John."
He nodded toward the CB. "That's what Lois is telling me. There's no one to help me. They took the sellers into custody, and now they've all gone to a wreck at the Birmingham Junction."
"What if he starts shooting at us?"
"You watch too much TV. He's small-time, like Eric." John whipped out of the roundabout and floored it again. "I really don't want to let this guy go. There's no way my Ford is outrun by a Kia. That's just wrong."
"John," I said. Below the siren, below the motor, a low hum vibrated the car.
He sped toward the railroad crossing, where red lights flashed in warning.
"John!" I gasped at the same instant he stomped the brakes. We skidded to a stop in front of the blinking signals. The Kia kept going, squeaking past the locomotive with inches to spare.
John and I watched the progression of train cars. We'd lost him.
Sighing through his nose, John reached to the CB to call Lois. There it was again. I'd thought I smelled cologne several times in the hour since John's shift started tonight. Not an overpowering slather—just a little, so I caught only a whiff of it when he moved.
It couldn't be him. He wouldn't dare make himself smell sexy to the blue-haired prisoner he found so distasteful. But I was pretty sure nothing else in this 1990s Crown Victoria smelled that good. I leaned closer, pretending to examine the siren controls, and tried to sniff him without letting out a big snort.
Unsuccessfully. He said. "I have some Kleenex in the trunk."
Better to admit what I was doing than let him think I had postnasal drip. "You smell good."
He stared at me, and my heart turned over. After last night riding around with my window rolled down in the cold, he'd wised up. He wore his leather cop jacket, which made him look that much more sharp and dangerous. His dark eyes pierced me, but the glow from the downtown streetlights softened his strong jaw and those sensitive lips. And his whole body was bathed in red as the warning lights from the railroad crossing blinked on, off, on, off, on.
Off, for good. The train was gone.
He looked ahead, into the empty street. "Where would you go?" he asked the suspect. Then he turned back to me. "Help me search for the Kia in parking lots as we pass. Sometimes they're that stupid."
Oh sure. I would search parking lots on the way to our destination. I knew exactly where we were going.
Sure enough, a few miles later he turned off the main road and onto the dirt road to the bridge.
"We're driving down here again?" I exclaimed. We'd already visited the bridge at the beginning of the shift.
He unhooked the CB from the dashboard and handed it to me without taking his eyes off the road. "If you ever feel threatened, press this button to call Lois. She'll send another car to save you from me." He sounded almost hurt.
"I don't feel threatened It's just that a criminal isn't going to hide where there's only one way out and you're blocking it. Criminals don't trap themselves."
He continued down the road anyway, and I thought harder about what he'd said. Threatened? Yes, the thought of him taking advantage of me had flashed across my mind when he first arrested me at the bridge, and last night. But that was before I knew him. It hadn't crossed my mind tonight.
It had crossed his.
And he was wearing cologne.
"How did I end up with you?" I asked.
He turned to me, wide-eyed. "What?" The car lunged over a rock, and he put his eyes back on the road.
"Why am I riding in your police car instead of the ambulance or the fire truck? Did y'all draw straws, and you were the lucky winner? I'll bet everyone was hoping for Tiffany, but alas."
I half expected him to look all shiny and new at the mention of Tiffany. Or to protest too much, giving himself away.
He didn't answer.
"John?"
"I picked you," he said quietly.
I swallowed. It probably didn't mean anything. At least, not what I wanted it to.
"Why'd you pick me? So you could get me alone on Hot Date 911? I'm telling