Falling for the New Guy

“Let me help.” She stiffened when he reached toward her, so he did his best to seem unthreatening. “It’s okay. I’m a cop. I can show you my badge if you’d like.”

She snorted and pushed herself away from the wall, very much ignoring and avoiding his outstretched hand. “Yeah, well, I’m a cop, too, buddy. Badge and all. Which means I can help myself.” She walked past him to the door at the end of the hall, then turned around.

“Wait. I know you.”

He was pretty sure he’d remember eyes like that. Which was a weird-ass thing to think, but they weren’t really blue, instead nearly gray. He’d never seen gray eyes before. Paired with the half assessing, half go-screw-yourself expression in them, he was pretty sure he’d remember her.

“New guy. San...San...San Francisco?” She flashed a grin, some of the go-screw-yourself fading.

The corner of his mouth inched upward against his permission. “Santino.”

“Right. Right. Matt Santino.”

“Marc.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, right?” She half smiled at him and he felt like a dumb teenager scrambling to say something. Something that might impress her.

Idiot. If she knew him and was a cop, she had to work at BCPD, which meant no impressing.

“Tess. Tess Camden.” She nodded at his open door, blood starting to drip onto the hallway floor. “You live here?”

“Um, yeah.” He moved toward her again, gesturing at the next blood drop threatening to fall. “Don’t you think you should—”

“Good. That’ll be convenient.”

“Convenient? What do you—”

But she’d opened her door, was stepping inside. “See you tomorrow, San Francisco.” With a wave, she slammed the door shut.

Marc wasn’t sure how long he stood there in shock. Sure, it hadn’t been a seriously painful injury or she’d probably be screaming or going to the hospital or something. But she’d been dripping blood in the hallway, and that wasn’t good. At all.

But it was none of his business, and surely if she was a cop she knew how to take care of herself. Still, the image of that bloody scrap of fabric stayed with him, and he didn’t think he’d shake it until he knew what all that was about.

* * *

TESS WISHED SHE could muster some anger. Frustration. Determination. But all she could feel with her arm stinging under the spray of her morning shower was defeated. Hollow. Sucky.

She stepped out of the shower, shivering against the cold morning, and gingerly dried off before winding the new bandage around her gash and shimmying into underwear.

She really was lucky it hadn’t been worse. The bottle that had shattered when her father had flung it at her could have actually hit her. Or more pieces of flying glass could have caught exposed skin. It could have done enough damage she’d have to call in sick to work.

But it hadn’t.

Damn it, how was he getting the alcohol? He didn’t drive. Had alienated all of his friends. She’d long since stopped bringing him anything that could be remotely used to trade.

Every time she thought she’d gotten him weaned off, every time she thought he was on the path to recovery and forgetting everything...they ended up back here.

On a sigh, she pulled her hair back and began to braid, pulling as tightly as she could. It was a severe look, one she didn’t go for every single day on the job, but she needed to feel severe today.

She needed answers. Why couldn’t she find the answers?

She glanced at the clock and groaned. She was running late, and she didn’t like to be late on a good day, but with her first day training...San...San...oh, whatever the hell his name was, she didn’t want to set a bad example.

She hurried through putting on her uniform. Some days it was a little constricting. The Kevlar, the straight lines, the shiny name tag. But other days it was armor. Today was definitely one of those days. There were rules and order in the world, and she was the woman to enforce them.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pushing her feet into boots. She’d save lacing them up for when she got to the station.

She caught the glimpse of her trainee at the top of the stairs. “Hey, San Francisco?”

He didn’t reappear right away, but after a few seconds his head popped back around the corner. “Marc,” he said in that same low, measured voice he’d used last night when he’d wanted to help her.

“Sure. Listen. I’ll give you a ride.”

His dark brows furrowed together. “I’m not—”

“Obviously you didn’t get the memo,” she said, approaching the stairs and him with a smile. “I’m your FTO.”

“You’re my...you’re my field training officer?”

“In the flesh.” She could get all bent out of shape at his shock. If she were a dude he wouldn’t be all fumbling and surprised. But if she got irritated by every sexist jerk, she would have left police work a long time ago.

“That’s why me living here is convenient.”

He followed her down the stairs and she kept her eyes straight ahead, voice neutral. “Indeed. The beauty of a small town. Only so many places to live off a police officer’s salary. There’s another guy on the top floor, but he’s a school resource officer. Don’t see much of him.”

He didn’t say anything to that and they walked out into the chill of an early March morning. She’d forgotten her coat, but she’d just deal today. She wasn’t about to seem as though she didn’t have it together for the new guy.

She pointed to her patrol car. “I’m sure they explained it to you, but to refresh, two weeks in, you’ll get your own take-home car, but right now, you’re watching me. I’ll be with you for the whole three months, one with each shift. Last two weeks we’ll do a shadow with me in plainclothes and you handling all the calls.”

“Sounds good.”

She glanced at him then. He was a big guy. Tall and broad. The uniform with vest underneath made him look even broader than he had last night in the hallway. He had a neutral expression on his face, but he had that chiseled jaw, a sort of impassive, serious resting face.

She was always jealous of guys like that, who could look intimidating without even trying. No one laughed at them when they told them to get out of a car and spread ’em.

Of course, she’d been doing this for ten years now. She’d learned how to wield herself in a way that kept most people from messing with her simply on the grounds of her being female.

But it’d be nice to not have to work so hard. Mr. Football Player Shoulders and Ruggedly Handsome—

Whoa, whoa, whoa. None of that. She didn’t cross lines like that. Never had. Never would. Besides, from their encounter last night, he seemed like the compulsive-helper type. I’m-a-cop-and-I’m-here-to-help type.

In other words, so not her type. She wasn’t interested in anyone’s help. Especially someone whose uniform was so freakishly unwrinkled it looked as if nuns had slaved over pressing it all night.

“Man, where’d you take your uniforms?” she asked, opening her driver’s side door.

“Take?”

“Yeah, what dry cleaner? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one so crisp.” She slipped behind the wheel and he did the same in the passenger seat. Filling up that entire side in such a way she felt cramped.