In Bed With the Badge (3 page)

He was saying that to goad her, she thought. To make her stop focusing on the uncomfortable aspect of this situation and just view it as a challenge. Appreciating the intent, she had to give him his due. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Wyatt.”

The comment made him laugh. “Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Only the ones who deserve it.” She wanted to settle in, even if it was just for the time being. “Okay, where do I sit?”

His eyes met hers. “Any place you plant your butt,
McIntyre. I’d say ‘pretty butt,’ but then you’d probably have me hauled up to human resources on harassment charges.”

Okay, he obviously needed to know some basic ground rules about her.

“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me, Wyatt. If something you say bothers me—more than normal,” she qualified, “I’ll let you know. I won’t resort to running off to a go-between.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw respect enter his eyes.

“Fair enough,” Wyatt declared with a nod of his head before flashing that now famous grin. “You know, McIntyre, this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Too late for that. I already know you,” she reminded him.

The look in his eyes told her that she was a long way off from that.

“There’s knowing a person to nod at and say hello to, and then there’s working with him. That, Detective McIntyre, is a whole different ball game,” Wyatt assured her.

He was right, she thought grudgingly. Right because it involved exactly what that pompous ass in the glass office had referred to just before she had left his office. She would have Wyatt’s life in her hands and Wyatt would have hers. That made for a bond that wasn’t usually formed between two average acquaintances.

“Her,” Riley finally corrected him. “Working with
her
.”

His next words surprised her. Mainly because she was aware of his reputation as a ladies’ man.

“I’d rather not think of you as a girl, McIntyre. Or a woman,” he added, anticipating that she was going to correct his age-related reference to her gender.

Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to fathom why Wyatt had said that. Moreover, how could he help but think of her in those terms? She
was
a woman. Or was this just a set up for some elaborate wisecrack on his part?

But she bit anyway. “What do you want to think of me as?”

“A slightly curvy guy will do.” He spread his hands in a wide shrug. “If this is going to work between us, that’s what you’re going to have to be, McIntyre. A feminine-looking guy.”

She sighed. “You’re crazy, you know that, Wyatt?”

And, right now, she didn’t exactly have high hopes that
any
of this was going to work. But this was what the chief wanted and she was not about to be the one rushing back to him, complaining. She refused to let a man she respected so highly think of her in an unflattering light.

About to remind Wyatt that he hadn’t answered her as to where she was to sit, Riley decided to reword the question. “Where’s my desk, Wyatt?”

He gestured to the one that was facing his. It looked just as cluttered as his own. As a matter of fact, on closer examination, it looked as if the folders on the desk had overflowed from his. She glanced at a couple of the ones on top.

“Whose files are these?” she asked Wyatt. The writing on top of the first folder looked vaguely like the writing on the notepad on Wyatt’s desk.

“Mine,” he told her, moving several of the folders back to his desk. “I kind of spread out after Evans left.” He shrugged as he collected the rest and placed them on his desk. “You know how that is.”

“No,” she contradicted, “I don’t.”

Even though Sanchez’s desk had faced hers like Wyatt’s faced his old partner’s, she had taken great pains to keep her things from inching onto Sanchez’s desk, which she’d called “No Man’s Land.” After he had been murdered, she’d cleaned out the desk for the man’s mother, placing everything into a box and bringing it to the woman’s house herself. She recalled that the visit had ended with both of them in tears.

“Well, it’s normal around here,” Wyatt told her, adding in a knowing tone, “Trust me.”

Trust me.

That summed up everything in two neat little words. In order for things to work—for
anything
to work—there had to be a certain amount of trust. But trust was exactly what was missing from her soul. She honestly didn’t know if she could ever trust anyone outside the family again. Ever allow anyone to trust her again. Both ways, it was just too big a risk to take.

I
t was officially Riley’s first full day as part of the robbery division and her new partner was conspicuously absent from his desk.

At first, she thought he had just beaten her in and was engrossed in some task. She’d even envisioned him complaining to a sympathetic ear about this new partner who had been forced on him by the Chief of Ds.

But when the first hour dragged into the next with still no sign of Wyatt anywhere on the floor, Riley began to reexamine the situation.

Wyatt’s computer wasn’t on.

It had been on all day yesterday, even when they went to interview a pawnbroker on the other side of Aurora whose shop had been burglarized. Like everyone
else, Wyatt turned his computer on in the morning and then left it that way all day. He’d even doubled back last night to turn off the machine before he left the squad room for the evening.

Was his being out some reflection on her? Maybe his silent way of protesting being forced to pair up with her?

Riley frowned. She had no answers and a ton of questions that began to multiply.

“McIntyre!”

Her head snapped up the second the lieutenant had barked out her name. The man stood in the doorway of his office, glaring her way. Riley was on her feet instantly, ready to be sent on police business or hurry to his office, whatever the martinet of a commanding officer dictated.

“Yes, sir?”

Barker appeared mildly pleased that she had whipped into shape so quickly. The next second the look was gone. A deep frown had taken over his craggy, hard-as-nails features as he asked, “Where’s your partner?”

How was she supposed to know? she asked silently. She wasn’t Wyatt’s mother or his keeper.

Out loud, Riley said, “I don’t know, Lieutenant. Didn’t he call in?”

Barker watched her as if she lacked the intelligence of a single-celled amoeba.

“If Wyatt’d called in, I’d know where he was, wouldn’t I?” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “You’re on a new case as of right now, McIntyre. Find your partner and tell him to drag himself in here. This isn’t a country club.”

If it was, she’d be handing in her membership card right about now, Riley thought. “No, sir.”

About to turn back to his desk, the lieutenant stopped and leveled a dark look at her over his shoulder. Even across the room, it appeared lethal in nature.

“‘No, sir?’” Barker echoed, his thin eyebrows narrowing into a vee.

Riley immediately realized what Barker was thinking—and her mistake. She lost no time in clarifying her response.

“No, sir, this isn’t a country club. Yes, sir, I’ll track down Detective Wyatt.”

Barker nodded, momentarily appeased. “See that you do, McIntyre,” he ordered. “God save us from loose cannons and mavericks,” he muttered under his breath, retreating again into his glass-walled office.

Riley’s survival instinct warred with her desire to be a good detective, no matter what department she was assigned to. Good detective won out.

She crossed the room and knocked on the lieutenant’s door, even though it was still open. “Um, sir?”

“What are you still doing here, McIntyre?” he demanded without looking up, some obvious sixth sense identifying her for him. “I gave you an assignment.”

“Yes, sir, but this is about the assignment after this one.” She saw that she had him confused. “The new one for Wyatt and me.”

“Home invasion,” he snapped out, then rattled off an address. It was in the better part of the city and not all that far from her own, she noted. “Details are similar to
the case Wyatt worked on last month. The first is still an open case. I want it closed.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a direct order.

The administrative assistant on their floor gave Riley her partner’s address and phone number, along with an unsolicited comment.

Virginia McKee, the perpetually perky assistant, wrote down the information in a bold hand and offered the slip of paper to Riley.

“Enjoy,” Virginia told her with a wink that was anything but subtle.

Riley folded the paper, but kept it in her hand rather than tuck it into her pocket. “There’s nothing to enjoy. The lieutenant’s looking for him.”

“You’re wrong there,” Virginia contradicted, a sly smile curving her lips.

If she was going to survive here for a while, Riley knew she had to make allies and come across as friendly even though right now, being friendly was her last desire. This had to be her stepfather’s goal when he had transferred her here. The business of living and acclimating to a new situation put things into some kind of perspective and forced her to move forward.

“Oh?”

Virginia indicated the paper she’d just given her. “There’s a
lot
to enjoy there.”

Spoken like a woman who’s been there, Riley thought. Apparently, Sam Wyatt was still just as much of a player as he’d ever been. She knew he’d been when
they were in the academy together. As she recalled, if it had a pulse, the required body parts and a smile, Wyatt considered it fair game.

It was to Wyatt’s credit that he wasn’t pushy about it, but then, a guy with Sam Wyatt’s face and build didn’t have to be. Most of the time, what he needed was the proverbial stick in order to beat back the hordes of women.

Not her concern one way or another, Riley told herself.

Armed with the number of Wyatt’s landline, Riley didn’t bother going back to her desk to make the call. Instead, she walked out into the hallway, stopped in an alcove next to the women’s restroom and called her missing partner on her cell phone.

The phone on the other end of the line rang five times. The sixth ring had the answering machine picking up. Riley frowned.

Was Wyatt playing hooky? When the beep sounded, she started talking.

“Wyatt, this is McIntyre. The lieutenant wants to know where you are. He wanted me to tell you that you’d better haul your tail in if you know what’s good for y—” She stopped abruptly as she heard the phone being picked up. “Wyatt?”

“Yeah, look, I’m not coming in today. Tell Barker I’m taking a sick day.”

He sounded pretty agitated. Big night gone bad? she wondered. “How sick are you?”

“I’ve never felt like this before in my life,” was his vague response.

Riley hesitated for a moment, not completely con
vinced that he wasn’t pulling her leg. But then, what if he really was sick? As far as she knew, he lived alone. Maybe he needed someone to pick up medication for him. As his partner, it fell to her.

“Flu?”

“No,” he bit off.

It was the middle of October and the Santa Ana winds were kicking up, making half the population of California miserable by playing havoc with their allergies and sinuses. The partner she’d had before Sanchez was wedded to his box of tissues the entire time the winds blew. Maybe Wyatt had the same problem.

“Sinus infection?” she guessed.

“No.”

This time, he sounded downright surly. Her patience was slipping away. “Then what’ve you got?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. She was about to ask if he was still there when she heard him say, “I’ve got a kid.”

“You’ve got what?”

“A kid,” he repeated, doing his best not to shout. “Look, I’ll be in tomorrow.”

The line went dead against her ear before she could press him any further.

Sam let the receiver fall into its cradle and looked at the perfect little bit of humanity sitting on his sofa, politely pretending to be absorbed in the educational programming he’d turned on for her.

Six years old, she seemed to have already mastered
everything the multicolored, furry, perky little creatures prancing across the screen could possibly teach her.

From the moment he’d hit puberty and discovered it exceedingly to his liking, Sam had never felt at a loss as to what to do in
any
given situation.

Except now.

What the hell was he going to do with her?

Nothing he’d gone through these last twenty years had prepared him for this. But “this” had definitely happened. And now it was up to him to deal with it responsibly.

Oh, damn.

Sam scrubbed his hand over his face, forcing himself to think. But rather than coming up with a game plan, all he could do was relive the morning’s earthshaking events in his mind. It sounded like a dramatic assessment to anyone privy to what had transpired, but as far as he was concerned, it
was
dramatic.

He’d never been a father before.

He’d always thought that eventually he’d like to be one. But he’d just assumed that the timing would be of his own choosing and only after he’d married someone he felt completed his world. Currently, no candidates qualified for that position. But he’d obviously joined fatherhood without first acquiring the required wife.

What was he going to do?

When the doorbell rang this morning just as he’d finished getting ready for work, the thought that it was his new partner had flashed through his brain. Not that he was expecting her—or anyone—but if it was going
to be someone, for some unknown reason, his money was on McIntyre.

He would have lost. Big time.

When he opened the door, there standing in his doorway was a woman he’d never seen before. She held the hand of an almost doll-like, perfect little girl. Petite, blond, blue-eyed, the girl already had the makings of a little princess. It vaguely registered that the little girl didn’t look a thing like the dark-haired woman whose hand she was holding.

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong apartment,” he’d said to the woman.

The woman appeared unwilling to leave. “Detective Wyatt?”

His “Yes?” had been wary. Life on the force had made him privy to the world’s darker elements.

“Sam Wyatt?” the woman pressed.

“Yes.” His eyes had narrowed as he’d studied the woman in his doorway. “Do I know you?” It was a gratuitous question because he prided himself on never forgetting a face.

“No. But you ‘knew’ Lisa’s mother.” She nodded toward the little girl. “In the biblical sense,” she emphasized. “Andrea Coltrane.”

He never forgot a name, either. When the woman mentioned Andrea, an image instantly materialized in his mind’s eye. It was accompanied by half a dozen memories that spliced together in a quick mental slideshow.

Andrea, a cool, statuesque blonde, proved to be a red-hot lover. So hot that for a very short while, he’d contem
plated entering into a long-term relationship with the upwardly mobile tax attorney, but he never got the chance.

Inexplicably, things suddenly cooled between them. Before he knew it, Andrea had disappeared from his life. He’d tried calling her a couple of times. The second time, he’d been informed by a metallic voice that the number he’d dialed was no longer in service. When he discovered that she’d moved as well, he figured he would take the hint.

It never occurred to him that Andrea had moved for any other reason than she’d wanted a change. During their time together, she’d insisted that she wanted no strings tying her down.

Glancing at the little girl, an uneasy feeling told him that he’d made the wrong assumption.

“Where is Andrea?” he asked the woman, his tone guarded.

Rather than answer, the woman handed him an eight-by-ten manila envelope and then, still holding the little girl by the hand, she walked into his apartment.

“I’m Carole Gilbert. I worked with Andrea for the last five years.” She nodded at the envelope. “This’ll explain everything.”

Worked.

Sam’d had an uneasy feeling that there was a specific reason for the reference in the past tense, probably not because Andrea had moved on again.

Fingers poised over the envelope’s clasp, he’d raised his eyes to look at Carole. “What am I going to find in here?”

“In a nutshell, ‘Congratulations, Detective Wyatt,
you’ve just become a daddy.’ She moved the little girl forward. “This is your daughter, Lisa. She’s six.” Carole bent down so that her face was close to the little girl’s. “Say hello to your father, Lisa,” Carole instructed gently.

Cornflower blue eyes widening ever so slightly, the little girl gave him a shy smile and in a voice that was soft and delicate as the first spring breeze, she said, “Hello.”

Everything inside of Sam shouted
no!
even as he found himself looking down into
Andrea’s
blue eyes. Lisa was Andrea’s daughter, all right. A perfect miniature of her mother.

The word “perfect” really was not applicable here, he’d thought as he felt his stomach sinking past his knees.

Despite the fact that she appeared anxious to leave, Sam made the bearer of his unsettling news stay as he read, then reread the letter and the will enclosed. And then he fired questions at her as he tried to reconcile himself to this wildly abrupt turn of events.

Andrea, killed the week before by a drunk driver, had left very specific instructions as to whom was to take care of Lisa in the event of her untimely death. An only child whose parents were both deceased, Andrea had felt that Lisa needed to be raised by at least one parent and he, Sam, met that minimum requirement.

He stared at the birth date that Andrea had written down. Apparently Lisa was the direct result of the “wildly romantic” two months he and Andrea had spent together. When she’d discovered that she was pregnant, Andrea was determined to raise Lisa on her own and so she had disappeared.

“‘Nothing against you, Sam,’” he read. “‘But at the time, you didn’t strike me as exactly father material. But since you’re reading this, circumstances have obviously dictated otherwise. Lisa is a wonderful, intelligent little girl—with us as her parents, how could she not be?—who needs your love and support now. I wish I could be there to see it. Take good care of her. She is the precious gift that keeps on giving.’”

He’d folded the letter knowing, for the first time, exactly what a butterfly pinned and mounted on a display board felt like.

After answering more questions and giving him the key to Andrea’s apartment where the rest of Lisa’s belongings and other important documents were stored, Carole left. Due to coercion on his part, she’d given him a number where she could be reached. A work number, but at least it was something.