A Saint and A Sinner Ch. 03

"It has to be going on nine," he said, still staring out the window.

"A little past," she admitted. "I think we should wrap it up for the night." She yawned suddenly, covering it belatedly with her hand.

Nick laughed. "Yeah I guess we should get you back into town." He stood and started gathering up papers, stopping when she pushed his hands back.

"What?"

"You're messing up my order," she said distractedly, working to fix what he had almost destroyed. Then she realized what she said and blushed.

He laughed harder, enjoying her immensely. He tugged on a small wisp of hair that had escaped the knot she had skinned back from her face. "Not a control freak, are you?"

She elbowed him and scowled, pulling her hair out of his grasp.

"No, I just have these in order and I don't want to have to do it again later." She caught his grin out of the corner of her eye. It disappeared when she turned to face him, her hands on her hips. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Trust me, Michelle. I know better than to laugh at a woman with a gun." His tone was all seriousness but there was a light of laughter glinting in his blue eyes.

For an instant she felt the pull, felt herself swaying towards him. Then she caught herself and turned back to the papers, confusion ran rampant but she covered it with grumbling. "Men, they have no sense," she grumbled, refusing to look at him.

She stacked everything neatly, organizing it all the way she wanted. Then she picked up her notes and grabbed her purse, shoving the pens in the front pocket and the legal notebook she had been using all day in the center part. She hefted it up to her shoulder, ignoring her back muscles that screamed the reminder once more that she had been sitting on hard chairs all day.

Nick was in awe of her purse. Well, it looked more like a big, soft suitcase. He wondered why she even carried a gun, all she would have to do would be to throw the thing at someone, have it land on them and hope you got there before its weight suffocated them. He didn't understand women and their need to carry their lives around on them. Half the time he forgot to grab his wallet, the other half, he left it in the center console in his car.

He knew her duty weapon, standard issue 9 mm, was in a holster tucked in the back of her slacks, he had also seen a backup, 22 caliber semi auto stuck in an ankle holster around her right ankle. What she carried in her suitcase was beyond him.

Ahhh, the mystery of women.

She was staring at him, her arms crossed in front of her, a scowl on her face. She had seen the look of amusement he directed at her. She didn't want to amuse him, she wanted to impress him with her intellect, amaze him with her police skills, bedazzle him with her abilities as a cop. And he found her funny. The scowl deepened.

Uh oh, she didn't look happy. Well, he would take her back to the precinct; make some calls from there and then come home. He felt good tonight, a pleasure that was unusual enough to be noted. He was tired, a good tired.

He pulled the keys out of his pants pocket and led the way to the front hall, opening the door to usher her out.

She amazed him by stopping and grabbing the keys out of his hands, turning and walking down to his car and getting in the driver's side. She ignored his protest and moved the seat a little closer to the steering wheel as he climbed in the passenger seat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, exasperated.

"Getting home in one piece," she smiled innocently at him and started the car.