Nothing to Fear (14 page)

“And you weren’t interested in the girl?” she asked.

“Nah. Not then. Cal Ripken was on the field.”

“I understand completely,” she said. “Girls paled in comparison.”

“Well, then, maybe. Richard was always a little faster on those things than I was. First to get a girl, first to get—” He stopped short, but her low laugh told him she’d figured it out. “First to get married I was going to say.” He shook his head with a smile. “Anyway, by the time we got home, we were fighting over who should keep the ball. We flipped a coin.”

“And you won?”

Ethan’s throat suddenly thickened and he had to clear it before answering. “Nah.” He swallowed hard, appalled that the memory stirred him so deep. “He did. Apologized every damn day for the rest of the summer, until I wanted to deck him.”

Her fingers squeezed his hand. “And the girl? What happened to her?”

“They started going steady that fall and got married eight years later, right after we graduated from the Academy.” Again his throat closed. “I was his best man.”

“And the ball? Whatever happened to the ball?”

“It’s in a glass case on a bookshelf in my bedroom. He left it to me in his will.”

“Did you begrudge him the ball, Ethan?”

There was something in her voice, an authority he couldn’t deny. “No.”

“But you switched places. He had your seat.”

Something inside him stirred. “Richard was in the right place at the right time.”

“So conversely, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Kind of like that day.”

That day. It was how he thought of it in his own mind. “When I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The words were out before he knew they were coming.

“Really?” Her brows went up. “You wanted to die?”

“No.” Angry now, he pushed his beer to the middle of the table. “I did not want to die.”

“Do you think Richard would begrudge you your life?”

“There’s a hell of a lot of difference between a damn ball and a life.”

“Yes, there is. But would he?”

“No.” He let out a shuddering breath. “That’s not the kind of man he was.”

“Ethan . . . Some people never find a friend like that their whole life. You did.”

His heart warmed, remembering Richard for the friend he’d been. “Is Caroline that friend for you?”

Her lips curved. “She is. But Caroline wouldn’t have accepted a single coin toss. It would have been best two out three, then three out of five. She’s the tiniest bit stubborn.”

“I figured that out. I have to say I haven’t been threatened by a date’s family since my Academy days. I decided that girl wasn’t worth the risk.”

“And tonight?”

He turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers, realizing there wasn’t an army of brothers big enough to keep him from her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She dropped her eyes to their joined hands, staring as if the sight were a foreign one. Then looked back up and nodded. Slowly. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

The brown eyes that had encouraged him were suddenly vulnerable, unsure. Sad. And he wasn’t sure what to say to give to her some measure of the peace she’d given him.

But with a hard blink, she made the look disappear, smiling brightly over his shoulder at their waitress who deposited a huge plate of hot wings and two enormous burgers on their table. Dana lifted a limp celery stalk from the plate of wings.

“Vegetables,” she said. “I can now honestly tell Caroline I had some.” With zeal she dug into the hot wings, sighing at the first swallow. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

As Ethan loaded his plate he considered the sad look he knew he had seen. Wondered what prompted it. And where she’d stowed it. She’d claimed to be a good listener and that she most certainly was. He wondered if she was nearly as good at talking.

Chicago, Monday, August 2, 1:00 A.M.

Sue slipped into Scarface’s bedroom and stood there a moment, contemplating the sleeping girl. It would be so easy to get rid of a parasitic social worker in training. But although satisfying, such an action would cause undue scrutiny she couldn’t afford.

Sue slipped Scarface’s pancake makeup into her pocket. She’d need it to cover certain identifying features before she went out to send the Vaughns’ latest e-mail in the morning. She turned from the girl in the bed. Soon enough her day would come, along with Dupinsky and sweet Caroline. First, she had to reach out and touch the Vaughns.

And then, she had an appointment to keep. Her blood was already rushing. It would be the first name on her list she’d cross off. Leroy Vickers.

Chicago, Monday, August 2, 1:45 A.M.

It was one of those trite but true things, Dana decided glumly, watching Ethan Buchanan sleeping in the train seat beside her. She was not that kind of a girl. She’d gotten to know him better and now knew there could be no fling. No sweaty bouts of sex.

No relief from the little sizzles that had become major yearnings as the night wore on. Hell, who was she kidding? They’d never been little sizzles. They’d started out as lightning bolts in the bus station and had just increased in intensity from there. And for that moment she’d been pressed against him in the sports bar . . . God. Just the memory of his rigid arousal pulsing up against her rear end was enough to make her shudder now, hours later. She should have kissed him then, right after he’d made that half-assed jab at the Cubs. They would have combusted, found a room, and fucked like weasels. She could have gotten him out of her system. Topped off her tank. But she hadn’t.

Nope, she’d pulled away. Sat down and talked to the man. And found him to be good and kind and . . . honorable. Not the kind of man a woman used for her own sexual purposes and tossed aside. Not this woman, anyway. Shit. He’d put his gut right there on the table, telling her about his best friend. Trusted her. Her heart still squeezed at the misery she’d seen in his eyes. Two years and he still felt guilt over Richard’s death. But there was no statute of limitations on that kind of guilt. Dana knew that all too well.

But talking about his friend had helped, as she’d known it would, and for the rest of the dinner he’d been downright chatty. He liked baseball and movies, just as she did. He liked Die Hard and Terminator and could give the stats on any player in the league. She searched his face, relaxed in slumber. Any player up until two years ago, that was. More recently, he knew nothing. At first she’d wondered about memory loss from his injury.

But the reason was far more basic than that. Since his release from the hospital, he’d started his consulting business and Ethan had simply worked himself into the ground. Keeping busy kept the guilt at bay. Hell, she was seeing his obsession with his work right now as he sat in the ratty old train seat, snoring softly. He’d worked last night and most of Sunday before going to dinner with her. He’d insisted on seeing her back home, instead of going straight back to the bus station for his car. But he’d lasted less than five minutes on the El, his eyes sliding closed at the swinging rhythm of the train. He was exhausted.

He was also gorgeous. And although her fingers itched to touch, he was off-limits.

Thankfully, her station was approaching. “Ethan.” She shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Ethan jerked awake, bolting upright in his seat, his pulse shooting through the roof.

“You fell asleep,” she said. “Five minutes out of Wrigleyville.”

He’d been sleeping. Dreaming. Of Richard and McMillan and Alec, but through it all had been Dana, drawing her to him, letting him sink into her, letting him find peace in the softness of her body. He’d been rocking inside her, in and out, a slow easy rhythm . . .

The rhythm he now recognized as the sway of the train. He was awake and she was staring at him with those warm brown eyes. He bit back a groan. He was stiff as a pike.

“This is where I get off,” she said.

Ethan blinked, her words some surreal extension of his dream. “Excuse me?”

She gestured to the window as the train pulled into the station. “My stop. I get off here.”

“Okay.” He started to get up, but she gently pushed him back down.

“You don’t have to get off here. It’s a short walk to my place from this stop. I’ll be fine.”

He stood, nearly wincing at the sharp ache in his groin. “I will see you home, Dana,” he said through his teeth and her eyes narrowed.

“Fine. No need to get testy.” He followed her off the train, nearly hobbling in pain.

“I’m not testy.” The train continued on, and he got his first look at Dana’s neighborhood. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said harshly, because he still hurt.

She’d already started walking and he hurried to keep up with her, his sexual discomfort rapidly easing in the face of his growing alarm. Most of the windows were boarded up, and he didn’t have to be a cop to recognize gang symbols in the graffiti covering the walls.

He gripped her arm, bringing her to a halt. “You really do live here, don’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

She pulled away. “I’m sorry it’s not a penthouse, but it’s what I can afford.”

He’d embarrassed her when that had been the last thing on his mind. “Dana, I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin a very nice evening. Look at me please.” He squeezed her arms when she kept her eyes downturned. “I’ll take back every nasty thing I said about the Cubs.”

One side of her mouth quirked up. “Every single one?”

He pretended to hesitate. “Oh, all right. Every one.” He tipped her chin up and her lashes lowered, still hiding her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I put most of my money back into the business. There isn’t a whole lot left over for frills.”

He wouldn’t call basic safety a “frill.” “Your photography business?”

“It’s the only one I have,” she said slowly. Almost cautiously, he thought.

“Your business is important to you.”

She lifted a brow. “From the man who spent most of the last twenty-four hours working.”

If she only knew. “Touché.” He held out his hand. “Can I walk you home now?”

After a beat of hesitation, she put her hand in his and started down the street. Ethan was determined not to say another word, but felt his resolution slipping when she stopped in front of a seedy-looking building. Two drunks were sleeping it off just outside the door and a third scurried into the shadows. Holy hell, he thought. Every night she comes here.

“Thank you, Ethan,” she said simply. “I had a wonderful time with you tonight.”

He glanced up at the building and back down to her. “Let me walk you up.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.” He tried for a smile. “My grandmother raised me right.”

With a sigh she led him up the stairs. The number of winos and junkies loitering in the hallways climbed along with his temper. Having her own business was one thing. Putting herself in jeopardy every time she came home from work was something else entirely.

Mechanically she unlocked the deadbolts on her front door, not even seeming to notice the stinking drunk curled up asleep not five feet away. “Thank you, Ethan.” Her lips curved into an utterly false smile. “Your grandmother would be proud. Good night.”

Completely gone was the warm, compassionate woman who’d pulled such emotion from him not two hours before. And he wanted to know why. “Invite me in. Please.”

Dana’s gaze flicked to the hall, the lowlifes registering along with his implacable tone that said he would not be dissuaded. The effort of keeping her sexual frustration hidden away combined with her dread of this very reaction made her grimace in weary surrender.

“Please come in.” She watched him take in her living room. Knew what he was thinking. How could she live like this? Only a trusted few knew why. It was not something she intended to blurt to a man whom she’d likely never see again.