Chapter Three

They rode in silence for two whole blocks before Jessica turned to peek over the back of the seat. “I like the sweet apple flavor better. Have you tried that?”

The question set Lang off like a bottle rocket. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to encourage her?”

Jessica shot him an exasperated glance. “I didn’t send her into the store to steal a pack of gum, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m only offering my opinion. The sweet apple is so much better than the strawberry delight.”

Shifting his attention from his perplexing passenger, he darted a glance at the rearview mirror. Kirsten stared back at him, stony-faced. “Why would you steal a pack of gum? I would have given you the money.”

“I have my own money,” she snapped.

“But you chose not to use it, or you could only afford the soda?”

Instead of answering, she cracked the seal on the cap. His gaze flew back to the mirror in time to see pouty pink lips close around the mouth of the bottle. He grimaced as she took a greedy swig, and for one brief, happy moment, he envisioned wrapping his hands around his date’s throat.

“I don’t get it,” Jessica said.

A puzzled frown creased her forehead, but the display of consternation only enhanced her beauty. Those chiseled cheekbones reminded him of the no-nonsense glamour of an old-time Hollywood movie star. Without the fire-engine red lipstick and overplucked eyebrows. He slowed at a red light and took the opportunity to get a better look at her. Her eyes were either light brown or hazel; it was hard to get a good read on them in the amber glow of the streetlights. A fringe of wet bangs lay plastered against her forehead. She pushed them back, but the impatience of the gesture seemed to be turned inward rather than at the woman sulking in the backseat.

“Why did you take the gum?” She laced the question with just enough sympathetic curiosity to make him think she might actually coax an honest answer from Kirsten. His foot remained hard on the brake even though the light turned green.

Kirsten’s mouth tightened as if she were repressing the urge to speak, but she refused to meet Jessica’s eyes. Close, but no dice.

Lang stepped on the gas, throwing both women back in their seats. Seconds passed with only the muted growl of the engine and the pitter-patter of ice bombarding the windshield to break the silence.

Then Kirsten spoke. “I hate first dates.”

He swallowed a string of curses before settling on a simple, “You and me both.”

Jessica’s damp hair shussshed against the nylon shell of her parka as her head swiveled between him and his date. The look she gave him caused him to bite down on his tongue. He tasted the metallic tang of blood just before Kirsten spoke.

“I do it every time.”

The soft-spoken admission was almost lost in the whisper of slush beneath his tires, but Jessica caught her drift. “Do what every time? Swipe something?”

A laugh that was more of a cough drifted from the backseat. “Started in high school. Dom Rubizzo asked me to go to the homecoming game, and I…I couldn’t believe he asked me.”

Lang glanced at the mirror. The telltale sparkle of tears sheened Kirsten’s eyes. He clamped down on the surge of sympathy welling up inside him but let up on the gas.

“We stopped at a gas station on the way. I took a candy bar.” Her breathy laugh echoed, weak and bitter. “I’m not sure why. I had money. The funny thing was, I was so nervous about the date, but once I took that candy bar…”

He pressed the brake despite the fact that the light glared green. He caught Jessica’s gaze for a split second before she shifted her attention back to Kirsten and gave a slow nod of understanding. “You weren’t so nervous after that.”

Lang hooked a right and cruised toward the station house in a more sedate state. He glanced into the rearview mirror. Kirsten stared out the side window, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her thick eyelashes batting fast and furiously.

“You know the reason why isn’t going to matter to Max,” he warned. It was better for her to have a clear picture of her chances of escaping the charge.

“I know,” she whispered. “I just… Don’t tell my grandmother, okay?”

He turned into the parking lot adjacent to the precinct. Max stood waiting for them beside his luxury sedan, smiling almost gleefully at the prospect of pressing charges against a screwed-up young woman for stealing a buck-fifty pack of chewing gum. Lang pulled into a spot and killed the engine. Meeting Kirsten’s worried eyes in the mirror, he inclined his head in silent assent then turned to Jessica.

“I exaggerated with Max. I was hoping he’d back off, but of course he won’t. I’m hoping this won’t take too long. At least, not on our end.” He shot the little man shivering in the sleet-covered parking lot a wry smile. “I’ll type up the statements and we can sign them and leave them with booking. As long as we have your contact information we should be okay.”

When she nodded, he looked at Kirsten. “Who do you want me to call for you?”

“My roommate.”

She rattled off a phone number and he scribbled it into the notebook he’d used to scrawl Jessica’s information earlier. It wasn’t the number he wanted, but one way or another he’d get it. Reaching for the door handle, he sucked in a deep breath. “Come on. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can all go home and sleep through the rest of the year.”

* * *

Lang Sheppard was even better looking when he wasn’t shivering in the icy rain trying not to arrest his date for the evening. He was also a big, fat liar.

Hours crept past as Kirsten and Max sat at two different desks answering questions, and Jessica spent time twiddling her thumbs. She tried making small talk with the female officer Lang had corralled into taking her statement, but the poor woman was obviously swamped with work. As was everyone else in the crowded room. And proving he was the ultimate team player, Detective Dreamboat jumped in with both feet.

He sat at a desk facing the wall, typing on a computer decorated with a printout of a cereal box with his face emblazoned on the front. Someone had crossed out the brand name and inked DATER in heavy black lines. The gist of the joke wasn’t hard to absorb. The guy was definitely good-looking enough to be a player.

“I’m guessing the Wheaties box is meant to imply Detective Sheppard is a serial dater.”

Officer Perkins didn’t look up from the paperwork spread across her desk but hummed an affirmation. Framed photographs nestled beside her monitor. Two grinning, semi-toothless faces beamed, cowlicks standing at full attention, eyes sparkling with mischief. Secure in the assumption that Officer Perkins was a woman accustomed to multi-tasking, Jessica asked the stupid question she couldn’t shake.

“So he dates a lot, huh?”

The other woman snorted, but the enthusiasm in her nod spoke volumes. “I lost count back in February.” She jerked a nod toward the detective at the desk beside Lang’s. “I think Manny has a running tally.”

Disappointment formed a pool in the very pit of her stomach and she dove in. Mantra or not, there were certain parts of her that very much wanted to get involved with him. And she couldn’t just blame her lady bits, either. Her sucker heart fell for the nice guy, knight-errant shtick like a ton of bricks.

Every. Damn. Time.

“Kind of a player, huh?”

Her assessment caught Officer Perkins’s full and undivided attention. She raised her head. “No, not a player. Lang’s too good a guy to be a player.”

As if sensing the direction of their conversation, the man in question gathered his belongings and left his desk. He stopped to say a few quick words to Kirsten then nodded to Max. He smiled at his co-workers, patting shoulders and murmuring good-byes as he passed. Without fail, his every effort was met with warmth and appreciation. Not only from the women, but the men, too.

She narrowed her eyes, grasping at objectivity while she watched him weave his way through the crowded room. Loose-limbed and fluid, he carried himself like an athlete. He even paused to exchange the occasional high five with a couple of his fellow detectives. But while he came across as the ultimate man’s man, it wasn’t until he held his palm out for the harried young reception clerk’s slap that the secret of his success with the opposite sex became apparent. Not only did he have the looks and the car, but when he chose to smile rather than scowl, the man wielded enough charm to be the champion of the serial dating world.

Lang Sheppard was a guy through and through. That was obviously the crux and key to his success. He was in full command of all the annoying confidence and inescapable allure inherent to the breed. Any guy half as hot as Lang would have women flocking to him based on his looks alone. Add in the easy charm, sincerity and disarming flashes of warmth, and those women would morph into lambs just bleating to be led to the slaughter.

“Lang’s more of a searcher,” Officer Perkins concluded, jolting Jessica from her thoughts.

“A searcher? What do you mean?”

There was no time for clarification. The man in question turned his lethal smile on her as he came to a stop beside her. Jessica curled her toes into the soles of her shoes and bit her cheek.

“Ready?”

She would have him jump-start her car and then she’d take off as fast and as furious as possible. She was not about to allow her affections to be fleeced by another opportunistic wolf. Not now. Not ever. Clutching the sides of the parka, she ducked her head against the blast of cold December wind that whooshed through the door he held for her.

When his expressive eyes dropped to her crossed arms, she shrugged. “Zipper’s broken.”

“Ahh.”

The single syllable rolled at the back of his throat. The purr of it both aroused and annoyed her. Head held high, she strode past him into the frigid night. The bitter wind did nothing to cool the flames licking at her cheeks. “It’s my mom’s coat. I just grabbed whatever was hanging on the hook by the door.”

“I see.”

His complacent acceptance of her wardrobe failures was too much to bear. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the ice-coated steps. “I have a really nice one. Coat, I mean. One that’s not the color of your dream girl’s bubble gum.”

“Can we just get to the car?” Irritation roughed the edges of his voice. Despite his request, she drew up short. His ears and cheeks were pink from either wind or embarrassment. The tiny muscle at his jaw jumped.

“Sure.”

And just like that, the easy smile he flashed all over the station house was back. “I’ve already frozen and thawed out once tonight. I’m not really in the market for a case of pneumonia.”

The sidewalks were slick. That was the only reason she let him take her arm. Not that his shiny leather dress shoes were going to provide better traction than the ancient sneakers she’d pulled from the jumble by the back door. She skidded a bit when they reached the car. He slid his hand from her elbow to her waist, his fingers biting into the satin puffs of down as he held her steady.

“Okay?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.

She nodded her thanks and dropped gratefully onto the smooth leather seat with a resigned sigh. “Thank you.”

Seconds later, he slipped into the driver’s seat and stabbed at the ignition. She turned to study his profile as they crept from the lot. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. She liked that he didn’t break, but in all honesty, she wouldn’t have minded a little babbling chitchat. The oppressive silence reminded her of the thick pauses that peppered her parents’ conversations in the months leading up to their divorce. Marshaling her courage, she gathered every nosy, intrusive question she wanted to ask him and tried to put them into order. She had only a few minutes to absorb enough information about him to satisfy her curiosity and possibly fuel a few no-harm-no-foul fantasies. She wanted to make the most of them.

“So…a detective. Homicide?”

He waved her guesses away. “No, I’m not the kind of detective you see on TV shows.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “The defective kind?”

Another quick glance in her direction registered a glimmer of a smile. “Fraud.”

“You’re a fake detective?” When he guffawed, she grinned, feeling victorious. “Did you order your badge off the internet?”

He nodded, the lopsided smile lifting the right side of his mouth before the left caught up. The effect was freaking adorable. “Yes, from Cops’R’Us.” He shot her a sideling glance. “Don’t tell my grandmother.”

She held his gaze for a beat too long. “I won’t. I won’t even tell mine.”

“Thank you.”

Pressing her cheek to the smooth leather of the headrest, she basked in the charm of that hard-won smile. “So, when you’re not a fake detective you’re the primary suspect in a canasta-based prostitution ring?”

“Victim,” he corrected. “Not a suspect. I’m the victim.” His smile unfolded and he unleashed the full force of his silver gaze on her. “Don’t you feel sorry for me now?”

“Not half as sorry as I’m feeling for myself.”

He snickered. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to work harder to catch up.”