Page 8 of Anchor Point

I was impressed that he hadn’t once let that steely gray gaze drift down my body like it had the night I’d met him in that tropical beachside bar. Now, instead of heat in his gaze, there was accusation, disbelief, and a touch of hostility.

I nodded in greeting as if we hadn’t known each other intimately. As if I didn’t have a massive secret that I needed to share with him. Instead, I addressed the room at large. “I’ll stop by each of the stations over the next few days to meet the men and women on shift. I’m open to hearing what you feel our issues are and look forward to working with you to resolve them.”

The mayor took a step forward, placing himself a step in front of me. I stifled a groan of frustration. It was going to be a challenge working for this weasel.

“Well, gentlemen, that’ll be all for today. You heard the little lady.”

I bristled, and it took all of my willpower not to shred him on site. But eviscerating him publicly would gain me no favors. I’d have to bide my time and be strategic with the mayor.

“She’s willing to listen to ways we can improve, and the mayor’s office wants to support you. Within the bounds of the budget, of course, so don’t think this is an open invitation for a Christmas wish list.”

Masculine chuckles filled the room, though Mac didn’t even smirk. The captain propped at the back of the room, Thompson, pushed off the wall and stalked away. Captain Roberts, seated across from Mac, stared at my legs suggestively as he stood. He offered a handshake that lingered a touch too long to be professional and said his goodbyes. Another battle I had expected and had won before.

The mayor and administrator had already turned and engaged in conversation about a tax referendum meeting. I’d been effectively dismissed, and the whole thing stunk of good-old-boy politics, misogyny, and sexual harassment.

Mac, Captain Collins—I couldn’t think of him as Mac—pushed to his feet and met my gaze. Once again, the heat of it ran the length of my body, and I turned toward him against my better judgment.

No doubt about it. There was still some kind of powerful magnetism between us.

“Chief Hawkins,” he acknowledged before striding out of the room, the bite of my name lingering in the air.

He wore the standard navy-blue tactical pants that everyone else wore, but somehow, his cupped his butt in exactly the right way and molded to his thighs, leaving the impression that they were just as thick as I remembered.

And I was a terrible person for objectifying him, especially when I had just endured the same. I would not be the creep hitting on her subordinates.

Finally, the room emptied, and I pressed the back of my hand to my brow and sank to a chair to gather my composure for a moment.

“That went well.” Cathy’s voice broke my moment of silence.

I glanced up to find her leaning against the doorway.

She smirked. “Except for Thompson being his regular ray of sunshine and stomping off in hunt of puppies to kick.”

My jaw dropped. “He doesn’t…”

Her laugh was a twinkle that brightened the otherwise gloomy room. “No, Chief. I was joking.” She tilted her head as if pondering. “But you know, I don’t know what he does on his off days, so it still could be a possibility.”

I straightened and walked toward her. “What can you tell me about the others?”

I wanted—needed—information, especially about one man in particular, but I didn’t want it to seem like I was fishing.

“Not much to tell. You’ve got the best of the best for captains. They are all good men and have moved through the ranks.”

“What you aren’t saying is that I haven’t, and in their eyes, that might be a problem.”

Her head waggled in a nonresponse.

“Well, Cathy, just because I haven’t risen through the ranks here, doesn’t mean that I haven’t done my time. I have plenty of boots-on-the-ground service in Charleston.”

“I don’t doubt it, ma’am. But then again, I’m not the one you have to prove it to.”

By the end of the day, Cathy and I had been through the budget, had a list of equipment—most of it needing to be upgraded five years ago, save the new equipment at Station Four—and a to-do list a mile long.

But first, I wanted to talk to Rosie.

Seeing my daughter’s eyes in the man across the room had been unnerving. The sudden need to take her and run home was strong. It was too coincidental that we’d landed here, of all places, where her biological father lived and worked. Yes, I definitely needed to have a conversation with my daughter.

I dialed her number on my cell, and of course it went straight to voicemail. A glance at the clock showed three thirty. She wouldn’t be off the bus for another half hour at least.

---