The Lawman and the Lady

by Pat Warren

  With his body so closely aligned with hers, the evidence of his desire so prominent, Tate knew it would be so easy to let him make her forget. But she mustn’t allow herself to overlook the man with the ponytail and the even bigger man behind him. It was time to be as truthful with Nick as he’d been with her. She needed to tell him everything as soon as the moment was right. For now, she’d reassure him the only way she knew how—by accepting his bruising kisses, and understanding his desperation.

  She was different somehow, Nick thought, wilder, more abandoned, unapologetic about her desire for him. Hunger raged through his system and had his head reeling. Her slender arms wound around him and his heart thundered a welcome.

  This was what he could lose, the woman he’d just now found. This seemingly fragile yet very strong woman who’d taken over his mind, his senses, his life. The loss of this woman could very well bring him to his knees and it stunned him to realize it.

  In the distance, thunder rumbled a warning of an evening storm, underscoring the turbulence Nick felt. He eased back from Tate, more shaken than he’d have thought possible.

  It was Tate’s turn to reassure, to soothe. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t think about all the terrible things that could happen. Think instead that we’ll get through this.”

  Surprised, he looked at her. “How do you know what I was thinking, what I was feeling?”

  Puzzled, she shook her head. “I’m not sure. I just know. The way you kissed me felt like…like…”

  “Like suddenly I realized I could lose you, that he could win?”

  “Oh, Nick, no. We won’t let him win.”

  He leaned against the car, trying to sort out his thoughts. “You remember the man on the ledge whose baby I grabbed before the guy fell into the net? He’s Hispanic so the ACLU got into the picture and when he passed the psych exam, some smart lawyer got him out on bail awaiting trial. So what does he do? His wife called in this morning. He’s stalking her. Very carefully, not too close, but always there. She’s scared to death.”

  Nick straightened, took her hand and guided her to stand between his legs. “I’ve handled lots of stalker cases before. I was beginning to think stalking’s become the great American pastime for some of these creeps. Some we’ve caught before they did any real damage. Others outmaneuvered us and managed to kill their victims.” His hands stroked up her arms and settled on her shoulders. “But since knowing you, since learning to care for you, suddenly it’s not a textbook case anymore. It’s up close and personal. As a cop, I’m not supposed to be afraid. But I am, of losing you.”

  She gazed into eyes a deep pewter-gray. “That’s not going to happen. You won’t let anything happen to me or Josh or Maggie.”

  Nick was aware how far she’d come. “I hope you’re right.” He thrust shaky fingers through his hair. “I want so badly to get this man out of your life. If only I could get a solid lead, his license plate number, his picture. Something.”

  Tate stared up at thick gray clouds shifting across a darkening sky. When had the sun gone down? She felt a shiver take her and knew what she had to do. “I know who he is,” she said quietly.

  Nick’s eyes stayed on her face, registering no surprise. “I kind of thought you did.”

  “But you didn’t push me to tell you.”

  “I felt you would when you were ready. I didn’t think it would do any good to try to pry it out of you.”

  How well he knew her already. Tate let out a trembling sigh. “It’s a long story, one I’m not sure you’ll believe.”

  “Try me.”

  “All right, but not here. And not right now. It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you, but give me a little time to sort out my thoughts, will you?”

  He’d waited this long, he could wait a bit longer. “Okay.” He kissed her forehead, then opened the passenger door for her. When he’d settled himself behind the wheel, he turned to her. “You didn’t answer me about whether it was all right if I spend the night on the couch.”

  It would be even more difficult for her now that he’d kissed her, now that she knew how much he could make her feel, to know he was on the couch one story below her large double bed. But she’d handle it if he could. “I’m sure Maggie will sleep better with you in the house.”

  Nick thought he’d read her mind, her misgivings. “I might be a little restless, knowing you’re so close and I can’t touch you.”

  Tate took his hand, leaned over and kissed him gently. “You’ll manage. And tomorrow’s another day.”

  Chapter 7

  The couch was old and lumpy. Nick beat down the pillow into a more comfortable shape and tried to ignore whatever was jabbing into his lower back. They didn’t make sofas with springs anymore, did they? What else could it be?

  Knowing he wouldn’t rest until he found out, he got up, pulled off the sheet Tate had so neatly tucked into place and yanked up the middle cushion. A toy truck. Probably Josh’s, lost some time ago. Who knew how long it had been there?

  Fixing his bed again, Nick felt too restless to sleep, unable to turn off his mind. Josh had been asleep in his room before they’d returned from Tate’s first shooting lesson. Ralph had barked, then come down to investigate but, recognizing their familiar scents, had scampered back up to sleep alongside Josh’s bed. Maggie had been nodding on the couch in front of the television, but she’d awakened and heartily approved Nick’s plan to stay on premises most nights. She’d gone off to her room. That had left him and Tate alone.

  They’d sat on the backyard swing and had an iced tea, talking about anything and everything except those kisses out in the desert and the mysterious man in black. He’d gained her trust and confidence by not pushing and he wasn’t about to begin now. So when she’d yawned and said she had to get up early tomorrow, he’d watched her make up his bed, disappointed but patient. She’d brushed her lips across his quickly, as if afraid to really kiss him knowing the banked fire between them could flare up in a moment. And there were others in the house. She’d gone upstairs, looking as reluctant as he felt. Minutes later, he’d heard the shower turn on.

  He’d checked both doors and the downstairs windows. Maggie had the air-conditioning on, but the temperature was set quite high since her old bones liked to be warm, she’d explained. Nick had removed his shoes and shirt, stretched out in just his jeans. His .38 was tucked in his ankle holster and he decided to leave it be.

  There was a night-light on in Josh’s room, plus a low wattage bulb burning in the upstairs hall. Maggie had left the dim stovetop light on, probably in case she got up during the night. The old air-conditioning unit creaked and moaned as the air whooshed on. He padded barefoot into the kitchen and ran himself a glass of water from the cooler. Sipping it, he peered out the window above the sink. The leaves of the eucalyptus tree swayed in a light night breeze. Shadows chased each other under a half-moon. Unfortunately, the street lamp was three houses down, offering no light into Maggie’s yard. Maybe, since he was up anyhow, he should take a look around outside to reassure himself that no one was lurking around.

  Slipping his shoes on, Nick went out the back way. The yard was good sized and somewhat overgrown with bougainvillea trailing up the stucco fencing, pink rhododendron flourishing in a corner bed, an orange tree with the fruit still green and a smaller lemon tree. Lots of places to hide, he thought as he strolled around cautiously. The plants really should be cut back, the trees trimmed. He walked to the back gate, saw there was no lock on it and made a note to get one tomorrow. Of course, a lock was no deterrent for someone determined to get into the yard, especially with a fence most anyone could easily scale, but it would be a start.

  Hands in his pockets, he thought about the small lock he’d gotten at the hardware store on their way back. Tate had shown him the way to her bedroom where he’d drilled the hole into her nightstand drawer and installed the lock. He’d also looked around at her large double bed, a cheery yellow comforter covering it, two fluffy white pillows
at the brass headboard. The furniture here, like everything downstairs, was old and well used by countless renters, but it was kept up and clean.

  On the dresser he’d studied a picture with four divided snapshots, all of Josh at various ages up to the present. Even as a baby, he hadn’t looked much like Tate with his round face and blond hair, even with those green eyes. His looks had to be a legacy from his father. Nick felt he was getting closer to knowing who the man was.

  Tate had gone downstairs and after he’d finished with the lock, he’d stood staring at her bed, wishing he could join her there, see all that gorgeous auburn hair spread out on the pillow, watch those green eyes turn opaque with desire. For him.

  Out by the fence, Nick shook his head and dragged his errant thoughts back to the here and now. He stood perfectly still, scarcely breathing, an old cop trick. Only then could you pick up on movements foreign to the scene. But after several minutes, he couldn’t sense anyone else in the area.

  The house to the left of Maggie’s was also a two-story with no lights on to be seen. On the other side was a smaller bungalow, also dark. Maggie had told him a widow named Berta Stone lived there alone with her cat since her husband died last year. As he studied it, the floodlight flashed on, illuminating the whole yard. Wondering what had set off the sensor, Nick rushed to the fence and peered over. A wild rabbit was calmly munching on the new growth of lettuce in Berta’s small garden.

  Smiling, he strolled back toward Maggie’s house, pausing to glance up at the second floor. What he saw had him stopping in his tracks. Tate’s bedroom was the largest one, stretching from the front of the house to the back. He could see her unmistakable figure silhouetted behind sheer curtains, and it looked as if she wasn’t wearing anything. He saw her grab what looked like a towel, bend over and dry her hair. Fascinated despite feeling like a voyeur, he moved a few steps closer.

  Now she was applying lotion, it appeared, propping those long legs onto a chair, smoothing on some cream she squirted into her cupped hand. Nick found himself swallowing as she spread the lotion all over herself. Fortunately for his state of mind, her back was to him or he might have lost it completely when she got to her breasts. His vivid imagination filling in the blanks was bad enough. Finally finished, she picked up a gown or some sort of long shirt and pulled it on over her head. By the time he saw her disappear from sight and turn off the light, his mouth was cotton dry.

  Quickly he went back inside, locking the back door. That was enough torture for one night, he thought, draining the glass of water he’d left on the counter. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d stood watching Tate through that window at night, unknown to her. He needed to talk her into hanging some heavier drapes or, at the very least, getting some room-darkening shades.

  Nick kicked off his shoes and again stretched out on the couch, taking up every inch despite the extra-long length. Squirming to get comfortable, he decided a man his size wasn’t meant to sleep on a sofa. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes.

  Lights from a passing car coming in through her streetside front window danced across her ceiling as Tate lay in bed, wide-awake. She’d thought the long tiring day plus a hot relaxing shower would have done the trick. Not so.

  She’d been right to suspect having Nick in the house was a double-edged sword. Maybe if he hadn’t kissed her senseless just hours ago, she could stop thinking about him, but even that was doubtful. Her skin tingled all over, not from bathing but from the memory of his hands skimming along her arms and pressing into her back. Reaching up, she traced her lips with a fingertip, remembering his mouth touching hers, drawing from her the most marvelous responses. Thank goodness Maggie had been groggy with sleep when they’d returned or she surely would have noticed Tate’s lips swollen from rough kisses she’d welcomed like a desert walker welcomes rain.

  She turned over and kicked off the sheet, her restless body unable to lie still. It was going to be a long night, she knew. Probably few would believe that after her experience with Josh’s father, she’d managed to suppress, to bury, to stifle any and all sexual impulses. Ruthlessly she’d ignored that part of herself, certain she could erase those fierce nighttime longings, calling it mind over matter. And she’d done a marvelous job of it.

  Until Nick had entered her life and changed it forever.

  One touch, one heartfelt kiss, and she wanted more. So much more. Josh’s father had been older than she and light-years more experienced. But even so, it hadn’t been sex that had drawn her to him. It had been the caring, which too late she learned had all been an act to get her into his bed and keep her there until he was through with her.

  Tate sighed, trying to forgive the lonely twenty-year-old she’d been back then—naive, foolishly trusting, unsuspecting. She’d been such easy game for a man with no scruples, playing right into his hands, too unsophisticated to see where their liaison would lead. To nowhere except heartache.

  But she’d learned, she’d survived and, although she’d paid dearly for those months of bad choices, she had a wonderful son that, please God, no one would take from her. Since meeting Nick, she at last had hope that if anyone could stop the boy’s father, he was that man.

  The phone rang just then, startling Tate. Automatically she reached toward the nightstand, then stopped. Nick had told her not to answer the phone, that either he would get it or they should let the machine take it. After two rings, there was silence. The answering machine was programmed to pick up after four rings, allowing slow-moving Maggie time to get there. Apparently Nick had answered.

  She glanced at the clock. Eleven o’clock. She had few friends in Tucson, having moved around so often. Neither Molly nor Laura would be calling this late. Maybe someone was calling Nick. As a cop, he had to have left their number with his precinct. No one at Brennan’s would phone her at this hour, either. Curiosity had her rising.

  Tate glanced down at the old football jersey she was wearing that came to just above her knees. The only robe she owned was flimsier than her present outfit. She decided to go downstairs and see who’d called. Feet bare, she left her room and padded down the carpeted stairs.

  He was lying on the couch, his arms raised, his hands beneath his head, watching her approach. She might have known she wouldn’t surprise him. He always seemed on ready alert. She stopped several feet from the couch. “I heard the phone.”

  Nick sat up, his eyes caressing her. The glow from the upstairs hallway filtered down, gently backlighting her, the kitchen lamp chasing away more shadows. She had on some sort of University of Arizona nightshirt and her hair hung to her shoulders in soft waves. Watching her through the window had been nothing compared to viewing her this close.

  He cleared his throat. “I took a chance and answered. No one spoke, but I could hear breathing before they hung up. If it was our guy, I wanted him to hear a man’s voice here late at night so he’d know the three of you weren’t alone.”

  “Oh, I see. Then you think it was him?”

  Nick shrugged, making room for her on his couch bed. “I don’t know. Do you get many breathers?”

  “Breathers.” She shook her head, taking his lead and sitting down, not too close. “I’ve never encountered any when I’m home, but I don’t know if Maggie has during the day. I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

  Realizing the couch was a little uneven, she looked at him. Then wished she hadn’t, as her eyes were drawn to his wide chest liberally sprinkled with dark hair. “This bed isn’t too comfortable, is it?”

  “It’s fine.” He waited, wondering if she needed to talk. “You couldn’t sleep?”

  She shook her head.

  “Me, either.”

  Tate studied her hands intertwined nervously in her lap. “If the call was from who I think it was, it seems he’s running out of patience. And that’s not good news.”

  Nick decided to plunge in. “Isn’t it time you told me who he is and why he’s doing this to you?”

  Her eyes downcast, Tate nodded. “Past time, I thi
nk.”

  He moved closer, took one of her restless hands in his. “Just take your time and start at the beginning. You know nothing you can tell me will change the way I feel about you. I’m here for you, Tate.”

  His words touched her more than he could ever know. She felt his arm slip around her shoulders as he eased her close to his solid chest. For just a minute, she let herself absorb his strength. Then she straightened, reached for a tissue from the box on the end table and swiped at her eyes. “If I’m going to do this, I think it would be better if you don’t touch me right now. You…you’re very distracting.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Nick scooted back, giving her some space.

  Tate drew in a breath and began. “I’ve already told you a little about how things were with me in my teens. I’d learned early not to trust guys. I hadn’t planned on going to college, but my dad insisted. He was such a wonderful man, both mother and father to me and my brother. Steve’s in San Diego, a career navy man. He joined at eighteen and got his degree through the service. But Dad had painstakingly saved this money and he was determined that I get a good education. He was a tailor for this high-fashion men’s store. For years, he worked double shifts, almost ruining his eyesight.”

  She stole a glance and took courage from the intense way he was listening. “By then, Dad had sold the house we’d grown up in and rented a little apartment, contending that I couldn’t have the whole college experience if I lived at home. So he paid my tuition plus room and board at Maggie’s, which was considerably less than if I’d have lived in a dorm. I’ll be eternally grateful, too, because here is where I met Maggie and Molly and Laura.”

  She was dragging this out too long, Tate realized, trying to delay the tough stuff. “I’d taken odd jobs for spending money, trying to ease Dad’s burden. In my junior year, I went to work on the political campaign to elect Adam Weston as the youngest senator from Arizona. He was a popular and successful attorney and very ambitious. Even more ambitious than I’d realized, I was to learn. And he was ten years older than I.”