“Auchloclaustrophobia,” he said. “It’s a mix of—”
“I know,” she said. She grinned, but it didn’t look genuine. “I can spell it backwards, too. Having a name for my problem made me happy back then.”
He heard so much in her tone—embarrassment, a little vulnerability. He waited to see if she’d continue. When she didn’t, he asked, “Can you tell me about the nightmares?”
“There’s not much to tell. I’m locked in a small closet. I’m there for a long time.” She looked back down at the napkin, but he knew she wasn’t seeing it but images from the dream. “I’m young. Petrified. I wet my pants. I wanted to ask someone to take me to the bathroom, but somehow I knew the person behind that door wasn’t nice. So I curled up in a ball and tried not to cry too loud.”
Tyler’s chest grew heavy at the thought of how scared she must have felt. “How old were you when you started having the dreams?”
She shook her head. “I don’t ever remember not having them.”
“Do you still have them?”
“No.” She said it quickly as if worried he’d judge her. “Not like nightmares. Sometimes when I first wake up, if it’s dark, I remember it. The feeling of being trapped.” She unrolled the napkin. “When I was younger, I couldn’t open a closet. It just freaked me out. But I got past that.”
The need for revenge clamped down on his chest, and he dropped his hands in his lap so his tightened fists wouldn’t give him away. He told himself she was lucky. He’d just spent the day reading about some kids who weren’t, but he wasn’t sitting across the table from those other kids. This was personal. It was Zoe.
“You don’t remember a face, or you didn’t hear voices?” he asked.
“No. I can’t even remember how I got in the closet, or how I got out.” She paused.
The silence grew loud. “Well.” She sat up straighter as if she was accustomed to putting it out of her mind. “That’s my emotional baggage in a nutshell. What’s yours?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HIS FIRST INSTINCT was to change the subject, but he realized how hard it had been for her to confide in him.
He turned the beer bottle in his hands. “You mean, you haven’t figured that out yet?” He smiled to make light of it.
“Yeah, I got the whole ‘convicted of a murder you didn’t commit’ thing going. But I meant childhood baggage?”
He dug deep. “My sisters used to put makeup on me and dress me in their nightgowns. I was supposed to be the princess.”
She grinned. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said.
She giggled. “Well, after talking to your sisters on the phone, it doesn’t surprise me.”
He studied her smile. “I’m sorry about that. I told you they were crazy. But they’re good people.”
“I figured that,” she said. “And honestly, I don’t think their game damaged your masculinity.”
“No, it hasn’t.” Seeing her eyes light up with humor after seeing the other emotions there felt damn good.
“What else? Besides being cajoled into cross-dressing.”
“You need more?” he asked.
“I sense there’s more.” She took a sip of her water.
He tried not to frown, tried not to wonder what character flaw or trait of his helped her reach that conclusion. He started to come up with another story, but the painful truth slipped out. “I guess you could say my dad was a louse, and my mom’s only flaw was she had a weakness for loving louses…”
“Was?” she asked.
“She died about four years ago. I still miss her.”
“I know what you mean. I still miss…” Zoe didn’t finish her sentence, but then she asked, “How bad of a louse was your dad?”
When he didn’t answer, she held up her hand. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
He did if he expected her to answer his questions. And he had a lot of them. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d say he was about a five.”
“Abusive?” Zoe asked, frowning.
“Not to us kids. But to Mom, yes. Mostly when he was drunk—not that it excuses him.”
“Is he still alive?”
“No. He died, liver disease, when I was nine.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He brought his beer to his lips even though he knew it was empty. “I’m not.” He set the bottle down. For a second, he worried that he sounded too cold, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t loved his old man, why should he pretend?
She fiddled with her napkin for a second. “Is that why you became a cop?”
“Because my dad died?”
“No, because you grew up wanting to protect someone.”
He considered what she said. “I’ve never looked at it like that, but I guess it could have influenced my decision. Mostly, I fell in love with the reruns of Starsky & Hutch when I was twelve. They got to shoot things, drive cars like maniacs, and always got the hot girls.”
She grinned. “I’ll bet they had sisters who dressed them up as little princesses.”
He pointed at her. “Okay, I’m warning you, I haven’t told a soul about that, so if I hear one thing about me having a cross-dressing stage, I’ll know you told.”
She placed her hand over her heart. “It’ll go with me to my grave.”
Mom, of the mom-and-pop-restaurant team, came over. “You enjoy? Yes?”
“It was great, as usual,” Zoe said.
The woman looked from Zoe to Tyler. “I happy you find a good boy to eat with you. Not so lonely now, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.” She shot him a cute embarrassed smile.
The woman dropped a small tray with two fortune cookies and the bill on the table.
Zoe held out the tray with the fortune cookies on them. “You choose.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“You have to; it has your fortune in it.”
He smiled. “You believe in that?”
“A little bit,” she said.
He grabbed one of the cookies. She waited for him to open it. Indulging her, he ripped opened the paper. “Are you supposed to read it out loud? Or are they like birthday wishes and you don’t tell?”
“You can read it aloud if you wish.”
“Never let the past stop you from making a future.” He dropped the paper on the table and pretended as if it held no significance to him. “Your turn.”
She opened it, put a piece of the cookie in her mouth, and then read it… silently.
“And?”
She looked down at the slip of paper. “It’s profound.”
“So read it.” He leaned closer.
She focused on the tiny print. “Be leery of men who cross-dressed in their youth.”
He laughed. “And I thought I could trust you.”
She grinned and stood up. “Ladies’ room.”
He watched her walk away, then he noticed her fortune beside the half-eaten cookie. He reached for it.
Love is always a risk. But it’s a risk worth taking.
Thirty minutes later, Zoe followed Tyler into his apartment. It wasn’t your typical bachelor’s apartment. There weren’t take-out boxes, beer bottles, dirty socks, or magazines with half-naked women on the covers tossed around the room. There was a basket of folded clothes on the tan sofa, two pairs of shoes beside a leather recliner, and a stack of books on the coffee table: two old classics, a couple of biographies, and a copy of Twilight.
A smile curved her lips. She looked up at him. “Edward or Jacob fan?”
“Definitely Jacob. I’m rather upset with the outcome.” He studied her, and when the pause grew a tad longer, he added, “Come on, I know you want to give me hell for reading it. Point out that it was due to my cross-dressing stage.”
She laughed. “No, all I will say is that you have eclectic reading tastes.”
“I could say the same of you.” He pinched his brow at her. “Seriously, romance novels?”
“Wha
t do you think Twilight is?” She cut him an accusing look. “So you snooped around in my apartment?” She headed over to the TV stand where he had several framed photos.
“No more than you’re doing to mine right now,” he said.
She looked back at him. “Fair enough.” She moved her gaze around. “The apartment’s nice.”
“It is,” he said.
“A lot nicer than the apartment at the office. Why are you moving there?”
“The commute to work.” He chuckled. “Seriously, Dallas and Nikki wanted to move out, and I spend so much time at the office I thought it would just be easier.”
She refocused on the photos. “The crazy family?”
“That’s them.” He moved in beside her, his shoulder brushed against hers, and warm tingles shot down her arm from the quick touch. “That’s Sam, my twin. The one standing next to her is Lola, my oldest sister. The ones you spoke with.”
As he was listing off names of his other siblings and cousins, she saw the scratches on his knuckles and remembered meeting him in the clown costume with his hand bloody. Funny how she’d forgotten about that.
“And that’s Anna, Sam’s daughter.” He picked up the picture, and Zoe sensed Anna was special to him.
She looked up at Tyler. “She looks like you.”
“What’s worse, she acts like me. Already has her nose buried in books.”
“That’s not a bad thing.” Zoe met his gaze, remembering having her nose in books at the same age. “As long as she’s not into cross-dressing, she’s probably okay.”
His grin came with sex appeal.
“So what is it you need to grab from here?” She remembered how good it had felt when he’d pulled her into his arms and she’d cried on his shoulder.
“Some kitchen supplies and clothes,” he answered.
Her gaze shifted to the spot on his shoulder where she’d rested her head. She hadn’t been held like that in… in a long time. Not that it had been sexual; it had been much more alluring than just that. It had been tender, caring.
And ultimately, that made it far more seductive than the kiss had been. Ever since then she’d been debating if saying yes to two weeks of wonderful pleasure, of bliss, was really such a bad deal.
And it didn’t have anything to do with the fortune cookie, either. If she did take Tyler’s offer, she’d have to accept it was not about finding happily ever after, it was about finding happy for two weeks.
“I’ll do most of the moving later,” he continued. “I have a lease on the place for another three months, so I don’t have to hurry.”
Her gaze went back to the photos of Tyler’s family. She saw an older photo to the side that must have been of his mother. And Zoe ached a bit for the younger Tyler whose childhood must have been so chaotic. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of that chaos was the reason he now avoided long-term relationships. And how much was about the mysterious Lisa.
Zoe’s gaze went back to the large sofa and the books. It was the perfect place to curl up and read. The perfect place to do a lot of things. Did Tyler bring a lot of women here to entertain?
Did he make love to them on the sofa? Or did he take them to…
“Hey, come into my bedroom. I have more books in there you might want to borrow.”
He started moving.
She didn’t.
Her feet felt as though they were sunk into concrete slabs on the wood floor. Not because she didn’t want to go with him—she did want to go with him, right?
He got to the door and looked at her. A frown passed his lips. “I’m not trying anything here. You know that?”
Well, that was a disappointment. “Yeah,” she said. Mentally, she pulled her feet out of the cement and followed him into the bedroom.
Pay dirt. Rick looked around to make sure the Bradford office was still empty, then he quickly pulled out the file that listed past employees beginning in the 1980s.
Taking the file to the desk, he flipped it open. Bradford had only seven employees at the time of the kidnapping, and that included yard people. There wasn’t anyone with the name Adams, but Rick pulled out his pad and jotted down the info.
Tomorrow, he planned on seeing if he could find the cold-case file on the Bradford murder. But who knows if the cops back then had their facts right? Hell, who knew if he could find the damn file after so many years?
Writing the last names down, he felt antsy and hurried to replace the file. Getting caught snooping wouldn’t be good. And around here, one never knew who was around. Bradford had more guards on duty than the damn president.
Sure the man had money, but Rick would bet the biggest source of thieves were the old man’s family. When Tyler had first mentioned the job, he explained that the old man had always been a bit paranoid, but after his granddaughter had been kidnapped he went off the deep end.
Sitting back at the desk, Rick reached for a phone book and started making the list of day cares he’d call tomorrow.
He’d almost taken the night off. But he’d already taken the afternoon off at Miller PD to do his day care research. Besides, the day cares weren’t open this late, and he might as well do something useful with himself instead of sitting at home fretting. Not that his afternoon off had proven to be that useful. He’d visited seven day cares, and not a one of them with openings offered the hours he needed. The ones that offered the right hours were filled and placed him on a waiting list.
Not that it helped. He possibly needed someone to watch Ricky in three weeks. Another thought hit: who could he get to watch Ricky for his night job? Were there nighttime day cares? Could he afford them? He wouldn’t be paying child support, but they couldn’t be cheap. Maybe he’d have to quit this gig.
He remembered being hauled back and forth from sitter to sitter while his mother worked her shifts as a nurse. Maybe quitting the night job was best. He didn’t want Ricky to feel as if he didn’t have a real home.
Rick’s mind churned on the things he needed to do—childproof the house, buy the kid a new bed, maybe a bike. Thank God, he already owned a gun safe. Could Ricky ride a bike yet? Or did he still need training wheels?
Earlier he’d gone by the grocery store and scouted out some kid-friendly foods: goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, and macaroni and cheese in fun shapes. What was considered junk food? What kind of food did Ellen feed her kid?
Jabbing his pencil at the phone book, he recalled how she’d nearly run over his foot to get away from him earlier. She’d totally misconstrued what he’d wanted to talk to her about. Pissed him off, too. He’d thought they’d gotten along when he’d changed her tire, and then when she’d called him to come by the office.
Leaning his head back, he wondered about this Bob she dated. Was he good to her? Did he know how to treat her in bed and out? What kind of men did a woman like Ellen go for? Someone who could show her a good time, but the kind she didn’t mind hanging around her kid.
Somehow he suspected the latter was probably important to her.
The last woman he’d dated, which was too damn long ago, told him men like him were more of an acquired taste than every woman’s dream. And that was fine, because most every woman’s dream ended up being his nightmare. Between Sophie who’d stolen his car, or Vicki who lived with him for two years and maxed out his credit cards in the process, only to discover she’d been sleeping with her ex the whole time, and then… Candy.
Oddly enough, he didn’t imagine Ellen doing any of those things. Maybe that made her too good for men who were an “acquired taste,” but would it kill her to give him a few parenting tips?
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Rick twisted in his chair to see Mrs. Daniels, Bradford’s fifty-something daughter, standing in the doorway. She wore a tight red dress and a seductive cougar smile.
“Afraid my thoughts aren’t worth that much.” He stood up.
“Why? Are they naughty?”
Rick weighed his words. His gut warned him earlier
that she was sizing him up for something other than a conversation. Frankly, he didn’t enjoy her conversations, and the idea of more didn’t stir his interest.
Then again, it had been a long time since he’d had sex. He weighed his decision before taking the option off the table.
“Not very naughty,” he said.
Tyler’s bedroom had dark oak furniture with accessories of different shades of taupe and red—masculine but classy. “Nice. Interior designer?” she asked.
“Cousin,” he answered.
She found her gaze on the unmade king-size bed. “Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?” he asked.
“You’re the unmade-bed type.”
“Your bed wasn’t perfect,” he said. “You tossed the covers over it.”
“But that quick blanket toss says a lot.”
He grinned. “It says you’re a tad more of a neatnik than I am.”
She laughed.
“The books are on the nightstand.” He grabbed a bag out of his closet and started filling it with clothes.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the books. But her mind wasn’t on the titles, rather on the feel of her hand pressing against the Egyptian cotton sheets and letting her mind wonder what it would feel like to lay on them naked.
Oh, hell, tonight in the shower hadn’t she shaved her legs for this very reason? She looked back at Tyler.
“Find anything you like?” he asked.
You. “Yeah.” She tried to find the right words. I’ve changed my mind about the two weeks. You wanna prove how good at sex you really are? Come here, big boy, and let me show you a good time.
None of the lines felt right. Did that mean this wasn’t right? Oh, hell, was she making a mistake?
“You okay?” he asked when she continued to stare.
“Fine,” she said. “I just—”
A chime rang in the apartment.
“My doorbell.” He took one backward step toward the door, never taking his gaze off her, as if trying to read her. He grinned. “Don’t snoop while I’m away.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He walked out.
She sat there, wondering if the interruption had been divine intervention. A few minutes passed, and then she heard voices. And a crying infant.
Blame It on Texas Page 21
