The Man Behind the Badge

CHAPTER TWO

THE smell of smoke drifted on the still air. Tom leaned sideways to look around the end of his car. Flames licked around the front tyre of the wreck.

As he got to his feet, the Dustin fire truck slid between him and his view of the fledgling fire. Thank God. He felt the tension ease across his shoulders.

A paramedic ran up to join Kayla as the ambulance backed slowly towards them. It stopped a couple of metres away and the second medic came around to open the back doors. Tom stood and moved back to give them more room. He watched a moment as Kayla meshed smoothly with the men, working to stabilise their patient.

Feeling superfluous, he crossed to the back of his four-wheel drive to take out the camera, tape measure and notepad. With his gear in hand, he walked around to the other side of the fire truck. The team had the wreck and surrounding area well doused with foam.

‘Tom.’ Dustin’s fire captain, Jack Campbell, nodded to him then turned back to look at the crumpled car. ‘How’s your vic?’

‘Looks like he’ll make it, thanks to Kayla.’

‘Lucky she was on hand.’

‘Yeah.’ Tom stared at the wreck, remembering the frenetic light and sound show in the seconds before the crash. ‘Even luckier she wasn’t involved in the accident.’

‘What happened?’ Jack’s voice was sharp with concern.

‘I need to have a good look at the tyre marks and take her statement.’ Tom lifted his shoulder. ‘But I’d say she did some pretty fancy driving to avoid a collision. It’ll have to be confirmed but indications are that the driver is alcohol-impaired.’

Jack grunted his disgust.

‘Yeah.’ Tom sighed heavily. ‘I’m going to take some photos, make a few measurements for my report. I won’t get in your way.’

‘Sure. I called Dennis. He’s on his way with the tow truck.’ Hands on hips, Jack pointed his chin at the wreck. ‘We’re under control here but we’ll hang around to make sure there are no flare-ups when the car’s pulled off the tree trunk.’

‘Thanks.’

Tom moved away and began snapping photographs from different angles. Inside the car, he took several pieces of the broken whisky bottle, making sure he got a clear shot of the label.

From a vantage point to one side, he made a quick sketch of the scene, placing the cars. On a walk along the road with his torch, he identified the skid marks—Andy’s coming onto the main road from the lane; Kayla’s where she’d braked and swerved to avoid him.

He could see quite clearly how the incident had unfolded. The tyre tracks told the story. Thick black rubber lines on the sealed road segued into gouges in the gravel verge before spiralling back onto the tarmac again. Just traversing the two vastly different road surfaces in a straight line was enough to bring many motorists to disaster. It was nothing short of a miracle that her little car hadn’t rolled with the massive forces it had been under.

By concentrating on his job, he could prevent himself from thinking about how close Kayla had been to injury or death. He laid out the measuring tape then jotted in distances on his sketch. With everything he needed for his report, he glanced over the road as he wound the tape up.

The paramedics were wheeling Andy to the back of the ambulance. Kayla was turned away from him, bent double as she wiped a towel down one leg.

Tom inhaled deeply then let the air out through his pursed lips in a silent whistle. The unimpeded view of her shapely bottom in the soft draping material of her trousers was very fine. Very fine indeed.

He wrenched his gaze away, looked down at the equipment in his hands. He wanted to talk to her…sensibly. Which was going to be a tough assignment if he couldn’t rein in his physical response.

He gathered his thoughts. They’d made a connection here tonight and he wanted to build on that, not give her any chance, any excuse, to draw back. He’d seen a different side to her as she’d dealt with Andy. Brave, resourceful, competent—and he liked it. A lot.

Holding fast to those thoughts, he refused to succumb to further masculine appreciation of the view as he crossed the road.

‘Kayla.’

She straightened abruptly—staggered slightly.

‘Oh…no.’ Her words were a small, useless protest as she slowly pitched forward.

Tom took the last two steps to her side, catching her to his chest. ‘Steady, I’ve got you.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘D-don’t know what happened…Must have…stood too quickly.’

She didn’t resist as he stepped her over to a small tree stump and lowered her to sit. He bent over her and pushed her head between her knees, acutely conscious of the soft, warm skin of her neck beneath his fingers. After a minute, she struggled against his pressure.

‘I’m all right. Thank you, Sergeant.’ Her voice sounded strangled.

‘Tom.’

‘Anything. Whatever.’ He felt her convulsive shudder as she turned her head towards him, her eyes closed. ‘Please. All I can smell is the vomit on my knee.’

‘Oh. Sorry, I forgot.’ He released her, his grip supporting her as she sat up straight. Silky strands of hair teased the back of his hand. She took a quick breath and swallowed audibly. ‘Just sit a minute.’

He kept a hand on her nape as he called to the paramedic who had just backed out of the back of the ambulance and was closing the doors. ‘Gaz? Can you take Kayla back with you for a once-over?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Beneath his palm, he could feel the delicate shifting of muscle as Kayla shook her head.

‘That’s not necessary, Sergeant. I—’

He looked back at her. ‘I think it is, Kayla. You were a hair’s breadth from being involved in a nasty accident tonight. And the name is Tom.’ If she called him Sergeant one more time tonight, he’d plant a kiss right on that luscious mouth and completely ruin her opinion of him.

‘But I need my car.’ She looked mutinous, her silver eyes glowing with irritation.

‘And I’ll see that you get it,’ he said as he stood. ‘For now, I’m impounding it.’

Her mouth opened.

He bent, slipping one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees and scooped her up. Her mouth snapped shut on a small squeak as she grabbed at his shoulder to steady herself. He smiled grimly. His hands were on Kayla and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Torture. He looked down on the curve of lashes on her cheek, the gentle swell of her breasts…the fist in her lap. He’d take no bets on where she’d like to plant it.

He was a masochist.

‘Open your front passenger door for me, Gaz.’

‘Sure thing, Tom.’ Gary grinned as he opened the door wide.

Tom shovelled his armful of warm woman onto the seat, wondering if his reluctance to let her go was obvious to anyone other than him.

God, he had to get out of here before he made an idiot of himself. He stepped back quickly and cleared the congestion from his throat.

‘Buckle up, Doc,’ he said as he shut the door.

Kayla’s narrow-eyed glare should have sizzled his skin. At least her anger had brought some colour to her pallid cheeks. A little hectic but colour just the same.

Tom pivoted and strode over to where Jack Campbell was rolling up the hose. The bonnet of the car had been wrenched open and the engine was now well doused with fire-retardant foam.

‘Kayla okay?’ asked Jack.

‘She says so.’ Tom avoided his friend’s shrewd eyes. ‘I’ve sent her back with the ambos for a check over.’

‘And she was okay with that?’

‘Sure. Why wouldn’t she be?’ Tom set his jaw and ignored the laughter he could see in Jack’s face. ‘I’ll get one of your guys to drive her car back to the hospital when we go, if that’s okay?’

‘Sure. Might as well be me. I want to roust Liz out. She should have been home a couple of hours ago.’

‘Good luck with that.’

‘Yeah.’ Jack chuckled.

Kayla sucked another deep breath into her oxygen-deprived lungs. Her diaphragm had frozen from the moment the sergeant had lifted her. Making a conscious effort to ease her tension, she uncurled the fists in her lap. Her short practical nails had dug into the soft tissue, leaving small red dints in her palm.

Even with his disturbing presence gone, she could still feel his touch. Hard enough when it had just been his hand on her nape, strong fingers clasped gently on her neck, the rasp of his calloused skin while he’d been holding her head down. Being clasped to his chest, surrounded by his warmth and strength…the awareness of her female softness against the hardness of his muscular frame had overwhelmed her.

The honest, earthy scent of him, a smell that owed more to a hard day’s work than scientists testing essences in a laboratory, seemed to call to her in a way that was disturbing, primitive. She’d always liked men to be well groomed, wearing a subtle, musky aftershave. Yet no one she’d dated had ever affected her as profoundly as this man in his snug jeans and a simple black T-shirt.

Thank goodness he didn’t realise he was responsible for her light-headed state. Or at least partially responsible. If she’d eaten a proper meal before leaving Melbourne, if she hadn’t straightened from her bent position so quickly. If he hadn’t crept up on her, spoken her name so unexpectedly. Panic had made her head jerk upright, had flooded her system with an explosion of contrary stimuli. Instead of doing anything sensible, she’d nearly pitched face down at his feet. Would have if he hadn’t caught her.

Which brought her full circle back to being held in his arms. She shivered.

What was it about his brand of masculinity that left her dizzy with all sorts of chaotic feelings? Whatever it was, she didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability. There were so many strikes against him. A career police officer, strong and hard. Controlled and used to controlling. She had to find a way to cram the sergeant back into the mental box she’d managed to keep him in for the two months she’d been living in Dustin.

He’d said she should call him Tom. She didn’t even want to think about him that personally…intimately. Ridiculous though it was, if she thought of him as Tom, he’d become too real, a man she’d have to deal with. As Sergeant Jamieson, he was a police officer, someone she could keep at a distance. She was only here for another four months. Surely she could lock her unruly reactions down long enough to get through that.

She rolled her head to look at him where he stood with Jack Campbell. Both were long, lean, athletic men. Two of a kind. Yet she’d never felt threatened by Jack. He was a honey. She knew he and Liz had had their problems but they’d come through them and now their marriage was stronger than ever. They were a family, one adorable daughter and another baby on the way.

Sergeant Jamieson was a different proposition altogether. He had hot eyes. At the few social occasions she’d attended, she’d felt him watching her. He’d never put a foot wrong, but in her mind he was disturbing. Radiating a hunger that she didn’t want to think about. For things that weren’t his, things he had no right to. She shivered again. He made her feel utterly conscious of her vulnerability as a woman.

She mentally shook herself. It didn’t matter what he wanted. What she wanted was what counted. And she didn’t want any man in her life at the moment.

And definitely not someone like Sergeant Tom Jamieson.

CHAPTER THREE

TOM fell into step with Jack as they walked towards the bright lights at the hospital entrance.

‘Here are Kayla’s keys.’ Jack held out his hand.

‘Thanks,’ Tom said, spotting his quarry as soon as he stepped through the sliding door into the emergency depart ment.

Tall and straight in the shapeless green theatre pants and top, Kayla still looked entirely too appealing. Her pale face turned towards them. When she realised it was him, an interesting shade of pink bloomed along her cheek bones and her eyes darkened to stormcloud grey. He might have flattered himself that his appearance had that effect—except for the ferocious frown that pleated her forehead a split second later.

‘Uh-oh, looks like you’re in the dogbox, mate,’ murmured Jack beside him as they walked towards her.

‘Hey, Kayla.’ Jack stooped to kiss her cheek.

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Is Liz around?’

‘She’s in the tearoom with her feet up. I think she’ll be glad to go home.’

‘That’s what I’m here for. Catch you two kids later.’ Jack grinned at the two of them and winked.

Tom watched the expressions flit over her face as her eyes followed Jack. Then suddenly she turned to face him, her silvery eyes impaling him, her mouth firm.

‘My keys, please, Sergeant?’

He juggled them in his hands, tossing them from one to the other. ‘Have you been cleared by your doctor…

Doctor?’

‘Yes, of course.’

He tilted his head and considered her. ‘So, your near collapse was because…?’

Her lips thinned and for a moment he thought she’d refuse to answer. He almost relished the opportunity to lock horns with her.

‘Low blood sugar. Tiredness. Getting up too quickly. I prescribed myself a cup of tea and grilled cheese on toast while I waited for you to return my keys.’ She held out her hand. ‘And now I’d like to go home to bed.’

Tom’s fingers clutched the keys as he bit back a tempting retort. She did not mean anything by her comment. It was not an opening or an offer. If he was a gentleman, he would definitely let that slide through to the keeper.

He cleared his throat and dangled the keys. ‘In that case…’

As she reached out, he caught her hand, gently turning it over and depositing the keys on her palm with studied care. He curled her fingers over them one at a time as he held her eyes with his.

‘Thank you.’ She tugged lightly and when he didn’t release her, she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Was there something else…Sergeant?’

‘Yes, there is. Kayla.’ He let his tongue linger over the syllables of her name. ‘You get a good night’s sleep.’

He felt her hand twitch in his, saw a flare of awareness in her eyes. And something else. A starkness, a vulnerability.

Surely she wasn’t afraid of him. He released his grip and her hand dropped to her side.

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

She turned away, walking quickly, her movements oddly jerky as though she was having trouble co-ordinating her limbs. As though she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

He wasn’t used to having that sort of effect on women. He knew, without conceit, that he was reasonably good looking. Kayla Morgan was indifferent, immune. No, more than that—she seemed to find him downright distasteful. Damn it, she didn’t know him well enough to feel that way about him. It rankled, made him want to get in her way, be hard to ignore.

Hands on hips, he watched until she was several metres away then he called softly, ‘Kayla?’

The stiff stride halted. ‘Yes?’

He waited, the silence stretched. She pivoted to look at him with obvious reluctance. ‘What did you want?’

There it was again, that hint of defencelessness, of desperately masked fear. It reached out and touched him. Made him want to gather her close, shield her from whatever was troubling her. Which was difficult because he seemed to be the main cause of her stress right now. How could he protect her from himself?

‘Come and see me at the station this week. I need you to make a statement about the accident.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ She swallowed, relief patent on her face. ‘All right.’

‘Goodnight.’ He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

‘‘Night.’ And she was moving away from him again. A couple of steps later she stopped. He could almost see an internal battle being waged as she looked over her shoulder then turned to face him. ‘I should thank you for your assistance tonight.’

‘Should you?’

‘Yes, I should,’ she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. Her bearing reminded him of his nephew’s attitude when he’d had to apologise for a serious transgression. Courage, trepidation and determination not to flinch from an unpleasant task. No prizes for guessing what, or who, was the distasteful thing in this case. ‘You were great at the accident. Thank you, Sergeant.’

‘Happy to help…Doctor.’

With a quick nod, she spun around and moved away, without hesitating this time.

Why was he doing this to himself? Kayla was giving him red lights all the way. Yet he felt compelled to keep pushing, to try to get close.

She was confident and competent when doing her job, but so vulnerable and prickly with him when dealing with him on a personal level.

He watched until she moved out of sight without looking back then he huffed out a breath. He’d thought she might look back at him, give him some indication that she knew he was still standing there. A vain hope.

He hunched his shoulders. Perhaps he should back off, let it go. Kayla was Liz’s friend. Liz would skewer him if he upset her. The whole thing was complicated.

‘Earth to Tom?’

He turned to find Liz watching him, curiosity and concern in her eyes. He wondered how long she’d been standing there, what she’d read on his face. She glanced along the corridor to where Kayla had disappeared.

‘Jack was looking for you,’ he said quickly into the brief silence.

‘He found me. Tony just collared him about something so I came on ahead.’ She paused. ‘We stabilised your accident victim and sent him off to Melbourne. I organised that blood test for his alcohol level, too.’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘Tom…about Kayla…’

‘What about her?’ He tried to sound casual but knew he hadn’t succeeded by Liz’s troubled expression.

‘Tom, I love you very dearly and I’m telling you as a friend. Kayla’s not up to your weight.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you?’ she said dryly. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her. And not just today.’

‘Well, she’s not looking back so you can put your mind at ease.’

‘Perhaps.’ Liz looked along the corridor again. ‘Kayla’s my friend, Tom.’

‘I know. I’m just having a hard time picturing the two of you as pals. You seem like an unlikely pair.’

‘She came to my rescue when a charming date spiked my drink. I was in first year at uni and pretty green. Kayla stood up to him and took me to hospital. She looked after me, Tom, even though we didn’t know each other.’ Liz’s eyes examined his face as she spoke. ‘She didn’t have to get involved and yet she chose to. She was a better friend to me that night than all my so-called close friends.’

He rubbed his jaw. This picture of the valiant, loyal, caring Kayla was incredibly attractive. All the qualities a man could ask for in a potential life partner.

‘Why is she here in Dustin?’

‘You know why she’s here.’ Liz patted her protruding stomach and looked smug. ‘She’s working while I’m on maternity leave.’

‘But you’re not on leave yet.’

‘True.’ She tilted her head and looked up at him for a long moment. Her eyebrows rose. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

He grimaced. ‘I would if she wasn’t so damned prickly. She Sergeants me to death and treats me like I’ve got her under bright lights for interrogation.’

‘You can be intimidating.’

‘Nah.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m a SNAG.’

She gave him a droll look. ‘I’ve yet to meet anyone less like a sensitive new-age guy than you. Except maybe Jack.’

Tom laughed. ‘Then I’m in good company.’ He waited a beat then said, ‘So how about it? What’s her story?’

Liz looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You know I won’t tell you that. But I will tell you that it suited both of us for her to come to Dustin early.’ She smoothed her hand over her stomach, a small smile on her mouth. ‘And when my time comes, I know I’m in safe hands with Kayla.’

He grinned as he saw Liz’s husband approaching. ‘Not getting Jack to play midwife for this one?’

‘He’s on standby. But even he admits he’ll be happy to take a back seat for the arrival of future Campbells.’ She grinned up at her husband as he slipped his arm around her waist. ‘Won’t you, darling?’

‘Believe it. You, my sweet, are confined to town for the rest of your pregnancy. A maximum of two kilometres from the hospital at all times.’

‘Uh-uh. There’s the camp draft next weekend. You prom ised.’

‘Only because Kayla’s going. And only because it’s within my fail-safe ten-kilometre radius from the hospital.’

The look that passed between his friends was one of such pure delight that Tom’s heart squeezed. He wanted a woman to look at him like that, as though he was the most important man in her world.

And not just any woman.

He wanted it to be Kayla.

Kayla tugged the front of her shirt, suddenly wishing she’d worn something more substantial than her favourite red shirt. She’d never realised how low the front was, not that it showed cleavage but the respectable square neckline showed an alarming amount of her décolletage. All that bare skin suddenly seemed outrageously provocative. The short, cap sleeves left her arms bare and somehow vulnerable.

And it was red. Sure, it suited her. She’d worn it because red was the colour of confidence and she needed all of that commodity she could muster for this interview. But the colour also screamed, Look over here, look at me in a way that she’d never appreciated before.

If it weren’t for the fact that she was actually standing on the veranda of the police station, she’d have fled home to change her blouse for something black that covered her from hyoid bone to scaphoid. She looked around surreptitiously and, sure enough, there was a security camera at the corner of the roof line. Great, now she probably looked like she was about to commit a felony.

She’d put off this moment as long as she could. The simple task of making the statement had grown into a task of monumental proportions. All she was doing was giving her version of events, for heaven’s sake. A formality. It wasn’t as if the accident was her fault. She’d been sober, driving carefully, and her quick evasive actions had prevented an even more serious situation.