Kylie Brant - Terms Of Engagement

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Cover Page

Title Page Terms of Engagement Kylie Brant www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author KYLIE BRANT is an award-winning author of twenty-two novels. When she’s not dreaming up stories of romance and suspense, she works as an elementary teacher for learning-disabled students. Kylie has dealt with her newly empty nest by filling the house with even more books and won’t be satisfied until those five vacant bedrooms are full of them! Kylie invites readers to check out her website at www. kyliebrant.com. You can contact her by writing to PO Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, USA or e-mailing her at kyliebrant@hotmail.com. In loving memory of my cousin Cheryl, who touched my life and will always live on in my heart. Acknowledgements: A special thanks to the amazing Kyle Hiller, Captain, Special Response Team, for taking the time to share your knowledge through your invaluable responses. Your generosity is so greatly appreciated.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

KYLIE BRANTis an award-winning author of twenty-two novels. When she’s not dreaming up stories of romance and suspense, she works as an elementary teacher for learning-disabled students. Kylie has dealt with her newly empty nest by filling the house with even more books and won’t be satisfied until those five vacant bedrooms are full of them!

Kylie invites readers to check out her website at www. kyliebrant.com. You can contact her by writing to PO Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, USA or e-mailing her at kyliebrant@hotmail.com.

In loving memory of my cousin Cheryl, who touched my life and will always live on in my heart.

Acknowledgements:

A special thanks to the amazing Kyle Hiller, Captain, Special Response Team, for taking the time to share your knowledge through your invaluable responses. Your generosity is so greatly appreciated.

She wasn’t a stickler for holiday traditions, but this was just wrong.

Lindsay Bradford pushed aside the sagging string of plastic mistletoe that hung just inside the Blue Lagoon’s doorway, only to see a half-naked, drunken Santa seated next to the jukebox. She gave serious consideration to heading back to her apartment. The bar was packed. No one had noticed her yet. If she ducked out now, Dace and Jolie would just give her a hard time tomorrow and that would be the end of it. There was nothing worse than being the last to arrive at a Christmas party, anyway.

Especially a party comprised mostly of cops .

Not for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of coming here tonight. Just the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of off-duty policemen had her palms dampening. The fact that the only two friends she’d made in Metro City had turned out to be detectives was the height of irony. But there was a limit to her appreciation for the ironic.

Some fool saw fit to provide drunk Santa with a mike. If that wasn’t a sign, nothing was. She backed slowly toward the door.

“All you lovely ladies out there,” he boomed in a surprisingly sexy baritone, “c’mon up here and see me. Don’t be shy. If you’ve been nice girls all year, I’ve got something for you. And if you’re on my naughty list…” He gave an exaggerated wink, eliciting hoots from the audience. “C’mon up here and sit on Santa’s lap.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes at the feminine squeals of laughter. Several women obviously lacking in discrimination and good taste accepted the invitation and made their way to the dance floor. She took this as her cue to leave.

She wasn’t feeling particularly festive, anyway. The palm trees wrapped in rope lighting that lined the California streets didn’t evoke the same holiday sentiment as did a decorated, freshly cut pine.

And how incongruous that her longing for home was never so strong as during the holidays. The same time of year she’d chosen to leave Wisconsin and her family behind.

Turning, she headed for the door. But her exit didn’t go unnoticed.

“Lindsay! Hey, Lindsay!”

Uh-oh. Busted.

“Lindsay! Over here!”

As she recognized the voice, her stomach dropped. Pasting a plastic smile on her face, she turned to see a disjointed arm waving from a corner booth nearby. It was attached to Mitch Engels, a coworker from the restaurant. Great. She could do drunk or she could do crazy. She wasn’t sure she was up to dealing with both.

Resigned, she walked over to his booth, where, unsurprisingly, he was sitting alone.

“So d’ya hear what happened?” He slurred the words as he attempted to smooth his thinning brown hair. “Can’t believe it. Neldstrom’s such a bastard. Hate that bastard so much.”

“Haven’t heard anything,” she answered truthfully. She’d worked her shift and headed home for a quick shower and change to avoid arriving here awash in eau de fry grease. But she wasn’t especially eager to get deluged with the latest in the ongoing battle between Mitch and the restaurant owner.

“He fired me! Said I’d missed too many shifts.” Mitch hiccuped wetly. “Didn’t even care I’d been sick. That I need the job. He just took me off the schedule and said I was done. At the holidays, too. The bastard.”

Drunken Santa began an off-tune rendition of “Blue Christmas.” And Lindsay was definitely feeling bluer than she had when she arrived.

“I’m sorry about that, Mitch. Really.” If anyone epitomized victim, it was Mitch Engels. He was short, plump and prematurely balding, with pale blue eyes magnified by thick, horn-rimmed glasses. He was a nice enough guy, if something of an odd duck. Many at work gave him a wide berth, but Lindsay had always felt sorry for him. She was intimately aware of how it felt to not fit in. “If you need help looking for another job…”

Mitch flung out one hand, knocking his bottle off balance. Only quick reflexes saved Lindsay from a beer bath. “Don’t want another job! Want my job. You’re just like the others at Piper’s. You just want me gone.”

Lindsay gave a sigh and sat down across from the man, who looked like he was working himself up to full hissyfit status. “Mitch.” She took his hand in hers, squeezing hard enough to get his attention. “You know that’s not true. I want to help you. Why don’t you go home and go to bed. You can call me tomorrow and we’ll talk about your options, okay?”

He looked pathetically hopeful. “I can call you?”

She wondered if he’d ever heard a female issue that invitation before. Judging from his reaction, probably not. “We’ll talk about the job,” she emphasized. The last thing she wanted was to shift his bubbling emotions from his unemployment woes to her. “Here’s my number.” She found a pen and scrap of paper in her purse, and scribbled the cell number she’d given out to few others.