Heather felt the heat rise to her face and quickly looked away. As she sat down again, she listened to the group’s remarks.
“It’s amazing someone still wants to save the world.”
“A nice change after dealing with scum all day.”
“I like the part about helping when they’re still young.”
“Amen, brother.”
“And speaking of brothers,” said one of the guests, “I heard through the grapevine that there’s a beat cop across town who’s filed missing persons on his wife and two kids. Says she’s been clinically depressed. Thinks she might hurt herself and the kids. Even tried to get an APB out on her.”
“An APB? Will never happen. Unless the women’s a dangerous criminal. And I’ll bet she has no record. What’s her name?”
From flaming heat to icy cold, Heather held her breath and stared into her lap. Mary Beth Landers. Had to be. Heather could hear her own heartbeat.
“Last name of Landers. Officer Hank Landers.”
Her hands tightened into fists. Keep listening.
“He’s filed a missing person, huh?” someone said. “Which means he’s already checked the local hospitals and found nothing.”
“Which might also mean,” inserted Lisa Connors, looking around the room, “that the woman made a rational decision to leave, and he’ll never find any reports at local agencies. So, bravo to her.”
Heather snapped to attention and stared at the woman.
“Aw, Yorkie. Your sister thinks we’re pigs.”
“No. No, I don’t,” replied Lisa. “But I’ve walked in her shoes—not with kids thankfully. Believe me, you’re not all wonderful to live with.” She paused for a moment. “But the way I figure it, I picked the rotten apple in the barrel. I’m just thankful I never married him.”
“When did all this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Eve, walking quickly toward her sister.
Lisa tilted her head. “Because you would have been on the next plane, and I didn’t want a shoot-out on Broadway.”
“Broadway? So, the SOB works the Midtown precinct? I know people there….”
“Eve!”
The policewoman turned to her husband. “What?”
“You’re missing the point. It’s over. Lisa handled it. Stop playing bossy big sister, or you’ll lose her.”
That silenced the woman. She smiled at her husband. “That’s why I married you, Larry. You keep me sane.”
“But who keeps me sane?” he asked with a wink.
Eve bestowed a big lover’s kiss right on Larry’s mouth in front of everyone. “I do.”
A new barrage of cheers and whistles signaled the end of the party. Guests began to take off.
Heather yawned as she and Dave walked to his truck.
“Tired?” he asked.
“What a night. I feel like I’ve both performed in and attended a play in about seventeen acts.”
He opened the door for her and helped her in. “Those shoes aren’t made for pickups, uh, no pun intended.”
She glanced at her high-heeled sandals. The sexy choice. “No offense taken. My feet are killing me. I’m wearing a uniform.”
“Nice uniform you’ve got there.” He shut her door. A minute later, he pulled away from the curb. “So, when did Mrs. Landers and her kids show up at the shelter?”
And every friendly thought she’d started to have about McCoy vanished.
IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Heather pulled Kathy’s car into the driveway. And she was happy to have had some time alone in the vehicle, away from McCoy. She hadn’t confirmed Mary Beth’s presence at Welcome Home. But McCoy knew. Said her gestures and expressions had given her away. Looking down. Avoiding his glance. She was no actress, so his observations were probably true. Which was too bad.
“And it’s so Heather,” he’d said with an exaggerated sigh. “Always getting the tough cases.”
She could handle tough cases. She wasn’t sure about tough cops. And more than that, she wasn’t sure where McCoy’s loyalty rested—with the cop or with the cop’s victims. Could he possibly have twenty-twenty vision in this?
She parked the car and walked to McCoy’s truck at the curb to say good-night. But the cop was standing beside a silent vehicle, and Heather was surprised. She was home safely now, and he could leave.
“Thanks a lot, McCoy. I appreciate the help, the ride. Everything. But you can get going now.”
“After you tell me if Kathy’s home,” he said.
“Nope. They’re with Mark’s family this weekend in the hill country.”
“Then I’m not leaving until I check it out,” he said, nodding toward the house.
“I locked it before I left.”
“Good. Come on.” Heather shrugged, then led him inside. “Stay here,” he ordered, “right by the doorway.”
“Fine,” she said, deciding to humor him. She watched him pull back the drapes in the living room, right off the entry hall. The dining room on the opposite side was empty. She could see that for herself. The house only had three bedrooms. No big family room, no fancy granite countertops to show off, just a simple home, comfortable enough for the two sisters, in a working-class neighborhood. There was certainly nothing to draw a burglar here.
Heather removed the killer shoes, leaned against the wall and waited, as she imagined his actions in each room to be like every cop’s in every police show she’d ever seen. He took longer than she’d thought.
“The locks on your bedroom windows stink,” he said, replacing his weapon in its holster. “And you don’t even have an alarm system. A baby crook could break in here without a problem.”
“We don’t own the house. We rent it.”
“Tell your landlord that an alarm system is a home improvement, and he’ll save on his insurance.”
She saluted. “Yes, sir.”
He glared at her. “Not funny.”
“I’m tired, McCoy. Go home.”
“I guess long nights don’t agree with you. Lock up after me.”
He stepped outside, and she turned the tumblers. Then heard him call, “Good girl.”
As though she were ten years old. She listened to his truck engine start up, the noise diminishing as he drove away. Finally, she could relax. She picked up her shoes and walked down the hall to her bedroom, humming under her breath. When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she paused. She looked…passable. Maybe more than passable. Actually a bit sophisticated with her hair curly and wild and some blush on her cheeks.
A fast rap on the front door interrupted her musings. What could McCoy want now? She ran down the hallway, pulled the door open and found herself staring into the muzzle of a gun. And it wasn’t McCoy’s.
DAVE PULLED AWAY from Heather’s house and started cruising the streets. Funny how wide-awake he felt when exchanging words with Heather should have wiped him out. She both captivated and exasperated him. He couldn’t quite determine how to deal with her yet. But he would.
He drove up and down neighborhood streets, hoping to unwind before going home. He’d rather stay out late and drive than toss and turn before he was ready to sleep. He made his way past the women’s shelter, then zigzagged through his territory.
The streets were quiet, and a few minutes later, he yawned. Twice. His signal to head home. Instinctively, he chose Heather’s block to access the freeway, laughing at himself. When he saw the panel truck in front of her house, however, his humor fled. He squeezed his brakes as he approached. Where the hell did that truck come from? And why was it parked in front of Heather’s door when there were plenty of other spots on the block? He’d only been gone a little while, and he didn’t like coincidences.
He pulled in front of the truck, cut his engine and climbed out. Then he drew his gun. Sliding into the shadows, he made his way to the front door and turned the knob. The door swung open revealing a dark empty hallway. He sidled along the wall leading to the back of the house, halting at the sound of voices. A man’s l
ow one, and Heather’s shaky one—coming from her bedroom at the end of the corridor on the right. He’d been in it earlier.
He approached silently in the dark. The bedroom door was partly open. A man stood in profile, a gun drawn on Heather. In a tone that belonged to a lover, soft words rolled out of his mouth.
“Your boyfriend, the cop, pressed charges on my family, no? A real hero. And payback is—how you say—a real…bitch.” He shrugged his shoulders, but a hungry grin crossed his face. “First, puta, you will take off the sexy blouse…and show me those beautiful round treasures.” He gestured impatiently with the weapon. “Now!”
“I’m not a whore….”
“Do it!” the perp ordered sharply, his gun steady, pointing at Heather. “I’m going to have what my brother didn’t,” he added, “and then, puta, we take a little trip, and the boyfriend will never find you….”
“I don’t think so,” said Dave.
The man whirled, his weapon discharging.
“Get down,” yelled Dave, as he shot the gun out of the guy’s hand. Blood spurted, but the perp came charging at Dave like a young bull elephant. The man used his whole body, and his powerful impact jarred the cop, whose gun hit the floor. Dave kicked it across the room as his fist connected with the man’s cheek. He fought the perp punch by punch, connecting with his gut, then his nose. It felt great to release. Not so great to receive. But the piece of turd wasn’t going to hurt Heather.
He grabbed the man around his chest trying for a full-body hold. But the guy fought back. His arms and legs struck like pistons. He kneed Dave near his groin, and Dave flung his whole weight against him. They both twisted off balance and hit the floor, Dave underneath.
From his position on the ground, Dave saw Heather approach. She held something over her head. No! He tried to shout, “Get out of here.” But his breath was gone, his words soft.
As he watched, her eyes widened. She’d heard him, and for a second, he hoped she’d leave the place. Then she smashed the perp over the back of his head—not once, but twice—with a metal pole. The man went limp, a heavy deadweight.
“Vacuum cleaner,” Heather whispered.
Dave pushed the man off, and looked at Heather. “Crazy woman. Got any panty hose?”
She dropped the vacuum, nodded and disappeared. Dave retrieved both weapons.
“Kathy’s,” she said, handing him the nylon hose a moment later. While he tied the man’s wrists behind his back, Heather got the portable phone from the kitchen. Her hands began to shake, and Dave grabbed the receiver.
“You would have been better off kicking the guts out of this one, too,” he murmured.
She smiled briefly, and he almost collapsed with relief. Until he saw her tears. Instantly, he felt like beating the bastard to a spongy blob. He reached out and drew her close. When she leaned into him, he wanted to tuck her away.
Then he called 911. This emergency stuff was getting to be a habit he wanted to break.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU. I thought it was you.” She wanted to explain. Wanted Dave to believe her. His friends, too. Officer Powers still stood in the hallway after two other cops had taken the creep away.
“Do you need any medical attention?” asked Powers in a gentle voice, his gaze passing from Heather to Dave, whose arm was still around her.
“No,” replied Heather. “I’m fine, I’m really fine. I just need a minute. You understand why I opened the door, don’t you? I thought it was McCoy.” She was repeating herself, and she pressed her lips together to keep quiet.
“Look at Dave’s bruises. It’s Dave who needs medical help. His cheek is swelling. I’ll get an ice pack right now….” She ran to the kitchen, the men right behind her.
She took an ice tray out of the old freezer and smashed it against the side of the sink. Oh, that felt good. She grabbed another tray. And smashed it on top of the first. Better. After filling a plastic bag with cubes, she wrapped it with a paper towel and placed it carefully against Dave’s cheek. “Hold it there.” She would have held it for him, but she had too much energy to stand still. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe aftershock. She could’ve run a marathon. She wanted to calm her mind, calm her body. No more being a victim. She knew exactly what she had to do.
She explained to the two that she needed to be alone, thanked them again and left Dave in the kitchen. In the third bedroom, she started working out on the heavy bag she’d installed when she and Kathy had leased the house. She found it hard to focus at first, and her technique was sloppy. Knees, elbows, feet. Some shadowboxing. Slower, concentrate. Take your time, build your strength. Breathe. She managed to get into the zone, slowly bringing everything she’d learned about the discipline into this practice session.
Dave watched Heather from the bedroom door after Powers left. He knew she was oblivious to him, and it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop staring. Heather Ann Marshall worked the bag with an expertise beyond anyone he’d ever seen. If she weren’t a black belt kickboxer, she was close. He replayed the first encounter they’d had with the gang. How she’d kicked the perp with precision and took him out of the game. She’d kicked the knives away. And how she’d gotten in the perp’s face, screaming about her kids. Fearless. And now he knew why.
Tonight, however, had been different. A loaded gun had been pointed directly at her.
Finally, she paused, hugged the bag and slowly slid to the floor.
“All finished?” he asked softly.
She looked up at him through long lashes and smiled. And his heart pounded a syncopated beat. He caught his breath as he stared at her. Despite the sweat and the dark smudges on her cheeks where her makeup had run, she looked beautiful. Were his friends right? Eve had said he was in love with a sitting duck.
“I’m staying the night,” he said. “Or what’s left of it.”
“Good.”
Good, she had company? Or good that company was him?
“I need a shower,” she said, slowly rising to her feet. “I stink.”
He hadn’t noticed.
She looked down at herself. “This is what I get for dressing up….”
“The guy’s a sicko, Heather. You didn’t provoke anything.”
“Of course not,” she replied immediately. “I know that.” She patted his arm. “It’s just that now I’ve ruined this fancy silk outfit.”
“I’ll buy you another one.” As if silk clothing mattered more than her life.
“No, no, Dave. It wasn’t your fault. You don’t owe me anything.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “I liked seeing you all dressed up. You looked very pretty.”
She laughed. “You’ll have to use your memory. Tomorrow it’s back to jeans and running shoes. Thank God.”
He followed her to the front of the house. Almost bumped into her when she froze in the hall near the kitchen. She stared at the front door. “Did you lock it?” she whispered.
And then he knew the evening’s aftermath was far from over. “Sure did. Both tumblers. But you should have a keyed entry. Better yet, you need an alarm system.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
No argument. No lip. Her experience was beginning to take root. It had been real.
“There might be a beer in the fridge,” said Heather. “And there’s plenty of soft drinks. Help yourself. I’m cleaning up.” She left him in the kitchen.
Thirty minutes later, after soaking his hands in icy water and laying the ice pack on his face for as long as he could stand it, Dave still waited for her to reappear.
THE HOT WATER CLEANED HER on the outside and warmed her on the inside. She felt wonderful. No more shivering at all. She was safe in her own house with…Dave McCoy, a cop. Another shiver ran through her. Not fear this time, but excitement, which surprised her. Maybe the cop shouldn’t stay.
A loud rapping penetrated the sound of the water. “Heather. Are you okay in there? It’s been a half hour.”
“I’m fine. Co
ming right out.” She dried off in a hurry, put on an oversize tee and shorts, and combed her wet hair just enough to take out the knots.
She walked into the kitchen, and Dave rose from his chair, his eyes filled with warmth and concern and…maybe something more…for her. And every thought she’d had about sending him away flew out of her head.
Before her stood not a cop. Not Officer Dave McCoy. But simply a man. A man who was looking at her now as though she were the last piece of chocolate on the plate.
“Dave…?” She tasted his name, rolled it on her tongue and slowly reached her hand toward him.
“Yes.” He opened his arms, and she stepped inside.
“I was scared,” she murmured against his chest. The admission pained her.
“I know.”
“He would’ve…would’ve…taken me…and, and…”
“But he didn’t. And he can’t. He’s not going anywhere for a long time. You’re safe.”
“Good grief. That’s what I tell my clients at Welcome Home. ‘You’re safe.’ Just what you’re telling me.”
His arms tightened around her. “They need to hear it….”
Just as she needed to. “They need to believe it. That’s the difference.” She moved out of his arms, stepped around him, then walked to the door and examined the locks. “I’m…I’m just making sure.”
“Take your time. Do whatever helps you.” His voice was gentle, and his movements quiet, small. Nonthreatening. Reassuring.
“Are you sure you can stay?”
“Absolutely. Heather…there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Her name was a caress. “Then, would you mind just holding me?”
His mouth curved into a smile. “I think I can handle that.”
She nodded at the couch. “We could stay near the front of the house and hear anyone who tries to come in.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms again. “We could do that.” He tipped her chin up. “I like looking at you.”
A Man of Honor (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 6