McLain's Law

by Kylie Brant

  “Bruce is in his office right now,” Cruz said tentatively, as the silence in the room lengthened. Connor shot him a look, which Cruz returned unflinchingly. Connor knew without asking that his friend had also taken the liberty of calling Bruce and arranging his presence. “You’ve been busy,” he observed narrowly.

  Cruz’s next words verified Connor’s suspicion. “I called him after talking to Michele. He’s willing to try it.”

  Connor addressed Michele, who was gazing at him silently. “Even if I don’t want you to?” he asked quietly, unable to admit to the slight tone of pleading that had entered his voice.

  “Are you going to stop me?” she returned. At the brief flash of pain in his eyes, she attempted to try to make him understand one last time. “I need to do this, Connor. I may be of no help at all, but I have to try.”

  “You have to try to relive that torment again?” asked Connor, feeling goaded.

  Michele’s answer was resigned. “I relive it every time I dream. I’ll continue to relive it until this case is solved. If I could be of any help at all, it would make the whole thing worthwhile. It would be the only way that any of this would make sense.”

  Silence reigned for the next few moments. Neither of them noticed when Cruz left the room. Connor rubbed one hand over the back of his neck and heaved a sigh. “I want to spare you this, Michele,” he said quietly. And she read his meaning more clearly in his tone than in his words.

  “You can’t,” she answered just as softly.

  “At least I’ll be there with you,” he asserted, and his eyes narrowed as she shook her head.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not sure I’d be able to concentrate with you there.”

  “You mean you don’t trust me not to interfere.”

  Michele’s hand went to his arm. “Wouldn’t you? The minute you thought I was getting too upset, the moment you saw me start to relive what I’ve seen, you’d want to call it off. Admit it.”

  And he couldn’t deny it. Hell, he knew he couldn’t handle seeing her like that again, watching her voluntarily undergoing that torment, observing the effect it would have on her physically and not go to her aid. He was uncomfortably aware that his emotions at having to witness her trauma would be impossible for him to hide, impossible not to act on.

  Frustration slammed into him. He disliked this whole situation. He wished that Michele was at home, under guard, and that he was on his way to her place to check on her. His impatience got the better of him, and he reached for her, pulling her tightly against him.

  His kiss was deep and hard, almost fierce. Michele tasted his frustration, his impatience, and met it with her own unique serenity. She tempered the fire fueled by his impatience and welcomed the passion that burned beneath it.

  For the first few moments Connor was blind to all but his churning inner fury. His tongue swept her mouth demandingly, not waiting for a reaction but demanding it. But at the first sweet taste of her, his initial intentions faded away and he reveled in the simple pleasure of kissing her.

  He tore his mouth away finally, an awareness of their surroundings returning to him. For the first time he was thankful that his office had no windows and the thick glass in the door was impossible to see through. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I don’t want you to do this,” he whispered rawly.

  “I know,” Michele whispered. And she did. Whatever else he might feel for her, she had to be aware that he cared about her feelings. That knowledge made it a little easier to face what she was about to do. “Cruz can come in with me,” she told him, and he nodded shortly. Obviously his friend’s part in this was still bothering him, but Michele was frankly glad for it. She felt better about trying this with someone she knew in the room, and Cruz felt like a friend, even if she didn’t know him well.

  A quick rap sounded at the door, and Cruz leaned in. “Bruce is all set, Michele. Are you ready?”

  A quick glance at Connor’s taut expression made her barely suppress a sigh. “I’m ready.”

  As she turned to join the man at the door, Connor called involuntarily, “Michele?”

  She turned to look inquiringly at him, and Connor found his throat suddenly full. There was really nothing for him to say. He couldn’t stop her; she wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t spare her the pain she was about to undergo, no matter how much he wanted to. His eyes cut to Cruz, and he said shortly, “Bring her back here as soon as it’s over.”

  Cruz’s dark eyes were full of understanding. He nodded and said, “I’ll take care of her, amigo. We’ll be back in a flash.”

  Connor sank back into his chair at their exit. Waiting wasn’t something he did gladly, although often it was a necessity in his job. But this time it required far more from him than usual.

  * * *

  When his door opened again an hour later, Connor sprang up and was at the entrance to usher Michele and Cruz back in. His sharp eyes raced over her, noting the ashen cheeks, the bloodless lips and the furious trembling of her limbs. Someone had placed an ugly red-and-yellow-plaid blanket across her shoulders. Connor silently cursed himself for listening to Michele and not being in there with her. He could have told them that the blanket wouldn’t do any good, that what Michele needed was to be held, tightly, for a long time, to hear another’s voice whispering to her, forcing the demons back into the deepest night.

  Except that it wasn’t the middle of the night, and they weren’t in Michele’s home. And this hadn’t been a dream-induced session but one she’d voluntarily undergone. He barely managed to restrain himself from slamming the door behind the two of them. He took Michele by the arm and led her to his desk, where, regardless of their onlooker, he dropped into the chair, pulling her down with him.

  Michele, though, was more aware and pushed at him. “Connor,” she whispered warningly, but he ignored her protest, and she gradually relaxed as her body involuntarily was drawn to the furnacelike heat of his. Eventually warmth began to creep into her own icy limbs.

  Cruz, looking a little frayed himself, dropped down into another chair.

  “I’m fine,” Michele insisted as the shaking abated somewhat.

  Connor’s voice twisted deridingly. “You look fine, sweetheart. You surely do.” He would have loved to ask if it had been worth it, but he was unwilling to bring it all back after Michele had finally shown signs of calming. Once Cruz opened his mouth to speak, but Connor threw him such a black look that he subsided without saying a word.

  It wasn’t until much later, when Michele had left the office to go to the rest room, that the two men spoke. It was Cruz who broke the silence. “I’ll be honest with you, buddy. It was no picnic in the park.”

  “Did you think it would be?” he asked bitingly.

  Cruz shrugged. “I didn’t know what to expect. Bruce didn’t have any trouble putting her under, and I had a list of questions prepared to ask her, although I had a devil of a time getting them out, I can tell you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you tried to warn me, but I never imagined what it would be like for Michele, you know? I’ve seen a lot on the beat, but listening to her describe what she sees, hearing the sound of her voice, seeing the look in her eyes . . .” He wiped a hand over his face. “It was definitely chilling to observe.”

  “Much less to experience firsthand,” Connor said softly.

  Cruz threw him a quick look. “Right. I can’t imagine now why she brought up the idea. If someone had suggested that I put myself through that, I’d punch him out.”

  “Yeah,” Connor admitted, suddenly drained. And that had been exactly how he’d felt when Cruz had hatched the plan with Michele. “So was it worth it?”

  “Might be,” Cruz affirmed, reaching for his tablet. “She gave a positive ID on one of the cars used, and it matches exactly the one we found abandoned.”

  Connor nodded, not even surprised. The car had yielded some minuscule strands of hair, and the lab results were back on them
. What still puzzled Connor was that they didn’t match the test results on the letters that had been delivered to Michele. So that meant that either the letters were unrelated to the case, or that there were at least two people involved in the kidnappings. Connor suspected the latter. Which meant, of course, that Michele was in a great deal of danger.

  “Then we focused on where the children were being held. It’s a good thing we didn’t spend a lot of time looking downtown,” he added.

  “Why?”

  “Because Bruce had Michele mentally walk to the window in the place, the one that was boarded up. He had her look out the crack between the boards and tell him what she saw. It’s obviously in some sort of rural area. And it has a bell out front.”

  Connor’s interest sharpened. “A bell?”

  “The way she described it, it sounded like an old church or a school,” Cruz said. “That’s what it brought to my mind, anyway.”

  “Okay, we’ll check that out,” Connor said. “Start with the area closest to the kidnappings and fan out.”

  “Too bad we don’t have more men.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Connor promised, not knowing if he would succeed. “Anything else?”

  “Just one thing. She described a bumper sticker on the fender of the car used to abduct Susie Kimberly. It was yellow with red print.”

  “What did it say?”

  Cruz’s voice was wry. “It said For The Sake Of The Children. Pretty ironic, considering.”

  “Yeah,” drawled Connor musing. “Real ironic.” He pondered it for a few minutes, something about the description bothering him. “That slogan sounds familiar,” he said slowly. He cocked a brow at Cruz. “Ever heard it before?”

  The other man thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. It sounds like one of those commercials from TV, where they ask for money to feed a child overseas. You mean you think you’ve seen a bumper sticker like that yourself?”

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t think so.” The memory he was trying to summon teased at his brain, advancing and retreating coyly. “It’s the words, I think. Like I’ve heard them before.” He thought hard, trying to use the sheer force of his will to bring the memory to his consciousness, but finally he gave up. It would spring out when he least expected it, most likely. Still, it was odd, the vague familiarity of those words.

  “So what’s next?”

  “Nothing more for tonight.” Connor rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a hell of a day already.” The door opened, and Michele reentered the office. “We’ll pack it in for today and start fresh tomorrow with the search for the building Michele described.”

  Her gaze flew to Connor’s, startled. She had expected that Cruz would give him a full report of the session with Bruce and, like a coward, had decided to leave them alone for it. As much as she detested admitting it, even to herself, the experience had shaken her more than she had imagined possible. But now it seemed as if Connor was actually going to act on the information she had given; she saw the confirmation of that in his eyes.

  A slow ball of warmth started in her stomach and promised to chase away the rest of the memory of the recent events. He believed her, he wanted her to know that he valued her involvement, and Michele felt some of the chill in her limbs fade away.

  Connor noticed that she was beginning to sway and frowned. “I’m taking her home,” he said abruptly to Cruz. “She’s dead on her feet.”

  There he went again, making decisions for her, Michele mused. She was too tired to even summon up the irritation she knew she should feel. “I drove my car here,” she protested mildly.

  “I’ll bring you over in the morning to get it,” he said firmly, his voice daring her to object. Michele didn’t. She was shaky, and she really didn’t want to drive, anyway. All she wanted was to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep for twelve straight hours. Tomorrow she would deal with the events of the day. Right now she didn’t think she could handle anything more even if she had to.

  “All right.”

  Her easy acceptance of his plans for her eased Connor’s mind a little, but not much. Normally she would have responded with a spirited protest about him running her life. The fact that she hadn’t probably had more to do with her exhaustion than any change in her attitude toward him. But that was all right. He would deal with that later. Right now he was going to take care of this woman, and he didn’t care if he had to throw her over his shoulder to do it.

  He found that such drastic means weren’t called for after all. Once in his car Michele leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Connor turned on the heater, despite the balmy temperature outside, knowing that her body was still shaking with occasional chills.

  They rode in silence, and it wasn’t until she felt the car ease to a stop and heard Connor cut the engine that she opened her eyes. But instead of seeing her slightly dilapidated duplex, they were in front of a small restaurant. The flickering neon sign proclaimed it as Guido’s.

  “You need to eat.” Connor staved off any objection she might have voiced. “Then it’s home to bed.”

  Michele sighed and opened the car door. He was really into bullying mode today, and exhaustion was no longer a good enough excuse to allow it to continue. “I’m not sure I can eat anything,” she warned him as they walked to the front door.

  He studied her as he held the door open for her. “Just try. I won’t push—honest,” he added when he saw the disbelieving look on her face.

  Michele walked by him. “I guess it will be worth it just to see you try to keep that promise,” she threw over her shoulder.

  Connor guided her through the dimly lit room to a small booth in the corner. She looked up in surprise as he slid in next to her, instead of seating himself across from her, but after taking one look at his face she said nothing. He was trying to take care of her with a vengeance, she thought with an inward sigh.

  After placing their order with the waiter, they lapsed into silence again. Connor racked his brain when the silence stretched into minutes. He wanted to take her mind off what she had to be thinking, off reliving what had happened to her in Bruce’s office. But what was there to say? He didn’t want to discuss the case with her; that would be a surefire way of bringing it all to the surface again. What did he and his frequent dates even converse about? He certainly didn’t talk about his work, and he rarely talked about anything of a personal nature. He thought hard for a few minutes, but all he could come up with was listening to his dates chatter on about their work or their lives, or conversation that was rife with innuendo. That was what he was good at, what came easily to him. Never divulging anything of himself but making the woman feel as if he had.

  He slanted a glance at Michele. Neither seemed appropriate with her. Usually she made this easy on him, drawing him out without his even being aware that he was disclosing anything personal. She had a gift for making people comfortable, for getting them to talk about themselves, and for listening, really listening, to everything they had to say. He’d seen its effect time and again. But tonight she seemed disinclined to start a conversation. He felt frustratingly tongue-tied. It was damn hard to break the habit of a lifetime of being closemouthed, even as he was reaching for a way to calm her.

  Michele sipped slowly from her water glass, becoming belatedly aware that the silence between them had stretched into minutes. She peeked at Connor and was surprised at the almost fierce expression on his closed features. He must be thinking about the investigation, she thought sympathetically, and it was second nature to her to want to soothe him, take his mind off his troubles.

  She touched him lightly on the arm. “Do you know this place well?”

  Connor’s eyebrows went up, and he looked almost shocked that she had removed the burden of conversation from him. Not that he had been doing such a bang-up job of it. “Yeah, Cruz and I discovered it a few years ago.” He stopped out of habit, not revealing any more, until he realized wi
th a start that an avenue of conversation had opened to him. He pursued it with a vengeance. “We had picked up Guido’s son for some punk crime, vandalizing a school building with a bunch of kids.”

  He found himself telling Michele the whole story, of how Tony was the only one of the kids who hadn’t had a rap sheet a mile long. How he and Cruz had decided that it was a matter of him falling in with the wrong crowd and had gone to bat for him to get him community service instead of probation.

  “We got him lined up as a junior counselor for a city recreation program. Guido was embarrassingly grateful. In fact, we’re darn lucky he’s not around tonight, or we’d be treated to the house special and a shameful amount of personal attention.” He stopped, amazed at himself. She’d done it again, just by looking at him with her head cocked that way, her gray eyes alight with interest and amusement, encouraging him to share more.

  And there was no more awkwardness after that. They talked all through the breadsticks, the salad and the main course. They spoke of mutual interests in working with kids and disagreed as to whether all kids were redeemable. But they agreed on more than they didn’t. That all kids deserved a chance and they shared a frustration with the lack of programs to provide them with outlets for their activities.

  Connor was almost sorry to see the waiter return to clear their dishes away. It had been an enjoyable hour, yet he was too aware of how little Michele had eaten. She had done more rearranging of the food than actually eating it. But he kept his word and didn’t remonstrate with her about it. He was pretty sure her mind was off the events of the day, and given the droop of her eyelids the next immediate need was for her to get some sleep.

  Michele smiled to herself on the way home. When Connor had first begun to speak, his words had almost seemed labored, an effort he was determined to make. But he had forgotten his reticence after a few minutes. She had noticed that before about him, each time he had spoken to soothe her after one of her dreams. His voice had seemed rusty at first, as if he were unused to using it other than to issue commands. But he made a point of talking to her, and she knew intuitively that he was more open with her than he was with most people, letting out more about himself than perhaps even he was aware. Without his telling her, she thought she could identify each of the people in the photos in his house, because she had heard him talk of his parents, his sister, his nephew and his close relationship with Cruz.