Bulletproof Hearts

by Brenda Harlen

  “Not even a token denial?” he taunted.

  “You brought me coffee, Lieutenant, which inclines me favorably toward you. But you’re not so irresistible that I’m going to throw all common sense aside and jump your bones.”

  “What if I’d brought biscotti?”

  She allowed herself a small smile. “Maybe.”

  Chapter 6

  Dylan liked to see her smile. It was something, in his opinion, she did far too seldom. He wondered again what had happened in her thirty-one years to dim the spark he’d only caught brief glimpses of in her eyes.

  She’d been in town about a month, he’d known her less than half of that time. He certainly didn’t know her well. But he did know that Natalie Vaughn had barriers all around her, and while she seemed perfectly content living behind those barriers, she’d been terrified at the possibility he might break through them.

  What made her so wary? Was she uncomfortable with men in general? Or was it his status as a cop that unnerved her?

  Despite her casual rebuttal, her confident assurance that he wasn’t irresistible, he’d seen the uneasiness in her eyes. Just as he’d seen the flare of awareness when he’d first mentioned the kiss. The damn kiss that had kept him awake all night.

  He hadn’t intended for things to go as far as they had. He hadn’t intended to kiss her at all. He’d thought about it, a lot, over the past several days. And he’d thought of at least a dozen reasons why pursuing the attraction he felt was a bad idea. But in that moment, he hadn’t been able to think of a single one.

  Maybe he’d been testing her, maybe testing himself. He wanted to see if there was any foundation to the chemistry he felt whenever they were in the same room together.

  In the first instant that his lips touched hers, he’d expected resistance. He’d counted on it. And when he’d found nothing but softly yielding acceptance, he’d been lost.

  She’d been soft and warm and so incredibly responsive, and he’d wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms and carry her down the hall to his bedroom. He’d wanted to lay her down on top of the comforter and slowly strip off her clothes, to lay down beside her and spend the rest of the night making love—

  He severed the thought abruptly, more shaken by his own thoughts than he wanted to admit. He was past the point of denying how much he wanted her, but he’d accepted the attraction as a purely physical urge. He’d had sex with other women, but he’d never made love with anyone but Beth. He’d never wanted to. But he couldn’t deny there was something about Natalie that drew him. Something stronger than the desire he’d felt for anyone else in the past four years.

  And he wanted another taste of her. He wanted to know if his memory of the kiss they’d shared had been enhanced by the erotic dreams he’d had the previous evening. Dreams in which Natalie had played a starring role.

  After the way she’d retreated the previous evening, he’d decided it would be best to give her some space. But she’d been his first thought when he awoke, and he’d had a moment to savor the pleasure, the possibility, before guilt had intruded. He should be thinking of Beth, not Natalie. But with every day that passed, it required more of an effort to conjure Beth’s sweet smile and laughing brown eyes. Maybe it was a sign that he was finally beginning to heal, but he still felt a pang of loss and longing for the woman he’d loved. And a sharper, stronger tug of need for the woman in front of him now.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Natalie said, interrupting his thoughts. “But I need to kick you out now so I can get ready for work.”

  He took his bowl and spoon to the small sink and rinsed them under the tap. “Why are you so determined to keep me at a distance?”

  To her credit, she considered his question before responding. “I keep everyone at a distance.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s easier that way.”

  “And lonelier.” He would know. He’d done the same thing for a long time—until she came to town.

  “I have no complaints,” she assured him.

  He stepped toward her, pleased that she stood her ground even though she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “None?”

  She swallowed, but her eyes—wide, wary, and aware—remained level with his. “No.”

  He didn’t believe her. He wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. “Why are you fighting what’s happening between us?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “I don’t owe you any explanations just because I won’t fall into bed with you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “But you do need to understand that it will happen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He grinned at her indignant response. “I’d prefer sooner rather than later, but I can wait.”

  “I am not going to get involved with you.”

  “We’re already involved.”

  “A few kisses don’t equal a relationship.”

  He didn’t argue with her. He knew her well enough to know that pushing would only push her away. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands. The defiant glint in her eyes faded away.

  “We all have our ghosts, Natalie. But if we don’t learn to live with them, we’re not really living.”

  It was something he’d heard so many times since Beth had died, something he was only beginning to understand himself. Then he very gently, and very briefly, touched his lips to hers. “Have a good day.”

  She waited until she heard the door click shut behind him, then let out a long, shaky breath.

  She’d thought her experience with Eric had immunized her against men. One kiss from Dylan Creighton had proven otherwise. One kiss had banished all the painful memories from her mind, leaving only a desperate, almost painful, yearning. She wanted Dylan, she couldn’t deny that. She also couldn’t let herself succumb to the desire.

  She’d been so hurt when Eric walked out, devastated that he’d turned his back, not just on her but on their child, and she’d vowed that no one would ever have the power to hurt her again. If she opened up to Dylan, invariably, she would start to hope, to dream, and she’d get hurt.

  We all have our ghosts, Natalie. But if we don’t learn to live with them, we’re not really living.

  His words stayed with Natalie throughout the day, and for a long time afterward. She tried to dismiss his statement as self-serving, which it undoubtedly was. “A man will say anything to get you into bed,” Shannon had often warned. Natalie had refused to believe it. She’d learned the hard way that her sister was right. Seven years later, she knew she wouldn’t ever make that mistake again.

  But she couldn’t deny that there was some legitimacy to Dylan’s statement. If she continued to live her life in fear of repeating the mistakes of her past, she wasn’t really in control of her life. By refusing to open herself up to intimacy, she was letting Jack’s father control her future.

  She sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Did it really make sense? Or was she merely looking for an excuse to succumb to the attraction she felt for Dylan?

  And when had she started thinking of him as “Dylan” anyway?

  He was Lieutenant Creighton, a professional acquaintance, a colleague, and it was best if she continued to think of him as such.

  But sometime over the past week, some of the barriers had dropped. Or maybe the last of her resistance had melted away with the brief touch of his lips to hers.

  She shook her head. It was a good thing she was going back to Chicago this weekend. She needed to spend time with Jack, to remember her priorities. She had neither the time nor the inclination for a personal involvement, no matter how much her hormones might wish otherwise.

  She flipped through the calendar on her desk, as if she needed to count the days. As if she didn’t know there were exactly fifteen more days until school was out. Fifteen more days without her son. She’d see him on weekends, of course, but two days out of every seven wasn’t enough.

  She was so tempted to pack it in and go home. To run away from
Fairweather, back to Chicago and everything that was familiar.

  She sighed. Except that her reasons for leaving were still valid. She wanted something better for Jack than what they had in Chicago. A better home, a better school, better opportunities.

  Her pay increase as an assistant district attorney wasn’t significant, but the cost of living was considerably less in Fairweather. Besides, she’d been given a nest egg—and a fairly substantial one at that. Which was the most important reason she’d had for taking this job: she’d made a promise.

  But at what cost? It was a question she’d pondered ever since the opportunity had presented itself. What would the ultimate cost of her decision be? And would Jack ever forgive her for what she’d done?

  She was tempted, more than she wanted to admit, to forget the bargain had ever been made. But leaving Fairweather now, just because she was feeling unsettled and insecure, before she’d even made an effort, would be cowardly. She was anything but a coward.

  I can’t figure out if you’re incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

  Dylan’s words echoed in the back of her mind. Well, that makes two of us, she thought.

  And yet, the man who’d raked her over the coals at Roger Merrick’s apartment was the same man who’d bantered with her over breakfast, comforted her during the storm, kissed her mindless the night before.

  She almost wished he’d stayed angry with her. Anger she could handle. She had no defense against the unfamiliar emotions that he’d stirred inside her with a simple look, a touch, a kiss. Wants, needs, too long denied, had reawakened.

  Yeah, she was tempted to run, but she wasn’t going to. Not this time. She was determined to make a home for Jack and herself, to put down roots so her son would feel that he belonged. That was her ultimate goal, and she wouldn’t let anyone or anything dissuade her.

  Natalie was busy in court throughout most of the following week, and she guessed that Lieutenant Creighton must have been occupied with his own work because she didn’t see him at all over the next several days. But every morning when she stopped at the hotel café for her latte, she thought of him.

  It was silly, she knew, to make a big deal out of something that clearly wasn’t, but she couldn’t stop speculating about the man who’d been thoughtful enough to bring her coffee. Obviously there was more to the lieutenant than she’d originally believed.

  Just as obviously, his absence since that early-morning visit affirmed her earlier supposition: he’d lost interest. He’d made a pass, she’d deflected it—okay, she’d succumbed and then deflected, but the end result was the same: he’d moved on. She wasn’t surprised; she was relieved. And maybe, although she’d never admit it, just a little bit disappointed.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on his absence. She had too much work to do to allow herself to be distracted by anything or anyone. Until he showed up at her office again Friday afternoon.

  “You haven’t been around here very much this week,” Creighton said. “Have you been busy or just avoiding me?”

  She ignored the quick surge of pleasure at his appearance, and her voice, when she spoke, was carefully neutral. “I’ve been busy,” she assured him. “I’ve spent most of my waking hours in court this week.”

  And most of her sleeping hours dreaming about the lieutenant’s mind-numbing kisses, but she kept that detail to herself.

  “You’ve done quite well, from what I’ve heard.”

  She had to take a mental step back. She was the only one who’d been thinking—obsessing—about his kiss. He was talking about court. To hide her embarrassment, she busied herself sorting through the stack of files on her desk. “Checking up on me, Lieutenant?”

  “I told you before—it’s a small town.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “You went four for five this week.”

  “Three were pleas,” she told him.

  “Defendants only plead when they know they can’t win.”

  She shrugged. “I’m only working with the evidence I’ve been given. It’s your detectives who deserve the credit more than I.”

  “Very diplomatic, Natalie. But I’ve seen prosecutors blow cases with apparently overwhelming evidence.”

  “And I’ve seen cases lost because of improper investigative techniques.”

  “Touché.”

  She stuffed a pile of folders into her briefcase. How was she supposed to carry on a casual conversation when all she could think about was getting him naked? “Was there a particular reason you stopped by, Lieutenant?”

  He ignored her question, leaned a hip against the corner of her desk. “Don’t you think we’ve moved beyond the formalities of titles?”

  The fragrance of his aftershave was subtle; the effect of his proximity on her hormones not even close to subtle. She shifted a little farther away from him, cleared her throat.

  “No,” she responded belatedly to his question. Her use of his rank was deliberate, a reminder to both of them of their working relationship. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him as anything other than a colleague. She didn’t dare think of him as a man.

  “Were you thinking of me as a cop when you kissed me?”

  She thought he would have forgotten about that kiss. She wished she could. “Obviously, I wasn’t thinking at all.”

  “Why is that obvious?”

  “Because if I’d been thinking, it wouldn’t have happened.” She concentrated on rearranging the files in her briefcase.

  She was surprised, and relieved, when he didn’t pursue the topic any further. Instead, he said, “I thought maybe I’d take you out to dinner—to celebrate your success this week.”

  “Thanks, but, um, I can’t.”

  “You already have plans for dinner?”

  “Yes.” And she was grateful she did. Dinner, she instinctively knew, would only be a prelude to something more, and she wasn’t ready for that next step.

  “Maybe tomorrow then?”

  “Actually, I’m going back to Chicago for the weekend,” she admitted.

  “Oh.”

  Natalie sifted through the pink slips on her desk.

  “I met with Ellis Todd yesterday,” he said.

  She continued to rifle through her messages. “The accountant?”

  He nodded. “Apparently my original information wasn’t up-to-date. Mr. Todd left the accounting firm of Denby & Witter almost three years ago. He now works for Zane Conroy.”

  That got her attention. She dropped the pink slips. “I guess you were right,” she murmured. “It all comes back to Conroy.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, but he didn’t sound very pleased about it.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m not sure. I know I should be thrilled by this information, it’s just that—” he shook his head. “I interviewed this guy, and I can’t see him pulling the trigger. I’ve never met anyone who seems less likely to take another man’s life.”

  “The one thing I’ve learned in my experience in criminal law is to expect the unexpected,” she told him.

  He nodded. “I know. But he seemed genuinely surprised—shocked even—to learn that his gun had been used in a murder.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Then again, Conroy doesn’t hire idiots.”

  “How did he explain the gun?”

  “He said he’d bought it for his wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they were separated, and he was worried about her being on her own.”

  Natalie frowned. “Did he have any reason to think his wife was in danger?”

  “He didn’t say. Although he definitely seemed to be holding something back. And when I spoke to the wife—who, it turns out, is Zane Conroy’s cousin—I got the same impression.”

  “What did she say about the gun?”

  “That she always keeps it in the safe in her closet. But when she went to get it—”

  “It was gone,” Natalie guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  �
�What’s your take on the wife?”

  “Young, pretty—in a fragile sort of way.”

  She resisted—barely—the urge to roll her eyes. It figured that was the kind of woman who would appeal to him: someone who needed to be taken care of, protected. She pushed aside the thought. “Do you think she’s capable of murder?”

  “I think anyone is capable of murder, given the right circumstances.”

  She didn’t quite bite back her sigh of exasperation. “Do you think she killed Merrick?”

  “No,” he admitted. “And she has an alibi for the night of the murder.”

  “Does the husband?”

  “Yet another fact that doesn’t quite fit,” he told her. “He says he was at the office, claimed video surveillance tapes of the building would show he didn’t leave until after midnight.”

  “Did you get the tapes?”

  “We’re working on it. Conroy owns the building, and he refused to give us anything without a warrant.”

  “Even evidence that might exculpate an employee?”

  Creighton shrugged. “I didn’t expect cooperation from Conroy. And the tapes should be in my hands tomorrow in any event.”

  She nodded, glanced at her watch. As much as she wanted to be kept apprised of the details in the investigation, right now she wanted to be on her way to Chicago even more.

  “I guess I’m holding you up,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.” She forced the lid of her briefcase down, struggled to close the locks. “But I really do have to be going. I appreciate you stopping by, though, to keep me up-to-date.”

  Creighton nodded again. “No problem. Enjoy your weekend.”

  She smiled, her thoughts and her heart already in Chicago. “I will.”

  Throughout the weekend, Dylan continued to review the evidence piling up in the Merrick investigation. But whenever he had a free moment—and often when he should have been concentrating on something else—his thoughts strayed to Natalie.

  He wondered where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. She obviously had ties in Illinois, but she’d taken a job in Pennsylvania. Why? Was it really as simple as she claimed? He knew he should accept her explanation. There was no reason for him to continue speculating about her reasons for coming to Fairweather, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something.