Page 19 of Bachelor Cop Finally Caught? (Hot off the Press! 2)

He reached for another cookie. “No comment.”

Lindsey felt her jaw drop. “You don’t trust me?”

His smile might have tempted a lesser woman to hit him. As it was, Lindsey’s palm itched. “Not as far as I can throw you, princess. Not when it comes to your job.”

“I can’t believe this!” She slapped both hands on the table and pushed herself out of her chair, beginning to pace the kitchen in a rush of temper. “I told you it would be off the record, promised not to breathe a word, and you still don’t trust me.”

He twisted a cookie and ate the cream center.

His lack of an answer only angered her more. “You really aren’t going to tell me anything?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t believe this,” she repeated.

“My long friendship with your brother—and with you—will get your faucet repaired, but it won’t get you any inside information about my investigation.”

That casually spoken statement literally stole her breath for a moment. When she was able to speak, it was in a clipped voice that should let him know just how infuriated she was. “I have never called upon my friendship with you to get any special favors on the job. Ever. And as for the faucet—I was perfectly capable of fixing that myself.”

“So what am I doing here?” The irritation in his voice let her know that he was growing impatient with her haranguing him.

“If you weren’t such a blind, stubborn, thickheaded male, you’d have figured that one out yourself,” she snapped. “Maybe you’d better go, before you decide I’m trying to buy your damned classified information with cookies and coffee.”

“Fine.” He stood and reached for his toolbox. “Try to do a pal a favor,” he grumbled half beneath his breath.

“I am not your pal!”

“Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay? And I promise as soon as I have any solid information to release, you’ll be the first person I call.”

He still thought she was angry only because he wouldn’t tell her about whatever clue he’d found in the arson investigation. “Don’t do me any favors,” she said, more quietly now. “Call Riley.”

Shaking his head, Dan let himself out the back door.

Lindsey thought for a moment about crying. But since throwing something seemed like a much more satisfying option, she left the kitchen before she was tempted to smash all her dishes.

She was giving up, she told herself, storming into the living room and collapsing on the couch. Waving a white flag. Throwing in the towel. Sounding “Retreat.” Any other metaphor for surrender that she could think of in her hurt-and anger-induced funk.

She’d been an idiot to think that a new haircut and some new makeup would make Dan see her in a different light. As for swallowing her pride and pulling that ridiculous stunt of pretending she needed him to fix her faucet—or any other chore that she was quite capable of handling herself—that hadn’t worked, either. He’d just been “helping out a pal.”

Lindsey had never easily conceded defeat—except with Dan. She was doing so now. It was time to give up. Grow up. Move on.

Deep inside she’d always known this time would come. She just hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt to abandon her longtime dream. She couldn’t just stop loving Dan, but she could—somehow—learn to stop expecting him to love her in return.

She didn’t know why Dan couldn’t feel about her the way she felt about him. Maybe it was because he’d known her so long and still saw her as the little girl he’d first met. Maybe he was still hurting too badly from his divorce to open himself to anyone else. Maybe he still harbored feelings for his ex-wife, no matter how badly she’d hurt him. Or maybe Lindsey just wasn’t his type. She certainly bore little resemblance—physically or in any other way—to his ex. But whatever the reason, it was clear that nothing was going to change.

She just hadn’t known it would hurt quite this much, she thought, rubbing her chest as if that would somehow ease the dull ache there.

Chapter Five

Dan was reading through the notebook for perhaps the tenth time when his telephone rang at nearly ten Saturday night. Well accustomed to calls at all hours, he wasn’t startled by the ring. He was mentally prepared to put on his boots and head out the door when he answered.

He certainly hadn’t expected to hear his niece on the other end of the line. “Uncle Dan? Something’s happened.”

He gripped the receiver more tightly as he sat straight up on the couch. “What’s wrong, Polly? Where are you?”

“I’m at home—in my bedroom.”

“Are your parents there?”

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