Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire

by Rachel Lee

  Oh, no, not another one, she thought. And wondered if she’d pulled the office door closed.

  “I just wanted to…”

  “Warn me?” she said when he faltered.

  “Yeah. I like you, Amelia, and I’d hate to see you get in trouble, or hurt, or worse.”

  It was hard to be angry with him when he put it that way. But he was just the latest in a long line of well-meaning advice givers today, and she’d had about enough. Especially with the taste of the meal Luke had brought still in her mouth.

  “Look, I appreciate your concern, Jim. But whatever Luke did or didn’t do in the past, he’s been nice to me since he got here.”

  “That may be true, but don’t kid yourself,” Jim said ominously. “It’s not very likely that he’s changed much.”

  “But it’s not impossible.”

  “Maybe. Do you even know what he’s doing now?”

  “No,” she said, only now realizing they’d been so wrapped up in David’s troubles that she’d never asked. “Do you?”

  “No,” he admitted, “but I can guess.”

  “And you’d convict him on a guess?”

  “An educated guess,” Jim amended. “Look, just be careful. I know you and his brother are tight, and that that’s probably all it is, but Joann wanted me to talk to you just in case.”

  Great, Amelia thought, a double-barreled warning. “Thank her for her concern.”

  After Jim had left, Amelia returned slowly to her office. And found she’d left the door wide open.

  She stepped inside. Luke was finishing his own soda, the white carton he’d been working on empty and stacked with hers.

  “Thanks again for dinner,” she said brightly. “It’s nice not to have to think about fixing something when I get home.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll just clear this up. Let me get the bag, and I’ll toss it in the Dumpster out back.” Lord, she was chattering now.

  There was a long moment where the only sound was the rustling of paper and the click of her plastic fork against the chopsticks as she gathered them up.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  She looked at him then. And saw in his face that he’d heard every word.

  “Luke—”

  “You really should be more careful. You don’t know anything about me.”

  She straightened up, tightening her fingers around the chopsticks because she was afraid they would shake. But she had to say it.

  “I know that you care about your brother, that you had reason enough to be a little wild, and have every right to hate your mother. And it’s true, you have been nice to me since you got here.”

  She watched him as she blurted it all out, making herself meet his gaze, and she saw his expression change from something almost defiant to something much, much softer. And when he spoke, his voice was almost unbearably gentle.

  “Is this really the amenable, quiet Amelia Blair I’ve heard about?”

  “Maybe I’ve had enough of being amenable,” she said snappishly.

  “Digging in your heels?”

  “Just ignoring unwanted advice.”

  He smiled, a slow curving of his mouth that did strange things to her pulse rate. And then he stood up, moving much like she would guess a wild creature would move, smooth, graceful, seemingly without effort.

  Stop it, she ordered herself. The man just stood up, that’s all.

  “Been getting a lot of advice lately?”

  He said it as if he knew others beside Jim had been offering their blunt opinions. And as if he knew exactly what those opinions were.

  “Too much of it,” she said, reining in the uncharacteristic flare of temper. It wasn’t she who had to live with it, after all, it was Luke who had to walk around knowing everybody thought he was a hairbreadth away from doing something villainous.

  “Didn’t take them long,” Luke said, in a level, undisturbed tone that sounded oddly as if it were all about someone else, not him.

  “That’s because most of them are apparently stuck in time a decade ago.”

  He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. Too closely in front of her. She could feel his heat, could smell the faint scent of soap, and suddenly she could barely breathe. And then he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, and she forgot about breathing altogether.

  “Nobody in this town ever stood up for me the way you just did.”

  He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her forehead. Her blush returned twofold; she wasn’t sure if it was because he was kissing her like a child or a sister, or because even this slight touch of his lips sent a rush of heat through her.

  Before she could decide on that, he leaned forward again and this time gently kissed the end of her nose. Definitely sister, she thought, but again heat rippled through her.

  She tried to tamp down her response, but it seemed already out of control. And when he pulled back just slightly and she realized he was staring at her mouth, it was all she could do to stop herself from closing the gap between them.

  As soon as she thought it, he did what she’d longed to. He lowered his head, his mouth brushing hers, then returning, lingering. And Amelia knew that the heat she’d felt before had been a mere flicker.

  His lips were warm and firm, but that alone surely wasn’t enough to send this wave of sensation rocketing through her. Nor was the way he moved his mouth on hers, gently, slowly, coaxingly….

  She heard a tiny moaning sound and was amazed to realize it had come from her. Luke seemed to take it as a sign and deepened the kiss. And then she felt the incredibly hot, erotic swipe of his tongue over her lips, and she gasped at the pleasurable shock. She opened for him without thought, eagerly. He probed deeper, tasting, and Amelia felt a tremor that she couldn’t be sure started in her or him.

  At last he broke the kiss and drew back. She smothered the sound of protest that rose to her lips; she couldn’t believe what she’d done. He was staring down at her, his breath coming hard and fast, and the only thing that saved her from total embarrassment was the look of stunned wonder in his eyes.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  Indeed, she thought, completely incapable of forming a coherent, audible response.

  She was still unable to speak as he made some fumbling excuse and escaped. Only when she heard the roar of his bike did she let out a breath and sink down into her desk chair.

  So that was it, she thought, still a bit dazed. That was the attraction of the bad boy. All these years she’d wondered why she was so fascinated. Now she knew.

  He kissed like a fallen angel.

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

  Luke turned his bike inland, heading for the canyon in an instinctive need to put some distance between himself and the woman who had startled him with her response to a kiss that had been supposed to be merely a token of appreciation.

  He had a sneaking suspicion his own response was driving him, as well, but there was no way get some distance there. Well, there was, and once he might have resorted to it, the numbing relief of booze or drugs, but not now.

  He leaned into the turn onto the canyon road, laying the bike over hard. He accelerated out of the turn, and the bike obediently snapped upright. And he kept right on rolling the throttle forward.

  For a few seconds he goosed it up to mind-clearing speed, feeling the power of the wind in his face and the tug of his hair as it whipped behind him. But he knew the cops kept a close watch on this stretch of road, and he didn’t really want a speeding ticket, especially coupled with a helmet violation, so after too short a time he let it edge back down.

  He pulled over at the spot near the end of the road where a gap in the hills gave a view down to the Pacific. The lay of the land was such that you could see only the water, not the sprawl of civilization beside it, and if you looked from just the right spot, you could convince yourself you were the only person for miles.

  He used to love that feeling and had com
e up here often seeking it when he couldn’t stand to be closed inside his other secret refuge. Seeking just a few moments of pretending he was alone, free of all the troubles down below. The canyon had been populated with wildlife then, including his favorites, the red-tailed hawk and the clever coyote.

  It wouldn’t last much longer, he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the seemingly inexorable march; bulldozers and graders were already at work on the hills behind him. Another wild place lost. The coyotes would adapt, they always did. And maybe even the hawks would survive.

  It was creatures like him who had the problem. Who kept having to go farther and farther out to find the places that brought them wonder and peace.

  But this time he had the feeling his usual places weren’t going to bring him peace. Not when he could still feel Amelia’s mouth beneath his, not when the tiny cry she had made echoed in his ears as surely as the rustle of the leaves in the afternoon sea breeze.

  He heard the sound of a car and turned to look. His jaw tightened slightly when he saw the marked police unit. He relaxed slightly when he saw that the woman in the uniform wasn’t much older than he was; it wasn’t a cop he’d had a run in with before, at least.

  She pulled up beside him, looked him over, and apparently decided on a neutral approach.

  “Nice view.”

  He nodded.

  “That all you’re up here for?”

  He resisted the urge to ask what else it could be, in this still-isolated area. Maybe she thought he was going to steal a bulldozer. But he’d learned—finally—it was more trouble than it was worth to antagonize the police.

  “I used to live down there. I just wanted to see if it was the same up here.”

  She looked him up and down again, then at his bike, lingering on the winged symbol on the tank. “McGuire?”

  Great, Luke groaned inwardly, even cops I’ve never set eyes on know me. He felt the old feelings welling up, the defensiveness, the urge to either answer sarcastically or clam up entirely.

  With an effort, he said merely, “Yes.”

  He waited, leaving the ball in her court. Somewhat to his surprise, she only nodded and told him to have a nice day. He watched as she drove away and wondered if she would take up a position down the hill and wait for him.

  He turned to look out toward the ocean again but finally had to admit it wasn’t going to work this time, that the sense of solitude wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe it was the cop’s visit. Maybe it was the lurking presence of the heavy equipment that would soon turn this place into just one more housing development, or maybe he was simply anxious to get out of Santiago Beach.

  Maybe it was just that he was an adult now, with problems too complex to be eased by a peaceful vista. But he knew that wasn’t really true; he still found peace and comfort in the new wild places he’d found. Or maybe he was restless, anxious to get back to those places.

  Maybe he was just restless, period, and that was what had sent him shooting up the hill to this place.

  His mouth twisted. He knew perfectly well what had sent him screaming up here, and her name was Amelia.

  He reached for the helmet he’d forgone on the way up and jammed it on, for the benefit of the cop he figured would be waiting for him. He started the bike, wheeled it around and started down the hill at a much more decorous pace than he’d come up it. And when he passed the police car, parked and waiting, pointed down the hill to come after him if necessary, he nodded and waved; it could have been worse, he thought.

  It could have been Jim Stavros, who had made a special trip to Amelia’s store just to warn her about him.

  He smiled behind the helmet as he remembered how quiet, reserved Ms. Blair had stood up for him. It had happened rarely enough in his life, certainly not often enough for him to take it for granted. And never here.

  And she hadn’t even asked him, despite the pointed hint, what he was doing now.

  Maybe she thought she already knew, he thought, a little grimly. Maybe she figured, like everyone else did, that he was up to no good like always.

  But surely she wouldn’t have kissed him then? Because she hadn’t just let him kiss her; she had kissed him back. It had been hesitant and unpracticed, but she had kissed him back.

  The heated memories stormed back into the front of his mind from where they’d been lurking not far away ever since it had happened.

  So much for quiet and reserved; she’d almost fried him with that kiss.

  Distance. That was what he needed, distance from the unexpectedly explosive woman who hid that fire behind a facade of reserve and shyness.

  He was still pondering—dangerously, he knew—the possibilities there as he reached the bottom of the canyon road and headed back toward town. A convenience store with a boarded-up front window caught his eye for a moment—it hadn’t been like that yesterday, he thought—but nothing was quite distracting enough to keep his mind occupied.

  Back at the motel, he had his duffel bag inside and was dragging out the clothes he’d just laundered before he noticed the message light was lit on the telephone.

  He crossed the room and dialed the office; the small motel didn’t run to sophisticated voice mail. A female voice came on the line—the wife of the man who had checked him in, Luke supposed. He’d said he and “the missus” ran the place.

  The tiniest hint of curiosity came into her voice when she realized who was calling. He tried to ignore it, tried not to think of what she might have heard that would make her suddenly interested in a guest who’d been there a couple of days already.

  “The message?” he prompted.

  “Oh, of course.” He heard the rustle of paper. “Here it is. It’s from Amelia Blair and says ‘David went home. He’s grounded for a month.’ That’s all.”

  Luke let out a sigh of relief. Grounded for a month seemed rather mild, compared to his own history with their mother’s punishments.

  And then his brow furrowed. “Did she say Amelia Blair?”

  “Yes, that’s what it is. I always make sure I get names right.”

  “I mean, did she say Blair, or did you ask her last name?”

  “She said it. I only asked how to spell it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and hung up.

  She’d said her last name? How many Amelias did she think he knew here? Was it simply a habit, to give her last name when leaving a message?

  Or had she done it intentionally, given that formal “Amelia Blair” as if they weren’t even on a first-name basis?

  Irritation spiked through him at that thought. But it was quickly followed by a sheepish realization. Hadn’t he just been recommending to himself that he put some distance between them? But when it seemed she might be doing the same, all of a sudden he wasn’t happy with the idea.

  His mouth twitched at his own rueful self-assessment. For somebody who had spent his childhood all too aware that life could be very inequitable, he’d just pulled a beaut. If he was going to pull back, then she had the same right.

  If he didn’t like that, then maybe he needed to think about why.

  And if he didn’t want to think about it, maybe he needed to figure out the why of that, too.

  Chapter 9

  “Child is going to turn out just like his brother, you mark my words.”

  This had to be a record, Amelia thought; Mrs. Clancy came in regularly, but never three days in one week. And this time she didn’t seem interested in even pretending to look for something to buy; she’d headed for Amelia the moment she’d spotted her and started right in.

  “My George spoke to Mrs. Hanson from the convenience store this morning, and she’s certain the Hiller boy and his friends are responsible for that broken window. And no doubt that fire in the Dumpster behind the library and destroying the playground in the park.”

  “David has been grounded,” Amelia said; perhaps she shouldn’t let that out, but she wanted to nip this in the bud.

  “Well, he hasn’t let that stop him,” M
rs. Clancy said with a sniff. “I saw him and those other delinquents just last night, as we came out of the movie theater. Nearly midnight, when he should have been at home.”

  Amelia frowned. “You’re certain it was David?”

  “Of course I am. My eyes are still sharp, girl.”

  If she was right, then David must be sneaking out, Amelia thought, stifling a sigh. And if he was, he was headed for even more trouble.

  “You’re not still seeing that boy, are you?”

  “David?” Amelia asked, knowing perfectly well what the woman meant.

  “Don’t you get smart with me,” Mrs. Clancy warned. “You know who I mean.”

  The last thing she needed was the imperious woman angry at her, so Amelia answered by stating a truth she wasn’t necessarily happy with. She hadn’t seen or heard from Luke since he’d kissed her, and she didn’t like any of the reasons that she could come up with.

  “I haven’t been ‘seeing’ him at all, not in that sense,” Amelia said, neglecting to mention that the idea of spending more time with Luke was oddly exhilarating, considering that she was spending most of her time telling herself that that kiss had meant nothing. That he was probably used to kissing women like that all the time. That he’d only meant to thank her for standing up for him to Jim, not curl her toes and very nearly her hair. It wasn’t his fault if she’d…overreacted.

  You reacted, she told herself wryly, like a love-starved prude who suddenly woke up. You probably embarrassed him, that’s why he took off running like that. He’d been saying a simple thank-you, and you reacted as if he’d declared undying love.

  “—of your reputation. People will talk, you know.” And some of them, Amelia thought wearily, will talk endlessly. “For one thing, you must be years older than he is.”

  “Thank you for pointing that out,” Amelia said, her tone a bit acid; she’d done the math long ago. But her sarcasm was lost amid the continuing lecture.

  “And for all we know, he’s the one behind all this vandalism. It’s just the sort of thing he’d do.”