Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10

by Tracey Alvarez

  “I’m sure you’ve already heard this,” Sandra said, “but thank you for making sure Noah came tonight.”

  Tilly smiled and stood beside Sandra at the row of hand basins. “Both your sons and Noah’s dad have already thanked me, but there’s no need to. We both know Noah wouldn’t be here unless he wanted to.”

  “I think you underestimate how much influence you have with him. It’s a cliché, but a mother knows when her son has met his match.”

  Heat rose on Tilly’s cheeks and she fumbled in her evening bag for her compact.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, hon. I’m very happy for you and for Noah. I wish you both all the very best for your future.”

  Something in the older woman’s voice caused Tilly’s hand to clench around the metal compact. She slanted a glance at Sandra, and at the smile that didn’t reach the other woman’s eyes. Noah had inherited his mum’s eye color, a lovely shade of brown that reminded her of a rare polished wood. Sometimes that wood was warm and almost golden, sometimes as blank and chilly as a solid timber door. The woman in front of her studied her with a gaze that was pure petrified wood, ancient and stony.

  “Do you?” Tilly asked. “Because it sounds as if you don’t believe Noah and I have a future. At least, not together.”

  “You’re a perceptive one, aren’t you? I’ll give you that.” There was no malice in Sandra’s tone, just a kind of resigned sadness one would expect to hear from a mother when they knew their offspring was about to make a really bad decision.

  Tilly pulled the compact out of her bag and pried it open. “Comes with being a writer and an eager student of human nature.”

  “Hmm.” Sandra turned back to the mirror and continued swiping on her lipstick. She smacked her lips together. “As a writer, how do you see your future combining with Noah’s? Are you planning to give up your life in Auckland and move to Stewart Island?”

  Wow. Noah’s mum had a left hook to rival a professional boxer.

  She’d underestimated Sandra, blinded by her first impression of a sweet and charming lady. The wine and nibbled hors d’oeuvres in Tilly’s stomach churned queasily as she touched up the shininess on her nose and cheeks. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

  And that was the lamest of all lame excuses one could offer a man’s mother. If she were in her position, she would’ve given the world’s biggest and longest eye roll.

  “Hon, this isn’t a we decision. This is all your decision and whether or not you can cope with the demands of living in an isolated little town, being the partner of a man whose work will always come before you. Trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Sandra did more than touch a nerve that Tilly had desperately tried to protect; she slammed her fist into it. She’d been raised by a man whose work often came before his family. Her dad had loved her mum, had loved her, but sometimes she’d wondered where she and her mother landed on his list of priorities.

  She blinked back tears—like hell was she going to cry in front of Noah’s mum—and snapped the compact lid shut. “I’m tougher than I look. And it’s not like Noah’s job is as demanding as it used to be when he worked in the city. He’s not going back to the AOS.”

  Sandra’s steely gaze softened a fraction. “Noah confided in you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you really are important to him. And it’s obvious you care for him deeply.” Sandra slipped her lipstick back into her purse and laid a palm on Tilly’s forearm. “The same way I used to care about Bruce. That kind of care, that kind of love, will consume you on the nights you spend alone in your bed wondering if your man will come home again in the morning.”

  “He doesn’t get too many middle of the night callouts on Stewart Island. Not unless the kākā are on a raiding party.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a mirthless squeak.

  “Oh, hon.” Sandra’s mouth pinched shut as she shook her head. “A cop’s partner doesn’t have the luxury of thinking that won’t happen to him or her. Violence can happen anytime, anywhere. I expect you understand Noah well enough to know he’ll put himself between an offender and an innocent without a second thought.”

  He would. He totally would.

  And while she admired it, it was also gut-wrenching to contemplate loving a man so much who had the potential to be taken from her too early. Giant invisible hands wrapped around her lungs, squeezing the air out of them.

  “I’ve been there, done that, got internal scars to prove it. I learned the hard way I was better suited to be a farmer’s wife than a cop’s.” She gave Tilly’s arm one last pat and stepped away. “The worst day of my life wasn’t the day I looked down at Bruce in a hospital bed after he’d been shot. The worst day of my life was the moment, against my better judgment, that I fell in love with him. Guard your heart, Tilly.” With a cool smile, she walked to the restroom door and opened it. “It was nice meeting you.”

  She left Tilly staring at her pale and splotchy reflection.

  Her phone buzzed inside her bag. With shaky fingers, Tilly pulled it out and read the message.

  Noah: Ready to go? Meet you downstairs?

  Hell yeah, she was ready to go. But was she ready to deal with Noah? With the fact neither of them had mentioned their future? If either of them even had a future. And yes, she couldn’t entirely blame the man’s verbal constipation about the topic.

  Tilly: Will be there in ten minutes.

  After she huddled in a toilet cubicle with a damp paper towel pressed to her forehead.

  Liquid courage aside, she needed to regain some sort of poise in order to survive the rest of the evening. Surely she deserved one more night to revel in his arms without ruining it with The Talk? She’d find her lady balls once they returned to Stewart Island.

  Are you planning to give up your life in Auckland and move to Stewart Island?

  That was a question her curiosity wasn’t keen to answer.

  A giant weight lifted off Noah’s shoulders when he stepped out onto the damp and glistening city streets. He sucked in a deep breath and had it whisked away by Wellington’s ever-present wind. But at least now he could stand down. Relax. He’d remained on constant alert for the usual family issues to raise their ugly heads, but his father and brothers were on their best behavior.

  Tilly pushed through the restaurant doors, looking incredible in her new dress. Noah forgot his worries and instead calculated the quickest way back to their hotel room.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She brushed an imaginary speck of lint off his arm and squeezed his biceps before sliding her hand into his. “Surely not as bad as that resisting-torture workshop you must’ve done in the AOS?”

  “You’re thinking of the SAS. I was just a big thug in black, with a bigger gun.”

  She wriggled her eyebrows. “A big gun, huh? Want to show me this oversized weapon, Officer?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  They set out in the direction of the hotel. He’d no idea what they talked about; they were teasing, laughing, and yeah, they’d both had a little too much champagne. He led her into a narrow side street—a shortcut to reach their hotel quicker.

  Noah spotted the three dark shadows huddled in a building’s doorway. You could take the cop out of the city, but couldn’t take the city out of the cop. He was immediately icily sober. By the time he’d dragged Tilly to a stumbling halt and stepped in front of her, he’d sized up the situation.

  A young woman hid partially behind a young man in the doorway. The man was doing his best to shield her from the bristling aggression of a bulkier man single-handedly trapping them there. The man was fiddling with something in his hands—their wallets?—and cursing. The couple only looked to be in their late teens, and if the young man was anything like Noah at the same age, he probably didn’t have much cash on him.

  Tilly’s fingernails dug into his knuckles, and he pried his hand from hers. Her nails scrabbled for purchase on his wrist as she tried to stop him, but it was too late.
He’d already seen the young woman’s terrified glance at something in the bigger man’s fist. The element of surprise would only last a matter of seconds more, so Noah moved fast. While he didn’t hold any authority as an off-duty police officer, there was no way he could walk away.

  The young man’s gaze flicked to over the mugger’s shoulder, alerting him to another’s presence. The bigger man turned, but Noah was a blur of forward motion, tackling the way he would’ve tackled any one of the opposing team in a rugby game.

  Only with a little more unnecessary force.

  He slammed into him, knocking the mugger off balance. The man stumbled farther into the alcove and away from the young couple. Noah grabbed him as he rebounded off the concrete wall and shoved him against it again, grabbing his wrist and pinning it to his side. Something clattered to the ground at his feet. Dollars to donuts it was a knife.

  With one arm raised high on the man’s chest and his full weight pushed into it, Noah caught a glimpse of the assailant’s eyes from a strip of neon lighting. Dilated pupils and a gaze full of hate that skipped and juddered over him. He was high on something, or most likely coming down from a high and needing another hit.

  He was about to order Tilly to call the cops when the young woman behind him let out a shrill cry. Noah’s grip loosened on the mugger as he half turned and spotted the young man crumpling in slow-mo to the ground, his girlfriend staggering under the weight of trying to keep him upright.

  The mugger shoved him, weaseled out from under Noah’s restraining arm, and sprinted up the side street. He disappeared around the corner. Noah could’ve pursued and probably caught the guy, but instead he helped the young man to his feet.

  Tilly rushed to his side. In the neon lighting, her skin was pale and waxy and she shivered uncontrollably. Even still, she reached over to briskly rub the young woman’s arm in a soothing gesture. “Are you okay?”

  The woman mutely shook her head. Tilly led her, with the young man trailing after them, to a low flight of stairs where they could sit. Noah stooped to pick up the discarded wallet, eying a nasty-looking blade kicked into the corner during the scuffle. He took it to its rightful owner, who stuffed it into his pocket with a quiet, “Thanks, man.”

  “Central Police Station is only a five-minute walk from here. Let me drop my lady back at our hotel and I’ll take you there.” When the young man said nothing, Noah added, “I’m an off-duty officer, so I can’t take your statement. But the guys at Central will look after you.”

  Silent communication passed between the young couple, and Noah knew what they planned to say before either one spoke.

  “Nah.” The man stood, his jaw set below flushed cheeks. “Come on, Alex, we’ll miss the last bus.”

  Alex slid Noah an apologetic and worried glance, as if he might arrest them for refusing to report a crime. She rose, her arms sliding around her torso in a python grip. She didn’t look directly at her boyfriend, if that’s who he was, but managed to meet Noah’s gaze again.

  “Thank you so much for helping us. I just want to go home.”

  Tilly, who’d been sitting beside her, also rose to her feet. She dug into her little purse, removed two notes, and passed them to the younger woman. “Here,” she said. “Take a taxi on me.”

  The woman thanked her, and the duo speed-walked back to the main city street where they’d be able to catch a cab.

  Noah turned to watch them go, then swung around expecting Tilly to have joined him, ready to continue the remaining short walk to their hotel. Instead, she stared at him as if in the last five minutes a cape and tights had morphed onto his body. As if he were a kind of anti-Superman, one for whom she’d no desire to play his Lois Lane.

  “Don’t ask if I’m okay,” she said before he could speak. “Because I’m not.”

  She clasped her handbag to her stomach like it was a life preserver, her gaze darting sideways to the alcove’s dark corner. “He had a knife, Noah.”

  He entered the alcove and picked up the knife. “And they had nothing to help themselves, including their wits.” He strode across to a dumpster, lifting the lid and dropping the knife inside.

  “Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, announced you were the police and asked him to step away from the couple?”

  Noah made an effort to moderate his voice. “Communication is always my first choice, but I’m off duty, without handcuffs or even pepper spray to immobilise him if he’d turned violent. And I had you to consider. Telling him I was a cop would’ve made the situation worse. I handled it.” He walked back to her side.

  “Handled it?” Her voice soared half an octave into fingernails-on-chalkboard territory. “You might not’ve walked away with just a black eye this time.”

  “I’ve worked in Wellington, and before that Auckland and Palmerston North. Dealing with guys like that was almost a daily occurrence. I had the element of surprise and the training to defuse the situation quickly and without anyone getting hurt.”

  “Except you. You could have been hurt. You could have been stabbed. You could’ve bled out in front of me.”

  Hell. His heart slam-dunked into the icy déjà vu waters swirling around his gut. “Do you think I’m that incompetent I can’t disarm one high-as-a-kite stoner without causing myself grievous bodily harm?”

  “I’ve never said you were incompetent. I just…” A muscle in Tilly’s jaw flexed, telling him she was gritting her back teeth to prevent her true thoughts from escaping. “Ugh.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Can we discuss this civilly back in our room?”

  She drew the edges of her wrap closer around her shoulders. With one hand pressing her handbag to her stomach and the other fisting the wrap’s edges, it left no room for hand-holding or any other contact.

  So be it.

  If he touched her now, it wouldn’t be to hold her hand. It’d be rough and needy and to hell with them being in a public place. He’d have her up against the grimy building wall, kissing her senseless, showing her just how well he could take care of her.

  They left the side street, and in silence, continued along the main thoroughfare to their hotel. The lobby was an oasis of bright light, sparkling chandeliers, and people drinking at the bar or sitting on strategically placed sofas. Tilly would be safe now.

  He pinned the door open, and she stepped into the warmth. His gaze was drawn to the soft sway of her hips. The scent of her coiled around him like a lasso, pulling his feet automatically after her. Then he stopped, every muscle along his spine spiking with tension. He couldn’t have a civil conversation in the current black mood he was in, and she deserved better.

  Wide, hazel eyes swept to him hovering near the lobby doors. “You’re not coming up?”

  “Not yet. I need some more air to clear my head.”

  “Oh.” She dug into her purse and withdrew the room’s second key card and his cell phone, which she’d earlier offered to carry. Before they left for the party she’d teased him about keeping his man crap safe and he’d laughed—warming on the inside that such a small action demonstrated their growing intimacy.

  Offering him the card and phone, Tilly’s hand trembled in what seemed a canyon-wide distance between them. Her soft lips parted as if she were about to speak.

  All the words in the world couldn’t erase the growing doubts clawing through his brain. He wanted to be with her, but he needed to get away before he said or did something he couldn’t take back.

  She took a half step backward toward the elevators. “Enjoy all that fresh, windy Wellington air.”

  “I’ll be gone a while.” How long would it take to circumnavigate the whole city in a tie and dress shoes? Longer than if he could run. But no way would he go upstairs with her to change into his running kit.

  “Then I won’t wait up.” Her mouth seamed shut into a strained smile.

  She left him with a stunning view of her walking away. A view he might have to get used to. God only knew how.

  Chapter 20

  Wh
en life kicked you in the lady balls and you didn’t know whether to be shocked, hurt, or to come up swinging, Tilly only had one solution.

  Hokey pokey ice cream.

  That food of the gods came with a guaranteed sugar high, an ice cream headache to take your mind off your troubles, and hard little honeycomb pellets that crunched satisfactorily when you ground your teeth together. She’d showered, changed into her pj’s, and spent far too long staring out their hotel room window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Noah on the sidewalk five floors below.

  How pathetic was she?

  For a writer whose bread and butter was emotional conflict played out on-screen—because what was drama without it?—Tilly wasn’t a huge fan of conflict IRL. In real life. On-screen, everything usually worked out in a predictable, believable fashion. The bad guys got their comeuppance, and the good guys were rewarded. Lovers threw china plates at doorframes then had swinging-from-chandelier makeup sex. People grew old together and had grandbabies. They won lotteries, got cancer that was treatable not terminal, or they bypassed airport security and boarded the plane headed to Costa Rica to intercept the love of their lives.

  Tilly snorted and drew the drapes back across the window.

  Not so much IRL. And that meant ice cream, stat.

  She pulled out her long feather-down-padded coat from the hotel closet and slipped it on, covering the kitten-print top and exposing only her stretchy black leggings from the knees down. Add her winter boots and no one would know she was so distraught over a man that she hadn’t bothered to change out of her jimjams. After tucking her wallet and key card into her coat pocket, she left the hotel room and stalked to the elevators.

  At ten to midnight the elevator was empty, and the brightly lit lobby only contained a receptionist chatting into a headset and a couple of diehard night owls discussing Wellington’s art scene on one of the caramel-colored couches. Couches that Noah had made a dirty joke about when they’d checked in, whispering afterward with his deliciously warm breath in her ear that he’d still do her on one any day.