The Children's Cop

by Sherry Lewis

  “Lucy?” Her father’s disembodied voice came out of the darkness behind her.

  Stifling a startled gasp, she turned back. “Dad? What’s wrong? Why are you still up?”

  He moved out of the shadows into the dim light of the foyer. “Come in here a minute, sweetheart. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Those words had always struck terror into her chest as a girl, and Lucy gripped the banister. Memories of poor report cards and the fender-bender she’d tried unsuccessfully to keep from them after graduation filled her with dread. It must be serious if he’d waited up this late. “Is something wrong?” she asked again. Then more hopefully, she added, “Is it something at the condo?” She had been woefully negligent about following through.

  He gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know if something’s wrong, sweetheart. You’re going to have to tell me.”

  Inside the living room, he turned on a lamp and waited for her to take a seat. The expression on his face worried her as much as the lateness of the hour, but if there was a problem, she’d rather deal with it when her mind was clear. “Can this wait? It’s late, and I need to be up early.”

  “I think it’s waited long enough already.” He motioned her toward the couch and sat after she’d perched on the edge of one cushion. “Someone called here for you this afternoon, Lucy. A woman named Cecily Fontaine.”

  Her heart dropped to her feet, but she tried not to panic.

  “She left a message on the answering machine, and your mother was trying to be helpful.”

  “Mom called her?”

  He nodded. “Of course, Dr. Fontaine wouldn’t tell your mother anything, but you know Mom. She did some digging and found out what Dr. Fontaine does for a living.”

  Lucy sank back into the couch and curled her legs under her. She didn’t need Cecily to point out her body language was an attempt to make herself a smaller target. “I guess Mom’s pretty upset.”

  “Worried might be a better word. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  That sad smile curved his lips again. “Well, I can certainly understand that, I guess. Tell me why you feel the need to see a psychiatrist.”

  Feeling all of twelve again, Lucy wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them up in front of her chest. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I think we need to. If something’s wrong…”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said quickly. “Nothing serious, anyway. I just finished with a rough case, and Nick felt it might help me to talk it out with a professional.”

  “And you agreed with him?” Her dad’s forehead puckered and confusion went to war with annoyance on his face. “Is there something so wrong we can’t deal with it within the family?”

  The old fear of failure pulsed through her, but Lucy knew she couldn’t let it slow her progress. She’d been a prisoner to it far too long. “I love you, Dad. I love Mom, too, but neither of you has any experience with what I’ve been going through.”

  “We have experience being your parents. We’ve known you since the day you were born.”

  “Of course you have, but you’ve never knelt in the wet grass outside a construction site and stared into the face of a little boy who’s been murdered because you failed at your job.”

  “Because you failed?” Her father stiffened and his face grew tight. “Who told you that? Who’s trying to blame that on you?”

  “Nobody told me that,” Lucy said, pleading silently with him to understand. “But it’s true.” Her father opened his mouth to argue, but Lucy was quicker. “For a while, I thought I didn’t have what it takes to do this job. I thought that needing help was a sign of some serious failure on my part. But it’s not, Dad. And as long as I do this for a living, I’m probably going to need to decompress from time to time.”

  “You can decompress by talking to your family.” He stood and towered over her. “Montalvos don’t air their dirty laundry in public.”

  “This isn’t in public. I’m seeing a professional in her office. What happens there is strictly confidential.”

  “So she says.”

  “Millions of people see psychiatrists every day—”

  “But not us!” Her father glared at her, angrier than Lucy had ever seen him. “Nothing good can come from what you’re doing, Lucy. Nothing.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. And if you’re smart, you’ll stop those visits and deal with things the way we’ve always done it. At home.”

  “If I stop those visits,” Lucy said quietly, “I’ll lose my job.”

  Her dad recoiled ever so slightly, but his surprise didn’t last long. “Well, if that’s the way HPD wants to play it, maybe it’s just as well.”

  Lucy laughed in disbelief. “You’d rather have me get fired than talk to a doctor? This isn’t like you, Dad. Where did this archaic attitude come from?”

  “I’ve worked hard to create a certain image for this family, and so has your mother.”

  “And if I’m the least bit flawed, I’m going to mess that up?”

  “You’re not flawed.”

  “I’m human. Of course I’m flawed.” The stress of the past few weeks suddenly caught up with her, and she knew she didn’t have the energy or the patience to continue the conversation. If she stayed, she’d only say something she’d regret. She might have gone upstairs to bed, but when she heard the soft tread of her mother’s footsteps overhead, she panicked. She couldn’t face both of them together. Not tonight, when she was so exhausted.

  Stuffing her feet into her shoes, she grabbed her keys and yanked open the front door. “I need to go,” she said, closing the front door and racing down the driveway before he could stop her.

  She heard the front door open. In the spill of light on the lawn, Lucy heard her father calling after her. But she slid into the car, cranked the engine to life and drove away without looking back.

  She thought about Jackson’s question. Would she fight for their relationship if she had to? She wanted to believe she would, but maybe he was right. From the six-pack to her parents, Lucy had a bad habit of running when things got tough.

  If her father needed any more proof that she wasn’t perfect, that was it.

  SHE DROVE AIMLESSLY for more than an hour, before it dawned on her that she had to find somewhere to spend the night. As she saw it, she had four choices. She could go back to her parents’ house, but she didn’t consider that a real option. She could phone one of the six-pack—or could she? She could get a motel room, but she never carried her credit cards with her on the job so she’d have to go back to her parents’ house to get them. Or she could go back to Jackson’s and ask for sanctuary on his couch.

  Five options.

  She could sleep in her car. But that felt a little too pathetic, even for her.

  Ignoring the internal whisper that she was justifying the decision she wanted to make, she drove back through the quiet streets toward Jackson’s condo. Just as she’d suspected, every light in the place was still on. He was no closer to settling down for the night than she was.

  She was crossing yet another line by coming back here, but any direction she turned she’d be crossing a line, either professional or personal. Of all the imaginary lines out there daring her to step over them, this one seemed the least frightening—or maybe it was simply the most appealing.

  Walking quickly, she hurried to the front door and pressed the bell before she could change her mind. She heard his footsteps coming toward the door and saw his shadow through the window. Her courage nearly failed her.

  What did she want from him? Why was she really here? Did she want a temporary bed on his couch, or was she really searching for something more? Would she have the courage to see this through?

  The door flew open and he stood there, framed by the light. His broad shoulders and lazily curling hair got her heart racing in ways that had nothing to do with sanctuary.


  “Lucy? What’s wrong?” He pushed open the screen door and stood aside to let her enter.

  She breathed in deeply as she stepped inside, catching the coolness of the scent he wore and wrapping herself in the energy that poured from him. All her life, she’d thought of herself as a strong, self-reliant person, but never had she been more aware that it wasn’t true. She felt vulnerable and weak, certainly not the kind of woman who could plow through life on her own.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him when she realized he was waiting for an answer. “Nothing about the case, anyway.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, shook her head and cut herself off with a thin laugh. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just…” It was harder than she’d imagined to lay herself bare, but she couldn’t keep going the way she had been. “My dad was waiting for me when I got back to my parents’ house,” she said. “They found out that I’ve been seeing the department psychiatrist for the past few weeks.”

  “And that was a problem?”

  “Apparently.” She let out a shaky laugh, realized it sounded more like a sob, and gave up. “I couldn’t stay there. I’m too tired and emotional, and I was afraid I’d say something I could never take back.”

  To her surprise, Jackson moved close and slid an arm around her shoulders. “What did he say?”

  She leaned into the strength of his embrace. “I know he loves me. They both do, but they’ve created this image of me that I just can’t live up to. I’m not perfect. I’ll never be perfect, and I don’t know how to live up to their expectations.”

  His fingers moved on her shoulder, gently massaging her. “You don’t trust them to love you in spite of that?”

  “I didn’t say that.” His hands worked magic, and in spite of her agitation, Lucy closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment. “My expectations aren’t the issue.”

  He brushed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Why do you think he feels that way?”

  Lucy shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered the same thing. I guess maybe he was just raised that way. I don’t remember my grandparents well, but I do have memories of Grandpa shutting down any time someone showed any emotion.” She laughed uncomfortably. “He must be turning over in his grave watching me.”

  Jackson’s hands slipped lower and set off another round of fireworks inside her. “Some people are more private than others. And I think there’s a generation gap, too. Wiley probably feels a lot like your dad does, but that doesn’t make them right.”

  “Try telling them that.”

  Jackson laughed softly. “I’d rather saddle a wild mare. There are just some arguments you have to realize you’re never going to win. Then you have to decide whether you want to keep fighting, or just quietly go your own way.”

  Lucy soaked in the comforting sound of his voice. “So is this why you don’t offer your opinions on things?”

  “I just don’t see any reason to keep arguing. Wiley’s set in his ways, and I’m never going to change him. I realized that a long time ago. I could keep arguing, but I’d rather be happy than right.”

  Lucy pulled back to look at him. “So your advice is to do whatever my dad wants?”

  “No. I’m saying you should do what you think is best. Just don’t let yourself get dragged into an argument over it. Your dad can’t argue with himself, and you don’t need to justify yourself to him. The only other reason to argue is to prove yourself right, and that’s a lost cause.”

  “That’s easy to say,” Lucy said with a sigh. “It’s not so easy to do.”

  “Hey, I never said anything about easy.” He kissed her softly and moved his hands back to her shoulders. “It’s just that at some point you have to decide. If being right is all you care about, you’re going to be very lonely.”

  That hit a little too close to home. Was that what she’d done with Risa and the others? Had her determination to be right driven them away?

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jackson said. “I never considered how my expectations of Angel might affect her until tonight. I don’t want to be guilty of the same thing your parents are doing. Am I expecting too much out of her? Am I setting her up so that she has no choice but to fail?”

  Lucy searched his face, loving how it was so familiar to her now—the cut of his jaw and the strong line of his cheek, the scar below his ear and the dark shadow of his beard at the end of the day. “You won’t do that,” she assured him.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re aware of it now, and you won’t let it happen. You’ll deliver what Angel needs. And tonight, I’m hoping you’ll deliver a soft place for me to crash. Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” He laughed softly and pulled her close. “You seriously underestimate your charms, Detective.”

  Excitement fluttered low in her belly, but she tried not to let it overwhelm her. She was emotional and vulnerable—but so was he. Neither of them was thinking clearly, and together they were a dangerous mix.

  Keeping his arm around her, he turned toward the bedroom. “You might as well take the comfortable bed. I’ll sleep out here.”

  She battled a flash of disappointment that was nearly as strong as her relief. “I’m not going to put you out of your bed.”

  “Well…” He stopped walking and grinned down at her. “There is another alternative if you’re interested.”

  If she was interested? She moved her arms to his waist and met his gaze solidly. “If you have to wonder about that, I think maybe you’re the one who underestimates his charms.”

  With a low growl, he bent and covered her mouth with his own. His arms tightened around her convulsively and his tongue brushed her lips, teasing them open. She responded eagerly, needing him as much as he needed her, wanting him as much as he wanted her. There was no room for pretense between them.

  He slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom and pulled her against him snugly. She pressed into him, aching, needing, wanting. It had been too long since she’d acknowledged that there was a woman inside of her.

  His hands brushed across her back, skimmed her hips and moved up her sides to her breasts. Conscious thought flew out of her head, and she was nothing but physical sensation. He trailed kisses across her jaw and down her neck, nipped at the soft skin on her shoulder, then lifted his mouth to hers again.

  New flames ignited wherever his hands and lips touched. Jackson slid his hands beneath her T-shirt and she gasped in shock at the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. He was murmuring something in her ear, but she was too far gone to understand more than a few words. She only knew that he called her beautiful, and that tore away what little resistance she had left.

  Burning with eagerness, she tugged his shirt up over his head and tossed it onto the floor beside them. She ran her fingers across his chest and followed them with her lips. Words filled her throat and spilled into her mouth. Words she knew she shouldn’t say, but she had no power to hold them back. “I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered.

  He trailed tiny kisses along her jaw to the corner of her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I mean ever. When I thought you were going back to the ranch tonight, I realized that I don’t want you to leave. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  He drew back slightly, but it was enough. The moment was gone. “Lucy—”

  She’d seen that look before, and she couldn’t bear seeing it tonight. Shaking her head, she slid away from his embrace. “Don’t say it, please. I don’t think I can take hearing that now.” She tried to recapture the strands of hair that had pulled loose from her ponytail, but her hands were trembling too much. “Look, Jackson, I know you have to go back home when this is all over. And I’m not asking you to stay in Houston. I just wish you could, that’s all. It would be nice to get to know you under normal circumstances.”

  He stood to face her, held her cheek with his hand and brushed a quick kiss to her lips. “You have n
o idea how much I wish I could stay for a while.”

  “But you can’t.”

  Tenderly, he smoothed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Not as long as Wiley needs me on the ranch.”

  With Wiley sick, they both knew that would be forever.

  “You could always come to the ranch and stay for a while,” he suggested.

  She smiled sadly. “That sounds nice. I’d like that.” And she would. But a week here and there wasn’t what she’d had in mind. Still, she should be grateful they could do even that.

  He checked his watch and made a face. “It’s nearly three o’clock already. I should show you to your bed and let you get some sleep.”

  Sleep wasn’t what she had in mind, either. But she knew he was right. Much as she wanted him, they’d be smart to wait for some time when they hadn’t both been through an emotional wringer.

  They spent a few minutes arguing playfully over which of them got the bed and which would sleep on the couch, but the air was still charged between them, and there was never any real contest. Jackson gathered a few things from the bedroom, kissed her once more and left her alone to spend the night in the massive king-size bed.

  But even though she told herself repeatedly that they’d done the right thing, she wasn’t really convinced. Wearing one of Jackson’s shirts, she lay down on the cool sheets and tried not to notice that his touch had left every inch of her skin ultrasensitive. But the ache of longing kept her awake, and her ears picked up on every sound as quiet descended on the house. Sleep would be a long time coming—if it came at all.

  MORNING DAWNED HOT, muggy and far too soon. Every muscle in Jackson’s body ached as he stumbled to the kitchen to start the coffee, and his eyes were gritty because he could have counted on his fingers the number of minutes he’d actually slept. When he wasn’t thinking about Angel meeting up with Holden, he was far too aware of Lucy in the other room in that big bed all alone. When he wasn’t thinking about Lucy, he was worrying about Wiley and wondering if he’d made the right decision to stay in Houston for now.