Page 6

I’m allergic to jewelry.

Be my wife.

Not tonight, honey. I have a headache.

That morning, she was ready with her next retort. He sat her at the counter with a box of her favorite cereal and kissed her thoroughly. Then he walked out the door and drove away.

Stunned by his proposal-deficient retreat, she poured her cereal. A note tumbled out.

Dance with me at our wedding.

The longing that had been simmering inside her had burst, showering her oatmeal squares in tears. She was wrong, wrong, wrong for him. The stain inside her was deeply embedded. She couldn’t scrub it off. If she accepted his proposal, it would taint him, too.

Dammit, Noah.Snapping back to the present, she turned the door handle and armed herself with the ugly truth. Marrying him was an expensive dream. If Roy found her—or worse, he found her married—the cost would be dear.

The station door swung open. Officer Blaire looked up from the screen on his cell phone. He tugged at the duty belt constricting his ample gut—that which followed his wife’s good cooking—and stepped aside to let her through.

She smiled. “Good evening, Blaire.”

The big guy’s grin puffed his cheeks. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees.

Shit.She reached for him. “Are you okay?” Was he having a heart attack?

He slapped a beefy hand over his heart. “Marry me.”

Her shoulders shot to her ears. “What?”

His grin stretched wider. “Marry me.”

What was he up to? Must’ve been a joke. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll never make a fresh peach cobbler like your wife’s.”

His knees popped as he heaved to his feet. “Damn right.” He turned to leave, flicking a finger over his shoulder. “Night, Sarah.”

Sarah. Her alias. “Night, Blaire.”

The squeak of rubber soles echoed down the hall. Officer Downing sprinted toward her and slid the last few tiles on his knees, panting. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, now this is absurd.” Was Noah behind this? Why would he want other men hitting on her?

“We’re meant to be together.” He shoved his coke bottle lenses up the bridge of his nose and sniffed.

“We hardly know each other.”

Red blotches crept from his collar and spread over his face. “Love doesn’t need to know. It just…is.”

Sounded like something Noah would say. She crossed her arms and arched a brow. “Did Noah put you up to this?”

He squeezed the radio on his shoulder and barked ten-codes into the mic.

She cleared her throat.

“Got to…uh…” He spun, half-running, half-hopping toward the front office. “Got a…thing. Bye, Sarah.” In a blur of standard issue blue, he vanished beyond the door.

She approached the hallway cautiously, wondering which of St. Louis’ finest would fall upon her next. The path was clear until she reached the stairs.

Maurice Crane squatted on the bottom step, no doubt creasing his handsome black suit. She wasn’t surprised to see him. He worked for Noah’s brother, Nathan, who ran a private security firm two blocks away.

Nathan and his team spent a lot of time at the precinct, consulting, leveraging skills, or just horsing around. Noah and Nathan weren’t just brothers by blood. They were brothers in the Marines. Nathan’s entire firm was made up of their tightknit rifle squad.