The Burden of Desire

by Natalie Charles

  She thought about it, but concluded by shaking her head. “I don’t know. But I know your father, and he’s never going back to jail.”

  * * *

  Ben gripped the wheel as he pulled into the parking lot at the courthouse, wondering what the hell was wrong with his car this time. He’d just had new tires put on, and the car was handling poorly, veering off to the side of the road. He parked at the end of the lot and got out, slamming the door shut behind him. Piece of garbage, this car. He checked the tires. That explained it. One, two—no, three flat tires.

  Ben knew he was making a mistake when his brother, Nate, had offered to sell him his car, but he had just come back home and the price was right. The clunker had been nothing but trouble, and Ben fought his mounting suspicion that he’d been sold a lemon. A broken side-view mirror, a mouse nest under the hood, a strange humming noise every time he went above fifty miles an hour, and now three flat tires. He and his little brother were close, but next time, he’d trust his gut. He pulled out his cell.

  Seven-thirty, and Mike wasn’t in the repair shop yet. He spoke to the voice mail. “Mike. Ben McNamara. Hey, listen—you just replaced four of my tires two days ago, and three of them are flat. I’m at my office, and I’m not paying for a tow. Call me when you get this.” Damn.

  He and Sally were meeting the detective on the Kruger case at the crime lab in a couple hours. Now he’d have to ask her for a ride. Part of him was irritated, and the other part couldn’t believe his luck. That would be the same part of him that couldn’t stop thinking about her, and thinking too much about Sally was dangerous.

  No sense overthinking the attraction. She was a cute girl with great legs—legs that looked strong and capable, suggesting she could hike a mountain as easily as she could track bargains in a department store. But lots of women had nice legs, and Sally’s happened to come with a high maintenance trifecta of designer clothing, manicures and temper tantrums. He’d been burned by difficult women before, women who demanded fresh flowers on a regular basis and jewelry on special occasions. Women whose egos filled the room, and who thought they were worth the migraine. They were never worth the migraine.

  Not that Ben was looking to settle down just yet. Not at any point in this lifetime. He’d realized a few years ago that he wasn’t marriage material. Maybe because the thought of being tied to one woman for the rest of his life made him itch as if he’d been wrapped in wool. Maybe because he’d once imagined himself to be the marriage type, and then reality had proved him so very wrong. There was some comfort in loneliness and in knowing that he wasn’t responsible for anyone but himself. God knows he’d had times in his life when he could barely handle even that much responsibility. He was done with relationships, finished with one-night stands. In his mind, the simple elegance of being alone was sadly underappreciated.

  Ben ran his hand along his tires, looking for nails or pieces of glass, but came up empty. He straightened again and sighed, turning his thoughts back to Sally. He’d asked her to give him a second chance, and maybe it was time for him to do the same for her. He admitted he wasn’t perfect—hadn’t he been running from his own mistakes for most of his life? Outwardly, he’d been a success by any measure. First in his class at Columbia Law, then a prestigious job on Wall Street, where he’d met and fallen in love with a woman in marketing. He’d worked hard for all of it, and then he’d gone and drunk it all away.

  He’d started drinking in high school, after his father died. A shot of vodka here and there, just to sleep at night without dreaming of his dad disappearing below the surface of the lake for the last time. Even now the memory of that moment was like a fist to the gut, and Ben still didn’t dare answer the question he’d posed a thousand times: What kind of person watches his father drown? But he’d stood by and watched him sink like a rock into the grainy, dark depths of the water, not fully believing his father was capable of something as human as death, not knowing what to do. Ben’s cowardice had killed his father, and that was a burden he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

  The drinking helped at first, but over time the smoldering guilt intensified to a blaze that couldn’t be extinguished, not even temporarily, with one drink. And so he’d taken two a night, then three. He’d measured his life in shot glasses, then lost count of the drinks and began to measure his life in mistakes. One-night stands. Drunken brawls. Missed deadlines. He’d nearly lost his job, and nearly killed his fiancée.

  Ben’s jaw tightened. So Sally liked to shop, and sometimes she acted like an indulged child. He’d stood by and watched his father drown. What gave him the right to be so damn judgmental?

  He’d made plenty of mistakes, and he regretted what he’d done to Sally. She’d been different, and he’d realized it right from the start. He’d never had to work hard to attract women, but Sally made him want to work. He’d bought her coffees before their morning contracts class, and he’d asked to review her notes. Beneath her sparkle and veneer, she was effortlessly smart, and he’d found it fascinating. At first he’d been interested in the chase. She was a challenge, nearly untouchable, and he’d wanted to win her attention.

  For months, he’d worked hard to prove himself worthy. He’d followed her like a lost dog, slowly and deliberately working to earn her trust, and then once he had it, he’d violated it. She’d been hotter and sexier than he’d imagined, and after they’d dated for a few months, she’d told him she loved him. He’d panicked. He could have formed a meaningful relationship with her, or at least told her the truth. Instead he’d taken the coward’s way out, hopping right into bed with a different classmate, someone he barely knew, trying to convince himself that he didn’t feel anything for Sally. Because in those years, his lost years, numbness was the only feeling he could handle.

  He trekked across the parking lot toward the courthouse. She hated him still. He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed in his presence. He supposed he should feel flattered that she thought about him enough to maintain such hatred. He’d often thought of her, too, even halfway around the world, but his thoughts had been different. While she probably imagined some form of horrific revenge, he’d thought of apology. What he would say, if he saw her again, to make her realize he wasn’t the monster she thought he was. Not anymore.

  He climbed the stairs to his office and unlocked the door. The place seemed to have shrunk since yesterday, with all the Kruger files scattered across the floor. Once upon a time he’d had an office with a view of downtown Manhattan, and now he had a converted janitor’s closet. The room even smelled vaguely of bleach.

  At least he was close to home. His family lived less than an hour away, and his mom had been recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s. For the first time since enlisting, Ben could go home for a weekend if he wanted, or if his mom needed his help. Being so close made him feel grounded in a way he hadn’t for as long as he could remember. Even if it wasn’t glamorous, there was something reassuring in the familiar.

  He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Sally standing in the doorway, her lithe figure backlit. Ben was relieved to see that she was dressed in a white blouse, a pink cardigan and tailored brown pants. Her blond hair was smoothed into place by a thin headband. Today’s look was elegant. No bare legs, thank God. He needed to be able to think straight.

  “Detective Maybury is meeting us at the lab at nine,” she announced. “We’ll have to take separate cars. I’m meeting my parents after work. They’re taking some cooking class where they make crusted goat cheese things, and then they invite me over for dinner and I have to tell them how delicious their flan is.” She took a breath. “It can be exhausting. They get so needy about it, and I don’t even like flan, you know? It’s something with the texture. But I have to go, because they’re my parents and I need to be supportive, and anyway, I promised to help my mom move some boxes of books that she’s donating to charity.”

  A smile tugged at his mout
h. Nice that she was talking to him, at least. “Good morning, Sally.”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she lifted her hand to cover her bare throat. “That was a lot of information.”

  “You were on a roll. I didn’t want to stop you.” He powered on his computer and opened the blinds. “Have you been here long?” He suspected he already knew the answer. She was jittery, as if she’d been pounding cups of coffee for a few hours.

  “I got here at six. I couldn’t sleep.” She tilted her head. “I’m not actually experienced in this sort of thing. This media attention. Some reporter said that I’d been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation into my competence. That was on the front page of The Journal.” A line appeared between her eyebrows. “I called him to chew him out. I don’t know where he got that information. A correction will be made online, but there’s nothing he can do about the print copies. I’m mortified.”

  Ben let out a sympathetic sigh. “I can’t say that I blame you, but we’re going to figure this out, Sally. Your good name will be cleared.” He frowned. His computer was accusing him of not shutting it down properly. “But we can’t take separate cars. I have three flat tires.”

  She smirked. “What, were you driving through a nail field?”

  “Funny. I just had new tires put on. I suspect shoddy workmanship.” He typed in his computer password. “I thought I knew the reputable places, but I may have been mistaken.”

  She was studying the pictures he’d stacked on his bookshelf. Mostly they were ones he’d taken while traveling, but he had a photo of some of his buddies in Afghanistan. He’d hang them at some point, when he had more time for interior design. She was looking intently, not even bothering to hide her interest. “Are these your friends?” she asked.

  “Were. Two of them were killed by a suicide bomber. The third lost his legs.” He couldn’t talk about it without the words clogging his throat.

  She was quiet for a moment, and ran a fingertip across the glass. “That’s really sad,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m glad you’re okay.”

  She picked at the ends of her hair, and he looked away. She was glad he was okay? That made one of them. He’d felt nothing but gnawing guilt at his survival since that day. He should have been with them. Who was he, to have been spared? They were good, decent men who’d deserved to come home, while he’d entered the military because he’d had nothing to live for. He should have taken their place. He coughed and pretended to be interested in the error message that continued to pop up on his computer screen.

  She wasn’t satisfied with the silence. “Why did you come here, Ben? Why Bedford Hills?”

  “I grew up in this area of Connecticut. I wanted to come back.”

  “But it’s so different from the city. And then being in a war zone.” She set the pictures down again. “Bedford Hills is quiet. You’re going to be bored here.”

  “There’s nothing boring about murder victims coming back to life.”

  She was studying him, her heart-shaped lips relaxed as she seemed to look at him for the first time. Sally was soft today, almost vulnerable, and he thought about how it might feel to pull her into his arms and protect her. A foolish thought from someone who should know better. Sally could look after herself. She may not have factored into his decision to return home, but there was nothing boring about her, either.

  She scrunched her forehead and chewed her lower lip, as if thinking about saying something. They both jumped at the sound of her cell phone.

  “Sorry.” She looked down and made a face. “Wait. I have to take this.”

  * * *

  She ducked out into the hallway. The number that had come up belonged to James Kruger, Mitch and Ronnie’s teenage son. She hadn’t talked to him in a few weeks, but they’d exchanged numbers at one point in the investigation.

  “Sally Dawson.”

  “Attorney Dawson? It’s James Kruger.” His voice sounded tight with anxiety. “Can we talk?”

  “James. Good to hear from you. Yes, of course we can talk. What’s on your mind?”

  “In person,” he added. “I’m downstairs.”

  She looked at her watch. He’d rolled out of bed to meet with her this early? This had to be pretty important. “Yes. Sure. Come right up and I’ll meet you.”

  They clicked off. She knocked on Ben’s door. “We have a special guest. James Kruger.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he rose from his chair. Sally tried not to watch too intently as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his black suit jacket. Another designer suit—Gucci, if she had to guess. The man was impeccably dressed. Distractingly gorgeous, and well dressed. These thoughts would do her no good.

  “Just give me a minute,” he mumbled, leaning back toward his computer. A series of chimes rang out as he tapped on the keyboard.

  “Whatever.” The nonchalance of her response belied her sudden and inexplicable interest in his strong profile and angular jaw. He hadn’t worn his glasses today, and for some reason that made his gaze appear even more intense than usual. She thought of how it might feel to be the subject of his scrutiny, to feel her stomach flutter as he undressed her with his eyes. Dangerous thinking, indeed.

  She stepped back into the hallway and pretended to examine a flyer on a corkboard. Look, someone’s selling a barely used washing machine—interesting. There was something decidedly unsexy about large household appliances. She’d seen plenty of washing machines in her lifetime, and not a single one had made her swoon. Then Ben entered her thoughts unbidden, shirtless and glazed with sweat, laboring over a washing machine. Turning screws and lifting sides and just being manly about it, with his broad shoulders tensing with effort, his biceps tightening. Her head felt a little light.

  No. She’d vowed that she would be professional today. Yesterday she’d allowed her emotions to get the best of her, and that was understandable, given the day’s developments. But today was about professionalism and reining in her overactive imagination. No more sneering at Ben. No more being rude. He’d done her a favor by convincing Jack to involve her in this investigation, and maybe he wasn’t a complete snake. Maybe he was trying.

  Her attempt at professionalism was quickly challenged when he brushed past her in the hall. He smelled mouthwatering, and how was it possible that in all these years, she’d almost forgotten how hot he was? Except more so now that he had the upright posture of a military man and the strong, confident stride to go with it. As they walked down the hall, he led the way, stopping only to allow her to pass through doorways first.

  No sneering and no leering. But she did check out his backside. Just a quick look, more accidental than deliberate. Shoot, she lamented. His rear end was perfect, which meant she might accidentally end up stealing another look, and that was completely unprofessional.

  This had to stop. This was Ben. She still couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to ask her to dinner after all these years. Who did that? Confident seemed like an understatement. Arrogant, perhaps?

  She smoothed her hair as they came to the reception area. Professionalism. Besides, she was in no position to become involved with Ben, or any man, for that matter. Her hand flew to her abdomen. Might as well put such dangerous thoughts out of her head. Even if it had been a depressingly long time since she’d been intimate with a man. Even if Ben had once treated her to the best sex of her life.

  Good God. Professionalism was in short supply this morning, wasn’t it?

  James Kruger was in her line of vision as they entered the area. His gaze was darting nervously around as if he’d just wandered in and didn’t quite know where to go. What did he have to be so worried about? His mother was home safely, after all.

  She’d never known James to dress up, and he hadn’t changed. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt that was fraying at the seams. She wouldn’t try to guess wh
at substances had caused the several obvious stains on the front. His jeans weren’t torn, at least, but worn thin at the knees and stringy at the bottom edges. His light brown hair was long enough to fall into his eyes, and Sally fought the urge to groom him, reaching up instead to brush aside her own nonexistent bangs. The silver ring in his bottom lip was new. They’d had a discussion the last time they’d met about what might be appropriate to wear to court. Nothing on his person made that list. He was dressed for comfort, and must be feeling agitated.

  “James.” Sally took his awkwardly offered hand. “Good to see you. This is my colleague and partner, Ben McNamara.”

  “Pleasure.” Ben shook the young man’s hand warmly, and Sally couldn’t help but observe a change in James’s eyes. He was interested in Ben.

  Poor kid just learned his father hadn’t killed his mother, and he was probably desperate for a stable male role model. It made sense that he’d be interested in a clean-cut man who exuded confidence and stability.

  Sally gave James a smile and touched him gently on the shoulder. “Let’s go talk.”

  They walked to a small meeting room lined with bookcases that held old law reporters. Some of the volumes curled at the spine, and the room itself smelled vaguely like dusty paper. Sally pulled out a chair for James and then seated herself beside him. Ben sat across the table from both of them, but his eyes were fixed on the teenager, a touch of concern creasing his forehead.

  “Have you seen your mom yet?” Sally kept her voice gentle, knowing this was tricky territory. James had been set to testify against his father in his mother’s murder trial; the family dynamic had to be complicated.

  James’s face was dark, but he nodded. “I’m back home now.”

  Sally started at the news. “Oh. That’s wonderful, James.” She wasn’t certain she meant it. “So you and your mom. Is your dad home, too?”

  His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

  A silence extended for a moment before Ben spoke. “What brings you here, James?” He had both hands on the table and he leaned forward, looking every bit the sophisticated older brother. “You seem like you’ve got something heavy on your mind.”