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She was most likely referring to his hair, which was anything but regulation length. He’d let it grow so that it curled over his ears and touched his shoulders at the back. “I’m a plainclothes homicide detective. We don’t need to conform to any particular dress code,” he said lightly.
She merely narrowed her eyes at him.
“And what about that scar on your face? Where did you get that?”
He resisted the urge to touch the scar that traveled the length of his cheek. She certainly had no problem diving right in and asking the hard questions. Some of his teammates at work still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him where that scar came from. Or perhaps it was merely a lack of interest. Whatever it was, most people had more manners than to ask that question straight off the bat. Not that he minded her directness. Not one bit. He also didn’t mind the scar; he thought it gave him more of a rakish, dangerous edge. Time had healed and faded it until it was now more of a deep crease in his cheek. When he smiled, it could almost be mistaken for a large dimple.
“I was attacked by a dog when I was seven. It didn’t bite me, but it pawed at my face, and its sharp claws left a gaping wound.” He gave the unvarnished truth, watching her face for a reaction.
She grimaced slightly, and then said, “A nasty thing to happen as a kid, but I’m glad it didn’t scare you off dogs for good.” She glanced down and patted her knee, and Smudge leaped to his feet and came over to lick her hand, his black body swaying with the rhythmic thumping of his tail.
“Me, too,” he agreed. Smudge was one of a few dogs he owned over his lifetime. “He just appeared at the front entrance to the Burnie Police Station five years ago and kept letting himself into reception every time someone opened the front door,” Nico told her. “I was the last to leave that night, and the dog was still sitting patiently at the front door. So, I took him to the vet to see if he was microchipped—which he wasn’t. The vet thought the dog might’ve been around three years old, and no amount of searching unearthed his owner. So…” Nico shrugged. He’d been more than happy to adopt the border collie cross, and then when he’d bought this property a few years ago, Smudge had been ecstatic with all the extra space.
But enough of talking about himself. If they were asking questions, he had quite a few of his own.
“Where did you learn to throw a man twice your size over your shoulder like that?” He leaned back and cupped the mug between his palms, stating the question as if it had no real import. But it did. She was very good at defending herself, and he wondered where she’d learned how to do that. And more importantly, why.
“I practice judo. I’m a black belt.”
“Right.” That was the factual answer to the question, but not the one he was looking for. “You’re very good at it,” he added, fishing for something more. Because he knew there was more than one level of black belt in judo, and he wanted to know where she fell in that ranking; it’d give him a better idea of exactly who he was dealing with.
“I should be, I’ve been doing it since I was ten years old,” she told him, not falling for his ploy.
“Right,” he said again. But at least they were getting somewhere now, because she was talking to him, opening up, even if just a little. He had been thinking that she might’ve taken the fighting technique up as a form of protection after some kind of event or catalyst. Some women who’d been involved in an assault took up a form of martial arts to help them with empowerment; a way to gain back some of their shattered self-esteem. But if she’d been practicing since she was little, then that wasn’t her reason. But something was bothering her. He’d seen enough people who’d either witnessed or been involved in terrible trauma. They had a look to them, as if they’d collapsed under the weight of the terrible pain they were carrying and could never quite build themselves up again to become a normal, functioning human. Lacey had that aura about her. She had some kind of deep, dark secret she was harboring.
Before he could phrase another question, Smudge gave a quiet whine, wanting out of the van, reminding Nico he needed to get to work.
He stood and reached for the door handle, nearly banging his head on the low ceiling. “Sorry, I should get going. I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need.” Stepping down out of the van, he drew in a deep breath of misty air. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he added.
“Thank you.” She’d edged along the couch, pulling the blanket in closer around her as the cold air rushed in. “I’ll give that mechanic you recommended last night a call, and hopefully he can diagnose Dotti’s problem. I’d really like to get moving today, or tomorrow, at the latest.”
“Yeah, Dave’s a good bloke. If you mention my name he won’t have a problem making a house call.” Silently, Nico thought Lacey might be in for a longer stay in Boat Harbour than she planned. If this old van needed a spare part to get her going again the wait to get it shipped over from the mainland could be up to a week, or even more. This wasn’t some large capital city, where you could just click your fingers and the parts were already in stock and mechanics were a dime a dozen. Dave would be doing Nico a favor by coming to look at the van. Nico knew he always had his schedule full and was often booked up weeks in advance. Being the only reliable mechanic in this little neck of the woods made him a valuable man to know. Burnie was the closest big town with a few resident mechanics, but Nico doubted any of them would make a mobile visit out here their priority.
“Right, then,” he said when Lacey didn’t answer straight away. “I normally leave Smudge tied up at his kennel during the day. But if you want to let him off and take him for a walk, that’s fine. Just keep an eye on him, he has a tendency to wander off,” he warned, already turning back toward the house, whistling up Smudge who’d gone to investigate a nearby tree where he was busily leaving his calling card.
“Oh, ah, Nico?” There was something in her voice that pulled him up short. A hesitancy that hadn’t been there before.
He turned back and found her staring at him, as if weighing him up. “I should probably tell you something, in case you decide to look me up when you get to work. Because I know you will. It’s what I’d do if I’d invited a strange woman to stay on my property.”
Ah-ha. He knew it. There was something in Lacey’s past she’d been deliberately keeping from him. He waited as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if she had trouble finding the words. Or finding the strength to voice those words.
Finally, she blurted, “I’m also a police officer. I’m a constable in the Victoria Police Force.”
He rocked back on his heels. That’d been the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. He wasn’t one to be surprised often, but this was indeed a shock.
“I’m on…unpaid leave. Which is why I’m traveling around Tasmania,” she continued.
“Okay,” he drawled. “Thanks for filling me in.” And she was right; he had been going to run a quick background check on her when he got to work. No detective worth their salt would’ve done any different.
That answered a whole lot of things about her ability to protect herself. She was a trained professional, albeit with a black belt in judo, but trained to take care of herself. The very next question that came to mind was why? Why was she taking protracted leave? Most of the reasons a cop took unpaid leave were usually something to do with their inability to handle the stress of the job—undiagnosed PTSD was a bigger problem in the force than anyone liked to admit—or they’d been forced to take leave because they were being investigated for misconduct. Which one of those did Lacey fall under?
She stared at him, a stubborn tilt to her chin. Clearly, Lacey wasn’t going to share that tidbit of information. He could ring around a few of his friends who worked in the force on the mainland and see if he could find out. But for some reason, he didn’t want to dig into Lacey’s problems. He wanted her to trust him enough to tell him herself. He made an internal promise to himself that he wouldn’t do a search on her. Not today, at least.
“Have a good day,” he said. “I should be home around six tonight. If you’re still here, you’re welcome to have dinner with me.”
“Thanks.” She offered nothing further, so he walked back toward his house, aware of her gaze boring into his back as he went.
Intriguing didn’t even begin to describe this woman he decided as he climbed the steps back into his kitchen.
