Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Cassie pulled off the New York State Thruway and drove into the town of Hopewell Springs, population six thousand, according to the prominent hand-painted sign on the side of the road. She and Raven had been driving for over four hours, and Cassie’s stomach rumbled so loud she could hear it above the music blasting on the radio.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know about you, Raven, but I’m starving. Let’s hope we can find a decent place for breakfast out here in the boonies.”

Woof.

Dom and Gray had stood guard overnight at her house in Union, New Jersey, while she slept, so she could rise early and hit the road at the crack of dawn. With her Smith & Wesson, two additional fully loaded magazines, and Raven at the foot of her bed, she’d fallen into a troubled, restless sleep, dreaming of a nameless, faceless hit man.

Her brother and partner had wanted her to go to a safe house until they could figure out the identity of the hit man and throw his ass in jail. Word on the street was whoever ordered the hit was connected with La Femme, but Rod Manici wasn’t talking. At least not directly. The little prick had lawyered-up and his high-priced, arrogant attorney now did the talking for him, naturally denying his client’s involvement in any “alleged” hit.

“No matter what Gray and Dom say, I
don’t
want protection.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Raven’s head perk up. “I can’t be guarded by a bunch of cops twenty-four-seven. It would be like prison.” And getting away from cops—from the NYPD altogether—was the plan that had been cooking in her head for a while now. “The only cop I want guarding my backside is you.”

Woof.

Cassie turned onto what appeared to be the main drag leading into the center of Hopewell Springs. She eyed the envelope thick with cash and other documents sitting on the front seat.

Gray had reluctantly agreed to help and procured an unmarked NYPD navy blue Trail Blazer registered in her old undercover name, different from the one she’d used on the La Femme case. Now she was Cassie Younger.

Dom had even scrounged up her matching fictitious driver’s license, credit card, and a cell phone, all of which she’d used previously for an undercover burglary gig and a drug bust. Utilizing old undercover ID from a successful bust that had resulted in press coverage was a no-no in the UC world and had come back to bite many a careless cop, but given the exigent circumstances it would have to suffice. Besides, she didn’t anticipate needing this particular persona for very long.

Behind her, Raven lounged on the seat. Piled high in the rear of the Trail Blazer were two travel bags she’d crammed with her summer clothes and other essentials, along with a forty-pound bag of pricey kibble, bones, and a dog brush.

She focused her attention back on the road and finding a place to grab a bite. Not much chance there’d be haute cuisine in such a tiny burg, but driving through Hopewell Springs actually made her smile, stretching muscles she could barely remember using in the last five years. The town looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with an old-fashioned theater, an ice-cream parlor, and other small cutesy shops.

Another hand-painted sign indicated the towering brick building with fluted columns she’d just passed housed the town’s municipal offices and police station. The tree-lined streets were decorated gaily with red-white-and-blue banners for the July Fourth holiday two weeks away.

A large black-and-white striped awning on the main thoroughfare caught her eye, and she slowed to see it was a restaurant. When she got close enough to read the sign, she burst out laughing. Raven barked, as if she, too, could read the sign.

“The Raven’s Nest. Well, whatdya know?” She pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the restaurant. Turning to Raven, she said, “With that name, we’ve
got
to check this place out.”

After lowering the windows to allow fresh air into the SUV for Raven, Cassie shut off the engine and threw the key chain with its bulky remote start gizmo into her handbag. She grabbed her gun and extra magazines and shoved them on top of her detective’s shield inside the bag. Before leaving the vehicle, she looked through the rear window, then each way along the street. No one was watching or waiting for her, at least not that she could see.

To Raven, she ordered, “Stay. Guard.”

After getting out of the Trail Blazer, she smoothed a few wrinkles from her jeans and cream-colored camisole then headed to the restaurant, her sandals clip-clopping on the pavement. A cool, welcome breeze whipped her hair in front of her face. She tucked it behind her ears and glanced back to see wind ruffling Raven’s fur as the dog stuck her head out the open window. No need to worry about anyone stealing something in the Trail Blazer, not with a seriously intense former K-9 standing watch.

The striped awning of the quaint café shielded a bank of large windows, giving the place a French bistro-type flair. When she pulled open the front door, a small brass bell jingled overhead. No sooner had the door shut behind her than the warmth and hospitality of the place became obvious.

The floors were a classic black-and-white vinyl checkerboard design, with matching gingham curtains hanging at the windows. Bright red cloths adorned the round tables and the rectangular booths. Cassie estimated the restaurant could accommodate about seventy-five people at maximum occupancy.

Kitchen bells dinged and dishes clattered. The smell of bacon and fried eggs made Cassie’s mouth water. Waitresses in black uniforms balanced enormous circular trays loaded with food and still managed to fill customers’ coffee cups at the same time. An antique brass cash register rang every time the cash drawer opened.

The place was in the midst of breakfast chaos, and she loved it. This was exactly the kind of restaurant she had once imagined opening. That was, when her dream of being a chef had been alive and well.

Cassie made her way to the counter and sat at a barstool. Her seat gave her an unobstructed view into the kitchen, and she realized that had been the design plan, to make the kitchen staff part of the entertainment. She could see through the opening to the commercial ovens and grills where three chefs in white uniforms clanged spatulas, flipped eggs and flapjacks, and scooped up steaming piles of hash browns.

The kinetic energy of the place seeped into her veins, awakening a yearning she’d long ago ditched for the allure of a shiny gold badge. She sighed.
This could have been my life, the one I really wanted.
If only she hadn’t caved to family tradition and become a cop. First her grandfather, then her father. All three of her brothers, then her. Dad had been so proud when she’d received her detective’s shield. The whole family had turned out for the ceremony.

Cassie swiveled on the stool, allowing her to take in more of the restaurant’s interior. The walls were a rich golden color and looked like aged Venetian plaster. Tasteful paintings of foreign places added to the European bistro atmosphere. The only modern accessory on the walls was a large television mounted high over the serving counter. Local morning news blared out over the din from the kitchen.

Something slapping loudly behind her made Cassie spin. A slim woman in her early forties, about five-three and buzzing with energy, stood on the other side of the counter. Sitting on the surface in front of her was a large laminated menu.

“Coffee?” the waitress asked in a friendly tone.

The woman, whose tag indicated her name was Rose, had stylishly coiffed short, spiky brown hair, in an Upper East Side kind of way. Her mascara, eyeliner, and red lipstick were flawlessly applied. She wore a pale green skirt and matching green silk short-sleeved blouse. A thick gold necklace, bracelet, and button earrings completed the ensemble. Not your typical small-town waitress getup. Hostess, maybe.

“Please.” Cassie returned Rose’s smile.

“Make that two,” a deep, masculine voice said from close behind her—a voice that sent pleasant chills racing up her spine. “I’ll take mine to go.”

“Hey, Mike,” Rose said as she turned to pour two cups of coffee, one into a white mug and one into a paper cup. “Dressed kind of casual this morning, aren’t you?”

Cassie swiveled her stool enough to check out the body from which that incredible voice had come.
Oh, man
. She did a double take, the guy was hot. And so, so close, not three inches from her shoulder.

Mike,
as Rose called him, was about six-three, with thick, dark brown hair that curled adorably around his ears. He had the clearest, deep blue eyes she’d ever seen, making her feel as if she were peering into the translucent waters of the Caribbean.

Faded jeans hugged a pair of long, muscular legs while a not too snug black T-shirt clung to a broad, sculpted chest. She could well imagine running her fingers through Mike’s wavy brown locks, something she’d never been able to do with any cop she dated. Most of them cut their hair so short they might as well have been bald.

“Gotta head to Albany for training,” Mike said to Rose. “Call Jimmy if you need anything. He’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

Cassie finished admiring Mike’s body, right up to his ruggedly handsome jawline covered by a light growth of beard. The only thing marring his tanned face was a scar above his left eye. Nah, marring wasn’t the right word. It made him look sexier. And a little dangerous. When she lowered her gaze, she was pinned by a pair of twinkling eyes.

Oh, jeez. Caught staring. Smooth, Yates. Real smooth.

“Hi,” Mike said.

The café was still as noisy as when Cassie first walked in, but for some odd reason she barely noticed it. The only thing she heard was that deep, melting voice directed straight at her. “Hi,” she managed to mumble.

“Here you both go,” she heard Rose say, but the woman’s voice sounded far, far away.

All Cassie’s senses kicked into overdrive, but her brain stopped performing with its usual crisp, detective-like efficiency.

Heat emanating from the man was like a warm caress on her body. And that scent he wore… It reminded her of Old Spice, only more subtle, more sophisticated. That aftershave did wonders for a guy, not to mention it was a surefire way to get her hormones revved into high gear. If they hadn’t been land-locked, Cassie would have bet this guy really did have a girl in every port. She could practically hear the Old Spice jingle in her head.

“Thanks, Rose,” Mike said without taking his gaze from Cassie.

At first his expression was inquisitive, almost suspicious. As he narrowed his eyes, dark brows drew together. For an instant, she had the impression he was sizing her up—and not in a physical way. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. Her brother Gray got the same way when he was trying to figure out whether a suspect was handing him a line of shit.

Well, what the heck is this about? I stopped in for coffee and chow, not to rob the joint.

A slow, easy grin tipped the corners of Mike’s mouth, stopping just short of a full-fledged smile. Then again, maybe he was just ogling, since from where he stood he had a bird’s-eye view straight down her camisole to her braless breasts.

“Staying in town or passing through?” he asked.

“Uh…” She could barely form a coherent sentence. Something about this total stranger took her breath—and her speaking faculties—away. “Passing through.”

Mike’s full, sexy mouth curved upward, revealing a gorgeous set of white teeth. “Shame.”

“Uh, yeah,” she muttered.
Crap.
She’d never been at a loss for words. Bullshit was her forte, something honed to professional undercover perfection.

“Sugar? Milk?”

She turned as Rose plunked a jar of sugar and a spoon onto the counter, along with a small silver pitcher of milk. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Rose winked at her, then looked to Mike with raised eyebrows. “Hair’s getting a little long, isn’t it, Mike?” When he didn’t answer, Cassie was afraid to look at him to see if those intense blue eyes were still focused on her. The café was air-conditioned, but her neck and chest felt hot and sweat began to drip between her shoulder blades.

Get over it. He’s just a hot guy, and I’ll never see him again.

“Mike?” Rose repeated.

“I’ll get it cut when I come back. Wouldn’t want the town to think I was getting sloppy. Gotta go. See you in a week.”

“Have a good trip,” Rose said.

“Thanks,” he answered as he reached for the paper cup and dropped money onto the counter.

“Mornin’, Mike,” one of the waitresses called out.

“Morning, Ginny,” he answered.

“See ya when you get back,” one of the customers yelled from the far end of the counter.

Mike waved to the customer and turned to Cassie. “Any chance you’ll be passing through again in a couple of weeks? This town throws one hell of a July Fourth party.”

“Now what kind of party would be worth driving all the way back here for?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Depends.” He gave her a look that melted her insides like a grilled cheese sandwich. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Didn’t.” She pressed her lips together, partly to keep from blurting out something about herself that she shouldn’t, but mostly to keep from grinning like an idiot. One itty-bitty minute and this guy had every nerve ending in her body tingling louder than a chorus of Christmas bells. She couldn’t stop the little grin curving her lips.

“You should try to make it.” Mike lowered his voice. His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Hell, yeah.

“Sounds intriguing,” she answered in a wistful tone that she heard as much as felt, and for a moment, New York City and the NYPD suddenly seemed very, very far away. In another life. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever be back here.”

A flicker of something passed across Mike’s face. Was it…disappointment?

“Well then, nice to meet you,” he said with a wink that made her heart go
ga-gong.
Mike shot her one last devastating look before turning away.