Part of her wanted to run home and hide in her apartment the way she'd been doing the past two months, but she'd made him a promise, and she always kept her promises. Plus, she wouldn't want him to think that a kiss could send her back into hiding. A really, really good kiss.
What the hell had he been thinking?
But figuring out Wyatt's motivation was a little too much for her, so instead she concentrated on saying good-bye to his friends and family. It took them almost thirty minutes to get out of the house. By the time they got into the car, she'd been invited to Summer's wedding the next month. All efforts to say anything but yes were rebuffed, so she'd eventually given up, figuring she could always bow out later.
Wyatt didn't say anything until they had been in the car for fifteen minutes and were about to get on the Bay Bridge. Once they passed the toll booth, he seemed to relax.
"That wasn't so bad," he muttered.
"Are you talking to me or to yourself?" she asked.
"Maybe both of us."
She didn't know how to respond to that cryptic comment and was relieved when they passed across Treasure Island, and he pointed to the lights of the stadium up ahead.
"Looks like there's a Giants game tonight," he said.
"Are you a fan?"
"Oh, yeah. My dad tried to get me into the Oakland A's, but I was always a Giants fan. What about you?"
"I've been to a few games," she said, happy to be talking about baseball. She'd been afraid he would bring up their kiss again, and she really didn't want to go there. "My friend, Lindsay, had a crush on one of the players once, so we spent some time at the park and in the parking lot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy walking to his car," she added. "It was really stupid. I felt like a groupie."
"You don't seem like someone who would be impressed by a ballplayer."
"They can be kind of hot," she said.
"Did your friend ever meet her crush?"
"Not at the park, but he came into Vincenzo's one night with a couple of his friends. He was a jerk. Lindsay got over her love fast, and we had a celebration when he got traded to San Diego." She paused as he took the first exit off the bridge. "It's only nine-thirty. I think we should wait until at least eleven before we go to Vincenzo's. The kids wouldn't show up until the evening rush was over."
"All right. Do you mind if we stop by my place? I want to grab a coat. It's not too far from here."
"Sure, I guess. Maybe I should change, too."
"We'll hit my place first, then yours."
* * *
Wyatt's place was a two-bedroom townhouse not far from the ballpark. As she lingered in the living room, Wyatt disappeared down the hall. She took the opportunity to look around a little.
His apartment was more spacious and less cluttered than hers. The furniture was all brown leather and dark wood. She saw no feminine touch in the decorations. She wondered if he'd thrown out all of Jennifer's things. Moving into the kitchen, she noted the empty counters and the very clean appliances. She doubted Wyatt put his stove and oven through much of a workout. She opened the pantry door and found six boxes of cereal and not much else.
"No, I don't cook," he said, walking into the room.
She quickly closed the cabinet. "Sorry, I was snooping."
"I figured."
"You like cereal."
"You've discovered my deep, dark secret. It's fast, easy, and it's allegedly loaded with vitamins."
"Don't forget the sugar."
He shrugged. "I work that off in the pool."
His words drew her gaze to his broad chest, his long, lean legs, and made her foolishly wonder just what he'd look like in a bathing suit – or nothing. Her cheeks burning, she turned back to the pantry. "You should get some other staples, rice, noodles, things you can whip into something else."
"That would require cooking."
"You might enjoy it," she said, turning back around.
"I'll cook again when Stephanie comes home," he said. "I'll make all her favorites, spaghetti and meatballs, mac and cheese, barbecued chicken – whatever she wants."
"So you do know how to cook, you just don't want to."
"It's not fun doing it for one."
"I understand. I enjoy cooking at the restaurant more than just for myself, or at least I did," she amended.
"You will again," he said confidently.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm getting to know you, and I don't think you're a quitter. You've just had a setback."
"Well, I hope so." She paused. "Can I see Stephanie's room?"
He started with surprise, his eyes hesitant.
"Unless …" she began.
"No, it's fine. It's just that no one has been in there for awhile." He led her down the hall, pausing in front of a closed door. "I haven't changed anything since she left."
"I figured."
He opened the door, and she stepped inside.
Where the rest of the apartment was sparse and very male, this room was all girl -- pink walls, and a pink and white rug that matched the white furniture and bright pink bedding. There were books and toys and a massive number of stuffed animals on the unmade bed.
He hadn't even made the bed.
She'd heard the pain of loss in his voice, but now she could see it. Wyatt hadn't even been able to pull the sheets up on the bed. It wasn't that he hadn’t changed anything; he hadn't touched anything either. Or maybe he had … The pillow was slightly flattened.
He must have followed her gaze, because he said, "I used to lay down on the bed and think about her. I haven't done that in a long time."
"How long?"
"I don't know -- maybe a year. I closed the door after the first anniversary. It got too hard to walk down the hall every night, to remember all the times I read to her. She'd fall in love with a story and have to hear it every day for weeks on end, until we had it memorized. And she loved that bear," he said, pointing to the brown bear on the bed. "She called him Brown Bear."
"Very creative," she said dryly.
He grinned. "I know. We tried to get a bunch of other names to stick, but he was always just Brown Bear. She couldn't go to bed without him. She'd rub his shiny nose as she was drifting off to sleep. Jennifer knew that she adored the bear, but she didn't care. She took her without taking her favorite toy. I bet Stephanie cried for weeks." His lips tightened. "Jen should have at least taken the bear with her. Would that have been too much to ask?"
"Maybe she got her another one."
"You can't just replace something or someone you love."
She knew he wasn't talking about the bear anymore. She put a hand on his arm, feeling his tense muscles, wanting to ease his anguish. "I'm so sorry, Wyatt. I can't even imagine what you've gone through. Being in here it makes it so much more real. She's all around you, the things she liked, the pictures she drew, the clothes she wore…"
"That's why I had to stop coming in. It was too real." He drew in a ragged breath. "I didn't change things in here, because when Stephanie comes back, I don't want her to think that I moved on without her." He paused. "But the reality is that Steph probably won't even like the room when she comes back. She'll be so much older. Who knows if she'll still want pink everything?"
"So you'll paint and change the furniture. That's easy."
"Yeah, I'll do that. But what if she doesn't want to be here at all?"
Now she saw real fear in his eyes. He wasn't just scared that he wouldn't find his daughter, he was terrified that when he did find her, she wouldn't want him anymore."
"She'll want to come home," she said.
"Her home has been somewhere else for two years. I think about all the holidays she's lived through, the birthdays she's had, the things she learned, the places she's been. Jennifer could have married someone else. Steph could have a stepfather, or worse she could just be exposed to a random number of men –"
"Stop," she said, holding up a hand as his rant gained steam. "You'll drive
yourself crazy thinking about every possible scenario."
"Too late. I've already thought of them all. Can you honestly say I'm wrong to worry?"
"No, you're not wrong, but it's not doing you any good. One thing I learned from my childhood is that you have what you have. And you have to live with it. Thinking about the past or the future is pointless. The only thing that matters is the moment you're living in. Surviving, enjoying, loving, whatever emotion you're feeling, that's all you get. That's it."
He stared back at her. "That sounds easy, but you're not a parent. You don't know what it's like to lose your child. I could handle whatever happened to me, but I was supposed to protect her, Adrianna. That was my job."
And she could see that was where the real sense of failure came in. Wyatt was a cop, a born protector, but he couldn't be there for the one person he loved the most. "You will get her back, Wyatt. And then you'll deal with what happened and what comes next. She's a little girl. She's going to need you for a long time."
He blew out a rough breath. "Sometimes, the waiting gets to me. The calendar is not my friend, the days ticking away. I want to stop time on one hand, and then on the other I want to speed ahead to the moment when I get my daughter back."
She gave him a compassionate smile. "For what it's worth, Wyatt, I'm in. I'll help you in any way I can."
"That means a lot to me. I can't tell you how many people have already given up."
"Well, I have fresh energy and new eyes. Speaking of which, do you have any pictures of Jennifer? It might help me to know what she looks like, too."
Wyatt stared back at her. "Yeah, I have some pictures."
Showing her photos of his ex-wife appeared to be the last thing he wanted to do, but he led her out of Stephanie's room and into the living room. He pulled open a drawer in the entertainment center. "There you go, have at it." And then he disappeared down the hall again.
She knelt down on the floor and saw a pile of framed photos that had obviously been on display at one time. The first one was a picture of a pretty blonde woman sitting next to a two-year-old. Jennifer and Stephanie, she surmised. It was the kind of photo you'd get from one of the photography places in the mall. Neither Jennifer nor Stephanie looked too excited about the event, but they were a pretty pair with their golden blonde hair and somewhat matching outfits.
The next photo took her further back in time to Wyatt and Stephanie's wedding. Jennifer looked much happier. She wore a spectacularly pretty wedding dress with a very long train. The picture had been taken at what appeared to be the reception. There was a mansion in the background as well as a horse and carriage decorated with white flowers.
"Wow," she murmured, rocking back on her heels.
Her amazement grew at the next photo, which featured Wyatt in his tuxedo, holding his bride in his arms. They looked good together, happy. In fact, Jennifer was gazing up at Wyatt with adoration in her eyes, as if he were the only man in the world for her.
For that moment, their love seemed to burn bright.
Putting the photo aside, she moved quickly through the others. Jennifer's happiness seemed to dim with each subsequent year, as if she were slowly fading away.
"Are you done?" Wyatt asked abruptly, stopping a few feet away from her, a hard look in his blue eyes.
"You had a fairytale wedding."
"That turned into a nightmare."
"I'm surprised you went for such an over-the-top reception."
"I had no choice. I was just the groom. Jennifer and her mother planned everything out. Her parents are loaded, so money wasn't an object. And she was their only daughter -- their princess. They wanted her to have everything. According to Jen, all women want a fantasy wedding."
"I don't," she said.
He gave her a doubtful look. "Why not? I would think having had such a shitty childhood that you would want to celebrate with a big bash."
"I just think it's crazy to spend so much money on a single party. I'm more interested in building a life with someone, having a house, a yard for kids to play in, all that stuff. It's not a wedding that's important; it's a marriage."
"I completely agree."
She put the framed photos back in the drawer. "I'm surprised you kept these."
"I broke a bunch the first week. Cut my hand up pretty good on one of them. I had to go to the hospital for stitches. When I came back, my mom and sister had taken all the pictures of Jennifer down and cleaned up the broken glass. I didn't know they were in the drawer for a few months."
"Well, Stephanie is in some of the pictures. You wouldn't want to lose those."
"That's what I figured. Have you seen enough?"
"Yes, I'm ready to go."
* * *
After stopping at her apartment so she could change into jeans and a sweater, Adrianna suggested they walk to the restaurant. Parking was difficult in North Beach, especially at a Saturday night, and Wyatt had been lucky enough to find a free spot on her block.
When they arrived at Vincenzo's a little after eleven, Adrianna started to regret her decision to come to the alley. She'd been distracted by Wyatt's problems, but returning to the scene of her trauma was still rough. As she walked behind the restaurant, she felt her earlier panic return. It was dark now, and all the ominous shadows took her back to the night two months ago.
Wyatt's arm came around her shoulders as if he'd read her mind.
"You can do it," he said. "It's just an alley. There's nothing going on out here. There's no one around."
"I know. I just keep hearing those shots in my head. I don't think I'll ever forget the sound or the moment when I realized that they had come from inside the restaurant. When I ran inside, I knew what I would find, but I was still shocked –"
"Sh-sh," he said, pausing in their walk to look at her. "Stay in the present. Follow the advice you gave me earlier. Don't think about what happened that night. Just what we're doing here now."
She wanted to follow his advice, but her head was starting to spin.
"Focus on me," he added, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Their gazes locked, as he kneaded her tight muscles.
"You're wound up tight," he said.
She couldn't speak. She wanted to relax, but she didn't know how to make that happen. Fear had a hold of her. For almost two months she'd hidden out in her apartment, afraid to feel the pain she'd felt that night.
"It's too much," she muttered.
"You're okay," he said. "Just keep looking at me."
She felt like she was drowning in his dark blue gaze, and somewhere in that moment her fear changed to something else. Her heart beat faster and her palms were sweaty, but she wasn't thinking about the robbery; she was thinking about the man who was standing so close to her and how her breasts were pressed against his chest. She was thinking about the kiss they'd shared earlier on the roof of his parents' house and how very much she wanted to do it again. She could kiss him and everything else would fade from her mind.
Tingles ran down her spine as his fingers tightened on her shoulders, the sharp, hungry gleam in his eyes telling her that he felt the very same need.
One of them needed to call a halt, but this time she couldn't find the words.
His hand moved through her hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her face towards his. It seemed like things were happening in slow motion. The kiss before had started out hard and fast. It had surprised her. This time she had a million opportunities to move away, but she couldn't break the spell between them. And when his mouth touched hers, a spark of heat ran through her.
She closed her eyes, sinking into the kiss, letting herself do nothing but feel. Her senses were alive with something wonderful. She didn't feel sad or angry or guilty, she just felt good – remarkably, incredibly good.
And then the back door of the restaurant opened, and light from the kitchen lit up the shadows.
She jumped back at the sound of her name.
Lindsay came through the do
or, letting it clang shut behind her.
"Adrianna, what are you doing out here?" Lindsay asked.
"Uh," She had to think for a moment. She was still reeling from Wyatt's kiss, but she certainly couldn't tell Lindsay that. Her gaze caught on the cigarette in Lindsay's hand, and she jumped on it like a drowning woman who suddenly sees a life jacket. "You're smoking again? You said yesterday you were going to quit."
"I'm still trying, and jeez how do you happen to show up every time I want to take a smoke?" Lindsay paused, giving Wyatt a long look. "Who's the dude?"
"This is Wyatt Randall. He's a cop," she said, not sure why she'd added the tag, except that she suddenly felt like she needed a reason to be with him.
"You're working on Will's murder?" Lindsay asked.
"Among other things," Wyatt said tersely.
"What other things?" Lindsay asked, not one to be sidetracked when she sniffed a story.
"He's looking for his daughter," Adrianna answered. "We think she might be one of the kids who used to come by here looking for food. That's why we're here. We're hoping they might come back. You haven't seen them, have you?"
"No. I haven't seen them in weeks," Lindsay said, her eyes still very curious. "Maybe someone else has. Have you asked around?"
"No, I should," she said, knowing that would entail going into the kitchen.
"I'll do it," Wyatt said abruptly. "I want to show the staff the photo."
When Wyatt disappeared inside the restaurant, Lindsay turned on her with eager eyes. "Well, you are full of surprises. Tell me more about you and the hot cop."
"There's nothing to tell. I'm helping him look for his daughter," she said, hoping the warmth in her face was not revealing her lie.
"He had his arms around you."
"It's not what you think. He was just calming me down. I had a little panic attack when I got here."
Lindsay gave her a speculative look. "I can believe that, but still there's something else going on here. I know you, Adrianna. You do not get close to people very easily. It took five years for Will to talk you into bed."
"I'm not in bed with Wyatt," she said.
"That red on your cheeks suggest you've thought about it."
When Wishes Collide Page 10
