“Faith, wait.”
“What?”
“When I get back, do you want to go out for a drink?” Kit was the only man she knew who could almost die one minute and try to score a date the next.
Faith didn’t stay amused for long. She put her head down for a moment and when her eyes lifted again, they settled on the creased three-by-five photo pinned to her corkboard. Kit Harper had complicated her life once before. Never again.
“No, Kit. Sorry, that’s not a good idea. Thirty minutes.” She cut the video link and ran her fingers across Gregory Mallory’s picture taken during his rookie year on the Darling Cove police force.
Wearing his dress uniform and with his golden-brown hair tucked neatly under his police cap, Greg still took her breath away.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you ran off to Iraq with a camera instead of marrying that gorgeous hunk of man?” Lily stood in the doorway watching her.
Ten years ago, she left Greg days before their wedding, and ‘why’ was still a damn good question.
From the short glimpses she’d caught of Greg in their small Long Island town these last five months, the man was as gorgeous as ever.
“No.” Faith smiled at her curious assistant. “But if you ever find yourself at the crossroads of career or love...”
“Choose love?”
“Over bombs, guns, and death? Yes.” Faith turned away from Greg’s photo. Since the age of ten, that man had made her heart pound. “Were you able to locate Mobile One?” she asked, wrapping her head back around their emergency.
Lily shook her head gravely.
Faith rubbed her temples and resisted the urge to pull at the long copper waves spilling all around her. She pushed away from her desk. “Okay, I’ll go tell Michael the bad news.”
Her stomach churned thinking of where the Mobile One team could be. Working the overnight news shift had usually been quiet, except lately a dust-up of attacks had been keeping her and her mobile news units on their tired toes. With the title of executive producer came the responsibility for the entire crew, in New York, and overseas.
She approached the makeup room and peeked in to find the anchor getting made up. “Michael, there was more fighting in the eastern province. Mobile One’s gone quiet, and Kit and his guys are in the middle of it. I’m hoping for a package from him, but I don’t think we can do anything live tonight.”
Good thing that shitty three a.m. programming slot had low expectations.
“Copy that, Faith.” Michael looked as tired as she felt. “At least you’re getting out of here,” he added. “Don’t worry. That London bureau chief position will open up soon.”
She nodded, but turned away thinking soon wasn’t fast enough. Every day she had to walk around Darling Cove meant a run-in with Greg was imminent.
What in the world would she say to him given the chance?
Hey, I’m sorry I took off before our wedding. It was ten years ago. We cool?
She scoffed. Greg would never forgive her. Ever.
Walking back to her office, Faith let in the teeniest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he might.
GREGORY MALLORY YAWNED and squinted to block out the rising sun. The last place in the world he wanted to be was standing on a cold porch taking a complaint. From a half-dressed woman with too many curves for her own damn good.
“Are you even listening to me?” she asked when he yawned again.
Not even the skimpy red satin robe emphasizing the kind of body that made a man’s mouth water could get him going this early.
Then again...
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Miranda?” Greg asked, leaning against her railing and tamping down the pain in his feet from standing out in the cold.
She often called the police dispatch a few minutes before six a.m. knowing he ended his overnight shift and would be heading back to the precinct. And that he’d be sent to take one of her many complaints. That morning she reported a ‘knocking’ on her bedroom window.
Walking her property, Greg found a cracked tree branch coated with icicles. The morning sun had melted a patch of ice and the branch dinged against the glass.
“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee and take my report?” Miranda unfolded her arms, and the robe opened wider. The cold sure made her body come alive. For an older woman, she was smoking hot.
Greg forced his eyes away. Miranda had been pleasing enough to be around. Satisfied his needs, from time to time. But it was time to consider a real future for himself. Get what he’d always wanted and what had been expected of him. A wife and kids. Unfortunately, Miranda couldn’t help him with that.
“No, Miranda. I can’t come inside. Call a tree guy to cut down that limb and the noise will stop.
Goodbye.” He spun around and wobbled down the steps adjusting his groin before Little Greg woke up and made him do something he’d regret.
He’d crept away from Miranda’s too many mornings because for years, he’d been thinking too much with his dick. His sister Skye, the lawyer who thought she was a psychologist, loved to point out that his behavior these past years had been a juvenile response to being left at the altar.
Turning forty was a smack in the face, making him realize it was time to get his shit together. To start the New Year off on a different note, he’d switched to the graveyard shift just to avoid all the women who’d been soothing his loneliness. Life was short, and Greg had wallowed in his emptiness long enough.
He hurried to his police cruiser, the engine groaning against the cold. He yawned again and backed out of Miranda’s driveway.
The streets of Darling Cove—a North Fork, Long Island wine hamlet about seventy miles east of Manhattan—were still deserted, and Greg sailed across town with ease. By contrast, the police station house buzzed with activity from day-tour officers preparing for roll call.
Most had cleared out of the locker room, except for the one officer Greg wasn’t hell-bent on seeing.
“Gregory,” the stern voice greeted him.
“Morning, Dad,” he said opening his locker.
Martin Mallory, the police captain, who worked all different shifts, set his hat on top of close-cropped gray hair. His dark blue eyes followed Greg discreetly.
“Don’t forget your sister’s thing this weekend,” his father reminded him. Again.
He lost the love of his life, not his memory.
Greg nodded and removed his tie. He shoved it quickly inside his locker, so no one would catch the Prada label. The gift from his sister, Gwen, who worked for the fashion giant would get Greg teased to high heaven by the other officers.
“Gwen and Andrew are already married. Why are they doing an engagement photo shoot now?”
He figured he’d ask anyway.
“Would you rather your little sister be pregnant and not married?” When Greg blinked and fought for an answer, Martin flattened his lips as if to reply, I didn’t think so. But instead said, “The quick ceremony last month was good enough for me, but Andrew’s mother still wants a big wedding celebration. And Gwen is happy. That’s all that matters.”
Greg had felt a huge relief these past months that his sister found happiness. As much as Greg didn’t want to like Andrew Morgan, the tall ex-model was growing on him.
A faint train whistle in the distance lifted Greg’s chin and jolted his heart. “Have a good shift, Dad. I’ll see you Saturday.”