Falling for the New Guy

Tess tried to swallow the mortification so it didn’t show on her face. “I’ll have the reports turned in tonight before I leave.”

“Good. Good.” Captain Franks ran a hand over his balding head, looking moderately uncomfortable which was rare. “I know your father is...sick.”

But because she declined to say exactly what kind of sick, there was skepticism. She hated this treading-water feeling that was creeping up on her. Dad was getting worse and her life was starting to suffer. But the water kept lapping at her mouth, and she couldn’t find a way to swim toward the shore.

“It’s been a rough month. I’ll get it under control, Captain. I just...we don’t have anyone else.” She didn’t entertain tears, or her voice breaking, though both battled for prominence. Luckily she had a lot of practice fighting those things into submission.

“I know, Camden. You’re an excellent officer, but we’re also seeing our crime rates rise with the Dee’s Factory closing, and I need to know my men are on top of things.”

“I am. I am.”

“No more disappearing then. No matter how close to the end of your shift. No more late reports. I don’t want to have to write you up, but I can’t let things slide just because...”

Because she was a woman. Because her whole life was spinning plates on poles and she was so damn tired of spinning. But what other choice did she have? “Absolutely.”

“Have the reports in tonight.”

She nodded. The reports were both nearly done, but she’d had to leave them unfinished last night when Dad had called, not making any sense, minutes from getting himself arrested or worse.

“If things get really bad, you can always consider taking a leave of absence, but you can’t slack off when you’re here.”

“I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to hear, Camden. How’s our new officer?”

“Good. Quiet, but seems to know what’s what.”

“Good.” Franks nodded to the door. “I have every confidence you’ll train him right.”

Tess nodded back and headed for the door. For some reason, Captain’s confidence only made her feel worse. The man had given her more praise in a dressing-down than her father had in years, and yet she was risking this to keep her father out of trouble.

He doesn’t mean it.

Tess closed the door behind her and forced stiff legs down the hall. Once she turned the corner, she leaned her forehead against the wall, her eyes squeezing shut.

She had to find some answers, or she had to let whatever happened to Dad...happen.

You can’t do that. Not when he’s the way he is because of you.

She hated that voice in her head. Because it was lies. Irrational lies. Mom had left because, well, who knew? But no matter how obnoxious a kid Tess had been, neither she nor her father had deserved being deserted.

It wasn’t Tess’s fault.

Why couldn’t you be a good little girl, Tessie? Why’d she have to leave because of you?

She hated that voice, too. Dad drunk and weeping. Shoveling all the blame on her shoulders. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. But the guilt, no matter how irrational, plagued her. She’d been seven when he’d first said that to her, and she’d done everything she could to make it not true.

Twenty-some years later, it was still true in her father’s eyes, and even when she was able to remind herself it was all crap, the fact of the matter was, Dad had no one else. So what could she do?

She let out a long breath. Just like always, she was the only one who could find an answer, fix things. And, just like always, she would. She had since she was that seven-year-old girl. She pushed away from the wall, straightened and then cringed when she saw Santino standing a few feet away.

“Bad meeting?” he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.

San Francisco really had some timing, didn’t he? “No. It was fine. I’ve got some reports to finish up real quick. Is it asking too much if we stick around for a few minutes? Thirty, tops. You can order some dinner, on me. Use the gym. Walk around.”

He shrugged, which she couldn’t read. Was he put out? Okay with it? She sighed. “I’m finishing up reports. You want to see how we do it?”

“Sure.”

Want to say more than one word? Have emotions of any kind? Small talk like we’re colleagues? Oh, she was cranky and she knew it, but seriously, the guy could give a little, couldn’t he?

She marched to the computer room and plopped on a chair. She brought the computer to life and went through the report, how they did them, when they were due. Every last boring detail as she transcribed the rest of the events from her two incidents into the system.

“Any questions, San Francisco?”

“I’m not answering to that anymore.”

“Why not? It’s a hell of a lot better than some of the other nicknames I could come up with.”

“California is a hellhole.”

She snorted. “Do you have a secret sense of humor in there?”

“Nope.”

“I think you’re lying.” She sent her reports to the printer. Maybe the guy was just shy. Even after three days. She’d have to work on him some more.

“Camden.”

Tess looked back at Berkley and Granger standing in the doorway. “What’s up, guys?”

“We wanted to meet the new guy. Had to thank him since we’re not the rookies anymore.”

“He’s still got a bunch more experience under his belt than you two dipshits.” She nodded to Marc. “Santino. This is Berkley. Granger. They’re full of shit. Don’t believe anything they say. Ever.”

“Aw, come on. We’re not that bad.”

She smiled at Berkley. Even though they made her feel old. Kids ten years her junior were wearing badges now. She felt motherly toward them. Might as well start walking with a cane.

“Franks rip you a new one?”

“Nah, he loves me.” She tried to smile, but with Marc looking at her so seriously and her phone buzzing—which was pretty much only ever Dad on a bender or someone calling about Dad on a bender—she mostly felt sick.

What she needed was to be around people. Not go back to her place and be alone, because when she was alone, all the guilt twisted until she couldn’t stop herself. She’d help Dad and screw herself in the process.

“Shit.” Granger grumbled about reverse sexism but it was mostly just a buzz in Tess’s head.

She needed a distraction. She needed to not be alone. Which was usually when she organized a department outing. That’s exactly what she needed. Dipshits complaining about her preferential treatment and making her feel old. Much better than dealing with Dad.

“Hey, you guys busy tonight?”

“Never too busy for you, sweetheart.”

“Screw off, Granger. We’re having a get-to-know-the-new-guy get-together at Good Wolf. See who else can go, huh? Meet up at eight.”

“Sure.”

She turned to Marc, determined not to care that he was scowling and obviously not happy that she’d created some fictional get-to-know-him event. The department had to be a family, and she needed a distraction so she didn’t screw up work with Dad again. Lucky for Marc, he was her new distraction.

* * *

THERE WERE A LOT of ways Marc could play this and not have to go. A lot of ways, and yet every time he thought of one, he inevitably thought about the look on Tess’s face when he’d found her after her meeting with the captain.

Lost.

It was uncomfortable, the urge to help that surged through him. It had always been uncomfortable, and that’s why he’d gone into police work. You could help without being too involved. The badge, the uniform, it all got to be a barrier.

You didn’t have to get wrapped up in someone else’s problems and lose sight of everything else in the process. You got to fix what you could fix under the law and move on. Not be constantly stewing in things you had no control over.

That barrier was kind of there with this, but not enough for his liking. It all felt too personal. Going for drinks with a bunch of people he didn’t know. All because he couldn’t say no to a woman who was his FTO and, as far as he could tell, a bit of a mess.

She did command a certain amount of respect around the station though. Even with the asshole “sweetheart” comment, people seemed to look at her and see fellow officer first, female second.

There weren’t a lot of guys who had felt that way at his last department. Still, respect or not, he didn’t want to go hang out at a bar with a bunch of people he didn’t know. Even if they were going to be his colleagues. Bars, laughter, people. He hadn’t done much of that. He’d always been so focused on doing what needed to be done, what was expected of him.

What might garner him some love and attention.

Yeah, well, even if he had moved here at his parents’ directive, it didn’t mean he was that same young kid desperate for their attention.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before shrugging into his jacket. This was his new life. Fresh start. No one knew him here. He didn’t have to be all closed off and stoic. Didn’t have to toe the line. Mom and Dad were a whole state away and that wasn’t changing for months.

And it wouldn’t matter when they got here. They’d be so wrapped up in Leah and her boyfriend, the fucking amazing Jacob, what Marc did wouldn’t matter.

Never had. Wasn’t going to change.

Christ. Maybe a bar was exactly what he needed.

And what about Tess?

He yanked his door open. It didn’t matter if she was pretty. If his body had some different idea of her than his brain did. Because his body was kind of interested in her body. His mind? It found her irritating as hell. Besides, she was practically his superior.

Three days. He’d been at work three days, with a two-day break in between, and he was already screwed up. That was impressive, even for him.

“Thought you’d chicken out.”

He glanced up from locking his door to see Tess leaning against the rail at the top of the staircase. She’d changed. Jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her hair was still pulled back, but in a looser way than it had been when she’d been in uniform.

There was nothing sexy about it. Nothing. But sexy was the first word that popped into his head anyway. Something about her heavy top lip, the look in her eyes, the sly smile on her face. As if she was queen of the world and she knew it.

Trouble. Plain and simple. He’d never done anything remotely resembling trouble. Was that why it seemed so enticing?

“Not exactly my first choice of evening activities.”

“Really? What would be?” She started walking down the stairs and he followed.

His gaze strayed to her ass, the jeans she wore perfectly molded to—nope.

“Let me guess. Something that requires silence? Meditation? Building creepy serial-killer shrines.”

“I’m not creepy.”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Warm and Friendly.”

“Quiet doesn’t equal serial killer.”

“But it can.”

“I’m a cop.”

“It doesn’t make us perfect.”

“Why am I doing this?”

She stopped at an old, junky sedan, jamming her key into the door. “I don’t know. Why are you doing this?”

“You seemed...” It was probably too direct to admit the truth, but he wasn’t very good at white lies. He could keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t lie well when faced with a direct question. “Like you needed it.”

That queen-of-the-world expression disappeared, replaced by confusion. A hard-edged, brows-together confusion he didn’t want to mess with. “What do you care what I need?”

“I don’t. Or shouldn’t.”

“Superhero complex.” She shook her head as if that was a bad thing. “You gonna ride with me or what?”

“Need a sober driver or something?”

“I don’t get drunk.”

“Ever?”

“Nope. Besides, we have an early morning.”

“So why are we doing this?” His shoulders were already tense from all this back-and-forth. How was he getting pulled into this verbal sparring? He never did that.

“You need to understand, I don’t know how your old department was, but here we’re a family. We have to trust each other. We don’t have to all be best friends, but we need to know that if someone gets in a jam, someone else is going to be there backing us up. Being the quiet guy in the corner isn’t going to fly.”

He understood that, to an extent. In his rookie days he hadn’t gone out and partied like most of the guys he’d gone to the academy with. He didn’t step out of line. Not one drinking-and-driving incident, hell, not even a speeding or parking violation. Even if he’d gotten one, he would have paid it rather than flash his badge.

He believed in right and wrong. Because doing the right thing would be noticed and rewarded.

Joke’s on you.

But he’d been friendlier then. Smiled more. Hoping for some kind of belonging that had never materialized. No one liked a guy who wouldn’t bend the loosest of rules.

“Getting in or what, Captain Quiet?”

“Captain Quiet?”

“It’s my superhero name for you.”

“I’m not answering to that, either.” But he got into her glorified rust bucket. Why? A million reasons that didn’t make sense. At least not without some deep introspection he wasn’t in the mood for.

“That one suits you, though. You’d probably even look good in a pair of superhero tights.”

He frowned over at her as she pulled out of the parking lot. Was she...flirting?

He didn’t have much time to ponder. The Good Wolf, an old, dilapidated place on the riverfront, was a short drive from their apartment complex. It was brick on the outside, showing its age, a vintage neon sign buzzing Open in the big window.

Inside it was dark and smoky, but not as dingy as he’d expected. Tess waved to a couple other guys and suddenly he was being introduced, maneuvered into a seat, beer placed in front of him.

Social hour. He was so damn rusty with this he felt like an awkward teenager again. But Tess didn’t let him stay that way for long. She prodded him into a long, drawn-out conversation about the old Superman movies.

Then she foisted him off on a middle-aged guy who turned out to be all right once they found some common ground talking cars. Still, Marc found himself watching Tess even as he chatted and drank.

She was an odd figure. A leader of sorts, but more like a mother. Which was a weird thing, because half the guys were her age or older. Weirder still because he didn’t think most of the guys staring at her ass thought of her as a mother hen.

But she stepped in. Cut a guy off when he’d hit his limit, separated one of the young guys from a clearly uninterested woman. Every time Marc thought he escaped her notice, she pushed him into conversations about cars with one guy, baseball with another.

She was everywhere, subtly maneuvering people away from what they shouldn’t do and toward what they should. It was all kind of mesmerizing.

“She doesn’t fuck cops.”

Marc jerked his head toward one of the guys from earlier who was leaning against the table next to him. Granger. He’d been the first one she’d had to cut off, and he wasn’t falling-over drunk but definitely impaired.

Marc kept his tone bland even though the out-of-nowhere comment pissed him off. For a lot of reasons. “Excuse me?”

“You’re staring awful hard at our Camden.” Granger gestured to where Tess was laughing with two older guys, covertly handing off their not-empty drinks to a waitress. “The thing is, every single guy in the department, and probably some of the not-so-single ones, have tried and failed. She doesn’t fuck other cops.”

“Not why I was watching her, pal.”

“Chill, man.” He held up his hands. “Not trying to warn you off, just giving some information. We’re all friends here.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Granger slapped the table. “Keep it in mind.”

Marc rolled his shoulders. The kid, and he was just a kid, was right. Friends. He needed to make friends. Sure, not lifelong buddies, and certainly not anything involving fucking, but it wouldn’t kill him to remove the stick from his ass.

He was free. Until Mom and Dad moved, but even then. He’d already done his duty by moving here. Leah was back in their lives. Why was he still trying so hard? He didn’t matter. Never would.

It was long past time he started living for himself.

CHAPTER THREE

TESS WAS IN TROUBLE. Of two very different kinds. Sadly, they both involved drunk men she felt responsible for.

The first she was going to ignore. She had to. She had to be up early and couldn’t risk another bottle-throwing incident on a work night. At some point, once in a while, she had to put herself first.

The second bit of trouble, well, she was 100 percent responsible for the second, and kind of enjoying it. Typically, she didn’t like drunk men, but she’d also been around enough to know everyone handled their liquor differently.

Some got belligerent, like many of the drunk drivers she dealt with on the job. Some got violent. Hello, dear old Dad. Some, well, some just got goofy. Buttoned-up, strong silent type Marc Santino got goofy.

It made her grin, and feel oddly light. Both things her father’s drunkenness never made her feel. Everything about Marc’s normally tense, ramrod straight posture had relaxed. He was smiling, head bobbing along with whatever Stumpf was telling him.

He did shake off an offer for another beer, which was more than half the guys in their little group would ever do. Which was why she tended to spearhead these little gatherings and moderate some of the looser cannons.

Most were making noise about leaving, so she made sure none of the worse-for-wear guys were planning on getting behind the wheel, then she approached trouble. Hot trouble, which was nothing to smile about at all.

But she couldn’t help herself. “You ready to get going, San Francisco?”

“You know, Mother Hen, which is my new nickname for you, I have never even been to California.” He didn’t slur, but his words, his demeanor, were all loose. So different from usual.

“I thought you said it was a hellhole.”

“Seems like it would be, anyway. Can’t even pay their own damn bills.”

“Yes, Grandpa. Now let’s get you up and out.”

“I can walk.” He got to his feet. No weaving or tripping, but there was a difference in his gait. Not that measured, stiff walk he usually had. This walk was a lot more wiggly.

But he followed her, and even though he was definitely inebriated, he watched her as she made sure the rest of the guys were out the door, too, and she got the weirdest feeling he was silently judging her for it.

Well, let him. He’d obviously come from a department where having each other’s backs was not important. That was not how BCPD worked. Period.

Her phone buzzed and she closed her eyes for a second before slipping into her car. Maybe when they got home she’d call Dad and try to talk him down, but she wasn’t giving in and going over there, and she certainly wasn’t talking to him with Marc in the car next to her.

“So, what were you and Stumpf talking about?”

“Aliens,” he said, deadpan.

“You were not.”

“Oh, yes. He was trying to convince me he’s seen a UFO. To which I said N-O.”

Tess laughed and shook her head. “I hate to encourage drinking, but you’re a lot funnier with a few under your belt.”

“Maybe that’s been my problem all along.”

Her first instinct was to poke and prod and figure out what problem he thought he had. She liked to fix problems. But something about the way he looked grim and stiff again made her clamp her mouth shut as she pulled into their apartment complex parking lot.

Her phone buzzed. Again. She didn’t bother to look this time. Just clicked the ignore button through her pocket.

She should have turned off the phone. Sure, it wouldn’t stop Dad from calling, but it would stop her from the stab of guilt after each ring.

“Seriously, what’s the constant calling about?” Marc asked, gesturing at her pocket as he walked leisurely toward the door.

When she laughed, he squinted at her and his hand missed the handle of the complex door. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Aboot.”

“Huh?”

She giggled again. “Your Minnesota shows when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk! I’ve never been drunk in my life.” He stepped inside and then promptly tripped over the mat, barely catching himself on the wall.

“Never?” She offered Marc her shoulder and he grumbled something before using her as a bit of a steady crutch on their way up the stairs.

“Not once. Didn’t even touch a drop until I was twenty-one. I am a perfect citizen through and through.”

“You really are a superhero.”

“The world loves superheroes. They have women and families falling all over them telling them how great they are. Well, when their parents aren’t dead. Still, I am no superhero.”

Oh, don’t have hidden hurts. Please don’t have hidden hurts. She was such a sucker for hurts of any kind. She wanted to soothe. Then there was the whole fact Marc was all muscle. Yummy, chiseled muscle leaning against her.

That leaning was enough to bring a little sanity into the equation. She couldn’t juggle someone else who needed to lean on her. Dad took all her be-someone-else’s-rock strength.

So she gave Marc a nudge so he leaned, with an ungraceful thud, against his door.

He squinted down at her, and even with the squint and the slightly glazed-over eyes, the color had impact. He had impact, and she did not have the time or energy to be impacted.

But there were certain parts of her body not getting that memo.

“Sleep it off, buddy. You don’t want me storming your gates in the morning, because it won’t be late and I won’t be nice.”

His gaze dropped. A quick, odd, up-and-down once-over. The kind she usually got in a guy’s face for, but because he was drunk and that was kind of her fault, she let it go.

Totally had nothing to do with the fact she liked it from him. You are one sick puppy, Camden.

“Drink some water. Take some aspirin and get some sleep, Captain Quiet.”

“Night, Mother Hen.”

She gave him a mock salute and then walked to her apartment and slipped inside. She pulled out her phone. Twelve missed calls. Six voice mails. All from Dad.

It took a lot of willpower. A lot of thinking about her meeting with Franks earlier today to delete the messages unheard. She knew what they’d be. The first would be sweet, ending in crying. Increasingly belligerent with each message.

She got enough of him calling her a bitch to her face—she didn’t have to deal with it via message. Not tonight.

Are you sure you want to delete all messages?

She stared at the little pop-up, not sure for how long, then clicked yes with more force than necessary. He would not get her in trouble again. Police work was the only thing she could count on in this life, and no amount of crappy guilt or biological duty was going to make her screw that up.

* * *

MARC STARED AT the coffeepot slowly spitting out dark liquid. Scowling was probably a better word. Glowering.

He felt like utter shit. Head pounding, dizzy, queasy. All from a few too many beers and one weird cocktail Stumpf had talked him into. How did all those people who’d rolled their eyes at his two-beer limit over the years enjoy this?

The pounding at the door made him wince, then growl. Then groan because, damn it, that all hurt.

The pounding started again. Moving gingerly, Marc walked to the door and jerked it open. “Do. You. Mind?”

Tess’s sunny smile only served to irritate him further. “Morning, sunshine.” She was in her uniform, like he was, and her hair was back in that tight work braid. Which reminded him of how loose it had been last night, how tight her jeans had—

“I’m just waiting for coffee,” he grumbled, turning away from her. “No thanks to you, I feel like I’m going to die.”