Swat Standoff. Lena Diaz
for him. I should have known it was too good to be true.”
She frowned. “A tough spot? The chief? Are you saying that he recruited you? I don’t understand. Your file says you came here for a change in pace, to get away from the city grind. There wasn’t any mention of the chief asking you to come here.”
“My file.” He laughed, sounding bitter again. “I wonder what else Thornton invented to cover for me.”
“Blake, you’re not making sense. What are you talking about? Were you in trouble? Why would he have to cover for you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain and scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m drunk. Not making sense. Forget what I said.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Look, I appreciate you checking on me, making sure I was okay—assuming that’s why you’re here. But I’m a big boy. And it’s time I started taking care of myself.”
She stood in confusion, his little speech sparking all kinds of questions as he circled around the front of her car and headed toward his truck. All this time, she’d never once questioned his decision to leave his position on a large team in Knoxville to come here, probably because of her own bias in thinking that Destiny was the better choice. But to someone like Blake, who definitely didn’t seem to care for small-town life, could the move have been considered a step down?
The pay had to be less, no question. But she’d figured the benefits of a smaller, more intimate team would have made up for it. To someone like her, it would. But now that she looked at it with fresh eyes, it really didn’t make sense. Not for a guy who made no secret of his preference for cities over small towns. Then why had he come here? And what role had the chief played in his decision? More important, where would he go from here?
It wasn’t until he wobbled and missed a step, nearly falling on top of the car next to his truck, that it dawned on her that she needed to intervene. She hurried after him, reaching his side just as he fit his key into the lock. Or tried to. He missed and scraped about six inches off the paint. She grimaced in sympathy. But before he could try again and do more damage, she swiped his keys.
“Hey, give those back.” He grabbed for them, but she whirled around and ran for her car.
In spite of his wobbly gait, he caught her in three strides. He grabbed her with one arm around her waist and whirled her around to face him. Good grief, he was strong. She pushed her hands against his chest but couldn’t budge his viselike grip.
“Let me go.”
“After you give me my keys.” He held out his free hand, palm up.
She should have been angry. But she was still feeling guilty and confused over everything he’d said. And there was the distraction of how darn good his hard body felt against hers, and how wonderfully masculine he smelled. Even the whiskey on his breath didn’t deter her ridiculous, unwanted response to being this close to him. Instead of pushing him away, she wanted to slide her hands up his chest and lock them behind his neck. Which was why she had to make him let her go. Now. Before she made a fool of herself.
She pinched his arm. Hard.
He snatched his arm back and rubbed where her nails had formed indentations on his skin. “What’d you do that for?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No kidding.”
A drop of rain landed on her head. Then another. “Look, I just want to talk some sense into you. I came here to ask you to come back. You’re a good cop, a solid detective. You—”
“Was,” he interrupted. “I was a good cop. Past tense. Dillon fired me. Remember?” He squinted at her through the smattering of raindrops that were starting to fall faster.
“Maybe we can fix that. Dillon has scheduled another training exercise at nine tomorrow morning. If you show up in your gear, like you’re ready to try again, you can talk to him, apologize—”
“Apologize? You’re kidding, right? He said I was toxic. You think an apology is going to change his opinion?”
“I think it would be a great start.”
He shook his head. “There’s no point in talking to Dillon. His mind is made up.”
“So, that’s it?” she said. “You’re just going to quit?”
“I...was...fired.” He enunciated each word slowly and concisely, as if she were hard of hearing. “I don’t have a choice. My career in Destiny is over. Finished. There’s nothing I can do.” He held his hand out again. “We’re about to get soaked. Give me my keys, and I’m out of your life forever.”
His words took the breath right out of her. Did he really not care about her at all? What was she to him? Not even a friend whom he would miss? More angry than concerned about his welfare at this point, she whirled around and dashed toward her car.
This time, the element of surprise was on her side. Or maybe the rain slowed him down. She’d just gotten her driver’s door closed and locked when he reached her. His shoes slid across the gravel as he tried to stop. But he ended up slamming against her door and grabbing her side mirror to keep from falling on his face.
He swore and straightened. Then he yanked her door handle a few times before leaning down to glare at her through the window. The clouds chose that moment to open up. Rain pelted down on him in sheets, drenching him in seconds. He hunched his shoulders against the onslaught, his dark eyes promising retribution through the glass.
“I need my keys,” he yelled to be heard over the thunder and rain. He rapped his knuckles on the window. “Keys.”
“You’re drunk,” she yelled back. “You have no business driving. Walk home.” She dropped his keys onto the seat beside her and started the engine.
He slammed his hand against the roof of her car, making her jump. “My house is over twenty miles away.”
“I can give you a ride home. But your truck stays here.”
“No.”
They glared at each other through the window. Him probably hating her. Her hating herself for having wasted so much time on him, both personally and professionally. Maybe she should give up on men entirely. They weren’t worth the trouble.
She put her foot on the brake and shifted into drive.
His eyes narrowed. “Donna, don’t you dare—”
She slammed the accelerator and zoomed out of the parking lot.
Where was Blake, and was he okay? Those two questions had been worrying Donna all evening, ever since she’d left him standing in the rain, yelling after her.
She sat in her recliner, her legs tucked underneath her, while she cradled a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. It wasn’t that the house was cold. Outside, it was only mildly chilly, and then only when the winds blew down from the nearby mountains. But she didn’t need cold weather as an excuse to have hot chocolate. It was her poison of choice when she needed soothing.
Tonight, she definitely needed soothing.
Across the room, the TV screen hung over the fireplace, dark and quiet. Typically, unless her mom or one of her mom’s well-meaning klatch of friends had set her up on yet another disastrous blind date, she would spend Saturday nights binge-watching recorded cop shows. The ones with the fake forensics and technology were the most entertaining. Where an investigator could search a single database and come up with a person’s entire life history in seconds—like what books that person had checked out of the library in kindergarten and never returned. Nothing could make her laugh harder than their implausible, ridiculous storylines. But tonight, instead, she stared at the set of keys on the coffee table. Blake’s keys.
And