Renegade. Diana Palmer

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Renegade - Diana Palmer

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referring to the model-turned-actress Tippy Moore, the “Georgia Firefly” of modeling fame. “Her young brother liked you. He’ll probably be home from military school on holiday.”

      Cash was reluctant to take the trip. The model had really gotten to him once he realized that she wasn’t the vain, vampy woman he’d first thought. Her vulnerabilities appealed to him in ways her blatant flirting hadn’t.

      “I guess I could phone and ask her if she meant the invitation,” he said.

      “Good man,” Judd said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can get on the next flight out, and I can sit at your desk and be acting chief!”

      Cash was getting suspicious. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that squad car that you keep trying to talk me into? There’s a city council meeting next week…”

      “They’ll postpone it for the holidays,” Judd assured him. “I would never try to talk the city council into a squad car you don’t really want. Honest.”

      Cash didn’t trust that gleaming smile. Judd was like him. He rarely smiled unless he was up to something or in a temper.

      “Much less hire a secretary before you get back,” Judd added, not meeting Cash’s eyes.

      “Oh, that’s it,” Cash said at once. “That’s it. You’ve got somebody in mind. You’re going to stick me with some retired woman colonel from the army or another conspiracy theorist like the secretary we had when my cousin Chet Blake was chief?”

      “I don’t know any out-of-work mercenaries,” Judd said innocently.

      “Or any ex-colonels?”

      He shrugged. “Maybe one or two. Eb Scott has a cousin…”

      “No!”

      “You haven’t met her…”

      “I’m not going to meet her! I’m the chief. See this?” He pointed at his badge. “I fight crime. I do not fight old women!”

      “She’s not old. Exactly.”

      “If you hire anybody before I get back, I will fire her the minute the plane lands! In fact, I won’t leave town!” Cash threatened.

      Judd shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He studied his clean fingernails. “I hear the sister of the planning commissioner wants a crack at you. She may ask the acting mayor for a recommendation.”

      Cash felt hunted. The planning commissioner, a delightful and gentle man, had a favorite sister who also had a crush on Cash. She was thirty-six, twice divorced, wore see-through blouses and was a hundred pounds overweight. The planning commissioner doted on her. He was also the best dentist anywhere around. Even an ex-black ops specialist like Cash couldn’t handle this kind of heat in a small town.

      “When would the colonel like to start?” Cash asked through tight lips.

      Judd burst out laughing. “I don’t know any colonels who want to work for you, but I’ll keep my eyes open…!” He moved just in time to avoid a roundhouse kick. “Hey, I’m a police officer! If you hit me, it’s a felony!”

      “It is not,” Cash muttered, turning back toward his office. “It’s self-defense.”

      “My lawyers will be in touch with you,” Judd called after him.

      Cash threw him an insulting gesture over his head.

      BUT ONCE HE WAS SAFELY back in his office, with the trash can refilled and repositioned, and the floor swept, he thought about what Judd had said. Maybe he was a little touchy lately. A few days off might make him less…irritable. Judd and Crissy’s two babies reminded him painfully of the life he’d lost.

      Besides, Tippy Moore had a nine-year-old brother named Rory who idolized Cash. It had been a long time since anyone had looked up to him. He was used to curiosity, awe, even fear. Especially fear. The boy didn’t have a man in his life, except for his friends at military school. What would it hurt to spend a little time with him? After all, he didn’t have to tell them the story of his life. He winced, thinking of the only time he’d ever come clean about his past.

      He sat down behind his desk and pulled a small ad dress book from his pocket. In it was a New York telephone number. He picked up his cell phone and dialed it.

      It rang two times. Three times. Four times. He felt bitter disappointment. He started to put the receiver down. Suddenly, a sultry, soft voice came on the line. “This is the Moore residence,” it purred. “Sorry I’m not here. Please leave a brief message and a number. I’ll get back to you.” There was a beep.

      “It’s Cash Grier,” he said.

      He started to give his number when a breathless voice came on the line. “Cash!”

      He laughed softly to himself. It showed that she’d dived for the phone before he could hang up. He was flattered.

      “Yes, it’s me. Hello, Tippy.”

      “How are you?” she asked. “Are you still in Jacobsville?”

      “Still here. Except I’m chief of police now. Judd left the Texas Rangers and he’s working with me as assistant chief,” he added reluctantly. Tippy had been smitten with Judd, just as he himself had once been smitten with Judd’s wife, Christabel.

      “So many changes.” She sighed. “And how is Christabel?”

      “Very happy,” he replied. “She and Judd had twins.”

      “Yes, I heard from them at Thanksgiving,” she confessed. “A girl and a boy, right?”

      “Jared and Jessamina,” he said, smiling. The twins had captured their godfather’s heart the second he laid eyes on them in the hospital. Of course, Jessamina was Cash’s favorite and he made no bones about it. “Jessamina’s such a little doll. A head full of jet-black hair and her eyes are dark blue. They’ll change, of course.”

      “How about Jared?” she probed, amused at his fascination with the little girl.

      “Looks like his dad,” he replied. “Jared belongs to them, but Jessamina is mine. I told them so. Repeatedly.” He sighed. “It does no good, of course, they won’t give her to me.”

      She laughed. It was like the sound of silver bells on a summer night. Her voice was one of her greatest as sets.

      “How are you?”

      “Working on a new film,” she told him. “We’ve just stopped shooting so that we can all have Christmas at home. I’m glad. It’s got a lot of physical stuff in it, and I’m out of shape. I’ll have to work out more if I’m going to have to be athletic.”

      “What sort of physical stuff?” he wanted to know.

      “Tucks and rolls, bouncing off trampolines, falls from high places, martial arts, that sort of thing,” she said, sounding tired. “I’m bruised all over. Rory’s going to pass out when he sees me. He says I’ve got no business doing rough stuff like this at my age.”

      “At

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