Send Me a Hero

by Rita Herron

  VERONICA RELAXED into the sea of bubbles and stared at the unlocked door, wondering if Nathan had seen the flicker of need she’d unveiled before she’d rushed into the bathroom. She was so inexperienced and shy, too afraid to ask him to join her—too afraid he would say no.

  Dribbling the warm water over her skin, she realized she hadn’t been much of a sexual being at all. Not until she’d met Nathan Dawson. She’d tried with Ron, forced herself to let him touch her, but beyond the touching, which she hadn’t really enjoyed, and a few pleasant kisses, their sex life had been a failure. She’d thought she might be inept. But Nathan had awakened that hidden part of her that she’d never felt, and her body tingled with anticipation at the mere thought that he was sitting on her sofa while she lay naked in her tub. What would she do if he opened the door and joined her?

  She lay back and imagined him opening the door and walking in, envisioned him staring at her with raw heat and need in his eyes, then watched with her heart pounding as he stripped his clothes off and came toward her, his lips curved into a deliciously wicked smile. He was standing proud and masculine, his broad chest and body and legs covered with sandy blond hair, his sex throbbing and bold, screaming for her.

  Veronica sat bolt upright and grabbed her robe, embarrassed at her errant thoughts. Thank goodness she hadn’t told him to join her. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn’t said them. If he wanted her, he would make a move.

  And obviously he hadn’t.

  As she tightened the robe around her waist and combed the tangles from her wet hair, reality crept in—he didn’t want her because he thought she was crazy.

  NATHAN STRODE toward the door for the tenth time, his fingers itching to turn the knob and join Veronica. His hand fingered the buttons at the top of his shirt, but warning bells sounded in his head. He wanted her with an intensity that made him question his own sanity. He had to remember why he was here—certainly not as Veronica’s lover.

  He was here because she might be crazy, and he needed to solve her case. And as much as he wanted to take the woman, to pour himself into her sweetness, he couldn’t—not until he unraveled the truth from the mystery surrounding her.

  He dropped onto the sofa, hurriedly scribbled some notes, collected the tape recorder and article, then picked up the phone and checked in with the precinct. He’d post an officer outside her door. He couldn’t stay himself. He couldn’t stand the temptation.

  “Dawson, where the hell have you been?” Ford said, adding a few succulent curse words that Nathan tried to ignore.

  “I’m still working on the Miller case. What’s up with you, partner?”

  Ford laughed. “I’ll fill you in on that robbery if you ever come in.”

  Nathan gritted his teeth. “I’ll meet you there in the morning.” I’m also going to make an appointment to see Scroggins, the officer who worked the Miller case years ago.

  “You know you’re wasting your time with that weirdo,” Ford said deadpan.

  “You do your job the way you want, I’ll do mine the way I want,” Nathan growled. “And I want a guard outside her apartment all night.”

  “Oh, God, you’re hung up on her, aren’t you?”

  “Just do what I said and get a guard here,” Nathan snapped, cutting Ford off. “If there’s any flack, I’ll take responsibility. See you in the morning.” Nathan paced the floor for the next thirty minutes, hoping Ford would send the guard before Veronica came out. He didn’t think he could stand being alone with her and not holding her.

  Finally she stepped out from the bathroom, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel, her creamy flesh glowing in the vee at the top of her long silky robe. He swallowed a groan. “I have to go in a few minutes. I’ve asked for a guard outside your door.”

  Veronica toyed with the sash around her robe. “Thanks for staying.”

  He nodded, studying her. She looked more relaxed and calmer, her cheeks rosy from the warm bath. “Do you think you can get some sleep now?” He certainly knew he wouldn’t.

  “I’ll try,” Veronica said, offering him a shy smile.

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll wait outside until he shows.” He jotted his phone number on a pad next to the phone. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need me.” Then he hurried to the door so he could escape before he touched her.

  “Nathan?”

  He paused and looked into her eyes. The desire he saw in her expression almost broke his good intentions, and he gazed at her for a long moment. The question lingering between the two of them crackled like static electricity. He should get out of there before he did something they both might regret. He reached for the doorknob but couldn’t leave. Not without touching her one more time.

  He closed the distance between them, traced one finger down her jaw, then lowered his mouth to hers. Gently, slowly, he savored the yearning he felt in her response, the soft moan that escaped as she parted her lips and teased his mouth with her tongue. She tasted sweet and needy, and his ache for her grew as he angled his head and deepened the kiss. She caressed his jaw with her soft palm, and he thought he would die from the raw need that surged through him.

  A knock sounded at the door, bringing his sanity back. “That’s probably him now.”

  “Probably,” Veronica whispered.

  He pulled away slightly, momentarily leaning his forehead against Veronica’s to gain control. “I should go,” he finally said in a low voice. “I’ll talk to the guard before I leave.”

  Veronica nodded, her breath gently brushing against his cheek. “Thanks, Nathan.”

  Her whispered words brought a smile to his face. As much as he wanted her, winning her trust was more important than his own desire. He nodded, then said good-night and closed the door.

  VERONICA WATCHED out the window as Nathan hurried to his car and drove away. Being alone hadn’t really bothered her before, but tonight she felt bereft as he walked away from her. People were always leaving her—first her parents, then her grandmother. And when the investigation was over, Nathan would leave, too. She had to be prepared for that. He was only doing his job. She touched her finger to her lips and smiled; at least she had the memory of his kiss.

  A shadow passed beneath the streetlight and Veronica locked the dead bolt. She peered out the window again, bending one blind slightly so she couldn’t be seen, then searched the darkness for any sign of the shadow. A van pulled up and a group of teenagers piled out, laughing and talking.

  Veronica massaged her temple and fought the panicky feeling that often came with night. Her body ached with fatigue, but she still didn’t want to go to bed. Would she have the nightmare tonight? Would she imagine the screams of her parents as she often did when she closed her eyes?

  She reminded herself that Nathan had posted a guard outside her apartment, then fixed herself a cup of hot tea and turned on the TV. After grabbing a crocheted afghan her grandmother had made, she curled up on the sofa to watch Miracle on 34th Street, hoping she might fall asleep before dawn. As she sipped her tea, her thoughts drifted to her past, to the visit to her old house, to Nathan and how she’d felt in his arms. Maybe he could help her unravel the secrets of her life, and maybe if she discovered she was the reason her parents had died, she would one day be able to forgive herself. And maybe he wouldn’t walk out on her when this was all over.

  Veronica sighed. That would take a miracle.

  Chapter Seven

  In the car, Nathan tried to distract his thoughts from the sensuous way Veronica had looked all freshly bathed, the ebony strands of her hair glistening with moisture. He had to forget the kiss. And that little throaty moan she made—

  Damn. He needed to occupy his mind with work so he wouldn’t have time to think of the non-work related activities he craved indulging in with the woman. Cursing his uncontrollable reaction to her, he dialed the precinct. “Sherry, this is Detective Dawson. Can you find out who handled the Miller case years ago?”

  The elde
rly policewoman whistled into the phone. “Anything for you, hon.” He waited, listening to her fingers click on the computer. Seconds later she spoke up. “Daryl Scroggins. He was the police chief back then. Retired about five years ago.”

  “Thanks, Sherry. You’re a doll.”

  Sherry laughed. She was always teasing him to find a good woman and settle down. “Come by the house and I’ll make you a pecan pie.”

  Nathan laughed. “Maybe one day soon.”

  Sherry chuckled. “And bring your woman by so I can meet her.”

  “There isn’t a woman,” Nathan said, although he instantly thought of Veronica. “Listen, Sherry. See what you can find out on Wayne Barrett and Barrett Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” He remembered seeing Scroggins talking to Veronica at Gerald’s campaign party. He hung up and dialed Scroggins.

  “This is Detective Dawson,” he said. “I heard you worked on the Miller murder-suicide investigation twenty years ago.”

  Scroggins sounded defensive. “Yeah, why do you want to know?”

  “Well, I’d rather not talk about it on the phone. I’d like to come by your house.”

  He waited, curious at the long pause on the other end of the line. “Not tonight,” Scroggins finally said. “My wife and I have company.”

  “Okay. How about in the morning?”

  “I’m busy.”

  Nathan tightened his fingers around the phone, wondering again at Scroggins’s reluctance. Was he really busy or just putting him off?

  “You name the time, I’ll be there,” Nathan said, refusing to give up.

  “Look, son. That case is two decades old. You ought to leave the past alone.”

  Nathan frowned at his last statement, then Scroggins slammed down the phone. What was it the person had said on the message to Veronica?

  Leave the past alone.

  VERONICA TOSSED and turned in her sleep as she wrestled with demons from her past. Flinging her hands wildly, she tried to escape the clutches of the approaching shadow. Patches of gray light enveloped her, blurring her view, and she strained to see the doorway, but air pressed around her, suffocating her, tearing the life from her lungs as someone thrust a bloody knife toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound caught in her throat and a sliver of pure terror racked her body. Her parents. They were going to die.

  She reached out to save them, to run for help, but something blocked the doorway and her legs were immobilized like steel pillars, dragging her down. She crouched into a ball and hid in the darkness, biting her lip until she tasted her own blood, covering her ears to drown out the pain of her parents’ cries. She closed her eyes so tightly her eyelids ached and her chest heaved with her silent sobs. She couldn’t save them.

  Perspiration trickled down her neck, but the room grew cold as if death had opened a door. The sharp sound of someone’s shoes scraping along the floor made her flesh crawl. She’d had that feeling before. A loud thump followed. Was it her parents’ bodies collapsing against the floor as the life slipped from them?

  She awoke with a start at the sound of another loud thump against her front door, her body trembling from the remnants of the recurring nightmare. It took her several seconds to steady her breathing, to remind herself that she had lived through this one, just like she had lived through that night.

  Her stiff muscles protesting, she jumped off the sofa, stumbling over the afghan tangled around her feet. She tried to focus and stared at the door for several seconds, straining to hear. Nothing.

  She slowly padded over to the window and peeked outside. The gray fog of morning greeted her.

  She opened the door slightly, retrieved the morning paper, relocked the door and carried the paper to the kitchen, hoping the local news could displace the fear lingering from her troubled sleep. Although determined to push her nightmares from her mind, she shook slightly as she made her tea. When she opened the paper, the headline shocked her: “Owner of Barrett Pharmaceuticals skips town with stockholders’ money.”

  Hmm. Wayne Barrett was a ruthless businessman and a callous husband who’d cheated on his wife both financially and physically. As she skimmed the article, she found a list of the major stockholders. Interesting. Gerald, Eli’s son, owned over forty-five percent of the company, his grandmother forty percent. Had Barrett ripped them off, too? And was Barrett the main supporter for Gerald’s campaign? If so, Barrett’s move could have a drastic effect on Gerald’s future. Eli was wealthy, but campaigning could drain a person’s wealth.

  The story posed lots of questions about Barrett, and she was certain she would be hearing from Barrett’s ex-wife’s lawyer. She might as well shower and get to work. If she didn’t, she’d probably have newspeople hounding her house. Reporters had nearly driven her crazy as a little girl. They were the last people she wanted to talk to.

  AS NATHAN STUDIED the files Sherry had left on his desk, he rubbed his hand along his aching neck, trying to work out the kinks he’d gotten during his tortured sleep the night before. He’d dreamt about Veronica. First he’d been holding her and giving her comfort while they searched through her parents’ old house, then he’d been caressing her in the twilight with nothing but a sheet covering them. She’d been naked in his arms, and he’d made sweet love to her over and over. Her cries of pleasure had been so beautiful, and they kept replaying over and over in his head like a soft jazz song.

  Both dreams taunted him. Both dreams made him want her more. In the wee hours of the morning, he’d been so tormented, he’d almost gotten up and called her just to hear her voice. Now, he was plain frustrated and felt like biting off someone’s head.

  He smelled Ford’s smoky breath before he heard him speak. Ford would be the perfect one to vent his irritation on.

  “I tied up the robbery case yesterday while you were messing around with that nutcase with the brown eyes.”

  “I wasn’t messing around with her. I was investigating.” Nathan gave him a sharp look. “Make any arrests?”

  “Yep. Bunch of punk kids. Recovered all the merchandise, too.” Ford lit a nonfilter cigarette and blew a stream of smoke in the air. Nathan gritted his teeth, inhaling the smoky aroma, mentally reminding himself Ford was not going to egg him into smoking again. He’d given up the habit.

  If he hadn’t, he’d have smoked a pack this morning when he’d woken up with the sheets tangled around him and visions of Veronica Miller dancing around his head.

  “Great,” Nathan said, standing up. “I’ve got some legwork to do.”

  “We’re supposed to be partners,” Ford said sarcastically.

  Nathan grinned. “I know. I made a list of places I’d like you to check out for me.”

  Ford growled. “Listen here, you can’t waltz in here and tell me what to do.”

  “Hey, we’re partners, right?” Nathan grinned and walked toward the door. He planned to be waiting on Daryl Scroggins first thing so the man couldn’t put him off again. “Besides, it’s official. Stevens wants us to check out Barrett Pharmaceuticals.”

  “At least that’s a real case,” Ford said. “I saw the paper this morning.”

  “Well, get the details,” Nathan said. “It’s our job to find out the truth, not the reporters’.” He wanted to know exactly how Barrett and Gerald Jones knew each other. Especially since Gerald had been at Veronica’s office only two days before.

  Ford snarled and puffed his cigarette, his eyes gleaming with anger.

  Nathan didn’t point out that Barrett was one of his prime suspects in harassing Veronica. He laughed silently. Ford would really be pissed if he thought he was helping him with Veronica’s case. After all, Ford thought Veronica was crazy.

  “GOOD MORNING, Louise.” Veronica stepped into her office and paused. “Eli, what are you doing here?”

  Eli’s warm smile wasn’t as bright as usual. He gave her a hug. “I came to visit my goddaughter. Anything wrong with that?”


  Veronica shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  She took a stack of messages from Louise. “All about Barrett?”

  Louise nodded. “The phone’s been ringing like mad. And it’s only eight o’clock!”

  Veronica laughed and opened the door, leading Eli in. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked tired and worried, and she suddenly felt uneasy.

  “Something wrong, Eli?”

  She settled at her desk and motioned toward the couch. Eli shook his head and picked up the glass paperweight her grandmother had given her when she’d graduated from law school.

  “Eli?”

  “Oh, yes.” He placed the paperweight down, his shoulders straightening. “I came to talk to you about Gerald.”

  Veronica nodded, noting the newspaper he had rolled up under his arms. “This wouldn’t be about Barrett Pharmaceuticals, would it?”

  Eli gave her a shaky smile. “You’re a smart girl, Veronica.”

  “I’m an attorney,” she said. “And Barrett was my client. Everybody is interested in that.”

  “I assume you know Gerald and my mother owned stock in his company.”

  Veronica nodded. “Is this going to affect Gerald’s campaign?”

  “I believe we have that covered,” Eli said. “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  She arched an eyebrow, unable to read Eli’s strange expression. Did he want her to handle Gerald’s financial affairs with the company? “Okay, what is it then?”

  He settled down in the chair, looking weary. “I know Gerald took you to lunch the other day.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure you and he…well, that you should—” Eli coughed, struggling for words.

  “That we should what, Eli? Work together?”

  He swallowed, and Veronica noticed the bulging vein in his throat. “That you should become involved.”

  Her eyes widened, her temper quickly surfacing. “Involved?” She stood up, hands on hips, and glared at Eli. “You’re telling me you don’t want me to date your son?”