Where Loyalties Lie (MidKnight Blue Book 3)

by Sherryl Hancock

  “Oh, yeah, just shove the women and children into the life boats, Captain, don’t worry about missing the boat and drowning them. That’s okay, speed is the most important thing!” Midnight was laughing by the time she finished her barrage.

  Joe rested his head on his folded arms—she could see him smirking. Spider was all but falling out of his chair laughing, and Rick and Manny were grinning widely too.

  “Look, I told you I was sorry. Can I help it if you have shit for balance?” Joe said, his voice muffled by his arms.

  “Shit for balance?” Midnight said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that one! Shit for brains, maybe, but no one has ever sunk so low as to criticize my equilibrium.”

  “Well there you have it,” Joe said, standing. Midnight noticed him wince a little bit.

  “You okay?” she asked, her voice still light.

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, probably just a couple of bruised ribs, nothin’ to worry about.”

  Midnight nodded then too. “Serves you right!” she exclaimed, mockingly offended.

  Joe grinned as he pretended to reach for her shoulder. Midnight just laughed.

  After much more ribbing and a lot of laughter, they managed to get all of their bad guys booked and their reports written. It was ten thirty by then, and Spider had suggested a stop at the local all-night restaurant for something to eat. “I can’t help it,” he was saying. “Ever since Tammy got pregnant, I feel the need to eat all the time.”

  “Great,” Midnight replied. “So soon you’re going to look like Tiny?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, poking Spider in the ribs. “I can just see that! Anyway, I’m just gonna head on home. I’ll see ya in the mornin’.”

  The rest of the group headed out to the parking lot. As Rick reached his car he received a text. Midnight, whose car was parked next to his—originally by design when the spaces were reserved—looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, but she said nothing as she got into her car. Rick noted that she winced a little when she moved her arm. Since the night Joe had found him at Sheila’s, Rick had heard how Midnight had banged up her shoulder. It had been difficult for him not to ask her about it all evening, knowing she had hurt it again when they conducted the raid.

  Rick was still enraged at the idea that Midnight had actually filed for divorce. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. The truth was, Rick hadn’t slept with Sheila before the night Midnight had come home—he had managed to avoid actually physically cheating on her. He hadn’t contradicted Joe that night because he knew he had been mentally and emotionally unfaithful to his wife, and he knew he had been tempted to do otherwise. Rick knew Joe would have seen it as cheating either way, even though Rick felt he had been more than fair with Midnight and was absolutely sure she had been sleeping with Griff. Rick hadn’t liked him from the beginning, knowing Griff had had a major crush on Midnight from day one.

  Rick knew that Midnight was unhappy, and had fooled himself into thinking she would pour her problems out to Griff, and things would take their natural course. He had conveniently managed to forget that Midnight never “poured”—she would answer direct questions if asked and fill in details if necessary. Had he been thinking reasonably, he’d also have realized that Midnight didn’t believe in “cheating.” Her logic was, “If I want someone else, I’ll leave you and have someone else. I don’t need to sneak around.” But Rick was not thinking logically; he was rationalizing his own dalliances.

  After calling the number on the text, Rick went back into the office. He had been asked to report to evidence, so that was where he headed.

  An hour later, Rick found himself at a familiar door—his own. He debated ringing the doorbell, feeling very odd about being at his own house but not being welcome. After a moment, he punched in the security code and walked in. He tried to make a point of making his footfalls loud, wanting to give Midnight some kind of warning that he was in the house without having to ask her permission to be there.

  Rick did know his wife well. When he walked into the bedroom, she was lying on the bed. The room was dark except for the light from the television. It bothered him to notice that she was wearing one of his shirts, open just above the curve of her breasts. She was lazily flipping through the channels; it was obvious she was very relaxed. She caught the movement in the hallway, and when Rick stepped into the doorway, he noted the quick movement of her hand toward her firearm, lying within arm’s reach on the nightstand. Her fluid motion was quickly aborted as she realized who it was. Rick still marveled at her split-second reactions; they had saved her life many times, he knew.

  Now, cat-like green eyes watched him closely, as if she expected him to attack her. Then they flicked back to the television, as if dismissing him. “Gotta get that code changed,” she muttered. “Never know what could walk in.”

  “Nice,” Rick said, slightly taken aback by her indirect insult. He had felt close to her earlier that evening, as the group ribbed each other and laughed, but obviously her good nature did not extend to him.

  Midnight looked at him again, as if surprised he was still there, then sighed loudly. “What do you want?”

  Rick leaned casually against the doorjamb, grinning. “You have always had a way with words.”

  “Yeah,” Midnight said, sitting up, sounding a little more irritated this time. “And you’re about to hear a number of my better ones. Spit it out, then get out.” Her tone held a threat that he knew he’d be wise not to ignore, but he couldn’t keep himself from taunting her.

  He walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, his demeanor very casual. “You are such a charmer, ya know?”

  “Yeah, so’s my Beretta. What is it you think you want, Rick?”

  Rick looked at her, trying to determine what she had meant by her question. He thought he’d heard just a slight lightening of her tone. “Well,” he said, a sardonic grin on his face, “since you asked so sweetly, I’ll tell ya.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out two sheets of paper, and handed them to her. “I need your Jane Hancock on these evidence receipts.”

  Rick was very surprised when she looked him straight in the eye. Her stare held no contempt, only questions—questions he knew she wouldn’t ask. Then she lowered her eyes to the papers, and Rick felt a sudden sense of loss, feeling like they had been very close to making some kind of connection. Midnight reached for the sheets, her fingers touching his for a brief moment. Rick grabbed the moment and tried to hold her hand.

  Midnight’s reaction was to yank her hand away, setting her off balance, which prompted Rick to reach out to grab her. His hand closed around her forearm. She again tried to escape his grasp, and he ended up with a handful of her shirt, which exposed the dark purple bruise on her injured shoulder. Midnight lay back against the headboard, watching him, her eyes narrowed, but Rick’s eyes were on her shoulder. Midnight could read the concern on his face, and it made her mad. Where the hell had he been the night she came home, looking much worse?

  Midnight reached her other hand out to snatch the handful of shirt he was holding, but his hand caught hers easily. He held on with just enough strength to keep her from getting it back, and he was staring into her eyes now.

  He shook his head slowly. “Night…” His voice was the merest whisper. Releasing her shirt, he gently touched the bruise.

  Midnight flinched as he made contact. He glanced at her to see if he’d hurt her; she just watched him, her eyes veiled.

  It wasn’t pain that had made her flinch, it was his closeness, his touch, his voice—everything she felt for him that she had boarded up behind iron walls came flooding back to her. Her instincts told her to get away from him; every reasoning nerve in her body screamed to run. But she couldn’t move. Her heart, and just about every sense she had, made her stay right there. She knew she’d hate herself later, but she just couldn’t pull away.

  Rick’s touch on her shoulder was soft. He too was fighting his emotions. He had no idea what Midnight was goi
ng through; his mind was telling him that he was risking having her do some serious damage to him, if he made the wrong move. But he found himself drawn to her, wanting to touch her, to hold her, and much more that he didn’t want to let himself think about. Rick met her stare. He moved his hand to touch her cheek, and she closed her eyes in response, shaking her head slowly. Rick leaned forward then, taking the risk. He kissed her hurt shoulder softly, and when she didn’t react he moved his lips to her neck. He thought he felt her tremble under his hands.

  Midnight’s eyes remained closed as his lips touched her shoulder, then her neck. She trembled as she waited for what she hoped would be next. But nothing happened. She opened her eyes to see that his face was inches away, his eyes staring directly into hers.

  In that moment Rick saw what she didn’t want him to see, and without any more hesitation, he took her gently into his arms, kissing her lips with a passion that was exquisitely familiar. And Midnight found herself throwing her usual caution to the wind. To hell with it, she thought.

  Their bodies remembered everything they had tried to forget, and they found themselves swept along with the current of their passion for each other. For a short time, all of their anger, fear, rejection, and toils were forgotten. But the time was all too short.

  A little while later, lying in Rick’s arms, Midnight started to realize how stupid she had been. How easily swayed she’d been by her body’s desires. The thought irritated her to no end. As if he had felt her tense, Rick’s arm tightened slightly at her waist, as if trying to keep her from thinking the thoughts he knew were going through her mind at that moment. She sensed him shaking his head, and she heard his breath expelled in a frustrated sigh. “Shit,” he muttered.

  Midnight didn’t look at him. “This doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  Rick didn’t respond for a moment. “Don’t,” he said, his voice soft. “Don’t say that. Can’t we just enjoy this for a while?” He was pleading, and Midnight knew she wanted to do the same. She nodded slowly, resting her head against is chest. A little while later they were asleep.

  Rick woke when he felt Midnight’s body tensing. Her head moved against his chest, as if she were shaking it. Her hands were clenched, her breathing uneven. He knew she was dreaming, and he knew what she was dreaming about. “Night!” he said, shaking her gently, mindful of her sore shoulder. “Wake up!”

  Midnight woke with a start. She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture. Rick sat up and put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against him. He felt her relax slightly.

  “When did these start again?” he asked, concerned. She’d had these nightmares after she was abducted by the Scorpions years before.

  Midnight was shaking her head, as if trying to shake the images out.

  “Night, it’s okay, they’re gone. It’s over, they can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here, it’s okay,” he said, striving to comfort her. He felt her stiffen suddenly. Then she raised her head, looking at him. Her expression told him what she was thinking.

  “But you’re not, are you?” she said, her voice cold and dead. She lay down then, moving away and turning her back on him. He knew that what they had briefly rekindled had died again, and he felt it deep in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he’d just lost her again.

  ****

  As Joe drove up to his house, he noticed that Randy’s car wasn’t in the garage. He wondered where she’d gone. He had sensed earlier that she was nervous about telling him something. She’d seemed on edge, and he knew she tended to act that way when her emerging independent self warred with her old, shy, dependent self. Once inside, he glanced at the refrigerator door, hoping she would have at least left a note. She hadn’t. He tried to hold down his growing anger—he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

  He grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and walked into their room. He removed his jacket and his shoulder holster, again glancing around for some sort of note as he tossed both on the chair. Taking off his shirt, he examined his ribs, and did indeed note a dark bruise beginning to color. After a few minutes he decided to take a shower, thinking Randy would turn up by the time he’d finished. An hour later he sat on the couch with the television on, his fourth beer in hand. Randy still wasn’t home. He was beginning to feel the pangs of worry, but he kept telling himself she was just out, wanting to make a point of her independence.

  Finally, at midnight, Joe flipped off the television and walked back to the bedroom. By this time he was royally pissed, a little bit drunk, and very uncomfortable with the growing ache in his ribs. It was not a good combination for him. Knowing he was likely to tear into Randy the minute she walked in, not the tact he wanted to take with this new defiance of his solicitousness, Joe forced himself to go to bed.

  After almost an hour of tossing and turning he got up, frustrated and angry. Throwing on a shirt, he walked out onto the deck overlooking the ocean. He stood holding onto the railing, staring unseeingly at the waves, as a cold wind blew his dirty-blond mane back from his face. A few minutes later, he sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His gaze surveyed the crashing waves, his mind miles away. Even though he only wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, he didn’t even notice the cold. He had even left the French doors that opened inward from the deck wide open. By the time Randy found him an hour and a half later, Joe may as well have turned to stone, his anger was so fierce.

  Randy walked out onto the deck, having noticed the doors open. She saw Joe sitting on one of the chairs, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was beyond mad. Her first instinct was to lie, to say she’d had a flat tire or something, anything but that she had just stayed out drinking and having a good time. But she knew she couldn’t claim car trouble, since her car was still at Park Place—she’d had to take a cab home due to her state of inebriation.

  As she stood there, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a naughty schoolgirl, Joe lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were pure ice. Randy was shocked. She knew Joe could intimidate even the hardiest of souls with a look, but she had never had that look turned on her. Every ounce of self-confidence and bravado left her instantly. She was almost afraid of what he’d do; part of her even wondered if he’d hit her. The surety of his upbringing, barring him from striking a woman, suddenly didn’t seem so reassuring.

  Joe stared at her for a full minute, his eyes taking in the high color to her cheeks and the way she seemed to shrink from him guiltily. When he stood up, her eyes grew wide, the intimidation she felt clear in them. Joe knew what she was thinking, and part of him felt a twinge of satisfaction that she at least realized he did have some power over her actions, and knowing that she hadn’t become so independent as to think she could do something as outrageous as this without some sort of repercussion. With his eyes still on hers, Joe walked toward her—and, to her surprise and relief, past her into the house. He went into their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Randy found it necessary to sit down. She walked into the living room, closing the French doors, then moved to the couch and sat down. She knew Joe probably better than just about anyone, except perhaps for Midnight, and she knew his cold silence was much worse than his fiery temper. The cold came long after the heat of his anger passed. She wondered idly if this had been a major, pivotal mistake. But what right did he have to expect her to stay home? The dutiful wife, Randy thought angrily. She was supposed to cook, clean, and wait patiently for her husband to come home. She spent the rest of the night in the living room, telling herself she didn’t want Joe to think he’d won because she crawled into bed obediently. In truth, she was afraid that he might tell her to get out, or something equally irrevocable.

  The following morning, Randy woke to the sounds of Joe moving around in the kitchen. She could smell coffee brewing. After a few moments of indecision, she got up off the couch and went into the guest bathroom. She didn’t want
to run into him just yet. She knew she looked awful. She still had her clothes on from the night before.

  Randy found Joe a half hour later in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking coffee. He was dressed all in black, his brown leather shoulder holster in place. Randy thought off-handedly how good he looked in all black, but she knew she couldn’t say or do anything to show him that she thought so. Normally she would have said something to him, or gone over to him and removed the coffee from his hand, replacing it with herself. She did indeed realize how incredible handsome her husband was, but at the moment she felt so at odds with him that his discerning good looks served only to emphasize the undercurrent of anger and the change in their relationship.

  Randy had managed to shower, dress, and reapply makeup, so she felt confident again in the way she looked. Not like the drunken harlot, she thought sarcastically. She had dressed with care, wanting to prove to Joe that she wasn’t cowed by his anger. Her outfit was a little bit more casual than her usual businesslike attire.

  Joe watched her over the rim of his coffee cup, but his eyes gave nothing away. At first she said nothing to him, making a point of pouring coffee and sitting at the breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. She flipped through the pages of the newspaper, trying to appear unaffected by the oppressive silence. What irritated her the most was that she needed a ride from Joe, either to the office or to Park Place to get her car. I could call a cab, she thought idly, but then she realized she didn’t have any more cash, having used all but her last dollar on the cab the night before. She supposed she could try to use a credit card, or try to get the cabbie to take her to an ATM, but she knew she would just be making more out of the issue of leaving her car at Park Place than it should have been.