“The suspense is killing me here,” he warned with a slight smile.
She had to smile, too, and it was then that she knew she was going to go for it, whatever the future cost might be.
“I guess we could give it a chance,” she agreed.
Then he smiled, and straightened away from the doorjamb and opened his arms to her. And she walked into them.
Chapter 25
OF COURSE, THEY ENDED up not getting much sleep at all, even though they did spend the night together in his big, rumpled bed. They made love, and talked, and dozed off, only to awaken and do it all again. She told him some things about her early life, about how she had met Ben’s father when they had both worked at the same casino, about falling crazily in love with him and marrying him in a quickie, impulsive Atlantic City wedding chapel ceremony and then getting pregnant with Ben, only to discover that the last thing Chaz White wanted was a family cramping his style. She told him the truth about Chaz, and why he left, and how he died. And she told him about finding herself broke and alone with baby Ben; about Chaz’s associates coming around looking for money he’d lost gambling and still owed them, and demanding she pay it back; about taking a good, hard look at the life she’d led up until that point and deciding that it wasn’t the life she wanted for her precious son. She told him about packing up her old car and driving away with baby Ben and their few possessions, about ending up in Philly, where she’d gone on welfare at first to survive, where she’d started college, where she’d started calling herself Kate. Where she’d become Kate. For Ben.
What she didn’t tell him was how she’d come to leave Baltimore, or about David Brady.
He told her about his father, who’d been a cop. About his death from a sudden heart attack, how he went to work one day and boom, he just keeled over. About trying his best to be the man in the family after that. About getting married young, to his high school sweetheart. About becoming a cop even though Michelle objected. About her getting pregnant and him getting shot on the job—of which the scar on his abdomen was a permanent souvenir. By the time he was fully recovered, Josh had been born and the marriage, torpedoed by Michelle’s insistence that he quit the force, was kaput. Josh was only six weeks old when Michelle left Tom for good, taking the baby with her.
What he didn’t talk about, not another word, was his son’s death. And that Kate completely understood.
Whenever possible, the worst, most painful memories were best left to lie undisturbed.
They must have fallen asleep again at last, because when Kate finally opened her eyes, the room was gray instead of black and she realized that it was from light streaming in around the drawn curtains. There was a weird buzzing sound that she couldn’t place, so she lifted her head to look for the source, pushing her hair, which had come out of its knot almost as soon as she’d walked into Tom’s arms the previous night, out of her eyes as she did so. The bed, complete with black comforter, mismatched sheets and pillowcases, and a pine headboard, stood in the center of the room. An oak chest with a small TV on top of it was directly opposite. A worn brown armchair sat in a corner. A round table of the sort that was supposed to have a tablecloth thrown over it, but without the cloth, served as a bedside table, with a clear glass lamp on it. The buzzing sound seemed to come from the table.
At about the same time that Kate figured out that the buzzing sound was coming from his phone, which was vibrating away on the table, Tom opened an eye, cocked it toward the table, then stretched a long arm out to pick it up.
“Tom Braga,” Tom said into the phone a moment later, as Kate blinked at the digital numbers on the clock beside the lamp—7:42 a.m.
With an inner groan, she dropped her head back down in its previous spot on Tom’s chest. His arm tightened around her shoulders.
“You need a ride to work or what?” Kate could hear the other man’s voice coming over the phone perfectly, although she didn’t recognize it.
“I’m taking a personal day,” Tom said.
“A personal day?” The voice sounded astounded.
“You haven’t missed a day of work in ten years.”
“ ’Bout time then, wouldn’t you say?”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the red Civic that’s parked in your parking space, would it?”
Tilting her head so that she could see Tom’s face, Kate watched him frown.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Circling the block. Your car’s at the Roundhouse, remember? I was going to give you a ride in?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Thanks for coming by.”
“She got you, didn’t she? The smokin’ little prosecutor got you.”
Tom slanted a glance down at her. “Her name’s Kate, Fish.”
“Goddamn it, Tom—”
But whatever else Fish had been going to say was lost, because Tom disconnected. Then he punched a number, and told the woman who answered that he was taking a personal day. By the time he finished that call, Kate was making twisty little curls out of the hair on his chest.
“ ‘Smokin’ little prosecutor,’ hmm?” Lifting her head, she gave him a severe look.
He grinned at her. “I wondered if you could hear that.
And I would say, definitely smokin’.”
They were tangled together in the middle of the bed with their legs entwined and only a sheet for covering because they’d gotten hot in the small hours of the night. She was sure they looked very intimate. Very involved. Like a couple, which she guessed they now kind of were. Falling asleep for the last time before the ringing phone woke her, Kate had wondered if she would panic in the morning, if she would regret the night before in the worst way, if it would all seem just horribly wrong by the bright light of day. She hadn’t gotten much sleep. Her left shoulder ached from having been wedged beneath his for most of the night. Other parts of her body were making themselves felt in interesting ways. As for her prince, he was bleary-eyed and tousle-haired and in dire need of a shave.
But he was grinning at her, with one arm tucked behind his head now and the other wrapped around her shoulders. He was naked, and the lean, muscular warmth of him felt intoxicating against her smooth skin. And he was right, there was a connection between them, something special happening here, and besides, he’d turned her on to sex for what was really the first time in her life, and she wasn’t about to say no to more of that.
The bottom line was, she didn’t regret a thing.
“By the way, you look beautiful first thing in the morning,” he said, and rolled with her so that she was on her back and he was looming above her on his elbows.
Kate traced a teasing finger down the middle of the wide, hair-roughened expanse of his chest.
“So do you,” she informed him, because it was the truth, and then, because it was obvious where this was going, she added, “I need to pick Ben up at noon.”
“Not a problem,” he said, and kissed her.
SO MAYBE he was stupid, Tom thought later that day as he found himself at Southland Lanes Bowling Emporium, a new, mega-bowling alley not too far from Kate’s house, where Ben had been invited to a birthday party by another kid in his class, along with, apparently, the entire fourth grade. Kate had offered to let him off the hook, to let him go do whatever it was he wanted to do while she took care of the party scenario with Ben, then meet up later. But Tom was having none of it, both because he was afraid that, with her penchant for finding trouble, things might go south fast if he wasn’t there to keep an eye out and because he wanted to see how he handled the family thing. The last-minute invitation involved rushing around for a present, waiting in the Civic as Kate walked Ben in, and then, two hours later, going in with her to pick Ben up. Only the kids weren’t finished bowling yet. And some of the adults had been bowling with their kids. And Ben, excited, had asked Kate and him to bowl with him and his friend Samantha, just one more game. Kate had looked alarmed—once he’d seen her bowl, Tom understood, because she was
lousy at it, gutter ball after gutter ball—but she did it, grace under pressure personified in her snug-fitting jeans and black pullover sweater with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows; he, on the other hand, was good, earning Ben’s admiration, racking up strike after strike (okay, a couple of spares, too) surrounded by a gang of screaming kids and their parents that would have driven him out of the building in a hurry on any other day.
He even had fun. Which, he recognized, was because Kate was there with him having fun, laughing at herself as she almost went nose-first down the lane with the ball, applauding him, applauding Ben, interacting with the other adults with cheerful ease, more relaxed and carefree than he had ever seen her.
And beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.
It was sometime between bowling and dinner, which the three of them had together at Rotolo’s, a little Italian restaurant Tom knew, that he accepted the fact that there was no maybe about it: He was stupid. He’d fallen hard for this woman, and her kid as well, which meant his heart was hanging out there, vulnerable, just like he’d sworn he would never let it be again. But this thing between him and Kate had snuck up on him, and it was now too late to do anything about it. He was along for the ride, wherever it went.
It was upon leaving Rotolo’s that they ran into his mother. Of course. The day had been going too smoothly not to have a bump in it.
Not that his mother was a bump, exactly. But she was definitely nosy, definitely more than interested in his love life, and if he’d had a choice, he would have kept Kate and her son out of her orbit for a good long while to come. He was following Ben and Kate, and as soon as he stepped out the door of the restaurant he saw his mother there on the sidewalk, waiting to walk in. Their eyes widened in mutual recognition—actually, hers widened in mutual recognition and delight, his in mutual recognition and horror—and then she said “Tommy!” with a huge smile on her face, and he saw Natalia and her husband, Dean, and their two kids behind his mother the instant before she engulfed him in a Shalimar-infused hug. Then his nephew and niece threw themselves at him and he’d had to hug them and his sister and shake his brother-in-law’s hand.
And then five pairs of interested eyes turned as one to Kate and Ben, who were standing together a little way away, obviously waiting for him.
So he caught Kate’s hand, pulled her over, and performed the introductions, knowing even as he did it that the family gossip network would go into overdrive about this. While Kate was interrogated by his mother—“What do you do?” “Where are you from?” “Oh, a widow, so sad”—Natalia looked her over from head to toe with speculative interest. Then, as he caught his sister’s eye to frown at her, Natalia gave him a look of such wide-eyed glee that he’d known she was onto him, known she’d guessed that Kate was someone special, known that she was practically bursting with excitement at the prospect and ready to spill her take on the relationship to all family members not present as soon as he was out of the way and she could get to her phone.
God save me from my family, he thought sourly, and as soon as he decently could, he ended the gabfest by announcing that they had to go.
“She’s a nice girl. I like this one,” his mother whispered in his ear as she hugged him good-bye. Then, to Kate, she added, “We have lunch every Sunday. The whole family. Lots of good food. You and your son should come.” Then she looked at him again. “Tommy, you bring them.”
Tom made some kind of noncommittal reply, then, catching Kate’s hand again, beat a hasty retreat, conscious of being followed by his mother’s and sister’s eyes until he and Kate and Ben rounded the corner into the parking lot and were out of sight. It was night now, and cold, and he was wearing a white shirt, which he wore untucked to hide his gun, and jeans with no coat. Still, he felt surprisingly hot, and unwillingly acknowledged that it just might be with embarrassment.
“Sorry about that,” he said, shooting Kate a sideways look. Smiling, with her hair waving down around her shoulders and her eyes sparkling with amusement, she looked young and gorgeous and happy. No wonder the group had been eyeing her like a trout spotting a fly.
And then there was Ben. They knew Tom well enough to guess that no way would he be just casually dating a woman with a son.
Think Superman and kryptonite.
Therefore, they would assume that this was something serious.
Which maybe it was.
“Are you kidding? They were wonderful. Your mother is so nice. And your sister looks just like you.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Tommy.”
He responded to that with a smile.
“How many people are in your family?” Ben asked as they piled into the Civic, which was what they were driving since Tom had not yet had a chance to retrieve his car from the Roundhouse. “It seems like a lot.”
“There are a lot.” Tom pulled out of the parking lot and hung a right on Chisholm, which would take them to the expressway and then to Kate’s house, where, he and Kate had agreed in a very adult, logistics-of-the-relationship kind of discussion before they picked up Ben, they would spend the night. Another part of the agreement had involved their behavior around Ben—no kissing, no overt displays of affection, no sleeping together while Ben was under the same roof. Tom doubted that he would have been allowed to stay over, now that things between him and Kate were personal, if Kate had been totally sure whoever killed the guy in her garage wasn’t coming back. But since he actually admired her efforts to protect her son, Tom found he didn’t have a problem with the restrictions she laid down. Besides, the kid went to school, he and Kate both had lunch hours, and there were always nooners. And babysitters. “Nineteen, at last count.”
“Wow.” Ben sounded impressed. To this only child of a single mother, the thought of so many relatives was mind-boggling. “How do they all fit in one house?”
“It’s a squeeze,” Tom admitted with a laugh.
Kate hadn’t been back to her house since he had taken her out of there the night before, and Tom could tell she was a little uneasy as they turned onto her street, which was dark except for lights burning from a few windows along the way. With what he considered truly praiseworthy sensitivity to her feelings, he parked in her driveway. No need to use the garage tonight, or at all until he’d done a visual inspection to make sure that the crime scene had been completely cleaned up, as he’d made arrangements for it to be. The only other visible signs of what had happened were a few tire tracks in the front yard. Otherwise, the house looked just as it always did.
Just to be on the safe side, though, Tom went in first, turning on the lights and conducting a quick—and, he hoped, unnoticed by Ben—search of the house. It was clean.
He nodded at Kate to tell her so when he returned to the living room.
It was almost eight o’clock by that time, and he was starting to feel the effects of almost a whole week with very little sleep. He eyed the couch with disfavor. But there was no way he was leaving these two alone until he was sure they would be safe, and Kate had nixed the idea of sleeping over at his house again, because she didn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea (or was it the right idea?) about their relationship. Since her third bedroom was unfurnished, it was either the couch or her bed, and it had already been made clear to him that her bed wasn’t an option with her son in the house.
So it looked like his only alternative was to learn to love the couch.
He and Ben shot a little ball—the kid was getting better every time, although he remained gloomy about his prospects for not sucking the following week in gym—and then the three of them settled in to watch a movie on TV, with him and Ben side by side on the couch and Kate sitting primly all by herself in the gold chair. Tom didn’t realize he’d dozed off until his phone, which was in the pocket of his jeans, started vibrating like crazy and woke him up.
The end credits of the movie were scrolling across the screen, and both Kate and Ben were on their feet, looking at him, when his eyes popped open and he reached for his pocket like he was going for
a gun before he remembered who was who and what was what.
The caller was Fish.
“Just wanted to let you know that they found your girlfriend’s car.”
That woke him up. He sat up, blinking. “What? Where?”
“About a block from her house. Mulberry Street.
They towed it in. It’s at the impound lot.”
“Oh, yeah?” Clearly hoping to keep Ben from overhearing things he shouldn’t, Kate was already shooing the kid toward the stairs. Tom stood up and walked into the dark kitchen. “Anything I should know?”
“Dead guy’s fingerprints are all over it. I’d say it’s a sure bet that he drove it over there. Probably walked the rest of the way to her house. How he got into the garage, though, is still up in the air. No sign of breaking and entering.”
“Maybe he was able to activate the garage door opener.” Or—and Tom hated the fact that the thought even ran through his mind—maybe somebody let him in.
“Maybe.”
“Any leads on who might have shot him?”
“Not yet.” There was a pause. “Where are you?”
“Kate’s house.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me, I wonder?” Tom could almost see Fish’s grimace. “Stay objective, man.”
Tom recognized a warning when he heard one.
Kate came into the kitchen then. The light from the living room backlit her blond hair and slender shape. Just watching the movements of her long legs and swaying hips as she walked toward him turned him on. Leaning back against the counter near the sink, Tom settled in to enjoy the effect.
Think she’s told you everything? Not a chance. You still don’t know what she’s been lying about. You still don’t know what’s been scaring her. And for all she told you about her past, she hasn’t said a word—not one—about what caused her to leave Baltimore.
Guilty Page 30
