by Sandra Brown
"I'll feel better leaving you alone if I check the house."
"I won't be alone for long. Mother and Dodge are right behind us." She glanced toward the lake, where another deputy was stationed near the pier. "And with the two guards--"
"I'll feel better if I check."
Why argue? She turned and walked toward the back steps, retrieving the door key from beneath a pot of pink caladiums.
"That's not very safe."
"The alarm is set." She climbed the steps, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The beeper went off. "See?" She punched in the code to disengage the alarm.
He reached beyond her and depressed the status button on the keypad. The LED showed that no interruptions had been made to the system since the alarm had been set. "Do all the doors and windows have contacts?"
"I think so."
"Glass breakage and motion detectors?"
"I assume. Mother is usually here by herself, so she's always cautious."
"Okay."
Berry set her handbag on the kitchen table. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Thanks, but I don't have time for it. I gotta shove off. You should get some sleep. You've had two short nights."
"I'd like to take a nap. Later I plan to go to the hospital to see Ben."
Ski's eyes narrowed fractionally.
Immediately she went on the defensive. "I haven't seen him since he was carried out of here on a gurney. Yesterday, I stayed out of his room because of the ugly scene with Amanda. But I'm entitled to go and see about my friend."
"I'm sure your friend will appreciate a visit. His wife won't."
The emphasis he'd placed on the word friend didn't escape her. "No, she probably won't. Because she, like you, can't get past the fact that I was naked when Ben was shot. In light of everything else, isn't it rather juvenile and ridiculous to be hung up on that?"
She stepped around him and headed for the door that led into the rest of the house. Over her shoulder she said, "You can see yourself out."
Before she'd taken two steps, he caught her shoulder with one hand and brought her around, pulling her against him. "I don't have a wife," he said in a low voice. "And the reason I can't get past you being naked is because I saw you naked."
Then he kissed her, hard and thoroughly, planting his tongue firmly inside her mouth. However, the kiss lasted for no more than a few seconds before it ended, and he set her away from him abruptly and decisively.
His chest inflated around a deep breath that he then expelled in a gust. His eyes skittered around the kitchen, stopping at random points before connecting with hers. Roughly, he said, "You could have the book thrown at me for that."
Berry's own breath was coming in short, insufficient gasps. She stared at him for several seconds, then reached up and linked her fingers behind his head. "To hell with the book."
She drew his head down as forcibly as he'd pulled hers to him moments earlier. She pressed her mouth against his, and, after the briefest hesitation on his part, the kiss resumed, hotter and hungrier than before. This is what they'd been moving toward. The mutual hostility had been a defense mechanism used by both in an unsuccessful attempt to deceive themselves. It had been about this from the start.
One of his arms curved around her waist while his other hand cupped her butt, and, using both, he pulled her high against him until she was on tiptoe, and he was fitted into the notch of her thighs, and, oh, my God, he was hard and solid, and it felt so good. Immediately her body grew warm and wanting, and when she inclined her hips to make the contact even more evocative, a growl vibrated from his throat.
The kiss intensified. It was that kiss you're lucky to experience once in a lifetime. That kiss that defies the rules, that banishes conscience, that is purely sexual. That kiss that makes you feel vibrantly alive and positively doomed. That I'm-going-to-die-if-I-don't-fuck-you kiss.
She thought he might.
She thought she might.
And they might have.
If they hadn't heard the car's approach.
The engine died. Doors closed. She and Ski released each other and sprang apart. She thought she probably should tug down her blouse, smooth down his hair, but there was no time because Caroline and Dodge were coming in through the back door.
Whatever Caroline was saying died on her lips as she cleared the doorway and drew up short, her eyes seesawing between Berry and Ski.
She had stopped so suddenly that Dodge ran into her back, crushing a grocery sack between them. Apparently sensing the electrically charged atmosphere, he took his turn looking back and forth between them.
Always the diplomat, her mother ignored the awkwardness of the moment. Pleasantly, she said, "We stopped at the supermarket and got some things so I could cook breakfast. I hope you'll join us, Ski."
"Thanks, but I can't."
Without another word or a backward glance, he squeezed past them and left.
Caroline and Dodge turned to watch his hasty retreat, then came back around to Berry. If they'd had question marks painted on their faces, they couldn't have looked more curious.
She backed away from them and through the connecting doorway. "I'm not hungry."
CHAPTER
14
Houston, Texas, 1978
THE MURDER OF THE BANK GUARD WAS THE LEAD NEWS STORY for several days, and the media milked it. The victim had been only twenty-four years old. It had been a case of overkill. He was down, bleeding, already mortally wounded, when the robber paused long enough to shoot him in the head before exiting the bank with his booty tucked under his arm.
The guard had been weeks away from marrying his high school sweetheart. He was buried in the suit that was to have been his wedding suit. His fiancee and parents were inconsolable. On camera, their testimonials were heart-wrenching. The young man was extolled by former teachers as the most outstanding student they'd ever had the privilege to teach. His scoutmaster praised his commitment and thoughtfulness toward others. His church conducted a worship service in his honor, not a dry eye in the overflow crowd.
The competence of those trying to nab the robber turned killer was called into question by the press, as well as by city officials who wanted to keep their elected positions, and by provocateurs who crawled out of the woodwork whenever given an opportunity to take potshots at the HPD.
The negative media coverage put everyone on the task force in a bad mood. Rather than strengthen their resolve and make them a more determined band of brothers, the public spanking eroded confidence and morale. It unraveled the fabric of their comradery. Their criticism of one another became vitriolic, causing friction between individuals, between cliques, between supervisors and subordinates.
To a man they wanted to catch the culprit by means of a spectacular police maneuver that would force their critics to eat crow till they choked on it. But each officer also had his own agenda, a self-serving purpose, a do-or-die reason for wanting to shine. On neither of these levels was failure an option, so, naturally, egos clashed.
Things got so bad, tension rose to such a level during their jam sessions, that Dodge began looking forward to his shift at the tire manufacturing plant. At least there he got a little relief from the constant pressure, bitching, and bickering. As long as he emptied all the trash cans within a reasonable amount of time, no one at the plant hassled him.
But he was still required to attend the task force briefings, which had turned into shouting matches. At the most recent one, he'd been reminded of his assignment by the screaming, red-faced captain, who'd just come from an ass-chewing in which his sizable behind had been the main course.
He'd stamped and sputtered and banged his fist on the table for five full minutes, citing all Dodge's failed attempts to establish a relationship with Franklin Albright's girlfriend, Crystal. He ended his tirade with a direct order. "Now get back to that fucking factory. Get in her face, get in her pants, I don't care, Hanley, just get something so we can either go after this bastard or chalk him off our list of
suspects!"
Having been duly charged, Dodge doubled his efforts to make headway with Crystal. Gradually they began to yield results, providing incremental victories to report to his supervisor.
"I went to the payroll office yesterday, pretending to have a question about the taxes being withheld from my check. Crystal and I had locked eyeballs a few times before, but now we've actually chatted, and she knows my name."
"I time my lunch break to coincide with hers. On Monday, she was out of change, so I offered to buy her a package of Fritos from the vending machine, and after a lot of hemming and hawing and eyelash fluttering, she let me. On Tuesday, she paid me back. No, I didn't make a pass," he said, shooting a disparaging look toward the cop who'd asked. "I don't want to come across as a sleazeball and send her running in the opposite direction. Jeez. But that stupid question explains why you can't get a date."
"When Crystal went on her afternoon break, I loitered in the hall outside the ladies' room, fiddling with an electrical outlet. When she left the restroom, she stopped to chat, asked if I had any more questions about my check and said, if I did, to be sure to come by the payroll office and she'd help me out. Which I took as an invitation. I'll drop by there tomorrow."
"Crystal's girlfriend, the one she usually eats lunch with, quit to have a baby. So I insinuated myself into her place at the table where they always sat, and Crystal didn't object. I tried moving the conversation toward personal matters by remarking on her friend's pregnancy and asking if Crystal has kids of her own, and she said no, but she'd like to someday. Only she had to get married first, and that didn't seem likely any time soon, and I asked her why not, and she said because her boyfriend wasn't the marrying kind. First mention of Franklin."
"Today Crystal told me that Franklin is a great guy. Really, she said, stressing it. Except that he can get moody. In the past, he's been in trouble with the law, so her parents distrust and dislike him and told her that, as long as she was with him, they want nothing to do with her. Which sorta hurts her feelings, but she loves Franklin, so there you go."
"She and Franklin had a fight last night. He accused her of flirting with a salesclerk at Radio Shack, which she swears she wasn't. Can she help it if the guy was ogling her? I said the poor guy probably couldn't help himself, and she laughed and swatted my hand. Well, yeah, that classifies as flirting. But at this stage, a little flirting is okay. Don't you know anything about women?"
"She wishes Franklin wasn't so jealous. For instance, if he knew we were eating lunch together every day, he wouldn't like it. Not at all. He'd never understand that we're just friends, she said. And I said, 'Is that all we are? Just friends?' And she got all flustered. Blushed a little. Did the bit with the eyelashes again. Swear to God, they're stiff and black like the legs of a dead cockroach. Where was I? Oh, right. I definitely think I'm making progress. One sure sign, her skirts are getting shorter and her blouses lower cut. Yeah, I gotta admit, the view would make you assholes drool."
"She put her hand on my thigh today. No, I'm not lying, jerkface. She only did it to make a point of what she was saying, but still, it counts. How high up? Use your imagination. High enough to set my balls a-tingle. No, nothing about Franklin today, except that she said it probably wouldn't be a good idea if he saw us walking out of the plant together after our shift."
"This could be a major breakthrough, so everybody listen up. No, I didn't get to second base. Jesus, what are you? Fourth grade? Are you listening now? Okay then. Crystal told me that Franklin goes fishing periodically at Falcon Lake. He meets his cousin there. Any of you ignoramuses know the geography of Texas? Falcon Lake is right on the border with Mexico, where his cousin, ahem, has taken up residence.
"So what I'm thinking, is ... Bingo, Captain. Franklin robs a bank, then drives on down to Falcon Lake, gets in a boat probably, and hands the loot over to his cousin in Old Meh-hee-co, where the cash is laundered. It reenters the US of A as squeaky clean legal tender.
"All I gotta do is get out of Crystal when Franklin's most recent fishing trip was and see if it corresponds with the date of the last robbery. If it does, Franklin moves up several notches on the suspect list. How am I gonna get the info out of Crystal? Don't you wish you knew?"
* * *
Caroline was trying hard to stay awake. She'd already been here two and a half hours, but with only thirty minutes to go, she was afraid she wouldn't make it without falling asleep from boredom.
She was on the verge of nodding off when a car pulled up at the curb and parked. A man got out and walked toward the house. Through the glass in the storm door, his silhouette showed up large, and she experienced a twinge of apprehension, as she always did when showing a house to a man alone.
He opened the door and stepped into the foyer.
When she recognized Dodge Hanley, her heart gave a bump of a different sort. The reaction startled and confused her. It had been two months since she'd told him not to interfere with her life and had warned him of serious consequences if he did. She'd thought she would never see him again. But here he was, and her involuntary excitement was unsettling.
She stood up.
He said, "Hi."
"Hi."
She'd been seated in a folding chair at a card table. Draped in a gold cloth, it served as a reception desk. Scattered across it were leaflets describing the house for sale and a goodly number of her business cards. She was unreasonably glad that the table was between her and the policeman, who was out of uniform, wearing a sport coat and slacks instead.
"What are you doing here?"
He raised the folded sheet of newspaper he'd carried in with him and pointed to an ad in the real estate section. "Open house. Sunday. Two till five. It's got a picture of this house, it gives the street address, and it's listed under your name as an agent for Jim Malone Realty."
"I know what the ad says. I proofread it before submitting it to the classifieds. That doesn't explain what you're doing here."
"It's an open house."
His obtuseness was irrationally disarming and made her want to smile. Instead, she folded her arms across her middle, where she was still experiencing a flutter, and asked loftily, "Are you in the market for a home, Mr. Hanley?"
"Maybe." He gave the foyer a slow survey. "What's to recommend this house? Please don't tell me this wallpaper is its best feature."
She managed to keep her smile in check, but barely. "It's got a nice backyard. Fenced."
"Wood fence?"
"Cyclone."
He frowned.
"Large, native trees," she continued. "Very shady. And with a little repair, the patio--"
"Repair?"
"Minimal repair would return it to being, uh, usable."
"Huh." He glanced into the adjacent living room at the turquoise brocade divan. "Ugly furniture."
"The furniture isn't included in the sale."
"Lucky us."
"With new paint, wallpaper, and furniture, the house would look entirely different. You have to have an imagination."
"A wild imagination."
Knowing it was a game, she continued playing along. "It has three bedrooms, one down, two up. Two fireplaces, one in the formal living area, and one in the den, which used to be the garage. The owners converted it into a room when the house underwent a total renovation."
He looked up at a crack in the ceiling. "When was that?"
"Nineteen fifty-two."
He raised his eyebrows, and she could no longer contain her self-deprecating laughter. "The place is a disaster. But it's my first listing."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
They shared a grin, then he said, "Jim Malone Realty. He's a bigwig, right? His signs are all over Houston."
"I'm very fortunate to have been hired by his agency."
"He's fortunate to get you."
She accepted the compliment with a humble nod. "His company is very well established. I'm a newcomer. I've got a lot to learn."
<
br /> "Is that why you pulled this detail?"
"I volunteered."
"You've got ambition, Ms. King."
"I don't want to go back to the tax assessor's office."
"Can't say I blame you for that." He smiled again and glanced down at the brochures on the table. "Have you had many people come by?"
"You're the third in nearly three hours."
"You've had to sit here for all that time by yourself?"
"Well, there's the cat, but he hissed at the first couple who came in, so I locked him in the pantry."
"Can you stick it out for"--he consulted his watch--"twenty-two more minutes?"
"I've been counting them down and trying to stay awake."
They exchanged another smile, then neither said anything, and the silence of the house pressed in around them. This man made her uneasy, and she couldn't account for it. Even when she was interviewed by Jim Malone himself, persuading him that she would be an asset to his agency despite her inexperience, she hadn't been as nervous as she was now. Around Dodge Hanley she became self-conscious, unsure, and at a loss for what to say and where to look.
Maybe it was a natural reaction to being in the company of a police officer. Drivers automatically tapped their brakes when they spotted a radar trap even when they weren't speeding. Perhaps it was Dodge's implied authority that intimidated her.
Or maybe she was still embarrassed over how he'd first seen her, with the effects of Roger's slap evident--the mark on her cheek fresh, the emotional impact of it equally raw. She'd been unable to hide her mortification then, and she couldn't now.
Perhaps her discomfiture had something to do not with her but with him. His strong features, tough bearing, and unmitigated masculinity hinted at the latent violent streak that she knew could be ferocious. After all, she'd seen the result of it. Roger had been hospitalized for ten days following the beating he took.
She didn't fear for her own safety, however. Dodge Hanley posed no threat to her, even by implication. In fact, his demeanor was protective, almost quaintly chivalrous. She felt a gravitational pull toward it that was entirely feminine.
