A Time to Gather (2 page)
She and Zak sat on a restaurant’s patio. He chattered nonstop about the event, totally unaware of her thoughts because she hadn’t shared them.
“Oh, man!” he said for the umpteenth time. “That was so incredibly cool.”
She couldn’t help but tune him out. Her imagination refused to leave behind the source of her distress: the night of the fire. The night and the morning that followed.
It was the morning, the aftermath, that haunted her even more than the memory of the danger itself. She remembered how she and Zak and the others had walked through what could easily have passed for a war-ravaged land. Instead of bushes and trees there was black and debris. Instead of sunlight there was a sky of pewter. She had trembled uncontrollably, adrenaline drained by then, shock setting in.
A helicopter flew overhead several times, back and forth. It hovered and stirred up ash until they all choked on it. There was no place for it to put down. There would be no help from it. It left, taking with it all hope that the real-time nightmare would ever end.
Now she bit into a french fry, obliterating that other taste. The sun was shining. She was with Zak. There was nothing to be terrified about.
Her reaction had caught her by surprise. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t be repeating that scenario any time soon. It wasn’t like she’d become a groupie and attend SDFD helicopter exercises.
She picked up another fry, part of a late lunch. Or was it early dinner? Her sister Jenna would be appalled. Midafternoon burgers and fries?
Were Lexi and Zak dating or not? According to Jenna’s standards, the answer was
not
. There were no regularly scheduled candlelit trysts, not even weekly phone calls.
But
, Lexi thought,
it’s no big
deal
. So they weren’t dating. She and Zak were friends. Who knew? They could be inching their way toward romance and real dates.
“Lex.” He grinned and picked up his hamburger. “Tell me, was that the coolest thing you’ve ever seen or what?”
She swallowed and pasted on a smile. “Sure. Watching a giant hose dangle from a helicopter and suck up lake water and then spray it all over the hillside is my idea of extreme fun. I especially thought it was cool that they could do it at least eighty-nine times without stopping.”
“I know!” His eyes did their little-boy number, wide and starry. “It was amazing!”
Clearly she needed to work on her sarcastic tone.
“They’re scheduled for a repeat tomorrow. We can go again!”
Whaaa—
Laughter exploded from him. “You should see your face. Gotcha! You thought I believed you!”
“Ha-ha.”
“You’re a good sport, Short Stuff.” His face turned somber. “I know it bothered you. You were kind of clingy out there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You faced a major fear, and you lived through it. Right?”
“I guess.”
He made a show of studying his bicep. “I don’t see any bruises—”
“I didn’t hold on that tight!”
He smiled, his lower lip curling in its funny way.
She went slushy again. Slowly, like during the fire’s aftermath, Zak Emeterio’s presence made its impact. The world was not such a scary place after all.
“I bet you’re tired of hearing me talk about fire stuff.”
She shrugged. “It’s your life.”
“So how’s your life? How was the shopping day with your mom and sister?” He bit into his burger.
“It was a disaster. How could it not be? Mom wants a wedding gown, but surprise! She’s already married to my dad, and there’s no such thing as a dress for a
re-wedding
ceremony. Jenna insists that as bridesmaids we should dress alike in matching LBDs. Me look like her? Not possible. No way am I going there.”
“What’s an LBD?”
“Little Black Dress. The kind that makes Jenna look even more perfect than she is. According to her, every woman should have one.” Just the thought of trying on dresses with Jenna bugged her like crazy, but Zak’s attention drifted.
She said, “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, my parents are no longer acquainted with reality. What are we sibs going to do, though, except go along for the ride? I’ll have to find a dress.”
“I think it’s great your parents want to recommit to each other in a formal way. I wish my parents would do something like that.”
“Then you want to come with me to the wedding?”
Oh, no.
She didn’t say that. She didn’t. “I mean, the reception is going to be a huge party. My mom’s inviting half the city, probably all the fire stations. You know you’re welcome. It’s not like you’re a stranger. I didn’t mean . . .”
Like a date. I didn’t mean like a date! I just don’t
want to go alone.
“I mean it’s no big deal if you don’t—”
“Lexi.” He pulled on his chin and kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
“I appreciate the invitation, and I would be happy to come, but—um—there are extenuating circumstances.”
She stared at him.
“I’ve told you about Abbey.”
That would be the ex. Really ex, as in out of the picture months before Lexi had met Zak.
At last he looked up and met her eyes. “Things are getting . . . complicated. I may, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “Be spending time with her. Not that this changes anything between you and me. We’ll always be friends. We’ll still jog and stuff.” He scratched the back of his head. “I just don’t know about, you know, a nighttime dress-up thing.” His smile slid sideways. “LBDs and all.”
“Yeah, sure. I understand.” Her own smile attempt didn’t even get off the ground. “No big deal. You want those onion rings?”
“Uh-uh.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Have at them.”
“Thanks.”
She scooped a handful and transferred them to her plate. The first sweet crunch of crispy breading was like heaven.
No big deal
, she thought. Nope, no big deal. As a matter of fact, it was good news. That moony teenager might be put out of her misery once and for all.
O
fficer, is there a problem?” The man in the silver convertible flashed a toothy grin and squinted at the policewoman.
Rosa Delgado lowered the flashlight beam from his bloodshot eyes. These guys always asked the dumbest questions. Problem? With red eyes, slurred speech, car weaving like a kite down the road? “Yes, sir, there could be a problem.”
“Okay, shoot.” His grin stretched to clown proportions.
“Wow! For real? You don’t mind?”
The smile went lopsided.
“Aw, shucks, you were kidding,” she said. “I don’t get many invitations like that to shoot. Hey, this is a great-looking car. But aren’t you freezing?”
“Huh?”
“It’s thirty-eight degrees, the top’s down, and you’re in shirtsleeves.”
“Oh. Yeah! I see what you mean. Record-setting polar temps, eh? Who would have thought, in Southern California! Global warming, you know.” His left eye closed and stayed that way. “But I’m fine. Just fine. The leather seats are heated.” He waggled a hand, dismissing her concern, and then let the hand drop back onto the steering wheel beside the other.
Rosie studied his hands. Though masculine in size, there was a softness to them. The long fingers moved in a graceful manner.
Whether it was his wink gone south or the sight of those hands that for sure never came in contact with dirt, she didn’t know, but her hackles rose. Her muscles tensed.
On the other side of the convertible, her partner hummed a distinct “uh-oh” sound. “Delgado.” He murmured her name, pushing the last syllable up a notch to convey caution.
Bobby Grey’s uncanny ability to read her emotions amazed and annoyed her to no end.
Okay, so she should just request the driver’s license and proof of insurance and get things over with. But she wanted to keep playing. Tanked rich guys set her off with their promise of slimy lawyers. She wanted to give this one enough rope to string himself up so tightly that the slimiest of the slime could not untie him and make DUI charges go
poof
.
“Hey.” Bobby again, a soft growl.
Still watching the smiley tanked rich guy, she nodded to her partner.
Okay, okay. I’m in control. Just give me half a minute with him.
In the car, Mr. Slaphappy cleared his throat, an ugly, rumbling noise. His left eye reopened. “So kind of you to inquire after my comfort. Will that be all, Off—” He hiccuped. “—icer?”
“Did you honestly think that was all?”
“Huh?”
Rosie took a deep breath. The scent reached her again. She guessed martini. Made with gin. She willed her expression to stay neutral and her voice to go low. “Sir, you coasted right on past a stop sign.”
“Really?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, right. That one.” He leaned toward her and whispered, “To tell you the truth, I roll through that one all the time. I live right down the street, and I know from experience there is ab-so-lute-ly no traffic this time of night. I’m usually on my way home from work about now.”
“What job keeps you out so late?”
He gave his sluggish wink again. “You don’t recognize me?”
“No.”
“I’m on television. News anchor. Channel 3. Six and eleven.”
“No kidding? That’s gotta be an interesting gig. Bet the news gets you down, though, after a while.”
“You’re telling me.”
“You probably like a martini or two after that business.”
“It takes the edge off.”
“How many did you have tonight?”
Both eyes closed now, and he chuckled. “I don’t have to answer that.”
Rosie sighed to herself. The fun was over. He’d been here before. “No, sir, you don’t have to answer that. But you do have to show me your driver’s license and proof of insurance.”
“Look, my condo’s two blocks away. How about I park right here, walk home, and we’ll call it a night? Unless this is a no-parking zone.” He peered over the hood at a sign on the sidewalk. “Guess I better move—”
“License.
Now
.”
He tilted sideways and eventually managed to pull a wallet from his hip pocket. With exaggerated movements, he opened it, slipping a hundred dollar bill into plain view.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.”
He handed her his license.
She read it. Erik Beaumont, age thirty, really did live two blocks away, a tiny neighborhood snuggled between downtown and Little Italy and chock-full of San Diego Bay views. “Mr. Beaumont, are you familiar with field sobriety tests?”
“I don’t have to answer that.”
“Nope, you don’t. However, I would like to conduct one.”
“I refuse to take one.”
“You have that right, too, sir.”
He smiled, a flippant “gotcha” expression.
A dangerous stillness settled over Rosie. The guy had crossed the line. She was about to cross one herself. No matter Bobby’s warning or the fact that a video camera recorded her every move and word, she could not stop the ensuing, regrettable behavior.
She blamed it on ancestry.
Rosie resembled her father in every which way: Mexican in appearance, chatty as a magpie, a mellow demeanor. At times, though, her mother’s Irish temperament erupted, self-control vanished, and words spewed forth like volcanic ash, raining down on anyone within shouting distance.
“You know what I’d like just once?” Her voice jumped to a yell. “I’d like just once for some joker like you to say, ‘Yeah! I did it! I admit it. I got drunk as a skunk, and then I got behind the wheel of a car. As a matter of fact, I am still drunk as a skunk. You better lock me up before I hurt somebody!’”
Rosie blew out a loud breath. The verbal explosion ended as quickly as it had come.
Bobby groaned softly in the shadows. “All better?” he murmured.
She ignored her partner and watched the driver’s smirk disintegrate.
“Okay.” She tuned her voice back down to its usual low pitch. “Where were we? Oh, yeah. Mr. Beaumont, get out of the car.”
“I don’t have to—”
“Yes, you do have to. You’re under arrest.”
R
osie, Rosie.” Bobby shook his head and
tsk
ed. “You were doing so well. Why did you let him get to you?”
Walking beside her partner through the police station, she shrugged. They were off duty, wearing street clothes, and heading home to sleep away daylight hours.
He touched her arm and pulled her to the side of the noisy room. When Bobby Grey spoke, she listened. Pushing forty, he was the most focused person she’d ever met and the smartest cop. Fifteen years on the force and he was still passionate about being a patrolman. After two years of working with him, she adored him more than she did that first day when he unabashedly welcomed her, a scared blustery rookie, as his new partner. He soon became the
big brother she never had.
“You know,” he started, his gravelly voice hushed lower than usual. “You would make some partners nervous.”
“I know. I know.”
Not much taller than her own five-six and wiry in build, he did not intimidate through size, but through intense cornflower-blue eyes that seldom blinked. Though he never lost his cool, there was always a pulsating undercurrent of physical and mental strength about him.
“You’re profiling, Rosie. It doesn’t matter how right you call a situation, if you don’t get this under control, you’re headed for trouble. I can’t have you shooting some guy’s head off just because he’s eye candy, drives a fancy car, and smirks at you.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“You never, never know for sure. Look, you’re a good officer. You can rise above whatever it is that trips your trigger about this type.”
She shrugged again. “My temper only lasts a few seconds.”
“Like you couldn’t pull your gun and waste him within a few seconds.”
“Bobby, it’s not that big a deal. I’ve told you. I have a bad history with the Erik Beaumonts of the world, but that doesn’t mean I want to maim and kill them. I just need to spout off now and then.”
He glanced over her shoulder. “My wife would have been royally ticked if you’d hurt this Erik Beaumont.”
“What does she have to do with him?”
“She watches him on the news. I think she has a crush on him, along with half the female population of San Diego.”
“I should have shot him.”