Swat Standoff. Lena Diaz

wanted to ask you—”

      They both stopped and smiled.

      He waved at her. “You first.”

      She cleared her throat. “I was just going to ask how you got here. Since I, um, have your keys.”

      “My neighbor. I called him and he was just a few miles away, running an errand. We both have spare sets of each other’s keys in case we lock ourselves out of our homes or cars. He and his son picked me up at the bar. His son drove my truck home while I slept off the liquor. In case you were wondering how I got my truck back.”

      “I tried to call—”

      He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the glass before turning it around. “I noticed.”

      The home screen showed fifteen missed calls.

      Her face flamed hot. “Are all of those from me?”

      “Every one.”

      “Wow. I didn’t realize I’d been that big a pest.”

      “You texted even more than you called.” He smiled and put the phone away. “I came over here for a couple of reasons. The first was to apologize.”

      She frowned. “What would you apologize for? I’m the one who left you stranded, in the rain, at a horrible, smelly bar. In my defense, I did eventually turn around and go back. But you were gone.”

      “Yeah, this is the part where I have to admit that I hid in the men’s room when you came back into the bar looking for me. Not one of my prouder moments. But I was still angry and didn’t want to talk to you.”

      “I knew that snake-tattooed bartender was lying. Well, at least you’re okay. And you didn’t end up with your truck in a ditch somewhere.”

      His jaw tightened. “Believe it or not, I’m not the bad guy everyone seems to think I am. And unlike the mayor’s wife, I care about the other people out on the road. I would never drink and drive, in spite of how I acted earlier. The fact that you thought I would only contributed to my foul mood, so I didn’t bother to tell you that all I was going to do was lie down in my truck and sleep it off.”

      “Blake, I didn’t mean that the way it—”

      He held up his hand again. “Please, let me get all this out before you think I’m blaming you for my own actions. I’m not. I was a jerk to you today. You were worried about me.” He patted his pocket where he’d put his cell phone. “Obviously. And I didn’t have the decency to answer even one of your calls or texts to let you know that I was okay. I’m really sorry, Donna. And even though I’d argue it wasn’t necessary to take my keys, and it wasn’t fun being left standing in the rain, it was a wake-up call. The whole day was a wake-up call, in a lot of ways. I hope you can accept my deepest, heartfelt apology. Can you forgive me?”

      He startled her by taking one of her hands between his, while he watched her and waited for her reply. She swallowed hard, trying to remember what he’d even said. It was hard to focus when his large, warm hands held hers and he was staring at her with such intensity.

      The man had definitely missed his calling. Instead of law enforcement, he should have been a sexy leading man in Hollywood, making all the women swoon and throw themselves at his feet. All it would take was one look from those intense, dark blue eyes to make the rest of the world fade away. She didn’t think he’d ever looked at her this way before. It was doing funny things to her belly, and her pulse was racing so fast, it was a wonder he didn’t say something about it.

      He’d showered recently. His short, nearly black hair was still damp. And he was wearing fresh clothes—jeans, boots and a blue pullover shirt that made his eyes look an even darker blue than usual.

      Not that any of that mattered.

      She shouldn’t care how gorgeous he looked, or how incredibly wonderful his warm skin felt against hers. But he’d never focused the full force of his attention on her before, not like this, as if the only thing that mattered in the world was her.

      “Donna? Help me out here. I have no idea what that sharp mind of yours is thinking right now. Are you about to forgive me, or should I run for my truck before you pull out your gun?” His mouth quirked up in a half grin that had her toes curling against the floor.

      Good grief, what was wrong with her? She was obviously more tired than she’d thought. And the day’s events had made her emotions raw. Blake the police officer she could handle. Blake the sexy, nice, attentive man sitting across from her—holding her hand—was draining her IQ points by the second. If she didn’t do something fast, she’d start stuttering and batting her eyelashes at him. Or worse, lunge across the couch and find out once and for all if he was the excellent kisser that she’d always fantasized that he would be.

      His brows crinkled with concern. “Donna? Are you okay? You look flushed.” He reached toward her face as if to check her for a fever.

      She jerked back and yanked her hand free. Popping up from the couch, she said the first thing that flashed into her mind. “I have to pee.”

      His eyes widened.

      She groaned and sprinted from the room.

      * * *

      WHAT HAD JUST HAPPENED? Blake stared at the empty spot on the couch beside him where Donna had been sitting just seconds earlier. Obviously he’d upset her, or she wouldn’t have run out of the room like that. But other than an apology, he couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to make things worse.

      He blew out a frustrated breath and stood. He was too agitated to keep sitting on the couch, so he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Now that he’d delivered his pathetic apology, with disastrous results, he wasn’t even sure whether he should hang around to tell her the other reason that he was here. After all, there were dozens of explanations for his concerns—all of which seemed valid and far more likely than the insane scenario that kept running through his head. Maybe he should have started with the scenario and skipped the apology part. But he’d been worried that she’d be too angry to listen if he didn’t smooth things over first.

      A lot of good that had done.

      He checked his watch. Thirty minutes to midnight on a Saturday. This was silly. He should just go home and try to sleep off the aftereffects of a very nasty hangover that was already making his head pound in spite of the aspirin he’d taken. Everything was bound to look different in the morning. His concerns would be proven false, and everyone would go about their lives like normal.

      Except for him.

      Nothing had been normal in his life for a very long time.

      “Blake.”

      He turned to see Donna standing by the recliner, her brow lined with worry. He cleared his throat and stepped over to her. “Whatever I did, if my apology somehow offended you, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

      “What? No, no. You did nothing wrong. It was just...” She shook her head. “Forget it. It was something stupid. Nothing to worry about. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

      “Then we’re good? You’re not upset with me?”

      “I’m upset that you got yourself fired. And I’ll be really upset if you don’t try to talk to Dillon to get your job back. Maybe if you just apologize to him, explain your side—”

      “That’s why I’m here. I mean, other than trying to fix things between you and me. I came here because I did try to contact Dillon. I wanted to meet with him, just the two of us, and talk this thing out.”

      “Oh, well, that’s great. We’re supposed to go back to Hawkins Ridge for another exercise in the morning, around nine. Maybe you could go up there and talk to him then, while the rest of us are getting everything set up.” She frowned. “Why are you giving me a funny look? What’s wrong?”

      “It