“I have to answer that,” Lyon said sighing.
“Answer what?”
He grinned and his chest shook slightly from laughter. “Dispatch wants a check in.”
That was when she heard a discreet clicking. Realizing it was a mic check, she tried to return to her seat, but he stayed her and just searched beneath the hem of her skirt to find the handheld device.
“Go ahead, Buddy. Over.”
“Chief, Mr. Pettigrew is here.”
Lyon exchanged looks with Hope, then he checked his dashboard clock. “I’m about twenty minutes out. Tell him I can call him later if he can’t wait.”
“Hang on. Over.”
While Buddy conferred with the editor of Cedar Grove’s newspaper, Lyon helped Hope back into her seat. His caresses left her ultra-sensitive to his touch and her subtle shiver and squirming to get her seat belt fastened must have telegraphed something to him.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure.”
“That guy has the worst timing on the planet.”
He sounded regretful, his voice as tender as his touch, but she was thinking of how far she would have been willing to go. In who knows whose driveway? In broad daylight!
“I need to get to my office anyway.” She smoothed her hair while he took the call back, and willed her heart to stop pounding like some over-wound toy.
Pettigrew would wait. Lyon said, “All right, see you eleven at the latest.”
“Doesn’t sound good,” she said after he disconnected and replaced the mic. “Do you suppose my father called him the moment we left?”
“Not enough time for him to conjure a plan and order Ted to the station. This is something else. Please tell me you’re okay?”
She gave him a bright look. “Fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He placed his hand on her cheek to keep her face toward his. “What is it? Did I go too fast?”
“We’re not preteens experimenting on a first date,” she replied, her sardonic tone for herself, not him. So why did she suddenly feel so unlike herself, and wrong?
“No, thank heaven we’re not.” His focus was wholly on her lips. “I’ll be hard pressed to listen to Ted let alone anyone else the rest of the day. All I’ll be thinking about is you.”
The push and pull of emotions continued to war within her until she groaned. “My father was right,” she said with chagrin. “I’m all hormones.”
“Forget about your father. He doesn’t have a—” Lyon swore under his breath. “We can’t have this conversation right now.” He shifted roughly into reverse and backed out of the dirt driveway.
Hope grimaced at his rough handling of the car. She didn’t blame him for being frustrated with her. She wasn’t all that happy with herself, either.
“Do you have to go into the office?” he asked about a mile down the road. “It might do you good to take the day off.”
“I can’t. I have to prepare for a meeting right after lunch. It’s a new client.”
“Then at least promise me you’ll call your doctor? The OBGYN you mentioned.”
“I did before you picked me up. But Dr. Winslow can’t see me until this time next week.” She sent him an apologetic look. “I’m okay, Lyon. I’m sorry that I worried you.”
But when he dropped her off at the house and he leaned over to kiss her goodbye, she turned her head in the last second and the kiss barely skimmed her cheek.
“See you later,” she said and quickly jumped from the squad car. Seeing he was about to say her name or say something, she slammed shut the door and dashed to get her own vehicle.
Lyon turned the air conditioner on high for the trip back to town. If he had a cup with ice left over from a cold drink, he would have tossed that into his lap. Let Pettigrew and the whole office think what they would when he walked in dripping wet.
He ached and he worried and neither sensation was pleasant. Why had Hope gone—not cool, but distant and antsy on him? That wasn’t hormones, or not all hormones. Had she been telling the truth that she was okay? She wouldn’t have responded like she did if she wasn’t.
Patience, he reminded himself. Married a day and already he had to remind himself about that oath. It was the delicacy of her clothes that had almost driven him crazy. Her blouse was as thin as a scarf, her bra as fine as her lace mantilla. Her nipples had been taut for him. When her jacket had parted, he’d seen that clearly. Whatever had made her not want to give him a real goodbye kiss, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had to take comfort in that.
Ted Pettigrew did not enjoy being kept waiting. When Lyon entered the station, he launched at him like a giraffe protecting a watering hole—narrow head and skinny neck first and lanky arms and legs playing catch up.
“There are allegations that you’re using a city vehicle for personal use,” he declared.
He was oblivious of Buddy, who gave him a pained look, since Pettigrew’s voice was like a boom box and Buddy was trying to hear a radio call from one of the other officers in the field. Cooper Jones even leaned out of his office, and it took something considerable to tear him away from a forensics report.
One thing Lyon knew he was guilty of nothing—except to driving home and back to the station. “If this is a fishing expedition, you’re wasting your time,” he replied snatching up the pink phone message slips Buddy held up for him, and continuing to his office.
“It’s been recorded that on the 5th, 7th, then the 10th through yesterday, either you didn’t return to your apartment until late, or you didn’t return at all.” Pettigrew looked over his frameless lenses at him. “Can you prove these records are incorrect?”
Once behind his desk, Lyon glanced up at him. “Records? You mean notes, don’t you, Ted? Or are you wasting the paper’s money on a private detective?”
Only mildly set back by Lyon correcting him, Ted waved his pad dismissively. “It’s been a hectic morning and I misspoke. This is a personal log and, no, I won’t share my sources.”
“What did you do, plant your mother-in-law with a bag of cheddar popcorn in the parking lot of my apartment?” Once in a while, when all of the Letters to the Editor were critical of Ted’s editorials, he would have his mother-in-law write something on his behalf. Who knew what else he’d asked of the poor woman?
“You’d be wise to take this seriously—and appreciate my attempt to give you an opportunity to defend yourself.”
“I always take you seriously, Ted. That’s why I’m telling you once and with complete frankness that my vehicle was not in use after hours on those dates.”
“You haven’t even checked your calendar or log.”
“Don’t have to. Those are memorable dates to me.” He sat down and shot the disgruntled newspaperman a benign look. “Is there anything else?”
“You don’t seem to grasp the importance of this—I’m going to be running an editorial on the critics who feel your job performance has left a bad taste in some people’s mouths,” Pettigrew replied.
An editorial, not a news article. “That’s your prerogative, although I will say that I’m deeply disappointed.”
“And I can quote you as not interested in helping yourself?”
Lyon pointed to the top envelope on his desk. “The autopsy report on Will Nichols came in this morning.” He hadn’t told Hope because he hadn’t wanted to add to any nerves she was feeling before meeting with Ellis. “The medical examiner said that Will broke his neck during the rollovers. If he’d only had a partial break when I reached him and had I succeeded in pulling him out, I might have been guilty of involuntary manslaughter. As it is, all you have is the complaint by a woman who was messing around with an engaged man. You go with that and you’re going to look pretty ridiculous. Anything else is criticism by people who don’t care for me or for not signing on to their politics. That’s not a firing offense.”
“Can the press have a copy of that report?”
“Not before I share the results with his next of kin.
”
“What was his alcohol reading?”
Lyon winced inwardly, but enunciated slowly, “After I tell the family, Ted.”
As soon as Pettigrew strode out of his office, Lyon dialed Hope’s number. He didn’t want to make this call—not after they’d parted so unsatisfactorily, but he was afraid Ted would call her wanting a statement. He couldn’t not warn her.
“Harrell Consultants,” a scratchy voice began. “May I help you?”
“Freddie, this is Chief Teague. Is Ms. Harrell available?”
“Oh! Yes, sir, she just walked in. Hold please.”
It took Hope a good while before she picked up—long enough to make Lyon wonder if she was trying to avoid taking the call. Finally he heard a click and her soft voice. “Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you when you’ve only just arrived. Do you have anyone in your office?”
“No, why?”
“I wanted to beat Ted Pettigrew. I was afraid he would get hold of you before I could.”
“Oh, God, what’s happened?”
“Nothing you didn’t know or suspect, but you’d still have been caught off guard. The autopsy report came in. Actually, it was here early this morning, but I didn’t think the time was right to tell you.”
“I see.”
Did she? Lyon prayed so. “Hope, his neck was broken on impact.” A barely audible sound came over the line and his heart twisted. “Damn, I’m sorry for telling you like this. Are you okay?”
“Yes. You’re right, I was prepared for that, but it still delivers a kick.”
“It does. Pettigrew wanted to know his alcohol level. I told him that I wasn’t releasing any other results until I reported to the next of kin. I’ll call Clyde next.”
“Yes, thank you. I wouldn’t want to be the one.”
“No, of course not.” Lyon stared at the report. “He was well over the limit for alcohol, Hope. More so than I would have guessed, which means he’d been indulging elsewhere.”
Hope drew in a ragged breath. “I can’t listen to any more, Lyon. I—I have to get out of here.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“No, you have work to—”
The phone went dead. Lyon’s heart plunged, but he didn’t give himself time to wonder if she’d done it on purpose or if she couldn’t help it because she was about to be sick. He was out of his office and heading for the front door even as he gave directives to Buddy. “I’m out for anything but an emergency,” he told him. “You can reach me by the radio.”
“Do you need backup? Anything?”
“No. Tell Cooper the Nichols autopsy is on my desk—for his eyes only. If anyone else calls about it, delay them.”
Lyon made it back to the house just as the first garage door was closing. He triggered the third one to open and saw Hope already at the storm door fumbling with keys. When she saw him, she covered her face with the tissues crumpled in her hand and turned away.
Lyon barely stopped the car before he was rushing to her. “Are you sick? Do you need the bathroom first?”
“No, I’ve already been there, done that. Now I’m just mortified.”
“Don’t be. You’ve been heading for this from the beginning and operating on sheer willpower. It’s a wonder you’ve held it together as long as you did.” His arm around her for support, he unlocked the door and helped her inside. Feeling how unsteady she was, once they were through to the kitchen, he took her purse and set it on the bar, then swept her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom.
She moaned and hid her face against his shoulder. “Please don’t do this.”
“Hush. It’s going to be all right.”
This was his first time coming to this side of the house. He barely noticed the pretty Santa Fe colors and elegant cherry furnishings, but the bright sunshine that was making the bedroom migraine bright immediately drew his concern. As soon as he laid her on the turquoise and green bedspread, he went to the windows and cranked the mini-blinds closed. That turned the room into a dusky oasis.
Returning to the bed, he saw that Hope had immediately folded into a tight fetal position. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he said easing her up. He slipped off her red strappy heels and placed them on the far side of the night stand, then started on her jacket. “That’s it,” he said soothingly as she strived to help him. “Take your time. Should I call Molly?”
“No! She’d only get upset. I’ll be fine as soon as I rest for a few minutes.”
Lyon doubted it since she couldn’t say that much without her voice cracking. He couldn’t stand it. Settling onto the edge of the bed, he began coaxing her into his arms until he was cradling her. He thought things were going well…and then she burst into tears.
Lyon hated the ragged sounds that ripped through her. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, caught in a world where she knew a fiancé hadn’t loved her enough, a father she couldn’t trust, and a mother long gone and unable for her to console or confide in. His words would be wholly inadequate right now. All he could do was rock her and hope that regretting their marriage wasn’t part of her toppling world.
“You’ll think this horrible,” she said fighting for control, “but all I keep thinking is that…he could have killed both of us. All of us.”
Lyon couldn’t let his mind go there, and yet she had to. Her heart was shuddering in aftershocks for the tiny life she carried inside her, her body turning cold from the grim shadows that carried the echo, “What if?” She was right—as soon as he’d known her condition, Will should have driven like he had the world’s most precious cargo in that truck. Better yet, Will should have pulled over and waited for him to get Hope home. The problem was Will couldn’t deal with anyone coming before him. That character flaw would have ended his professional career if the injury hadn’t, and it would have eventually killed Hope’s love for him once she saw that even a baby came second to his own voracious ego. Hope was also right that Will Nichols would have been a perfect son-in-law for Ellis. Second to losing her mother, this was probably the worst day in her life.
“You have to take care now, too, sweetheart,” he said gently stroking her hair. “Making yourself sick can hurt the baby, as easily as anything else.”
“You’re right.” She took a deep, sustaining breath. “I guess I just felt betrayed all over again, and then so angry. With myself, too.”
Smiling to himself, Lyon kissed her hair. “Good idea. After all, you’re the only one who was meant to have perfect judgment and never make a mistake.”
That won a muffled laugh from her. “It’s about time you noticed that.”
Having stepped away from being trapped in that bad psychological place, she was sounding stronger. It was time to win another concession from her. “Are you going to reschedule that appointment you mentioned?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the poor woman not to. In fact, I may have Freddie close early and have her come over to tell her what’s going on.”
More good news, Lyon thought. “She’s your right hand. She needs to know you’re with child.” That would also allow him to check on Hope without her knowing it.
“Freddie’s a bit offbeat and hard to figure out, but even she will take this better knowing first that I’m married. I’ll try to hold off the pregnancy news until next month.”
That might be a good idea even if she didn’t try to let it be perceived that he was the father. They were going to hear plenty of criticism as it was from the elopement announcement. “Then I’ll start letting it be known at the office, too. Buddy looked like a grouper with his big eyes and working mouth when I left.” He told her that he’d just stated he needed to go and to only radio if there was an emergency.
“You do need to get back, but I want you to know I appreciate this.”
He stroked her back. “Just as long as you aren’t upset with me—I mean about earlier.”
Disengaging herself, Hope sat up and dabbed at the moisture still clinging to her lashes
. It was a good sign if she was starting to worry about makeup damage, but not so good that she could only meet his eyes for a second before glancing away.
“I didn’t mean to come off as a tease, Lyon.”
“How do you figure you did?”
“I realized my, um, behavior had left you…uncomfortable.”
“Aroused.”
“It’s only been a week since the funeral!”
He knew exactly what she was driving at—the same thing anyone who had faced life and death could have experienced. “What you’re going through is natural,” he told her. “Although I’d like to think that I had something to do with things.”
“Of course you did,” she said. “That’s what made it worse.”
“Worse?”
“More difficult to come to terms with. I value your opinion of me, Lyon. I didn’t want you to think that despite feeling what I did, that I would have…you know.”
“Let down your guard with anyone else?” If he wasn’t so concerned that she quit beating herself up, he could have laughed at her cute way of trying to talk about sex without using the terminology. He folded her closer and laid his cheek on top of her head. “I knew that. But it’s nice to hear anyway.”
“That’s good because I couldn’t bear it if you—”
“I’m here for you. I know you’re going to be going through changes and there’ll be…”
“Struggles.”
“I was going to say sexual tension, but wild woman that you are, I was concerned about triggering your libido and having to stop you from stripping off your clothes.”
Hope gasped and pushed away from him, only to see his mischievous grin. “You are horrible,” she said, although she couldn’t repress a smile herself.
Hope’s Child Page 8
