by Terry Odell
"We have to show them we're doing what they pay us for. Unfortunately, they don't think in terms of the little things. That we're a small force where every officer pitches in. Where nobody ever says, 'Hey, not my department.' That they're getting plenty of bang for their buck."
The chief leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I can't ask, and it can't be official, but I'd like the Pine Hills PD to come out on top of this. County's got the resources, true, but they're overworked. Do what you can, but play by the rules. If I can show the council we were instrumental in closing a high-profile case to protect its citizens, I might be able to convince them to keep the force."
Randy huffed. "For God's sake, Chief. Our crime in Pine Hills is the minor day-to-day stuff. Showing we can solve a big case is a stupid yardstick to measure our effectiveness. How many of those do we see in a year? Hell, in a decade?"
The chief's expression said he wasn't any happier than Randy. "Politics. Never liked it, but the council approves the budget."
Randy's pulse throbbed. Acid dumped into his stomach. He sucked in a breath. "What do you want me to do?"
"Your job. Efficiently. Professionally. I spoke to Sheriff Davenport yesterday and we agreed that you and Eldridge will work jointly on the case. And equally. Your salary will come from County while you're working over there, which should take a little pressure off my budget for a while. I want you to get your ass over to County and get on the same page. I want updates. Daily. I want to have something to say the next time some damn reporter sticks a microphone in front of me."
He glared at Randy. "And the next time someone sticks one in your face, your answer will be 'No comment'. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. Gladly." Filled with an anger-induced adrenaline surge, he went to the door.
He had one hand on the knob when the chief said, "Remember. The budget cuts are between the two of us."
"Understood." He closed the door behind him and went back to his office. When Kovak raised his eyes in question, Randy shook his head. "I still have most of my ass left, but it's got teeth marks in it."
"Too bad. At least he didn't put you on suspension."
"Right." He grabbed his notes. "I have to get over to County."
"Hang on." Kovak stared at his monitor. "Holy crap. Did you see the chief's e-mail?"
"Which one?"
"The one that says as of next week, there's no overtime."
So that much was already out. "Chief mentioned something about it."
Worry lines creased Kovak's face. "This is not a good time."
"Look on the bright side. You've put in more than enough hours this week. You've got the entire weekend to celebrate your anniversary."
Kovak didn't look particularly excited.
"Something wrong?" Randy asked.
Kovak gave him a weak smile. "Nah. I was overreacting. Go do your thing. I'll run down all the local leads."
They'd been partners long enough for Randy to know when Kovak was lying.
* * * * *
When UPS delivered Hugh's six boxes at two o'clock, Sarah did mental cartwheels. She'd inventory the pieces—at least a decent sample of them—and have them on display for her advertised opening.
During a lull, she called Jennifer and left a message. "If you can come in early tomorrow—anytime after eight—Hugh's pottery is here and we can be ready. I'm staying late. Call me on my cell."
Her next call went to Hugh's assistant, confirming receipt of the shipment.
"I felt so bad," the woman said. "I called UPS and had them expedite the order. I'm glad they were able to get it to you."
"Thanks so much. And if you talk to Hugh, tell him I'll be thinking of him and I hope whatever his emergency was, that everything is cleared up quickly."
"I'll pass the word along when I hear from him," she said and the line disconnected.
Sarah replaced the handset and retrieved her box cutter. She hadn't slit the first box when her door chimes alerted her to people entering the shop.
The smile she greeted them with was genuine, although it was more in anticipation of the end of the day than being of service. It was all she could manage not to shoo all the late afternoon customers out the door, but finally, it was five and she flipped her door sign to "Closed". By seven, she had photographed three cartons of pieces, each one cataloged and priced based on Hugh's list.
When she slit the fourth carton, seeing it was full of mugs reminded her of Mr. Pemberton's request. After locating the right ones, she added their details to her files and repackaged them for shipping.
As she found the address of the Bellevue Hilton, she thought about Janie Kovak. Would her anniversary celebration be special enough? Fifteen years was a milestone. What had caused her concern yesterday? Money, no doubt about it. Cops didn't make that much, but Randy lived comfortably. Then again, he didn't have a family. She tried to remember if Janie worked.
Not your business. It's not like you're close friends. You hardly know her. But if you and Randy—
Stop. She addressed the carton and called UPS, arranging a pickup for tomorrow. Mr. Pemberton had certainly paid enough for weekend service and she took satisfaction knowing he'd have his wife's present on Monday.
She'd added one carton of pottery to her displays when her cell rang. When she heard Randy's voice instead of the expected call from Jennifer, she almost dropped the platter she was holding.
"Randy." She tried to keep any emotion out of her voice. He was an expert at reading her face, but maybe she could keep her innermost thoughts private. It might be easier if she had the slightest clue what those thoughts were.
"I haven't called—"
"Well that's a surprise," she said, not letting him go on. "Thanks for letting me know."
"God, Sarah, I'm sorry. This has been a hell of a few days. I haven't had a minute. I called last night, but it was late and I couldn't handle your machine. I … can we get together? Even for a little while? I've barely been to bed since Tuesday."
His voice hitched, sending crackles around her heart like the finish on the platter she was holding. She dug for the resolve she was determined to maintain. "I'm kind of busy," she said. "And I have to be in early tomorrow."
"Sarah, please? Drop by."
"I'm not sure. You should probably go to bed and get some sleep. You don't need me for that."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "I do, Sarah. I want to sleep with you beside me, in my arms. That's all." He gave a rueful laugh. "I don't think I could manage anything else. But I need you." Another long pause. "Please?" His voice broke.
So did her heart. "I'll be there in half an hour."
He blew out a shaky breath. "Thanks."
She covered the distance to his house in thirty minutes instead of her normal forty. His porch light was on, but all the windows were dark. She locked her car and dashed up the wooden steps and tapped on his door. When there was no response, she twisted the knob. It turned easily and she pushed the door open.
Starsky and Hutch, Randy's cats, mewed and serpentined around her legs. She crouched and scratched them behind the ears. "Hi, fellas. Where's your tall friend?"
Strains of Beethoven coming from the down the hall answered her. She locked the front door, flipped on the lamp in the living room and wandered toward the music. The door was ajar. She crept into the shadow-filled room and sat in the sagging seat of the easy chair that had been his grandmother's. Randy didn't look up, didn't stop playing. Was he even aware she'd come in? Closing her eyes, she listened.
"Pathetique". The first piece he'd played for her. His grandmother's favorite. When he finished, he immediately segued into "Bridge Over Troubled Water" and she knew he'd noticed her presence.
She got up and slid onto the piano bench, her thighs touching his. "Is it my turn to be a bridge for you?" She reached for the light on top of the old upright, but he clutched her wrist.
"No," he whispered.
"I want to look at you," she said. "You sounded … mise
rable on the phone."
"Tired."
"Then go to bed."
"I was waiting for you." His gravel-rough voice brought an ache to her chest.
His hair was damp, she discovered when she reached to push the wayward lock off his forehead. She let her fingertips roam down his cheeks, to his stubble-coarse jaw. He'd showered but hadn't shaved. He always shaved before they got together. Had he been serious about not wanting sex tonight? She'd dismissed that as guy talk on the phone, but maybe he'd meant it.
She stood, pulling him up with her. "Come on. Have you eaten anything?"
He draped his arm over her shoulder. "I had a latte for breakfast, a soggy chicken sandwich and a couple of candy bars out of the sheriff's vending machine for lunch. And about four pots of coffee. I wasn't needed anymore, so I hit the road before dinner. By the time I got home, I was too tired to deal with it."
"I can fix us something." She took the hand dangling in front of her and led him out of the room, toward the kitchen.
He stopped dead. "God, I didn't even ask where you were or what you were doing when I called. Did I pull you away from your dinner?" He spun her around.
"Not exactly. I was at the shop, working on tomorrow's opening. Hugh Garrigue's pottery exclusive. I told you about it, remember?"
"Yes, I do." He kissed the top of her head. "Which makes me feel all the more like a jerk for asking you to drop everything and come running because I was in an exhaustion-induced funk."
"Well, I'm here, so, what'll it be? Food or sleep?"
"Two of the top three survival needs." He pressed his belly and grimaced. "I don't think I could eat anything right now."
"Then bed it is." She fumbled her hand along the wall, searching for the hall light switch.
"Leave it. I know the way," he said, holding her close and walking down the narrow hallway.
Relieved to hear his lightened tone, Sarah snaked her arm around his waist. In his bedroom, she turned on the light, getting her first clear look at him. She sucked in a gasp.
"That bad?" he said. He put his fingers over her lips. "Don't answer. I have a mirror. I thought the red eyes with the purple bags under them made a statement."
"They did. And it was, 'Get into bed. Now'."
He sank to the edge of the mattress, elbows on knees, head in his hands. He wore cotton drawstring pants and a t-shirt, the closest he came to pajamas. Sarah stroked his hair. He didn't move. God, he was sound asleep sitting up.
"Poor thing," she whispered.
She smoothed the bottom sheet of the unmade bed. When she pressed against his shoulders, he jerked. "Mmph. I'm up."
"No, you're not. Lie down." His eyes opened, but she doubted he was seeing anything. She pressed against his torso and when he collapsed, she bent down and tried to lift his legs onto the bed. "Work with me here, Randy. Another minute and you can sleep."
There was a momentary flash of comprehension in his eyes. He shifted and settled himself against his pillow. She pulled the covers over him and kissed his closed eyelids. His breathing steadied and she turned off the light.
He might not be able to eat, but she was starving. She left for the kitchen as Starsky and Hutch entered the bedroom. "Take care of him, okay?"
She heated a can of chicken noodle soup and found some not-too-stale rolls. Sitting at the table, she dunked the rolls into the hot broth and filled the empty places in her stomach. If only the ones in her heart were as easy to plug.
Starsky and Hutch bounded into the kitchen, mewing. Hutch leaped onto the table, something Sarah knew was forbidden.
"Are you two doing the Lassie bit? Did Randy fall down the well?" She scratched Hutch under his chin and headed for Randy's bedroom.
She halted in the open doorway. His ragged breathing, his tossing and turning, interspersed with his muffled groans spoke volumes. She'd had those nightmares. How many times had he held her when she'd flashed back to Chris?
Stepping out of her clothes as she crossed the room, she swallowed against the thickening in her throat. She shivered as the cool night air brushed against her bare skin, puckering her nipples. With the hall light giving her the illumination she needed, she found a t-shirt in Randy's dresser and slipped it on.
She closed the door, then crossed to the far side of the bed and wormed in beside him. Randy's body was a furnace beside her. His legs thrashed. "Shh," she said, reaching across his chest. She stroked the coarse hair that covered his torso. "Go back to sleep."
He inhaled one long breath, then exhaled. "Sarah?"
"I'm here now. Sleep."
He turned on his side and curled her into him. She shifted, fitting into the curve of his body as if she sat on his lap. His arm reached over her and she took his hand to her shoulder. His elbow rested against her hip, his forearm between her breasts, snuggling her as if she were a favorite teddy bear. Her hand slid down to his arm and she clutched it tight against her, the way she had her own stuffed Binky. He gave one final wriggle, as if proving to himself she was real, and she knew he slept. As it always had, his touch melted any remaining tension and she followed him down. But on the way, her own thoughts danced.
She'd known him to go without sleep before. She'd known he'd had cases that burrowed their way under his skin, but he'd always separated his life from his job. What was it about this case that corkscrewed through his professional wall?
Chapter Six
The scent of peaches trickled through Randy's senses. His nose twitched and he inhaled deeply. Sarah? Her warm body pressed against him. Real this time, not a dream. His groin tightened and he balanced on the hazy boundary between sleep and wakefulness, not wanting to relinquish either.
His hand slid down to her breast, content to cup its soft mass.
"Mmm," she murmured, rubbing her chest against his hand.
His thumb drew lazy circles around her areola and she gave one of her soft whimpers of pleasure, angling her hips tighter against him. Wriggling enough to bring his cock to full attention.
Was she any more awake than he was? Half-asleep sex was good, but he wanted to enjoy her. Wanted her to enjoy him. He thumbed her pebbled nipple as he raised an eyelid enough to read the clock. Four. Lots of time.
He nuzzled her neck and she tilted her head, giving him access to the spot below her ear. He kissed her there, tasted her. Her whimpers increased to quiet moans. He traced the line of her jaw with a forefinger, but she found his hand and replaced it on her breast.
While he continued his nipple exploration, she reached behind her, between them, and stroked his erection. His balls contracted as desire filled him and her fingers roamed down there, then back to his cock, twirling around its head, spreading the drops of moisture. Then slowly down his length again, over his balls and to his inner thighs. Her touch tormented and delighted.
He lifted her thigh enough to slide his penis between her legs. Moist heat welcomed him and Sarah closed her thighs around him. Denying him entrance, teasing, she moved her hips as if he were inside her.
God, he could come just from that. But not alone. He abandoned her breast and reached over her mound, seeking her nub. He found it, wet and swollen. He rubbed tiny circles with his finger, driving her higher and higher until she raised her hip and guided him inside. Slick, tight, hot. For him.
* * * * *
Sarah contracted her inner muscles and see-sawed her hips until Randy became part of her. Thick, smooth, hot. For her.
Without opening her eyes, she knew it was still night. One she wanted to enjoy awhile longer. She slowed her movements and stayed Randy's hand.
"Guess you're awake," she said. "Or is it only Mister Smiley?"
Warm breath caressed her ear. "Both of us."
"Turn over, both of you."
He gripped her waist and began to roll.
"Not that way," she said. "I want to see you. Mister Smiley can be on his own for a couple of seconds."
The connection broken, she turned and flung one knee over his torso, straddlin
g him. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts. "You have enough strength to work more than one part of you at a time?"
In response, he pinched her nipples. "God, Sarah, I missed you. Both of us missed you. All of you."
The only possible answer, she knew, given the circumstances. Was it Randy speaking, or the testosterone? The tiniest niggling doubt appeared. Who was she kidding? Right now, she wanted the pleasure as much as he did. What he really wanted, what she really wanted beyond this moment could wait. She turned off that part of her brain and inched backward toward his hips.
She rubbed her slick channel over his erection, rebuilding her arousal. His fingers on her breasts matched her rhythm, kneading, massaging. He drew her against him and sucked one nipple while his thumb made rapid circles on the other.
Forward and back, she slid along his length. She caressed his balls, feeling them grow taut beneath her fingers.
His teeth scraped along her nipple as he broke contact. "Sweet God in heaven, Sarah, let me inside you. Now. Please."
She rose above him, his erection standing proud beneath her, tall and stately as one of Hugh's creations. She opened herself to him, lowered herself a fraction, then rose again. Down, this time allowing a little more of him inside. His grip on her breasts tightened. She took in another inch, each time sliding him over her core, until she perched on the brink of release.
His hips bucked, seating him to the hilt and she moved with him. The tempo built like one of his Chopin Preludes. Faster and faster. His gasps signaled his impending climax. Higher and higher until he shouted her name and her world shattered like a delicate crystal vase.
