by Chris Taylor
Zara’s eyes widened in shock and her mouth fell open. The color leached from her cheeks. Lane cut her off before she could say the words.
“Tragic, yes. Sad as hell, you betcha. He was given a hero’s burial. Even the Police Commissioner was there.” He shook his head, trying to ward off the memories. “But it didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was that we’d lost our dad and my mother had lost her husband.”
His voice cracked. Tears welled up in Zara’s eyes, but he didn’t want her pity. She reached out to him, but he brushed her hand away.
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me.”
“Then why are you telling me?” Her soft query nearly did him in, but he forced aside the temptation to unload his long-pent-up grief and anger and instead, forged ahead.
“I’m telling you because it shaped who I am, who I became. My mother worked two jobs to keep food on the table. Sure, there was a payout from the Police Service for Dad’s wrongful death, but it was a pittance when faced with the reality of supporting four children. My youngest brother was only six months old when Dad died.
“Mom put the money into a trust fund for us kids—to pay for college or whatever other educational options we wanted to pursue when the time came. Every cent of her wages went to pay the day-to-day expenses, including the monthly car and mortgage payments.”
Lane drew in a ragged breath, hating the thought of dredging up the memories, but unable to stop until he was finished.
“I watched my mom go from a pretty young housewife and mother who met regularly with her friends for lunch and who was always around when we needed her, to a woman who aged a decade overnight and worked sixteen hours a day just to keep her family alive. None of that sacrifice would have happened if Dad hadn’t died. Her life would have been so different.”
Zara’s eyes were full of compassion. “Accidents happen, people die. You can’t help that, Lane.”
Anger surged through him and he pushed away from the couch, suddenly unable to sit still. “You think I don’t know that? That’s the reason I vowed to never get married, to never have a family. I love being a cop. It’s what I was born to do. I’m not prepared to take the risk that my job gets me killed and leaves another woman to struggle on alone to raise our family.”
Zara stared at him, her eyes dark and stormy with emotion. He knew what she was going to say and he didn’t want to hear it. He’d heard it all before from his mother, when he’d confessed to her late one night a few years ago, how he had felt when she questioned him about his unwillingness to settle down.
He held up his hand. “Please, Zara, don’t say it. I don’t want to hear about what ifs and wherefores and maybes.” His voice rose as he tried to make her understand.
“Don’t you see? I can’t take the risk! I chose policing because it was in my blood. It was all I wanted to be and so far, it’s lived up to every single one of my expectations. But I chose it, knowing it meant I would never have a family to call my own.” He began to pace across the thick woollen rug that covered the tiled floor of the living room. Zara watched him in silence.
“I’ve lived with my decision for more than a decade and I’ve been fine with it. Did you hear me? I’ve been fine with it! Girls have come and gone through my life—I’ve enjoyed them and they’ve enjoyed me—and that’s been fine. I’ve never wanted anything more permanent. I’ve never yearned for a family of my own. I’ve never once thought I might have made the wrong decision.”
He spun on his heel and faced her, his breath coming hard. Zara stood and came toward him, her cheeks wet with tears. He drew in a huge breath and exhaled. The air escaped and with it, his anger. His shoulders slumped. She reached out. Her fingers grazed his chest. He sucked in another breath and dragged her to him, burying his face in her hair. His voice was rough, muffled, defeated when he spoke again.
“I’ve never once thought I’d made the wrong decision,” he whispered. He lifted his head and stared down at her. “Until you. You’ve turned my world upside down. You’re all I can think about, even in the middle of a nightmare investigation where my friend’s ten-year-old is the victim, you were in my thoughts, my dreams, in almost every waking moment.”
He stared at her, confusion, uncertainty and wonder warring inside him. “For the first time in my life, I’m questioning who I am and what I believe about myself. And it scares me. It scares the hell out of me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I want you. I need you. I yearn to have you in my life. Every hour. Every day. But that means putting you at risk. It means risking leaving you alone, to fend for yourself and perhaps our children, to grow old and tired decades before your time.”
He framed her face in his hands, imploring her to understand. “I care for you too much to do that to you.”
“Do you care for me enough to try?”
Her quiet words shocked him to the core. He dropped his hands and stepped back, dazed and confused. How could he try? Didn’t she understand anything? Hadn’t she listened to a word he’d said?
He shook his head, but she was having none of it.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, Lane. You’re terrified of trying. You’re terrified of even thinking about trying. You’re terrified of something that may never happen. Are you really willing to throw away what we could have together for something that may never come to pass?
“People die every day, from all sorts of things. Some of them die at work, absolutely—but most of them don’t. That’s life, it’s a gamble. Nobody said it wasn’t. But you either choose to live or you choose to die.”
She dragged in a breath. Lane braced himself for another bout. She didn’t disappoint. Her eyes flashed with passion and fire and determination and the tiniest spark of hope. He couldn’t look away.
“So far, you’ve chosen life. But it comes with risks. It comes down to whether you care enough about the outcome to take that risk. You either want to take it, or you don’t.” She stared him down. “It’s your choice.”
Lane was torn. One part of him yearned to take her in his arms and promise her the world, promise her that he was willing to take the risk that what they found together would be enough…but deep inside, he still had doubts, grave doubts and they killed the words in his throat before they could even form.
Zara must have sensed his withdrawal because her face closed. She ducked her head and a curtain of dark hair shrouded part of her face from his view. As she turned away, he caught sight of fresh tears.
His gut clenched in agony. His hands fisted by his side, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even murmur. His own silence and inability to comfort her nearly killed him.
She’d walked less than ten feet away from him when she turned on her heel and stalked back, closing the distance between them. Her eyes spat fire.
“Do you know Lane, from the moment I met you, I believed in you. You exuded confidence, courage, determination and kindness. You cared about a little girl who’d been kidnapped; you cared about her family who were depending on you to bring their baby home. You cared about the little girl who’d had a lucky escape and her family who were relieved she’d been spared.”
Her voice cracked. He stood, cemented to the ground, feeling helpless. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but his limbs were leaden.
She lifted her chin and stared him down. Despite the turmoil inside him, a burst of admiration flooded through him.
“I-I think I fell in love with you right there, in Brittany’s bedroom, when you treated her with such kindness and concern and caring. You were under pressure and every second counted, but you took your time and coaxed my sister with gentleness until she was able to give you what you needed and all along, you never lost sight of the scared, little girl who needed you more. Olivia Munro has no idea how hard you worked to find her.”
She swiped at the tears that now stained her cheeks, but didn’t break his gaze. Her voice was softer, calmer when she spoke again.
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“In all of those long, tense hours when none of us knew if we were ever going to see that little girl alive again, when I prayed to God with gratitude that my sister had been spared and with hope that Olivia would be found unharmed, my faith in you never wavered.”
Her hand clenched into a fist and she thumped him on the arm. He gasped, but more from surprise than pain. Then she hit him again.
“Not once, do you hear me? Not even for an instant did I doubt you. I believed in you. I believed in your courage. I believed in your strength. I believed in your determination.”
Her shoulders slumped as she finished and the fight went out of her. Lane ached from the tension in his body. His eyes burned from unshed emotion. Unable to stand it another second, he reached for her.
She flinched and stepped away from him, her eyes hard. “I never dreamed how wrong I was, that beneath your confident, courageous exterior there’s a coward.” Tears filled her eyes again and rushed down her cheeks. Her voice hitched on a sob. “If you ever find the man I’m beyond certain you can be, you know where to find me.”
She turned and stumbled, bending awkwardly to collect her shoes and handbag. With her head held high, she strode out of his home. He stared at the empty doorway—for what seemed like a lifetime—in an agony of pain and indecision.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tuesday, January 30, 7:49 p.m.
From a distance, Draco saw the woman stumble down the steps that led out of the unit block and hurry along the sidewalk toward her car. The night had fully descended and if it weren’t for a couple of conveniently placed street lights, he’d have missed her.
“Fuck, she’s coming.” He peered behind Zara, checking to ensure she was on her own. Her car was where she’d left it, fifty yards or so ahead of her. Draco checked behind her again. Still no one. His mind worked furiously. He spent a few seconds debating his next move, but there was nothing for it. He might not get another opportunity and he was sick to death of sitting.
Pushing open the car door, he climbed stiffly out of his vehicle and hurried across the road. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and was relieved to feel the reassuring hardness of his snubnosed revolver. His blade was also handy.
He found a thick shrub growing a few feet away from her silver BMW and silently congratulated himself on his luck. Crouching low in the shadows, he waited.
* * *
Tears rolled down Zara’s cheeks and she let them fall unhindered. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry her pain away. Over and over, she replayed the conversation with Lane until she could recite nearly every word by heart.
She couldn’t believe he was willing to throw away the promise of what they could find together because he was scared—scared of something that in all likelihood would never come to pass. She’d meant it when she’d told him she’d never imagined he was a coward, but he’d let her walk away without even a murmur of protest.
Her heart clenched again at the memory, but she’d done the right thing to leave. He had to be the one to decide she was worth the risk—that they were worth taking a risk. He had to come to the conclusion that his fears were irrational, that, when compared to the potential joy and love and enrichment they could bring to each other’s lives, his anxiety about a premature death were as insubstantial as cotton candy.
With her gaze determinably fixed to the concrete beneath her feet, she hurried along the path that led to her car. The night had settled in and the pavement was dimly lit. Sifting through her handbag, she found a clean tissue and wiped at the tears on her cheeks.
With some degree of decorum restored, she drew in a deep breath and hunted in her handbag for her keys. Her car was still where she’d left it. In the darkness, it looked forever away, but she’d taken the closest parking spot she could find when she arrived at Lane’s condominium, hours earlier.
Had it really been only a matter of hours? So much had happened, so much had changed. Hopes had been raised and then dashed. It felt like a monster roller-coaster ride that she’d taken a lifetime ago.
She took another deep breath and released it slowly, determined to put this behind her, at least for now. She had to go home and get some sleep before heading to work in the morning. She felt guilty enough about taking two days off, knowing someone else had to cover her clients and any other crises among her cases that needed to be resolved.
She smiled without humor. She knew all about crises.
Her fingers closed over her car keys and she heaved a sigh of relief. Her BMW was only a few feet away. At this time of night, it would take her less than an hour to get home where she could climb into bed, pull up the covers and do her best to forget all about Detective Senior Sergeant Lane Black.
With that resolution firmly in her mind, she pointed her remote at the car. Before she could press the unlock button, a heavyset man leaped out from behind a bush. A millisecond later, a gun was shoved in her face.
Zara froze. She was being robbed. She couldn’t believe it. Adrenaline surged through her. She could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart but she did her best to maintain her composure, refusing to let her attacker see her fear.
The man stepped closer and hauled her against him. One thick, hairy arm pinned her against his chest, the other hand held the gun hard against her temple.
“One word and you’re dead,” he growled against her ear.
Zara tried to get her brain working through the shock and fear that paralyzed her. He’d already half-pushed, half-dragged her to the side of the highway. A car whooshed past, its lights almost blinding her. The driver was intent on the road in front of him and didn’t even glance in her direction.
Her captor started forward. Zara tensed and tried to resist, but she was no match for the brute strength of the man who held her. Before she knew it, they’d shuffled across the road and he’d thrust her up against the side of a vehicle that was half concealed by the darkness. With the gun still trained on her head, he let go of her and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
Oh, God, he was going to abduct her. Any minute, she’d be forced into the car and taken to who knew where. Thoughts spun through her mind—frantic, scattered thoughts that refused to cement into actions.
Staring at her through narrowed eyes, he tugged the rear passenger door open and waved the gun toward her, indicating without words, that she was to climb in.
Her heart thumped harder. Time was running out. If she was going to make a run for it, she had to do it now. She might never get another chance.
She eyed the man who looked vaguely familiar and then eyed the gun. The headlights from another passing car glinted off its shiny metal barrel. She’d never been this close to a gun. She shuddered and prayed silently for the courage to challenge its deadly promise.
Knowing it was now or never, she flung up her arm to ward off the weapon and spun around, ducking under the meaty arm the man swung in her direction. Tensing, she took off at an awkward run, her wedges making progress difficult. She’d barely made it past the end of his car when she turned her ankle on the loose road base that lined the shoulder of the highway.
She yelped in pain and then in fear when her captor hauled her up by the hair and turned her to face him. Seconds later, his fist hurtled toward her. It connected with a loud smack against the soft skin of her cheek. Fire exploded across her face. Her mouth filled with blood. The fist came out again. This time when it connected just above her ear, she felt nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tuesday, January 30, 8:28 p.m.
Lane picked half-heartedly at the ham and pineapple pizza he’d had delivered a little earlier. Despite his hunger, the weight of confusion and uncertainty in his gut now prohibited even the smallest bite.
He sighed heavily and wished for the thousandth time that he wasn’t so damaged. He’d resisted the urge to tear off after Zara and beg for her to stay. He knew she needed time alone. They both did.
He’d replayed their last conversati
on until he was exhausted and determined to claw back a semblance of his sanity. Coupled with the stress and lack of sleep he’d endured over the past forty-eight hours or so, it was all he could do not to push away from the table and head down the hall to his bed.
He stood and dragged himself over to the couch. Weariness dodged his every step. The smell of her perfume hit him the moment he sat down. His single-minded efforts to push aside memories of their time together evaporated like fog in sunlight.
All at once, she surrounded him. Her smile, her laughter, her warmth. His body tightened at the recollection of her pressed against him and he groaned aloud.
He wanted her: now, tomorrow, forever. And yet, the promise of what could be wasn’t enough for him to take this leap of faith. His parents had loved each other to distraction. He’d only been a child, but he’d still been aware of the soft looks, the tender words, the close embraces. His parents had loved as much as anyone could and it hadn’t been enough.
Zara’s words came back to taunt him. He couldn’t deny she was right. It was cowardly to be unwilling to take the risk, but it was also supremely unselfish. Why couldn’t she see that? He was thinking of her in all of this. Wasn’t he?
Shucking off his shorts, he tossed them to the floor and headed toward the bathroom. The sound of his phone ringing pulled him up short. Hope flared inside him and his heart skipped a beat. Zara.
The next instant, he was shaking his head, telling himself not to be stupid. There was no way she’d be calling him after the way they parted. Besides, she was probably still on the road.
Picking up his phone from where he’d left it, he glanced down at the screen. He couldn’t help the rueful smile that tugged at his lips.