Night Shift (18 page)

He was a good man, she thought. An honest one, a caring one. He was patient, intelligent and dedicated. And he was a cop.

She shivered and held herself more tightly.

There was a scar just under his right shoulder. Front and back, she remembered. From a bullet—that occupational hazard of law enforcement. She hadn’t asked, and wouldn’t, how he had come by it, when it had happened, or how near death it had taken him.

But neither could she hide from the fact that the scars she bore were as real as his.

She simply could not delude either of them into believing there was a future for them. She should never have allowed it to progress as far as it had. But that was done. They were lovers. And though she knew that was a mistake, she would always be grateful for the time she had had with him.

The logical thing to do would be to discuss the limitations of their relationship. No strings, no
obligations. In all likelihood he would appreciate that kind of practicality. If her feelings had grown too far too fast, she would just have to get a grip on them.

She would simply have to talk herself out of being in love.

He found her there, leaning out on the railing as if she were straining to fly out above the pines, above the snowcapped peaks. The nerves were coming back, he noted with some frustration. He wondered if she knew how relaxed she had been that morning when she had stretched against him, waking gradually, turning to him so that they could make slow, lazy love.

Now, when he touched her hair, she jolted before she leaned back against his hand.

“I like your place, Slick.”

“I’m glad.” He intended to come back here with her, year after year.

Her fingers danced over the railing, then groped in her pockets. “I never asked you if you bought it or had it built.”

“Had it built. Even hammered a few nails myself.”

“A man of many talents. It’s almost a shame to have a place like this only for weekends.”

“I’ve been known to break away for more than that from time to time. And my parents use it now and again.”

“Oh. Do they live in Denver?”

“Colorado Springs.” He began to massage the tensing muscles in her shoulders. “But they travel a lot. Itchy feet.”

“I guess your father was disappointed when you didn’t go into the family business.”

“No. My sister’s carrying on the family tradition.”

“Sister?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” He kissed her lips when they formed into a pout. “She’s a real go-getter. Tough, high-powered businesswoman. And a hell of a lot better at it than I would have been.”

“But aren’t they uneasy about you being a cop?”

“I don’t think it’s a day-to-day worry. You’re getting chilled,” he said. “Come on inside by the fire.”

She went with him, moving inside and down the rear steps into the kitchen. “Mmm … What’s that smell?”

“I threw some chili together.” He walked over to the center island, where copper pots hung from the ceiling. Lifting the lid on a pan simmering on the range, he sniffed. “Be ready in about an hour.”

“I would have helped you.”

“That’s okay.” He selected a Bordeaux from the wine rack. “You can cook next time.”

She made a feeble attempt at a smile. “So you did like my peanut-butter-and-jelly special.”

“Just like Mom used to make.”

She doubted that his mother had ever made a sandwich in her life. People who had that kind of money also had a houseful of servants. As she stood feeling foolish, he set the wine on the counter to breathe.

“Aren’t you going to take off your coat?”

“Oh. Sure.” She shrugged out of it and hung it on a hook by the door. “Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Yes. Relax.”

“I am.”

“You were.” Selecting two glasses from above the rack, he examined them. “I’m not sure what has you tied up again, Cilla, but we’re going to talk it through this time. Why don’t you go sit by the fire?
I’ll bring out the wine.”

If he read her this easily after a matter of weeks, Cilla thought as she went into the living room, how much would he see in a year? She settled on a low cushion near the fire. She wasn’t going to think of a year. Or even a month.

When he came in, she offered him a much brighter smile and reached for her wine. “Thanks. It’s a good thing I didn’t come here before I went house hunting. I never would have settled on a house without a fireplace.”

In silence, he settled beside her. “Look at me,” he said at length. “Are you worried about going back to work?”

“No.” Then she sighed. “A little. I trust you and Thea, and I know you’re doing what you can, but I am scared.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I said I did.” But she didn’t meet his eyes.

He touched a fingertip to her cheek until she faced him again. “Not just as a cop.”

She winced, looked away again. “No, not just as a cop.”

“And that’s the trigger,” he mused. “The fact that I am a cop.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“We both know better.”

“I don’t like it,” she said evenly. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I think I do understand.” He leaned back against a chair, watching her as he sipped his wine. “I’ve done some checking, Cilla—necessary to the investigation. But I won’t pretend that’s the only reason I looked.”

“What do you mean?”

“I looked into your background because I need to protect you. And I need to understand you. You told me your mother was a cop. It wasn’t hard to track down what happened.”

She clutched her glass in both hands and stared straight ahead, into the flames. After all these years, the pain was just as deadly. “So you punched some buttons on your computer and found out my mother was killed. Line of duty. That’s what they call it. Line of duty,” she repeated, her voice dull. “As if it were part of a job description.”

“It is,” he said quietly.

There was a flicker of fear in her eyes when she looked at him, then quickly away again. “Yeah. Right. It was just part of her job to be shot that day. Too bad about my father, though. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The old innocent bystander.”

“Cilla, nothing’s as black-and-white as that. And nothing’s that simple.”

“Simple?” She laughed and dragged her hair back from her face. “No, the word’s
ironic.
The cop and the public defender, who just happen to be married, are going head-to-head over a case. They never agreed. Never once can I remember them looking at any one thing from the same angle. When this happened, they were talking about a separation—again. Just a trial one, they said.” With a thoughtful frown, she studied her glass. “Looks like I’m out of wine.”

Saying nothing, Boyd poured her more.

“So I guess you read the official report.” She swirled the wine, then drank. “They brought this little creep in for interrogation. Three-time loser—armed robbery, assault, drugs. He wanted his lawyer present while the investigating officer questioned him. Talked about making a deal. He knew there wouldn’t be any deal. They had him cold, and he was going to do hard time. He had two people to blame for it—in his head, anyway. His lawyer, and the cop who had collared him.”

It was painful, still so painful, to remember, to try to picture an event she hadn’t seen, one that had so drastically altered her life.

“They caught the guy who smuggled him the gun,” she said softly. “He’s still doing time.” Taking a moment, she soothed her throat with wine. “There they were, sitting across from each other at the table—just as they might have been in our own kitchen—arguing about the law. The sonofabitch took out that smuggled snub-nosed .22 and shot them both.”

She looked down at her glass again. “A lot of people lost their jobs over that incident. My parents lost their lives.”

“I’m not going to tell you that cops don’t die by mistake, unnecessarily, even uselessly.”

When she looked at him, her eyes were eloquent. “Good. And I don’t want the crap about how proud we’re supposed to be of our valiant boys in blue. Damn it, she was my mother.”

He hadn’t just read the reports, he’d pored over them. The papers had called it a disgrace and a tragedy. The investigation had lasted more than six months, and when it was over eight officials had resigned or been replaced.

But over and above the facts, he remembered a file picture. Cilla, her face blank with grief, standing by the two graves, clutching Deborah’s hand in hers.

“It was a horrible way to lose them,” he said.

She just shook her head. “Yes. But in most ways I’d already lost my mother the day she joined the force.”

“She had an impressive record,” Boyd said carefully. “It wasn’t easy for a woman back then. And it’s always tough on a cop’s family.”

“How do you know?” she demanded. “You’re not the one who sits at home and sweats. From the day I was old enough to understand, I waited for her captain to come to the door and tell us she was dead.”

“Cilla, you can’t live your life waiting for the worst.”

“I lived my life waiting for a mother. The job always came first—it came before Dad, before me, before Deb. She was never there when I needed her.” She snatched her hand aside before he could grasp it. “I didn’t care if she baked cookies or folded my socks. I just wanted her to be there when I needed her. But her family was never as important as the masses she’d sworn to serve and protect.”

“Maybe she was too focused on her career,” he began.

“Don’t you compare me with her.”

His brow rose. “I wasn’t going to.” Now he took her hand despite her resistance. “It sounds like you are.”

“I’ve had to be focused. She had people who loved her, who needed her, but she never took time to notice. Cops don’t have regular hours, she’d say. Cops don’t have regular lives.”

“I didn’t know your mother, and I can’t comment on the choices she made, but don’t you think it’s time to cut it loose and get on with your life?”

“I have. I’ve done what I had to do. I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do.”

“And you’re scared to death of what you’re feeling for me because of my job.”

“It’s not just a job,” she said desperately. “We both know it’s not just a job.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “It’s what I do, and what I am. We’re going to have to find a way to deal with it.”

“It’s your life,” she said carefully. “I’m not asking you to change anything. I didn’t intend to get this involved with you, but I don’t regret it.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, and drained his own glass.

“What I’m trying to say is that if we’re reasonable I think we can keep it uncomplicated.”

He set his glass aside. “No.”

“No what?”

“No, I don’t want to be reasonable, and it’s already complicated.” He gave her a long look that was very close to grim. “I’m in love with you.”

He saw the shock. It flashed into her eyes an instant before she jerked back. The color drained away from her face.

“I see that thrills the hell out of you,” he muttered. Rising, he heaved a log on the fire and cursed as he watched the sparks fly.

Cilla thought it best to stay exactly where she was. “Love’s a real big word, Boyd. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, and not under the most ideal circumstances. I think—”

“I’m damn tired of you thinking.” He turned back to face her. “Just tell me what you feel.”

“I don’t know.” That was a lie, one she knew she would hate herself for. She was terrified. And she was thrilled. She was filled with regrets, and hammered by longings. “Boyd, everything that’s happened has happened fast. It’s as if I haven’t had any control, and that makes me uneasy. I didn’t want to be involved with you, but I am. I didn’t want to care about you, but I do.”

“Well, I finally managed to pry that out of you.”

“I don’t sleep with a man just because he makes me tingle.”

“Better and better.” He smiled as he lifted her hand to kiss her fingers. “I make you tingle, and you care about me. Marry me.”

She tried to jerk her hand free. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“I’m not joking.” Suddenly his eyes were very intense. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

She heard a log shift in the grate. Saw the flicker of a new flame as it cast light and shadow over his face. His hand was warm and firm on hers, holding, waiting. Her breath seemed to be blocked somewhere beneath her heart. The effort of dragging in air made her dizzy.

“Boyd—”

“I’m in love with you, Cilla.” Slowly, his eyes steady on hers, he pulled her closer. “With every part of you.” Soft, persuasive, his lips cruised over hers. “I only want fifty or sixty years to show you.” His mouth skimmed down her throat as he lowered her to the hearth rug. “Is that too much to ask?”

“No … Yes.” Struggling to clear her mind, she pressed a hand against his chest. “Boyd, I’m not going to marry anyone.”

“Sure you are.” He nibbled lightly at her lips as his hands began to stroke—soothing and exciting at the same time. “You just have to get used to the fact that it’s going to be me.” He deepened the kiss, lingering over it until her hand lost its resistance and slid to his back. “I’m willing to give you time.” His lips curved as her murmured protest hummed against them. “A day or two. Maybe a week.”

She shook her head. “I’ve already made one mistake. I’m not ever going to repeat it.”

He caught her chin in his hand in a movement so quick that her eyes flew open. In his eyes was a ripe, raging fury that was rare for him, and all the more dangerous.

“Don’t ever compare me with him.”

She started to speak, but his fingers tightened once, briefly, and silenced her.

“Don’t ever compare what I feel for you with what anyone else has felt.”

“I wasn’t comparing you.” Her heart was hammering against his chest. “It’s me. It was my mistake, mine alone. And I’m never going to make another one like it.”

“It takes two people, damn it.” Enraged, he braced himself over her, then took both her hands in his. “If you want to play it that way, fine. Ask yourself one question, Cilla. Has anyone else made you
feel like this?”

His mouth swooped down to take hers in a hot, rough, frantic kiss that had her arching against him. In protest? In pleasure? Even she couldn’t tell. Sensations swarmed through her like thousands of swirling stars, all heat and light. Before she could draw and release a breath, she was tossed into the storm.