The Cop and the Chorus Girl by Nancy Martin Page A

her, forgetting his drink. “What did you say?”
    â€œNothing. I was just mumbling. What kind of phone calls? What people?”
    â€œPhone calls,” he said, stubbornly refusing to say more. “And people.”
    She frowned at him in the mirror. “Do you have a girlfriend or something?”
    â€œWould you care?” He met her gaze in the mirror.
    Flynn’s look challenged Dixie. She felt herself turning very pink and fumbled among her cosmetics for something to keep herself busy. A large brush tumbled into her hand, so she broke the eye contact and dusted powder on her nose. “Of course not. I mean—well, I think of you as a friend—an acquaintance, so naturally I’m interested—curious, er—oh, hell, just answer the question!” She threw down the brush. “Do you have a girl in the wings?”
    â€œThe only girls in my life,” Flynn said, deliberately leaning over her shoulder, “are my sisters Marcie and Nella, who are both still in high school.”
    Looking at him in the mirror, Dixie became conscious that his chest was making ever so slight contact with her shoulder. She remembered the heat of his gaze as he’d stared at her in the tub last night. The memory made her warm all over again.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded shakily. “Only a real woman is good enough for you?”
    He tweaked a lock of her wig. “You said it, I didn’t.”
    â€œI— You’re getting to be damned infuriating, Flynn.”
    â€œThat makes two of us,” he murmured.
    The stage manager shouted from the hallway. “Ten minutes, everybody!”
    â€œI’m not warmed up yet!” Dixie yelped, forgetting Flynn’s proximity. “And my costume! Flynn, grab my—”
    â€œForget it,” he said, heading for the door. “You can dress yourself this time, Miss Tornado!”
    * * *
    The matinee went smoothly, Dixie thought—for everyone but herself.
    She hadn’t warmed up sufficiently. Worse yet, she was shaken when she took the stage. She’d allowed Flynn to take her mind off the job she had to do. For the first time since joining the cast of The Flatfoot and the Floozie, she’d really felt like an amateur. She’d muffed a line, stumbled during a dance number and nearly missed an entrance.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Kiki had asked at the intermission.
    â€œI don’t know. Am I really bad?” Dixie had asked anxiously.
    â€œYou’re not yourself,” Kiki had replied diplomatically, putting her arm around Dixie to soothe her. “Just focus on the play, all right? Don’t think about Joey.”
    Joey wasn’t the problem.
    That was, until after the show.
    Dixie rushed down to her dressing room to hide—hoping to avoid the rest of the cast until she could explain herself.
    But Flynn was waiting in the hallway several doors down from her own dressing room. In his leather jacket, he melted into the darkness of the hall and surprised the hell out of Dixie when he stepped out and blocked her path.
    Dixie tried to brush past him, close to tears. She didn’t want to talk to anyone—especially Flynn just then. It was all his fault she’d performed so badly. Her voice trembled. “Why don’t you wait out in the hall while I get changed? I just can’t face anybody—”
    â€œThen stay out of your dressing room,” Flynn snapped, catching her arm and guiding Dixie quickly back the way she’d come. He kept his voice down. “Joey’s waiting for you in there.”
    He propelled Dixie down the hallway, pushing through the rest of the actors as they streamed offstage.
    â€œJoey’s here? What does he want? Maybe he’s ready to sign a contract!”
    Flynn’s pace did not slacken. “Jan and Rob talked to him while you were onstage. He didn’t bring his lawyer, that’s for sure. He