by Ana Leigh
"Chicken, Detective?"
Doug frowned and turned back to the guard. "What was that?"
"Just looked to me like you were going to turn tail and run. I'd be disappointed."
"Oh really? And why's that?"
"Judge Kirkland's a nice lady. Smart and pretty and plain good people."
"So?"
"So she deserves some happiness."
"And I would come into this where?"
"You make her happy."
"You figure?"
The guard waved at the bank of televisions. "I see a lot."
Doug narrowed his eyes, remembering what time he'd left Jessica's apartment a few mornings ago. If this guy was planning to mention it, Doug planned to rearrange his face.
"Relax," the guard said. "I watch people leave for work and come back home every day. I get to know when they're happy, when they're sad. You can tell just by how a person walks."
"Uh-huh."
"And the judge was really happy tonight."
The uneasiness that had been plaguing Doug since he'd asked Jess to come to the game suddenly drained away. She was happy tonight. So was he. Couldn't they just leave it at that? At least for a little while.
Doug grinned at the guard. "Thanks, pal."
"Any time."
* * *
Jessica opened the door almost as soon as he rapped. Her smile was tentative. "Hi."
She wore jeans and a Milwaukee Brewers jersey emblazoned with the number nineteen. Doug's eyebrows rose at that. Robin Yount. And the thing looked real – white with blue stripes, a home team jersey from the glory days of the '80s. Hell, with the people she knew, the jersey had probably come right off Yount's back. But no one had bothered to mention to her that you don't wear sports memorabilia, you hang it in a case.
"You think I could talk you out of that shirt?" he asked.
"Already?" Her brow creased. "Won't we be late?"
She thought he meant… The image that followed the heels of that thought made Doug grin. He wanted to kiss her. With her hair in a ponytail and her lips without color, she looked like a girl going on a date. That's what she was – and he was just the guy to take her.
"Never mind," he said. "Ready?"
"Batter up."
As they walked down the hallway to the elevator, her hand brushed his. Accident or design? He didn't care. Clasping her hand, he linked his fingers with hers and swung their arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her confused, sideways glance. He was acting like a kid, but he didn't give a damn. He kept walking, swinging their hands like two teenagers browsing at the mall. As they passed beneath the security camera Doug looked directly into the lens and winked.
* * *
When they arrived at the ballpark Jessica waited on the sidewalk while Doug locked the doors. He joined her and took her hand. The gesture seemed so right, she barely noticed – barely.
"Ever been to a city league game?" he asked when they reached the diamonds.
"No."
"Well, it's different than a Brewer's game."
"How?"
"You'll see." He nodded and waved as a member of his team hailed him. "I have to go warm up." He pointed to a stack of bleachers. "This is our side. Sit up high so you can see. Some of the wives and girlfriends…"
His voice drifted off and she glanced at him to discover he stared at her with a frown.
"Girlfriends?" she asked. "Anyone I should know about? Am I going to have to fight for you, McGuire?"
He didn't smile at her teasing tone. "Would you?"
Something in his face caused her smile to fade. He had that lost little boy look that just dug a hole in her heart. She reached up and ran a finger down his nose, touched the tip to his mouth.
"Sure," she said, meaning to be flippant. The word came out anything but. Her voice, just above a whisper and hoarse for no reason at all, made the single, silly word sound like a promise, or a vow.
His gaze kissed her. He clasped her hand and squeezed it; and her breath caught as it always did whenever he touched her in any way. Their eyes held for another long moment – then someone called his name, impatiently. He took a step back and the moment was gone.
"Do you want a beer?"
"I can manage. You better go."
He turned away mumbling. "A beer, like she'd drink a beer."
Jessica frowned. He seemed to think she was some kind of priss. She had no one to blame but herself after the disastrous Bar Association Ball. Well, she'd show him. She could fit into his world.
Jessica straightened her back and marched up to the concession stand. A huge, burly guy who filled out a Harley T-shirt quite nicely was behind a bar filling plastic cups from twin spigots. He seemed to sense her presence because he continued doing so without even glancing her way. "What'll ya have?"
"A Miller."
"Lite or G.D.?"
"G.D.?" she asked.
He took a longer look at her. His eyes lit on her Yount jersey, and his heavy black brows shot up like startled twin caterpillars. What was it about this shirt that caused such a reaction? It wasn't like she filled it out half as well as the Harley guy did his.
"Genuine Draft, sweet thing, or Lite?"
Sweet thing? Now there was one name she didn't get called much. She should probably be offended, but she sensed it wasn't an insult.
"You look like a Lite kind of girl to me."
"I do? Why's that?"
"If you don't know what G.D. is, then you haven't been around beer enough to drink one."
Now that sounded like an insult. She jabbed a finger at the other spigot. "What's that?"
He grinned. "Red Dog."
"Let me guess – it'll put hair on my chest."
His gaze dropped to her chest, clung to the number nineteen, then came back to hers. "Want one?"
"Fill her up."
"Anything you say, sweet thing."
Beer in hand, Jessica carefully climbed to the top of the bleachers and sat down just in time to see Doug look her way. She lifted her beer in a "here's to you" gesture. He grinned.
"On deck – Doug McGuire."
Some of the players were monstrous. She hadn't seen thighs the size of the second baseman since … come to think of it, she'd never seen thighs that size. Not even on television. Jessica bit her lip. If Doug ran into that guy, he was toast.
Crack! The sound of a bat connecting jerked her to attention. Doug was already running with incredible speed to first as the ball continued its arc toward the outfield. The center fielder backed up to the fence and the ball sailed over his head into home-run land.
"Yes!" Jessica shouted, jumping to her feet, and sloshed beer all over the bench. She set the plastic cup down, then clapped and stomped as Doug ran around the bases. All his teammates met him at home plate and highfived him one by one. Their exuberance was really sort of sweet. She'd never imagined that the tough cops and detectives she met in her courtroom spent their evenings playing games, but if anyone needed a little levity in their lives, it was these men and women.
Right before Doug went back to the bench, he stopped and gave her a thumbs-up sign, which she returned. When she sat down she found the coffee klatch of women had all turned around to stare at her.
"Hi, I'm Jessica," she said.
A couple of the women gave her weak smiles, but did not bother to introduce themselves. Then they all turned around, and she was left staring at their backs again. A few minutes later they resumed talking, but in hushed whispers. Still, Jessica wasn't deaf, and she heard most of what they said. She felt like she was in high school again – the too-smart, geeky kid left out of the prom queen's clique.
"Isn't that—?"
"Shh! Yes."
"What's she doing here with Doug?"
"Probably what you'd be doing with him, if you could," one taunted. The remark set up a round of laughter among them.
"Did you see them on TV?"
"I thought he was going to throttle her."
"Maybe he did later."
"Kinky, Deb. Kinky."
"Hey, when I look at McGuire, I think kinky."
Jessica wanted to press her hands to her ears. It seemed like the people in their respective worlds resented her and Doug's relationship. She turned her attention back to the game, and found that if she concentrated, she could forget that only a few feet away she was being diced and roasted.
Well, she'd come here with Doug, for Doug, and she was going to watch Doug – which was really no hardship.
He was right – this was nothing like the Brewers. The hits were all flyouts or long, hard line drives. The throws came down to the wire. The slides proved physical and dangerous. A lot of shoving, swearing and manly swaggering went on. The recent rains had soaked the field just enough to make the dirt beneath the dust the consistency of mud paste.
Doug came to the plate again, hit a double and went plowing into the colossus on second. The second baseman went flying. Doug headed for home on the next hit, slid face first into the catcher, and when he stood up his face was one big mud ball, but his teeth flashed through the ooze, and his eyes laughed.
Jessica hated to admit it, but she was hooked.
Bottom of the ninth and Doug's team was winning by a solitary run. Jessica went to get another Red Dog. It was kind of an acquired taste. Before she could get back to her seat the inning started, and she remained behind the dugout rather than climb past the wives again.
The thought gave her pause. Did she want to become a cop wife? She remembered back to the first time she'd eaten dinner with McGuire – the waitress who'd lost her cop husband and now cared for her injured cop son. Could Jessica bear such fear every day of her life? She'd lived with the remnants of violent death for a long time, and she still wasn't over it. She'd never be over Karen's death. But how would it feel to love a man, live with him, hold him, bear his children and lose him to a violent death?
Jessica winced and took a huge gulp of beer. Better not to go there. With McGuire the question would never come up, so why worry? Enjoy while the enjoying was good – that was going to be her motto for the duration of this relationship – if that's what you wanted to call whatever she and McGuire had.
"Geez, Jessica, let it go!" she ordered. Luckily, the crack of a bat and a cheer from the bench drew her attention away from hopeless speculation and back into the real world.
Jessica didn't see Doug – not in the field, and not on the bench. Then the catcher stood and threw the ball to the pitcher. She'd know that butt anywhere. The next batter up was that colossus second baseman.
"Two out," the umpire called, holding up one hand for the guys in the field.
Colossus didn't even wait to see what the pitcher was throwing; he swung at the first pitch and hit a long fly ball to deep center.
"Catch it, catch it, catch it," Jess chanted, moving forward until her nose was pressed to the chain-link fence behind home plate.
The center fielder missed the catch, but swooped up the ball and immediately hitched his arm back to throw for home. At first Jessica didn't understand what was happening. Not until she saw Doug yank his mask off and put his body in front of the plate.
Her gaze shot to third. The runner had already rounded third and was barreling for home – and McGuire.
Jessica groaned. The collision would send Doug into the stratosphere.
Seconds before the colossus hit him, Doug caught the ball, and put his glove down for the tag. Colossus's shoulder caught Doug in the chest, and he flew all the way past home plate.
He hit with a thud, a grunt and a puff of dust. Then he lay still. The crowd went quiet.
"Did he hold on to the ball?" someone shouted.
Doug's arm shot up, the softball clutched in the heart of his glove. His teammates erupted into cheers. He stood up, his gaze went to the stands, then he frowned.
But Jessica had already slipped past the fence. She launched herself into his arms before she realized she still held the Red Dog. Beer showered them, mixing with the dirt. She started laughing, then he kissed her, and she stopped long enough to kiss him back.
He lifted his head and looked down at her. "What did you think?"
"Yogi Bern couldn't have done it better."
"Yeah, he was good, too."
Then he grinned – dirt, and sweat, and beer, and man.
It wasn't until they walked down the hallway of her condo that she noticed him limping. "Hey, what's the matter, hero?"
He shrugged. "I'm getting too old for this."
"Didn't look like it to me."
"Well, it feels like it to me." He unlocked her door. "You want to go eat as soon as I wash off this mud?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "We can order a pizza. The way you look, you'd be considered a health hazard right now."
"Me?" He smirked. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing that my whirlpool tub won't fix. You can wash off and work out the kinks."
He shook his head. "Tub! I don't sit in my own dirt."
"You do have a way with words, McGuire. The tub is for your aches and pains. I'm just trying to be helpful."
"I've got an ache you can help."
She gave him a saucy smile. "Sounds like time for a plea bargain. Water, soap, pizza – in that order … and then—"
"Water and soap – to hell with the pizza," he said, heading for the bathroom.
The sound of a shower pinging merrily told her Doug had not taken her advice about the whirlpool. Scooping up his dirty clothes, she tossed them into the washing machine, then stripped and tossed hers in as well.
He really should soak his knee, she thought. Perhaps there was another way to persuade him of the merits of warm swirling water.
A smile was all she wore as she let herself into the steaming bathroom. It took her five minutes to fill the whirlpool and slip beneath the bubbles.
* * *
Stepping out of the shower, Doug had the surprise of his life. Submerged in bubbles up to her neck, Jess lazed in the bathtub, her eyes closed and her auburn hair pinned up on the top of her head. The fragrance of the scented bath caressed his libido like fingers stroking his spine. Drying himself off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to the tub.
"You look very sexy in that tub, lady."
She opened her eyes. "You look very sexy in that towel, mister. Why don't you climb in and test the waters?"
"I'd rather smell you than smell like you. How long are you planning on staying in there?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I figure I'm good for about thirty seconds more." And he wasn't joking. Lord how that woman turned him on! As exciting as that was, it scared the hell out of him. No woman had ever made him feel this vulnerable. He needed sex like any guy, but there'd never been a woman before that he had to have – until Jess.
She looked up with a smile that cut his estimate time down to fifteen, then she stood up. Water and bubbles raced down the length of her, hugging the curves with the same tenacity of an Olympic luge racing the clock – the same as he was at that moment. He grabbed a bath towel and spread it open. She stepped into it, and his mouth was on hers before he finished wrapping the towel around her.
The kiss was wet and hot. Their tongues mated in the seconds it took to swoop her up in his arms. The few yards from the bathroom to the bed looked the length of a football field, but he made it. Then she was under him, and the sweet smell of her filled his nostrils – the soft flesh of her, his hands.
She was as ready as he – every inch of that luscious body flushed, satiny – and throbbing. For sure, neither of them needed any more foreplay. As if thinking about this moment in the past days apart hadn't been enough, the unfinished session in her office today had escalated their hunger.
He entered her, and she cried out his name in ecstasy. Then his mind and body merged, sinking deeper and deeper into the remembered rapture of Jess.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Af
ter sex Doug had never been a cuddler. No way would he ever lie basking in the afterglow. He'd always fallen asleep, or gotten out of bed and left.
Now as he lay with Jess asleep in the curve of his arm, her head resting in the cradle of his shoulder, and the soft flutter of her warm breath on his flesh, he figured it would take a SWAT team to blast him out of the bed.
He felt good. Jess felt better. He nudged her closer. He loved touching her. He stroked his hand along the satin surface of her arm, which was flung across his chest, and wove his fingers into the silky mass of her hair. The fragrance from her scented bath was all over her, over him – the way she'd been all over him, the way he'd been over her.
Neither of them held back anything when they had sex. That's what made it so good. They met on a level playing field, and the different worlds they traveled in became nonexistent.
His arm tightened around her. Yeah, it would take a SWAT team to get him out of the bed, all right – or his damn cell phone. He cursed silently as the persistent buzz of it impugned the quietness.
Easing his arm out from under her, he got off the bed. The phone was on the dresser where he'd left it, along with his gun and badge. He checked the caller ID. Same old, same old. After a grumbled conversation with the duty sergeant, he hung up the phone and began to look for his clothes.
Suddenly a flood of light from a bedside lamp illuminated part of the room. "What are you looking for, Doug?" Jess asked. She sat up in bed, sleepy-eyed, disheveled and looking sexy as sin.
He felt like a fool stumbling around in the dark. A naked fool. "I have to go. Where are my clothes?"
"Still in the dryer. I'll get them."
"No. Stay in bed. I'll find them and get out of here."
He dressed hurriedly. Thank goodness he'd brought jeans and shoes to change into after the game, but he'd forgotten a shirt.
Doug returned to the bedroom. Jess had turned off the lamp. Grabbing his belongings from the dresser, he went over to the bed. "I'll call you." He gave her a quick kiss and got out of there fast.
* * *
Yellow tape roped off the crime area at the river. There were a couple of patrol cars on the scene with the officers standing around fending off spectators. A fellow from the crime lab had just finished taking photographs and another was bagging the body. Doug halted him long enough to kneel down and take a look at the victim. He recognized the dead man immediately: Sam Bellemy, one of his and Vic's old collars. The man had raped and murdered an eight-year-old girl, and beat the rap on a technicality. One of the touchy issues between him and Jess.