Marrying Mike...Again Read online

  Koontz had been impressed. He’d become Big Mike’s partner, and there wasn’t a pair more mismatched—or more effective—in the whole department.

  Now Koontz made a show of studying his neatly pared fingernails. “Come on, Weasel. You know Big Mike isn’t the kind to kiss and tell. He considers himself to be a Southern boy. They have rules.”

  “Yeah, but I still hang out with the likes of you, so that can’t explain everything.” Mike winked and the rest of the room burst out laughing, fifty cops finally getting to dispel some of the tension that had been growing as they waited for their new chief of police. The laughter ended uneasily. It was now seven-thirty in the morning. Chief Sandra Aikens was due to arrive any minute and no one was sure what that meant. Some officers paced the cheap industrial floor. Two detectives appeared to be counting water stains on the drop ceiling. One of the older cops, Higgins, who was two years from retirement and anxious about the rumored layoffs, was downing coffee and Tums in equal measure.

  Up front, Lieutenants Banks, Hopkins, and Thoron sat in the cheap plastic chairs, keeping their faces straight ahead. They looked stiff and uncomfortable. Hopkins had been the most vocal about his certainty that he would be the next chief of police. Now, no one would meet his eye.

  Men had a rule about letting other men eat crow in peace.

  The sound of ringing heels finally echoed down the hall. To a man, they stiffened, exchanged looks. Weasel cracked a nervous joke. It promptly fizzled.

  Seconds later, Police Chief Sandra Aikens appeared in the doorway, looking sharp and totally out of their league in a well-tailored silk pantsuit that probably cost more than any of them made in a week. She gave the room one long, measuring look, then headed for the podium with a take-no-prisoners stride.

  “Holy—” Koontz muttered under his breath and, beside him, Mike finally faltered.

  Four years, he thought. Four years since he’d last seen his wife. And sweet Lord, even after all this time, cool Sandy Aikens walked into his life like a punch in the gut.

  She didn’t just enter a room, she entered a room. Maybe that’s what it meant to inherit your daddy’s yacht-club world and million-dollar corporation. Mike had never fully understood it, but when Sandra appeared, the planets stopped spinning and the stars started aligning. She had the look, that certain carriage that stated she knew exactly who she was and she didn’t really care if you liked it. She was going to do it her way, so put up or shut up.

  Damn, he’d always liked that about her. Not just a woman, but a grade-A challenge. Ah, ma chère…

  Sandra Aikens with the crazy, curly, red-brown hair. Sandra Aikens, with those direct blue eyes that used to make him want to crawl inside her head just so he could finally learn everything she was thinking. Sandra Aikens, with those sleek pantsuits that hid the best damn collection of French lingerie ever to walk this earth. Sandy Aikens, who’d always driven him wild.

  Mike could have had any woman he wanted, but from the minute he’d responded to a report of a mugging and met Sandy Aikens, he’d only wanted her. She’d run down her own mugger with her Mercedes that day, pinning the gangly kid against a brick building. Mike hadn’t known whether to laugh at the terrified look on the young mugger’s face or lecture Sandra thoroughly. He’d ended up asking her out to dinner. He’d plied her with wine. He’d watched her relax and grow a little silly from good food and good company. And his poor stupid heart had simply flip-flopped in his chest—he’d become hooked on fierce, haughty Sandra Aikens.

  That’s because men don’t do any thinking with the appendage above their necks, his mama had told him later. Looking at how everything had turned out, he’d had no argument there.

  Sandra tapped the microphone. Koontz, who had never liked Sandra, not even when he was the best man at her and Mike’s wedding, lit up a cigarette and pointedly exhaled toward the No Smoking sign. Like most of the men, he was ticked off by her appointment to chief. Mike just found the whole thing twisted and amusing. But then, that was his way.

  Sandra didn’t say a word about Koontz’s smoking. She just flashed him the same tight, annoyed look most people reserved for gnats. Then her gaze swept the whole room, meeting everyone’s gaze but Mike’s. That made him grin. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling their meeting in places down deep. Maybe she was also thinking about how they ended their first date—on the floor, on the kitchen island, on the sofa, the dining room table…

  “All right,” his ex-wife said crisply, her gaze locking on the front row, “let’s get on with it. I’ll start with the good news and work my way down.”

  “There’s good news?” Koontz murmured, and a few officers tittered.

  “There will be no layoffs,” Sandra stated, and that quickly caught them all by surprise. “In fact, as of last Friday, I got Mayor Peterson to agree to allocate an additional two million dollars to the police department’s budget, the first increase in five years. There will be no layoffs. You have my word.”

  The room buzzed, even Koontz looked unnerved. For years officers had been griping about being underpaid, unappreciated, and unloved. The new chief of police couldn’t have started the show better if she’d just doubled their pensions. Mike crossed his ankles. Knowing his brilliant ex-wife, he waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Of course,” she continued smoothly, “nothing is free. Let’s not mince words. This department is in shambles. I know it, you know it, the public knows it. The mayor has appropriated funds for us, but in return, we must deliver results. I’m talking firearms training, pursuit and capture training, interrogation techniques. I’m also talking community relations training, basic PR, and yes, the dreaded rumor you have already heard—racial sensitivity training. We will learn to be a kinder, gentler police department.”

  “Great,” Koontz muttered. “Ebonics in the police force.”

  Sandra arched a brow. “Do you have a comment, Detective, or are you merely suffocating on your own secondhand smoke?”

  More nervous laughter, then abrupt coughing sounds as the men realized they were rooting for the wrong side. Koontz flicked a shower of sparks onto the already burnt-up floor and said calmly, “I’m just wondering when we’re going to do all this training. You know, we have so much free time around here. Or—” his eyes narrowed “—did we finally get money for OT?”

  “No OT,” Sandra said, and the whole room groaned. She rapped the podium sharply. “Look, I know compensation is a big concern around here, but we’re going to have to take this one step at a time. Right now, this department does not have the public equity it takes to negotiate higher pay or more OT dollars. But if everyone pitches in, if taxpayers begin to think we’re doing our jobs again, then next year, we can go after the additional compensation. Rome was not built in a day.”

  More grumbling. If they all had a nickel for each time some bureaucrat had told them that, they’d finally have that pension they’d been yearning for.

  Sandy got back to her speech. Mike found himself wondering if she still practiced the night before in front of the mirror. He used to watch her rehearse for big meetings, going over each word, analyzing every syllable, until everything was exactly right. He had his own way of helping out—he’d wait until she was in the middle of the important part, then he’d come up behind her and slowly peel away the first layer of silk…

  “That brings me to my next point,” she was saying.

  “We have received part of a federal grant to start a community policing program. Basically, you will all be assigned neighborhoods where you will form community task forces, then teach community members how to monitor for illegal activities and conduct basic patrols on their own. In addition to building community pride, this is one way of freeing up some of our manpower to focus on more serious crimes. It’s also going to help us reclaim our city.”

  “Hallelujah and praise the Lord,” Koontz muttered dubiously. “Let’s train a granny patrol to chase off drug dealers. Now that makes me proud to wear a badge.”
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br />   Sandy got a tight look around her mouth. She gripped the podium harder, and Mike knew she was working hard to control her temper. Sandra had quite a temper. Of course, one advantage of all those fights had been the making up….

  “Finally, as of next month, we’re refurbishing this police station. New pipes, new wiring, and for heaven’s sake—” she glanced up at the ancient collection of yellow stains “—new ceilings. Not only are we going to have a new attitude, but a new look. So get used to being shaken up. It’s going to be a long time before you consider your job to be business as usual. Any questions?”

  “Yo, I got a question.” Koontz shook out his double-breasted suit. “Are we getting new uniforms, too? ’Cause you know, last time I went to make an arrest, I just didn’t feel that I looked like the ‘real me.’ I mean, am I a warm tone or a cool tone? I just don’t know and it’s really keeping me up late at night.”

  Sandra cut him a narrow glance through the fresh burst of laughter. “Make your point, Detective, or stand down.”

  That was it. Mike shook his head. He’d seen this interplay between his ex-wife and his partner too many times before. Koontz always rattled her chains and she always responded by upping the ante. Already the men were looking away, the air getting tense. They’d seen Koontz in action.

  “My point is,” Koontz said slowly, “that we’re finally getting money and you’re sending us back to school? Lady, have you been on the streets lately? Those ‘kids’ are carrying AK-47s. What do you want us to do, read them Dickens?”

  “No, Detective, I’d hate for you to stumble over all the big words. As a matter of record, studies have shown that proper training in violent confrontation leads to more effective handling of the situation and fewer police shootouts. And this department certainly needs something. Last year, officers were involved in five high-speed pursuits that resulted in only one capture but four critically injured civilians, plus thousands of dollars in damage. This department also suffered six major shoot-outs, killing five suspects—a statistic totally out of proportion for a department this size—”

  “Oh, well, then I take it all back. I mean, if the studies say I’ll be safer…” Koontz shook his head in disgust. “Have you even been out there, Chief Aikens? Can you make it one block on the east side without some kid showing a piece or flashing a sign? All those teenagers loitering on the corners, watching every move we make. Even the eight-year-olds have thousand-yard stares and we know it’s not toy pistols they’re carrying in their pockets. Fact is, we’re outmanned and outgunned by the dear old public. We don’t need education, we need assault rifles.”

  “Here, here,” a few men muttered.

  Sandra pursed her lips. “Well, as long as we’re on the subject, I’m sure you’ve all heard about the letter that appeared in the Sunday Post. At the moment, I think it’s too soon to know whether it’s a hoax or not, but in the interest of safety, I want all officers patrolling the east side to wear vests.”

  “’Cause kids never take a head shot,” Koontz snapped sarcastically.

  Sandra frowned. “Let’s not lose perspective here. We’re talking about a confused thirteen-year-old boy. Not a professional assassin.”

  Koontz immediately jumped at the comment, but Mike finally took pity on his ex-wife and put a silencing hand on his partner’s shoulder. He said calmly, “Actually, he is.”

  His ex-wife rewarded his interruption with an annoyed look. He returned her glare with his most charming grin and kicked himself away from the wall.

  “The kid called himself a straight shooter,” he explained. “That’s gang lingo for assassin. Used to be that the sixteen-year-olds were in charge of shootings, but now the state will try them as adults and these kids aren’t dumb. Gangs lowered the bar, as well, training their shooters younger. Hell, a thirteen-year-old is just plain ancient in the east side. Soon we’ll be facing off with toddlers.”

  “It’s a war out there,” Koontz murmured fiercely. “A damn jungle, where they don’t have any rules and we’re bound by all of them. This Vee is not a kid. He’s a killer, a cold-blooded killer and we ought to be going after him with everything we have. To hell with kinder or gentler.”

  “No, Detective, you’re wrong. Declaring war on the community is exactly what’s gotten the department into this situation. Alexandria must stop thinking in terms of ‘us’ and ‘them’ and that change will start right here, right now. We’re not going to barrel into the east side with guns blazing. We’re going to work to find this child. Furthermore, we’re going to work with this community so other children won’t grow up with this level of rage and alienation. That’s what community policing is about, and that’s what this department will become about.”

  “And then we’ll skip through fields of daisies,” Koontz said.

  She smiled grimly. “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Come on, Chief. You live in a half-a-million dollar house and drive a sixty-thousand-dollar car. You don’t know a damn thing about police work and you certainly don’t know what it’s like out there. Save your little speeches for the press. They’re the only ones buying it. I for one am telling you that if I see a kid with a gun in the east side, I’m gonna respond to that and I’m gonna respond hard. You know what they say—‘it’s better to be tried by twelve than buried by six.’”

  “And I’m telling you,” Sandra said evenly, “that the next shooting experienced by this department will be investigated with every resource I have available, and if there is the slightest indication, Detective, that the situation could have been handled without force, I will personally take that officer’s badge. We will be playing by new rules. Are we clear?”

  The room was silent and way too tense.

  Sandra’s gaze went man to man. Most looked away. But Koontz didn’t, and neither did a handful of others. Her next comments were directed at them.

  “I’m going to say this once and once only, and then I consider this matter behind us. You don’t have to like me. You can hate me because I’m a woman. You can hate me because I’m a civilian. You can hate me because I’m a Virgo if you like, and you only play with Geminis. Regardless, things around here are going to change because, whether you like it or not, I’m not the enemy.

  “You are.”

  Her gaze came to rest on Koontz. “As a department, you have betrayed the trust of your community. People do not respect the Alexandria police force, they fear it. They do not consider you part of the solution, they consider you part of the problem. You have ended up with a civilian chief of police because taxpayers did not trust one of your own to clean up shop. So you can argue with me all you like. You can write bitch on my nameplate if it will make you feel better. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to turn this department upside down, inside out, and front to back. By the time I’m done, I’m honestly not sure how many of you will still be part of this force. But I promise you this, those of you who do remain will finally have a job and a police department to be proud of. That is what this is all about.”

  She snapped off the mike. “Lieutenants, in my office. Rawlins, Koontz, plan on meeting at eleven. That will be all.”

  She strode out of the room. It took about another minute more for everyone to recover. Guys were rattled. Koontz looked fit to kill.

  “I still can’t believe you married her,” he muttered to Mike. “I tried to tell you better. Holy Hillary Rodham Clinton.”

  Mike simply smiled, his gaze still on the doorway, where Sandy had vanished with a flourish. For a minute, he was thinking of that last day, when she had looked at him so calmly, without even a tear marring her face, and had told him their marriage was over. That last moment when she had simply walked out of his life and stolen all the breath from his lungs. There just wasn’t a woman in the world like Sandra Aikens, he thought wryly, bitterly, hopelessly.

  Never should’ve married her? Mon Dieu, Koontz didn’t know the half of it.

  Chapter 2

  Sandra made it back to h
er office just before her nerves gave out. Well, that meeting had gone about as well as she’d expected. Anger, distrust, resentment. Kind of reminded her of the good old days of crashing Mike’s family picnics.

  Oh, God, and that whole business with thirteen-year-old “straight shooters.” She hadn’t known that meant assassin. She simply hadn’t had the time to debrief on the current street-gang situation in Alexandria. She’d get to it, but Koontz’s point still stood. She was a thirty-four-year-old blue blood. What did she really know about kids like Vee? Or for that matter, the men she was supposed to lead?

  Eight-thirty. Her lieutenants would be walking in at any moment. And once she was done with that barrel of fun, she’d get to meet with Koontz and Mike. Big Mike. Big sexy Mike Rawlins.

  He’d looked good. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—her ex-husband had always been unbelievably at tractive, tall, dark and handsome to a T. She supposed she’d thought time would dull the edges. Or maybe because they weren’t married anymore, she’d look at him more objectively.

  No such luck. Lounging in the back of the room with his arms crossed over his massive chest, his dark features carrying his easy Cajun grin, he’d looked irresistible. A man who could stop a woman’s pulse with a single wink. A man comfortable enough in his own skin to spend a whole Sunday buck naked. A man who’d once devoted two hours to worshiping the curve at the small of her back.

  Sandra had spent four years purging all thoughts of Mike Rawlins from her head. Now, just minutes after seeing him in the back of a room, she was once more overwhelmed. The scent of him, the feel of him, the sound of his low, rumbling voice.

  She still remembered their first date vividly. Her nervous giddiness at having a bona fide hunk ask her out to dinner. Her growing admiration over pasta primavera when she realized the former-football-hero-turned-cop had a brain. And a wicked sense of humor. And a slow, easy-spreading smile that caused an equally slow spreading fire deep in her belly. One glass of wine leading to three. The growing astonishment that she was enjoying herself. In fact, she was having the most fun she’d had in ages.