by Nora Roberts
“Sure.” He thought it might help if he looked at her face, just her face. But it didn’t. His mouth was bone-dry again.
“I closed up that gunk you put on the walls and cleaned off the tools. After that I twiddled my thumbs.” She was awake now, her eyes adjusted. Tilting her head, she studied him. He looked as though someone had just planted a sledgehammer in the region of his solar plexus. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I couldn’t go until you got back. Can you tell me what happened?”
After peeling off his shoulder holster, he hooked it over a rickety ladder-back chair he planned to refinish. “The lady was lucky. She fought him off, then her dog got to him.”
“I hope the dog hadn’t had his shots. Was it the same man, Ed? I need to know.”
“You want the official response or mine?”
“Yours.”
“It was the same guy. He’s pissed now, Grace.” Rubbing his hands over his face, Ed sat on the edge of the bed. “Tess thinks this is only going to make him more volatile, more unpredictable. He’s been threatened now, and his pattern destroyed. She thinks he’ll lick his wounds, and when he’s ready, he’s going to go hunting.”
She nodded. Now wasn’t the time to tell him the chance she was taking herself. “The woman—she saw him?”
“It was dark. Apparently she can’t see two feet in front of her face anyway.” He would have sworn if he’d thought it would do any good. A decent description and they’d have him, prince or pauper, off the streets and into a cage. “She got impressions. We’ll see what we can do with them.”
“More of your pieces?”
He moved his shoulders, but the tension stayed lodged. “We’ll do some cross-checking on Fantasy’s client list, talk to neighbors. Sometimes you get lucky.”
“You’re tied up about this,” she murmured. Because he seemed to need it, she shifted to rub his shoulders. “I didn’t realize that before. I guess I thought you just took it all as it came. Routine.”
He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were cooler than she’d seen them before, and harder. “It’s never routine.”
No, it wouldn’t be, not with a man like this. He would care too much. Despite her effort to prevent it, her gaze drifted over to rest on his weapon. He didn’t change when he took it off. That was something she’d have to remember. “How do you get through it? How do you manage to see what you see and do what you do and get through the next day?”
“Some drink. A lot of us drink.” He gave a half laugh. The tension was easing out of his shoulders and moving elsewhere. She had great hands. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted to put himself in them. “It’s escape. Everybody looks for their own.”
“What’s yours?”
“I work with my hands, I read books.” He shrugged. “I drink.”
Grace rested her chin on his shoulder. It was a strong one, a broad one. She felt at home there. “Ever since Kathleen was killed I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I kept thinking it wasn’t fair, what did I do to deserve it? It’s been hard to get beyond losing my sister to look at the overall picture.” She shut her eyes a moment. He smelled good. Homey, secure, like a quiet fire in the evening. “For the last couple of days I’ve really been trying to do that. When I pull it off, I realize how much you’ve helped me. I don’t know if I’d have been able to get through the last two weeks or so without you. You’ve been a good friend, Ed.”
“Glad I could help.”
She smiled a little. “I’ve been wondering if you’ve given any thought to being more. I got the impression, correct me if I’m wrong, that before we were interrupted tonight we were about to move on to the next stage.”
He caught her hand in his. If she kept touching him, he wouldn’t be able to give her that time and space he was so sure she needed. “Why don’t you let me walk you home?”
She wasn’t a woman to give up easily. Nor was she one to keep banging her head against a stone wall. On a long breath, she sat back on her heels. “You know what, Jackson, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were afraid of me.”
“I’m terrified of you.”
Surprise came first, then a slow, easy smile. “Really? Tell you what …” She began to unbutton his shirt. “I’ll be gentle.”
“Grace.” Still cautious, he covered her hands with his. “Once isn’t going to be enough.”
She curled her fingers into his. She didn’t make commitments easily, but when she did, she meant it. “Okay. Why don’t you let me finish seducing you?”
This time he smiled. He released her hands to brush his own up her arms. “You did that the day I looked up and saw you in the window.”
With his hand on her cheek he leaned to kiss her gently, softly. This was a taste he wanted to remember. It was richer, sweeter than he allowed himself. He felt her arms slip around his neck. He felt her give. Generosity. Wasn’t that really what every man wanted from a woman? Grace would never be miserly with her emotions and now, just now, he needed all she could spare. With care, he lowered her back against the mattress.
The light was bright and the room smelled of dust. He’d imagined it so much differently. Candles, music, the glint of wine in glasses. He’d wanted to give her all those pretty, romantic trappings. But she was exactly what he’d imagined. She was exactly what he’d wanted.
Her murmur against his mouth sent his pulse scrambling. As she unbuttoned his shirt he felt the cool brush of her fingers against his chest. Her lips curved against his, then parted. Her sigh filled his mouth with warmth.
He didn’t want to rush her. He was almost afraid to touch, knowing once he did his control might snap. But she moved against him and he was lost.
She’d never known any man to be so gentle, so sweet, so concerned. That in itself became an arousal. No one had ever treated her as if she were fragile—perhaps because she wasn’t. But now, with him taking such care, with him showing such tenderness, she felt fragile.
Her skin seemed softer. Her heart beat faster. Her hands, as she ran them over him, shook slightly. She’d known she’d wanted this, wanted him, but she hadn’t known it would be so important.
This wasn’t just the next stage, she realized, but something altogether different from anything she’d experienced. For a moment she thought she understood what he’d meant when he’d said he was terrified.
She lifted her mouth to his again and felt the need tangle with nerves, then nerves twine with an ache. Her fingers were trembling when she reached for the snap of his jeans. Again, his hand covered hers.
“I want you,” she murmured. “I didn’t know how much.”
He ran kisses over her face as emotion swelled in him. He never wanted to forget how she looked just now, with her eyes like smoke and her skin flushed with passion. “We have time. We have plenty of time.”
With his eyes on hers, he unbuttoned her shirt, then spread it open so he could look at her. “You’re so pretty.”
The ache faded a bit, so she smiled. “So are you.” Reaching up, she slipped his shirt from his shoulders. He was powerfully built, almost ferocious to look at, but she felt nothing like fear this time. She reached up again and brought him down to her.
Flesh warmed flesh, then heated. Though the gentleness remained in his hands, there was steel beneath it. Time spun out. He touched. She stroked. He tasted. She savored. There were degrees to intimacy. She’d thought she’d known them. Until now, she hadn’t fully comprehended how intense it could be. She shuddered when his beard brushed over her breasts. This was a primitive feeling, like the flash heat of a tree struck by lightning. As she took her hands over his back to test the muscles that bunched and flexed, she felt both the strength and the control.
His lips coursed down, hot against her dampening skin. Not lightning now, but a low, smoldering fire. She arched against him, trust absolute, desire overpowering. When he took her over the first peak, he groaned with her.
She struggled to fill her lungs with air. She wanted to say his name, to tell him—anything. But she could only shudder and reach for him.
Her pulse was galloping and the knot that had lodged in his chest was spreading. She was pulling at the rest of his clothes now, suddenly strong, desperately determined. She rolled on top of him, covering his flesh with frantic kisses, then laughing with delight as his clothes were finally peeled away.
He had a warrior’s body—and so he was. The strength, the discipline, and the scars were there. So there were true heroes, Grace thought as she touched him. They were flesh and blood and very, very rare.
He would have waited, or would have tried to. He would have pulled the strings of passion still tauter. But she was sliding down on him, taking him into her, filling herself with him. He could only grasp her hips and let her ride.
Grace threw her head back and peaked so fast she nearly crumpled forward. Then their hands clasped hard, fingers linking. The need built again, incredibly, until she was driving him as furiously as she drove herself.
She heard his long, desperate moan. Then her own body arched as pleasure arrowed into it. Her mind emptied as she slid bonelessly down to him.
He’d pulled the spread over them, but he hadn’t turned off the light. Grace was cuddled against his chest, dozing, he thought. Ed didn’t think he’d ever need to sleep again. He liked the way she tossed one leg over his, the way she’d wrapped herself around him as if she wanted to stay. He was stroking her hair because he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her.
“You know what?” Her voice was throaty as she snuggled a little closer.
“What?”
“I feel like I’ve just climbed a mountain. Something on the scale of Everest. Then I parachuted down through all that cold, thin air. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful.” She turned her head so that she could smile up at him. “And you were right, once would never be enough.” She laughed and snuggled into his neck. “You smell so good. You know, when I put your shirt on before, I finally hit on it. Ed Jackson, tough cop, former linebacker—”
“Defensive tackle,” he corrected.
“Whatever. Detective Jackson uses baby powder. Johnson & Johnson. Right?”
“It works.”
“I can attest to that.” Like a puppy, she sniffed along his neck and shoulders. “The only trouble is, I have a feeling every time I smell a baby I’m going to get turned on.”
“I’m thinking about having that shirt bronzed.”
She nipped at his ear. “Is that what finally turned the trick?”
“No, but it didn’t hurt. I’ve always been a sucker for legs.”
“Oh yeah.” Smiling, she rubbed hers against his. “And what else?”
“You. Right from the start.” He caught her hair in his hand so that he could look at her. So much for timing and caution and well-laid plans. “Grace, I want you to marry me.”
She couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open, or prevent the gasp that was one part surprise, one part alarm. She tried to speak, but her mind, for once, was completely blank. She could only stare, and as she did, she saw his words hadn’t been spoken on impulse; he’d thought them through very carefully.
“Wow.”
“I love you, Grace.” He saw her eyes change at that, soften. But they were still shadowed by something like fear. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I want to spend my life with you, take care of you. I know it’s not easy being married to a cop, but I can promise to do everything I can to make it work.”
She drew away slowly. “I’ll say this, once you get going, you move fast.”
“I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but I knew I’d recognize it. I recognized you, Grace.”
“God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to hyperventilate. “I’m not often taken so completely by surprise. Ed, we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and …” She trailed off as he continued to look at her. “You’re serious.”
“I never asked anyone to marry me before, because I didn’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t a mistake.”
“You—you don’t really know me. I’m not really a nice person. I’m cranky when things aren’t going my way. And God knows, I’m moody. I have a temper even my closest friends live in fear of, and—this isn’t getting through.”
“I love you.”
“Oh Ed.” She took both of his hands. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
She wasn’t going to say what he wanted to hear. He was already dealing with that. “Tell me how you feel.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t worked it out. Tonight—I can tell you truthfully that I’ve never felt closer to anyone. I’ve never felt stronger about anyone. But marriage. Ed, I’ve never even thought about marriage for myself in general, much less to a specific person. I don’t know how to be a wife.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Are you telling me no?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I can’t seem to. I can’t say yes either. It’s a hell of a spot to be in.”
“Why don’t you just tell me you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said quickly. “Christ, you made my head spin.”
“That’s a start.” He pulled her to him again. “Why don’t I finish the job?”
“Ed.” She put her hand to his cheek before he could kiss her. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Ed.” She held him off a second time, but now her eyes were laughing. “Are you sure you don’t just want my body?”
“Could be. Why don’t I check it out again, to be sure?”
It would have been nice to spend Saturday lazing around, or helping Ed give the drywall a second coat. Still, Grace was grateful he had to spend most of his day off at the station. She had a lot to think about, and she did that best alone. It also gave her the opportunity to have the extra phone line hooked up without having to explain herself. That would have to happen soon enough.
She was setting herself up as bait. That meant going to work for Fantasy. For as long as it took, or until they caught her sister’s killer some other way, Grace was going to be spending her evenings on the phone talking to strangers. One of them, sooner or later, would put in a personal appearance.
Ed would work his puzzle his way, but she would go straight to the heart and make the pieces fit.
She hadn’t liked buying the gun. In Manhattan, she’d never felt the need for one. She knew the city was dangerous, but to others, to those who didn’t know where and when to walk. Somehow, she’d always felt safe there, in the crowds, on the streets that were so familiar. But now, living in this quiet suburban neighborhood, she felt the need.
It was a .32, small and snub-nosed. It looked like it meant business. She’d handled guns before. Research. She’d even spent time on the firing range so she would understand what it felt like when you pulled the trigger. She’d been told she had an excellent eye. Even when she bought it, Grace had serious doubts about whether she could fire one of those neat little bullets into a living thing.
She tucked it into her nightstand and tried to forget it.
The morning passed while she served the man from the phone company coffee and kept an eye on the window. She didn’t want Ed to get back before it was a fait accompli. He couldn’t do anything to stop her, of course. It helped to repeat that a few times. Still, Grace watched the window as she sipped coffee and listened to the installer talk about his son’s Little League prowess.
As she’d told Ed, people always talked to her. Usually within minutes of an acquaintance they were telling her things reserved for family or the closest of friends. It was something she’d always taken in stride, but now, just now, she thought it would be wise to analyze it.
Did she have that kind of face? Absently Grace ran a hand over her cheek. That might be part of it, she decided, but it probably had more to do with her being a good listen
er, as Ed had suggested. She often listened with half an ear while she worked out a plot complication or characterization. But because she listened well, half was apparently enough.
People trusted her. She was going to exploit that now. She was going to harden herself and make Kathleen’s killer trust her. When he trusted her enough, he’d come to her. She moistened her lips and smiled as the installer told her about his son’s phenomenal play at second in his last game. When he came to her, she was going to be ready. She wasn’t going to be taken by surprise like Kathleen and the others.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Hadn’t she spent most of her life structuring plots? This was the most vital story she’d ever manipulated. She wouldn’t make a mistake.
She and the installer were on a first-name basis by the time she led him downstairs and through the front door. She wished him luck on his son’s game that afternoon and said she expected to see Junior in the majors in a few years. Alone, she thought of the shiny new phone sitting on the little desk in the corner of her bedroom. In a matter of hours it would ring for the first time. She had a great deal to do before that.
Making the call to Tess helped. Perhaps the approval hadn’t been without reservations, but Grace had more ammunition now. Satisfied, she picked up her sister’s keys and held them tight in her hand. It was right; she was sure of it. All she had to do was convince everyone else.
She wasn’t shaking when she drove to the station this time. Her strength was back and with it a determination to finish what she’d started at Fantasy. Out of habit, she turned the radio up loud and let Madonna’s latest pouty number blast through her head. It felt good. She felt good. For the first time in weeks she could really appreciate the full-fledged spring that had burst on Washington.
The azaleas were in their glory. Yards had violet and scarlet and coral bushes bunched together. Daffodils were beginning to fade as tulips usurped them. Lawns were green and receiving their Saturday trim. She saw young boys in T-shirts and old men in baseball caps pushing mowers. Baby’s breath and Dogwood added fragile white.
