Prince Charming Wears a Badge (2 page)

“Community service?” Her lawyer finally spoke up. “That's completely unfair, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Goodman, your client can gladly turn down the plea and go to trial. I won't repeat what I said before about a possible fine and jail time. I think she understands.”

Callie went numb. Why was she being punished and Andrew came out the winner?

“May I have a moment with my client?” Harvey asked.

“A moment,” the judge said. “I have other cases pending.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Harvey turned to Callie and lowered his voice. “I'm recommending you take the deal.”

“What!” She whispered but several heads turned in her direction. “I can't take the deal. I'm not guilty.”

“If you don't, then you could end up in jail. You know he's going to get the other woman to testify against you.”

“Will this go on my record if I accept the plea?” She'd made a name for herself in the financial world. This could ruin her career.

“I'll ask for it to be expunged after you complete your therapy and community service,” Harvey said.

Community service.
You've got to be kidding.
She pictured herself in a reflective vest as she picked up trash along I-270 on a hot July day.

“I can probably get your community service limited to some pro bono tax returns for struggling businesses,” Harvey told her.

That didn't sound so bad. And she could probably handle a few sessions with a shrink. Heaven knew she had enough childhood stuff to fill a few hours.

“Okay,” she finally said. “As long as it all gets expunged when I'm done.”

Harvey addressed the judge. “There are two conditions we'd like to attend to, Your Honor. The matter of expunging Ms. James's record and some kind of proof of the value of the vase.”

Nice touch, Harvey
. Paying for half wouldn't be a financial burden for Callie, but the principal of paying for it definitely irked her.

The judge made notes. “Those conditions are acceptable.” Then she turned to Andrew. “Mr. Slater, can you provide the court with a proper document?”

“I'd be happy to do that, Your Honor.”

Callie was tempted to wipe that smirk off his face but instead breathed in and out, in and out.

The judge turned to the clerk. “Have both parties sign the appropriate documents.” She banged her gavel. “The court is in recess for fifteen minutes.”

Everyone stood until the judge exited the courtroom through her private door. Loath to speak to Andrew ever again, Callie whispered to Harvey, “Get me out of here.”

“Callie!” Andrew came up behind her as she hurried down the courthouse hallway.

She slowed her pace but didn't stop completely. “What?”

Andrew hesitated a few seconds before blurting out, “I want my key back.”

Of course he did
. She stopped, dug through her hobo bag and struggled to remove his key from her ring. Instead of throwing it at him like she wanted to, she very smoothly held it out to him.

He tossed it a few inches in the air and caught it, his pleasure at her expense almost more than she could bear. “You know I only want the best for you.”

She stared at him, curious why he felt the need to say anything to her.

“That's why I suggested the judge add therapy to the plea.”

He'd suggested it? Then she was right about them all being in cahoots. She kept her tone neutral. “So you think I need to control my anger?”

He shook his head. “No, I think you need to start expressing your feelings.” He looked down the hall to where his bed partner waited and then back at Callie. “You're a wonderful person, Callie, but you're as emotionally reserved as a rock.”

* * *

S
EVERAL
WEEKS
AND
anger management therapy sessions later, Callie's therapist harrumphed and scratched his head. Nearly halfway into today's session and he was clearly frustrated. Callie suspected he was trying to bring out some anger in her, or at least some kind of emotion. In her defense, she'd spent years bottling up those emotions and she wasn't sure she knew how to unleash them. Or wanted to.

Dr. Hammond seemed perfectly nice. He was a middle-aged man of average height, average weight and above-average intelligence as far as Callie could judge. Just not the person with whom she was comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts.

“Let's get back to your mother,” Dr. Hammond said in his monotone voice. “She died when you were very young?”

“Yes.” A pink bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers constituted her faint memory of the woman who'd died when Callie was three. She didn't even remember her face, forced to consult one of the few faded pictures she'd held on to.

“Were you upset when she died?”

“Of course I was upset,” she said evenly. “Who wouldn't be? I was young and had no mother.” Callie's pulse sped up, so she took control of her breathing. In and out. In and out. “But I couldn't do anything about it and it wasn't her fault that she was killed.”

“Are you still angry?”

Callie's brow furrowed. Her mother had been gone twenty-six years. She missed her or, more specifically, she missed having a mother figure. She didn't know what it was like to have a mother to turn to in tough times. Like when she'd caught Andrew cheating.

She spoke calmly. “Car jacking is a horrific act of violence, but I don't dwell on it.”

“Are you close to your father?” Dr. Hammond shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other.

“No.”

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

Callie did the math in her head. “About eleven years ago.”

Dr. Hammond's eyebrows rose. “That's a long time.” When Callie didn't comment further, he asked, “What was the circumstance that led to your loss of communication?”

Callie nearly smiled at Dr. Hammond's formal turn of phrase rather than simply asking why she'd shut her father out of her life. “I left for college.”

“I see.”

No, he probably didn't, but Callie couldn't disclose her personal demons to this stranger, no matter how soothingly he spoke.

“Did you and your father have an altercation?”

“No.”

“Would you like to rekindle a relationship with him?”

She hadn't even considered it. “That's not an option.”

Dr. Hammond cocked his head and asked, “Did he molest you?”

Callie's eyes widened and she straightened in her chair. “No, of course not. He'd never do that.” Her father was the sweetest man she'd ever known. Maybe too sweet, blinding him to the deceit surrounding him.

Dr. Hammond watched Callie through narrowed eyes and finally nodded as he made notes in his file. “Let's move on to your stepmother,” Dr. Hammond suggested.

Let's not.
“What about her?”
Breathe deeply. In and out.

“How old were you when she came into your life?”

Callie's stomach churned. “She was my mother's friend, her maid of honor when my parents married.”

Dr. Hammond made another note. “How would you characterize your relationship?”

Callie couldn't do this. She couldn't discuss her stepmother. “She's my father's wife.” She took a halting breath. “Can't we talk about something else?”

Dr. Hammond was silent for several minutes. “Callie, I'm at a loss here. The court sent you to me, but I can't help you if you insist on burying your emotions. You need to open up.”

Callie didn't know what to say. She'd spent most of her life keeping her thoughts and emotions to herself. Any anger burning her insides remained unspoken. That's what kept her out of trouble.

Until recently.

Most people would have screamed and yelled at Andrew and the woman on top of him, but Callie didn't operate like that. She'd learned early on to curb her temper, no matter how unfair the circumstances. After that, only once had she ever lost complete control of her temper. It was a slipup as a teenager and she was lucky it hadn't ruined the rest of her life.

“I don't know what you want me to say. Nothing in my past has anything to do with me finding my boyfriend in bed with another woman.” She fisted and relaxed her hands several times. “It didn't make me lose my temper and break an expensive vase. Though I almost wish I had so at least I'd be paying for something I actually did.”

The more she'd thought about it since court, the more she was positive she couldn't have broken Andrew's vase. The ugly thing always sat on a shelf right outside his kitchen, so she never even would have come near it as she ran out of his apartment. The only way she might have been responsible is if it had fallen when she'd slammed his apartment door as she'd left—but she wouldn't have slammed the door. That would have been a loss of control that was completely out of character for Callie.

“Our time is almost up for today.” Dr. Hammond leaned forward. “I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, but I want you to go spend time with your father and stepmother.” When Callie opened her mouth to speak, he raised a hand to stop her. “I want you to voice, face-to-face, whatever your feelings have been about them. Even if in the end you haven't settled things, at least you won't be carrying your hurt inside where it's obviously tearing you apart.”

This couldn't be happening. “Can't I just write letters to them, pour out my feelings, and then burn the letters or something?” She'd seen that on shows countless times and it always seemed to make the person feel better.

Not that she needed to feel better. She was just fine. Especially now that she was free of cheating Andrew and single again.

“I'm afraid not,” he said. “I've already made arrangements for you to continue your community service in Whittler's Creek.”

“But—”

“Our time is up.” Dr. Hammond repeated as he stood. “We'll continue therapy by phone while you're away. You can email my receptionist with the best time for you once you know your community service hours.”

Callie stood up, her mind a foggy mess. “What about my job?” How would she explain needing time off? How long would it take? A few days? A week? Longer?

Breathe. In and out. Slower. In...out.

Dr. Hammond put a hand on her elbow to show her out. “I'm sure they'll allow you to take a sabbatical once you explain.” He handed her another piece of paper. A formal letter on his personal stationery. “Use this if necessary.” He handed her another sheet of paper. “And here's where you report for community service at 8:00 a.m. Monday.”

She glanced at the information. Office of the Chief of Police, Whittler's Creek, Maryland. Great. What were the chances this small-town law enforcer was someone who didn't know her or about her past?

CHAPTER TWO

L
ATE
S
UNDAY
AFTERNOON
Callie reluctantly drove the hour and a half from her home just inside the Washington, DC, beltway to the town where she'd grown up in western Maryland. She'd spoken to her boss Friday afternoon and arranged to telework while she was away. Her boss hadn't been happy about it, but he'd had no choice. She'd made the company a lot of money the past few years. They couldn't afford to lose her, especially knowing there were several other financial firms that would gladly hire her immediately after this fiasco in Whittler's Creek ended.

When she reached the sign welcoming her to Whittler's Creek, her heart began to beat double-time. How had she gotten herself into this? Was it too late to give Andrew the entire amount for the stupid vase? Probably.

Callie's plan for today was to arrive in town and immediately head to her father's house to get their reunion over with. She loved her dad and missed having him in her life. But she couldn't get past the feeling that he'd let her down all those years ago.

She drove through the “downtown” area of Whittler's Creek that consisted of two blocks with a few small, family-run businesses, as well as a bank and the police station where Callie would report tomorrow morning. She continued on toward the outskirts of town and made a left turn on the winding uphill road that led to her childhood home.

When she reached the long driveway, she pulled over onto the gravel-and-dirt shoulder to gather her courage. She pressed the button to turn off the engine of her dark red sports car—the one she'd splurged on, buying it outright with her last bonus.

She could see the house farther up the hill. It didn't appear much different than when she'd lived there all those years ago.

The house held painful secrets, but from the outside you'd never guess it was anything but run-down.

The white clapboard was dingy and one of the dark green shutters was missing, while several others hung slightly crooked. The landscaping needed work. The grass needed to be mowed and the evergreen bushes near the front door were overgrown. One of the large oak trees in the front yard was dead. The next big storm could knock the tree into the house if it wasn't taken down soon.

Callie hadn't called ahead to let her dad know she'd be coming. It wasn't that she didn't want him to know, it was more that she didn't want to give her stepmother a heads-up. This visit would be difficult enough without giving the woman prep time.

Callie stayed in her car for quite a while, gathering her courage to face her past. There were only a few other houses down this quiet road. Not even one car passed by as she sat there.

Her stomach was in knots. She should have eaten lunch, but she'd figured an empty stomach was better than a full one that could reverse direction if her anxiety got out of control.

Which it was definitely threatening.

She uncapped the water bottle in the center console drink holder and took a long swig. The cool liquid somewhat soothed her dry mouth but offered no relief to her stomach. She replaced the cap and turned her attention back to her father's house.

A car was visible in the detached garage, the door having been left open. She hoped that meant her father was home, but she'd been gone too long to know if it was her father's car or her stepmother's.

It was now or never. She would prefer never, but that wouldn't make her therapist happy. Callie needed to get this over with and move on.

The engine turned over when she pressed the start button. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the gearshift and froze.

She reminded herself that she was an adult now. Not the eighteen-year-old who'd left home for college eleven years ago. She could stand up for herself, could leave whenever she wanted. No one could force her to do something against her will.

She wasn't that scared little girl, so easily intimidated.

She put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the two-lane road riddled with potholes that still hadn't been patched from last year's harsh winter.

She carefully turned right into the long driveway leading to her childhood home and stopped abruptly.

Her head throbbed.

Before she could change her mind, she threw the car into reverse and backed out onto the street to face the direction from which she'd come.

A single bead of sweat ran down her temple. Not from the heat but from anxiety.

Without another glance at the house, she gunned the engine and headed back through the downtown area.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she let it out as she passed the sign saying Thanks for Visiting Whittler's Creek, Come Again.

She knew of a small hotel in a neighboring town that she could check in to for the night. After breakfast tomorrow, she'd look for a more semi-permanent housing solution, rather than pay daily hotel rates.

She'd also work on reinforcing her courage.

* * *

M
ONDAY
MORNING
T
YLER
G
ARRETT
rubbed his face with both hands, barely able to control the urge to bang his head on his desk as he surveyed his crowded office.

He was Whittler's Creek's Chief of Police, not a financial guru. He had no way of deciphering the mountain of binders and documents that had been packed into boxes and were now taking up much of the walking space in his already cramped office.

He'd received an anonymous email late last week about discrepancies in the town's financial records. With no ability to track down where the email had originated, he had immediately requested a court order before the records could be doctored. After Judge Parsons had signed off on it, Tyler had requested the records be brought to his office from a building down the street. He'd never imagined there would be so much paper involved.

What happened to going digital like the rest of the country?

Then he considered where he was living. A small town in western Maryland. Even though a few residents commuted to DC or Baltimore, the majority had lived here most of their lives and rarely ventured more than an hour or so away. They preferred to keep their lives simple.

His phone rang. “Chief Garrett.”

“Good morning, Chief Garrett. This is Dr. Jeffrey Hammond. I'm a psychologist in Bethesda and I have a court-ordered patient who will be coming to Whittler's Creek to do her community service. I sent you an email over the weekend with the details.”

Great.
Just what he needed. Another criminal coming to town. “I haven't gotten to email yet this morning.” He glanced at the banker's boxes surrounding his desk and shook his head.

“I understand.” Dr. Hammond went on to give Tyler a few details. “I'm not at liberty to explain too much about Ms. James's current situation, but she grew up there and still has family in town. I trust that you will provide adequate supervision for her court-ordered community service?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. James? As in Callie James? If that's who it was, he hadn't seen her in years. Not since he'd witnessed her explosive temper the night he'd walked her home from a party. He'd had a huge crush on her, asking her out several times but getting the same negative response from her each time. The night of the party he thought he'd been the luckiest guy in Whittler's Cove until her true personality revealed itself.

He fired up his dated desktop computer while Dr. Hammond continued talking.

“Thank you for understanding and for your discretion.” By the time Dr. Hammond disconnected, Tyler's computer was finally opening the email program.

He needed to take a look at the town's budget and see about new computers. How was he expected to do his job if he couldn't even check email in a timely fashion?

He wiped sweat from the back of his neck. The air-conditioning was on the fritz again, too, and the outside temperature on this July morning was already in the low eighties.

The program finally opened and he found Dr. Hammond's email. There it was. Callie James. Grew up in Whittler's Creek and has family issues to deal with.

No kidding.
Callie's stepsister used to hang out with Tyler's sister back in high school, and the stepsister had been a terrible influence on Isabelle. Thankfully, the two young women had gone their separate ways after high school.

Had Callie changed since high school? Obviously not, if she had community service hours to fulfill. According to his sister and what he'd witnessed, Callie could be as mean and nasty as an angry wasp.

What about physically? Had she let herself go as much as others he'd seen around town? She'd always kept her light blond hair long, allowing it to swing to and fro or weaving it into a thick braid. Was it still long? Did she still twist it around her fingers when she became nervous?

He remembered her cupid's-bow lips, shiny with lip gloss. How he'd always wanted to taste her mouth, wondering if she used fruit-flavored gloss like some of the other girls their age. But he'd kept his distance because his sister had always insisted that Callie had an explosive temper. He hadn't believed it until he'd seen it firsthand.

Was that what had forced her return to Whittler's Creek? Had her temper done her in?

A loud knock on the frame of his office door had him opening his eyes. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. “Yes?” he said to the youngest of his three patrolmen on the Whittler's Creek Police Force.

“You have a visitor, Chief.” Pete Meyers ran a hand over his bald head. He was only a few years older than Tyler's thirty, but between losing his hair and being overweight by a good forty pounds, Pete looked older than his years. “Callie something.”

“Callie James.” She'd come up to the doorway behind Pete.

Tyler would have recognized her voice without even seeing her.

Physically, she was everything he remembered and more. She wore a navy suit jacket and matching pencil skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees. Her filmy white blouse had several of the top buttons open to reveal multiple strands of large gold chains around her neck. Her neutral-tan pumps added about four inches to her average height.

She still had the ability to heat his blood, but he was an adult now and knew better than to get too close to a smoldering fire.

“Thanks, Pete.” He waved Callie in and rose from his chair. Her deep blue eyes with long lashes gave her an innocent quality. “Have a seat.” He pointed to one of the two beat-up chairs on the other side of his desk. He sat when she did. “I apologize for the heat. The AC repairman was here three times last week, but the system needs to be replaced.” He swallowed, feeling like he was babbling. “I haven't seen you since high school, Callie. How have you been?”

She crossed one bare leg over the other. “Pretty good, until I had to come back here.”

He nodded, forcing his eyes from her legs to her face.

“What about you? I didn't realize you were the one I'd be reporting to.” She looked around his cramped office. “What are you doing back here? Weren't you going to West Point? Planning to make the Army a career?”

“I left the Army. Plans change.” He didn't want to get into the details of his own life. That wasn't why she sat across from him.

“So you're the Chief of Police now?”

“That's right. For about a year now.” He checked the email again from Dr. Hammond. “It says here you need to perform community service hours. You couldn't do them where you're living?”

“I was going to, but Dr. Hammond thought I should come back here to see my family.”

“How long has it been?”

She twisted a lock of her still-long hair. “Eleven years. I guess he figured it would take more than a day trip for me to resolve things to his satisfaction.”

“Eleven years is a long time to not see your family.” He couldn't imagine how painful it would be if either of his young daughters someday decided to stay away from him for that long.

She shrugged. “If I'd been given a choice, I would never have come back.”

* * *

W
HEN
T
YLER
DIDN
'
T
COMMENT
, Callie turned the focus on him. “What about your dad? Is he still living in town?”

Tyler hesitated and cleared his throat. “He died almost a year and a half ago.”

Callie leaned forward. “I'm so sorry. He was a great guy.” Tyler's dad had been very active in youth sports when they were growing up. As the owner of Garrett's Hardware Store, he'd had flexible hours, allowing him to be on the practice fields after school. He was also very generous when it came to sponsoring teams. Callie's softball shirt with Garrett's across the back came to mind. “What about the store? Is someone still running it?”

Tyler shook his head. “Dad closed it when he got sick. He sold the inventory and gave up the lease. The furniture store that was next door—Pratt's—expanded into the space.”

“That's too bad.”

“It was for the best. Dad had an inoperable brain tumor and it was either close the store then or my sister and I would have had to do it after he passed away.”

“Neither of you wanted to continue running it?”

“Isabelle definitely had no interest. And, at the time, I wasn't sure what I was going to do.”

Isabelle's best friend had been Callie's stepsister, Wendy, who'd had a major crush on Tyler. Had the two of them ever gotten together? Pushing the question to the back of her mind, Callie opened her mouth to ask why he'd left the Army—she had a hunch there was a story to that—but he changed the subject before she could bring it up.

“Now, about your community service...” He consulted his computer while she took in his broad shoulders. He'd gone from slim teenager to well-built adult. “You're only the second person I've had report to me to fulfill their hours. I'll have to see what I can find.” He clicked a few keys.