Sharon Archer - The Man Behind the Badge

‘Yes. You can use my pen.’

The pen was still warm from his fingers. She leaned the paper on the edge of the desk to scrawl her signature then handed the papers back to him.

‘So that’s it?’

‘Pretty much.’ He looked at her. ‘How about a coffee?’

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes. I wouldn’t expect you to drink the station coffee if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He smiled but his eyes were dark, unreadable.

‘Oh, I’m sure it couldn’t be as bad as hospital coffee.’ She stopped, bit her lip. He’d think she wanted to stay for coffee in a minute. ‘Thank you, but, no. I need to get on the road. I’ve got a long drive.’

‘Going to Melbourne for the weekend?’

‘Yes.’ She gathered up her belongings and decided she’d get her car keys out when she got to her car.

His face was perfectly calm but there was an acute-ness about the way he looked at her that made her wonder what he was thinking. Perhaps all policemen cultivated that impression of predatory patience. Waiting to see what might be revealed if they waited long enough. ‘Visiting family?’

‘Yes. No. Sort of.’ Her fingers tightened on her bag.

He raised his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth then shut it. He couldn’t possibly be interested in knowing this was her best friend’s last weekend in Melbourne before she returned to the far-flung reaches of North West Australia.

His curiosity was a policeman’s ingrained habit and she was like Pavlov’s dog. A steady stare from an imposing male wearing dark blue epaulettes and it seemed she was still ready to rush into explanations. Her father had trained her well.

Growing up, she’d tried to tell herself it was a sign of his affection that had made him grill her and her sister. But she’d slowly realised it was an uncanny ability to sniff out the tiniest hint of trouble or rebellion.

A fantastic ability in a policeman.

Utterly crushing in a distant, regimented father.

In the end, she’d realised he’d been determined to crush any tendency his daughters might have harboured towards behaving like normal teenagers. Christopher Morgan had been a man with places to go, in line for promotions. No time for messy family dramas and misbehaviour. No taint of gossip would touch him through his family.

She suddenly realised she’d been sitting in the sergeant’s office for far too long, staring back at him. She shot out of the chair. ‘Well, I won’t let you keep me.’

‘Won’t you?’ He stood more slowly, his eyes hooded, a faint smile on his mouth.

She felt the heat rush into her cheeks when she realised what she’d said. ‘I mean, I won’t keep you.’

He inclined his head. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

‘There’s no need. I can find my own way. Thank you, Sergeant.’

‘Tom.’ His fingers fastened around her arm.

She looked at him blankly, her mind consumed by his touch on the tender skin of her inner elbow.

‘My name is Tom.’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ She looked at him helplessly.

‘Say it, Kayla.’

She swallowed. The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. Almost as though he was tasting the syllables, trying out the feel of it in his mouth. At the L-sound, she’d been able to see the tip of his tongue touch the edge of his top teeth.

‘Say it,’ he repeated when she remained silent.

‘Tom.’ Her throat had difficulty making the sound and it came out raw and husky. She’d worked so hard not to even think of him by his name, and now he’d made her say it. She felt something akin to despair. Now he was real, now he was a man, not a uniform.

He nodded. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

He opened his office door and ushered her across to the exit with that gentle but inexorable hold. Her feet moved her along beside him, across the veranda, down the steps to the side of her car. His fingers slid lightly across her elbow joint and finally released her.

He waited while she fumbled in her bag to find her keys to unlock the door. Then he leaned forward to open it for her. ‘Drive carefully, Kayla. See you when you get back next week.’

Not if she saw him first. She slipped into the seat and managed to slide the key into the ignition.

‘Bye, S—’ She gulped the rest of the word when his eyes narrowed. ‘Goodbye, Tom.’

He towered in the opening, one hand on the roof and the other on the door, as though he might say something more. But in the end all he said was, ‘Bye, Kayla.’

He stepped back and shut the door gently.

As she stopped in the driveway to check the way was clear, she caught sight of him in her rear-vision mirror.

Thank goodness she drove an automatic car. It would just be the last straw to grind the gears or bunny-hop out onto the road under his watchful eye.

She didn’t quite know what to make of Tom Jamieson.

But one thing was certain: he was a serious handicap to her enjoyment of Dustin.

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