Dark Blue (South Island PD Book 1) (18 page)

A shiver raced down her spine, hotter than the water pouring from the shower head, and her stomach flip-flopped.

They’d had unprotected sex, and it’d been a first for her. Resisting the urge to press her nails to her mouth and bite, she washed her hair instead.

It hadn’t been irresponsible, had it? Not when the condom had already broken, exposing her to the possibility of pregnancy. She probably wasn’t any more likely to become pregnant than she would’ve been if they’d used protection the second time.

And she was going to take precautions, anyway. They’d be okay.

After her shower, she hurried to the nearest pharmacy, shelled out fifty dollars and returned home. Plunking down at the kitchen table, she opened the pill box and unfolded the instruction sheet.

As she read, her heart beat a little faster with each paragraph.

All she had to do was take the single pill, which apparently prevented seven out of eight pregnancies.

Seven out of eight? Her empty stomach clenched as her odds hit her like a ton of bricks.

There was a one in eight chance she’d conceive. She’d expected something more like a ninety-nine percent effectiveness rate.

Then again, she’d expected the same from the condom.

Standing, she retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it halfway at the faucet. Without wasting any more time, she took the pill.

After washing it down with cool water, she didn’t experience the feeling of relief she’d expected.

One in eight. What if she got the short end of the statistic?

What if she and Jackson had a baby?

Her mind whirled with the idea. She gripped the edge of the counter, shutting her eyes against the dizzying possibilities.

Jackson went straight to Belle’s place after work, stopping only briefly at a florist several blocks down from the Tempest Café.

By six-thirty, he was at her front door with a bouquet of yellow lilies and pink roses. When she answered the door, she looked surprised.

“I didn’t know you were planning to stop by.” She stood with one hand on the doorframe, her slender fingers resting against the wood.

His stomach clenched at the sight of her, and his heart beat a little harder.

“Wanted to see how you were doing. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside and turned, granting him a back view of her slim body clad in jean shorts and a purple t-shirt.

A bolt of lust hit him, his appreciation for her beauty as unstoppable as ever. Actually…

His attraction to her felt even stronger. His lust and affection had both been strengthened by the steel ties of the bond they’d forged last night. Whatever that was, exactly.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said, scooping the bouquet out of his arms. “They’re beautiful.”

Her smile hit him hard, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“Are you okay?” he asked with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “Were you able to find the pill you wanted?”

She nodded. “I picked it up at the pharmacy and took it this morning. I’m fine.”

“I didn’t know if there were any side effects.”

She shrugged. “It made me feel a little nauseated earlier, but that’s all.”

Guilt slipped over him like a creeping shadow. A little nausea was still worse than the non-existent consequences he’d suffered. For him, what they’d done had brought nothing but pleasure.

“You seem a little down,” he said. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m just nervous.” Her gaze fluttered down to the floor before flickering back up to him. “I read the instructions that came with the pill, and they weren’t exactly what I’d expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently, it’s effective seven out of eight times. One in eight women who take it still get pregnant. I didn’t know that.”

He stared at the dent in her lower lip, transfixed, and his focus narrowed until his world seemed to include nothing but her. A hot, pervading sense of mingled guilt and protective instinct rushed through him.

“The odds are still on our side.”

She nodded. “I know, but one in eight is still a pretty big risk when you’re talking about something so serious.”

He took her by the hand and squeezed. “You’re right. But you know I’d be there for you if you were that one in eight, right? You wouldn’t be alone.”

Her gaze locked with his, and the dent in her lip remained.

It occurred to him, then, that his promise might not mean as much to her as he wanted it to. She knew him – had known him since they’d been teenagers. What about him would instill her with confidence in his ability to parent, to take care of a child and its mother?

He had no experience in being part of a functional family, and she knew it.

Finally, she squeezed back, her fingers tightening around his. Her lips curved in a smile, but her eyes were darker than usual with obvious worry.

“I don’t want you – want us – to have to worry about things like that. We just started dating. We’re supposed to be having fun and getting to know each other again.”

A strange feeling hit him – a sensation like the one you got when you missed the last step on a flight of stairs.

He
had
been having fun with her, and he wanted it to continue. But he needed her to know that he was more than a fair weather friend, or boyfriend, or whatever. If things got serious between them, whether it was an accident or not, he’d take responsibility.

“I know. But you’re already worrying about it, and we can’t take back what happened.”

She nodded. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“Me neither. If it had to happen though, I’d rather it be with you than anyone else.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, marveling at the softness of her skin and the fineness of her bones.

She might not feel the same way about him, but more than he wanted to protect his pride, he wanted her to know that he had her back – and that he didn’t resent it.

Her grip on his hand tightened, and she leaned into him, laying her head against his chest.

She was barefoot and his boots leant an extra inch to his height. The top of her head reached his lips, and the vest he wore beneath his uniform shirt kept him from feeling the heat of her cheek. He looped an arm around her waist and felt her warmth that way.

“You have any plans tonight?” he asked.

“No.”

“Let’s order in. Watch a movie or something.”

“Okay.”

* * * * *

On Monday morning, Belle worked her job without really caring what she was doing. The applicants, the fresh fall semester – it all seemed far away, part of some other world.

Her own world had shrunk and was orbiting around the events of Saturday night, a satellite to the possibly momentous accident she and Jackson had had.

On Saturday night she’d slept in peace beside him, sure that the morning after pill would protect them from pregnancy. But that confidence had been halved when she’d read the package insert, and now having a baby with him was all she could think about.

The thought filled her with anxiety, fear and wonder – all of which combined to leave her feeling shell shocked. She even imagined that she could still feel his heat in her core, and it was a constant reminder of what the consequences might be.

It wasn’t that she never wanted to have children. She did want to, someday. But not until she was ready. Not until she was secure in a rock-solid relationship.

Jackson was a good man, and she adored him – probably more than she should, this early in the game. But what they had was new and something as trying as a pregnancy might strip the gleaming varnish from their bond, exposing a flimsier reality. He said he’d be there for her if she became pregnant, but the proverbial road to hell was paved with good intentions.

As the ex-fiancée of one of the world’s biggest asshats, she would know.

“Hey, Belle.” Zackary cracked open her door. If he’d knocked, she hadn’t noticed.

Stifling a sigh, she turned away from her desk and the paperwork she’d been ignoring. “What is it?”

“I have a message for you from a student – she says she talked to you last week.”

“Why didn’t you transfer the call to me?”

“She said no when I asked her if I could put her on hold for a minute.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Belle folded her hands in her lap. “Okay. What does Her Majesty want me to know?”

Zackary grinned. “She said she moved and the address on her application for the spring semester is wrong. Her phone number changed, too. She wanted me to give you her new contact information.”

Belle accepted the sticky note Zackary handed over, an address and phone number scrawled on its surface.

“What’s her name?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. I don’t think she said.”

“I guess it never occurred to her that I spoke to more than one female student last week.” She stuck the note to the side of a filing cabinet, where it was about as useful as a bikini in Antarctica.

He shrugged. “She’ll e-mail you or something if she really needs to get in touch.”

She nodded, already forgetting about the mystery caller.

“Hey, I’m about to head out on a coffee run. You want anything?”

“After last time? Aren’t your hands still sore?”

“Nah, you did a great job patching them up. Thanks again, by the way.” His grin resurfaced, brighter than before.

“It was no problem.”

“So what can I get you: a latte? A house roast with cream?”

“I’m still gun-shy when it comes to you handling coffee. Nothing for me.”

It was true, but equally important was the fact that she didn’t need caffeine – her nerves were already jittery enough.

“You sure? I’ll be careful; I swear.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay…”

He left then, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later, he was back in her doorway, a paper cup in hand.

“I grabbed you a coffee anyway, just in case.” He raised his hands after setting it down on her desk. “See? No burns.”

“Zackary… You really shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it was no problem.” He sidestepped, halfway out her door before she could blink.

“Wait – I need to give you money.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it a thank you for the free medical care.”

He was gone before she could protest again, moving swiftly toward Keira’s office.

She was left wondering whether he’d winked at her as he’d left her office, or she’d just imagined it. In the end, she decided she’d imagined it.

Or at least, that was her story, and she was sticking to it. She had too many other things to worry about to deal with Zackary’s flirting.

* * * * *

Around three o’clock on Monday afternoon, Jackson responded to a report of shots fired on Belmont Avenue. According to his MDT, someone had called in to report three or four gun shots going off near their home – possibly at their neighbor’s place. He parked a block away from the caller’s home, and by the time he cracked his cruiser’s door, he could see another officer approaching to back him up.

With the other car just a couple blocks away, he stepped out of his vehicle and stood by its side, his gaze trained on the shotgun house with blue siding – 1214 – that the caller suspected the shots might have come from, or been directed at.

The other officer’s car approached and slowed, but didn’t pull over to the curb behind Jackson’s.

Jackson turned, peering through the windshield, and saw the last person he wanted to see.

Sanders. The contents of Jackson’s stomach curdled, and Sanders rolled right on by, speeding up as he passed Jackson, leaving him alone.

“The fuck…” Jackson sucked in a breath of muggy air and headed for the blue house. He’d be better off alone than with that idiot, anyway.

When he knocked, there was no answer at first. The second time, a sixty-ish woman answered.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Calder. We received a report of shots fired in this area. Did you hear anything?”

Her eyes widened, then shrank as her brows plunged down, wrinkling her forehead. “No. Well…”