Logan answered the phone on the fourth ring, having rushed straight from the shower. Water ran off his skin and hair in rivulets, dripping on the carpet. “Ross here,” he barked, irritated because he’d recognized the number on his Caller ID.
“I know you’re off duty,” the dispatcher, Nancy Sessions, said, “but we’re sending you on a call.”
Logan heard snickering in the background and nearly hung up the phone in her ear. He’d been teased mercilessly when he’d let slip about his date that day at work. Seemed his buddies thought the match a bit odd.
“Since you know I have plans for tonight,” he gritted out, “why the hell are you calling me?”
“Um…” She broke off, and more muffled snickers sounded on the line. “We’re short-handed…besides we knew you’d want to handle this one…p-personally.” The last word sounded as though it had been squeezed through an accordion she was laughing so hard.
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