by Gina Wilkins
She put a basket of crusty rolls and a crock of margarine on the table beside the main dish, along with a bowl of tiny green peas she’d cooked earlier, then reheated in the microwave. By the time Sam joined her, his hair wet and dirty clothes exchanged for shorts and a clean shirt, she was just pouring tea over ice in two large plastic tumblers. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, nodding toward the table. “Have a seat and dig in.”
He looked surprised, then pleased. “Hey, this looks good.”
“I didn’t think you’d want another heavy meal tonight, as hot as it’s been today.”
Sam was already filling his plate, and he didn’t seem to mind the substitutions in the least. “I’m impressed, Sanders,” he said, after taking an appreciative bite of the salad. “It’s amazing what you’ve been able to prepare with a hundred dollars’ worth of groceries.”
Dallas shrugged, trying to hide her pleasure at the compliment. “I’m used to cooking on a budget. Until I got my promotion last year, I was living on a patrol cop’s pay. Before that, I worked two minimum-wage jobs while I put myself through the academy.”
He grimaced. “No one ever promised us we’d get rich being honest cops.”
“No. But I’m getting by okay now.”
“Yeah. Me too, I guess. Of course, it’s easier for us—being single,” he clarified. “The married guys with families to support complain that they’re barely getting by.”
Dallas shrugged again. “It’s just a matter of knowing how to budget.”
He nodded and made a major dent in his dinner before speaking again. “Learn anything new today?”
“Nothing of any importance. You?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I sure hope Brashear is acting on a reliable tip. I’d hate to think I was going through all this for nothing.”
“Does ‘all this’ include living with me?” Dallas asked politely.
He grinned across the table. “This dinner’s got me in such a good mood that living with you seems like a job perk at the moment.”
She blinked, then shook her head at him. “Don’t get used to it, Perry. The novelty will wear off fast.”
“Nothing says I can’t enjoy it while it lasts.”
“True. But you’re cooking all weekend. My generosity only stretches so far.”
“So does your shirt,” Sam murmured, eyeing the faded blue knit top that was pulled tightly across her bulging middle. “I can’t get over how realistic that thing looks, even in a tight shirt.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Dallas agreed, glancing downward. “Polly told me today that I look about ready to ‘pop.’”
“She’s pretty big, herself. When’s her kid due?”
“Four or five weeks. She said she saw her doctor this morning and he told her she looks like she’ll be on time, if not early.”
“Did she seem excited?”
Dallas shook her head, remembering the oddly stark look in the other woman’s eyes when she’d talked about her baby. “No. She looked...sad.”
“She’s selling it.” Sam sounded convinced.
Dallas didn’t know why she was having such a hard time reaching the same conclusion. Maybe it was just because she rather liked Polly, despite her distaste for the life-style Polly had chosen.
Unlike the average armchair liberal, Dallas believed most people did make the choice to become drug addicts and prostitutes or whatever, regardless of their circumstances. She’d known many decent, law-abiding citizens who’d dragged themselves out of horrible backgrounds, which made it difficult for her to accept the badly overused “victim of society” excuse.
Her own past had hardly been a picnic. And it hadn’t been a lucky twist of fate that had kept her off the streets. It had been a lot of damned hard work, and a determination to make something of herself, with or without anyone else’s assistance. Dallas was a firm believer in the “tough love” philosophy.
Which didn’t mean, she assured herself quickly, that she had no compassion. She really did like Polly. If there was anything she could do to help her, she would. But she would also not hesitate to arrest Polly if she did anything illegal with regard to the helpless baby she carried.
Sam pushed his well-cleaned plate away and leaned back in his chair with an exhale of satisfaction. “That was really good, Dallas. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did you get a chance to meet any of the other neighbors today?”
Dallas shook her head. “It’s been a quiet day. Of course, with the other two apartments on this floor empty, I don’t see anyone unless I go downstairs. I thought I might run into someone when I went out for the paper, but I only saw a couple of little kids playing on the second-floor landing. I saw Ms. Blivens downstairs and said hello, but she only grunted and kept walking.”
“Real ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”
Dallas giggled. “Yeah. Right.”
“What did Polly tell you about the other tenants? Anything interesting?”
Dallas shrugged. “She talked a little about them yesterday. Said they’re mostly old people on fixed incomes, too scared to leave their apartments for the most part. Or single mothers on government assistance, struggling to raise too many children without the help of the fathers. Polly’s very bitter about men right now. It’s obvious that she thinks you’re going to dump me to raise the baby alone.”
Sam nodded. “That’s what we want her to think, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Dallas finished her own meal, then reached for her tea. “Sam—you wouldn’t do something like that, would you? Walk out on your kid, I mean.”
He frowned. “Hell, no, I wouldn’t walk out on my kid, if I had one. Even if I couldn’t live with the mother, for some reason, I’d make sure my kid was taken care of. Financially, physically, emotionally. I’ve got no use for those guys who make babies, then disappear.”
Pleased with his vehemence, Dallas nodded. “I thought you’d say something like that.”
“What about you?” he challenged, turning the questioning back to her. “Can you imagine any circumstance where you’d sell your own baby for cash?”
“No,” Dallas said without even stopping to think about it. “I might not ever get around to having kids, but you can bet if I ever do, nothing would make me sell my child.”
Sam searched her face for a moment, then glanced down at her stomach and smiled. “Junior must be really relieved to hear that,” he said, lightening the conversation with his teasing.
Dallas went along willingly with the change of mood. She patted her bulging tummy. “I’m getting rather fond of Junior, actually. He’s very well behaved. A lot less trouble than most people’s kids.”
“That’s what all the proud mamas say,” Sam assured her gravely. “Of course, you realize the kid is half mine.”
“Let’s just hope he gets my personality instead of yours,” she murmured, one hand still resting on the padded harness.
“And my looks,” Sam retorted, striking a male-model pose.
Dallas rolled her eyes. “And your modesty, I suppose?”
“Naturally.”
She shook her head. “Just as well you and I won’t be making any kids together, Perry. Poor little brats would probably get the worst of both of us. Of course, you have a lot more flaws to contribute than I do, but—”
“Hey! I resent that.”
“Facts is facts, Perry,” she said sweetly.
“Someday, Sanders...”
“Yes?”
“Someday,” he said firmly, “someone’s going to have the last word with you. And I fully intend for it to be me.”
“Not in this lifetime, Perry.”
He shook his head and shoved himself away from the table. “I’ll help you clean the kitchen. Then I might just barely be up to a couple of hours of TV before I crash for the night.”
“Real exciting plans,” she muttered tongue in cheek, reaching for her plate. “I was hoping you’d take me dancing tonight.”
He groaned. “If you knew how many tons of building materials I hauled today, you wouldn’t even joke about that.”
“You never take me out anymore,” she wailed, throwing herself suddenly back into character just to find out what he’d say in return. “I think you’re ashamed of me because I’m so fat and ugly.”
Sam tossed a wadded-up paper towel at her, but went along with the charade. “Shut up and get out of my way, would you?” he hollered. “How’s a guy supposed to relax from a hard day’s work with a woman always yapping in his face? Yap, yap, yap—you never give it a rest.”
“You don’t lo-o-o-ve me!” Dallas complained, her hands busy washing dishes and stacking them in the drainer beside the sink.
“Oh, cripes!” Sam cried in utter disgust. He pulled a canned soda out of the refrigerator and winked at her over his shoulder. “I’m going to watch TV. You sit in here and sulk all night if you want. I don’t care.”
“Want some cookies to go with that?” Dallas whispered. “Jerk!” she added more loudly.
“Sounds good,” he murmured back, then yelled, “Just shut the hell up, all right?”
He stormed toward the living room, popping the top on his soft-drink can as he went. Dallas threw an aluminum pan after him—noisy, but unbreakable. It landed with a satisfying clatter on the linoleum floor, missing Sam by a couple of inches. He gave her a startled look, then shot her a grin before he disappeared.
Smiling, Dallas finished wiping the countertops, then retrieved a handful of Oreo cookies from the cupboard before joining Sam for another quiet evening of fuzzy television.
Fighting with Sam was actually turning out to be rather fun, she’d discovered to her surprise. Lieutenant Brashear had been right about their being well suited to their roles.
* * *
SAM WAS STILL ENGROSSED in a news program when Dallas decided to shed “Junior” that evening. She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door, then tugged the maternity shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor, already reaching for the Velcro fastenings that held the harness on. She sighed in relief when the heavy weight fell away. Setting the apparatus on the floor, she quickly shed her maternity slacks, leaving herself clad only in a white knit tank top and panties. She stretched, shifted her shoulders, then bent double and touched her toes, feeling deliciously slender and unfettered.
The sound of a male throat being cleared behind her brought her upright in a hurry.
Sam was standing in the doorway, an appreciative gleam in his hazel eyes as he eyed her long, bare legs. Aware of the butt-up position she’d been in when he’d entered without her hearing, she blushed and reached hastily for the nightshirt she’d laid out earlier. “I thought you were still watching TV,” she said, holding the garment in front of her.
“I’m ready to turn in. Sorry, I thought you’d be dressed. You usually change in the bathroom.”
“Yes, well—er—I was just stretching.”
“So I saw.”
His smirk made her itch to smack him. She lifted her chin and headed for the bathroom, well aware that his attention was still focused primarily below her waist. She closed the bathroom door behind her with a sharp click, then splashed her burning cheeks with cool water. She was already dreading having to cross the bedroom floor and crawl into bed with Sam Perry—especially after the way he’d just looked at her!
* * *
SAM LAY ON HIS BACK in the bed, arms crossed behind his head, wondering when Dallas was going to come out of the bathroom. Had she been so embarrassed at being caught in an awkward position that she’d locked herself in for the night? He wouldn’t have believed she could be so prudish.
He still remembered exactly how she’d looked when he’d entered the room. Her tanned arms stretched in front of her, her back a graceful curve, her long, bare legs braced to support her. Not to mention that firm, round bottom. He’d always known Dallas Sanders had a great figure. He just hadn’t expected to find it displayed quite so appealingly this evening. And now he was going to have to spend another night in bed with her.
He hoped she’d never guess how difficult it had been for him to sleep the past couple of nights. How aware he’d been of her lying so close to him, her breasts rising and falling with her even breathing, her hair tousled against the pillowcase. If she ever found out that he sometimes lay on his side, just watching her and marveling at how young and unguarded she looked in her sleep, she’d probably go for his throat.
The bathroom door finally opened and Dallas stepped out, clad now in another voluminous, unrevealing nightshirt, her eyes carefully avoiding his. She snapped off the overhead light as she passed the switch, throwing the room into deep shadow.
He was rather amused by how careful she was not to touch him as she slid into the bed. She was only an inch or so away from rolling completely off her side of the bed and landing on the floor right next to “Junior.”
“I don’t bite,” he couldn’t help telling her, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
She muttered something incoherent and shifted a quarter of an inch closer.
Directly above them, someone walked heavily across the floor, almost shaking the plastered ceiling above Sam’s head. A noisy thud followed, as though that same heavy walker had dropped all his weight onto a bed. A moment later, the bed started to creak, accompanied by a rhythmic thumping sound that might have been a headboard knocking against the wall above them.
Sam had just realized what he was hearing when a woman began to moan. Loudly. A man groaned, then groaned again with more enthusiasm. The X-rated sounds drifted through the thin walls, clearly audible to the unwilling eavesdroppers lying very still in their own bed below.
Dallas murmured a protest and buried her head in her pillow. Sam grinned, then chuckled when the woman above them began to squeal, her words clearly audible for the first time. “Yes, yes! Oh, God, yes!”
“Sounds like she’s having fun,” Sam commented dryly, and shifted to a slightly more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress.
Dallas growled. “Go to sleep, Perry.”
“Who could sleep with that going on right above our heads?”
“Try.”
The bed above them pounded even more vigorously against the wall. The woman’s cries accelerated.
Sam grinned. “Let’s just hope they don’t drop through the ceiling. I don’t want to get quite that actively involved in their personal life.”
“Harder! Faster!” the woman shrieked.
Dallas pulled her pillow over her head. “I’m going to sleep,” she grumbled, her voice muffled. “Only a pervert would enjoy listening to this.”
The woman above them screamed and her lusty lover bellowed. The ensuing silence was startlingly abrupt.
Some ten minutes passed, and Dallas cautiously emerged from beneath the pillow. She sighed in relief. “Thank goodness that’s over,” she mumbled, turning her back to Sam and squirming a bit to settle back into her usual sleeping position.
Sam tried to ignore her movements. He was uncomfortable enough without thinking about Dallas’s temptingly curved bottom wriggling around so close beside him.
He was amused by her reaction to their involuntary voyeurism. He hadn’t realized until this assignment that Dallas Sanders was such a conservative type at heart. He never would have guessed by watching her at work in her skimpy hooker clothes and sexy, touch-me-if-you-dare attitude.
“Hey, Sanders?” he said after a moment, giving in to an irresistible temptation.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got one hell of a great body.”
She went very still, then shrugged against the pillows. “Yours isn’t so bad, either. It’s what’s inside it that I find so annoying.”
He chuckled. “Still determined to have that last word, aren’t you?”
“Go to sleep, Perry. You’ve got a long, hard, hot day tomorrow.” She sounded suspiciously cheerful about the reminder.
“What?” he retorted. “
No good-night kiss? Or maybe we could try to teach the upstairs neighbors a thing or two about noisy lovemaking.”
He waited expectantly for an obscene response. What he got was a very chilly reply. “I think not,” she said and turned her back more firmly to him. “Good night, Sam.”
He smiled up at the now silent ceiling, deciding that her awkward attitude must indicate that she, too, was a bit bothered by their sleeping arrangements. At least she wasn’t completely indifferent to him as a man. Now that would have been tough on his already battered ego!
5
DALLAS WOKE WHEN SAM did, on Thursday morning. On impulse, she had his breakfast ready and a lunch packed by the time he’d showered and dressed. He didn’t question his luck—nor did either of them mention the night before. He returned home dead tired that evening to find dinner on the table again. He thanked her, but was too exhausted to say much of anything else, except to complain that he still hadn’t gotten even a hint of a rumor about baby brokers working the neighborhood.
Dallas had to admit that her own investigation wasn’t proceeding any more quickly. She’d managed to talk to another neighbor, a homely young woman who lived on the fourth floor with her boyfriend—more likely her pimp, Dallas added matter-of-factly—but no interesting new tidbits had surfaced during that conversation. Like everyone else they’d met so far, the woman hated the building and the neighborhood, and had plans to move out as soon as her finances allowed.
Dallas had noted the ugly scars of old needle marks on the woman’s skinny arms, and a fading bruise beneath her heavy layer of makeup. She told Sam fatalistically that she doubted their neighbor would live long enough to move up in the world. He’d looked glum when he’d agreed. He’d turned in soon after dinner, though Dallas stayed up awhile to watch TV.
Sam was sleeping heavily when she joined him in the bed. He didn’t even stir. Dallas thought in sympathy that the construction job must really be a killer for someone unused to such demanding physical labor, particularly in the heat they’d been experiencing. She hoped for Sam’s sake—and for her own, of course—that the assignment didn’t last much longer. Not that they’d made any progress so far.