so have a seat.” Mike sat and pulled up a new intake file on his computer screen.

She poked a finger at the corner of his desk. “Listen, Choir Boy. Your father outranks me and can give me orders. But you can’t.”

Choir Boy? What happened to Catnip?

And why couldn’t the woman just call him Mike? “Fine. Stand. I’m still asking questions.”

He typed in her name as she snatched her hand away. “Are you making fun of me now? You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”

If he recalled correctly, he’d saved that life.

“Age? Address? Phone number? Surgeon?” He typed in the answers as she rattled them off. “What are your goals?”

She puffed up like a banty hen, swearing a couple of words in Spanish, before perching on the chair across from him. “My goals? Isn’t it obvious? I want to be a cop again. And not just some face sitting behind a desk, either. I want to be able to pick up my gun and take down a perp and be the first Latina on one of your father’s SWAT teams.”

“You want me to put in a good word for you?” He met her gaze across the desk. “You’re going to have to earn that. I warn you, Dad and I are close, but he doesn’t let anybody tell him what to do when it comes to the job.” Mike leaned back in his chair. “But I have a feeling you’re familiar with that kind of attitude.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Apparently I don’t have to work very hard at it.”

Her eyes widened and the tight lines around her mouth vanished. “Things have been a little tense...” She parted her lips to continue, closed them again, processed a thought, then leaned forward to ask. “Can you make me whole again? If I can’t be a cop, I don’t know... My family is counting on me... I’m used to dealing with problems myself. But this...” She tilted her chin, as if the proud stance could erase the vulnerability that had softened everything about her for a few moments. “I need this to happen.”

In other words, Rescue me. He’d just taken a hit to his Achilles’ heel. Not that this woman looked like she wanted a knight in shining armor, but a woman in need had always been a problem for Mike. Caroline had needed him to build her confidence and stand up to her parents. Frannie had needed him to feel safe. They weren’t the first, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be the last. Maybe it had something to do with atoning for the mistakes of his rebellious youth after his mother had died of cancer. Maybe it had something to do with finding a purpose for his life the day he helped rescue his stepmother, Jillian, and Troy from a bomber. Maybe it had something to do with that lonesome need to be needed—to be the one man that a woman had to have in her life.

And maybe he was too hardheaded to accept defeat because he heard himself saying, “I can help it happen if you let me. You’re going to have to take orders from someone besides my dad. Can you do that? Do what I tell you? Not do more than I tell you?” he emphasized, suspecting that slow and easy weren’t in Gina’s vocabulary. “You can do as much damage by pushing too hard too soon as the original injury inflicted.”

“I can do more than those other therapists were letting me. I can handle pain. And training is something I’ve done in sports since middle school, and certainly at the police academy. I’ll do my job if you do yours.”

Not exactly the clear-cut agreement he’d been looking for. But he’d take it. If Gina saw this as a competition, he’d give her a run for her money—and then make sure she won. He reached across the desk with his right hand, purposely challenging her to respond with the hand that rested limply in the sling.

A light flashed in her eyes, like a sprinkling of sugar dissolving in rich, warm coffee. Not the sour kind Frannie made, either. Then she thrust her hand out of the end of the sling. Her thumb and forefinger latched on to his hand with a decent grip, but the last three fingers simply batted against the back of his knuckles. Mike stretched each limp finger back, checking the muscle tone, before he finished the informal assessment and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then he pulled away and pushed to his feet. “You accept that I’m in charge of your recovery? That when it comes to your health, I’m the boss?”