The Last First Date

“Policy is policy. If I break the policy for one person, I must break it for all.” Max splayed his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “So, you see, I cannot break the policy.”

Throwing his hands in the air, her knight in the shiny black sports car gave up. He turned to his pilfering pal and pointed the blonde at the passenger door. “You ride in back.”

His date gasped, tottering toward the car in too-tall heels. “Ride in back? Why do I have to ride in the back?”

“Because for some insane reason you thought it would be a kick to start the evening out by stealing a pack of gum!”

The reverberation from his explosion hung heavy in the air. Jessica stared at the man, utterly enthralled by the rise and fall of his broad chest and the wild light in those cloud-colored eyes. He shifted his full attention to her, and the silver glints softened to a gray glow alight with sympathy.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice came in a low, husky rasp, underscoring the tip-tip-tip of Blondie’s shoes as she picked her way across the slick pavement. “I hate to leave you stranded here.”

Sincerity furrowed his brow, making him even more attractive than he’d been three minutes earlier. Jessica heard the car door open, and a surge of jealousy poked pinholes in the cold, hard lump of pride lodged in her belly. The unexpected certainty that she was about to miss out on something soured her tongue. She lowered her hand, hugging the puffy pink nylon across her stomach. He might be sorry about it, but the facts remained the same—he was leaving and she was stuck.

The door swung shut after Blondie pulled her feet in, but the latch didn’t catch. He gave a frustrated growl and strode toward the passenger door, heedless of the ice underfoot and the needles of rain falling down on them. His fingers curled around the handle. His eyes lit as he looked up. “Come with me.”

“What?”

He nodded, obviously pleased with the scheme playing out in his head. “The station is warm and dry. The coffee’s free too, if you’re not too fond of your stomach lining.”

Fixated on his lips, she almost missed the words coming out of them. “Station?”

The man had the good grace to grimace as he broke the bad news to her. “I’ll need you to make a statement about her confession.”

Jessica shuddered. This was just supposed to be a quick run to the mini-mart. She didn’t want to get involved in whatever was going on with Officer Hottie and his dream date. She just wanted her damn car to start. The policies and procedures followed on every cop show she’d ever watched raced through her mind. She started grasping at straws. “I didn’t see her take it. Wouldn’t that be hearsay or something?”

Her breath caught when he bent toward her, lowering his voice for her ears only. “I can’t leave you here. This neighborhood isn’t the greatest, and it’s New Year’s Eve. God only knows when you’ll be able to get a cab.”

Her mind flashed to the provisions stashed in her car. She had everything—premixed margaritas and nacho cheese flavored chips. The makings for a fiesta were parked in her passenger seat. She could camp out there until the next Good Samaritan came along. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Klepto Kardashian wriggle her way back into Detective Do-Me’s good graces. Women like that got away with murder, while women like her nearly killed themselves just trying to stay afloat.

But not anymore.

There would be no more treading water or settling for good enough. Jessica had every intention of taking the new year by storm. After one last round of lime-flavored pity. “Listen, I don’t want to get involved….” The words were going to be her new mantra. She needed to start believing them now.

“Just come with us, make a quick statement while you warm up, drink some awful coffee, and I’ll bring you back here to get your car moving just as soon as I can hand her over for processing.”

For some unknown reason his cavalier attitude irked her. “Some boyfriend you are.”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he snapped. He tipped his face up to the heavens and the light caught the drops of moisture beading on his face and hair. Exhaling, he lowered his gaze to meet hers directly. “Ma’am, I am asking you to accompany me to the Third Precinct to make a brief statement concerning the confession Miss Brackle made a short time ago.”

She let the ma’am bit slide and went straight to the meat of the matter. “Listen, Detective…”

“Sheppard,” he supplied with a nod. “Lang Sheppard.”

“Listen, Detective Sheppard—”

He let out an exasperated huff. “Just get in the car. It’s cold and wet and my friggin’ eyelashes are starting to fuse together.” And what lashes they were, thick and dark, a velvet fringe framing those spectacular silver-gray eyes. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. “Don’t make me have to worry about you out here by yourself.”

She forced a scoff but the sincerity in his tone tugged at her. “Surely whatshisname’s wife will let me use their phone while he’s gone.”

He matched her scoff with a bark of bitter laughter. “No, she won’t. Elena is the hard-ass in this partnership. Max is a great big puppy dog compared to that woman.”

“Why do you care?”

The challenge tweaked the thread of his control. “Because I made the mistake of getting out of my goddamn car.” A little fissure of pleasure traveled through her when his temper flared. “Because I’m the idiot who left my house tonight,” he continued. “The moron who let his grandmother set him up with one of her canasta buddy’s granddaughters. Any of those good enough reasons for you?” He clapped his hands like a Vegas dealer then held them up to show he was clear. “You know what? Fine. Have it your way. Just give me your name and contact information in case these cockamamy charges don’t go away.”

She blinked in surprise. “Cockamamy? Did you just say cockamamy?”

He headed for the driver’s door. “Let me just get a pen.”

Backseat Bimbette started babbling the moment he opened the door, but he ignored her. Intrigued, Jessica took a step closer, hoping to pick up a thread of the conversation. Seconds later, he backed his way out of the low-slung cockpit with a notepad and pen in hand and slammed the door again.

“Name?”

“Jessica Vickers.” The response came automatically, a knee-jerk reaction to the command in his tone more than the question itself.

“Telephone? Home or cell, whichever is best.”

She shot him a level look. “I’ve had men ask a little more nicely.”

“I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Bull.” She arched her eyebrows. “Besides, that seems a waste of paperwork when this sounds like an open-and-shut case.”

“Get in the car.”

He growled the order and returned her stare without flinching. The man didn’t back down and he didn’t blow anyone off. She liked that about him. Stepping off the curb, she let her fingertips trail through the wet slush gathering on the hood as she made her way to the passenger door. “You’re a hell of a gumshoe, Detective.”

His lips twitched and he met her gaze across the roof of the car. His steely eyes warmed again. A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Where were you when I was looking for a date for New Year’s Eve?”

She opened the car door. “As far away from any canasta club as I could get.”

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