wondered how everyone would feel about that, especially Morgan, Nicky’s wife.
“I wouldn’t think so, but I would probably ask first. She wants to be called O’Malley then? I’ve never seen a person more determined to call someone by their last name like she does. Why do you think that is?”
“Yes. She calls me Grant, so it works for us. I think it might have something to do with working in the atmosphere that she does.” She was going to call him Grant at least until they were in bed together. Which reminded him, he had to pick up protection. Even though she was mad at him, it didn’t keep him from wanting her.
Spencer went to Meggie’s room to check on her after he hung up with Devin.
He marveled that she was all his. She was going to be staying with him forever now and he had never been so happy.
Her mother, Shannon, had not even put up much of a fight. She had just demanded that he pay her a lump sum of cash and then be done with it. Devin had drawn up the contract for them and even though he did not like the way Shannon had coldly done it, he was glad it was over too. It had been a long, five year battle.
Looking around her room, he grimaced. Boxes of stuff were everywhere and her windows still only had shades on them. He had wanted to have it decorated before they moved in, but his mom had told him to wait and let Meggie decide.
He looked over at the books of wallpaper samples the previous decorator had left and smiled. The woman, Desire, had left in a major huff two days ago when Meggie refused to let her do it her way. Desire had thought that she could get into Daddy’s pants too. Not going to happen.
Spencer wondered what O’Malley would do to the room. He thought of her and Meggie bent over swatches and laughed out loud. Nope, he thought, he could only see them bending over O’Malley’s gun and her showing Meggie how it worked and how to be safe around it. Meggie would be a willing pupil too.
Smiling, he left his daughter with a light kiss to her forehead and went to his own room.
~CHAPTER 7~
Cait was at the court house at seven-thirty. She was never late for work and found no reason to be late for this either. She hated court appearances; it was not so much the court itself, but having to dress in nicer clothes. She looked down at the clothes she had on.
She had lost weight. Not a lot, but enough that her clothes hung on her tall frame. Her pants were dark blue and light cotton; they looked good only because her aunt Dee had ironed them for her. Her shoes were her service shoes, but it was all she had with her, and she was not spending money on shoes she would wear the one time. She had put on a silk blouse her aunt had lent her because it was so hot out for this time of year, and a dark jacket over that. Her service weapon, another Glock, but a twenty-two this time, was in a shoulder holster under her right arm and there were two clips in the harness strap. She also had another Glock, a twenty-seven this time, strapped to her ankle. It, too, had two extra clips strapped to her other ankle.
The clips were interchangeable and most cops she knew carried the same combination of weapons for that reason. She was glad for their weight and comfort again. Her badge was on a chain around her neck and was currently tucked into her inside jacket pocket. There was also a pair of steel handcuffs, OC
spray, and a couple of knives tucked here and there on her body.
When Devin Grant approached her, she saw him hesitate slightly then move forward. Cait was used to that. Most men, even very strong men like the Grant men, were intimated by her status and the fact that she carried a gun. She could live with that.
“I think you looked less scary in the hospital holding a gun on Spencer than you do now. I never realized that how a person dresses—especially you—could convey so much authority and respect. You wear your job well, Detective.”
“How’s the murder going? You know that it’s more than
“I wouldn’t think so, but I would probably ask first. She wants to be called O’Malley then? I’ve never seen a person more determined to call someone by their last name like she does. Why do you think that is?”
“Yes. She calls me Grant, so it works for us. I think it might have something to do with working in the atmosphere that she does.” She was going to call him Grant at least until they were in bed together. Which reminded him, he had to pick up protection. Even though she was mad at him, it didn’t keep him from wanting her.
Spencer went to Meggie’s room to check on her after he hung up with Devin.
He marveled that she was all his. She was going to be staying with him forever now and he had never been so happy.
Her mother, Shannon, had not even put up much of a fight. She had just demanded that he pay her a lump sum of cash and then be done with it. Devin had drawn up the contract for them and even though he did not like the way Shannon had coldly done it, he was glad it was over too. It had been a long, five year battle.
Looking around her room, he grimaced. Boxes of stuff were everywhere and her windows still only had shades on them. He had wanted to have it decorated before they moved in, but his mom had told him to wait and let Meggie decide.
He looked over at the books of wallpaper samples the previous decorator had left and smiled. The woman, Desire, had left in a major huff two days ago when Meggie refused to let her do it her way. Desire had thought that she could get into Daddy’s pants too. Not going to happen.
Spencer wondered what O’Malley would do to the room. He thought of her and Meggie bent over swatches and laughed out loud. Nope, he thought, he could only see them bending over O’Malley’s gun and her showing Meggie how it worked and how to be safe around it. Meggie would be a willing pupil too.
Smiling, he left his daughter with a light kiss to her forehead and went to his own room.
~CHAPTER 7~
Cait was at the court house at seven-thirty. She was never late for work and found no reason to be late for this either. She hated court appearances; it was not so much the court itself, but having to dress in nicer clothes. She looked down at the clothes she had on.
She had lost weight. Not a lot, but enough that her clothes hung on her tall frame. Her pants were dark blue and light cotton; they looked good only because her aunt Dee had ironed them for her. Her shoes were her service shoes, but it was all she had with her, and she was not spending money on shoes she would wear the one time. She had put on a silk blouse her aunt had lent her because it was so hot out for this time of year, and a dark jacket over that. Her service weapon, another Glock, but a twenty-two this time, was in a shoulder holster under her right arm and there were two clips in the harness strap. She also had another Glock, a twenty-seven this time, strapped to her ankle. It, too, had two extra clips strapped to her other ankle.
The clips were interchangeable and most cops she knew carried the same combination of weapons for that reason. She was glad for their weight and comfort again. Her badge was on a chain around her neck and was currently tucked into her inside jacket pocket. There was also a pair of steel handcuffs, OC
spray, and a couple of knives tucked here and there on her body.
When Devin Grant approached her, she saw him hesitate slightly then move forward. Cait was used to that. Most men, even very strong men like the Grant men, were intimated by her status and the fact that she carried a gun. She could live with that.
“I think you looked less scary in the hospital holding a gun on Spencer than you do now. I never realized that how a person dresses—especially you—could convey so much authority and respect. You wear your job well, Detective.”
“How’s the murder going? You know that it’s more than
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