Each Precious Hour

by Gayle Wilson

“You want to leave a number where he can reach you?” Paul asked. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”

  “Just give him my message.”

  “Okay,” Paul said, sounding reluctant to leave it at that. “If you’re sure that’s the way you want it.”

  “Thanks,” Robin said. “Oh, and I was wondering about Gus. Any news?” When the silence built across the phone line, she knew the answer, long before he told her.

  “I thought maybe you’d heard,” Paul said. “He died about half an hour ago. It’s already on the wires.”

  Robin closed her eyes, but the nightmare was painted vividly across the blackness behind her clenched lids. Gus, staggering across the street with Jared running after him. The smells of the explosive, spilled gasoline and the burning car. The lights of the fire engines and the police cars glinting off rain-washed streets as they converged, sirens screaming, on the corner.

  Despite the fact that the paramedic on the scene had shaken his head in response to Jared’s questions, the news about Gus was another blow. Another shock in a night that had already been too full of them. She hadn’t expected Gus to die. People who reached trauma centers as quickly as Gus had weren’t supposed to die. They damn well weren’t supposed to.

  “Robin?” Paul’s voice said in her ear, bringing her back to the present. His tone was softer, questioning her silence.

  “I hadn’t heard,” she said.

  “Maybe it was better,” Paul said. “Considering...”

  Considering the extent of Gus’s injuries. Internal injuries from the concussive force of the bomb. And bums requiring the most painful rehabilitation, every step of the process to recovery filled with agony. So she nodded, not even conscious that Paul wouldn’t be able to see her unspoken agreement.

  “Tell Uncle Jim I’ll call him in the morning,” she said.

  Without another word, she put the receiver back in its cradle, the movement carried out under a rigid self-control. Then she stood motionless, sick with the enormity of what had happened tonight. When they had come into Jared’s apartment a few minutes ago, she had felt an overwhelming sense of safety. And now... Now, all she felt was numb. And very much alone.

  IT WAS PRETTY DAMN HARD to take a shower without getting water on your back or your hand. You might keep one or the other dry, maybe, but not both. And he had been stupid to try, Jared admitted.

  He had decided in the cab, however, that as soon as he got home, he had to get the smell of smoke out of his hair and off his skin. The smell of smoke and everything else, he thought, without letting himself dwell too much on what other smells he was still carrying around with him—at least mentally.

  So yeah, the shower had probably been a stupid idea, but it had also been a necessity. Another way to try to wash away the memory of what had happened. He could change the small dressing on the back of his hand if he had to. They had given him the stuff back at the—

  The distinctive screech of the shower door sliding reluctantly along its dented track was the last thing he’d been expecting. He had been totally absorbed in his own thoughts, lost in the sensation of the heat and the force of the water washing everything away. Concentrating on letting it destroy the scent of death that had clung to him since they had left the scene of the explosion.

  At the noise the door made, he opened his eyes, tilting his head to avoid the stream pouring out of the shower head. He brushed water off his face with one hand to clear his vision, and found Robin standing outside the open door of the enclosure.

  Steam rushed out into the colder bathroom, and tiny pearls of moisture clung to the tendrils of hair that framed her face. It was white and strained, and her eyes were filled, almost to overflowing, with moisture that had nothing to do with the shower. And she was nude.

  Pretty clear evidence of his state of mind that it had taken him a couple of long heartbeats to notice Robin wasn’t wearing clothes. When he did, the force of adrenaline, that old flight-or-fight response, that had flooded his bloodstream at the sound of the door, seemed to freeze in his veins, clogging them with ice and stopping the familiar, automatic process of breathing.

  Without his conscious volition, his eyes fell from her face to examine the perfection of a body he had once known as well as he knew his own. The changes he found were subtle, and so damned provocative. Her breasts were fuller. They were still as high and as firm, their size and shape a perfect fit for his hands. Perfect, he thought again, his eyes slowly moving lower.

  There seemed to be a matching fullness about her waist. Not yet the bulge of pregnancy, but a subtle relaxation in the tautness of her stomach muscles. A sweet ripeness in her hips. They seemed wider, as if the bones of her pelvis had already begun to soften and expand in preparation for cradling the growing baby she carried. His baby and Robin’s. Their child. A life that had been created here in this apartment.

  The fierce heat of desire, ignited by that memory, brought the blood that had congealed in his veins agonizingly back to life. It coursed through his body, his sudden arousal so hard, the engorgement so tight, that it was painful. Demanding relief. Demanding Robin. But then he had always wanted her this much. He had always been instantly ready to make love to her. To hold her. To give her pleasure in every way he could devise.

  And despite her outward quietness, Robin was a woman totally attuned to her body, totally cognizant of her own needs. And of his. So if what she was doing right now—standing before him as naked as he was—wasn’t an invitation for making love, then he had no guidelines left for their relationship.

  “What is it?” he asked softly, forcing his eyes to focus on hers, trying to ignore her nudity.

  With his question, her eyes filled again with tears. Her lips tightened, almost as if she couldn’t allow the words to form. As if she couldn’t trust herself to say them.

  “Robin?”

  “Gus is dead,” she said.

  Jared closed his eyes, denying the images he had been attempting to block before, back when he had gotten into the shower. Then, there had been hope that no matter how horrible those pictures were, that somehow, some way... And now...

  The shower door moved again, creaking, and he opened his eyes. Robin was stepping into the enclosure, pulling the reluctant-to-slide door shut behind her. She stood beside him, not touching him, but close enough that the water from the shower head splashed off his body and onto hers.

  Her skin was incredibly pale, with the fine-grained translucence of a true blonde. And right now it was covered with chill bumps, from the cold of the apartment or from shock. Jared didn’t know which, and it didn’t matter. There was only one thing he could do about either.

  He opened his arms, no longer conscious of the water cascading across his back and injured shoulder. Robin stepped into their welcoming circle, as if she had wanted to be there all along, and buried her face in the center of his chest.

  Her arms slid around his waist. Their coldness against his skin was a contrast to the hot water and to the warmth of the enclosure. Robin was shaking, he realized, a fine vibration that was causing her whole body to tremble.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly, resting his cheek against the top of her head as he held her. It wasn’t okay, of course. It would probably never be okay again. But he had no words to offer someone who had just witnessed another person die. Witnessed another person murdered, he corrected.

  In his profession, he had seen that, or at least the aftermath of it, more times than he wanted to remember. He knew there was nothing anyone could say that would make what Robin was feeling go away. It was composed of inadequacy, of frailty and of a terrible sense of guilt for being alive. There were no words of solace for what she was experiencing right now. Only time, and justice, perhaps, could ever make it fade.

  “It might have been you,” she said. “What happened to Gus. That’s what I’ve always envisioned happening to you.”

  The soft, unexpected phrases hit him hard. It might have been you. That’s what I’ve al
ways envisioned happening... He hadn’t known that. Maybe he should have, as many times as they had talked about this. As many times as Robin had tried to tell him that she couldn’t live with her fear.

  But he didn’t think like that. Men didn’t. So he had never pictured himself in a situation like tonight’s. Not hurt like Gus, his body broken and burning. He couldn’t do his job if he did. Even after the incident at the federal building, he had never tried to imagine what would physically have happened to him if that bomb had gone off while he was working on it.

  The possibility of getting hurt was always somewhere in the back of your mind, he supposed, but you kept it there. Deliberately kept it there. Kept it under control. Robin had never been able to do that. And what she had seen tonight, he realized belatedly, what she had seen happen to Gus, would only reinforce what she had always feared. It might have been you.

  Tonight it might have been both of them. Seconds were all that had separated the two of them from the force of that explosion. Sitting in the back seat of the limousine, they probably wouldn’t have had even the slim chance for survival poor Gus had had.

  Jared thought about losing Robin even as he held her, knowing, for the moment at least, she was safe. He thought about some issue-mad bastard trying to get to her uncle, killing Robin instead. Thought about one of those crazies destroying Robin and their child. And knew, for the first time, how she felt.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  He wasn’t sure what the apology was for, although he knew he had to make it. For not understanding, maybe. For calling her a coward. For thinking she should have recovered from the anguish of her father’s death and from losing her mother so young.

  Right now, standing here with Robin in his arms, he couldn’t imagine ever getting over losing her. People did, of course. They loved and lost and grieved and picked up the pieces and went on with their lives because they didn’t have another choice.

  Right now, however, the pictures of that burning car and of Gus and Robin and of his nieces and nephews and those bright-eyed day care kids who had lined the sidewalk that morning all paraded, unwanted, through his consciousness. And Jared couldn’t imagine how anyone ever recovered from such a loss.

  Robin turned her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest. She brought her hand up to brush a strand of wet, tangled hair away from her face. When she had, she put the fingers of that same hand lightly on his shoulder, using the tips of them to make a small, circular motion over his skin. It felt like a caress, and despite her tears, despite the horror of Gus’s death, his body reacted. Just as strongly as it always had.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to me,” Jared promised. “I swear that, Robin. I swear to you.”

  She leaned back, lifting her head to look up into his eyes. Her makeup, damp from contact with his skin, was splotchy and uneven. Her lashes were spiked with the water that was still pouring over both of them, her mascara smeared onto the fragile skin underneath. But her eyes were wide and very clear.

  “I just want you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I know,” he said. He had known. Until tonight, however, he hadn’t had any idea what it felt like to worry that the person you loved wouldn’t be safe. Wouldn’t come home. Wouldn’t be alive tomorrow. “I want you safe, too. I want you out of McCord’s campaign. It’s too dangerous. And even if it weren’t, it’s too hard. Hard on you and the baby. The hours are too long. I don’t like the stress you’re under.”

  “I know,” she said, her eyes on his. “I’ve known I would have to do something soon. But the timing right now—”

  “To hell with the timing,” he interrupted. “McCord’s got money. Let him hire somebody to do what you’re doing.”

  “It’s not that. Whitt says people will come out of the woodwork as soon as the announcement’s made that McCord’s still going to run. Highly qualified people. A lot more qualified than I am. Of course, almost anybody would be.”

  “And that’s supposed to happen on New Year’s Eve?”

  “At midnight,” she agreed. When he didn’t respond, she added, “It’s not that long.”

  “Too damn long,” he said. It wasn’t the time that bothered him, but the thought that whoever was trying to keep McCord from running might inadvertently hurt Robin in the process.

  Robin smiled at his anger. The movement of her mouth was a little tremulous, but it was still a smile. After all she had gone through tonight, being able to smile at him was a step in the right direction, he knew. A step toward healing.

  “If I pull away from the campaign now,” she said, “someone might connect my leaving to the revelations about Vietnam. They might use it against Uncle Jim. I don’t know that they would even try, but I owe him too much to let that happen. After he announces, nobody will think anything about a professional coming in. It will be expected. And that’s only four days away.”

  Jared knew Robin’s sense of loyalty too well to think he could talk her out of finishing the task she’d undertaken. Besides, the close call she had had tonight wasn’t likely to happen again, he told himself. Especially now that he, and everyone else, including the senator, was alert to the danger. No longer just a threat, but a reality. A reality that had already cost one life.

  “Until the announcement,” he said, the words seeming more an order than an agreement. “And I’m taking vacation. I’ve got some days. I’m going to spend them making sure that whoever is out to get McCord doesn’t come anywhere near you again. Or him.”

  “Near Uncle Jim?” she asked, her voice reflecting surprise at Jared’s intention to protect the senator.

  He slid his hand between their bodies, his palm cupping the nearly invisible swell of her belly. She moved back enough to give him room to do that. Her eyes examined the possessive gesture of his hand before they lifted once more to his face.

  “This him,” he clarified. “Or this her, as the case may be. Which is it?” he asked, and watched her smile again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it. Until last week...it almost didn’t feel real to me.”

  “The baby?”

  “The whole thing, I guess. At the beginning, being pregnant was just...a complication. Something that needed accommodating, taking care of. I didn’t really think too much about...a baby.” As she spoke, she put her hand over his. “That probably sounds terrible,” she added, her eyes questioning.

  “It sounds truthful,” he said. “And it wasn’t really a baby to me, either. Not until tonight, I guess.”

  “And now it is?” she asked.

  “Now it is,” he agreed softly.

  She laid her cheek against his chest again, leaning against him, their bodies back in a closer, more intimate contact.

  “You remember when we made him?” he asked.

  “Or her,” she said, her voice touched with amusement.

  “Nearly four months ago.”

  She nodded, wet hair brushing erotically against his skin.

  “That’s a hell of a long time to do without you,” he said.

  “I didn’t know you were counting.”

  “What did you think I was doing?”

  “Maybe...seeing someone else,” she suggested.

  “You know better than that,” he said.

  “I didn’t. I was pretty adamant the last time we talked. Pretty much ‘This is it.’ So...that was something else I kept picturing during those months—you with someone else.”

  He put his right hand on the back of her head, squeezing her against him. His left palm drifted slowly up and down her spine.

  “But as painful as picturing that was,” she continued, “I could bear the thought of it better than I could stand the thought of the other.”

  The thought of him being dead. Like Gus. That was something Jared didn’t want to think about. And didn’t want her to think about. Not tonight. He reached out and fumbled
for the shower controls he couldn’t see. Finally, he managed to get the water turned off. The sudden silence was eerie, and almost at once the cold from the rest of the apartment began to seep into the enclosure, stealing its warmth. And theirs.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He slid the shower door open with his left hand, putting his right against the small of her back. He stepped out of the enclosure, cupping his hand under her elbow to help her do the same thing. She was shivering, but at least this time he knew it was from the cold and not from fear.

  When they were standing together on the bath mat, he pulled a towel off the rack and began to dry her. He dabbed at the moisture on her face, smiling down into her eyes as he did. He scrubbed briefly at the smeared mascara, but it resisted his halfhearted attempt to remove it.

  “I must look like a raccoon,” she said.

  “A sexy one.”

  “Right,” she agreed, laughing a little. Slightly embarrassed Robin laughter. “I’ll bet. Hair soaking wet, pregnant, makeup smeared. A real sexy package.”

  “I decide what’s sexy.”

  “And your taste runs to...fat, messy and disheveled?”

  “It definitely would,” he said, “if you were any of those things. But since you’re not...”

  Smiling, he draped the towel over her head, catching between its ends the strands of her hair, which had been darkened with moisture to a deep red-gold. He rubbed, removing as much of the water as he could. When he had finished, he pulled the towel off. The mass of damp curls gleaming in the low bathroom light spiraled over her shoulders, a foil to the paleness of her skin. And he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She was still trembling, he realized suddenly. Still cold. He threw the towel he’d used to dry her hair on the top of the vanity and took the hand towel from the rack. He rubbed it gently down her throat and across the front of her shoulders. Then he slipped his hand under her breast, touching the towel to the drops of water that beaded the translucent skin.

  After a few seconds, his hand stilled. The small dark nub of her nipple had begun to peak, either from the cold or from the fabric’s rough caress. His eyes watched that subtle movement of her skin and then, unable to stop himself, he lowered his head to touch his tongue to the hardened bud.