Page 3 of Striker

“Well, now that all this is sorted out, I guess I’ll get going,” she said, refusing to fall under the spell of those twinkling eyes. “I’m starving.”

It was his turn to catch her arm. “Actually, I came here looking for you. Could we…talk?”

“Me? Why?”

“I could tell you over dinner.” With that half smile playing around his mouth and that devilish light still in his dark eyes, he was damn near irresistible. But he’d gotten her into more trouble than she had been able to handle back then. As if just looking at him didn’t make her want more than she should.

He stepped the tiniest bit closer, and for a second, she wasn’t sure what his intentions were. She went still rather than move away, her breath trapped in her chest.

“It’s important.”

Had his voice always been that deep? That smooth? Her gaze dipped to his mouth, unbidden, and she had to fight the urge to wet her lips.

“O?”

The way he called her O made her remember so many things she had tried so hard to forget. How much would it hurt this time?

Yet she’d never wanted to accept an invitation more.

She broke eye contact, praying that nothing of the thoughts going through her head showed anywhere on her face. He was far too astute as it was. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know how you must feel about me, but as I said, this is important. Please, O.”

Maybe it would be good for her to go and hear what he had to say. The way they left it hadn’t been anything close to closure. Partly her fault, partly his insistence.

“I’m choosing the place, you’re buying, and we’re walking.” She liked the surprised look on his face. She didn’t give him a moment to respond, certain he was used to giving orders more than taking them. A Tier One operator was always in charge and what he said was gold. Dean was going to have to get used to her deciding her own path to wherever it was they were going but then again, he guessed he was used to that from her. She’d walked away from him before. It didn’t hurt his case that he had a good sense of humor and that damn bad boy glint in his eyes was charming. Where Dean was concerned, she would have to play her cards close to her vest.

“Give me a second,” she said. She walked over to Ray, gave him back his keys and handcuffs, told him there had been a mistake and she had released his suspect at the insistent behest of one of his witnesses. He nodded, taking her at her word as he worked at holding back the curious crowd. Ophelia glanced over at Mrs. Ketchum’s obvious insistence that Dean allow the EMT to take care of his arm.

The EMT was setting a bandage against Dean’s arm and counseling him on how to take care of the gash. Dean nodded, but his attention seemed to be on her.

When he was done being treated, they headed out. They turned from the rolling lights and the curb jammed with interested people toward the block where there were rows of eateries. She swiped at the perspiration on her forehead. She’d be glad when this heat wave gave way to the everyday gorgeous weather of LA.

“LA hasn’t changed much,” Dean said. He gestured toward the block full of people and food. “We still love to eat here.”

She smiled and nodded. “Day or night, you can always find different varieties, price points, and ethnic traditions. That’s LA for you.” They crossed the street once the light changed. “I take it you haven’t been back in a while.”

He shrugged. “Been away for a long time. Back now.”

“How’s your mom?”

“She passed about six months ago.”

His words were matter of fact. He never really sounded warm when he talked about his mother, but Dean had always been respectful of the old battle-ax. She’d heard rumors of how he and his brothers had been treated, but that wasn’t any kind of reliable source. She’d seen him once, supporting her down the street and into the house. It had totally been by circumstance on a joy ride with someone she shouldn’t have been joyriding with. But rumors were all she had to go on. Dean wouldn’t talk about his family.

“Neo?”

“Kicking ass and taking names,” he said, but there was a subtle hint of tension in his voice, and she had to wonder what had happened to put it there.

“Your family?” he asked.

“Everyone is alive and kicking.” That’s all he ever asked, and she suspected it was just him being polite. Her mother had been brutal to Dean, her father even more so. Her brother had stayed as neutral as Switzerland.

Now that the preliminaries were out of the way, she wondered what he wanted with her.

“In here.” She indicated the Spanish-style façade of the café and bakery emitting delicious aromas every time the door opened. She passed several people as they were exiting, Dean was so close to her, she could feel the heat of his body. The counter was mobbed as usual, and it took a bit to get their orders and find a table out back to sit and eat. There was a string of lights above them in a secluded courtyard, the soft din of people all around them.

She loved this place, loved LA with its melting pot of cultures and cuisines. She currently lived in Glendale in a cute bungalow that had been owned previously by her deceased grandmother. She’d left the house to Ophelia, shaving off thirty minutes of her commute to downtown and the Metropolitan Division of LAPD SWAT.

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