by Nora Roberts
“He knows that. That’s why he’s scared. He’s a good cop. As long as he’s looking out for you, you’re going to be okay.”
“I’m counting on it. He’s got a problem with what I do for a living.” She turned to face him. “You know about that. You know why.”
“Let’s say I know enough to say he’s got his reasons, and when he’s ready, he’ll let you know about them.”
She studied his wide, wind-reddened face. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m always telling him.”
“Bend down a minute.” When he did, she brushed her lips over his cheek. “Thanks.”
His color rose a little higher. “Don’t mention it.”
Ben watched them through the glass door a moment before he pushed it open. He’d used up most of his temper on Harris. All that was left was a dull ache in the center of his gut. He knew enough of fear to recognize it.
“Moving in on my time?” he asked mildly.
“If you’re stupid enough to make room.” Ed smiled down at Tess and handed her some peanuts. “Take care of yourself.”
Tess jiggled the nuts in her hand and said nothing as Ed disappeared inside.
His jacket unzipped, Ben stood beside her, looking, as she did, out over the parking lot. The wind sent a small brown bag racing across the asphalt. “I’ve got a neighbor who’ll look after my cat for a while.” When Tess remained silent, he shifted. “I want to move in with you.”
She stared hard at the flat tire. “More police protection?”
“That’s right.” And more, a whole lot more. He wanted to be with her, day and night. He couldn’t explain, not yet, that he wanted to live with her, when he’d never lived with another woman. That kind of commitment had been dangerously close to a permanency he didn’t consider himself ready for.
Tess studied the peanuts in her hand before slipping them into her pocket. As Ed had said, he was easy enough to read if you knew how to look. “I’ll give you a key, but I won’t cook breakfast.”
“How about dinner?”
“Now and then.”
“Sounds reasonable. Tess?”
“Yes?”
“If I told you I wanted you to go because …” He hesitated, then put his hands on her shoulders. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if anything happened to you, would you go?”
“Would you come with me?”
“I can’t. You know I have to—” He broke off, struggling with frustration as she looked up at him. “All right. I should know better than to argue with someone who plays Ping-Pong with brain cells. You’ll do what you’re told, though, right down the line.”
“I have a vested interest in making this case easier for you, Ben. Until it’s over, I’ll do what I’m told.”
“That has to do.” He backed off just enough for her to realize it was the cop now, much more than the man, who stood with her. “Two uniforms are following you to your office. We’ve arranged for the guard in the lobby to take a vacation, and have already replaced him with one of ours. We’ll have three men taking turns in your waiting room. Whenever it can be arranged, I’ll pick you up and take you home. When it can’t, the uniforms will follow you. We’re using an empty apartment on the third floor as a base, but when you get in, your door stays locked. If you have to go out for any reason, you call in and wait until it’s cleared.”
“It sounds thorough.”
He thought about the four glossies on the corkboard.
“Yeah. If anything, I mean anything, happens—a guy cuts you off at a light, somebody stops you on the street for directions—I want to know about it.”
“Ben, it’s no one’s fault that things have taken this turn. Not yours, not Harris’s, not mine. We just have to see it through.”
“That’s what I intend to do. There’re the uniforms. You’d better get going.”
“All right.” She went down the first step, then stopped and turned back. “I guess it would be improper conduct for you to kiss me here, while you’re on duty.”
“Yeah.” He bent down, and in the way that never failed to make her limbs weak, cupped her face in his hands. Eyes open and on hers, he lowered his mouth. Her lips were chilled, but soft, generous. Her free hand gripped the front of his coat for balance, or to keep him there an extra moment. He watched in fascination as her lashes fluttered, then lowered slowly to shadow her cheeks.
“Can you remember just where you were for about eight hours?” Tess murmured.
“I’ll make a point of it.” He drew away, but kept her hand in his. “Drive carefully. We wouldn’t want the uniforms to be tempted to give you a ticket.”
“I’d just have it fixed.” She smiled. “See you tonight.”
He let her go. “I like my steak medium-well.”
“I like mine rare.”
He watched her get into her car then pull competently out of the lot. The uniforms stayed a car length behind.
Tess knew she was dreaming, just as she knew there were solid and logical reasons for the dream. But it didn’t stop her from knowing fear.
She was running. The muscles in her right calf were knotted with the effort. In sleep she whimpered quietly in pain. Corridors sprang up everywhere, confusing her. As much as she was able, she kept to a straight route, knowing there was a doorway somewhere. She had only to find it. In the maze her breathing bounced back heavily. The walls were mirrored now, and threw dozens of her reflections at her.
She was carrying a briefcase. She looked down at it stupidly, but didn’t set it aside. When it became too heavy for one hand, she dragged it with both and continued to run. As she lost her balance, she thrust out a hand and connected with a mirror. Panting, she looked up. Anne Reasoner stared back at her. Then the mirror melted away into another corridor.
So she ran on, taking the straight path. The weight of the briefcase hurt her arms, but she pulled it with her. Muscles strained and burned. Then she saw the door. Almost sobbing with relief, she dragged herself to it. Locked. She looked desperately for the key. There was always a key. But the knob turned slowly from the other side.
“Ben.” Weak with relief, she reached out a hand for him to help her over that final step to safety. But the figure was black and white.
The black cassock, the white collar. The white silk of the amice. She saw it come up, knotted like pearls, and reach for her throat. Then she started to scream.
“Tess. Tess, come on, baby, wake up.”
She was gasping, reaching up for her throat as she dragged herself out of the dream.
“Relax.” His voice came calm and soothing out of the dark. “Just breathe deep and relax. I’m right here.”
She clung hard, with her face pressed into Ben’s shoulder. As his hands moved up and down her back, she fought to focus on them and let the dream fade.
“I’m sorry,” she managed when she caught her breath. “It was just a dream. I’m sorry.”
“Must have been a beaut.” Gently, he brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was clammy. Ben pulled the covers up and wrapped them around her. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Just overworked.” She drew her knees up to rest her elbows on them.
“Want some water?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She rubbed her hands over her face as she listened to the tap run in the bathroom. He left the light on so that it slanted through the door. “Here you go. You have nightmares often?”
“No.” She sipped to ease her dry throat. “I had some after my parents died. My grandfather would come in and sit with me, and fall asleep in the chair.”
“Well, I’ll sit with you.” After he got into bed again, he put an arm around her. “Better?”
“A lot. I guess I feel stupid.”
“Wouldn’t you say, psychiatrically speaking, that under certain circumstances it’s healthy to be scared?”
“I suppose I would.” She let her head rest on his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“What else is
bothering you?”
She took a last sip of water before setting the glass aside. “I was making an effort not to let it show.”
“Didn’t work. What is it?”
Tess sighed and stared at the slant of light on the bedroom floor. “I have a patient. Or I had one, anyway. This young boy, fourteen, alcoholic, severe depression, suicidal tendencies. I wanted his parents to put him into a clinic in Virginia.”
“They won’t go for it.”
“Not only that, but he missed his session today. I called, got the mother. She tells me that she feels Joey’s progressing just fine. She didn’t want to discuss the clinic, and she’s going to let him take a breather from his sessions. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing.” It was that, most of all, that had slapped her down. “She won’t face the fact that he isn’t progressing. She loves him, but she’s put blinders on so she doesn’t have to see anything that isn’t in straight focus. I’ve been slapping a Band-Aid on him every week, but the wound’s not healing.”
“You can’t make her bring the boy in. Maybe a breather will help. Let the wound get some air.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
It was the tone of her voice that made him shift, and bring her closer. When he’d woken to her screams, his blood had run cold. Now it was pumping warm again. “Look, Doc, both of us are in the business where we can lose people. It’s the kind of thing that wakes you up at three in the morning, has you staring at walls or out windows. Sometimes you’ve just got to turn it off. Just turn the switch.”
“I know. Rule number one is professional detachment.” His hair brushed her cheek as she turned her face to his. “What turns the switch best for you?”
In the shadowed light she saw him grin. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.” She ran a hand down his side until it rested comfortably at his hip. “Right now I especially want to know.”
“This usually works.” In one easy move he rolled her on top of him. He felt the give of firm breasts pressing against him, smelled the fragrance of her hair as it curtained his face. He took a handful and brought her mouth down to his.
How well she seemed to fit. The thought ran through his head. The brush of her fingertips on his skin was like a blessing. There was something about her hesitancy that had his own excitement drumming. If he ran his own fingers along her inner thigh, she shivered, just enough to let him know she wanted him but was still unsure.
He didn’t know why or how it should seem so fresh with her. Each time he found himself holding her in the dark, in the quiet, it was like the first time. She was bringing something to him he hadn’t known he’d missed and was no longer certain he could do without.
Her mouth moved lightly over his face. He wanted to roll her over on her back, pump himself into her until they both exploded. With most women it had always been that last, split second of insanity that had washed everything else away. With Tess it was a touch, a murmur, a quiet brush of lips. So he pushed back that first rage of desire and let them both drift.
He could be so gentle, she thought hazily. At times when they made love, it was all speed, all urgency. And then … When she least expected it, he would be tender, almost lazy, until her heart was ready to break from the sweetness of it. Now he let her touch the body she had come to know as well as her own.
There were sighs. Sighs of contentment. There were murmurs. Murmurs of promises. He buried his hands in her hair as she tasted, almost shyly at first, then with growing confidence. There were muscles to be discovered. She found them taut, and delighted in the knowledge that she caused the tension.
There were bones in his hips, long and narrow. When her tongue glided over them, he arched like a bow. The trail of her finger along the crease of his thigh had his long body shuddering. She sighed as her lips followed the path. There was no more thought of nightmares.
He’d had women touch him. Maybe too many women.
But none of them had made his blood hammer like this. He wanted to lie there for hours and absorb each separate sensation. He wanted to make her sweat and shake as he was.
He sat up, grabbing her hands at the wrist. For a moment, a long moment, they stared at each other in the narrow beam of light. His breath came in pants. His eyes were dark, glazed with passion. The scent of desire hung heavy in the room.
He lowered her slowly, until she lay on her back. With his hands still gripping her wrists, he used his mouth to drive her to the edge. Narrow, delicate, her hands strained against his hold. Her body twisted, arched, not in protest, but in a delirium of pleasure. His tongue slid over her, into her, until she thought her lungs would balloon and explode from the pressure. He felt her go rigid and call out as she came. Her scent spilled into the room. She was limp, boneless, when he filled her.
“I’m going to watch you go up again.”
He braced himself over her, and though each muscle trembled with the effort, went slowly, exquisitely slowly. She moaned, then opened her eyes as the sensations and pleasure began to build again. Her lips trembled open as she started to say his name. Then her fingers dug into the rumpled sheets.
Ben buried his face in her hair and cut himself loose.
Chapter 14
“I appreciate your making time to see me, Monsignor.” Tess took a seat in the front of Logan’s desk and had a quick, not entirely comfortable flash of how her patients must feel during their initial consultation.
“It’s my pleasure.” He was settled comfortably, his tweed jacket draped over the back of his chair, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal sturdy forearms sprinkled with hair just beginning to gray. She thought again that he seemed to be a man more accustomed to the rugby field or racquetball court than vespers and incense. “Would you like some tea?”
“No. Nothing, thank you, Monsignor.”
“Since we’re colleagues, why don’t you call me Tim?”
“Yes.” She smiled, ordering herself to relax, starting with her toes. “That would make things easier. My call to you today was on impulse, but—”
“When a priest is troubled, he seeks out another priest. When an analyst is troubled …” As he trailed off, Tess found her conscious effort to relax was working.
“Exactly.” The fingers on her purse loosened their grip. “I guess that means you get hit from both ends.”
“It also means I have two roads to choose from when I have problems of my own. That’s a matter which has its pros and cons, but you didn’t come to discuss Christ versus Freud. Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”
“At this point, a number of things. I don’t feel like I’ve found the key to the mind of … of the man the police are looking for.”
“And you think you should have?”
“I think being as involved as I am now, I should have more.” She lifted one hand in a gesture that spoke of frustration and uncertainty. “I’ve talked to him three times. It bothers me that I can’t get through my own fear, maybe my own self-interest, to push the right buttons.”
“Do you think you know those buttons?”
“It’s my job to know them.”
“Tess, we both know the psychotic mind is a maze, and the routes leading to the core can shift and shift again. Even if we had him under intensive therapy in ideal conditions, it might take years to find the answers.”
“Oh, I know. Logically, medically, I know that.”
“But emotionally is a different story.”
Emotionally. She dealt with other people’s emotions on a daily basis. It was different, and much more difficult, she discovered, to open her own to someone else. “I know it’s unprofessional, and that worries me, but I’m past the point where I can be objective. Monsignor Logan—Tim—that last woman who was killed was meant to be me. I saw her in that alley. I can’t forget.”
His eyes were kind, but she saw no pity in them. “Transferring guilt won’t change what happened.”
“I know that too.” She rose and went to the window. Belo
w, a group of students rushed across the grass to make their next class.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Naturally. I’m in the answer business.”
“Does it bother you that this man may be, or may have been, a priest?”
“On a personal level, you mean, because I’m a priest?” To consider it, he sat back with his hands steepled. As a young man he’d boxed both in and out of the ring. His knuckles were fat and spread. “I can’t deny a certain discomfort. Certainly the idea of the man being a priest rather than, say, a computer programmer, makes the entire business more sensational. But the simple truth is that priests are not saints, but as human as a plumber, a right fielder, or a psychiatrist.”
“When he’s found, will you want to treat him?”
“If I were asked,” Logan said slowly. “If I believed I could be of use, then perhaps. I wouldn’t feel obliged or responsible, as I believe you do.”
“You know, the more afraid I am, the more essential it becomes to me to help him.” She turned to the window again. “I had a dream last night. A rather dreadful one. I was lost in these corridors, this maze, and I was running. Even though I knew I was dreaming I was still terrified. The walls became mirrors and I could see myself over and over again.” Unconsciously she put a hand to the glass of the window, as she had to the mirror in the dream. “I was carrying my briefcase, dragging it really, because it was so heavy. I looked in one of the mirrors and it wasn’t my reflection, but Anne Reasoner’s. Then she was gone and I was running again. There was a door. I just had to get on the other side of that door. When I got there, it was locked. I looked frantically for the key, but I didn’t have it. Then the door opened on its own. I thought I was safe. I thought—then I saw the priest’s frock and the amice.”
She turned back, but couldn’t bring herself to sit. “Oh, I could sit down and write a very detailed and comprehensive analysis of that dream. My fear of being out of control in this situation, overwork, and my refusal to cut down on that workload. Guilt over Anne Reasoner. My frustration at not finding the key to this case and my ultimate, my very ultimate failure.”