“We were all sorry that he killed your wife and unborn child,” she said desperately. She’d had no choice, dammit. Orders had come down from the highest level and she’d had to follow them. The alderman had had a lot of political clout. Luke had beat the man almost to death and been entirely remorseless. “It was a horrible tragedy and the man deserved to be punished. And he is being punished. He’s spending the next five years in prison.”
“And in five years he’ll get out of prison and be free to get drunk and kill someone else. In five years my son would have been seven years old. Starting second grade. Playing baseball. Playing with the brothers and sisters my wife and I will never have.” He rose abruptly and turned to look out the window.
She looked at his rigid back and wished, just for a moment, that she had the right to comfort him. “I’m sorry you had to be the first one at the scene of the accident. I’m sorry that it had to be you who found her.” I’m sorry I had to be the one to fire you, she thought silently.
“I’m not.” His voice hardened. “I’m glad I was there. I want that bastard to remember my face every time he opens his eyes in the darkness. I want him to remember what he did. Every time he takes a drink, I want him to think about what my wife looked like when they cut her out of that car.”
“Don’t,” she said in a low voice. “Why are you torturing yourself like this? What do you gain by dredging up all the details? It’s over and done, Luke. There’s nothing you can change now.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Julia. You don’t know anything about it.” He spoke without turning around. His words slashed between them, erecting a barrier as effective as any brick wall.
And she had no intention of trying to break that barrier down. What had happened between them in his car earlier was nothing more than physiology, a normal reaction between two people of the opposite sex. There was no deeper significance, she told herself, clamping her mouth shut on the words that wanted to come tumbling out. She imagined Lucas McKinley had gotten plenty of sympathy in the days after his wife and unborn son had died and he’d been fired from the police force for brutality. He didn’t need any more sympathy from her. And apparently he wouldn’t welcome it, anyway.
After watching him for a minute, she stood up and smoothed her skirt, then reached for her purse. “Are you finished here?”
He turned around slowly and wiped all expression off his face. But not before she’d seen the anger, and the agony. In spite of her warnings, she wanted to offer him some comfort. But she remained silent, knowing he wouldn’t accept anything from her right now.
“Yeah. I’ll take you home.”
The car ride from the northwest side of Chicago to her apartment in Lincoln Park seemed endless. They both watched the scenery blur, neither of them speaking. There was no sign of the black car that had been following them. When she glanced in Luke’s direction, the brief flashes of illumination from the streetlights revealed a face that could have been carved from stone.
Desperate for some way to ease the tension, she finally blurted out, “Tell me about Piotyr Bernowski.”
He glanced over at her, apparently surprised. “Pete?” His face became guarded again as he watched her. “Why do you want to know about him?”
She shrugged, trying to act casual about her request. She didn’t want him to know that the way he’d interacted with Mrs. Bernowski had intrigued her, and disturbed her on some deep level. He no longer fit quite so neatly into the pigeonhole she’d labeled Lucas McKinley.
“His mother seemed so concerned about him. Not too many mothers would hire a private investigator to check up on a teenage son they were worried about.”
His face softened as he concentrated on the street in front of him. “There aren’t many mothers like Mrs. B.” After a moment, he said, “Pete’s a typical teenage boy, trying to rip the apron strings out of his mother’s hands. Unfortunately, the form of rebellion he chose could get him into real trouble.” He glanced over at her. “He’s running with one of the local gangs. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to get himself in too deep to get out.”
“What can you do about that?” she asked as they pulled to the curb a block from her apartment.
He turned to face her in the darkened car, and suddenly something thick and heavy enveloped them. Remembering the last time he’d pulled over to the curb, she edged closer to the door and found the handle. If he made one move in her direction, she’d be out of the car. She didn’t think she could cope with two encounters like that in one evening.
The corners of his mouth flickered upward for a moment, as if he could read her mind and her thoughts amused him. Settling himself back against his own door, a safe distance away from her, he crossed his arms in front of him and said, “What can I do about Piotyr? Well, there are several options. I could go to him and explain that his mother is worried about him, and that his new friends are bad boys. Or I could threaten him, tell him to quit hanging with the gang or I’ll kick his butt. Or maybe I’ll find him a job at a fast-food place, give him something else to think about.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Which option do you think I should choose?”
“I think you’re too smart to use any of them,” she retorted. “What are you really going to do?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to see how it plays out, won’t we?”
In one smooth motion he swung out of the car and closed the door. By the time he reached her door, she’d gathered her purse and her briefcase and was scrambling out of the car herself. Silently he took her elbow and steadied her while he closed the door.
She couldn’t move away from him, even though she told herself she had to. The slight touch of his hand brought back the flood of desire he’d unleashed earlier when he’d kissed her. She stood in the street, the yellow light from the streetlamp pooling around her, and began to tremble.
Dropping her elbow as if he’d been burned, Luke rested his hand lightly in the small of her back as they began to walk toward her apartment. He told himself that the contact was necessary. If she spotted someone lurking in the shadows before he did, the tensing of her body would tell him instantly.
He wouldn’t think about the way her spine curved gently under his fingers, or wonder if the rest of her skin was as soft as her mouth. He couldn’t afford to remember the explosion of passion earlier.
His hand formed a fist on her back, then dropped away. He couldn’t think about his job while he was touching her. Seeing the doorway to her apartment just ahead, he took a deep breath and lengthened his stride. She had to practically run to keep up, he noticed, but he refused to slow down. Once they were inside, he wouldn’t have to stay so damned close to her.
He swung open the heavy glass door and almost pushed her into the brightly lit lobby. “Do you have your key ready?” he asked, nodding toward the security door.
Fumbling in her purse, she finally pulled out a key ring that looked as if it could double as a weapon in a bar fight. The D-shaped piece of brass would curve to go over her hand and was as thick as two of his fingers.
Taking it from her, he looked at her incredulously. “Do you have a permit to carry this thing?”
“I work a lot of late nights, Mr. McKinley, and I have to park on the street. Since I prefer not to carry a gun, it seemed like a sensible idea.” Her voice sounded just a shade defensive.
“Hell, yes, it’s a sensible idea.” He turned the weapon over in his hand and shook his head. “I just hope you never mistake me for a mugger.”
“As long as you don’t lurk in dark alleys, you should be perfectly safe,” she answered in a cool voice as she turned and unlocked the door.
He followed her up to the third floor and silently took her key ring from her. Unlocking the door to her apartment, he motioned her to stay behind him.
He flung the door wide, sending it crashing into the wall. When it rebounded slowly into the room, he reached in and flicked on the light.
His first imp
ression of the room was that it was alive with color and light. A vibrant floral print covered her couch, and area rugs in matching bright colors covered the hardwood floor. The prints she’d chosen for her walls were scenes frantic with activity and color. Every corner of the room held greenery, lush and luxuriant.
It took only a glance to see that nobody hid in the living room. He crossed to the tiny kitchen, peering in the minuscule pantry and checking the lock carefully on the back door. The small bathroom was equally secure, and finally, with a feeling of acute discomfort, he entered her bedroom.
The colors in here were muted pastels, cool and soothing. He tried not to look at the bed that dominated the room, tried not to notice the pillows piled high or the down comforter that beckoned with softness. Hastily looking in her closets and under the bed, he ignored the whiff of her scent that floated to him as he lowered the comforter back into place and stood up.
The windows in the bedroom were tightly locked, too, and he quickly escaped back to the living room. She stood in the center of the floor, watching him with huge eyes that were more gray now than green.
“No bad guys hiding under the bed?” she asked lightly, but he could see the tenseness that shadowed her eyes.
“Not a one,” he answered just as lightly, beating down the surge of admiration. Julia Carleton wasn’t going to fall apart on him. He’d bet a million bucks she would rather die than show him any weakness.
“What time do we have to be out of here in the morning?” he asked, looking around the room.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “We aren’t going to be out of here, period. I usually leave at seven-thirty or so.”
“Don’t get your shorts in a knot,” he said mildly, although her quick assumption that he meant to stay the night had his blood heating. “I just wanted to know what time to pick you up.”
“Oh.” She turned away with a jerky movement. “I’m sorry, McKinley. I…it’s been a long day. I don’t usually jump to stupid conclusions like that.”
“It’s okay,” he answered easily, thinking about all the conclusions he’d like to jump to with her. “But I thought we’d gotten past the ‘McKinley’ bit, Julia. My name is Luke.”
She turned around to face him. “I’m sorry. I know you asked me to call you Luke. It’s just…it reminds me of two years ago, and now…you just don’t seem like a Luke to me. Your name is Lucas, isn’t it?”
He scowled. “Nobody ever calls me that.”
“How come?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been Luke for as long as I can remember.”
As she watched him, he could tell she was framing her next question. Finally she asked, “Why don’t you like being called Lucas?”
He knew it would be dangerous for Julia Carleton to start calling him Lucas. His name on her tongue sounded too intimate, too personal. And he had to keep it impersonal with her. “It’s not that I don’t like it, but nobody’s called me that for a long time.”
She waited, looking at him, and finally he sighed. “My grandmother used to call me Lucas. Nobody else has since she died.” He refused to tell her about his grandmother, the woman who’d held a special place in his heart the whole time he was growing up.
“It’s a beautiful name,” she said softly.
“Yeah, well, I answer to Luke.” He didn’t want her to know how much he liked the sound of his name on her lips. There were a lot of things he didn’t want Julia Carleton to know, it seemed.
“I’ll pick you up here tomorrow at seven-thirty. Don’t leave before I get here. Understand?”
Her eyes darkened, but she nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”
“See that you do.” He paused with his hands on the door. “Sweet dreams, Julia.”
Closing the door gently behind him, he mentally kicked himself. Now why did he say that? He didn’t give a damn if her dreams were pleasant or not. He waited outside her door until he heard the dead bolt slide home, then ran lightly down the stairs.
Walking back to his car, he scanned the streets carefully. It was a lot easier to concentrate without Julia next to him, distracting him with her subtle scent and warm skin.
There was no sign of the black sedan, or anyone else watching him, for that matter. It wasn’t that late, but the streets in Julia’s quiet neighborhood were virtually deserted. He got in his car and drove around the block, just to be sure no one sat in a car watching her apartment. Maybe they figured she was safely settled for the night with her lover, he thought cynically, remembering their kiss in the car earlier.
His body tightened and he pressed his foot on the accelerator. If he spent a few hours at his office, looking over the files she’d given him earlier, he’d forget about his incendiary reaction to her. Not bloody likely, he thought savagely as he sped through a yellow light. But at least it would tire him out enough so he’d be able to fall asleep.
When he reached his office he parked just down the street. Unlike other parts of the city that stayed up all night, his blue-collar neighborhood went to bed early. He was always the only one in his office building this late at night.
Locking and slamming the car door, he shoved his keys into his pocket and headed for his office. He had his hand on the door to his building and had just begun to open it when an orange ball of flame burst through his office window with a dull roar, right above his head. He was looking up, amazed, when he slammed into something hard and slid to the ground and the world slowly spun away into a black void.
Julia lay in bed, wide-awake. The red numbers of the clock on the nightstand said it was 3:24 in the morning, but it felt as if she’d been lying in this bed, rigid and sleepless, for at least several days.
Rolling over onto her other side, she punched her pillow into place with a vengeance and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. It didn’t make any difference. The same pictures still rolled through her head—Luke at his office, soothing Mrs. Bernowski’s fears. The haunted, agonized look in his eyes as he talked about the accident that had killed his wife and unborn son and banished him from the police force. And the memory that heated her blood and set her nerves on edge, the kiss they’d shared in his car.
It was no use. She rolled over again and stared up at the ceiling. She might as well get up and do something useful, for nothing was going to banish his image from her mind tonight. For two years she’d been able to dismiss her fantasies about him, telling herself that no matter how attractive, he was a former cop and part of her job. She wasn’t interested in getting involved with a cop ever again. And especially not one who hated her.
But pictures of him still swirled through her mind. Maybe there was more to Lucas McKinley than she’d thought at first.
It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly. No matter what or who he was, there was no way she was going to get involved with him. They were doing business together, business that involved her brother Bobby. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by any man right now, but especially not by the man who was doing the investigating.
She slid out of bed, thinking that maybe a cup of tea would help her sleep. As she walked into her living room, the darkness was shattered by the harsh ringing of her buzzer. Feeling her heart pound, she stared at the front door as if it could somehow tell her who stood in the lobby, demanding entrance.
Wrapping her robe around her with shaking hands, she moved to the door on stiff legs and pushed the intercom. “Who’s there?” she asked, praying that the static would disguise her shaking voice.
“It’s Luke McKinley, Julia. Let me in.”
His voice sounded strained and urgent, and she pushed the lock button without thinking twice. In just a few seconds she heard him coming up the stairs, moving slowly and heavily. She waited until he knocked on the door, then looked through her peephole to make sure it was Luke before opening it.
She drew in a sharp breath when she saw him. His face was covered with fine red lines, and she realized with horror that they were dried blood. Glancing down, she saw
that the backs of his hands were smeared with the same red, and that his clothes were covered with dirt.
“My God, what happened to you?” she cried, taking his hand and pulling him into her apartment.
For a moment he clung to her hand, then he let go and headed for her kitchen. “Do you have a gas stove?” he asked, opening the oven door and peering inside.
“No, it’s electric.” She stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. “Do you often show up at people’s houses at three-thirty in the morning, covered with blood, to ask what kind of stove they have?”
He walked out of the kitchen and stood in front of her bookcases, scanning the titles. “Come over here and tell me if any of these books don’t belong to you. And do it quickly.”
The fear that had been curdling in her stomach ever since he’d rung her buzzer now moved to her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Her legs felt frozen and stiff as she moved slowly over to stand next to him. “Why do I…?”
“Don’t waste time asking questions. Just do it now.” He answered without looking at her, occasionally pulling out a book and leafing through it quickly. “Hurry, Julia.”
She looked dutifully at the books, checking each title as she scanned down the shelves. When she got to the bottom, she said, “They’re all mine.”
He looked at her sharply. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now will you please tell me what this is all about?”
“In a minute.” He examined her stereo, television and VCR, then disappeared into her bedroom as she watched numbly, unable to move.
When he reappeared a few minutes later, some of the tension was gone from his face. He started to ease down on the couch, then caught himself. Kneeling on the floor, he looked under the couch and all the other furniture, then removed the cushions and slid his hands into the cracks.
Finally he slid down onto the couch and looked at her. “Come sit down,” he said in the gentle voice she’d heard him use with Mrs. Bernowski. “It’s all right, I think.”
An Honorable Man Page 6
