by Diana Duncan
Bailey grabbed her arm. “Don’t kill it!”
“What, you want to take it home on a leash?” The big gray-brown spider meandered along the brick-red counter and Nan edged back. “That sucker is big enough to wrestle my cat.”
“It’s a wolf spider. They usually stay in their burrows in winter. Poor lost soul.” Bailey snatched the paper and scooped up the lethargic arachnid. Her gaze traveled around the deserted room. “Watch the store for me? I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, if Franken-Spider doesn’t eat you.”
Bailey carefully balanced the newspaper as she strode down the mall’s quiet corridor and out the main doors. Dark clouds overhead wept icy drizzle, a dreary reflection of her sorrow.
A barrel-chested man with salt-and-pepper hair lounged outside under the entryway, smoking. He was turned aside so she couldn’t see his face, but she felt his eyes watching from the shadows.
As she gently dumped the spider beneath the sheltered bushes beside the building, he took a drag on his cigarette. “Most women have screaming fits over anything that big and ugly.” His speech bore a hint of the Bronx.
The spider scurried under a leaf. Bailey empathized with the arachnid’s relief at being returned to her environment, away from threatening predators. The spider would burrow under the dirt, safe from the storm. A pointed lesson from nature. Don’t wander from where you belong. Adventure often has a lethal ending. “She’s a wolf spider. They live in underground burrows and eat damaging insects. There’s no reason to kill her simply because she got lost and wandered into the wrong territory.”
His broad shoulders covered by a black wool peacoat hunched against the cold. “A smart babe with a soft heart.” He laughed, but the deep, graveled bark wasn’t humorous. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”
Bailey sensed his gaze assessing her, a hawk watching his prey. The back of her neck prickled and she shivered. Chill or warning? Mom had always forbidden her to talk to strangers. Of course, Mom was paranoid. Still, it was good advice. Without another word, she spun on her heel and hurried inside.
Syrone Spencer, the hulking security guard, stood by the one-hour photo booth. People would never guess the intimidating man was an avid chess player. A week after Con had started dating Bailey, Syrone had shown up at the bookstore at closing. Under the guise of a chess match, Syrone had checked him out as expertly and thoroughly as any wary father. Con had passed muster, and the two men had become close friends over the past six months. He and Con often amused themselves with competitive matches while he waited for her to close up the bookstore.
Con. Nothing in her life was untouched by memories of him. She’d have to live with the throbbing echoes forever. Just penance for hurting him.
Syrone’s ebony face broke into a smile as she approached. “Hey, Bailey. What’s up?”
“Hey, big guy. Not much, it’s slow.” She hesitated. Maybe the man outside was simply indulging a nicotine fit. The mall was a public place, frequented by all kinds. Maybe the menace she’d felt wasn’t real. Her traumatic morning had thrown her off balance. However, her creep radar was usually right on target. “There’s a guy smoking outside the main entrance. Black peacoat, gray-streaked hair. He seemed…spooky. Out of place.”
Syrone’s expression grew serious. “I’m all over it.”
“I feel safer knowing you’re on the job. Be careful, okay?”
Syrone nodded. “I’m always careful. I’ve got a beautiful wife and four munchkins who depend on me.”
She hurried back to the bookstore, where Nan leaned against the counter. The store’s cheerful warmth did nothing to ease the chill that had seeped into Bailey’s bones. She shivered again.
Nan pointed to the picture tucked on the far side of the cash register. “You take that?”
Bailey glanced at the snapshot of Con and his three brothers, and sorrow slammed into her. “Yes, Christmas Day.” Christmas at the O’Rourkes’ was an event. Unlike the quiet holidays spent alone with her mom, the O’Rourke home had been a rowdy whirlwind of bright wrapping paper, bountiful food, nonstop teasing and masculine laughter. An event she’d never again be part of. The picture showcased how much Con, Aidan, Liam and Grady, all SWAT officers, looked alike. Yet each man’s unique, vibrant personality shone through.
Their irrepressible mom called the boys her four “S” men. Not just because they stair-stepped in age from twenty-seven to thirty. Or because they were all SWAT. She had her own special handle for each of them. Aidan, the strong. Con, the sensitive. Liam, the scamp. Grady, the searcher. As if Maureen O’Rourke had room to talk. The vibrant, sixty-year-old redhead was as strong and stubborn and capable in her own way as any of her sons. Maybe more than all four of ’em put together. Tears she’d thought cried out crowded behind Bailey’s eyelids.
“Verra nice, girlfriend. A woman would have to be a hopeless idiot to turn down a dip in that gene pool.”
So what did that make her? Bailey blinked rapidly, nearly unable to speak around the choking lump in her throat. Had she ever been as young and exuberant as Nan? She hadn’t felt young since she was fourteen. She’d been forced to grow up overnight—between her dad’s death and his funeral. “The weather’s getting dicey. Maybe you should go home early.”
Nan’s face lit up. “Great idea! Maybe I can throw together an impromptu New Year’s Eve party. You and Con want to come?”
Con had planned a candlelight dinner, followed by dancing at the Montrose Hotel. Instead of spending New Year’s Eve with the man she loved, Bailey would be home crying her eyes out. Your choice. No. Her responsibility. She cleared the tightness from her throat. “I’m not really in a party mood, thanks.”
“Okay. Try to have a Happy New Year.” Nan patted her arm. “I’ve got to scoot. When you want to talk, look me up.”
Happy New Year? Not a chance. Heaviness weighed on Bailey’s chest like a sodden blanket. How long did a broken heart take to mend? She suspected healing would take a very long time.
Letty Jacobson scurried into the store, bundled in a red parka with black fur trim. Eiffel Tower earrings and a zebra bag completed the colorful ensemble. Claiming she needed some stud muffins to keep her warm if the power went out, Bailey’s favorite senior citizen quickly selected a stack of romance novels. The O’Rourke family’s lifelong neighbor, Letty possessed an abundance of grandmotherly interest and a serious case of matchmaking fever.
When Bailey slotted Letty’s debit card, the lights flickered and the cash register didn’t respond. Neither did the debit authorization center, and Letty had to make out a check. The weather must have worsened enough to affect the power and slow the phone lines.
While Letty wrote, the lively octogenarian waxed lyrical about a new generation of O’Rourke scamps, and how she couldn’t wait to hold Bailey and Con’s future babies.
Keeping her face averted, Bailey bagged the books and battled for composure. Get a grip. You can cry at home. Once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. By the time she turned and passed the purchase over the counter, her expression was under control.
Letty patted Bailey’s arm. “Honey, whatever has happened between you and your young man, talk it out. Don’t let the sun set on your troubles.”
The woman bustled out toward the bank, and Bailey slumped against the counter. How had Letty guessed the reason she was so upset? Sometimes, the older woman’s perception was downright scary. Much more of this and she’d be on the floor. She needed to go home, curl up in her favorite raspberry-plaid fleece blanket and sip a comforting cup of tea.
The lights flickered again, and the mall’s PA system crackled. “Attention River View Mall customers. Due to a computer malfunction, our registers are not working. The mall is closing. All outer doors and freight doors have been automatically locked for your safety. Please proceed to the three main exits on the ground floor, where a security guard will escort you out. We are sorry for the inconvenience, and hope you will shop with us again.”
Safety, r
ight. The doors automatically locked down during emergencies to prevent widespread five-finger discounts. Theft by both customers and certain employees was a constant problem. But the computer glitch explained the cash register’s constipation.
Bailey checked her marcasite watch. Nearly one o’clock. They weren’t due to close for five hours. The several ice storms Riverside experienced each winter usually started farther east and moved in fast. Mild storms caused slippery inconveniences that melted overnight. Severe storms entombed everything in a thick layer of ice for days and brought trees and power lines crashing down. Widespread destruction. She shivered and wondered what kind of storm was headed their way.
She strode to the back of the store to begin the pre-closing routine. She unplugged the Christmas tree, using the arm of the navy chair beside it to rise. When Con wasn’t playing chess with Syrone, he’d often settle into the chair and read a magazine while Bailey closed up. At least he’d start out reading. Then she’d glance up and find him courting her with his eyes. Sending silent messages her heart didn’t have any trouble interpreting. He didn’t have to touch her. Her skin would heat, her cheeks flush, her body tingle. By the time they arrived home, she’d be longing for his kisses. Aching for his caresses.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Memories of Con were everywhere. Healing was impossible here. She would have to accept the other position offered by a store across town. Leave her beloved regular customers, familiar routine and mall-employee friends. Start over. Where reminders of the man she’d given up wouldn’t haunt her every waking moment.
The PA system crackled again. “Attention employees. The mall is now closed. Because of the electrical instability, security gates for individual stores may not operate. Follow emergency procedure code yellow. Your key cards will not open any doors, including freight doors. When you complete cleanup and cash tallies, proceed to the main mall exit B on the ground floor, where a uniformed security guard will escort you out.”
Emergency procedure code yellow? Bailey hurried to the storeroom to locate a handbook. It instructed her to tally her register and deposit the contents at the mall’s bank. Included was a notation that no funds would be disbursed until the following day.
No funds disbursed. She groaned. She’d forgotten it was payday. She’d have to wait until tomorrow for her money. Oh well. She wasn’t going anywhere except home. A hot bath and a good cry were the only items on her agenda.
Her decision to let Con go had cost her everything. But grief was free.
Carrying the cash bag stamped with the store’s name and account number, she exited the storeroom. A gasp punched out of her and she jerked to a halt. Con stood beside the counter, his face solemn, hands clasped behind his back.
Memories of the first time she’d seen him flooded her. He’d strolled into the store, a modern Lancelot exuding confident grace and power. He’d asked for an antique book of Celtic verse, a birthday gift for his mother. Bailey had been struck by lightning. It was the only explanation for the flash of blinding sparks and overwhelming heat. She’d fumbled through the special order in a daze. She’d spent the following week thinking of nothing but Conall O’Rourke and his breath-stealing grin. And counting the minutes until he returned to pick up the book.
He’d accepted the volume with a smile that had kicked her pulse into the stratosphere. Cradling the book in his big, capable hands, he’d flipped through the pages. Then, his gaze holding hers, his eyes as warm and lustrous as polished mahogany, he’d recited:
“Read these faint runes of Mystery,
O Celt, at home and o’er the sea.
The bond is loosed; the poor are free.
The world’s great future rests with thee!
“Till the soil; bid cities rise.
Be strong, O Celt, be rich, be wise.
But still, with those divine grave eyes,
Respect the realm of Mysteries.
“Would you like to know the realm of mysteries, Bailey?” he’d asked in a voice as rich and tempting as a caramel sundae.
The most contagious case of charisma she’d ever seen. She’d succumbed. Fallen hard and fast, with no known cure. She’d accepted his invitation to the mall’s coffee shop after her shift. Two hours and three cups of peppermint tea later, her heart was irrevocably under his spell.
“Bailey?” Con said gently. The past merged into the present and she jolted back. He had on the snug, faded jeans, work boots and long-sleeved dark blue T-shirt under the black leather jacket he’d worn at breakfast. But his dark spiky hair was sleek and wet, as if he’d just come from the shower. He must have been working out. He hit the gym whenever he was troubled.
She’d caused his troubles today. Bailey steeled her resolve. She would not go there. She had to stay strong. For both their sakes. “How did you get in? The mall is closed.”
“Syrone let me in.” He inclined his head toward the counter, where her coat rested. “You forgot your coat this morning. I didn’t want you to be cold.”
She was cold, clear to her soul. However, the coat wouldn’t help. She’d never be warm again.
“And these.” He produced two dozen pink roses from behind his back. “You’re a fair woman. Let me have my say.”
Her favorite flowers. “Oh, that’s not fair.” A suffocating lump wedged in her throat. “Con, please don’t do this.”
“All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart. This is both.” He held out the vibrant bouquet.
Afraid she was already losing the battle, she accepted the flowers and walked to the storeroom. Con followed as she found a pitcher used to water the store’s plants and shakily filled it at the sink. She nestled the fragrant blooms inside, set them on the storeroom counter and then snatched up a paper towel. She blotted the water she’d spilled with nervous, jerky movements.
Con took the towel and settled gentle hands on her shoulders. He turned her to face him. “Talk to me, Bailey.”
His touch was as electric as it had been the first time. As it was every time he touched her. A startling connection of mind, body and soul. She should pull away, but her ravaged heart craved his hands on her, no matter how brief. “Okay.”
His shoulders hitched, the barest movement, and he exhaled a quiet, relieved sigh.
The small, vulnerable gesture nearly destroyed her. Bailey couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she glanced around the dim storeroom, crowded with boxes. The room seemed too tiny to contain Con’s formidable energy. Though the words stung like acid in her mouth, she’d say them as many times as necessary. “We have to break up. We’re too different—”
He cut her off. “Not the rehearsed version. You sound like a politician stumping on the campaign trail.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Look at me. Speak to me from your heart.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze and saw determined steel in the dark pools. Her fingers curled into fists, nails cutting into her palms as she summoned resolve. “I told you, I’m trying to make this decision with my head, not my heart.”
“Is that why you chose to break it off with me in the diner? You wanted a clean, surgical strike, right? No arguments, no emotional fallout.” The hurt swimming in his eyes burrowed into her chest. He shook his head. “Did you actually believe you could drop a bomb like that and then walk away?”
How could she possibly speak from her heart when it ached so badly she could hardly talk? “A clean, fast incision is less painful, and heals better.”
“Those are your mother’s words, not yours.”
The world stopped. Oh no! Was it too late? Had her mother succeeded in making Bailey over into her image? No. That’s what Bailey was trying to prevent. She refused to amputate her feelings. She would feel every stab of pain, be completely honest with Con. She owed him that. Owed herself. “I chose a public place because I knew if we were alone, you’d use your talent for blarney, and if necessary, those agile hands to charm and sway me.”
Needing distance, she stepped back, breaking his hold, an
d he released her. Why couldn’t it be that easy to break his emotional hold on her? “I can’t resist you when you’re in persuasive mode, Con.”
“If you could, I would let you go. It’s the same for me, sweetheart—I can’t resist you, either. We belong together.”
“We’d start out happy. But I’ll end up bitter and angry and you’ll be cold and resentful. I’ve seen it before.”
“Like your parents, you said. You’ve never talked about them until now.”
Maybe if she explained, he’d accept her decision. “I’ve never talked about them before because it hurt too much.”
“I don’t want to dredge up bad memories, but if it affects us, you need to tell me.”
“Yes. You should know.” She braced herself against the pain and dove in. “My parents met at a ball for the children’s burn ward at Mercy Hospital. He was a fireman, she was in her last year of residency. The attraction was instantaneous for them, too. He was a handsome, risk-taking adrenaline junkie, and Mom fell hard. They dated for six exciting, romantic months, then married. I was born two years later. At first, everything was wonderful.”
“What happened?”
“When I was eight, Dad got trapped in a warehouse fire and received second-and third-degree burns on his arms and face.”
Empathy softened his eyes to brown velvet. He reached for her hand, held it in both of his big, warm ones. “That’s why you volunteer at the children’s burn ward.”
“Yes. As a tribute to his courage and devotion.”
He squeezed her hand. “He…didn’t recover?”
“He did. His recovery was painful, but he was back on the job in a year. With major facial scarring. Not that it mattered. I could see past the scars to the man underneath.” Pulled by need stronger than will, she edged nearer to Con. The heat and strength of his lean body compelled her, comforted her.
