All a Man Can Do

by Virginia Kantra

  The case against Brown was circumstantial at best. At this point, Jarek was grasping at straws. Jumping at shadows.

  Brown stopped outside an ordinary interior door: fiber-board pressed to resemble wood, with a simple lock and one of those machine lettered signs that read, Utility Closet—Staff Only.

  Brown unlocked the door, leaving a dark, uninviting crack, and moved back a couple of paces. "You go ahead. It's dumb, but with everything else that's been going on, I guess I'm a little nervous after all."

  You and me both, Jarek thought.

  He took one step forward. Two. And then, alerted more by the silence than by any sound or change in the air behind him, Jarek ducked.

  The baseball bat swung over his head and cracked into the opposite wall.

  Holy St. Mike.

  Crouching, Jarek pivoted. His emotions shut down. His training took over. Brown staggered, his body twisting, thrown off balance by his missed swing. Jarek launched up, jabbing at exposed kidney. His fist connected, hard, with soft tissue, and Brown grunted. The bat clattered to the floor.

  Jarek followed through with a drive. Brown's hands came up, trying to push at his face, trying to gouge at his eyes. Jarek wrenched his face away, wrapped his arms around the big man's waist and tackled him to the floor. His shoulder slammed the wall as they went down. Brown's head hit the door with a thump like a ripe cantaloupe. The door crashed half open before it bumped against something on the floor.

  Brown scrambled in sick desperation, pushing weakly at Jarek's arms. But the kidney punch and the dive into the door had finished him.

  Panting, Jarek hauled and rolled the bar owner's heavy body out of the dark doorway. "I hope your head hurts worse than my damn shoulder."

  Straddling the other man's thighs, Jarek reached behind his waist with one hand for his cuffs.

  And heard a sound that chilled his blood.

  A muffled whimper from behind the door.

  Chapter 17

  "You took ten years off my life back there," Jarek said in the elevator going up to Tess's apartment. "And, honey, at my age, I don't have that kind of time to spare. Don't do it again, okay?"

  "It's not like I had a choice," Tess said, indignant, and then staggered as the elevator lurched to a stop. She gave Jarek a shaky smile. "Uh-oh. Guess I'm not as recovered as I thought."

  "Tell me something I don't know," Jarek muttered. He scooped her up and cradled her against his hard, muscled chest.

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you sure you should do this? At your advanced age and all?"

  "Don't mess with me, Tess. I'll lock you up."

  "Promises, promises." She traced the crease in his cheek with one finger. "How's your shoulder?"

  "It's fine. I'm fine. Where are your keys?"

  She maneuvered to get them out of her purse. He unlocked the door and carried her over the threshold like a bride.

  "Bedroom?" he asked succinctly.

  This could be good, Tess thought, her heart quickening hopefully. She waved a hand toward the hall. The cat trotted after them as Jarek carried her through the apartment and laid her on her bed.

  But he didn't join her there.

  He knelt on the floor beside her bed and slid off her shoes.

  He rolled down her socks. "Nightgown?"

  "Uh—"

  He stood and pulled open her top dresser drawer. "In here?"

  "Yes."

  He disregarded the tumbled satin and lace in favor of her old comfort cotton, the one she kept for lonely Friday nights and lazy Sunday mornings. "Arms up," he said, approaching the bed.

  He undressed her with impersonal care, as if she were his patient. He pulled back her covers and tucked her in as if she were his daughter.

  Tess was hurt and confused. Sickened by Tim's deception and shaken by his crude handling, she was physically sore and emotionally tender.

  She wanted cosseting.

  She wanted closeness.

  She wanted Jarek's solid body naked next to hers, and he was withdrawing behind this wall of imperturbable care.

  "That's it?" she said.

  "Do you want a drink?" Jarek asked.

  "No, I do not want a drink," she snapped.

  "Do you want your pills? The doctor in the E.R. said you could have another one at seven."

  Tess sighed. If she couldn't have Jarek, she could drag herself to sleep. "Fine. I'll take a pill."

  Jarek pulled the bag with her prescription out of his jacket pocket and shook one of the super strength painkillers into his palm. He fetched her a glass of water from the bathroom and stood over her while she swallowed her medicine.

  "There," he said with satisfaction. "That will take care of you."

  The words awoke a sour echo of Tim Brown's threats: I have to take care of you now.

  Tess shuddered.

  Jarek frowned. "Do you want another blanket?"

  She was cold, but not from the temperature in her room. She was cold and sick and lonely at heart, and she wanted Jarek to warm her. But he had already done so much. She didn't have the right to expect more. She didn't have the right to ask.

  The black cat crept from the doorway and jumped up on the corner of the bed. It slunk forward until its nose just touched Tess's arm. Prompted, she rubbed its hard, sleek head, and was startled by its rusty, unfamiliar purr. Tears filled her eyes.

  "Your cat's happy to have you home," Jarek said gruffly.

  Tess cleared her throat. "Relieved," she said. "She knows where her food comes from. Did I thank you for coming to my rescue? Again?"

  "Only about twelve times. You can stop now."

  "I really am grateful," she insisted.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Tess, I don't want your gratitude. I was only doing my job."

  She didn't want to hear that. She didn't want to be a part of his job to him, like an unpleasant duty he was forced to perform.

  "Lucky for me you're good at your job."

  "Your brother doesn't think so. I thought he was going to punch me out at the hospital."

  "Given that he's still hooked up to about three machines, I think you were safe."

  "He was worried about you."

  "I was worried, too." She tried to joke. Good old Tough-As-Nails Tess. "I was afraid the hospital was going to keep me overnight and make us share a room like we did when we were kids."

  "They should have," Jarek said harshly. "They should have kept you more than a couple of hours for observation."

  She liked being home in her apartment, in her bed, with him. Even if he was insultingly reluctant to join her.

  "Sherry Biddleman said I was fine. I didn't need to be admitted to the hospital."

  "You have no idea what you need," Jarek said.

  She was afraid she did. She needed him. Too much.

  So of course, she crossed her arms on top of the covers and stared him straight in the eye and lied. "I don't need anything."

  Jarek rubbed the back of his neck. "You know what your problem is?"

  "I feel sure you're going to tell me."

  "You're too independent."

  The injustice of his accusation robbed her of breath. But not for long, "I'm independent? What about you? You didn't even tell me you suspected Tim."

  Jarek blew out a sharp breath. "I suspected everybody. Tess, be reasonable. I can't tell you every lead in an on-going investigation that might not pan out. You're a reporter."

  She didn't want to be reasonable. She didn't want his logic. She wanted his love. She wanted his energy and passion. Even his anger was preferable to his Officer Frosty routine.

  She said, nastily, "I am not a reporter. I am the reporter you're sleeping with. Or maybe that's not important to you."

  His mouth compressed. "You're the one who set the limits on this relationship."

  Maybe he was right, and she was just too miserable to care. Or maybe not. She thought of him kissing her hot and hard on her living room sofa and then saying in
his cool, deep voice, Have I asked you for a commitment?

  And her ego shattered, and all her insecurity and temper spilled out.

  "Oh, and you've been totally up front with me," she said. "Chief Does-It-Have-To-Mean-Anything Denko. You've held out on me from the beginning—about your family, about your job, about my brother being a suspect." She felt the hot tears well in her eyes and willed them back. "You can go to hell."

  "Tess—" Jarek took a step toward her. Stopped. "I think at least I should go home," he said gently. "You're tired. You've had a couple of really tough days. We should discuss this when you're rested."

  "Discuss it, hell," she said. "I'm not even speaking to you."

  He studied her a minute with cool, gray eyes. That betraying muscle ticked beside his mouth. She held her breath in hope.

  "I'll see you in the morning," he said, and walked out of the room. She heard him lock the apartment door behind him as he left.

  Isn't that just fine, she thought.

  And burst into tears.

  Isadora DeLucca frowned at the television screen, where the author of Losing the Losers in Your Life was extolling her program and selling her book to a fascinated and mostly female audience.

  "I know this was filmed in Chicago," Isadora said, "but I just cannot agree with that woman."

  Tess looked up from applying a last coat of polish to her nails. "What woman, Mom?"

  "That—that author." Isadora sniffed. "I mean, does wanting someone always have to be wrong?"

  Tess squinted at her new color. Deep blue, to match her mood. "It is if they don't want you back," she said dryly. At least, it was supposed to come out dryly. To her astonishment and shame, Tess heard her voice quaver. Her eyes filled. Her nails blurred.

  "Oh, baby." Her mother left her chair and sat by Tess on the couch. Folding Tess in her thin arms, Isadora laid her cheek against her daughter's hair. "What is it? What's the matter? You can tell me."

  Tess hadn't told her mother anything—anything significant, anyway—since she was nine years old and making excuses to Mark's kindergarten teacher about why Mrs. DeLucca couldn't attend a parent-teacher conference.

  What good would it do?

  What had her mother ever done to heal her or rescue her or make things all better? What could she do now?

  And yet there was comfort in her mother's thin, fierce embrace. There was genuine invitation in her voice.

  And Tess, like the confiding teenager she'd never allowed herself to be, blurted, "He didn't call."

  "Who didn't call, sweetie? Jarek?"

  Tess nodded miserably.

  "But—" Isadora twisted her head to look at the table next to the sofa, where a bouquet of bright daisies nodded from a blue enameled cup. "He sent you flowers."

  Tess sniffed. "A get well bouquet." With a note that read, Can't get away. And signed simply, Jarek.

  Isadora smiled. "What did you want? Red roses?"

  The humiliating thing was that was exactly what Tess wanted. Red roses, white lace, four bridesmaids and the whole nine yards.

  "I don't know," she muttered.

  "Don't know?" Her mother eyed her shrewdly. "Or won't say?"

  Tess picked at a fleck of blue polish along one nail. This confiding business was not going exactly as she hoped. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

  Isadora sighed. "Tess, all your life you've pretended that what you wanted isn't important. It seems to me that this would be a good time to figure it out."

  Right. Tess had had nothing but time. All the long and lonely sleepless hours of the night. "I guess I want— I guess I need him to tell me I'm important."

  "Have you told him that?"

  "Well…" As if she could. "No."

  Isadora's back straightened. "Tess, you're a wonderful girl. You've been a wonderful daughter. But for someone who's always made a big deal about honesty, you haven't been very honest with Jarek about your own needs."

  Tess stopped fussing with her nails. "Shouldn't he know?"

  "He's a detective, sweetheart. Not a mind reader. You should tell him."

  You haven't been very honest.

  Tess took a deep breath. "I'm afraid to," she admitted.

  "Afraid? Sweetie, you've never been afraid of anything in your life."

  "I'm afraid I'll tell him, and he'll say no."

  "Oh." Isadora looked sadly at her hands. "That's my fault."

  "Oh, no, Mom, I—"

  Her mother reached over and took Tess's freshly manicured hand between both of her own. "You grew up being disappointed. That's my fault." And then she added, firmly, "But it's your fault if you let that disappointment shape the rest of your life."

  Tess's mouth jarred open.

  And the doorbell rang.

  Isadora gave her daughter's hand a final pat and stood to answer the door. "I wonder who that could be."

  "Wait!" Tess unfolded her legs and reached for her hair. She needed a brush. She needed lipstick. She needed—

  "Jarek," Isadora said warmly. "How nice to see you."

  "Mrs. DeLucca. How's—"

  "Tess?"

  That was Allie's voice, Tess thought, confused. That was Allie, pushing past the grown-ups at the door to stand in front of the couch with worried eyes and a truculent expression.

  "Are you all right?" the ten-year-old demanded.

  Something loosened in the region of Tess's heart, and she had to fight to keep from grabbing the kid and hugging her hard.

  "I'm fine," she said, and it was almost true.

  Allie nodded. "Good."

  She launched herself at the couch, and Tess, despite her surprise, managed to catch her.

  "Dad said everything was fine, but that's what he always says. So I made him come and get me so I could see."

  Was that why he was here? Or was that why he was late?

  "I was kind of worried," Allie said, the words muffled against Tess's chest.

  Tess swallowed the lump in her throat and cuddled the girl closer. "Well, your dad was right. Everything's good. Everything's great, in fact."

  At least, it would be if she had anything to say about it.

  "Hey." Allie lifted her head. "Your nails are blue."

  "I guess they are."

  "Can you do mine blue, too?"

  Tess refused to meet Jarek's eyes. "You bet."

  Allie squirmed around on the couch, so that her slim shoulder butted Tess's side. It felt good, Tess decided. It felt right. "Is that your cat?"

  Over by the bookshelves, the black cat crouched, watching the action with wary green eyes. "It is now," Tess said.

  "Cool. Does it have a name yet?"

  "Not yet," Tess said.

  Allie sighed with satisfaction and said, "I could help you pick one out."

  "Allie," Jarek said warningly from by the door.

  His daughter shot him a mutinous look from under her lashes.

  "Why not?" said Tess, feeling reckless.

  "Maybe we could discuss naming the cat later?" Jarek suggested.

  She made the mistake of looking at him, and the warmth in his eyes bumped her heart into her throat.

  Isadora held her hand out to Allie. "Do you like ice cream?"

  "Are we trying to leave them alone?" Allie asked.

  "I think now would be a good time," her father said, never taking his gaze from Tess's.

  Her breath stuck in her chest.

  "Okay." Allie hopped out from under Tess's arm. "We'll see you guys later, then." Tess heard her say to Isadora, "I like mint chocolate chip."

  The door closed behind them. The apartment seemed very quiet.

  Jarek looked at Tess huddled on her couch, with her brave blue nails and uncertain mouth, and felt his world shift and right itself, with her as its center.

  "How are you holding up?" he asked quietly.

  She lifted her chin. "Okay."

  "I spent the morning with the D.A.," he told her, since some words seemed required. "We put a rush on the lab and
got a match linking Brown to Judy Scott. We're still working out the timetable for his attack on the Logan girl— he may have swiped her wallet, and then called her to come pick it up. At the very least, he'll be charged with aggravated assault and murder in the first degree."

  "Is this for the record?"

  Jarek grinned. He should have known that nothing—not abduction or attempted murder, not his daughter's embarrassing attempts to co-opt her cat or Jarek's own damn clumsiness—could keep her down for long.

  "That's for you," he said. "I'll give you a formal statement for the paper later."

  She still looked unconvinced. So much for talking.

  He crossed the room and sat on the couch beside her. His weight already had her tipping toward him even before he took her in his arms. He felt the slight resistance in her shoulders, and then she relaxed and leaned into him.

  That was better. She smelled terrific, a combination of soap and scent and Tess. His brain shut down as he held her, just held her, for long moments. She felt wonderful. Warm and alive and real and right.

  She turned her face up for his kiss. His hands tightened on her arm, at her waist. He kissed her, kissed that soft, full mouth. So warm. So giving.

  He gave and took in equal measure, filling his hands with her, with the cloudy darkness of her hair, the soft curve and dip of hip and waist, the slope of her breast.

  She sighed and sagged against him. And then she pulled away. "Wait a minute."

  Her lips were red and parted from his kisses. Her eyes were miserable and determined.

  Jarek's heart squeezed. "What?"

  "There's something I have to say."

  Hell.

  "Now?"

  Tess's courage almost failed her. Jarek was so gorgeous, with those little lines of impatience between his brows and that combination of amusement and heat simmering in his eyes.

  What they had was good. What they had was great, in fact. Why screw it all up by asking for more?

  But she wanted more.

  Her mother's words jabbed her with their honesty. It's your fault if you let disappointment shape the rest of your life.

  "Yes, now. There's something you've got to know."

  She thought he stiffened. "I'm listening."

  Here goes, she thought.

  "I love you," she said baldly.