Crime and Passion

by Marie Ferrarella

  Or maybe having her around prompted him to stay away, she thought. He hadn’t kissed her since the night of the party, and acted as if he had to atone for a mistake.

  Either that or he’d just been curious to see if there was any of that old spark still left.

  She didn’t know about his side, but there was spark to spare on hers. It was getting harder and harder for her to ignore.

  Setting aside the mountain of papers, she smiled wearily. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not that long.” Straightening, he walked into the room.

  “Is this what you do for recreation? Carry on surveillance on the members of your household?”

  His grin was slightly lopsided just like his father’s, she’d noted. “Nobody in the house was ever as pretty as you to look at.”

  It was a silly compliment, so there was no reason for her to feel what she was feeling. No reason for her breath to grow short.

  “I see you haven’t lost your touch.” She pushed aside the mountain of papers beside her. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” She turned the swivel chair around to look at him. “Tell me.”

  He knew he should keep the information to himself. He was a cop, and she was a civilian. Moreover, this did involve her, and he might be alerting her.

  But they had history and in his heart, he knew she couldn’t be guilty. Knew that if she’d encountered something wrong, she’d blow the whistle on it despite any danger to herself. She had one of those pure souls that knew no compromise.

  Still Walken’s allegations echoed in his brain.

  And people did change.

  He sat down on the edge of the desk, looking down at her. “I went to see Walken today.”

  She had no idea why the air suddenly stood still in her throat. “And?”

  “He seems to think he has something on you.” He looked at her for a long moment. Realizing that she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Does he?”

  Stunned, Ilene stared at him. Blackmail? It wasn’t possible. She lived like a nun outside the office. What could that bastard think he had on her? And why would Clay even have to ask?

  “Look, if he’s trying for character defamation, he’s going to have to go on the Internet and buy someone’s life, because mine’s so boringly normal and uneventful it would put an insomniac to sleep.” An ironic smile twisted her mouth. “That is, up until a couple of weeks ago—”

  He stopped her before she could continue. “Walken’s not out to destroy you personally, Ilene, he’s out to destroy you professionally.”

  “Professionally?” she echoed, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  This was harder for him to say than he’d expected. Because he had to play devil’s advocate rather than assure her that he didn’t believe a word of it, that he knew her integrity was intact. “He says he found things on your computer that implicate you, that he’s willing to talk to you in private.” His eyes held hers. He owed her that. “Was there anything?”

  Ilene felt as if the lifeboat line had suddenly been yanked from her hand, leaving behind a painful rope burn.

  Clay doubted her.

  She felt sick to her stomach.

  “You have to ask?”

  He set his mouth hard. “I’m a cop. Yes, I have to ask.”

  She lifted her chin, damning him to hell. She’d gotten along after he’d left her the first time and she would get along now. All she needed him for was to protect her son’s life. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Then this is for the cop. No, there’s nothing Walken could use against me, unless he planted it himself. But you might want to ask the cop if he has any idea where my friend went. The one who knows I wouldn’t ever, ever do anything like that.” Though she’d tried not to, she was shouting at him. “I wouldn’t have done it even when I needed the money, much less now.”

  He held his hands up as if to ward off her words and her anger. “Look, don’t get mad at me, I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “I’m not mad, I’m frustrated.” Ilene struggled to rein in her emotions. She’d given up making excuses for Walken in her mind. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and my son and I have to live like fugitives while the man who hoodwinked God-knows-how-many people goes on living the good life.” How could she have been taken in by Walken like that? she upbraided herself. But then, she had a history of doing that. Believing in people destined not to live up her expectations. Like Clay.

  “Not for much longer. We’ll get the bastard, Ilene,” he promised.

  Promises didn’t help what she was going through now. She looked at him. “We live in the present, not the future. Isn’t that something you once said to me?”

  He lifted a dismissive shoulder, letting it drop again. “Sounds like something I’d say. I said a lot of stupid things when we were together.” He reached for her hand. “One of them was goodbye.”

  She pulled her hand back, getting up from the chair. “Don’t.” She wasn’t strong enough right now to keep a level head. Not to fall into the same old trap she’d fallen into before.

  He got off the desk. She was right. He shouldn’t be coming on to her like that. Trouble was, whenever he was in a room with her, he couldn’t think straight.

  “Okay, I’ll back off. And I had to ask, for the record. In here,” he tapped his temple. “I know that you wouldn’t cheat, wouldn’t lie. Hell, outside of my family, you’re the most honest person I know.”

  Guilt took another pass at her, riddling her with tiny, painful bullets. She couldn’t have him thinking she was a plaster saint, not when there was this living, breathing secret between them. “Clay—”

  “Yes?”

  The words froze in her throat. She was afraid that if she told him the truth now, everything that had come before would disintegrate. She’d be nothing more than a liar to him and he would never be able to believe her again. So she rallied and focused on the larger dilemma.

  “Would it be breaking any rules if we went to my house? Tonight?”

  “Why—?”

  “If John Walken intimated that I was guilty of something, then maybe he planted something either at work or at home.”

  Other possibilities had occurred to her. Walken might have had her computer doctored at work, or set up a false bank account in her name. He had access to her social security number. How difficult could it be?

  Ilene knew she could look for the information on the Internet tonight, but going to her house was a good place to start.

  “No, it wouldn’t be breaking any rules,” he told her. Bending them a little, maybe, but not breaking. He crossed back to the doorway again. “I’ll tell Teri to keep an eye on Alex for us.”

  It amazed her how easily his family had taken to her son and vice versa. She couldn’t help wondering what everyone would say if they knew that they were spending time with that first grandchild Andrew had mentioned at Rayne’s birthday party.

  At least Rayne would be happy to be off the hook, she thought philosophically.

  “Oh my God.”

  Ilene enunciated each word in a horrified whisper as she looked around the foyer and the living room that lay just beyond. It looked as if a tornado had gone through it, leaving nothing untouched, nothing standing in its original place.

  Even the sofa, denuded of cushions, was moved several feet over, standing perpendicular to the wall.

  Her breath backing up in her lungs, Ilene was afraid to go any further. Behind her, she heard Clay’s voice. He was already on his cell phone, calling in this latest invasion into her life.

  She felt numb, felt like crying, but she couldn’t allow it to. The state of the house represented the state of her life right now, she thought. Everything had been tossed out on its ear.

  Not all that unlike the way it had been when she and Clay had broken up and she’d opted to keep her baby. She’d been alone then, refusing to ask for help from her parents, and instead relying on the money she’d managed to
save. She’d stretched it so far it almost tore. It had been the bleakest period of her life.

  And without her realizing it, the tears came, silently sliding down her cheeks as she stared at the damage. She didn’t know how to begin to set her life in order again.

  Clay closed his cell phone and turned toward her. The tears threw him for a moment. He hated seeing a woman cry. Hated seeing Ilene cry even more. If Walken had been in front of him right now, he would have had trouble keeping his hands off the man’s neck.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have the family come over. We can get this place back in shape in no time, right after forensics goes through it.”

  She shook her head, refusing the offer. “And what about my life?” she cried. “How are we going to get that back in order? How about Alex’s life? He’s just a little boy and he’s a fugitive.”

  “It’s all in the spin, Ilene, and he’s got a good one.” Clay would have been hard-pressed to have come up with a kid that was happier or better adjusted than Alex. “He’s a little boy on an outing with his mother, staying with friends.”

  At a loss as to what to do, Clay took her into his arms.

  At first she fought him, fought against the feeling of wanting to collapse there and just cling to him, cling to something that was stable and wouldn’t fall apart. But she was desperate. Surrendering, she let her hands slide down from his chest and just allowed the sobs to come. They racked her body.

  He held her for a long time, stroking her hair, whispering something about it being all right. She didn’t make out the words, only the sound.

  And it helped.

  Finally, feeling like a supreme idiot, Ilene raised her head away from his chest and looked up at him. “I’m getting your shirt all wet.”

  He grinned, his heart aching for her. “It’s wash-and-wear, don’t worry about it. We’re going to have to look around,” he told her, “to see if they took anything.” That it might have been a robbery was something that never crossed his mind. The television set was still there, as were the stereo components. But something might be missing because whoever was the intruder had been looking for something beyond just revenge.

  Ilene shook her head. “I have a feeling they were looking for my laptop.”

  The computer was safe at his father’s house. So were she and her son, theoretically. Only someone out of their right mind would try to break into a place that housed four law enforcement agents.

  But right now she was still very much exposed, very vulnerable. And he had no way of helping her with that beyond what he was doing.

  Clay looked down at her tear-stained face and began wiping away the telltale tracks with his thumb. And then he did the only thing he could. The only thing he’d wanted to do since the party.

  He brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her, hoping something there would reassure her and make her realize that before he’d allow anything to happen to her, he’d give up his life.

  He’d give up his life for her, but he wouldn’t give his life to her.

  The irony of it vaguely struck Clay as he lost himself in a kiss he’d meant to offer only as comfort.

  Chapter 11

  He wanted her.

  There was no use denying it. He wanted Ilene with a fierce, fiery passion that threatened to consume him if he didn’t find a way to contain it.

  But just for this moment, for this small, fragile instant in time, he let himself go.

  Let the kiss deepen. Let her know without words, in the only way he knew how, that she wasn’t alone in what she was facing. That he was there for her to lean on, to turn to. She didn’t even have to ask.

  If desires and passions rose up to try to ensnare him, the way they never could with any other woman, well, that was his problem to deal with. And somehow, he would. Later.

  She let herself go. Let go of the reins she’d been clinging to so tightly. It felt wonderful.

  And she realized she loved him.

  Had always loved him, even when he was no longer part of her life. Because he still was, really. Every time she looked into her son’s deep-blue eyes, gazed into his remarkable face, she saw Clay. Saw him in the way his mouth curved when he laughed, saw him in the way Alex drew his eyebrows together when he was being stubborn. There was no use pretending otherwise. Clay was part of her life, every waking, breathing moment of it.

  And he was here now, kissing her and blotting out all reason.

  His arms tightened around her, insulating her from the outside world with all its cruelty, its danger. Even though she knew it wasn’t logical, Ilene felt safe. Secure.

  The sound coming in from outside the small circle that Clay had created around her was soft at first, then more insistent when it returned. By the third time, it sounded as if Santini was in serious need of a lung transplant.

  Embarrassed, Ilene sprang away from Clay as if he’d suddenly turned into a hot pot handle she was grasping. She could feel warmth flushing her cheeks, and she deliberately avoided looking at Clay.

  Santini gave no indication he’d walked in on anything more personal than a detective calming a victim. Instead, he looked around the room, his eyes sweeping over the chaos that had once been the bits and pieces of her everyday life. “The rest of the house look like this?”

  Feeling self-conscious and struggling not to, Ilene was grateful for the diversion. “I haven’t checked yet, but it looks like they went through everything.”

  Santini paused for a split second to look at his partner before shaking his head. “Can you tell if they took anything?”

  Ilene looked around again. Whoever had been here had deliberately broken almost everything they had touched. Was it because they were angry at not finding the laptop, or were they just sending her another message? Her insides trembled with anger, with an awful feeling of impotent rage.

  The small handprint Alex had made for her last Mother’s Day caught her eye. The bright blue plaster was shattered in three pieces, its paint chipped around the jagged edges. Ilene stooped and picked the pieces up. Very gently, she placed them on the coffee table, struggling not to cry again. Struggling to pull pieces of herself together.

  “Not that I can see,” she answered numbly.

  Santini nodded. “Not a burglary.” He turned to Clay. “Another scare tactic?”

  Clay fought the urge to put his arms around her again. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, especially not with someone else in the room. He reminded himself that she was a hell of a strong woman, but she looked so damn frail right now. “That, or they were looking for her laptop.”

  “Which you have,” Santini assumed, looking at Ilene for confirmation.

  She turned from the broken mold. “Which I have.”

  “Good,” he said. Scratching his head, he looked around. Clay knew what his partner was thinking. To the civilian, untrained eye, this still looked like a burglary. Which was right up their alley. Santini turned to him, a hint of an ironic smile on his lips. “Looks like we’re back in the game.”

  “Looks like,” Clay agreed. Taking out his handkerchief, he opened it and placed it on the desk beside the broken handprint. He moved the pieces into it and then folded the cloth around it. “I can fix this,” he promised Ilene.

  “Forensics is on its way,” Santini told him. “Why don’t you take the lady back and I’ll stay here and wait for them?”

  They could read each other without words, he and Santini. At times this annoyed him. Right now he was grateful for it.

  “Thanks.” Clay placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder and led her out the door.

  Ilene muttered “Goodbye” as an afterthought as she let herself be led back to Clay’s vehicle. She saw a squad car approaching in the distance, saw curtains moving across the street as one of her neighbors, drawn by the noise and sight of unknown cars, looked on.

  Feeling numb and shaken by the attack on her home, not to mention Clay’s earth-shattering kiss, she dropped into the passenger seat. Only when Clay reac
hed over to take the seat belt from its resting position and move it around her did she remember to buckle up.

  “He didn’t say anything,” she finally commented as Clay started up his car.

  He guided the car onto the road. “Who?”

  “Your partner.” Then, because she knew she was being obscure, she added, “When he walked in on us, he didn’t say anything.”

  Clay grinned. His partner always knew when and when not to talk. “Santini’s a good guy.”

  A hostile feeling came out of nowhere. “Does he see that a lot?”

  Clay squeezed past the light, wanting nothing more than to get her home. She needed to work at putting this all behind her. “What?”

  Exasperated, she waved her hand vaguely. Damn it, she’d gotten carried away by him when she should have kept her feet firmly planted on the ground. What was wrong with her?

  “You kissing witnesses, or victims, or whatever the hell category I fall into.”

  The sharp tone alerted him. He glanced in her direction, looking for confirmation, before he snaked his way onto the freeway. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  About to snap “No,” she caught herself and took stock. If she was coming unglued, she wasn’t about to do it here, in his car, where he could watch.

  “I don’t know what I’m trying to do.” A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she scrubbed her hand over her face. She was behaving exactly the way she always hated women to behave, like a shrew. “My emotions are all over the board and I can’t seem to get hold of them.”

  “You need to feel normal.”

  “I’m not sure I’d know what that is anymore.” A slight smile curved her lips.

  Impulse mingled with instinct, prompting his next suggestion. “How about I show you? Saturday, why don’t you and I take Alex out to the amusement park? Let him have a good time.” As he eased his foot down on the brake, Clay looked at her. “Let you watch him have a good time.”