by Anna Sugden
It couldn’t have been riskier or more poorly timed, even before this morning’s revelation, but she’d climbed inside his soul, and he didn’t want her to leave again. And he suspected that she cared about him, as well. It was the only explanation he had for all the risks she’d taken on his behalf.
As the memory of her sobs filled his ears again, Ben shook his head, trying to remove the sounds. He couldn’t bear to think that Delia would ever see their lovemaking as anything other than beautiful and perfect, and it was obvious that for her, it had been neither of those things.
He hated Lloyd Jackson even more for that. He hadn’t felt this kind of anger since right after his mother’s death when his father had survived, but he seethed with it now, his teeth gritted so tightly that his molars ached. His fingers itched to curl around Jackson’s neck.
For the first time, he understood where victims who sought revenge were coming from, when their loved ones felt entitled to vigilante justice. He wanted to make Jackson hurt the way Delia hurt.
An image of himself as a barbarian, complete with sword and shield, flitted into his hazy thoughts, making him smile. Delia would tell him she didn’t need a protector, and she would be right.
Now that he knew, though, he had to do something. He just didn’t know what. Should he give Delia her space? If she’d wanted him to know the truth about this part of her painful history, she would have told him a long time ago. Right? Or at least when she’d shared the story about her mother’s desertion. But she hadn’t.
Was she afraid that people close to her would walk away if they knew? Helen Miles must have known. Had she told Delia to forget that it had ever happened?
Ben didn’t know what anyone else had done when they’d learned the truth, but he knew what he planned to do. He would be there for her in whatever way he could. He wouldn’t abandon her, even if she tried to push him away.
He needed to convince her that any intimate moments between them would be perfect and right, but before he could do that, he had to tell her that he knew. They could talk about it then, and he would somehow make this right for her. He had to.
Glancing at the time on his cell, he considered waiting until a more decent hour, but he had to talk to her now. He clicked on her name from his contacts list and waited for the call to connect.
Finally, the phone started ringing. And ringing. After several rings, the call went to voice mail.
“Delia, it’s me. We need to talk. Call me back, okay?”
He clicked off the call and rested his phone back on the desktop. She’d just missed his call. She would call back in a few minutes. So he waited, watching the phone screen and then touching it each time the screen went dark. She would call back, wouldn’t she? Just like she would have earlier if he hadn’t called her twice.
After five minutes had passed, he picked up the phone again and clicked on her name under recent calls. She would definitely pick up now. But this time, the phone rang only once before the automated mailbox picked up. Had she really just sent him to voice mail? His first instinct was to worry that something else was wrong, that something else was preventing her from answering. But wasn’t last night already enough of an issue? This was still the morning after, and maybe she just wanted to avoid him.
They had to talk, though. He was a patient man, but he could be as determined as she was when she wanted something. And he wanted her. Eventually she would answer. He would just keep calling until she did.
* * *
“QUIT CALLING ME!”
Delia shouted at the phone in her patrol car, but as she’d been doing for two days, she didn’t answer. Instead, she continued on the long, slow drive around the perimeter road of Kensington Metropark, watching for anything unusual, anything like the scene she’d missed the other night.
She would have to talk to him soon, would have to find out if he’d discovered anything new in the case that had sidelined him, but she could wait a little longer, couldn’t she? Until the humiliation wore off.
How was she supposed to face him after the things they’d done together? The things she’d loved doing but should never do with him again. Could he ever respect her in uniform now that he’d clearly seen her out of it with eyes, hands and mouth? Could he pretend that it had never happened just as she intended to do when she finally saw him again? Two days weren’t enough to prepare her for the role she would play. She hoped the time and distance would help because she was still worried that when she saw him again, she might be tempted to invite him home with her for round two.
Delia continued farther along Park Route 1, past the drive leading to Martindale Beach. She couldn’t think about Ben now. Couldn’t tell herself she would die if he apologized one more time on her voice mail. She hadn’t heard from her parents even once during that time, but Ben had taken up the telephone-message slack.
She blinked as her radio crackled to life. She was so preoccupied that she was lucky she hadn’t missed it.
“Radio 570,” she said into the handset. “All set.”
She had to keep her mind on the job, just as she’d been doing the past two shifts, looking for any possible connection between the abandoned car from a few weeks back and the suspicious activity from two nights ago. It would have been nice if she could compare the two police reports, but she couldn’t file the second one when she couldn’t explain why she’d been at the park at that hour.
At least focusing on this case and the other one at the post helped keep her thoughts away from Ben some of the time. His constant calls weren’t helping, though.
She followed the huge loop in the road, crossing the Huron River, passing the Farm Center and the Nature Center buildings. At the parking lot near the administrative office and the Kensington Road exit, she caught sight of headlights. Her breath catching, she immediately shut off her own lights and slowly entered the lot.
The car she’d noticed flashed its headlights in her direction, letting her know she’d already been detected. When she flipped hers back on, she recognized the telltale profile of a state police vehicle.
“What is he doing here?” she asked and then shook her head.
Sure, she’d been avoiding Ben, but why would he take a risk of getting caught by driving out here in a patrol car? For that matter, how had he gotten one? Had Scott helped him out? They were friends, but Ben had already refused to let Scott risk his career for him. Ben had always talked about being cautious and taking risks only when necessary. This didn’t fall in that category.
The vehicle approached from the other side of the parking lot, and she turned her car, so they would pass on the drivers’ sides. As the cars reached each other, she pressed her brakes and the window control at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as the other window lowered.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
She blinked. The voice didn’t sound right, and the profile didn’t match. She turned her spotlight toward the other car. Trevor Cole sat in the driver’s seat, holding a flashlight of his own and staring back at her.
* * *
“ARE YOU GOING to answer my question?” Somehow Delia managed to shield the tremor in her voice.
She blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes to the glare from Trevor’s flashlight. Finally, she slid the beam of her floodlight to the side, out of his eyes, and he returned the favor. What did he want?
Trevor watched her for several long seconds, as he would have a suspect under interrogation, and then he smiled.
“I knew you’d be here, at least at some point during your shift.”
She nodded, trying not to shiver. Now her assumption that it would be Ben in the other patrol car seemed ridiculous. He didn’t even have access to the post, let alone official vehicles.
“This has been my assignment over the past few weeks, but what do you care about that?”
“Is this where you meet them?”
She shook her head. “Who?”
/> “Your contacts.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“I don’t have any contacts.” If Ben didn’t count. Only she had the idea that he did count. A lot.
“You’ve been acting suspiciously ever since Polaski put Peterson on leave.” He studied her for several more seconds. “Is it guilt that has you so worked up? It’s not as easy as you thought to target someone when the victim’s a nice guy, is it?”
Delia couldn’t believe her ears. He had this all wrong. It was like a polar bear that preyed on its hunter. He was the guilty one—at least she suspected that he was.
“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“I know more than you think I do,” he said. “Like that it just about killed you when Ben was named for a commendation. You wanted one of those for yourself, didn’t you?”
“Don’t we all?” Delia shrugged, his questions confusing her. Was he trying to throw suspicion from himself by going after her?
“No. Not all of us are trying to move up the law enforcement food chain.”
She could only stare at him. “How do you know that?”
“You’re not the only one who’s been watching. Or the only one who’s been hiding something.”
He paused as if waiting for his words to sink in.
“You’ve been watching me?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She didn’t even bother to deny his accusation.
A smile of victory slipped over his lips before he became serious again. “Some of us are just doing our jobs.”
“Which is exactly what I’m trying to do.” She wouldn’t say anything more. Someone with secrets like she had was in a precarious position in a police department. “So I’d appreciate it if you would let me get back to my work.”
“Oh, you do that. You might as well while you still can.”
“Is that a threat, Trooper Cole?”
He shrugged, smiling. “It’s whatever you’d like it to be. A threat. A warning. A promise. Whether you want the answers to come out or not, they will and in a way you’re not going to like.”
With that parting comment, Trevor rolled up his window and pulled out of the parking lot. Delia considered following him, but she was still trying to figure out his cryptic message. The answers would come out? Was he talking about the evidence-tampering case or that she’d helped Ben with the investigation? Or could it be that he knew about her more personal relationship with Ben?
He couldn’t know that, could he? She’d caught him watching her at the post a few times, but just how much could he know? Could Trevor have been in one of those cars the other night? Could he have seen her and Ben together then or one of the other times they’d met?
She still suspected that Trevor was the one who’d targeted Ben. There were certainly unanswered questions swirling around his time back at the Manistique Post. Maybe he knew that she was on his trail and wanted to throw suspicion her way before she got too close to the truth. Did he believe that accusing her would keep her from finding the answers that would clear Ben’s name?
Her questions followed her as she started back toward the post at the end of her shift. She only hoped she wouldn’t cross paths with Trevor again tonight. There were still too many question about him, and she needed to be properly armed with facts before she faced off with him again.
After all of this time investigating, she seemed to have more questions than answers. She needed to talk to Ben to make sense of this new development. She had no choice—she would have to face him now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE FIRST LOCK was already in place, and Delia was turning the second, when a knock came from the other side of her apartment door, causing her to jump back. She peered out the peephole, but with the light inside her apartment still on and the one in the hall as dim as usual, she could only see a distorted image.
Hadn’t she checked the parking lot carefully before entering? She still wasn’t sure whether her parents had finally given up or would pursue her even harder now.
A second knock came before she could peek outside again. She swallowed, reaching for her purse where she’d just rested it at her feet. Could Trevor have followed her home to drill her with more questions or threaten her? Or worse?
“Delia,” came a whisper through the hollow door.
She would recognize that voice anywhere. Flipping the lock, she jerked open the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked with a grumble. “Right out in front of my apartment door where anyone can see you?”
She didn’t bother waiting for his answer before grabbing his arm.
“Get in here.” She yanked him inside and closed the door again. “You’re the one who said no one could know we were working together, and then you pull something like this?”
She locked the door again and turned back to him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“How’d you get in the building anyway? Are you trying to make sure we get caught? Do you want me to get fired? I already had—” She shook her head, too angry with Ben to tell him about Trevor yet. “Oh, never mind.”
Clearly having missed what she’d started to say, Ben unbuttoned his coat, the one she remembered from the bar. The night that seemed so long ago now.
“You left me no choice. The lock sticks. No. And no.”
She drew her brows together. “What?”
“I answered all of your questions. And if you didn’t want me to come here, you should have answered my calls.”
“All fifty of them?”
“At least one. Just so I would know that you were all right.”
“I told you I was. Several times. I wish you’d quit asking. I’m fine, do you hear me?” She hated that her voice cracked on the last word.
“You sound fine, too. After two days of unanswered calls, I started to worry.”
She stopped, staring at him. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve done a pretty good job of it for fourteen years, and I don’t need someone coming in here and—”
“And what? Caring about you? Is that not allowed?” He slipped out of his coat and rested it over his arm, as if he planned to stay awhile. “For the record, I am well aware that you can take care of yourself.”
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He was confusing her. Was he trying to mess with her? Because he was doing a fine job of it. And what was he planning to talk about that would take long enough that he would need to take his coat off? She was still wearing hers though she was beginning to sweat.
“Then what do you want, Ben?” she asked on a sigh. The sooner he got what he came for, the sooner he would leave. The less she would be tempted to rely on him. To let him care. “Did you risk people finding out about us just so you could torture me?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you about Lloyd.”
“What about him? We’re not exactly good friends.” She chose her words carefully, but her heart was beating so hard that it might pound out of her chest. What had her stepfather done this time? Would she ever escape him?
“Delia.” Ben paused until she looked at him. “I know the truth about Lloyd.”
A tinny ringing began in her ears. He couldn’t be talking about that. No one knew about it. “We’ve already talked about my family. I told you they left—”
“I know what Lloyd did to you.”
“Oh.” It was as if he’d punched her in the diaphragm and was waiting there, watching, as she struggled for breath. For words. Somehow she found both. “How dare you, Ben! You had no right.”
“I’m sorry. It was in old newspaper archives on the internet. Some of the more obscure ones.”
“It was none of your business!” Her hands were shaking with the need to hurt him the way she was hurting. To split and tear and destroy. “I told you to stop digging.”
“I’m sorry. I needed to—”
“To know?” She ya
nked off her coat and threw it over the chair as she paced across the living room. At the kitchen entrance, she whirled and marched back. “I told you everything you needed to know in order to take me off your suspect list. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Nothing is enough.”
“I was worried about you...after the other night.”
She was within a few feet of him now, but when he shifted toward her, his hands held wide, she stepped back reflexively.
“So you wanted to justify your disappointing, uh, skills, right?” She ground her teeth, wanting to hurt him, push him away. “If there was something wrong with me, then...”
She let her words trail away.
But he didn’t take the bait. “It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” He cleared his throat, his hands reaching for her, before he stuffed them in his pockets. “You know me, Dee. You know I care about you.”
“Do I?” She did know, but she didn’t want to believe it right now. Not when he was asking her to dig up her skeletons and arrange them around her living room like invited guests. “And if you think I’m going to talk to you about that...”
“Come on, Dee. It’s a little late for us to act like strangers. You know me. And I want to know you. The real you.”
“Quit calling me that. Quit...everything!” She didn’t care about being loud, didn’t care about paper-thin apartment walls and nosy neighbors who filed complaints. She had to make Ben stop. Stop trying to take care of her. Convincing her to trust him. Chiseling his way past her carefully constructed walls.
“I don’t need you. Or anybody. And I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t you see that?”
He nodded, his smile a sad one. “I know it’s hard. Really hard. But maybe it’s time to tell someone who already believes you.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. The venomous comment she’d been prepared to say died on her lips as his words filtered through her resistance. Someone who already believes you. She’d always wanted someone, anyone, to believe her, and now without even hearing her side of the story, Ben had professed complete belief in her.
