MAD DOG AND ANNIE

by Virginia Kantra

  She tugged the flaps open, pushed the beige fabric aside and shoved the gun deep in the box.

  She ran down the steps and stood a moment in the hall, her pulse thundering in her ears. Would Rob be able to tell she'd been here? She'd locked the file cabinet, closed the attic door.

  Reaching for the front door, she gave one last glance over her shoulder, and saw her footprints marching over the carpet toward Rob's office.

  Her heart stumbled. Not a problem, she thought. She would just vacuum before she left. She had—she checked her watch—seventeen minutes.

  She pulled the upright from the hall closet and hastily erased her tracks from the living room, working back toward the hardwood floor of the hall. She yanked at the plug and wrapped the cord neatly before stowing the vacuum away. She pushed it under Rob's coats, where it bumped into something long and padded and propped in a corner.

  She sucked in her breath in dismay. The rifle. Mitchell's rifle. She hadn't disarmed Rob at all.

  Her mind darted back to the box in the attic. The tall gun wouldn't fit there. It wouldn't fit anywhere, really, which was why it was in the closet in the first place along with Rob's tennis racket and the dustpan and broom.

  Dear Lord. Twelve minutes. She had to go. And the rifle would have to go with her. What was another charge against her compared to Mitchell's safety?

  She held the padded case awkwardly in front of her as she hurried to the car. The zippered pocket that held the shells scraped against her legs. Besides, she wasn't really stealing, she argued with her conscience. It was Mitchell's gun, purchased for a deer hunting trip that thankfully never took place.

  Mitchell. She clutched the thought of her precious son to her more tightly than any gun. She was only doing this to protect Mitchell. It wasn't like she was going to shoot the awful thing. She didn't even want to touch it. She was just taking it away from Rob.

  She laid the rifle case carefully in the trunk of her car, as if it would explode, and drove to work.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  «^»

  Ann's first thought when she saw Maddox standing on her front porch, eyes shaded by the brim of his uniform hat, was that he must be there about the gun. Visions of handcuffs danced briefly in her head.

  And then reason returned. For one thing, Rob wouldn't even be home yet to notice and report the loss of his guns. Nobody on her street had been around half an hour ago to see her smuggle the rifle from the car trunk to her bedroom closet.

  For another, if Maddox were there to arrest her, he would hardly be smiling.

  She opened the door. His smile broadened into that wide, warm, you-and-me-babe grin that had flattened her in junior high. Her pulse spurted for reasons that didn't have anything to do with him locking her up.

  "You look—" Relaxed. Satisfied. Sexy. "Pleased with yourself."

  "Pleased with the investigation."

  His cool cop routine didn't fool her for a minute. She searched his face. "It's good?"

  "It's very good. I don't think Rob can take custody of Mitchell if he's serving fifteen to twenty for arson and attempted murder."

  Hope fluttered in her stomach. "What happened? What did you find?"

  "Something you said this morning set me off." He took off his hat. "How you didn't carry matches because you don't smoke?"

  She nodded, distracted by the way the sunlight tipped his sandy hair with gold. But she remembered their conversation.

  "See, Rob does. He told me he likes to be prepared for his clients who smoke. And then he tossed me a matchbook." Maddox paused significantly. "From his golf bag."

  She blinked at him. "Motel matches?"

  Maddox grinned. "Now that would have been too easy. But this morning I got a warrant to search the golf bag, and he's got like a dozen matchbooks stuffed in the pocket, and one of them's from Beyer's Motel. So we've got a nice little link to the arson there, and your friend's husband doesn't look so good for insurance fraud anymore."

  "Well." It was hard to think with him smiling at her, his grimly handsome face relaxed and easy. She opened the door wider. "Wonderful. Come in. I found a photo for you. Of Rob." She led the way to the living room. Her purse was on the couch. She rifled through it. "Here."

  He took the snapshot. Glancing at it, he put it away in the breast pocket of his uniform. "That's great. I'll try again for a supporting ID at the motel." But he made no move to go.

  "Can I get you some tea?" she offered.

  "No tea." He took a step toward her.

  She felt her breath go at the look in his eyes. She started to smile back, relief lightening the burden of guilt she'd carried for so long. "Then what can I possibly give you?"

  "Got any cookies?"

  She laughed. "It's Tuesday. I only bake on the weekends."

  Which was nonsense, of course, but it was sweet nonsense. She hadn't known what it was like to laugh with a man she was in love—having sex with. She liked it.

  He came closer. Close enough for her to feel his body heat. Close enough that, if she wanted, she could lay her head on his uniform shirt and absorb that strength and warmth into herself. He was so big, but she didn't feel threatened. Actually, she found his size reassuring, even … exciting.

  He raised his eyebrows. Lowered his voice. "So, you don't have anything left over? From this weekend?"

  This weekend. He meant Saturday night. Out on the river road, in the dark, with Maddox… Her heart began to pound in earnest.

  "I maybe could find something," she said breathlessly.

  "Let me help you look," he whispered, and bent to her. His lips were firm and warm. He brushed them against hers with soft, light, teasing kisses that made her sigh and want. Want more. Want Maddox. She opened to him, inviting the slick, smooth entry of his tongue, standing on tiptoe to push her breasts into the solid wall of his chest.

  "I think you, um, found it," she said, when at last he raised his head.

  His full mouth quirked. "I'm a policeman. I'm supposed to find things."

  And there it was, she realized, the reason for the difference she sensed in him. Since coming home, he'd worked his way toward a cautious peace with himself and with his job. She was glad of it, glad for him, even as his returning confidence emphasized the differences between them. She'd never been much good at anything.

  "Well, you do it very well," she told him solemnly.

  Color crept into his tanned cheeks. "You don't mind?"

  "Mind what?"

  Hesitation entered his eyes, attractive, beguiling. "That I've had—some experience."

  Other women, he meant. He was worried about what she thought. He cared how she felt. Ann's heart swelled. So maybe she was good for something, after all. She took his hand and laid it on her breast.

  "No," she said simply. "Why don't you see what else you can find?"

  He went very still. And then his thumb brushed her nipple, already puckered with arousal.

  "Well, there's this," he murmured.

  "Evidence," she said.

  He smiled faintly, his hooded gaze holding hers. "Yeah? What does it prove?"

  "That I want you."

  She'd surprised them both.

  He drew a hard breath. His eyes were nearly black. "Annie. Darlin'. You're a good woman—"

  Her mouth twisted. "Is that like being a nice girl?"

  "No. Yes. I don't want your neighbors to think—"

  "I'm tired of worrying what my neighbors will think. I've been worried about what people will think of me all my life."

  "But my car's parked outside."

  "We-e-e-ll… It's the middle of the afternoon. You could be interviewing me."

  "That's not all I could be doing to you," he said with grim humor.

  "Then why don't you?" she whispered.

  It was as if her words broke the tight grip he kept on himself, on his body. He lunged, and she had what she wanted, Maddox holding her, Maddox kissing her, deeply, fiercely, possessively, his tongue driving
into her mouth, his body hard and hot against hers.

  She should have been panicked. She was thrilled. She was freed.

  She wrapped her arms around him and took everything he could give. He pulled at her blouse. She tore at his shirt. He pressed his mouth to the tender area between her neck and shoulder, and she gasped and bit his ear. He was on his knees in front of her, his breath shockingly hot through her skirt. She sank to the floor, sliding against his aroused body, her hand seeking a hold in the short hair of his nape.

  They devoured each other, pressed breast to chest and belly to thigh. He felt so good, so warm and firm and solid against her. Nothing had ever felt this good. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, she stopped, stunned by the sight of her pink nipples brushing the rough bronze hair of his chest.

  They were making love in the light. In the middle of the afternoon, she thought wonderingly. She could see him, his square muscled torso above the navy of his uniform pants. Touch him, if she wanted. She wanted to touch him everywhere.

  "Let's move this to the bedroom," he rasped.

  She jerked. The rifle was in her bedroom. Maddox had told her it was illegal for a felon to transport a gun. She wasn't going to break the law by driving around with one in her trunk. Not that she was crazy about hiding one in her bedroom, either. Maddox didn't seem set on conducting a search of her closets, but still…

  "No," she said. "Here. Right here. Right now."

  His eyes fired, but he shook his head. "Let's take it easy. I need to slow down."

  She smiled at him, her insides humming. Her mouth felt sore. She felt wonderful. "No, you don't."

  "I don't want to—"

  "—shock me?" She lay back against the carpet, supporting herself on her elbows. "You could try," she suggested hopefully.

  His breath hissed out. He dug in his slacks for his wallet and pulled out a foil packet. And then he was kissing her again, her breasts, her belly, lower, licking, hot, until she writhed and arched and cried out. He dragged up his head, his face hard and intense. He moved up and over her. His thighs pushed her legs apart.

  "Right here." He gave her words back to her. "Right now."

  She shivered as she reached for him. He was heavy on top of her. He was deep inside of her. He touched her everywhere, inside and out. He thrust hard, but it wasn't rough. It was raw and real and fast and sweaty, and every time it felt like too much, she looked up and saw Maddox's burning eyes and the planes of his face, hard and gleaming. He was losing himself in her, not holding back, not in control, reassuring and exciting her at once.

  She had never felt so safe.

  She had never felt so loved.

  She had never felt so free.

  This time she didn't wait for the wave to take her. This time she swam out for it. She could feel the muscles of his back flex under her palms, feel the muscles of his arms and the rigid wall of his abdomen as he came into her again and again. She gripped hard, gripped him, felt him pulse and pound inside her, and she pulsed, too, with his rhythm, pulsed and shuddered and cried out "Oh" as the wave crashed and her ears roared and Maddox held her steady with his eyes.

  "Annie," he said, just her name, naming her. Seeing her. Loving her. And then his dark eyes squeezed shut, and his head reared back, and he gave himself all the way to her.

  Ann lay under him, stroking his damp back, her breath uneven and her bottom raw against the carpet, and wondered how soon she could have this again.

  His head dropped forward, and he exhaled, warm and gusty across her breasts. They puckered. He touched one nipple, very delicately, with his finger, and she shivered.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "Okay?"

  She moistened her lips and smiled. "Very okay. Can we do it again?"

  "Okay." He let himself relax more fully against her, letting her take a portion of his weight. "Just give me a little time to recover. A year, maybe, and I'll be good as new."

  Now that she'd found this, she didn't want to ever let it go. "I can't wait that long."

  "I'll stick around," he promised, his eyes warm. "We could find something to do in the meantime. How long does it take to get a license in North Carolina?"

  Her stomach caved, and it wasn't from the weight of him, hard and lovely above her.

  "License?" she croaked.

  "Yeah. Marriage license."

  When she collected her thoughts, when she found her voice again, she said, as firmly as she could, "We are not getting married."

  * * *

  Panic flared in Maddox. She sounded so, so inflexible. Annie, who was soft and giving and tenderhearted and everything he needed in his life. He fought to keep from overreacting.

  Do not screw this up, he ordered himself. You are not going to screw this up.

  Unless he already had.

  He pushed the thought away. "We're not?" he asked cautiously.

  She shook her head. Her smooth hair brushed the inside of his forearm, distracting him. She was lying under him, pink and warm from his loving, telling him "no."

  "Why not?"

  She thrust out her chin. "I've been married. This is better."

  He could feel his temper rising, feel the tension collecting in the back of his neck. He wanted a cigarette, and not because it was after sex. He fought to keep his face neutral. "So, what is 'this'?"

  "Well…" Her lashes swept down as she considered. Then she looked straight at him with her gorgeous green eyes and said, "This is two adults who are free to make their own choices coming together without obligations."

  She sounded more like a psychologist than the woman he'd just loved. "In other words, two uncommitted people having sex."

  Her tongue moistened her lower lip. "That's not what I meant."

  "Well, excuse me, but it sounded pretty damned uncommitted to me."

  "And what about you? What about your job?"

  He levered his weight off her. His body protested the separation. "What about it?"

  She turned on her side away from him, reaching for her blouse. "You're the one leaving town. You can't expect me to just pack up and follow you to Atlanta."

  "I don't," he protested.

  But Annie was on a roll. "Aside from the fact that I'm on probation, I have a job, I have my son— What did you say?"

  "I'd stay here," he explained as patiently as he could while his insides churned. "In Cutler." The idea had some appeal, now that he'd actually said it. "It wouldn't be so bad."

  "Not … so bad," she said.

  "No," he said, warming to the possibilities. "I'm getting along all right with the old man. The job—the whole community angle—has gone better than I expected. I could make a life here."

  "And I'd fit into your new life," she said flatly.

  What was she upset about? Of course she'd fit in. She was everything he'd ever wanted. "Well, sure."

  She shook her head. "I'm only finally finding myself. I don't want to lose myself in another relationship."

  Pure frustration tightened his chest. He sat up, too. How could they be arguing? He was still half naked. "What the hell does that mean? You think I want to change you?"

  "I don't know what I think," Ann said. "That's part of the problem."

  Maddox sucked in his breath. "So, how long is this little voyage of self-discovery going to take? Three months? One year? Five?"

  "I don't know," she repeated, adding with a flash of spirit, "I don't 'do' recovery on a timetable."

  "Yeah, well, I don't do relationships on a timetable, either." He was badgering her like a hostile witness. He made an effort to be calm, to be patient and understanding, but it was hard when everything inside him screamed to storm the barricades she'd raised against him. "I'm ready now. And I think you are, too. You were there just now. You were with me."

  She colored. "This isn't about sex."

  "I didn't say it was sex. I'm asking you to marry me."

  "And I think we should wait."

  "Wait for what?"

  "Until we get to know each
other better."

  "We've known each other for twenty-three years."

  "And you've been away for twelve."

  "But you know me!" Unless, oh God, unless that was the problem. Unless she didn't want to tie her life to the sullen hood in Rob's shadow, a big, rough cop who'd left his last job after shooting somebody else's kid. "What more do you think we're going to find out by waiting?"

  She put her little chin up, her blouse hanging open over her small, perfect breasts. "I won't be rushed into making another mistake."

  Her words hit with the force of a punch to the gut. "And you think marriage to me would be a mistake."

  "Marriage to anyone could be a disaster."

  "Not if you loved me. Not if you goddamn trusted me."

  "I can't trust myself," she burst out.

  He ached for her. Her face was white and strained, her eyes enormous and hurt. With his head, he understood that living with abuse had enormous emotional and psychological consequences. But in his heart, he needed her to love him enough to take a chance.

  "So, what now?" he asked quietly. "You want to cool things, is that it?"

  "I want … time."

  "You figure maybe you should look around?"

  Her hands twisted in her lap, but she looked him straight in the eye. "I'm not looking for anybody else. But it has to be my choice," she said.

  "Yeah. You've got a right to your choices." He stood, jerking on his belt buckle, while everything inside him roared and crumbled like a building going down in flames. "My mistake for thinking you'd choose me."

  * * *

  A headache throbbed behind Ann's eyes. Her heart pulsed in miserable agreement. It had been a long, long day. Since Maddox left her, she'd gone through the motions, picking up Mitchell, making dinner, sorting the laundry and recycling. She couldn't wait for it to be over.

  Why? a small voice jeered inside her. So you can go to bed alone?

  Shut up, she told the voice, but even being rude didn't cheer her since Maddox had walked out of her house.

  She was reaching for the front door chain to lock up for the night when a noise behind her made her jump and jerk around.

  Her son stood on the stairs, still in dirty shorts and a camp. T-shirt.