by Diana Palmer
spirit. "I won't be around long, anyway, if these cuts can be covered up with makeup
when my ribs heal and the bruises fade. I'll have a movie to finish when Joel
Harper gets back in the country."
He moved closer. "I did a stupid thing," he said through his teeth. 'Two stupid
things. I gave in to temptation and then I believed what I read in the tabloids. You
wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. You called to ask me to get Rory back, didn't you?"
She nodded without looking at him.
He jingled the change in his pocket again. He hadn't apologized in years.
"You told me how you felt, in the beginning," she said heavily. "I didn't listen. I
pushed you into what happened, Cash. I don't even know why I did it, but if there's anybody to blame, it's me."
He scowled. "Rory said you were going to keep the baby."
She turned her face away, wary of letting him see the wetness in her eyes. "None of that matters anymore."
But it did. He could feel the pain that radiated from her. "The only thing that does matter is getting you back on your feet," he agreed. "And keeping you safe until we have to testify at Stanton's trial."
"I've been expecting a call from my mother," she said coldly. "I guess Sam hasn't gotten in touch with her yet. She'll blame me for his being in jail."
"No doubt," he agreed. "The FBI is looking into the possibility that she conspired with him to do it. If they find enough evidence, they'll charge her with conspiracy, and she'll go to trial, too. Kidnapping is a federal offense."
"I didn't think of that," she said abruptly. "There's still a man at large, too." "Yes. That's why you have to go to Texas with me. Judd will be around, or I will, all the time. You won't be vulnerable." That was what he thought. "Christabel won't...mind...having me around after all that business with Judd?" she worried.
"Christabel and Judd are like two little kids in a candy shop since they married— especially since the twins came," he said. "They won't mind. Nobody's jealous of you anymore."
She sighed, wincing when it pulled her ribs. "How do you like living in such a small town?" she asked. "You were like a duck out of water when I was there." He hesitated. "I'm not sure. At first, I did it for a joke. My cousin Chet needed
help and talked me into it. I was sure I'd hate every minute. But I was tired of cybercrime and sick of my life." He sighed. "I've been an outsider in Jacobsville ever since. But the job is... interesting. Varied. Never boring. And I feel as if I'm really doing some good. I've cornered the market on drug violations. Apparently Chet didn't want to make any waves, so he turned a blind eye to some of the higher level dealings. I called in the DEA and started staking out bars."
"You'll make enemies."
"I've got plenty already, thanks. We've got an acting mayor and at least two city council members who'd bring firewood if they offered to burn me at the stake." He pulled up a chair and sat down. "But if I can keep a secretary, I might give it another year."
"You need to look for a woman who isn't afraid of snakes and doesn't throw things back at you," she pointed out.
"That would be a change."
She rubbed her fingers over her mouth. "I'm so dry."
He got up and poured water in a glass, lifting her head so that she could sip it.
"I never knew how good water was until today," she said with a husky, broken laugh.
He eased her head back down and put the water glass on her side table. "You've got guts. Trading yourself for Rory was the stuff of legends." "You'd have done the same thing I did," she replied, closing her eyes. "Sure, but I'd have had a K-bar in my boot and a hide gun in an ankle holster," he retorted.
"My ankles are too thin for a holster."
"I noticed."
She drifted for a few seconds. "I had to ask for something else for pain," she explained. "I'm afraid to go to sleep, but I think I'm going to." He moved his chair closer and caught her slender fingers into his. "I'll be right here," he said, his deep voice comforting. "Go to sleep." She tried to smile, but she couldn't quite remember how. She sighed and drifted off.
THE SMELL OF POTATOES and chicken brought her wide-awake. Cash was removing metal covers on a tray that he'd positioned on the sliding table.
"For hospital food this doesn't look half bad," he mused, glancing at her. "You have ice cream for dessert, too."
She struggled to reach the button that would raise the head of her bed. He did it for her and moved the sliding tray over her legs.
"You need to go and get something to eat, too," she told him.
"I just did, while you were sleeping. You're going to have to be in here for several days," he said. "The doctor said we'd take it one day at a time, and see how you do. Then I'm taking you to Texas. Those stitches come out before you leave the hospital, but you'll still need a checkup down the line. He's referring you to a friend of his in San Antonio, and he's going to consult with him on your progress."
She gaped at him. "How did you arrange that?"
"I just asked."
She shook her head. "You're amazing."
"I hated the idea of flying you back up here for your two-week checkup. It's too risky right now." "Okay." "No argument?" he mused. "I'm too tired." "Eat your supper." He handed her a fork. She drew in a long, slow breath and began to eat. She wasn't
really hungry, but it was good food.
"I got in touch with Joel Harper," he added, not telling her that it had taken several international phone calls and even a couple of threats to chase the man down. "He's run into a hitch in the film he's working on, so it will be at least three months before he's back in the country. He said not to worry about your insurance. He'll pay what it doesn't, as an advance against your salary," he added.
She almost cried with relief. 'Thank God," she whispered. "I was so worried..."
"Don't let that chicken go to waste," he said. "I had it down in the cafeteria. It's good."
She lifted another forkful to her mouth. "It's an Italian dish. I can make it myself, when I have time."
"Rory can make barbecue."
She lifted her eyes to his face. "Yes, he can. How did you know?"
"He told me." He toyed with his sleeve. "He's quite a boy."
"I think so, too."
"I told him he could come out and stay with me, too, as soon as school's out."
She hesitated. "I don't know. I'll probably be back at work, then."
"Probably not," he returned. "It's just barely April. Joel won't be back until July or early August."
She sighed, finishing her chicken. "I thought you didn't like ties."
"I'm not wearing one, am I?"
"You know what I mean."
He crossed one long leg over the other. "You can watch the political process up close," he said evasively. "Calhoun Ballen-ger is running against one of our oldest state senators for the Democratic nomination. The primary's the first Tuesday in May. It's shaping up to be a very hot race."
"I don't know much about politics."
"You'll have fun learning," he said with a gentle smile.
"Think so?" She opened her ice cream.
"You didn't eat your sweet peas," he pointed out.
"I hate sweet peas."
"Vegetables are good for you."
"Only vegetables I like are good for me," she corrected. She spooned ice cream into her mouth. Chewing was uncomfortable, she had some bruises along with the cuts on her face, but the ice cream just melted on her tongue. "We have an ice-cream parlor in Jacobsville," he said. "They sell every flavor under the sun. I'm partial to strawberry." "That's my favorite, too." She finished and put the cup and wooden spoon back on
the tray, grimacing when she shifted.
"Rib hurt?" he asked.
She nodded, leaning back against the pillows. "I wish I had a gun and five minutes
alone with Sam," she said huskily. "To my credit, I did try one of those roundhouse
/>
kicks when he found out he couldn't get any money for me. I even managed to block
his first punch. Then he grabbed that bottle and I lost ground. I'd love to show him
how it feels to have bruised ribs and concussion."
"He's got a nice bullet wound," he told her.
She frowned. "He got shot?"
"Yes, he did. I slipped, or he'd have had more than a bullet wound."
Her lips parted. She stared at him wide-eyed. "You got me out...that's what the
FBI agent meant when he said they had some interference. You came after me!"
"Yes," he confessed. "I didn't have a lot of faith in the agents they assigned to your case. They were sitting in your apartment with Rory waiting for a phone call that might never have come. I tracked Stanton and his cronies down, with a little help from a former colleague."
"I wondered," she said softly. "I couldn't get anybody to tell me what happened."
"They didn't know," he said simply. "Since there's no evidence to connect me to the shooting, the feds and I have an arrangement. I cleared my presence with a higher-up who owed me a favor. He ran interference for me with the police and the other government agents. At any rate, I don't want the complications involved in admitting I was the shooter. It could cause a scandal and negatively impact my reputation as a police chief in Jacobsville."
"Oh."
"So we're all pretending that Sam shot himself, and he was too drunk to see where the shot came from," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Lucky Sam to still be standing at all after what he did to you."
"He was very angry," she recalled, shivering.
"Did he force himself on you?"
"He was too busy hitting me to think about sex," she sighed heavily. "One of his friends tried to stop him, to his credit, but Sam was out of control. He'd been using something, I don't know what. His eyes were glazed and he was higher than a kite."
"Which man tried to stop him?" he asked.
"He had blond hair," she murmured. "That's all I remember."
"The one who was arrested with him was blond. One got away. The dark-headed one, I think."
"Maybe." She blinked. "My mother has a lot to answer for," she said. "If I were vindictive enough, I'd give the tabloids a story they'd never forget." "You'd never get over it, either," he said. "Don't even be tempted." She looked over at him with sad eyes. "They couldn't do much more damage to
me than they've already done." His face clenched. "I was stupid enough to believe them," he replied. "Most of this is my fault."
She shook her head. "Things just happen," she said heavily. "My mother was behind this. I know she was. She'd already phoned me and made threats. I didn't believe she'd risk her own son for money. Silly me."
"Has she always been an alcoholic?"
She nodded. "All my life. I was calling bail bondsmen when I was eight, to get her out of jail. She'd been arrested for soliciting, for public drunkenness, for DUI, for theft...you name it, there was a charge. She latched on to one man after another to get money to support us. But eventually she stayed drunk too much even to do that. I had a paper route to buy my school clothes." She winced. "That was before Sam came to live with us."
"He's a loser, if there ever was one," he said coldly.
"Don't I know it. My mother thinks differently."
"There's no accounting for taste."
She laughed drowsily. 'That's what I always say." She closed her eyes. "I'm so tired." "You've been through a lot. Too much." "You won't let Rory get hurt?" she asked suddenly. "You know me better than that." She did. He might not want Tippy for life, but he was already fond of Rory. He wouldn't let the kidnappers get the boy again.
"You don't think they'll make bond, do you?" she asked.
"Not if I can help it," he assured her.
What he didn't say was that sometimes a judge could be coaxed into believing a suspect, and setting reasonable bond. If Stanton could find a way, he'd get out. And if he did, he'd make a beeline for the woman who'd put him in jail. He'd have nothing to lose.
Cash was going to have his work cut out for him, keeping Tippy and Rory safe. But he was going to. He wasn't going to let anything happen to either one of them ever again.
CHAPTER NINE
TIPPY FACED THE POLICE the next morning. She held Cash's hand while she gave them a statement. It was the first step to recovery, she told herself. Just one more little obstacle to get through. They took photographs as well, with a digital camera, for evidence of the treatment she'd received at Stanton's hands.
Cash sat with her the whole time, going through endless cups of coffee. It was a straightforward procedure, but it took longer than he'd expected. He went with the investigators back to their precinct to write out a statement of his own. He couldn't tell the whole truth, but he told as much as he felt comfortable with.
"What about Tippy's mother?" he asked the lead investigator after they'd talked
for a few minutes.
"She said her mother was behind the kidnapping, in order to get money from her,"
the older man said.
'That's right. She's a drug addict."
The investigator's pale eyes shimmered with anger. "You'd
be amazed how many we get here, most involved in burglaries or holdups or murders.
We had a guy last week, eighteen, got high on acid and beat his grandmother to death.
Never remembered doing anything, but he'll go to prison for life if they convict him."
"I know," Cash replied. "I'm in law enforcement myself. I've spent the last few
months rooting out drug money. You probably know where it comes from."
"Yeah," the other man nodded. "From respectable citizens who want to make a lot
of easy money and don't care how."
"Bingo."
"I've always thought I'd like to work in a small town," the
detective mused. "Is the money good?" Cash chuckled. "If you like beer. It won't get
you champagne." The older man's eyes twinkled. "I hate champagne." "Then you
might want to try it. You can do a lot of good on
a small scale."
There was a brief pause. "I heard some things about you from my lieutenant. He
was in covert ops in the Gulf War."
Cash's eyebrows lifted. "Was he really?"
"He's got a nephew named Peter Stone. Lives in Brooklyn."
Cash gave him a wry look. "My, my, what a small world we live in." He grinned.
The lieutenant grinned back.
HE GOT A CAB BACK to the hospital. Tippy was sleeping again when he went into her room and sat by the bed. He was anxious about her. The interview must have been as much an ordeal for her as the wounds had been when she first got them. It was painful and she had a long way to go before she would recover from her injuries, to say nothing of the emotional scars
that had been added to the ones she already carried. He hated the guilt. It was his
fault. His fault...!
"Why...do you look like that?" she asked drowsily.
"Like what?" he asked.
Her lovely green eyes opened as wide as she could get them to. He was so handsome. She loved looking at him. She knew that he only felt guilty because he'd let her down, but it felt like heaven to have him this close and concerned about her.
"You look... lost."
He leaned forward. "I can't get away from my past," he said after a minute. "Everywhere I go, people know about me."
'That can't be a bad thing."
"Can't it?" He studied her hungrily. "I'm sorry about that interview, but they can't go forward without evidence."
"I'll have to testify against them, too, won't I?" she asked.
He nodded. "But I'll be right with you. Every minute."
She managed a weak smile. "Thanks." She shifted, grimacing again. "I'll bet you've had worse than this—concussion, cuts and bruised ribs, I mean."
"Broken ribs, broken t
eeth, gunshot wounds, cigarette burns, bruises all the way up and down..."
She caught her breath.
"...Facial cuts and fractures," he added. "But mine had to have stitches, and there
wasn't time for plastic surgery." He touched the faint white marks on his cheeks. "I was certain that he'd done major damage to my face," she said huskily. "There was so much blood. But the doctor said they were relatively minor cuts. They didn't destroy
