The Burden of Desire

by Natalie Charles

  Ben returned to his chair, crossed his arms across his chest and looked deep in thought. “This is nice work, partner,” he said. “Now I’m wondering if I need to delay my report a little longer, to leave our friends at the police department some time to follow up on these leads.”

  Sally felt as if a heavy weight had just fallen off her shoulders. “I’m relieved. I’m not going to pretend I’m not. I’ve been replaying every detail of this file in my mind, wondering where we went wrong. If it turns out that Ronnie and Mitch have been covering Mary Ann’s murder, they’ve been doing a hell of a job of it.”

  “None of this explains why Ronnie’s blood was on the carpet,” Ben said. “There’s more to this story, and I feel like we’re only scratching the surface. This is a strange, strange case.”

  Sally nodded in agreement and remained seated in the chair. She had other files to attend to, but had more to say to Ben. She’d been thinking about their discussion in the car on Wednesday night. Her engagement had been an admitted disaster, and she could see that in hindsight. At the time, she’d gone nearly out of her mind with grief, convinced that her broken engagement signaled the final barrier to the future she’d always wanted with a loving husband and children.

  She’d ultimately accepted that a husband wasn’t in her future, and with a clearer head she’d taken her desire to have a baby into her own hands. She was finally gaining control of her life, and while she felt empowered by that, she was confident she’d never be able to attend her ex-fiancé’s wedding to another woman. To see him getting what she’d once so desperately wanted: love, and the chance at forever.

  She cleared her throat. This was a delicate matter, and she wasn’t quite certain how to broach it. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last week, about this wedding for your friend.” She began slowly, watching for Ben’s response. His angular face remained unmoved as he watched her. “I think that if you’re going...I don’t think you should go alone. Look, I owe you a dinner. A real dinner, not one with my parents.”

  She didn’t know whether or not he had a girlfriend, but she’d gathered from their conversations that he was single—maybe even resistant to relationships. Still, Sally knew how she’d feel if her ex was getting married, and she assumed Ben would be grateful she was showing concern.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong. His face darkened and he set his jaw, muttering only a terse, “That’s not your business.”

  The sudden change hit her like a slap. “Um, you made it my business. You told me what happened.” You confided in me, she wanted to say. I thought it meant something.

  “It was a late night. We were sharing, and I felt sorry about your ex-fiancé, and the baby, and I said too much, that’s all.” He unfolded his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

  She’d gone out of her way to show her concern, and this is what she got for it? “I’m trying to be nice. Your ex-fiancé is marrying one of your close friends.” Her voice slipped, regrettably, into a bit of a growl. “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to be in your position, but I know what it’s like to feel betrayed. I wouldn’t have gotten through my breakup without my friends, but in your case, your friend is the one getting married. If you were going to the wedding alone, I was going to offer to go with you. For support. That’s all.”

  He stared at some spot on his desk, and after a long period of silence he said, “We’re colleagues. Partners. Not friends.”

  Sally blinked back a sting of humiliation. She’d been foolish. She rose. “I—I promised to be decent to you,” she stammered. “I was only trying to be decent.”

  She spun and marched toward the door, feeling shame coating her like a heavy wool blanket. Her instincts about him were right. He was unable or unwilling to let anyone get too close. He deserved to go alone to this wedding, to see the woman he’d once loved profess her love for someone else. Every measure of his pain was reward for the pain he’d inflicted on others. He was still the same Ben. She was naive to believe he’d ever become anyone other than who he was.

  “Sally. Wait.”

  He called from behind her, and she turned to see him standing behind his desk, his hands limp at his sides, his gaze fixed on her. “Don’t go.”

  * * *

  He couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes when she’d asked him about the wedding. All that silence in the car, and now, a week later, she returned with this? Who did she think she was, to pity him? He wasn’t so broken that he deserved that.

  He gathered his reserve and reminded himself to keep his cool. If they’d had this conversation early last week, he would have brushed her off as being snobby, or thinking she knew what was best for him. But right now he saw that despite the proud lift to her chin, her nose was already red. She wasn’t thinking she knew what was best. Well, maybe she was, but that thinking came from a place of concern. He’d asked her to be decent to him. He couldn’t blame her for trying.

  “I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said. “I wasn’t prepared to talk about this today.” Or any day.

  She half turned, as if still weighing whether it was worth it to stay and hear him out. Her hands were clutched in fists. God, she was going to cry, and it was going to be his fault. He ran his palm across his face. “I wasn’t planning to go to the wedding. I responded, but then as it got closer...” He let his voice trail off. He couldn’t go. He couldn’t watch one of his friends marry the woman he was supposed to wed. He’d been a masochist at one point, but he couldn’t be that way forever.

  Sally folded her arms across her chest. She hesitated, dragging out the silence, and then said, “You should go, Ben. It’s closure.”

  And punishment. “They won’t miss me.”

  “Not for them, for you. So that you’re not always wondering about it.”

  He looked away from her, thinking about the many hours he’d spent imagining the event, and how happy Karen would be to marry someone else. Someone kind and decent. “You’re probably right.” The admission still felt heavy against his chest. He hated that she was likely right. “I can bring a guest. You’re...welcome to join me.”

  Sally was unconvinced, punishing him with a stony stare and a stretch of silence. He didn’t mind most silences. This one was painful. “It’s tomorrow,” he continued, desperate to hear words, however ineffective. “Four o’clock, in Bedford. I have new tires now.” He smiled feebly. “I could drive. I responded for a guest already. A mystery date.” His smile felt more like a grimace. “You’d be having the fish.”

  “I hate fish,” she replied. “It makes me feel itchy. Unless it’s salmon.”

  Her tone was cool, but she was smiling faintly as she said it. She was teasing, giving him a hard time. Thank God. “Yes, that would be strange if you ate fish. You are a Pisces, after all. But I think it’s salmon.” He exhaled. “If it’s not, I ordered the steak. I’ll switch with you.”

  “So you ordered the steak for yourself and the fish for your mystery date?”

  Was she asking him to explain his rationale? “I thought most people liked fish. I figured it was a friendly food for a mystery date.”

  “You hadn’t planned on me.”

  Her words were underscored by the intense gaze of her beautiful whiskey-colored eyes. The look crept up on him and sent the blood rushing from his head. Was this a pity date, or did Sally have something else in mind entirely? He was hoping it was the latter.

  “No,” he agreed. “I hadn’t planned on you.”

  Not at all.

  * * *

  Tessa’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “You’re going on a date. With Ben.” It wasn’t a question. “You’ve been holding back on me, Sally!”

  “I haven’t held anything back,” she replied. “It’s not a date. It’s just a favor.”

  Her voice was cal
m, but her palms were sweaty and her heart was doing jumping jacks. She wanted to believe her own words. She did. But she also wanted to believe that there was something more between her and Ben. She wanted to believe it so much that it scared her. Two competing desires—one to remain uninvolved with Ben, and the other to become very much involved—waged fiercely within her.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” she continued, whispering the words as they walked out into the cool autumn sunshine. “Remember Mr. X? I read in a woman’s magazine that the worst time to enter into a new relationship is when you’re pregnant by donor sperm.” She would be wise to remember that. “I’m done with men. Done.”

  “Oh, come on now.” Tessa waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Would you ever consider it?”

  “Consider what? Dating Ben?” Sally scoffed. “You’re hilarious.”

  “But why not? He’s hot, and he seems smart. Yesterday we were in the kitchen together, and I kept staring at his hands. Have you seen his hands?” She measured in the air. “Huge.”

  “Yes,” Sally mumbled. “I’ve noticed.”

  “Big strong hands,” Tessa continued with a grin.

  Sally’s shoulders tensed. What did she care if Tessa was talking about Ben’s hands? It wasn’t as if they were a private body part. Then again, if her friend had noticed his hands, maybe she’d noticed other parts of him, too. His eyes, or his smile. Maybe she’d flirted with him. Sally was caught by a flash of jealousy that she had no business feeling.

  “I love military men.” Tessa sighed. “They’re so...large.”

  Sally bit the inside of her cheeks and said nothing. Her hands hurt from being balled so tightly inside her coat pockets. Ben was hot and large and all of it, but he was also coming dangerously close to being a friend, and she didn’t talk about her friends like that.

  She hit the keyless entry button for her car and saw the lights flash invitingly. “I was thinking we could go—” She froze when she saw the web of splinters across the glass. Her breath snagged in her lungs. “Someone smashed my windshield.”

  She took a step closer but was brought back by Tessa’s firm grip on her arm. “Stop right there. I’m calling the police,” she said. She was already dialing.

  Within minutes, a squad car had arrived and two officers were assessing the damage. A group of curious onlookers from the office were watching from a distance. “Seems like someone took a bat to your car,” said one of the officers. “You have any idea who would do this?”

  Mitch Kruger, Sally thought, remembering James’s warning. “You should check the surveillance footage,” she replied through chattering teeth. “I wouldn’t know.”

  She looked over and saw Ben’s large figure ambling out of the building. He approached faster as he seemed to realize what had happened, nearly breaking into a run. Sally ignored Tessa’s whistle under her breath.

  “Sally,” he said, pulling up next to her. “What the hell happened?”

  “Someone smashed my windshield.” She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering, and she pressed her hands deep inside her coat pockets, trying without success to keep from shivering.

  “Kruger?” he whispered.

  “They have to check the footage. This could be random for all we know.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he didn’t believe that to be the case. “Random? Your windshield just happens to get smashed when the police detective gets a lead on the Kruger case?” He shook his head angrily and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t think so. Kruger knows that you’re pushing this case. You’re keeping it open, and he probably knows that the police have been interviewing relatives about Mary Ann Hennessy. He wants you to back off.”

  “We don’t know that.” Sally’s voice sounded shrill, but her nerves were frayed. It was just a car, so why did she feel so violated? “We can’t just assume. You know that.”

  “I don’t know anything like that.” His voice was hard, his face etched in shadow as he straightened his spine and looked down at her with concern. “No more chances, Sally. You need to talk to the police about what James Kruger said, and you need to make sure you’re never alone. I’m serious.”

  She nodded mutely as his words struck home. “I’ll tell them. But I’m fine. I am. My address is unlisted, and Mitch doesn’t know where I live.”

  “Sally, he knew enough to recognize your car,” Ben said gravely. “Why don’t you stay somewhere else tonight?”

  “That’s crazy talk. I’m not in any danger.”

  “This is that guy who was accused of killing his wife, right? Sally, you told me he has a gun collection.” Tessa came up behind them and wrapped her arm around Sally’s shoulders. “Ben’s right. Better to be safe. You can stay with me tonight. I have a guest bed.” She gave her a one-armed hug.

  “I don’t know—”

  “You could be in danger,” Ben insisted. “Stay with Tessa tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll be with me. We’ll figure out where you should stay tomorrow night.”

  His words were heavy with meaning. Sally fought to keep her traitorous knees from softening. She could claw his face for suggesting that she needed someone to decide for her where she should spend the night. Or she could hold her tongue and let this play out, decide whether she liked the bed he’d choose for her.

  “My sleeping arrangements don’t fall within the purview of our partnership,” she replied. “I’ll stay with Tessa tonight, and I’ll decide for myself tomorrow whether it’s safe to go home.”

  She noticed him open his mouth and then bite his lip, as if he was fighting the urge to say something. She didn’t care. She had a mind of her own, and most of her instincts told her to steer clear of Ben McNamara.

  He came closer to her, his figure towering protectively over hers. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he promised. “Wherever you stay, I need to know you’re safe.”

  Something in his tone snagged her breath, and the heat in his eyes made her want to bury her face against him. Her head reeled. She was falling for him, hard and fast.

  Her head told her this was no good at all, but the rest of her had all but given up fighting the attraction.

  Chapter 9

  Ben ran five miles around the park on Saturday morning to calm his nerves and sharpen his thoughts. The surveillance footage of the parking lot had been little help in identifying the person who’d smashed Sally’s windshield. All they’d been able to see was a man who’d walked onto the property, his face shadowed by a baseball cap, smashed the car with a bat and ran away. Ben’s stomach had been on fire for most of the night, burning as he thought about Sally being in danger, and the time he was about to spend with her.

  They’d agreed she would stay the night at Tessa’s, but that he’d pick her up at her own home. After his run, Ben spent a good part of the morning washing and vacuuming his car. His vehicle couldn’t compete with Sally’s BMW, but getting a rental would look desperate. He called her before he left his apartment.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she’d said. “Since this was so last minute, I’m just wearing an old dress I found.”

  Of course he didn’t mind, and he’d felt the knot in his gut relax slightly. His heart had been racing since the previous morning at the thought of seeing Sally dressed up. Of being next to her at dinner, possibly dancing. Seeing her lipstick on a champagne flute. Knowing that the entire time he’d be playing the casual, detached date, he’d be thinking about what her skin might feel like beneath that dress. At least if she wasn’t making too much of an effort at dressing up, he wouldn’t have to try so hard to keep from doing something they’d both regret.

  They worked together, and work relationships were never a good idea. Besides, there was something he liked about Sally. He felt lighter around her, and he couldn’t ignore this protective streak he’d suddenly developed. He’d
hurt her in the past, and now all he could think about was keeping her safe—from Mitch Kruger, and from himself. Sally was a sweet girl who deserved better than that, and the last thing on his mind was hurting her again.

  Ben took more care than usual when dressing, though he kicked himself for it. Before he donned his jacket, he slipped on a shoulder holster and his .38 automatic. He had a bad feeling about Mitch Kruger, and he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  He followed the directions to Sally’s house, trying to imagine what one of her old dresses might look like. Something frumpy? The girl didn’t have a frumpy cell in her body, and he doubted she owned a stitch of clothing that would qualify. Sally would undoubtedly look beautiful and stylish in her old dress, but he was still unprepared for the woman who emerged from the modest home fronting Avon Lake: a woman with her blond hair swept up from her face, an elegant diamond necklace lacing her throat and a dress the color of the light blue sky at dusk adorning her body.

  The dress had been made for her to wear it—for him, for that night—with each inch of the fabric caressing the voluptuous curves of her body. He nearly stopped breathing when he saw the swell of her breasts pressing against it invitingly. An old dress—meaning someone else had seen her looking like that before him? He didn’t fight the jealousy that rose in his chest. God help him to exercise self-restraint tonight.

  She slid into the seat beside him, flooding the car with her sweet perfume, and flashing a smile that stopped his heart. “Hi,” she purred.

  Somehow, he found his voice. “That’s not an old dress,” he mumbled. His collar felt tight.

  “I swear it is.” She spread her long fingers on her thigh and smoothed the material. “Do you like it?”

  “You’re going to detract from the bride.” His admonishment was half-serious, but she beamed.

  “You look nice, too.”

  He backed out of the driveway without a word and cracked open the window. The car was too warm.