“I mean, showing up late like that. I was worried sick.”
“That,” he said, grinning, “was not on purpose. We were having problems with the wire and I didn’t want anything to go wrong.”
“So the ‘other deal’ was just a fast makeup?”
“Yup.”
“Damn, you’re fast on your feet, Dibbins,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. “So that whole thing wasn’t planned?”
Dave shrugged. “Nope, pretty much seat-of-the-pants time.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Only when things get screwed up in a hurry,” he replied, laughing.
“So, when he went for his gun…?”
“Oh, I wasn’t risking that again—that’s when I’d had it.”
“So that’s when you changed the plan.”
“No, Tiempo changed the plan,” Dave pointed out. “I just made it work for us.”
Stevie shook her head again, not sure that she’d ever be as good as Dave but hoping she’d get a chance to find out.
“You know,” Dave said, “it would have been helpful to know it was just going to be you, me, and him.”
“I didn’t know it till the last minute. He dismissed everyone else, said I was all the protection he’d need.” Stevie grinned as she stated the last.
“Oops,” Dave said, grinning back.
They continued dinner in companionable conversation, eventually moving into the living room. The more Stevie talked to him, the more she realized how completely in control of himself he was. And the more she wanted to make him lose his control. To that end, she moved forward on the couch and kissed him. It was a deep, hungry kiss that held all of the relief that she had stored inside. Dave’s hands moved to her back, drawing her closer, pulling her over to his lap. The kiss lasted for a long few minutes, during which they both became breathless.
“I need you,” Stevie said when she pulled away for a moment, her voice a breathy gasp.
Dave nodded, standing up and pulling her with him. He kissed her again before turning to lead her down the hall to his room. They removed each other’s clothes, and he sat down on the bed; she stood in front of him, leaning down the few inches to keep contact with his lips. He held her back, caressing her. Her hands on his shoulders pushed him back onto the bed. He pulled her down with him, then with surprising strength held her against him as he moved them both up, her body over his.
Stevie kissed him again, her tongue sliding between his lips, probing his mouth hungrily. His kisses were as hot and hungry as hers. Stevie pulled back to look down at him.
“I want to do this to you,” she said huskily.
Dave looked back at her, staring up into her eyes as if trying to read her meaning there. He apparently understood what she meant, because he nodded, closing his eyes slowly as if to prepare himself.
Stevie kissed his lips again, then proceeded to move along his neck, his collar bone, his chest. Touching him, tasting him, making him moan and shudder, his hands grasping at her. He finally lost the control he’d held on to so tightly and begged her to make love to him. When she did they were both more than ready. He said her name over and over again as her body slid down over his, and she cried out at the contact and the heat. They reached a quick and fervent climax.
They lay together afterward, not talking, just catching their breath and drifting. She still lay with her body over his, her face buried against his neck. She moved her lips to his ear, kissing it softly and whispering, “Thank you.”
Dave knew what she meant, and he knew it had nothing to do with the sex. She was thanking him for helping her. He turned his head, leaning down slightly and kissing her lips softly. “You’re welcome,” he whispered against them. They drifted off a few minutes later and slept soundly through the night.
The next morning, Stevie felt Dave kiss her on the cheek as he left. She turned over, glancing at the clock. 5:30 a.m., his surfing time. She shook her head, unable to fathom how he could get up so early even if it was for recreation. She was still asleep when he got back at 7:30. He showered and climbed into bed with her. Stevie snuggled up next to him. He smelled like soap and aftershave.
“Mmm…” she said as she snuggled against his neck.
Dave grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She moved her head back so he could kiss her lips. He slid his hand around the back of her head, his other arm going around her waist to pull her close. They kissed then, eventually making love. They spent the better part of the morning in bed.
After eventually getting up and having coffee, they lazed about for a while, and then Stevie left to go over to Rhiannon’s to organize her stuff. She had dinner with Rhiannon that night. It was a quiet evening. They talked a little bit, but both were lost in their own thoughts. Stevie wasn’t sure what the meeting with Midnight would produce. Part of her was still terrified that Midnight would arrest her. She’d told Dave that earlier in the day. He’d laughed and reminded her that if Midnight had wanted to have her arrested, she’d had ample opportunity. Stevie couldn’t argue with that logic, but it still worried her. Rhiannon was reliving her last days with her husband, and trying to put her demons to rest.
Rhiannon was twenty-one when she started with the police department. She was her father’s daughter, very gung-ho, having graduated from the academy with top honors. Her father had been shot in the line of duty when she was fourteen; she intended to serve his memory well. Her first day, she showed up to work with her uniform pressed, her shoes shined, her badge proudly displayed. She went to roll call and was assigned her field training officer, her FTO.
She’d been warned by many of her dad’s friends that her FTO might be a major hard-ass on her, especially since she’d been a cop’s kid. She’d worried herself sick the night before her first day—what if her FTO hated that women were becoming cops? What if he didn’t like her? And worse, what if she failed probation?
When she walked up to him, calling him “sir,” he was talking to someone—a woman. She was smiling up at him in obvious infatuation. When he turned around to look at his newest trainee, he grinned. “Don’t call me sir,” he said, his blue eyes warm. “Makes me feel like an old man.”
“I, uh…” Rhiannon had stammered, stunned. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled broadly. “Call me Jason and we’ll get along just fine.”
“Yes, s—I mean, Jason.”
At thirty, Jason Templeton was an all-American quarterback type, with a muscular but not bulky body, blond hair cut short, and blue eyes set in a handsome, square-jawed face. Rhiannon had been around police officers her entire life, but Jason Templeton set her back a few paces. His smile was open, his manner friendly. She wasn’t sure exactly how to react, so she retreated to what she’d been taught her entire life. She gave him respectful silence and endeavored to learn everything he had to teach her.
Jason was an excellent teacher. When she did something wrong, he pointed it out to her in a way that allowed her to keep her dignity. She’d heard of trainees who actually cried at the end of a shift because their FTOs were so hard on them. Jason wasn’t that type of man. He was stern when the time called for it, during situations that could put her in physical danger. He would instruct without barking orders, but would be very concise when the situation warranted it.
Within a month she felt she had learned so much more than she’d ever thought possible. She was grateful to him for his way of teaching. She also understood why so many of her fellow graduates from the police academy envied her luck at getting him for an FTO. He was good, the best, and she had drawn the lucky number. She didn’t realize that the chief of the department had personally arranged it so she would have the best FTO. The chief had been partners with her father, Frank O’Neil, when they both started out on patrol. He had been devastated to lose him. When Frank’s oldest daughter had applied, the chief was determined she’d have the best opportunities he could give her. That was Jason Templeton.
Jason had no idea why he’d be
en assigned to the young woman he was training. He did know that she was an excellent pupil. He had, of course, heard who her father was, and what had happened to him—murdered by a cop-killer while on patrol. Jason had to hand it to Rhiannon—she never mentioned her father or attempted to gain sympathy in any way. She worked hard, and it was obvious she was dedicated to becoming the best cop she could possibly be. He wondered, however, if she ever loosened up. It was apparent to him that she studied all the time. Whenever they’d pull someone over, she knew the correct penal code to write them up, including the level at which she could use her judgment. She was polite, calm, professional at all times—and she was emotionless. From what he could detect, she had no life outside the department. She didn’t meet with friends after her shift, and she didn’t talk about anything other than police work.
Jason had come from a background of police officers. He knew how important it was to cut loose and enjoy oneself when not on duty. He had seen what happened to officers that lived for the job—they died for the job. Some became alcoholics, others became hermits, still others got into abusive relationships because they couldn’t put the job away. Jason had learned very early on that when you were off duty, you needed to let the job go.
In the past month, he had taught Rhiannon a lot about their work. Now it was time to teach her about letting it go. One morning after their shift, he surprised her by asking her to breakfast.
“I…” she said, stammering as she tried to come up with an answer. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, O’Neil, it’s breakfast—it’s not against regulations or anything,” Jason said with his usual smile.
Rhiannon grinned self-consciously. She knew what a hard-ass she sounded. “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a hand in surrender. “I’ll meet you out here in fifteen minutes.” She gestured to the hallway outside the locker rooms.
“Deal,” Jason said, turning and going into the men’s.
Fifteen minutes later, Rhiannon was waiting for Jason when he walked out. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or amused that while she was wearing street clothes, she still wore no makeup and her hair was still up in the usual severe bun. She didn’t do civilian life too well, did she?
“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him.
They walked out to the parking lot, and he led her to his vehicle. His pride and joy—his baby, as he liked to think of it. It was a classic ’56 Chevy, restored with his own two hands—350 small-block engine, racing tires, blue-dot tail lights, chromed-out engine and exhaust, thunder-black paint with the blue-black flames fanning from the hood down either side of the car. All-original black leather interior and a suicide knob on the stick. He had put many years of blood, sweat, and tears, as well as a number of paychecks, into this car.
To his utter relief, Rhiannon O’Neil was suitably impressed. She ran her hand along the fender, walking from front to back, leaned down to check the exhaust pipes, noted the rims, the tires. She glanced up at him as he watched her examine his car and smiled.
“Very nice, Officer Templeton. Fifty-six?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said proudly.
“Original paint?”
“All but one fender.”
She looked closely at the paint job again. “Can’t detect it—good match,” she said approvingly. “Interior?”
“Original.”
“Engine?”
“Some modifications. I like speed,” he said with a smile.
She grinned. “Go figure, Officer.”
With that he opened the passenger door for her with a flourish, inexplicably happy that she appreciated his car. When he got in and started it, he watched her cant her head to the side, listening to the sound of the engine. She nodded, again looking impressed.
“Nice rumbler,” she said, smiling.
They made the short drive to the restaurant. All the while she looked around at the interior of the car. Her hand slid over the flawless dash in obvious reverence. She watched as he shifted, noting the suicide knob and the smoothness of the change. She was indeed impressed.
“So,” he said when they were seated in a booth, “how do you know so much about classic cars?”
Rhiannon shrugged as she looked at the menu. “My dad loved them—used to take us to car shows all the time.”
He grinned. “And I see you learned a thing or two.”
Rhiannon looked up at him, and for the first time he noticed the absolute green of her eyes. They were like perfect emeralds. They always worked together at night, so he rarely saw her in broad daylight, and this morning the sun was shining through the windows of the café and he could see her eyes very clearly. He was stunned for a moment, so much so that he missed what she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, giving himself a mental shake. “What did you say?”
“I said, my dad left me his Mustang. It’s a sixty-seven and a half.”
Jason whistled appreciatively. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
“You can see it when we get back. I drive it every day.”
“Will wonders never cease,” he shot back with a smile.
They ordered their breakfast, and when the waitress walked away, Rhiannon looked him straight in the eye.
“So, Jason, what are we doing here?” Her tone was so matter-of-fact that he almost choked on the coffee he’d just sipped.
He gave a little cough, blinking as if she’d just insulted him. “I, uh…” he said, realizing quickly that he was stammering like she did when he cornered her. “I wanted to talk to you about your social life,” he said, being more blunt than he’d meant to in his haste to take back his composure.
“What social life?” she asked, surprised.
“That, Officer O’Neil, is my point.”
“I don’t get your meaning,” she replied, sitting up straighter. He thought she did indeed get his meaning and she didn’t like it.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you do when you go home in the mornings?”
“Why?” she asked defensively.
“Just tell me.”
“I don’t go home in the mornings.”
His brows furrowed. “Where do you go?”
“I go to the gym,” she said, then shrugged. “It’s less crowded then, and I’m able to work out in peace.”
“So you work out,” he clarified. “For how long?”
“Two hours,” she said, looking mystified at his line of questioning.
“Okay, then what?”
She was silent for a few moments as if hesitant to answer.
“O’Neil?” he prompted.
She sighed. “I go home, polish my boots, clean my leather gear, check my weapon and clean it, then do review.”
“Review?”
“Yes. I review the sections of the knowledge domains that we hit on during our patrol.”
Jason nodded slowly, thinking, Jesus, she’s worse than I thought! “So you do cop stuff.”
Rhiannon looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Templeton, I am a cop.”
“I know that, O’Neil,” Jason replied, his patience slipping a bit at her deadpan comment. “But before you became a cop, you used to be human.”
“I am human!” she snapped.
“No, you’re a walking, talking penal code in a uniform.”
Rhiannon scowled at him, but said nothing for a long few moments. “Are you saying that I’m not doing my job well?” Her tone was even, but her eyes told a whole other story. In them he saw what he could only define as sheer terror.
It was Jason’s turn to sigh, and he shook his head. “No, O’Neil, that’s not what I’m saying.”
Rhiannon swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Then what are you saying?” she asked, her voice suddenly not as strong as it had been before.
Again he breathed a sigh of frustration. This wasn’t how he’d planned to approach this. “Look, in this job we have a lot of stress—you know that.”
Rhiannon nodded
, but said nothing, becoming once again the avid pupil. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her on the table and she was sitting up straight, staring him right in the eye as he spoke.
“We’re on duty 24/7. It takes a lot out of us. We’re not like regular people at regular jobs.”
Again Rhiannon nodded.
“We see more terrible things in one day than most people see in a lifetime. And it takes a toll on us emotionally and sometimes physically.”
Jason paused, seeing that her mind was working and realizing she was trying to come up with an answer before he finished speaking. Without stopping to think, he reached out and touched her hands. “Rhiannon, you need to learn when to stop being a cop for a little while.”
Her expression changed when he touched her hands, then again when she heard the words he’d said. He saw confusion cross her features, then dismay. He knew she thought she was somehow failing as a trainee.
“Rhiannon, listen,” he said, his tone more intent now. “You’re a fantastic cop. One of the best I’ve trained so far. But you can’t be this all the time. You have to take some time out for you.”
She blinked a few times, obviously trying to come to terms with what he was saying, then nodded slowly.
Their food arrived, and he took his hands away. She promptly dropped hers into her lap. They didn’t speak the rest of their time in the restaurant. Jason wasn’t sure if he’d gotten through or if he’d just hurt her feelings immeasurably. He hoped for the former.
On the drive back she was silent, staring out the window. He left her to her own thoughts, not wanting to compound any damage he might have done. When they got back to the department, she got out of the car before he could get out to open the door for her. She leaned down, looking back in at him through the open passenger door.
“Thank you,” was all she said before closing the door. Jason watched her walk into the building, not sure what to think. After a few long moments he drove away, heading for his loft downtown. He spent a number of hours that day thinking about his trainee, wondering over and over again if he’d done the right thing. Maybe he was pushing too hard; maybe she did have a life outside the department and he was assuming too much. Was it wrong for her to want to be the best cop she could be? No, but it was wrong for her to give up living to be one.
Past in the Present (MidKnight Blue Book 9) Page 19