Capturing the Cop

His mistake was that he hadn’t thought through the calendar’s aftereffects. Oh, he’d considered that he might get some recognition and second glances, but this was St. Louis and not Hollywood. St. Louisans were, for the most part, discreet—not rude autograph-seekers. Even professional sports stars were usually granted their privacy in public places like restaurants or movie theaters. The crazy attention paid to him and his fellow police, fire and rescue workers from across the metropolitan region had surprised Garrett, not to mention vexed him.

Today, it appeared, there would be no end to his weary annoyance. Cliff was on a mission he’d started this past weekend when Garrett lost the weekly Friday night poker game with the guys.

“Let me see that personal ad again,” Cliff said, getting back to the matter at hand. He snagged the paper from Garrett. “HWP. That’s good. You don’t want someone whose height and weight aren’t proportional. But, do you think it’s a good idea to tell them your measurements?”

“Earlier you wanted me to tell them I was Mr. August so that they could go ogle me. Why don’t I just include my address in the ad? Even better, how about I include my cell phone number and the note ‘Call Garrett for a good time.’” Irritated, Garrett wrestled the piece of paper away from Cliff. “This is a dumb idea. I’m not doing it.”

Cliff snatched the paper, ripping off a piece in the process. “Yes, you are. You backed yourself into a corner Friday night when Ben asked how long it had been since you’d had a real date. You even went double or nothing without chips—and lost. So unless you really want to eat crow—”

“I thought I had a good hand,” Garrett interrupted. Two of a kind should have been enough to win.

“Well, you didn’t, so even fate agrees you’re doing this. You’ll never live down the ribbing if you don’t. It’s a personal ad or a blind date.”

The last blind date Garrett had gone on had been an absolute disaster. She’d been five years older and around the block way too many times, and had boldly asked him if he knew any kinky ways to use his handcuffs. No more blind dates, period.

“Fine, I said I’d do this,” Garrett said with another growl to indicate that he still didn’t relish the idea. “One date with one woman. That was the bet, and that’s all I’m doing. Understood?”

Cliff’s smile widened and he gave Garrett the crumpled piece of paper. “Okay. One date. That’s the deal. But place the ad today. You’ll pass by the Monitor office on your way home.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes and glared. The Monitor office was actually out of his way, but Cliff, again intent on revising the ad’s wording, disregarded his friend’s displeasure.

“Don’t forget to add ‘no smoking,’” Cliff said. “Just in case you want to kiss her.”

“I won’t be kissing anyone,” Garrett snapped, but he did write down n/s on the paper.

Cliff’s laughter again echoed in the room. “No kisses? You never know, Garrett. You never know.”

“OLIVIA! OH, AM I GLAD to see you!” Chrissy Lambert said as Olivia entered the classified-ads department of the Mound City Monitor on Tucker Street. Located on the first floor, the office was open to walk-in clients until six o’clock. Chrissy buzzed Olivia through the security door.

“Hi, Chrissy. I wanted to check on you personally.” Olivia gave her best friend a quick hug.

“They were Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Chrissy said as she hopped on one foot, clearly needing to go to the restroom. “You’re a godsend. Lula called in sick today, which means she’s more likely at the stadium playing hooky, than on her deathbed. I’m here alone.”

Chrissy wiggled her very pregnant body. She was due any day now.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asked. She’d known Chrissy ever since junior high, when, despite their different socioeconomic backgrounds, they’d become best friends at Bible camp. Olivia’s family had viewed the month-long adventure as a natural extension of their daughter’s religious education; Chrissy’s family had hoped that discovering God would tame their daughter’s wild ways. The ultimate bad girl, Chrissy hadn’t truly reformed until she met Derek, fallen fast for him and gotten married.

Chrissy palmed her stomach. “I’m doing well except for the baby having stationed itself right on top of my bladder. Watch the floor for me, will you? Don’t worry, the bosses aren’t around. Since the Cardinals lead the Central division, everyone cut out early to attend today’s baseball game.”

“No problem,” Olivia said. “Besides, I know the paper’s owner.” Olivia’s cousin Darci was married to Cameron O’Brien. In fact, Darci and Cameron had first met when Cameron, the head of O’Brien Publications, had visited St. Louis to finalize the purchase of the Mound City Monitor and add it to the O’Brien Publications family.

“That’s great, ’cause I really gotta go. You know what to do, right?”

“You showed me last time,” Olivia said. “Remember? It was so slow here we filled out phone ad forms pretending to find me a date.”

“Yeah. Mr. B. Right at 4 M. Drives.”

A movement outside on the sidewalk caught Chrissy’s attention, and she paused for a moment. “Whoa! I don’t believe it. That’s really him. Too bad nature’s calling. But you’re about to get lucky. See that guy out there?”

Olivia glanced out the Monitor’s large storefront window. She saw the subject of Chrissy’s focus immediately.

The man standing just outside the glass doorway was gorgeous. Under the dark blue T-shirt he wore, well-toned muscles rippled and the golden hair dusting his arms glistened in that late-afternoon sunlight. He stood at least six foot three, and even his faded red Cardinals baseball cap added to his allure.

Olivia swallowed. What would it be like to touch a man like that? Unlike Chrissy, who had more skeletons in her closet than were in a graveyard, Olivia had never been bad enough to know. Her wimpy ex-fiancés had been physically small men whose presence wouldn’t intimidate a flea.

She fisted her hands, then stretched her fingers one by one in order to relax. The man seemed familiar, but Olivia couldn’t place him. “Chrissy,” she hissed as the man began to pull open the door to the office. “What are you talking about? You know him?”

“The calendar in the file drawer. He’s one of the ‘months.’ Oh, too bad it’s against the rules to get his autograph or hang it up.” Chrissy paused for one last peek before hurrying away.

Whoever the man was, he was now inside the office, and Olivia couldn’t help but gape as he approached the service counter.

Never had a man so filled the room with his presence. His dark blue Levi’s fit tightly and he wore boots. Olivia stood rooted to the floor as he approached, her only movements those of her fingers as they twisted the strand of cultured pearls her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. Brad Pitt, Dennis Quaid and Robert Redford combined wouldn’t hold a candle to the Adonis before her. He must have come to place an ad, Olivia decided as she regrouped. Maybe he was selling his truck or something—although the Mound City Monitor really didn’t handle many of those kind of classified ads.

Yes, Olivia fantasized, he would be the type to own a big truck.

He was wearing Levi’s and boots and Olivia could picture him riding on the range, roping some cattle, coming home to his woman and making love to her on soft flannel sheets in front of the fire. He was the stuff of romance novels, the ultimate lover—which meant not her type. Besides, how could she handle a man like him? She wasn’t even bad enough to find something bad to do. After leaving work and playing hooky, the only “bad” thing she could think of to do was shopping. Her one last ditch attempt at badness before heading home to a freezer full of microwavable dinners and bad television shows had been to visit Chrissy. All in all, not a great start at becoming a bad girl.

“I need to place a personal ad.”

His warm baritone voice jerked Olivia into the present and her gaze connected with his. Since only a forty-inch counter and some Plexiglas stood between them, she could see that his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue.

Olivia had never understood what people meant when they said “time stood still,” but at this moment she swore it was happening. Her heart seemed frozen, although she could feel it beating and could hear it pounding in her ears.

“A personal ad,” he repeated, obviously irritated at her incompetence.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, the staccato sound forcing Olivia to regain her senses.

“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to help,” she somehow managed to say. She couldn’t have anyone complaining to the bosses about Chrissy.

“This is the ad I wish to run.” He slid a wadded piece of paper into the metal channel and underneath the Plexiglas. “Can you take care of it?”

If she were a bad girl, she’d take care of him in any way he needed. Be a bad girl, something unfamiliar inside her whispered.

She smoothed out the paper and turned her attention to reading his ad. She glanced up sharply. “You need a date?”

His blue eyes gleamed, and she swallowed. Just the power of his look held her attention. “I apologize. That was quite unprofessional of me.”

He didn’t agree or disagree; he just watched her. Years of PR training came in handy as she hid her trembling and presented a poised appearance. She reached for an advertising form and a pen.

“So. How long do you want your ad to run? Our best value, which I suggest, is five days at five dollars a day. If not you can—”

He cut her off. “That’s fine.”

Olivia’s forehead wrinkled and her headband itched. Something wasn’t right in Mound City. Her extensive PR experience had also taught her a lot about body language.

For someone placing a personal ad, the man standing in front of her wasn’t keen on the idea.

He came across like a man sitting in a dentist’s chair, waiting for a tooth extraction. But whatever his problem, she had an ad to sell. “We have three retrieval services, depending on what type of response you’d like,” she said, warming to her sales pitch. She and Chrissy had held a contest to see who could say it faster. “You can place a voice-mail ad, meaning the person calls a special phone number and presses your mailbox number. You receive a code to retrieve the messages. For an additional fee, we can set up a temporary e-mail account for you, meaning we act as your firewall. You can also go with the traditional snail-mail option, which—”