by Linda Morris
“Couldn’t you have switched to another department in the metro area?”
“No. Departments talk to each other. Cops are worse than a bunch of old women when it comes to gossip. My career in Chicago was dead, and I knew it.”
“But that’s so unfair! Couldn’t you have done something more to fight back, like file a complaint or something?”
She hadn’t really meant it as an accusation, but he clearly took it that way. He sat up abruptly, swinging his feet to the floor, meeting her eyes directly.
“Why bother? The only people I could complain to didn’t want me there either. I talked to the press about internal CPD affairs. Even the officers who disapproved of the guys on the take hated me for doing that.”
“But you could have sued or something, right?” she persisted. “It seems so unfair.”
“So what?” he spit, his eyes ablaze. “Unfair things happen all the time. A lawsuit could get me money, but it couldn’t make things the way they were again. It couldn’t make me respect my fellow officers, and it couldn’t make them trust me. It couldn’t get me on SWAT. The rest of us have to live in the real world, not one where Daddy takes care of all our problems for us.”
She stiffened, hurt. “I should have known—” She stopped. “Never mind.”
“What? You should have known what?” When she didn’t answer, he rose and walked over, standing directly over her. When she stared at the document on her screen instead of meeting his eyes, he pushed the laptop shut with one big hand. “You started something. I think you need to finish it.”
“Fine.” She stood and faced him, not caring that he still towered inches over her. “You wanted to hear it, here it is. I’m tired of you throwing my dad’s money back in my face at every opportunity. He’s rich. He supports me so that I can get my education. So what? Most people would take a deal like that if they could get it. You didn’t have a rich father who could support you financially? Too bad. Most people don’t. You still could have filed a lawsuit, or at least tried to get a job with another police force.”
Joe’s lips tightened, and for a moment, she thought she saw hurt flare in his eyes. If it did, it faded in an instant, and his usual mask of wise-ass cynicism returned.
“Of course. You would know all about the real world. If there’s a place more insulated from reality than under your father’s wing, you’ve managed to find it—the ivory tower of academia. Tell me, why haven’t you managed to find work as a teacher? Or publish a book? Aren’t those pretty normal things for a PhD candidate to be doing?”
“I told you, my father supports us with his allowance—”
“Correction. Your father supports you with an allowance. I seriously doubt he’ll still be giving your sister money after this little stunt she’s pulled. Daisy apparently has the balls to stand up to the old man. You, well, not so much.”
Incensed, she poked him in the chest. “You certainly have a lot of balls,” she said. The unaccustomed vulgarity sat strangely in her mouth. “You are my father’s paid employee just as much as I am, but yet you sit in judgment—” She broke off as she realized what she’d said.
“Is that how you think of yourself?” he asked quietly. “As your father’s employee?”
When she didn’t respond, his glare softened. The silence dragged on, and tears rose in her eyes. Her anger evaporated. Ivy tried very hard not to let the tears spill. She looked at the floor, out the window, at the bad painting over the fireplace, anywhere other than in his eyes. She knew that if she met his gaze, she wouldn’t be able to hold in her emotions.
“You shouldn’t think that way, you know,” he whispered. “You’ve got everything going for you. You’re...amazing, Ivy. Smart and beautiful.”
He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t cry in front of him. She’d already made herself way too vulnerable by telling him about Daniel. But then he brushed her hair away from her face, and his tenderness overwhelmed her. One tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice if she did it fast enough.
He did notice. He pulled her to him, stroking her hair. Putting her arms around him came as naturally as breathing, and she let her cheek rest against the curved musculature of his chest. The embrace had no urgency, a simple gesture of human comfort, coming from someone who had minutes ago been stoking her fury.
“Do you really think Daisy has more balls than I do?” she said after a moment, sniffing and wiping away the last of her tears.
He laughed. “Those words don’t sound right coming out of your mouth. Come here.”
He sat on the sofa and pulled her down to sit on his lap. She held herself stiff for a moment, thinking maybe she should retreat to a safe end of the couch, but his warmth and his scent, smelling of male, snow, and pine, won her over, silencing the clamor of alarm bells in her brain. She snuggled closer to him and let her head rest on his shoulder.
“I shouldn’t give you such a hard time,” he admitted, letting his hand roam over her hair. “You have a father who cares about you, and you care about him. It’s more than I ever had. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t get the family thing.”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. This close, the tiny flecks of gray coming into his beard stood out. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to caress his jaw, savoring the roughness of his unshaved skin. His green eyes darkened. He turned his head to capture one fingertip in his mouth, nipping and caressing it with his tongue.
She closed her eyes, only to snap them back open, quickly yanking her hand free. Oh, no. She wouldn’t let herself get sucked back into that, even if his actions did make her heart race and her body heat.
“You’re not getting out of talking that easily. What did you mean, you didn’t have a father?”
Joe sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall with a gentle thud. He lay silent for a moment. “Jesus. Going from my favorite activity to my least—talking about my father. There’s not that much to tell. I had one, but most of the time, I wished I didn’t. He was in the army. We moved around like crazy, me, my parents, and my little sister. In Japan for a while, a year or two in Germany, but mostly in one dreary U.S. army town after another.”
“Was he a...bad father?” she asked carefully, wanting to tread lightly. His story stirred her pity, but she knew instinctively he would not welcome it.
“Yes.” The clipped tone told her just how bad a father he’d been. “He was an alcoholic. He put my mother, and us, through hell. She did the best she could for us, but she had all she could handle keeping herself out from under his fists. It didn’t leave her a lot of energy for me and my sister. She died when I was fifteen. As bad as things were before that, they got worse. He wasn’t fit to be a parent at all, much less a single parent. It’s a miracle he never got kicked out of the army.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing happened. I took over as best I could and raised my sister, went to college part-time, and did odd jobs. We were at Fort Irwin at the time, in California. Dad spent most of his off-duty hours in a bar, which was probably for the best. It kept him out of the house and away from us. When my sister graduated high school, I got out of there. She got some scholarships, went to college, and got a job. I sent her what money I could. I kicked around in all kinds of places, finally ended up in Chicago, and finished college.”
She couldn’t imagine the life he’d lived. It changed the way she thought of him, to think about him shouldering such responsibility at fifteen, while dealing with the grief of losing his mother.
“I guess we really don’t have much in common, huh? You were forced to grow up young. I’m twenty-eight and still having trouble breaking free from my father.”
She had never voiced that confession out loud before, and it scared her. Joe ran a consoling hand down her back, letting his hand come to rest on the slight curve of her hip.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay close to your family. God knows I wouldn�
��t have taken on so much responsibility back then if I wasn’t forced to.”
She smiled slightly and snuggled a little closer. Those words were very different from what he’d said in the heat of anger, but she didn’t quibble. She wanted to make peace, too.
“Besides,” he went on, “we have one big thing in common. We both know what it’s like to lose our mothers.”
Ivy nodded. Some days, the death of her mother stung as badly as if it had happened yesterday. Right now, though, in Joe’s embrace, knowing that he had experienced the same pain, she felt only a fond melancholy thinking about her late mother. And no matter how much heartburn her relationship with her own father gave her at times, he loved her and, in his own mind, at least, wanted what was best for her.
“What about your father? What happened to him?” she asked.
“Last I heard, he retired and moved to Florida. Always a gypsy to the last. Good riddance to him.”
The bitterness in his voice surprised her, but she couldn’t judge him for it. His father’s alcoholism and abuse had taken away his childhood. He would never get it back. He couldn’t forget that, much less forgive.
“What’s your sister doing now?”
“Erin is married and expecting a baby. They live in California, running some kind of ranch.” She could hear the pride in his voice. Joe might say he didn’t understand family, but he clearly cared for his younger sister. The glow faded from his face after a moment. “I don’t see her much, though. We shoot each other an email once in a while. That’s about it.”
“Northern California isn’t that far away from here,” she pointed out. “Maybe when we’re finished with this case—”
“No.”
Stymied by his abruptness, she frowned. “Do you not get along with your sister?”
“We get along fine. I mean, we got along fine, last time I saw her. Seeing her—”
He broke off, his expression closed. He feared giving away too much, she guessed.
“Seeing her reminds you of painful times?” she guessed.
He nodded. “I don’t bear her any ill will. Far from it. I think she’ll be better off if she puts her whole childhood behind her and builds her own family without me around.”
“Does she agree?”
Joe didn’t respond, and Ivy knew she had her answer. “Let me guess. She doesn’t. She probably still wants a relationship with you, doesn’t she?” Why wouldn’t she want a relationship with the big brother who helped raise her, who provided the only stability and love she had after the death of her mother?
Joe frowned. “How did we get off on such a depressing topic of conversation?” His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and smoothed the soft skin of her belly. Her ab muscles jerked in involuntary response. “Why don’t we change it?”
“What should we talk about?” Her voice came out unexpectedly breathy. She’d pushed him enough about his family for one day. Besides, the brush of his fingertips did funny things to her insides and made it impossible to concentrate on anything.
“Let’s talk about your skin.”
“My skin?” she repeated.
“Hmmm. You have the softest, sweetest skin I’ve ever touched.” He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and inhaled. His breath stirred her hair and sent shivers of delight through her entire body. “And you always smell so good. Is it that glittery lotion you were wearing in Vegas?”
“I put some on this morning,” she said, breathless. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“It made a big impression on me,” he said, deadpan.
She giggled, wondering at herself. Ivy Smithson did not giggle. “I know what you’re doing, by the way, trying to distract me from asking about your family.”
“Right you are. Is it working?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she grumbled. “But it won’t work forever,” she hastened to add.
He didn’t answer but simply took her mouth in a kiss. It was only a kiss, she told herself. What harm could it do? As she gave herself up to his tenderness, she tried in vain to remember what had seemed so important a minute ago.
****
Ramirez returned to the 4X4, cursing and blowing his fingers to warm them. “Fucking cold out there,” he grumbled.
Cantor turned the heater up another notch to counteract the blast of arctic air that accompanied him. He had brought only a light jacket. He sure didn’t need a parka in Vegas, and he never ventured out into the sticks if he could help it. “Well?” he demanded.
“The snowplow driver’s gonna hit the pass next. We should be able to get through in an hour or so.”
“Any movement on that beacon?” Cantor asked after a moment.
Ramirez pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t know. Can’t get any coverage here.”
“Well, if we’re stuck, they’re probably stuck too.”
Ramirez grunted agreement. The snowplow rumbled on ahead of them, shoving aside one enormous pile of snow after another. The last time they’d been able to check, the beacon had indicated their quarry had stopped right on the other side of that pass. How the two people they were trailing knew Pock, Cantor couldn’t guess. But if all went well, he would have his answers soon enough, if the damn snowplow ever got through the pass.
Chapter 8
“King me.”
Ivy scowled. “Must you win every game?”
They’d been playing checkers for more than an hour, and Joe won every time. He hadn’t just won—he’d obliterated her. So far this game, she’d kinged him three times and she hadn’t reached the other side of the board once.
She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t concentrate. High-stakes poker it wasn’t, but the game still called for more attention than she could muster at the moment. She kept getting distracted by the firelight throwing shadows across his face, and the way his hair gleamed inky-black in the dimness as he studied the board with rapt attention.
His white smile glowed in the soft firelight. “Do you want me to let you win this one?”
“No. I want you to really lose, not pretend to lose.”
He made a tsk noise. “Now who’s competitive?”
With a frown, she kinged him. If she didn’t start paying attention, he would embarrass her again.
The warm fire, the hideous weather, and the snowed-in passes conspired to create a delicious intimacy. Joe hadn’t pressed her for sex. Much. They were having a good time right now, and she would try not to analyze everything to death like she usually did. But in the meantime, how much thought could she devote to checkers?
She was about to forfeit the already hopeless game when Joe straightened, on alert. Before she could ask him what was wrong, she heard it too.
A vehicle.
Joe leaped to his feet and disappeared into the bedroom. A minute later, he came out, tucking a handgun into the back waistband of his jeans.
“You have a gun?” Ivy was shocked. “Why did you bring a gun just to help find my sister?”
“It comes in handy in case I need to shoot somebody,” he said, his expression grim. “Kick the fire out,” he ordered in a low voice.
She obeyed even as she wondered why. The cabin grew dark as the fire dimmed to glowing embers. “What if it’s someone who needs help?”
“Why would anybody be out in this mess? It’s been snowing for more than a day. Whoever it is has to have set out in the middle of the blizzard,” he said, edging toward the door. “Odd time to go for a drive, don’t you think?”
He leaned against the door and peered through the sidelight. After a minute, he moved from window to window, looking out each one.
Unable to stand the suspense, Ivy whispered, “What do you see?”
“Nothing yet. Whoever it was stopped out of view of the cabin.”
“Maybe they were headed to another cabin?”
“Or maybe they didn’t want us to see them.”
Her heart sank. She preferred her theory to Joe’s. The gun gleamed in his hand, menacing
and sleek.
She pressed her lips closed, determined not to betray her nervousness by babbling or asking for reassurance. Smithsons, except for Daisy, didn’t show their feelings. Since she’d met Joe Dunham, she’d been on a wild ride of emotions that had seriously tested her powers of calm. Ivy suddenly longed for familiar territory—to be back in Chicago, holed up in a research library, studying engravings. How exactly had she come to such a pass, stranded out here in the wilderness with a man and a gun?
Joe lifted the curtain on the living room window again. He watched for long minutes, saying nothing. Finally, he straightened. “I’m going out there.” He donned his coat and put his gun in the pocket.
“What?” she squawked, and then took a deep breath when Joe stared at her. “Don’t leave me alone in here.” After a moment, she begged, “Please?” It was as close as she would come to begging. As he weighed his words, she made up her mind. “I’m going with you.”
“You’d be safer in here. There’s probably nothing to worry about. Maybe that sound we heard was the snowplows finally breaking through.”
“In that case, why shouldn’t I come with you?” she asked as she pulled on shoes over her thickest pair of socks. She met his gaze in a direct challenge, daring him to tell her she couldn’t come.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She put on her coat and gloves. “Let’s go.”
“Keep behind me, and keep quiet, just in case,” Joe cautioned.
She nodded. Joe opened the door, pushing hard to clear the snow that had piled up in front of it since the last time he’d gone outside. The cold hit Ivy like the lash of a whip, sinking into her bones deeper than anything she’d ever experienced, even in Chicago. Thankfully the bulk of Joe’s shoulders shielded her from the worst of the wind.
Joe edged down the steps and circled around the cabin. Ivy followed him in silence, struggling through the inches of fresh powder that had fallen in the last few hours. Lifting her gaze, she surveyed the clearing. Nothing out of the ordinary. The only tracks in the snow belonged to small animals and birds. The ethereal stillness seemed inviolate.
