The sound of her voice filled the car as the tape reached the old section she hadn't recorded over. After giving a start, they both instinctively leaned over to reach for the button to shut it off. Kit hit the button first, but they nearly bumped heads in the process. Both of them looked up, rather sheepish at the unintended physical comedy.
In barely a moment, the atmosphere changed. With their faces barely three inches apart, the sheepish expressions faded into something much more intense. Miguel found himself suddenly very aware of his breathing, aware of the beating of his heart, found himself leaning forward, closing the small distance between them. He saw Kit's eyes widen slightly, but she didn't pull back, didn't blink. His lips parted, and he felt an odd tingling sensation in them. When he realized it was anticipation, the anticipation of feeling her lips beneath his, he tried desperately to pull himself back. But the faint scent of gardenias rose to tickle him, and mixed with the warmth of her body, it was a heady scent that made him unable to heed the warnings that were clamoring in his head.
"Kit," he breathed, knowing he was being a coward, asking her to be the one to say no to this. But he, who had always been in control, who had always made the decision when necessary and carried it out, was beyond this one.
And when Kit answered, a small, breathy sigh that sounded impossibly like please, he, was lost.
And then his mouth was on hers.
In the unguarded moments he'd thought about this, fantasized about it, he'd thought it would probably feel odd to kiss an old friend like this. But the moment he felt her lips beneath his, any sense of oddity vanished, to be replaced by a stunning sense of utter rightness. A rightness that sent a shock wave of sensation through him, a rightness that generated a heat unlike anything he'd ever known, a rightness that brought his entire body to attention with a speed that left him breathless. Which didn't matter, because he'd forgotten how to breathe, anyway.
It wasn't until he felt the soft, silken strands of her hair threading through his fingers that he realized he'd cupped the back of her head. And it took him a moment to realize the fire searing his chest was radiating from her hands, resting there lightly, her fingertips just below his collarbone. Some vague part of his mind registered that she wasn't pushing him away and that that was good, but any coherent thought beyond that seemed impossible.
Slowly, tentatively, his tongue crept out to flick over her lips. There was a moment of hesitation when he wondered on some level that didn't require thought if she was going to refuse, to retreat. A moment when he knew if she did, he would have to let her go, no matter that it would leave him feeling more cold and alone than he had ma long time.
But in the moment when he began to steel himself for the loss, she decided, and her soft, warm lips parted. As if his body had gotten the message before his hazed mind, he probed forward with his tongue first and felt the shock of it second, the shock of intimacy, the shock of the taste of her.
Unique. She tasted unlike any woman he'd ever kissed, hot, alluring, yet sweet and open. Kit was, above probably all else, honest, and it was there in her kiss. Enough honesty to show the shyness and slight touch of uncertainty that told him he wasn't alone in his tangled feelings about kissing an old friend in a way that went far beyond friendship.
And then, with the same hesitancy, she returned his light caress, and the feel of her tongue stroking over his lips made his body knot fiercely. He shifted restlessly in his seat, too aware of where the ache within him had settled with pulsing urgency.
The blare of a passing car's horn—perhaps in salute or perhaps in protest—made them both jump, and the kiss was broken. For a moment there was the same sense of charged atmosphere as there had been before they'd kissed. Then, inevitably he supposed, the awkwardness set in.
She lowered her gaze, and he couldn't blame her. He felt the same way. He leaned back in the driver's seat, aware of his body's gradual ebb of arousal and of his shock at how quickly and completely it had happened. Yes, it had been a long time, but he'd gone as long before, and he didn't ever remember getting so hot so fast.
He didn't dare look directly at her, but his peripheral vision had always been good, and he could see more than she probably realized. He could see that she was breathing deeply, quickly, as if she was as starved for oxygen as he. He could see that she'd caught her lower lip between her teeth, as if to bite back words. Or, he thought with a shock as he realized he was doing the same thing, to savor any lingering traces of their kiss.
He didn't know what to say. He'd talked a drunk out of suicide, he'd talked an armed suspect into letting his hostages go, he'd talked two gangs out of open warfare on that night years ago. He'd given speeches to groups of officers, chiefs, politicians and unhappy citizens. But he couldn't manage to string two words together for a woman he'd known for fourteen years.
Then her voice came, softly, quietly, echoing his thoughts. "I don't know what to say."
"Maybe—" His voice broke, and he had to swallow and start again. "Maybe we shouldn't say anything."
Out of the corner of his eye he caught her swift nod. "For now," she agreed.
He couldn't deny that eventually they would have to talk about this, but he was glad she was willing to let it wait until they'd both gained some perspective. He, at least, was not seeing anything very clearly at the moment.
Feeling was another matter altogether.
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
When she caught herself brushing her fingers over her lips again, Kit nearly swore out loud. Then she silently lectured herself for at least the tenth time this morning to stop. She'd been doing it constantly, unconsciously, ever since—
Ever since Miguel kissed you. That simple phrase, even when only formed in her mind, sent ripples of sensation through her that didn't just make her shiver, but frightened her. It was too intense, too fierce, and no amount of telling herself it was simple overreaction was working. She couldn't forget the feel of him, the incredible warmth of his mouth on hers, the hot, male taste of him and the heady thrill that had shot through her when he'd gently probed her mouth with his tongue.
She wanted to linger over every nuance, every sensation, wanted to relive it again and again, second by second, and she'd never done anything so utterly silly in her life. With Bobby it had been a slow-growing thing. They'd gone through the academy together, they'd forged a bond of deep friendship and utter trust, and it had seemed the thing to do to get married. Their lovemaking had been tender, sweet, even funny sometimes, and she remembered it with a fondness tinged with sorrow because he had died so young.
But it had never been fire. Not like this. Not like Miguel had stirred in her with the slightest of touches, with a single kiss. She didn't dare try to imagine what anything more would be like. What making love with him would be like.
Didn't you learn your lesson? Didn't you swear on Bobby's grave you'd never, ever fall for a cop again?
And the fact that he was the chief only made it worse. If it was anywhere but Trinity West, she could say with some assurance that being chief made him fairly safe. Chiefs of police didn't get shot on a routine basis. But it had happened here, not just to the chief but to Miguel, as well, and he had nearly died.
And even if that wasn't a problem, even if she could accept that as a once-in-a-lifetime fluke and accept that the odds against it ever happening again were astronomical, nothing, no amount of explaining or acceptance, could change the fact that getting involved with her chief would be a career nightmare. For both of them. She knew that, and she knew he had to know that.
And it would be worse for her. In cases like this, albeit grossly unfair, the person of lower rank paid the higher price. If that person also happened to be the female…
She shuddered at the thought. She loved her job, the few remaining men like Robards aside, and she'd worked hard to get where she was, to earn respect from the people who mattered to her. And while her friends might understand, starting a relatio
nship with her highest superior officer could ruin her standing with everyone else.
She'd wondered last night if he might call, might want to get it straight between them that it had been a mistake, that hot, intense kiss. Might want to confirm that she knew it. Might want to make sure she was retreating as fast as he no doubt was.
And she was. She was sure she was. The fact that she couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop wondering why he'd done it and why she'd not only let him but had participated wholeheartedly, didn't mean she didn't know perfectly well it was impossible.
With an effort, she turned her attention to the report in front of her, telling herself the satisfaction of clearing a missing juvenile case like this one, where Richard Carlisle had come home as a result of her efforts, should fill the empty place in her she'd only recently realized was there.
It didn't.
* * *
Miguel leaned back in his chair, frowning at the last batch of statistics he'd read. There had been a sudden surge in burglaries in one particular neighborhood, enough to warrant some attention. A plainclothes team, maybe, if they could find the manpower.
He sighed. It always came back to that, the lack of manpower, lack of money to pay for overtime, which meant any special enforcement such as this took away from the day-today protection on the streets. It was a constant high-wire act, and he was getting weary of it. And it made him furious when the city council who insisted their crumbling police units would have to last one more year turned around and spent enough on planting decorative palm trees to buy half a dozen cars. The only dissenting vote on the palm-tree fiasco had been Brubaker, representing the communities on the east side, where surviving was more of a concern than palm trees.
Miguel didn't even like palm trees. Unless they were in Hawaii.
He pressed his lips together as his frown deepened at the thought. And then, abruptly, he was aware of his mouth in a way he'd never been before as he remembered what Kit's had felt like beneath his. Who would have thought his old friend would taste so sweet, like sunwarmed honey? Who would have thought kissing her would cause such instant fire, racing along nerves that had been numb so long he'd thought them dead? Who would have thought he would still be feeling that kiss nearly twenty-four hours later?
Who would have thought he'd ever kiss her at all?
Not him. He never would have thought it. But he'd done it. Without thinking. Perhaps that's why his brain was in such a muddle this morning. It was doing the thinking it should have done before he'd made that stupid move. If he'd done the thinking then, he never would have done the kiss. And he wouldn't be sitting here this morning wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
The best thing was to go on as if it hadn't happened, he thought. It didn't seem right, not with the memory clinging so tenaciously to his consciousness, but he didn't know what else to do. Or what to say. And he'd learned the hard way that often the best thing to do when you didn't know what to say was to say nothing. So he should just ignore that vivid memory.
Right, he thought, and just ignore that elephant sitting on your shoulder, too.
Besides, Kit hadn't agreed not to say anything at all—she had agreed not to say anything for now. However long that meant.
He let out an audible breath and made himself turn his attention to the report in his hand. He flipped over the last page, scanned it and smiled to see that Cruz Gregerson's suggestion matched his, to run a two-officer graveyard plainclothes team in the neighborhood suffering the break-ins. Including, Cruz suggested, Max the canine, if Joe Horton, Max's handler, was agreeable. Miguel was sure he would be. Joe was always ready to give his loyal partner the chance to shine. Naturally, Cruz had volunteered to work the shift, and Miguel knew that was no small sacrifice. He'd seen Cruz and Kelsey together enough to know the felony unit sergeant wouldn't give up nights with his new wife easily.
He'd have to put a time limit on it, Miguel thought, both for fiscal reasons and for Cruz's peace of mind. He scribbled a quick memo recommending Cruz proceed and put it in his out tray. Rosa would pick up the contents of the tray and distribute them before she went to lunch, no doubt lecturing him that she was there to do such memos for him. But he was much happier to do this kind of thing himself and free her up for tasks he detested, like combing the thick binders full of notes about city council meetings for anything he needed to be aware of. Rosa seemed to find the process intriguing, and he was more than happy to hand it over to her. First thing he'd do, if he was ever in a position to, would be to streamline that process. He bet he could cut the paperwork in half if he eliminated the legalese and doublespeak. And if he ever decided to run for office and won, he'd take Rosa with him, if she'd come.
Again he pondered the possibility. A committee of local businesspeople and residents had approached him several times about running for office, and he'd been impressed with their sincerity and enthusiasm. Most of all he'd been impressed by the cross section they represented. They'd come from all areas of Marina Heights, from wealthy Trinity West to the distant east side, from small mom-and-pop businesses to the managers of big shopping centers.
And they had all seemed convinced he was just what the city of Marina Heights needed. Although he'd never thought of himself as a politician—he felt more than a slight distaste for them in general—he did feel the urge to clean things up. He liked this town. It had great potential despite its problems, and it deserved better than it was getting. He didn't have any aspirations beyond the local arena, but trying to deal with the massive and varied problems of just Marina Heights would be a full-time job.
He wasn't sure it would be much tougher than turning around Trinity West. Just different Maybe, he thought. Maybe.
Mayor de los Reyes has a nice ring to it.
Kit's words echoed in his head, and he smiled. He wasn't sure what at—the words, or that they had come from her. And all of a sudden he was touching his lips with his tongue as if some trace of her lingered.
"Damn," he muttered.
"Problem, sir?" Rosa said from the doorway where she stood. He never closed the door unless he was in a private meeting. His open-door policy was literal as well as figurative.
"Just that I'm going crazy," he said wryly.
"Job requirement," she said blithely as she gathered the things out of the tray. She glanced at the memo on top. Before she could speak, Miguel held up his hand.
"I know, I know. But it was only a few lines."
"I'll forgive you if you get out of here for lunch." She was always trying to feed him or get him out of the office. She thought he was overworked and too thin. He figured it was a hedge against a good metabolism that was going to start slowing down any day now. He worked out regularly, determined to be in good shape when he hit fifty, a number that made him cringe. He'd never expected to be going on forty-five. He'd never expected to be chief, and he'd certainly never expected to be alone. He and Anna were supposed to grow old together. Now he was doing it by himself and she wouldn't be doing it at all.
Again an image flashed through his mind, of wide hazel eyes beneath thick blond bangs. A man would never get old with Kit around. She was sharp, quick, cracklingly alive, and she'd keep him on his toes every second.
He felt the ugly prod of guilt, as if he was being disloyal to Anna, but he quashed it. Whatever his feelings, that was not a valid reason for denying them. Anna would have hated it. She had told him, during that Indian summer of well-being that had come just before the end, that he could do nothing worse to her memory than use it as an excuse to sleepwalk through the rest of his life.
"We were happy, Miguel," she'd told him. "But you will be happy again. In time. The sun will shine again for you someday."
He'd been so focused on the fact that she was speaking in the past tense, as if she was already separating herself from this life, that he had barely noticed the sense of her words. But now, all he could think of was the sunny blond of Kit's hair, the brightness of her quick smiles and th
e glow of her eyes. And Anna's words about the sun shining for him.
"Get," Rosa said rather sharply, and he wondered what he'd betrayed. Rosa had learned as did any good secretary, to read his moods rather well. "You need to eat, do it outside this office. You spend too much time here, anyway."
He felt like saying "Yes, Mother," but knew it would only get her started on her lecture that he indeed needed a mother, since his social life was dead and he wouldn't let anyone into his life to look out for him. He didn't need to hear that now, not when his thoughts kept straying to Kit. And that kiss.
He nodded meekly, wondering how many other bosses were at the mercy of secretaries who had run out of children to mother. But Rosa was the best, and he wasn't about to do anything that might make her want to go somewhere else. That she knew both of those things only made life more interesting.
Seemingly satisfied, Rosa headed out to make her deliveries. Then she paused in the doorway and looked at him. "I almost forgot. The Department of Corrections called while you were on the phone. They said to tell you the prisoner you inquired about is in Chino."
He nodded and thanked her, and she continued on her way.
Chino. Not too far, he thought. And Choker was only in for GTA, so he wasn't in a maximum security lockup. Of course, Miguel amended silently, that only meant he'd been caught for GTA. Who knew what else he'd done and gotten away with?
He'd told Kit to let him make the call, rather than her trying to dodge Robards, so he would have to pass this on. He wondered if she was in her office or if she'd gone to lunch. Then he remembered she'd told him she usually stayed in the station when Robards went to lunch so she could get some work done without feeling like he was looking over her shoulder.
He could go by her office before he left for lunch, he thought. It would only take a moment to tell her. And it was silly to avoid her. They worked under the same roof. It was inevitable that they would run into each other, and he wasn't going to get into that kind of habit.
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