Hugo immediately dropped prone at her feet but his ears remained pricked forward, his doggy body trembling at full alert for her next command.
Cole smirked as she looked up at Scott. “You still think talking is a good idea?”
He met her hostile gaze through the now smudged glass. “Is that an invitation to enter?”
She watched him for maybe four seconds longer. “Stay there.” She turned away from the door, taking the fuzzy Dark Knight with her.
She was gone a while. Two years ago he would have been banging on the door in irritation after thirty seconds. He’d learned a few things since then. To distract himself, Scott pulled out his cell phone and checked his mail.
She seemed surprised to find him still waiting when she returned but she didn’t say a thing. She simply unlatched the door before swiftly stepping back.
Scott remained in the foyer as he gave her living area a thorough perusal. No dog. Then he saw the gate across the kitchen entry at the far side of the room. Hugo must be behind those bars. Big-ticket item on his list of possible concerns accounted for.
The living area was small. Neat. He didn’t recognize a single stick of furniture or see any other evidence of their married life. Nothing to remind her that she had once been part of an “us.” That realization stung as his gaze came to rest on her. Had she really left them behind, or was she still running from memory, just as he had done?
Nikki had put enough distance between them so that she could maneuver, if necessary. She had also stripped off her windbreaker but she had not removed her weapons belt.
A frown tugged his brow as Scott dropped her hat into a nearby chair. Did she really think he presented a danger to her in any way?
He watched her check him out, as if he were a suspect. He was wearing his favorite pair of jeans, so faded and worn and frayed at the cuffs they looked like he lived in them, which he pretty much did off duty. His faded Redskins T-shirt hugged his torso, making it difficult but not impossible to conceal his badge and gun. As he watched, her gaze paused fractionally to check for telltale bulges of weapons in all the usual concealment places.
Fine. If that’s the way she wanted to go. He assumed an at-ease posture and returned the inspection.
She wore a fitted dark blue T-shirt with her police department insignia. The dark cargo pants tucked into her tactical boots emphasized both her narrow waist and female hips. Her sun-streaked light brown hair was pinned up in a messy ponytail that left loose strands to frame her face.
At first glance, a man might not think of her as a babe. Oh, pleasant enough, with those big hazel eyes and so full lips, but vulnerable, not at all law-enforcement material. He knew from intimate experience that there was another woman just under the calm exterior Officer Nicole Jamieson showed the world. That woman could kiss like it was the last kiss at the end of the world and make a man okay with that, because she was there with him.
Yet when she looked directly at him, as now, that level law enforcement gaze from beneath her brows came across as forceful and defiant, yet compellingly female in a way that still got under his guard and messed with his mind without permission.
His brother Gabe called it her Kate Winslet look. Nikki had gone all girly blushes at the comparison to the actress. He, Scott, had noticed the resemblance first. His fault that he’d not told her first. Gabe had always come out the winner with women.
Shit. Not now. A muscle tic appeared in Scott’s jaw as he pushed the thought of his older brother aside.
“Seen enough?” Her voice was cold and clipped.
Not hardly. But he wasn’t about to start out that way. He stepped away from the door. “How’d you get the black eye?”
“The normal way. Connected with something harder. Your arm?”
He glanced down at the bandage covering the stitches in his right arm from wrist to elbow. He’d forgotten about it. “Dark alley. Concertina wire.”
She winced and he was embarrassed by how grateful her simple sign of empathy made him feel. He wanted very badly to make her feel something, anything for him. Then he’d have some emotional connection to work with. So far, all she was giving him was attitude.
He moved toward the center of the room as he slipped free the manila envelope he had tucked into the back of his jeans. “Here. Lattimore sent these for you to look at. He doesn’t like being turned down before he’s made his case.”
“Put it on the table.” She pointed to her dining area table.
Scott checked the impulse to respond as he would have when challenged by anyone else. He was lucky to be in the same room with her. “Have it your way.”