Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,15
scars, see what the woman inside you really wants.”
He cupped her head and kissed her soft mouth. Her rosy fragrance surrounded him, filled him. An exhilarating, too-brief taste. He stepped back and thrust his hands in his jacket pockets before he was tempted to do more. He’d just committed to riding a desk for the next twenty-five years. He shuddered. His fingers brushed velvet and he closed his fist over the ring box, holding it tight. When push came to shove, she mattered most. With her by his side, he’d be content painting houses.
“Now you have a choice to make.” He turned and strode out of the store.
Stunned, Bailey stared at the empty doorway. Of all the reactions she’d envisioned, Con giving up active duty wasn’t even on the list. No way would she let him do it. He’d never be happy strangled in a suit and tie. Wielding a pen against reams of papers instead of wielding weapons against bad guys. Mediating political squabbles instead of protecting innocents. And the worst slap in the face, approving ops—sending other men into harm’s way—without taking part.
She reached down and plucked the team leader application from the garbage. As she straightened the sheets crumpled by Con’s lean, capable hands, she read: Qualities demonstrated in the field by Officer C. O’Rourke. Above average intelligence. Can assess a situation, review possible alternatives and come to a sound decision, all while under tremendous stress. Maintains emotional control, whether in traumatic situations or with suspects who may have perpetrated heinous acts upon hostages. Well-disciplined team member who looks out for other members. Quickly and flexibly adapts when the unexpected event occurs that throws the plan into disarray. Suppression of fear—cool head and high function under fire. Highly motivated and patient. Does not rush into incidents without thinking.
She knew Con’s depth, intelligence and dedication. The report confirmed everything he’d stressed about preparation. A SWAT officer’s job was much more than bashing in doors and eating bullets.
The words commendation for bravery jumped out at her. With growing dread, she read on. Last night, Con had apparently spotted and neutralized a series of deadly traps hidden in the path of his brother Liam and Liam’s K-9 partner, Murphy. He’d saved two lives. At considerable risk to himself. He would always be a dragon slayer.
Just like her father.
Sick inside, she stumbled to the counter to get her purse and tucked the folded papers away. She’d make sure he got the application back before he missed the deadline.
Bailey stared at the register, trying to sort her thoughts. Deadline. She had to count the money and deliver it to the bank. She glanced into the murky, deserted mall, and her stomach sank. She might already be too late. Getting fired for negligence would make this horrible day intolerable.
The key opened the register and she separated bills into neat piles. Con had told her to think through the problem logically, without emotion. She tried to push emotion aside. There was no doubt in her mind Con loved her, and she loved him. Logically, how strong was love? Stronger than duty? Stronger than sorrow? Stronger than fear?
Not in her experience.
If love were strong enough to overcome all those things, the divorce rate wouldn’t be so high. And the divorce rate for cops was astronomical. Thank goodness the news broadcast this morning had jolted her to her senses in time.
She unzipped the bag and stuffed the bills and deposit slip inside. Logically, if someone listed her suitability to be a SWAT wife, she’d fail miserably. Unlike Con, she wasn’t cut out for the job. She’d suspected that when he’d taken her to the department’s Halloween party.
The officers’ wives hadn’t noticed her floundering out of her depth. They’d welcomed her, appearing no different from other engaging, friendly women she’d known. Until the call-out came. The women of Alpha Squad had kissed their men—maybe for the last time—without tears. Had sent them off to war with smiles on their faces and no traces of fear in their eyes. Instead of rushing home and worrying…waiting in dread…those women had stayed at the party and managed to have a good time.
She didn’t have the strength or courage. So what if she spoke Latin, French, Spanish and Italian and could recite both positive and negative effects of theobromine? Romance languages and the chemical breakdown of chocolate were of no use to Con.
Bailey sighed in longing. Con wanted her, she wanted him. Giving in to her need would be easy. They’d