Brenda Harlen - Bulletproof Hearts

As he expected, the outer office was deserted, silent. He heard Natalie’s voice in the distance, followed the sound toward her office. He could see her through the narrow opening of the door, the receiver of the phone tucked beneath her chin as she typed away at the keyboard of her computer.

“I just have too much work to do.” There was an edge of frustration in her voice, as if she’d already made this explanation numerous times. “Please try to understand.”

There was a pause as she listened to the response of whoever was on the other end of the phone. She stopped typing and the corners of her mouth curved upward slightly. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Me, too. And I’ll see you on Friday, Jack. I promise.”

Dylan stepped back from the door, trying to interpret what he’d overheard of the conversation. Who was Jack? A friend? A lover? Definitely someone she still had ties to. But if she was involved with someone in Chicago, why would she have moved seven hundred miles away?

And why did the possibility that Natalie was involved with someone else fail to diminish the attraction he felt?

He shook his head, annoyed by the irrationality of his own thoughts. He turned away, determined to walk out the door, away from her. But as he turned, he felt something crunch beneath the heel of his shoe. He winced and glanced down at the offensive instrument—a now broken No. 2 pencil.

“Hello?”

He stepped forward, through the door of her office. “It’s just me.”

“Oh.” Natalie frowned, obviously surprised to see him.

“I was leaving the station and saw your light on,” he explained. “What are you still doing here?”

She smiled wryly. “I haven’t been fired yet.”

He chuckled. “I meant, why are you still in your office at seven o’clock on a Tuesday night?”

“Because I have a ton of work to do.” She gestured to the stack of files on her desk, sighed. “Since John Beckett has decided not to fire me—at least, not yet—and since I no longer have the Merrick trial at the end of the month, he’s given me several more cases to deal with.”

“Probably so he could go home early.”

“That’s the whole point in having subordinates, I guess.”

Dylan shook his head. “You know what they say about ‘all work and no play’.”

“Sure. All work and no play means I’ll keep my job another day.”

He smiled. “I really don’t think Beckett will fire you. Other than your ill-fated decision to visit Merrick’s apartment, your work has been exemplary.”

“How would you know?”

“It’s a small town,” he reminded her. “Word travels.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Besides, that position was vacant for quite a while,” he told her. “If Beckett gets rid of you, he’ll just have to advertise and interview for the position again. I can’t imagine that’s something he’d look forward to.”

“I’d like to think that he’ll keep me on because of my work, not because it would require too much effort to replace me.” She pushed away from the desk and moved to the bookcase to retrieve another text.

She rolled her right shoulder, clearly trying to alleviate the tension. He stepped behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at the contact, slowly relaxing when his fingers started kneading the tense muscles.

It had been an instinctive gesture, not unlike what he’d have done for one of his sisters. Except that, as soon as he touched her, he realized his mistake. Natalie Vaughn wasn’t his sister, and the way his body was responding to hers wasn’t remotely brotherly.

She moaned softly, almost inaudibly, but the sensual sound tortured his imagination. Would she moan like that while making love? Would she scream with the pleasure of her release? He focused his gaze on the textbooks, concentrated on reading the titles rather than fantasizing about what he couldn’t allow to happen. Objectivity, he reminded himself again.

“I didn’t see Richardson in his office,” Dylan said, referring to the other A.D.A. Conversation, he decided, would stop her from making those sexy little sounds that were driving him insane.

“Greg’s been here longer than I have,” she said. “Besides, he has a wife and family to go home to. There’s nothing waiting for me in my hotel room except the television.”

And a big, wide bed. Which was definitely not something he should be thinking about right now.

“If you’re going to work late, you should lock the door,” he advised. “You never know who could walk in.” And if she’d locked the door, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be touching her, wanting her and torn between longing and guilt.

“I’m waiting for a delivery,” she told him.

“Dinner?”

She nodded, evoking mixed feelings of relief and disappointment when she stepped away from him. “Thanks. That feels a lot better now.”

Maybe for her. He was definitely feeling a little tense. “What are you having?”

“Kung Pao Chicken.”

“Where’d you order from?”

“The Golden Dragon.”

Dylan grimaced.

“Bad choice?”

“Not the best,” he agreed.

Natalie sighed. “It’s one of the things I already miss about Chicago—knowing where to get the best takeout.”

One of the things. Was Jack another? He wasn’t going to speculate; he wasn’t going to ask.

“Don’t you cook?” he asked instead.

“Not if I don’t have to,” she admitted. “Do you?”

“All the time.”

“Really?” She sounded shocked.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes. Are you any good?”

He grinned. “I’ve been told my marinara sauce is to die for.”

“Marinara sauce, hmm?” She sounded interested, almost in spite of herself.

“I also make a great meat loaf.”

“And you’re still single?”

He felt a pang, sharp and swift, but gone as quickly as it had come. Maybe too quickly. That was something he’d have to think about later. Now he shrugged. “You want to skip the Kung Pao Chicken for a home-cooked meal?”

“It’s tempting,” she told him, “but I’ve already ordered, and I really do have a ton of work still to do.”

“Maybe some other time?”

“Maybe,” she agreed vaguely.

It wasn’t an outright refusal, anyway. He decided to quit while he was ahead. “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said. “Make sure you lock up behind the delivery man.”

Dylan’s instincts had always been good. Of course, fifteen years on the force had taught him a lot about people and helped him to hone his natural intuition. But he was still undecided about the new assistant district attorney.

Were his hormones confusing the issue?

Possibly.

Probably.

He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her. She was an attractive woman, and he was a fully functioning man with all the normal impulses. But he had no intention of acting on those impulses.

Despite his clumsy overtures, he kept his personal life separate from his job—no exceptions. To cross that line would hamper his objectivity, and without objectivity he couldn’t be a good cop. Dylan had always prided himself on being a very good cop. It was more than his job, it was his identity. And it was all he had left.

So he wasn’t happy that thoughts of Natalie Vaughn occupied an inordinate amount of his time. Of course, it didn’t help that she’d walked into the middle of a murder scene and thus firmly planted herself in one of his cases.

The investigation of which was proving to be surprisingly fruitful in the early stages. A .45 caliber pistol had been found hidden behind a bush outside Merrick’s apartment. Preliminary reports showed no prints on the gun, which wasn’t surprising. But the fact that the serial number on the weapon had been filed down gave him hope. It was unlikely the perp would have bothered with such a task unless the weapon was registered in his name. Or maybe he got the gun from someone else who’d used it for illegal purposes. In either case, once the lab guys retrieved the number, the police would have—if not the killer—at least a starting point in their search for whoever had pulled the trigger.