Truth or Consequences

by Diana Duncan

  Zoe’s throat closed up. Their fear became her fear, as sharp and cold as splinters of ice. Freezing. Hurting. Terrified and alone in the dark, she struggled to breathe.

  Grady patted her shoulder. “Zoe? You okay?”

  Jerked back to reality, she gasped in a shaky breath. “Y-yes.” She shook her head. Get a grip, Zagretti. She’d covered many heartrending stories, and while she always sympathized with the victims, she’d never become one. Her overreaction must stem from her connection with Aidan. Watching the scene unfold through his eyes as it happened made the horror all too real.

  Aidan backed slowly toward the window. “Mind if we open the blinds? We need more light to get a good picture of you.”

  “Okay,” Kincaid assented, and Aidan tugged the cord, exposing the room to the street.

  “Way to go, bro,” Liam murmured.

  From previous observations, Zoe knew that Hunter Garrett, the team’s steely-eyed sniper, was positioned somewhere outside. The big leonine man now had a clear shot into the house.

  Aidan glided slowly, non-threateningly away from the window again, positioning himself between Eric and the children. Emma’s pitiful wheezing rasped in the background. Aidan swung the camera back to Eric. “See yourself on TV?”

  Eric faced the screen in the living room. “Yeah! Iced!” He slashed his knife through the air, and Zoe’s stomach roiled.

  Aidan focused the camera on Eric’s face, eliminating the knife from the picture. “So, you ready to sing?”

  Eric swayed, his face suddenly uncertain. “Uh. I guess.”

  “We definitely want to showcase your talent on camera. Where’s your guitar?”

  Eric’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Bedroom.”

  “Well, go get it, dude.”

  Eric wavered. His narrow features crumpled in indecision, clearly torn between his desire for fame and fortune and a blurry suspicion that he shouldn’t leave the room.

  Aidan gave him an ego-boosting close-up on the TV screen that would do Steven Spielberg proud. “C’mon, this is your big break, buddy. What are you waiting for? You’re gonna be a star.”

  “Doors,” Greene ordered, and war wagon’s big double doors swung wide. Greene didn’t take his eyes from the screen as the SWAT team surged forward. Modern-day knights in black body armor and helmets, their weapons held steadily in large, capable hands. Awe-inspiring. Any bad guy with an ounce of brains should surrender at the mere sight of them charging in. “Ready…”

  Every muscle in Zoe’s body went rigid, every nerve on edge. The critical moment. Emma couldn’t hold out much longer. If Aidan couldn’t talk Eric down, he would have to take him down and risk injury, not only to himself, but the children. The fact that Kincaid was both stoned and stupid made him unpredictable, and even more dangerous.

  “Okay.” Toying with the knife, Eric staggered out of sight.

  “Go!” Greene barked, and the team charged outside.

  Aidan dropped the camera on the coffee table. Zoe had a panoramic view of the living room as he scooped the children into his arms and sprinted out the back door.

  At the same time, the team burst through the front door just as Kincaid shuffled back into the living room. His mouth fell open, and the guitar dropped from his hands with a discordant clang.

  “Police! Get down! Down!” The team members shouted. Three MP-5 rifles pointed unerringly at Kincaid’s head, and a snarling K-9 backed him into a corner. Two other team members split off and swept the house. “On the floor!”

  Even stoned and stupid, Kincaid knew the jig was up. Whimpering, “Don’t hurt me,” he flopped on the carpet and buried his head in his hands.

  Forty minutes after the door breach, Aidan strode toward his car. The standoff had ended the best possible way. Quickly, with no shots fired, and no injuries. Grady had successfully treated Emma at the site, and she and her sister were safe with Shelly. Kincaid would be a guest of the state for a while. Barring further emergencies, the groomsmen and best man would make it to the wedding on time.

  Zoe had stayed with Shelly until Emma was stabilized, and the police barricades came down. Then Aidan had seen her speaking in front of a KKEY news camera. Disgust had twisted inside him at the thought of her using Shelly and those scared, defenseless little girls for five o’clock fodder. Until he’d moved near enough to hear what she was saying.

  Her heart-shaped face solemn, her earnest voice had declared, “No woman or child ever deserves to be victimized. If you, or someone you know is trapped in an abusive situation, help is available. Please, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE. You don’t have to live in fear. There is no shame in asking for help. Call today. Your life, or the lives of your loved ones may depend on it.”

  Aidan stalked down the tree-lined sidewalk. In direct contrast to the sunny day, a storm of confusion thundered inside him. He’d thought he had Zoe Zagretti pegged, but she had surprised him at every turn. She had consistently done the unexpected. Today, he’d admired her smarts. He had actually enjoyed her teasing. Hell, he’d damn near kissed her.

  He rolled his taut shoulders. Maybe he’d jumped to unwarranted conclusions where she was concerned. However, he’d reserve judgment until he had more evidence. Keep his guard up. No way would he give her any information, much less his trust.

  About to cross Elm Street, he faltered in mid stride. Zoe was slumped in the driver’s seat of a battered red Corolla. Her eyes were closed, her face ashen. She wasn’t moving. Was she breathing? His heart lurched, then tried to pound its way out of his chest. Her body looked limp, lifeless.

  She looked far too much like his worst nightmare come true.

  Chapter 4

  2:00 p.m.

  “Zoe!” Aidan’s shout emerged a mere croak as he sprinted across the street. He wrenched open the car door and knelt on the pavement. Zoe lurched sideways, nearly falling into his lap, and his arms instinctively closed around her. She was breathing, thank God. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  She blinked dazedly at him. “Aidan? What the heck…?”

  Grady had once brought home a bedraggled, starving black kitten. The boys had taken turns feeding the tiny animal around the clock with a doll’s bottle. Alone in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night, Aidan had held the kitten in his hands, and it had stared at him with wide, trusting green eyes. Zoe looked at him the same way, her eyes huge in her white face. Her slender body felt fragile and insubstantial against him. Fierce protectiveness surged through him and caught him off guard…rattled him to the core.

  He battled the urge to sweep her up, carry her to his house and take care of her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head and winced. “No. I started feeling squicky inside the war wagon a while ago. I thought if I rested for a few minutes, the nausea and headache would fade enough so I could drive home. Maybe I’m coming down with a twenty-four-hour bug or something.”

  He touched his palm to her forehead. Her skin was as soft and cool as the plumeria petals whose scent she favored. “No fever.” He studied her wan face, a shade too thin for his liking. “When did you last eat?”

  “I had some Cracker Jack about three hours ago.”

  “For breakfast?” He grimaced. “No wonder you’re sick. Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  He moved back, but supported her around the waist as she swung her legs over the seat and eased shakily to her feet. She swayed into him, and his hand accidentally slipped under the loose hem of her blouse and slid across the silken skin of her stomach. His body leapt to awareness.

  She inhaled sharply, and her abdominal muscles quivered under his palm. “Hello! Hand check.”

  He snatched his burning palm away. “Sorry. Accidental contact…ten minutes in the penalty box.”

  She chuckled. “I know, it’s okay. If I’d thought you’d done it on purpose, I would have stomped your enthusiasm.”

  His “enthusiasm” was at DEFCON One, maximum-force readiness
. He clenched his jaw, mentally counting backwards from ten. Stand down, officer. He was supposed to be rescuing the woman, not ravishing her.

  Still fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms, he assessed her wobbly stance. “You’re in no shape to drive.” He glanced down the tree-lined street. “My car is around the corner. Can you walk that far?”

  “Yes. The fresh air is helping. Would you hand me my survival bag, please? There’s ibuprofen and water inside.”

  He retrieved a tattered frog-printed canvas bag from behind the front seat. She leaned against the fender and sipped from a water bottle while he locked up the Corolla.

  He detached the car key, pocketed it and handed her the rest. “I’ll have an officer bring your car home later and leave the key in your mail slot.” He’d be returning the car himself, but she wouldn’t see him.

  She dropped the other keys in her bag. “Have you always been this take-charge, or is it a recent affliction?”

  He bit back a grin. The more time he spent with the intrepid reporter, the tougher it was to keep his distance, to act unaffected and remote. To remember he disliked her. Which is why he intended to avoid temptation and stay far away. “My mother claims I was assertive from the moment I made my entrance two weeks early.”

  “Ah, to paraphrase Steppenwolf, ‘Born to be Bossy.’”

  He couldn’t stop the grin this time. “You like classic rock?”

  “Love it. You?”

  “Yeah.” Something they had in common. Other than the desire to bring down DiMarco. For her, that meant a byline. For him, it was a personal crusade.

  He propped his hand against the small of her back, and they strolled down the sidewalk at a snail’s pace. She stumbled, and he moved closer. “Whoa, careful.” He slid his arm around her waist and tucked her close to his side. She fit perfectly, as if she’d been created to be his companion.

  As if she belonged to him, and he to her.

  As though reading his dangerous thoughts, a squirrel scolded from a nearby branch, and Aidan nearly tripped this time. Careful is right!

  He had no intention of detouring off his determinedly mapped-out life. He wasn’t going anywhere near the cliff’s edge. Especially not with Zoe Zagretti. The woman was TNT—tenacious, nosy and nothing but trouble.

  A far-too-appealing package. Far too passionate. Far too likely to detonate and leave them both walking wounded.

  They rounded the corner. A lawn mower droned at the end of the block, and happily shrieking children played a raucous game of kickball. He’d never have kids of his own…his one regret about his boycott on marriage. He breathed in the scent of fresh-cut grass, trying to ignore the clutch in his chest. He’d fill the empty space in his heart by spoiling future nieces and nephews. Knowing Con and Bailey, there would be plenty.

  Parked beneath a maple tree, his black ’64 T-Bird convertible glinted like polished obsidian in the dappled sunlight. “That’s my car.”

  Zoe’s luscious lips tilted in an unsteady grin. “Ohmigosh! You drive the Batmobile!”

  Stunned, he lurched to a stop. As a kid, he’d possessed undying admiration for the Dark Knight. He still had several boxes of Batman comic books, purchased eons ago with hoarded allowance and lawn-mowing money. He told himself he kept them because they were highly collectible, but in truth, a lingering sentiment remained. He’d loved the T-Bird on sight. Why had he never noticed what Zoe saw at first glance? The vintage car’s long, lean lines did resemble the Batmobile. Her perceptiveness impressed him. Intrigued him.

  Terrified him.

  If he slipped up and let Zoe Zagretti get under his skin, get into his heart, he would never be able to hide anything from her. She would never allow him to step back, to keep his emotional distance.

  His secure, comfortable existence would be blown to hell.

  He must have appeared as confounded as he felt, because she shot him an abashed look from under her lashes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your ride. I think it’s gorgeous.”

  He opened the passenger door for her. “No offense taken. I was…” Freaked out! “…surprised by your insight.”

  She slid inside, and he strode around the front of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She chuckled softly. “I’ll bet you had Batman pajamas and Con had Robin ones, and you pinned pillowcases around your necks and catapulted off your bunk beds pretending you could fly.”

  Her speculation was so near dead-on accurate, amusement bubbled in his chest. He couldn’t stop the laughter that burst out of him. “Close. We wore Underoos and bath-towel capes, and jumped off the garage roof. Robin jammed his big toe and hobbled for a month.”

  Her breath hitched, and color flooded her cheeks. She stared at him in soft-eyed appreciation, her expression as awed as if he’d just rescued a stray puppy from a rampaging river. “Hey, you laughed.”

  Was he so tight-assed that a mere laugh would throw her for a loop? He fastened his seat belt. Yeah, he was. His self-preservation radar spiked on high alert around her, raising his defenses. He offered her a wry smile. “I do that occasionally, when something strikes me funny.”

  Her eyes gleamed with warm approval. “Remind me to work on my stand-up comedy routine.”

  The engine growled to life, and Aidan steered the T-Bird to the intersection. With the top down, the summer breeze caressed his face like a lover’s soft touch. So, she appreciated his laugh, huh? That shouldn’t matter so much. It definitely should not make him hot.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one coming down with a twenty-four-hour virus. He shook his head. “Where to?”

  She gave him an address in an older, rundown area of town. He wasn’t crazy about her living in a neighborhood where she could get shot for wearing the wrong color. However, he didn’t have a say in the matter. Nor did he want any. What was it about this woman? How did merely being in her presence twist his insides into complicated knots?

  “Aidan? Don’t feel weird about the superhero thing. I liked Wonder Woman. Oh, and the guy in the blue tights, too, but I always rooted for Lois.”

  Another grin surfaced as he took Ash Street, heading toward the inner city through heavy Saturday-afternoon traffic. “Big surprise there.” All he had to do was endure several minutes of safe, polite conversation, drop her off, and never again get within five miles of her. Evade and escape. A simple, easy tactical plan any moron could follow. “Did you have any ‘super’ adventures with brothers or sisters?”

  “No, I’m an only child.” She glanced at him, and her wistful expression made her loneliness painfully apparent. Made his throat ache. “I’ll bet having three brothers was a blast.”

  “For us. I’m not so sure about Mom and Pop.” In truth, his parents had adored each other and their rowdy brood. His childhood had been abundantly full of laughter and love. “Are your parents close by?”

  “I’m…on my own. My mom had a stroke when I was a senior in high school, and she’s in a care facility in San Francisco. I’m saving up to move her here. My father—” She cleared her throat, but he caught the slight hitch in her voice. “Has never really been in the picture.”

  His heart fisted. Without his family’s support, he wouldn’t have survived. He couldn’t imagine going it alone, especially so young. He steered the car into the turn lane. Understanding dawned as he idled at the red light. No wonder she was so zealous about her job. She had no family or history of her own, so she invested herself in the stories of others.

  “That must be tough.” He despised the thought of Zoe struggling all by herself. Then chastised himself for letting it hurt. Emotional distance was the first survival skill his training officer had taught him. Compassion was fine. Empathy was dangerous. Cops who invested emotionally in their work burned out. Fast and hard.

  “I do okay.” She shrugged. “A lot of people have it way worse.”

  No trace of self pity, no whining. Admiration snaked through him. The girl had guts and a winning attitude. Dammit, he didn’t want to care about
her. Didn’t want to respect her. Didn’t want to crave her sexy smile and admire her agile mind.

  He turned right and navigated the potholed side street, and then pulled up in front of a ramshackle, one-story apartment complex. No trees blocked the relentless sun. The shabby apartments squatted in a half-square around a patchy brown lawn choked with weeds and strewn with rusted appliances.

  “Home sweet rented home.” Zoe unbuckled her seat belt. Wariness edged her expression, as if she feared he might judge her by her living conditions. “I’m working my way up the food chain at the station, and right now, I’m plankton.”

  How many people had she trusted enough to bring home? How many had judged her? He quickly exited the car and had her door open when she was ready to step out.

  She smiled and placed her hand in his offered palm to steady herself. Her entire hand fit in his palm. “Your mother sure raised you right.”

  Her balance was still uncertain, and he slid his arm around her waist as they navigated the cracked sidewalk. His brain insisted he was helping. His body, on an independent circuit, voted for scoring. He again mentally counted backward from ten. In Gaelic. “She tried.”

  “I read in a back issue of the paper that her women’s rowing team won the Pacific Northwest championship last year.” She fished the keys out of her bag and after two tries, unlocked the apartment door. “Great hobby.”

  She was genuinely interested, and so easy to talk to, the words tumbled out of their own accord. “My whole family loves the water.”

  “Really? Me, too. Lake, pool or bathtub, there’s almost no place else I’d rather be.”

  Something else they had in common. “Mom took up rowing after Pop died.” Only he knew how long and tormented the journey had been. His mother was the strongest woman he knew, yet she’d been devastated. After the first few shocked days, she’d pulled herself together for her sons. But he’d seen the unrelenting anguish she’d tried so hard to hide. As the oldest, he’d attempted to shield his brothers from their mom’s worst grief. “She says the physical activity helps her work off stress.”