Second Chance Hero (19 page)

Beside him he heard Lil gasp. Saw the horror in her eyes. Then he realized Degas was watching him with an almost feral ferocity.

It couldn’t be true. This was another of his mind games. Another way to torture his victims.

It had to be. It had to be.

Lil saw then. Saw what had been bothering her.

Degas. David. David had his eyes. His lips. Only something had happened. Some disaster. Some cosmic correction. Where Degas was vile, David was good.

He had to see that.

He had to know it didn’t matter.

But she could see the horror in David’s eyes and knew it did matter. It mattered so much.

“You’re not my father.” David shook his head, his words filled with fury.

Degas laughed sadly. “Ah, but I am. I could tell you your mother and I were in love. That we were separated by some strange quirk of fate, but it wasn’t so. She was a beautiful girl, and I wanted her. I wanted you too, but she took you away. And now it’s over. All of it. I don’t know how, but it is.”

Lil saw the defeat in his eyes. Knew he meant it.

“You’re giving up?” David sounded incredulous. And under that, hurt.

“It’s over.” Degas said the words again.

And then he stood, walked to the door, opened it and raised his gun.

Five shots sounded. Degas fell. It was over.

David held Lil’s head to his shoulder. Tried to focus on the good. On how they were alive and Degas was dead and none of what he said mattered. None of it.

“Don’t look. Don’t put it in your mind.”

Degas’s bloody dead body was there in front of the shack.
 

“He did it on purpose, David. He knew they were going to kill him.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.” He’d keep telling himself that. He’d keep telling himself that for the rest of his life.

Lil heard his words and knew he was lying. Knew it when Ryan popped out of his hiding place, with his All-American smile and called out, “Good job, Martinez. You got the sick bastard.”

They were corralled in an agency vehicle, and Detective Ortiz watched them leaving, a sharp frown on his face, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, reflecting what little was left of the sunlight.

It doesn’t matter.

That’s what David said.

That’s what he said before he quit talking. Before he dropped her hand and stared out the window at the nothingness that became cattle that became small adobe houses that became the outskirts of a Mexican border town.

When she wrapped his hand in hers, he let her. But he didn’t take comfort. Didn’t take what she offered.

“David. Please.” She whispered the words, fully aware this wasn’t a conversation for the agents in the vehicle with them. The ones driving them home.
 

Something in him clicked. She saw the awareness. The change. He turned his eyes to hers and tried to smile.

“Don’t worry,
mi cielo
. We’re going home. We’re alive. You’re alive.”

Right words. Wrong attitude.

He was saying what he thought she needed to hear.

But he wasn’t okay. And he wasn’t with her.

That was the biggest shift. Once again, he held himself distant. Apart.
 

The invisible shield he’d surrounded himself in left her cold. Hurt. Alone. Even though she was in a car with him and two officers calling them both heroes. Victors.

She knew better. She knew the truth.

Degas had won the ultimate victory with his truths, with his death. And she didn’t know how to change that. She didn’t know what to do or say. She might have her life, but it wasn’t enough.

David was beyond her reach.
 
She’d lost.

They pulled into the garage of the San Mario police station. The barely white concrete slabs kept them hidden from those waiting for the first glimpse of the two who’d taken Degas down. Who’d survived.

David figured that was for the best really. The press would be out there. Others too.

Others he didn’t want to see.

They followed the agents inside. He figured they’d have questions. And he certainly wanted answers.

But first he wanted Lil home.

Where was her home now?

A part of him wanted to send her back to her little house on the other side of town with its picture-less walls, its microwave dinners, its cool organization.

But another part, the stronger part, wanted her with him. With Scamp. Where they could watch her, make everything okay again. Even, if he were honest with himself, use her as a Band-Aid of sorts for his broken soul.

A team of agents led by Ryan walked into the office they’d been led to. Back pats and high fives all around. Jubilation.
 

But first they had a few questions.

He’d had enough.

“We’re going home.” His voice was angry. Final.

The agents didn’t question. They didn’t argue.

They simply shrugged their shoulders and said whatever. Go home. Get cleaned up. We’ll see you soon.

David shook his head. Looked at Lil. At the dark circles under her eyes. At her torn clothes. At the blood on her shirt. At the bruises on her face. At the raw red circles around her wrists. Rage threatened to overcome him.

“Not tonight. You come by tomorrow for your answers.”

He grabbed Lil’s hand. Started out of the office.

Ryan followed. His voice confused. “Come on, Martinez. We won. You got him. You and Lil. I told you it was a good idea. I knew she could do it.”

David didn’t know a whole lot about Ryan and his plans, but he knew more had been at work than was readily seen on the surface.

And he knew Ryan was one of the main players in the fiasco.

Lil’s small soft hands trembled in his and he fought the urge to punch the man he’d worked with for five years. Instead he told him to go away. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I have questions. I’ll want answers. Leave us alone. Just leave us alone for now.”

Lil let him hold her hand. If it offered him comfort, she’d do it. She’d do what he needed.

They walked through the crowded police station. Accepted the praise practically showered on them both. And the entire time Lil wondered if in destroying Degas they’d destroyed themselves also.

His hand was hot around hers. His face a combination of disbelief and anger, and she wondered who he was angry with. Ryan for whatever part he had played. His mother for lying to him. Her for refusing to leave?

If it was the last, he’d have to get over it. She wouldn’t be sorry. She wouldn’t be sorry Miguel was alive and Degas was dead. Not now. Not ever.

But she would be sorry for him. He’d hate that more than anything.

Across the room they headed toward a pair of double doors with a crash bar and a red
alarm will sound
sign beside them.

She didn’t know if she could handle an alarm right now. In fact, she was pretty sure loud sounds of any sort might send her over an edge.

“Maybe we should go out the front.” She looked pointedly at the sign, but he didn’t slow down.

“The sign’s bogus. I’ve left this way a hundred times.”

He hit the bar and both doors swung open with a whoosh but no alarm.

A hundred times. He’d been here often. This place wasn’t strange to him. It wasn’t a true part of what he did, but it was there in his experiences.

Experiences far removed from any she’d had.

At least any she’d had before this week. The hellacious and amazingly wonderful week.

They walked across the parking lot and she saw two news crews from El Paso parked at the front of the station, waiting for them now.
 

What would the reporters do when they realized she and David were gone? Would Ryan give a statement? Would his superiors? Would Detective Ortiz?

She decided she didn’t care. As long as they left her and David alone, she didn’t care.

He opened his truck door and she climbed in. Tried to think of what to say to make it okay. To make him okay.

“I won’t let Ryan bother you.” His voice was gruff, resolute. She was touched by his concern. By his protection.

“I won’t let him bother you either,” she said, just as determined to protect him, regardless of what he wanted.

David didn’t answer for the longest time. He turned his radio on, and she tried to listen even though the passenger side speaker kept cutting in and out.

“You don’t have to protect me, Lil.”

He sounded so angry she wanted to hug him and tell him yes she did. Instead she gave him her sternest teacher look. “Don’t even try that, Mister.” She tapped his arm. “We’re in this together.”

Somehow she’d make him see that.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything special. I’ll be fine. I just need to process.”

He was lying to himself. Lying to her. Maybe it’s what he needed right now. Maybe it was for the best.

“Just don’t try to make this about me. We both went through it.”

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. His knuckles turning white then red then white again. “You went through it. He hurt you. He could’ve killed you.”

“But he didn’t.” She reached out to touch his arm but pulled away because she wasn’t sure if that was right. “You came riding to my rescue. You offered yourself in my place. I wanted to kill you for that.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you because of me.” He pulled in front of his apartment. Looked at her. “I couldn’t be responsible for that. I was so afraid for you, Lil. And when I saw your face,” he ran his hand down her bruised cheek, “I wanted to kill him.”

She bit her lip, looked away. He did care. She could help him. She could make this better.

“You didn’t have to.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. He killed himself. I don’t understand it. But that’s what happened. He told me he was my father and then he walked outside with his gun and pointed it knowing full well he’d be shot.”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for him, David.” Now she did touch his arm. Her hand closed over his shoulder and she continued. “Don’t you feel bad for that sorry excuse for humanity. He was pure evil.”

“And he was my father.”

“It doesn’t matter. Trust me on this one.” Tears fell down her face and she briefly wondered when she’d started crying. “Parenthood means nothing. Nothing. Your father was the man who raised you. The man your mother married. The man who loved and nurtured and made you the wonderful, amazing man you are. Don’t let Degas win. Don’t let this destroy you.”

She was almost surprised at the force in her voice. But he heard her. She could tell in the way his jaw clenched. In the way the little nerve there on the side of his face, click, click, clicked. In the way he had to turn, had to look out the window.

“Let’s just go upstairs and forget this. Can we do that?” He asked and his voice was desperate and she wanted to do whatever it took to heal him. But forgetting wasn’t the answer. She knew it as well as she knew her words were truth. Still, she wasn’t willing to deny him his desire. Not now. Not when he was so devastated.

She reached to his face, trailed her fingers over his stubbled cheeks. Touched his bottom lip with her thumb, then reached out, kissed him softly. “Okay, David. Okay,” she agreed softly. “Let’s go upstairs and forget everything.”

Chapter Eleven

An hour later David held Lil next to him, ran his hand up and down her naked back and felt a sense of gratitude that she was there. With him. Her breaths slow and deep. Asleep. At peace.

He wished he could join her.

But that was impossible.

He’d turned the phone off, turned the machine off, when they’d come inside. Selfish maybe, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not his brothers or sisters or Ryan or his mother.

His heart hurt every time he thought of her. Of what she’d kept from him.

Even if she had a reason, it didn’t matter. Not yet.

Beside the bed Scamp whined in his sleep. His doggy snores filled the room.

Scamp. Lil’s rescued dog. Miguel, Lil’s rescued student.

Was he going to be one of her projects now?

He remembered her sigh as he slid inside her, remembered the completeness of the moment. The joy. The belonging.

Hell, if he was one of her projects, who cared? Life with Lil was good. She made him smile.

He loved her. And she loved him back.

But was it enough? He didn’t know.

She stirred next to him, her leg draping across his, and then a soft moan followed by a frown that marred her peaceful face. Peaceful except for the bruise along her cheekbone.
 

It could’ve been so much worse than bruises. Than ruined clothes. Than terror.

He ran a hand down her arm, kissed the freckles on her shoulder and she smiled in her sleep.

Could he live like this? Absolutely.

But not if she made him a project. Not if she felt sorry for him.
 

Her eyes fluttered open and when she caught him staring at her, her smile was full and amazing and sexy as hell.

“Morning.”

He laughed. “It’s a long ways from morning.”

She sighed, ran her foot along his calf, her hand down his stomach and then lower still. “Oh goody.”

“You’re insatiable, Lil Palmer.”

She rolled over on her elbows, dropped one kiss on his chin, another on his neck and then his chest. “And you’re my hero, David Martinez.”

He knew that wasn’t the truth. But he’d let her say it for now.

She rested her ear on his stomach, her soft blonde hair fanned over him and the sheets and he thought it might be the most erotic sight he’d ever had the luck to see.
 

Her lips brushed his side and she laughed. “I’d ask if you want to make love again, but your stomach’s rumbling too loudly.”

“Your way of saying you want me to feed you?” He smiled and wished they could stay in this bed, in this room, forever.

“I could use some food. Maybe some of that homemade soup you made.” Remembering the soup, he frowned. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he didn’t tell her Nancy was in jail now. That she’d probably have to testify.
 

That Miguel was in the hospital recovering from a week of beatings and other systematic tortures devised by Degas and his men.