by Alison Bruce
Seth left smiling. I doubted things would go so smoothly back in the kitchen.
“Rick—”
“Pru—”
We spoke at the same time and stopped at the same time, waiting for the other to continue. Rick spoke first.
“I know I’ve been pushing you lately. I guess I don’t like being alone much. Living with you and the twins has been great. The chemistry between us . . . but,” he added, “I realize now that I tried to move in too quickly —that you weren’t ready.”
“Rick . . .”
“No wait, Pru. Let me get this out. You are a very special lady and it would be difficult for me not to fall for you.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Especially since you saved my neck. The thing is, maybe I was rushing myself too.”
I took a sip of my coffee, holding onto the cup as I leaned against the counter. “Did you know it was your ex trying to run you down outside the café?”
Rick shook his head. “She wouldn’t really. Lorraine is—”
“Mentally unstable. As soon as Merrick interviewed her, the likelihood of you running a spy ring while involved with her went down to practically zero probability.”
“Who knew Lorraine could be so useful.”
I didn’t blame him for feeling bitter, but I did blame him for not trying to get her help while he was with her.
He squinted at me, for all the world like I was a page of print that he couldn’t quite read.
“I don’t get it. I know you find me attractive. There’s been something building between us since we first met.” He closed the space between us. “Why won’t you admit it?”
Using my coffee as a shield, I tried to deflect his declarations. “You’ve been wonderful to me and the kids while we dealt with all the craziness.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. We’ve been wonderful together. I love Hope and Boone. They love me. Nana has already told me not to make the same mistake Seth made.” He grinned. “I called her this afternoon to chew her out about not keeping me in the loop and got an earful. You’re not going to tell me that you’re willing to fly in the face of Nana Morgan.”
I wasn’t going to get to tell him anything. He wasn’t going to let me get a word in edgewise. Too tired to stop him, I waited until he wound down. Even then, I didn’t say a word. He finally read my face and his face fell.
“Why won’t you give us a chance, Pru?”
It was like a play. Even as Rick asked the question, the answer walked through the front door.
“Hartley?”
“Kitchen,” I called back.
My face lit up. Rick’s face shut down.
“Oh . . .” he said.
Merrick appeared in the doorway. Instead of his ubiquitous dark suit, he wore jeans and a V-neck sweater. He gave me a half smile. Then he held out a hand to Rick.
“Court. Thanks for taking care of Prudence today.”
Rick accepted the hand.
“That’s what family is for.”
Merrick nodded.
“Well,” Rick said, assuming a brisk tone, “I guess I’ll go home. Got a paper to write.”
“Thank you, Rick.”
He gave me a forced smile and left as quickly as he could.
As soon as he was gone, Merrick wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a full-body contact hug.
“How bad?” he asked, resting his cheek on the top of my head.
“I’ll live,” I murmured. “Even with the painkillers, driving to Ottawa is going to be a bitch.”
“I didn’t mean your wound.”
I pulled away just enough to be able to look up at his face. With a sideways nod, he indicated the direction of the front door, Rick’s exit.
“Bad,” I said. “I tried to say something earlier, but until last night . . .”
* * *
Last night. After months of being on tenterhooks, I finally knew where I stood with Merrick. He never left my side, regardless of the orders, requests, and pleas from medical and law enforcement personnel. He didn’t let go of my hand unless he absolutely had to, and then he reclaimed it as soon as possible.
My bathroom wasn’t bugged, thank heavens. Neither was my bedroom. But my hallway was wired. From those pickups, Merrick had heard the interchange between me and Kallas, including me mentioning her gun. He heard our scuffle. Then he heard the shot.
“I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead until you spoke,” he told me, when we finally had some time alone.
I was semi-reclined on what passed for a bed in the ER, in as dark and quiet a room as existed there. I was hooked up to an IV for a course of antibiotics. Again. Seemed that stress and physical exertion weren’t the only reasons my wound wasn’t healing. Merrick had snagged a stool—the kind the doctors used. He perched on it, leaning over the guardrail, holding my IV-free hand.
“It was just as well that I already had everything in place because for a few minutes I couldn’t function.” His eyes pressed closed. “Even when I heard you speak, your voice was muffled. I couldn’t tell if you were all right, but I held it together because the most important thing was to get you out of there.”
Feeling weak as a baby, I squeezed his hand.
His eyes opened. “As soon as you were safe, I handed over command to Zeke. I wasn’t—I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
I gave him a weak grin. “Not sure you can make that promise,” I said, voice shaking.
“I can tonight,” he said. “If you let me, I can promise to be with you for the rest of our lives.” An amused smile overcame his solemn expression. “Figuratively speaking, of course. I won’t be weird and follow you around all the time.”
Between the stress, the pain and the drugs, I wasn’t all that quick on the uptake. Not that articulate either.
“Huh?”
He reached over awkwardly with his free hand and pinched my chin. Hard. “Stay awake, Hartley. I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you. I’m trying to propose.”
“You said you’d never get married again,” I pointed out.
“I was wrong.”
“Zeke said—”
“He was wrong. So is my son if he’s been telling you that I can’t settle down. I can and will if it’s with you.”
“I’m just saying,” I insisted, “it doesn’t have to be marriage.”
“You’re wrong.”
I glared at him.
“Let me finish, Merrick.”
He shook his head. He slid off the stool and leaned over me, careful not to put pressure on my wound.
“Just tell me if you love me.”
I sighed. “I love you.”
“I’m not going to ask if you can handle being a cop’s wife because frankly, not only are you more danger-prone than me, I think you can handle anything.”
“Except losing you,” I whispered, suddenly losing my voice.
He tried to kiss me, but the guardrail got in the way. Letting go of my hand for the first time in an hour or more, he released the locks and lowered the rail. I wrapped my free hand around his neck as soon as he was within reach. With surprising strength, I used my grip to pull him down and me up so I could wrap my other arm around him.
His lips were cool and firm. Mine felt hot and swollen to me, but he didn’t seem to mind. His arms engulfed and supported me, allowing me a free hand to tangle in his thick short hair. My tongue licked his lips and he let out a tiny moan as the kiss deepened.
Still supporting me, he managed to free a hand to stroke my hair, my shoulders, then up and down my back. It was as though he had to physically re-assure himself I was really there. I completely understood because I felt the same need. Trailing my IV line, my hand caressed his cheek, his shoulder, down his back— as far as I could reach.
He lay me down so he could kiss my neck. I undid my gown tie at the neck and he pulled it down, exposing my shoulder so he could kiss that. My fingers pulled at his shirt, wanting to touch the skin of his shoulder and ch
est.
Merrick pulled back.
“Hartley, we’re going to get kicked out of the hospital.”
“As long as we’re together.”
I was hot and aching for the man. Maybe a little too hot.
“I’ll get kicked out of the hospital,” Merrick amended. “You’ll be kept here until your temperature re-enters the normal range.”
I nodded. He was right.
“I don’t want you to leave. Not now. Not ever.” I grinned. “Figuratively speaking. Literally would be weird.”
He bent and kissed me again—a gentle, we’ve-got-all-the-time-in-the-world kiss. Then, in contravention of hospital rules and possibly the laws of gravity, he eased onto the narrow bed and held me until I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 19
It took the better part of a year to tie up all the loose ends.
Delia Kallas eventually entered a plea of guilty to data theft, manslaughter, and a variety of other charges. She was sentenced to life in a minimum-security prison and evidently put to work for counter-intelligence. Merrick couldn’t have given me details even if he’d had them—which he didn’t. He made it clear that it would not be wise to assign him to the case if the government wanted to ensure Kallas’s safety. The only person more angry at Kallas was Detective Parrino.
Most, if not all of the members of Kallas’s network were rounded up, thanks to the information obtained.
I decided I didn’t want to write a mystery after all. I’d leave that to Hope and stick to science fiction, or maybe I’d try romantic suspense. I had gathered a lot of background research for that genre.
I gave up doing resumes and proof-reading—except the firefighter’s charity calendar—but let my best clients know I hadn’t given up business writing completely. After all, a girl still needs to make a living.
Walter put his house up for sale. He never knew he’d been suspected of espionage. He left because that square-dancing partner of his finally roped him in and got him to move into her farmhouse near Fergus. I never found out if her son bought my book.
Merrick sold his condo to Nate, who finally made a career decision.
My mother was ‘living in sin’ with Billy—her words, not mine.
Merrick moved in. Since his work could take him anywhere, Guelph was as good a place to live as any. Rick, who got an offer from the OPP, threatened to buy Walter’s place. He was too late. Merrick bought it. For now we’re leasing it to a visiting professor. In a few years, we might want to join the two homes and give ourselves more living space.
March, two years after finding a dead man in my living room, I was dressed in off-white and waiting at the church.
Friends from Provincial, Regional, Metro, and City police forces were in attendance. Don Parrino, in his dress blues looked very dignified, but Merrick and Nate stole the show in their scarlet serge.
Or so I thought, as I walked down the aisle.
From the glowing gaze Merrick had, I guessed he was equally impressed with me. It was all I could do not to look over my shoulder when I passed him.
At the end of the aisle, I took my place to the right of the altar. On the left side, Geoff gave me a wink. Tom, very properly, had his attention fixed on his bride. Paula was lovely—even if she did look a little like a deer caught in the headlights. The dazed expression lasted through most of the ceremony. At one point, I had to prompt her to respond.
“I do,” she said. “Didn’t I say that?”
“Not aloud, hon. You have to say it out loud.”
Later, as we shuffled around the dance floor in a poor imitation of a waltz, Merrick asked, “Ready to marry me yet?”
My mother and Billy danced by. “Are you going to make an honest woman of that girl or what?”
“Damn,” Merrick muttered.
I laughed. “Nope. Not ready to get married yet. But I will go on another honeymoon with you.” Honeymoons were a much better way to spend money, in my opinion. I pressed myself up against him, in direct contravention of the uniform code of behaviour according to Merrick. “April in Paris?”
“As long as you don’t find another dead body.”
“No promises.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alison Bruce has had many careers and writing has always been one of them. Copywriter, editor and graphic designer since 1992, Alison has also been a comic book store manager, small press publisher, webmaster and arithmetically challenged bookkeeper. In addition to writing, she is the Publication Manager of Crime Writers of Canada and part-time tech guru to the technology-impaired.
Alison writes mysteries, romantic suspense and historical romance. Her protagonists are marked by their strength of character, the ability to adapt (sooner or later) to new situations and to learn from adversity–traits she hopes to pass on to her children, Kate and Sam.