Belonging (2 page)

So he had packed up lock, stock and barrel
and left the only home he had ever known. A tough, streetwise guy
from the big city, he'd left everything behind for...what? For the
wide open spaces of the West? He leaned back in his chair and
grinned, almost in spite of himself. Certainly not for a peaceful,
tranquil job where all he had to do was prop his feet on his desk
and hobnob with the owner of the local gas station. He'd never have
been satisfied with that in the first place.

Perhaps he wasn't growing old after all. He
still craved a little action, a little excitement. Yes, West- ridge
was just what he wanted. Not too big, not too small.

"But this is one hell of a way to start a new
job," Matt grumbled aloud. His grin faded as he thought of Angela
Hall's statement.
I'm sure Chief Richardson will do a perfectly
adequate job of seeing to our police protection.
A wave of
indignation swept through him. Seventeen years on Chicago's police
force had taught him to do much more than an adequate job.

But was that what was really bothering him?
No. Instead, it was the knowledge that he'd been second choice.
That was something he hadn't known, nor had he even considered the
possibility. The city's police chief had retired. Westridge had
offered him the post; he'd wanted it and he'd accepted. It wasn't
as if he'd wanted to be king of the hill, but nonetheless, the
realization that Mayor Angela Hall had thought someone else more
capable than he was rankled.

"Hell," he muttered, then repeated it.
"Hell!"

He got up and paced around the office, then
finally dropped back into his chair and pressed the button on the
intercom, feeling the need to hear a voice other than his own. Even
Maggie's. "Maggie?"

The voice, when it finally came, was rather
stilted. "The name is Margie, sir."

"Margie," he echoed, then cleared his throat.
He was a little embarrassed that he hadn't remembered her name.
"Margie, would you please get me a copy of last year's annual
report to the city council?"

This time there was little pause. "There's a
folder on your computer, sir. And there's a hard copy of the annual
report, sir, is in the filing cabinet next to your desk. Filed
under—"

Matt reached out his other hand. "I see it.
Uh, thanks, Margie."

He released the intercom but made no move to
retrieve the document he'd requested. He already knew most of the
statistics and information detailed in the report, anyway. He'd
made it a point to know what he was getting into before he'd
accepted the job. Instead, he just sat there, his big hands resting
for a moment on the desktop.

Damn! Why was it he suddenly felt like a kid
on his first day of school? Strange. Alone. Out of place. He got up
and paced around the office again. He halted, his eyes sweeping
upward to linger reflectively on the stained and yellowed ceiling
tile. Matt guessed the entire building must date back to the
thirties, if not earlier. It was old, a little on the dilapidated
side, but city hall, like the rest of the town, had a kind of
rustic appeal.

At least his office was quiet and roomy, a
far cry from his quarters in Chicago. There he'd shared a cramped
hole-in-the-wall with the second-in-command

of Missing Persons. He'd gone home more times
than he could count with his ears still ringing from the steady
drone of voices the paper-thin walls failed to shut out.

Was that what this feeling was? Transplant
shock? One corner of his mouth turned up wryly at the thought. He
was, after all, thirty-eight years old and not a six-year-old on
his first night away from home.

He eased back into his chair, then finally
picked up the annual report and thumbed through it. He'd no more
than idly flipped it open to the first page than the intercom
buzzed.

"Sir?"

It was Margie. "Yes?" Absently he toyed with
a pencil.

"You have a staff meeting in the conference
room in ten minutes. And at three this afternoon a meeting with the
mayor. I just wanted to remind you." ^

Cool and efficient, just like Mayor Hall. An
image of Angela as she'd appeared that morning flashed into his
mind, and he experienced a spurt of irritation. There could be no
doubt that she was one extremely attractive woman, but she seemed
so cold, so formal. Unless he was mistaken—and thankfully that
wasn't often—she was a woman who had business on her mind and
little else. But fast on the heels of that image was another—the
malicious triumph he'd glimpsed on the reporter's face when she had
divulged that he'd been second choice.

He threw the pencil down on his desk. Mayor
Hall. That damn reporter. Magg—Margie. Did all the women in this
town have ice in their veins?

"Thanks, Margie." He paused. "I don't suppose
there's any coffee around?"

The mild inquiry had no sooner been voiced
than her response came, short and sweet. Sweet? Who the hell was he
kidding? "There certainly is," she informed him stiffly. "Down the
hall, past the records section, first door to the right in the
lunchroom... sir."

In other words, get it yourself. Matt quirked
an eyebrow as he levered himself up from his desk once more. As he
ambled past Margie, a faint touch of dry humor colored his thoughts
as again he wondered just what he'd gotten himself into. His boss
was a lady, a lady that he knew instinctively didn't particularly
care for him, even though she'd hired him. The same went for his
secretary, a woman who was clearly independent as hell. Well, maybe
he should have expected it. This was, after all, the twenty-first
century. And hadn't he wanted a change?

Contrary to what he'd encountered already
that morning, the staff meeting went off without a hitch. Former
Chief Nelson, it seemed, had been a capable administrator, and Matt
decided he was content to let things ride for the time being. The
last thing he wanted was for his staff to think that as an ex-cop
from Chicago his only intent was to show them the ropes. No, he
didn't want to earn a reputation as a mover and shaker and end up
inspiring a lot of discontent and morale problems.

Matt was, in fact, feeling rather pleased
when he returned to his office an hour later. Surely he could
handle his secretary, and even his new boss, by whatever means it
took. He'd been a cop long enough to learn that strong-arm tactics
weren't the only way to pull someone over to the other side of the
fence. He perched on the edge of Margie's desk and smiled at
her.

Margie stopped her busywork and looked at him
as if he were an annoying speck of dust on her desktop.

"Have you worked here long, Margie?" he
inquired congenially.

"Over thirty years, sir."

The reply was brief, even terse, but he
detected a hint of wariness in the tilt of her chin as she looked
up at him. "That's quite a while," he observed. "All that time for
the police department?"

She nodded, but this time there was a flash
of pride in her eyes.

He whistled. "You and Chief Nelson must have
gone back a ways."

Again she nodded. Ah, Matt thought. It was
probably loyalty to Sam Nelson that prompted her leeriness of him.
Well, that was understandable. She probably considered him an
outsider.

"You know, Margie," he remarked
conversationally, "that I'm from Chicago."

"I'm well aware of that, sir!"

Matt ignored her waspish tone and gave an
encompassing glance around the office. "To tell you the truth,
things were a lot different there. The people were different," he
mused in a deliberately casual tone. "There were a lot of times
when you had to watch out for yourself because no one else would do
it for you." He noticed from the corner of his eye that she was
listening intently.

Margie's head bobbed up and down in
agreement. "I had a friend who moved to Chicago years ago. I went
to visit her once." She sniffed disdainfully. "I've never seen a
more uppity bunch of people in my life!"

Uppity? Matt had to resist the urge to laugh.
At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor. Not only was his own
private version of "uppity" sitting right in front of him, the name
Angela Hall came immediately to mind, as well.

"You know, you're right," he agreed. "Why, in
the week I've been here, I've wished more than once I'd moved here
years ago." He flashed his most disarming smile. "To tell you the
truth, Margie, I could use a friend. What do you say you show me
around the department, and then the two of us can go to
lunch?"

"Lunch?" She looked astonished at the
suggestion.

Matt shrugged. "Why not? I imagine it'll be
close to noon by the time we're finished. And I can't think of
anyone more qualified than you to show me the ropes."

Margie's look of surprise changed to one of
beaming pleasure. "Why, thank you." She flashed the first genuine
smile he'd seen. "I think I'd like that. But, Chief—" she waved a
finger insistently "—only if we go Dutch."

Having come this far, Matt wasn't about to
argue- especially since he'd progressed from "sir" to "Chief." He
liked the sound of it too much. Though he'd never considered
himself the least bit chauvinistic—he wouldn't have accepted a job
working for a woman if he was—he hadn't pegged Margie for the
women's-lib type. But at least she wasn't immune to a little old
fashioned male charm.

He was reminded of his meeting with Mayor
Angela Hall that afternoon. One down, one to go, he couldn't help
thinking. Would the same tactic work with her? At the thought a wry
smile curved his lips.

Where Angela Hall was concerned, he had the
feeling it wouldn't hurt to sharpen his ax.

As much as he wished he could blithely brush
aside the incident that morning, Matt experienced a twinge of
annoyance every time he recalled that he hadn't been the number one
choice for police chief. He knew it was his pride chafing. He also
knew that he wasn't going to feel a damn bit better until he'd
gotten the whole issue off his chest once and for all.

So it was that there was a certain tension in
the air as Matt entered Angie's office early that afternoon. The
steely eyes that rested on her were keen, a little too penetrating
for her peace of mind. Angie couldn't help but be aware of them as
she rounded her desk to clasp Matt's hand in a brief handshake, a
move she made graciously if reluctantly.

Their fingers merely brushed; she
deliberately made the contact minimal. Yet it was oddly unsettling
that he removed his hand first.

She moved back to her chair, wishing she
weren't quite so conscious of his stare drilling into the slender
lines of her back.

"I can't tell you how glad everyone is to
have you on board," she told him, schooling her features into a
faint smile as she sat down. "Westridge is very lucky to have
someone with your experience."

He inclined his head. "I was just thinking
the same thing not long ago."

A hollow silence followed. As polite as his
tone was, there was something less than friendly about the way he'd
said the words, just the slightest suggestion of sarcasm. She
couldn't help but wonder if he had something else on his mind, a
bone to pick with her perhaps.

Angie hesitated. She hadn't been looking
forward to this meeting, not really. Even before the incident with
Blair had come up this morning, something about Matthew Richardson
made her uncomfortably aware of each and every thing about him.
Shimmering June sunlight shone through the glass window beside him,
casting the roughly carved features before her into stark relief.
High cheekbones accented a strong jaw line, a thin but firmly
contoured mouth. Dark brows arched over flinty gray eyes. It didn't
take a second look to ascertain that beneath the navy suit were
lean but extremely well-developed muscles—and Angie was trying
very hard not to be quite so conscious of the fact. It reminded her
of days gone by . . . days that were best forgotten.

But she had learned over the years to know
exactly what she was dealing with. Matthew Richardson possessed an
intensely masculine aura, an aura that hinted of controlled
strength. This was a man who would be at ease, yet in control, of
any situation.

Strangely enough, however, intimidating was
not a word Angie would use to describe him. Exciting? To other
women perhaps. But not to Angie Hall.

When she had scheduled this meeting, Angie
intended to talk dollars and cents about the police department's
budget. But when she tried to summon the statistics and figures
that always came so quickly to mind, they were hardly the ones she
expected. Six foot. Narrow hipped with the shoulders of a
linebacker. She had to mentally shake herself to quell the renegade
meanderings of her mind. She dealt with men on a professional level
every day. Was this one really any different? They both had a job
to do, and it was time she did hers.

"So," she said finally, "I assume you've had
a chance to review the budget material we sent you." The police
department's budget was coming up for ratification by the city
council in mid-July, some six weeks away.

"Indeed I have, Ms Mayor."

Ms Mayor? Angie had been called a few things
during her term, some nice, some not so nice, but his address was
slightly irritating.

Business as usual, she reminded herself.
Brushing the feeling aside, she clasped her hands on the desktop in
front of her. "Any changes or recommendations you'd like to
make?"

Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Is it too late to
plead for more money?" Her brisk, no-nonsense manner didn't
surprise him. It was on a par with the way she'd handled the press
conference that morning. He had brains enough to recognize an
intelligent woman when he saw one, and he had no doubt she would
demand as much of someone else as she did of herself. Everything
neat, tidy and in its place.