victim.
Beginning to feel frustrated, Sam doled out assignments, told Freddie to meet her at Senator Stenhouse’s office at nine the next morning, and sent him home. Fifteen hours after she’d started her day, she returned to her office to find Nick in her chair with his feet on the desk.
“Comfortable?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
He dropped his BlackBerry into his suit coat pocket. “You were my ride.”
“Oh shit. Sorry. You waited all this time? You could’ve grabbed a cab.”
“I was hoping to talk you into dinner.”
“I can’t. I’ve still got a million things I need to do.” She paused, looked closer. “Did you clean my desk?”
“I just straightened it up a bit. How can you work in such a messy space?”
“I have a system. Now I won’t be able to find anything!”
“You need to eat, and you need to sleep. What good will you be to anyone if you make yourself sick?”
“So in addition to bringing your anal retentiveness to my workplace, you’ve put yourself in charge of making sure I eat and sleep?”
His face lifted into a cocky, sexy grin. “Happy to oblige on both fronts.”
“Food, yes. Sleep? No way in hell.”
He shrugged, apparently pleased with the half victory. “Who’s this?” he asked, picking up a photo from her desk.
“My dad.” In the picture, Sam stood to the side of her father’s chair, her arm around his shoulders. “He was injured on the job almost two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Stepping into the cramped office, she bumped his feet off the desk and sat. “He was on his way home in his department vehicle and saw a car weaving through traffic. He followed it for a mile or two before he pulled it over.”
“He was a traffic cop?”
She shook her head. “He was deputy chief and three months shy of retirement. Anyway, he approached the vehicle, knocked on the window, and the driver responded with gunfire. He doesn’t remember anything after stopping the car. The bullet lodged between the C3 and C4 vertebrae. He’s a quadriplegic, but through some miracle, he can breathe on his own when sitting up. We’ve learned to be grateful for the small things.”
“I remember reading about it, but I didn’t realize he was your father. Happened on G Street?”
“Yes.”
“Did they ever get the guy?”
“Nope. It’s an open investigation. I work on it whenever I can, and so does every other detective in this place. It’s personal to me, to all of us.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Life’s a bitch.”
He stood up, stepped around her, pushed the door closed, reached for her and held her tight against him.
Appalled by the lump that settled in her throat, she wrestled free of him. “What was that for?”
He kept his arms around her. “You seemed to need it.”
“I don’t.” She placed her hands on his chest to put some distance between them and to calm her racing heart. “I can’t be alone in here with you. People will talk, and I don’t need that.”
He reached for the door and opened it. “Sorry.”
Sam was relieved to find no prying eyes on the other side of the door and annoyed to realize she had needed the comfort Nick offered, that it somehow helped. The discovery left her unsettled.
“What?” he asked, studying her with those intense hazel eyes that made her melt from the inside out. “You’re staring.”
“I was just thinking…”
He tipped his head inquisitively. “About?”
“You’ve aged well. Really well.”
“Gee, thanks. I think.”
“That was a compliment ,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Thanks for clarifying. Of course, I could say the same to you. You’re even sexier than I remembered—and I remembered everything .” He took a step to close the distance between them.
Her heart tripping into overdrive, she held up a hand to stop him. “Stay out of my personal space.”
“You’re the one who started handing out the compliments ,” he said with
Beginning to feel frustrated, Sam doled out assignments, told Freddie to meet her at Senator Stenhouse’s office at nine the next morning, and sent him home. Fifteen hours after she’d started her day, she returned to her office to find Nick in her chair with his feet on the desk.
“Comfortable?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
He dropped his BlackBerry into his suit coat pocket. “You were my ride.”
“Oh shit. Sorry. You waited all this time? You could’ve grabbed a cab.”
“I was hoping to talk you into dinner.”
“I can’t. I’ve still got a million things I need to do.” She paused, looked closer. “Did you clean my desk?”
“I just straightened it up a bit. How can you work in such a messy space?”
“I have a system. Now I won’t be able to find anything!”
“You need to eat, and you need to sleep. What good will you be to anyone if you make yourself sick?”
“So in addition to bringing your anal retentiveness to my workplace, you’ve put yourself in charge of making sure I eat and sleep?”
His face lifted into a cocky, sexy grin. “Happy to oblige on both fronts.”
“Food, yes. Sleep? No way in hell.”
He shrugged, apparently pleased with the half victory. “Who’s this?” he asked, picking up a photo from her desk.
“My dad.” In the picture, Sam stood to the side of her father’s chair, her arm around his shoulders. “He was injured on the job almost two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Stepping into the cramped office, she bumped his feet off the desk and sat. “He was on his way home in his department vehicle and saw a car weaving through traffic. He followed it for a mile or two before he pulled it over.”
“He was a traffic cop?”
She shook her head. “He was deputy chief and three months shy of retirement. Anyway, he approached the vehicle, knocked on the window, and the driver responded with gunfire. He doesn’t remember anything after stopping the car. The bullet lodged between the C3 and C4 vertebrae. He’s a quadriplegic, but through some miracle, he can breathe on his own when sitting up. We’ve learned to be grateful for the small things.”
“I remember reading about it, but I didn’t realize he was your father. Happened on G Street?”
“Yes.”
“Did they ever get the guy?”
“Nope. It’s an open investigation. I work on it whenever I can, and so does every other detective in this place. It’s personal to me, to all of us.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Life’s a bitch.”
He stood up, stepped around her, pushed the door closed, reached for her and held her tight against him.
Appalled by the lump that settled in her throat, she wrestled free of him. “What was that for?”
He kept his arms around her. “You seemed to need it.”
“I don’t.” She placed her hands on his chest to put some distance between them and to calm her racing heart. “I can’t be alone in here with you. People will talk, and I don’t need that.”
He reached for the door and opened it. “Sorry.”
Sam was relieved to find no prying eyes on the other side of the door and annoyed to realize she had needed the comfort Nick offered, that it somehow helped. The discovery left her unsettled.
“What?” he asked, studying her with those intense hazel eyes that made her melt from the inside out. “You’re staring.”
“I was just thinking…”
He tipped his head inquisitively. “About?”
“You’ve aged well. Really well.”
“Gee, thanks. I think.”
“That was a compliment ,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Thanks for clarifying. Of course, I could say the same to you. You’re even sexier than I remembered—and I remembered everything .” He took a step to close the distance between them.
Her heart tripping into overdrive, she held up a hand to stop him. “Stay out of my personal space.”
“You’re the one who started handing out the compliments ,” he said with
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