Northern Lights

by Nora Roberts

  She laughed, nipped—not so gently. "No, I won't."

  "Yes." He hauled her arms over her head, cuffed her wrists with one hand. Pinned them there.

  "You will."

  He slid the soap between her legs, rubbing it, sliding it, watching her as her body shuddered to orgasm.

  "Nate."

  "I warned you."

  Something like panic lit inside her, panic quickly tangled with razor-edged pleasure as his fingers dipped inside her. She twisted, looking for freedom, for more. For him. But he drove her, past the point she could hold it, past the point she thought she could bear it. Her breath sobbed out, half-mad pleas as the water poured hot over her shaking body, as the steam blurred her vision.

  When it burst in her, ripping a line between sanity and madness, he muffled her scream with his mouth.

  "Say my name." He had to hear it, had to know she knew who had her. "Say my name," he ordered as he hoisted her by the hips and buried himself inside her.

  "Nate."

  "Again. Say it again." His breath was raw in his throat. "Look at me, and say my name."

  "Nate." She fisted a hand in his hair, dug her fingers into his shoulder. She looked at his face, looked into his eyes. And saw him, saw herself. "Nate."

  He took her, took her, took her until he was empty, until she was limp as water, her head dropped on his shoulder.

  He had to brace a hand on the wet wall to catch his breath, to catch himself. He fumbled for the tap to shut off the shower.

  "I need to sit down," she managed. "I really need to sit down."

  "Hold on a minute." Because he wasn't sure she would, he boosted her up, half slinging her over his shoulder as he levered them out of the shower.

  He grabbed a couple of towels, though he imagined with the heat they'd generated, the water would steam off them in a matter of minutes.

  The dogs got to their feet when he walked into the bedroom with her. "Better tell your pals you're okay."

  "What?"

  "The dogs, Meg. Reassure your dogs before they decide I've knocked you unconscious."

  "Rock, Bull, relax." She all but dripped out of his arms when he laid her on the bed. "My head's buzzing."

  "Better try to dry off." He dropped one of the towels on her belly. "I'll get you a shirt or something."

  She didn't bother to dry off, but only lay there enjoying the used, lax sensation weighting her body.

  "You looked tired when you came in. Tired and mean, with a thin coat of ice over it all. Same look you had outside Town Hall. I've seen it a couple of other times—a quick glimpse of it. Cop face."

  He said nothing, only pulled on an old pair of sweats, tossed her a flannel shirt.

  "It's one of the things that stirred me up. Weird."

  "The road's dicey out to your place. You're going to need to stay here."

  She waited a moment, letting her thoughts coalesce again. "You shrugged me off. Before. Before when we were outside." She could still see Yukon, the slash in his throat, the knife buried to the hilt in his chest. "You shrugged me off, and you gave me orders, a kind of verbal strong-arming. I didn't like it."

  Again, he said nothing, but picked up the towel to dry his hair.

  "You're not going to apologize."

  "No."

  She sat up to draw on the borrowed shirt. "I knew that dog since he was a puppy." Because her voice wanted to break, she pressed her lips together. Controlled it. "I had a right to be upset."

  "I'm not saying you didn't." He walked to the window. The snow was barely a mist now. Maybe the forecaster was right.

  "And I had a right to be worried about my own dogs, Nate. A right to go see to them myself."

  "Partways there." He stepped away from the window but left the curtains open. "Natural enough to worry, but there was nothing to worry about."

  "They weren't hurt, but they might've been."

  "No. Whoever did this went for a solo dog, an old dog. Yours are young and strong and have two sets of healthy teeth. They're practically joined at the hip."

  "I don't see—"

  "Think for two seconds instead of just reacting." Impatience snapped in his voice as he tossed the towel aside. "Say somebody wanted to hurt them. Say somebody—even somebody they knew and let get close— tried to hurt one of them. Even managed to do it. The other'd be on him like God's own fury and tear him to pieces. And anybody who knows them enough to get close, knows that."

  She drew her knees up to her chest, pressed her face against them and began to cry. Without looking up, she waved a hand to hold him off when she heard him move toward her.

  "Don't. Don't. Give me a minute. I can't get the picture out of my head. It was easier when I was mad at you or turning that mad into sex. I hated sitting there waiting, not knowing. And I was scared for you, under it. I was scared something was going to happen to you. And that pissed me off."

  She lifted her head. Through the blur of tears she could see his face, and that he'd shut down again.

  "I've got something else to say."

  "Go ahead."

  "I. . . I have to figure out how to say this so it doesn't sound lame." She dragged the heels of her hands up over her cheeks to dry them. "Even being mad and being scared and wanting to plant my boot up your ass for making me both, I. . . admire what you do. How you do it. Who you are when you do. I admire the strength it takes to do it."

  He sat. Not beside her, not on the bed, but on the chair so there was distance between them. "Nobody I ever cared about—nobody outside of on the job—ever said anything like that to me."

  "Then I'd say you cared about the wrong people." She got up, walked to the bathroom to blow her nose. When she came out, she stood leaning on the doorjamb, watching him from across the room.

  "You went out and got my dogs for me. With all that was going on, you went out and brought them back for me. You could've sent someone else or just blown it off. Road's flooded, they'll have to wait. But you didn't. I have friends who'd have done the same for me, and me for them. But I can't think of any man I've been with, any man I've slept with, who would have done it."

  A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Then I'd say you've slept with the wrong men."

  "I guess I have." She went over and picked up the shirt he'd discarded when they'd come in. With some care, she unpinned the badge, then brought it to him. "This looks good on you, by the way. Sexy."

  He gripped her hand before she could step back. Still holding it, he got to his feet. "I've got an awful need for you. It's more than I've had for anyone else, and may be more than you want."

  "I guess we'll find out."

  "You wouldn't have admired me a year ago. Six months ago. And you need to know that there are still days it seems like too much trouble to even get out of bed."

  "Why do you?"

  He opened his other hand, looked down at the badge. "I guess I've got an awful need for this, too.

  That's not heroic."

  "Oh, you're so wrong." Her heart was lost. In that one moment it simply slid out and dropped at his feet. "Heroism's just doing more than you want to do or think you can. Sometimes it's just doing the crappy things, the unhappy things other people won't do."

  She stepped closer, cupped his face in her hands. "It's not just jumping out of a plane onto a glacier ten thousand feet up because there's nobody else there to do it. It's getting out of bed in the morning when it seems like too much trouble."

  Emotion swirled into his eyes, and he lowered his cheek to the top of her head. "I'm so in love with you, Meg."

  Then he kissed her hair, straightened. "I need to go out. I want to check the river, patrol before I turn in."

  "Can a civilian and her dogs do a ride-along on that?"

  "Yeah." He ruffled a hand over her damp hair. "Dry your hair first."

  "Will you tell me what you know, about Yukon?"

  "I'll tell you what I can."

  Twenty-Four

  He went back to the scene of the crime i
n the early morning drizzle. Ten steps from the door, Nate thought. Left in plain view of anyone who might have come in or gone out of Town Hall. Plain view of anyone driving by, walking by.

  More than left, he amended. Executed in plain view.

  He walked inside, through to the meeting center. He'd ordered everything left as it was. The folding chairs, the big projection screen remained in place. He brought it back, into his head, the way it had been the night before.

  He'd come in a little late, just before the lights had gone down. He'd scanned the crowd as much out of habit as looking for Meg.

  Rose and David had been in the last row. Her first night out since the baby. They'd been holding hands. He remembered seeing them both at intermission—with Rose on the phone, probably checking with her mother, who was home watching the kids.

  Bing had been near the back. Nate had ignored the flask he'd held between his knees. Deb and Harry, The Professor. A small clump of high schoolers, the entire Riggs family, who lived in a log cabin out past Rancor Woods.

  He'd estimate that half the population had been there—which meant half hadn't. Some had left at intermission. Any of those who'd stayed might have slipped out and in again.

  In the dark, while attention was focused on the screen.

  He walked back to the lobby when he heard the outer door open and watched Hopp shove back her hood.

  "Saw your car parked outside. I don't know what to think about this, Ignatious. I can't put two thoughts together about it."

  She lifted her hands, let them drop again. "I'm going to go over and see Lara. Don't know what I'll say. This is such a crazy thing. Mean and crazy."

  "I'll go with mean."

  "But not crazy? Somebody carves up a harmless dog outside Town Hall, and that's not crazy?"

  "Depends on why."

  Her mouth flattened at that. "I can't see any why to it. Couple of people are saying we've got a cult, high school kids experimenting or some such thing. I don't believe that for one minute."

  "It wasn't ritualistic."

  "Others think it's some loony, camped out near town. Maybe it's a comfort believing none of us could have done such an awful thing, but I don't know that it makes me feel any better to think we've got a crazy lurking around who'd kill a dog that way."

  She studied his face. "You don't think that."

  "No, I don't think that."

  "Are you going to tell me what you do think?"

  "I think when somebody kills a local dog, in the middle of town, in front of a building where a good half of that town's sitting, he's got his reasons."

  "Which are?" "I'm working on it."

  * * *

  He drove along the river before heading to the station. It was a sulky gray today, with those plates and chunks of floating ice dull on its surface.

  Meg's plane was gone, a clear symbol that he couldn't box her up somewhere safe and close. Bing and a two-man crew were patching a section of road. Bing's only acknowledgment as Nate slowed to pass was a long, steady stare.

  He drove to the station to find Peach urging coffee on Joe and Lara. Peter stood by looking very much like a grown man struggling not to cry.

  Lara, her eyes swollen and beet red, sprang up the instant Nate stepped into the room.

  "I want to know what you're doing about Yukon. What are you doing to find the bastard who killed my dog?"

  "Now, Lara."

  "Don't 'Now, Lara' me," she said, whirling on her husband. "I want to know."

  "Why don't you come back to my office. Peach, hold off anything that comes in, except an emergency, for the next few minutes."

  "All right, chief. Lara." She gripped Lara's hand in hers. "I couldn't be more sorry."

  Lara managed a short bob of her head before she shot her chin into the air and sailed into Nate's office.

  "I want some answers."

  "Lara, I want you to sit down."

  "I don't want—"

  "I want you to sit down." His tone was quiet, but the authority in it had her dropping into a chair.

  "The town voted for this police department. Voted to bring you in and to pay the tax that pays your salary. I want you to tell me what you're doing. Why you're not out there right now looking for that son of a bitch."

  "I'm doing everything I can do. Lara," he said in that same quiet tone before she could speak again. "Don't think for a minute that I'm taking this lightly. That any of us are. I'm pursuing it, and I'll keep pursuing it until I can give you those answers."

  "You've got the knife. The knife that—" Her voice broke, and her chin bobbled, but she sucked in air, pushed back her shoulders. "You ought to be able to find out who owned that knife."

  "I can tell you that the knife was reported stolen yesterday morning, along with other items. I've talked to the owner, and I'm going to get statements from people who were in Town Hall last night. I can start with you."

  "You think one of us killed Yukon?"

  "That's not what I think. Sit down, Lara," he said when she leaped to her feet. "You were both at movie night. So let's go over what you saw, heard."

  She lowered, slowly this time. "We left him outside." Tears swam into her eyes. "He was getting so he couldn't hold his bladder, so we left him outside. It was only for a few hours, and he had his doghouse.

  If we'd left him in—"

  "You don't know if it would've made a difference. Whoever did this could've broken in, taken him out. From what I've heard, you gave that dog nearly fourteen good years. You've got nothing to blame yourself for. What time did you leave the house?"

  Lara bowed her head, stared at her hands as her tears plopped onto them.

  "Right after six," Joe said, and began to rub his wife's shoulder.

  "You go straight to Town Hall?"

  "Yeah. We got there about six-thirty, I guess. Early, but we like to sit close to the front. We dumped our jackets on the chairs. Three, four rows back, on . . . on the left side. And we socialized awhile."

  Nate took them through it. Who they had talked with, who had sat near them.

  "Anyone ever complain to you about the dog?"