Sweetest Mistake (Nolan Brothers #2) (3 page)

Luke dragged a hand through his wet hair and pushed open the door to the station.

The rookie officer, Dominic Newberry, hunched over a file on his desk. “Chief’s looking for you.”

Luke grunted. He was late to work, and while he hated disappointing Chief Brown, he couldn’t muster the will to give a shit about the recent string of write-ups filling his personnel file.

Dominic looked up from his paperwork. “They’ve posted the position.”

Weariness clawed at Luke.

The kid snuck a glance over his shoulder before his gaze slid back to Luke. “Sloane’s applying for it.”

The hairs on Luke’s neck lifted and he rolled his shoulders. “Is that right?”

A figure took shape out of the corner of his eye. “Welcome back, Detective.”

Luke turned toward the sound of the chief’s voice. “Good to be back.”

Cynthia’s chocolate-chip-brown eyes studied him over the rim of her glasses for one long, uncomfortable moment. “Come talk with me.”

A heavy sigh rattled through him and he followed her into her office. He remained standing beside the chair positioned before her desk while she rounded the oversized faux-mahogany bureau.

“How was your weekend?” She dropped into the vinyl-covered chair.

His weekend consisted of a three-day confinement at a farmhouse somewhere in the backwoods of Georgia, where he’d been forced to talk about his feelings with a crotchety bunch of maimed, disturbed, and, for all he could tell, utterly broken men.

Needless to say, his weekend sucked balls. Definitely not his idea of a good time. Not his idea at all, but Cynthia’s. Somehow, she’d gotten it into her head Luke was suffering from post-traumatic stress or some such shit.

“Glad I went,” Luke lied. “I hear the position’s been posted.”

Best part of his weekend was that little mishap at the airport. He bit back a smile when he recalled her small face with huge, horror-struck brown eyes. He’d never forgotten a girl before. What was her name? Amy? Emma?

“Are you interested?”

Luke corralled his meandering thoughts. “Is Sloane up for it?”

Cynthia appeared to measure her words. “He expressed an interest, yes. Does that impact your decision?”

“Not at all.” He fabricated a wicked smile. “Just scouting the competition.”

Cynthia made a noise that Luke recognized as the closest she came to laughter. “So, tell me about the retreat.”

“I’d love to.” He took a small step back and his heel caught on a chair leg. His hand shot out to grip the chair back. “But I’m buried in paperwork. How about we chat later?”

Her gaze strayed from his face to his hand on the chair. “Come find me when you’ve caught up.”

At his desk, he attacked the stack of files he’d been shifting around for months. Words swam before his eyes, as they’d done since that day six months ago.

He shoved the paperwork into a corner of the steel desk and, rather than seeking out Cynthia, careened toward the front door. In the parking lot, the sun-warmed asphalt radiated heat. He climbed into his SUV with the Thief Island Police logo and cranked the air-conditioning.

Pulling out onto Main Street, he thrust a hand through his hair, as if he might soothe his agitated mind.

He didn’t need therapy. Therapy wouldn’t bring Anthony back.

He pumped the brake when the island’s lone stoplight caught him with a red signal.

Therapy couldn’t fix what was broken. Therapy would only reopen the wounds, but he didn’t want to revisit them. He wanted to forget, and to forget, he had everything he needed—women, workouts, and whiskey.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t indulge in any of those things while on duty.

Before him, a royal-blue Jetta passed through the intersection. Through the windshield, the driver’s strawberry-blonde hair shone in the sunlight.

A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth.

Whatshername would have to do.

Emily peered through the windshield to read the name on the street sign. Brandywine? She collapsed back in the seat. She was officially lost.

Thinking to learn the layout of the island, she’d taken a different route home from the cemetery. She’d even managed to confuse the GPS, which kept guiding her around the same loop. At a stop sign, she pulled a paper map from the car’s glove compartment and laid it across the steering wheel while she studied it. A bead of sweat broke out on her brow and she lowered the car window.

With a plan in mind, she eased through the stop sign. Just then, a sudden strong breeze kicked up, snatching the map from her fingers and sucking it through the car window. In her rearview mirror, she watched the map dance in the wind.

A curse shot from her. Leaning forward in her seat, she squinted to read the road signs as she passed by, hoping one of them might ring familiar. Absorbed in her crisis, she failed to heed the lights flashing in her rearview mirror until the police siren’s sharp chirp punched the air.

Emily groaned as she eased off the accelerator and maneuvered the car to the side of the road. The white police vehicle drew up snug behind her.

In her side mirror, she watched the officer unfold from the SUV and amble up alongside her car. The navy-blue uniform hugged his lean, well-muscled frame.

A niggle of unease chased up her spine. She reached through the window opening and adjusted the driver-side mirror so that she could see his face.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach.

Mirrored sunglasses obscured his eyes and the white stick of a sucker dangled from his pouty mouth, but he was instantly recognizable.

Luke withdrew the sucker from his mouth, leaving a kiss of moisture on his lips. “License and registration.”

She started out of her dumbstruck state. Stretching, she popped open the glove compartment and rummaged around until she located the vehicle’s registration. She handed it over.

He pushed the sunglasses on top of his head and green eyes pierced her. Her mouth went dry.

“Your license?”

She snatched her purse off the passenger seat, dug out her wallet, and slid the State of Arizona driver’s license from the laminated holder.

He studied the documents. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

She licked her dry lips. “Twenty-seven, I think.”

“I clocked you at twenty-six.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Sea-green eyes landed on her face with the force of a tidal wave. “Speed limit is twenty-five, Ms. Cole.”

Ms. Cole?

He flipped open a notepad. “I’m afraid I'm going to have to issue you a ticket.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re going to w-w-write m-me a ticket? For going o-one mile over the speed limit?”

He pointed at something in the distance. “This is a school zone, Ms. Cole.”

“A single mile per hour?”

“You could’ve hit a child.”

“It’s Sunday.”

He sliced her with a look. “Safety doesn’t take a day off.”

Laughter burst from her.

Which he quelled with a look.

“You’re kidding.” She searched for signs of humor on his face. “Aren’t you?”

“It says here you’re five feet four inches tall.” He looked at her beneath lowered lashes; their length so long they tangled at the corners. “That seems awfully generous.”

She floundered for words while he scribbled something in his notepad. Then he tore the sheet from the tablet with a flourish. He held out the ticket, along with her license and registration.

She reached for the papers, but at the last moment, he pulled back and she missed.

He leaned close and the scent of soap and sun-warmed skin teased her senses. A soft light shimmered in his eyes.

She swallowed.

“Unless…” His tone, deep and penetrating, sloped through her. “You’d like me to get you off?”

The seductive smile on his flawless face set off a series of alarm bells inside her skull. An image of his long fingers cradled around a pink vibrator came screaming to life in her mind.

Her face flushed with furious heat. “Is this about BOB?”

His brows snapped together. “Who’s Bob?”

“Y-you haven’t confiscated him, h-have y-y-you? I didn’t think they were illegal.”

“Are we talking about your vibrator? No, no, vibrators definitely aren’t illegal.” He frowned. “Though it probably depends what you’re doing with it.”

“I’m sure it was an oversight. If you’ll kindly return him to me—”

“It wasn’t an oversight.” A knowing light danced in Luke’s bright eyes. “I thought I could make you come for it later.”

She gasped.

His lips parted and the red sucker disappeared inside his mouth.

She stuck out her hand. “I’ll take the ticket.”

Two days later, as Luke made his way along Lakeshore Drive, the familiar tension built in his shoulders. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to loosen the corded tightness in his neck muscles, and exhaled a few sharp breaths—part of a relaxation technique they’d taught at last weekend’s retreat.

Then he spotted the royal-blue Jetta. His racing heart skidded to a stop at the cliff’s edge when he recalled her bowtie mouth moving in wordless frustration. If he weren’t a seasoned professional, he might feel a twinge of pity for her.

It wasn’t his fault—or at least, that’s what he told himself—it was his job, and he took his job very seriously.

A cop and all-around good guy, he pledged to keep the quiet, sleepy island community quiet and sleepy. No drama. No shocks or surprises. No tragedies.

Never again.

To that end, it was his job to know, with intimate detail, what was going on in the private lives of the citizens living on the island. Each and every one of them. What mattered to them most? Who were they sleeping with, and who or what did they ache to possess? He needed to know their weaknesses. Their vices. The thing they could not live without.

It was his duty to keep his eye on Emily Cole.

The thought delivered a smile to his lips.

He cranked the steering wheel and swung the SUV around to follow her. What the hell, he was already late to work. He flipped on his police lights.

She spotted him immediately and eased the sedan over to the curb. He approached her window, surprised by the effort it took to keep his stride slow and measured.

Once again, she wore a shapeless gray sweatshirt and her red hair drawn back from her face in a tangled mass. She looked as though she were coming from a particularly grueling session at the gym. Or, after a long day, was on her way to bed. To sleep.

Her deep scowl as she glared up at him was so severe it came off as insincere.

He bit the inside of his cheek. “City ordinance forbids frowning at an officer of the law.”

“That’s a lie.” A thread of uncertainty tinged her assertion.

“License and registration.”

“Is there a reason y-you p-p-pulled m-m-me over?”

“I was concerned by your erratic driving. You were clearly distracted with something.”

She flushed an attractive shade of pink. “I wasn’t.”