by Diana Palmer
“Let’s hope not,” Bentley said.
Marquez gave him a keen glance. “He’ll probably stay in jail voluntarily, to keep from having you come at him again. That was some tackle.”
Bentley shrugged. “I used to play football in college.”
“I played soccer. Don’t get to do much tackling, but I can knock a ball half a block with my head.”
“Is that why it looks that way?” a familiar voice drawled from the cubicle doorway.
“Kilraven,” Marquez grumbled, “will you stop stalking me?”
“I’m not stalking you,” the tall man said easily. “I’m just waiting for you to answer my ten phone calls, six voice mails and twenty e-mails.” He glowered at the younger man.
Marquez held up his hands. “Okay. Just let me finish up with Miss Drake and Dr. Rydel and I’ll be right with you. Honest.”
“No hurry,” Kilraven said, smiling. “I’ll be standing right out here, intimidating lawbreakers.”
“Thanks for looking out for Kell,” Cappie told him.
“What are friends for?” he asked.
“How would you know, Kilraven, you don’t have any friends,” a passing detective drawled.
“I have lots of friends!”
“Oh, yeah? Name one.”
“Marquez!”
“He’s your friend?” the detective asked Marquez, sticking his head into the cubicle.
“He is not,” Marquez said without looking up as he glanced over the statements one last time.
“I am so,” Kilraven said in a surly tone.
Marquez gave him a speaking glance.
Kilraven moved back out of the cubicle, muttering to himself in some foreign language.
“I know what that means in Arabic,” Marquez called after him. “Your brother speaks Farsi fluently and he taught me what those words mean!”
A rolling barrage in yet another language came lilting into the cubicle.
“What’s that?” Marquez asked.
Kilraven poked his head in and grinned. “Lakota. And Jon can’t teach you that—he doesn’t speak it. Ha!”
He left.
Marquez grimaced.
“He’s really very nice,” Cappie said.
Marquez leaned toward her. “He is, but I’m not saying it out loud.” His expression became somber. “I’m working on a cold case with him and another detective,” he said quietly. “It involves him. He’s impatient, because we got a new lead.”
Bentley nodded quietly. “I know about that one. One of my vet techs is married to the best friend of our local sheriff. I hear most of what’s going on.”
“Tragic case,” Marquez agreed. “But hopefully we’re going to crack it.”
Bentley got to his feet, tugging Cappie up with him. He winced as she turned toward him.
“I appreciate the copies of those X-rays,” Marquez added, walking out with them. “Everything we can throw against Bartlett will help put him away.”
“He’d better hope he never gets out,” Cappie said. “My brother will be waiting for him if he does.”
Marquez chuckled. “If it hadn’t been three to one against, and your brother hadn’t been in a wheelchair, I’d probably be helping defend him on homicide charges.”
“No doubt,” Bentley replied somberly.
Cappie frowned. “Is there a conversation going on that I don’t know anything about?” she asked.
Bentley and Marquez exchanged covert glances. “Just commenting on your brother’s justifiable anger,” Bentley told her easily. He caught her fingers in his. “Let’s go see your brother and tell him he’s about to have a new brother-in-law.”
Kell was a little better, until he saw Cappie’s face. He swore brilliantly.
“I know how you feel,” Bentley said. “But for what it’s worth, Bartlett probably looks much worse. It took two detectives to pull me off him.”
Kell brightened. “Good man.” He winced at his sister’s face, though. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll heal.” She didn’t mention the potential surgery she might have to undergo. There was no need to worry him even more. “Detective Marquez said that Frank won’t get out for a long time. He expects one of Frank’s accomplices to turn state’s evidence. If they charge him with battery on both of us, he’ll do some serious time.”
“I expected Hayes Carson to show up here and ask me for a statement for what Frank did to me in Comanche Wells,” he murmured.
“I imagine he’s giving you time to get over the surgery,” Cappie said.
“Probably so.”
“Have you spoken to the surgeon yet?” Cappie asked.
He smiled. “Yes. He’s optimistic, especially since I have feeling in my legs now.”
“At least something good may come out of all this misery,” she said gently.
Kell was looking at Bentley. “Just before we came up here to the hospital, she said she didn’t want to live in a town that also contained you. You told me part of the story, but not any more than you had to. She was going to explain, then they knocked me out with a shot. Care to comment?”
“I made a stupid decision,” Bentley said with a sigh. “I expect to be apologizing for it for the rest of my life. But she’s going to marry me anyway.” He gave her a tender smile, which she returned. “I can eat crow at every meal, for however long it takes.”
“I stopped being mad at you while you were beating the stuffing out of Frank Bartlett,” she pointed out.
He glanced at his bruised, swollen knuckles. “I’ll have permanent mementoes of the occasion, I expect.”
“You’re getting married?” Kell asked.
“Yes,” Cappie said. She touched her face gingerly. “Not until the swelling goes down, though.”
“And not until I’m able to walk down the aisle and give you away,” Kell interjected.
Bentley pursed his lips. “I could get Chet and Rourke to carry you down the aisle to give her away,” he offered.
“The last wedding Chet went to, he spent the night in jail for inciting a riot,” Kell pointed out.
Cappie frowned. “Exactly how well do you know Chet and Rourke?” she asked pointedly.
He groaned. “Oh. The pain. I need to rest. I really can’t talk anymore right now.”
Cappie’s eyes narrowed on the drip catheter. “Doesn’t that thing automatically inject painkiller into the drip while you’re post-surgical?” she asked.
Kell kept his eyes closed. “I don’t know. I feel terrible. You have to leave now.” He opened one eye. “You can come back later, when I’ll be much better as long as you don’t ask potentially embarrassing questions. If you do, I may have a relapse.”
“All right,” Cappie sighed.
He brightened. “Be good and I’ll tell you how to get past the Hunters in ODST.”
“Cash told you?” she asked.
He chuckled and winced, because moving hurt. “Not without a bribe.”
“What sort of bribe?”
“Remember that old Bette Davis movie, where she murders her lover and then has to blackmail the man’s widow over a letter that could convict her?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s called The Letter…it’s one of my favorite…” She stopped. “You didn’t!”
“Hey, it’s not as if you watch it that much,” Kell protested.
“Kell!”
“Do you want to get past the Hunters, or don’t you?” he asked.
She sighed. “I guess I can always find another copy of it somewhere.”
“That’s a nice sister,” Kell said.
“If I buy you another one,” Bentley interrupted, “will you tell me how to get past the Hunters?” he asked her.
They all laughed.
Two weeks later, Kell was walking down the hall, wobbling a little, in his pajamas and robe while Cappie held him up. The swelling in her cheek had gone down, but it still had a yellowish tinge to it. Kell was much better. He was learning how to walk all over again, courtesy of th
e rehab department in the Jacobsville hospital.
“This is slow,” he muttered.
“It is not,” Bentley retorted, and the sound of gunfire came from the television in the living room. “Ha! That’s one Hunter down!”
“Rub it in,” she called. “It wasn’t even your favorite movie you had to sacrifice to learn how to do that!”
“I bought you a new one. It’s in the DVD player,” he called back.
“Fat lot of good it’s doing me, since that game console hasn’t been off for five minutes all day,” she muttered.
“Stop picking on my future brother-in-law,” Kell chided. “It isn’t every man who can make tortillas from scratch.”
“He only did it to butter you up,” she told him.
“It worked. When’s the wedding, again?”
“Three weeks from now. Micah Steele says you’ll be able to manage the church aisle with just a cane by then. And we can hope there won’t be a large animal emergency anywhere in the county during the ceremony!” she raised her voice.
“I’m borrowing a vet from San Antonio to cover the practice for me until we’re back from our honeymoon in Cancún,” he said. They’d picked the exotic spot because it had been the dream of Cappie’s life to see Chichen Itza, the Mayan ruin.
“I hope the vet knows he’s covering for you,” she said.
He chuckled. “He does.”
“The guest list just keeps growing,” Cappie sighed. “I’ve already sent out fifty invitations.”
“Did you put Marquez and the assistant D.A. on the list?”
“Yes,” she said. “And Rourke and Chet, too.”
Kell groaned.
“Chet won’t start any riots. I’ll have a talk with him,” she promised. “They took good care of me in San Antonio,” she added.
“Yes, but I was the one who took down Frank,” Bentley called. “Can you believe that little weasel tried to sue me for assault?” he added huffily.
“He didn’t get as far as first base,” Kell assured him. “Blake Kemp had a long talk with his attorney.”
“Why would our D.A. be talking to a defense attorney in San Antonio?” Cappie wanted to know.
“Because the defense attorney wasn’t aware of the familial connections of the defendant’s assailant,” Bentley murmured. “Ha! There went another Hunter!” he exclaimed.
Cappie blinked. “Familial connections…?”
Kell leaned down to her ear. “Don’t ask. The upshot is that the lawsuit is going nowhere. Fast.”
Cappie was still staring at Bentley. “What familial connections?” she persisted.
“The governor is my first cousin. Ha! Another one!”
“Our governor?” she exclaimed.
“We only have one. This game is great!”
Cappie sighed. She looked up at her handsome big brother. “The game is not going with us on our honeymoon,” she said firmly.
Bentley gave her a roguish glance. “Not even if I tell you how to get past the Hunters?”
“Well, in that case, maybe I could reconsider,” she chuckled.
Kell did make it down the aisle with a cane. The little country church in Comanche Wells was filled to capacity. Only people they knew got an invitation, but there was still standing room only. A good many of the guests were in uniform, either military or law enforcement, on one side of the church, while a number of Eb Scott’s guys were seated across the aisle from them. Covert glares were exchanged. Down the center aisle marched Cappie in her lovely white gown with what seemed acres of lace and a pretty fingertip veil. She was carrying a bouquet of yellow roses and wearing a smile that went from ear to ear.
She held on to Kell’s arm tightly, so proud of his progress that she beamed with happiness. He was already talking about a new job working for Eb Scott at his anti-terrorism school. She was really curious about how well her brother seemed to know any number of Eb’s employees, but she hadn’t made any comments. She was still indebted to Eb for lending her Chet and Rourke, who were seated together in the front of the church. Around them were her former and present coworkers, including Keely and Boone Sinclair. Boone’s sister, Winnie, was being watched with real intensity by Kilraven, dressed in an expensive suit in the row behind her.
She and Kell stopped at the altar, where he gave her hand to Bentley. He was beaming, too, so handsome that Cappie just sighed, looking up at him with gray eyes that adored him.
The wedding service was brief, but poignant. Bentley lifted the veil and bent to kiss her with such tenderness that she had to fight tears.
Then he led her down the aisle to the back of the church. The people who hadn’t been able to squeeze into the church were waiting outside with what seemed like buckets of rice and confetti. They were totally drenched in both as they ran to the white limousine that was to take them to the town civic center, for the reception.
They fed each other cake, posed for wedding pictures and generally had a wonderful time. There was a live band and they danced together to a slow, romantic tune, which lasted for all of two minutes before Cash Grier, with his beautiful wife, Tippy, signaled to the band leader.
There were grins, a fanfare and then a furious and delicious rendition of the classic tune “Brazil.” But Cash didn’t start dancing, as everyone expected him to. He glanced toward Bentley with a chuckle and a flourish.
Bentley gave Cappie a wicked look. “Shall we?”
“But, Bentley, you can’t dance…can you?” she exclaimed.
“I couldn’t,” he confessed, taking her onto the dance floor. “But Cash gave me lessons. Okay. One, two…three!”
He twirled her around in the most professional sort of way, in a mixture of samba, cha-cha and mambo that she followed with consummate ease while people on the sidelines began to clap.
“You’re terrific!” Cappie panted.
“So are you, gorgeous,” he chuckled. “Are we good, or what?”
About a day and a half later, they repeated the same exact dialog to each other, but for a totally different reason.
Lying exhausted and bathed in sweat in a huge double bed in a beachfront hotel in Cancún, they could barely move.
“And I thought you danced well!” she laughed. “You’re just amazing!”
“Why, thank you,” he drawled, grinning. “May I return the compliment?”
“Yes, well, I think I’m a quick study,” she sighed.
“Not so nervous anymore, I notice,” he murmured.
She laughed. She was almost a basket case of nerves when they checked into the hotel that afternoon. She loved Bentley, but she had no real idea of what it was going to be like when they were alone together. But he was understanding, patient and gentle as he cradled her in his arms in a big easy chair and fed her shrimp from a big platter of seafood that room service had brought up. Of course, he’d also fed her champagne in increasing amounts, until she was so relaxed that nothing he suggested seemed to disturb her.
Slow, tender kisses grew slower and more insistent. He coaxed her out of her clothing with such ease that she barely noticed until she felt the cool air on her skin. Even then, the way he was touching her was so electrifying that her only conscious thought was to see how much closer to him she could get. There was one little flash of pain, easily forgotten as he kissed her with delicate sensuality and lifted her back into the fiery hunger the hesitation had briefly interrupted. Her mind had gone into eclipse while her body demanded and pleaded for an end to the tension which he built in her so effortlessly. Finally, finally, she fell over the edge of it into a blazing heat of fulfillment that exceeded her wildest expectations.
“And I used to think you were reserved!” she laughed.
“Only when I’m wearing a white lab coat,” he murmured drowsily. He opened his eyes, rolled over and studied her pretty pink nudity with lazy appreciation. “Would you like me to get up and put on a lab coat, and be reserved?”
“I would not,” she retorted, pulling him back down. She
kissed him intensely. “I’d like you to be unreserved all over again, starting right now.”
He slid over her, his hair-roughened chest grazing the hard tips of her pretty breasts. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more, Mrs. Rydel.”
She would have answered him back, but she was much too involved for speech.
They wandered through the ruins at Chichen Itza hand in hand, fascinated as they strolled around the wide plain that contained the pyramidal Castillo and the other buildings that made up the Mayan complex.
“It must have looked much different when it was occupied, all those hundreds of years ago,” Cappie mused, her eyes everywhere.
“There were probably even more people,” he chuckled, glancing at the crowds of tourists that abounded, even this time of year. He handed her his huge water bottle and waited for her to take a sip before he followed suit. The bus trip here was hours long, and it would be after dark before they got back to their hotel. It was something they’d both wanted to see.
“It’s a lot different, being here, than seeing it on television,” she remarked.
“Most things are,” he replied. “Until they can discover a way to let you touch and smell distant ruins, it won’t be as much fun to watch it on a small screen.”
She stopped and looked up at him with her heart in her gray eyes. “I never thought being married would be so much fun.”
He hugged her close. “And we’re only at the beginning of our marriage,” he agreed, his blue eyes soft as they scanned her face. “I hope we have a hundred years ahead of us.”
“Me, too.” She pressed into his arms and closed her eyes. “Me, too, Bentley.”
She went back to work for him in the practice. She’d argued that if Keely, who was happily married and well-off, could keep working, she could, too. He hadn’t protested too much. It delighted him to be able to see her all day long.
“Don’t you want a cat?” Keely coaxed the week after they came back from their honeymoon. “I’ve got six little white kittens that Grace Grier asked me to find homes for, and I’ve only placed four of them.”
