Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch
eye and muttered a few curses to that lady cop’s name. “Why don’t you drive my truck to your place and I’ll pick it up when Wade gets here. No need for you to hang around.”
Patting him sympathetically, Maggie pushed up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek that hadn’t suffered a jarring blow. Offering him a consoling smile, she’d left headquarters.
Ten minutes later Wade arrived. “You don’t look so good, cuz,” he said candidly.
“Thanks.” Teeth gritted, Vance stalked toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where to next? Are we stopping by to shoot the policewoman on our way home?”
Vance flashed his grinning cousin a black scowl. “Don’t tempt me. We’re stopping by Maggie’s place to get my truck. Then you can head home. Thanks for coming. If I’d known I’d be in and out so quickly I wouldn’t have disturbed you at all.”
“Is the meeting still on for tomorrow?” Wade asked as he cranked the engine of his pickup.
“Oh, yeah, and you can bet I’ll have something to say about Randi the Robo Cop’s complete mishandling of the situation at Hoot’s Tavern. I was cuffed, stuffed and subjected to police brutality.”
“Mind filling me on the details of what happened?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Vance snapped.
He didn’t break the silence when Wade pulled into Maggie’s driveway, just slammed the door and got in his truck. Vance felt like putting his foot through the floorboard during the drive home. But the way his luck had been running he figured he’d get pulled over again and this time he’d go for that woman’s throat!
One thing was for double damn sure, he mused as he begrudgingly observed the traffic laws—to the letter—on his way home. This insane fascination for Randi Jackson was over. Done. Kaput. As soon as he walked out of that morning meeting with the chief he never wanted to see her again—ever. She was the curse of his life. No woman, no matter how attractive and challenging she was, was worth this kind of torment. After tomorrow, Vance vowed he’d run—screaming—the other way when he saw her coming.
MIRANDA ENTERED THE CHIEF’S office with a deep sense of foreboding. Tate was ensconced behind his desk, looking as sober as a judge who was prepared to hand down a sentence of execution. Vance, she noted, didn’t spare her the slightest glance, just sat there steaming and brooding.
He looked awful, she noticed. His eye and jaw had turned black and blue and there was a sizable knot on his forehead—compliments of her nightstick.
She’d read the statements taken at the tavern and discovered that Vance had tried to break up the fight. Needless to say she felt like an idiot for thinking the worst about him. She’d been intent on clearing the area and, from what she’d been able to determine during the altercation, Vance had been part of the problem, not the solution.
Another difficult lesson learned, she mused as she sank into her chair. Maybe she wasn’t good cop material if she kept jumping to ill-founded conclusions. Maybe she didn’t have her dad, uncle and brothers’ instincts for keeping law and order. She was a failure at her first major assignment and she’d never wanted to be anything but a top-rate cop.
Miranda knew she was as good as gone from the force, even if her uncle was in charge here. Furthermore, she didn’t want to be an embarrassment to a man with his upstanding reputation in town.
“Well,” Tate said for starters, “we certainly had an eventful evening, didn’t we?”
Vance shot Miranda a murderous look. With his bumps and bruises he looked menacing and unapproachable, but she tried not to flinch. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so. I—”
Tate’s meaty hand shot up to silence her. “I’ve given the previous situation serious consideration, asked for Wade’s take on the incident and I’ve taken into account the fiasco from last night as well.”
Miranda slouched in her chair when her uncle pinned her with a stony stare. She’d goofed up. She knew it. He knew it. Vance knew it. She’d be lucky indeed to get a security job position at a bank in some podunk town in the middle of nowhere.
“You two seem to have gotten off to a bad start,” Tate remarked. “In my experience on the force I’ve discovered there’s always at least two sides to every story.” He stared at Vance, then at Miranda as he drummed his sausage-link fingers on the desk. “Rehashing last night’s altercation at the tavern will only make both of you defensive and I’m in no mood to listen to another shouting match. In my opinion, and mine is the only one that counts here,” he added emphatically, “you both did the right thing.”
Miranda’s jaw dropped open. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected Uncle Tate to defend her conduct. But it didn’t seem to sit well with Vance because he sent her another disdainful glare.
“Witnesses verified that Vance tried to stop the fight before the tavern was trashed,” Tate continued. “Miranda tried to follow standard procedure by clearing the area and letting backup take the statements. Any ill feelings between you two are outside the letter of the law. This will have to be worked out on a personal basis because this appears to be a personality conflict between you.”
Tate leaned on his forearms on the desk and stared Miranda and Vance down. Miranda hadn’t the slightest idea where her uncle was going with this.
“I plan to view this conflict between you as an internal affair because Vance is an old friend and Miranda is my niece and a member of my staff. I’m going to resolve it and this is how it’s going to go down.” Tate focused his attention on the battered cowboy. “Now then, Vance, you need to understand that it isn’t easy being a rookie, as well as the first and only policewoman on this force. My niece is trying to gain the respect of her co-workers and the citizens of the community she’s sworn to serve.”
“Right,” Vance said, and snorted. “She’s trying to ruin my life. I have to wonder how many other lives she plans to destroy to meet her monthly quota.”
The look Vance hurled at Miranda indicated she’d never have his respect. Not that she blamed him. From his standpoint he’d been the abused victim and he wanted to see her pay for her role in last night’s foofaraw.
Tate heaved himself from his chair and strode around the desk to loom over Miranda and Vance. He crossed his thick arms over his bulky chest—a gesture that implied that he wasn’t going to be swayed by forthcoming comments and objections. Miranda wisely kept her trap shut. Vance did likewise.
“Since Miranda needs to gain a feel and understanding for life in this rural community, a community unlike the city where she grew up, I propose you familiarize her with life on the ranch and introduce her to the folks in town.”
Vance nearly came unglued. “No way in Hades!” he crowed.
“In other words,” Tate went on, ignoring the loud objection, “your sentence will be public service for one week and you will not pay the fine.” While Vance sputtered, Tate’s gaze riveted on Miranda. “To ensure that Vance understands what it’s like for a woman on the force, he will accompany you on the evening shifts while you’re on patrol. You’ll be taking shorter shifts, which will mean a smaller salary for the week.”
Miranda gaped at her uncle. “You want us to spend our days and evenings together for a week?” she choked out. “The man hates my guts. This won’t work.”
“I hate you?” Vance spouted. “I suffered unprovoked police brutality, in addition to being stopped three times on the highway. You think so little of me that you’re out to get me. You even ruined my date—on purpose.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she erupted. “I couldn’t care less how many women you go out with!”
“Quiet—” Tate cut in, but he wasted his breath.
“I can’t work with Ms. Gung Ho, Chief,” Vance muttered in frustration.