Capturing the Cop. Michele Dunaway
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go to to entice him, including those naked full-body shots, had not been pleasant. He’d felt like a pervert, so much so that he’d finally stopped opening the letters at all, or letting his cop buddies and Cliff raid his mail. Crime scenes were easier to deal with.
He winced. Hindsight was twenty/twenty. When the department asked for his cooperation last summer, Garrett had followed orders, not caring about the “honor” attached to being selected.
His mistake was that he hadn’t thought through the calendar’s aftereffects. Oh, he’d considered that he might get some recognition and second glances, but this was St. Louis and not Hollywood. St. Louisans were, for the most part, discreet—not rude autograph-seekers. Even professional sports stars were usually granted their privacy in public places like restaurants or movie theaters. The crazy attention paid to him and his fellow police, fire and rescue workers from across the metropolitan region had surprised Garrett, not to mention vexed him.
Today, it appeared, there would be no end to his weary annoyance. Cliff was on a mission he’d started this past weekend when Garrett lost the weekly Friday night poker game with the guys.
“Let me see that personal ad again,” Cliff said, getting back to the matter at hand. He snagged the paper from Garrett. “HWP. That’s good. You don’t want someone whose height and weight aren’t proportional. But, do you think it’s a good idea to tell them your measurements?”
“Earlier you wanted me to tell them I was Mr. August so that they could go ogle me. Why don’t I just include my address in the ad? Even better, how about I include my cell phone number and the note ‘Call Garrett for a good time.’” Irritated, Garrett wrestled the piece of paper away from Cliff. “This is a dumb idea. I’m not doing it.”
Cliff snatched the paper, ripping off a piece in the process. “Yes, you are. You backed yourself into a corner Friday night when Ben asked how long it had been since you’d had a real date. You even went double or nothing without chips—and lost. So unless you really want to eat crow—”
“I thought I had a good hand,” Garrett interrupted. Two of a kind should have been enough to win.
“Well, you didn’t, so even fate agrees you’re doing this. You’ll never live down the ribbing if you don’t. It’s a personal ad or a blind date.”
The last blind date Garrett had gone on had been an absolute disaster. She’d been five years older and around the block way too many times, and had boldly asked him if he knew any kinky ways to use his handcuffs. No more blind dates, period.
“Fine, I said I’d do this,” Garrett said with another growl to indicate that he still didn’t relish the idea. “One date with one woman. That was the bet, and that’s all I’m doing. Understood?”
Cliff’s smile widened and he gave Garrett the crumpled piece of paper. “Okay. One date. That’s the deal. But place the ad today. You’ll pass by the Monitor office on your way home.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes and glared. The Monitor office was actually out of his way, but Cliff, again intent on revising the ad’s wording, disregarded his friend’s displeasure.
“Don’t forget to add ‘no smoking,’” Cliff said. “Just in case you want to kiss her.”
“I won’t be kissing anyone,” Garrett snapped, but he did write down n/s on the paper.
Cliff’s laughter again echoed in the room. “No kisses? You never know, Garrett. You never know.”
“OLIVIA! OH, AM I GLAD to see you!” Chrissy Lambert said as Olivia entered the classified-ads department of the Mound City Monitor on Tucker Street. Located on the first floor, the office was open to walk-in clients until six o’clock. Chrissy buzzed Olivia through the security door.
“Hi, Chrissy. I wanted to check on you personally.” Olivia gave her best friend a quick hug.
“They were Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Chrissy said as she hopped on one foot, clearly needing to go to the restroom. “You’re a godsend. Lula called in sick today, which means she’s more likely at the stadium playing hooky, than on her deathbed. I’m here alone.”
Chrissy wiggled her very pregnant body. She was due any day now.
“Are you okay?” Olivia asked. She’d known Chrissy ever since junior high, when, despite their different socioeconomic backgrounds, they’d become best friends at Bible camp. Olivia’s family had viewed the month-long adventure as a natural extension of their daughter’s religious education; Chrissy’s family had hoped that discovering God would tame their daughter’s wild ways. The ultimate bad girl, Chrissy hadn’t truly reformed until she met Derek, fallen fast for him and gotten married.
Chrissy palmed her stomach. “I’m doing well except for the baby having stationed itself right on top of my bladder. Watch the floor for me, will you? Don’t worry, the bosses aren’t around. Since the Cardinals lead the Central division, everyone cut out early to attend today’s baseball game.”
“No problem,” Olivia said. “Besides, I know the paper’s owner.” Olivia’s cousin Darci was married to Cameron O’Brien. In fact, Darci and Cameron had first met when Cameron, the head of O’Brien Publications, had visited St. Louis to finalize the purchase of the Mound City Monitor and add it to the O’Brien Publications family.
“That’s great, ’cause I really gotta go. You know what to do, right?”
“You showed me last time,” Olivia said. “Remember? It was so slow here we filled out phone ad forms pretending to find me a date.”
“Yeah. Mr. B. Right at 4 M. Drives.”
A movement outside on the sidewalk caught Chrissy’s attention, and she paused for a moment. “Whoa! I don’t believe it. That’s really him. Too bad nature’s calling. But you’re about to get lucky. See that guy out there?”
Olivia glanced out the Monitor’s large storefront window. She saw the subject of Chrissy’s focus immediately.
The man standing just outside the glass doorway was gorgeous. Under the dark blue T-shirt he wore, well-toned muscles rippled and the golden hair dusting his arms glistened in that late-afternoon sunlight. He stood at least six foot three, and even his faded red Cardinals baseball cap added to his allure.
Olivia swallowed. What would it be like to touch a man like that? Unlike Chrissy, who had more skeletons in her closet than were in a graveyard, Olivia had never been bad enough to know. Her wimpy ex-fiancés had been physically small men whose presence wouldn’t intimidate a flea.
She fisted her hands, then stretched her fingers one by one in order to relax. The man seemed familiar, but Olivia couldn’t place him. “Chrissy,” she hissed as the man began to pull open the door to the office. “What are you talking about? You know him?”
“The calendar in the file drawer. He’s one of the ‘months.’ Oh, too bad it’s against the rules to get his autograph or hang it up.” Chrissy paused for one last peek before hurrying away.
Whoever the man was, he was now inside the office, and Olivia couldn’t help but gape as he approached the service counter.
Never had a man so filled the room with his presence. His dark blue Levi’s fit tightly and he wore boots. Olivia stood rooted to the floor as he approached, her only movements those of her fingers as they twisted the strand of cultured pearls her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. Brad Pitt, Dennis Quaid and Robert Redford combined wouldn’t hold a candle to the Adonis before her. He must have come to place an ad, Olivia decided as she regrouped. Maybe he was selling his truck or something—although the Mound City Monitor really didn’t handle many of those kind of classified ads.
Yes, Olivia fantasized, he would be the type to own a big truck.
He was wearing Levi’s and boots and Olivia could picture him riding on the range, roping some cattle, coming home to his woman and making love to her on soft flannel sheets in front of the