Kansas City Cop Read online

  Mike’s father clearly had a purpose for coming to the clinic. “Could you give us a few minutes, Galvan?”

  Gina popped to her feet, eager to please the captain or simply eager to escape the uncomfortable conversation. “Yes, sir.”

  Mike stood, too, as Frannie stepped into the room carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs with packets of sugar and creamer. He scooted aside a stack of bills for her to set the tray on his desk. “Thanks. Why don’t you give Officer Galvan a tour of the facility while Dad and I talk.”

  “Okay.” Frannie’s eyes were still puffy behind her glasses, but the pale skin beneath her freckles and pixie haircut was back to normal. She smiled at Gina and led her into the hallway. “We can start with the women’s locker room.”

  Mike closed the door and returned to his seat, looking across the desk as his father picked up a mug and blew the steam off the top. “How worried should I be about this impromptu visit?”

  Chapter Four

  His father pursed his lips and made a rare face before swallowing. “Um...”

  Mike took a sip and spit the sour brew back into his mug. “Sorry about that. Frannie must have cleaned the coffeemaker out with vinegar again.”

  “Did she rinse it afterward?”

  “I’ll sneak in there and make a new pot later this morning while she’s busy.” Mike spun his chair and emptied his mug into the potted fern beside the door. “She’s a little distracted. Her ex gets out on parole today.”

  “Leo Mesner?” Mike nodded, returning his mug to the tray. Michael Sr. followed his lead, dumping out his coffee. “I’ll find out who Leo’s parole officer will be so we can keep tabs on him for her.”

  “Thanks. After that last assault, he shouldn’t have any contact with her, but you never know if prison sobered him up and made him rethink hurting his ex-wife or just made him even angrier and bent on revenge. We’ll do what we can to keep her safe from this end, too.”

  “I know you will, son. You’re too kindhearted for your own good.”

  “You know it’s not all kindness, Dad.” His father’s blue eyes pierced right into Mike’s soul, understanding his need to atone for the damage he’d done in his youth—and wishing his older son would forgive himself already. Mike smiled a reassurance to ease his father’s concern. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my problems. I’m assuming this visit has to do with Officer Galvan?”

  His dad nodded. “I’m bringing you a new client.”

  He pointed briefly to his own shoulder. “She had surgery?”

  “Stitches in her leg to seal up the bullet graze there. Emergency surgery to repair a nicked lung. She’s recovered from those without incident.” His dad’s expression turned grim. “But the second bullet went through her shoulder and tore it up. The doctors had to rebuild the joint. The PT is for muscle and nerve damage there.”

  “What kind of nerve damage?”

  “You’re the expert. But I know it has affected her hand. She can’t hold a gun.”

  “Only six weeks after getting shot? She shouldn’t be trying.”

  “You don’t know Gina.” His dad leaned forward, sharing a confidence. “She’s nobody’s pretty princess. Not the easiest person to get along with, especially since the shooting. She’s already quit one therapist, and another refused to work with her after the first session.”

  “But I’m so desperate for patients, you think I’ll take her on?”

  “No.” He leaned back, his features carved with an astute paternal smile. “I know how tough you are. All you’ve survived and been through. I know how resourceful you can be. If anybody can stand up to Gina, it’s you.”

  There was a compliment in there somewhere, one that ranked right up there with Troy’s claim that he could outlast trouble. Maybe his dad and friend were subtly trying to tell him that he was too hardheaded for his own good. “What was the issue with the other therapists? She wouldn’t do the work?”

  “Just the opposite. She pushed herself too hard.”

  Mike nodded. “Did more damage than helped her recovery. You think Troy and I want to risk that kind of liability?”

  “She’s an ambitious woman. Trying to do better for herself and her family. Other than her great-uncle’s disability and social security, she’s their sole support. But she’s a good cop. Good instincts. Well trained. Gina can think on her feet. Once the bad guys realize they’ve underestimated her, they discover they don’t want to mess with her. I was ready to put her on my new SWAT team until the shooting. I’ve still got a spot for her.” His dad’s shoulders lifted with a wry apology. “But if she can’t handle the physical demands of the job, I can’t use her.”

  “You want me to fix her so she can make the team?”

  “I want you to fix her so we don’t lose her to No-Man’s Land.” Just a few city blocks north of the clinic. Poverty, gangs, drugs, prostitution, homelessness—it was a tough place to grow up. His dad’s second wife, Jillian, had barely survived her time in one of Kansas City’s most dangerous neighborhoods. Troy had almost lost his life there. Mike knew his father and his SWAT team had answered several calls there over the years. There was a lot to admire about a woman who held down a good job and took care of her family in the No-Man’s Land neighborhood. In this neighborhood, where he and Troy were determined to make a difference. Michael Cutler Sr. was a professional hostage negotiator. He knew what buttons to push to ensure Mike’s cooperation, and helping someone deserving in this part of the city was a big one. “Help her realize her potential. KCPD needs her. She needs the job, and I want her if she can do it.”

  Mike scrubbed his hand over the stubble shading his jaw before deciding to swallow a little pride. “Can she pay?”

  “I’ll cover whatever her department insurance doesn’t.”

  “You believe in her that much?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I will, too.” Appreciating the faith his father had always had in him, Mike rolled his chair back and stood. “I’ll get the job done for you, Dad.”

  “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” With their business completed, Michael Sr. stood as well, adjusting the gun at his hip and pulling the black SWAT cap from his back pocket. He tipped his head toward the unpaid bills that Mike had pushed aside earlier. “Did you get the grant?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose applying to Caroline’s foundation is out of the question.”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head as he crossed to the door. “To be honest, I think you dodged a bullet there, son. Caroline was a nice girl. But Jillian and I were never so bored out of our minds that night we had dinner with her parents. And, of course, if she can’t appreciate you for who you are and not who she wants you to be—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Mike grinned, patting his dad’s shoulder to stop that line of well-meaning conversation. “Nice Dad Speech.”

  “I’m really good at ’em, aren’t I?” They shared a laugh until Michael Sr. paused with his hand on the door knob to ask, “Say, what was that ‘catnip’ thing about with Gina?”

  “Beats me. She said it to me before she lost consciousness the day of the shooting. Maybe she was delirious and thinking about her pet.”

  They both suspected there was more to the story than that but Mike didn’t have the answer. His dad paused before opening the door. “You’ll give me regular reports on Gina’s progress?”

  “Does she know you’re setting this up for her?”

  “She knows I want her on my team and that I was happy to give her a ride this morning. She still can’t drive for another two weeks.”

  “And she knows this is her last chance to get her recovery right in time for you to name the new SWAT team?”

  “Very astute. You got your mother’s brains.” They stepped into the hallway and Michael Sr. pulled his SWAT cap on. “See you at Will’s science fair presentation Thursday night?”

  “I already told the squirt I’d be there.”

  A small parade, led by a grinning Troy, stopped them before they reached the clinic’s entrance. Troy held out his hand. “Hey, Captain C. I wanted to make sure I said hi before you left.”

  “Troy.” The two men exchanged a solid handshake. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too, sir.”

  Frannie and Gina waited behind Troy’s chair. The two women were a stark contrast in coloring and demeanor—pale and dark, subdued and vibrant.

  “How’s Dex doing in med school?” Unaware of Mike’s distracted gaze, Michael Sr. asked about Troy’s younger brother. Since Mike and Troy had practically grown up together, Dexter Anthony and their grandmother who’d raised the boys were like extended family.

  “Long hours. But he’s killin’ it.”

  “I knew he would. Jillian wants to know when you’re coming over for dinner. More for the games afterward than the food.”

  “Just give me a time, and I’ll be there. And tell her I’ve been reading the dictionary every night. I’m not losing that word game to her again.”

  “Will do.” The two men shook hands again before his dad nodded to Gina over the top of Troy’s head. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”

  “No, sir. Thank you, but you need to get to work. Besides, I’ve been getting home all by myself for a lot of years now.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets home, Dad.”

  “Son.” Michael traded one last nod with Mike before he left.

  There was an awkward moment between the four of them in the congested hallway before Mike stepped to one side. Gina politely followed suit, giving Troy room to
spin his chair around and head back to his patient in the workout room. Frannie quietly excused herself and slipped into her office, leaving Mike and Gina standing side by side with their backs against the wall. The woman didn’t even come up to his shoulder. But he appreciated the view of dark waves capping her head and the tight, round bump of her bottom farther down.

  One by one, doors closed behind Frannie, Troy and Mike’s dad. The second her potential boss had gone and they were alone, Gina turned on him. “I didn’t ask you to be my chauffeur.”

  Forget the raw attraction simmering in his veins. Her hushed, chiding tone gave Mike an idea of what the next few weeks were going to be like, and it wasn’t going to involve fun or easy. But he’d been rising to one challenge or another his entire life. Five feet and a few inches or so of attitude wasn’t about to scare him off. She might as well get used to how he intended to run things with her. “You didn’t ask me to be your physical therapist, either. But it looks like that’s going to happen.” He took her into his office and closed the door. “Have a seat. I need to do an informal assessment before we get started.”

  She eyed the chair where she’d sat earlier, and obstinately remained in place. “I’ve already had two evaluations, three if you count the orthopedist who sent me to PT in the first place.”

  “Well, none of them reported to me, and I’ve got no paperwork on you, so have a seat.” Mike sat and pulled up a new intake file on his computer screen.

  She poked a finger at the corner of his desk. “Listen, Choir Boy. Your father outranks me and can give me orders. But you can’t.”

  Choir Boy? What happened to Catnip?

  And why couldn’t the woman just call him Mike? “Fine. Stand. I’m still asking questions.”

  He typed in her name as she snatched her hand away. “Are you making fun of me now? You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.”

  If he recalled correctly, he’d saved that life.

  “Age? Address? Phone number? Surgeon?” He typed in the answers as she rattled them off. “What are your goals?”

  She puffed up like a banty hen, swearing a couple of words in Spanish, before perching on the chair across from him. “My goals? Isn’t it obvious? I want to be a cop again. And not just some face sitting behind a desk, either. I want to be able to pick up my gun and take down a perp and be the first Latina on one of your father’s SWAT teams.”

  “You want me to put in a good word for you?” He met her gaze across the desk. “You’re going to have to earn that. I warn you, Dad and I are close, but he doesn’t let anybody tell him what to do when it comes to the job.” Mike leaned back in his chair. “But I have a feeling you’re familiar with that kind of attitude.”

  “Are you trying to make me angry?”

  “Apparently I don’t have to work very hard at it.”

  Her eyes widened and the tight lines around her mouth vanished. “Things have been a little tense...” She parted her lips to continue, closed them again, processed a thought, then leaned forward to ask. “Can you make me whole again? If I can’t be a cop, I don’t know... My family is counting on me... I’m used to dealing with problems myself. But this...” She tilted her chin, as if the proud stance could erase the vulnerability that had softened everything about her for a few moments. “I need this to happen.”

  In other words, Rescue me. He’d just taken a hit to his Achilles’ heel. Not that this woman looked like she wanted a knight in shining armor, but a woman in need had always been a problem for Mike. Caroline had needed him to build her confidence and stand up to her parents. Frannie had needed him to feel safe. They weren’t the first, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be the last. Maybe it had something to do with atoning for the mistakes of his rebellious youth after his mother had died of cancer. Maybe it had something to do with finding a purpose for his life the day he helped rescue his stepmother, Jillian, and Troy from a bomber. Maybe it had something to do with that lonesome need to be needed—to be the one man that a woman had to have in her life.

  And maybe he was too hardheaded to accept defeat because he heard himself saying, “I can help it happen if you let me. You’re going to have to take orders from someone besides my dad. Can you do that? Do what I tell you? Not do more than I tell you?” he emphasized, suspecting that slow and easy weren’t in Gina’s vocabulary. “You can do as much damage by pushing too hard too soon as the original injury inflicted.”

  “I can do more than those other therapists were letting me. I can handle pain. And training is something I’ve done in sports since middle school, and certainly at the police academy. I’ll do my job if you do yours.”

  Not exactly the clear-cut agreement he’d been looking for. But he’d take it. If Gina saw this as a competition, he’d give her a run for her money—and then make sure she won. He reached across the desk with his right hand, purposely challenging her to respond with the hand that rested limply in the sling.

  A light flashed in her eyes, like a sprinkling of sugar dissolving in rich, warm coffee. Not the sour kind Frannie made, either. Then she thrust her hand out of the end of the sling. Her thumb and forefinger latched on to his hand with a decent grip, but the last three fingers simply batted against the back of his knuckles. Mike stretched each limp finger back, checking the muscle tone, before he finished the informal assessment and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then he pulled away and pushed to his feet. “You accept that I’m in charge of your recovery? That when it comes to your health, I’m the boss?”

  He towered over her, but there wasn’t any backing down to this woman. Gina stood as well, adjusting her arm in the sling. “You want to be the boss, Choir Boy? Let’s do this.”

  An hour later, she had a sheen of perspiration dotting her forehead and neck, and her left arm was shaking with the extra exertion of compensating for her damaged right shoulder and weak arm. Mike had a pretty good idea of why Gina had run into issues with her previous physical therapists. The woman was as fit as any athlete he’d ever worked with, and her frustration with the limited use of her hand and arm was obvious. Her assessment session had been a battle of wills, with Gina determined to perform any task Mike asked of her, even when the purpose of the exercise was to give him a clear idea of her limitations.

  His dad had been right. Gina’s recovery was going to be a mental challenge as much as a physical one. He walked her to the door, suggesting she wear something besides jeans for the next session and giving her a list of dos and don’ts for her recovery.

  Since he’d been raised to be a gentleman, he lifted the denim jacket hanging from her left wrist as she struggled to put it on and slipped it up her arm before tucking it securely around her healing shoulder. He wasn’t sure if that grunt was a protest of independence or a flash of pain. It certainly wasn’t a thank you. Still, he helped her pull the ends of her hair from beneath the collar, sifting the damp waves through his fingers and learning their silky texture before he leaned in to whisper, “You’re welcome.” She grunted a second time, and Mike chuckled as he reached around her to push open the door and follow her out into the sunshine that warmed the springtime air. “How are you going to get home?”

  She eyed the scattering of cars in the parking lot, between the reclaimed warehouses that had been converted into various businesses and lofts, and the busy street beyond. “If there’s no snow on the ground, I can walk.”

  Mike thumbed over his shoulder at his black pickup truck. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “You’re going to leave work in the middle of the day to drive me home?”

  The gusting breeze blew her hair across her cheek, and he curled his fingers into his palms against the urge to touch those dark waves again. “It’s not that far. My next appointment isn’t until after lunch. Troy can cover any emergencies that crop up.”

  “Therapist, not chauffeur,” she reminded him.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “No working out between now and then, understand? You can do the hand exercises, but no running and no lifting weights.”