Kansas City Cop. Julie Miller

suspected that was the case, or else a detective or investigator from the DA’s office would have been back to question him on his account of the incident. “Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give KCPD a better description of the shooter’s SUV or license plate. The whole back end was covered in frozen mud and slush.”

      She nodded. “He probably went straight to a car wash afterward so we couldn’t even look for a dirty vehicle.”

      “Probably. How’s your partner?”

      “Back on active duty.”

      “That’s good news.” Or not, judging by the scowl that darkened her expression. Even with a frown like that, Mike had a hard time calling Gina Galvan anything but pretty. High cheekbones. Full lips. Dark, sensuous eyes. Hair the color of dark-roast coffee. “You cut your hair since I saw you last.”

      “I was bleeding in the snow when you saw me last.” The subtle warmth of an accent made an intriguing contrast to the crisp snap of her words.

      “I 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?”