by Rebecca York
Her eyes closed as his teeth played with her lower lip and his hand slid up and down her ribs. Fire raced across her skin. She forgot where they were, forgot everything but the taste of him. His tongue teased the sensitive flesh of her inner lips. She dared to do the same and gloried in his fevered response.
Her hand stroked under the lapel of his jacket. Absently she noted that his shirt was crisp oxford cloth—over strong muscles.
She didn’t realize her other hand had slipped into his lap until she became aware of another tactile sensation—rigid male flesh straining against the fly of a pair of pants.
Instantly she snatched her hand back as if it had come in contact with the surface of a hot stove.
“Damn,” he said. She could hear him sucking in several deep breaths.
She hoped it was too dark for him to see the blush spreading across her cheeks. She could hardly believe what she’d been doing in a public place—even if the last part had been an accident.
They sat in silence for several seconds, then Brisco pushed back his chair and stood up. “Where’s the telephone?” he asked someone.
“Back that way,” a woman directed.
“Come on.” His fingers laced with Jenny’s, and she struggled to her feet.
It was disorienting to stand. Her head was fuzzy from the cigarette smoke and the blaring music. She held tight to Brisco as they wove between tables, her nerves jangling. Once she hit the back of a chair. “Watch where you’re going!” a man called out.
“Sorry.” She cringed, wishing she could escape from this place that had turned into a nightmare. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many feelings surging through her. All she had to do was tell Brisco she was about to crack up, and he’d whisk her outside, she told herself. Yet she wasn’t going to admit she was out of her depth.
The journey though the boisterous crowd seemed to take forever. One more step. It’s only one more step, she told herself over and over. Finally they turned a corner. Magically, the noise level decreased a bit, and she tried to shake off the feeling of disorientation.
“The phone’s at the end of the hall, past the toilets.” Brisco unlaced his fingers from hers, and panic leaped in her chest.
“Don’t let go of me,” she gasped.
He cupped his fingers around her arm, and she had to stand rigidly to keep from trying to sink into him. “The hall’s narrow. We’ll have to go single file. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she lied. To bolster the falsehood, she took several small steps forward along the uneven floorboards, fervently wishing she had her cane. It was her early-warning system, and without it she felt exposed. However, she had no problem discerning that she was right outside the rest rooms; the offensive odors repelled her. With each step she took, her feeling of foreboding increased. It was like the morning she’d been afraid Marianne was dead.
The hot, fetid air seemed to press in around her, and she stopped short. This was the place. She knew it. And she wanted to get out now.
“Brisco?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, and to her dismay, she realized that she’d completely lost track of him. She didn’t want to shout his name and call attention to herself, so she sped up, knowing she’d run into him eventually—unless he’d ducked out the back. And she was sure he wouldn’t leave her here on her own.
Just then a whoosh of air and an intensification of the unpleasant smells announced that a door to one of the restrooms had opened. In the next moment, a man barreled into Jenny, pushing her against the wall.
She couldn’t see him, but she sensed him as a massive presence. Automatically she reached to steady herself and encountered a handful of his shirt. It was covered with metal studs. Another cowboy.
“Why, sweetie pie, I didn’t know you cared,” he murmured, his hand suggestively moving up the front of her body, his speech slightly slurred.
“Sorry.” She tried to wiggle away. He kept her captive, and she felt her throat closing.
“Please. Let go of me,” she croaked.
Chapter Eight
An angry shout reverberated through the narrow space, and footsteps pounded toward Jenny. Brisco’s voice seemed to bounce off the walls of the airless hallway. “Take your freakin’ hands off my girlfriend.”
“Sure. I didn’t mean any harm. She’s the one who bumped into me,” the voice whined.
Brisco’s arm curled protectively around Jenny’s shoulder, but he still addressed the stranger. “Get moving before I take you out in the alley and teach you some manners.”
“Sure. Sure. No harm done.” The man’s footsteps beat a hasty retreat down the hall.
“Come on.”
Jenny was shaking as Brisco clasped her hand and led her a few yards farther down the hall to a spot where the air was cooler and less fetid. Turning, he pulled her close, wrapping her in his strong embrace, his hand curving around the back of her head so that her face was pressed against his chest. Eyes closed, she nestled against him, letting his scent and the warmth of his body blot out everything else.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Y-yes.” Now.
His hand soothed over her shoulders, bringing back a measure of calm. “What happened? I was taking a look at the phone booth. When I glanced back, that jerk was crowding you against the wall.”
“I guess I was in his way when he blasted out of the men’s room.”
“That’s hardly an excuse for manhandling you,” he grated.
“Well, he probably thought I was alone.”
“I’m sorry. I should have waited for you.”
“It’s not your fault. I should have kept up with you.”
“But you couldn’t without your cane,” he said with a self-accusatory note in his voice.
Her head jerked up. “That’s true. I couldn’t. But I don’t expect you to remember—”
His hand lightly touched her cheek. “I’m sorry. I forgot about it at first. I guess I was bent on getting out of here as quickly as possible.”
“It’s not the only reason I stopped.”
“What else?”
She tried to put the uneasy sensation she’d experienced into words. “It was like…I suddenly felt anxious. The way I did the other morning when I tried to call Marianne and all I got was her answering machine.”
“It must have been the music,” Brisco murmured as he combed his fingers gently through her hair, sweeping it away from her face.
“I guess.” She wasn’t convinced that was all.
“So it’s the same music you heard in the background when she called?” Brisco asked, his focus still on the original mission.
“Yes.”
He breathed out a little sigh. “Let’s head home.”
A moment ago she’d wanted to get out of this place. Now she felt as if a door had slammed in her face. “I thought we were going to ask some questions.”
“I’m going to ask some questions,” he said. “When I’m back on duty.”
“But—”
“I can’t make you part of the official investigation. Besides, I’ve put you in enough danger.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure. I left you alone for five seconds, and you got pawed by a drunk. Come on.” He turned her and steered her back toward the noise of the main room.
The route to the door was more direct, and they were outside quickly. On the sidewalk, she breathed in the cool night air. But Brisco didn’t give her time to enjoy it. Turning left, he steered her back the way they’d come. He still held on to her but the earlier feeling of intimacy was gone. It was as if he was deliberately putting distance between them—if not physically, then mentally. When they reached the car, he opened the door and she slid inside. Probably he regretted making out with her in the bar, she decided a few blocks later when he hadn’t made any attempt to renew the conversation.
They rode in silence, giving her plenty of time to think about her behavior. If he hadn’t called a halt, they could hav
e been arrested for an R-rated performance in a public bar. If people were still arrested for that kind of thing. Or maybe the cops would have extended Brisco professional courtesy.
She gave a little snort.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were obviously thinking about something,” he pressed.
“About making out in public.”
His foot bounced on the accelerator, but he didn’t comment. Moments later, he slowed the car, then turned to the right. As the vehicle began to bounce up a rutted track, she realized they’d reached her driveway. It hadn’t been resurfaced in a long time, and tires had dug two deep gashes in the gravel—giving Brisco the excuse of concentrating on his driving instead of answering her.
He pulled into the parking area and cut the ignition. Then she heard him shift in his seat. She wanted to reach for him, at least to lay her hand on his arm. But she sat very still, waiting for whatever he’d decided to say.
“It shouldn’t have gone that far,” he finally muttered.
“You’re sorry again.”
“Police detectives aren’t supposed to get personally involved with witnesses.”
Jenny knew the safest thing would be to let the subject drop. But somewhere along the line she’d decided to take a chance. “What if I weren’t a witness?” she asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“You wouldn’t want to get involved with a blind woman.”
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“Right. You haven’t noticed.”
She heard him swallow. “Okay. What if…uh, I knew you? From before?”
Every muscle in her body tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I went to Howard High School—when you did. You wouldn’t remember me. We moved to the area when I was a sophomore. I’m a year younger than you….”
She’d felt dizzy and disoriented at the bar. Now her head was spinning again. But the accompanying sensations were a lot less pleasant.
“So you know all about me. And you didn’t think that was relevant?” she asked, gripping the edge of the car seat as if it were enough to steady her.
“Oh, come on. You turned up as a witness in a murder investigation. Knowing you wasn’t relevant when I was interviewing you. In fact, if I’d said something about your background, you might not have been so cooperative.”
“I—” She stopped, because she honestly didn’t know if he was right.
“Exactly when was I supposed to tell you?” he asked.
Suddenly she was on firmer ground. “Before you kissed me,” she answered back.
“You know damn well I wasn’t in any kind of shape to be thinking things through.”
Her ears heard the words, but her roiling mind had disconnected from the conversation. For twelve years, she’d cut herself off from everyone who had known the other Jenny Larkin. Call it habit or reflex or anxiety, but she wanted to keep it that way. Automatically, she opened the car door and stepped onto the gravel parking area, listening for the tinkling of the wind chimes on the porch. Their soft music was like a beacon in a storm, guiding her to a place of safety.
Behind her, she heard the other car door open. So she sped up as she crossed the parking area and stumbled when she reached the steps.
“Jenny.”
Ignoring him, she grabbed frantically for the railing and recovered before she fell.
“Wait! You can’t just leave like this,” Brisco called out, his voice closer—too close.
Afraid he was going to grab her with those strong hands of his and forcibly keep her from leaving, she practically sprinted up the stairs.
“Don’t!” he called, and she could tell he had stopped at the bottom of the steps. Thank God.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to be with him another minute, and it appeared that at least he had sense enough to leave her be. Scrabbling through her bag, she found her key and thrust it in the lock. Then she was inside. She closed the door with a mighty shove and leaned against it, panting. Praying that he wouldn’t follow.
After a long moment she heard his footsteps recede. Then a car door slammed and the engine started. Finally there was only the crunch of gravel as he backed up, reversed and drove away.
She stood with her back pressed to the door for a long time, her breaths coming in uneven spurts and her mind circling like an animal trapped in a cage. So he’d known her in high school. He knew!
Sometimes for months at a time, she managed not to think about that part of her life.
Her fists clenched into hard knots. Stiffly, she made her way to the living room and dropped into an overstuffed chair. She felt cold all over.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not even sure whom she was addressing. Maybe her grandmother. Maybe Craig Coopersmith, the boy she should never have dated.
She didn’t want to remember the girl she’d been. But she was powerless to slam shut the floodgate of memories Brisco had opened. Maybe it started when her parents had died and she’d gone to live with Gran. It had been a good relationship, but not perfect, because Gran had been fearful of losing her, too. In turn, she’d been eager to please the one person left who still loved her.
All at once she couldn’t sit still. Leaping out of the chair, she crossed to the steps and pounded up to her bedroom where she began to tear off the sexy outfit she’d worn for Brisco. She almost left the skirt and top in a heap on the floor. Then she imagined herself coming back and tripping over the clothing. With a sigh, she picked up the discarded items and took them to the closet God, what irony. She was back where she’d started. Toeing the line. Only now she didn’t have a choice. She rarely allowed herself to be angry. But anger seethed inside her as she yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt
She was angry with Brisco for bringing it all back. And angry with herself for making it happen.
Her chest ached as she bent to exchange her sandals for socks and tennis shoes. Then she marched down the hall to the exercise room. Climbing on the bike, she began to pedal as she programmed the machine for a grueling series of hills.
Her legs worked furiously. But she couldn’t stop the memories. In high school, something inside her had snapped, and she’d started testing limits, daring to leave her room a mess or not coming home on time for dinner. Then she’d gotten into a crowd where the kids were all too reckless for their own good. They all drank, a few girls got pregnant and some of the boys were caught stealing radar detectors from cars. Jenny had avoided the worst of it, but she’d been stupid enough to attend a party John Traver had thrown when his parents were on a weekend trip to New York.
The exercise bike started her up a steep hill at level six, but she was back in the nightmare of the party. Drinking beer. Making out even though she didn’t really enjoy it. By the end of the evening, Craig said he was too wasted to drive. Hands on his hips, his face inches from hers, he’d given her an ultimatum. She was going to have to drive them both home if she wanted to get back that night.
That was her last memory of the evening. The rest was a blank she would never fill in. Later they told her she’d been driving up Lawyer’s Hill Road. Witnesses said that she’d had the green light at Route 1, but an approaching car had failed to stop when the light in his direction had turned red. So technically, the accident hadn’t been her fault. But a technicality had never salved her conscience. If she’d had her wits about her, she would have seen the speeding car and stopped. Or maybe she had seen him, and her reflexes had been too deadened to respond in time. All she knew for sure was what they told her later. The vehicle had slammed into the passenger side of her car, and the driver had died from the impact. Craig had also been killed outright. At least she hoped that was the way it had happened. She’d been hit in the face by flying glass and suffered internal injuries as well as a broken shoulder. Someone on the scene had pulled her from the car before it burst into flames.
Sweat dripped from her body as her long legs
automatically pumped, and her breath came in harsh gasps. She was shaking, but she kept pedaling, her sightless eyes staring forward but her mind stuck in memories she would never escape.
She’d still been in the hospital when her class had graduated from high school two months later. A few of her old friends had tried to keep in touch. Most had been glad to put her out of their mind, because she was a painful reminder of how swiftly and terribly life could change.
Time had healed the physical wounds—except for the loss of her vision. The emotional damage had been greater. At first, she’d lain in bed feeling sorry for herself—yet sure that God had meted out a fitting punishment for Craig’s death. Then a dedicated nurse had figuratively given her a swift kick in the butt. She could either be a burden to Gran and everybody else for the rest of her life, or she could make the best of the hand fate had dealt her. Outraged, she’d cursed and cried a lot. In the end she’d accepted the challenge. She’d gotten in touch with the National Federation of the Blind, which turned out to be right in Baltimore. She’d finished high school with a home tutor, then gone on to a training center for people who’d been blinded. She’d learned braille and computer skills and how to use a cane for mobility. And she’d completed four years of college at the University of Colorado. After that she’d gone out on job interviews and won a position—first in the records department of a bank, then with Birth Data.
Gran had died eight years ago. Probably she’d never recovered from the shock of what had happened to her granddaughter. That was another sorrow Jenny had to bear. But she’d learned to deal with pain. She’d learned to go on— and seem happy. She had lots of friends. She had a satisfying life. And she’d even dated a few guys. They’d all been blind, because she’d been comfortable with that. And they’d all made her feel accepted. They hadn’t tried to dominate her as Craig had. But she wasn’t very sure of herself around men. And none of them had set off sparks inside her. Although, she silently admitted, she really hadn’t given any of them a chance.
Now there was Ben—so alive, so vital, so masculine. The intensity between them frightened and shocked her— and drew her to him. So she’d pushed to find out how he felt about the two of them. Maybe she’d even been secretly hoping he’d tell her it couldn’t work out. At least that was safer than the unknown of a relationship. Safer than what had happened tonight. Any of it.