Read Armed With Steele for Free Online Page B

“S-so you’re not going to help me?”
    “Help you do what?”
    “Find out what really happened.”
    “Sorry, but I’m having a hard enough time dealing with this whole thing as it is. Until Grace wakes up and tell us in her own words what happened, to me this was just a freak accident.”
    I hung up, sprawled out on the couch, and glared at the ceiling. Why wasn’t Matt jumping at the chance to help me figure out what, or who , had caused Grace’s accident? Of all the times for him to go and get stuck in the quagmire of denial…
    Matt or no Matt, I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her to wake up. If he wasn’t going to help me, then I’d have to find someone else who could. And I knew just the person to call.
    I sat up, retrieved a certain business card from my back jeans pocket, and flipped my phone back open to dial the number listed. It rang four times before going to voicemail.
    “Hello, Officer Steele? It’s Jessica Hartley. I’m calling to see if you might have some time to discuss the Sullivan case tomorrow.”
    * * * *
    I was halfway across the living room with a laundry basket full of dirty clothes Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rang. “Coming over to apologize for being an insensitive ass, are we?” I headed for the door and shifted the basket to my hip. But when I pulled the front door open, it was Officer Steele standing on our front porch, not Matt.
    “Officer Steele! I, uh, take it you got my message?” Would have been nice to know.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Hartley. I did. And since this is on my way home, I thought I’d swing by and see if you were available. Have I—” His gaze shifted to the laundry basket. “Caught you at a good time?”
    “Oh, yeah, just doing some laundry,” I said with a dismissive wave. That’s when I caught sight of the purple, lace-trimmed panties perched atop the pile. Mortified, I not-so-subtly shoved them further down into the basket.
    “Really, if you’re busy—”
    “No!” I’d waited a day and a half to talk with him. If I had to wait much longer, I’d likely self-implode. “No, now is fine. Come on in.”
    He graced me with one of his award-winning smiles and stepped inside. “Thank you.”
    I reached around him to close the door. He was taller than I’d remembered, and broader. I led him to the living room, and motioned toward the nearby couch.
    “Please, have a seat while I go set this down.” I continued on toward the laundry room, eager to put some space between me and that alluring cologne of his. Once I was safely out of sight, I cast another quick glance down at my laundry basket. Was relieved not to see any more embarrassing undergarments in plain sight.
    I set the basket on the washer and then crossed back through the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?”
    “Oh no, I’m fine, thank you.”
    “You sure? I made up a batch of killer cookies yesterday.” I grimaced at my poor choice of adjectives.
    He chuckled. “Oh, well in that case...”
    A sigh of relief escaped me. “Milk?”
    “That depends,” he called. “Will there be any chocolate involved?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then sure, I’d love a small glass.”
    A man after my own heart…
    I gathered up plates, napkins, drinks and cookies, then made my way back to the living room. Seeing him sitting there, blue eyes shining and biceps gleaming, had my stomach in knots. Grace. Remember, he’s here to talk about Grace.
    I arranged everything on our coffee table, and handed him an empty plate. “Please, help yourself.”
    “Thanks.” He grabbed a cookie. Studied it for a moment, then cast a wary look at me. “You haven’t laced these with anything, have you?”
    I met his gaze in surprise. “Goodness, no! That’d be a terrible waste of chocolate, don’t you think?” I snatched one from the plate and took a bite to prove it.
    He laughed, and I found myself liking that sound a little too well. Then he took a tentative bite and savored it for a