Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  Kylie’s heart broke. The poor kid desperately needed someone to look out for him. “Don’t worry,” she said, and offered him sanctuary without a second thought. “You can stay with me, okay?”

  She glanced at Chase just in time to see him scowl.

  28

  “SO,” SAM SAID, “WHAT DO YOU THINK THE ODDS are the kid’ll be able to pick the guy out of the mug books?”

  “Sounds like he got a good look at him,” Chase said, leaning back in his screechy chair while he massaged the knot at the base of his neck. It felt good to be back in their grungy office after the antiseptic hospital.

  Sam began to tap a ballpoint pen against his desk blotter. “So you believe this kid?”

  “He doesn’t appear to be lying.”

  “Have you forgotten that we’re talking about a kid who’s been busted twice in the past?”

  “For shoplifting food, Sam. Come on. His mother deserted him, and he didn’t have enough to eat.”

  “All I’m saying is that you’re placing an awful lot of trust in someone who might be a little con artist. You don’t know this kid.”

  “Kylie knows him.”

  “She knows her brother, too, and he’s not looking so innocent.”

  Chase grimaced. Sam made a good point. But he also trusted his gut, and his gut told him T.J. was a good kid in a bad situation. His gut hadn’t made up its mind yet about Quinn.

  “What’re we going to do if he comes up empty with the mug books?” Sam asked.

  Chase studied his partner, surprised by the hard glint in his eyes and the way he rubbed at the scar on his hand that itched when he got antsy. Funny how they both had their quirks. Chase kneaded his neck when he got stressed, and Sam massaged a scar.

  “You have a suggestion?” Chase asked.

  “We arrest him for vandalism and teach him a lesson.”

  “What lesson would that be?”

  “I’m just saying, we let him off the hook and he goes out and gets into more trouble. We put the fear of God into him, and he’ll walk a straight line.”

  “He’s doing the best he can under the circumstances,” Chase said. “Maybe what he really needs is a break.”

  Sam grunted and began clicking the tip of the pen in and out. Another quirk. “So where’s Kylie?”

  “Out in the lobby.”

  “Does she know she’s not taking him home with her? Someone should tip her off to the way the system works.”

  With a sigh, Chase scooted his chair back with a loud shriek of wheels. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He found her pacing in the lobby, and he paused to watch her before she saw him.

  She’d washed the soot from her face and arms and tidied her hair. Her black T-shirt, still splotchy with ash, fell short of the threadbare waistband of her jeans by about an inch, revealing a tantalizing strip of pale skin. His mouth went dry, and blood threatened to rush straight to his groin, so he lifted his eyes higher. But then he was gazing at the dark hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and remembering how silky soft it had felt twined around his fingers so many years ago. They’d had everything then. The world before them and each other. He hadn’t felt so happy, so excited about the future since. He blamed the loss of that anticipation on getting older, on becoming jaded by life and his job. But he wondered sometimes if all it took to get it back would be to wake up every day next to the woman who made him whole.

  As if sensing him, Kylie turned toward him, and for once, she didn’t immediately raise the barriers. Sure, she wasn’t open and trusting and smiling, but she didn’t look like she wanted to slam a ball at his head, either. Unfortunately, he knew the game face would be back in all its stony splendor in about a minute. What he wouldn’t give to take it away from her and lock it somewhere where she could never get at it again.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  She walked with him to the cramped room that he and his fellow officers used for breaks. He’d never noticed how pathetic it was until he saw through the eyes of a visitor the battered, avocado-green refrigerator and the gray wooden table with thick square legs surrounded by three folding chairs. The saving grace of the inhospitable space: a new coffeemaker.

  “Coffee?” he asked as Kylie lowered herself onto one of the folding chairs.

  “No, thanks. I just want to get T.J. and go.”

  “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Sitting back in the chair, she watched him without speaking, her features drawn. Her hand rested on her right knee, fingers working at the denim of her jeans as though the joint underneath ached.

  He’d been about to sit but changed his mind and went for the coffee. Coward, he thought. But he didn’t want to look at her while he pissed all over her expectations.

  He took a breath as he filled a cup. “You’re not going to be allowed to take him home,” he said.

  Silence answered him, and as he turned to face her, he braced for the usual. But instead of blank tolerance, she just looked confused. “Why not?” she asked.

  He swallowed. This was harder than he’d expected, and it didn’t help that she wasn’t playing this like a competitive point for a change. “You’re not a relative, and you’re not his guardian.”

  “How do I get that arranged?”

  “Becoming a foster parent takes months. You can fill out the paperwork, but there are hoops to jump through, including several hours of training and counseling. Until you’re approved, he’ll be placed with another foster family.”

  “I promised him he could stay with me. You were standing right there.”

  His chest muscles clutched at the weary resignation that made her smoke-roughened voice raspier than usual. They both remembered the anxiety in T.J.’s eyes when he’d said he wouldn’t go back into the system. But, damn it, there wasn’t anything Chase could do about it. The law was the law.

  “So that’s it?” she asked, voice cracking until she cleared her throat and firmed her jaw. “I’m supposed to just walk away after I made him a promise?”

  “It’s not my call, Ky. I’m sorry.”

  “He’s scared, Chase. He’s obviously had a tough time in foster care before.”

  “I understand that, but frankly, it’s probably not safe for him to stay with you anyway. You’re the reason he’s—” Damn, that hadn’t come out right. And he could tell from her swift intake of breath that he’d started to say something she’d already thought. Fuck. Why did being around her make him such a bonehead?

  Pushing back from the table, she stood. “Okay, then. I should go tell him. The sooner he finds out, the better.”

  He followed her to the door and caught her arm before she could walk out. “What happened to him wasn’t your fault,” he said.

  She lowered her head but didn’t try to pull away. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. You’re not responsible for what bad people do.”

  She closed her eyes. “Right.”

  He felt the tremor in her muscles and drew his hand back, shocked that she hadn’t distanced herself first. Either she’d decided he wasn’t the enemy, or she was too worn down to reinforce her defenses. Most likely the latter, and that concerned the hell out of him. Kylie McKay didn’t succumb to defeat. Ever.

  “I’ll do what I can for him, okay?” he said. “I need you to trust me on this.”

  She glanced back at him and nodded, eyes shadowed and sad. “Okay.”

  Guilt and regret settled on his chest like ten-pound weights. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she needed. He never could. And it shouldn’t have made him feel like such a worthless failure. But it did. Jesus, it did. And the hell of it was he wasn’t done making her miserable.

  “Look, we need to talk about putting you in a safe house.”

  She turned and leaned back against the door, arms wrapped tight around her middle as she focused on something over his left shoulder. “I’m thinking maybe I sh
ould . . . just go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “Back to LA.”

  He didn’t move, but in his head, he threw a punch at the nearest wall. Son of a bitch. Was that her answer to everything? He’d thought they were getting somewhere working together to help T.J. Two steps forward, thirty-two steps back.

  Outwardly, he kept his cool. “Leaving town isn’t going to solve anything. This guy can follow you wherever you go.”

  “But maybe all he wants is for me to leave town. I mean, all this started with the tennis center. When it was sabotage, I could take it. But if this guy is willing to kill to keep it from being built, fine.”

  “I don’t think that’s the point. It’s gotten too personal for that.”

  “Then what is the point? What’s the point of attacking a young boy and setting his home on fire? Clearly, my presence here is a danger to people I care about.”

  He put his hands on her arms, ignoring the way she tensed. “Ky, listen to me. Running away won’t solve anything. It never does. Don’t you know that by now?”

  “I ran away ten years ago to protect myself, Chase. This time, it’s not about me.”

  Suppressing the urge to shake her, he released her and turned away. “So, what, is that the new excuse then? Since you’re being heroic about it, it’s okay to run away?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He faced her and fought to keep his voice level. “I want you to let me take you to a safe house. I want you to stick around this time and let me help you.”

  “I don’t think I can do that. I . . .” She trailed off and swallowed, shaking her head and looking away. “I’m . . . tired.”

  He stepped forward, and before she could dodge him, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. Gentle and tender, expecting her to shove him away in the next instant and not really knowing what he was trying to prove anyway, except maybe remind her of what she’d be walking away from if she left again.

  When her lips trembled open under his, he forgot to go slow and deepened the kiss, nothing in his head but her taste and the feel of her soft, warm skin. He stroked his fingers over her temples, her jaw and back into her hair. God, her hair. Her mouth. Her skin. Her . . . tongue. It stroked against his, and he lost his breath, lost his place in the universe.

  She moaned into his mouth, but instead of melting against him, she stiffened and pushed him away, turning her head to the side to break the embrace. “I can’t do this,” she breathed. “Quinn . . .”

  Chase grasped her head and forced her to meet his eyes. Hers looked fever bright and tormented. “Quinn has nothing to do with us,” he said.

  “He has everything to do with us.”

  “Not if he’s innocent.”

  She went still in surprise. “You believe he’s innocent?”

  “I believe in your instincts, Ky. I need you to believe in mine.” He smoothed his thumbs over the arches of her cheekbones, reveled in the satiny texture of her skin. “Can you do that?”

  She watched him, brow furrowed, uncertain and confused.

  He kissed her forehead, nuzzled her temple, breathing in the scent of burnt wood and soap and Kylie’s skin. “Trust me, okay? That’s all you have to do.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the rigidity of her body eased. She didn’t lean against him, as he would have preferred, but she relaxed enough for him to decide she wouldn’t bolt the instant he let her go.

  It felt like victory after a six-hour tennis match in the blazing sun.

  29

  JANE SANK ONTO THE SOFA, THE PHONE CRADLED between her chin and shoulder. “So you’re not going to be able to make it back?”

  “I can make it, but I’m going to be late.”

  “But we made plans for this afternoon. I’m cooking for you, remember?”

  “I know, but duty calls. How about a late dinner? Say, eightish?”

  “You sound weird. Are you okay?”

  “It’s been a rough day. So I’ll see you later? We can eat then.”

  She glanced around at the dozens of candles she’d arranged around his living room. It had taken her half an hour just to light them all. And in the kitchen, homemade pesto was so fresh it was still in the food processor.

  “Jane? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He laughed so low and sexy that it tickled her ear. “Think hot fudge and whipped cream.”

  She giggled. Had she ever giggled over a man? “Don’t make the fudge too hot.”

  “It’ll be just right.”

  “I’m sensing a Goldilocks fantasy.”

  “And you can analyze what it means about me all night long.”

  By the time she hung up, she was laughing. She wandered around, blowing out candles and making plans to relight them later. Even thinking about how Kylie would react when she found out didn’t steal her joy.

  30

  CHASE SLOWED FOR A STOPLIGHT AND CHECKED the rearview mirror. Traffic made it impossible to tell whether anyone followed the Explorer. He would have preferred to skip going over to Kylie’s so she could pack some things, but he understood her need for clean clothes after the fire.

  He glanced over at her, noting that she kept massaging her right knee. Had she hurt it in the fire, or was it a nervous gesture? That’d be something, he thought. Kylie McKay with a nervous gesture.

  As he turned onto a side street that would take them to her house without using the main thoroughfares, he did another mirror check. No other vehicles followed.

  He’d just begun to relax when he spotted the silver BMW convertible in front of her house. The sun reflecting in the Beemer’s wheel rims nearly blinded him as he stomped on the brake. “Whose car is that?”

  “Wade’s,” she said.

  He looked at her. “Wade who?”

  “Wade Bell.”

  The name clicked. The doctor who repaired her knee ten years ago. He remembered not liking the guy back then, but his skills had paid off for Kylie. “What’s he—”

  Movement at the side of the house snatched his attention, and Chase tensed.

  “That’s him,” Kylie said, as though sensing his high-alert status.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. He probably came by to check on me.”

  “Why would he do that?” He glanced at her, noting her expression had become maddeningly impassive. “Are you having a problem with your knee?”

  “No. My knee is fine.”

  “Then why would he check on you?”

  She sighed. “Would you just chill? He’s a friend.”

  The way she said “friend” set his teeth on edge, and Chase watched the man striding toward the SUV, disliking him all over again. He was tall and lean in black slacks and a prissy pink polo, his eyes shielded from the sun by fancy sunglasses that probably cost more than Chase made in a week.

  When the doctor spotted Kylie in the truck, his deeply tanned face broke into a broad smile, as if the sun had come out after the rain and shot rainbows all over the fucking place. Friend, my ass, Chase thought. That guy was head over heels for her.

  Opening her door, Kylie got out of the truck to greet him.

  Chase’s resentment of the doctor faltered when he noticed she favored her right leg. Her knee was not fine. She must have hurt it when she’d pulled T.J. out of the burning house. Why the hell hadn’t she said anything?

  His blood pressure only spiked further when the doctor met her at the front of the SUV and folded her into his arms, the embrace more intimate than any man had a right to give a woman he wasn’t sleeping with.

  Chase got out of the truck and slammed the door harder than necessary, but it didn’t help to ease his growing agitation.

  Wade drew back from Kylie, but his hands stayed on her arms. “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by to check on you. I went around back to see if maybe you were on the deck.”

  Kylie gestured at Chase. “You pro
bably remember Chase Manning, Wade. He’s a detective now, working on the reopened case.”

  Wade drew off his sunglasses and extended his hand. “Of course I remember. It’s been a long time, though.”

  Forcing a civil expression, Chase gave the doctor’s hand a firm pump.

  “Easy there, detective, I need that hand.”

  Chase let go, feeling childish but satisfied nonetheless. The scrawny son of a bitch probably couldn’t take a punch, either. “Good to see you again, doctor.”

  Wade turned back to Kylie, and his pearly white smile faded as he looked her over, taking in the smudged shirt and dirty jeans. “What happened? Were you in an accident?”

  “Just a little mishap,” she said.

  Chase almost snorted. A little mishap indeed. Who the hell did she think she was kidding? Well, she was going to hate him for sure in about a second. “Maybe he could take a look at your knee.”

  Kylie flashed him an I’m-going-to-kill-you look as Wade glanced down. “Is it bothering you?” the doctor asked.

  She shook her head. “I just need to rest it.”

  “He’s here,” Chase said. “You might as well let him take a look.”

  “I’d prefer it,” Wade said. “You don’t want to mess around with that knee.”

  “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, and led the way to the house.

  Chase’s triumph lasted only until he noticed how the other guy’s gaze slid down her back and over her ass. Yeah, she had a good, cuppable butt, but where were the doctor’s manners? He had at least fifteen years on Kylie, yet he looked her over like a man taking measurements for a wedding gown.

  In the house, Wade took in Kylie’s jeans and said, “Hmm, well . . .”

  “I’ll go put on some shorts,” Kylie said. As she walked by Chase, she muttered, “You’d better not hurt him while I’m gone.”

  He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. The thought had crossed his mind.

  Alone with the doctor, Chase said nothing. He had nothing to say.

  “Chase Manning,” Wade said, cocking his head. “You were Kylie’s—”