“Not really,” I evaded (not a lie). “This happens sometimes.”

“What happens?” he asked and I figured he was good at his job, especially in the interrogation rooms.

“I have a cousin, he’s…well, he’s kind of a mess and he’s got two kids. I’m close with his kids and sometimes I need to…” I searched for a word, found it and said, “Intervene.”

“What kind of mess is he?” he asked.

“What kinds are there?” I asked back.

“Lots of kinds,” he answered.

“He’s all those,” I answered too.

He studied me. Then he muttered, “Shit.”

I took in a breath, put minor pressure on my hands at his chest and whispered carefully, “Mitch, I really need to get to the kids.”

He studied me again. Then he said, “Right.”

Finally he let me go and stepped down another step. Again I felt that crush of disappointment at the same time I felt relief.

I felt these for about half a second. Then his hand curled around mine and he tugged me down the stairs toward his SUV.

I followed because if I didn’t, the determined way he was moving, I knew he’d start dragging me.

“Um…Mitch?” I called, he lifted his other hand and I saw the lights and heard the beep of his locks opening on his SUV.

Oh boy.

“Mitch?” I called again as he led me to the passenger side.

He didn’t answer. He pulled me around the door and opened it.

“Uh…Mitch,” I said again and he used his hand in mine to maneuver me into the door.

Then he spoke.

“Climb up.”

I twisted to look up at him. “But, I –”

Mitch cut me off, “Climb up.”

“I think that I –”

Suddenly he was in my space and there wasn’t a lot of it seeing as he was a big guy and we were wedged between his truck and the door. I had to put my hands up again in an automatic effort to fend him off. But they only made it to his (rock hard, by the way) abs before his face was all I could see and my body, heart and lungs all stilled as I stared into his eyes.

“Mara, climb…the f**k…up.”

Oh boy.

I was in trouble and I was in trouble because Detective Mitch Lawson, close, pissed off and bossy was hot.

“I can take care of this on my own,” I assured him. “I’ve done it before.”

“I’m a cop,” he announced suddenly.

“I know,” I told him.

“I know you know. What you might not know is I’ve been a cop a long time. That means I know all the kinds of messes people can be. You’re not a cop,” he informed me. “So, you tellin’ me your cousin is all the kinds of messes you know means he’s probably all the kinds of messes I know and there is no f**kin’ way I’m lettin’ you get in your car and drive into a mess. Now, Mara, climb…the…fuck…up.”

“Okay,” I agreed instantly because close, pissed off, bossy Detective Mitch Lawson was also pretty freaking scary.

He slammed the door behind me. I buckled up as he rounded the hood and swung up beside me. He’d backed out and we were motoring forward when he spoke again.

“Where are we goin’?”

“The Stop ‘n’ Go on Zuni.”

Mitch nodded and guided us through the complex.

Mitch and I lived in a middle income apartment complex east of Colorado Boulevard. It had a fantastic pool, clubhouse and gym. All of the people who rented units in our complex, along with all of the people who owned the built very close together, middle income homes in the gated community across the street, used these as an added benefit to their HOA.

Our complex was known throughout Denver as the singles hotspot of apartment complexes and I had to admit, it was kind of the truth. Rent was high enough to keep out the riffraff. Everyone who lived there was a professional working their way up the ladder or someone who did pretty well at whatever their job was and got paid pretty well to do it. The complex was attractive, attractively laid out and attractively landscaped. It was a haven for the active suburban single. The greenbelt and creek had jogging-slash-bike trails, plus stations where they had sturdy equipment that you could do decline sit ups, pull ups and stuff like that. The pool had a gorgeous, nearly unfettered view of the Front Range. It also had two hot tubs, the clubhouse bar was close and you could drink around the pool. All highly conducive to the singles scene.

Since what normally happened was that you hooked up with someone while in the apartment complex (as B and B and LaTanya and Derek did), lived with them there then moved to the housing development across the street when you got married, the community was also kind of incestuous. If you lived there long enough, everyone knew you and you knew everyone.

I didn’t move there to be a single in a singles nirvana. I moved there because I liked the look of the place. It was quiet, close to the mall and downtown, the apartments were spacious and the units had lots of green space between them. I also moved there because I loved pools and had a freakish need to be tan for as long as I possibly could be, weather permitting. Me tan slid me up to a Three Point Five, or at least I fancied it did.

“You wanna tell me what we’re walkin’ into here?” Mitch broke into my thoughts to ask a pertinent question.

“My cousin’s name is Bill,” I answered. “And he has a nine year old son and a six year old daughter and their names are Billy and Billie. Billy, the boy, with a ‘y’ and Billie, the girl, with an ‘ie’.”

I felt Mitch’s eyes on me before I felt them leave me and he flipped on the turn signal.

“You aren’t laughing,” he remarked after he’d turned out of the complex and I’d said no more.

“I’m not laughing because it isn’t funny and it isn’t funny because I’m not joking,” I replied.

“Shit,” he muttered, already knowing exactly what kind of mess Bill was.

And Mitch was right. Bill, Billy and Billie’s names said it all.

“Anyway, Bill isn’t a great Dad so occasionally Billy packs up Billie and they run away. They usually don’t go very far and once they get there, they talk someone into calling me. I go get them. We have a chat. I get them food because their Dad doesn’t remember to feed them. I take them back to their Dad. Then I have a chat with Bill, leave and come home.”

This was most of it, not all of it. I didn’t share that every time I left, I considered kidnapping my cousin’s kids. I also considered a phone call to Child Protective Services. And lately, I considered that I lamented the fact that I hadn’t kicked their drunk, stupid, lame Dad’s ass before I left.