With that small but effective pep talk, she went into the kitchen and had her usual break fast of champions-a bagel that had more cream cheese than bagel.
A woman needed her protein.
By the time she left for work, shed taken several phone calls from her worried parents and friends, wanting to make sure she was okay. And mostly, she was.
But what had happened to her yesterday had been a sign. A change-her-life kind of sign. A become-a-new-woman sign.
She knew this, and didnt plan on wasting it. Shed been reminded-violently-how fast it could all end. And she wasnt ready for an end, not by a long shot.
In light of that, she pulled out the local junior college application shed received in the mail last month. Classes were due to start this week, a coincidence shed take as another sign. She might love painting, but she couldnt support herself that way. Time to find some thing she could do with her love of the arts that she could make a living at.
Without giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it, she filled in the required forms, wrote a check for late registration and stuffed them into her pocket to drop off on her way to work.
It feltin credible. And she didnt understand why it had taken her so long to do it, why she hadnt seen what shed needed to do a long time ago.
The phone rang again, and Angie answered with an indulgent laugh, feeling better, wondering which of her friends had felt the need to check up on her this time.
Angie Rivers?
The laugh backed up in her throat. She instantly recognized that low, deep, slightly husky voice. She had a feeling a hundred years could go by and shed still recognize it.
That voice had been the first shed heard after her terrifying ordeal yesterday. That voice had gone along with warm, strong arms and eyes filled with rage and concern, for her, in a way a mans never had before.
That voice liquefied her bones.
With her spare glasses perched on her nose, she glanced at the front page of the news pa per sitting on her table, a page on which both she and Sam OBrien-deco rated, revered, respected detective-were splashed across.
Yes, this is Angie, she said, having to sit down because suddenly she was made of Jell-O, with no bones in her entire body.
This is Sam OBrien, from yesterday-
I know. She was still looking at the picture of the two of them on the floor of the bank in the after math of the at tempted robbery. Shed already inhaled every little tidbit about what had happened.
About Sam.
The news pa per didnt say he was tall, with wheat-colored, sun-bleached hair cut short to his head, which only emphasized his sharp, light brown eyes. It also failed to mention he was built with a rugged, athletic physique that revved her hormones, but then again, the reporter hadnt been held in his warm, strong, wonderful arms.
Angie had.
She sighed, then shook her head. She had a plan, and a man did not fit into it. Never had, in fact, though shed tried. She just didnt seem to have what it took to please one-not the drive, not the easy sensuality so many other women had.
So shed given up.
Until yesterday, that is, when shed come far too close to death. Now she knew she would never give up on anything, not ever again.
Life had to be lived, mistakes and all.
We need you to come down to the station, he said. We have some more questions. Do you need a car sent for you?
A ride in a squad car down to the station. An adventure she could really do without, if she had a choice. Thats not necessary. Illstop by.
Okay, then.
He was going to hang up now. And though she couldnt explain it, she wasnt ready to let go, to stop hearing him. Shed like to be able to attribute it to lingering shock or fear, but she knew better.
Nothing about his voice reminded her of shock or fear. Instead it invoked visions of things shed never shared with anyone but had always fantasized about; lying in bed on a Sunday morning sharing the funny section of the paper, late-night forays into the freezer for a tub of ice cream that theyd feed to each other with one spoon, or better yet just eat off their bodies, phone calls during the day just to hear each other Are you the investigating officer then? she asked. Subtle, Ang.
No, that would be Detective Owens. Hell be questioning you.
But Sam had called her himself. Maybe he was dreaming of the comics and ice cream, too. Maybe he yearned and ached and burned for things he couldnt quite put into words but knew he wanted.
With her.
Owens asked me to call, he clarified.
Which pretty much dispelled both the fantasy and any lingering hope that somehow this strange, inexplicable attraction was two-sided.
Some times, he continued, in traumatic events like this, a familiar voice helps.
Was that what all this emotion crowding her chest was about? Because he was familiar? Because hed been her hero in a terrible incident?
That was pathetic.
Even more so because he clearly felt none of what shed allowed herself to feel. I see, she said, grateful that at least he couldnt see her. Wellthank you.
No problem.
Wait. She wanted to tell him how much his actions yesterday had meant. How much shed learned about herself since. How-
Click.
Dial tone.
With a little sigh, Angie had to laugh. She set the phone down and decided to stick with reality. Her reality.
Which at the moment, she thought, glancing at her clock, meant work.
But later, she promised the new easel standing in her living room, later shed paint. Just because she could.
Sam spent the morning chasing dead ends, trying to crack the identity-theft ring that had already spent over a million dollars in stolen credit in the past calendar year alone.
Back in his office, he collapsed in frustration at his desk before a commotion outside the door caught his attention. He tried to ignore it, but wasnt lucky enough for that.
A shadow crossed his desk. Well, if it isnt our local hero.
Sam glanced up at his partner, who until a second ago had also been his best friend, and scowled. Most people went running from that fierce, foreboding glare, or at least walked quickly away.
Not Luke Sorrintino. He was dark-haired, darker-skinned and full-blooded Italian, and he didnt scare easily. While he was only medium build to Sams tall, broader one, he was probably the toughest man Sam knew, and he rarely smiled.
But he was smiling now, broadly.
What do you want? Sam asked, already wary.
Two things. First He tossed down the morning paper.
Front page, dead center. Sam on his knees on the floor of the bank, with a beautiful, disheveled woman in his arms, staring up at him with huge, grateful eyes.
Angie.
God, she looked so small, so defenseless. So absolutely, heart-wrenchingly vulnerable. Her sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing soft skin, which according to the color photo, had already started to bruise from her captors cruel grip.
Sams jaw went tight. A headache kicked in. Shed gotten hurt after all.
You seem prettyinvolved, Luke noted.
Sams eyes honed in on his face in the picture. Sure enough, he wasnt just holding her, he was holding her, cradling her against his chest, one hand spread over her exposed throat. His expression was intense to say the least, and zeroed in one-hundred percent on Angies upturned face.
It looked startlingly intimate, and if he didnt know that hed been concerned only with making sure she hadnt been cut by the punks knife, that she was looking at him like that only because she could hardly seedamn. Take away the bank setting, take away the fact that there was a bleeding criminal on the floor behind them, and they could have beenlovers.
Interesting, Luke said.
Sam eyed his friend. The two of them had been through a lot together. High school. The academy. Being rookies. Theyd been through family and wives unable, or unwilling, to handle the demands of their jobs.
Death and mayhem. Theyd seen or done it all.
Were still seeing and doing it all.
Oh, I almost forgot. Luke actually kept grinning, which really made Sam pause. Theres a delivery for you.
Yeah? So bring it in.
Delivery woman insists on giving it to you herself.
Yeah? So bring it in.
Delivery woman insists on giving it to you herself.
Delivery woman?
With a long, warning look to Luke, Sam rose to his feet and came to the door of his office. He wasnt pleased to see a small crowd of cops who plainly had nothing better to do than stand around and smile stupidly.
In the center of the group was a huge bouquet of wildflowers sprouting three feet wide out of a basket. He couldnt see the face of the person behind it, only that she was wearing sandals, with bright pink polished toenails and a dainty little gold toe-ring.
Then from behind the basket peeked a smiling face.
Angie.
Around him there were hushed whispers and more than a few teeters and muffled laughter.
Sam ignored them to stare at her in disbelief. Flowers. Lord, shed brought flowers to the toughest, meanest cop in the precinct.
Hed never live it down.
Ive brought a thank-you for yesterday, she said in a sweet, musical voice that somehow had him stepping from his office doorway toward her.
He managed to stop himself a few feet away, very aware of their audience. You already thanked me.
If his gruff ness startled her, as it tended to do to most everyone else, she didnt show it. Her smile brightened even more, if that was possible, and she lifted a shoulder. Truth is, Detective OBrien, I could never thank you enough. Youve given me more than you could ever know.
He didnt want her gratitude. What he did want couldnt be said in polite company.
She peered into his small, none-too-tidy office. Besides, it looks as though you might be able to use some color in that room. How do you work in there? Its dark as a tomb.
Sam found himself staring at her petite form as she walked past him and into his office as if she owned the place. Her nicely rounded bottom sashayed beneath her sundress, as she marched right to his over crowded desk.
Wait- No use, she was already making room, stacking piles of care fully sorted paperwork together-negating hours of work-and setting the basket down.