“Please.” She tsked. “Your father always did.”
Dante knew that wasn’t the case. Daryl Matthews had been on the force for thirty-five years. There was no way he told his wife everything.
“I was just thinking about Dad.”
Her voice softened. “A good memory?”
“Cars.”
She laughed. “You two did have fun. How’s the Cobra?”
The ’65 Mustang he was currently retooling. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything my boys tell me.”
Which was eerily true.
“Still tinkering, but I decided to paint it red.”
“Racy choice. Your father would have approved.”
Would he? In Dante’s choice of car color or career choice?
“Something troubling you?” she asked with her weird mom ESP vibe.
“Not really. I had a conversation at work today about my career. Not sure how I feel about it.”
“Since when have you not been able to make a decision? All my sons are very professional when it comes to law enforcement. I’m proud of each and every one of you, but out of the bunch, I worry about you most.”
He hesitated. Asked the question he’d never wanted to broach with his mom, but now seemed like a good time. “You don’t like me going undercover?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few sleepless nights when I know you’re on a case.” The hesitancy in her voice made his chest clutch. “I may not know the particulars, but I know the situations you’re investigating can’t be good. Or safe.”
“I wonder sometimes if I could handle a job that required me to sit behind a desk more. It doesn’t seem natural.”
Jasmine laughed. “You never were one to be happy indoors.”
“Is moving up the ladder part of growing up? Dylan’s arrest rate at the DEA is impressive. Derrick has made a name for himself at the FBI and Deke is a well-respected forensic investigator. They’ve made great strides in their careers.” He tamped down the envy that threatened to bring him to his knees when he considered his brothers’ successes. He loved them; he just had a hard time following in their footsteps. “I guess I just never put a lot of emphasis on moving ahead in my career until now.”
“Then the question you need to ask yourself is, can you do the job?”
He thought about the sergeant’s test he’d passed. Studying had been excruciating, but he’d needed to prove to himself that he could do better than being the pesky kid brother who had to find inventive ways to keep up with his siblings.
He rolled his shoulders as he considered the question. Settled with, “I’m sure I could.”
“Okay, then ask yourself this. Do you want the job?”
He thought about his brothers again. Would he take a promotion just to be like them? To carry on the Matthews tradition to serve and protect? Or would he take a promotion, if it was offered, because he wanted the job?
“Guess I need to sleep on it.”
“Dante, whatever you decide to do in life, know that I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Your father would be, too.”
He swallowed hard. His father had supported him, but had also tried to temper Dante’s reckless streak when he was growing up. Tried to find activities Dante would find interest in to keep him out of trouble. And told his son it might cost him something he desperately wanted one day if he didn’t learn to control himself. Could a promotion be what he wanted? It certainly would have made his late father proud. Could he do it? The idea was planted in his brain now and he’d puzzle over it until he came up with an answer.
His mother broke into his thoughts. “When am I going to see you?”
“Maybe I can get over in the next week or two.”
“Don’t be a stranger. There’s this cute waitress who works at the local outdoor restaurant I’ve fallen in love with. She’d be perfect for you. I think—”
“Mom, I gotta run. Work might be calling me.”
“Might be? Dante Matthews—”
“Love you. Talk to you soon.”
Dante ended the call before his mother had him talked into calling this woman and asking her out on a date, sight unseen. He hoped Dylan got engaged soon, just to take the pressure off.
As he jogged back to his truck, he thought about work decisions, which then triggered visions of Ellie. Her lovely smile when she let her guard down. The deep brown of her eyes. She intrigued him, that’s for sure, which was odd, since she wasn’t his type. He went for women who were more put together in the looks department. Not that Eloise wasn’t pretty; she just hid behind the glasses, tightly pulled back hair and severe clothing choices. But his mother would love her.
Reason enough not to pursue the interest he’d discovered in her. He could already hear his mom humming the wedding march.
“HEY, ELLIE. WAIT UP.”
Eloise ignored the jolt to her heart and turned to find Dante racing through the parking lot the next morning. The sun was shining, the temperature hovered in the midseventies and Dante was calling her name. Did life get any better? She took a breath and kept her voice level. “What’s up?”
The bright morning light lifted the multiple shades of brown in his unruly hair. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes, but not the cocky curve of his lips.
“I just found out we’re short a person for the mud run on Saturday.”
“That’s too bad.” Adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, she was disappointed by his statement, though why, she couldn’t explain. She headed for the building.
“It won’t be if you’d join us.”
“I already told you, not interested.”
“See, here’s the thing. We haven’t lost a challenge to another PD in two years and we can’t lose now. We need you.”
She stopped. Faced him. Tamped down her annoyance.
“I can’t help you.”
“Sure you can. All you do is say yes, throw on clothes you don’t care about getting dirty and show up at the obstacle course at eight on Saturday morning.” He paused. “It’s for charity.”
Even though she stayed physically fit to keep up with the demands of the job and policy of the department, she wasn’t very fast. Or accurate. “Dante, trust me, no one wants me on their team.”
“I do.”
She wished she could read his eyes. Was he serious? Merely taunting her?
“I’m sorry, Dante. The answer is still no.”
She’d turned and had taken two steps along the blacktop when she heard, “Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
She whirled around. “Did you just make chicken noises at me?”
He shrugged. “If the chicken feet fit...”
“I don’t have chicken feet. And I’m not scared.”
“What, then?”
Oh, now he was taunting her. Her temper rose and she