Chapter 22

KEN JUMPED up when the hot coffee hit his lap. "Dammit!" He stamped around, swiping at the wetness with a paper towel, then glared at his partner Klone. "What?"

From his adjacent desk, Klone lifted an eyebrow. "I'm wondering when someone kidnapped my sweet-tempered partner and left a wounded bear in his place."

Ken frowned as he dropped back into his seat. "Just having a bad day, that's all."

Klone gestured to the pile of thank-you cards and letters that had accumulated throughout the day. "Yeah, it's rough being the man of the hour, ain't it?"

Ken scoffed in the direction of the mail. "My home phone has been ringing off the damn hook." Everyone who had his number had called—his mother, his sisters, his brother, his neighbors, his buddies—everyone except Georgia. And he'd only flipped through the silly cards today on the slim chance that Georgia had sent him a note of some kind.

Why she would, he had no idea, but a man could hope. Since Saturday, he'd thought of little but Georgia, wondering if Trainer had made it home, and if she'd discovered she hadn't been talking to her boyfriend when she'd...

Ken rubbed his fists over his scratchy eyes. He hadn't slept much the past two nights, and the strong coffee meant to clear his head was making him irritable.

Then he frowned. Okay, his conscience was making him irritable.

One foolish decision to selfishly seize the moment had snowballed into an emotional quagmire. Worse, he'd passed up several chances to stop the madness and confess the truth. The fact that he'd used a good woman like Georgia left him deeply disappointed in himself. Before now he'd always thought of himself as a decent person, but one of his father's sayings kept circling in his mind: It's easy to be a good person if your character is never tested.

Boy oh boy, he'd failed miserably. Ken sighed. The answer was painful, but simple: He had to tell Georgia the truth, no matter the consequences.

"Woman trouble?" Klone asked, clamping him on the shoulder.

He looked up. "What the devil makes you think that?"

"Takes a lot to get you discombobulated."

Ken scowled. "Well, it's not a woman." It was what he'd done to her.

Klone shook his head. "You're a bad liar, son."

No, he was a great liar—that was the problem.

"It's that little slip of a nurse who was in here the other day, ain't it?"

"No."

"The one you rounded up all the guys for the blood bank to impress."

"No."

"Well, at least she's an upstanding woman. Might make an honest man out of you."

Ken smacked his hand on the desk. "Dammit, Klone, I'm telling you it's not—" He stopped when he spotted none other than Georgia Adams being led toward his office. A goofy grin hung itself on his face. He stood so abruptly his chair went flying backward. And his stupid heart rolled over like a trained pet.

"Well, lookie there," Klone drawled. "If it ain't the woman who doesn't have you tied up in knots."

Ken soaked her in. Her heavy-lidded smoky gaze, the way she moved, the whole of her made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, he had a revelation. From now on, he would refer to his life in two phases: before he met Georgia Adams, and after.

"Wonder what she wants," Klone muttered.

He didn't care, as long as she was here. One thing he knew for certain—if Rob Trainer wanted Georgia, the man was in for the fight of his life. Unable to stop himself, he met her halfway, grinning like a dolt. "Hi."

"Hi." She smiled and blushed, a reaction that bolstered his mood higher. His imagination took flight. She'd broken off with Rob. She was hoping they could get together for a movie or something. She wasn't busy for the next forty years or so. She wouldn't mind having a gimpy dog underfoot.

"I brought the pictures of Crash," she said, handing him an envelope.

"Oh. Thanks."

"And I need a favor," she said, her blue eyes wide and earnest.

He focused on not touching her, not here in front of everyone. "Anything," he said, and meant it. "Come on back to my desk." He pointed the way, then walked behind her a half step, throwing Klone a warning glare as Georgia sat down. The man pursed his mouth and turned back to his own paperwork.

The pink blouse she wore brought out the blue in her eyes. Ken tried not to be distracted by her slim thighs as she crossed her legs. The simple, close-fitting khaki shorts hugged her figure, bringing back gut-clutching memories of her legs around his waist. He cleared his throat. "What can I help you with, Georgia?"

She removed a slip of paper from her purse and extended it to him. "Can you tell me the name of the person who has this local number?"

His heart stopped at the sight of his own phone number written in dainty little numbers, so innocent. Unable to take the slip of paper, he simply stared at it, willing it to go away. His brain clogged, and his vision blurred. What had seemed like the right decision a few moments ago now faded in the wake of losing the chance to win her over.

"Why do you need it?" he heard himself ask in an amazingly calm voice.

Her coloring rose and she squirmed. "Well, I'd rather not go into too much detail. The number has been called from my phone, and I'm just curious as to who is on the other end, that's all." But her smile didn't reach her eyes.

Ken didn't know what to do, so he stalled. "Someone has been using your phone without your permission?"

"N-no."

"So you made the calls."

"Yes, but I dialed the wrong number—this number."

Picking up on her discomfort, he decided that if he pushed her, she might change her mind about wanting the name. "If it was the wrong number, why do you need the name?"

"Because," she said softly, "I, um, divulged information to this man which was rather personal."

"Information that was meant for someone else?" he pressed.

"Um, yes."

"What purpose would be served by finding this person?"

She averted her eyes and rolled her shoulders. "I'm not sure—"

"Hey, Ken," Klone called from his desk a few feet away, a phone in the crook of his shoulder. "There's a lady up front who wants to talk to you about a lost dog."

A sliver of disappointment cut into him. That mutt was starting to grow on him, and he was halfway hoping no one claimed him. At the same time, he knew someone was probably worried to death about the poor pooch. And he recognized the opportunity to collect his jumbled thoughts. He gave Georgia an apologetic glance. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead," she said, standing. "I think I've changed my mind anyway. It's silly, really. I'm sure the man dismissed the incident."

No, he didn't dismiss it, he wanted to say. He loved it. He might even love you. Ken straightened, shocked by the direction of his guilty thoughts. "I'm due a break. What would you say to grabbing a bite to eat? I'd like to talk to you, in private." She looked as if she were going to say no, so he added, "Please?"

At last she smiled and nodded. "Okay, but just for a little while."

He grinned. "Great. Sit tight and I'll be right back to get you, okay?"

She nodded and sank back into the chair, looking small and gorgeous and... perfect. He couldn't tell her now, not when that tentative look was starting to leave her eyes. She'll never know I was the man she was talking to, he told himself. And it's better for both of us.

"I'll hurry," he said, as eager to return as a boomerang.

* * *

GEORGIA FELT conspicuous sitting in Ken's big chair. She glanced around his work environment, thinking it wasn't so different from her own—lots of shared space, a smidgen of private space, loads of camaraderie, a flurry of constant activity. She liked it.

And she liked Ken. A lot. Maybe she had misjudged him…

Maybe he wasn't the ladies' man he was reputed to be...

Maybe that closet episode was as remarkable for him as it had been for her...

Maybe the odd coincidences of their paths crossing meant something special was supposed to happen between them…

Maybe…

She sighed, remembering the reason she'd come to the station in the first place. Ken was right. What would she do with the information if she did get the guy's name? Call him and demand that he not tell anyone that she preferred sleeping in the nude? Chances were the man had an interest in remaining anonymous, and she'd probably never know his identity. She conceded, however, that months might pass before she stopped glancing at men on the bus and wondering if he were the one.

Whoever the guy was, he was probably having a belly laugh over the desperate woman who had to make the first move with her boyfriend, and who was so distracted she couldn't even tell that the person on the other end wasn't him. She burned with humiliation when she thought of the things she'd told him—intimate things she thought she was sharing with a man who cared about her. If the guy had caller ID, he knew her name. Had he told all of his buddies? Was her name being distributed on the Internet? For a good time, Georgia Adams will call you.

"Howdy," said a pleasant-face man who came over to pick up a form from Ken's cluttered desk. "I'm Klone."

"I'm Georgia Adams," she murmured. "You're Ken's partner, aren't you?"

"That I am."

From the twinkle in the man's eyes, she knew he was fond of Ken. "He's mentioned you," she said.

He smiled again. "And I know all about you, too."

She blinked. "Ken has mentioned me?"

"Oh, sure, Ken has mentioned you to anyone who'll listen." He leaned forward and dipped his chin. "He thinks you're just about the hottest number in Birmingham."

Guilty heat flooded her face.

A young officer walked up, his hands full. "Another stack of cards for Ken," he said, adding to the pile of envelopes overflowing the small desk. He held up a postcard. "As if the man didn't have enough women chasing him, he has to go and make the front page of the paper. Listen to this: 'You can handcuff me to your bed any time. Call me, Barbie.'" He rolled his eyes.

The officers in the vicinity laughed, and Georgia felt uneasy. The man obviously had his pick of women to coax into a closet. Why would he be interested in her?

Klone picked up the slip of paper she'd left lying on Ken's desk and to her surprise, winked broadly as he handed it back to her. "Ken really should get business cards for as often as he's probably passed out this number."

Georgia's mind flooded with confusion. She tried to smile. "Do you... recognize this phone number?"

"Yep—555-6252—I've sure as hell dialed it enough. It's Ken's home number."

The floor fell out from under her feet, leaving her in a free fall. A week's worth of seemingly disjointed events fell into place with mocking ease, like a preschooler's puzzle. Running into him at the hospital, then seemingly at every turn. At the hospital… at the mall… at the blood bank… at the church. He'd looked her up and hunted her down. He'd played her for a fool. Taking her phone calls and taking her for a ride. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.

"Is something wrong?" the man asked.

Oh, sure, Ken has mentioned you to anyone who'll listen. He thinks you're just about the hottest number in Birmingham.

Georgia lunged to her feet, stumbling backward before she gained her footing. Bile rose in her mouth. "I... have to go," she whispered, then ran blindly toward the exit.

* * *

KEN WAS whistling when he walked back to his desk. The woman's lost dog wasn't Crash, and Georgia was waiting for him—

He frowned at the empty chair, then panned the adjacent area looking for her. "Klone," he called, threading his way through people to their desk area. "Where's Georgia?"

The older man shrugged. "Took off, like someone set her on fire."

"Just like that?" He narrowed his eyes. "Did you say something to her?"

"Maybe a little good-hearted teasing, but nothing to send her off like that."

"Think, man. You must've said something that upset her."

The man shook his head. "Nope. Cal over there delivered more mail from your fan club and was cutting up about what a lady killer you are. Then I cracked a joke about you making up business cards so you wouldn't have to write down your phone number so often."

Dread pooled at the top of his head and oozed downward. "My phone number?"

"Yeah, she had it written on a piece of paper. Guess you wore her down for a date?"

He leaned forward and gripped the sides of his desk. "You told her that was my phone number written on the piece of paper?"

"Well, wasn't it?"

Ken closed his eyes and swallowed.

"What the hell is going on?" Klone asked.

He straightened. "I'm going on break."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

Ken jogged to the front of the building and burst through the double doors. A hundred feet away, a city bus had stopped for passengers. He caught the flash of a pink blouse and took off sprinting. But the bus lumbered into motion and pulled away just as he ran up next to it. He searched the windows for her face and when he saw her, his stride broke. Tears streaked her face, and she looked at him with such loathing, he was rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth, but knew it was too late for words.

He watched the bus carry her away from him and felt like the piece of trash that lay on the sidewalk at his feet.