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Dad In Blue
Shelley Cooper
WILL YOU HELP ME HELP MY SON?The beseeching words were spoken by the most enchanting woman police chief Carlo Garibaldi had ever encountered. But Samantha Underwood was off-limits, the widow of an officer he'd lost during his watch. Now she stood before him, enlisting his help to make her boy smile again.Carlo's gut told him to refuse, but in his heart, his very soul, he wanted to be a hero to mother and son. He couldn't resist trying to coax quiet Jeffrey to talk again, laugh again, be a little boy. And he couldn't resist falling for the one woman he didn't have the right to love….
“Will you help me, Chief Garibaldi?”
Carlo looked away from Samantha’s hopeful face and tried to regain control of his emotions. Would it really be so hard?
Returning his attention to Samantha, he said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”
The smile she aimed at him as she surged to her feet transformed what had been a lovely face into one that was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Endless seconds passed as he stared at her, unable to summon the power to do anything else.
Lord, he had to be the biggest fool in town. If ever there was a woman who was off-limits, it was Samantha Underwood. Because if he ever told her the truth, she would never smile at him again.
Dear Reader,
Have you noticed our new look? Starting this month, Intimate Moments has a bigger, more mainstream design—hope you like it! And I hope you like this month’s books, too, starting with Maggie Shayne’s The Brands Who Came for Christmas. This emotional powerhouse of a tale launches Maggie’s new miniseries about the Brand sisters, THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS. I hope you love it as much as I do.
A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with Hero at Large, a suspenseful—and passionate—tale set on the mean streets of L.A. Robyn Amos brings a master’s touch to the romance of Keshon Gray and Rennie Williams. Doreen Owens Malek returns with a tale of suspense and secrets, Made for Each Other, and believe me…these two are! RITA Award winner Marie Ferrarella continues her popular CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries with Hero for Hire, and in January look for her CHILDFINDERS, INC. single title, An Uncommon Hero.
Complete the month with Maggie Price’s Dangerous Liaisons, told with her signature grittiness and sensuality, and Dad in Blue by Shelley Cooper, another of the newer authors we’re so proud to publish.
Then rejoin us next month as the excitement continues—right here in Intimate Moments.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Dad in Blue
Shelley Cooper
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Kari and Mitchell, for making motherhood an incredible challenge, a thrilling adventure and my greatest joy. I never fully understood the meaning of total, unconditional love until those two miraculous February days when I first held each of you in my arms.
SHELLEY COOPER
first experienced the power of words when she was in the eighth grade and wrote a paragraph about the circus for a class assignment. Her teacher returned it with an A and seven pluses scrawled across the top of the paper, along with a note thanking her for rekindling so vividly some cherished childhood memories. Since Shelley had never been to the circus and had relied solely on her imagination to compose the paragraph, the teacher’s remarks were a revelation. Since then, Shelley has relied on her imagination to help her sell dozens of short stories and to write her first novel, Major Dad, a 1997 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist in Best Long Contemporary. She hopes her books will be as moving to her readers as her circus paragraph was to that long-ago English teacher.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
Carlo Garibaldi stood at the foot of the twelve cement steps leading up to the police station’s main entrance, and willed himself not to run in the opposite direction.
The impulse was one he had been fighting daily for longer than he cared to admit. This morning, as he examined the three-story, red brick building, whose cracks and crevices he knew more intimately than a lover knew the lines and curves of his beloved, the dread that filled him at the prospect of the climb was even more paralyzing than normal.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Today was the anniversary of his cowardice and his shame. It was not an event he planned on celebrating.
After drawing a steadying breath of the crisp, November air, Carlo placed his shaking left hand on the cold iron railing that bisected the stairs. It took him another twenty seconds to summon the energy to raise his right foot and place it on the bottom step.
The climb seemed to take an eternity. Despite the chill air, when he reached the top, he could feel a thin layer of perspiration coating his forehead. Beneath the lapels of his leather jacket, his heart thundered.
He pulled open the heavy, white-painted oak door, and the familiar aromas of coffee, stale cigarette smoke and ancient linoleum greeted him. But when he stepped inside, the place was deserted. Like Virginia’s lost colony, everyone, from the dispatcher to the janitor, seemed to have disappeared.
Chairs stood askew from their desks, as if they’d been hurriedly pushed aside. Here and there, a cigarette sat in an ashtray, burning unattended.
“Lon? Dennis? Mary?” he called. “Anyone here?”
The gurgling of the coffeepot was the only answer he received.
Sudden fear had adrenaline pumping through his veins. Where was everyone? What had happened? Had what he’d been dreading finally come to pass? What further sins would he have to atone for?
Shouldering past the empty desks, Carlo stumbled to his office and threw open the door. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw the sea of smiling people who had gathered there. The mayor. His five brothers and his sister. His missing staff.
“Mr. Mayor,” he said, blinking against the sudden glare of flashbulbs that told him the press was also in attendance. From behind him, someone relieved him of his jacket.
“Chief Garibaldi,” Douglas Boyer cried jovially. A wide grin split the mayor’s round face as he pumped Carlo’s arm. “I trust you’re feeling well.”
Slowly, Carlo’s heartbeat returned to normal. He’d dodged another bullet. This time.
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Good, good. I suppose you’re wondering what we’re all doing here.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
Douglas Boyer broke into a hearty laugh. “Hear that, everyone? The thought crossed his mind. Not only is he the best police chief this community has ever had, but he’s also got a first-rate sense of humor.”
The mayor’s expression grew solemn. “We know this past year has been difficult for you, Chief. In one random act of violence, our town, and your force, lost a good man. For that we all still mourn. Because your injuries kept you away from the job for so long, we’ve been remiss in thanking you for your actions that day. But today, on the anniversary of that terrible event, I’m here to rectify the oversight. Without your quick thinking and selfless act of bravery, the loss of life could have been so much worse. On behalf of the good citizens of Bridgeton, Pennsylvania, I would like to express my gratitude by presenting you with this plaque.”
A familiar knot tightened Carlo’s stomach as he stared at the words that had been engraved on a brass plate. He was being honored for bravery above and beyond the call of duty.
You’ve got it all wrong, he wanted to shout as applause filled the room and more camera flashes blinded his eyes. I’m not who you think I am. I’m certainly no hero. Because of him, one of his men was dead. Because of him, a woman and her young son would forever grieve.
Incredible as it seemed, he was the only one who knew the real truth of what had happened that day. In the three hundred and sixty-five days that had passed since then, no one had publicly, or even privately, denounced him. No one had righteously stepped forward to set the record straight.
Coward that he was, he hadn’t been able to do it, either. He hadn’t even been able to tell his family the truth.
And now he was being hailed as a hero. Talk about a perversion of justice.
Forcing a polite smile, Carlo nodded at all the well-wishers and tried not to flinch at the words of encouragement and the handshakes and pats on the back his staff gave him as they filed out of the room. After everyone left, and before anyone else could interrupt, he fled to the washroom and locked the door. He needed time alone to compose himself before facing what was left of the morning.
Leaning forward, he peered into the mirror. The face that stared back at him was drawn and pale, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted, his mouth a tightly sketched line. He looked worse than a cruiser that had been battered unmercifully in a high-speed chase, then run through a mile of mud puddles for good measure. The only things fresh about him were his crisply pressed blue uniform and the shiny badge that, until a year ago, he’d worn with pride. He wondered what his men would think if they knew how badly his hands shook every morning when he strapped on his gun belt.
Carlo sighed, and the sound echoed heavily in the small room. He was thirty-six years old, and all he’d ever wanted out of life was to be a cop, like his father and his grandfather before him. He’d joined this midsize, suburban Pittsburgh force straight out of college. Over the years, he’d risen steadily through the ranks, until he’d been named chief of police at the astonishingly young age of thirty. And he’d thrived on it all.
Until that awful day a year ago, he’d walked the streets of Bridgeton, confident he’d be able to face any challenge that crossed his path. His brother, Antonio, who worked undercover for the city of Pittsburgh, liked to needle him that he had the cushiest job in the world. According to Antonio, while drive-by shootings were commonplace on his beat, the worst crime Carlo could expect to encounter in Bridgeton was a drive-by shouting.
Joking aside, Antonio’s words hadn’t been far from the mark. On a typical day in this bedroom community of twenty thousand people, arrests were made for theft, vandalism, disorderly conduct and the occasional domestic disturbance. Murder, rape and aggravated assault were almost unheard of.
Carlo had been so proud of his force’s safety record and the fact that there were few unsolved cases on the books. Truth to tell, he’d been overly proud. And cocky as hell.
Then the unthinkable had happened. There was an old saying about pride going before a fall. Carlo’s certainly had. Along with it, so had his confidence. Where once he had reveled in the responsibilities of his office, now he didn’t trust himself to tie his shoes properly, let alone coordinate the efforts of the people in his charge.
He’d thought hard work was the solution to the feeling of helplessness that consumed him. He’d thought it would take away the nightmares that bedeviled him whenever he tried to sleep.
He’d thought wrong.
He second-guessed himself on every decision. Each time a call came in, each time one of his men climbed into a squad car, he tensed. For months now, he’d been living on automatic pilot, just going through the motions, and he’d been lucky. Nothing terrible had happened. But if the events of this morning proved anything, it was that his time was running out.
Squaring his shoulders, Carlo faced what he’d been denying for so long. Automatic pilot wasn’t good enough where his people, and where the citizens of this town, were concerned. The way he was feeling, he had no business being anywhere near here. Until he came to terms with the demons driving him, he wasn’t going to be any good to anyone.
Back at his desk, he jotted a quick note to the mayor, asking for an unpaid leave of absence. Then he called Lon Sumner, his deputy chief, into his office and informed the man that he was now in charge. When Lon asked when Carlo would be returning, he didn’t answer. Truth was, he didn’t know if he would be returning at all.
What would he do if he wasn’t a cop? The question that would have been unimaginable a year ago echoed over and over in his brain. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, and the mayor’s office, Carlo was certain of only one thing: He never wanted to be responsible for anyone, or anything, again.
Chapter 1
Dozens of wooden animals littered the kitchen table. Deer. Horses. Dogs. Cats. Sheep. Goats. An elephant. Even a skunk. Picking up a square of wood, Carlo used a carving knife to make several rough cuts across the grain. An owl, he decided, was what he would carve next, and after that, perhaps a camel.
The unexpected peal of the doorbell made him jump. His knife slipped, nearly taking a chunk out of his thumb.
Muttering a curse beneath his breath, Carlo carefully placed the knife on the table. He knew exactly who he’d find when he opened the door: his brothers. All five of them. For the past six days, since he’d gone on his leave of absence, they had taken turns checking in on him. Hourly.
For sheer convenience, the telephone was their preferred method of reaching out and touching him. They’d instituted their phone check-in system years ago, when his baby sister, Kate, had left home to strike out on her own. A year and a half ago they’d relied on it heavily when a stalker had threatened her. Kate had always hated their constant surveillance, even when she’d been in danger, and Carlo finally understood why. His brothers were driving him crazy.
They were worried about him, and for that he felt a twinge of conscience. Just as he hadn’t told them what had actually happened on that day a year ago, neither had he told them the reason for his leave. In his opinion, his justification for not doing so was sound. If he told them the truth, one of two things would happen. They would either turn away from him in disgust, thus giving him the blessed peace he craved. Or their concern for him, and for his state of mind, would deepen, in which case they’d insist on setting up camp in his living room so they could monitor his every move. The way his luck was running, he’d give odds on the latter.
Which was why, two hours ago, after countless how-are-you-doing calls, he had taken the phone off the hook. He should have expected that, when his brothers couldn’t get through to him via Ma Bell, they’d show up at his front door instead. It just went to show how muddled his thinking had grown lately that he hadn’t anticipated an unannounced visit.
The doorbell echoed again.
Carlo had half a mind to pretend he wasn’t home and to let them stand there, out in the freezing cold. He would have, too, if he hadn’t been certain they’d do something drastic in response. Like bashing the door down. Or dragging out the police force and the fire department to bash it down for them.
With a resigned sigh, he placed the square of wood beside the carving knife and stomped into the living room.
“Don’t worry,” he growled, throwing the door wide. “I haven’t died…yet….”
Instead of his brothers, a woman stood there. She was lovely. Clad entirely in black, from the turtleneck encircling her long neck to the slacks and leather boots peeping from beneath her thigh-length wool coat, she was the picture of elegance. Even her purse and gloves were black.
A short silence greeted his announcement before she softly replied, “I’m happy to hear it.” Her voice was low and husky, as if she were fighting a cold, or on the verge of hoarseness.
Hair the color of corn silk fell to her shoulders and glinted in the sunlight. Her features were delicate, well defined, her cheeks rouged by the cold air. Her mouth was full and parted in an oh of surprise. And her eyes… Death by chocolate was the only term Carlo could think of to describe them.
He suddenly grew conscious of how he must appear to her in his rumpled jeans and flannel shirt. He searched his memory, but couldn’t remember if he’d even bothered to comb his hair that morning.
“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling and running a hand over his hair, hoping to flatten down any stray strands. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Obviously.” She sounded amused.
He hadn’t looked at a woman in over a year. Initially his injuries, and the months spent in recovery and rehabilitation, had been the cause for his lack of interest. Later, when he’d gone back to work, he’d immersed himself so thoroughly in his job that he’d lacked both the desire and the energy called for when embarking on even the shortest-term relationship.
Today, however, he was definitely looking. Oh, yes, he was. And that took him by surprise. For six days he hadn’t been able to work up an interest for much of anything, except whittling.
Maybe this was what he needed. A temporary diversion to take his mind off his troubles. Why, he wondered, hadn’t he thought of it earlier? The good news was, she was staring at him with an equal measure of startled surprise and unexpected awareness. That was promising. Very promising indeed.
She was probably some do-gooder, out collecting for charity. Or an Avon lady going door to door. Whatever it was she was selling, Carlo was definitely buying. In bulk.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I suppose I should introduce myself.”
She offered her hand, and he took it, marveling at the perfect fit when his fingers wrapped around hers.
“My name is Samantha Underwood.”
