Don't Call Me Hero (11 page)

I fingered my damp leather jacket, limp in my arms.

“Hang it by the fire, Detective,” Julia instructed, her voice bordering on the ridiculous. “That’s how these things work.”

I shrugged and slung the coat over the top of a high-backed easy chair. Julia picked it up and hung it with more care so it could more efficiently dry.

The overhead lights flickered and then went out.

Julia sighed loudly. “As if this night could get any worse.”

I clutched the drink tighter in my hands. “Where are you going?”

“To check on the fuse box, although I suspect that’s not the culprit.”

“Now
you
sound like the detective,” I tried to joke.

Julia made a humming noise and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my drink and the crackling fire.

The rain continued to pound against the grand windows of the den. I brushed a thick curtain out of the way to peer outside. Without the aid of the front porch lights, the night had swallowed up everything outside. I couldn’t even see my patrol car, but I hoped it was still parked outside and hadn’t floated away.

Julia returned with a lighted candle. “Well, it’s not the fuse box; I imagine town is without power because of the storm.”

“I should probably get back to the station then.”

“Why? Are you an electrician?” Julia posed.

“No. But if someone needs to get a hold of me—”

“They’ll call your cell phone or central dispatch. The landline at the police station won’t be working with the power outage.”

“Oh. Right.”

Julia smiled mildly. “Detective, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were eager to leave me.”

“I’m on duty,” I excused myself. “I shouldn’t be wasting taxpayer money sitting with you, having a cocktail.”

“How very noble.”

Julia fished the crystal glass out of my cupped hands. She drained the contents of my untouched drink. “Thank you for your assistance tonight. I’m sorry I’ve kept you from doing your job.”

“You didn’t …” I ran my fingers though still damp blonde tendrils. I was the one feeling guilty now.

Julia left the den, leaving me to scramble for my jacket and find my way back to the front entryway. I silently pulled my leather boots back on under the careful watch of the city prosecutor.

The front door opened. “Have a nice night, Miss Miller,” Julia stated curtly. Her long, elegant fingers curled around the outer edge of the ornately carved front door. “Do stay safe.”

+ + +

I turned off the county highway and back into town. The rain had lightened up significantly, and downtown was lit up like a Christmas tree. Upon further investigation, I discovered a fallen tree branch had severed a power line. I called in the downed line to the electric company, but a sleepy, disgruntled voice informed me that nothing could be done about it for a few days. Apparently Minnesota nice didn’t extend to the electric company.

The return drive to Julia’s house came with little thought until I was standing on her front stoop. Was I just doing my job or was I looking for an excuse to see the city prosecutor again? Without electricity, I couldn’t have called Julia’s landline to give her an update, and I didn’t have her cell phone number either. All of these realizations put me moderately at ease about my decision to be knocking on her door at this hour.

I could just make out the sound of footsteps on the other side of the front door before it opened. My eyes practically bulged at the expensive silk robe that barely reached the top of Julia’s kneecaps. She pulled the sash tighter around her lithe waist when she saw me. Her face was unreadable, but she looked unaffected by my presence or that she was in her pajamas. “Two house calls in one night? To what do I owe this surprise?”

I took a step backwards. “I just wanted to let you know that I found a downed power line a few miles from here. Town has power, but you don’t. I called it in to the electric company, but they won’t get to it for a few days.”

Julia ran the tip of her tongue over still painted lips. Even though she’d changed out of her work clothes, her makeup remained in place, like her armor or a mask. “Thank you.”

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and my hands curled around my key ring in one pocket and my cell phone in the other. “I, uh, I also took the liberty of calling the city garage about your car. They’re not open until the morning, obviously, but I left a voicemail telling them where to find your car so they can tow and fix it.”

At the admission, Julia’s carefully sculpted eyebrows rose on her unlined forehead. “You’re very thorough, aren’t you?”

“Just, uh, doing my job.” It was cold outside and despite my jacket, I shivered. My clothes were still damp from earlier. I wondered how Julia could stand the night chill in silk negligee.

“Would you like to come in, Detective?”

“I really shouldn’t.” I technically had another three hours on duty until Chief Hart came to relieve me.

“At least let me thank you properly for this second trip out here. I promise it won’t be more alcohol.”

My eyes traveled the perimeter of the doorway with the same kind of practiced scrutiny as I would have done in Afghanistan. The surrounding environments couldn’t have been more different, but the heightened anxiety was similar.

Julia stood in the open threshold, holding court and smirking. My gaze was drawn to her waist when she tightened the robe’s sash again. I had a pretty good idea what would happen if I accepted her invitation. I glanced once at the watch at my wrist. After all, what else did two people do at 3:00 a.m.?

“Come inside, Detective.” Julia stepped back inside and back into the darkness. “I won’t bite.”

The inside of Julia’s home looked different cloaked by night and the absence of electricity. Thin lines of moonlight cast across the marble floor in the entryway, filtered through the narrow windows on either side of the solid front door. I stood motionless in the grand foyer while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light and for my orientation to return. I only knew the den to the immediate right. The rest of the house was a mystery.

“This way, Detective.” Julia’s voice came from behind me. I felt the gentle swipe of fingers graze my lower back and circle around to my side as she strode past me. That hand came to curl around my wrist and she tugged me deeper into her home.

With no electricity and the sounds of a sleeping city miles away, the house was silent. Julia was barefoot with no heels to clack against the marble tiles. The chunky heels of my own boots sounded hollow in the entranceway.

“Shoes?” I paused. It wasn’t a comment about Julia’s footwear, but rather a question about what to do with my own.

“I had no idea you’d be so trainable, Miss Miller.” I could practically hear the amused smile in her words. “You may leave them on,” she permitted.

I allowed Julia to guide me down a long hallway, darker than the rest of the home as there were no windows in the corridor. The hallway opened up to an open kitchen, massive in size with high, vaulted ceilings. The entire back wall seemed to be constructed of glass, giving an unobstructed view of a private backyard illuminated by the pale yellow of the fat moon that hung in the midnight black sky.

Julia dropped my wrist and walked around a large L-shaped island. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

I stood awkwardly now without her guidance. I shoved my hands into the tight front pockets of my jeans. “I can always eat,” I routinely said.

She opened the double doors of a stainless-steel refrigerator. The insides remained dark without the aid of internal lighting. “I’m afraid I’m a little short on cheeseburgers and snack cakes. I don’t normally keep that kind of food in my house.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What makes you think I eat garbage like that?” I did, but there was no reason why she should have known that. I’d been so worried about her thinking that
I
was a stalker, it hadn’t occurred to me that maybe she was watching me in return.

“I saw your cart at the grocery store.”

“Oh.” I thought I’d gone unnoticed.

She moved to a cabinet drawer and, upon pulling it out, produced two spoons. She went to the refrigerator next, bent at the waist, and pulled free the freezer drawer beneath. I should have removed my stare from the way Julia’s short robe crawled up her naked thighs, but I’d already exhibited an unparalleled amount of self-control for one day.

When Julia righted herself, she held a cardboard cylinder container in one hand.

“Ice cream?” I wondered aloud when I saw the packaging.

She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Butter pecan.” She set the container on the island and pried the top open. “If I’m to be without electricity for the next few days, I might as well take care of this so it doesn’t go to waste.”

It seemed to me that Julia was trying to justify the indulgence, but I kept my observation to myself.

I reached across the island and snagged one of the spoons. “No chocolate?”

She shrugged and dipped her spoon into the new container. “This is about as indulgent as I allow.” I watched the creamy mixture at the end of Julia’s spoon with unrivaled jealousy. The tip of the spoon disappeared between parted lips and re-emerged clean. “Food-wise.”

“Do you have any vices, Madam Prosecutor?”

Julia gave me a predatory stare. “A few.”

I dug less delicately into the container than my compatriot. Butter pecan ice cream overflowed on my spoon, and I shoved the utensil into my mouth before it could fall off.

Julia’s steady gaze regarded me as she took another modest spoonful. “Such enthusiasm,” she murmured.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. I knew my table manners were lacking, but I had no pressing desire to eat ice cream straight out of the container with raised pinkies.

“So this was your grandparent’s house?”

I wasn’t an expert at making small talk, but I found it a necessity around her. I was quickly learning that if I didn’t control the conversation topic with this woman, she found a way to make me uncomfortable. It wasn’t purely physical, and there was a class element to be sure, but I mostly didn’t want the city attorney asking too many questions about my own life. I was loathe to hand over my past to be judged and studied.

“It was.” Julia swirled the tip of her spoon in the ice cream and dragged the caramel ribbon across its surface. “I have many fond memories of playing here as a child.”

“They let you play in here? It feels more like a museum,” I said.

Julia stood up straight, no longer leaning into the island. “This house was a lot different when filled with family and love,” she defended. “If it feels like a mausoleum now, then I’m the only one to blame.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No. I know you didn’t.” She stabbed her spoon into the ice cream as though planting a flag into the ground. “You should probably leave, Miss Miller. I know you have work to get back to.”

Julia scooped up the barely touched ice cream. She tossed her spoon into the sink where it clattered noisily before throwing the entire ice cream container into the garbage.

“Julia, I really didn’t mean to offend you,” I frowned. Guilt washed over me at how quickly her manner had chilled. One minute we’d been sharing ice cream, and the next moment it was melting at the bottom of a garbage bag.

She didn’t respond to my most recent plea. Instead, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me behind.

Feeling a little shell-shocked, I licked the last remnants of caramel and vanilla ice cream from my spoon before carefully setting it down on the kitchen island. I gathered my thoughts and emotions around me like battle armor and left the kitchen as well.

When I found Julia, she was standing at the front door, which was now open and awaiting my departure. I didn’t need to be asked to leave again. I stomped past her, feeling a combination of embarrassment and indignation. I was thankful I was already wearing my boots as pulling them back on would have only prolonged my visit.

“Miss Miller.”

I hesitated in my dramatic exit at the name. When I turned to regard Julia, I found myself pinned by dark eyes.

“Thank you again for your assistance tonight.”

Before I could muster an indifferent reply, soft lips were pressing against mine. Julia tasted faintly of sweetened caramel and roasted pecans. But just as quickly as I had come to the realization that she was kissing me, those painted lips were gone and the front door was closing, shutting me outside on the front stoop.

My fingertips went to my lips as I walked backwards and stumbled on one of the concrete steps. I looked up at the dark manor and licked at my lips, still feeling and tasting Julia on them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The bell over the door at Stan’s diner rang with the arrival of another breakfast customer. I was sitting on a stool next to my breakfast buddy, Franklyn Walker, with my back facing the front entrance, so I didn’t see the newcomer. I leaned over my plate and continued to slice into my western omelet.

“Coffee, please,” came a familiar, throaty rasp. “To go.” The voice was closer than I would have expected, nearly vibrating off my right ear.

I slowly turned on my stool. Julia was hovering so close that my knees nearly knocked into her when I did the about-face.

“Good morning, Detective,” she greeted with a subtle bob of her beautiful head.

“Madam Prosecutor,” I returned.

She slipped fitted black leather gloves off her hands and set them on the diner’s counter. “I trust the rest of your night went well?”

“Yeah. It did, thanks.”

Julia looked perfect as usual, no signs of a pre-dawn visitor or a morning without modern conveniences like hot water for a shower. She leaned against the counter as she waited for her coffee order. “This is starting to become a habit, running into you. Do you eat every meal here?”

I lifted my shoulders helplessly. “Stan makes a great omelet,” I defended myself and my lack of culinary acumen.

“I wonder how it would compare to one of mine?” she mused. I watched the tip of her pink tongue touch against a small scar at the top edge of her lipsticked mouth. I hadn’t noticed the thin white line before under the pulsing neon lights of a Minneapolis club; or in the crush of mouths during hurried, one-sided sex; or even by the light of the fire in her cozy den. I wanted to know the story behind the scar. I wanted to know all of Julia’s stories. I wanted to see all of her scars.

I licked my own lips at the memory of our last, albeit brief, kiss. Julia had tasted delicious. Her lips had been soft, and she had tasted like caramel and butter pecan. If I were braver, more brazen, I knew just the words to rattle the unflappable lawyer:
Is that an invitation?

But the moment passed, and Stan brought Julia her coffee while I returned my attention to my plate of cooling food. She left without another word, the door slamming and bell jingling with her exit.

I stabbed viciously at my eggs and side of hash browns. Heroes were supposed to be brave. But all that woman had ever made me feel was afraid.

+ + +

The position of mayor of a small town generally came with few responsibilities; it was a formality, a person who represented the town, waving in the Fourth of July Parade at the citizens sitting on lawn chairs and curbs as the fire trucks rolled by. But in Embarrass, Mayor William J. Desjardin was more than a simple figurehead. Not only was he was head of the City Council and an honorary member of other similar city commissions, but he had an office in City Hall where he oversaw the day-to-day operations of the town—a job that normally would have gone to the City Manager.

Mayor Desjardin’s office occupied a corner slot on the third floor of City Hall, across the hallway from the courtroom. I wouldn’t have had a reason to go to his office if we’d had a bigger police department or if he’d been a typical town mayor instead of a city manager. We had a modest department, but that didn’t mean we had to using outdated technology. Chief Hart and David Addams might have known everyone in town, but until I had a better grasp on the city’s residents, a mobile fingerprint reader was necessary.

The Mayor was an imposing figure. His pale blue eyes scrutinized me when I knocked on his office door. His blond hair had turned silver and his pallid skin looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun in decades. It struck me that he looked nothing like his daughter.

“Cassidy Miller,” I said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Miller.” He let the name roll over his tongue. “You’re the new police officer we’ve hired, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” I straightened my shoulders, well aware that this man was ultimately my boss, but also the father of the woman on whom I had a desperate crush. It was a little surreal.

“Please have a seat.” He motioned to the open chair across from his black lacquered desk. He folded his hands on his desk and steepled his long, pale fingers. “How can I help you?”

I shifted in the chair and my belt squeaked against the leather upholstery. “I wanted to see you about new equipment for the police department. I talked to Chief Hart about it, but he suggested I talk to you instead.” He hadn’t done any such thing, but I didn’t need to let the Mayor know that I was going over my superior’s head for this.

“What kind of equipment are we talking about, Miss Miller?”

“It’s called a mobile fingerprint reader. Too often when we make a traffic stop, many drivers don’t have any form of identification on them,” I began. “The fingerprint reader is connected to AFIS—the automated fingerprint identification system, which is the state-wide database of fingerprints. With a simple scan of a driver’s prints, we can verify who they are, but more importantly, be alerted if there’s a warrant out on them.”

The Mayor frowned. “I’m sure you can appreciate that budgets are tight these days––”

“I promise it’s not some fancy, unnecessary gadget, sir,” I interrupted. “It was an incredibly helpful tool when I worked in Minneapolis.”

He made a humming noise. “I’ll take a look into it, Officer Miller.”

“Detective.”

“Excuse me?” He had the eyebrow arch like his daughter, and I suddenly saw the resemblance. I self-consciously squirmed in my chair. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m
Detective
Miller, not Officer.”

William Desjardin’s features were unreadable. “I’ll remember that for the future.”

He stood from his desk and I took that as my signal that it was time to leave. I found the Desjardins’ hospitality lacking, but I kept that observation to myself.

+ + +

The sun had set hours ago and the street lamps were all lit along Main Street. Behind City Hall, the employee parking lot was empty except for a few city-owned trucks and one beat-up compact car. My key ring jingled as I looked for the key to the police car. I jerked my head away from my task when I heard heels click solidly on the pavement.

“Good evening, Madam Prosecutor,” I greeted when I saw her. “Another late night?” She seemed to keep even stranger work hours than me.

Julia stalked up to the blue compact car and shoved a key in the lock on the driver’s side door. “So it would seem.” She jiggled the key, but the locking mechanism refused to turn.

I looped my thumbs into the front of my duty belt. “You’re not trying to hijack that car right in front of a police officer, are you?”

She growled and tossed her briefcase on the dented hood and refocused on the stubborn lock. “It’s a rental from the auto shop.”

“Because your Mercedes blew up,” I said, remembering. “Wow. They really hooked you up,” I chuckled. The compact car made my old Crown Vic look high-end.

A scowl marred her beautiful face. “I prosecuted one of the co-owners of the auto shop for public drunkenness a few years ago; apparently he’s still upset about that.” She blew out a deep breath that disrupted her side-swept hair
.
She continued to struggle with the lock for a moment longer until she threw her hands up in disgust. “I give up. I’m walking home.”

“Not in those heels you’re not,” I remarked. “Here, let me try.”

“Unless you’re the car whisperer,” she huffed, jamming her key ring into my hands, “I fail to see how you—”

I wiggled the key in the keyhole until I felt it catch. It turned without further protest.

Julia blinked at me. “How did you…”

I gave a nonchalant shrug, although I was personally surprised I’d succeeded where she’d failed. “Sometimes these stubborn things just need a little coaxing and a gentle touch.”

She arched an eyebrow, looking a mixture of amused and perplexed. “Indeed. Either way, thank you for your assistance. You’ve seemed to save me twice in as many days.”

“I’m no superhero.”

“Aren’t you?” she challenged. “Defending the citizens of Embarrass from unknown terrors while they sleep?”

I grinned and leaned my hip against the side of the police car. It was still warm from David’s shift. “You make me sound like Batman or something.”

“Mmm … not enough tricks in your utility belt, I’m afraid.”

I tugged at my duty belt. “Oh, I’d show you some tricks if given the chance.”

A ghost of a smile played at Julia’s red, painted mouth. “I believe I’ve seen your tricks before, Detective.”

“That was just a preview.” I pushed off the police car to stand erect. This was comfortable. This was familiar. I could do banter. “How long are you stuck with this beater?”

“Hopefully not for too much longer.”

I nodded. “Well, if you need help popping that lock again, I’m only a phone call away.”

Her intoxicating mouth twisted into a knowing smile. “I’m sure you’d love the opportunity to pop my lock again.”

“I … that wasn’t what I-I didn’t mean . . .” I sputtered. She narrowed the distance between us, and my backside bumped the side panel of the police car. Maybe this
wasn’t
comfortable.

Julia had me pinned to the car, and a presumptuous hand rested on my hip. “That’s a fancy necklace, Detective. Did you get that out of a Cracker Jack box?”

I touched the badge that hung around my neck. “It’s how detectives wear their badges.”

She slipped the metal beaded chain off me, pulling it past my ears and hair. “Detectives, perhaps. But it’s not how
heroes
wear them.” Her fingers ghosted against my skin.

“No?” I felt frozen under her brazen attentions.

Julia separated the badge from its leather pouch. “No, dear. For you … something different.”

I held my breath when her hand came to rest on my hip. She hooked her thumb under the heavy gun belt around my waist and tugged as she slid the badge’s back fastening between leather and dark denim. The badge rested snug and secure against my hipbone.

“Much better, I think,” she practically purred in my ear. Her mouth sought the stretch of my neck, and I groaned when I felt her mouth, soft and wet against my skin.

“I-I should probably be getting to work,” I announced.

She seemed to sigh into me. “Yes. I suppose it is that time.” She bit down, hard.

“Damn it!” I pulled back angrily. My hand went to the tender spot, fingers touching over the space where Julia’s teeth had just been. I was sure to have a mark there in the morning.

“Have a nice night, Detective,” Julia smiled smugly. She climbed into the driver’s seat of her replacement car. “Do be safe.”

+ + +

I laid on top of the covers on my bed, stripped down to underwear and a black tank top, as I watched the lazy circles of the ceiling fan overhead. It was damnably hot. I’d opened all the windows to coax in a cool breeze, but no air would circulate through the studio apartment. Whoever had designed the building hadn’t thought about the need for cross-breezes. The windows were in the wrong places. It was frustrating; it was still cold enough outside to warrant wearing a jacket, and yet the humidity of my apartment was like a suffocating blanket.

My clothes from the previous day hung over the easy chair in the corner of the apartment. My eyes fell to a flash of gold among the cotton blends. My badge was still secured to my leather belt, and the badge holder Chief Hart had given me was empty on the floor. Aside from my interaction with Julia at the start of my shift, work had been uneventful. I’d gone on a call about a noise complaint which turned out to be a barking dog, and I’d written a ticket to someone for speeding down Main Street, but I’d seen no one else the rest of my shift.

I scratched at a mosquito bite on my upper arm. My face felt like it was covered in a fine layer of grease even though I’d showered when I’d gotten home from work just a few hours earlier. My back was on fire simply from having contact with the bed beneath me. I was never going to fall asleep.

I considered my options. I could wander around the freezer section at the grocery store or spend the day at the air-conditioned public library, but I wouldn’t get to sleep at either place. City Hall would be temperature controlled, and I remembered seeing a cot in a back room in the police station. It would have to do for now, or at least until I had time to order an air conditioner online.

I dragged myself out of bed and trudged the few steps to the bathroom to make myself presentable enough to be seen in public. It wouldn’t take much. I ran a wide-toothed comb through my stubborn curls and began to brush my teeth.

I pulled my hair out of the way, twisting it over one shoulder. I leaned down and spit out the wasted toothpaste. When I righted myself, I gaped at my mirrored reflection.

“Fucking, eh,” I grumbled. I leaned closer to the vanity mirror and squinted my eyes. A giant, purple and red bruise stared back at me near the space where my neck met my shoulder. I touched my fingers to the tender flesh.