“Maybe it was just a clever disguise.”
After another look at the holding cell, he shook his head. “No. I bet she always looks like that. Sensible shoes and all.”
“Then clever career choice?”
He gestured toward the arrest report on her screen. “If that isn’t a pink slip for that particular job, I don’t know what is.”
“No unemployment line for that one, either.”
“After an arrest like that, taking down a wanted fugitive and all, you’ll be the next one to make the local news.” He paused, chuckling. “Viewers will be relieved to see your pretty face after having to look at mine for so long.”
Pretty face? A startled laugh escaped before she could stop it. Was Ben Peterson flirting with her? Would she like it if he were? Of course he wasn’t, and no, she wouldn’t. He was only joking with her the way all of the officers did with each other, and she was making too much out of it. Again.
“In my interview, I’ll give credit to the team like—” Delia stopped herself, glancing over at him. She hoped he didn’t think she was making fun of him over the banking incident. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, nobody makes the news for bringing down Mary Poppins. Or maybe Mrs. Doubtfire, who—”
“Wasn’t who she seemed to be,” they both said at the same time and then laughed.
“A senior-citizen fugitive or big bad bank-robbery suspects.” She held out both hands, palms up, weighing the two options in an imaginary scale. “Those two arrests don’t compare on the if-it-bleeds-it-leads scale for TV news.”
He tilted his head back and forth, considering her words. “Guess not, but they should.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, there was no blood in either of those arrests,” he pointed out.
“Which is a good thing.”
Ben shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in their conversation. He hadn’t spoken about the incident at the bank at all other than the details he’d listed in the report. Was there more about the case that he hadn’t disclosed? Something critical that he’d left out of the report?
But he spoke up again before she had time to ask. “We were both just doing our jobs.”
She had returned to her own report, but now she couldn’t help but to look back at him, waiting for answers.
“Some cases get more attention than others—” he paused, shrugging “—but all of our work is important as we serve and protect the people of southeast Michigan.”
The words were out of her mouth before she had time to edit them. “I was wrong about you.”
His eyes widened behind his glasses. “You mean you no longer think I’ll forget about the team now that I’ve made the six o’clock news?”
Delia was just standing up from the chair, but his comment caused her to pop up so quickly that her holstered weapon bumped the desk. “What do you mean? I never said—”
He shook his head. “Forget I said that. I meant to ask how you were wrong about me.”
Because she didn’t want to confess that he’d already hit on the exact answer like a nail driven home by one perfect strike, she scrambled for another reason. “I was wrong to think you’d tried to avoid speaking to the media because public relations wasn’t your forte.”
“Oh. Then you were right the first time.”
He tipped his head to the side, his chuckle low and sexier than it had any right to be, especially right there in the squad room where just anyone could hear it. Delia refused to think about other locations where a sound like that would be perfect. Places with low lighting and soft music—
“Nope,” she said to the both of them. She shook her head as much to clear it as to disagree with him. “Not buying it. Just listen to you. You’re a walking, talking public-service announcement. ‘Serve and protect the people of southeast Michigan’? In front of a camera, you could convince residents that they want us to give them speeding tickets.”
“Thanks, I guess. But let’s hope I don’t have to prove it now that the media attention has died down.”
Delia needed to finish the report before her suspect was transported to jail, but she was stalling. She had a job to do, and she could only stand there searching for something clever to say that might keep him there longer.
“You’re a good cop, Trooper Morgan.”
She swallowed. Those were the words she’d worked so hard to hear. Words that meant everything to her. She sneaked a calming breath, exhaling in slow puffs. Maybe she should have expected that he might be the first to say those words to her, but she couldn’t have guessed how much they would humble her.
“Thanks. Um, you, too, uh...Lieutenant.” Strange how she was tempted to call him Ben, even here where it would be frowned upon. The way she would talk to a friend.
The side of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but if you’re handing them out, I’ll be happy to take a few big ones, please.”
“I’m serious. Really.”
And she was serious, even if he was determined to deflect the praise. Stranger still, she was suddenly tempted to say more. Thoughts she should keep to herself. Like that he was a real hero. And how incredibly rare people like him were. Maybe even how lucky she was that someone like him wanted to be her friend.
But someone threw open the door to the parking lot then, a strong-arm invasion of winter gusting inside. Kelly Roberts and Grant Maxwell hurried into the squad room, still laughing over some earlier joke while they brushed snowflakes off their covers and uniforms.
Delia straightened, gripping the edge of the desk. She appreciated the jolt from the frigid air almost as much as she did the interruption. At least both gave her a chance to rethink what she’d been about to say.
Things she’d had no business saying. She was grateful for the growing collection of witnesses and the comforting hum of conversations other than the tape repeating inside of her head. The one that demanded to know why she was tempted to let down her guard with Ben Peterson. But most of all, she was grateful for all of these things that saved her from saying words she couldn’t take back.
“PERFECT TIMING.”
Delia turned toward the voice to find Jamie Donovan next to her as they sloshed toward the post building. Nearly soaked after just stepping out of their patrol cars, they didn’t bother sprinting for the door.
Jamie shook his head, spraying more droplets in Delia’s direction. “What’s with the downpour in January? Isn’t this supposed to be snow? In the Upper Peninsula where I grew up, this would be snow.”
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, are you, Toto? Here sometimes it’s
