Her Husband’s Partner

by Jeanie London

  That part at least shouldn’t come as a surprise. Scott was good people. She’s always known that. No, the surprise was the way he was inserting himself into her life, becoming more than Mike’s friend. She liked the man she was getting to know and couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think if he could read her thoughts right now.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SCOTT HATED STAKEOUTS for a variety of reasons. Topping the list was the fact that he didn’t like to sit still for extended periods of time, so cramped in the front seat of his cruiser translated into the worst form of physical torture. Added to the physical torture was a mental one—stakeouts meant maintaining an alertness that was impossible to achieve without moving around to keep the blood flowing.

  As such, he was forced to drink copious amounts of coffee to avoid slipping into a coma, but then he wanted to relieve himself way more than was convenient for sitting on a side street trying to look inconspicuous.

  Then there was his partner.

  Mike had understood the finer points of a stakeout. Even Roger, with his barely-two-years-until-retirement mentality, had understood that spending the night jammed in the front seat of a cruiser waiting for something to happen was a delicate balance of tolerance, patience and not doing anything to make an already bad situation worse.

  Kevin hadn’t figured that out yet. Scott wasn’t sure he ever would. Kevin viewed the stakeout as the land of opportunity. Time to talk shop. Time to brainstorm stalled cases. Time to “bond”—whatever the hell that meant. They hadn’t been sitting in front of the hardware store they suspected of being used as a drug drop for an hour before Scott was itching to point his service weapon at his new partner with the directive to shut up or be shut up.

  Scott had tried to be reasonable. He understood Kevin was young and didn’t seem to sit still any better than Scott did. Then there was the fact that Kevin was new to vice and wanted to impress the chief. One way to do that was to fit in, which Scott guessed had led to the whole “bonding” thing.

  He tried to make a game out of it: How many ways could he convey to Kevin that he didn’t want to talk without actually saying the words?

  He’d lost count somewhere around midnight. Kevin refused to get the message. By 3:00 a.m., Scott had dispensed with the subtleties and flat-out said, “Will you shut up, man? You’re too busy talking and not busy enough doing the surveillance. A damn cow could stroll by ringing a bell and you wouldn’t hear it.”

  Kevin had just laughed and shut up for a grand total of ten minutes. And Scott knew that Mike was up there somewhere, laughing his fool head off.

  Maybe that was why Scott had Riley and the kids on his mind after finally dropping Kevin off at the precinct a few hours later. Scott decided to cruise by Riley’s place to reassure himself all was well at the farm, even though Pleasant Valley wasn’t remotely close to his place out on Salt Point. But he had gallons of Starbucks Sumatra blend pumping through him, so he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, especially now that the sun was up and most of the world was starting the new day.

  Scott wasn’t sure what he’d expected to be going on at the crack of dawn, but it definitely wasn’t finding the minivan doors flung wide and Jake loading up the back seat with pillows, blankets and a bucket. Brian’s car was nowhere to be seen.

  Scott had planned to drive by, but a little kid with pillows and a bucket invited a visit.

  Slowing as he cruised into the driveway, Scott lowered the tinted window so Jake could see him.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said. “What are you up to?”

  Jake hopped out of the minivan, surprise melting into recognition on his face. “Oh, hi, Uncle Scott. I’m making a nest for Camille. She’s sick.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Jake shook his head solemnly, expression set in a grimace. “She has a headache. They make her puke.”

  That explained the bucket. “Brian’s not around?”

  “Mommy said he had a cook-off at college. He’s gonna bring us leftovers.”

  Scott nodded. “Where’s your mom—”

  “Jake, where are you?” Riley’s voice interrupted him from inside the house.

  There was no missing the frantic edge to her voice. Jake didn’t miss it, either, because he didn’t say another word, just dumped the things he held inside the van and spun on his heels.

  Scott slipped the car into Park and got out. He heard Jake announcing him when he got to the door and held the porch door wide, “Hey, Riley. I know it’s a bad time—”

  “No. No, it’s not. Come on in.”

  He found her in the living room, with the shutters closed and the lights off. She knelt beside Camille, who was curled up in a tiny ball on the couch, a pitiful bundle of bright pajamas, colorful quilts and seemingly well-loved stuffed animals. She had a wet washcloth over her eyes and a bucket within easy reach. Her little mouth was drawn and pale even in the darkness.

  Riley was smoothing hair away from her daughter’s forehead, and though she was playing the part of “mom” with her gentle touch and frazzled expression, she certainly wasn’t dressed the part. The business suit she wore neatly hugged her curves and left the long expanse of her legs bare. She’d pulled her hair back, exposing her features in a way that normally got lost beneath all the hair. High cheekbones. Graceful curve of her jaw. Slender lines of her throat. Lots of smooth skin.

  “She okay?” he asked, a distraction.

  Riley glanced up. “Migraine.”

  “Isn’t she a little young?”

  “Don’t I wish.” Riley rearranged the stuffed animals on her daughter’s pillow. “Try to sleep, sweetie. The medicine will start to work soon, I promise.”

  Camille barely managed a weak groan, and Scott just stood there, surveying the scene, not a part of it, but from the outside. He watched Riley rearrange the stuffed animals again, recognized the action as busywork for hands that wanted to be doing more.

  “Mom, I’m gonna be late.” Jake’s urgency seemed to be apace of Riley’s, and Scott remembered Riley’s words about Jake’s tough week at school. Walking in at this hour probably wouldn’t do much for morale at this stage of the game. Moving Camille didn’t look like such a hot idea, either.

  “I’ll take Jake to school,” Scott offered. “If it’ll help.”

  She glanced up at him, and there was so much in her expression, too much to make out. But Scott made his career out of reading people. She was overwhelmed.

  And in that moment she was no longer the Riley he’d always known—laughing, genuine, competent, crazy in love with her husband. Right now she was a woman with responsibilities and a lot of people depending on her.

  She was a woman he wanted to help.

  “Sweet pea, we’ll leave in a minute,” she told Jake, standing with an agitated burst of energy. “No worries. Will you sit with Camille for a second while I talk with Uncle Scott?”

  Jake plopped down beside the sofa with a huff.

  Riley led Scott to her bedroom and motioned him inside. He stood on the brink of a room he didn’t want to enter, a room that encouraged thoughts of Riley that he couldn’t allow himself to think. But Scott’s best interests weren’t the priority right now, so he braced himself and stepped inside. The door had barely closed behind him before she erupted.

  “Oh, Scott, thank you so much. I’d love to take you up on your offer, but I’m not sure it’ll help,” she said on one pent-up breath. “Jake gets so worked up. Maybe being with you will distract him. But getting him to school isn’t the problem. The county head of criminal justice is giving a press conference in an hour. He’s addressing the charges of accepting a bribe to push that food contract through his department. Have you heard about it?”

  Scott barely nodded before she forged ahead.

  “I’ve got to get into town before eight, and I was already pushing it with a side trip to school. Then Camille woke up with a migraine. She’s so sick, and I’ve called everyone I can think of to watch her. Rosie and Joe ar
e in Atlantic City. Caroline’s hosting a pharmaceutical company brunch at the hospital for Alex. The aunties are at work and the kids are in school. Brian’s not even around. I don’t want to take Camille to work with me, but what else can I do? I can’t leave her.”

  She exhaled an exasperated groan. “I hate this! What kind of mother leaves her little sickie? But I can’t leave Max hanging. He won’t be able to get anyone to cover the press conference with this short of notice, and I can’t be in three places at one time—”

  “Riley.” Scott stepped forward and clamped both hands over her shoulders to brace her.

  His touch seemed to startle her. It startled him. The feel of her beneath his hands, solid, warm and so completely real.

  “Riley,” he repeated, trying to block out the way his hands molded easily over her shoulders. A perfect fit. “Take a deep breath.”

  She lifted her gaze to his.

  He met the worry in her expression and found his own breath coming with effort. “Let me help. Does Camille need to go to the doctor?”

  She shook her head, finally coming around. He forced himself to let her go, to let his hands slip away.

  “No. She needs to sleep. She’s had migraines before. I’m pretty sure she’s through the worst of it.”

  “Would you like me to stay with her?”

  She narrowed her gaze, a look that, at the same time, was hopeful and suspicious. “Don’t you have to work?”

  “All-night stakeout” was all he said. “I’m too wired to even think about sleep, so I decided to play patrol and make sure all my favorite people were okay.”

  Her eyes closed, black lashes shuttering those sparkling eyes for the briefest of instants. A look of such relief crossed her face, as if his action was so much more than a simple offer to help out, as if he was so much more than he was.

  “Would you, Scott? I can’t leave her with just anyone, but she trusts you. I trust you. And I won’t be long. I swear. Just a few questions after the press conference, and I’ll come straight home.”

  But he wasn’t anything more than a friend who’d driven by at the right time. “No problem. Do what you need to do. If the little sickie just needs some sleep, that’s easy.”

  “I have my cell. Call me if—”

  “We’ll be okay. What’s the worst-case scenario?” he asked. “I call 9-1-1. I might not know much about little kids, but I do know everyone at emergency dispatch. They’ll fix me up.”

  That had the desired effect. Riley visibly relaxed and gave a smile, a blinding one that made her seem to glow from the inside out. “You’re an answer to a prayer.”

  Scott didn’t know what to say to that, so he pulled open the door and stepped aside. He wanted out of this bedroom. He wanted away from any reminder of Riley as a woman, and that big bed only made his thoughts travel in places they had no business traveling. She was a worried mom, and only a depraved jerk would be pumping his ego up at her expense right now.

  Thoughts about riding in to save the day were the stuff of eight-year-old fantasies. He was an adult who’d made a promise to a friend. One he intended to keep. Period.

  But Scott couldn’t deny the wave of pleasure he felt when she hurried past, the smile still on her face and relief fueling her with purpose as her heels tapped sharply over the wood-beamed floors.

  “Okay, kiddos.” She reentered the living room with a take-charge stride, her control no longer just a facade for her kids’ benefits. “We’re back in action.”

  One fluid motion and she was on her knees beside Camille again, peering cautiously under the washcloth. “Sweetie, how’s your head? Any better at all?”

  Scott couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Camille’s eyes squeeze tighter against the light.

  He resisted the urge to do the same, to block out the sight of Riley, all lean curves and bare legs.

  “Uncle Scott is going to stay with you for a little while. Just till Mommy gets back, okay?”

  Camille managed a weak nod.

  “I have my cell, so you call me if you need me, okay? Uncle Scott will get you whatever you need, but your medicine should kick in soon, so you’ll probably sleep.” Riley pressed her lips to Camille’s hand. “I love you. I’ll be back as fast as I can.” She kissed that pale little hand again, then tucked it beneath the quilt.

  “C’mon, Jake. If we hurry, we’ll make it.” She rose to her feet, glancing around at Scott. “Please, make yourself at home. There’s plenty of food if you’re hungry. If she wants something to drink there’s Gatorade in the pantry. Not cold. She likes the berry kind. The red stuff.”

  He nodded. “Got it. I’ll call if I have any questions.”

  She gave him another one of those smiles.

  “You really are a godsend, Scott. Thank you.” She disappeared out the door, leaving Scott standing in the foyer, fighting so hard not to be impressed with himself for making her smile that way.

  He was still staring at the door when the minivan ground out of the driveway and took off down the road.

  And a huge part of him felt relieved that she was gone, relieved for the chance to get a lid on reactions that were so unworthy of Riley and himself. Of the man he’d chosen to be.

  Pulling the door shut, Scott sucked in a deep breath to regain his focus, to release the conflict and send unwanted thoughts on their way.

  Okay, so here he was…babysitting.

  He could handle this. Riley would never have left Camille with him if she hadn’t been sure he could handle the job.

  Of course, Riley had been desperate.

  An answer to a prayer.

  Mike—wherever he might be—would be getting a lot of laughs at Scott’s expense today. No question. As long as he couldn’t read minds.

  Scott definitely needed to get a grip. So he locked the front door, armed the security system with the motion detectors disabled and went to check on his patient.

  The little sickie was exactly where her mommy had left her, and he sank to his knees, made sure she was still comfortable. Hard to tell. She was so tiny in that massive bundle of quilts and stuffed animals….

  “Uncle Scott?” Her voice was as tiny as she was, a throaty croak in the early-morning stillness.

  “Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”

  She pulled a face, barely discernible except for the effort it took.

  “Can I get you something? How about some red Gatorade?”

  A few pale blond hairs moved over the pillow as she shifted her head. “Lie down.”

  “You want me to lie down?”

  The living room had been arranged with comfort in mind, and two plush couches created an L-shaped grouping against one wall. Camille lay on the couch facing the fireplace. Scott decided he could stretch out on the other couch and still face her.

  “How about over there?” He pointed to the other couch.

  “In a nest.”

  Scott frowned. “A nest?”

  With a weak hand, she pushed aside the washcloth and tried to open her eyes. “Mommy has blankets in the closet.”

  Her voice was a throaty croak, and he knew he was making her work too hard to explain what she wanted. What in hell was a nest? Should he call Riley? Blankets in the closet… Then it clicked. Jake had been making a nest in the van. Little kid wrapped like a mummy in blankets.

  A nest.

  “I’ll be back.”

  It took three tries to find the right closet, but he soon returned with an armful of blankets. Camille had turned her head to the side to watch him, so pitifully still, as if just the effort of observing sapped her strength.

  He spread out the largest blanket, tossed a few throw pillows on one side, kicked off his shoes and lay down. Then he pulled the other blankets over him. “How’s this?”

  She gave a wan smile. Then she let her eyes close again.

  Scott lay there and watched her as the light beyond the shutters brightened the room in slow degrees. But Camille seemed to be resting comfortably. Surprisi
ngly, lying down in the warm comfort of his “nest” was also having an effect on him. He didn’t think it was a good idea to sleep, in case the patient needed him. He could last a few more hours. But only if he got up and moved around.

  He would. In a minute. Right now, he was struck by the silent familiarity of the dim room. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and Mike had sat in here with the chief, watching the NFL draft or the play-offs while anyone who wasn’t on duty dropped by to catch updates on the game.

  Riley would keep the kids occupied or be in the kitchen cooking or brewing coffee, always in the background during those visits, always there making sure Mike’s guests had what they needed for a good time.

  He watched Camille sleep, knew she had no clue about how lucky she was to have a mom who loved her. But Scott knew. He knew from dealing with the kids at Renaissance. He knew firsthand from his own upbringing. And along the way he’d formulated his own ideas about families, about the way they should be. Mike and Riley had created the sort of family he admired. They’d wanted their kids to grow up in the comfort and security of a home that offered unconditional love and support.

  Riley was carrying the torch now.

  Scott hated seeing her so upset this morning, guilt tugging at her from all directions. She was an amazing mom, the best, but she hadn’t felt that way. He was so damned glad he’d dropped by. But he wasn’t Riley’s answer to a prayer.

  He was someone who had no business being here.

  This was Mike’s life, and Mike should be living it. Then Riley wouldn’t be torn between a job she needed and her sick kid. She wouldn’t always have that haunted look behind her expression, as if she hadn’t figured out how to be happy again.

  Scott didn’t have a death wish by any stretch, but he’d worked on that case with Mike…and he hadn’t had anything more to lose than his life. Literally. He didn’t have a wife and kids who were crazy about him, who waited for him to come home after a shift, who depended on him.

  And that had never felt as empty as it did right now.