Man Shy (7 page)

He nodded.
“
Tell the dispatcher Detective Hunter
’
s on the scene requesting backup on a possible burglary attempt. Give the address and tell them no sirens.
”

“
Got it.
”

Brody gave her hand a final squeeze of encouragement, and she slipped back across the street.

As soon as she was gone, he realized his mistake. He should have asked that the backup come down the alley. Since his Jeep was the only vehicle parked along the street the entire length of the block, it stood to reason the burglars must have parked in the alley. So obviously, they wouldn
’
t be leaving by the front door.

The backyard was fenced. Brody eyed the seven-foot-high cedar obstacle in dismay. Damn, he hated fences. Ought to be a city ordinance against them. Every time he tackled one, he either tore his clothes to shreds or pulled a muscle in his back.

Oh, well. Maybe this time would be an exception. He took a running start and vaulted over the top.

So much for exceptions. Although his clothing and muscles survived intact for a change, he damn near gelded himself when he landed in a lilac bush.

Grunting and swearing under his breath, he staggered to his feet. Dammit to hell and back, he hoped they hadn
’
t heard his crash landing inside the house. A hope, he soon realized, doomed to disappointment.

The French doors onto the deck flew open and two dark-clad figures emerged at a run. One of them tripped over the barbecue grill, stifling a curse.

Brody didn
’
t see any weapons on display, but since he wasn
’
t armed himself, confrontation didn
’
t seem like the wisest move. Not when the odds were two to one in their favor. Damn near three to one, considering the size of the guy who
’
d peeked out the front door earlier.

The burglars took off across the yard at a fast clip. No time now to wait for backup.

Hugging the shadows and nursing his damaged equipment, he followed the muffled noise of their retreat to the back gate. Moving at top limping speed, he stumbled into the alley just in time to see a vehicle running without lights turn right onto Park Boulevard.

Damn. Double damn
. Too dark to read the license plate. But as the bulky vehicle turned onto the lighted street, he realized it was a pickup, a late-model two-tone gray Ford with a matching canopy.

“
Let me get this straight, Hunter.
”
Regan Armstrong
’
s grin set his teeth on edge.

She had cornered him at the coffee machine. Mallory was in the police station
’
s reception area, rereading the transcript of her statement.

“
You stumble onto a robbery in progress, our first real lead in the case, then instead of waiting for backup, you hop the fence, making enough noise in the process to alert the burglars. Then, while you
’
re standing around with your thumb up your butt, they make a clean escape. And you don
’
t even get the license number of the getaway vehicle. Smooth move, hotshot.
”

“
What brings you downtown this time of night, Regan? You
’
re not on duty.
”

“
Stopped by to check next week
’
s duty schedule.
”
She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest.
“
You wouldn
’
t be trying to change the subject, would you, Detective?
”

“
Hell, no. I wouldn
’
t dream of it. What can I tell you?
”

She gave him a speculative look.
“
To start with, you might explain what were you doing in that part of town.
”

“
Picking me up. We were on our way to dinner.
”
Mallory, having survived her brush with bureaucracy, had come looking for Brody.
“
And if you
’
ll excuse us, we
’
re late.
”

“
Nice save,
”
said Brody as soon as they were safely out of earshot.
“
Thanks.
”

“
That woman doesn
’
t seem to like you much.
”

“
Officer Armstrong doesn
’
t like anybody much.
”

“
But especially you.
”

“
Yeah.
”
He shrugged.
“
She
’
s got it in for me because I got her promotion. At least that
’
s her view of the situation. Personally, I don
’
t think the chief would have made her detective even if I hadn
’
t been in the picture.
”

“
Why? Because she
’
s a woman?
”
Brody could practically see Mallory
’
s feminist hackles rise.

“
No, because she
’
s erratic and unpredictable. Officer Armstrong runs through partners the way a hay-fever sufferer runs through tissues, the way the Highlander runs through evil immortals, the way Liz Taylor runs through husbands, the way
—”

Mallory held up one hand like a traffic cop.
“
Enough already. I get it.
”
She stopped next to his Jeep.
“
What time is it, anyway? I
’
m starving.
”

“
Five after ten.
”

“
That late? No wonder Mother was so snippy on the phone.
”

“
I
’
m sorry.
”

“
Not your fault this time.
”
She shrugged.
“
Who knew giving a statement would take that long?
”

She looked so depressed, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her close.

Despite his earlier experiences with her abnormal responses, he wasn
’
t prepared for her reaction. Mallory didn
’
t flinch or jerk away this time. Instead, she went very still and stiff, as if she
’
d suddenly turned to stone. Or ice.

He could feel her body close to his, smell the faint, citrusy fragrance of her perfume, hear her quick, gasping respirations. But her eyes were empty, as if her spirit had retreated to some secret inner sanctum. Fear prickled along the back of his neck.
“
Mallory? What
’
s wrong?
”

She blinked and her eyes came back into focus.
“
Nothing.
”
She stepped away from him, putting a careful distance between them. Her laughter sounded a false note.
“
I
’
m just tired. Please take me home.
”

“
Why? What
’
s the problem? Did I do something to make you angry?
”

“
I
’
m not angry.
”

“
You look angry.
”

“
I told you. I
’
m tired.
”

“
A minute ago you said you were hungry. How about we drop by Denny
’
s and grab something? They
’
re open all night.
”

“
Sorry, Brody. I just don
’
t feel like it.
”

“
We could get some takeout if you
’
d rather.
”

“
No thanks.
”

Confused, he studied her. She wouldn
’
t even look at him. Kyle had said she had a problem relating to men. Obviously, she didn
’
t like being touched. Yet earlier, at the diner, she hadn
’
t shied away from him. Of course, that had been make-believe, part of their
“
act.
”
At Porky
’
s, she
’
d been concentrating on convincing her ex-boyfriend she wasn
’
t nursing a broken heart. And at Porky
’
s, he suddenly realized, she
’
d still been thinking of him as Kyle
’
s friend, a nice, nonthreatening homosexual. Now she knew the truth.

“
Mallory?
”
He pitched his voice low.

“
What?
”

“
You know our little charade isn
’
t going to convince anyone if you go catatonic every time I touch you.
”

“
I know, but
—”

“
Look at me.
”

She stared into his eyes, her face expressionless, remote.

“
What
’
s the problem?
”

“
I don
’
t really know you, Brody.
”

He studied her taut features.
“
It
’
s more than that.
”

She swallowed audibly.
“
Like I told you before, I
’
m the sort of person who needs a lot of personal space. It takes me a while to warm up to people.
”

To men, she meant. Somebody, somewhere along the line, must have inflicted some pretty serious damage. The tightly controlled muscles of her face, the rigid set of her shoulders, awakened protective instincts he hadn
’
t even realized he possessed.
“
I would never hurt you.
”

She was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, he had to lean close to hear her whispered reply.
“
Not on purpose anyway.
”

Depths. Deep, dark, murky depths
. Mallory
’
s expression remained stolid and unresponsive, but her hands were balled into fists and her eyes were clouded with pain.

Brody stared at the thick black shadows puddled along the base of the two-story city-hall building and pretended her distress didn
’
t bother him. A sharp wind rustled the dead cheat grass edging the parking lot. Traffic sounds ebbed and flowed sporadically, governed by the light at the corner of College Boulevard and Northwest Fourth.

Mallory sighed softly.

The faint sound sent another unexpected wave of protectiveness surging over Brody. He shivered, denying the validity of such an alien sensation.
You don
’
t need this crap
, he told himself.
You barely know the woman. Her problems have nothing to do with you. You
’
re Brody
“
Let
’
s Not Get Too Serious, Baby
”
Hunter, and you don
’
t give a rat
’
s behind what
’
s worrying this screwed-up female
.

Only problem was, he did care. In fact, he found Mallory
’
s reactions deeply disturbing. Why did she respond so violently to a casual touch? Had some sadistic bastard abused her in the past? Was that why she was so touchy? Why she kept men at a distance? The possibility bugged the hell out of him.

He glanced over at her. She stood huddled in her coat, face averted from his. She looked so small and fragile. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, rock her and hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right, but he suspected if he did, he
’
d only frighten her. He rammed his hands deep in his pockets.

The wind gusted suddenly, tipping over one of the plastic garbage cans lined up along the back of the apartment complex across the alley. The heavier trash spread out in a fan shape, but the wind caught the lighter items. A flurry of papers headed their way. One of them, the stained and crumpled front page of last Monday
’
s
Gazette
, wrapped itself around his legs. He reached down to free himself and froze. Even upside down, the headline read like an omen sent by a malicious oracle, GI JOE ATTACKS ANOTHER HAPLESS VICTIM.