by Coleen Kwan
“Yeah.” She managed to nod. Blinking hard, she made out a couple of police officers on the other side of the yard busy handcuffing a skinny guy wearing a beanie. “That’s Spike,” she murmured in surprise. Who would have thought that Spike would pick tonight of all nights to hit her place? “He and Michael O’Brien were arguing over my car.”
“Lucky for us. They were too distracted to notice we were here.” Shane peered more closely at her. “We should probably get the ME to check you out.”
“No, I’m fine, honestly.” She drew in a deep breath to steady herself and pushed her messy hair away from her face. “So Brody realized something was wrong from my weird call?”
“Yup. Grabbed me and a couple of uniforms and rushed straight here. When he saw O’Brien with his hand around your neck, he went ape shit.” Admiration lurked in Shane’s expression. They both turned to watch as O’Brien bleated and squirmed on the ground. Brody leaned over him with a menacing growl and administered a harsh jab to the fugitive’s back. O’Brien squealed, and Shane shook his head. “I’d better go over there before he does something stupid like break the punk’s arm.”
Shane loped over to Brody to mutter something, and after a moment Brody visibly collected himself. Together they hauled the handcuffed man to his feet. Michael’s face was smeared with dirt, his eyes spitting as he cursed the entire world.
Someone behind Abigail let out a groan, and she spun round to see Katherine, chalk-white, her gaze pinned on her son.
“Michael,” she moaned as he was led away. She reached out trembling hands for him, but the jerk never even acknowledged her.
The older woman crumpled, and Abigail had to dart forward and put her arm around her to stop her from falling.
“It’ll be okay,” she said even though she wondered how it could ever be okay for a mother to see her son being arrested.
Tears slid down the worn tracks on Katherine’s face. Abigail patted her back, feeling worse than useless.
Minutes later, Brody approached her, and all the tension flooded back, making it difficult to breathe or to focus on anything except the tight line of his mouth and the hard sheen in his eyes.
“You both okay?” The question was brisk, impersonal.
“I am,” Abigail said. It was obvious that Katherine wasn’t.
Brody nodded. “Good.”
He wore his cop face like a suit of armor, warding her off. She couldn’t understand him. First, that unexpected call from him, and then him racing in and rescuing her, and now this standoffishness. What was with him? But she was too tired and shaken up to figure him out. If this was how he wanted to act, then so be it.
“We’ll need both of you to come down to the station and make statements,” he said.
“Right away?”
“If you’re up to it.” He motioned to a police officer standing by who stepped forward. “Officer Patel will drive you to the station when you’re ready.”
Katherine squeezed Abigail’s arm. “I need to go to the station. I need to see my Mikey.”
But Brody was already shaking his head. “Sorry, ma’am, but he won’t be allowed any visitors apart from his lawyer while he’s in custody. You’ll have to wait until he’s transferred to jail.”
Katherine uttered a pained moan, looking totally defeated. Abigail threw a dark glance at Brody, puzzled and annoyed by his cold manner. She knew he’d been hanging out to catch Michael O’Brien for years, but now he’d succeeded he could at least show a little compassion toward his mother.
Seconds later, a man and a woman, both in their PJs and dressing gowns, burst through the milling cops.
“My God! Abigail! What’s going on?”
Mr. Mariano and Sophia trotted up, hands gesticulating, faces filled with concern. It took Abigail several minutes to explain the situation, and by the time they’d calmed down, Brody had moved off, and Officer Patel was looking impatient. So Abigail herded a dejected Katherine into the cruiser, and the officer shut the door for them.
As they drove off, she craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Brody, but he had vanished.
Chapter Thirteen
Brody grimaced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His eyes were bloodshot, he had a bruise on his chin, and he needed a shave. He looked a mess. Bending over, he flicked on the tap and sluiced cold water over his face. The slight tremble in his hands was hardly discernible, but it was still there, a couple of hours after he’d brought O’Brien down with a mad shoulder charge. The image of Abigail choking in the bastard’s grip continued to bleed in his brain, stealing his air. Faint scratches peppered his knuckles where his fists had punched O’Brien. If it hadn’t been for Shane, he might have pounded the dirtbag into a bloody rag.
Christ, how was he ever going to sleep again? More importantly, how was he ever going to be able to act normally around Abigail? The only way he’d managed not to snatch her into his arms and carry her off somewhere quiet was by acting like Robocop and pretending that his entire body wasn’t shaking with relief that she was safe.
It didn’t even matter that he’d finally caught Michael O’Brien. Oh sure, in a day or two he’d feel some satisfaction that he’d kept his promise to himself, that he hadn’t let Dave Campese down, that a dangerous criminal was off the streets. But right now, all he could concentrate on was Abigail. God, Abigail. Sweet, wonderful Abby. She reduced him to a gibbering mass, which was why Shane was taking her statement, and he was skulking here in the men’s bathroom of the station.
He reefed a length of paper towel out of the dispenser and wiped his face. He couldn’t hide out here all night. And he couldn’t let Abigail leave still thinking that he didn’t care about her. He had to tell her how he felt. But how? How did he articulate the boiling storm of emotions she’d ignited in him?
There had to be a way.
Maybe there was. The seed of an idea pricked his brain. He scowled. Maybe it was a dumb idea. Definitely it was a dumb idea. But he had to try something.
He whipped out his cell phone. First, he had some rehearsing to do.
Abigail signed the piece of paper Shane had slid to her across the table.
“Don’t you want to read it first?” Shane asked.
She shook her head. “I’m sure you’ve got it all down.” In a way she was relieved that it was Shane who’d taken down her statement. He was calm, professional and also friendly at the same time. She wasn’t sure she could have coped if it had been Brody asking her the questions.
Brody. Just the thought of him made all the muscles in her body screw up.
Shane nodded sympathetically at her. “It’s been a tough night for you.”
She couldn’t disagree with that. Her shoes were pinching her toes, a headache was pounding at her skull, and her stomach was doing the Macarena. The cup of coffee Shane had given her did nothing to dissolve the fog that was slowly enveloping her. It didn’t seem possible, but all those Tom Collinses she’d imbibed were still swirling around in her system, temporarily subdued by the confrontation with Michael O’Brien, but now returning with a vengeance.
“Am I free to go now?” She tiredly rubbed at her temples. It wasn’t yet midnight, but she had well and truly turned into a pumpkin hours ago.
“Of course. You’ve always been free to go.” Shane jumped to his feet and came round to assist her out of her chair. “You’ve been a great help, Abigail, and we appreciate it.” He looked uncertain for a moment. “Mrs. O’Brien’s already been taken home. I’ll, um, drive you home if you’re ready.”
“Sure.” She wasn’t going to hang around the police station. If Brody didn’t want to talk to her, well, then fine. She preferred dealing with Shane anyway. She didn’t need to get all flustered talking to Brody.
She picked up her coat off the back of her chair. Her lovely emerald-green evening dress was a crumpled mess, with stains on the
skirt and the hem coming undone. She grimaced as she recalled how she’d worked on it and looked forward to putting it on. As soon as she got home she’d peel it off and throw it away. She never wanted to look at it again.
Shane ushered her out of the interviewing room and led her down the hall. As they entered the large, open-plan bullpen, she was surprised to see it filled with people, some were police in uniforms, others appeared to be detectives. They were milling about, chatting loudly, obviously elated about something.
“Late-night operation,” Shane said to her. “Looks like it went well.”
He made to steer her away from the melee, but she caught sight of Brody on the other side of the room. His gaze fixed on her at the very same moment. His eyes flashed, and his whole body seemed to go rigid. Seconds later, he moved toward her, slicing through the crowd like an arrow, his face a study of intensity. Transfixed by that focus of his, she froze on the spot, the hubbub around her fading into the background as her thumping heart echoed louder and louder.
Brody halted a few feet away from her. He was close enough for her to make out the strained line of his mouth and the disheveled hair that looked like he’d been raking it like a madman. Dark stubble peppered a tight jaw. Hazel-green eyes pierced her beneath drawn brows.
Breathe, she told herself as her ribs clenched.
Brody’s gaze swept over her, taking in her crushed dress, laddered stockings, hair falling out of the pins. Christ, she must look such a mess. No wonder he was frowning at her like that.
“Are you going already?” He sounded jerky, impatient.
“Uh, yes. Shane’s driving me home.” She glanced about for Shane, but he seemed to have mysteriously melted away. She turned back to Brody and managed to suck in some air. Even though he was scowling down at her, nothing could tamp her urge to reach up and run her fingers through his disheveled hair, to wrap her arms around his neck and just…sink into him. God, she had it so bad for him it wasn’t funny.
“Was there something else you needed from me?” Somehow she managed to inject some briskness into her voice. She needed it, needed anything to stop her from collapsing in front of him. “What about Spike? Is he taken care of?”
“Spike?” His frown deepened before he nodded slowly. “Oh, him. You don’t have to worry about him. He’ll be going back to jail with an additional grand-theft-auto charge against him.”
“Good.” It dawned on her that Spike might be facing some serious jail time, and with him off the streets, his rabble of a gang would collapse. This was good news for her, the other store owners, and the people living nearby. Main Street and the neighborhood had a fighting chance now. “Everyone will be glad to see the back of him. Thank you.”
An awkward silence built up. Abigail wanted to look elsewhere but it seemed she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Brody, even though his expression was less than congenial. He shifted on his feet, his brow furrowed as if he was wishing himself anywhere but here.
She took a sideways step. “Well, I’d better go find Shane—”
“I’ll drive you back,” he gruffly interrupted.
She almost stumbled. “No thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Her stomach made a queasy heave. “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Pretend?”
Anger prickled through her, giving her some much-needed backbone. “You don’t have to maintain the caring act in front of your colleagues.” What an ass. She stuck her chin up and shot him a fierce glare. “I heard you discussing me with Shane the other day in my apartment. I know I didn’t mean a thing to you, so please just drop the pretense. It’s demeaning and humiliating and I really, really hate it.” The words tumbled out of her, raw and bleeding.
Brody’s jaw dropped as a look of pure horror gripped his face. His lips moved as if he wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
Pain ate at her. Abigail doesn’t mean anything to me. I only slept with her to pass the time. It helped to get her onside with this stakeout.
Only when she saw the deepening grooves in Brody’s ashen face did she realize she’d muttered those hateful words aloud.
“Abigail…” Her name was a tortured whisper on Brody’s lips. He looked like he’d trodden on a landmine. “You’ve got it all wrong. Oh God—” He punched his fist against his forehead. “I can’t believe it. Please, Abigail. I-I can explain—”
“You don’t need to explain. I got the message loud and clear.” Her entire body was cold and shaking, even her lips felt numb. “It was no big surprise to me. I mean, you were honest from the start. You-you never promised me anything. I-I knew that.” She couldn’t control her stutter, and yet she couldn’t shut up either. Her voice sank, agonized and bereft. “I asked you to the d-dance, and you refused.”
It was all so blindingly obvious to her now, but she hadn’t wanted to see the truth. She spun away and pushed her way past chattering people.
“Abigail!”
She heard Brody call out behind her, but she forged on. She was exhausted, bruised and tipsy, and if she didn’t get away from him soon, she’d break down, and the last thing she needed was for Brody to find out how heartbroken she was.
Her hip collided with a desk, and a firm hand wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her around to find Brody’s eyes burning into her.
“Abigail, please—”
A part of her brain registered surprise at the agonized note in his voice. He sounded so…choked up and distressed. Around them people were milling about, but she was oblivious to the commotion, all her attention concentrated on Brody. Releasing her arm, he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment as if he was desperate to hold himself together. His eyes flew open and the pleading look in them smacked the air out of her lungs.
“Please, Abigail, I didn’t mean any of those things. Shane was giving me a hard time about you…” He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that. He was only pointing out some home truths to me, truths I didn’t want to see, wasn’t ready to see, so I reacted in typical moron guy fashion, saying stupid things to preserve my stupid male ego and being a total dick about it.” A deep, heavy sigh. Hazel-green eyes pleaded with her. “I was an ass. In fact, I’ve been an ass for quite some time. I said those things because I was scared of all the feelings you inspire in me. Feelings I’ve never had for a woman before.”
Her throat was so tight. She gulped twice before she ventured to whisper, “What kind of feelings?”
A flush started at the edge of Brody’s T-shirt and worked its way up his neck. “Feelings like…like I want to be with you all the time, and not only to…you know.” The people around them were starting to listen in on the conversation, and Brody’s flush spread up his cheeks. “I was planning to surprise you at your dance tonight.”
“My dance?” She goggled at him. “You were going to show up at a fifties dance?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, lifting a shoulder. “I had my suit cleaned and everything. I even…” He hesitated, glancing at the half-dozen people around them who had fallen silent and were listening with blatant interest.
“What?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as a sheepish expression settled on his face. “I even learned the Shim Sham just for you.”
“The Shim Sham? Never!”
“I did.”
“But you—” She shook her head in bewilderment. “You refused to even try. You said you weren’t a dancing man.”
“It’s true,” Shane chimed in from the desk where he lolled, his eyes bright with amusement. “Brody is definitely not a dancing man. Have you ever seen him dance? It’s like watching a turkey trying to do hopscotch.”
“Gee, thanks a ton, man.” Brody shot his friend a withering glare before turning back to Abigail. “I got Gina to give me a couple of lessons.”
“Gina? She n
ever told me.”
“I asked her not to say anything. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
So that explained their furtive get-togethers. The wave of relief that washed over her left her giddy…and high on hope.
She cleared her throat. “Um, well, you’ve definitely got me intrigued.”
He stepped closer, and she saw that his chest was rising and falling with the quickening of his breathing. Lowering his head, he murmured, “I was going to show you here, but then this rabble arrived.”
“Aw, don’t let us stop you, Donovan,” one of the other detectives called out, grinning from ear to ear. Everyone was beaming, but it wasn’t malice Abigail saw in their eyes but encouragement. They were all rooting for Brody, and damn if that didn’t melt her heart a little more.
“Yeah, show us your Dirty Dancing stuff,” someone else yelled.
Shane pulled out a Bluetooth speaker and plonked it on the desk nearest to Brody. “Put your music on, buddy, and sharpen those twinkle toes of yours.”
Brody swiped a hand across his face, muttering under his breath, “Christ, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
He looked back at Abigail, and the trepidation in his eyes made her heart stutter. Was he actually going to go through with this? Would he risk ridicule in front of his work colleagues just to show her how much she meant to him?
It appeared he was.
He yanked out his smartphone and tapped several times on it before placing it next to the speaker. People backed away to give him more space, and the room fell silent as the first bars of “Tain’t What You Do” came tootling out. Brody moved to the center of the room and shook his arms and legs, his face a study.
He missed the first beat of the dance, and Abigail sucked in a breath and held it. She could scarcely breathe, even when he got his feet moving. Snapping his fingers in time to the music, he began to Shim Sham. His toes tapped, his heels clicked, his hips swiveled. Deep concentration furrowed his brow as his big, tall frame moved in clearly unaccustomed maneuvers.
