small roar. She opened her eyes again and met Paul's cool green ones. She could understand where he came from. If the shoe was on the other foot, she'd have done the same thing. If Chris was in trouble, she'd do whatever it took to help him. And wasn't that exactly what she'd been doing for the last five years?
She looked up at Paul and said, "It isn't a question of if, it's a case of when. I'll track down your brother and I'll bring him back to the feds." And I'll know who tried to kill Chris.
Paul nodded. "Good."
She stood, blocking the open doorway. "You don't have to follow me. I'll let you know when I find him."
"I believe you."
"Then why not go back home?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to be here."
She wanted to stay angry with the man and couldn't. There was something very honest about him and it drew her in. His face was so sincere. She should probably remind herself that in his NHL days he was known an ice hockey hottie with women dripping off his arms. He'd be a pro at sweet-talking and he might be playing her now. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He seemed genuine and for the moment that was enough for her.
She should send him packing, so she surprised herself when she stepped aside and said, "Come on in."
She followed him through the open door and flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a warm luminescent glow. Even after all this time, she still wasn't accustomed to the quiet of her house at the end of a long day. After her initial stint on patrol, she'd spent her days on the force as a K9 officer and her dog, Butch, had lived with her. Butch was a fantastic drug dog, a seventy-five pound mutt she'd discovered at the Humane Society. Louie had been with Butch from day one, going through the training, the trials and the certifications. It was great, at least until Chris was shot. She left the force, but Butch hadn't. He was still working and she still missed him. The house seemed cold and empty without the spunky dog's company.
She could have gone out and found another dog to take the place of her canine partner. She hadn't; it wouldn't have been fair. The hours she kept now didn't lend themselves to sharing her life with a pet. There were times she didn't come home at all and she wouldn't subject a dog or a cat to that kind of loneliness. She dealt with it herself.
"Nice place," Paul said, looking around.
"Thanks." She tossed her coat on a chair, took off her gun and laid it on a table with her keys. "You want a drink?"
"Well…"
"Yeah, you do. What's your poison? You like bourbon? I have a nice bottle of Jack Daniels."
He gave her a small smile. "Jack would be great. You want me to build a fire? It's little cool in here."
"Yeah, that would be nice. There's kindling on the hearth and a couple of logs. You build the fire, I'll bring the spirits."
She left him at the hearth while she headed to the kitchen. She pulled a couple of glasses from the cupboard, checked them for water spots and then filled them with ice. The glasses in one hand, the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, she returned to the front room. An admirable fire blazed in the fireplace. Not bad for a jock. Who would have thought he'd be so good with a fire. What else is he good at?
The first drink went down easy and so did the second. Paul kept the fire warm and crackling while they talked like old friends for several hours. She sat on the floor in front of the hearth with her back against the sofa, the heat of both the bourbon and the flames lulling her into an easy relaxation.
Their glasses were almost empty when he got up to put another log on the fire. He didn't go back to the chair across from her. Instead he eased himself next to her on the floor. His long legs stretched out mere inches from hers, the nearness of his body sending a tingle down her arms. Had to be the Jack.
"Tell me about the rehabilitation center," he said, without taking his eyes from the blazing fire.
Louie put her head back
She looked up at Paul and said, "It isn't a question of if, it's a case of when. I'll track down your brother and I'll bring him back to the feds." And I'll know who tried to kill Chris.
Paul nodded. "Good."
She stood, blocking the open doorway. "You don't have to follow me. I'll let you know when I find him."
"I believe you."
"Then why not go back home?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to be here."
She wanted to stay angry with the man and couldn't. There was something very honest about him and it drew her in. His face was so sincere. She should probably remind herself that in his NHL days he was known an ice hockey hottie with women dripping off his arms. He'd be a pro at sweet-talking and he might be playing her now. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He seemed genuine and for the moment that was enough for her.
She should send him packing, so she surprised herself when she stepped aside and said, "Come on in."
She followed him through the open door and flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a warm luminescent glow. Even after all this time, she still wasn't accustomed to the quiet of her house at the end of a long day. After her initial stint on patrol, she'd spent her days on the force as a K9 officer and her dog, Butch, had lived with her. Butch was a fantastic drug dog, a seventy-five pound mutt she'd discovered at the Humane Society. Louie had been with Butch from day one, going through the training, the trials and the certifications. It was great, at least until Chris was shot. She left the force, but Butch hadn't. He was still working and she still missed him. The house seemed cold and empty without the spunky dog's company.
She could have gone out and found another dog to take the place of her canine partner. She hadn't; it wouldn't have been fair. The hours she kept now didn't lend themselves to sharing her life with a pet. There were times she didn't come home at all and she wouldn't subject a dog or a cat to that kind of loneliness. She dealt with it herself.
"Nice place," Paul said, looking around.
"Thanks." She tossed her coat on a chair, took off her gun and laid it on a table with her keys. "You want a drink?"
"Well…"
"Yeah, you do. What's your poison? You like bourbon? I have a nice bottle of Jack Daniels."
He gave her a small smile. "Jack would be great. You want me to build a fire? It's little cool in here."
"Yeah, that would be nice. There's kindling on the hearth and a couple of logs. You build the fire, I'll bring the spirits."
She left him at the hearth while she headed to the kitchen. She pulled a couple of glasses from the cupboard, checked them for water spots and then filled them with ice. The glasses in one hand, the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, she returned to the front room. An admirable fire blazed in the fireplace. Not bad for a jock. Who would have thought he'd be so good with a fire. What else is he good at?
The first drink went down easy and so did the second. Paul kept the fire warm and crackling while they talked like old friends for several hours. She sat on the floor in front of the hearth with her back against the sofa, the heat of both the bourbon and the flames lulling her into an easy relaxation.
Their glasses were almost empty when he got up to put another log on the fire. He didn't go back to the chair across from her. Instead he eased himself next to her on the floor. His long legs stretched out mere inches from hers, the nearness of his body sending a tingle down her arms. Had to be the Jack.
"Tell me about the rehabilitation center," he said, without taking his eyes from the blazing fire.
Louie put her head back
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