by Irene Hannon
“Wasn’t it obvious? I’m glad to see you.” He waved the sack at her. “Let’s eat this before it melts. After that kiss, my guess is it’s already starting to drip.” With a wink, he stroked the back of his hand down her cheek.
Confused, Emily watched his broad back as he disappeared into her kitchen. Last night, he’d hinted that he might be looking for a serious relationship with her. While she suspected he didn’t have all the answers about how to make that work in their situation, she had a feeling he was determined to find them if she gave him the green light to try.
At best, she’d flashed a yellow light his way. In truth, it had been closer to red. And she’d expected him to back off.
Instead, he was acting as if she’d signaled green.
Something in her training should be kicking in about now to give her an insight into his strategy. But nothing was clicking.
Had he missed her signal? Or was he ignoring it?
He stuck his head out the kitchen door. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on in and we’ll talk about it. Your ice cream is turning to soup.”
Not certain she wanted to have this conversation, Emily joined him at the kitchen table, noting he’d already put a hefty dent in his double serving.
When she sat motionless, he tapped the edge of her cardboard cup with his spoon. “You’ll have to drink that if you wait much longer.”
Figuring it was safer to eat than to talk, she dug in, spooning the creamy treat into her mouth, trying to tamp down the emotions his kiss had kindled in her. And to ignore the way Mark’s presence filled the room. But she couldn’t manage the latter. He looked too good tonight, dressed in well-broken-in jeans that molded his muscular thighs and a chest-hugging T-shirt that displayed the logo from a charitable run he must have participated in. It was the most casual attire she’d seen him in—yet it enhanced his masculinity every bit as much as the distinguished suits he usually sported. Maybe more.
“You didn’t like the kiss?”
She almost choked on the ice cream sliding down her throat.
He passed her a glass of water and waited in silence while she took a gulp.
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“Nope. I like to know what I’m up against.”
Toying with her spoon, she scraped up some of the melting ice cream from the bottom of her cardboard cup as she considered how to respond. She respected honesty. She counseled patients not to be afraid of it. And she was a great advocate of open communication. In her professional life.
In her personal life, however, she was finding her advice hard to follow. Mark was forcing her to confront issues she didn’t want to deal with. Deep inside, she knew her problem with the man across from her was rooted in fear. She liked Mark. Enough that she could fall in love with him if she let herself. But that would put her heart at risk. Again. And she couldn’t live with the terror of not knowing when he left in the morning if she’d ever see him alive again. Been there, done that. Once was enough.
“I think it may be too soon to have this conversation, Mark.”
She chose her words with care. “We only reconnected a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Em. I’m not that rash. But I do think we were brought together again for a reason. And I have a feeling it might lead to a serious relationship, if we decide to explore it. The vibes are still there, twenty years later. And as much as I liked the teenage Emily, I like the grown-up version even better.”
She felt the same about him. But it didn’t erase her fears.
Or solve the logistical problem. “I’m not sure I see the point in pursuing this. Your life is in Quantico and mine is here.”
“That could change. My temporary boss here has offered me a permanent job.”
It took her a few moments to find her voice. “You’d move to St. Louis?”
“If I had a reason to.”
His meaning was clear. And that was even more scary. Her expression must have reflected that, because he reached for her cold hand and interlaced his fingers with hers.
“I’m not asking for a commitment, Emily. Just a chance.”
“I thought you loved your job.”
“The HRT has been great. But I always knew it wouldn’t last forever. I found out not long ago that Coop’s leaving in a few weeks. And much as I hate to admit it, I’m getting a little old for the rigors of the job. I’d be moving on anyway in a year or two. Coop’s decision may have pushed me to consider it sooner rather than later, but it was coming. And after running into you again, I have an added reason to give Steve’s offer serious consideration.”
“What would you do here?”
“I’d be on the reactive squad, and I’d head up the SWAT team.”
Another dicey job, she reflected in dismay.
As if reading her mind, he gave her a measured look. “It’s not as dangerous as the HRT.”
His comment jolted her. She’d known the HRT was a high-risk job; apparently it was more perilous than she’d ever imagined.
She also heard his unspoken message: while he was trading down on the risk scale, risk remained.
More of it than she felt capable of handling.
“With my background, there are very few jobs that would be risk-free, Em.” His quiet voice held a hint of apology . . . and regret.
“I know.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Since he’d been honest with her, she decided she owed him the same in return. “Yes. When I lost Grant, I came close to losing myself. I might have, if Maria and Evelyn hadn’t helped me pick up the pieces, and if I hadn’t had my faith to cling to. I survived, but I wouldn’t want to travel that road again.”
“Loss is part of life, Emily. Whether it happens unexpectedly, as it did with Grant, or later in life, with disease or old age. It’s inevitable. The best we can do is consider each day a gift and embrace it fully. Otherwise, we exist rather than live.”
Once again, moisture clouded her vision. He was right, and she knew it. But she wasn’t yet ready to accept what that implied. “I need some time to sort things out, Mark.”
“I understand. I don’t have to give Steve an answer until I leave.”
“So I get two whole weeks to figure this out?”
“Other jobs in St. Louis will come along down the road if I pass on this one.”
“Not as well suited to your skills.”
“We don’t know that. Whatever is supposed to happen, will happen.” He picked up their empty ice cream containers and deposited the cardboard cups in her trash can. After rinsing his hands at the sink, he rejoined her. “Let’s switch gears. I have some news.”
“Good, I hope.”
“Helpful, anyway. A man who lives near the church where the shooter parked spotted the car leaving. We got a good description and one digit of the license number, thanks to his observant eight-year-old son. We’re pulling the registrations that match for a hundred-mile radius.”
“How many cars are we talking about?”
“Hard to say. It’s a common color and a popular car. But the odds are our shooter is on the list somewhere. We’ll track down every registration if we have to.” He folded his hands on the table and gave her an appraising look. “Coop thinks you’re feeling smothered by our escort service.”
“A little.” His changes of subject were beginning to throw her off balance.
“Okay. You know the drill. Vary your routine, as well as your arrival and departure at the office. Don’t wander into secluded places. Avoid going out at night. Call if there’s the slightest indication of trouble. If you promise me you’ll follow those rules, we’ll ease up on the security. But I’d like you to have an escort to the radio station. It’s a predictable time and place, plus it’s dark when you leave.”
“Okay. That sounds sensible.”
“All of this, however, does not mean I intend to stop seeing
you. Unless you tell me to back off.”
She’d known he’d get back to personal issues.
It would be safer if she did tell him to keep his distance, Emily knew. But also lonelier. Mark’s reappearance in her world had forced her to acknowledge how much she missed the sharing and laughter and closeness of having someone special in her life.
For five years, she’d shoved those memories, and the needs they awakened, to a far corner of her heart where she could pretend they didn’t exist.
But the pretending was over, thanks to the man sitting across from her.
Her gaze fell on the blinds at her windows, and she was struck by the symbolism. As Nick had closed the blinds to protect her from physical danger, she had shuttered her heart to protect herself from emotional peril. And just as she yearned to open the blinds and let the warmth of the sunlight fill her condo, so, too, did her heart yearn for the healing touch of love.
One of these days, the physical danger would be past and she could let the sunlight back in to her home. But if she let Mark get too close, the emotional danger would never go away. Closing her eyes, she drew a shuddering, uncertain breath.
When the silence lengthened, Mark took her hand in a warm clasp. “Do you want to sleep on it?”
Did she? As Emily opened her eyes and looked down at his long, lean fingers, gentle yet strong, she suddenly couldn’t imagine letting Mark walk out of her life again. Whatever her future held, she sensed this man was part of it. In what exact capacity, she wasn’t certain. But as he’d reminded her, he wasn’t proposing. He was simply asking her to give their relationship a chance. To let him continue to see her. She didn’t need to sleep on it to know she wanted that as much as he did. Whatever the risk.
“I don’t want you to back off. But I can’t give you any promises, either.”
Her reward was a smile that warmed her all the way to her toes. “I’m not asking for any, Em. For now, seeing you is enough.”
He checked his watch and stood, tugging her to her feet. “Coop’s waiting. I need to go.”
“He’s been outside all this time?”
“Yes. He’s talking to Monica on his BlackBerry. And he prefers your porch to Nick’s construction site any day.”
She walked with him to the door, where he turned and pulled her into the circle of his arms. “When I said seeing you was enough, I hope you understood it includes this.”
Once more he bent to claim her lips in a lingering kiss.
“Sleep well,” he murmured, drawing back just enough so his warm breath whispered at her lips as he spoke the words. And then, with a smile and a touch to her cheek, he was gone.
Emily watched through the peephole as Coop materialized out of the shadows and fell into step beside Mark. And as she pressed her fingers against lips that continued to tingle from his touch, his strategy became clear.
He figured if he hung around a lot and gave her enough of those amazing kisses, he’d wear down her defenses.
And she had to admit his plan was already starting to work.
16
The guy was an idiot.
Dale had just suffered through one of the longest half hours of his life, thanks to . . . he checked the EAP counselor’s card . . . Randy Miller. Dale had wanted to throw up as the man ran through his polished, fake, “I’m concerned” routine. But if Red and George wanted him to play this game, he had to go along or his job would be on the line. That meant he was beginning his Monday by meeting with a moron. And hoping it would end here.
Unfortunately, Mr. Sensitivity had other ideas.
As Miller leaned forward in a practiced posture of caring, looking like an older version of nerdy Clark Kent in his black-rimmed glasses, it took every ounce of Dale’s self-control to stifle his revulsion and maintain a neutral expression.
“I think it would be good if you talked with someone who has more expertise in counseling people who’ve faced the kind of trauma you’re dealing with, Mr. Edwards.”
It was the sentence Dale had been dreading. The clown wanted him to talk with a shrink.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. . . .” He consulted the card again. “Miller. I’m used to handling my own problems.”
“Sometimes it’s difficult for us to see our personal situations clearly, Mr. Edwards.” The man’s patronizing manner made Dale want to gag. “And there’s nothing wrong with admitting an occasional need for help to sort things out.”
This had nothing to do with helping him, Dale thought, trying to swallow past his disgust. It was all about passing on responsibility. He knew how the system worked. He’d seen plenty of examples in his own job. Everything these days had to be double-checked and signed in triplicate or the attorneys could eat you alive if you were unlucky enough to find yourself facing a lawsuit. It was all about dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s and covering yourself. This spineless twit didn’t want to sign off on Dale without a second opinion.
Going in, Dale had known there was a possibility the guy would pass the buck to a shrink. And he was prepared to argue against it, if necessary. In a polite, rational way, of course. It was important to convince Miller he was coping, that he had his act together, that the time off mandated by Red and George was all that was needed. Two weeks of breathing space to rest and regroup. That was the case he planned to make.
Until Miller threw him a curve.
Jotting down a name and phone number on a pad of paper, he handed it to Dale. “I’d like to set up an appointment for you with Dr. Emily Lawson. She sees referrals from EAP programs for some of the largest companies in St. Louis. I’ve sent a number of people to her, and the feedback has been excellent.”
As Miller went on to sing her praises, Dale tried to process the bizarre turn of events.
He’d been referred to the very person he’d had in his crosshairs two weeks ago.
Coincidence couldn’t account for this twist of fate, he was certain of that. It had to be a sign. The Lord wanted him to see her. Their meeting must be the key to whatever plan the Almighty wanted Dale to implement. Somehow, during that face-to-face encounter, God would show him how he wanted his vengeance to be exacted.
There was one problem, however. While Dale didn’t think the cops had a clue about his identity, his on-the-job slipups worried him. He couldn’t afford mistakes . . . there, or in his mission. There could be no connection between him and Emily Lawson. He had to protect his identity.
“All right, Mr. Miller. I’ll talk to her. But I’d like to keep this anonymous.”
“That’s not a problem. No one but you, me, and Dr. Lawson will know about your appointment with her, and only the two of you will know what was discussed.”
“I appreciate that. But information can leak. And a lot of people think there’s kind of a stigma attached to seeing a psychologist. I’d be more comfortable if I could see her anonymously.” The man frowned. “You mean, keep your identity confidential?” “Yes. I think it would help me, you know . . . open up.” He tried to convey an earnest, cooperative attitude.
“I must admit, I’ve never had that request before.” Miller leaned back in his leather chair. “In today’s world, there isn’t a stigma associated with counseling, Mr. Edwards.”
“The thing is, I had a buddy once who went to a counselor for a drinking problem. Somehow that information got into his records, and when he tried to change jobs they found out about it. Even though he’d licked the problem, they didn’t hire him.
I’d rather not put myself in that position.” Dale hoped the Lord would forgive him for that fabrication.
The man considered him for a few seconds, then nodded.
“Okay. I think we can do this. The important thing is for you to see Dr. Lawson. What name shall I set it up under?”
“Joe Smith?”
“You can’t get much more anonymous than that.” The ingratiating smile the man flashed him grated on his nerves. “I’ll be in touch later today to let you know what slots she has avai
lable. Would tomorrow or Wednesday be okay, if I can get you in that soon?”
“Sure.” The sooner the better.
Standing, the EAP counselor held out his hand. “I do appreciate your coming today, Mr. Edwards. All of us want to help you through this difficult period. I know Dr. Lawson will be of great assistance as well. And I want you to feel free to call me if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
“Thank you.” Dale took the man’s hand in a brief grip before exiting.
As he headed down the hall toward the elevator, he pulled the idiot’s card out of his pocket. The tremor in his hand surprised him, but treating a jerk with respect took a lot out of a man.
The elevator pinged, and as the door slid open he ripped the card into a dozen small pieces with more force than necessary. And before he stepped inside, he deposited them where they belonged.
In the trash can beside the door.
Two hundred and eighty-nine possible matches on the car.
It had taken two days to cull them from the thousands of plates containing the number eight. And the final result was far from perfect. As Mark had suspected, incomplete information had inflated the list. Fifty of the names were there because the hand search revealed the registration had not included either a model or a color.
Tuesday was not beginning on a high note.
Handing the list he’d paged through to Coop, Mark looked at Steve as the squad supervisor spoke.
“We ran the names through NCIC. Other than two people who showed up with reports of stolen property, everyone was clean.”
Discouraged, Mark leaned back in his chair. The National Crime Information Center was the most comprehensive listing of crime-related data in the United States. He’d hoped it would identify some suspicious characters on the list. But if that database didn’t raise a red flag, there wasn’t one to be raised. On the owner of record, anyway. But a friend or relative could have used the car too. There was no way to determine that without contacting every owner. And then hoping he or she would be honest about who had driven the car.
“How are we going to handle this?” he asked.