by Mallory Kane
She might have died.
He put his palms against his closed eyelids. His eyes burned like fire, like hot tears. He rubbed his eyes, then leaned his head back against the railing and stared up at the moon. He tried to swallow the lump of fear that was stuck in his throat. Not fear for himself. Fear for Dana. She had innocently turned that key. It was as simple as that.
Click.
Boom.
The setting moon swam dizzily in his vision, and Cody felt something wet run down his cheek, tickling as it ran.
A thought occurred to him. This was what Dana had gone through, day after day, night after endless night while she waited for him to come home. This was how she’d felt, sitting alone, waiting to find out if the bullet Fontenot had put into his brain would kill him. For the first time, Cody understood, in a way he never had before, why she’d left him.
He sat there, helpless, while the vision of the flashing lights played over and over in his head. Every time it played, he felt again the agonizing terror, the split second of unbearable horror, while he waited for the explosion that he was powerless to stop.
After a while, he closed his eyes and tears dripped down his cheeks. He sniffed and blinked, but they just kept coming.
Another realization came to him. This was why she didn’t like to cry. Crying made you feel so damned helpless, so vulnerable, so out of control. So Cody, a man who’d never cried in his life, wept silently, helplessly, without really knowing how.
A long time later, he went inside. He quietly pushed open the bedroom door. In the gray half light of dawn he could see Dana, all curled in on herself, sleeping as if her life depended on it. It was his fault she was so tense. His fault that she couldn’t relax, even in sleep.
He watched her for a while, just to reassure himself that she was truly all right. Then, quietly and slowly, he lay down on the bed beside her.
She stirred and turned over, pushing back against him the way they used to sleep long ago, when they were in love. Desire stirred in him, familiar as a lingering taste of wine or something sweet.
But what awed him and frightened the wits out of him was the way her body relaxed, molding against his, in innocent, unconscious trust. She’d been tense and rigid, but in sleep, instinctively, she trusted him, and her body relaxed.
His throat ached with emotion, but he swallowed hard and draped his arm over her waist. He was beginning to understand more and more about his wife.
And he was beginning to realize how much he’d missed her, because, for the first time in four years, for the first time since she’d last lain beside him, Cody felt like he could sleep peacefully.
He closed his eyes, comforted by her presence, and wondered how long it would take Fontenot to find them.
A BIRD SCREECHED right outside the window, pulling Dana into the day. She stretched and turned over, burrowing her nose into Cody’s back and slipping her arm around his waist from behind. She snuggled up against the curve of his spine and dozed, secure in the knowledge that he was home, safe.
The bird screeched again, and the low, faraway grunt of an alligator floated in the window on the breeze. A dawning consciousness of the room around her woke her a little more. They were at the lake house. She yawned and snuggled in closer to Cody’s warm back. Something wasn’t quite right.
Then she woke up enough to remember that they were divorced and he shouldn’t be in bed with her.
She jerked away and sat up. “Cody! What are you doing here?”
Cody jumped, then cursed. “Ouch!”
He grimaced and sat up gingerly, cradling his left arm. Dana looked at the bandage on his arm, then at his pale, drawn face. She’d forgotten where they were, forgotten about his wound. For a minute there, snuggled against his warm, hard body the way she’d always loved to sleep, she’d forgotten a lot of things, like the last four years.
“Sorry,” she grumbled ungraciously, “but what are you doing in my bed?”
His face turned red and he tossed back the covers and got up. “I came in to check on you,” he said shortly.
Dana hardly heard what he said. She already knew he had no shirt on, because she’d woken up with her cheek resting on his bare back, and her breasts pressed against his sleep-warmed skin. But all that covered him were a pair of boxer shorts. Her eyes scanned the long, lean body she’d once known as well as her own, the delicious curve of his back, the well-shaped buttocks that looked so great in jeans, his long legs.
“Check on me? For what?” She didn’t like the idea that he thought she needed checking on. Slowly, all the events of the day before came back to her. Her heart sped up. “Did something happen? Did you hear something?”
He turned around at the door and looked at her with those incredible blue eyes that could still stop her heart. “No, Dana. It was late. I looked in on you, and lay down for a minute and fell asleep. Pardon me.”
He glared at her for a second, then turned on his heel and went out into the living room, leaving Dana staring at the empty doorway. His body was still lean and hard, loose-limbed and graceful. She shook her head. She was going to have to stop letting her brain think about Cody that way—like a woman thinks about a man. They were divorced. There was nothing between them anymore. It was just the enforced closeness here where some of their best times had taken place that was confusing her.
She jumped out of bed and put on shorts and a T-shirt and slipped her feet into backless sandals. Of course, it would help if he wouldn’t parade around naked and climb in her bed while she was asleep.
That thought triggered others, like the warm, sleepy smell of his skin, like the delicious hardness of his body against her when she’d drowsily snuggled up against him.
This wasn’t going to work, she decided as she ran a brush through her hair and splashed water on her face. She couldn’t stay here. There were too many memories.
Dev had mentioned a safe house. She’d ask Cody about that today, a neutral place, where they could stay without being constantly bombarded by the past. She took a deep breath and strode into the kitchen.
Cody had pulled on jeans, but he was still barefoot and bare-chested. He was pouring boiling water into a cup. “Coffee?” he said, filling another cup.
Dana frowned. “I guess so. I wish you’d have let me get some fresh ground.” She took the cup from him and sat down at the ancient wooden table.
“We didn’t have time. You know that.”
“Oh, come on, Cody. Of course we had time. The way you drive? I wanted to try that new pecan praline coffee. I had a coupon for it. It’s important to save money.” She took a sip from her cup and grimaced. “Perked coffee is so much better.”
Cody turned his back on her and stood at the kitchen door, looking out as he sipped the hot liquid. “Right. Saving money is what’s important,” he said sarcastically, “and, oh yeah, you had a coupon, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re so grouchy about,” she grumbled, remembering how irritated he’d been when she’d pulled the coupons out of her planner. “It doesn’t take any more time to be practical. My grocery store pays double the value on coupons. I could have saved two dollars.”
Cody whirled around. “Damn it, Dana, this isn’t about coupons. It isn’t about saving money. It’s about life and death.” He slammed his cup down on the table and leaned over her, his face ominously dark, his hands on either side of her gripping the arms of her chair. “You shop with coupons to save a dollar, but when you leave town you announce it to the whole city on your answering machine.”
Dana bit her lip and shrank back against the chair. Cody could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “It was two dollars,” she said in a voice that was much more quavery than she’d intended it to be. “And I’m sick of hearing about my answering machine. I’m out of town a lot, and my clients deserve to know when they can reach me.”
“Your clients don’t deserve to know all the details of your life. You have to take precautions. Especially now.”
&nbs
p; He leaned in until his face was no more than an inch from hers. She could see the sparks of anger in his blue eyes, could feel the fury emanating from him like fever, and she shrank back even more.
“You are a piece of work. Haven’t you figured it out yet? You gave Fontenot all the information he needed. He knew you were out of town. He got into your apartment and took your earring out from under your bed.” His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips.
“Think about it, Dana. Fontenot walked on your floor. He touched your things. The man who killed his own wife, the man who shot me, went through your things. He probably touched your clothes. Maybe even your pillow. And he left without you ever knowing he’d been there. You think it’s important to let your clients know where to reach you? You want to take a little extra time to save two dollars? He could have killed you. I think you’ve got your priorities all screwed up, counselor.”
Dana shuddered at the picture Cody painted of Fontenot touching her things. The idea terrified her, and she lashed out. “I’ve got my priorities screwed up? Why don’t you talk about why this man is after us in the first place? He’s after us because you couldn’t let the justice system work. You couldn’t sit back like a normal human being and expect a jury to convict him. No. You had to be judge, jury and executioner. Cody Maxwell had to go after the bad guy and get himself shot in the head for his trouble.”
She pushed against him and he pulled away. She stood.
“You walked into that bullet, Cody. You walked right into it, because just like always, you thought you were smarter than the whole justice system. You thought you were the only one who could do it right. And you think I’ve got my priorities screwed up?”
“The man tried to murder you. Just what do you think my damn priorities ought to be? Saving my own ass, or putting away a dangerous sociopath who’s trying to kill my wife?”
“Ex-wife,” she said quietly as Cody straightened suddenly and grabbed his coffee, downing it in one gulp. Dana breathed a sigh of relief that he’d backed off. She picked up her cup, sloshing coffee over the side. She grabbed it with both hands and held it in front of her like a shield.
“You have no right to get in my face like that,” she challenged him. “You know you scare me when you get so angry.”
“I’m not angry,” he said shortly, banging the cup down on the counter.
Dana jumped.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Don’t act so scared. You know I’d never hurt you.”
Dana’s heart twisted. Of course he wouldn’t. Not physically. She’d never been afraid of him. “I know. It’s just, around you, everything is so…intense. You’re so, I don’t know, passionate, about everything. Your job, your leisure time, your—” She stopped. She’d been about to say, your lovemaking.
She knew he knew what she’d almost said. His manner changed. Suddenly the anger was gone, and he was looking at her in that way he did, his eyes heavy-lidded and deep cobalt blue. Her face heated, and her gaze faltered.
“Go ahead, chère,” he murmured, his voice rumbling through her like faraway thunder. “Tell me what else I’m passionate about.”
“Don’t,” she said, stiffening. She was too raw, too vulnerable, after waking up next to him two mornings in a row. She fought for the control that was so important to her, and that Cody could so easily breach with an offhand grin or a smoky look.
He shrugged, the movement rippling the muscles of his shoulders and drawing her attention to the bandage on his arm.
His expression went blank and he shook his head slightly. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Good,” Dana retorted, irritated that her voice shook. She took a deep breath. “It’s about time you cleaned up a little. And when you finish, why don’t you call Captain Hamilton and tell him I want to be put in a safe house. Just me, by myself. Then you won’t have to worry about me and what I think is important.”
Cody gazed at her pensively. “And what is it you think is important, counselor?”
Dana looked at the man she’d loved. How had she painted herself into this corner? How could she explain to him what was missing in her life, what had been missing in their life together? “Well, for some people, there’s more to life than trying to save the world alone. To some people, what’s important is home and f-family.” She frowned as the familiar ache began in her chest. She glanced at Cody, who looked stricken.
Shaking her head, she turned away. She didn’t want to get into this discussion. Sipping her coffee casually, she waved her hand. “Go take your shower. Maybe it will cool you off some.”
For a moment, Cody was silent behind her. Then he drew an exasperated breath. “Fine.” He left the kitchen.
Why did they always end up hurting each other? She regretted her last words. It was playing dirty, to mention family. Somehow, the two of them had made a silent agreement not to mention the baby they’d lost, and now she’d brought it up twice. Her heart felt as if it was ripping in two. If only…
Famous last words. If only.
If only Cody could have been happy just being a regular cop, maybe their marriage could have worked. If only his biggest worry each day had been how many traffic tickets he’d given out. If only he weren’t a homicide detective.
Oh, he’d had job offers. He probably still did. He was a good cop. He was intelligent, obviously management material. There had been a time they’d talked about moving to a small, quiet community and raising a family. There had been a time when they talked about their hopes and dreams, a time when being in love had been enough.
A memory blindsided her. They’d spent their honeymoon here at the lake house, unable to afford to go anywhere else. Cody had somehow gotten a bottle of champagne and caught a bucketful of crawfish, and they’d sat at this table and popped the mud bugs open and sucked their heads and pulled the tender meat out of the shells with their teeth. It was exciting and spontaneous and one of the most wonderful days of her life.
She shivered. How incredibly erotic eating crawfish had been. And how typically Cody.
Champagne and crawfish and fresh new love. Love that hadn’t had time to be tarnished by anger and fear and pain.
She heard the pipes screech as Cody turned on the shower. She roused herself from useless, sentimental memories.
While he was showering, she’d better get the bed made and fix something for breakfast if they were going to leave this morning. She smoothed the sheets, feeling a faint, lingering warmth where Cody had lain.
I came in to check on you, he’d said. She picked up his pillow and buried her face in it. It smelled like him, kind of wild and faintly sweet and musky. Tears pricked her eyes.
She’d hoped she’d never have to see him again. Seeing him only brought back all the pain she’d suffered, pain she’d sworn she would never allow herself to feel again. She couldn’t take it.
She would never love anyone the way she’d loved Cody. She would never invest her heart, her soul, in anything the way she had in the baby they’d created together, then lost.
In the shower, she heard Cody moving around, dropping the soap, banging his elbows against the sides of the fiberglass enclosure that was too small for his tall frame. She heard him mutter a curse, and a small, unwilling smile curved her lips. They’d showered together in that tiny space, she remembered. Showered and done other, more interesting things.
How had they fit in there? How had they ever fit together?
Stop it! She pummeled the pillow as if it were her brain, and she could knock the memories out of it. Glancing at the bathroom door, she suddenly had a vision of Cody walking out into the bedroom stark naked, his body glistening with drops of water, his hair wet and slicked back. It would be just like him.
She had to get out of here before he came out. She tossed the pillow onto the bed and quickly smoothed the bedspread just as she heard Cody curse loudly and turn the water off.
She headed toward the door to the living room but a huge crash stopped he
r. She turned around and listened.
Cody cursed again, this time more loudly and more colorfully. She smothered a laugh at the diversity and uniqueness of his language, even as she wondered if he’d somehow hurt himself.
“Cody?” she called out tentatively, moving toward the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”
The door burst open and Cody stood framed in the doorway, a towel slung precariously around his hips and his hair full of dripping, bubbling shampoo.
Chapter Seven
Dana tried to compose her face, but the sight of Cody standing there, so masculine and sexy, his body glistening with water, his hair white with soap and spiked in a dozen different directions above his furious face, was hilarious. She burst out laughing.
“What are—you doing?” she managed to say through the laughter.
He glared at her, his electric-blue eyes and ominous expression only adding to the caricature of dangerous, dauntless cop en déshabillé with shampoo running down his neck and chest.
“My damn arm hurts too much to wash my damn hair!” he shouted, dashing suds out of his eyes and squinting.
She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh out loud.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he growled, grabbing at the towel as it came close to slipping down over his lean hips. “Do you think you could stop laughing long enough to hand me my jeans?”
Dana was thoroughly enjoying herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed—really laughed.
It had probably been with Cody, she thought with a slight twinge of regret.
Sobering a little as a result of her thoughts, she tossed a pair of jeans at him and grinned when he fumbled to catch them and hold the towel up at the same time.
“If you can get your jeans on by yourself, come out on the deck and I’ll rinse your hair with the garden hose.” She left, resolutely closing the bedroom door behind her, quelling a sudden urge to help Cody into his jeans.
She wiped her eyes as she stepped out onto the deck and turned on the water spigot, then traced the tangled hose to the spout.
