"Guess you're lucky I believe in second chances," he said as he turned onto Belmont.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I am."
They didn't talk the rest of the way to his apartment. When they got out of the car, the street was deserted. It was three-o'clock in the morning, and only a couple of lights were on in Brendan's building. Suddenly, weariness washed over her, making her trip on the step into his building.
"You okay?" Brendan said as he grabbed her elbow.
"Tired," she said, sliding her hand into his again.
"Yeah. Long night." He gripped her hand. "We need to talk about Johnstone and the guy with him. But it can wait until tomorrow."
"Don't think I could focus on it tonight," she said.
Franny's tail thumped on the floor as they walked into Brendan's apartment, but she didn't get up to greet them. The dog watched for a moment, then laid her head down again.
The dog was in her bed. Brendan's desk sat in the corner, papers spread over his closed computer. The couch was shadowed in the light from the courtyard.
Brendan stood beside her. Solid. Warm. His scent enveloping her.
Everything was familiar. Comfortable. Comforting.
She'd been here only a handful of times, but already it felt like coming home. Like she could exhale, shut the door and leave the rest of the world on the other side.
Brendan's fingers curled around her waist. His thumb caressed her side. "Go ahead and use the bathroom. Get ready for bed."
Cilla nodded, too tired to speak. She stumbled into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, then walked into the bedroom. She was taking off her black jeans when she saw the room was empty.
"Brendan?" she called.
"Out here."
She walked into the living room and saw him covering the couch with a sheet. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Thought I'd sleep out here," he said. He smoothed the sheet and avoided her eyes. "After what happened earlier, figured you'd want to sleep alone."
Her heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. "I don't want to sleep alone, Brendan. I want to sleep with you. Please put those sheets away and come to bed."
His hands stilled. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely." As she helped him re-fold the sheets, she said, "It was scary and awful and made me sick to my stomach. Horrifying to think about what might have happened. But I didn't get hurt, he's sitting in jail, and...and I'm too tired to think about it. Okay?"
"Okay. If you're sure." He ran a hand down her back. "You can always kick me out if you're not comfortable."
"I want you in here. Close to me."
She lifted off her sweatshirt, shed her bra and panties and slid naked between the sheets. Without taking his eyes off her, Brendan tossed his clothes to the floor, stepped out of his boxers and slid in beside to her.
"You need to tell me what you want, Cilla," he said, propped up on one elbow. Watching her, but carefully not touching her. "I don't want to make a mistake here."
"You, Brendan. I want you." She scooted closer to him and put her hand on his chest. "I want to make love with you," she whispered.
He stared at her, as if he couldn't believe what she'd just asked, so she pulled his head down and kissed him.
His body was hard against hers, all solid muscle and sinew. She melted into him, needing to wipe out the memories of this evening and replace them with Brendan.
She curled around him, and his arms wrapped around her and held her close. As if she was fragile. Precious.
He kissed her gently, tasting her lips, sliding his tongue along the seam of her mouth, patiently waiting for her to lead the way. To let him know what she needed.
"More," she whispered against his mouth. "I need more, Brendan."
He opened his mouth, welcomed her in. As she tasted him, he stroked her tongue with his. Slid one hand down to her hips, urged her closer. He stroked his other hand up and down her back, soothing her. Warming her. Relaxing her.
She shifted against him, enjoying the tenderness. But she knew she needed to make the first move tonight. So she brought one of his hands to her breast, then slipped one leg between his.
His body vibrated with tension. He was holding back, and trembling with it. Trying to let her lead, trying to be what she needed tonight. A wave of tenderness crashed over her for this sweet, careful man.
She rolled him onto his back and slid on top of him, straddling his hips. As he watched, she could see the wheels spinning inside his head. Take the lead? Lie there passively?
"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm okay. I want you, Brendan."
His hands tightened on her hips, and he lifted her up. Lowered her onto his erection. She closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure as he slid into her.
She moved slowly, savoring every moment. He covered her breasts with his hands, thumbs brushing her nipples, and she began moving faster. She bent and kissed him, and as their tongues stroked and she moved against him, she felt Brendan trembling again. This time, trying to hold back. To wait for her.
"Let go," she murmured into his mouth. "Let go, Brendan. I'm with you."
She moved faster, feeling the tension build until it crested and she flew over the top. Brendan followed her over, gripping her hips tightly, groaning into her mouth.
She finally collapsed onto his chest, reaching for his hands and twining their fingers together. As their breathing slowed and the sweat on their skin cooled, she felt him lift her off his chest and settle her beside him. The last thing she remembered was the way he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. As if he'd never let her go.
As sleep dragged her down, she murmured into his chest, "I love you, Brendan."
His breathing was slow and regular. He was probably asleep. Probably hadn't heard her.
That was okay, she told herself. It was a dry run. She'd tell him again. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Sometime when they were both awake.
But as she settled against him, his arms tightened around her.
Chapter 23
An insistent buzzing filled Brendan's head, and he swatted above his ear with one hand. The other was wrapped around a warm body.
Cilla. The events of the previous night rolled through his mind, and he tried to get closer. But they were already mashed together along the whole length of their bodies.
His eyes fluttered open and he glanced down at the top of her head. Her face was snuggled into his chest, and her hand was trapped between them. Her leg nestled between his, and her warm breath wafted over his skin at slow but regular intervals.
The buzzing noise repeated, and he realized it was his phone. Without letting Cilla go to look for it, he stretched his hand for the table next to his bed, patting its smooth surface until his fingers closed around the cool metal.
"Do..." he began before he remembered it was his burner phone. Stupid. Caused by too much love-making and too little sleep. "Yeah?"
"Mr. Patton?" asked a female voice.
His cover name. He shook off the last dregs of sleep. "Yeah. Who's this?"
"Officer Sobieski. The responding officer last night when your partner was assaulted at The Pipe and Shamrock."
He reluctantly slid his hand away from Cilla and sat up, maintaining as much contact with her as he could. "Yes, Officer. What can I do for you?"
"We need to meet," she said. "This morning. As soon as you and Ms. Mason can make it."
"Why? What's wrong?" His hand gripped the phone until it cut into his fingertips. "Was Welles released?"
"No, he's still sitting in lock-up at the 22nd. Can you get to the Valois Restaurant in Hyde Park by eight?"
Brendan glanced at the clock. Six-thirty AM. Even in rush hour, they should be able to make it to Hyde Park by then. But they had cover stories, which included regular jobs.
"Cilla and I both have to work this morning. Can't we make it this evening?" His hand tightened around the phone. That would be a normal reaction from a guy who had a nine to five job. Sobieski would know that.
So why would she ask to meet right now?
"Not sure it can wait until this evening," Sobieski answered.
What the hell was going on? His heart began to race, and Brendan pressed closer to Cilla. He nudged her, trying to wake her up so she could listen to this phone call. Help him figure it out. She didn't move.
He swallowed. "I guess we can check with our bosses. Since it's police business."
"You do that. Call me if you have a problem. If you don't, I'll see you at eight."
"I'll call my boss and have Cilla call hers."
"Thanks." Sobieski disconnected, and he set the phone back on the night table. She'd called Cilla his partner. He knew he'd referred to Cilla as his girlfriend last night. A curl of unease slithered through him.
It could be disastrous if someone from the 22nd realized they were cops.
He slid down beside Cilla and smoothed his hand over her hair. "Hey, babe," he murmured. "You need to wake up."
Nothing.
"Cilla," he said in a louder voice. "Cilla, wake up."
She groaned and rolled onto her back, putting her arm over her eyes. "Too early," she said, her voice low and raspy.
"I know. But we have to get moving."
She dropped her arm to the bed and opened her eyes. Her expression softened into a smile. "Brendan." She searched for his hand and laced their fingers together. "We just fell asleep."
"Did you hear my phone?"
She frowned. "Just now?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "Didn't hear a thing."
"Sobieski called. We're meeting her in Hyde Park in an hour and a half."
Her eyes lost the sleepy, sated expression and she sat up. "What's up?"
"She didn't say. But she called you my partner. Not my girlfriend."
Cilla frowned. "Maybe she was just being PC."
"Maybe." He threw back the covers and stood up. "But I'm worried. You want the first shower?"
Her gaze swept over him, and he hardened immediately. She smiled and rolled toward him. "Maybe we could share," she murmured.
"Kills me to say it, but we don't have time." He stepped out of her reach. "Get up, Marini. Get in the shower before you make us late."
"Before I make us late?" She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls around her shoulders, and her chest and neck sported red whisker burns. "If you don't want to be late, put some clothes on, Donovan."
She stumbled off the bed and grabbed his wrist. Held on as she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. "If there's not going to be any fun in the shower, at least give me a kiss."
Five minutes later, panting and aching with need, he stepped away. "There's a reason the Sirens were women," he muttered. "Go get wet. I'll make some coffee."
"Already wet," she called over her shoulder as she sauntered toward his bathroom. "Too bad it's going to waste."
"God, Cilla." He shoved his hand through his hair as he watched the door close behind her. Why the hell did Sobieski need to talk to them so early, anyway?
He stomped toward the kitchen, then stopped in his tracks when Franny stood up and stretched. "Damn it, Fran. I suppose you need to go out."
He really needed coffee, and he bet Cilla did, too. But they didn't have time. Instead of making a pot, he dragged on an old pair of sweat pants, a sweatshirt and a pair of shoes. Then he grabbed the leash and called the dog.
"Has to be down and dirty," he told her as they walked down the hall. "If I don't get any play time this morning, you don't, either."
Ten minutes later, while he was feeding Franny after her quick walk, Cilla walked out of the bathroom. One towel was wrapped around her hair, and another covered her torso. With her hair out of the way, he spotted the bruise on the side of her throat from Welles's knife.
He'd forgotten all about her injuries.
"How's the cut?" He reached for the towel covering her chest, then hesitated. "May I?"
"It's good, I think. Aches a little, but it looked okay when I rebandaged it." She loosened the towel, showing him the rectangular piece of tape covering the sutures.
"You should have called me," he said, brushing his thumb over the bruise on her neck with its scabbed-over center. He wanted to grind Welles into dust. "I could have helped you with the bandage."
The towel dropped to the floor as she cupped his cheek. "I thought about it," she said with a tiny smile. "But we don't have time for your help this morning."
"Smart ass." He brushed a kiss over her mouth, then edged past her toward the bedroom. She was right. If he put his hands on her again, they'd be late.
He rushed through his own shower, then grabbed a pair of khakis and a blue oxford shirt. The kind of thing a computer programmer would wear to work.
Cilla wore the same skinny jeans, green silk shirt and boots she'd worn the night before. He studied her as he buckled his belt. "What do you think? Should you go home and change?"
She glanced at his clock. "If you think we have time. Supposed to be going to work, right?"
"Yeah. Your place is on the way."
As they hurried toward his car, he snagged her hand. He wanted to be connected to her. To feel the beat of her pulse in her wrist. It would steady him.
He stayed in the car as Cilla ran into her two flat. She emerged five minutes later wearing the same jeans and a light copper-colored sweater. Work appropriate. As she slid into the car, he glanced at his watch, calculating. They would make it, but just barely. Traffic would be heavy, but it would get lighter after they passed the Loop. If it didn't, they'd be late.
As soon as he merged onto Lake Shore Drive, he asked, "What do you think we should tell her about Johnstone?"
Cilla turned in her seat so she was half-facing him. "Hadn't thought about that," she admitted. "It takes me a while to get going in the morning."
Brendan's groin tightened as he remembered the moments before her shower. "Couldn't prove that by me," he muttered.
A wash of pink swept over her cheeks. "I wasn't completely awake. The filter between my mouth and brain hadn't booted up yet."
"Wasn't complaining." He reached for her hand, twined their fingers together. "Well, yeah, I was. But only because we didn't have enough time to take advantage of your missing filter."
She lifted her eyes from their joined hands and held his gaze. "I'm sorry about that, too." She squeezed his hand. "About Johnstone. I...ah..." She shoved one hand through her hair. "Sorry. I need caffeine to think."
She took a few deep breaths. "I don't think we can tell her anything," she finally said. "As far as she knows, we're a couple from the pub. And don't forget that Bates and Ward work out of the 22nd, too. We have no idea how deep this goes. We can't take any chances."
"Yeah." He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, then let her go reluctantly. Rush hour traffic on Lake Shore Drive wasn't a good place to be distracted. "I don't see any way around it."
"We should probably keep this as short as possible." She played with a strand of her hair as she stared out the windshield. "Tell her we have to get to work."
"I agree."
They were five minutes late when they walked into the Valois. The restaurant was legendary on the south side, and the line for the cafeteria-style serving area snaked almost to the door. Sobieski, sitting at a table in the corner, nodded when she spotted them.
She wore her uniform, except for the hat. Her blond hair was short and wavy, and made her appear far younger and softer than the cop they'd met at the pub.
He and Cilla got eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, then pulled out the chairs on the other side of the table.
"Morning, Officer," Brendan said. "What's up?"
Sobieski moved her tray to the side and set her coffee on the table. "Your bosses give you a hard time about missing work?"
Cilla took a long drink of her coffee and set her mug on the table. "Nope. She said helping the police is more important."
Sobieski took a drink of her own coffee. "You te
ll her what the case was about?"
"No." Cilla pressed her lips together. "None of her business."
Sobieski turned her attention to Brendan. "How about you, Mr. Patton? You have any problems getting the time off?"
"I'll work late tonight," he said with a shrug. He hadn't looked at Cilla, and he was pretty sure she hadn't looked at him. But he pressed his leg to hers. "He was good with that."
"Glad to hear it."
Cilla leaned forward. "So what is this about, Officer Sobieski?"
Sobieski leaned against the back of her chair and crossed her arms. "For starters, you can stop jerking me around." She narrowed her eyes at Cilla, then at him. "I know you're both cops. Why didn't you tell us?"
Brendan struggled to hide his shock as he watched her. Sobieski didn't seem so young or soft anymore. "What makes you say that?" he said, managing to sound curious instead of stunned.
"Ran your prints." She circled her hands around her mug as she studied both of them. "Yours from your belt, hers from her phone." She switched her gaze to Cilla. "You're not a keyboardist, Marini." Back to him. "And you're not a player hanging around with a pick-up crowd, Donovan. What are you doing at the Pipe and Shamrock?"
"Lots of cops have second jobs," Cilla said calmly. "Why can't mine be in a band? I am a keyboardist. The Pipe and Shamrock wouldn't put me on the stage if I wasn't."
Thank God for his partner's composure under fire. "No rules about where cops can hang out," Brendan added. "I was there the first night Cilla played. Love at first sight."
Sobieski sighed. "Cut the crap, both of you. If your presence at the pub is so innocent, why didn't you tell Welles you were a cop? Why didn't you flash your badge at him? Or pull your gun? You did have a gun in your purse, didn't you?"
"Knowing I was a cop wouldn't have stopped him," Cilla said. Her fingers closed around her mug. "Might have made it worse."
Sobieski shifted her gaze from Cilla to Brendan and back again. "You're both detectives. From different districts. You're on some undercover op, aren't you?"
Brendan pressed his leg harder against Cilla's. He needed to feel their connection. They'd figure this out. "Did you tell Johnstone who we were?"
Cover Me Page 22
