Protecting What's His (2 page)

Chapter Three

Well, dang.
They’d gone and moved in right across the hall from a cop. A
hot
cop, if you liked the whole uptight, sexually repressed vibe he had going on. And she’d just called him an asshole. Perfect.

Personally, she didn’t care for the belligerence on his freshly shaven face or the way he stripped her bare in one sweep of his dark green eyes. Someone should clue him in that a smile never hurt when you were looking at someone like you wanted them for dinner.

Sorry, but I’m not looking to lend you this particular cup of sugar, neighbor.

Still, she could certainly do
much
worse if she was so inclined. His uniform jacket did nothing to hide his broad chest and powerful build. This was the kind of man who could pick you up and throw you over his shoulder with very little effort, although the sensual tilt of his upper lip contradicted his overall ruggedness. With that steady gaze of his, he practically radiated physical awareness, as if conscious of his obvious appeal, but disinclined to use it.

Should she be worried about living next door to a cop? A young, stand-too-close-and-you-might-get-burned cop at that? No, Ginger decided right away. Despite the circumstances surrounding their departure from Nashville, she knew alerting the cops would be the last course of action Valerie would consider. If she knew her mother, that money hadn’t been come by legally, and explaining where it came from to the police would definitely cramp her style. Valerie’s relationship with the boys in blue tended to be hostile, at best.

No, she had nothing to worry about from this man. Unless she counted the way his heated inspection of her belly button made her toes curl in her boots.

Ginger put a little steel in her spine, refusing the urge to shield herself from his interested gaze, then frowned, wondering why Officer Needs-a-Nap elicited such an odd reaction from her. She’d never shied away from being checked out before, having accepted at a young age that men liked the look and shape of her face and body. A fat lot of good it had ever done her.

But then his eyes snapped up to hers. And determinedly stayed there.

Interesting.

She flashed him her best smile. “Sorry to disturb you, Officer. We didn’t think there’d be anyone at home, being that it’s the middle of the day and all.”

“Well, here I am. And it’s Lieutenant.”

Ouch. She shoots, she misses.
Ginger could practically feel Willa’s sarcastic
oh, you don’t say!
expression aimed squarely at the lieutenant even though her back was turned to her sister. Ginger was having a difficult time keeping the same expression off her own face. If her teeth were slightly clenched behind her smile, surely Lieutenant Cranky Pants didn’t notice.

“My apologies,
Lieutenant
,” she countered stiffly. “And that’s my second and final apology for the day.”

Ginger gave him her back once more to lift the end of the table, catching a hint of amusement on his face as she turned. Not that she gave a damn.

The cell phone in her front pocket vibrated for the umpteenth time today. She knew who called and why. She also knew she wouldn’t answer, or listen to the subsequent voice mail message. First chance she got, she’d cancel the plan and get new cell phones for herself and Willa.

With a nod in her sister’s direction, they picked up the table with the intention of continuing into the apartment.

“What the hell is that?”

Ginger dropped the table and faced the questioning lieutenant, making Willa shout a four-letter expletive at the ceiling. His annoyed green gaze flicked to Willa before inclining his head toward the statue propping open the door.

Both she and Willa looked toward the statue, then back at him.

Ginger answered slowly, as if speaking to the town idiot who also happened to be hard of hearing. “I assume you meant, ‘
Who
the hell is that?’ and to that question I say, who are
you
? Who are any of us?”

“I don’t follow.”

“That,
Lieutenant
, is the Smoky Mountain Songbird herself.”

“The Backwoods Barbie,” Willa chimed in angrily.

The man looked completely confused, so Ginger decided to take pity on him. “Dolly Parton.”

“Dolly
motherfucking
Parton.”

“Language, Willa. Honestly.”

Ginger waited for a reaction and felt far from satisfied when he merely shrugged his broad shoulders as if to say, “Should I know who that is?”

And that was the final straw.

“Willa, darling, you mind waiting for me inside the apartment?”

She felt rather than saw her sister’s eye roll, but heard her comply noisily, stomping inside the apartment. Then Ginger stood alone in the brightly lit hall with the scowling Lieutenant Von A-hole.

Twice
he’d made her apologize after
blatantly
giving her the once-over, shot her little sister a dirty look, and then shrugged,
shrugged
at the mention of the Queen of Nashville. And this was
after
he’d yelled at them like a lunatic from his upstairs window.

Ginger couldn’t let it stand.

She sauntered forward, coming to a stop a foot away from his tall frame, and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes narrow warily. Up close, she saw his green eyes were rimmed with red and recognized a hangover when she saw one. Having skimmed his starched, navy blue uniform all the way up to his ruthlessly shorn, dark brown hair, something told her
tying one on
wasn’t something he did on a regular basis. No, despite his overtly masculine appearance, his reserve suggested he would be the type to order a glass of milk at the bar.

That offended her as a bartender
and
as a recreational drinker.

She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. This morning, she’d woken up happy and optimistic. Ginger couldn’t remember the last time that was the case. She’d outrun the storm cloud darkening the sky above her head in Nashville and had come to Chicago for a new start. For her. For Willa. Adios leaky roof and questionable future.

After spending a week in a cheap, dingy motel, Ginger finally found an affordable neighborhood with a good high school nearby, close enough to downtown Chicago and potential work for herself. Then she’d sweet-talked the landlord into a double security deposit in lieu of the mandatory credit check. And bam! They now had themselves a sweet two-bedroom with
new appliances
and
hardwood floors
. Amenities that up until yesterday sounded like a foreign language. She and Willa had picked out furniture at thrift stores and yard sales throughout the week, pretending to be college students living off-campus. They’d had
fun
, dammit. Without a time limit.

And this son of a bitch was raining on their parade.

“What exactly is your problem, Lieutenant?”

He took a step forward, bringing them toe-to-toe, forcing her to look up if she wanted to meet his eyes.
Damn
, this guy kept surprising her. Men liked Ginger. That wasn’t arrogance talking. Okay, maybe a little, but it was mainly an observation.
This
man, however, seemed determined to piss her off good.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“You can stop calling me ‘Lieutenant’ now. It’s getting on my nerves.”

“I believe that was the point.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “It’s Derek from now on.”

Oh, he had balls making demands. She’d give him that. “I don’t believe I’ll have cause to call you anything at all. What do you think of that?”

He didn’t answer her question. “I assume there’s some sort of parental supervision moving in with you?”

Her smile disappeared right quick. “Beg pardon?”

Derek gestured with the patented cop-head-nod to the open door Willa had recently disappeared through. “She’s barely old enough to operate a vehicle and
surely
you’re not much older.”

Ginger’s left eye twitched. This little
tête-à-tête
had just gone from interesting to insufferable. Judging from his stoic expression, he had no idea what kind of land mine he’d just stepped on. Well, he was about to find the hell out. “I’m twenty-three years old,
actually
. And last time I checked, that’s old enough to vote, drink, gamble, rent an apartment, own a firearm, and explain to a grown man
,
police
lieutenant
or not, when he’s being a gigantic
dickhead
. And Derek, if it wasn’t clear enough already,
you
are the dickhead in this little scenario.” She paused for a breath. “And don’t call me surely.”

His eyes narrowed even further, completely obscuring the green of his irises. “Did you just quote
Airplane!
to me?”

Ginger swore she could feel steam coming out of her ears. “That’s really all you picked up on? Glossed right over the dickhead part?”

“What’s your name?”

She gritted her teeth. “Hardly matters at this point, wouldn’t you agree? I don’t think there are too many neighborly chats in our future.”

Willa picked that moment to holler from inside the apartment. “Ginger! I’m fucking starving and all we have is Triscuit crackers and strawberry frosting!”

Ah, impeccable timing as usual, sis.

Not quite suppressing his triumphant smile, Derek answered her rhetorical question. “I’d have to agree with you,
Ginger
. I’m not feeling the least bit neighborly toward you.”

“Well then, sugar, I’d say our association ends here.”

“I doubt that.”

“You can doubt anything if you think about it long enough. And I am done thinking about this. Good-bye, Derek. Can’t say it was a pleasure, but it was definitely an experience.”

Ginger spun around on the heel of her boot with the intention of storming into her apartment, leaving him staring after her, hopefully slack-jawed and regretful. Instead, she ran smack into the dining room table still blocking the hallway, effectively knocking the wind out of her stomach and her sails. Fighting the need to simultaneously suck in deep gulps of air and karate chop the table, Ginger straightened and skirted the table silently, refusing to turn around and gauge his reaction to her embarrassing mishap.

As she closed the apartment door behind her, she heard Derek call to her. “Aren’t Gingers usually redheads?”

“Go to hell!”

In spite of the masculine laughter passing by her door, she heard Willa approach. “Well, Ginger, looks like we finally found the one man unwilling to grovel at your feet.”

Guess they’d just have to see about that, wouldn’t they?

Chapter Four

“All right, Alvarez. Lean harder on your informant. We need to know if anyone has been in contact with the head of the Modesto crew since Monday.”

As the detective jumped up and left the briefing room, Derek addressed the remaining assembled detectives and officers. “The streets are too quiet. I think we all know that’s when they’re most dangerous. We need a heavy presence on the South Side, especially in Back of the Yards. Continue to canvass for witnesses who aren’t too scared to talk. Shop owners who’ve been made victims themselves are probably our best bet. Leave no one out.”

He turned his attention to his former partner, who had remained a detective when Derek was promoted to lieutenant two years prior. “Kenny, take Barker and pay another visit to Hector Modesto’s girlfriend. She knows where he is—it’s just a matter of getting her to talk. Find motivation and use it.”

Derek glanced at the giant whiteboard containing mug shots and surveillance photos of the major players and victims of Chicago’s latest gang war. His gut told him they’d be adding more photos to the victim side if his department failed to bring in Modesto soon.

He clapped his hands together once. “Get to work.”

Immediately, chairs scraped back and the men began speaking, strategizing. He pushed through the glass door and entered his office. Barker, a rookie, followed him in. Cocky and outspoken, Barker had yet to learn anything about boundaries.

“Lieutenant Tyler.”

“Help you, Barker?”

“You going to the charity event Saturday night?”

Fuck
. He’d completely forgotten, and rightly so. Being in the middle of a turf war between two powerful gangs had kept him working brutal hours for weeks. Politicians, however, organized parties and charity events at their convenience, and as head of the department, his attendance was usually expected. This particular event, raising money for an after-school program in Chicago’s worst neighborhood, would be completely different, thanks to Barker. His uncle sat on the city council, which had bought the entire homicide division invitations. They’d all get to dress up in monkey suits and eat shrimp cocktail when they should be working.

“Don’t have much of a choice. Why?”

“Just checking. My uncle wants to bend your ear a little.”

“Great. Is that all?”

“Yeah.” But for once the young officer looked uncomfortable. “I hate to bother you with this trivial bullshit, but no one in my uncle’s office has been able to get you on the phone.”

Barker had fallen silent. “I’m waiting.”

“You RSVP’d for two.” Derek turned his eyes to the ceiling and Barker rushed on. “My uncle had no problem paying for the extra plate since a lot of the guys are bringing dates…but the men say you usually fly solo…”

True. Mixing work and his personal life wasn’t something he typically allowed. Introducing a woman to his closest colleagues tended to give her false hope that the relationship would move forward, when it rarely did. Women wanted him to play the hero after hours, but once he clocked out for the evening, he had little interest in being nice. In the end, the women he dated usually found his tastes too intense for their liking.

Derek vaguely recalled handing the invitation to Patty, the department’s soon-to-be-retired dispatch operator and unofficial personal assistant, asking her to respond on his behalf. She’d either put him down to bring a date on accident, or she was playing one of her notorious pranks on him. Derek supposed he could show up on his own, blaming Patty for the mistake. Then again, these charity dinners charged upward of one thousand dollars per plate. He couldn’t very well let a councilman foot the bill for nothing. Keeping politicians happy, annoying as it happened to be, remained in his best interest.

“Tell them I’m bringing someone.”

“What’s her name?”

“Why do they need to know that?”

Barker gulped. “The place card for the table.”

“Jesus.” Derek ran an impatient hand over his hair. “I’ll let you know.”

As Barker beat a quick path to the exit, Derek leaned back in his chair, allowing the heated meeting with Ginger in the hallway to play through his mind again, as it had done frequently since that morning, three days prior. Each time, he remembered something different about their encounter. Her floral scent, the smooth line of her throat, that damn sexy accent.

She claimed to be raising her seventeen-year-old sister. He couldn’t think of many women in their early twenties capable of shouldering that type of responsibility. It was a distinct possibility that she hadn’t been given a choice. The need to know more about Ginger ate at him…and he didn’t understand why. Despite his obvious attraction to her, this insatiable curiosity over a woman was damned unusual for him.

After a brief hesitation, Derek typed “Peet, Ginger” into the search bar of the national database. He’d learned her last name this morning after seeing it on the building mailbox assigned to her apartment. Based on her accent, Derek narrowed down his search to the Southeast section of the country.

He stilled in his chair when a two-week-old missing person’s report popped up out of Nashville, filed by a Valerie Peet, also listing Willa Peet, a minor, as missing.

It gave little information about the circumstances surrounding their disappearance, but color photographs had been provided by the mother, one being Ginger as a teenager. Willa’s appeared to be a recent school yearbook photograph. Neither one of the girls had police records.

He stared at Ginger’s photo. Though undeniably beautiful, she looked too thin and tired, appearing surprised that someone cared enough to take her picture. Shaking off a frisson of unease, Derek returned to the search screen and typed in “Peet, Valerie, Nashville.”

Her rap sheet took up the entire screen, including reckless endangerment of minors, crystal meth and prescription drug possession, public intoxication, prostitution, and a handful of DUIs. He could spend all day combing through the charges, but he was mostly interested in the first.

Derek clicked the first reckless endangerment file, dating back to 1999. As he read the description of Valerie’s criminal charges, he grew more incensed with each detail. A ten-year-old Ginger had been brought into a Nashville police department for attempting to shoplift food to feed four-year-old Willa. She told the officer their mother hadn’t been home since Christmas, two weeks prior.

Based on her latest charges, dated as recently as four months ago, Valerie hadn’t changed since leaving her two young children to starve all those years ago. Ginger had been seeing to Willa’s welfare for quite some time, it seemed. How they’d avoided being taken into state’s custody, Derek couldn’t fathom.

Something about the missing person’s report niggled at his detective’s brain. Why would Valerie Peet, a woman who obviously had very little use for her children, even bother making the effort to report them missing? Furthermore, after years of neglect, what would prompt Ginger to take Willa and leave Nashville only a couple of months before Willa graduated high school?

Derek had no way of finding out. Thanks to his massive hangover and annoyance over finding himself lusting after a woman on his way to a funeral, he’d made a less-than-stellar first impression. He very well couldn’t knock on her door and pry into her personal business when it shouldn’t be his concern in the first place.

The part that scared the hell out of him?

He wanted to make it his concern.