Remembering You: Pushing the Boundaries, Prequel
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He’s in hot pursuit…and she’s determined not to become a casualty of love.
A Pushing the Boundaries Prequel
SWAT officer Ben Crewes has never forgotten the mystery woman whose voice comforted him in the night after he was shot in the line of duty. A voice he never managed to connect with a face.
Years later, a chance encounter with reporter Nina Lang feels strangely familiar, and although he regards bloodsucking newshounds with the same contempt as perps, he feels something he hasn’t felt since that sexy voice soothed him in the darkness.
Long ago, Nina learned the risks involved with men in dangerous professions. But by the time she realizes he belongs to the voice from that long-ago night, the connection sizzling between them is too hot to stamp out without leaving a mark on her soul.
The smart move would be to walk away. Before she gives in to the kind of heat that forges futures—the kind that could simply end in another painful memory.
Warning: An officer who’s cool under pressure, a woman who blows that cool all to hell, and a fender bender that leads to an exchange of more than just insurance cards.
Remembering You
Audra North
Dedication
For A.B.
Chapter One
“I apologize again, Officer Crewes. All the post-op rooms are full at the moment. We’re working on several discharges, though, so this will only be for an hour or two at the most.”
The nurse walking beside the gurney—Ben thought she’d told him earlier her name was Rhonda—stopped along the brightly lit corridor. He watched her step into the shadowed room just off the hallway, her light blue scrubs appearing as a faint blur in the darkness beyond. He heard the squeak of a curtain being pulled along a rod, and then footsteps as she came out again, nodding to the orderly standing behind Ben’s head.
The orderly gave a gentle push and Rhonda steered, maneuvering Ben slowly into the room where he would be spending the next few hours, recovering from surgery.
He hadn’t expected to share a room with another patient, but after he’d passed his neurological tests in the recovery room, Rhonda had explained to him that between the hostage crisis that had landed Ben in the emergency room with a surgeon digging three bullets out of his upper body and a bad accident on the freeway, they were surprisingly busy tonight.
“It’s the full moon,” she’d declared authoritatively as she’d checked his reflexes in the recovery room.
Maybe. Arrests certainly went up on nights when the moon shone brighter. But whatever the reason, the stranger in the bed on the other side of the curtain was about to get a temporary roommate. Not that he minded. He was a SWAT officer. Sharing a room with another post-op patient wasn’t exactly a grueling physical challenge.
He felt sorry for the other guy, though, because he had a feeling this room would be a madhouse once the press came in and the rest of the team got off duty and came to visit.
Rhonda and the orderly positioned and locked Ben’s bed, then elevated his upper body using the buttons on the side of the gurney, assuring him he would sleep a bit better if he were more upright. The nurse gave him two ibuprofen, checked a few things off of a list hanging from a clip at the bottom of the bed and, before she headed out the door, told him to ring if he needed anything.
Ben appreciated the military precision with which she worked. It made him feel comfortable in an otherwise chaotic situation. And when she left—the first moment he’d experienced any kind of quiet since the shooting—he couldn’t keep the effects of the adrenaline at bay.
Tonight was the first time he’d been shot in the line of duty.
Hell, it was the first time he’d been shot, period.
Until the last minute of the standoff, he hadn’t even been sure the asshole who was holding six civilians at gunpoint inside the Greenbriar Savings and Loan even knew how to work the Ruger he’d held. Sure, the semiautomatic rifle slung from a strap over the hostage-taker’s shoulder had been loaded, and Ben knew it was a seriously dangerous weapon, but the way the fucker had constantly been shifting it around, as though it felt awkward and new, had made him question whether it would really come down to a shootout.
And so he had watched everything through the windows of the bank—the hostage-taker kept pacing back and forth like a caged animal—and waited for the intermittent calls relaying the criminal piece of shit’s latest demands and negotiating the release of the hostages.
He’d let them go one by one. Fucking slow as molasses, they had trickled out, until only two remained and Ben was out of options.
One of the remaining hostages had apparently lost it—whether angry because he hadn’t been one of the ones let go or simply fed up with the whole stressful ordeal. The guy had rushed the gunman, earning himself a bullet in the leg and causing every SWAT team member across two counties combined—thirty armored cops in total—to storm the bank and take the scumbag down.
Ben had been the first one in, and he’d taken the brunt of it. Three shots in the right shoulder and arm. At least he’d fired back before he’d gone down—those two shots to the perp ended up being fatal.
Luckily, only one other officer—Derek Brewer—had been wounded when a bullet had grazed his thigh. Knowing Brewer, Ben expected his friend would make a full recovery within a day, and probably be damned surly about it too.
He chuckled, but immediately stopped when he felt the resulting sharp, stinging pain in his arm. Shit. He might end up being surly throughout his recovery too.
At least he had Tania. Just thinking of how she was probably in the waiting room right now, getting ready to come in here and kiss him and cry a bit over him made him smile again. He’d probably have to hang out here for a few days, but he was sure she would visit him every day. She had always told him how much she respected what he did and would be there for him the way he was there for the people of this city. When he was ready to go home, he looked forward to her taking care of him until he was back to one hundred percent.
He was lucky to have her.
And if there was one thing tonight had taught him, it was to cherish the things you had, when you had them. No more wasting time. He’d promised himself that once he was healed, he’d propose to her and make her his wife.
A quiet knock sounded on the door, and he tensed, wondering whether it was someone coming for him or for the patient in the other bed, who must be sleeping, because he hadn’t heard a single sound in the room since he’d arrived. Not even soft snoring.
Or maybe the other guy was awake, thinking in silence like Ben was.
“Come in,” he whispered, and the silhouette of a petite woman, backlit by the fluorescent lights from the hallway, floated into the room. He caught the scent of roses and grinned. Tania.
His girlfriend of two years approached his bed, tentatively at first, then sobbing and hugging him, hard, when he sat up and offered his right arm to her.
“Oh damn, ouch, baby!” He yelped a bit as she bumped against him, trying to hold on to as much of him as she could.
She jumped back. “Oh, God, Ben. I’m sorry!” she wailed. “Did I hurt you more? Should I get the nurse?”
But upon seeing her stricken look and panicky movements, he immediately calmed, trying hard to keep things under control. “Hey, baby, no. No, it’s okay. Calm down, calm down.”
He didn’t need anyone running in here and probably bringing a crowd of reporters, to boot. Right now, he wanted to be alone with Tania.
Well, mostly alone. Whoever was behind the
curtain was so silent he may as well be, anyway.
He made soft, shushing noises and grabbed for Tania’s hand, pulling her to stand close to him again. But she wouldn’t lean down anymore, clearly spooked by hurting him, and he sighed. In his fantasy of minutes before, he hadn’t been the one doing the comforting. But now that she was actually here, he allowed himself to silently admit to himself he wasn’t surprised by her reaction. He was the rock, the shoulder to cry on, while she fell apart if she so much as stubbed her toe.
But her fragile emotions were part of what he loved so much about her.
The slight irritation he felt at having to soothe Tania until she felt calm enough to talk must simply be leftover shock from the shooting. He waited a few minutes, lightly stroking her hand as her crying settled into soft sniffles. She did this so often he knew exactly when she was over the worst of it, and wanted to move on to hearing comforting words from him.
“It’s all right, baby, really. I’m fine, you see? Just feeling a bit bruised, but bruises are no big deal.” He forced a reassuring smile at her, even though he knew it was hard to see in the dim light. It must be close to two o’clock in the morning by now. He’d been shot around nine o’clock, then rushed immediately into surgery. Afterward, according to Rhonda, it had taken a while for the effects of the anesthesia to wear off before he could be pronounced ready to leave the operating floor.
He was suddenly exhausted.
“Oh God, Ben. I was so scared. I was so alone. Mom is out of town and my sister got stuck in a freeway accident. I had to wait it out at home by myself.”
He clamped his lips shut against a desire to tell Tania how, seeing as she spent nearly every waking hour with her mother or sister otherwise, a few hours alone while he was facing down potential death was not really a hardship.
Damn, the anesthesia must not have completely worn off. Why else would he be thinking such harsh things he’d never thought about Tania before? Would never even have considered thinking? He shook his head gently, trying not to make too many sudden movements that might cause him pain. “You’re here now, though, with me. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
But then, a cough sounded from the other side of the curtain. So his neighbor was awake, after all.
He gave Tania a wry smile. “Correction. We’re not alone.”
But instead of laughing along with him, she gasped. “You mean they made you share a room with someone? But-but you’re special!”
He frowned. Seriously? Tania loved telling people her boyfriend was a SWAT officer, and to be honest, her pride in him usually made him feel good. He hadn’t expected it to be important to her in a time of crisis, though. It certainly wasn’t like a VIP pass into the best clubs. Club Post-Op Ward. Free Jell-O during full moons. Wear your sexiest hospital gowns.
Whoa, this anesthesia was strong.
“Hey. Shh.” Ben squeezed her hand, trying to get her to stop. “I just got rolled in here. I don’t want to wake up whoever is on the other side of the curtain. I’m definitely not going to go demanding my own room when they’re all full. It’s not important.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly, as though coming out a fog, then finally replied, “You’re right. It’s not important.” She sat down on the bed next to him, jostling his body a bit and making him suck in a quick, pained breath, but she didn’t seem to realize. Instead, she was staring down at her hands clasped in her lap.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
She said it so quietly, with no preamble, that he almost choked on his own tongue.
“What can’t you do anymore?” he whispered, suddenly very conscious of the other person in the room, sleeping or not. Even though the truth was, he didn’t actually have to ask what she was talking about. He already knew she meant them. Ben and Tania. The woman he had been prepared to propose to a few minutes ago was breaking up with him a handful of hours after he’d been shot.
Yeah, he knew. He could tell by the set of her shoulders and the way she wouldn’t look at him. But he wanted to hear her say it.
All of a sudden, he was angry. Later, he supposed he should have been heartbroken. But all he could feel was an intense irritation.
“I think you know…” She looked up, giving him a wobbly smile.
Why the hell was she smiling?
He leaned his head back against his pillow and looked up at the ceiling. “No, Tania, I don’t. What can’t you do anymore? Tell me.”
Say the words, you coward.
His shoulder hurt, pushed into the mattress, but he didn’t care. He should have seen this coming. All the signs had been there, but he’d ignored them. Was that why he’d ended up shot today? Not because it was unavoidable, but because he simply hadn’t seen it coming?
It scared the hell out of him, to think he might be slipping to the point where he was no longer fit to do his job.
He heard Tania swallow. Once. Twice. Probably buying time so she wouldn’t have to summon up courage she didn’t have.
This time, he didn’t bother feeling sorry for thinking such unkind thoughts.
The bed shifted as she stood up. “I-I can’t see you anymore. I have to go.”
She threw the words out, practically sprinting out of the room even as she spoke, the sound echoing behind her like a ghost voice.
“Fucking punch me in the nuts, why don’t you,” he said aloud, angry and bewildered and oddly relieved all at once.
“Okay, but I’ll need a couple of days for the stitches to heal first.”
The voice rang out from behind the curtain and he jumped, startled. Shit, more pain. He grunted.
That had been a woman’s voice. Not too high, not too low, with a bit of a lilt. Raspy and groggy, as though she’d just spent the entire night having loud, wild sex and was being awakened by her lover for another round.
Hell. Where did that come from? It was only a voice.
But he couldn’t help it if the voice sounded sexy. He was sharing a room with a sexy-voiced woman who had witnessed him being dumped.
Great.
Her words actually sank in then, and he laughed. “I don’t actually want to be nut-punched, but thanks. Heard all of it, did you?”
The voice sounded like it was nodding. “Only the last bit. I woke up in time to hear her break up with you, anyway.” She laughed, the husky sound tickling up Ben’s spine and making him shudder with…arousal? Seriously? He’d just been shot and broken up with and this woman’s voice was turning him on?
This time, though, he couldn’t chalk it up to yet another effect of the anesthesia. It felt too real.
“Besides, I can tell you for sure you’re better off alone,” the voice added.
He shrugged his good shoulder even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, well, I’m good at that.”
There was a moment of silence, and then she asked, “Good at what? Being alone?”
“Yeah.” He shifted his head on the pillow, trying to get comfortable. His body was exhausted, but he couldn’t relax. Probably still too keyed up with all the adrenaline after being shot three times and then killing a man. But apart from the anesthesia during the surgery, he wasn’t taking anything too intense for the pain. He’d refused the opiates Rhonda had offered earlier in the post-op room. Didn’t even want to take a chance of getting hooked.
The room was quiet, and after a few minutes, Ben figured the woman who owned the voice had fallen asleep, and he resigned himself to a night of lonely boredom.
But right when he was about to ring the nurse and ask for a magazine or a crossword or something, his roommate spoke again, melancholy now. And, oddly, underneath the sadness, he heard an unshakeable strength.
The words were soft, almost like a lullaby.
“I’m good at that too.”
Chapter Two
Three years later
From inside his car, Ben cursed through his teeth as he put on his hazard lights and pulled off the road into the Denny’s parking lot where the other driver had headed.
The other car, a huge Range Rover, had parked on the far side of the lot. He pulled up along the passenger’s side of the black SUV he had just rear-ended and took a few deep, calming breaths.
It wasn’t like him to be so agitated. After he’d taken those bullets three years ago, he’d become known on the force for being so cool and unemotional in every operation since then, his fellow officers often joked that he was the most well-oiled machine on the force. Everything mechanical, precise and unfailing. He didn’t want to be caught by surprise again.
But he’d been distracted this morning, already late because he had been on the phone with some ass from a big television network who wanted Ben to come on a morning show to talk about his role in the recent drug-ring bust in one of Greenbriar’s neighboring towns.
Maybe he should have been flattered, but all he could manage to feel was annoyed. He was sick of the calls, the fake hero worship. The same shit had happened three years ago, after the foiled bank robbery. Brewer and the hostage who had been shot had both made a full recovery, and Ben had been swarmed by reporters, newscasters—everyone wanted to know the story so they could make money off of the sensational incident.
Fucking media. Bloodsuckers.
Not to mention reporters were always hanging about a crime scene, their mere presence distracting. Keeping them safe took extra work he resented having to do. Fools who put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of a story.
He disliked journalists only slightly less than he disliked perpetrators. They were the reason he’d lost the most amazing woman he’d ever known. And yet, he’d never been able to find out who that voice belonged to—the one from the hospital room, three years ago.
He’d spent the rest of the night talking to her, and she’d gotten everything about him. He’d shared things with he’d never told another soul—like he got lonely a lot more often than he felt good about, he sometimes wished he’d gone to school and done something more with his life…so many things, and she’d listened without judgment.