Page 2 of Prognosis Temporary

As promised, fifteenminutes later, Callie was on scene. Now if she could just get past this the insistent male whose name she’d barely heard and already forgotten in her haste to get to Noelene. She didn’t care if he was a cop or, for that matter, so damn sexy he could have been in the movies. He was in her way — that was all that mattered.

She placed her hands on her hips and stared him down, her amber eyes blazing. ‘Noelene is not going to shoot me.’

The man was unmoved, his light green stare calm and tranquil as he dropped his head to the side a little, stretching his neck. He repeated the process on the other side before straightening. ‘You’re not going out there until you put it on.’

Callie glared up at him, all brooding, broad immovable male. Way up. At six feet in her comfortable flats, craning her neck wasn’t something she did very often but with this man it was a necessity. The morning sun shone on his red hair, gilding the golden highlights. He wore it closely cropped at the back and sides but longer on top where it flopped across his forehead. Two ginger brows rose above his pale, peridot eyes.

A fashionable three-day growth of stubble stretched along his strong jaw and long-faded freckles gave his complexion a lived-in look, hinting at summer days on the beach and a penchant for surfing. Spare cheekbones sloped to interesting hollows near his mouth.

And his lips? Man...don’t even get her started on those suckers.

Frankly, the man was sexy as all giddy up and that was especially irritating right at this moment. She was working, for fucks sake!

‘It’s not necessary,’ she insisted, desperate to claw back some control of her normally sane thought processes. ‘I’ve known her for ten years. She’s not dangerous.’

He pushed the offending item towards her. ‘Maybe. But it’s the only way you’re going out on that bridge.’ His voice was deep and even with a slight gravelly quality. Very measured. Very calm. But there was an edge to it that brooked no argument.

Damn cops!

Behind what’s-his-name she could see that their little stand-off was drawing quite a crowd. Most of the cops she recognised. A person didn’t work for a decade in this business without having a close working relationship — sometimes love, sometimes hate — with the police. And she’d worked long and hard to gain their respect.

Sure, she knew they regarded her as a right royal pain in their asses. But she also knew there was grudging respect — she was the first one they rang when they had a situation or needed advice — and she was damned if she was going to cede it to this man. Not without throwing down a gauntlet or two.

It was imperative that he, and the three very interested, very rookie-looking officers standing behind, knew that she didn’t wilt at the first sign of authority. She needed them to know she wasn’t afraid of them and that her client’s needs would always come first.

‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth.

Grasping her loose black T-shirt by the hem, she hauled it off over her head. Ignoring the guffaws and wolf whistles, she glared right into those weird green eyes and held out her hand. ‘Give me the damn vest.’

Callie gave him his due. While the jaws of the three fresh-faced newbies dropped to the ground, he didn’t bat an eyelid. He didn’t even lower his gaze, like every other male in the vicinity, for a quick once-over of her assets clad in black lace and navy blue satin. He just passed her the offending item and waited for her to put it on, his arms crossed over a chest broadened further by its own Kevlar padding.

He cocked an eyebrow as she secured the last strap and rectified her clothing. ‘You know you could have just put it on over the top, right?’

Callie snorted. ‘Do you think a bulletproof vest engenders trust?’ Did the man get his negotiator skills in a cereal packet? ‘Can I go now?’

He swept his hand in a flourish before her, indicating she should precede him. The action pulled his half rolled-up sleeve a little higher and she noticed thick reddish-blond hairs gracing a strong, freckle-faded forearm.

‘I’m right behind you.’

‘Imagine my surprise,’ she threw over her shoulder as she strode away.

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Sebastian watched herstalk off and smiled for the first time today, following at a more sedate pace. Callie Duncan was one angry female! It wasn’t often in this field that he met someone who didn’t seem to know or even care who he was, and he liked it. It was refreshing.

She was refreshing.

He kept his eyes firmly glued to her back, distracted by the vigorous swish of her shoulder-length auburn hair as she strode towards her goal. The sun picked up the honey streaks and for a moment he felt like he was on the set of a shampoo commercial. Her back was ramrod straight — Kevlar would do that to a person - and her long-legged stride pulled the denim of her jeans across a backside that was...interesting.

In fact, Callie Duncan was just plain interesting all over. And he liked that too.

He put her age in the late thirties – so, only a couple of years younger than him - and was relieved that she wasn’t some twenty year old new grad all peppy and cute with stars in her eyes out to change the world. In fact, nothing about Callie Duncan said peppy and cute. But, then, neither did she seem jaded, like so many people of her age working in a field where triumphs were small and thanks almost non-existent.

Instead, striding towards her goal, she looked strong and fearless – committed and confident - her Amazonian frame moving with single-minded purpose. As for what she had inside that lacy bra...yeah, that was hardly appropriate right now.

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‘What the hell’s goingon, Noelene?’ Callie’s irritation grew as she half tripped on a cord snaking across the ground near the barricades the police had erected to cordon off the area. No doubt what’s-his-name wouldn’t approve of it as an opening statement but she knew Noelene well enough to know what the woman could or couldn’t take.

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