The Man Behind the Cop

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  She unlocked her car door and turned to him. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about your meeting with Wade.”

  “He wants my support.”

  She processed that. “And does he have it?”

  “If he doesn’t screw up.”

  “Ah. Wholehearted, then.”

  “Damn it,” he said with some heat, “I’m trying.”

  Karin rose on tiptoe and kissed him softly. “I know you are,” she murmured.

  He caught her to him and deepened the kiss long enough to make it really interesting, and to make him regret that he hadn’t planned to go home with her tonight.

  But when he let her go, she said meditatively, “I’d love to meet Trevor. What if we do a barbecue or something and invite him and his dad? Maybe Molly, too. Is there anyone else?”

  He reacted with surprise and pleasure. He liked the idea of getting her opinion on Wade. Bruce was willing to bet she had x-ray vision that cut through any pretense. “I’d like that.”

  They discussed days, and agreed he’d call Wade.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said, kissed her again, and reluctantly let her get into her car.

  WHEN BRUCE CALLED Karin the next day to inform her that Saturday afternoon would work fine for Wade and Trevor, he told her more about his lunchtime meeting with Trevor’s father. After she hung up, Karin found herself hoping that Wade was sincere. Given how angry Bruce had been, how certain he was that Wade was a brute beyond redemption, these were big steps for him. If it turned out badly, if Wade DeShon started drinking or lost his job and took out his frustration on his son, Bruce’s tentative faith in the ability of any man to prove himself would collapse.

  She was afraid of any new hitches because she’d noticed that despite his breakthrough, he had been very careful not to say the words I love you. Karin was trying not to think about the possibility that he didn’t. That he might be willing to believe he could love a woman someday but she wasn’t that woman.

  Because the truth was, she had fallen head over heels in love with him. She missed him every minute when they weren’t together, was giddy with her love when they were. It was like being tipsy for hours on end. She laughed more than she ever had in her life, was sillier than she’d been at twelve years of age, and had begun to dream about things she hadn’t known how desperately she wanted: a huge church wedding, a bulging belly beneath a T-shirt that said Baby On Board, story-times and family picnics and a vacation to Disneyland. PTA meetings, stolen romance with her husband, dinners out when they discovered all they talked about was their children. Normal stuff. Stuff she’d once assumed she’d have someday, but that in recent years she had almost forgotten she wanted.

  But even if Bruce did love her, even if someday he said the words, would he ever want to make a lifetime commitment? Would he trust himself enough to father children? She didn’t know, and that scared her. Discovering she’d fallen in love alone would be bleak.

  She still went daily that week to see Lenora, who was making good progress. Initially, her speech had been better than her motor skills. Some of that was weakness from the weeks of inactivity, but not all. Like someone who’d had a stroke, much of the damage was one-sided. She’d retained more dexterity on her left side than her right. During visits, she told Karin about the physical therapy and about the things she could do effortlessly and the ones she was having to relearn like a newborn child. The bandage on her head became smaller, exposing scalp with a newborn’s peach fuzz of dark hair.

  One day she returned from the bathroom, walking with a stiff, awkward gait, climbed into bed with Karin’s help and burst into tears.

  “Anna loved my hair!” she wailed. “She liked to brush it and put her barrettes in. What would she say?”

  “That you’re as pretty as that singer with the bald head. Sinéad O’Connor.”

  She must have heard of her, because she laughed through her tears. “I thought she looked so funny when I saw a picture! A woman’s hair should be beautiful.”

  Karin reached out and wiped away her tears. “I think your hair will be beautiful again. And Anna will brush it again, and style it for you. And Enrico will wonder why girls like to mess with their hair.”

  Lenora cried some more. Karin moved to the edge of the bed and held her as she wept against Karin’s shoulder. Her own cheeks grew damp as she thought about how long it had been since Roberto smashed his wife’s head with all that weekend’s pent-up rage and stole the children not for their sakes but to prove they were his. What if they were never found? How would Lenora live not knowing? Looking for the rest of her life at the faces of other people’s children, wondering, hoping, fearing?

  Bruce hadn’t conceded defeat. But eventually, he would have done everything that was possible. Other mysteries would preoccupy him. Other tragedies, other missing children. Not all were found. Karin had counseled women who’d had a child die. That was hard enough, but there had been resolution of a sort. Those mothers had a grave to visit. They might forever ask themselves if they couldn’t have done something differently, but at least they knew the end.

  Lenora might not. Would she be able to bear living with that uncertainty?

  Karin went home depressed. As she got ready for bed, she thought about Trevor, whose mother had disappeared. For all that he knew his mother was a drug addict, it must be hard for him to understand her disappearance. Karin hoped that Wade would be willing to let him talk about his mother sometimes. She’d have to urge Bruce to encourage him to do so, too.

  THE WEATHER SATURDAY, blessedly, was nice. Bruce had taken her literally when she suggested a barbecue, and brought his own kettle-type grill. He arrived early and started the coals. Karin was letting him prepare the meat for the grill. She was secretly amused by his expertise in this traditionally manly form of cooking.

  Since she neither cooked nor ate meat, he’d promised to handle that whole part of the menu. Everything else would be vegetarian, from the baked beans to the salads.

  She’d invited a couple who were good friends of hers, and Molly brought a date who had a boy nearly Trevor’s age. Wade and Trevor were the last to arrive, and showed up with a case of soda and several bags of chips. She led them through the house to the back patio.

  “Bruce is just putting the meat on,” she told them over her shoulder. She peered in the bag Trevor had handed her. “Oh, you brought dip to go with the chips. That looks great.”

  Bruce grinned at the sight of the boy and held out a free hand for a quick hug. Understandable envy flashed on Wade’s face before he veiled it. He had to compete not just with Trevor’s memories of his mother, but with a man who’d stood in his place in his son’s affections.

  Molly greeted Trevor with casual affection and introduced him to the other boy. Bruce introduced Wade to everyone, and soon he and Karin’s friend Steve discovered a common interest in old cars. Wade, it developed, was restoring a 1970 Camaro, which filled Steve with envy. They huddled, talking about its wheelbase and track and something about the subframe and structural integrity. Steve’s wife rolled her eyes and offered to help Karin bring out the rest of the food.

  Karin had only one private moment with Wade, after they’d eaten, when she caught him standing apart from the others, watching Trevor and the other boy attempt to keep a soccer ball in the air with their knees and heads.

  “He seems like a really nice kid,” she said, pausing at his side.

  He nodded. “Thanks to his mother. And Detective Walker,” he added scrupulously.

  “Bruce seems to think Trevor’s settling in really well with you, though.”

  His face softened. “Yeah. Better than I expected. We’ve had some rough patches—” he gave her a sidelong glance, and she could tell he wondered how much she knew “—but he’s doing good. Real good.”

  She bit her lip. “Has Bruce told you I’m a therapist?”

  His appraisal was more frank this time. “He said he had a friend who was.”

  “Well, that was me.
” Here she went, butting in again. She couldn’t seem to help herself. “Um…I’m wondering if I can give you a bit of advice.”

  Despite new wariness, he inclined his head. “Sure. I’m no expert at being a dad.”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “From what I’ve seen today, you’re doing fine. I just have one suggestion. Encourage him to talk about his mother. The worst thing for a child is to have to pretend he never thinks about one of his parents. It happens often, after a divorce. Children do their best to please the parent they depend on. But if they stifle too much, it causes damage.”

  “Okay,” he said after a minute. “I can do that. It used to bother me, knowing that MaryBeth probably never said a good word about me.”

  “I imagine that made Trevor feel awfully conflicted, too, because on some level he loved you. It’s really hard on a kid to have to betray one of his parents, in a sense, by having to agree that Mommy is mean and he never wants to see her again.”

  Wade nodded again, more thoughtfully. Then his expression changed, and she knew even without turning that Bruce had come up beside her.

  He slipped an arm around her and said, “Has she said, ‘Hmm—now, exactly what do you mean by that?’ yet?”

  Wade tried to hide his laugh in a cough. “Uh, not exactly.”

  “But close enough,” Karin admitted. “I was dispensing advice. Just as bad.”

  Bruce grinned at her. “Just as long as you didn’t say ‘Hmm.’ That’s when you scare me.”

  “It never passed my lips,” she promised.

  The two men both laughed now, and she pretended to be offended.

  The moment was interrupted by Trevor, who called, “Hey, Dad! Look!”

  His father went to watch him head the ball to the other boy. Beside Karin, Bruce said not a word. He had gone completely still, his face expressionless.

  As if he felt her scrutiny, he let his arm drop from around her shoulders and he turned and walked back toward the others. She looked after him, her heart aching. Trevor hadn’t even glanced at Bruce. He’d been too eager to share his pride and delight at his new accomplishment with his father.

  She couldn’t summon a single word to say that would help.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRUCE INHALED the scent of Karin’s hair, tickling his chin and nose. They’d made love and were still entwined in bed, her head on his chest. He’d been lying here feeling good, but also…He couldn’t identify this unease. There was some kind of struggle going on inside him. As if part of him was panicking, even as the rest was feeling happier than he’d known he could be.

  “My mother called today,” he heard himself say.

  Weird. That wasn’t even what he’d been thinking about.

  She moved, tilting her head so she could see his face, or at least his chin. “Really?”

  “Yeah, she does every now and again.”

  “You made it sound as if you never talked to your parents.”

  “Never do to my father.”

  She was quiet for a minute, probably perplexed. “Did she have news?”

  “Dad has cancer.”

  Now Karin pushed back and lifted onto one elbow, studying him with worry. Her corn-silk hair tumbled over her shoulders and arm. “Is it treatable?”

  “He’s having chemotherapy, but she admitted the prognosis isn’t good. Plus, the treatment is making him really sick.”

  “Does he want to see you?”

  Surprised, Bruce said, “God, no! Why would he? This is not a man who’s going to discover his kinder, softer self on his deathbed. Trust me.”

  “But…what about you? How do you feel about knowing he may be dying?”

  Therapist speaking, or woman? He guessed, from the concern on her face, that it was the woman asking. She genuinely imagined he’d be broken up about his old man’s possible demise.

  “Don’t give a damn.” He examined his own feelings, and realized that he meant it. “I’m not sure what my mother will do without him, though.”

  What she should do was throw a party. In his opinion champagne was in order. But the reality was, she’d have no idea how to function on her own. She’d never been allowed to make decisions.

  “Is she close to your brothers and their wives?”

  “My next older brother, Dan, the most. He’s not as bad as Roger.” Which wasn’t saying much.

  “Would she move up here?”

  Bruce shook his head. “She’s got the neighborhood. It’s her comfort zone. Plus, my brothers and their wives and children are there.”

  “So you have nieces and nephews?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve never met them.”

  He could see her struggling to process these things he’d never told her.

  “You really did cut yourself off, didn’t you?” she said at last.

  “Oh, yeah. And,” he warned, afraid she’d feel a mission,

  “I won’t be trying to span the chasm. But Mom…” Uncomfortable, he admitted, “I felt bad. She sounded lost.”

  Karin continued to watch him in the penetrating way that undoubtedly worked to extract deep dark confessions from her clients. When she made an observation, she kept it neutral. “You love her.”

  He felt himself twitching. If it wouldn’t have been a dead giveaway to her, he’d have sprung from the bed and paced.

  “Yeah, sure. Not enough to fly home to hold her hand at my father’s bedside, but…yeah.”

  “Good,” she said simply.

  “Why good?”

  Karin didn’t answer, and that weird pressure in his chest of which he’d been aware earlier returned. Or maybe he just noticed it again. After a minute, she sat up and said, “I need the bathroom,” swung her feet to the floor and walked out.

  He appreciated the view from behind, even as he attempted to pin down his discomfiture. He loved her body: long legs, firm butt that still gave him a couple of handfuls, small waist, tangle of hair. The view was every bit as fine from the front, too, with that gorgeous face and perfect breasts.

  Yeah, but a lot of women had great bodies. If there wasn’t a lot more going on, he wouldn’t have risked getting involved. Any woman would be getting ideas by now. He was a little startled to realize he wouldn’t have liked it if she wasn’t starting to envision a future with him.

  You want her to be in love with you?

  He stared up at the ceiling.

  Yeah. Yeah, he did.

  He should have been surprised to realize the unthinkable. He didn’t want to live without this woman. Without the way she had of looking at him and seeing far more than he’d meant to show. The way she had of understanding and forgiving frailties, of caring passionately, of guarding herself.

  He had never in his life had this desire to tell another person everything, to share what was bothering him, what shamed him, what pleased him. Now, not a damn thing happened during the day that he didn’t immediately think, I’ll tell Karin.

  Dismay punched him. Or maybe shock. God. Was this love? Was that what this shaky feeling meant, this sense he had of standing on a crumbling precipice?

  Maybe.

  He heard her footsteps in the hall and turned his head, waiting to drink in the first sight of her.

  Maybe? Who the hell was he kidding?

  But would it last? Would it stand up to the crap life threw at everyone?

  And maybe the biggest question: Could he give her what she wanted? He hadn’t grown up with any kind of role model for ideal husband and dad. Did he have a chance in hell of being the man he suspected she thought he was?

  She came into the room, still gloriously naked. If she was anything but utterly composed as she walked toward him, it didn’t show.

  “Because I’d like to think you do know how to love,” she said, as if there’d been no gap between his earlier question and now. “Maybe for my sake, mostly for yours.”

  Maybe for my sake meant…that she was admitting she loved him?

  He could ask. But then, depen
ding on her answer, he’d have to declare himself. Or not. And then…God, then, the crumbling ground beneath his feet would collapse. And he couldn’t fly.

  So he said, “Yeah, I thought about asking Mom to move up here. She’ll say no, but…I might ask.”

  Karin’s smile blossomed, warm and approving. “Might, huh? Heart of stone.”

  He held out an arm to welcome her. She stretched out beside him, breasts pressed against him, and kissed his jaw, then nibbled on his earlobe.

  “Tough guy,” she whispered.

  “That’s me.”

  It was the last thing he could find voice to say for a while. Which was maybe a good thing, considering his fear of the words he wanted to say.

  MONDAY, BRUCE HAD MANAGED to knock off early and pick up Trevor after school, taking him to a community-center playground to play some one-on-one. He needed distraction from his awareness that it was four weeks to the day since Escobar had smashed in his wife’s head, killed Julia Lopez and snatched the children.

  Four weeks, and the likelihood of Escobar being found receded by the day.

  Shaking his head, Bruce dribbled and shot the basketball.

  It bounced off the rim, rattling the playground backboard. Trevor sprang to retrieve it.

  Hands still extended for the shot, Bruce glowered at the still-quivering rim. “Well, hell.”

  “You tell me not to swear.” Grinning, Trevor dribbled in a circle around him, his feet dancing.

  “New shoes,” Bruce said, noticing.

  “They’re cool, aren’t they?”

  He glanced down to admire. Bruce deftly swiped the ball and swung away, dribbled twice and shot again.

  The ball sprang off the rim again. Clang.

  Trevor cackled, retrieved it again, then drove right past a dumbfounded Bruce and laid it up. The ball slid through the ragged net with barely a whisper.

  Bruce shook his head. “Showing me up, are you?”

  “I beat Dad at horse yesterday.” Trevor gave him a nervous glance. “’Course, he’s not as good as you.”

  “Who is?” Bruce said with mock egoism. He grinned. “Did your dad play high-school ball?”