Secret Desire. Gwynne Forster

boy peered at him from behind the door, handcuffed together, their faces pressed to the glass. It didn’t take him a second to figure out that they were prisoners. He tried the door. Locked, as he’d guessed. Too bad he wasn’t wearing his uniform. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out his badge, and held it so the woman could see it. If she recognized it as a policeman’s identification, she didn’t show it.

      “Can you hear me?” he asked, but the woman didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes grew larger, and tears began to trickle down the boy’s face. He tried sign language, but got no response. There goes my Sunday. He tried to signal that he’d be back, then went to his car, got a knife and screwdriver, and picked the lock.

      “I’m Detective Captain Luke Hickson,” he told them when he got the door open. “What happened?”

      She didn’t appear to believe him, so he showed her his badge again. He gave her points for her caution; she had good reason. “I was locking up last night, and a man pushed us into the store, took the money from the cash register and said he was going to shoot us. I begged for mercy for my son, and he handcuffed us, took the store keys and locked us in. We’ve been here since nine last night. I’m…I’m so glad you came. My son, Randy, is starving.”

      He looked at her more closely. She had to be tired and miserable, but you’d never guess it from her bearing. She had an aura of dignity, strength and soft femininity, and she earned his respect when she didn’t apologize for inconveniencing him. That would have smacked of dishonesty.

      A half smile settled on her face as she glanced at her son. “You’ve been a great little trouper, Randy. I hope the captain can get these handcuffs off us soon, so we can get you something to eat.” She looked at Luke for confirmation that their hands would soon be free.

      “I’ll do my best, ma’am, but it may take a while, so maybe you two want to go to the washroom before I start on these handcuffs.”

      He got the bunch of keys that he kept in the glove compartment of his car and examined them. “Let’s get busy,” he said when they returned. If none of the keys fit, he’d have to use a cutter.

      “Suppose you can’t find a key,” Randy said, apparently anxious to end his ordeal.

      “We’ll get them off, with or without a key. It’s just easier with a key.” Another ten minutes is all I’m giving it, he told himself as one key after another failed to fit.

      “That does it. We have to go to the station, but I’ll stop along the way and get you some food. What do you want to eat, ma’am?”

      He didn’t imagine the relief that spread over her countenance. “Burgers, fries and milk for Randy. Buffalo wings, fries and coffee for me.”

      “I’m not drinking any milk,” Randy said.

      Luke let the boy have a steely gray-eyed stare. “Your mother said you’re drinking milk, and if you want those handcuffs off, young man, you will drink milk. You got that?”

      He’d have sworn that her look was one of thanks. The boy was probably a problem, but his uncouth behavior didn’t so much as put a frown on her face, and he wondered about that. His olfactory sense triggered a masculine response. Her perfume again filled his head with ideas that had nothing to do with the work of a police detective, and he tried to shut it down. When he took her arm to help them into the back of his car, she turned to him, smiling, apparently to thank him, and the bottom dropped out of his belly. He stared into her greenish brown eyes, unable to shift his glance until Randy, in another display of bad manners, jerked his mother’s arm. Get your act together, man, he cautioned himself.

      He left them in the car and bought their food. Then he drove with them to his precinct on Crawford Parkway. “As soon as you finish eating, we’ll start on those handcuffs,” he said, and with a look at Randy added, “and that includes drinking all of your milk.”

      While they ate, he sent a clerk to get the details of their ordeal. “What’s your name, ma’am?” Luke asked her as he began trying more keys in the handcuffs.

      “Kate Middleton.”

      The sooner he freed their hands, the better; he did not relish standing that close to Kate Middleton for any length of time, touching her hands and…He shook himself out of it.

      “Where’re you from, Mrs. Middleton?” he asked, though he knew he’d find out as soon as he read the clerk’s report. When she told him, he resisted asking her how she happened to make the jump from Grosse Pointe to Portsmouth, because that was personal, but he wanted to know all about her. With the fingers of her free left hand, she wiped perspiration from her brow. He’d already known she was getting warm, because her spicy perfume got stronger and stronger—teasing him, daring him to enjoy her nearness and to prolong the whole torturous experience. He’d recognize that perfume again if he smelled it in Timbuktu.

      “Do you think it’ll take much longer?” she asked.

      “Can’t say. I’ve got another fifty or so keys that I can try. Failing that, we’ll cut them off, but that won’t be fun.” She glanced up and caught his gaze, and embarrassment reddened her flawless tan complexion. So she was attracted to him! He’d as soon not have that piece of information—she was tempting enough as it was.

      “Would you like to walk, or just stand?” he asked. “I know this is tiring for both of you.”

      That soft, sweet smile again. “I’ll stand for a couple of minutes, if you don’t mind.”

      “I don’t want to stand,” Randy put in. “I was standing all night, and I wanna go to bed.”

      Luke loved children and had always wanted some of his own, but he loved nice kids, not brats. “If she wants to stand, you stand,” he said to Randy. “You may not realize this, but it’s a man’s pleasure to please the women in his life, and you’re old enough to practice that. On your feet.”

      “All right,” Randy said, his tone less than friendly.

      Luke felt a twinge of sympathy for the boy, but Randy Middleton was going to respect his mother, at least until those handcuffs were removed. She stood slowly, and he wasn’t sure whether that was because she was tired or because she was standing so close to him. He moved back to give her some space, and made the mistake of looking into her eyes. He was forty-two, he knew when a woman’s interest in him was more than casual. Her warm, intense gaze told him plenty. It had been a long time since he’d last wanted a particular woman, but he wanted this one. Not that it mattered. He didn’t know a thing about her, and he refused to let himself be sucked into her orbit just because his testosterone had gotten unruly.

      Enough was enough! He called a junior detective. “Set up that cutter, will you?”

      “I don’t know how to thank you, Captain. You’ve been so kind to us,” Kate said, rubbing the wrist that had borne the metal cuff.

      “My pleasure. You may go in a couple of minutes.” He handed her a notepad. “Jot down the address of your store and the hours and telephone number, and your home address and phone number, in case I need to reach you.” He knew his young colleague had taken that information from her, but he didn’t want to raise eyebrows by copying from the record in the presence of his officers. He gave her his card. “If you have a problem of any kind, call me.”

      She did as he asked and thanked him again. “Could I phone for a taxi, please?”

      He looked at the address she’d given. “I’ll drop you off on my way home.”

      By the time he’d taken them home, the Hamburger House had closed, so he stopped at the River Café and bought enough Cajun-fried catfish, french fries and coleslaw for two meals, got the Sunday papers and headed for his co-op town house.

      For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Kate Middleton wouldn’t get out of his head. He put on a CD and listened to his favorite music—a Max Bruch violin concerto—while he savored his lunch.

      Relaxed,