Randy knew Joe was really feeling the song’s words, and she felt the same. They needed to talk, but she was afraid that discussing it would make them come to a decision, that it might make him say “the job or me,” and Randy didn’t know what to do. She wanted to talk, but she also didn’t want to hear what he would say.
Joe turned the radio down after the song ended, but he still didn’t say anything. Finally Randy couldn’t take it anymore, even though she knew he was waiting her out and she was giving in to him.
“So, are you never going to speak to me again?”
Joe glanced at her, his expression very serious. He didn’t feel like he’d have won anything if she knew, if he could tell her he was feeling exactly as she was. He was hoping that by not talking about it, it would just go away. He wanted to wish it away.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly.
“Something, anything,” she said, angry at him for putting her in this position.
“Tell me what you think I should say.”
“I don’t know, Joe. It’s not like you didn’t know I was applying. You knew I was doing this.”
Joe’s mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Oh yeah, I knew.”
“And did you think I wouldn’t get the job, or were you just hoping I wouldn’t?” she said, her anger rising. Joe thought fleetingly that she sounded a lot like Midnight.
“Hoping, I guess,” he answered honestly.
“I see.” Randy shook her head. “So you’re the only one that’s allowed to have a career, is that it?”
“Oh God!” Joe exclaimed, his accent thick. “Is that what you think? You think I just don’t want you to be a cop because I think so much of my career? You have got to be kidding. I’m worried about you, not my ego.”
Randy felt the need to say something hateful in the wake of his admission. “Well, I guess it’s hard to tell these days.”
“Hard to tell what? That I care? What’s that supposed to mean? You think I don’t care about you anymore?” Joe looked perplexed; he hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“Well, you certainly haven’t been supportive lately,” Randy said, sounding hurt.
Joe shook his head, then glanced at her again. “What do you want me to do? You want me to say that your becoming a cop is a great idea? Well I can’t, and I won’t.”
“So what does this mean?” Randy’s eyes were filling with tears, partially from anger and partially from all the other emotions she’d been feeling since she got the word that she was basically hired.
“I don’t know what it means,” Joe said, sounding tired.
Randy was silent for a moment, not sure if she wanted to say the words that were on her tongue, before speaking hesitantly. “Okay, so if I take the job, does that mean, well, are we over?”
Joe looked at her sharply, surprised that she even had the nerve to bring it up. It had been spinning around in his mind, ricocheting off of his memories of his parents and the anguish their death had caused, but also off his feelings for Randy, which were so deep.
Finally, he shook his head sadly. “I don’t know.”
“Well, where does that leave me then?”
“What do you want? Do you want me to predict the future?”
“No, I want to know where we stand,” she said, again sounding a lot like Midnight.
“Look,” Joe said as he exited the freeway. “I don’t know how I’m gonna feel about it—I can’t tell you. All I can say is that I don’t want you to be a cop.”
“Well, I want to take the job.”
“And that’s your decision.” Joe shrugged.
“But then we’re over.” Randy sounded angrier and a lot less unhappy this time.
“And that’s what I can’t tell you. I don’t know what will happen.”
“But you’re going to hold this over my head, right?”
“Jesus Christ, Randy, what do you want for my life?” He was yelling, his voice strident. “I told you, this is how I feel about the whole thing, and where you go from there is your decision. I’m not going to say I think it’s a good idea, because I don’t, but I won’t stop you either. But I’m not going to guarantee you that this won’t screw things up with us.”
Randy was quiet. She was looking for reassurance, but Joe was not providing it. She felt very alone at that moment, and she didn’t know what to do to change that.
A few minutes later Joe pulled up to their house. He got out of the car, and out of sheer habit walked around to get her door for her, but she had already opened it. Joe took a step back, putting his hands up, palms out, to indicate futility. He turned and walked toward the house, his long legs carrying him there long before Randy got there; she was purposely meandering. At the front door, he punched in the security code and heard the locks click open. He walked in, allowing the door to close behind him, which was also out of character; he had been brought up in a very proper English household, and that upbringing made it all but compulsory for him to act the gentleman whenever possible. Randy knew it took a real effort for him to ignore his discipline.
Joe walked straight to the bar and poured a shot of whiskey, drank it, then poured another. Turning around, he saw Randy watching him from the door. He shook his head and headed for their bedroom.
Half an hour later, Randy was in the kitchen, trying to decide whether she should cook for them. She hadn’t planned anything since it was Friday, when they usually went out to dinner or ordered in. Joe walked into the kitchen, having checked a few other rooms first; he was carrying his gun. He had changed his shirt and was wearing his bulletproof vest over it. He had switched to a belt holster for his gun. Randy looked up at him.
“So I guess that answers my question about dinner,” she said blandly.
Joe grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What do you have?” Randy was happy to be having a civilized conversation with him, after the argument they’d had earlier.
“Search warrant,” Joe replied, pulling back the slide on his gun to chamber a round then holstering it. “I shouldn’t be too late.” He looked down at her and saw the sadness in her eyes; it was reflected in his. He stepped forward, gathering her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest and sighed.
“Are we going to make it through this?” she said, knowing she was repeating the same question she’d asked in the car, and wondering belatedly if he’d get mad again. But Joe seemed to take the question differently this time, the way she’d meant it—she wasn’t asking for guarantees, just some kind of reassurance.
Joe kissed the top of her head, hugging her a little closer. “Not for a lack of trying,” he said, his voice a mere whisper.
Joe left a short time later and Randy ate alone, something she had grown accustomed to. She realized they had just overcome the first of many obstacles standing in their way. She also knew that if she just turned the job down, everything would be fine again. But something inside her told her she had a right to want more out of life, that she had a right to have a job that she loved, not just a husband, or kids or a home. She had seen Midnight have it all, and she knew she could too.
Randy had no idea that Midnight’s life wasn’t perfect, that she and Rick were having major problems—and that the job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be either.
****
The day she was scheduled to leave for Sacramento, Midnight got up at her usual 6:00 a.m., took a shower, and got dressed in clothes that she had become accustomed to but were not really what she considered her style—a business outfit. She wore a straight-cut navy blue skirt—which was admittedly a little shorter than a normal business skirt—a white silk blouse, and, left on the hanger until she needed it for the flight, a navy blue tailored jacket that reached just below her waist. The skirt was belted, but only so she could wear her high-ride holster and her badge; the jacket covered both nicely.
Midnight put on rarely used makeup, just eyeliner, mascara, blush, and the merest hint of color on her lips. Sh
e also wore gold-and-pearl earring studs and a thin gold chain with a small pearl-and-gold pendant that Rick had given her the year before for Valentine’s Day. Her hair was up in a very casual French twist, strands escaping to fall in lazy curls around her face and neck. Her seemingly year-round tan and copper-gold hair complemented the colors of her suit and gave her an appearance of health and vibrancy.
When Midnight walked into the kitchen, Rick stared at her for a long moment, almost awestruck. Mikeyla, who was sitting in her booster seat, let out a little “Wow,” at which Midnight smiled.
“What?” she asked self-consciously, wondering if Rick was going to complain about her dressing up for the trip. He was still mad about it and didn’t want her going; they had argued the night before. She had told him she was going and that their discussion was over.
But now Rick sat staring at her like a star-struck kid. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “You look… incredible.”
“Thanks,” Midnight said, embarrassed. She never did know how to take a direct compliment, especially the way things were between her and Rick.
Since the night Deborah left and Rick stayed out until three in the morning, they had barely spoken to each other except to argue. Midnight had refused to ask where he had been, assuming correctly that he’d been with Sheila. Rick had not mentioned it at all, not feeling the need to explain himself to her and aware that bringing the night up would indicate some guilt on his part—of which he had plenty, but he refused to recognize it. Sheila had been all over him at the club and had insinuated that she’d be amiable to a reconciliation between them. Rick had responded to her hints with his usual wit, but had declined to actually act on any of them. Sheila and he had danced a few times, and she had clung to his side most of the night, reminding Rick of his gang days when girls would actually get into fights about who was going home with him that night. The thought had struck him when he was sitting in the club with Sheila giving every other woman inside their group and out the look that said “Hands off.” Rick found himself enjoying being the center of a woman’s attention again, and had fleetingly thought about actually doing something with Sheila. Certainly, she was an attractive woman; she was a bit on the overdone side, Rick reflected, automatically comparing her to Midnight, but all the same, at least she paid attention to him and didn’t put anything before him.
Now, looking at Midnight and seeing how beautiful his wife really was, he found himself glad that he had not done anything serious with Sheila. Realizing he was glad about his fidelity actually made him angry. He had a right to be happy, didn’t he? What was he—a coward? He didn’t like the idea one bit. He also didn’t like his current train of thought, so he tamped down on it and concentrated on Midnight as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table, picked up the newspaper, and began to read.
Midnight found herself a little angry at Rick’s compliment. If I look so incredible, why does he have to go out with Sheila? A few minutes later, she finished her coffee and stood up, looking pointedly at Rick.
“Are you driving me to the airport later, or should I ask Joe?” she asked.
Rick tensed at the mention of his best friend’s name. Midnight knew it irritated him that she was still so close to Joe, and that if he refused to do something—like take her to the airport—she could easily pick up the phone and get Joe to drop whatever he was doing and come to her rescue. Rick was still supremely pissed about the night of the party when Midnight had called Joe to pick her up. He had hoped she would have to come back and ask him for the keys or to at least drive her home—then he would have had the upper hand. As it turned out, she had, as usual, come away ahead of him, and had proven once more how little she needed him or relied on him.
“Yeah,” Rick said irritably. “I’ll drive you. Joe’s got his own problems.”
“And they are?” Midnight said with the merest hint of annoyance.
“You know, with Randy thinkin’ she’s cop material and all,” Rick said triumphantly.
“Well, I guess you’ll just be one more male chauvinist pig with egg on his face when she makes it through, now, won’t you,” Midnight replied pertly. With that, she bent down to her daughter, ignoring Rick’s glower. “How ’bout a kiss, little one?” Mikeyla immediately threw her arms around her mother’s neck and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek.
“When are you coming back?” Mikeyla asked, her little voice slightly teary. Great, Midnight thought, something else for Rick to hold against me. Of course, Midnight knew, as did Rick, that Mikeyla would ask her almost the same question on a daily basis, not wanting Midnight to ever leave the house without her.
“Mommy will be back in about five days. Can you count to five?” Midnight asked, trying to distract her daughter enough to forget how long five days was for her.
Mikeyla nodded, her eyes wide, then held up her hand and raised each finger as she counted. “One, two, three, four, five!” she sang out.
Midnight clapped. “What a smart girl my baby is!”
“Yeah!” Mikeyla said, clapping as well.
Midnight reached down and hugged her daughter one more time. She knew she would miss her, and the thought of it almost made her cry. Midnight had never figured herself for the emotional type about her child, but wonders never did cease.
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, saying to Rick, who was still simmering over her last comment to him, “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Rick stared at the space where she’d been, feeling very impotent. He knew he was trying to make her mad about the Randy thing, and was aware that it had backfired. He sighed, standing up and looking down at their daughter, who was watching him now with interest.
“Please don’t grow up to be a sarcastic woman like your mother,” he said, smiling.
“I won’t,” Mikeyla replied, sounding very sincere as she smiled up at her father. He winked at her, happy to have one female in the house who agreed with him most of the time.
Marie, the new au pair, came into the kitchen. She smiled at Rick. “Ms. Chevalier let me in.”
Rick looked at the woman pointedly. “It’s Mrs. Debenshire, if you don’t mind. She is married, you know.”
Marie looked perplexed, then lowered her eyes and muttered, “Yes, sir.” Rick walked out of the room without saying another word.
Marie and Mikeyla watched him go, then Marie looked at the little girl and shrugged. Mikeyla giggled at the face her nanny made. Marie Sophield was English, and she had worked in many aristocratic homes in London before moving to America. She thought it a great coup that she had managed to get a job with an English transplant from London society, and had expected to be working for the same type of people she’d always worked for. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Midnight was not English, nor did she put on any type of airs, even though her husband’s family was considered high society. Mikeyla was an angel as far as Marie was concerned, nothing like the spoiled imps she’d taken care of before. The little girl was agreeable and happy for the most part, enjoying a lot of her parents’ love and attention—up until recently.
Marie had only worked for the family for a week, but she could see the tension between Mrs. Debenshire and Mr. Debenshire, and she could see that tension affecting little Mikeyla. Marie intended to talk to Ms. Chevalier—or rather, Mrs. Debenshire—about the little girl’s worries when the lady of the house returned from her trip. Mr. Debenshire perplexed her, though. He seemed to be warring with two different personalities. One was the type Marie was used to, the spoiled rich boy with nothing to do but play and order people like her around, while the other seemed very nice and down to earth, easygoing and very much in love with his wife and enchanted with his daughter. Marie didn’t know what had caused the Debenshires to become so distant, but she hoped they would be able to work things out.
Midnight sat in Rick’s Mustang, looking out the window at the ocean. She knew bringing up Joe had made Rick mad, but she also knew th
at if she relied on Rick to get her to the airport without a lot of hassle, she would most likely miss her plane.
Rick glanced over at his wife, noticing again how nice she looked and thinking that maybe she looked too good. Here she was flying off to Sacramento to meet with a group of men, and she looked fantastic. Rick trusted Midnight for the most part, but he did not trust other cops or Midnight’s desire to avoid entanglements. He knew that many times she’d had to resort to her feminine wiles, usually held in check, to get the results she wanted from these types of meetings. She was going to Sacramento to speak with the heads of two state-level bureaus and possibly even the Attorney General himself about getting some local air and surveillance support from the two units. He knew it was important to her, and that she would give her right arm to receive the support she needed—but just how far would she go, given incentive? Rick didn’t know, and he didn’t like that. Compounding his concern was the fact that she looked really good all dressed up and made up.
Well, Rick thought, at least she has a wedding ring on. He glanced at her left hand and noticed it was bare. He all but slammed on the brakes, and pulled over to the side of the road. Midnight made a small exclamation as she put one hand on the dashboard to brace herself. Not knowing what was happening, she automatically moved the other to her holstered weapon.
Rick looked at her, his eyes narrowed. Midnight recovered her composure after a quick scan in front of and behind them showed everything was clear. Then she turned her attention to her husband and saw the look on his face.
“Now what?” She sighed, unconsciously leaning back against the door, moving ever so slightly out of Rick’s reach. He noted the movement and misunderstood its purpose, assuming she knew what he was reacting to.
“Why didn’t you at least wait till you got on the plane?” he said.
Midnight looked at him as if he had gone quite mad. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He stared at her for a moment, trying to decide if she was just being evasive, then glanced pointedly at her left hand, still resting on the dashboard. “Forget something?”
Where Loyalties Lie (MidKnight Blue Book 3) Page 8
