“Why?” Hank repeated.
“Well...I was thinking,” she forced herself to say. “If it’s not against the rules for an outsider...it might help me to talk to one of them about... Or to someone else...
“You know. Maybe a specialist on phobias. Or a behavior-mod type.”
As a smile spread across his face, she quickly said, “I can’t make any promises. I can only try it and see if it helps. Then, if we decide this thing between us is definitely real, if—”
He stopped her from saying more with a kiss so real it warmed her all the way down to her toes.
* * *
“YOU KNOW, I’VE GOT a good feeling about tonight,” Hank said, glancing across the dark interior of the Mustang at Travis. “I think we’re finally going to catch up with Joey.”
“You don’t figure your good feeling’s just fallout from Natalie’s coming around?” Travis said wryly. “Which, in case you’ve forgotten, is exactly what I predicted would happen.”
“Yeah, well, we’re still only talking. She said no promises. She’s just willing to give it a try.”
“It’ll work out. So when do I meet her? Or I should probably say, when does Celeste meet her? She’s dying of curiosity.”
“Why don’t the four of us go out to dinner after we’re finished midnights? Is any night I can line up a sitter okay with you?”
“As far as I know. I’ll check with Celeste.”
That said, Travis turned his attention back to his driving. They were getting close enough to the Blue Cat that they should be watching for a space.
After stopping next to one that Hank couldn’t have parked the Jeep in for all the quetzals in Guatemala, he maneuvered the Mustang into it.
“Okay,” he said, cutting the engine. “Let’s go see if your hunch is right.”
They silently strode down the street to the club, past the lineup of hopefuls waiting for admittance. When they reached the entrance, the bouncer gestured them inside before they could badge him. They’d wasted so much time here on previous nights that he recognized them.
Once again, the place was crowded and smoky.
“No seats,” Travis said as they surveyed it.
“Well, how about if you keep a general eye on things and I’ll have a look around.”
“Just don’t forget to stay sharp, Mr. Feel Good.”
Hank laughed. Then, leaving Travis standing at the end of the bar, he began to casually wander toward the back of the room, pretending he was looking for someone he was supposed to meet.
He’d made it past at least half the tables when he spotted a guy—who was either Joey Noguchi or a dead ringer for him—sitting with his arm around a busty blonde.
As he eyed the man, mentally comparing him with the mug shots they’d studied, his hand involuntarily brushed the jacket pocket his gun was in.
He doubted he’d need it. Even though Joey was probably carrying, he wouldn’t likely try anything in a place full of witnesses. Not as long as they didn’t unduly alarm him, and they sure as hell weren’t going to do that.
Deciding it was definitely Joey Nogood, he glanced back at Travis.
When his partner nodded and started forward, Hank dug his shield from the other pocket of his jacket, palmed it, then wandered over to Joey.
“Mr. Noguchi?” he said, reaching the table.
Both Joey and the blonde looked up. She smiled; he didn’t.
“Yeah?” he said.
Hank surreptitiously showed him the badge. “Detective Hank Ballantyne, NYPD,” he said quietly. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for a minute, I’d like to talk to you in private.”
“Joey?” the blonde murmured.
“It’s nothing,” he told her. “Wait here. I won’t be gone long.”
Hank resisted the temptation to say he’d likely be gone for life, and waited in silence as Joey pushed his chair away from the table.
“Lead the way,” he said, then fell into step behind Joey. Halfway to the door, Travis joined them.
As they walked out into the night, the bouncer and the people waiting in line eyed them with bored expressions.
“So what’s this about?” Joey demanded once they were a few yards down the street.
“We need you to come to the precinct with us,” Hank told him.
Joey looked from him to Travis, then back, his anxiety level clearly rising.
“Why?”
“Just want to ask you some questions. About a killing in a liquor store.”
“You mean you just want to see if you can frame me,” Joey snapped, perspiration on his upper lip now. “Send me back to Sing Sing. Well, it ain’t gonna happen. I done my time there. I’m never setting foot in that rat hole again.”
Hank shrugged. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t see the gun in the man’s hand—only heard its roar and felt the force of the shots that sent him reeling backward.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“NATALIE!” ROBBIE SHOUTED from the living room.
His next words came out garbled, but he sounded as if he were saying Uncle Somebody was here.
Natalie turned away from the toaster thinking that couldn’t be it. Hank was originally from Chicago, and he’d told her that both his brother and sister still lived there.
She glanced down at the T-shirt and rumpled shorts she hadn’t bothered ironing, telling herself that anyone paying a surprise visit at seven-thirty in the morning would just have to take what they got.
Then Robbie called, “Aunt Celeste, too,” and she realized he’d said, “Uncle Travis.”
The instant she did, hot, hard pain sliced through her—so sharp it almost doubled her over.
Hank and Travis shouldn’t be finished their shift yet. So Travis’s being here could only mean that something awful had happened to Hank.
She headed out of the kitchen, barely able to breathe, her lungs burning as she told herself that maybe Hank wasn’t dead. Maybe he’d only been injured.
But even if that was it, he was hurt badly enough that Travis hadn’t wanted to tell her about it over the phone. And badly enough that he’d brought his fiancée along.
Because, Natalie rapidly concluded, he’d figured another woman would be a comfort to her. And to Robbie. Oh, Lord, this was going to be so awful for Robbie.
She reached the living room, desperately clinging to the hope that things weren’t as bad as she was imagining, and gathered him up into her arms.
“Whatsa matter?” he demanded as she gazed out at the black Mustang parked in the driveway and the somber-faced couple walking across the yard.
“I just need a hug,” she told him.
He gave her a halfhearted one, then struggled to get down.
When she set him free, he raced for the door—and opened it as Travis and Celeste reached the porch.
“Uncle Travis!” he yelled, launching himself at the man.
“Hey, sport!”
She watched Travis swing him up, the tears stinging her eyes on the verge of spilling over.
“You come to the car with me for a minute,” Travis said, settling Robbie on his shoulder. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
As Robbie asked “What?” Celeste stepped inside, closed the door and quickly said, “Hank’s all right. Injured but nothing serious.”
Relief sent the tears streaming down Natalie’s face. She wiped at them, trying to say something but unable to make her voice work.
Hank was injured, and with half her brain all she could think was she’d known this would happen. This or worse. It had only been a matter of time.
But even though the incident validated her fear, gave her here-and-now proof that his life was at risk every time he walked out the door, the other half of her brain had latched onto Celeste’s “nothing serious” phrase. And that had her feeling positively euphoric.
Later, she’d have to try to figure out what her double-edged reaction meant. Right now, she needed more details about what had happened.
<
br /> When she looked at Celeste, silently asking for them, Celeste said, “They caught up with a murder suspect who pulled a gun. Fortunately, Hank was wearing his vest, which saved him. But he was shot at close range, so the bullets knocked him off his feet and broke a couple of ribs.”
As Celeste spoke, Natalie visualized the scene—Hank’s body no match for the impact of the bullets, only the vest saving him from certain death.
Only the vest and extremely good luck. If the shots had hit higher, they’d have blown his head off.
She swallowed hard, every trace of euphoria gone and her entire body trembling.
“He’s going to be fine,” Celeste said quietly. “Really, he is. Travis talked to the doctor.”
“Yes. I believe you. It’s just such a shock.”
“I know.” Celeste steered her to the couch, murmuring, “This is a terrible way to meet you. I know how you must be feeling.”
She nodded, collecting her thoughts as best she could.
“Where is he?” she asked at last.
“Bellevue.”
“He’s still in the hospital?” she said, suddenly afraid Celeste hadn’t told her everything. A couple of broken ribs shouldn’t warrant a hospital stay.
“Well, when he went down he smacked his head,” Celeste explained.
“A concussion?”
“Yes, so they want to keep him under observation for twenty-four hours. Just to be on the safe side, is what they said.”
Of course. With a concussion there was always the risk of a subdural hematoma. And if there was slow bleeding in your brain and nobody realized it, you died.
“Travis thought you might want to go into the city,” Celeste was saying. “See how he is for yourself.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Then he’ll drive you.”
“Oh, thanks, but I have a car and—”
“Natalie, the traffic’s awful when you’re not used to it. And I can stay here to look after Robbie while you’re gone.
“That’s why I came. He’ll be fine with me. And we figured you wouldn’t want to take him to the hospital, that it would frighten him to see Hank there.”
She tried to decide whether leaving Robbie with Celeste was the best thing to do, then realized it must be. Both Celeste and Travis were undoubtedly thinking a whole lot straighter than she was at the moment. Only...
“You don’t have to get to work?” she asked.
“No, I work at home.”
“Ah.” Right. She recalled Hank mentioning that. Celeste was...a freelance editor, that was it.
She looked out the window—over to where Travis was opening his car trunk and Robbie was dancing excitedly beside him.
“I shouldn’t tell Robbie what’s happened just yet, should I,” she said as much to herself as Celeste. “If I did...he’d pick up on how upset I am and assume things are worse than they are.”
“I think you’re right. Waiting till later makes sense.”
“Yes, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Oh, and Hank asked Travis if he’d bring a shirt for when he gets discharged. The shirt and jacket he was wearing...”
Have bullet holes in them.
Natalie knew that was what Celeste had stopped short of saying. But even unsaid, the words sent a shiver through her.
They were both silent for a minute, until Celeste murmured, “It’s terrifying, isn’t it.”
Natalie nodded. “I don’t know how...”
She quit speaking before the words escaped, but Celeste finished the sentence. “How anyone can marry a cop?”
Natalie felt her face growing warm. She hadn’t quit speaking fast enough.
“I’m not a mind reader,” Celeste said softly. “Hank’s been talking to Travis about you. He told him about your uncle, and how you...
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s not a good topic at the moment. But I can understand how it would have affected you.
“Even without anything like that, I went through a bad patch myself—thinking that if I married Travis I’d end up a young widow.”
Natalie eyed her, wondering for a second whether she was only saying that. But it was probably the truth. It was hard to imagine anyone not worrying.
“How did you convince yourself that... Do you mind my asking?”
“No. It was... Well, I have to back up a bit and explain that Travis and I fell in love under pretty intense circumstances. He learned there was a contract on my life and decided to play bodyguard.
“And I was so glad I had him to lean on that I barely thought about his job until after everything was over and I was safe.
“I mean...I knew all along it could be dangerous. But somehow it was just kind of a vague awareness in the beginning.
“I guess I was worrying so much about the hit man that I couldn’t worry about Travis’s job at the same time. But once the killer was behind bars, I started thinking that one day Travis would head off to work and I’d never see him alive again. And the more I thought about it, the more certain I was it would happen.”
“But you got over that?”
Celeste gave her a slow shrug. “Not entirely. And something like what just happened to Hank sure doesn’t help. I’m a lot better than I was, though. Back before Christmas I was almost at the stage of asking Travis to leave the force.
“Then I thought about it and realized that if he did he’d only be doing it for me. Not because he actually wanted to. And if he came to resent me for making him...”
“I did ask Hank,” Natalie admitted. “At least, I asked if he could see himself doing anything else with his life. And just the look on his face when I did... I came to the same realization as you.
“But how did you even get to the worrying-less stage?” she asked.
Maybe Celeste had come up with something that would work for her, too. That possibility gave her hope and at the same time frightened her.
She didn’t want to marry a cop. She wanted to play things safe. Yet Hank wasn’t just any old abstract fantasy cop. He was the man she’d fallen in love with.
She forced her attention back to Celeste, who was saying, “Travis and I talked about my fear. A lot. And...several things helped. His promising to wear his vest more was one of them.
“Detectives don’t like to bother with them, but he said he’d start using his whenever there was even the hint of a potential problem.”
“If Hank hadn’t been wearing one...”
“Exactly. At any rate, that helped. And I tried something I used to do when I was a teenager and had to make a decision. I wrote down two lists—pros and cons.”
“And the pros won.”
“Not entirely. Being afraid the man you love might get killed is an awfully big con.”
The word insurmountable formed in Natalie’s mind.
“But...I guess, in the end, it boiled down to how much I love Travis. Despite worrying, I just can’t imagine living without him.”
Natalie stared at her bare feet. She loved Hank. Very, very much. But even if she told herself a zillion times that a life with him would be worth the risk it entailed, telling herself wasn’t the same as waving a magic wand and making a deep-seated fear vanish.
Emotional baggage. She didn’t like psychobabble, yet that was a good description of what she was carrying. And if she couldn’t get rid of it...
She’d been trying to do that, though. Trying as hard as she could. And if... Man, when she hadn’t been able to succeed before Hank had almost gotten killed...
“Want to hear a theory I came up with?” Celeste asked.
She nodded.
“Well, back when I was still feeling really scared, I told a couple of friends about it. And one of them, whose husband is away on business a lot, said that every time he travels, she worries about his plane crashing.
“Then the other one, who’s married to a long-haul trucker, said that whenever he’s on the road she’s afraid to watch the news—in case
there’s footage of a fiery crash and it turns out he was in it.
“So I started thinking that maybe worrying about people just goes hand in hand with loving them. And when you love a cop, the obvious thing to fixate on is the danger of the job.”
“That makes sense,” Natalie said. For her, however, if simply making sense was enough she wouldn’t be in such emotional turmoil.
“Did Hank tell you I’ve been married before?” Celeste asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t elaborate.”
“Well, my first marriage was a mistake. Which I guess is always far easier to see in hindsight.
“But the point is that my first husband and I just kind of drifted into it, without any really intense feelings and... In the three years I was married to Bryce, I don’t recall ever once worrying about his safety.
“So my theory is that maybe the more you love someone, the more you worry. Or that’s how it works with some of us, at least.”
Before Natalie could reply, the front door opened and Travis and Robbie came in.
“Look, Natalie!” Robbie said, his eyes shining. “Uncle Travis gave me a Jeep!”
She eyed the bright yellow Jeep clutched to his chest, absently wondering how many more cars and trucks the house could hold. Then she looked at Travis in time to see him shoot Celeste a questioning glance.
When she nodded, he said to Robbie, “You know what?”
“What?”
“I need Natalie to come into the city with me for a while. So Aunt Celeste is going to stay here with you, okay?”
Robbie focused on Celeste. “Can we play trucks?”
“Sure.”
“And do puzzles?”
“We can do whatever you want.”
“I’ll just go put on some decent clothes,” Natalie said.
“And shoes,” Robbie told her, looking at her bare feet.
She almost managed a smile. They were constantly reminding him about shoes.
“Right,” she said. “I can’t go walking around in New York without shoes.”
“I know. ’Cuz there’s junk. And glass. And dog stuff,” he added with a grin.
* * *
ON THE WAY TO MANHATTAN, Natalie asked Travis to tell her exactly what had happened outside the Blue Cat Club.
She’d had some vague notion that hearing the details might help her, but it didn’t. It only gave her a more realistic scenario than the one her imagination had conjured up.
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