Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1 (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Being rescued was, in some ways, the beginning of a whole new nightmare involving questions, interviews and way too much attention from the media and the prospect of this particular bad dream dragging on for months or years until the Ukrainian terrorists went on trial.

But it wasn’t all bad. Suzanne didn’t have time to reread that last letter from Frank more than once or twice a day, didn’t have time to brood over what it meant for more than a few hours at a time.

She was so busy she only almost called Neil, then changed her mind, every fifteen minutes or so.

For a week or more, she didn’t even look at local news, not wanting to see her own face, or worse yet, Frank’s, plastered on the screen while some distressingly perky newscaster told half the story and left out the parts that really mattered.

Frank’s sacrifice.

Neil’s courage.

The way her husband had been returned to her, almost a year after his death and several years after the death of their marriage.

The way Neil had looked at her when she said it was over, right before they were swarmed by cops and FBI and they both had to pretend that, on top of everything else, she hadn’t just bruised his heart and cracked her own.

She didn’t want to answer the phone for anyone. She’d spent far too much time talking to law enforcement, the DoD, lawyers and everyone else under the sun. When she finally picked up for Janice, she admitted to herself it was because Janice was a connection to Neil.

And she’d trust Janice to tell her if she was playing the martyr like a moron, which she occasionally suspected.

Janice’s first words were, “Neil’s in trouble. Big trouble. Do something.”

* * * * *

Neil stared at the
Boston
Herald
headline. “‘Hero’ Cop Suspended.” There was a huge picture of him and everything. Somehow that made the suspension more real than actually being told he was on administrative leave pending an investigation of his actions.

At least the
Herald
dubbed him a hero. The
Globe
had been less kind.

And Suzanne hadn’t said anything at all.

The media still didn’t know half of what he and his father had done, and thank goodness for that. But it would all come out. They’d helped save both Suzanne and Ly Vo, and they hadn’t actually withheld evidence, but they’d broken a few laws and a lot of police procedure. He probably wouldn’t go to jail, but he might lose his job.

He had no idea what to do about it except have another beer. Only he’d been trying that solution way too often and it wasn’t helping. So for the moment, he was just going to sit on his ass in his grandfather’s favorite old chair and brood.

Suzanne walked in the front door.

Barged right in like she belonged there and Neil’s heart told him that she did. She must have come straight from work; she wore slim, pale tan dress pants and a green knit top with a keyhole neckline, some soft, slightly shiny knit that looked fancier than a T-shirt. Tan heels. He’d never seen her in heels before but now that he had, he wanted to see her in them all the time, preferably without much of anything else except lingerie or maybe some rope. “What…how?” He knew he sounded like he was brain damaged, but he kind of felt like he was. Brain numbed, anyway, from the shock of seeing her, drawn and hollow-eyed and thinner than she had been a week ago and still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Words weren’t cooperating with him.

But she seemed to know what he was trying to say. “You gave me a key, remember? And now I’m glad I didn’t give it back. Not like you were answering your phone or email or opening the door or even talking to your dad. Yeah, I checked in with him too.”

He swallowed hard and looked away because he couldn’t bear to look at the way she was caught in a beam of sunlight, and the light glinted off her red hair and made her skin look rosy. Only when he looked away, he saw all the beer bottles he hadn’t bothered cleaning up for… God, how long had it been? A few days at least, because he’d never actually gotten drunk, just kept a steady light buzz between his heart and the shit storm around him. If the beer bottles weren’t bad enough, and they were, there was the pizza box from last night that hadn’t made it into recycling and the wrapper from some disgusting desperation burrito he’d grabbed out of his dad’s freezer on a night he couldn’t even be bothered to call for pizza. His place looked like a frat house on Sunday morning. It even smelled kind of like a frat house on Sunday morning, though thankfully without any vomit.

And when was the last time he’d shaved or taken a shower anyway? He ran one hand through his hair. Short though it was, it must be sticking out in crazy ways and obviously greasy.

“What are you doing here?” he asked without actually looking her way. He hoped he didn’t sound angry because he wasn’t, just astonished. She’d sounded so sure that she’d never want to see him again. And she hadn’t called.

Or maybe she had and he’d missed the message among all the ones he was letting pile up because he wasn’t ready to cope with them. Concerned coworkers. Angry coworkers. God help him, media. And Janice, who was worse than a reporter crossed with a pit bull for persistence. He’d finally had to talk to her because he’d been afraid she’d march right in like some black leather avenger and start slapping him around.

He probably deserved it, but Janice would be way too gleeful.

He didn’t know what he expected from Suzanne, but it wasn’t her delivering her own version of a Janice-style slap. Only Suzanne’s was a dope slap straight to the head and could in no demented universe be considered fun or consensual. Justified, maybe, but not fun or consensual. “Look at you! Janice said you were wallowing. Guess she was right.” She came a couple of steps farther into the living room. Half the room was lit by late day sun, but the other half, which faced north, was dim. He’d been hiding in that dimness, and in moving forward, she crossed from light to semi-darkness. Joined him in the corner where he’d been hiding, and damn him, the corner seemed brighter, even if she had her hands on her hips and was glowering at him. “I’ve already had one man die for me. I’m not letting your life be destroyed because you helped me. We can fix this. But you’ve got to meet me half way.”

Suzanne held out her hands.

Every muscle in Neil’s body screamed to stand up, go to her, take those offered hands, even if she was surely reaching out from kindness and guilt, not desire or God help him, love. But he couldn’t. She was too beautiful, and she was here out of obligation. It was all tied to Frank somehow. He’d never read that last letter, but Janice had told him what it said. Even she had sounded moved, and she’d hated the guy.

Neil wanted to go to her, but instead he looked away again. Couldn’t meet her eyes. Not when he’d tried to be a hero for her, only to be out-heroed in her heart by a dead guy. Not when he looked like a bum on a bender, which he was pretty close to being.

He knew if she looked into his eyes, she’d see how much he needed her. How much he loved her. And wouldn’t that be charming? Given time, she might have fallen for Neil Callahan, cop and Dom, but no one would fall for Neil Callahan, unemployed drunk.

She slammed her hand into the wall, harder than he’d have thought she’d do. “Dammit, look at me when I’m ranting at you!”

“Scares me,” he admitted. “Janice told me you think Frank…died for you.”

A tight nod. “He delivered fake documentation to an Iranian agent, who killed him and made it look like an accident. He did it because he was afraid the Iranians might come after me.” Then she blinked. “That was part of the reason. The feds were hoping it would help expose the spies and it did. His fake info was convincing enough they thought it was real for months and acted on it. But part of the reason he went along with the plan was to protect me. Ly and other people at Mayhew, too, I guess, but mostly me.”

“And that’s why…” Damn it, he still couldn’t talk sensibly.

She nodded. “That’s why. It was one thing to feel ready for you when I thought Frank had been cheating on me before he died, or that we’d grown apart so much he might as well have been. Yet another thing to realize how much he cared about me. I felt dirty and heartless, like I’d done something wrong by sleeping with you. Like I’d betrayed Frank, who was a hero. Even if he was a lousy husband the last few years.”

Neil looked down at the arm of his scruffy plaid recliner, refusing to meet her gaze. Refusing to meet defeat head-on.

“Today, when Janice said you were in trouble and were refusing to talk to anyone, something sank in. Frank said in that last letter, that even though we sucked at being husband and wife by the end, he valued me as a friend. Part of the reason he did was I’d call him on his shit. So I’m calling you on your shit. You can’t just crawl into a hole. You have to fight back.”

Neil blinked. “I plan to. Just not yet.”

Both the FBI and his department were furious with him. He knew he’d bent and outright broken some rules—and frankly, he’d been in too much of a funk to think clearly. He’d shared his information and hadn’t tampered with any evidence, had tried not to touch anything he didn’t absolutely have to. That would count in his favor.

Until she’d burst into his living room, full of life and wrath, he realized, he hadn’t been sure he was going to bother fighting back. Which was dumb. He couldn’t imagine being anything other than a cop—the fourth generation of Callahans to be one—but he’d been stuck in his own damn head.

“I’ll back you up.” She smiled as she said it and Neil’s mood lifted instantly. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He didn’t want to admit he hadn’t been sure, so he didn’t say anything. It sounded stupid now that she was here in front of him. The little part of his brain that could be rational knew their break-up wasn’t about him, but about her needing to sort through what she’d learned about Frank. Still, not hearing from her had gotten to him.

“You put the tracking software with my consent, so that’s legal. Weird, maybe, but legal—and we don’t need to get into all the details of how you wrangled the consent out of me. I’d told you I was meeting with Ly Vo, so you had an idea where to look when I wasn’t at Mayhew. And you were suspicious of him to start with. Turned out he wasn’t guilty of anything except not being brave enough to defy people who were pointing guns at him, but your suspicions pointed you in the right direction. That’s all true.

“Plus, you rescued me. Me and Ly Vo, who thinks you’re some kind of scary
god
at this point and I’m not going to correct him on that. That has to count for something.”

It actually might, he realized. Public opinion did matter to the department, and people were thinking of him as a hero. He was no lawyer, but he didn’t
think
he’d done anything that would jeopardize getting those Ukrainian losers convicted. He’d just gotten to the hostages before the locals, the FBI and everyone else and their uncle did.

Maybe he could beat this as long as she was with him.

Even having her as a friend who called him on his shit was still better than nothing.

She stepped forward, took the beer bottle out of his hand and set it on the coffee table.

Then she leaned in and put one hand on his shoulder. With the other, a slender hand that seemed stronger than steel, she turned his face toward hers. “Now will you look at me? Or should I just leave and stop embarrassing myself? You saved my life, Neil. Hell, you brought me back to life. I care about you, and whether it’s the right time or a good idea or whatever doesn’t seem to matter. It is what it is.”

“I rescued you and you dumped me. On the spot.” Despite the bitter words, his eyes were drinking in the sight of her, and one hand reached out. She caught it.

“Frank…that letter…”

Neil nodded. “I know.”

She squeezed his hand then placed it on her hip, freeing her hand to rest on his other shoulder. “Do you know often I called him a selfish bastard? I was freaking out. I still
am
freaking out. That letter changed everything for me.” She leaned in closer. “Yet it changed nothing. Frank’s still dead. He was still a lousy husband for me, even if he was a better human being than he let me see. I’m alive, and alone, and I still want to explore all the things I set aside while we were together. Plus, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Neil’s mouth opened and closed. He needed to say something, but the words that wanted to come out were “I love you” and they weren’t there yet. Even without the ghost of Frank between them, they wouldn’t be there, but with Frank in the way, they certainly weren’t.

She must have taken his silence as rejection, because she started to pull away.

Fixing this, he could handle. It wouldn’t require many words. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, because that seemed safe. Then he shifted one hand from the safe territory of her side to the more dangerous and alluring curve of her ass and used the other to scruff the back of her neck. He strained up as he pulled her down to meet his lips. She didn’t fight. Her big hazel eyes went wide and soft, then she shut them and melted into his kiss.

His breath was probably beer-flavored, but he stopped worrying about that after about a second because Suzanne didn’t care. She kissed him like they’d been apart for months, not days, kissed him like there was no conflict between what her body wanted and what her brain and heart prompted, kissed him like she felt the same way he did.

It might not be true, but he embraced the illusion as he embraced Suzanne, pulling her closer. Still kissing her, not wanting to let go, he stood and guided her to the sofa. The bedroom was too far away. Making out on the sofa was adolescent and silly and just what he judged they both needed right now, when her body knew what it wanted but her brain must still be ready to start overthinking again.

He ran his hands under her silky knit shirt. He’d thought his memories of her skin were too good to be true. They weren’t. It was that soft, that great to touch, and she did make those sweet noises when he stroked it, even in a semi-innocent place like the curve of her spine.