had been so long since he’d had any feelings about anything other than the job, he might have laughed at the notion. Except that he couldn’t deny the spark of attraction he’d felt—a spark that was as unwelcome and unfamiliar as the heat it kindled inside him. It was more than interest, stronger than attraction. It was desire—pure and simple, and the quick and unexpected punch of it both intrigued and terrified him.
It intrigued him simply because it had been so long since he’d felt such an elemental attraction. And it terrified him for exactly the same reason. More than four years had passed since Beth had been taken from his life, and each day since had stretched like an eternity without her. But now, those four years seemed much too short. He wasn’t ready to forget about her, and acknowledging even the stirring of an attraction to another woman seemed like a betrayal of everything they’d shared.
All things considered, it would be best if he could pretend he’d never met Natalie Vaughn. Unfortunately, the nature of their respective jobs necessitated that they’d cross paths and demanded cooperation when they did so.
Which left him trapped in the awkward position between duty and desire. His only hope was to focus on the former and forget the latter. After one meeting with the new A.D.A., he sensed that would be easier said than done.
But Dylan was determined. Since Beth’s death, he’d channeled his focus and his passion into his work. He had one reason for getting out of bed every morning: to put Beth’s killer behind bars. He didn’t intend to let anything—or anyone—interfere with that goal.
In his gut, he knew that the arrest of Roger Merrick was the break he’d been waiting for. Rumors on the street suggested that Merrick had connections that went all the way to the top; connections that could topple Conroy’s entire syndicate.
So that would be the focus of his attention, Dylan promised himself as he crossed the parking lot that separated the D.A.’s office from the police station. The very last thing he needed right now was the distraction of a woman, and Natalie Vaughn had “distraction” written all over her in capital letters.
The bullpen was loud, as it always was, the cacophony of sounds both comfortable and familiar. The air was thick with tension and tinged with the scent of bitter coffee. Dylan made his way through the maze of battered desks and ringing telephones to his office. He’d just settled into his chair when Ben Tierney rapped his knuckles against the open door and stepped inside.
“How’d the meeting with the new A.D.A. go?”
“All right.” Dylan didn’t bother to look up from the report he’d opened, feigning a profound interest in the psychological profile of a serial rapist. He was certainly more interested in the report than in anything the detective had to say.
He’d been partnered with Ben, briefly, several years earlier. Although they’d worked well together, they’d never become friends. When Dylan had been promoted to lieutenant, the other detective hadn’t bothered to hide his resentment over his partner being given the job he believed should have been his.
Ben dropped into one of the vacant chairs across from his boss’s desk and propped his feet up on the arm of the other. “What did you think of her?”
Dylan bit back a weary sigh and resigned himself to participating in what was sure to be a meaningless conversation. “She seems competent.”
“Competent.” Ben snorted with laughter. “You’re a real piece of work, Creighton. I can think of a lot of words to describe the lovely Ms. Vaughn, and competent isn’t even one of the top ten.”
He shrugged, but he was helpless to banish the image that lingered in his mind. Natalie was an attractive woman. Not beautiful in any traditional sense of the word, but there was something about her that defied description, something that compelled a man to keep looking.
Her hair was a cross between copper and gold, and soft curls of it framed her delicate face and skimmed her shoulders. It wasn’t sleekly styled, but sexily disheveled. And she had a habit, he’d realized over the past hour he’d spent with her, of pushing it back off her forehead or tucking it behind an ear when she was concentrating on something.
Her eyes were another mystery—not quite blue, not quite green, but an intriguing blend of the two colors and fringed by long, thick lashes. Her skin was as pale as cream and flawless, save a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was wide, but balanced somehow by the fullness of her lips. It was an infinitely kissable mouth, and the fact that his mind had made such an assessment only annoyed him further.
“I’m only interested in how well she does her job,” Dylan told Ben, wishing it was true. “If we put Merrick behind bars, he’ll give us Conroy.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ben said. “Anyone who crosses—or even thinks about crossing—Conroy has a habit of turning up dead.”
He shrugged, an acknowledgement of the fact. “He’s still our best hope of nailing the big guy.”
“Speaking of nailing,” Ben continued, waggling his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind doing some of that with the A.D.A.”
Dylan didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “Do you ever think of anything but sex?”
Ben grinned. “Not if I can help it.”
He shook his head, refusing to admit that he’d had some similar thoughts of his own. At least he had more class than to voice them. Or maybe it was simply unwillingness to admit a resurgence of feelings that had seemed dead for so long.
Besides, he had to work with the A.D.A. on this case, and he had no intention of jeopardizing the prosecution because of his hormones. Of course, if John Beckett was still on the case, he wouldn’t need to worry about such things.
“You might try thinking about it sometime,” Ben said, pushing away from Dylan’s desk. “It might improve your disposition.”
“I think I can live with my disposition.”
“Maybe you can. But our fair city’s newest civil servant might appreciate someone with a little more charm. I think I’ll stop by her office and see if she wants some company for dinner.” He grinned. “And breakfast.”
“Good luck,” Dylan said, as if he didn’t care one way or the other. But for some inexplicable reason, the thought of Natalie Vaughn with Ben Tierney didn’t sit well with him.
Only because he didn’t want her attention diverted from the job at hand, he assured himself. He wanted Roger Merrick and Zane Conroy behind bars for a very long time. He wanted them to pay for what they’d done—for destroying his family.
The ringing of the telephone roused Natalie from her slumber. She’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, the Merrick folder still open on the bed. She blinked, focused bleary eyes on the glowing numbers of the alarm clock beside her.
Twelve-twenty.
She came awake instantly. There was only one reason her phone would be shrilling at this hour: Jack.
Heart in her throat, she scrambled for the receiver. “Hello?”
“Is this the lady from the D.A.’s office?”
It wasn’t about her son, then. Natalie breathed a quick sigh of relief. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“I’ve got some information for ya.” The voice was masculine, although somewhat high-pitched. Young, she guessed, and nervous. He was talking too fast, his words almost tripping over one another.
“Information about what?” she asked cautiously.
There was a long pause. “I can’t talk ’bout it on the phone.”
“Talk about what?”
“If ya wanna know, ya hafta meet me.”
“I’m not going to meet someone I don’t know to discuss something I know nothing about,” Natalie said