It was the slowness that destroyed her.
She hadn’t expected this slowness, this gentleness. She’d expected the heat. The fire. After the way they’d left the barbecue, she’d wondered if he might not even pull over to the side of the road and take her then in the closeness of her car.
But what he gave her and asked of her now was tenderness.
Moonlight silvered his skin, hers. She watched his hands move over her, touching her, learning her responses and then retracing their way exquisitely across the geography of her body.
She remembered a song she’d heard years ago, something about a woman wanting a man with slow hands. She’d been too young to understand the song.
Judah had slow hands.
Wonderful hands.
Bittersweet in the silvered light, moments slipped into hours.
With the memory of her two pre-dawn phone calls, she made her touch achingly tender, too, as something in her recognized that this might be the last time she ever lay with him on silver sheets in a silver room.
Chapter 13
Morning tiptoed into the room, sly streaks of gold curling around the edges of night. Sophie opened her eyes to find Judah watching her. Facing her, he held her close with one leg thrown over her hip. She must have murmured because he placed one hand on each side of her face, eased himself over her and stayed there, resting on his elbows, his body slick against hers. But he made no other move, seemingly content to lie there with her in the morning sunshine.
Loving the early-morning look of him, she rubbed the back of her hand against his cheek stubble. “What do you want, Judah?”
“Nothing. Everything.” His hands framing her face, he kept his eyes locked on hers. “I see you, Sophie. Believe me, I see you.” And then he eased inside her so slowly and carefully that tears welled in her eyes.
She felt as if he were worshipping her with each touch, each stroke, every kiss.
Not hesitating for a second, not giving a damn for the consequences, she enclosed him in her arms and took him, lonely child and stubborn man, straight into her heart.
Later, with sunlight advancing across the bare floor, she pressed her fingertips against his beautiful mouth, his clever mouth, and finally said, “Judah, I’m leaving.” Not looking at him, she edged to the side of the bed away from him.
He caught her before she slid free of the sheet. “Early shift?” He wound her hair around his fingers, tugged.
“Poinciana. I’m going home. To Chicago.”
Curled around her, his body went still. “When?”
“This afternoon.” Stay, stay, she wanted him to urge her. She knew he wouldn’t. “My flight’s at two.”
He withdrew. “All right.” He tucked her hair behind her ears and levered himself away from her. He sat up, his back to her. “You flying out of Tampa or Sarasota?”
“Sarasota.” Chilled, she gathered the edges of the sheet close.
There were so many questions he could have asked, should have asked. When are you coming back? Where will you be staying? Will you call me? Can I call you? Will you miss me? Don’t you know I’ll miss you?
Instead, he said pleasantly, “This afternoon? All right then. I hope it all works out for you. Merry Christmas. And Happy New Year, too, I reckon.”
Then, caught by a note in his voice, she paused with one foot on the floor. The narrow line of his naked spine was a shade too straight. In her head, she replayed her words, his, and smiled. She didn’t think he’d like knowing how well she was learning to read him. “Oh, I’ll be back before then,” she tossed off nonchalantly. “I’m not moving, for heaven’s sake. I like Poinciana. I like my job, my house.”
“Do you, now?”
“I’ll only be in Chicago three days. I needed a few days off to take care of some things before I bring Angel home. And I need to see my Bushka.”
“Your grandmother?” He turned in one fluid motion. “Of course. And Angel. I forgot.” He caught her shoulders suddenly and tumbled her back onto the bed with him. The sheet tangled between their legs, and he stripped it off, leaving her bare in the sunlight. “You don’t leave until two, huh? Looks like we have time.”
“For what?”
He scooped her red scarf up from the floor. “For anything we can think of.”
She laughed. “You have this thing about handcuffs, don’t you?”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he murmured as he slipped the scarf over her eyes.
It was amazing what two people could think of, Sophie decided. Imagination was everything. And Judah was very imaginative.
She lost track of the time.
When the phone rang, interrupting them, he held her in the circle of his arms for a moment before rolling over and sitting up. Late-morning sunlight splashed across his shoulders. Her scarf lay between his shoulder and chin. Half turned toward her, he took her hand and spread it over his chest, weaving silken patterns as he trailed the scarf back and forth over her breasts and stomach while he talked in the phone.
She’d never be able to wear that particular scarf again without blushing.
“All right, Tyree. Got it. Wait for me. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Don’t go by yourself. Hear? Wait.”
He dropped the receiver into the phone cradle. “There’s something going on at a trailer park off the Tamiami Trail. Tyree thinks it might be related to the graffiti and other incidents around town. A helpful citizen called it in.”
“You have to go.”
“I do. Tyree and I asked to work both cases because we thought there might be a link.” He cupped the calf of her leg, stroked down to her toes. “And you have to do what you have to.” He stood up abruptly. “About Angel. And your grandmother.”
But he still wouldn’t ask the questions.
Not even when he walked her to her car and waited with the door open, swinging it back and forth before finally shutting it with a quiet, decisive click.
This time she drove away, leaving him behind.
It should have satisfied something in her, some trace of pride. Something. It didn’t. Leaving him. His leaving her. Both felt lousy.
During the entire flight to Chicago, she thought about how her life seemed more complete when she was with him and how bereft it seemed without him. Even without their history, there were other issues that made anything long-term impossible. She understood that with unwavering clarity. There was no solution, no fairy godmother around to wave a wand and make everything perfect.
Only her Bushka waiting for her as they deplaned at O’Hare in a swirling snowfall that coated the bare limbs of trees and bushes with blinding white.
Enveloped in her grandmother’s embrace and the familiar fragrance of Tzigane, her Bushka’s signature scent, Sophie was home at last.
So why was she homesick for palm trees and white sand?
Judah kept one hand on the wheel while he adjusted the seat belt. Action was good. That way he and Tyree wouldn’t have to rehash the Sunday night barbecue. Action, hot and heavy, would keep him from thinking about the way his gut had tightened when Sophie had blithely informed him she was blowing out of town and back to Chicago. He’d been cool, though. He gave himself points for that.
“Okay,” he said to Tyree. “What do we know about this situation?”
“The caller said, and I’m quoting the dispatcher, ‘the bad boys are at The Palms Trailer Park and they’re planning to be mean.’ No other information. We don’t know if they’re armed, or if it’s misinformation.”
“In other words, the usual?”
“Guess so.” Tyree tapped at the computer on the dashboard. “Nope. Nothing else comes up. Here, Judah, hang a left here. The Palms is down this dirt road. We’re almost there.” Tyree sat back in his seat. “Something feels wrong about this.”
“Yeah.” The car bumped over the washboard road and Judah spun the steering wheel, keeping the car under control as they approached the trailers sprawled like stranded humpbacked whales beneath the
trees of The Palms.
Tyree leaned forward, frowned. “You ever get a bad case of the willies, Judah?”
“Once or twice.”
“Well, I got a case of them right now. My skin feels like red ants are crawling all over me. I don’t like this.”
“I get your point. Stay sharp.”
They spun to a stop near the first row of banged-up trailers.
Sandspurs and periwinkles peppered the sand around them. Whoever had laid out the trailer hookups of The Palms had done so with no discernible plan that Judah could see. That same whoever had been either hopeful or sarcastic in naming the park because as far as Judah could tell, there weren’t any palm trees, not even a homely cabbage palm. He estimated there were seventy to a hundred trailers filling the acre and a half of scrub pine and live oak. He figured some folks might have called the rusting Silverstreams and camper wagons vintage Americana. He reckoned they were three steps up from a cardboard box. Slogans spray-painted on the Laundromat shed were more desperate and angry than patriotic. Overfilled garbage cans melted onto the ground like candle wax.
A smell of rotting garbage lay over the quiet afternoon.
It was too quiet.
No music. No barking dogs. No birdsong.
Not good.
Judah felt the back of his neck prickle as he scanned the weedy parking lot of The Palms and the woods in back.
Even drunks and drug dealers should be up and about by this time. And back here in the piney woods almost everyone had a dog or two.
With a hand movement, he sent Tyree to the right of the first trailers while he crept to the left. Even as he did, he saw from his angle a flicker of white behind a trio of trailers fifty yards in front of Tyree. Nothing more than a fleck of white against the dusty gray of a trailer. Could have been a bit of paper. Could have been anything.
Judah froze. He pointed emphatically toward the gray trailer, but Tyree, intent on slipping from trailer edge to trailer edge, kept moving ahead, oblivious to Judah’s warning.
“Hell,” Judah muttered under his breath and dropped to crawl across the prickly ground.
From his vantage point, he saw the legs. Dingy white sneakers. Big ones. Two men were standing there, blocked from Tyree’s view. They should have called out, asked what Tyree and Judah wanted. That would have been the obvious behavior. But they hadn’t. They’d stayed sheltered in the lee of the big Silverstream. Judah had seen the almost imperceptible shift of one of the sneakers as the men had moved into position.
If Tyree kept moving in the direction he was, he’d walk right up to the men lurking there, and they’d have the drop on him.
Assuming, of course, that they were armed. And dangerous.
But as fast as he crawled, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to intercept Tyree.
Judah kept moving. He didn’t have a whole bunch of options here. He wanted these guys. He didn’t want to spook them, sending them scattering out into the woods where they could disappear. But Tyree kept slipping silently and efficiently from trailer to trailer, the men just out of his vision range. He was so intent on the territory in front of him, his head moving left, right, that he never looked back toward Judah.
So that was that. No more options. Not unless he wanted to send Tyree home to Yvonna in a body bag.
Judah gathered himself into a crouching position, held his Sig Sauer steady and leapt sideways and in front of Tyree with a war whoop. “Down! Down!” He shoved Tyree hard in the back and kept running forward, hell bent for leather and yelling like a banshee, “Hit the ground! Damn it, hit the ground! Now!”
Tyree stumbled and then was running, too, side by side with Judah like racers at a finish line. Judah hadn’t reckoned on that. He’d calculated on the element of surprise to startle the men, slow them down, and give him a chance to haul ass after them. It never occurred to him that Tyree would instantly figure out what was happening and react so damned fast.
George, older and fatter, slower all around, would have gone down.
“Damn it,” Judah grunted. “I told you. Hit the dirt!”
“Going to. Any minute now,” Tyree panted, “you first.”
Judah knew he’d screwed up. He should have known Tyree could react so intuitively and swiftly. But he’d kept that wall between them because he hadn’t wanted a partner, because Tyree wasn’t George, because Judah had been so damned angry at everyone and everything, including himself.
He had to be very lucky in the next few minutes or his mistake was going to cost them. At the moment, Tyree was the target du jour.
Tyree had stumbled when Judah slammed into him, leaving Judah half a step faster. He used that half step to shove ahead of Tyree when the first man came out from the trailer, shooting.
Of course it was a big gun, the kind cops joked about. “Overcompensating,” they’d snort whenever they saw some wannabe tough guy with one.
As Judah angled in front of Tyree, that big old gun made a hell of a noise. Revved on adrenaline, he didn’t even check his rush forward.
The first shot burned across Judah’s right arm. The second went wild, both men running toward the woods now, Tyree after them, screaming, “Halt! Police!” doing the stance, doing everything by the books, and Judah’s arm dripping blood all over his shirt, but he was almost keeping stride with Tyree.
Thrashing into the shadows of the woods, they sent a cloud of crows winging up into the sky. Saw palmetto caught at their pants legs, slowed them both. Blinded by sweat, Judah lurched into a thick net of kudzu. Swinging his arms in a circle, he realized he was caught. Neither of them could see a way to shove through the carpet of vines.
Only yards ahead, the men whipped left, right, and then vanished under the kudzu-choked trees and into the wildness.
Judah tripped on a thick vine, caught his ankle in the tangles and crashed to the ground.
Taking a step back and struggling for breath too, Tyree looked down at him. “Didn’t know white guys could run.”
“Yeah, go figure, huh?” Judah looked off into the now-quiet woods. “But we didn’t get the bad guys.”
Tyree’s face was stony with anger. He extended a hand to help Judah in the entanglement of vines. “Here. We’re not likely to get them now. They’re gone.” He yanked Judah free.
Judah winced.
“You didn’t have to play hero, you know.” Hands on his hips, Tyree glared at Judah. “I knew what I was doing.”
“You did everything by the book. But did you see them? At the trailer?”
Tyree’s frown deepened. “No. Guess I didn’t.”
“Guess I had to do what I did, then.”
“You had my back, Judah.”
“I said I would.”
“So you did. I won’t doubt you again.”
“That road runs both ways.” His chest expanded as if he were taking a deep breath after a long time, something easing the constant tightness that seemed to have been there forever. “If we’re going to be partners.” Judah plucked at the bloody fabric of his sleeve. “And it looks like we are.”
“Yeah. Reckon I am.” Change jingled in Tyree’s pocket as he rocked back and forth. “Your arm okay?”
They exchanged a look.
Judah laughed. “We’re going to have to fill out another set of papers. Discharge of weapons, officer wounded. Hospital incident report. I’ve lost count of the forms in the last four days.”
“All that paperwork’s a killer, isn’t it? Wish I’d known you were so accident-prone. I might have taken a pass on riding with you.”
“The brass probably didn’t give you a choice.” Judah wiped his shirt sleeve across the seeping blood.
“Actually, they did.” Tyree peered into the wound field. “Now that you ask.”
“Glutton for punishment?”
“Liked your style. Didn’t like George’s. Figured I’d see how things went.”
Back creaking, Judah straightened. With the ebb of adrenaline, his body let him know it had been abus
ed. He felt the sting on his arm, the ache of places that would blossom into purples and blues by tomorrow. “And now?”
“Think I’ll stick around. Partner.”
They headed back to the car, called in the report, and gunned the unit once more to Poinciana County Hospital.
Judah figured it was a sign.
He just wasn’t sure what the sign meant.
The hospital seemed quieter and flatter without Sophie.
Cammie, the nurse he’d met on Friday, burbled greetings when he and Tyree walked into the ER. “You like us here, eh? You’re welcome any time. But you don’t need to get yourself all shot up or knifed if you want to come visit.” Bustling them into an examining room, she waved a hand toward a table spread with cookies and carafes. “Have a cup of hot chocolate when you’re all through.”
Tyree stayed until Judah had been checked over and his wound, a minor one, cleaned and bandaged.
Afterwards, Judah told him to head home. “We’ll do the paperwork tomorrow. If the suits don’t like it, well, what are they going to do? Put us back on patrol?” Sharing his irritation over the bureaucracy that leg-shackled them at every turn, he lifted an eyebrow.
“In a pig’s eye.” Tyree rolled his eyes in agreement and laughed. “They aren’t that stupid. We’ve been busting our butts this whole week on one thing or another. Don’t know about you, but I can almost smell an end to this case and it feels good. I want to catch the creeps who beat that poor woman. And I want to be the one locking them up. It’ll feel real good.”
“It’s that helpful caller again. Too coincidental for my taste. Somebody out there is Johnny-on-the-spot every time. But why won’t he come in to the station and give us what we really need to know? Names? Addresses? I figure he’s involved and working off a load of guilt.”
“That’s not my take,” Tyree disagreed. “Assuming this caller is the same guy who called in about the baby—and dispatch center sure seems to think so—he comes across as protective too, you know?”
Dead Calm Page 19
