The Cop and the Chorus Girl by Nancy Martin

what?”
    â€œIt’s Sunday. I have a matinee in a couple of hours. Are you coming?”
    â€œGive me five minutes,” Flynn said, heading for the shower.
    He had an idea. And he didn’t plan on letting Dixie out of his sight. Especially if she went anywhere near the smoke shop where Joey Torrano bought his illegal cigars. There was something going on, Flynn was willing to bet. And by sticking close to Dixie, he was going to find the right clues to put Torrano behind bars.
    But when he’d dressed to go out, he discovered Dixie had left without him.
    â€œThat little sneak!”
    He grabbed his Harley and wheeled it into the hotel elevator.

Six
    D ixie had already finished her massage and had begun her warm-up exercises when Flynn finally arrived at the theater.
    He was not happy.
    â€œWhat kept you?” Dixie asked, applying her false eyelashes with care.
    â€œDon’t do that again!” He stormed into her dressing room and threw his motorcycle helmet onto her dressing table. Tubes of makeup scattered in all directions.
    â€œHey!”
    â€œI’m supposed to be looking after you, Miss Davis—”
    â€œYou’re off the hook,” she retorted primly, trying not to notice how gorgeous he looked in one of the outfits chosen from the costume shop. A pale yellow cashmere sweater over khaki trousers made him look handsome and rich. The addition of his leather jacket over it all lent an air of the dangerous renegade. But Dixie was determined to keep her thoughts off Flynn today. “After our discussion last night,” she said, “I don’t believe I’ll need your services anymore.”
    â€œThe hell you don’t,” Flynn snapped. “Guess who showed up at the hotel just two minutes after you left?”
    Astonished, Dixie dropped her eyelash and spun around on her swivel stool. “Joey? Well, pass me the barbecue! What did you say to him?”
    â€œNothing. Hotel security managed to keep him contained in the lobby.” Flynn began to pace in the small confines of her dressing room. “I slipped out through the kitchen again, which is not easy with a motorcycle, I’ll have you know!”
    Dixie smothered a giggle at the thought of Flynn skulking out of the Plaza pushing his precious Harley-Davidson.
    â€œHe was royally angry that you weren’t in the hotel,” Flynn said severely. “One of his men punched the concierge.”
    â€œOh, poor Maurice!”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m the target they’re really looking for.”
    â€œOh, sugar, don’t worry. Nobody’s going to ambush you—not if you stay with the rest of us.”
    Flynn exploded. “How can I do that when you go running off the minute you have a temper tantrum!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Dixie said, meaning it. She reached out and touched Flynn on the arm. “I didn’t mean to leave you in a jam. I won’t do it again.”
    He stared down at her hand, saying nothing.
    Hastily, Dixie pulled her hand away. She tried to pretend she hadn’t felt the warmth of his skin or the quickening of her own pulse. She picked up her eyelash again and slathered it with glue. “What took you so long to get here? Did your motorcycle conk out along the way?”
    â€œOf course not. I do have a life of my own, you know.” Without asking permission, Flynn poured himself a tumbler of water from the glass pitcher Dixie kept on the dressing table. He looked hot and in need of a much stronger drink. “I had some phone calls to make. People to see.”
    Dixie stuck her eyelash in place. She hadn’t really thought about the possibility that Flynn might actually have a life that didn’t include her. See what the theater does to a person? It makes you a complete egomaniac.
    Dixie looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. “It’s time to go back to Texas.”
    â€œWhat?” Flynn looked down at