When she kept watching him, he elaborated. “That he can’t get away with making lewd comments about women in general and especially not about women in the department.”
“Technically, I’m not in the department,” she pointed out.
His shrug was casual—and oddly sensual, she thought before shutting the thought away. “Minor point,” Tom answered.
“That was pretty good shooting,” she commented as she attempted to change the subject. He examined her closely, as if he actually was checking her over for those bruises he’d asked about. She didn’t want him looking at her like that. It didn’t make her feel uncomfortable so much as it made her feel…restless. “You get out on the firing range much?”
“Enough.” Actually, he went out often. And he was good. So good that his name was in the small, select pool the department referred to whenever it needed to put a S.W.A.T. team together. Luckily, that wasn’t very often.
But he saw no point in telling her that. Despite the very real seriousness of the situation, the feel of her body beneath his had registered quite acutely. And now that he knew he hadn’t injured her, the memory came back for him to dwell on. And savor. It reminded him that it had been quite a while since he’d been out with a woman.
“Cavelli—Cavanaugh,” she corrected herself, then stopped. “What do I call you?” she asked. This uncertainty was annoying.
“Tom works,” he told her. “Or ‘Detective’ if you prefer. That hasn’t changed any.”
Now what was that supposed to mean? What had changed? She hated to admit it, but the man had aroused her curiosity, something that was usually dormant as far as she was concerned. For the most part, the only answers she’d ever required were those that directly affected the cases she worked. That had roots in the fact that her distant past was one big, empty space, and because it was, she’d accepted not knowing the answers to a lot of other things. She just wasn’t interested in knowing other people’s business.
But she had to admit that this mystery surrounding the detective’s last name did have her somewhat curious. Why was there a different nameplate on Tom’s desk when the chief called him one of his own and referred to him directly by the last name of Cavanaugh?
“Okay,” she allowed with a slight inclination of her head. “Tom.”
Was she just repeating his name, or drawing his closer attention? He gazed at the woman whose soft contours had momentarily broken through his powers of focus and concentration.
“Yeah?
Kait paused for a moment, looking for words. Expressing gratitude had never been easy for her. She had learned how to shut down early on, and that was her natural state. Warm words were not part of it. Still, the detective had acted quickly and selflessly. She wasn’t the kind to let things like that slide without acknowledgment. “Thanks.”
He smiled then, a wide, affable smile, and Kait felt something strange and unsettling going on in her stomach. And warm. Very warm.
She was driving herself too hard and was probably coming down with something.
“Glad I was there,” Tom told her before heading out to the front of the building.
So was she, she thought as she followed him.
All three thugs had their wounds—none life-threatening—attended to and bandaged. They were then questioned separately over a number of hours by both Tom and Kait, acting in tandem and individually. But after several hours, it became apparent that this was just a random act. There was no connection between the theft-gone-bad and the investigation that had brought her to Aurora in the first place.
The three men weren’t kidnappers; they had just seen an opportunity to steal a vehicle that was a cut above the rest in the lot. It was just their misfortune that the car belonged to one of Aurora’s finest—and that their clumsy attempt had been viewed on camera by another law-enforcement agent.
She was back to
“Technically, I’m not in the department,” she pointed out.
His shrug was casual—and oddly sensual, she thought before shutting the thought away. “Minor point,” Tom answered.
“That was pretty good shooting,” she commented as she attempted to change the subject. He examined her closely, as if he actually was checking her over for those bruises he’d asked about. She didn’t want him looking at her like that. It didn’t make her feel uncomfortable so much as it made her feel…restless. “You get out on the firing range much?”
“Enough.” Actually, he went out often. And he was good. So good that his name was in the small, select pool the department referred to whenever it needed to put a S.W.A.T. team together. Luckily, that wasn’t very often.
But he saw no point in telling her that. Despite the very real seriousness of the situation, the feel of her body beneath his had registered quite acutely. And now that he knew he hadn’t injured her, the memory came back for him to dwell on. And savor. It reminded him that it had been quite a while since he’d been out with a woman.
“Cavelli—Cavanaugh,” she corrected herself, then stopped. “What do I call you?” she asked. This uncertainty was annoying.
“Tom works,” he told her. “Or ‘Detective’ if you prefer. That hasn’t changed any.”
Now what was that supposed to mean? What had changed? She hated to admit it, but the man had aroused her curiosity, something that was usually dormant as far as she was concerned. For the most part, the only answers she’d ever required were those that directly affected the cases she worked. That had roots in the fact that her distant past was one big, empty space, and because it was, she’d accepted not knowing the answers to a lot of other things. She just wasn’t interested in knowing other people’s business.
But she had to admit that this mystery surrounding the detective’s last name did have her somewhat curious. Why was there a different nameplate on Tom’s desk when the chief called him one of his own and referred to him directly by the last name of Cavanaugh?
“Okay,” she allowed with a slight inclination of her head. “Tom.”
Was she just repeating his name, or drawing his closer attention? He gazed at the woman whose soft contours had momentarily broken through his powers of focus and concentration.
“Yeah?
Kait paused for a moment, looking for words. Expressing gratitude had never been easy for her. She had learned how to shut down early on, and that was her natural state. Warm words were not part of it. Still, the detective had acted quickly and selflessly. She wasn’t the kind to let things like that slide without acknowledgment. “Thanks.”
He smiled then, a wide, affable smile, and Kait felt something strange and unsettling going on in her stomach. And warm. Very warm.
She was driving herself too hard and was probably coming down with something.
“Glad I was there,” Tom told her before heading out to the front of the building.
So was she, she thought as she followed him.
All three thugs had their wounds—none life-threatening—attended to and bandaged. They were then questioned separately over a number of hours by both Tom and Kait, acting in tandem and individually. But after several hours, it became apparent that this was just a random act. There was no connection between the theft-gone-bad and the investigation that had brought her to Aurora in the first place.
The three men weren’t kidnappers; they had just seen an opportunity to steal a vehicle that was a cut above the rest in the lot. It was just their misfortune that the car belonged to one of Aurora’s finest—and that their clumsy attempt had been viewed on camera by another law-enforcement agent.
She was back to
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