Savage Rendezvous

by R. T. Wolfe

  "Alone." He said it as a statement and pulled his hand away. He used a tone she didn't recognize, and she was sure she'd heard every tone he had.

  "Of course, alone. We're exclusive. Why did you say that?"

  The following length of silence unsettled her, the sound of the string quartet seemingly disappearing.

  When he spoke, his voice was nearly a whisper. "I can't do this anymore."

  Like she'd jumped into icy water, the muscles in her body tensed.

  His eyes turned defeated. "I know what you're doing, why you push us away."

  Which was fine except she didn't know what she was doing.

  "You know how it hurts me the times you throw up your wall between us. You're afraid." He leaned in, his tortured eyes boring holes into her, making her tremble and reflexively lean away.

  "I'm asking you to trust me," he said. "I'm asking you to stay."

  "I'm not afraid. It's just not a good idea." The pain that grew in his eyes frightened her.

  "After all we've been through?" He waved his hand back and forth between the two of them, then covered hers with it. "You know this is right."

  It was her turn to pull her hand away.

  He took a sip of his wine, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I've understood your insecurities and your aversion to moving forward." His tone turned defensive. "I've accepted what comes with dating a cop. I've loved each part of you."

  Was this supposed to make her feel better?

  "The reason you're not staying with me tonight is because you did last night?" he said with the first raise in his voice she could ever remember him using with her.

  "The last two nights," she corrected before she realized that was probably the wrong thing to say.

  The look he gave her was one she'd only seen him use with other people. Never her. And he was speaking in past tense. The room became hot, her breath quickened.

  "This is all I have to give." It sounded too much like pleading. "I've always been honest with you about that," she said more forcefully.

  "You have, yes." He nodded as he tossed his napkin on the table. "This is my honesty. You're either going to be mine, or you're not. Don't answer me now."

  "Answer what?" She didn't care how it looked. She grasped the edges of the table with her hands until the tips of her fingers turned white.

  "Marriage." He nearly barked it before his pained eyes drilled holes into her. "I'm not willing to continue to fear your reactions if I buy you Diet Coke for my refrigerator. That you might push me away if I install a hook in my bathroom for your hairdryer. Marriage. That's what I'm putting on the table. We're either taking this to the next level, or you're going to keep your town house so you don't have to be with me more than two nights in a row."

  Marriage? He wanted to marry her?

  The next length of silence paralyzed her. "I thought silence may be your answer." He shook his head as he finally looked away. "I'll put your things in your place tomorrow while you're at work." The sound of his voice turned weak and low. "I'll lock up on my way out."

  He stood as she sat, still clenching the table. Reaching in the pocket of his suit jacket, he took out his wallet. "You know where to find me if you change your mind. Leave my key on the table in your hallway. It will lighten the load of your key chain." A few hundred-dollar bills fell onto the table.

  Marriage? she repeated somewhere in her head.

  Chapter 5

  Nickie dragged her tired legs back and forth in front of the door to her town house. She was fully dressed—coat, boots, scarf. She'd told her captain she would be in for a few hours that morning, but not this early. She might be gone by the time he arrived, but that wasn't what was keeping her from walking out the door.

  Stopping her feet, she dipped her hand into the pocket of her slacks. She'd gone as far as to remove the key from her ring. Wrapping her fingers around it, she squeezed. It was warm from resting next to her thigh through the hours of her sleepless night. Her eyes betrayed her and traveled to the small, glass table that sat empty in the tiny foyer.

  Another tear escaped. How many more of these things could a body have? It ran down her chapped cheek. It was what her feet wanted to do. Run. Run to the next state and apply for a job. It's what she did. Ran. Ran as a child to the horse stables when she couldn't handle her parents anymore. Ran from her captors. Ran from foster family after foster family. Ran from her first job the minute she got an offer as detective at the Northridge Police Department. What a fool she'd been.

  Her feet started pacing again. Her mind became a swirling mass of confusion. Lifting her gaze, she looked around her town house as she paced, still clenching Duncan's key. It was spotless. Not a single shoe or magazine left out anywhere. Sleep hadn't come and that gave her time to clean around every outlet cover, dust the cords to the lamps and even vacuum the crumbs from her kitchen drawers.

  Forcing her feet to stop, she jerked her shoulders and stood tall. Using her knuckles, she craned her jaw to one side, cracking her neck before doing it again the other way. She took the key and slammed it onto the table hard enough to leave a scratch in the glass. But her fingers wouldn't let go. She stood, fighting herself for the longest damned time.

  Grabbing it, she sank to the floor, pulling her legs close and wrapping her arms around them. Stupid, stupid girl. Her torso rocked forward, then back. She knew better than to let it get this far. It was never going to work. He was Duncan Reed. The man on the cover of how many tabloids? Proper grammar, good taste, smart, sexy, collected. How could she keep hold of something like that?

  But he wanted to marry her. He said that, didn't he? In the sternest tone she could remember him using with her, he nearly barked it down her throat. What had she done? Was he really that angry because she wanted to sleep apart? Didn't want him to wake with a black eye, because the woman he was sleeping with couldn't get it together enough to wake up like a normal person?

  Her physical reaction to the idea of marriage was nearly unbearable. The uncertainty. The risk. Giving herself to another person like that? As soon as she let her mind entertain the idea, her body began to react. Small tremors that weren't from the cold. They mixed with the beads of sweat that lined her hairline and upper lip, shutting down coherent thought. Then, the tears. Surely she had cried before, maybe as a child. She had no memories of crying, but now, tears. Buckets of them ran over her cheeks that were already chapped from the buckets that fell throughout the night. They made her mind clouded and useless. She expected him to leave her someday, not want to marry her.

  "Ah!" she yelled and bolted upright. This is why she wasn't cut out for relationships. Her mind didn't work that way. From the day she turned eighteen, she'd been in charge of her path. Her. No one else. It was what kept her feet moving forward. Or was it? Shaking her head, she realized she had no clue what was what. This was why she wanted to keep things the way they were. Didn't he see that? What they had was good. It was perfect. Why couldn't he just be happy with safe?

  She was Nickie Savage. She changed her name for a reason. She was smart, independent and had a fucking murder case to solve. Flipping up the hood on her jacket, she stuffed the key in her pocket and stormed out the front door, barely remembering to lock it behind her.

  * * *

  Duncan sat at his aunt and uncle's enormous kitchen table. Red rested at Duncan's feet, on them actually. As Duncan rubbed circles around Red's furry ears, Nathan talked in circles about a sleigh bed he was making out of mahogany.

  Their house smelled like wood and plants, like home. He revered his aunt and uncle for taking him and his brother into their lives and raising them as their own. The love was there, and it was thick. It just wasn't the kind he needed at that moment.

  Brie was eerily quiet as she set plates and butter on the table. Her focus was clearly on him and not morning coffee cake. Since she'd been able to see through him since he was eight years old, it was disconcerting. "Mother." He lifted from his chair. "Let me get that for you."
>
  She nodded and slid into her seat. Her actions were as bad of a sign as the ill focus.

  "Mostly straight lines with slightly arched head and footboards," Nathan continued as he poured a cup of coffee for Brie, then himself. "You need a warmer, Duncan?"

  "No, thank you," he said and brought over the coffee cake from its cooling rack.

  His aunt placed a hand on his uncle's forearm. Nathan seemed to take the hint as they both turned their attention on Duncan. "What's new with you?" Nathan left the topic of the mahogany bed.

  So, she could tell something was different. He wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Instead, he smiled as the front door opened. They heard cries from baby Andrew before it closed.

  "Oh, Andy," Brie called to the front of the house as she got up from her chair. "What have you done to my grandbaby? Let me have him."

  Duncan's brother didn't remember their biological parents... the ones who would be the actual grandparents. Of course, Duncan remembered them. Like normal people, those with eidetic memories didn't remember their younger years as well as the rest of their lives, but Duncan was four when his parents died. Which was old enough for him to remember them as if they sat next to him at the table.

  "If you're going to make him a junior, he should be Sylvester Jr." Duncan reminded Andy, hoping to make Brie forget what she'd noticed from Duncan.

  "As you keep reminding me," Andy said and hung up their coats.

  Brie and Nathan not only earned the title of grandparents, but also mom, dad, advisor and good friend. He could hear Brie cooing as her heels clicked along the hardwood floor.

  "Duncan Reed." It was Rose. "What did you do?"

  Uh-oh. He looked to Brie who seemed to be paying attention to Andrew Jr.

  Rose marched in with a diaper bag draped over her shoulder. Sitting across from him, she poured a cup of coffee from the carafe. "Nickie canceled on me last night. We were supposed to drink shots and get in a pub fight. Instead, she called to tell me she had a cold. It sounded more like a stuffy nose from crying rather than some cold."

  Nickie didn't cry. "I'm sure it's a cold."

  "Ah ha. So, you don't even know whether she's sick or not. I repeat, what did you do to her?"

  He shook his head. The look on his face must have made an impression, because Rose leaned back in her chair and suddenly became interested in her mug.

  Brie sat, holding a bottle for the baby. Her expression almost broke him. It was like the whole damned place morphed into a funeral home.

  "Well." Rose cleared her throat. "If you speak with her soon, please tell her she was greatly missed."

  If he spoke to her again. They knew. They all knew. And yes, she was greatly missed.

  Nathan changed the subject to fishing when the lake thawed and described how the water still trickled into Black Creek, even in the exceptionally cold winter they were having. Andy briefed them all on his latest development project and Rose on her promotion to director at the Birds of Prey Research and Action Center. Brie remained quiet. The whites in her eyes turned pink.

  "I'd like to take Abigail out for a ride, Andy. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday? I leave for L.A. first thing in the morning, but I should be back by then."

  "Do you have any red carpet events with hot women?" Andy asked.

  Rose smacked Andy soundly on the arm. As a matter of fact, he did, but since it was purely platonic, he saw no reason to share.

  * * *

  Nickie should have left the car running. Her gloved fingers were getting stiff, but the discomfort was oddly welcome. Her foster mother's drive was shoveled of every last speck of snow, yet Nickie sat parked in front of the mailbox. Cars lined both sides of the street. No one was bold enough to be the one who parked in the drive on Sunday dinner night.

  He wanted to marry her. Her forehead dropped to the cold steering wheel. She closed her eyes and let the burn take her. His tone still reverberated throughout every inch of her. He tossed his napkin. Such a small, small, incredibly huge thing. It wasn't like him. She rocked her forehead from side to side along the wheel as she tried to make sense of his demands when someone rapped on the passenger window. It should have made her jump. Instead, she kept her forehead glued to the wheel and rotated it in the direction of the noise. It was Gloria.

  Quickly, she pulled back to a sitting position, then opened her door. A gust of cold brushed across her wet face as she stood and peered over the roof of her car.

  "Why do you do this, child? I have to get you from your car again?"

  Nickie only remembered one other time this happened but would never argue with Gloria.

  "You must be cold," Nickie said as she came around the front of the town car. Gloria wore no coat, and her boots hadn't been laced.

  "That is right. I am cold. Come." Gloria gestured with her hand. Of course, Nickie would follow. She owed her life to this woman. A debt she carried gladly.

  The driveway was short and the walk to the front door shorter. She could hear the crowd long before she entered. The smell of spices and sugar from a dinner soon to be served permeated the air. It was all familiar and surprisingly comfortable. Gil's twin girls ran to greet her first, each wrapping a warm arm around her waist. They were followed by their dad. He kissed Nickie on the cheek, whispering in her ear as he hugged her, "I have a favor, big sister."

  He called her 'big sister.' That meant it was a big favor. She didn't think she had anything in her to give. The only reason she showed up tonight was because it wouldn't have been worth it to face Gloria's phone calls if she hadn't.

  One of the twins pulled on her shirt. She looked down at the glossy black hair, pulled in a ponytail that framed a most beautifully caramel-colored face.

  "Where's Uncle Duncan?" little Neva asked in her thick, Latino accent.

  Gil turned his head out the front window. "Yeah, what did you do with him?" He laughed and added, "You didn't shoot him, did you?" His face fell as soon as his eyes landed on hers. "Go find your mother," he said to his girls. They took the hint and slinked away with little pouting.

  "You didn't have to do that." Nickie didn't want pity, and she didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to get through dinner so she could go home.

  Go home to what? A bag she refused to open that sat in her foyer? Her beloved cello she couldn't bear to take out of its case? She slipped a hand into the pocket of her pants and wrapped her fingers around Duncan's key. "I'm going to see if Gloria needs help," she said, then headed for the kitchen.

  "Take these." Gloria offered no small talk and handed Nickie two large bowls of seasoned rice.

  Working on autopilot, Nickie placed the bigger one on the dining table that comfortably sat twelve. She offered polite greetings to her foster brothers and sisters, and Gloria's extended family. It was like a beehive, and she was able to ignore most of the rest. The smaller bowl went on the table in the kitchen addition.

  "Teresa," Gloria called out to Gil's wife in the busy living room. "Gather everyone for dinner."

  Nickie finished passing out large serving trays of amazing food that she had no intention of eating. The buzz of activity was pleasantly deafening. It brought her back to a time she felt the first hint of hope she had in many years. She understood most of what was spoken but wasn't anywhere near ready to speak the language. It had been a many years since her foster family politely spoke only English around her. She'd been one of them for too long. No one asked her to give more of herself than she could give. This was a safe place.

  Gil leaned over as he reached for more sauce. "We have a gig at The Pub on Friday night, and Neva has a peewee basketball game."

  The favor. "I can't." There was no way she could sing in front of a bar full of people. "I'm in the middle of a case." She'd never turned him down before. She'd had to cancel at the last minute before but never a flat 'no.' "It's turning high profile," she amended, hoping it would satisfy him.

  He looked like she'd just run over his cat.

  "S'okay." He shrugged. "I'l
l ask Ma if she can take Neva to the game so Teresa can sing."

  With a deep sigh, Nickie pushed away from the table, stood and started clearing the dishes. No one entered the kitchen while she was in there. She was like a plague. A house full of nearly thirty people and Gloria was the only one who was with her in the kitchen. Gloria, who didn't speak.

  "He wants to marry me."

  Gloria paused only for a moment as she lit the stove and set a teapot full of water on the flames. It wasn't like her to make tea before the dishes were done, so Nickie plopped some of them into the soapy water and rolled up her sleeves. "He gave me an ultimatum." She scrubbed circles around plates as Gloria took a single mug from one of the hooks beneath the cabinets. The water felt good on her arms, sending currents of warmth over her shoulders and down her back. "It was more like a threat."

  She loaded the dish rack until it was full, then changed to drying. Gloria prepared dessert at the small, wooden table that served as her island. When the teapot sang, Gloria turned off the heat and poured the water into the mug.

  "Sit, child," Gloria ordered as if there wasn't a house full of people in the adjoining rooms waiting for their dessert.

  Nickie wanted to argue, to tell her to finish preparing dessert as she worked on the dishes, but the string that seemed to pull her butt to the old chair next to the wooden table was stronger than her reluctant legs.

  Gloria opened the fridge with her free hand and came to Nickie with a can of Diet Coke. She placed both drinks on the table and sat. Her long, shiny hair was pulled in a low tail. The streaks of gray made her look as wise as she was.

  She pushed the can across the table, then rested her hand on the back of Nickie's.

  Nickie looked down. Gloria's skin was smoother than it should be at her age. Dark and warm, her hand gripped the top of Nickie's. Nickie's eyes closed tightly.

  "How can I be a wife, Gloria? The things I've done." Her shoulders became like lead. Tears slipped between her defeated lids, down her face and dripped on the table.

  "You were captive, my child. You survived."