Kansas City Cop. Julie Miller

like it—the hair, not the blood. I didn’t realize how wavy your hair was.”

      “Well, long hair is hardly practical with—” she gestured at her arm in the sling “—this. And I am not going to rely on my aunt or my sister to put my hair up every day.”

      “Sounds smart.”

      “Why are we talking about my hair?” The accent grew a little more pronounced as a hint of acid entered her tone. Was that anger? Frustration? A clear message that she wasn’t interested in his compliments or flirtations—idle or otherwise. She froze for a moment before inhaling a deep breath. Then, oddly, she crossed her fingers and brushed them against her lips and heart before settling her hand back into her lap. He thought it must be some kind of calming ritual because her posture relaxed a fraction and the tension left her voice. “I owe you for saving my life, Mr. Cutler. Thank you.”

      He’d heard the gunshots on his morning run through the neighborhood just a mile or so from the clinic. What else was he supposed to do besides try to help? “It’s just Mike. And you’re welcome.”

      Was that what this visit was about? A proud woman wanting to thank him? But she’d indicated that she hadn’t remembered him.

      Mike’s father clearly had a purpose for coming to the clinic. “Could you give us a few minutes, Galvan?”

      Gina popped to her feet, eager to please the captain or simply eager to escape the uncomfortable conversation. “Yes, sir.”

      Mike stood, too, as Frannie stepped into the room carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs with packets of sugar and creamer. He scooted aside a stack of bills for her to set the tray on his desk. “Thanks. Why don’t you give Officer Galvan a tour of the facility while Dad and I talk.”

      “Okay.” Frannie’s eyes were still puffy behind her glasses, but the pale skin beneath her freckles and pixie haircut was back to normal. She smiled at Gina and led her into the hallway. “We can start with the women’s locker room.”

      Mike closed the door and returned to his seat, looking across the desk as his father picked up a mug and blew the steam off the top. “How worried should I be about this impromptu visit?”

       Chapter Four

      His father pursed his lips and made a rare face before swallowing. “Um...”

      Mike took a sip and spit the sour brew back into his mug. “Sorry about that. Frannie must have cleaned the coffeemaker out with vinegar again.”

      “Did she rinse it afterward?”

      “I’ll sneak in there and make a new pot later this morning while she’s busy.” Mike spun his chair and emptied his mug into the potted fern beside the door. “She’s a little distracted. Her ex gets out on parole today.”

      “Leo Mesner?” Mike nodded, returning his mug to the tray. Michael Sr. followed his lead, dumping out his coffee. “I’ll find out who Leo’s parole officer will be so we can keep tabs on him for her.”

      “Thanks. After that last assault, he shouldn’t have any contact with her, but you never know if prison sobered him up and made him rethink hurting his ex-wife or just made him even angrier and bent on revenge. We’ll do what we can to keep her safe from this end, too.”

      “I know you will, son. You’re too kindhearted for your own good.”

      “You know it’s not all kindness, Dad.” His father’s blue eyes pierced right into Mike’s soul, understanding his need to atone for the damage he’d done in his youth—and wishing his older son would forgive himself already. Mike smiled a reassurance to ease his father’s concern. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my problems. I’m assuming this visit has to do with Officer Galvan?”

      His dad nodded. “I’m bringing you a new client.”

      He pointed briefly to his own shoulder. “She had surgery?”

      “Stitches in her leg to seal up the bullet graze there. Emergency surgery to repair a nicked lung. She’s recovered from those without incident.” His dad’s expression turned grim. “But the second bullet went through her shoulder and tore it up. The doctors had to rebuild the joint. The PT is for muscle and nerve damage there.”

      “What kind of nerve damage?”

      “You’re the expert. But I know it has affected her hand. She can’t hold a gun.”

      “Only six weeks after getting shot? She shouldn’t be trying.”

      “You don’t know Gina.” His dad leaned forward, sharing a confidence. “She’s nobody’s pretty princess. Not the easiest person to get along with, especially since the shooting. She’s already quit one therapist, and another refused to work with her after the first session.”

      “But I’m so desperate for patients, you think I’ll take her on?”

      “No.” He leaned back, his features carved with an astute paternal smile. “I know how tough you are. All you’ve survived and been through. I know how resourceful you can be. If anybody can stand up to Gina, it’s you.”

      There was a compliment in there somewhere, one that ranked right up there with Troy’s claim that he could outlast trouble. Maybe his dad and friend were subtly trying to tell him that he was too hardheaded for his own good. “What was the issue with the other therapists? She wouldn’t do the work?”

      “Just the opposite. She pushed herself too hard.”

      Mike nodded. “Did more damage than helped her recovery. You think Troy and I want to risk that kind of liability?”

      “She’s an ambitious woman. Trying to do better for herself and her family. Other than her great-uncle’s disability and social security, she’s their sole support. But she’s a good cop. Good instincts. Well trained. Gina can think on her feet. Once the bad guys realize they’ve underestimated her, they discover they don’t want to mess with her. I was ready to put her on my new SWAT team until the shooting. I’ve still got a spot for her.” His dad’s shoulders lifted with a wry apology. “But if she can’t handle the physical demands of the job, I can’t use her.”

      “You want me to fix her so she can make the team?”

      “I want you to fix her so we don’t lose her to No-Man’s Land.” Just a few city blocks north of the clinic. Poverty, gangs, drugs, prostitution, homelessness—it was a tough place to grow up. His dad’s second wife, Jillian, had barely survived her time in one of Kansas City’s most dangerous neighborhoods. Troy had almost lost his life there. Mike knew his father and his SWAT team had answered several calls there over the years. There was a lot to admire about a woman who held down a good job and took care of her family in the No-Man’s Land neighborhood. In this neighborhood, where he and Troy were determined to make a difference. Michael Cutler Sr. was a professional hostage negotiator. He knew what buttons to push to ensure Mike’s cooperation, and helping someone deserving in this part of the city was a big one. “Help her realize her potential. KCPD needs her. She needs the job, and I want her if she can do it.”

      Mike scrubbed his hand over the stubble shading his jaw before deciding to swallow a little pride. “Can she pay?”

      “I’ll cover whatever her department insurance doesn’t.”

      “You believe in her that much?”

      “I do.”

      “Then I will, too.” Appreciating the faith his father had always had in him, Mike rolled his chair back and stood. “I’ll get the job done for you, Dad.”

      “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” With their business completed, Michael Sr. stood as well, adjusting the gun at his hip and pulling the black SWAT cap from his back pocket. He tipped his head toward the unpaid bills that Mike