Dedicated to Deirdre

by Winston, Anne Marie

  They lay there for a long, long time before he moved to lie beside her, pulling her over against him with her head in the crook of his shoulder and those marvelous breasts pressed against his side, her hand resting on his chest, palm over his heart.

  It occurred to him that this might be a very good time to tell her about himself. But how to begin? “I have something I’d like to tell you,” he said, “and I know it’s going to upset you a little, but—”

  “Let me guess,” she said, yawning. “You have five ex-wives stashed around the country.”

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. But since you brought it up...I was married before. Once. And it only lasted about three years.”

  “That must be the magic number,” she said. Then, while he was still trying to figure out how to lead the conversation around to the place he wanted it to go, she asked, “So what happened? I won’t believe you if you tell me you had affairs and rubbed her nose in them.”

  “Okay, then I won’t tell you that.” But inside, he was glad that she trusted him. “Sonja and I—just weren’t as compatible as we thought we were.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her Sonja had married him for his money and he’d been too stupid to catch on until after the fact.

  She propped herself on her elbow and looked down at him. “So it just kind of...fell apart?”

  “That’s about it.” Except that when Sonja fell, she was cushioned by a healthy chunk of my income. “No big fireworks, no blowouts that required police assistance.”

  “Lucky you.”

  That startled him. “You called the cops on dipstick?”

  “Once.” She lay back, giggling, but quickly sobered. “After we were divorced, he wasn’t willing to be civilized. I had been awarded the house, which really got to him, and he periodically came over and ranted and raved. The last time I told him he couldn’t come in and he broke the door down. Fortunately I was able to call a friend of mine—oh, you met Jillian, remember?—and when she arrived, he left. Didn’t want any witnesses when he murdered me, I guess.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Sorry.” She rubbed her palm over his chest and idly played with the flat nipple she discovered, sending sensual messages arrowing straight to his groin. “You know what gets to me the most?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The lying. Later, when he wasn’t bothering to hide the women, at least I knew where I stood. But that first time...that first time was devastating. And he lied to me, swore it was never going to happen again. It’s the thing I find hardest to forgive.”

  “Forgive?” It was a weak echo. Lying. It’s the thing I find hardest to forgive.

  “Yes,” she was saying. “I’ll never want him as a friend, or even an acquaintance, but I’ve let go of most of the rotten memories. Mostly now I just worry when the boys go with him—hey!”

  He’d rolled over onto her, unready for any more intimate discussions, even though it was what he wanted, what he’d planned. Obviously, he was going to have to think this through really carefully before he explained things to her. “I don’t want to talk about exes anymore,” he said.

  She shifted her hips gently beneath him, emphasizing the growing arousal that responded to the feel of her beneath him. “Gee, we’ll have to find something to fill the time.”

  They drove back to Frannie’s a few hours later in contented silence. He’d pulled her over to the center seat of the truck to sit beside him, like two teenagers, and she’d chuckled as she put her head on his shoulder.

  “Aren’t we too old for this?” she asked.

  “For what?” He slanted a curious smile her way, keeping most of his attention on the highway.

  “Necking in the car, sneaking around behind our families’ backs....”

  She didn’t sound uncomfortable, just amused, and he took the hand he held in his and raised it briefly to his lips. “Right now I don’t feel old at all. In fact—” he pulled her hand into his lap “—there’s a motel right down the road. We might have time for one more quick round of wild—”

  “You’re insatiable,” she said, exploring his stirring flesh through his pants with purposeful fingers until he pulled her hand away with a groan. She laughed and laid her head against his shoulder. “I think I like ‘insatiable.’”

  “It’s a good thing. I’ve been walking around in hormone overdrive for weeks. It’s going to take a while to get you out of my system.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t uttered them. Trying to fix it, he said, “Actually, I think getting you out of my system is impossible. I guess I meant I have to learn to pace myself.”

  “You don’t have to tiptoe around it.” Deirdre was still relaxed in his embrace, but there was a distant quality he was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining in her voice.

  “Tiptoe around what?”

  “I don’t expect this to last forever.” Her words were quiet. He thought they sounded wistful but maybe that was his imagination. “I won’t throw fits when you leave. Having this time with you has been the best thing that’s happened to me in...well, in years, and I’ll always be grateful—”

  “I don’t want you to be grateful.” He realized his hand had tightened on hers, and he made a conscious effort to loosen his grip as he struggled with words that suddenly seemed far too inadequate and confining to explain his feelings. “I don’t really know what I expect from what’s happening here, but I don’t plan on letting you get away. So don’t even think about giving me the brush-off, baby.”

  She was quiet again.

  “What?” he finally said. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Think.”

  “You hate it when I think?” The corners of her lips were curled just the smallest bit, as if she couldn’t quite contain her amusement.

  He nodded, aware that he sounded fairly idiotic but he was too far in now to get out gracefully. What the hell. Grace had never been his strong suit. “You’re thinking something about you and me. And I hate it when I don’t know what you’re thinking. So give.”

  “It was nothing earth-shaking. I was only thinking that you can be a real dictator when you want to.”

  Ah. He didn’t particularly like the sound of that. She’d lived with a dictator before, and he sure hoped she wasn’t finding any similarities between that ass of an ex of hers and himself. Cautiously he said, “I didn’t mean to come off sounding autocratic.”

  To his astonishment she raised his hand to her lips. “It’s okay. I wasn’t comparing you to Nelson. You couldn’t be less alike.”

  When they knocked on the door of the Ferrises’ home, Jack opened the door. “Hey, come on in,” he said, waving with his free hand. He held his infant son securely in the other arm. The child appeared to be sound asleep, tiny features slack and peaceful looking. “Thanks,” Deirdre said. “We’re a few minutes early.”

  As Jack closed the door behind them, Ronan took a deep breath of the cool air around them. It was a typically hot, muggy Baltimore summer day, and the respite from the humidity was nice. A television set in the entertainment center in the living room caught his eye, and he turned to Jack as he realized there was a baseball game in progress.

  “Is that the O’s?”

  “Yeah. The game just got started.” Jack’s eyes were already drifting back to the television. “Come on in and sit down while the women gab.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to Deirdre. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with her own, and his hands came up to her waist, savoring the soft give of her flesh. Suddenly the ball game was much less interesting. Then she slipped away from him and gave him a gentle push. “Go watch the game.” She turned to Jack. “Where’s Frannie?”

  “In the shop,” said Jack.

  Ronan asked, “What’s the score?”

  Deirdre was already walking toward the back of the house, and she blew him a smiling kiss. A woman in a million, he reflected. A woman who didn
’t mind a man watching a little baseball. He took a seat on the edge of the couch, his attention caught when the Sox batter popped up a fly toward right field.

  “No runs yet,” Jack informed him. “You a fan?”

  “Hate to miss a game.” Unless Deirdre wants to play a game just for two. Then there’s no contest.

  “Me, too,” Jack said. “I’d like to get to one, but since the new stadium was built, decent seats are hard to come by.” He grinned, hefting the baby in his arm. “And I haven’t exactly had a lot of free time lately.”

  Erickson was starting tonight for the O’s, Ronan noted. Absently he said, “I have season tickets behind the plate. You’re welcome to them sometime.” As he watched, Ripken snagged a line drive and fired an easy toss to first base, closing out the top of the inning. All right.

  The Orioles came trotting in toward their dugout—

  “Are you kidding?” his host said.

  “About wha—oh.” Hastily Ronan thought back over his words. Talking about season passes probably wasn’t a good idea. And it definitely wouldn’t do to tell Jack he had box seats, a half dozen of them. He could tell him another time, after he’d explained everything to Deirdre this evening. “Not kidding,” he said. “I’m a diehard.”

  “Well, thanks.” Jack got up. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure.” He barely got his arms out before Jack dumped the baby into his lap.

  “Back in a minute. Keep an eye on the kidlet for a sec.” And he vanished into the kitchen.

  Ronan awkwardly shifted the baby into a more comfortable position. Brooks’s little face contorted and his body stretched, and Ronan’s muscles tensed; he prepared himself for a howl. Then the baby relaxed again, little lips working in a soundless sucking motion.

  A bead of sweat dropped from his brow to his knee, just missing the baby’s foot. He didn’t have a clue what to do with a baby, especially if it started to yell. He wished Jack would hurry back, and halfway through the thought, Jack pushed open the door that led to the kitchen and strode back into the room. He was clutching two cold beers and a bag of pretzels, and he was wearing a broad grin as he plunked a beer down in front of Ronan and retrieved his son.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Ronan said. “I worked up a sweat holding your kid.”

  Jack laughed. “The mere thought of fatherhood make you that nervous?”

  Ronan laughed, too. “You bet.” He realized Jack seemed to have accepted his presence a little more graciously this evening, and he was glad. He could see why they were all so protective of Deirdre, but he didn’t like being lumped in the Needs Protection From category.

  The game had moved into the next inning when he realized the time was 7:40. “Hey,” he said to Jack. “Weren’t the boys supposed to be back by seven?”

  Jack glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows rose. “They were.”

  Ronan rose. “Where would Deirdre be?”

  Jack rose, too. “Probably in the kitchen or in Frannie’s shop. Come on.”

  The two women were in the kitchen, and Ronan saw at once that Deirdre was worrying already. Walking around behind her chair, he placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged gently. “Maybe they just got tied up in traffic.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Maybe. Nelson’s been pushing the time limit the past month or so. I didn’t say anything because I know he wants to get under my skin. But this is late, even for him.” Rising, she wandered into the living room and stood at the front window.

  Ronan followed, wishing he could be more reassuring. Anger at her thoughtless ex-husband began to rise, but beneath it was fear. What if they’d been in an accident? He knew all those thoughts, and more, had to be chasing themselves around in Deirdre’s head, but for now, there was nothing he could do.

  Sighing, he flopped back onto the couch as Jack and Frannie came into the room. The bases were loaded and if Palmiero could knock a homer over the fence, the Birds would have a sweet lead.

  He couldn’t care less.

  Six

  When Ronan walked over and slipped his arms around her, Deirdre jumped. He realized her attention was so totally focused on the window that she hadn’t even heard him approach. “We’ll give him a little longer and then try to call him, all right?” he said, rubbing his palms up and down her arms.

  She nodded, and he knew she was fighting tears. God, he felt helpless.

  They waited until eight, all four of them tensing every time a car turned onto the street. As each one failed to slow and stop, he could feel anxiety pulling at her, stretching her tighter and tighter until he was afraid one more passing vehicle would snap the precarious hold she had on her fear.

  At 8:01 he stepped back and turned her away from the window. “I think it’s time to make a few phone calls. First, try calling him at home.”

  She did, letting it ring until a machine picked up and a canned voice instructed her to leave a message. She handed the phone to Ronan without speaking, and he broke the connection.

  “Don’t call him again,” he said. “If he’s there and just not answering, he’s liable to leave. Where does he live?”

  She told him, and he committed the address to memory. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he said to her.

  “Wait! I’m going with you,” she cried.

  He shook his head. “You’re staying here. What if he brings them back? You’ll want to be here. If he does have the boys at his house—” he said grimly “—I promise you I’ll get them.”

  She wilted visibly, crossing her arms, anchoring them by holding on to the opposite ones, and he saw that she was going to leave bruises on herself. “You’re right.”

  Gently he worked his fingers beneath hers, lifting them until they were clutching at him rather than her skin. “I’ll be back as fast as I possibly can. I promise.” He dropped a lingering kiss on her brow, breathing deeply of the sweet, warm woman-scent she exuded before turning to leave.

  Jack had been holding the baby. He handed him to Frannie, bent and kissed her quickly. “I’m going with him.”

  She nodded and he followed Ronan, who was halfway to the truck.

  “Hold on,” said Jack. “He saw your truck this morning. I just got a new car last week and it was in the garage when he was here. He wouldn’t recognize that.”

  “Good.” Ronan wheeled and headed for the garage. “The closer we can get without him knowing we’re coming, the better chance we’ll have.”

  Ninety minutes later, they pulled back into Jack’s driveway and got out of the car in grim silence. The door opened before they could get two feet, and Deirdre came flying out, her expression alive with hope. “Were they there?”

  He’d rather someone pulled his fingernails off than have to tell her they had no luck, but she could see it in his eyes before he spoke. She didn’t break down and sob, but one single silent tear welled up and escaped from her lashes, sliding quickly down her cheek and dripping onto her breast. Roughly he pulled her against him, needing comfort as much as he needed to give it. Rationally he knew Lee and Tommy were probably fine, just a little confused about why they hadn’t gone home. But his irrational side was a whole lot more active right now, and he seethed with fury at his forced inaction.

  He led her into the house, settling her in the rocking chair and squatting so that he was eye level with her. “I think it’s time to call the police.”

  “Oh, God.” She put trembling hands to her face. “This isn’t a bad dream, it’s real. Calling the police will make it real.” Her voice died away on the last words, and he pulled her to his chest, giving her what support he could. Silently Jack brought him the cordless phone.

  He offered her the phone, but she backed away from it as if it were a snake, shaking her head. “Would you...I can’t—”

  “I’ll call,” he said. He stood and punched in the number that Frannie had underlined in the book and waited until it was picked up. The crisp voice at the other end identified the precinct and aske
d how they could be of help.

  “I have a kidnapping to report,” he said.

  “A kidnapping?” The voice came alert and he imagined the uniformed man sitting up straighter in his chair. “Who was kidnapped, sir?”

  “My—” He stopped. “My friend’s sons. By their father.”

  “Oh. We don’t get involved in custody problems,” the man said. “That’s a civil matter.”

  “So who do I call to report this?”

  “I don’t have that information. I’ll transfer you to a detective, sir,” the voice said, and after a moment a new voice came on the line. Ronan repeated his request.

  There was silence on the line for a moment after he was finished. The detective sighed. “We don’t, as a rule, get involved in custody disputes. What you need to do is have your friend call her lawyer.”

  Ronan was silent. He’d been half expecting this, but how was he going to explain to Deirdre that the police weren’t going to bring her children back? Finally he said, “Is there any law enforcement agency that would respond to this kind of problem?”

  “I doubt it. You have to go through civil court, I think. They won’t be open until tomorrow morning.” The woman hesitated again. “Look,” she said. “I go off duty in half an hour. I live out that way, so how about if I stop by on my way home?”

  “We would really appreciate that,” he said.