Page 21 of Shield
Whoever he was examined my badge closely, then glanced at me a few dozen times. When he was convinced it was my face on the card, he nodded. Only once.
“Oh, Ollie, yes, of course he’s here. Come in, Officer.” Mr. Brit stepped back, letting me ease into the foyer. “We’re just having a cup of tea before we head to bed. Can I fetch you some, Detective?”
Bed? They were heading to bed? Together. Fuck. So my sexy hockey playerwastaken.
“No, thanks. I’m more of a coffee drinker.” I wished like hell I had my Minnie thermos. I also wished like hell I’d not done this. I’d been perfectly happy tugging off to my personal fantasy of me and Oliver being all over each other. Now, I was faced with the reality that Oliver had this man in his life and home. It was a slap in the face. “Are you and Mr. Cowan uhm…?”
Pretty Boy gasped, then chuckled. “Bloody hell, no; I’m a friend of the family.”
Uh-huh. He seemed quite at home here, with his shirt unbuttoned and his hair ruffled. I still thought maybe he and Oliver had been playing hide the crumpet when I knocked. Fucker.
Wait. What? Whoa!
I scowled at the tea-sipper, trying to clear the unwarranted dislike from my brain, when Oliver appeared in a doorway to the left of us. Seeing the man in lounge clothes made my lungs seize up. Christ, he was beautiful.
“Detective Winwood, is there something wrong?” Oliver asked, stepping up to stand beside the guy with the tea mug, who was eyeballing me over the top of his spectacles with interest. “Did you get a break in the case?”
“No, not yet, but the hospital just called to let me know that Mr. Baxter is now conscious and speaking to family and friends.”
Oliver exhaled in relief. Tea Sipper gave him a hug. It took all I had to not unholster my gun and conk the Brit right between the eyes. It would be quick. Relatively painless. And would get his perfectly manicured hands off Oliver.
“That’s amazing news. Thank you for coming all the way over to let us know. You could have texted,” Oliver said.
Tea Man smiled warmly at Oliver.
Yep, onesmackwith the butt of my gun. Out cold. Him and his tea. Americans drank coffee, damn it. We dumped tea into harbors. One if by land, two if by sea and all of that. They both stared at me, waiting for a reply. Shit.
“It’s all part of the LAPD’s commitment to offering witnesses every available courtesy.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” the Brit commented.
“I know, also, if you want, I can pick you up tomorrow morning to go visit Mr. Baxter as, yet, another part of that witness courtesy we spoke of just a minute ago.” I spewed out, then winced as the words hit my ear holes.
What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck? Since when do we play chauffeur?
“No need for that. I’m sure I can manage on my own. Thank you for dropping by, Detective. Sorry for annoying you for the past week. I’ve been kind of worried about Joe and the whole investigation. That, on top of the move, and the girls, and our schedule has just been… well, it’s been a lot.” Oliver ran his hand through his hair. It looked fluffy.
Fluffy. Holy shit, Jackson, back out of this situation now.
“Understandable,” I croaked and began moving backwards toward the door. Fluffy. Fuck’s sake. “No harm, no foul. It’s been a traumatic experience for you. No need to apologize. Thank you for your time. Sorry to show up so late. Have a good night.”
I nearly fell out of the open door in my haste to get some distance between me, Mr. Brit, and Oliver Fluffy Hair. It was times like this I wished Ramona had computerized components so I could command her to run my stupid ass over.
Fluffy hair. FFS.
ChapterNine
Oliver
I watched Detective Winwood—Jackson’s—retreat,his departure as abrupt as his arrival. There was something about the way he moved—a confident, albeit slightly flustered, stride—that caught my attention more than I cared to admit. The door clicked shut, and the space between us suddenly felt too vast.
Jamie nudged me, a knowing smirk dancing on his lips. “Someone’s got a thing for the sexy cop, huh?”
I rolled my eyes, feeling heat rise to my cheeks despite the coolness of the evening. “What are we, twelve?” I shot back, trying to deflect with humor, though Jamie’s grin only broadened.
“Come off it, Ollie. You should’ve seen your face when he mentioned ‘witness courtesy,’” Jamie quipped, making quote gestures with his fingers.
“Shut it, Jamie,” I said, the warmth in my face now undoubtedly a telltale blush. I knew there was no use arguing; Jamie’s teasing had hit its mark. Detective Winwood was… compelling, in a way I hadn’t expected and wasn’t sure what to do with.
