by Beverly Bird
“I just don’t like sloppy loving. I’ll never take anything from you under the influence that you wouldn’t give me sober.” Suddenly that conversation seemed prophetic.
Tessa forced herself off the bed. There was a dresser against the far wall. She went to it and stared into the mirror there, pushing her hair back from her forehead, looking into her own eyes as though expecting to find a stranger peering out at her.
She pretty much did. She hadn’t been all that drunk last night. Tipsy, certainly. But not enough for it to be an excuse. She knew she hadn’t drunk a lot from that thermos. Too many people had swigged from it. Tonie’s punch might be potent, but if she’d had as much as Gunner seemed to think she had, she would have passed out long before midnight. She wasn’t used to drinking.
So where did that leave her?
It left her with a mild hangover, she thought, and the frightening, unavoidable necessity of leaving this room and facing him again.
Dear God, she had kissed him. Not because she was drunk. Oh, no, that excuse would be too easy, and she wouldn’t be easy on herself. She had done it because she had wanted to.
Tears burned at her eyes again. Suddenly she was frantic.
She had to do something. What? Had to fix this. How? She wanted him. She was no more immune to John Gunner than any other woman in the department, and that was humbling, overwhelming. Because she wasn’t any other woman, and it had nothing to do with who she was, but what she was. She didn’t sleep around. Dear God, Matt had been her first and only lover! How could she deal with this? What in the name of heaven was she supposed to do?
Her pulse roared. She moved carefully back to the bed and sat on the edge, feeling as fragile as glass. Then she jumped, physically starting, as a knock came on the door.
“Come in,” she said weakly.
It was Gunner. She had known it would be.
He stuck his head inside. She looked up at him and couldn’t read his eyes. Then he spoke, and his voice was remote, so much like it had been after they’d hidden in the bathtub that it made Tessa’s skin turn cold.
“Hey,” he said carefully. “You’re awake.” He hesitated.
Her breath caught-halfway in her throat. Was he going to mention last night?
No, she realized, no more than he had been eager to mention the bathtub until he thought she’d pushed him to it.
“You mind if we settle for watching the parade on the tube?” he asked. “It’s snowing. I’m not in the mood to get wet and cold. Let’s just chill out here long enough for me to get my caffeine level up to snuff, then I’ll take you home.”
Her breath left her. “Fine. Okay.”
“Good,” he said, then the door cracked shut and he was gone again.
Oh, God, Tessa thought, what was she supposed to do about this? He seemed as uncomfortable as she felt.
But why? She would have thought he’d handle a kiss just fine. Unless he hadn’t wanted to do it. Unless it had just been a pity kiss. She paled.
She went to find the bathroom. She located a tube of toothpaste in the medicine cabinet and used her finger as Gunner had suggested, finding it a reasonably acceptable alternative. She washed her face and straightened her clothing. She was wrinkled, rumpled, tired, but she was less than an hour away from her own shower. Surely that would make her feel better.
She went back to straighten the bed, and found Gunner there.
Her mouth went dry, as though she had never rinsed it out. He was rummaging in a drawer. There must be a second bathroom in the house, she realized, because he had showered. He wore jeans and nothing else. They rode low on his hips. When he turned around something happened to her insides. He’d zipped them, but he hadn’t done the button yet. A damp towel hung around his neck, and his hair was wet and unruly.
He seemed surprised to see her.
“Just...uh, looking for a T-shirt,” he said hoarsely. “I thought you were downstairs.”
“No. I was in the bathroom. I was going to fix the bed,” she whispered inanely. And she knew, in that moment, that this was worse, so much worse than Monday morning after the bathtub incident.
This hadn’t been accidental, unavoidable. This had been done with intent, with desire. Her intent and desire. Her throat closed and her face burned.
Gunner slammed the drawer and she jumped. He dragged a T-shirt over his head. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. The broad expanse of his chest disappeared again. Tessa finally managed to swallow.
“Coffee’s on,” he said shortly. “I’ll catch you downstairs.” He left as quickly as if she had chased him.
She straightened out the bed and went reluctantly after him. He was sitting on the sofa in the living room, guzzling coffee from a mug. Everyone else seemed to have gone. The string band music of the Mummer’s Parade, the too-cheerful voice of the announcer, filled the room. He looked back at her over his shoulder when he heard her pause on the steps, then he held up his mug.
“Help yourself,” he said neutrally.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thanks. I will.”
Gunner watched her leave for the kitchen, wondering how this partnership had gone so far off course so fast. All morning long he had been torn up inside wondering what to do now. What did he want to do? Where did they go from here?
He didn’t want to hurt her.
She would almost certainly expect something from him now, he thought. She was that kind of woman. He felt an unfamiliar kind of panic. That had never bothered him before. He’d simply explained as kindly as possible that it couldn’t happen, that he had nothing to give, then he’d moved on.
When she came back, she sat down on the far side of the sofa. He tried to ignore her.
“Oh!” she said suddenly. “There’s that guy on stilts! We saw him last night!”
“Mmm,” Gunner said carefully. She seemed inordinately pleased to recognize him, to have known him however distantly and briefly before he had showed up on the tube. He wanted badly to smile. This was a politician’s daughter?
Wrong, he thought. She was a politician’s sister, granddaughter, niece. Close enough. It catapulted her right out of his world.
He felt her settle back against the cushions and refused to look her way.
“They’re all men, right?” she asked finally, tentatively. “Even those people there?”
Gunner scowled as she pointed, doing his damnedest to concentrate on the television. One of the bands was doing a skit with a mouse coming out of a clock. He tried to make sense of that and realized he couldn’t quite think this morning. A woman in a full skirt and apron was dancing around with a broom, trying to chase the mouse back inside.
The costumes were artful, some sequined, some feathered, the results of a full year’s work. Tomorrow the members of the bands would rest and regroup, but the day after that they would already be organizing for next year’s parade.
“Gunner?” Tessa said.
He jolted. “What?”
“I asked if they were all men.”
“Uh, no,” he mumbled. “Not anymore.”
“I thought only men could be Mummers.” She was sure she had heard that somewhere, and she was striving mightily for some safe, innocuous conversation.
“It used to be that way. They changed it a few years back.” He stood suddenly. “Want more coffee?”
“No,” she said weakly. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
He left the room. She forced her attention grimly to the television. And then, as she stared at the parade almost unseeingly, something occurred to her.
She was reaching, she thought. She was probably reaching. But she remembered what Gale Storm had said about this being a game for Benami. How he would put any saved evidence in a clever and cunning place.
Gunner came back, swigging coffee.
“I just had a thought,” she said.
He gave her a sharp look, but he was mostly relieved at her tone. It was less stilted, more genuine. He wondered if they could just possibly
go on as though nothing had happened.
“Yeah?”
“About Benami,” she said.
He had been sitting here picking at thoughts of the man, too, before she had come downstairs. Anything to keep his mind off her. But he hadn’t come up with anything new. “What?”
“I was thinking about what Gale said about him being cunning and looking at this as a game. It’s a long shot,” she admitted, “but maybe whatever evidence Christian kept is hiding right in plain sight.”
“Plain sight,” he repeated thoughtfully. “So he could get a good laugh every time we pass by it, not knowing it’s there?”
“Exactly!”
“So how come we’re passing by it, not noticing it’s there?”
“Because it’s so obvious.” She thought about it. “Or maybe it’s obvious, yet somehow camouflaged.”
“You’re losing me, Tess.”
“Where do you keep important papers, insurance policies, your divorce decree, that sort of thing?” she demanded suddenly.
“In my nightstand drawer.”
“Oh.” She let her air out. It wasn’t what she had been getting at. But Gunner was Gunner; he probably would keep important papers in such an indifferent manner.
“Well, I keep mine in a safe-deposit box,” she said. “At the bank.”
She would, he thought. She would keep everything about her personal life in proper order.
“Okay,” he answered. “So what’s your point?”
“I was thinking that maybe Benami did that.”
He shrugged. It was possible. They hadn’t checked for that sort of thing with the banks yet. And it would be an obvious place, something Benami would get a charge out of them overlooking.
Except they wouldn’t have overlooked it forever. It was obvious. “So why do you think that’s so clever?”
“I was thinking about how the Mummers used to be all men, dressing up as women for those few female roles.”
She was losing him. If not the ozone layer, then this was only one step down.
“Based on the psychological portrait that Gale painted of Christian, maybe he would do something like that, too,” she explained, pointing at the television. “If only for the fun of it.”
Gunner’s eyes widened slowly. He was starting to catch on. “Put the box in a woman’s name? His victim’s name? Daphne’s name?”
“Too close,” she argued. “Too easy.”
“Yeah.” He scowled. “But something... some name... that offers us a clue.”
Tessa nodded hard. Her eyes were alight again. “And then he’d sit back and wait to see if we catch on,” she added.
Gunner downed the rest of his coffee. “I like it. It makes a sick sort of sense.”
And that was when he realized that they were talking normally again. As if last night hadn’t happened. As if he’d never tasted her and had never laid awake half the night thinking about it, wanting more, fighting the strongest urge he’d ever known to go back upstairs to that room and touch her again, to make love to her.
He was relieved. Of course he was. She didn’t expect anything from him after all.
She was watching his expression closely. “I’ll get my coat,” she said, and her voice wasn’t normal anymore.
He drove her home, and the closer they got to Elfreth’s Alley, the more quiet Tessa became. She felt as though she was standing in mud up to her ankles—no matter that she had never, ever meant to step off solid ground. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to move backward fast, onto dry land again, as quickly as possible. But the sense of his nearness was almost palpable in the car, and it wouldn’t let her go. Memories of his mouth on hers, of his fingers in her hair, his thumb stroking her throat, seemed so real, so immediate, that they made her heart thud all over again.
She lowered her window suddenly, trying to take in the icy air outside. Gunner looked at her sharply, but said nothing.
“I want to ask for reassignment,” she blurted suddenly, surprising even herself. “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice getting frantic, faster. “I can’t function, I can’t even think.”
She was met with silence.
“Is that the way the Hadleys do it?” he asked finally. Tessa risked a glance over at him. His knuckles were white where his fingers gripped the wheel.
Damn it, he’d known this was coming. No matter how reasonable she’d sounded when they’d been discussing Benami earlier, some instinct inside him had kept howling that she wasn’t a woman who could kiss her partner, then say, “Oops, wrong turn” and forget about it. What he hadn’t anticipated was his reaction when she finally got around to saying the words aloud.
He didn’t want complications. He didn’t. But he felt as though she had punched him. He didn’t want to make a big thing of last night, but neither did he want to end this partnership.
He grimaced. He wanted it all. He wanted the easy way out.
He had the strong sense that if he let her move on, he would be losing something great, something precious, something beyond a good working relationship. Something that maybe could have changed his life from lackadaisical and enjoyable to something meaningful and profound and good. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t try to grab it back and expect to maintain his pride. So he went with his temper instead.
“Something surprising happens, something that felt damn good, but because it wasn’t planned, because it doesn’t fit into your rules, you run and hide from it?” he protested, his voice finally turning angry.
“Gunner, I’m being as honest with you as I can!”
“I can’t do this,” he mimicked, taking a corner too sharply. It tilted her against the door. “Tell you what, Princess, you didn’t even give it a goddamn try.”
“I don’t want to.” I’m afraid.
This time he looked at her. Her eyes blazed even as her chin trembled, and it was a combination that knocked the air right out of him again.
“So we’re adults here,” he growled. “It doesn’t have to happen again..”
Oh, God, Tessa thought, if only it were that easy.
It happened, was on the brink of happening, every time he touched her, she realized. Oh, yes, she was afraid. What she’d done last night rocked everything she’d thought she knew about herself.
There was a right way and a wrong way to do things. She’d always believed that, always. Taking the wrong way was a conscious choice. But she had nearly tumbled over the edge last night with no conscious rationality involved. She’d just been feeling. Swimming in sensation. Lost in it.
Turned on. Oh, God, she had been so turned on. And even if she could let go of Matt, even if she could accept that maybe it was time, she could not allow herself to get caught up with a man like Gunner. Love was not too stringent and confining for her tastes. She needed structure. She needed rules.
She didn’t trust herself. And so, quite simply, she would remove herself from all temptation so that she would not take the wrong way, a way she knew wasn’t right for herself at all.
When she didn’t answer, his voice got harsher. “So you’re just going to sail off and leave me holding this whole Benami thing on my own?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “I want Benami.”
“What?” He pulled off suddenly to the curb.
At least, she thought, he always had the good sense to do that when he was coming unglued.
“You heard me.” She forced some starch into her voice.
Her chin didn’t tremble anymore, Gunner noticed. Her eyes were pure fire. It fed his own anger.
At least she’d given him something to focus on now. Something impersonal, something he could deal with. “You want to rock the boat now, change everything around, with a case like this? This is all that jerk needs! It’s all the bastard’s been waiting for! We’ll get sidetracked with our own problems, not be on our toes, and off he goes! A murderer is going to get off the hook because you can’t handle a kiss.” He
laughed hoarsely, an ugly sound. “Grow up, Princess.”
Tessa paled.
“Fine.” He pulled angrily out into traffic again. “Do whatever the hell you have to do. I don’t care.”
She didn’t believe him.
He didn’t believe himself. He hated himself for being cruel. But damn it, this hurt. It hurt out of all proportion. He was shaken.
He stopped at the corner of Elfreth’s Alley. Her brownstone was only three doors down, and no traffic was allowed on the narrow street.
“I’ll talk to Kennery tomorrow,” she said stiffly. “I just...I wanted you to know what I’d decided first.”
“Thanks. That’s big of you,” he answered coldly. Nothing like a little Hadley class to soften the blow.
Why didn’t she get the hell out of the car? He opened his mouth to say something rude and cutting again, then snapped it shut. His problem, he realized without much liking it, was that he’d never actually been rejected before. Hell, that was all it was. He would just keep it in perspective. It was almost funny.
Though it didn’t feel funny.
“What do you want from me?” he snarled, looking over at her when she just sat there. “My blessing? Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not that refined. I don’t like this decision of yours, and I’m not going to kiss the air beside your cheek and wish you well. Now will you please get out of the car?”
She did it as though he had pushed her. She groped for the handle, jerked it and jumped out. He watched her walk up the alley, her spine straight, her hips moving gently if a little stiffly. He hurt some more.
He had been rejected before, he thought. By Elaine. By his own wife. She had been the one who had finally pointed out that their marriage wasn’t working. He’d agreed and moved out. Case closed.
It hadn’t hurt like this.
He was stymied. He put the car roughly into gear and peeled off into traffic with a squeal of rubber.
Tessa heard it and flinched, but she didn’t let herself look back.
There were sixteen messages on her answering machine. Tessa took a shower and curled up on the sofa with another cup of coffee before she noticed it blinking at her. Her heart sank hard and fast.