"I can't do this, Finn," she said, heading toward her bedroom. "I told you when you left that I wasn't hooking up with you when you were in town, and I meant it." She edged past him, being careful not to touch him. But she couldn't resist inhaling his scent. That familiar combination of sea spray and sunshine made her eyes prickle again.
Suddenly so tired that she swayed on her feet, she nodded toward the living room door. "Do me a favor and turn out the lights before you leave, okay?"
She stumbled into her bedroom and fell onto the bed, barely managing to pull back the quilt and blanket. As she tumbled into sleep, she heard the faint sounds of footsteps in her apartment, then the quiet click of the front door locking.
She was relieved that he'd listened to her and left. But her last conscious thought before sleep claimed her was regret that he hadn't fought harder for her.
She closed one fist around her pillow and squeezed. Why did that surprise her? He hadn't fought for her last time, either.
* * *
Mia woke up the next morning with sunlight warming her face. She rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, wondering why her mouth was Sahara-dry and her eyes were gritty and sore.
Then the memories swept over her. Layla. The mob in the street. The fifteen-year-old target, smirking and posturing as she'd cuffed him.
The way she'd shoved him into the unmarked.
Blinking, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, raking her hands through her hair. O'Reilly had watched her hesitation to help the smirking kid for about two seconds, then he'd barked at her. Get the lead outta your ass, kid. Cuff him. Jesus, Donovan. Am I going to have to hold your hand every time we get a kid?
Her gruff, crusty training officer hadn't cut her an inch of slack. Which was exactly what she'd needed. She'd been forced to focus on her job and put her emotions aside.
They'd interrogated the kid for hours. When he'd refused to give them names, they'd thrown him into a holding cell. Mia needed to go in this morning to continue the interrogation.
She had to do it with a clear head.
Coffee. She needed a cup desperately. Walking into the kitchen, she grabbed the carafe and took it to the sink to fill. Stopped dead in her tracks.
Two plates sat in the drying rack, along with two forks.
Finn had really been here. He'd done the dishes before he left.
A key turned in her front door, and she swung around in time to see him walk in, carrying two bags and a tray holding two cups of coffee.
Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her chest as she watched him walk toward her. "Why the hell are you still here?"
Chapter 29
"I told you last night, Mia. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sticking this time."
"What does that even mean?" she asked wrapping her arms around her waist. He was standing in her kitchen, holding coffee and breakfast, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Was this real? Or was she still in bed, dreaming?
The aroma of coffee drifted from the cups in Finn's hand. This morning, when she walked into her tiny kitchen, it had been filled with Finn's scent. She assumed she'd been dreaming, but she'd never dreamt smells before. Her heart did a slow roll in her chest, then began to thump.
He was real. Finn was standing in her kitchen, looking just as good as the last time she'd seen him, sixteen weeks and three days ago. Not that she'd been counting.
"Let's have breakfast before we talk." He set down the bag on the kitchen table, followed by the tray with two coffees. He pulled one out and handed it to her. "I learned my lesson about you and breakfast. At the bare minimum, you need coffee before a civilized conversation is possible. Coffee and food? Even better."
She lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped the hot coffee. He'd remembered exactly how she liked her coffee – two creams, no sugar. And none of the fancy flavored stuff, either.
Her lips curved on the plastic lid as she remembered that conversation. It had ended up as so many of their conversations had – with the two of them rolling around on the bed.
"Sit down, babe." He squeezed her shoulder and guided her into a chair. "I got bagels and salmon. Capers. An avocado." He laid them out on the plates he'd set on the table, got a knife and sliced open the avocado. "I missed your version of a Chicago breakfast while I was gone."
Babe? "What?" she said, ignoring the endearment as she inhaled the familiar scents. "You don't have avocados in California? No smoked salmon?"
He looked up from the avocado, his fingers green, his eyes even greener as he smiled at her. "I could have had them anytime. But they were too bound up in my memories of you. They would have tasted like sawdust without you to share them with me."
Mia blinked hard and lifted the cup to her mouth to hide her reaction. How did he know exactly what to say to make her all teary and emotional?
She finally set the cup down and reached for a bagel, her hand shaking as she picked it up. Jalapeno cheddar. He remembered her favorite, even though they had never had them when he'd been here.
She was pretty sure she'd only mentioned them once, during those two weeks when they couldn't get enough of each other. That time when every tiny bit of information was snatched up and stored in memory banks.
"Thank you," she finally said.
He looked up from the capers. "I haven't forgotten a thing," he said, his eyes darkening.
She hadn't, either.
It didn't mean she would start up with him again, though, just because he'd showed up at her door. "I meant what I said when you left," she said quietly, her heart pinching as she smeared cream cheese on a bagel half. "I can't do this again, Finn."
He looked up from the avocado, his gaze piercing. "I understand, Mia. I can't do this again, either."
"Then why are you here?"
"I have something to show you." His gaze lingered on her for a beat too long. His expression softened, turning into something that looked a lot like…
Yeah. Not possible. She needed to stop fooling herself.
Time to lighten this up. "Really, Finn? You have something to show me? That line was lame thirty years ago." If she didn't go with snark, she'd start crying. Not what she wanted to show Finn.
"How would you know?" he shot back. "You weren't around thirty years ago."
"I didn't have to be. It's in the history books. Under the category of 'stay away from a guy using this line. He's a loser'."
His eyes twinkling, he picked up the paper towel holding the avocado skins and pit and dumped them in the trash. Then he sat down and reached for her hand. "That's the Mia I remember. The coffee is working its magic already."
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles slowly. Almost absently. In spite of her determination to keep him at arm's length, she wanted to grip his hand and never let go. Every molecule in her body trembled like a leaf in a strong wind.
Tightening his grip on her hand as she tried to extricate it from his, he asked, "How are you doing this morning? Sounded as if you had a hell of a night at work."
She tugged harder, but he wouldn't let her go. Finally, sighing, she slumped back in the chair.
"Last night was beyond awful. Tragic. Unbearably sad. And completely unnecessary."
"Yeah, I got that. How are you handling it?"
He looked as if he really wanted to know. As if he wasn't just making conversation. She closed her eyes, and the pictures from last night unspooled in an endless loop in her head. "I can still see Layla lying on the sidewalk. One of her barrettes fell out when the paramedics were working on her. It was a tiny yellow plastic flower, covered with Layla's blood."
She sighed and pushed away from the table, her bagel only half eaten. "I'll see that picture for a long, long time."
Mia stared out the back door of her apartment. Two pots of patio tomatoes sat on her porch, bright red fruit hanging from the plants. The basil in the pots next to them needed water.
The cucumbers and eggplants and peas her neighbor plan
ted in the back yard were heavy with vegetables. Here at her home, everything was normal. Just like yesterday.
But something inside her had changed, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be the same woman again.
Finn's arms curled around her waist, pulling her against him. "You have to let it go, Mia. You won't be able to do your job if you can't put it behind you."
"I know that," she said, pressing her forehead against the glass in the door. "I know I can't obsess about every case. This one was…hard."
Before Finn could answer, her phone rang. Easing away from Finn, missing his embrace as soon as his arms dropped away, she grabbed her phone from the table. O'Reilly. Her training officer.
"Donovan," she said as she pushed the button to answer.
"We got them," Kevin said, hard satisfaction in his voice. "Before I took off last night, I took another stab at that scumbag we arrested yesterday. He gave up their names. We rounded them up early this morning and charged them. They're in Cook County jail. No bail. We're searching their cribs right now. They're going down, Donovan. Won't bring back that little girl, but at least her parents will have some closure."
"Thanks, Kevin," Mia said quietly. "I'm glad you called. I'll be in as soon as I can get there to do the paperwork."
"I've got this, Donovan," he said. "Take the rest of the day – we must have worked fifteen hours yesterday. You can do the paperwork on the next one. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay. Thanks. I'll be there."
"See ya then," O'Reilly said, and clicked off.
She stared at the phone for a moment, then set it on the table. "They caught the two guys who shot Layla," she said. "They're in jail."
"Does it help?" he asked, watching her.
"She's still dead," Mia said slowly. "But those two shitheads won't be shooting anyone else. So, yeah. I guess it does. A little, anyway."
"You want to finish your coffee and bagel?" He gestured toward the remains of her breakfast, sitting on the kitchen table.
She was hungry, she realized, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Yeah. I do."
They finished their breakfast in silence, Finn apparently content to sprawl in the other kitchen chair and watch her while she ate. He sipped his coffee slowly, a man with all the time in the world.
She knew that couldn't be true. He must have a million and one obligations back in California. But he was sitting in her kitchen, sipping his coffee, as if there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
Warmth slid through her at the thought, but she ignored it. Shoving the final bite of her bagel into her mouth, she washed it down with the last of her coffee and carried their dishes over to the sink.
Behind her, Finn pushed away from the table. He squeezed her shoulder and said, "Let me clean those up. You get ready to go."
She turned to face him. "Go where?"
"Like I said, I have something to show you."
"I can see just fine right here."
"What I have to show you isn't portable." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "You have to see for yourself."
She wanted to press her face into his palm, but she narrowed her eyes at him instead. "Where are we going?"
Finn shook his head, but his eyes were smiling. He slid his hand down her arm, fingers caressing her skin, and she shivered in spite of herself. "You're not going to cut me an inch of slack, are you?"
She tilted her head and studied him. "No," she finally said. "I'm not."
He'd already broken her heart once. It would destroy her if she let down her guard and he broke it again.
"Please, Mia." He slid his palms lower and took her hands. "I'm trying to have a moment here. Would you please put your clothes on?" His gaze raked over her loose tee shirt and yoga pants. His eyes darkened and his hands clutched hers more tightly. "Although if you want to go to our appointment like that, in your pajamas and without any underwear, I'm not going to complain."
Her face flamed and she yanked her hands away from him. He had too much power over her. One touch, one heated look, and all her self-preservation instincts flew out the window.
"Fine," she muttered, stepping away from him. "I'll get dressed. I'm wearing jeans, though." She held his gaze, daring him to object.
"Jeans are great," he said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. "Take your time."
After throwing on jeans and a light sweater for the late September day, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. After she turned off the water, she heard Finn murmuring on his phone. She strained to hear him, but couldn't make out the words. Finally, scowling at herself in the mirror for bothering but unable to stop herself, she put on mascara and lipstick and stepped into her favorite pair of aqua-blue Chucks.
When she stepped into the hall, Finn pushed away from the wall. "You make those jeans look good," he said, his gaze lingering on her legs. "You look good, Mia."
"I wasn't dressing for you," she said, but the tiny voice inside her head called her a liar.
"Thank goodness." Finn grinned at her as he opened her front door. "If you had, I'm not sure I could have handled it."
She started down the stairs, Finn right behind her. The back of her neck prickled, and she knew he was staring at her. "Stop staring at my ass," she said without looking back at him.
The rumble of his laughter made her want to clench her legs together. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath and exhaled. She would get through this without making a fool of herself.
She stepped into the early autumn sunshine and looked around for Pete. Finn grabbed her hand, led her to a silver Camry and opened the door for her.
When he got into the driver's seat and started the car, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Where's Pete?"
"I think you know where Pete is, Mia."
Pete was with her mom.
Why had things been so easy for the older couple and so complicated and hard for her and Finn? Pete had come to Chicago several times since he and Finn left. Her mom had gone to California a few times, too.
Why hadn't she and Finn been able to do that?
Maybe because both of them were too stubborn. And maybe Finn was as scared of this as she was.
Neither of them spoke as they got on Lake Shore Drive. They exited a few minutes later at North Avenue and continued farther south, winding through the Gold Coast neighborhood. Finn finally pulled to the curb on a street filled with old homes. None of them were obnoxiously big or ostentatious, but they were all well-maintained, beautiful houses.
"What are we doing here? Are we visiting someone who lives in one of these places?"
"Not exactly," he said cryptically. He stepped out of the car and came around to open her door, but she was already out, standing on the parkway, studying the row of houses.
"Now what?"
He glanced at his watch. "She should be here in…" He looked up. "Here she is."
An SUV pulled up and a woman with dark blond hair and a friendly face stepped out. "Mr. O'Rourke. How are you doing?"
"Please, Deborah. It's Finn." He took Mia's hand and pulled her next to him. "This is Mia Donovan."
Deborah held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Donovan."
"Mia." Mia shook as she studied the woman. Then she looked back at Finn. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Deborah smiled as she started for the sidewalk. "Show, don't tell, Finn?"
"You got it, Deborah."
The woman led them to a three story brownstone and up the stairs. The landscaping was tidy and neat – clearly professionally done. The windows shone and the paint on the woodwork was fresh. Deborah opened a lockbox on the front door, then used the enclosed key to open the door and usher them inside.
"So this is the first one," Finn said, clearing his throat. He was nervous, she realized.
The house had clearly been renovated recently. The kitchen appliances and cabinets were brand new, and the hardwood floors gleamed. The fireplace man
tel was tiled, and the living room and dining room held modern furniture.
The house had four bedrooms and three bathrooms. All of them looked like the rest of the house – in perfect condition.
After they'd toured the whole house, Deborah led them outside. "I'll meet you at the other address," she said.
As soon as she and Finn were in their car, she swiveled to face him. "What was that all about, Finn?"
He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "I'm moving to Chicago," he said, staring into her eyes. "I'm going to buy either this house or the next one, but you need to help me decide. I won't make a decision without your input."
"You can't move to Chicago." Mia took a deep breath, a huge flock of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Your career is in California."
Finn put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. "Let's go look at the second house."
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of another house. This one's garden wasn't professionally done. A lilac bush in the front yard was shading one of the windows. Hostas surrounded it, and coral bells marched across the front of the house. A row of rose bushes lined the sidewalk to the front door.
It was a beautiful, personal garden
Inside, the house was night-and-day different from the first one. It was a beautiful house, but it hadn't been rehabbed. The fireplace was surrounded by marble and had a carved wooden mantel. The floors were hardwood, but they hadn't been refinished.
The crown molding in the first floor rooms looked original, and a room off the living room had been used as a library. Books filled the shelves that lined the space, and a desk and comfortable chair sat in front of a window.
The second and third floors were similar – charming and vintage. They needed some work, but there was a settled, comfortable feel to the house. As if real people lived there. People who loved the house.
"Thanks, Deborah," Finn said as she locked the door behind them. "I'll get back to you later today."
"I look forward to hearing from you," she said. She nodded to Mia. "Nice to meet you, Mia."
Protect Me Page 27
