Julie Miller - The Rookie

Or was he the only one whose equilibrium was being tested by forbidden urges? Somewhere along the line, Josh’s protective feelings and aesthetic appreciation for Professor Rachel Livesay had gotten tangled up in a sexual tension that was at once irresistibly intriguing and damnably inconvenient.

His physical response to her had been tempered by the absolute awe of learning the elusive differences between her pregnant body and the body of any other woman he’d known. There was a vulnerability about a woman whose normal state of grace had been altered by the fragile miracle of life growing inside her belly. Everything about her seemed like femininity intensified.

He’d wanted to touch her belly, feel the life within her.

He’d wanted to kiss her.

Oh, boy. Talk about blowing his cover!

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Julie Miller attributed her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.

Josh Taylor—His youthful smile and irresistible charm make him a natural for infiltrating a meth ring on campus. Will his assignment put his pretty professor in even more danger?

Dr. Rachel Livesay—Eight months pregnant and on her own—just the way she’s planned it. Until someone threatens to take away her baby. She turns to a younger man for protection. But can she risk turning over her heart, as well?

Dr. Simon Livesay—Rachel’s ex-husband and former business partner. Once he cheated on her. Now he wants to replace her.

David Brown—He didn’t take kindly to being kicked out of the good doctor’s class.

Dr. Curt Norwood—He and Rachel were old friends from college.

Dr. Andrew Washburn—His sperm bank offered only the finest in father candidates and promised the utmost discretion.

Kevin Washburn—What secret was the lonely young man hiding?

Lucy Holcomb—Rachel’s troubled client knew what it was like to lose a baby.

AJ Rodriguez—The wounded cop owed Josh a favor. #93579—The not-so-anonymous father of Rachel’s baby.

For Marilee Mathine.

A good friend and co-worker for many years, and the unofficial goodwill ambassador for St. Paul Public Schools.

Thank you for all your support in both teaching and writing. Thanks for fielding those phone calls. Thanks for easing my stress and sharing my excitement.

May good fortune and good health be your lifelong friend.

With thanks to the Kiss of Death ladies

(the Mystery/Romantic Suspense Chapter of RWA)

for answering my research questions with expertise and enthusiasm.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Joshua Taylor hunkered down behind the stack of crates in the old warehouse, alternately scanning the shadows for signs of movement, and eavesdropping on the soft yet tense conversation playing into the receiver wedged inside his ear.

His black slacks and fur-collared uniform blended into the night. The only signs that might give away his presence were the shiny brass badge pinned above his heart, and the sleek bulk of the steel pistol he gripped between his leather-gloved hands.

“You told me you could deliver.” That was A. J. Rodriguez, at one time the partner of Josh’s older brother, Cole. He’d been masquerading for the past three weeks as a drug dealer trying to move his business into Fourth Precinct territory. “And now you want to short me twenty bags when I come with my arms—and my briefcase—wide open?”

“It’s risky, putting my faith in new neighbors.” That cranky, drug-damaged voice belonged to Randall Pittmon. He’d been in and out of jail more times than Josh had taken a date to the local amusement park—and that was saying something. That ageless scumbag was going down for the count this time, though. No misdemeanor charges. No plea bargains. This was a major bust.

As soon as Randall put his cards on the table. Cards filled with street-ready methamphetamine. Vacuum-packed crystals ready to smoke or melt down to inject. The same kind of home-brewed high that had taken one of the kids he coached at the local gym last month.

Josh swallowed his impatient huff and shifted his position. The concrete floor was chilling his butt, and this guy wanted to philosophize! Josh turned his chin toward the microphone clipped to his shoulder strap and whispered, “Does anybody else think this guy’s stalling?”

“Maintain silence, Taylor.” That would be Lieutenant Cutler.

Josh nodded in lieu of a yes, sir, and peered into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the location of the other uniformed officers who’d been assigned as backup for A.J. and Cutler’s men. No one. Nothing. He was stuck like a frog at the bottom of a mud-hole, blindly waiting for the predator to strike. Able only to listen and wait for Cutler’s command.

One day soon he’d make detective, and he could take the lead on cases like this one. At age twenty-eight, he was ready for it. He’d passed the test. He had the college degree. He had the experience under his belt.

What he needed was a different last name.

Being the baby of a large brood of law enforcement brothers, he had an almost legendary reputation to live up to. Proud as he was of his family’s accomplishments, he found it hard to measure up. He couldn’t just be a competent patrolman with a decent arrest record. He couldn’t just have good instincts on the street. He had to be better than anybody else up for the new detective slots in the Fourth Precinct.

He had to walk a fine line between taking orders and taking risks, and prove that he was the best.

A.J. tried to urge Randall into a decision. “My offer’s not going to be on the table much longer. If you have the goods, deal. If not, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Definitely stalling. Josh rolled over onto the balls of his feet and crouched low, maintaining his cover behind the crates. He ventured a whisper, almost touching his lips to his mike. “Lieutenant.”

Josh ignored the lieutenant’s succinct curse and reported what his ears and his gut told him, even if his eyes couldn’t see it. “Pittmon’s waiting for a third party. Does A.J. know that?”