like the scrapes on your knuckles?”
He glanced down at his hands, noting the raw skin on his right. His heart jumped. “I hadn’t noticed them.”
“You’re confused and probably have a splitting headache. It’s understandable.”
“No,” he said slowly, “it really isn’t. I’m a trained observer. Why didn’t I see that?”
“The doctor said you’d have some side effects from the blow to your head. Shock and confusion are numbers one and two. Are you dizzy, as well? You should probably lie down awhile. We can table this discussion for now.”
“I’m not dizzy,” he ground out. He wasn’t going to let her treat him like a scared kid. Or, worse, a victim.
The mistakes of the past were rounding on him with a vengeance. He already had a huge blemish on his record. The chances of his lieutenant standing by him over another one weren’t good.
Infuriated and embarrassed, he turned to pace, wobbled on his feet and grasped the air for balance. She was on him in a second, sliding her arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”
Closing his eyes to her compassion, he longed to shoot something—preferably the creep who’d whacked him—but they’d taken his damn gun.
He didn’t resist when she led him to the sofa, though he knew he should. Ever since he’d woken up, he’d felt as if time were jumping forward, then pausing, rewinding, then jerking ahead again. Yet of all the things he had no idea about, he knew one thing for certain: time moved in only one direction.
“I expect you’ll remember everything eventually,” Calla said, sitting beside him, wrapping her hand around his. “Though some people who’re severely traumatized never fully regain—”
“I’m not traumatized.”
“Whatever you say, Detective.”
What happened to Devin? Last night she’d— There was the rewind again. He recalled sliding his hand between her thighs, his name on her lips as she … told him to back off.
Great. The idiotic behavior he’d sort-of remembered earlier hadn’t been imaginary. He should really slink home before he humiliated himself further.
Her thumb glided across the back of his hand, and he went hard. Oh, good, to add to the complications he had no idea how to solve, now his head wasn’t the only part of him throbbing.
“Do you want to lie down or continue talking about suspects for your assault?” she asked.
“Suspects,” he said quickly. Lying down meant a bed and sheets and— “I need to clear this up and get back to my life.”
Her gaze flicked to his. Her blue eyes were bright and clear and so beautiful. He didn’t belong in the same room with her, much less deserve her loyalty. “I kind of like having you here at my mercy.”
“I don’t like relying on anybody.”
“No kidding.” She glanced at their hands. “Not that I want you suspended, I just …” Snagging her tablet of notes from the coffee table, she sat on a bar stool across the room. “The guy who hit you is trying to frame you for assault, get you fired and arrested, sent to prison even. That’s a pretty serious plan for a common street thief. Does anybody stand out among your cases?”
“I haven’t arrested anybody who was happy about it.”
“But in-the-moment fury is different than this. This is cold, hard rage. Somebody planned the attack on you.” Her expression full of consideration, she propped her chin against her fist. “They planned it carefully, maybe for a long time. They turned your job against you.”
The medication must have kicked in because Devin had no idea where she was going. “How so?”
“The thief-attacker-fake victim lured you to do your job then made you pay for it the way criminals pay. It’s symbolic.”
“Most convicts aren’t deep thinkers. They look for a quick score. You’re making too much drama out of this.”
She dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “Probably. A writer’s prerogative.”
“You write travel articles, not mystery novels.” Still, the idea of a plan to take him out couldn’t be dismissed, since that’s exactly what had happened. “So this guy pretends to be a purse snatcher and runs by me. How did he know I’d be in that bar at that time of day? How could he be sure I’d go after him?”
“He’s watching you.”
“Nobody tails me without me knowing about it.”
“But you were distracted yesterday. Your day off, the neighbor’s ceiling fan, the dry cleaning, football, the wedding. Regular guy stuff. You weren’t in police mode.”
“Cops, even off-duty ones, never stop being cops.”
“If you say so.”
He wished he could blame his countless mistakes yesterday on “regular guy stuff.” In truth, the only thing that might have distracted him was the thought of seeing her, and he wasn’t about to admit his weakness in that particular area.
Could he have been followed? He’d been running full-out over the past few days. Paperwork and court on Wednesday. Late stakeout on Thursday night. Arrest early Friday. But his schedule wasn’t any more hectic this week than any other. He would have noticed some creep tailing him.
“So we start with career guys,” she said, scribbling on her notepad. “Those with long memories and a score to settle.”
“No.” Devin rose. He was wobbly, which he hated, but he was still a cop. It was time he started acting like one. “We start with the scene of the crime.”
CALLA WASN’T SURE how she wound up in a Midtown alley, peeking around a Dumpster, kicking her way around bits of trash and discarded food containers. The owner of the Chinese take-out joint they were lurking behind was destined to open his back door eventually, then they’d have some awkward explaining to do.
The fact that she and Devin found themselves on the opposite side of his coworkers was a development she’d never anticipated.
Since she’d known him, Devin had used his position to help people and serve the cause of justice. He found himself parted from the law now, and she honestly thought she and her friends might be his only hope. She was going to help him whether he wanted her to or not.
She owed him.
So regardless of what he wanted, she wasn’t going to give up on him. Once he got his badge back, she’d decide if anything personal was worth pursuing.
Seriously, did the man always run from women who kissed him?
Not a reaction she’d expected from Detective Badass, to say the least.
Said detective seemed to have forgotten she was there, though she found it hard to be insulted. He was no doubt reliving the assault from the night before.
She imagined him running into the alley, expecting to see the retreating back of his thief. Instead, he’d gotten clocked.
Had his cell phone flown free in the attack? Had he crawled toward it when he regained consciousness? Had he been afraid?
She looked toward him as he knelt on the pavement, running his fingertips across the ground. “Anything?” she asked as she approached.
Not looking up, he shook his head. “I remember chasing him here, then … nothing.”
“So he was the one who hit you?”
“No.” Slowly, he straightened. “He was running away from me when I got hit.”
“The accomplice, lying in wait. He clobbered you.”
“We’d