Dying to Please by Linda Howard Read Free Book Online Page B

military's. Having grown up a military brat, she still thought of everyone else as civilians, and when she was with them, she automatically adjusted her phrasing to a more informal level. With Detective Cahill, however, she had just as automatically fallen into the old patterns.
    She shook her head. “Military.”
    “You were military?”
    “No, my father was. And both my brothers are in service. So if I say anything like ‘target acquired,' I picked it up from them.”
    “What branch?”
    “Dad was a Marine, Noel is a Marine, Daniel is Army.”
    He gave a brief nod. “I was Army.”
    Not “in the Army,” but “was Army.” That tiny difference in phrasing seemed to cover a huge difference in attitude. Some guys went in because they wanted the educational opportunity; they did their tours, then they got out. The ones who simply said they were Army were the dedicated ones, the lifers. Detective Cahill was too young though, to have put in his twenty in the military, then attended a law-enforcement academy and worked his way up the ranks to detective.
    “How long were you in?”
    “Eight years.”
    She digested that as she placed another target in the clip and sent it on its way. Eight years. Why had he left the service? She knew he had not been booted out, because he wouldn't be on the Mountain Brook force if he had a dishonorable discharge. Could he have received some injury, as her dad had, that made it too difficult to continue? She glanced at him, at that hard, fit body. Nope, she doubted that was the answer.
    She didn't know him well enough to ask, nor was she certain she wanted to get to know him that well. No, she was lying to herself; she definitely wanted to get to know him better, find out if there was any humor at all behind that sourpuss face and cop's eyes; but in this case, she would be better off not knowing. Something about him—and not just his body, though that was mouthwatering—elicited too strong a response from her. It was those darn chemicals, or hormones, or something, but she knew this man could get to her. He could suck her into a relationship, against her better judgment, that would interfere with both her job and her plans.
    That said, maybe she was a fool not to go after him. Maybe, sour disposition and all, he was a man she could love. Should she stick to her Plan, or go for the hunk?
    Decisions, decisions.
    She smothered a private laugh. Here she was going through all these mental gymnastics, and for all she knew, he didn't feel the tiniest scintilla of attraction for her. For all she knew, he was married with five kids.
    Just leave it alone,
she advised herself. If he was single, and if he was interested enough to make a move, then she would decide what to do.
    At peace with that, she slipped her ear protectors into place, and he did the same. Taking the pistol in her left hand, she wrapped her right hand around her wrist to brace it, and calmly, methodically emptied the clip at the target. She was accustomed to a critical audience—namely her father and brothers—so Cahill's presence didn't bother her.
    He removed the protectors again as the automatic return sailed the target toward them. “You shot left-handed that time.”
    God, he noticed everything. “I practice left-handed at least half the time.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I take my job seriously. In a crisis, if my right hand is injured, I should still be able to protect my charge.”
    He waited until the target reached them, and studied the pattern. She was almost as good with her left hand as she was her right. “You train hard for a threat that you don't really think will materialize.”
    She shrugged. “I'm not paid to play the percentages; I'm paid to be ready. Period.”
    “Hey, Doc!”
    He shifted his gaze down the line of shooters and lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “I think my buddy's ready to leave.”
    “‘Doc?'”
She was startled by the nickname.
    “Long story.” And one he didn't seem inclined to