Michele Dunaway - Capturing the Cop

“I suggest we go along on the date,” Cliff suggested. “I agree with Ben. I’d like to see this woman for myself.” He paused and glanced over at Ben. “That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

“Something along those lines,” Ben said.

“Count me out,” Pete said. “My wife will kill me. I spend too much time with you guys already. She’s starting to harp on me to retire.”

“Count me in,” Mason said with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “I got nothing to do Thursday night.”

“I thought you were hot and heavy with what’s-her-name. Did you break-up with the latest one?” Ben asked. “I thought you were getting serious.”

“Not anymore. Now we just get together for occasional sex,” Mason said. “So I’m free.”

“No, you’re not,” Garrett said. He spoke so forcefully that all the men froze. “This is my date. You are not going. None of you. It may have been a while, but I think I can handle a date all by myself. A date is not like a car accident. I don’t require witnesses.”

Cliff folded his arms across his chest, and at that moment Garrett knew everyone had fully united against him.

“Tagging along is an excellent idea. We’ll sit at a table in the corner, have some lobster and crab legs, sip some beer, talk about our current cases—and monitor your progress. We work while you work.”

Garrett turned, but his six-foot-three frame failed to intimidate anyone. He needed only one date, and he’d prefer it to be alone. He had principles, for goodness sake. “You all are not going.”

Cliff smiled, and Garrett knew before Cliff’s next words that he was stuck.

“Yes, we are,” Cliff said in a tone that closed the matter. “Now, let’s get back to work. As you said, we’ve got multiple murders to solve.”

MELANIE’S was a little storefront establishment that Olivia almost drove by, until at the last moment she saw its name emblazoned on the kelly-green awning.

“Rats!” Olivia flipped on her blinker and ignored the honking from the Cavalier behind her, which had seen better days. Sorry, she mouthed to the irritated driver. Luck was with her and she found a convenient parking space on a side street. Steadying her nerves, she parallel-parked her car. The back tire ended up too close to the curb and she was between the lines, but—good enough. As she killed the engine, her phone rang. Thinking it might be Garrett, she answered before she checked the number on the caller ID.

“Olivia,” the familiar voice said. The voice of her conscience.

Olivia greeted her stepmother. “Hello, Sara.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I heard you left work early the other day. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Olivia said. That was the one thing about living at home. Everyone knew your business, even if you had moved out back to the pool house.

“So are you on your way here? I thought you could come up to the house for dinner. Blake’s at a meeting and I’m by myself.”

Just when was her parents’ next stadium tour? For people who were always out saving the world, they’d been home an awful lot lately. Olivia peered in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick. A touch-up wouldn’t hurt. The ravish me red had faded. “I’ll have to pass on the invitation. I’m meeting a friend.”

“A friend.” Sara sounded a tad too bright as she hid her disappointment that Olivia had plans. “Do I know her?”

Olivia groaned. “Actually, Sara, no.”

“So someone new?”

“I’m going on a dinner date tonight,” Olivia admitted, since the truth was easier than dreaming up some quickie lie.

Sara seemed stunned. “You have a date?”

Without air-conditioning, the car was heating up quickly, Olivia squirmed. “Yes. A date.”

“With who?”

“Someone new,” Olivia repeated, agitation growing as the car began to bake in the July heat. “We just met. You don’t know him.”

“Olivia, you’re terrible with men. And how can I not know him? I’ve met everyone in your crowd. You’ve been hanging out with them for ages.”

Which, when one thought about it, was exactly the problem. Olivia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. One of these days she’d learn to keep her mouth shut. That was what bad girls did.

Bad girls kept secrets from their stepmothers, even if, in Olivia’s case, the stepmother had really been the only mother she’d ever known.

Sara considered it her duty to get Olivia married, and to a godly and righteous man. As Olivia’s age edged closer to thirty-one, Sara’s maternal instinct had grown. What made Sara’s constant meddling worse was that Olivia had her grandfather to contend with, as well. He was the ultimate matchmaker.

Grandpa Joe had successfully gotten Olivia’s brother, Shane, and her cousins Darci and Harry wed. Figuring that if Grandpa Joe could bring on marital bliss, then she could, too, Sara had turned into a regular dating service for Olivia. The last man she’d introduced Olivia to had aspired to be a missionary deep inside Africa. His plans for their life had driven Olivia crazy after three minutes. No way was she sacrificing running water and electricity to help the less fortunate. Maybe that made her shallow, but not even her parents did that.

A bead of sweat formed on her brow. Time to get going. “Sara, I’m really sorry I can’t stop by tonight. I’ll come up to the main house for breakfast tomorrow. Give my love to Dad. I’ve got to run.”

Satisfied she’d said enough, Olivia disconnected before Sara launched into the lecture Olivia could tell was coming. Olivia began to put the phone in her purse but on further thought, placed the phone securely in the glove compartment. Knowing Sara, Olivia was sure her stepmother would call back, and nothing was going to ruin this night.

Heck, Olivia’s younger half brother, Shane, had sown a bucketful of oats before settling down. If Olivia even mentioned sowing a seed, her stepmother had the whole worldwide constituency out praying for her wayward, virginal stepdaughter. She’d been a fixture in her stepmother’s ministry column for years.

Olivia touched up her lipstick and opened the car door. As she stepped out, the St. Louis humidity instantly enveloped her. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her V-necked spaghetti-strap sundress. She’d wrestled all morning with her wardrobe, which had to go from work to her date. How she’d thought about wearing something bad, something black, sexy and oh, so “take me now.”

In the end, even if she had owned something like that, she couldn’t have done it. Instead, she’d settled for lace underwear, and had worn the sundress for its cleavage-enhancing abilities. She’d left the matching short-sleeved sweater in her office. She gripped her small white purse and began walking toward the restaurant.

As for the date, Olivia couldn’t remember ever being so nervous. She’d had enough blind dates in college to last her a lifetime. And then, of course, Sara had paraded eligible men through the endless social engagements that being Blake and Sara Jacobsen entailed. Both types of experiences had taught Olivia that she was terrible on her feet and lousy with idle conversation. She’d learned not to care, to pretend her inadequacies didn’t bother her, although deep down they did.

But tonight she worried. None of the men she’d met before had been as sexy as Garrett Krause. None of the men had seemed so ideal.

“Perfect for my project,” Olivia told herself aloud, much to the amusement of a passerby. Olivia walked on, voicing her thoughts only in her head. He’ll be my VITO boy. VITO was an acronym Chrissy had coined in high school—the letters being the first two of the words “virginity to.”

He’ll be the one I give my virginity to, Olivia thought. I’m thirty. It’s way past time to become a real woman, no matter what my parents say about waiting for marriage and Mr. Right. Olivia wobbled a little in the two-inch heels she wore. Garrett was tall, and she didn’t wish for him to tower over her too much.