Page 4 of Protect My Heart

The door flew opened and a frantic woman darted through, dropped her bag, and scooped up the boy. The only words Jim could make out were Luis and abuela.

“I’m Luis’s mother, Isabella. What happened?” She asked.

Before Jim could respond, Doc stepped up and started speaking to her, first in English then in Spanish. Her subdued tone calmed the woman, making Jim thankful she was there. He took one look at the mom and then the scared little boy. So little. His nephew was that age. Would he want Brendan riding the bus to the police station?

“If it’s alright with you, instead of you coming to the station, I’ll swing by here tomorrow and show him photos of cars and a few suspects.”

Any other witness would need to come into the station to finalize their statement and look at photos, but no need to upset the little guy more. Hell, if the Doc wasn’t here, he doubted he would have got the boy out from behind his grandmother’s chair.

Doc gave Ana a warm smile. A stream of smooth Spanish flowed as she gave the older woman a quick embrace. With a sad smile for Luis’s mom, Doc stepped back.

Isabella’s brown eyes darted from Luis, now standing behind his grandmother, to Doc, who nodded. “Si’.”

He handed her his card and escorted Doc from the apartment.

“You were good with them.” The detective didn’t turn to look at her.

Liz stopped mid-step. Did he just give her a compliment?

“Thank you,” she said when he finally looked at her. She chose her next words carefully. “You know I’m only here to help.”

His eyes searched hers, for what, she didn’t know. He must have found what he was seeking, because he gave one decisive nod and started walking again. “You know the grandma?”

“Yes, she’s a family friend. She used to work with my mother.”

She questioned if he heard her at first, but then she heard him mumble as he walked away. “That explains it.”

He had the big-tough-guy act down to an art, but he’d let the tough guy facade slip. Jim agreed to go to the scared boy tomorrow instead of making them come to the police station, which would surely cause Luis more anxiety and stress.

A burnt marshmallow, she nodded at the thought. That’s what he was, hard and crispy on the outside, but one little boy had his gooey center oozing out. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she followed him outside.

Two steps onto the sidewalk had her questioning her earlier definition of Detective Swenson.

“What the hell?” He was nose-to-nose with a college-age woman, the defiance in her eyes evident. “Who said you could be on this side of the tape? Give it?”

The girl tentatively held out the phone.

Liz’s jaw dropped as he snatched the cell phone from the girl’s hand and whirled to continue his berating of the uniformed officer. So much for the old softy, he looked like he could bite the young officer’s head off and use it for a bocce ball. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the line of fire.

“Detective Swenson, could I have a word with you?”

His dark gaze gave her the answer before his words touched her ears. “Sorry, Doc. Not the moment. I have a crime scene to run and now that the tent is up, we have to work fast.”

Not deterred by the command in his voice, she pushed on. Remembering her calming and assertion techniques from a time in her life she’d rather forget, she squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.

“I’ll make it brief then.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and stepped up, getting eye to eye with him. Okay, so it was eye to chest. Broad, solid chest. She raised her eyes to find a smirk on his lips. Damn, he noticed her surveying his impressive chest. “Call me when you set up a time to meet with Luis tomorrow. I will be there, no matter the time.”

At his nod, she turned and walked away, forcing her gaze straight ahead, even though she was dying to know if he was checking her out.

Once back in her car, she slumped in the seat. Every nerve in her body vibrated with strain. This was what she was here for, to help children who witnessed traumatic crimes, but it didn’t make it any easier. Being back in the Twin Cities, the cold snowy night, it was all so familiar, too real. Then throw in the cranky, sexy police detective on top of the crap pile, and she could use a pint of her Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Jim stomped across the cream-colored vinyl squares of the police station with purposeful strides. The echo of his footsteps rang in the space. The usual noise and activities that accompanied the daily grind of any cop shop within a metropolitan area were all but gone at this time of night.

He tossed the pink cell phone to a fellow officer as he stopped at his desk. “You want to sign this into evidence. Damn wanna-be reporters.”

“They get younger and bolder every day.” Ryan Daniels pulled out an evidence bag and dropped the phone inside. “Want me to apply for a warrant so I can erase any video and pics?”

“No, I just hope she didn’t upload it to her Instagram account before I caught her.” Jim rubbed his eyes with his palms. His tolerance for intrusive females was at an all-time low. First, the doc, and now this paparazzi.