the new, unknown threat. “What’s wrong?”
Shauna Cartwright appeared in her doorway and answered the question herself. “Better let me tell him, Garrett.”
“Right.” Captain Chang stepped to one side, looking first to the commissioner, then Eli. “If there’s anything I can do—for either of you—let me know.”
The commissioner smiled, momentarily distracting Eli from his supervisor’s mysterious offer. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Chang took her outstretched hand, then reached over to shake Eli’s. “Be good.”
Was that a mind your manners or a do your job warning?
Garrett Chang departed without clarifying anything, and Eli began to feel the frustration of a man condemned to punishment for a crime he knew nothing about. Shauna Cartwright was no immediate help, either. She instructed Betty to hold her calls, gave her permission to leave at five o’clock, then ushered Eli into her office.
Though the decor in here was as uptown as the waiting area outside, soft touches of color added a subtle feminine warmth to the conference table and informal sitting areas. And was that…? Eli frowned at the nearly inaudible strains of a disco ballad playing from the suite’s hidden speakers. Go figure. No canned elevator music or talk radio. There were signs of life in the ivory tower, after all.
But the lock twisted into place behind him, canceling out the unexpected sense of welcome.
The commissioner circled in front of him and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Like he had any real choice. “Commissioner—”
“Shauna, please. In private, anyway.” The jolt of her smaller hand sliding against his proved as surprising as her choice of music had been. She tightened her grip to keep him in place long enough to inspect the bandages at his temple. “I see you opted for the scarred and rugged look instead of sensible stitches.”
“I’ll live.”
“I have no doubt you’re a tough one.” She led him to the sitting area, and then walked around her desk to a small kitchen area at the back. “May I get you a cup of coffee?”
The real thing? Or more of that stew Betty had served? He must have broadcast the questions telepathically because she grinned and pointed toward the door. “Betty may be as efficient as the U.S. Army, but she can’t make coffee worth a damn. She insists she makes it the same way my predecessor, Commissioner Brent, always liked it. Makes me wonder if he dumped it down the sink and brewed his own when she went on break, too.” She turned away to pour two mugs without waiting for his answer. “How do you take it?”
Apparently, there was no hiding a kindred caffeinated spirit. “With cream.”
Though a sager suck-up would have asked a polite question about how the previous commissioner was recovering from the series of strokes that had incapacitated him, Eli dumbly watched the graceful movements of Brent’s replacement.
Nice. She opened a tiny fridge beneath the counter and pulled out a carton of the real thing, whetting his taste buds in anticipation. Very nice. Regions south of his belt buckle stirred with a heated interest of their own as she bent over to replace the cream, and her navy gabardine skirt pulled taut across her backside.
Boss, Eli reminded himself, blinking and turning away.
His eyes fell on the computer printout with his name in bold print at the top, sitting at the center of her desk. That cooled his jets. She’d been checking up on him, reading the scattered commendations and more numerous complaints in his file, no doubt. How many partners had he gone through since Joe Niederhaus? Chang had finally given up trying to make him play well with others. The boss lady probably had something to say about that.
His gaze strayed to the pictures on her desk. Seth Cartwright with his arm around an attractive young blonde who shared a striking resemblance. The commissioner with a sopping, pony-sized Labrador retriever near a lake. A more formal photo of the commissioner, sandwiched between Seth and the same blond woman piqued Eli’s curiosity further. Though there was no older man in any of the photos, no wedding ring on the hand that clutched the dog, there was no mistaking the sense of family in those photos. Eli had little in common with her world.
Maybe once. But camaraderie, teamwork, laughter, trust—those had been missing from his life for a long time. Since the tragic death of their parents, Jillian had turned to drugs. Holly had turned to work. And Eli had just turned…inward.
“Eli?”
He jumped like a rookie at the sound of his name.
“Sorry.” She stood at his shoulder, close enough for him to smell the fragrant brew from the mug she pushed into his hands. Close enough to smell something more enticing than the coffee itself.
“Thanks.” Eli hid his interest with a swallow of the beverage that burned his throat.
“Do you have any family?” she asked, glancing at the photos with a loving smile.
“Two sisters. You?”
“Two children. Seth and Sarah. Twins. Three, if you count Sadie.” She reached over and stroked the dog’s picture. “She’s the only one still at home.”
“Is there a Mr. Cartwright?”
“Yes. But we’re divorced.”
Damn. His pulse should not be racing any faster. Had to be all the caffeine in his system. “Sorry to hear that.”
Soft green eyes sought him out over the rim of her cup, gauging the sincerity of his condolence. “It’s his loss.” The green eyes shuttered and she turned away, showing more willpower than Eli’s sorry hormones could when it came to breaking the unspoken tension simmering between them. “It’s my children’s loss, actually. Austin has chosen to be a part of our lives only when it’s convenient for him.”
Her gaze was focused on the pictures again. No, they were focused toward some memory from the past, Eli thought.
“He could have been a good father if he wasn’t such a…”
Such a what? Eli felt his body shifting forward, drawn to the sorrow that shaded her voice. But perhaps he had only imagined the vulnerability that had softened her posture. Because there was steel in the set of her shoulders when she turned to face him, and there was business in her smile.
“We have more important things to discuss. Have a seat, Eli.” Oblivious to his misguided interest in her, the commissioner gestured to a sofa. “May I call you Eli?”
“In private.” The smart remark was out before sense could stop it.
Instead of putting him in his place, she laughed. “Touché.”
Eli unbuttoned his jacket and opted for a straight-backed chair at the conference table before he relaxed his guard any further and completely screwed up what was left of his day and career. “So, why am I here? I believe your exact words were I need to see you.”
“I like a man who’s direct.”
“I like a woman who’s direct.”
