Bulletproof Hearts. Brenda Harlen

her actions had been in coming here tonight.

      “Coffee?” he offered again.

      This time, she drew a deep breath and nodded.

      The sign in the window of Sam’s Diner advertised breakfast twenty-four hours a day. It was one of the reasons it was such a popular establishment with the local cops.

      “Are you hungry?” Dylan asked, sliding into the vinyl booth across from the A.D.A.

      Natalie started to shake her head, paused. “I shouldn’t be. But I missed dinner, and something smells really good.”

      “They do a great ham-and-cheese omelet.”

      “Maybe I’ll try it,” she agreed, turning over her cup as the waitress approached their table with a pot of coffee in hand.

      “Good morning, Sylvia.” He greeted the waitress who was already filling their cups.

      “Morning, Lieutenant. Ma’am.”

      Natalie frowned; Dylan grinned. “This is Natalie Vaughn—our newest assistant district attorney,” he said.

      “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Will you be wanting breakfast or just coffee this morning?”

      “Breakfast,” he answered. “Two ham-and-cheese omelets.”

      “Can you make mine with egg whites only?” Natalie asked, emptying a creamer into her cup. “And whole-wheat toast, please. No butter.”

      Sylvia nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

      Dylan shook his head.

      “What?” Natalie demanded.

      “It’s a greasy spoon. You want to eat healthy, you should go to one of those yuppie delis that serve alfalfa sprouts on everything.”

      “I like alfalfa sprouts,” she told him, sounding just a bit defensive.

      “I could have guessed.”

      “That must be why you’re carrying the badge.”

      He laughed, pleasantly surprised by her bland touch of humor. He’d invited her for coffee because he’d wanted to get her away from Merrick’s apartment. He wasn’t happy that she’d been at the scene; he was even more unhappy about his fading prospects of apprehending Conroy.

      But there was no point in remaining angry with Natalie when Merrick was dead, and nothing to be gained from yelling at her anymore when she looked as if she was beating herself up enough for the both of them. And he had to admire the way she’d held herself together at the scene. He’d have expected her to be crying or throwing up, at the very least cowering.

      She’d been shaken, there was no doubt about that. But she’d held her ground and she’d answered his questions, and she’d proven—at least on this matter—that he’d underestimated her.

      “Other than tonight, how are you enjoying the new job?” he asked.

      The cup Natalie had picked up trembled slightly in her hand. “It hasn’t been boring.”

      “I’ll bet you thought you were getting away from the problems of the big city by coming to Fairweather.”

      “I did,” she admitted.

      “If it makes you feel any better, this town doesn’t have a high rate of violent crime.”

      “Except in the neighborhood I walked into tonight,” she reminded him.

      “But still relatively low compared to the bigger cities.”

      “I’m sure that will help me sleep,” she said dryly.

      The simple offhand comment brought to mind images of Natalie in bed. In his bed. Her sexily tousled hair spread over his pillowcase, her stormy eyes heavy with desire, her lips erotically swollen from his kisses. The image was startlingly vivid, the longing achingly real. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, maybe I could help.”

      Her cup clattered in the saucer as she set it back down, and her eyes were wide and wary as they met his. Obviously his offer had surprised her. No more than it had surprised him.

      She cleared her throat. “Are you propositioning me, Lieutenant?”

      Was he? If so, that scene in Merrick’s apartment must have shaken him more than he realized. He hadn’t shared his bed with anyone since Beth died, nor had he wanted to do so. “No.” He considered. “Maybe.”

      Natalie chuckled. The soft sexy sound suited her, he thought. It was as unconsciously seductive as everything else about her.

      Sylvia returned from the kitchen with two plates, set them down on the table.

      Dylan waited until the waitress was out of earshot before continuing. “What would you say if I were propositioning you?”

      “No.” Her response was quick and unequivocal.

      “Ouch.” But he was more relieved than insulted.

      She smiled as she toyed with the fried potatoes on her plate. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just not in the habit of going to bed with men I’ve known less than twenty-four hours.”

      Nor was he in the habit of propositioning women he’d known less than twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. Acknowledging the uncharacteristic reaction would be too close to acknowledging his feelings—and he wasn’t even sure what those feelings were.

      Instead, he played it casual. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get back to you later, then.”

      “Don’t bother. I’m also not in the habit of getting involved with people I work with.”

      “There are always exceptions to a rule.”

      “Not this one,” she said firmly, digging in to her omelet.

      He knew she was right. In fact, he’d come to the same conclusion himself—and had promptly forgotten his own resolution the minute she’d sat down across from him.

      “Besides,” she said, “I find your sudden interest more than a little suspicious when you’ve made no secret of the fact that you don’t approve of my being hired to fill the vacancy in the D.A.’s office.”

      “It doesn’t matter if I approve or disapprove, and I distinctly remember telling you that I was reserving judgment.”

      “You were quick enough to pass judgment when you found me in Merrick’s apartment.”

      “And I’m not going to apologize for that,” he told her. “You shouldn’t have been there. However valid your reasons for agreeing to meet with him, you should never have ventured into that neighborhood on your own without telling anyone where you were going.”

      “I called you,” she admitted.

      That surprised him. “You did?”

      She bit into a piece of toast. Frowned. “It’s buttered.”

      “I’m sure your arteries will survive.” He slathered jam onto his own bread. “When did you call me?”

      “Before I left to meet with Merrick. I left a message on your voice mail.”

      “Oh.” He usually left his cell phone in the car when he was home. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

      She smiled wryly, drawing his attention to the fullness of her soft pink lips. Kissable lips, he thought again. And glistening now with traces of butter. He tore his gaze away, gulped down a mouthful of bitter coffee.

      “I tried,” she said. “You weren’t listening. You just steamrolled past without giving me a chance to explain.”

      Well, he was paying complete attention to her now, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the feelings she stirred inside him. Feelings he