New York's Finest Rebel. Trish Wylie
not funny.’
‘No, but I have dozens of jokes from that period of my life if you need them.’ Angling her chin, she pulled one at random from the air. ‘You know the best part about dating a homeless chick? You can drop her off wherever you want.’
Daniel didn’t laugh. ‘Do you owe him money?’
‘Owe who money?’
‘Jack.’
‘No.’
‘Then what’s going on?’
A short burst of laughter left her lips. ‘I’m supposed to confide in you because you bought me a cup of coffee?’
‘If you’re in some kind of trouble, tell me now and—’
‘You’ll help?’ The words came out more sharply than she intended and, when they did, she felt a need to soften them by adding, ‘You can’t, and even if you could you’d be the last person I’d go to for help.’
Great, now he was never going to leave it alone.
She might as well have dangled a scented cloth under the nose of a bloodhound.
‘I’m aware of that,’ he said flatly.
‘Then why are you doing this?’
When she thought about it, she realized it was simply what he did. All she was to him was another citizen of the city of New York. One he probably felt pressured to help because of her connection to his family. She shook her head. She didn’t need this, least of all from him.
‘Tell me what’s going on.’
The tone of his deep voice inflicted more damage than anything he’d said or done in five and a half years to get to her and she hated him for it. Mostly because the rough rumble was accompanied by a softening of the blue in his eyes, which made it feel as if he understood. As always when there was the slightest danger someone might see through one of her masks, Jo fought fire with fire. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on when you tell me why it is you can’t sleep.’
To his credit he disguised his reaction better than he had before. But the second the softer hue of his eyes became an ice-cold blue, Jo regretted what she’d said. She shouldn’t have thrown it in his face. Not to get at him. It was low.
‘What makes you think I’m not sleeping?’
Jo wavered on an indecisive tightrope between familiar ground and freefalling into the unknown. ‘You were awake in the middle of the night. And you still look tired.’
‘I work shifts. And it’s not always easy to adjust,’ he replied without missing a beat. Stretching a long arm across the table, he set the coffee beside her computer. ‘Your turn.’
It would have been if he’d told her the truth.
‘You’ve been a cop for, what, eight years now?’
‘More or less.’ He nodded. ‘And can have your every move reported back to me if I have to. Your point?’
‘How long does it take to adjust?’
‘I was overseas seven months. I’ve been back one.’
‘What happened when you were over there?’
‘We got shot at.’ Lifting his cup to his mouth, he took a drink without breaking eye contact. ‘Avoid the subject all you want, but we both know if I want to find out what you’re hiding I can do it without your co-operation. I’ll start with Liv.’
It was an empty threat. Jo reached for the coffee he had given her. ‘Your sister won’t tell you anything.’
‘Meaning she knows what it is.’
‘Meaning she wouldn’t betray a confidence.’
A corner of his mouth tugged upwards. ‘You know my family. They’ll organize an intervention if they think something is wrong. If you’ve never been on the receiving end of one I can tell you they’re a barrel of laughs. Nothing beats a little quality family time when it’s five against one. And I did say I’d start with Liv …’
‘What makes you think you’re not the only one who doesn’t know?’ she asked.
‘If I am you’ve just made it easier for me.’
The message blood was thicker than water was clear. But she wasn’t so far removed they wouldn’t rally to her aid if she needed help. Jo had known that for years. They were all cut from a cloth threaded with loyalty, honour, integrity and at least a dozen other positive attributes she’d had absolutely no experience of in a family until she met the Brannigans. To Jo, they were everything a family should be. It was part of the reason she’d never understood why Daniel didn’t appreciate them more. But the comment he made about family interventions explained a lot. It was an insight into why he was fighting his demons alone.
She lifted the coffee cup to her lips. ‘When you speak to them you should mention the problems you’re having adjusting to shift patterns. Your brothers might be able to offer some words of advice.’
‘Maybe you should just tell me what’s going on before this starts to get ugly,’ he smirked in reply.
‘We could do this all day.’
‘Next round’s on you. I take mine black.’
She sighed. ‘You’re not going to back down, are you?’
‘Not my thing.’
‘Which brings us back to why you need to know. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’ve answered that yet.’
When he didn’t reply, she set her coffee down and went back to work, answering some of the comments on her blog while he reached across to the next table and lifted an abandoned newspaper. They sat in silence for a while until Jo could feel a tingle along the back of her neck. Without lifting her chin, she looked up from beneath her fringe to discover him studying her intently. ‘What?’
‘Were the glasses a fashion accessory?’
She focused on the screen again. ‘I get headaches if I work at the computer for too long.’
‘So where are they?’
‘I left them in the apartment.’
‘Other things on your mind …’ he surmised.
‘I can make the print bigger on the screen if you’re so concerned about my eyesight.’
There was another moment of silence, then ‘Just out of curiosity, what look is it you’re aiming for today?’
‘It’s called Gothic chic.’
At least that was what the magazine had called it. Of all the outfits she had worn during the challenge it was the most outlandish. But since she’d awoken with a need to face the world with a little more bravado and it was the kind of outfit that required confidence to carry it off …
‘Might want to remember vampires aren’t supposed to walk in direct sunlight before you step outside,’ he said.
‘Are you going to tell me to avoid holy water, garlic and crosses too?’
He nodded. ‘And teenage cheerleaders with wooden stakes …’
Turning in her chair, Jo stretched her legs and pouted. ‘You don’t like the boots?’ she asked as she looked at him. ‘They’re my favourite part.’
Daniel leaned to the side to examine them, a small frown appearing between his brows. ‘You can walk in those things?’
‘Women don’t wear boots like these for comfort.’
Bending forward, she reached down and ran her hands over the shining leather, tucking her thumbs under the edge at her thigh and tugging as she lifted her foot off