“YOU LOOK LIKE something’s bothering you,” Karin observed.
It was Sunday, and Bruce had stopped by shortly after she’d gotten home from a morning visit to Lenora, who would be in the hospital for some time yet. Karin hadn’t expected him, and could tell immediately that something was wrong. But when her heart jumped and she asked if he’d learned anything about Roberto or the children, he shook his head.
“Had another false alarm yesterday. Cop up in Skagit County reported a man who met Escobar’s description, heading into a grocery store with two young children. Girl’s hair wasn’t very well braided, her clothes mismatched. The little boy was sobbing. The guy didn’t seem to be an experienced parent.” Bruce shrugged.
“But it wasn’t him.”
Karin had been outside when he arrived, intending to work in the garden, and they’d ended up sitting on the porch steps in the sun. Roses and clematis were coming into bloom, their leggy stems disguised by a tumble of perennials. She loved this time of year, but the garden wasn’t having its usual soothing effect. She kept seeing Lenora’s haunted eyes, and now watched Bruce, wondering what had disturbed him.
He was slow answering her observation that wasn’t quite a question. When he did, it was by indirection. “I took Trevor out for pizza last night.”
She nodded; she’d known Bruce’s plans.
“Wade’s true character is coming out. He had a temper tantrum the other day.”
“Oh, no,” Karin said softly. “That poor boy! What happened?”
“The way I understand it, Wade got jealous because Trevor was talking about his mother too much. Wade grabbed the picture of his mom that Trev was holding and smashed it against the wall. Shattered the glass and damaged the photo. Trevor was pretty freaked.”
“He didn’t hurt Trevor, though?”
“Not this time.” Bruce’s tone was flat, anger simmering beneath it.
“Um…are you sure Wade was jealous?”
Incredulous, he turned to stare at her. “What do you mean? What else could it be?”
“Well…” Was this a good idea? Not at all sure, Karin picked her words carefully. “Could he be mad at MaryBeth? That is her name?” She glanced at him for confirmation.
Bruce didn’t seem to notice. “He’s mad at her? She protected Trevor with her own body when Wade lived with them, and since then she’s scraped to make a living and care for Trevor.”
“Didn’t he pay child support?”
“When he got himself together enough to offer, she refused his money. She was afraid that if she cashed the son of a bitch’s checks, it would give him rights.”
In genuine puzzlement, Karin said, “But from what you tell me, the cupboards were bare some of the time! Did she consider that by turning down the child support—child support he was legally required to pay, visitation or no visitation—she was depriving Trevor?”
“You think she should have sacrificed her kid so she didn’t have to get food stamps?”
The way he looked at her, with something like contempt, annoyed Karin enough that she ignored her better judgment and insisted on making her point. “I’m saying that if it’s true Wade got alcohol treatment and went to anger-management classes, pulled his life together and offered child support, maybe he deserved a chance to maintain some contact with his son. Would he have done any of that if he didn’t care?”
“How many chances does a bastard who beats his wife deserve?”
Karin shook her head. “I don’t blame MaryBeth for not wanting him back. But that’s not the same thing as acknowledging they shared a child.”
He snorted. “From what I hear, Wade didn’t share a damn thing but sperm. He was a loser. MaryBeth cut her losses and figured Trevor was better off without him.”
“But in the end, he did need his dad, didn’t he?”
“God! After this latest display, you still think that?”
Karin finally did hesitate. “Bruce, are you listening to me? I haven’t met Wade, and I won’t pretend to guess whether he’s capable of being the father Trevor deserves. But I do think that MaryBeth let Trevor down, and I can understand why Wade might have gotten angry if Trevor was talking about her as though she walked on water. That wasn’t the right way for him to handle the situation. He should have understood how much Trevor must miss his mother, no matter what problems she had. But the fact is, by letting her drug addiction win, she may have done as much damage to Trevor as his dad did with his alcohol addiction.”
Abruptly, Bruce rose to his feet, stalked a couple of feet down the walkway and then swung back to face her, his eyes glittering and his body so tense she was reminded of a boxer balancing on the balls of his feet, waiting for his opponent to launch an attack. “Why are you so determined to view him through rose-colored glasses? You were quick enough to condemn Escobar.”
“Why are you so quick to condemn Trevor’s father?” Karin retorted.
“Quick? I’ve read the hospital records and police reports after he battered MaryBeth.”
She felt as if she’d wandered into a hall of mirrors, except that the distorted images she was seeing were of Bruce rather than herself. Did she know him at all? She sat stiffly, gripping the painted steps as though to orient herself.
“Then you don’t believe in reformation.”
“I know his type.” Voice and expression were unrelenting. “They don’t change.”
“People can learn to manage their anger…”
He made a rude sound. “Pop psychology. The classes are a joke.”
Now she was getting mad. “Is everything I do pop psychology, too?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have. What I’m telling you is that people who are sufficiently motivated are capable of change.”
“And you call shattering the kid’s favorite picture of his mother change?”
“It might be.” She knew she sounded brittle, knew that argument was hopeless, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “In classes, participants are taught that if their anger is boiling over, as a last resort they should vent it on an object rather than a person. That might have been what Wade was doing. He didn’t hurt Trevor. It’s not good that he scared him, but—”
“God almighty. Why am I wasting my time talking to you about this? Enjoy your fantasy world, lady.” He swung around and walked away.
Stunned, she realized he was leaving, thinking he’d had the last word. He’d dismissed every word she said.
Karin jumped to her feet and chased after him, catching up to him as he reached his car at the curb. “Where are you going?”
He slapped the top of the car and swung back to face her. The metal rang out, making her jump.
“To talk to the son of a bitch and tell him that if he lays one hand on his son, he’s got me to answer to.”
She lifted her chin and met his furious eyes. “After which, he’ll slug you and you’ll slug him and then…What? You’ll arrest him for assaulting a police officer and be sanctimonious because you were right about him all along?”
He raised his voice, making sure the whole neighborhood heard him. “You spend your days with women who’ve been raped or had the shit beaten out of them, and you still can’t admit there are vicious men out there who shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred miles of their families?”
It came to her then in an insight she felt dumb for not having had sooner. “You don’t just think he’s like your father. You think all men are.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.” He leaned toward her, eyes narrow slits, teeth showing. “I don’t have anything to do with this. It’s about Wade DeShon, and your naive refusal to believe he’s anything but a good man who screwed up once. No, oops. Five or six times. Or was it ten? But he’s taken a few classes, so he must be born anew.”
His sarcasm, snarled at her from inches away, made her even madder and erased her last semblance of good judgment.
She poked him in the chest. “You know what your pr
oblem is? You’ve been playing at being Trevor’s daddy. You want Wade to fail so you can dash to the rescue again. But you wouldn’t make any real commitment to Trevor the last time, and I’m betting you won’t the next time, either.” She wound down, thought through what she’d said, then asked simply, “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I can’t be trusted any more than his father can!” he shouted.
They stared at each other, his face suffused with angry color, hers reflecting…She didn’t know. Bewilderment? Shock? Certainly some anger, as well.
He’d said before that he hadn’t learned to parent, and perhaps that he feared being too much like his father. It was true that child abuse did echo from generation to generation, so he had reason to be nervous. But to truly believe he’d lift his hand against a kid he’d done so much to help…?
Still stunned, she shook her head. “You aren’t your father.”
Without stepping back, he visibly retreated from her, pulling his head and shoulders back, stiffening. “I doubt there’s a man alive who can be entirely trusted if pushed far enough. Me, I’ve had an example of what I can be like. I told you. I’m a carbon copy of my dear dad.”
“Appearances don’t mean anything!” she cried in frustration.
He shook his head. “I’m not fool enough to find out.”
“My God,” she whispered. “You really are afraid you’d hurt someone you loved, just because you got mad.”
“I’m not going to find out.”
The hope she’d hardly known she felt came close then to blinking out. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest in an instinctive effort to protect herself.
“Do you have any idea how big a fool I feel right this minute?” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I didn’t listen to you. I thought…I believed…No, I deluded myself that you might actually love me. But you can’t.”
His rigid demeanor shattered, and abruptly, he was shouting again. “Don’t you understand? I don’t dare!”
Her mouth fell open. It was a moment before she could close it. She swallowed, but her voice still emerged as thin and dry. “Do you love me?”
What she saw in his eyes was torment, but he said nothing. He wasn’t going to answer her. Couldn’t?
Weirdly, perhaps, his silence fed the small, stubborn spark in her chest that hadn’t quite died. As if hope had been banked and not quenched, it flared again, the heat giving her courage.
“You’re a coward,” she accused him. “You’ve spent an entire lifetime avoiding any emotional commitment because you’re afraid.”
Muscles flexed in his jaw. “I made a decision…”
“No, you’re a coward,” she repeated. She took a step forward, crowding him, forcing him back against the side of his car. “You don’t have the guts to find out whether you’re capable of being a better man than your father. And then you condemn men who at least were willing to try and keep trying.”
“Don’t compare me with Wade DeShon,” he hissed.
“Why not?” Karin hardly understood what drove her, then knew. Instinct. “I am comparing you, and right this minute, he looks pretty damn gutsy to me compared with you.”
Bruce crowded her right back, so much anger on his face a sensible woman would have quailed. “I told you not to compare me!”
She stabbed him in the chest again with one finger, hard this time. Her vision seemed hazed. With red? “But I’m doing it anyway,” she all but crowed. “Wade DeShon had the guts to love someone, and he has the guts now to say, I screwed up, but I still love you. That looks a lot braver to me than opting out of any kind of real relationship because you won’t even test yourself to find out whether you’re just like your daddy or not!”
His eyes were all but black they were so dilated. “Do you want to find out? Is that what you really want?”
“Yes! That’s what I want!” Karin yelled.
And then braced herself.
It was like facing down a volcano. She’d never been so aware of how powerful this man was, how heavy-boned and thick-muscled compared with what felt at this moment like her own frailty. He stared at her with those rage-darkened eyes, the hot blood of fury turning his face deep red.
The haze before Karin’s eyes was gone, as if with one blink she’d swept it away. Instead, she now saw him with peculiar clarity. Nothing existed but this man, so furious with her, so afraid he would hurt her. Time stretched, thinned, as she waited for him to betray himself and strike her.
But his fingers never curled into a fist. He never raised a hand. He only stared, unblinking, not breathing. And finally, his expression changed. Shock was followed by bewilderment that wrenched her heart, so much did it remind her of a child who’d suddenly seen the world he had believed in transformed into something unrecognizable.
Karin’s vision blurred again, but this time with tears she let fall. They rolled, hot, down her cheeks.
She laid one hand on Bruce’s hard cheek. He made a muffled, agonized sound and turned his head to press his face into her hand, and she felt dampness. Oh, God. Was he crying, too?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Her voice broke.
Yes! her heart sang. Yes, you should have.
His shoulders lurched.
Karin took her hand from his face and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned against her, buried his face in her hair and shook.
“Now are you convinced?” she murmured, rocking him and holding him with all her strength. “You didn’t, you couldn’t, hurt me. You never would.”
Against her cheek, he said hoarsely, “I always believed…I thought I was him.”
“But now you know better.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she tried to pull back a few inches. “You do, don’t you?”
He lifted his head and looked at her, his cheeks unashamedly wet. “Yeah. I think I do.”
Her tears ran hotter. She smiled through them. “Will you come inside?”
GOD. He’d probably created a spectacle for the entire neighborhood. Earlier on, when he’d stomped to his car, Bruce had been vaguely conscious of a car passing, of a neighbor kid riding his bike on the sidewalk on the far side of the street. His head had swiveled so he could gawk at the two adults yelling at each other.
But Karin didn’t seem to care. Through the tears that rained down her face, she shone. Always beautiful, now she was incandescent. He’d be a fool if he didn’t love her.
Bruce yanked himself up short. It was too quick to consider labeling some emotion he’d never been able to name. What he should think about was what he’d just learned about himself.
He’d always been aware of a core of anger inside him. No, not just anger; something blacker than that, something that scared even him. A violent, monstrous emotion. It had been there as long as he could remember. He kept it in a closed room inside him, locked down. But locks could be broken, walls splintered. Even as a little boy, when he watched his father hit his mother, Bruce would feel the scary emotion swelling until he didn’t think he could keep it contained.
He’d also known his whole life that his ability to control the demon that lived inside him was all that made him different from the father he despised. He’d descend to his father’s level if he ever once loosed the violence. Bruce had come close a few times, mostly as a young man. He had dreamed about beating his father bloody, about making him crawl. But never, until today, had he felt those walls crash down, felt the fury swell inside him until he was filled with it, sweated it through his pores, was blinded by it.
And now, finally, he knew. He could feel monstrous emotions and not be a monster. All the rage his body could contain hadn’t made him want to hurt her. Not even for a fraction of a second had he longed to snap her head back with one blow of his hand. He hadn’t thought, I want to see her on her knees, sobbing how sorry she is.
And somehow, she’d had faith in the man he really was. She had trusted him.
Humbled to the core, Bruce had been shaking
when he held her even as she held him. He felt as if he should be embarrassed to have shed tears, but wasn’t. He took her hand, likely crushing her fingers when he gripped hard enough not to lose her, and walked the few feet from the street up her walkway, across the porch and into the house.
The moment the door shut behind them, she flung herself against him and his arms wrapped around her with a force he tried to keep from bruising her. The receding tide of anger left in its wake a desperate need to be so close to this woman she could never deny him. A need to be on top of her. Inside her. He wanted their very cells to be united.
An incoherent sound wrenched from him. He bent his head and captured her mouth. Dimly, he was aware that she was kissing him back as frantically, that she’d risen on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck and was pressing herself against him, feeling the same need. He fell against the door, then at some point spun her so her back was ground against it. He hoisted her, and her legs wrapped around him. She rode him as he plumbed the depths of her mouth and sucked on her tongue.
Bruce thought he might explode if he didn’t feel her skin against his. He had to break off the kiss long enough to tear her shirt over her head. He was talking; he could hear himself, a litany that involved praying, swearing, saying her name as if it were the sweetest word ever formed. She seemed to be laughing or crying—he didn’t know which—but she yanked at his clothing with hands as desperate as his.
They didn’t get it all off. The sight of her body, long and pale and curvaceous, shredded his last bit of self-control. He lifted her, felt her legs clasp him willingly and drove inside. Arms shaking with the strain, he pushed her back against the door and thrust, over and over and over, a madman, not stopping even when her entire body convulsed around him and she keened. Not stopping until she did it again and he found his own release in a mind-splitting explosion of pleasure so acute it might have been pain. An explosion that did finally empty him, so that his knees began to buckle and he sank with her in slow motion to the hardwood floor.
Bodies still joined, they lay as close together as it was humanly possible to be. Almost numb, he knew only that he didn’t want to let her go, that he didn’t care how hard the floor was or whether he could breathe.
The Man Behind the Cop Page 14