Strength Under Fire

Even now, he wasn’t sure how he’d made it across the restaurant to sit next to her without falling over his feet like in a B-rated comedy flick with a D-list cast. Worse yet, that clumsy approach had been the most acceptable thing he’d done all night. He’d whispered close to her ear so he could sneak a whiff of her lavender shampoo, and he’d made up so many excuses to accidentally brush her arm that it must have looked like an elbow fight. He probably would have copped a feel right over her oh-so-proper black turtleneck if he could have gotten away with it. He’d sure helped her out of that sweater with his eyes.

Suddenly thirsty, he threw on the faucet and poured himself a glass of water. With his eyes squeezed shut, he took several gulps. What had happened to him? He used to be a professional. He knew the rules, and until now, he’d followed them. So how had he gone from finding ways to bring one of the troopers more fully into the post team to wanting to frisk her in all the best ways right there on the table?

It didn’t make any sense. He’d passed by Delia Morgan every day for months, wearing the same uniform, finishing up reports at the same desktop computer, and he’d never once suffered from a case of dry mouth. Until today. He couldn’t recall a single case of sweaty palms over her nearness, either. Until... But that was the thing. Something had tripped a switch in him today, and no matter how hard he tried to click it off again, she kept showing up in his thoughts, accentuated by nothing less than ideal lighting.

He took another drink and then held the cool glass to his cheek. Unfortunately, his face wasn’t the only thing that felt too warm over just the thought of her and that sweater.

This situation had disaster written all over it. He couldn’t be attracted to a trooper, even if he wasn’t her direct supervisor. He didn’t do interoffice romances. He wished he could make the excuse that it had been too long since he’d dated, but that disastrous blind date from last weekend probably still counted. As for “afternoon delights” as Vinnie would have called them, though, it had been a long, dry year in the whole delights department, afternoon or otherwise.

“Get your head on straight, Peterson,” he grumbled.

Polaski definitely would tell him that if he saw him now and probably with more colorful vocabulary. Whether or not Ben had sought out attention when he’d entered the bank yesterday, he’d become an object of curiosity. A hero in some people’s minds, even if he would never see himself as one. Well, he’d better start behaving like one. A hero would always be his best, most professional self, not someone who only thought about his own needs as his father had. A hero wouldn’t allow himself to see a coworker as anything more than a brother or sister in blue. He would work solely for the good of the public and the post.

Yes, he still wanted to help Delia Morgan better assimilate into the post family. It was the right thing to do for the team, after all. But if he couldn’t put his plan into action without crossing that firm line, then he needed to back away for his own good...and hers.

* * *

THE EIGHT PCS positioned around the squad room were deserted, except for the one where Delia sat typing information into the blanks of an electronic arrest report form. She would have been just coming off patrol herself soon if not for a routine traffic stop earlier that ended in an arrest. That stop had changed when her Law Enforcement Information Network database search had shown an outstanding arrest warrant.

Sensing that she was no longer alone, she lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. Not hoping it would be anyone in particular. Just curious. Sure enough, Lieutenant Peterson leaned casually against the door frame. His pose and the way he startled, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, had to be the reasons for the tickle that skittered up the back of her neck.

She cleared her throat. “May I help you?”

He smiled then, and Delia’s tummy did an unfortunate jig the way it had so many times around him lately. She tightened her jaw and crossed her arms over her stomach to still those dancing feet. Why couldn’t she just get past these inappropriate reactions to him?

Sure, Ben Peterson had never been invisible to her. Far from it, no matter how hard she’d tried not to see him. But everything was magnified since his shining moment last week.

Since she’d noticed him staring back.

She’d probably imagined that, too, so it was downright annoying that the sparks she felt around him continued to crackle and pop.

“I just wanted to get a good look at the trooper who arrested Mary Poppins in there.” Ben pointed with his thumb toward the door to the cinder-block holding cell where Delia’s suspect sat awaiting transfer to Livingston County Jail.

Frowning, she spun her office chair to fully face him. “I would expect that a lieutenant would take an arrest seriously. Any arrest.”

“Seriously? Even this one?”

As much as she wanted to hold on to her stern expression—this was their job after all—she didn’t stand a chance when facing off with Ben’s silly smirk. He had a point. It was pretty funny. “Why are you so interested in this arrest, anyway? Are you a closeted Poppins fan?”

“So what if I am?” He pursed his lips. “Er...was.”

She finally gave in and grinned over his joke about him giving away his secret. “‘Practically perfect’ and all of that?”

He grinned again. “You know it.”

It was amazing how easily she bantered with Ben now, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. As often as he’d struck up conversations with her during her shifts in the past week, how could she not have become more comfortable around him? She shouldn’t make too much out of it, though. Ben was friendly with everyone at the post, from the commander to the lady at the front desk. But he’d focused on Delia lately, seeming determined to roll past that awkwardness between them and to really become her friend.

Strange how she wanted to give in on both things. Having someone to talk to at work certainly hadn’t been all bad. She’d found herself looking forward to the moments he would stop by, curious what interesting thing he would say next. Even if he’d probably only made the effort to further his plan for making her team-worthy. Of course he had an agenda. Everyone did. People didn’t do things without a motivation of some sort. Even Ben. She should know better than to believe he was doing it just to be nice.

He stepped closer to her desk and glanced at the report over her shoulder. “This has to be a good story. Tell me how you broke this case.”

Immediately, she stiffened again, a reflex when anyone moved too close to her, but she forced a smile and continued typing. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“Okay, I’ll admit I didn’t expect to find anything on LEIN when I pulled over a white-haired lady for driving thirty-two in a seventy.”

Whether he shifted to the next PC to ensure that the machine was working or to signal that he’d noticed her discomfort, Delia couldn’t tell.

“Usually a good bet,” he said finally.

Delia swallowed, sliding a glance his way. Though he could have been answering either her comment about senior suspects or the thoughts she’d kept to herself, she chose the safety of the earlier topic. “But then doesn’t that make me guilty of profiling? Or un-profiling?”

“Probably just of being human. No one wants to think of anyone’s grandma as a suspect.”

“Don’t let me off the hook so easily.”

He pointed to the closed door. “Come on, Delia. That woman in there is proof that looks can be deceiving. She looks more like an escapee from a library convention than a suspect with an outstanding warrant for failure to appear on an impressive list of check-fraud charges.”

“Maybe it was just a clever disguise.”

After another look at the holding cell, he shook his head. “No. I bet she always looks like that. Sensible shoes and all.”

“Then clever career choice?”

He gestured toward the arrest report on her screen. “If that isn’t a pink slip for that particular job, I don’t know what is.”

“No unemployment line for that one, either.”

“After an arrest like that, taking down a wanted fugitive and all, you’ll be the next one to make the local news.” He paused, chuckling. “Viewers will be relieved to see your pretty face after having to look at mine for so long.”

Pretty face? A startled laugh escaped before she could stop it. Was Ben Peterson flirting with her? Would she like it if he were? Of course he wasn’t, and no, she wouldn’t. He was only joking with her the way all of the officers did with each other, and she was making too much out of it. Again.

“In my interview, I’ll give credit to the team like—” Delia stopped herself, glancing over at him. She hoped he didn’t think she was making fun of him over the banking incident. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, nobody makes the news for bringing down Mary Poppins. Or maybe Mrs. Doubtfire, who—”

“Wasn’t who she seemed to be,” they both said at the same time and then laughed.

“A senior-citizen fugitive or big bad bank-robbery suspects.” She held out both hands, palms up, weighing the two options in an imaginary scale. “Those two arrests don’t compare on the if-it-bleeds-it-leads scale for TV news.”

He tilted his head back and forth, considering her words. “Guess not, but they should.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, there was no blood in either of those arrests,” he pointed out.

“Which is a good thing.”

Ben shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in their conversation. He hadn’t spoken about the incident at the bank at all other than the details he’d listed in the report. Was there more about the case that he hadn’t disclosed? Something critical that he’d left out of the report?

But he spoke up again before she had time to ask. “We were both just doing our jobs.”

She had returned to her own report, but now she couldn’t help but to look back at him, waiting for answers.

“Some cases get more attention than others—” he paused, shrugging “—but all of our work is important as we serve and protect the people of southeast Michigan.”

The words were out of her mouth before she had time to edit them. “I was wrong about you.”

His eyes widened behind his glasses. “You mean you no longer think I’ll forget about the team now that I’ve made the six o’clock news?”

Delia was just standing up from the chair, but his comment caused her to pop up so quickly that her holstered weapon bumped the desk. “What do you mean? I never said—”

He shook his head. “Forget I said that. I meant to ask how you were wrong about me.”

Because she didn’t want to confess that he’d already hit on the exact answer like a nail driven home by one perfect strike, she scrambled for another reason. “I was wrong to think you’d tried to avoid speaking to the media because public relations wasn’t your forte.”

“Oh. Then you were right the first time.”

He tipped his head to the side, his chuckle low and sexier than it had any right to be, especially right there in the squad room where just anyone could hear it. Delia refused to think about other locations where a sound like that would be perfect. Places with low lighting and soft music—

“Nope,” she said to the both of them. She shook her head as much to clear it as to disagree with him. “Not buying it. Just listen to you. You’re a walking, talking public-service announcement. ‘Serve and protect the people of southeast Michigan’? In front of a camera, you could convince residents that they want us to give them speeding tickets.”

“Thanks, I guess. But let’s hope I don’t have to prove it now that the media attention has died down.”

Delia needed to finish the report before her suspect was transported to jail, but she was stalling. She had a job to do, and she could only stand there searching for something clever to say that might keep him there longer.

“You’re a good cop, Trooper Morgan.”

She swallowed. Those were the words she’d worked so hard to hear. Words that meant everything to her. She sneaked a calming breath, exhaling in slow puffs. Maybe she should have expected that he might be the first to say those words to her, but she couldn’t have guessed how much they would humble her.

“Thanks. Um, you, too, uh...Lieutenant.” Strange how she was tempted to call him Ben, even here where it would be frowned upon. The way she would talk to a friend.

The side of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but if you’re handing them out, I’ll be happy to take a few big ones, please.”

“I’m serious. Really.”

And she was serious, even if he was determined to deflect the praise. Stranger still, she was suddenly tempted to say more. Thoughts she should keep to herself. Like that he was a real hero. And how incredibly rare people like him were. Maybe even how lucky she was that someone like him wanted to be her friend.

But someone threw open the door to the parking lot then, a strong-arm invasion of winter gusting inside. Kelly Roberts and Grant Maxwell hurried into the squad room, still laughing over some earlier joke while they brushed snowflakes off their covers and uniforms.

Delia straightened, gripping the edge of the desk. She appreciated the jolt from the frigid air almost as much as she did the interruption. At least both gave her a chance to rethink what she’d been about to say.

Things she’d had no business saying. She was grateful for the growing collection of witnesses and the comforting hum of conversations other than the tape repeating inside of her head. The one that demanded to know why she was tempted to let down her guard with Ben Peterson. But most of all, she was grateful for all of these things that saved her from saying words she couldn’t take back.

CHAPTER FOUR

“PERFECT TIMING.”

Delia turned toward the voice to find Jamie Donovan next to her as they sloshed toward the post building. Nearly soaked after just stepping out of their patrol cars, they didn’t bother sprinting for the door.

Jamie shook his head, spraying more droplets in Delia’s direction. “What’s with the downpour in January? Isn’t this supposed to be snow? In the Upper Peninsula where I grew up, this would be snow.”

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, are you, Toto? Here sometimes it’s snow, and sometimes it’s rain.”

“This is so not Oz,” he grumbled.

She had to agree with that. “It’s going to be a nightmare tonight. When all of that freezes...” She shook her head, imagining the work ahead for the midnight-shift troopers. That shift was the only one where troopers were partnered for patrols, and they would definitely need their partners tonight. “Let’s just hope drivers slow down.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Well, maybe nonfatality accidents, then.”

He nodded. “Let’s hope.”

Delia smiled as she pulled open the door, waved Trooper Donovan in and entered behind him. She’d had an actual conversation with one of her fellow troopers, if weather and traffic counted as valid topics. Would Ben be impressed that she’d tried anyway? Not that she worried about what he thought or agreed that all of this “connecting” was necessary, but still. Who knew? Maybe there was something to his team theory. If it helped her make the right impression at this post, playing along with his idea wouldn’t be all bad.

“Nothing like driving through a monsoon—”

Jamie’s words cut off, and he stopped so quickly that Delia bumped into him. When he didn’t move, she stepped around him as she shed her soggy jacket. That several troopers were spaced around the room, coats still in their arms, wasn’t all that surprising given that they were all coming off their shifts. Only the superior officers, Ben included, were there with them, but out of place, lined up along the back wall instead of at the front of the room where they usually presented updates at the beginning of their shifts.

All of them were preoccupied with the tiny flat-screen mounted high in the corner. Even Gail Jacobs, who never hurried anywhere, rushed into the squad room, took a spot along the wall and stared up at the television. Without saying more, Jamie crossed the room and took a place near the a few troopers on the opposite wall.

Delia slipped into an empty spot in the back and brushed some of the water from her bun. Her stomach was tight, as if it knew something she didn’t. Just down from her, Ben frowned, looking as confused as she felt. The ten o’clock news from one of the Detroit stations filled the TV screen, a graphic of a state police shield and a photo of the Brighton Post building flashing behind the news desk.

Ben groaned. “It can’t be that slow of a news week.”

Whatever the cheery newscaster was reporting must have been a teaser because the station went to commercial, leaving them staring at an ad for basketball shoes.

“I thought we were finished with this,” Ben said in a low voice. “Don’t they have anything else to report on? A road-rage incident maybe?”

A few murmurs and shifting of feet prevented the room from being silent, but Gail remained eerily quiet, which was no more like her than hurrying was. She stared at the screen as if willing the newscast to return from the commercial break.

Delia rubbed at the gooseflesh beneath her uniform sleeves. Her throat felt dry. Something definitely wasn’t right. She didn’t know what was going on, but this wasn’t another follow-up on the bank-robbery story. The guarded expression on Lieutenant Campbell’s face confirmed her suspicion that this report would offer no good news.

Ben glanced from one officer to the next, his hands pressed to his sides. “Would one of you tell me what this is all about?”

Lieutenant Campbell’s gaze flitted to the screen and then back to him. “We’re not really sure yet, but—” As the newscast flashed on again, he stopped and gestured toward the screen.

“In a News 3 exclusive,” the newscaster began, “two Detroit attorneys have filed a class-action lawsuit in response to the Department of Human Services’s use of what has been called the ‘rocket docket’ to determine...”

Ben frowned at the TV and turned to Sergeant Leonetti. “You know anything?”

The funny man wasn’t even grinning this time. “Sorry, man. I don’t.”

A loud click came from the steel door behind them, and Trevor Cole rushed inside with Kelly Roberts close behind him hurrying to get out of the rain. Both paused inside the door to shake off their coats. Trevor glanced from the officers to the television.

“Another meeting of the Ben Peterson fan club? Who interviewed him now?”

“You’d think he’d get better at giving interviews after so many, but he looks miserable every time,” Trooper Roberts said as she slid out of her coat.

At the almost imperceptible shake of Lieutenant Campbell’s head, the two troopers stopped talking. What did some of them know that they weren’t sharing? Instead of paying attention to the conversations that were shrinking to curious whispers, Captain Polaski stared at the television, his posture so straight that he appeared cemented in place.

“Up next is our report coming out of Brighton,” the reporter said to segue to the next news story. “From the same post where just last week we reported on an incident of bravery and heroism comes disappointing news. What can you tell us about this, Laura?”

A field reporter, next to the big blue “State Police Brighton Post No. 12” sign, appeared on a split screen.

“Yes, Kimberly, I’m here at the Brighton Post, where an investigation is underway in evidence tampering and larceny regarding drugs confiscated during a series of arrests.” She paused, her expression becoming somber. “Sadly, a person of interest in the case appears to be the same officer recognized last week for bravery in a thwarted bank robbery. Will this be the downfall of a hero? We’ll let you know as News 3 investigates.”

If the others hadn’t been hauled into an uncomfortable silence, Ben’s gasp might not have sounded so loud. But in that vacuum, the sound pierced the quiet like the click of the magazine in a .40-caliber Glock.

“A person close to the investigation tells us that Lieutenant Ben Peterson...”

Delia barely heard anything the woman said after that as the reporter cited convenient, unnamed sources. She couldn’t pull her gaze from Ben, who stared, wide-eyed, at the screen, his arms stiff at his sides.

The urge to run to the TV, smack its power button and shout to anyone who would listen that the newspeople were wrong was overwhelming. And yet her feet must have been buried in ice. The other troopers appeared frozen, as well.

Delia shook her head to get out of the deep freeze. The suspicion surrounding the lieutenant was incomprehensible, but her reaction to it made even less sense. Without her knowing the details of the investigation, or having any proof, her gut reaction was to eliminate him from the suspect list. How could she even call herself a cop? How did she know he wasn’t guilty? What did she even know about him really? Nothing.

The scene shifted on the screen, and Captain Polaski stood next to the reporter in a taped segment.

“Captain Polaski, what can you tell us about the investigation and the independent state investigator appointed to oversee it?”

The commander cleared his throat. “Sorry. I am unable to comment on an active investigation. I can only say that the Brighton Post will cooperate fully with the state investigator.”

“Can you confirm or deny the tip we received that Lieutenant Peterson is a person of interest in this case?”

“Again, I can have no further comment on an active investigation.”

The reporter only smiled. “Captain, then can you confirm if Lieutenant Peterson is the same Ben Peterson, son of Leonard J. Peterson, a—”

“That matter doesn’t pertain to this—”

But she continued as if he hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “—a career criminal, who died in prison after a vehicular homicide conviction involving the death of his own wife.”

Delia stiffened. Had she heard that correctly? Ben’s dad was responsible for the death of Ben’s mother? She was right. She didn’t know Ben at all. She hadn’t even been aware that she wasn’t the only one with ugly secrets. Unfortunately for Ben, his secrets had just been aired for the entertainment of the entire Detroit metro viewing area.

From some faraway place, Polaski repeated the standard response that he couldn’t comment, but silence in the room swallowed the sound. It didn’t matter that the captain cut off the interview right then. The titillating details were already out there, just as the newswoman had planned.

Sergeant Leonetti grabbed the remote and hit the power button, sending the screen back into darkness. The other officers seemed to hold a collective breath, waiting for Ben to respond. Seconds ticked by in the rhythm of Delia’s pulse that pounded in her ears. Finally, Ben turned to the commander.

Polaski held his hands wide. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Ben only shook his head. “I don’t know where all that’s coming from.”

Although some of the others looked as shell-shocked by the news as Delia was, Lieutenant Campbell stalked angrily toward Ben. When he reached him, he squeezed his shoulder.

“This is shit, Ben. You know we’ll get it cleared up.”

“We’re behind you,” Sergeant Leonetti added.

“Sorry, man.” Trooper Cole paused, clearing his throat, “And, uh, sorry to hear about...the other stuff.”

The others didn’t speak up, pretending not to be watching Ben. Gail swiped a sneaky tear from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, guys,” Ben said after a long pause.

The hitch in his voice sliced through Delia. She had this irrational, unprofessional urge to gather him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. What was wrong with her? She not only didn’t know if he was guilty, but she also had no idea whether anything would be okay for him again. She needed to take hold of her emotions before she did or said something stupid.