Fall Into Me (29 page)

“That charmer? Oh, yes. I always have. Troy used to tease that I’d only married him so I could have Troy Lee for my baby.” Christine’s light laugh trilled between them and she winked. “He was probably half right. I fell in love with both of them at first sight. I never understood how Vanessa—she was Troy Lee’s mother—could prefer a research lab over that beautiful boy. She was used to statistics and experimental theory, and I’m not sure she knew what to do with the reality of him. He was a handful, always into something.”

Angel could just imagine. If he had half as much mischief in him as a child as he did as a man…that house had never known a dull moment.

“I think I have photos.” Christine dug in her purse as they approached the cafeteria. She removed a strip of plastic-encased photos from her wallet and handed them to Angel after they’d placed their orders. The first picture was a family group, taken on the beach before what looked like the Tybee lighthouse, all of them dressed in khaki shorts and white shirts. A younger Christine sat on a weather-beaten log with what looked like an older version of Troy Lee, a man with slight silvering at his temples and stylish spectacles. The children gathered at their feet, Ellis a toddler, Montgomery a beautiful little girl, and Troy Lee a grinning boy.

She flipped past that to find a shot of him at four or five, big blue eyes glinting with mischief beneath tousled brown hair. Christine tapped his wide smile with a fingertip. “How could I not fall in love with that?”

Tucked beneath a photo of Montgomery at the same age was a snapshot, cut down from a bigger picture. A recent candid of the siblings, gathered on a plush sofa, each holding a Chinese food container. Angel traced the line of Troy Lee’s jaw, tearful laughter pushing into her throat when she saw he held a fortune cookie aloft. “He is beautiful.”

“Inside and out.” Christine paid for their tea and nudged her toward a table. “That’s why he’s the child of my heart.”

“What?” Angel met her gaze over a cautious sip of hot tea. Peppermint exploded on her tongue.

Christine waved a negligent hand in the air. “My standard answer when asinine people made a big deal about the fact that I wasn’t his ‘real’ mother. I’d tell them he was my child by choice, the child of my heart, and that usually shut them up pretty quickly. Of course, he took that and ran with it. He spent years torturing his sisters with the fact that I’d chosen him and just gotten stuck with them.”

“That sounds just like him.”

“Doesn’t it?” Christine wrapped both hands about her cup. She looked up, her eyes serious. “He loves you. I hope…” Her voice trembled and her lashes fell briefly. “I hope you understand how precious that is, how special and wonderful and beautiful that sweet heart of his is. I want you to treasure him as much as we do.”

“I do.” Angel blinked hard and bit her lip, trying to stop the quivering of her chin. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for him, waited to get to this point where I could appreciate and value him most.”

“That is so…oh, my God.” Her eyes filling, Christine touched her fingers to her mouth. She dropped her hand on a shaky laugh. “When he wanted me to get that ring, I asked him if he was sure and he said yes, that all he’d been waiting for was you to realize you’d been waiting for him.”

Troy Lee jerked into awareness, much as he had all during the previous night. His body seemed constantly poised on the edge of panic, yanking him from an edgy rest to jittery wakefulness in seconds. Everybody kept telling him to rest, but being checked over at least once, if not twice, an hour precluded any real respite.

Cognizant that he was alone again, he stared at the ceiling and dug his fingers into the sheet. He brushed paper and lifted two folded sheets from Montgomery’s sketchpad. He unfolded the first to find Ellis’s girlish handwriting:
Angel and Troy Lee, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…

Such a brat. He refolded it, tucked it beneath the dry-erase board, unfurled the second. If he’d been able to breathe on his own, the little drawing would have taken his breath. One of Montgomery’s distinctive tattoo designs, the ones she did for fun and gave away to a friend who owned a tattoo parlor. He traced the ephemeral angel with his eyes, awed at the way Montgomery had captured the essence of his Angel in just a few lines, shy and bold, innocent and sensual, playful and loving all at once.

Oh, yeah. He was getting that inked on his shoulder, as soon as he got out of this damned bed. Carefully creasing the paper back into a smaller rectangle, he slipped it beneath Ellis’s teasing rhyme.

The problem with being laid out this way was having too much time to think. To ponder what had been in Devonte’s head in the moments before he died. To grieve for everything the boy had been and would have done. To hurt for Miss Francie, who’d lost the only family she had left.

Too much time to wonder how long it might be before the ART report was in. To worry that it wouldn’t matter, that he might find himself without a badge, his career gone. Somehow, over the past three years, he’d
become
a cop. Not his job, but who he was, the way his dad had been a mathematician.

What was he supposed to do if he lost what he was?

Mark rested his elbow on the chair arm, a hand over his mouth, and trained his gaze on the television in the conference room. Deeply aware of Trooper Keith Hickey’s attention to the screen, he tensed as the images and sound flickered to life. Roger in dispatch had downloaded Troy Lee’s shift video from the server to a DVD, cueing it to begin moments before the first radio transmission from Whitman’s deputy.

Watching the events unfold from Troy Lee’s perspective leant the experience a surreal quality. Winter sunlight filtered through trees and slanted across the rural road in front of the squad car. The dialogue replayed, the Whitman deputy’s refusal to stop at both Troy Lee’s and Tick’s requests coming in loud and plain.

“C-13, can you intercept with the spike strip?” Tick’s voice as the straightaway before the curves opened up, and Mark tensed further, knowing what was coming.

“Negative, C-2. If they passed Long Lonesome, suspect is headed in opposite direction. C-5 should be able to intercept.” Troy Lee, sounding calm and collected, entering the first curve. On the second, Paul Bostick’s Ford flashed across the line, a blur of red paint and glimmering chrome. “Oh, fuck.”

Palpable shock colored Troy Lee’s brief expletive. On screen, Paul’s truck slid sideways, the tail end coming around, into Troy Lee’s path. The arc of blue sky over the adjacent field spun wildly, the ditch rising before the windshield. The view rocked in a violent quaking, dark ground slamming into the glass. Then sky and earth rolled over and over one another, a crazed tumble filled with a shower of broken glass, flying objects and Troy Lee’s muffled grunts. At last, the dizzying spin came to a rest, the screen depicting only freshly turned soil and crumpled white metal. A gurgling groan rattled and Mark’s skin crawled, his mind flipping through horrifying flashbacks of Troy Lee’s bloodied face, his arm protruding from the broken window and lying motionless against the dirt, his awful stillness as they’d extricated him from the vehicle.

Tick pointed the remote at the television, the screen fading to black. Hickey leaned back in his chair and fixed them both with a measuring look. “Well, I’ve seen enough.”

To her relief, when Angel slipped back into Troy Lee’s room after Christine’s visit with him, a quiet pensiveness replaced Troy Lee’s earlier anxiety. With the bed elevated, he scribbled across a notepad and she caught a glimpse of sketchy sheet music on the top page. His gaze flicked to hers, and the glow of contentment and love there kindled an answering warmth in her. A prayer of gratitude whispered through her mind, that he was alive and doing better than Dr. Mackey expected.

As she approached the bed, he laid his pen aside. She stroked her thumb across his wrist. “Don’t stop on my account. I just wanted to be with you.”

Gaze on hers, he rotated his hand to squeeze her fingers then reached for the dry-erase board.
Christine says you have the ring.

Her breath hitched, and lips parted, she nodded. The little burgundy box resided in the side pocket of her purse, zipped securely away.

He quirked one eyebrow.
Well?

“Well what?” She ran her fingers along the inside of his elbow. She leaned down and lowered her voice to a teasing whisper. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean I’ve peeked. That’s like unwrapping Christmas presents early. I was waiting for you.”

He touched a finger to the ventilator tube and slashed words across the board.
Mind waiting a little longer? Want to be able to do it right.

“I’d wait forever for you.” She feathered her fingertip along one of his eyebrows. “But you, Troy Lee Farr, do everything right where I’m concerned.”

Pleasure glinted deep in his eyes. He lifted his hand to caress the corner of her lips, the softest of kisses in the contact. She blinked away a wash of tears at the sweetness of that touch.

He gestured at the ventilator and reached for the board once more.
Mackey says two more days, maybe three. Can’t wait.

“I know.” She laid her palm under his jaw, just below the bruising there, darkening from angry red to deep purple. The shivery what-could-have’s shuddered through her mind. With her thumb, she traced the outline of a tendon in his neck. “You should—”

The hushed click of the door handle turning drew their attention. He tensed under her hand, but the palpable stiffness drained as Cookie stepped into the room. His gaze darted over them. “Hey. Brought you something.” He held up a small sheaf of papers. “Preliminary ART report.”

Beneath her palm, Troy Lee went rigid all over again, his brows dipping into a worried scowl.

“Relax,” Cookie said, his voice firm and soothing. “It’s good. See for yourself.”

He approached the bed and Angel stepped back so Troy Lee could take the proffered papers. She tapped his knee. “I’m going to step out for a second and let you talk.”

His heart thudding to a higher rate, Troy Lee skimmed over the first page. Despite Cookie’s reassurance, he couldn’t get away from the fact that these papers could very well hold the key to his future, or lack thereof. The summary of the accident and scene conditions bogged him down. Frustrated, he flipped to the second sheet and ran his finger along the lines of typed script.

Two thirds down the page, he found the line he sought. A shudder worked over him.

Deputy Farr is not at fault.

He closed his eyes on a wave of relief, the papers crumpling slightly under the pressure of his fingers. Cookie patted his shoulder. “Told you everything would be fine.”

Troy Lee fumbled for the dry-erase board.
Bostick?

“Paul’s looking at charges from driving with a suspended license to vehicular manslaughter. Tick and the sheriff are meeting with the county attorney now, and they’re supposed to get together with Bostick and his lawyer later today. It’ll be okay, Troy Lee. It’s in the best hands and they’ll do everything they can to shut Bubba’s mouth down.”

Troy Lee lifted an affirmative finger. He could let go at this point, let Reed and Calvert handle it.

Cookie cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb over the bed rail. “Angel told me about the baby.”

Surprised, Troy Lee lifted his gaze to Cookie’s. Worry threaded through him, and with all of his protective instincts singing, he narrowed his eyes at the older man.

Cookie’s mouth twisted with a hint of ironic humor. “Don’t look at me like that. She and I are good. If the baby’s mine, we’ll work it all out.” Cookie clapped his shoulder once more. “I’m going before the nurses toss me out again. Get some rest. We need you back on the road.”

Once the door shut behind him, Troy Lee closed his eyes. Even with the hiss-click-pause rhythm filling his ears and his body, he slid into true relaxation for the first time since he’d awakened on the ventilator. Things remained out of his control, but he could roll with that. He still had who he was and he had Angel.

Everything else would fall into place.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Seated at the dining table, Angel compared December’s ending recap to November’s. Even with her away from the bar, with Julie running things, the profit margin had gone unaffected. Maybe she could turn loose of the reins a little more. She laid a palm over the tiny pooch beneath her navel. Actually, come July, she was probably going to have to turn loose of those reins a lot more, but if this level of profit kept up, she could promote Julie to manager and give her a raise.

Bare feet whispered on hardwood and a hard male arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She sighed. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Resting.”

“I’ve been in bed for more than two weeks.” Troy Lee nuzzled her ear as he spoke, his voice still raspy from the mechanical ventilation and the bout of bronchitis he’d fought once it was removed. “You could come to bed with me. I rest better when you’re there.”

She turned her head to look into those mischievous blues. “If I come to bed, rest is not going to be what you want to do.”

He chuckled. “You know me awfully well.”

“It’s too soon, Troy Lee.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, wishing it wasn’t, needing that closeness and connection with him, and he levered slightly away. “Your ribs aren’t completely healed and—”

Her voice died. He held the little burgundy box, the one she’d tucked in his nightstand drawer, before her eyes. Her surprised gaze met his suddenly serious one.

“Open it.”

He pressed the velvet square into her palm. Her fingers shaking with anticipation, she flipped the lid.

“Oh.” Awe left her breathless. She touched a reverent finger to the large bluish opal, cut into an oval and surrounded by shimmering diamonds.

“It was my grandmother’s.” A hint of uncertainty tinged his voice. “It’s not the traditional solitaire, but—”

“It’s perfect.” She lifted her eyes to his and she laid that same reverent fingertip on his bottom lip. “You’re perfect.”

“I love you, Angel. I love you and I love the Butterbean and I…” On his haunches beside her chair, the kitchen light glinting off his bare shoulders, he swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat moving. “I want you to be my wife.”

She smiled, not bothering to blink away the happy tears blurring her vision. “I want that too.”

“So that’s a yes?” He plucked the box from her hand and removed the ring. He lifted her left hand and held the ring poised before her third finger.

“That’s a yes.” She laughed through the tears, and he slipped the circle onto her hand. It was a little big, but she didn’t care. It, he,
they
were absolutely perfect. Framing his face, she kissed him, carefully avoiding his healing nose.

“Ah, Angel baby, I love you so damn much.” He tucked her close to his chest, but not too tight, the just right that was all him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me too.” She caressed the line of his jaw, stubble scratching her skin. “And I can’t wait.”

“There you go,” he murmured into the curve of her neck. “Speeding again.”

“Oh but, Troy Lee sweetheart, you said you didn’t mind, as long as it was with you.”