"What was her name?" Laurey asked, her tone never changing.
"Debby. She was almost grown-up, she always said, especially when she wanted to do something Mom or Dad didn't want her to do. She was even starting to look grown-up, and she—"
He broke off as something cracked. The sharp sound seemed to echo in the room. He looked down at his hand, only then realizing he'd been holding the plastic rod that controlled the angle of the blinds, and that it had snapped under the force of his grip. He stared at the broken piece of plastic rather stupidly, not sure what to do with it. In that moment he came back to himself, managing to put some distance between himself and the child he could never quite leave completely behind.
And he realized Laurey had risen and crossed the room to stand close behind him.
"What happened to her, Gage?"
God, couldn't she let it be? "Haven't you heard enough ugliness for one day?"
"Yes," she said honestly. "But I … need to hear the rest." Then she reached out and gently lifted the broken piece of plastic from his hand. "And I think you need to tell it."
He drew a long breath. He opened his mouth to tell her to forget it. To tell her to forget what he'd already said, because he wasn't about to say any more. To tell her that he wasn't going to talk about it, because he never talked about it. Ever. To anyone.
Instead, other words came tumbling out, as if they'd been lined up behind a dam that had suddenly been breached.
"As far as we know it was a random daytime burglary. Debby had just picked me up from school. I always stayed after in the library until she got out. She'd come get me, and we'd walk home together." A faint smile flickered across his lips, but faded so quickly he was barely aware of it. "She never seemed to mind her little brother hanging around. When we got home, she was going to make a cake. To celebrate our mother's first day at a new job. She was putting it in the oven when … it happened."
"The burglar broke in while you were in the house?"
He nodded, still not looking at her. "The kitchen was at the back of the house. He broke in at the front, into the living room. We heard the glass break. He was grabbing stuff, the silver, my dad's coin collection. That's when she made me go hide. She said she was going to call the police. And that as soon as she did, she'd come hide with me until they got there."
His jaw tightened, and he nearly trembled at the strength of the memories he'd fought for so long.
"I … heard her screaming. Heard a man laughing. Low and ugly. I wanted to go to her, but she'd made me promise to stay there, no matter what. Then … it got quiet."
He stopped, literally unable to go on. He had to get out of here, had to get outside.
But he couldn't. He couldn't leave this house. He was trapped, as much a prisoner as Martin. More so; Martin would be out sooner than he would, no doubt.
His body was screaming with the need to move, reacting to the desperate signals from his mind to get away from what could never be left behind. To save him from the brutal memories he couldn't flee, because they were carried with him always.
He shivered, realizing it was but the latest of many, that he'd been shaking for he didn't know how long. Countering the vicious chill was a creeping, soothing warmth, a comfort he'd never felt before. It took him a moment to realize it came from Laurey, from her arms around him, holding him, hugging him tightly, so tightly it almost stopped the trembling.
"You couldn't have done anything, Gage. You were just a little boy. You would have died, too. Do you think your sister would have wanted that?"
He heard her words, heard the quiver in her voice, felt the unexpected strength of her arms as they held him. She fit him neatly, he thought a little wildly, and the feel of her head against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, was comforting in a way he didn't quite understand.
"That's … that's what the cop said," he managed to get out after a moment. "Officer Sorensen. The first one there. He kind of … took care of me for a few days, after…"
"You know he was right," she said. "You couldn't have stopped it. You would only have gotten killed, too." She didn't speak for a moment, until his trembling had lessened. Then, "You said he took care of you?"
The question she didn't ask was implicit, and he answered what he guessed she really wanted to know. "My folks … sort of fell apart. Mom never quite got over the shock, and my father … he was so angry he could barely function. I think they … forgot about me for a while. That cop was the only one who…"
"Realized what you'd been through?" she prompted gently when he couldn't go on.
He nodded. "He came back to the house several times. When he saw my mother was so … out of it, and my dad wasn't able to deal with it all, he … took care of me. Took me out, away from the house and them, let me talk about it, like they never would. He even took me to a psychologist who specialized in trauma in children. I didn't realize until later that he'd paid for it himself, because my parents didn't…"
"Care?" she asked softly.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. "They did, I think. They just couldn't deal with what had happened. I was one thing too many for them then. It didn't get much better. Mom started drinking a lot, and so did Dad, and they both just got angrier and angrier."
"Is that why … you don't drink?"
"Mostly." He closed his eyes. "They split up a couple of years later. It wasn't even very ugly, the divorce. They just wanted to get rid of all the reminders."
Laurey went very still against him. "Including you?"
"Apparently. I haven't seen either of them in years."
"God, I am so sorry, Gage. For your sister, your parents, but most of all for you. You really … slipped through the cracks, didn't you?"
There was so much pure sincerity in her tone that, to his amazement, it was like salve on an old wound that had never healed. He opened his eyes, and when he went on, his voice was steadier, and he thought he had the shakes under control. But he didn't tell her that he was all right now; if she wasn't inclined to let go of him, he wasn't about to suggest it.
"Not really." He shrugged, not wanting her to feel sorry for him. "It wasn't like they just … dumped me. I ended up with my aunt Jenny. They gave her the house in return for her taking custody of me. She did her best, even though I … wasn't the easiest kid to deal with by then. But we did okay And Ray—Officer Sorensen—always checked up on us, to make sure we didn't need anything."
"So … he's really why you decided to join the force?"
He nodded. "I was determined to be the kind of cop he'd been. Sort of … to pay him back, since he would never take anything else."
"Where is he now?"
"Retired, living the good life in Arizona, by the river."
"And your aunt?"
He smiled then. "She just got married. For the first time. She's off living in London with her new husband, who's ten years younger than she is, and they're having a great time."
Laurey leaned back to peer up into his face, as if she didn't quite believe him.
"It's true," he insisted. "He's a BBC exec of some kind, and he was out here for some international communications conference or something. Aunt Jenny worked for one of the sponsoring companies, and the rest, as they say, is history."
Laurey smiled, a soft curving of her mouth that made Gage all too aware of just how close she was, too aware that she was pressed against him from knee to cheek, that he could feel every womanly curve of her, that he could smell the faint scent of peaches from her recently shampooed hair, that her arms were still around him, offering a comfort he'd never expected nor thought possible.
A comfort that was rapidly shifting, changing to something else, changing to slow growing heat that was radiating through him as he looked down at her.
"Laurey," he murmured.
"What?"
He shook his head, slowly.
She gave him a quizzical look. "Just Laurey?"
"Not just," he said softly.
A
nd then, all his fine warnings forgotten, he was kissing her. Gently, almost tenderly, silent thanks for the kindness she'd offered, for the quiet understanding, for the compassionate listening to the story that had haunted him for nineteen years.
But however the kiss started, it soon became something else. Something less gentle than urgent, something less warm than hot. And the moment he knew she was with him, the moment her fingers tangled in the thick hair at his nape, the moment she exerted the slightest pressure at the back of his head as if to hold his mouth to hers, he was lost.
He didn't think about how long it had been, about adrenaline, violations of ethics or brushes with death. He didn't think of any of it, because he couldn't think at all. None of it mattered anyway, not here, not now, not with this woman in his arms, not with her lips so soft and warm and sweet under his, not when she was welcoming him, making him shudder as violently as he had when the horror had nearly overcome him.
Nothing had ever matched the power of the nightmare. Nothing had ever been able to take him out of the brutal memories, he'd always had to simply ride them out.
Until now.
Now there was nothing in his mind of ugliness, nothing of blood and pain and harsh remembrance. There was only Laurey and the sweet, giving, honeyed taste of her mouth, the feel of her long, slender body in his arms.
His tongue brushed hers, and he felt her shiver slightly. Just that tiny response set up an echo in him, and he felt his muscles tighten. Then, tentatively, her tongue returned the favor, sliding over his own, sending a jolt through him that seemed to explode somewhere low and deep, hardening him in a rush. He groaned under the assault of his senses; it had been a long time, and maybe his memory wasn't that sharp right now, but he couldn't recall ever having gotten so hot so fast.
His hands slid down her back, tracing the arrow straightness of her spine, stopping at her waist, his fingers spreading as his thumbs rested above her hipbones. He deepened the kiss, probing, driving, needing. And when he withdrew, she returned the favor, tasting him almost hungrily, in a way that was about to drive him out of his mind.
His hands tightened at her waist, and he pulled her hips closer, needing the heat and pressure of her against his swelling flesh more than he needed to breathe. She didn't resist; in fact, she moved sinuously against him, as if she wanted to caress him with the gentle curve of her lower belly. He tore his mouth away, her name breaking from his lips, sharply, as a flash of heated sensation ripped through him.
He heard her murmur something, maybe his name, maybe not. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except that he had to kiss her again, had to taste that—
"Butler! Get on the damn radio, will you?"
The yelp from the entryway came from Beresford who was approaching the end of his lengthy shift. Laurey went very still, even as color flooded her face, and Gage realized she'd forgotten they had a potential audience just outside.
"Copy," Gage managed to say, although he wasn't sure what he sounded like. Of course, he wasn't sure he cared, either.
He looked back at Laurey, who refused to meet his gaze, lifting her hands to her cheeks as if trying to cool them. He released her and walked over to the brown Formica bar, which held the special scrambler pacset. It wasn't perfect, but it was safer than a cellular phone, or even a regular wired phone, from being monitored or tapped. Clearly Beresford had gotten the prearranged coded page that meant there was information Gage needed.
He picked the pacset up out of the charger and turned it on, turning the scrambler to the decided upon setting.
"Gage, you there? How do you copy?"
"You're ten-two, Kit," he said; clearly the radio was working fine. "What's up?"
"Just thought you should know, Martin made bail."
"Damn. When?"
"About an hour ago."
"Bondsman?"
"Yep. Not one of the regulars, though. Seems most of them turned him down for some reason. You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"
"Moi?" he asked innocently. "Of course not. All I did was ask them to let me know if one of them decided to go for it."
There was a moment of radio silence, and Gage could almost hear Kit chuckling. Then her voice came through the small speaker again.
"Anyway, guess this one figures he's good for it, one way or another. Or maybe Martin harangued his lawyer into putting up the money. But I thought you should know he's out. Happy Sunday."
"You'll be watching him?"
"As much as we can without getting slapped with harassment charges," Kit promised. Then, with a grin he could almost hear, "Maybe a little more."
"Thanks. I'd just as soon he didn't have another chance at me."
"Anytime, pal. I kind of like working with you."
"Ditto," he said.
"And I like that lady of yours, too," Kit said.
Gage froze. Why did people persist in saying that? He knew Laurey must have heard it, but he didn't dare look at her. He knew she would be embarrassed. And he was afraid the sudden wish that it was true would be showing in his face.
"Just get us out of here," he told Kit.
Before I try to make it the truth, he added silently.
He slammed the small radio back in the charger with a lot more force than was necessary.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
I was determined to be the kind of cop he'd been.
What he'd said echoed in Laurey's weary mind, and she wondered if he had any idea how well he had succeeded at that goal. He was exactly the kind of cop the man who'd helped him had been.
She'd finally had to admit that he probably helped as many kids as he arrested, perhaps more. And that he got slime off the streets for the protection of people who sometimes—as she had—disliked cops for no good reason. And sometimes risked his life for those same people.
All in all, an admirable man. Beyond admirable, really. Perhaps it wasn't so awful after all, that the attraction she'd felt for him eight years ago was apparently still alive and well…
She shivered inwardly. The memory of that kiss last night had a power to shake her that astounded her. Neither of them had mentioned it; in fact, neither had ever even acknowledged that it had happened at all. Just as they hadn't acknowledged the first one, the one she'd determinedly written off as a reaction to nearly being killed. She knew what her reasons were—sheer terror of her own response and what it might mean—but she doubted his reasons were anything more complex than wanting to forget something that shouldn't have happened.
Laurey shook her head once, sharply. She'd always thought herself open to new ideas, never thought herself so set in her ways that she couldn't change her mind, so why was this change causing her so much inner turmoil?
Because this time her heart was at stake.
She answered her own question with a truth that nearly took her breath away. The attraction she'd felt years ago for the young Gage was still alive. It might have lain dormant, hidden under layers of resentment and anger for all those years, but clearly it had required only a little attention to spring back to life.
Attention in the form of being confronted with evidence proving him to be the kind of man she admired, not the traitor she'd once thought him. Attention in the form of his concern for her emotional state while he was bleeding from physical injuries of his own. Attention in the form of his putting himself in the path of gunfire to keep her safe.
Attention in the form of hot, pulse-pounding kisses that roused a response that stunned her. In her entire twenty-six years she'd never felt anything like the humming, crackling sensations that had rippled through her when Gage kissed her. Smothering a gasp she feared would be audible, she lifted her head to look at him across the kitchen table.
Head down, thick, shiny blond hair kicking forward over his forehead, he was reading a newspaper Ryan had brought by late last night. Of all the detectives, they'd decided Ryan, for all his distinctive appearance, was the one who would be le
ast likely to betray the real purpose of the house; not many would suspect the big man with the long, flowing dark hair and Native American face to be a cop.
He hadn't stayed long. He wouldn't say so, but Laurey guessed he was worried about Lacey. She had been due this weekend, but there had been no sign of impending labor. She felt fine, he said. In fact, he said it repeatedly. So often that Laurey knew he was tying desperately to convince himself. It gave her the oddest feeling inside, to see this big, powerful man so rattled at the prospect of something—anything—happening to the woman he loved. Just the idea that a man like that could love so very much, so deeply, made her wonder…
When she realized what she really meant, that just the idea that a dedicated cop could still put a woman above his job made her start thinking crazy things, she had retreated to her room, certain her ridiculous and chaotic thoughts would be showing on her face.
Unfortunately the night that followed hadn't been any less chaotic. The chaos was of a different, more disturbing kind, though; every time she fell asleep she seemed subject to vivid dreams of what would have happened had Kit not called on the radio and interrupted them.
And every time she woke, her heart hammering in her chest, her body flooded with a sapping, languorous longing she barely recognized as desire, she fought the same battle. Even if she had set aside her childish resentments, even if she did admit that she was as much attracted to him now as she had been eight years ago, that still left a final, undeniable fact. Gage Butler was a man obsessed with his work. And she'd sworn that if she never did anything else right in her life, she would never, ever get involved with a man like that. She would never, ever set herself up for the kind of life her mother had led, grateful for the tiniest crumb of attention while she kept a house and family going virtually on her own, because her husband had no time for anything that took time away from his work.
At least your job is worthwhile. Does somebody some good.
Her own words came back to her now, in the light of morning. Did it really matter? Did it make any difference that what Gage was doing was so unlike her father's single-minded financial dealings, his concern only with accumulating more wealth and status?
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