girls. After the meal, he’d introduced Travis to his library in the living room, earning a hidden thumbs-up from Maggie. Then she’d insisted on putting away the food and loading the dishwasher by herself, urging John to keep her son interested in the books on his shelves. He’d been happy to lend Travis a couple of YA books—one about a dog who was adopted by an Army unit, and a classic fantasy by Madeleine L’Engle.
Inevitably Travis’s curiosity about his injuries came up. And while transtibial amputation had tongue-tied the boy, pulling up his pant leg to let him inspect the knee joint and composite rod, as well as letting him inspect the specialized blade prosthetic John used when he was running or working out had kept him talking right up until the moment Maggie had to literally pull him out the door with reminders of brushing teeth and bedtime.
John slipped his bookmark between the pages of the novel he was reading and set it aside to ponder what it was about the family next door that could divert his attention even now that all was quiet on the other side of the bedroom wall that separated his apartment from theirs.
Maggie had been relaxed and friendly at dinner, curious to hear about his sister’s upcoming wedding; sympathetic to learn that he’d lost his parents as a teenager, too. She’d liked his cooking and was surprised to learn that he was the self-taught chef of the family who’d honed his gourmet skills by watching television and preparing dinners for his coworkers at the fire station.
John inhaled a deep, settling breath as he recalled the lines of strain beside those striking green eyes and pale rose lips. Most of Maggie Wheeler’s relaxed charm had been an act.
He speculated about the weird convergence of events surrounding the lady cop. If there were enough strange things going on to make him suspicious, then she must be downright paranoid.
Something about night patrols and trusting his gut and experience more than he trusted his eyes and ears told him there was trouble lurking at the fringes of Maggie’s life. The woman was hiding a secret or two. She’d been terrified that her son had been alone at the ballpark and out of contact with her. She’d mentioned a mysterious man. The woman wore a gun, a badge and body armor, yet she’d just about had a nervous breakdown when that elevator had gotten stuck.
John eyed the stump of his leg beneath the hem of the running shorts he wore to bed. He was hardly the warrior he’d once been, but he had a feeling that woman’s troubles were going to nag at him until he had answers. In every cell of his body he’d been trained to rescue and protect. And while life had altered how he could respond, the instincts were still there.
Maybe that’s all this bout of insomnia was—his instincts warring with his abilities. He was aware that Maggie had stirred something in him—a fact that was playing hell with his long-held assumption that Meghan Taylor was the only female who would ever turn his head. And he knew Maggie was in trouble. But even though her son had invited him into their lives, she hadn’t asked for his help. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he could do for her beyond volunteering for a little after-school transportation and some male role modeling for Travis.
Would that be enough to satisfy those protective instincts? That need to take action that drummed through his blood? Shouldn’t the offer of neighborly friendship be enough to appease those rusty urges before he embarrassed himself by attempting to do things he was no longer capable of?
A telephone rang in the bedroom behind the thin wall, breaking the silence of the night and giving John his answers.
His hands stiffened into fists at his sides as he glanced at the clock. Midnight. They’d been hours without a line to the outside world, and now, at precisely 12:00 a.m. the phone was ringing in Maggie Wheeler’s bedroom?
He swung a leg and a half off the side of the bed
Inevitably Travis’s curiosity about his injuries came up. And while transtibial amputation had tongue-tied the boy, pulling up his pant leg to let him inspect the knee joint and composite rod, as well as letting him inspect the specialized blade prosthetic John used when he was running or working out had kept him talking right up until the moment Maggie had to literally pull him out the door with reminders of brushing teeth and bedtime.
John slipped his bookmark between the pages of the novel he was reading and set it aside to ponder what it was about the family next door that could divert his attention even now that all was quiet on the other side of the bedroom wall that separated his apartment from theirs.
Maggie had been relaxed and friendly at dinner, curious to hear about his sister’s upcoming wedding; sympathetic to learn that he’d lost his parents as a teenager, too. She’d liked his cooking and was surprised to learn that he was the self-taught chef of the family who’d honed his gourmet skills by watching television and preparing dinners for his coworkers at the fire station.
John inhaled a deep, settling breath as he recalled the lines of strain beside those striking green eyes and pale rose lips. Most of Maggie Wheeler’s relaxed charm had been an act.
He speculated about the weird convergence of events surrounding the lady cop. If there were enough strange things going on to make him suspicious, then she must be downright paranoid.
Something about night patrols and trusting his gut and experience more than he trusted his eyes and ears told him there was trouble lurking at the fringes of Maggie’s life. The woman was hiding a secret or two. She’d been terrified that her son had been alone at the ballpark and out of contact with her. She’d mentioned a mysterious man. The woman wore a gun, a badge and body armor, yet she’d just about had a nervous breakdown when that elevator had gotten stuck.
John eyed the stump of his leg beneath the hem of the running shorts he wore to bed. He was hardly the warrior he’d once been, but he had a feeling that woman’s troubles were going to nag at him until he had answers. In every cell of his body he’d been trained to rescue and protect. And while life had altered how he could respond, the instincts were still there.
Maybe that’s all this bout of insomnia was—his instincts warring with his abilities. He was aware that Maggie had stirred something in him—a fact that was playing hell with his long-held assumption that Meghan Taylor was the only female who would ever turn his head. And he knew Maggie was in trouble. But even though her son had invited him into their lives, she hadn’t asked for his help. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he could do for her beyond volunteering for a little after-school transportation and some male role modeling for Travis.
Would that be enough to satisfy those protective instincts? That need to take action that drummed through his blood? Shouldn’t the offer of neighborly friendship be enough to appease those rusty urges before he embarrassed himself by attempting to do things he was no longer capable of?
A telephone rang in the bedroom behind the thin wall, breaking the silence of the night and giving John his answers.
His hands stiffened into fists at his sides as he glanced at the clock. Midnight. They’d been hours without a line to the outside world, and now, at precisely 12:00 a.m. the phone was ringing in Maggie Wheeler’s bedroom?
He swung a leg and a half off the side of the bed
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