First date number forty-eight comes to a screeching halt for Detective Langley Sheppard when his date lifts a pack of gum from the local convenience store. But things start looking up when he encounters spunky damsel-in-distress Jessica Vickers, who’s stranded in the store parking lot. Now Lang is about to discover that on a night when everything goes wrong, falling for Jessica feels spectacularly right.

The Last First Date

Maggie Wells

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dedicated to all those who dare to demand limes when life hands them lemons. A stiff margarita is much more effective than a glass of lemonade. Let’s drink a toast to unexpected love. Cheers!

Acknowledgments

When I sat down to write the acknowledgments for this book, I couldn’t shake the phrase “gratitude for the multitudes” from my head. That’s what I truly feel when I think of all the people it took to bring this manuscript to fruition. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a moment to thank a few of them.

First, let me say thank you to Malle Vallik and the Harlequin E team for making use of my favorite word, “Yes.” This may be my twenty-sixth publication, but Malle was my very first phone call from an editor or publisher. Though I am a fan of email and the digital age in general, I have to admit it was absolutely thrilling to hear her say they loved my story and wanted to share it with the world. I still get giddy just thinking about it.

Extraspecial thanks to Angela James and the editorial committee at Carina Press for not simply passing on this story, but for passing it on to Malle and her team. They truly went above and beyond.

This book would not be in your hands if it weren’t for the enthusiasm of my incredible editor, Deb Nemeth. She has the uncanny ability to make everything tighter and sharper without losing one ounce of sweetness. If that’s not a cape-worthy superpower, I don’t know what is. I feel so lucky to be able to work with her.

To date, I have yet to write one word for publication without the world’s best, most enthusiastic, and yes, awesomiest critique partner, Julie Doner, by my side. I hope I never have to. If you can’t tell, I think she’s superlative in every way.

I am unbelievably lucky in so many ways, but one of my greatest joys is the existence of a small-but-vocal tribe of women we call the Super Cool Party People. Without these breathtakingly supportive friends behind me, in front of me, on top of me and sometimes in my head, I’d be utterly lost.

Every day I thank God for my own unexpected love, Bill—the only hero who could make the improbable story of us so damn right.

And finally, I want to say thank you to you, dear readers. You awe and humble me. Thank you for letting me share this time with you.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

A few strange women had flitted in and out of Lang’s life in the past few months, but not one of them had a bizarre fixation on chewing gum like tonight’s winner Sq.uinting through the sleet-spattered windshield, he peered into the harsh glare spilling from the glass storefront of the T-N-T Mini Mart, hoping to catch sight of his date. The multitude of neon signs crowding the spotless expanse lit the puddles of slush in carnival colors. The store’s owner, Max Merida, believed in the laws of plenty. Plenty of light, plenty of cheesy merchandise crammed onto narrow counters, and plenty of markup built into every price.

Apparently, his date believed in having plenty of gum.

Five minutes had crept past since she bailed from his car, insisting he stay put. He could only figure choosing the right flavor was a deeply personal matter for Kristin…no, Kirsten.

Kir-sten.

No matter how many times he repeated it in his head, the name probably wouldn’t stick. Not that there was anything wrong with the girl. She seemed nice enough. Blonde and pretty in a slightly overly made-up way. Her dress was low-cut and her legs were long—two features he usually appreciated—but tonight the sparkly package just wasn’t doing it for him. Kir-sten would be his fifth first date this month. He was getting good enough at gauging them to know that this one was not off to an auspicious start.

In the past six months alone, he’d chalked up a toll booth attendant who thought she was a shrink, a clinging-vine attorney who wanted to sue him for breach of contract when he broke a dinner date, a girl who ate whole cloves of garlic to keep vampires from sucking her blood, a nymphomaniac kindergarten teacher (not as fun as he expected), a woman whose man hands would have made Jerry Seinfeld jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, and a tattoo artist who wrote free-form poetry. On people’s skin.

And those were just the headliners.

Dating was a horror, pure and simple, but it was the only socially acceptable way to cure what ailed him. Gum fixation aside, he was willing to give this date a chance. Even if it was a blind date procured for him by his grandmother and one of her canasta buddies. On New Year’s Eve.

Gripping the top of the steering wheel, Lang curled forward until his lips touched the backs of his hands, and purged the oxygen he’d been holding deep in his lungs. In his early twenties, playing the field had seemed to be the thing to do. His friends had begun pairing off as that decade ground to an end, yet he’d still thought he had all the time in the world. But his thirties proved to be a revelation. He used to snort every time he heard a woman complain that all the good ones were taken. On principle, he considered himself to be the exception to that rule. But the longer he dog-paddled his way around the dating pool, the closer he came to commiserating with them. Still, he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. That was why he was spending the second biggest date night of the year parked outside the Tank ‘N Tummy waiting on a woman who had a slushball’s chance in Florida of being The One.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel as he stared into the store again. There was a reason he refused to look too closely at the crap lining the counters when he stopped into the T-N-T for his morning coffee. If he did, he usually saw things he didn’t want to see. Like the hookahs in the display case or the heavy-duty paperweight that looked suspiciously like a set of brass knuckles. Aside from their questionable merchandising choices, the owner, Max, and his wife, Elena, believed small talk cut into their profit margin. Turnover was everything to the Meridas. For the life of him, Lang couldn’t imagine what could be taking Kir-sten so long.

The heel of his hand hovered near the center of the wheel. His subconscious prompted him to hit the horn, eager to get this date started so it could be over. Catching himself at the last second, he yanked his hand back as if he’d been singed.

Reflected light colored the drops of rain smattered across his windshield. He let his head rest against the window. His breath fogged the glass. The plate-glass door swung open wide and a woman emerged. Lang sat up straighter.

But the woman was not Kir-sten.

As a matter of fact, this woman was as different from his gum-loving date as Lang could imagine. She was dressed in clothing that was infinitely more weather-appropriate than the candy wrapper Kir-sten had on under her too-short winter coat. Her hair was dark—a rich, thick brown like coffee left to cook too long in the pot. And messy. The winter wind whipped loose curls around a perfect cameo of a face scrubbed clean of any trace of cosmetics. The planes and angles cut by ruthlessly high cheekbones were too sharp to pass for pretty. The careless tangle of her hair told him she was the kind of woman who never gave more than a passing thought to the beauty born in her bones.

She was apparently also the type to wear a hot pink coat so puffy it made her upper body look like a balloon animal.

Lang stared, riveted, as she raised her hand to draw her coat closed against the icy rain. Her gaze was wary and watchful. He liked that. In his opinion, there was nothing sexier than a woman who was nobody’s fool. His skin tingled when their eyes met through the spattered windshield. The wipers brushed semi-frozen precipitation aside but she didn’t look away. His heart rammed into his sternum. Just once. A single dull thud meant to mark the moment.

And then she was gone.

Lang wrapped his arms around the steering wheel and craned his neck, watching her dash out from under the awning and plow headlong into the freezing rain. Headlights caught the reflective strip running down the leg of her sweatpants as she dove into her car. A pang of envy tweaked his stomach. He had a pair with a similar stripe, and right now, he would give his left nut to be home sitting on his couch wearing them. Instead he was all trussed up in a suit heading for an anonymous hotel ballroom with a ditzy blonde who was apparently more interested in bubble gum than the prospect of dating him.

Heaving a sigh, he killed the engine and opened his door, determined to retrieve his date and get back to the task at hand. Wheatfield was only forty miles west of Chicago, but on a cold, rainy December night those miles could stretch on for hours. Though it was a small city in its own right, the far west suburb didn’t offer the kind of entertainment most women would expect on a New Year’s Eve date. That’s why the prepackaged party at a downtown hotel had seemed like a good idea when he forked over the cash for the tickets. Now he wasn’t sure.

Cruel winter wind stole his breath and sliced through the wool of his suit coat. He planted one foot on a patch of icy asphalt, waiting until the sole of his shoe caught a melted spot before leveraging himself from his car. The coupe was too small for a guy who’d been too tall since the tenth grade, but he didn’t care. He loved the way the engine hummed like a satisfied woman. If he could just find the woman he wanted to satisfy…

His car door closed with a solid ker-thunk, but a muffled scream caught his attention. Instinct kicked into high gear. Lang whirled, but he had no weapon strapped to his side. He was on a date, not on duty. He scanned the crowded parking lot, searching for the source of the distress. The screech of unoiled door hinges made the hairs on the back of his neck go porcupine. He spun around just as the woman in the track pants jumped from her driver’s seat to pound the hood of her car as she gave voice to her frustration.

“Really? Now? Because my life hasn’t gone to total and complete crap yet?”

Her outburst startled him, but it had little effect on the sedan. Propelled by a mixture of amusement and empathy, he turned away from the storefront and headed toward her. Ice crunched under the soles of his shoes. She glared at him, but the wind whipped her dark hair into her face, totally ruining the effect. Copping a clue, he tamped down on the urge to laugh but kept the smile in place as he approached.

“Maybe I can help?”

She fell back a step and he raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender, wanting to ease some of the wariness in her tense expression. Swiping damp, dark hair from her face, the woman eyed him speculatively. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m a police officer.” He offered the information in hopes of reassuring her but knew it could cut either way, depending on her point of view. “I can show you my badge.”

She squinted at him through the falling sleet. Full lips thinned into a grim line. “I don’t need a badge. I need a jump.”

She pushed her hair back from her face once more, tucking the wayward waves behind her ear, leaving the long, smooth line of her throat exposed. That column of pale vulnerable skin beaconed to him. A hot knot of lust formed in his gut.

For a split second, he imagined himself crouched and poised to jump her. Like a tiger or panther, or something equally badass. But instead of taking the leap, he curled his toes in his too-tight shoes and kept his feet planted on the ground. He also bit his tongue. Hard. Ten thousand innuendos tickled the back of this throat, but something told him she wasn’t in the mood to wrestle with words.

“Do you have cables?”

The question jolted him from his haze. Swallowing the rust in his throat, he nodded. “Pop the hood and get in there out of the rain. I’ll be right back.”

Lang hustled back to his car, glad to have something to do other than turning lech on a complete stranger. Then again, it couldn’t be worse than spending an entire evening waiting on a woman with a chewing gum obsession. He grabbed his cables from the trunk just as a carload of teenagers vacated the spot beside his damsel in distress’s vehicle. He waved to catch her attention through her rain-dotted window. Using a series of exaggerated gestures, he signaled his intention to move to the space beside her.

He tossed the canvas bag containing cables into the empty passenger seat and started to slide into his car when a stunning array of light bounced off the mini-mart’s rain-speckled door and a commotion spilled out into the night. Lang looked up to find Kristin…Kir-sten backlit in the doorway, trying to yank her arm from Max Merida’s grip.

“Help!”

“No! You do not yell ‘help’ as if you did not attempt to steal from me,” Max argued.

“Whoa!” Jumper cables forgotten, Lang slammed the car door and hurried to the walkway that led into the store. “What’s going on?”

“Ah, Detective. Thank goodness you are here,” Max said in his thick, accented English. “Arrest this thief. She has stolen from me for the last time.”

Lang stared at the short, balding man until the accusation settled into the right slot in his mind. “Stolen from you?” He shifted his focus to his date and her name sprang to his lips. Apparently, all it took to make a forgettable woman unforgettable was a little petty larceny. “Kirsten?”

She looked chagrined and the bright pink flush of guilt stained her cheeks. A twinge of oh-crap pinged his gut. Dread rooted him to the spot. He stared at his date, at a complete loss. The stomach-clenching realization that he might end up spending his only night off this week at the station left him rattled. Unable to look directly at the woman his grandmother had saddled him with, he ran a hand over his face. A movement to his right caught his attention. The woman with the dead battery climbed from her car and he groaned.

“Excuse me!” Her voice carried on the wet wind, her strident tone matching the determined set of her mouth. She hugged herself hard, holding the sides of her puffy hot pink parka closed as she hop-skipped to the entrance. “I hate to interrupt,” she said in a tone that completely divorced her intent from the gist of the statement, “but if you could just loan me your cables, maybe I could get someone else to jump me.”

Her choice of words intrigued him almost as much as the slightly snotty edge to her voice. Envy-inspiring track pants aside, this was clearly a woman accustomed to getting her way. And fairly quickly, he assumed, based on the waves of impatience radiating from her. He’d be damned if he let someone else jump her, especially with his cables.

“I’m sorry, I have a situation here. If you could just wait—”

But Miss INeedaJump was apparently out of patience. “Listen, I’m not trying to break up your little chitchat—”

“I paid for the soda!”

Kirsten’s indignant outburst captured his undivided attention. “Soda?” Senses tingling, Lang turned his questioning gaze back to his date. Sure enough, a bottle of diet soda dangled from her fingers. “I thought you said you wanted a pack of gum.”

“She stole the gum. I saw her put it in the pocket of her coat. The value pack. Not the regular size.” Max added the last bit as if it would up the charge.

Lang glared at Kirsten, determined to get to the bottom of this mess. “You stole a pack of gum but paid for a soda?”

“She has done it before, Detective. That is how I knew to let Elena cover the register when this woman came into my store.” Max’s grip tightened on Kirsten’s elbow and she let out a yelp.

Lang disengaged the other man’s hand and replaced it with his own. “I’ve got her.”

The woman with the dead battery cast a glance at the rapidly emptying parking lot. His distressing damsel swallowed hard as she took in the semi-sketchy area. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but do you have jumper cables I can use or not?”

Lang paused for a moment, watching with detached fascination as their fellow patrons scattered like rats abandoning ship at the first sign of trouble. He glanced down, trying to come up with the right words to reassure her. Instead, he fixated on the way the woman’s pinkie toe poked through a hole in her canvas tennis shoe.

“I demand that you arrest this woman.” Max said. “I wish to press charges.”

Any chance for a pleasant evening deflated the moment he recognized the adamancy in the other man’s tone. First generation Americans harbored a firm and abiding belief in their adopted country’s judicial system, the kind of faith bred out of their native-born countrymen long ago. He turned to Max and made a last-ditch run at reason.

“It was a pack of gum. How about she pays you for the gum—” he held up a hand to stave off another round of protests, “—plus a reasonable sum of restitution? Maybe, twenty dollars?” He cast a questioning glance in Kirsten’s direction in time to see her jaw drop.

“Twenty dollars?” She gaped at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “It was only a pack of gum.”

“Aha! You admit that you took it!” Max crowed. “You heard her.” Spinning on his heel, he pinned Jumper-Cable Girl to the spot with an overly exuberant jab of his finger and a triumphant smile. “You are a witness. She confessed to stealing from my store.”

Lang groaned, pressing his hand to the top of his head as he dropped his chin to his chest. His hair was slick, completely soaked through with sleet. Icy pellets were beginning to accumulate on his shoulders and seep into the weave of his suit coat. Ridges of slush formed around the toes of his leather shoes.

Lifting his head just enough, he fixed Kirsten with a flat stare. “Turn your pockets inside out.”

“But—”

“Do it.” The demand slithered between his clenched teeth. The air stilled around them as Kirsten ducked her head and did as he asked. Sure enough, a mega-pack of strawberry gum landed in the slush at her feet, and Lang’s hopes of waking up from this nightmare were whipped away by the winter wind. “Shit.”

“I am pressing charges of thievery.” Max practically vibrated with justification. “Please, take this woman to the jail, Detective. I will let Elena know I will return once we have the charges in place.”

Lang sighed, his fate sealed by the evidence at the tips of his toes. His New Year’s Eve was over, and his date hadn’t even begun.

Chapter Two

More than ready to exit this little melodrama stage left, Jessica plunged her hands into the pockets of her mother’s parka but came up empty. Her gut twisted as she realized her cell phone was hooked up to its charger, which was plugged in behind the coffeepot on her mother’s kitchen counter. Back in the land of plaid couches, tofu and no internet. Not even the wired kind.

Wrapping herself in the cloak of oblivion preferred by urbanites everywhere, she turned to the store’s owner and changed tactics. “Can I use your telephone? I’ll just call a cab and get out of your way.”

“No public telephone.” The beaming little man didn’t even miss a beat before whipping that old standby out of his bag of tricks. “Detective, take your prisoner away.”

“Max, I’m not a patrol cop. This isn’t my call.” Detective TallDarkandCableless was still wrangling the alleged gum thief.

“You wouldn’t arrest me.” Blondie’s lip trembled, but her voice was soft and low and laced with the confidence girls born pretty never had to earn. “We’ll miss the party.”

Jessica stared at Officer Galahad’s profile, curious to see how he’d react to the entreaty. His jaw tightened and a tiny muscle jumped just below his ear. She had to give him credit for the look of disgust that flitted across his handsome face when Bubble Gum Barbie slipped her fingers under the lapel of his coat. Instead of melting into a puddle of IWannaGetLaid, he took a step back, effectively and efficiently dislodging her hand.

Hugging the hideous coat even tighter, Jessica thanked God for its down-filled warmth. Tiny lacewings fluttered in her stomach, but she ignored them. This was New Year’s Eve. In just a few hours this craptastic year would be over and a bright, shiny new one would start. She just needed to make it through midnight.

Detective Delicious turned stormy gray eyes in her direction and the busted zipper on the hideous coat shot to the top of Mount WhyMe. She hadn’t realized the parka wouldn’t close until her mission was well underway. If she’d known, she would have put on a bra at the very least. If she’d really felt like dressing for the holiday, she might have swapped the Hello Kitty T-shirt she’d slept in the previous night for the clean, fresh Betty Boop one perched atop the stack of laundry piled on her dresser.

Jessica drew a steadying breath and tuned back into the conversation as the guy called Max launched into a tirade about police response times, the character of the area patrol officers, and their lack of sympathy for his plight. The two men finished the debate when Shoplifting Sally oh-so-casually alluded to the fact that it was indeed New Year’s Eve and the chances of scaring up a patrol free enough to haul a gum charge into the station were somewhere between slim and none. Sadly for her, the argument seemed to sway her date to the opposing team’s side. Jessica had started to inch away from the discussion when Detective Delish threw his hands up in surrender.

“Fine. Make sure you tell Elena you’ll be a few hours and call your son in for backup.” The good detective’s lips thinned into a firm line as he peered at the dark-haired woman manning the cash register. “She shouldn’t be alone here tonight.” He fixed the store’s owner with a hard stare. “This is going to take some time, and I can promise you, your complaint will be bumped to the back of the line. You will not be a priority tonight. I can almost guarantee it. You understand me?” The shorter man nodded eagerly.

Shocked by the abrupt turn of events, Jessica turned to the detective. “Before you go, can I borrow your cell? I left mine at home. I thought I was only running out for a minute.” It never occurred to her that picking up the essentials for a New Year’s Eve party for one would prove to be such a pain in the ass. “I’ll just call a cab to get me home. I can pick my car up tomorrow.”

“No, no, no! You cannot park here overnight.” Max straightened to his full height and fixed her with an imperious glare. “Abandoned vehicles will be towed at the owner’s expense.”

Jessica gaped at him.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Max.” Apparently Detective Dreamy had reached the end of his patience. “It’s freezing, sleeting, and soon this place will be crawling with drunks looking for a burrito. Do you think you could cut at least one person some slack tonight?”

“Policy is policy. If I break the policy for one person, I must break it for all.” Max splayed his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “So, you see, I cannot break the policy.”

Throwing his hands in the air, her knight in the shiny black sports car gave up. He turned to his pilfering pal and pointed the blonde at the passenger door. “You ride in back.”

His date gasped, tottering toward the car in too-tall heels. “Ride in back? Why do I have to ride in the back?”

“Because for some insane reason you thought it would be a kick to start the evening out by stealing a pack of gum!”

The reverberation from his explosion hung heavy in the air. Jessica stared at the man, utterly enthralled by the rise and fall of his broad chest and the wild light in those cloud-colored eyes. He shifted his full attention to her, and the silver glints softened to a gray glow alight with sympathy.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice came in a low, husky rasp, underscoring the tip-tip-tip of Blondie’s shoes as she picked her way across the slick pavement. “I hate to leave you stranded here.”

Sincerity furrowed his brow, making him even more attractive than he’d been three minutes earlier. Jessica heard the car door open, and a surge of jealousy poked pinholes in the cold, hard lump of pride lodged in her belly. The unexpected certainty that she was about to miss out on something soured her tongue. She lowered her hand, hugging the puffy pink nylon across her stomach. He might be sorry about it, but the facts remained the same—he was leaving and she was stuck.

The door swung shut after Blondie pulled her feet in, but the latch didn’t catch. He gave a frustrated growl and strode toward the passenger door, heedless of the ice underfoot and the needles of rain falling down on them. His fingers curled around the handle. His eyes lit as he looked up. “Come with me.”

“What?”

He nodded, obviously pleased with the scheme playing out in his head. “The station is warm and dry. The coffee’s free too, if you’re not too fond of your stomach lining.”

Fixated on his lips, she almost missed the words coming out of them. “Station?”

The man had the good grace to grimace as he broke the bad news to her. “I’ll need you to make a statement about her confession.”

Jessica shuddered. This was just supposed to be a quick run to the mini-mart. She didn’t want to get involved in whatever was going on with Officer Hottie and his dream date. She just wanted her damn car to start. The policies and procedures followed on every cop show she’d ever watched raced through her mind. She started grasping at straws. “I didn’t see her take it. Wouldn’t that be hearsay or something?”

Her breath caught when he bent toward her, lowering his voice for her ears only. “I can’t leave you here. This neighborhood isn’t the greatest, and it’s New Year’s Eve. God only knows when you’ll be able to get a cab.”

Her mind flashed to the provisions stashed in her car. She had everything—premixed margaritas and nacho cheese flavored chips. The makings for a fiesta were parked in her passenger seat. She could camp out there until the next Good Samaritan came along. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Klepto Kardashian wriggle her way back into Detective Do-Me’s good graces. Women like that got away with murder, while women like her nearly killed themselves just trying to stay afloat.

But not anymore.

There would be no more treading water or settling for good enough. Jessica had every intention of taking the new year by storm. After one last round of lime-flavored pity. “Listen, I don’t want to get involved….” The words were going to be her new mantra. She needed to start believing them now.

“Just come with us, make a quick statement while you warm up, drink some awful coffee, and I’ll bring you back here to get your car moving just as soon as I can hand her over for processing.”

For some unknown reason his cavalier attitude irked her. “Some boyfriend you are.”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he snapped. He tipped his face up to the heavens and the light caught the drops of moisture beading on his face and hair. Exhaling, he lowered his gaze to meet hers directly. “Ma’am, I am asking you to accompany me to the Third Precinct to make a brief statement concerning the confession Miss Brackle made a short time ago.”

She let the ma’am bit slide and went straight to the meat of the matter. “Listen, Detective…”

“Sheppard,” he supplied with a nod. “Lang Sheppard.”

“Listen, Detective Sheppard—”

He let out an exasperated huff. “Just get in the car. It’s cold and wet and my friggin’ eyelashes are starting to fuse together.” And what lashes they were, thick and dark, a velvet fringe framing those spectacular silver-gray eyes. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. “Don’t make me have to worry about you out here by yourself.”

She forced a scoff but the sincerity in his tone tugged at her. “Surely whatshisname’s wife will let me use their phone while he’s gone.”

He matched her scoff with a bark of bitter laughter. “No, she won’t. Elena is the hard-ass in this partnership. Max is a great big puppy dog compared to that woman.”

“Why do you care?”

The challenge tweaked the thread of his control. “Because I made the mistake of getting out of my goddamn car.” A little fissure of pleasure traveled through her when his temper flared. “Because I’m the idiot who left my house tonight,” he continued. “The moron who let his grandmother set him up with one of her canasta buddy’s granddaughters. Any of those good enough reasons for you?” He clapped his hands like a Vegas dealer then held them up to show he was clear. “You know what? Fine. Have it your way. Just give me your name and contact information in case these cockamamy charges don’t go away.”

She blinked in surprise. “Cockamamy? Did you just say cockamamy?”

He headed for the driver’s door. “Let me just get a pen.”

Backseat Bimbette started babbling the moment he opened the door, but he ignored her. Intrigued, Jessica took a step closer, hoping to pick up a thread of the conversation. Seconds later, he backed his way out of the low-slung cockpit with a notepad and pen in hand and slammed the door again.

“Name?”

“Jessica Vickers.” The response came automatically, a knee-jerk reaction to the command in his tone more than the question itself.

“Telephone? Home or cell, whichever is best.”

She shot him a level look. “I’ve had men ask a little more nicely.”

“I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Bull.” She arched her eyebrows. “Besides, that seems a waste of paperwork when this sounds like an open-and-shut case.”

“Get in the car.”

He growled the order and returned her stare without flinching. The man didn’t back down and he didn’t blow anyone off. She liked that about him. Stepping off the curb, she let her fingertips trail through the wet slush gathering on the hood as she made her way to the passenger door. “You’re a hell of a gumshoe, Detective.”

His lips twitched and he met her gaze across the roof of the car. His steely eyes warmed again. A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Where were you when I was looking for a date for New Year’s Eve?”

She opened the car door. “As far away from any canasta club as I could get.”

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