by Kaylea Cross
Her throat tightened.
“I’m not a man given to emotions. I’m more apt to criticize than to praise. But I want you to know that I’m proud of the choices you’ve made and the things you’ve achieved.”
One of the tight knots inside her loosened. “About Maddie…”
“I’m only trying to help.”
She drew a deep breath. “I know, but even while I know it, in the back of my mind I resent that you have her and I don’t.”
“School will be out in a few months.”
She nodded.
She wanted to say more, but the rest of the guests were arriving. Maddie had wanted to invite both the friends she had in Broslin before the accident and the friends she’d made in the city since living with her grandfather. And as much as having a crowd in her house frazzled her, Ashley agreed. She would have done absolutely anything to make her daughter happy.
Soon the dozen kids were playing dress-up in the living room, half the contents of her closet scattered across the floor, hats and scarves and high-heeled shoes, fancy theatre purses, things she’d held on to from the past when she’d actually socialized. They got hold of her makeup case too. She would definitely have to clean up the girls before the parents came to take them home.
Her father was a great help. He’d always been busy with business, working late hours and always staying a little reserved when she’d been a child. But Ashley realized now how much age, and Maddie’s company for the past year, had softened the man. They were good for each other. Maddie got a positive male role model in her life, while William Price got some cheerful company in his lonely penthouse apartment.
As her father helped one of the little girls loop a silk scarf in a tie knot, Ashley relaxed at last and let herself enjoy the sound of Maddie’s peals of laughter.
She was pulling it off. The party was a success.
She scanned the coffee table. Half the sandwiches were gone, and they were down to two juice boxes. She headed to the kitchen for more, but as she passed by the front window, she caught sight of an extra car in her driveway, a black Crown Victoria. Jack Sullivan’s.
The man didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
“I need to run outside for a minute,” she told Heather, then grabbed her coat and headed out into the cold.
The car sat empty, but she found him as soon as she rounded the house. He was walking the edge of the tree line.
She shoved her hands into her pockets, frustration punching through her as she walked up to him. “What are you doing here?”
For a second, her gaze dipped from his eyes to his lips and a pleasant little shiver ran down her spine as she remembered their kiss. She shook that off immediately. God, how stupid was she to be still attracted to the man?
“Consider me free security.”
“How about I consider you what you are? An enormous nuisance.”
“Blackwell is still out there.”
“You’re the only person who thinks so. Let it go, Jack.”
“I can’t,” he said, just as her father came outside.
He looked Jack over. “Ashley?”
She looked between the two men, wishing she knew what to say. That Jack was a deranged police detective, looking for a serial killer at her house, didn’t seem like birthday-party conversation. Her father and she had just finally reestablished a real connection. She didn’t want Jack’s demons to upset that.
“Go away,” she whispered.
But he was walking toward the house already, flashing a smile at her father. “Came to say happy birthday to Maddie.”
“Not to investigate my daughter?”
Jack’s smile never wavered. “She’s been cleared. I’m glad for that. She saved my life.” He pulled a small package from his coat pocket. “I take it the birthday girl is inside?”
He actually had a gift. Huh. Ashley shot him a questioning look, absolutely refusing to let any sort of warming happen around her heart.
“A DVD. Princesses and Puppy Dogs,” he said.
Her father clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
What? They were best friends all of a sudden?
She ground her teeth but plastered a smile on her face. “I better go inside and put out some more juice boxes.” Then she turned on her heels and left them in the cold to do whatever they wanted.
* * *
The sound and sight of a dozen little girls tearing through the house, screaming at the top of their lungs, left Jack immobilized for a second as he stepped inside behind Ashley’s father. If there was a place on earth he didn’t belong, this was it. He would stay anyway. He put his gift on the pile that took up most of the window seat.
William Price moved away to help one of Maddie’s friends lift a box of dolls off a shelf.
Ashley stood in the middle of the melee, directing it like a general. She’d taken her coat off. Her light wool dress hugged her curves, falling to her knees. The sight distracted him for a minute as hot lust shot through him. That never seemed to change, whether they were on good terms or bad.
A woman in her thirties swept by him with a tray of sweets. “Hi, I’m Heather, Jenny’s mom. Cupcakes?”
She probably assumed he was the father of one of the little terrors. He didn’t correct her. “Jack. Maybe later. Thanks.”
Ashley moved on to the kitchen, and he went after her. Then, when he caught up with her, he wasn’t sure what to say. Her hair was all done up fancy, makeup accentuating her huge green eyes, a smattering of glitter drawing his attention to her lips. Her breasts looked practically gift wrapped in the pretty dress.
His fingertips tingled. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Need help?” he asked, hoping she would respond in the negative. Or give him a task like going out to the garage to guard the birthday cake in solitude and silence. That he could handle. Probably.
Then he caught sight of the birthday cake on the kitchen table behind her. The pink castle of sugar overdose was decorated with purple ponies.
“No thanks,” she said in a cool tone. “Everything is under control.”
He glanced back at the living room, at the girl who was sliding down the banister with a tiara on her head, her frothy pink dress up around her neck, laughing like the devil. Another one was painting flowers on the landing with some finger paints. An angelic blonde was strutting from the laundry room, wearing an expensive blouse of Ashley’s like a dress, bright red lipstick smeared all over her face.
“Let me know if things get out of control,” he said weakly.
“Why?” She tilted her head, mystifyingly not bothered by the bedlam. “Are you going to jump in?”
“I’m going make a run for it. But when I’m in my car and at a safe distance to slow down, I’ll call in the SWAT team.”
Her lips twitched at that, her eyes softening a little.
His gaze caught on Graham Lanius, popping up in one of the corners where he’d been apparently helping a couple of kids finger-paint something.
“What’s he doing here?”
Ashley made a face. “Ran into him at the bakery this morning when I was picking up Maddie’s cake. He brought by a present. He’s courting me for his gallery.”
He didn’t like the idea of him courting Ashley for anything, especially when he thought of the waitress the guy had grabbed at the bar. “I don’t think you should work with him.”
“My agent says the same.” She grabbed an armful of juice boxes from the counter and pushed by him, then was immediately surrounded by a handful of hellhounds in pink as she entered the living room. They clamored for face painting.
With the kids, she was relaxed and carefree, a definite contrast to when she was with him. He didn’t enjoy stressing her out, but he hated the thought of her in possible danger even more.
He padded up the stairs to escape the worst of the chaos, curious to see what she’d been working on since he’d last seen her work.
He
’d never liked abstracts before, never understood them. He stepped closer to the first row of canvases leaning against the wall. As far as he could tell, any of the overactive ruffle-skirted little demons downstairs could paint something like these.
But when he moved to the middle of the loft to look around and take in the field of color as one, he found that one of the newest paintings in particular drew him. There was a calming quality to it, and he wasn’t sure whether that emanated from the lines or the colors, but he liked looking at the weird swirly thing.
He turned to the next painting and let himself relax, trying to get the feel of it. Warmth, he thought after a minute. And love. A mother’s love for her kid. A family. The longing that sliced through him took him by surprise, same as the other night when he’d held her in his arms. He’d been fifteen the last time he’d seen a semi happy family. He wouldn’t have thought he’d still remember it.
A battle cry downstairs drew his attention, and he turned his back to the paintings to look down at the living room over the railing. A couple of the girls were playing tag and none too gently. Somehow he’d pictured the whole thing differently. He’d expected a dozen little ladies sitting demurely in a circle and combing their dolls’ hair quietly. Or maybe having a tea party.
The only person sitting at the moment was Ashley. She was painting a little girl’s face, not the least bothered by the noise and running. Heather was coming from the laundry room with a stack of board games; she looked up and waved at him. “Want to play Princess Magic?”
“Later,” he lied through his teeth.
Heather laid the game out on the middle of the carpet, immediately attracting the attention of half a dozen girls who rushed up to her to see what she was doing.
Out of all of them, Maddie was the prettiest. Not that he was biased just because she looked like Ashley. Her tiara, sitting askew on a wavy mess of hair, was a little bigger than the others’, and it was flashing. Who came up with these things?
She threw her arms around Ashley. “It’s the best party ever. I love you, Mommy.”
And there it was, that mood and sense of family again that tugged at him with invisible ropes, pulling him toward something he wasn’t comfortable with. Yet he couldn’t look away.
Then Maddie tore off to join the rest of the girls on the carpet. Heather divided the kids into groups and was handing out dice and cards and plastic board-game figures. Ashley raised her gaze to him and pushed to standing, wiped her hands on some paper towels, then walked up the stairs to him.
“You didn’t come just to bring a present.” She watched him warily.
“I want to protect you.”
“How about you worry about yourself first? Figure out your own life before you start worrying about somebody else’s.”
Not bad advice, all considered. She was a smart woman, one of the many things he liked about her. “Can’t. I’m a no-good, messed-up, obsessed cop.” He quoted words she’d thrown at him a while back. “I’m sorry. About the other night… I would never do anything to put you in harm’s way.”
She watched him, conflicting emotions crossing her face.
“The chase has been my life for too long,” he told her. “I never expected there to be more. This…” He made a frustrated gesture with his hand, indicating both of them. “This came completely unexpected. I don’t know what to do with it.”
She wrapped her arms around herself even as she swayed toward him. “I’m not going to fall for a man who’s all wrong for me.”
He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. “You shouldn’t.”
“When women fall for a guy with all the wrong kind of baggage, thinking they’ll change him, it never works. I’m not going to be like that. I deserve better. So does Maddie.”
His hands itched to touch her. “You do. I agree. I wish I could be the right guy. I do. Do you believe me?” He reached for her hand and took it, turning so it wouldn’t be seen from below.
She let him.
There was something here, something so good and unexpected. Something he didn’t deserve. If only he had the time to explore it. But he had a premonition he wasn’t going to get the time.
Things with Blackwell would come to a head and soon. Every cop instinct he had was telling him that.
“Let it go,” she asked quietly.
Three days of torture was nothing compared to how he felt as he said, “I can’t.”
And then, as if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
“Sorry,” he said, looking at the display. “It’s Bing.”
She nodded as she pulled away, then walked downstairs, letting him take the call in private.
“The FBI got Blackwell in Jersey. They’re bringing him back here to Broslin. They want you to come in and see if you can make positive ID.”
A myriad of conflicting emotions swirled through him as he ran down the stairs. “Gotta go. They got Blackwell in Jersey,” he told a startled Ashley as he sailed by her.
Then he was out the door, driving away from everything that could have been.
Chapter Thirteen
Everybody was at the police station. Since the FBI still had most of their things set up there, they were bringing Blackwell to Broslin, and nobody wanted to miss that. Even Leila came in, and Harper too, his arm in a sling. At first Jack had thought they’d come to see the monster. But as they clapped him on the back, one by one, Leila actually getting close enough for a hug, he realized they were here to support him.
“There. It’s over now,” Bing said gruffly. “They have him.”
Jack stood by the front desk, one eye always on the front door as he tried to figure out how the hell this happened. Apparently, he had friends.
He’d come to Broslin for Blackwell, and Blackwell alone. He didn’t socialize; he didn’t hang out; he didn’t do the buddy thing. In his spare time, he either drove around town, trying to figure out where Blackwell might live, or sat at home going through the case files.
The FBI bursting through the door with their suspect in cuffs refocused him. Right age, right body type, right height.
Anger tore through Jack. Then hatred came and boiling darkness, his hands tightening into fists. He’d wanted to be the one to catch the bastard. Because he wouldn’t have brought Blackwell in, he admitted to himself now. He didn’t just want to end the chase, he wanted to end Blackwell too. Permanently.
The agents rushed the man toward the interrogation room, Hunter jerking his head at Jack to follow.
He hurried after them, blood rushing in his head. “Let me in there with him.”
“In the viewing room.” Hunter looked and sounded too damn self-satisfied. “Conflict of interest. We’re going to put him away for good. No mistakes now.”
Jack about gritted his teeth but went with it. He had no other choice at this stage. Blackwell had been caught. Somehow he was going to have to find peace in the thought that, at least, there’d never be another victim. He was looking through the two-way mirror by the time Hunter seated the bastard. He just stood and watched, even if he was tempted to go right through the damn glass, and let the chips fall where they may.
“State your name for the record.”
The man shot a sullen look. “Jordy Myers.”
“What is your relationship to Felicia Miller?” Hunter threw out the name of one of the kidnapped Jersey girls, then the other, but by that time, Jack was barely listening.
Wrong voice.
Although he couldn’t remember Blackwell’s voice perfectly, it was deep, not like this weird nasal tone.
The tension drained out of him, replaced by red-hot frustration as he kicked the chair in front of him.
“Not the right guy,” he said when Hunter came over to ask him.
“It has to be him. Keep listening.”
But the longer he listened to the interview, the more sure he was. Jordy had some questionable past with Felicia, but he seemed to have no knowledge of the other girl or any of Blackwell’s previous v
ictims.
He was so disappointed he walked back out and sank into his chair, uninterested in Hunter’s display of various interrogation techniques.
“Not Blackwell,” he told the people waiting.
Chase swore, his way of offering manly sympathy, then headed out. He had to be back for his shift first thing in the morning. Harper went with him. Bing tried to talk Jack into a better mood, then gave up and headed out too.
Jack sat at his desk, paging through his folder. He couldn’t stop looking at his notes, pictures, crime-scene lab results. He didn’t know how to stop. There had to be something there, something he’d missed.
The agents brought Jordy out from interview, escorted him over to one of the station’s handful of holding cells in the back. They were all empty.
“We’ll transport him in the morning,” Hunter said as they too headed back to their hotel, pleased with themselves as anything, patting each other on the back.
“It’s not him,” Jack said again, but they didn’t even hear him.
Leila was just about to sneak out the door when Hunter caught her, handed her a stack of papers, asked her to scan them and e-mail them to him.
Joe and Mike stayed too. They had the night shift.
Jack slapped the folder closed and stood. Maybe Ashley was right and he was completely obsessed. In any case, if Blackwell hadn’t been caught then he wanted to go back to her place, stay outside this time, guard her from afar.
“They’re not the boss of me,” Leila groused as she fanned herself with the paperwork up front, firing up the scanner that was temperamental at best. She’d be here for another hour, at least. Her cheeks were turning an interesting shade of red.
“You okay?” Mike asked.
“Hot flashes. Just started and I hate them already. I tell you this.” She jabbed at him with the papers. “A woman’s life is no picnic.”
Mike seemed unprepared to discuss women’s health at this level of intimacy. On any other day, the appalled look on his face would have made Jack laugh. Tonight, he was too drained to do anything but shake his head at the rookie.