The question hung there in her mind, overwhelming all other thoughts as Michael unlocked the door and ushered her inside with a broad, sweeping gesture.
The house was gorgeous: big, airy rooms with huge windows and skylights and exposed beams—and certainly no expense spared. Given what she’d heard about the cost of the new homes out here, Amanda decided that Michael had indeed struck it rich with his software company.
He kept up a running commentary as they walked from room to room, making it clear to her that he’d planned this place himself right down to the smallest detail. There was much work yet to be done, but he described each room as it would look when finished. Then, at one point, he stopped and shook his head.
“I guess I’m getting carried away.”
“No, you’re not,” she assured him. “You’re just being you. I’ve never known anyone like you, Michael. You’re pursuing this the same way you pursue criminals—giving it everything you’ve got.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Then he bounded up a short staircase. “Come on. Wait till you see the view from the master bedroom.”
Amanda followed him. From the outside, she’d noticed a small balcony off the top level, and now, as she stepped into the spacious room, she saw that it was here—and the view was even more breathtaking than she’d expected.
Michael opened the sliding doors, and they both stepped outside. Far below them lay the city and the river. Even a small portion of the lake was visible, though most of it was hidden by a hill, including the island itself.
“I didn’t really know for sure that the view would be this great until the house was built,” he said, leaning against the railing.
Amanda followed his gaze, staring at the area known as the Bottom, which bordered the river. From this distance, it didn’t look so bad.
“How did you survive it, Michael?” she asked in a tone far more plaintive than she’d intended.
He turned back to her briefly, his arms braced against the railing. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “If I did, then maybe I’d be able to help some of the kids I work with.”
“You mean the ones you arrest?” she asked, not certain that was what he meant.
He shook his head and turned back to the view. “I do some volunteer work at a community center down there. I’ve had more time since I hired someone to run the company.”
“I didn’t know that—about your volunteer work, that is.”
He turned around to face her, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the railing. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that we know each other so well in some ways—and not at all in others?”
His words so closely mirrored her own thoughts that Amanda could do no more than nod her agreement as his dark eyes bored into her.
“There’s some old saying about the course of true love never running smooth,” he said, shaking his head. “But this is ridiculous!”
“Are we in love, Michael?”
“You tell me.”
She took a deep, ragged breath. “I think we might be.”
“Gee, that’s encouraging,” he replied with gentle sarcasm. “A typical lawyer. Never a straight answer.”
“How can I give you a straight answer, with all the... obstacles in our way?”
“I’ll tell you how. Forget about the damn ‘obstacles’ for a minute and think about us.”
“That’s not easy to do.”
“I didn’t say it was, but do it anyway.”
She took another, even more ragged breath. “Okay. Yes, I think we are in love, but...”
He reached out and pressed a finger to her lips. “Stop right there. I know we’ve got problems. But we’ll work through them.”
He dropped his finger, and Amanda shifted her gaze once again to the view beyond the railing. Perhaps it was easy for him to believe any obstacle could be surmounted; after all, he’d done it.
She kept her eyes on the view, even though she felt his gaze touch her, reach into her. Her world was spinning. How did they manage to get to this point? Was the beginning of love there even nine years ago? Or did it go back even further than that—all the way back to a teenage crush? Was it possible that that naive girl had recognized even then the true value of this man?
And what, exactly, did he love about her? That was the question she couldn’t ask, because she feared the answer. Was she still a challenge to him? Did that matter?
“You still think it’s because of where we both came from, don’t you?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts as though he’d heard them.
“Is it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe partly. But I can’t change that, and neither can you. It’s who we are.”
Then he chuckled and reached out to take both her hands in his. “We’re a good team. You think and I act. Sounds fine to me.”
When she said nothing, he began to draw her slowly into his arms until she was pressed against him, feeling the heat of his body and the power of his desire.
“I didn’t bring you out here just to show the house, you know,” he murmured against her ear. “I know there’s no bed yet, but there’s a big quilt in the trunk of my car.”
His low voice was teasing, and she responded in kind, even though her body was growing heavy with desire. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
He laughed, and the sound vibrated through her. “Only where you’re concerned. I put it there this morning. I also reserved a room at the inn that night”
She drew back within the circle of his arms. “You did? I remember when we left the restaurant, there was a couple arriving with luggage and it reminded me that there were rooms.”
“And...?” He arched one dark brow.
“And I thought about it. That night was a disaster.”
He nodded. “Too planned. That’s why I decided to do it differently this time.”
She had to laugh. He seemed so serious. “You decided to make it more like the first time.”
“Uh-huh. Will it work this time, too?”
“Yes,” she said, not allowing herself to think about it. “I believe it will.”
He leaned forward and kissed her: a quick, light touching of lips that was over almost before it began. Then he went back inside and she heard him running down the steps, as though he feared that she might change her mind before he could get the quilt.
Amanda remained on the balcony, watching as he ran out to the car and opened the trunk. She was still stunned by the suddenness of it all, even though a few moments ago, she’d been wondering if it had been there all along.
The images of that other time floated through her mind, and suddenly, she feared that the reality couldn’t possibly match those memories. But when Michael reappeared in the doorway and their eyes met, she knew that this time would not only match it, but far surpass it.
And so it did. But there was also a difference. Despite their mutual hunger, despite the flames that were licking at them as they undressed before the half-finished fireplace in the master bedroom, there was no hurry.
Even the act of removing their clothing became a part of a slow, erotic dance as their eyes feasted on each other. The air was cool, but as she stripped off her clothing, her skin was heated by his dark, intense gaze. The quilt lay spread out between them, beckoning.
Time stretched out as they came together in a tangle of arms and legs. Michael had positioned the quilt to catch the warm rays of the sun, but they were generating their own heat as their bodies flowed together, fitting perfectly, just as they had nine years ago.
But unlike that time, there was no hesitance in her now, no attempt to preserve something of herself for herself. Michael Quinn had been her fantasy lover for years now. How could she deny him—or herself?
Their mouths tasted each other, and their hands traced each other’s shape and texture: smooth skin, bristly hair, sensitive places that summoned soft cries and moans. Slow, lingering kisses. Languorous movements. And beneath it all, the dr
umbeat of passion that built inexorably toward a climax.
When at last it came, Amanda had lost all of herself, yielded up all that was her to him even as she welcomed him into her, body and soul.
“Fire and ice,” Michael murmured as he stroked her slowly cooling body. “That’s part of it, too.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him, seeing his disheveled hair and noting the tiny crescent marks on his shoulders where her fingernails must have dug into his fresh. She felt faintly embarrassed at that, but it faded quickly.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” she said uncertainly, more to herself than to him. And yet, she knew that it was her—or at least it was her when she was with him.
“Not just now,” he said, once again seeming to reach right into her thoughts. “It’s there when you’re in court, too.”
“I hope not,” she replied, shocked because she was always carefully controlled during her court appearances.
Michael laughed. “It’s what makes you so good,” he persisted. “That cool exterior, combined with just a hint of fire underneath it.”
Amanda wondered if she was only now coming to know herself, thanks to him. She moved closer to him. “I do love you, Michael.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know. But it’s still kind of nice to hear you say it.”
But we still have problems, she reminded herself, unable even now to let go of reality.
Chapter Eight
From a big house on the Hill to an old school in the Bottom. Amanda started to frown at the image, then stopped, remembering that at least a hundred pairs of eyes were on her at the moment.
But the image lingered: a metaphor for many things. She’d come here following a successful fund-raiser at the home of an old neighbor on the Hill, where the money spent on food and drink alone was probably more than anyone here spent in several months—not to mention the large checks that had been written on her behalf.
Taking from the rich to benefit the poor? She wanted to see it that way, but she wasn’t sure. Most of the crime was down here, but so were most of the criminals. Every time she offered the victims justice, she was also creating pain for someone else: the mother or wife of the criminal she was prosecuting.
Amanda was part of a panel for drug-free schools night. Beside her was the police community-relations officer. On her other side was the school principal, and at the far end, a woman who ran a shelter program for runaways and out-of-control kids.
Her campaign manager had pronounced it one of the perks of office that gave her an advantage over Neal Hadden, but Amanda had agreed to participate not to get votes, but to learn. Following the opening remarks by all the panelists, there was to be plenty of time for questions from the audience of parents.
The police community relations officer was talking about the current drug scene in the city. Amanda tuned her out, since she already knew what the officer would be saying. Lewis Brogan had instituted regular monthly briefings from the police regarding the current drugs and crime scene in the city, and Amanda had continued that tradition.
She hadn’t seen Michael for two days, though he’d called each evening. His team was in the midst of a search for a drive-by killer who’d wounded his apparent target, but had also killed a nine-year-old girl nearby in the playground of this very school.
Michael. There were more images now, but what she seemed to picture every time she thought of him were his eyes, now lit not only by passion, but also by love. Michael, with his black hair disheveled by her fingers, staring down at her with a warm, glowing love.
It seemed to her that once they had set loose those feelings, there was no stopping them. The words could not be taken back again. And yet the problems remained, despite Michael’s steadfast belief that they could be overcome.
The community-relations officer had finished her summation of the drug scene, and now it was her turn. Amanda talked about the system, in particular the juvenile-justice system, making no secret of the fact that she opposed the current tendency to prosecute children as though they were adults. Her campaign manager had told her, in effect, to keep her mouth shut because it would make her seem soft, and Neal Hadden would quickly take advantage of that.
But Amanda had the statistics on her side and she used them now, arguing that while incarceration was certainly necessary for the most violent juvenile offenders, it was not the answer for the majority of offenders. As she spoke, she wondered what the officer beside her was thinking. It was possible that she agreed, but she doubted that Michael would.
Amanda was a good public speaker, and she knew to make eye contact with her audience, but it was impossible in this setting. The panel sat on a stage, bathed in bright track lighting, while the audience was in shadow: dim figures whose faces she could barely see, and then only those in the first few rows.
When she was finished, the questions began. There was a sharp edge to them, which she’d expected, given the shooting that had taken place yesterday only a few hundred yards from where they all sat. The officer next to her fidgeted under the onslaught, then held up a hand for silence, to no avail.
“Lieutenant Quinn is heading up the investigation and he’ll be here in a few minutes to update you and talk to you,” the officer said, shouting above the din.
Amanda tried not to look startled, but she knew she probably hadn’t succeeded. Then she heard a stirring at the rear of the auditorium, and Michael came jogging down the center aisle. Instead of using the stairs at either end of the platform, he vaulted onto it in the middle. The audience fell silent.
When she got past her astonishment at his sudden appearance, Amanda found herself intrigued. She’d never seen Michael in a situation like this and she was curious about how he would handle it. He’d acknowledged her presence with nothing more than the briefest of nods before he leaped onto the platform, but it was still enough to send little curls of heat through her and make her wonder if he’d keep his promise to sneak into her bed one night soon. She’d given him a key.
Tonight, he was the quintessential Michael. The expensive suit had given way to worn jeans, an open-necked shirt and a dark leather bomber-style jacket that was also old and cracked in places. She cast a side-long glance at her fellow panelists, all of them in suits, and wondered if Michael had deliberately chosen to blend in with the audience, instead of appearing to be part of the panel.
“Look,” he said, his voice strong enough to carry without a mike, “I know you’re all upset about this shooting, and you should be. But don’t start dumping on the police. We’re doing our best, and we’re not getting any help.”
He began to pace back and forth on the stage. “Someone saw something. Someone knows something. And I’m getting pretty damn tired of getting doors slammed in my face. I know you’re scared to talk, but you’d better get over it unless you want more kids to die. Maybe the next one will be yours.
“I’m looking for information. It doesn’t have to be proof. Just give me some names and I’ll lean on them—hard.”
Amanda winced. She could feel the eyes of the community-relations officer on her. She probably expected her to stand up and protest Michael’s suggestion of police aggression. In fact, she found it rather surprising that no one in the audience had spoken up. But there was scarcely a murmur from them.
Michael reached into the pockets of his jacket and pulled out two thick packets of what looked like business cards. He held them up to the audience.
“I’ve got cards here with a phone number. It’s for an answering machine. I’m going to pass them out. Take a couple of them and pass them along to your friends and neighbors. I don’t need the names of the callers. I just want information.”
Then he jumped down off the stage and began to work his way back along the rows, handing out cards. From what Amanda could see in the poor light, everyone was taking them.
Her gaze shifted briefly to the small group of reporters in the front row. Would they report what he said about “leaning” on
any suspects? Or would they ask her to comment on his statement?
After Michael had gone, the principal, who was acting as moderator, urged the audience to cooperate with the police and then asked for questions for the panel.
Amanda could almost feel the room settling down again after Michael’s dramatic appearance. His voice, urgent and harsh as his words had been, contrasted sharply with the more reasoned tones of her fellow panelists and herself.
There were a few questions for her, but most of them were for the principal, since the audience knew him best. He deflected some of the questions to the others, including her, but for the most part, Amanda remained silent as she thought about Michael’s appearance and wondered just how far he would go to capture this killer. She’d been hearing occasional stories for years about his methods, about how he sometimes came very close to the line—and maybe went over it.
She was so lost in her thoughts that the voice didn’t actually register until the last possible second. Then her eyes widened and she peered out into the dim light. Tina Jacobs! There couldn’t be two people with that little-girl voice and that lisp!
The principal had someone down in the audience with a mike to make the questions heard. Amanda found him and then saw the slim figure retreat into a seat near the back as the principal began to answer her question: something about an after-school program.
No matter how hard she tried to see into those back rows, Amanda could make out nothing more than shadowy figures. She shifted nervously in her seat, nearly unable to keep herself from jumping up and going back there. She couldn’t let her get away!
It seemed to take forever for the questions to come to an end. Amanda felt like a coiled spring, ready to launch herself into the audience the moment the principal brought the proceedings to an end.
In reality, however, she managed to get up with the other panelists, then murmur something about needing to find a rest room before taking off. She saw the reporters starting to surge toward them, so she used the stairs at the other end of the platform.
Lawman Lover Page 14
