Courting the Cop Page 6

  “Oh, well, I guess it’s an improvement,” Phyllis grudgingly conceded when she’d tasted the fresh coffee.

  Brody wiped down the coffee machine before picking up a pen and pad. He walked over to the table and began asking people for their coffee orders. Of course Sophia held him up for a few minutes while she flirted outrageously with him.

  “It’s good to have a strong, young man in the neighborhood. I feel safer knowing you’re around.”

  Brody doubted that Sophia was the nervous type, but he played along. “Is it that unsafe around here? I mean, it’s not like living down in the projects, is it?”

  “No, it’s not that bad,” Sophia answered. “But it used to be a lot better. Women could walk the streets at night without being bothered. Now, it’s not so safe.”

  “It’s the Spikers.” Phyllis pulled a face. “I can’t wait for the police to catch one of them red-handed and throw the book at them.”

  “We don’t see cops on the beat too often these days.” Jennifer, the mousy one, toyed anxiously with her knitting needles. “My son wants me to move in with him.”

  Phyllis humpfed gloomily. “I don’t like this talk of moving away. Why should we be forced to move just because of a few lowlifes in the area?”

  “Have you noticed any new lowlifes lately?” Brody asked, his antenna tuned in to Katherine O’Brien, who had been listening to the whole conversation. He could have sworn her shoulders stiffened when he asked his question.

  “What do you mean by new lowlifes?” Phyllis said.

  “Well, I mean you ladies seem to know everything that’s going on in the neighborhood. Maybe you’ve seen some strangers in the area, loitering about in the side streets.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Katherine’s hands shaking as she suddenly set down her knitting. Yep, she was definitely nervous about something. Maybe her son had already made contact with her, or maybe she’d seen him somewhere. Brody’s instincts tingled with anticipation.

  “I heard someone stole an orange from Mariano’s on Saturday,” Jennifer piped up. “Sal didn’t even know about it until he found a note and a dollar bill stuffed under his door the next day. Apparently the thief felt so bad about his crime that he decided to apologize and pay for the orange. Can you believe it?”

  Abigail’s gaze flew up and meshed with Brody’s. He cocked an eyebrow at her. She looked shocked and maybe a bit admiring, but that could have been his imagination.

  “Well, that’s a good story for a change,” Abigail said, a small grin curving her lips.

  For a second he forgot everything except Abigail’s lips and how they felt under his. Pushing away the tempting image, he moved toward Katherine in what he hoped was a quiet, nonthreatening manner.

  “Hi, I’m taking coffee orders,” he said as he deliberately stood a good few feet away from her. “Can I get you anything, Mrs…?”

  A hesitant look darted his way. “O’Brien,” she replied, her voice barely a murmur. “I wouldn’t mind a cappuccino, please.”

  Brody angled his body to partially block out the other women in the hopes of getting Katherine more relaxed.

  “I’m Brody, by the way. One cappuccino coming up.” He made a show of scribbling on his pad. “So, Mrs. O’Brien, have you noticed any strangers lurking about these streets lately?”

  He’d thought his question innocuous enough, but Katherine started as if he’d pinched her, and she grabbed at her knitting for protection. “No, no, I haven’t noticed anything.” Her voice quivered. “But then, I don’t go out too often.”

  Glancing at her knitting, he noticed it appeared to be a large gray sweater. A man’s sweater. He tilted his pen at the piece. “That looks impressive. Are you making that for your husband or your son?”

  Katherine’s cheeks paled as she clutched the knitting to her chest. “It’s for the church’s winter appeal.”

  He didn’t press her further, not wanting to arouse her suspicion but also feeling sorry for her. She seemed such a meek, law-abiding woman. How had she raised a thug like Michael? Was she frightened of him? But if he read her correctly, she’d recently come into contact with her son, or at least seen him in the area, and she hadn’t contacted the police, like she’d promised she would. She might go to church every week, but when it came to her son she was no saint.

  “Brody, what do you do for a living?” Sophia called out as he crossed back to the espresso machine.

  “Uh, I’m between jobs at the moment,” he replied, thinking fast. Crap, he’d forgotten to discuss that bit of detail with Abigail. It wasn’t like him to be so sloppy, and that annoyed him.

  “Well, he’s definitely not a professional barista.” Phyllis, as sweet as always.

  Abigail spoke up. “Brody’s an actor.” She met his surprised look and lifted her chin like she was daring him to contradict her. “He’s been going to auditions but no luck so far.”

  An actor? Mentally he shrugged his shoulders. Okay, he could run with that. “In this economy, it’s tough putting on performances.” He moved behind the counter and concentrated on making more coffees.

  “Why don’t you get a proper job?” Phyllis interrogated him. “You could join the police force. We could do with some decent cops around here.”

  Someone made a choking noise, and he was sure it had come from Katherine, but when he looked up she was bent over her knitting, apparently oblivious to the conversation. Abigail rose from the table and walked behind the counter where she scanned the shelves of yarn.

  “Oh, yes, I’d love to see Brody in a uniform,” one of the women said. He didn’t need to look up to feel Sophia’s smirk.

  “How about you, Abby baby?” he said, turning toward her. “Would you like me to throw in the acting and become a cop?”

  She gave him a wide-eyed stare. “How do you know you’d even pass the physical exam?”

  He almost spluttered in outrage. He’d passed every fitness test with flying colors. He could outsprint every detective at the station. He exercised every single day, without fail. He was in peak physical condition.

  “I mean, I did knock you to the ground the other day.” Laughter shimmered in her eyes.

  Damn, she wasn’t ever going to let him forget that, was she? Well, two could play this game. Moving up behind her, he slipped an arm around her waist and pressed his lips into the dip between her neck and shoulder.

  “But you were naked, Abby baby, and so desperate for me. How could I resist?”

  Her skin was silky with a delicate floral scent that reminded him of geraniums. He brushed his lips up her neck once more, unable to break free, his enjoyment surging in a warm wave through his veins. Jesus, touching Abigail was fast becoming an addiction, especially when her body warmed against his, supple and welcoming.

  “Brody…” She twisted her neck to frown at him.

  Her sweater had ridden up, allowing his hand at her waist to slip under and caress her skin above the waistband of her pants. A shudder ran through her and transmitted to him, intensifying his need, before she broke free from his hold.

  She pushed her fingers through her hair, looking sweetly flustered. “You’ll never make it as a cop or an actor if you can’t keep your mind focused on the job. At the rate you’re going, it’ll be closing time before we get our coffees.”

  Her soft scent lingered on his lips, and his fingers itched to explore her curves under that blue sweater. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” As he murmured the words, he realized how much he wanted to do exactly that.

  Frowning, Abigail pointed at the espresso machine. “Just make the coffee.”

  As he turned away, Sophia gave a sympathetic cluck. “Aw, give him a break, Abigail. He’s a sweetie, even if he wouldn’t be a very good cop.”

  At the end of the table, Katherine recoiled again. Brody didn’t know her, but it seemed she was very
jumpy about lots of things—cops, strangers and sons. He’d been right to follow his gut instinct about her. She knew something about Michael O’Brien, and if he hung around her long enough, he’d find out what. Now, he just had to concentrate on his job and not let Abigail distract him anymore.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Abigail greeted her customers at the Knit and Natter, and again felt her nerves gradually tighten up as ten o’clock came and went with no sign of Brody. She wasn’t wearing anything special this time, opting for a plain gray long-sleeved T-shirt and utilitarian work pants. Aunt Edna wouldn’t have approved. Her aunt had always shown up at the store wearing at least one interesting item—a striking sweater, a silk scarf, an unusual brooch—that showed she’d put some care into her appearance. But Abigail didn’t want Brody thinking she was dressing up for him. Especially now that he was supposedly her boyfriend.

  Some boyfriend he made. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him since Tuesday. She assumed he’d been in her apartment to check the camera, but he hadn’t left any evidence. She told herself she didn’t care. In fact, she preferred he stay out of her life as much as possible. Who wanted a cop doing a stakeout in their bedroom anyway? But when she’d rolled out of bed this morning, she hadn’t been able to suppress the flutter of anticipation at the thought of seeing him today, and now, with each jingle of the doorbell, her nerves jangled even louder.

  The knitters were arriving, and she had no choice but to make the coffees herself. Fortunately, there was no sign of Sophia, and she was spared the woman’s inquisitiveness over Brody’s nonappearance. Phyllis gave a loud sniff as she peered around the store as if Brody might be lurking behind the rack of pattern books, but instead asked Abigail if she could buy a new crochet hook. Abigail served her before returning to the espresso machine. Somehow she didn’t feel like chatting to her regulars today.

  It was almost ten thirty when Mrs. O’Brien hurried into the store, her hat askew and strands of gray hair escaping from her barrette. She plunked herself into a seat away from the others and pressed a hand against her chest as if she had difficulty breathing.

  Abigail immediately went to her. “Mrs. O’Brien, are you feeling ill?”

  The woman waved her hand limply. “Oh, no, it’s nothing.”

  It didn’t look like nothing. As Abigail moved closer, the doorbell jingled, and Brody ambled into the store.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he muttered to Abigail, barely glancing at her. If she wasn’t mistaken, all his focus was on Mrs. O’Brien. He shifted his stance toward the seated woman. “Hey, Mrs. O’Brien. I saw you hurrying in here.” His voice sounded casual, but she could sense an undercurrent of tension in him. “Everything okay with you?”

  Mrs. O’Brien nodded so vigorously her hat slid off. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Really, I am. Thank you. I, uh…felt a bit cold so I rushed inside.” Nervous fingers plucked at the hat as she directed a pleading look to Abigail. “Abigail, I, er, I wouldn’t mind a hot chocolate to warm me up.”

  “Of course, we’ll make one for you right away.” Abigail drew Brody away with her.

  Where have you been? she wanted to hiss at him but swallowed the words. She didn’t have any rights over him.

  “I followed her when she left her house earlier,” Brody murmured in her ear when they were behind the espresso machine.

  Abigail frowned in puzzlement. “She lives around the corner. It wouldn’t take more than three minutes to walk here.”

  “But she didn’t come straight here. She went to St. Agnes, and mass wasn’t on at the time.”

  “She might have gone there to pray.”

  “Or to meet someone. I couldn’t risk going inside and being seen, so I stayed outside.”

  “And?” She didn’t want to admit it, but she was beginning to share his fascination with Mrs. O’Brien. “What happened?”

  “She came out looking like she does now. Kinda upset. After she left, I hung around, but no one came out. I went into the church but it was empty.”

  Abigail eased out a breath. “So it was nothing. She went there to pray, on her own.”

  “In my opinion it was something.” Brody’s eyes narrowed. “What has she got to pray for except her son?”

  “She could be upset that he’s turned out such a nasty criminal.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, she’s had years to get used to that truth. She’s upset because Michael is back, that’s the likeliest explanation.”

  “So what happens next? Are you going to take her in for questioning?” She didn’t like the idea of the quiet, anxious woman being interrogated by a hard-assed detective like Brody, even if she was hiding something.

  “No. I don’t want her, I want her son.”

  The lean, hungry look on Brody’s face chilled Abigail. In all the banter that had passed between them, she’d forgotten who and what he was, but now it stared her in the face. Brody was a hunter, using his skills to catch his prey, and she was just a means to an end. He might enjoy the flirtation, might even enjoy kissing her, but she was merely a tool to be used, like one of his informants.

  She turned away to grab a mug, disturbed by how let down she felt. As if he sensed her dismay, Brody touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Abigail?” He sounded puzzled.

  She shrugged off his hand. “You’re late. Again.”

  “I told you what happened.”

  “You said you wanted to help out.” She didn’t know why she was harping on like this. She could manage perfectly well without him. But she smarted at the realization of how dispensable she was to him, especially after the many hours she’d wasted thinking about him.

  “So I’m here, aren’t I?” A touch of frost threaded through his voice.

  Shaking her head, she proceeded to make Mrs. O’Brien’s hot chocolate. “If you have other priorities, that’s fine, but I wish you’d let me know at least.”

  Leaning a hand on the counter, he exhaled a sigh. “Yeah, well, my job doesn’t exactly stick to a nine-to-five routine. I’ve been up all night.”

  She looked at him fully and for the first time noticed the shadows under his eyes, the lines etched around his mouth, and the overnight stubble on his chin. He looked like he’d already put in a long day’s work. The urge to reach up and cup his cheek, to stroke his hair and kiss away his tiredness, rose so strongly she had to bite her lip to jerk her back to reality.

  “Why don’t you go home, then?” she said abruptly.

  His eyebrows drew into a V. “Are we having another spat?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “If you’re tired, you should go home and rest.”

  “No. I said I’d help you, so I will.”

  She tossed milk into a jug, sloshing some of it out. “Why are you so—”

  A muffled ringtone from his jeans cut her off. Brody pulled out his cell phone, listened for a few moments, said “I’m on my way” and clicked it off.

  “Abigail—”

  She held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. You have to go.”

  He shoved the cell phone back into his pocket, his frustration clear. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Maybe he honestly did want to talk to her. Despite everything, her heart did a little flip. Damn that treacherous, optimistic heart of hers. She managed to give him a noncommittal moue, before she dipped her head to concentrate on the milk. She forced herself not to stare after him as he left, and when the door shut behind him, she muttered a silent curse, ruing the day she’d decided to crash-tackle the orange thief.

  “Are you doing anything tonight?” Brody asked Abigail over the phone.

  “No,” Abigail said, surprised by his call.

  “Mind if I come over and do a bit of surveillance?”

  “On a Friday night? I thought you’d be h
itting a bar or going out on a date.”

  “Now why would I do that when I could spend time with my gorgeous girlfriend?”

  Oh, be still, my beating heart. He was only teasing her. “I thought you said you wanted to do some surveillance.”

  “I’m good at multitasking.” Brody paused. “Well? Can I come over?”

  “Sure.” She ignored the little twirl her heart did. She told herself she wasn’t keen to spend more time with Detective Brody Donovan.

  “Great. I’ll see you at seven.” His voice lifted, like he was actually keen to see her. She told herself he was a player. He was used to getting his way with women. But she had to admit he had a certain charm about him, and even though she knew what the situation between them was, she enjoyed having some of that charm lavished on her.

  Brody hauled himself out of his car and locked it. He’d parked half a block away from A Coffee and a Yarn, the closest spot he could find to Abigail’s store. He zipped up his jacket against the raw evening wind.

  “Evening, Brody.” A small, upright figure paused on the sidewalk, whom he quickly recognized as Phyllis.

  “Evening, Phyllis.” He was surprised she’d stopped to say hello, since he was under the impression she didn’t approve of him much.

  She looked him up and down, unsmiling. “Here to see Abigail, I suppose.”

  “Yep.”

  “Taking her out to dinner or a dance?”

  “Uh, no. We’re just having a quiet night in.”

  Phyllis sniffed and tucked her scarf around her scrawny neck. “A quiet night in? Well, that’s no way to treat her. No wonder she has her doubts about you.”

  “Excuse me?” Even though there was nothing going on between him and Abigail, it stung his ego that this old biddy thought he wasn’t up to scratch.

  “Don’t you know anything about our Abigail?” Phyllis huffed impatiently. “She’s a sweet girl. She deserves some wooing, some romance from her boyfriend, something to make her feel special. Not a quiet night in.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners in disapproval. “I suppose you’re planning to order a pizza and watch football on television.”