Maggie Price - Most Wanted Woman

“From what I heard when I got here, Regan Ford knows a lot about taking care of injured folks. A hell of a lot. When I asked her about it, she said she took a couple of first aid classes.”

Decker’s comment underscored what Josh now knew for certain—there was a lot more going on with Regan than met the eye. “I’d say she took more than a couple.”

Decker crossed his arms over his chest. “I drop into Truelove’s now and then, sometimes when Regan’s tending bar. She sure doesn’t have a lot to say. Now that I think about it, she does a good job of detouring around me.” Josh didn’t need to see past the dark lenses of Decker’s glasses to know the cop’s eyes held a look of narrowed speculation. “Can’t help but wonder if it’s me, or the fact I’m the law.”

“Maybe you’re just not charismatic enough?” Josh ventured.

Decker dipped his head. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that night about fifteen years ago when I happened upon you and Etta’s oldest boy with your dates out by the lake? As I recall, the four of you had made a lot of headway getting your clothes off. You were underage and had beer. I could have run the lot of you in, but I didn’t. I figure I was pretty damn charismatic that night.”

Josh chuckled. “Forget what I said, Chief. You’re the most magnetic guy I know.”

“Yeah.” Decker glanced back at the hearse, let out a breath. “Suppose kids’ll ever learn booze and speed don’t mix?”

“Wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m not. See you later.”

Josh watched Decker climb into his sky-blue cruiser with the gold police chief’s badge on the door. So, it wasn’t just him. Regan had an aversion to other cops, too.

Why? he wondered as he headed across the clearing. Did she have something to fear from the law?

She looked up when his shadow slid over her. The paramedics who’d arrived with the ambulance had given them alcohol wipes to get the blood off their skin, but that hadn’t helped their clothes. Her crop top, shorts, even her socks sported numerous bloodstains and smears.

Up close, her skin looked pale. Sallow. Her eyes still held the devastation that had settled in them when Amelia died while they worked to save her.

“Decker talked to the hospital,” he said quietly. “The doc expects Easton to recover fully.”

Her gaze tracked the hearse as it crept toward the road. “Wish we could say the same about Amelia.”

Josh crouched, settled a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not because we didn’t try.”

She instantly tensed, leaned away, forcing him to drop his hand. Okay, she didn’t want to be comforted. He didn’t have her full measure yet, but he would.

“Regan, are you a doctor?”

She kept her gaze focused on the road. “No.”

“A nurse?”

“No. I’ve taken some first aid classes.”

“I’d say more than a few.” When he shifted closer, he felt the tension thicken around them on the hot air. “I spent a lot of years riding a black and white and I’ve seen plenty of EMTs in action. It’s obvious you have a lot of training and experience. You’re damn good at the job. So, here I am, wondering what a woman with your skills is doing tending bar instead of riding with an ambulance crew. Or working at a hospital.”

She surged up. “I have to go.”

He rose as she did, locked a hand on her upper arm. “That couple who stopped first to help saw you in action. They’ll tell people what you did for those kids. Hell, I already heard Quentin tell one of the cops you’re a doctor. Word of what happened this morning will spread like wildfire across Sundown. Every time you turn around someone’s going to ask how you know what you know. Where you learned your skills. Why you’re not using them. You think telling them you’ve had a couple of first aid classes is going to cut it?” He stepped closer. “Doesn’t do it for me. Don’t you know that the less you tell someone, the more they want to know?”

She jerked from his touch. “I have to pick up some things at the market for Etta before I take her lunch.”

“I’ll run with you as far as your place.”

“No.” Her face was flushed now from either the heat or emotion. Maybe both. “I told you, I prefer jogging alone.”

“What is it about cops that makes you nervous?”

Something flickered in her eyes, then was gone. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then I’ll explain. Chief Decker says when he stops by Truelove’s, you make a point to avoid him. I have to wonder why, since he’s a decent guy. You sure as hell didn’t want him to know you list ‘skilled in emergency medicine’ on your résumé. Then there’s me. I come around, I get the impression you check for running room.”

She sent him a cool smile. “Cops aren’t my favorite people. Nothing personal, McCall.”

“Sorry to hear that. Some of us can be real charming if we put our mind to it.”

“Charming men don’t impress me. Now I’ve got to go.”

He stepped forward, blocking her retreat. “I watched your face while you worked on that girl. You’re not just good at emergency medicine, you’ve got a passion for it.”

“You have no idea how I feel,” she shot back. “About anything.”

“You’re right. I have no clue what stopped you from being out there, helping people. Saving lives. Or why you’ve stuck yourself in an out-of-the-way, small-town tavern.”

“I’m not stuck. I tend bar now.” Her hands clenched. “That’s what I do. What I want to do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Didn’t say there was.” He dipped his head. “I don’t know you well enough to have you figured out. Yet. But Etta does—or thinks she does. She cares about you. Her feelings matter to me. If whatever is going on with you harms her, you’ll have me to deal with.”

Her eyes went hot. “I love Etta. She gave me a job, a place to live. I owe her. I would never hurt her.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t just take your word for it. I intend to keep an eye on you.”

“Do it from a distance.” He saw the tremor in the hand she used to shove her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t want to jog with you, McCall. I don’t want to eat breakfast, lunch or dinner with you. Is that clear?”

He kept his eyes cool and steady on her face. “Crystal.”

“Fine. So please leave me the hell alone.”

He watched her dash toward the road, her tanned legs pumping, ponytail bouncing.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” he murmured.

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