Trust Me (29 page)

Yes, I am." He shook hands with everyone in the group, then slumped back into his depression. But at least he wasn't spouting off about his ex-wife-- or Republicans.

"It's wonderful that you could come this evening," Skye said to Senator Denatorre.

"I admire what you're doing, Ms. Kellerman." He studied her a bit more closely. "But I have to say I'm amazed you're here. I wasn't expecting it after your most recent brush with danger."

The fear, the shooting, the dead body rushed through Skye's mind. It was still so fresh. "The loss of a life is always unfortunate," she murmured, struggling to distance herself emotionally.

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"Better his life than yours," he responded.

"I can't argue with you there."

"But..."

She blinked. "But what?"

"I sensed a bit of hesitancy in that statement."

This wasn't a good conversation to be having in a social setting, but Skye couldn't resist the invitation to open up. She'd never been one to waste time with meaningless platitudes. If the senator wanted to talk shop, she'd talk shop. She might never get another audience with him. It wasn't as if he attended all their fund-raisers--or even returned her calls to his office. "I was just thinking that it'd be easier to deal with what happened if I knew why Mr.

Bishop came after me in the first place."

"The police can't tell you?"

"So far, no one can."

His eyes met and held hers. "You're in a dangerous line of work, Ms.

Kellerman."

She managed a shrug. "It goes with the territory."

"Does that ever make you want to give up?"

"Randy," his wife admonished quietly, but he merely patted the hand that clasped his arm and waited for Skye's response.

"No," she told him. "It makes me more determined."

"Some folks fear you as much as they admire you," he said. "They view you as a maverick, a vigilante."

Mrs. Denatorre didn't object again. That tap the senator had given her hand had begged a little leeway, and she was granting it. Besides that, she was obviously curious to hear Skye's answer. So was the rest of the group, judging by the way they watched her.

"You must be talking about the chief of police," she said, deciding to be straightforward despite her audience. The senator was the one who'd brought this up.

"Chief Jordan isn't your biggest supporter."

"Not because he's afraid I'll turn into some sort of vigilante, if that's what he told you," she scoffed. "He doesn't like the scrutiny I bring to his force."

"He's not the only one."

"I don't care if the whole force doesn't like it. Shining a spotlight on crime is bound to make certain folks uncomfortable, even some who aren't criminals. But Sacramento needs to look at what's going on before we can take steps to improve things."

Mrs. Denatorre smiled as if pleased with her answer, but the senator 184

wasn't finished with her yet. "There's a lot of personal sacrifice involved in being the advocate you are," he pointed out. "Last night probably wouldn't have happened if you were in another line of work."

The eyes of the group once again shifted to her, but Skye steeled herself against the added attention. "We don't know whether last night was a consequence of my work or an attempt at revenge by the man I helped send to prison for putting a knife to my throat. And even if it was a result of my efforts at The Last Stand, that doesn't mean I asked for it. If you're going to take that line of reasoning, what provoked Burke's original attack? I was twenty-six years old and an account executive for Wear Well Carpet--hardly what most people would consider a risky job--unless you're severely allergic to carpet glue."

His eyes twinkled as he clapped softly. "Impressive."

"See what I mean?" His assistant jumped in, wearing a proud smile.

"I do, Bill. You're right. She's formidable." The senator rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Getting involved with her--with The Last Stand--could turn out to be a political hot potato, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. And I like that she's willing to stick her neck out for her ideals."

He reached inside his suit coat and withdrew a business card. "Call me this week, Ms. Kellerman," he said, handing it to her. "I'll ask the mayor to join us for lunch and we'll see what we can do to help."

Skye was so shocked it took her a moment to respond. By the time she stammered a thank-you, he and his party had already started toward the tables. Only Mrs. Denatorre glanced back to smile at her.

"I can't believe it!" she breathed to Charlie.

"Believe what?" he asked, completely indifferent.

"We've got him! He's taking me to lunch."

"Of course he is. Republicans are big law-and-order types. Justice, not mercy. That's their motto. My ex-wife is like that," he said and immediately launched into a story about how his ex had promised to forgive him for the mistakes he'd made in their marriage, then left him anyway. But Skye wasn't really listening. She was too excited. She pulled Charlie along as she made a beeline for Sheridan, who was sitting with Jonathan at one of the dinner tables.

Coming up behind them both, she bent to whisper in her friend's ear.

"Guess what I just landed?"

Sheridan and Jonathan both twisted to look up at her, and Skye flashed the senator's card. "Lunch. With Denatorre and the mayor."

"You're kidding!" Sheridan exclaimed. But if she or Jonathan made any further comment, Skye didn't hear them. She straightened as two people 185

she hadn't expected to see moved into her line of sight. One was a tall black detective she recognized as Tiny. The other was David.

As soon as he saw Skye, David knew he'd made a mistake in showing up at the fund-raiser. She was wearing a slinky green dress that hugged her body in all the places he dreamed of touching--more than a slight distraction.

And with her hair up she looked prettier than ever. He almost grinned; as elegant and feminine as she was, especially in that gown, she could probably bench-press more weight than most men in the room and run farther if not faster.

Tiny nudged him, and David realized he'd stopped moving. "What?"

he said, suddenly irritable because he'd spotted the man in the tux at Skye's side--Charlie Fox-- and immediately disliked him.

"I thought we were going to find a seat."

"We are," David said, but that meant pulling his gaze away from Skye and her companion so he wouldn't walk into anyone, which wasn't easy.

Tiny chose two seats near the back. When they sat down, the others at their table nodded politely and made introductions. Then the caterers brought out the salads. But it wasn't five minutes later that David decided to relocate. He knew he'd be better off staying where he was, but there was a single seat open at Skye's table, and he intended to fill it.

"Some date you are," Tiny grumbled when David leaned over to tell him what he was going to do.

David lowered his voice so Tiny was the only one who could hear him. "You don't need me. You'll have your hands full mixing and mingling and looking for anyone who doesn't fit in."

Tiny cocked his head at a challenging angle. "I'm not worried about what'll be filling my hands."

David quickly formulated a good excuse for wanting to be closer to Skye--it was easier to keep track of anyone who came into contact with her, easier to monitor everything that was said. But he couldn't fool Tiny so he didn't even try. "If we slip off together, come after me before I do something I might regret."

"Don't depend on me. You know what I think."

Actually, David didn't. Tiny rarely shared his personal thoughts or feelings. "That I'm getting too emotionally involved?"

"That's an outdated opinion."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been fighting this long enough. You need to decide which you'd regret more--taking what you want or giving it up." Tiny's tone suggested it was that simple. But it wasn't simple at all. Wanting Skye, and 186

succumbing to that want, went against everything he believed in--keeping the promises he'd made to Lynnette, sticking with her through thick and thin, being a good father, maintaining some self-respect.

He stood up. "Like I said, come get me."

Tiny turned up the palms of his hands. "Sorry, buddy, you're on your own."

"What a guy."

"You might thank me later," he said, chuckling.

David didn't respond. Mumbling a "Nice meeting you," to the couple on his left, he crossed the room and stood behind the empty seat at Skye's table. "Mind if I join you?"

A woman to his immediate right smiled broadly. Young, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, she was obviously with her parents, which made them a threesome and created the open seat. "Of course not."

The man on his other side pushed out the chair. "Sit down," he said.

The others added similar sentiments, but Skye said nothing. Giving him a mutinous frown, she turned to her companion, Charlie Fox, who--according to the quick background check David had run--had one divorce on record, two children, no arrests or convictions and no speeding tickets.

"So what do you do?" It was the woman on his right again, who was slightly overweight but fairly pretty nonetheless.

"I'm a detective with the Sacramento Police Department," he replied.

She clapped enthusiastically. "Oh! You're not here to investigate the shooting last night, are you?"

Skye was sitting directly across from him. She immediately pasted on a smile for the benefit of the others, but David sensed the weariness and fragility behind it. "No." He was here under the excuse that he needed to be sure she was safe. If Oliver had sent Lorenzo to kill her, he could send someone else. But the truth was that he couldn't make himself stay away. It bothered him that Skye was turning her back on what they felt for each other--and yet he approved. One of them had to do something. They couldn't go on hovering in this agonizing limbo.

"What shooting?" Charlie Fox stopped eating and glanced questioningly around the table.

"You haven't heard?" the girl said. "It's been all over the news.

And.. .you're here with Ms. Kellerman, aren't you?"

"Since my wife left me, I don't watch the news or read the papers," he said. "It's too depressing. What happened?"

The girl's father, who was sitting on her other side, leaned close and said, "Have some sensitivity, Jillian." Or something to that effect because 187

she suddenly grew uncertain. "Um.. .I'm not sure Ms. Kellerman wants to talk about it," she said belatedly, backing off.

Skye raised her chin. "It's fine," she said, but David knew Skye well enough to realize what this evening was costing her. She hadn't yet come to terms with the life she'd taken, still didn't understand the reason behind Lorenzo's appearance at her house. Yet here she was, once again the focus of public attention and speculation. David hated to see her put in the same vulnerable position she'd been in after Burke's attack. It made him angry and defensive that she'd do this to herself by showing up tonight. She needed time to mourn what had happened, to recover.

But he knew she'd do anything for The Last Stand.

"In those situations you do what you have to do," David said. The finality in his voice was meant to shield Skye from any further questions.

But the man sitting next to Skye--Charlie Fox--didn't get it.

"You were involved in a shooting?" he said, gaping at her.

The blood drained from Skye's face. But her brittle smile remained stubbornly in place. "There was an intruder. I--I had to defend myself."

"That means you shot him? He's dead?"

Forks stilled around the table as the uncomfortable silence snuffed out all other conversation.

"It wasn't as if... I mean, I--" Skye started. But then her throat worked as if she was struggling to swallow, and she began to blink rapidly.

David could tell she was on the verge of tears. Shoving her chair away from the table, she fled the room without another word.

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Chapter
17

Before the door to the bathroom could sweep shut behind her, David was there. Skye almost told him he couldn't be where he was, that it was the women's restroom, but it
really
wasn't. It was a small, single family-style bathroom meant for use by either men or women. Skye had chosen it rather than the women's room because she could lock the door and be alone, away from the prying eyes and comments she'd have to endure elsewhere. She needed the privacy, but she wasn't sure why. Charlie Fox had meant no harm. Not really. It was just.. .all the questions.

Lorenzo Bishop had planned to harm her; she'd only defended herself.

Then why did she feel so bewildered and hurt?

Covering her face to hide her tears, she dodged David's hand when he tried to pull her into his arms.

"Come here," he said and turned her in spite of her attempts to rebuff him, forcing her to look at him.

She did so defiantly. If he was going to see her tears, he was also going to see the anger and confusion he caused. But the expression on his face was so tortured her anger didn't last. With a sob, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.

"It's okay," he whispered, kissing her temple and holding her close.

"No, it's not okay," she said. "What's going to happen to us?"

"I don't know," he whispered, cradling her face between his large hands as he gazed down at her. "I can't rid myself of what I feel for you, no matter what I do. The more I try to shut you out of my thoughts, the more you appear in my dreams. I make love to you over and over again and I can never get enough."

Feeling the hard ridge of his erection against her stomach, she stared breathlessly up at him. "No, David. It's too late. I can't take you constantly shoving me away. I have to forget you, move on."

He raised his hand and gently trailed a finger over the swell of her breast. "I can't forget you."

Her body reacted in spite of her desire to remain unaffected. But she was still defiant. "You don't really want me."

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"That's where you're wrong," he said. "I've never wanted anything more."