Page 2 of One Night with the Doctor

‘I don’t give a good goddamn if she asked for Jesus, himself. The answer is still, no.’

Picking up her keys, Callie ignored her boss. ‘It’s fine,’ she insisted making for the doors.

‘You walk out of here and so help me, I’m firing you.’

Callie grinned over her shoulder. ‘Ha! Promises, promises.’ They both knew a chronically understaffed office needed all the good people they could get.

And Callie Duncan was very, very good at her job.

As promised, fifteen minutes later, Callie was on scene. Now if she could just get past the big, insistent male whose name she’d barely heard during his intro and had already forgotten. She didn’t care if he was a cop or, for that matter, a long, tall drink of water who was making her thirsty just looking at him.

He was in her way, blocking her path to Noelene, and that was all that mattered.

Placing her hands on her hips, Callie stared him down, her amber eyes blazing. ‘I know her. Noelene is not going to shoot me,’ she insisted.

The man, however, 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. ‘Be that as it may, you’re not going out there until you put it on. It’s protocol.’

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. Like a ranga Hugh Grant. 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? Hubba-freaking-hubba… don’t even get her started on those suckers.

The man was sexy as all giddy up and that was especially irritating right at this moment. What the hell did his lips have to do with anything?

She was working, for fuck’s sake!

Itching to tell him exactly where he could put his protocols, Callie managed to tamp down her temper and try another tack. ‘You think I wouldn’t put on some Kevlar if I felt it warranted it? I’m not an idiot. But this,’ she insisted, ‘is not necessary. I’ve known Noelene for ten years. She’s not dangerous to me or herself.’

Unblinkingly, 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. That left her in little doubt it was him in command of this scene.

Bloody 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.

That she was a client advocate first and foremost.

‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘If you insist.’

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 at her deliberately provocative act. 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 vest and waited for her to put it on, his arms crossed over a chest broadened further by its own Kevlar padding.

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

Callie snorted. ‘Do you think a bulletproof vest builds trust?’ Seriously, did all cops get their 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.

She’d always been a sucker for a manly forearm.