She stomped on it to stop it. Then dashing over to the men, she cried, "Nick!"
He caught her and pulled apart her hands. When he saw her empty palms, he scanned the floor. "Just making sure you didn't touch the knife."
She gripped him tightly. "I tried to warn you before he stabbed you!"
"He stabbed himself." Nick turned to Clive, who lay on the floor, face-down, his bloodied wrists already locked in handcuffs, thanks to Mark.
"What the hell happened?" Mark pinned down the semiconscious Clive. By now, a crowd had gathered at the foyer. One old man wheeling an IV bag teetered nearby, until two nurses and an orderly began to disperse everyone. Another nurse asked if anyone was hurt.
"Him." Nick flicked his head toward Clive. "We'll take him down to emergency to see how bad he is."
"I'll get him a wheelchair."
Nick hauled up on the handcuffs, forcing Clive to stand. "No. This bastard's walking."
"Where did you find him?" Mark asked.
"He came out of the elevator," Helen said. She steeled herself to stare at Clive. "He had a knife in his hand. I saw him and called out to Nick."
Still gripping the handcuffs, Nick poked the elevator button. Mark retrieved the knife, asking the nurse for a plastic bag.
Helen drew in a deep, shaky breath. "He was here to kill Ron Mills. I don't think he expected to see us."
Nick frowned at her. Had her words surprised him? She knew by the look on his face he was still trying to fit the pieces together. She shivered, the cold sweat of shock finally seeping in.
He yanked on Clive's handcuffs. "It's over, buddy. No more thirty days in the local jail for you. Where you're going, you won't see the light of day for about twenty-five years."
"I'll call the station. They can come get him," Mark said. "We're lucky to get that bastard, Nick. Ron Mills has decided he needs a lawyer before he says anything."
"What?" Nick shoved Clive against the wall. Only then did Helen see where Clive had accidentally stabbed himself. The top of his pant leg was dark with a small stain of blood. Nick leaned into Clive. "Who tried to run down Helen?"
"It wasn't me," Clive snarled back, his words muffled by the plastered wall and his groggy state.
"We know it wasn't you, jerk," Nick snapped. "You were busy violating your probation at a bar. So who was it?"
"I don't know!"
Nick did something to make Clive yelp, but Helen couldn't see what. She shot a hasty look over to Mark, who turned his back to pick up the nurses' phone, all the while holding the knife in a plastic bag.
"Who's been trying to kill Helen?"
"William Townsend. Ah!" Nick crushed him farther into the wall. Helen stepped forward, biting her lip, afraid Nick would go too far.
Clive let out another gasp. "Ron Mills! He was the one driving the car!"
Nick let go of him and Clive slumped down. The elevator door opened and Nick dragged him in. When they turned around, Mark called out, "The boys are waiting downstairs for him. Wait down there for me. I won't be long."
Helen caught Nick's stare. His eyes burned so dark and hot into her, she could hardly breathe. Her heart hammered in her throat, and only now did she realize she was standing in the middle of the foyer, all alone.
"I'll be right back," he said, quietly, his voice a far cry from the angry tone a minute ago. The elevator door shut on them.
Disoriented, she turned around. The curtains were still open in Mills's room. She could see him lying there, his eyes shut, probably still half-groggy.
The foyer began to spin. The guard who'd been in the room with Mills and Mark caught her as she slumped. "I'm fine," she said. "I'll just sit down for a minute."
The guard nodded and guided her into the now empty TV room.
A few minutes passed alone and quiet for her. "You okay?"
She looked up to find Mark standing in the doorway.
"Where's Nick?"
"Giving his statement downstairs."
Tears sprang in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not knowing why she was apologizing.
"Don't be." He sat down beside her. "Everything will be all right."
She lifted her head. "Is Nick okay? Really?"
Mark gave her a confident smile. "He's fine. Nick's tough. But good. Too bad he doesn't like to work with a partner, though."
"Do you know why?" It seemed impossible that Nick wouldn't have said anything to Mark.
Mark nodded. "Yeah, I know."
"He told me on the way in here. It must be hard for you to work together."
"Sometimes. But trust is something you earn. I trust Nick to do what's right. And that in turn will help him trust me." He stood. "I have to get back to Mills. There are a few things I need to read to him."
His rights, she assumed.
"Will you be okay in here?" he asked. "I'll be just across the foyer, if you need me."
Helen nodded and Mark left her alone. For a long time, she sat in the dim room, still not believing it was all over. It had all happened so fast, she had trouble getting it to sink in. Her hands were shaking, her mouth dry, even her heart still thumped furiously, hurting her when she tried to swallow.
Leaning back, she shut her eyes. She wasn't the sort to faint. But then again, all her sheltered life, she'd had nothing like this happen to her before. So maybe she was the kind to collapse, after all.
But Nick was safe, despite the fury of the fight with Clive. That was all that mattered.
He hadn't followed the book. He'd let his anger get a hold of him and had pressured Clive to admit who was behind all of the killings and attacks.
He wasn't a white knight, a perfect cop. Just like he'd said.
A sob bubbled up and choked her. Dear Heaven, was she going to cry? Did that mean she was still looking for that perfect man?
But she wanted to spend her life with Nick, didn't she?
Helen lifted her head and let the tears well up in her eyes. A dark shadow to her left moved within her blurred vision and she snapped her head over.
Nick stood in the doorway. Behind him the ward had returned to normal, only a few inquisitive visitors peered out of their loved ones' rooms. A short announcement of someone looking for a doctor cut through the murmurings.
"That was quick," she commented, hastily blinking away the tears.
"I still have to give my statement down at the station."
"Where's Clive?"
"He's in custody downstairs. We got lucky again. There was a patrol car just leaving the hospital." He closed the distance between them.
With a nod, she swiped the tears away. "I didn't think I would fall apart like this. I guess it's shock."
"A damsel in distress?"
"That's not funny."
"I didn't really mean it." His words were soft, not mocking, but they may as well have been. She didn't want to be weak. She wanted to be in control of her own life.
Maybe share it with him at the same time.
"It's over, Helen. You can cry if you like."
She stood. "I don't want to." Her voice quivered and she had to rush out the words before it failed her altogether. "And I don't want to be a damsel in distress, either."
Nick's features clouded. He stood, more slowly than she had. His clothes were rumpled and there was a small tear in his shirt at the shoulder. Smeared down his right leg was some of Clive's blood, no doubt from the fight.
She shivered.
Nick pulled the hem of her sweater down and rubbed her arms. "Darlington came here to kill Mills. They must have been battling for control. Full share of the profits ever since Cooms died."
"Do you think Clive killed him?"
"Maybe. Maybe Mills told him to. I'd always figured Darlington wasn't smart enough to run things, but with the amount of money involved, he might have been thinking he could."
"I know Ron Mills. I worked with him when they were shorthanded. He has a wife and kids who need braces. They have his small jaw, he said. I can't believe
he would stoop to this." She hugged herself.
"Like I said, the chance to get some big money can tempt a lot of people. More than you realize."
"Is Clive talking yet?"
"He hasn't said a word except to say he wants a lawyer. He did say that his confession about Mills wouldn't hold up in court and that he was going to sue me for police brutality."
"Oh, Nick!"
He drew her into his arms. "Now, that's a long shot. He's more likely to be declared a violent offender. After all, he was the one with the knife."
She snuggled deep into the warm folds of his open jacket. Against her cheek, she felt the creased edges of the photos Jones had printed out for them.
Nick smelled wonderful. There was little left of the unique citrusy tang of his aftershave. In its place was a warm, male scent, mingled with musk and heat. She wanted to stay cuddled safely here forever.
Safe.
She straightened. She wasn't safe. Not her heart anyway and that prickly pain couldn't be smoothed over with one simple embrace.
No, she didn't feel safe.
Nick stepped back himself, clearing his throat. "Look, I want you to go home. To my place."
She wiped her eyes. "How? You drove me in."
"I can call you a cab, if you're not up to driving my truck."
"No," she answered firmly. "I'm fine. I'll take it easy. And when I get there, I'll get my things together. There's no reason to stay with you anymore."
His expression darkened, a frown creasing his angular features. He didn't look like some handsome Latino movie star, anymore. He looked like Nick Thorndike, a world-weary cop.
She stopped her hand before it slipped up and stroked his dark, rough cheek.
"Helen," he said, taking his keys out, "will you do one last thing for me? Stay until I get back? Then we'll talk. I have a lot to say to you."
She wanted to say no. It would be easier for both of them. She didn't do relationships because she'd been looking for that perfect knight. Knowing that now didn't mean she should leap into one with Nick, a far cry from perfect.
Now was the time she proved to herself she could stand and go after life alone.
But something in Nick's tight voice, the way he held himself together, as if he would fly apart if he did so much as exhaled. She hadn't heard his tone before and it made her heart squeeze and her knees liquefy, all at the same time.
"Please, Helen. Stay 'til I get back?"
Her chest felt hot. She gave into the pleasure of touching his warm, rigid frame. He was so solid, so tense compared to her. She ran her fingers up his arm, over his square shoulder, inhaling deeply the whole time to smell again his unique scent. When she reached the area of the scar, she hesitated.
His hand snapped up and caught hers. His other arm whipped out and hauled her in close. "Please say you'll stay. We need to talk, but first I want to help Mark wrap this up. I want to know that when I get back to my home, you'll be waiting for me."
He drew her into his arms, holding her in a squeeze that crushed her breasts against him, and ground her hips into his. "I just want to talk, okay? Will you stay, Helen?"
She wanted more than talk. She wanted to wait in his bed, to have him come and fall into it and cover himself with her and after many languid hours of lovemaking, then they could talk.
She blinked and nodded.
Nick relaxed. Then he tilted his head down and pressed his lips against hers.
His kiss started so gently. Such a tender kiss she'd never even dreamed to be possible, and yet the moment her lips parted to invite his tongue inside, he exploded.
His arms tightened, his tongue plundered her mouth. This was the Nick she'd made love to. The man who, once she'd begged him to release her passion, had taken her, heart and soul.
In the few seconds their kiss lasted, she relived their lovemaking, blocking out the sounds of the hospital around them. She felt loose and pliant beside his lean, hard frame.
Then he lifted his head. "I have to see Mark."
The keys were still pressed in her palm. He covered her clenched fingers with his own and squeezed them. "Drive carefully, okay? I'll call you."
She nodded vacantly. "How will you and Mark get home?"
"We'll get someone from the station here to drive us. Don't worry about that, okay?"
Again, she nodded. He touched her chin with his fingers, his thumb arcing upward to brush her lips. All of his attention was focused on her mouth.
"You have the most incredible lips, did you know that?"
Before she could answer, he turned and left her alone.
* * *
On the way home, without thinking, she grabbed one of Nick's quarters for the toll bridge. It seemed so right to be using his truck. Like it was a part of her routine.
She swallowed as she threw the quarter into the basket at the far end of the bridge. It wasn't natural, though. She'd already been through this. She and Nick would never last. He was an undercover cop, a man who didn't—couldn't—do relationships because he didn't trust anyone. His work was the most important thing in his life and he preferred to do that alone.
She'd had a chance to salvage what was left of her heart before she'd lost it totally. But he'd asked her to stay at his place until he returned.
He'd saved her life. Several times. It was the least she could do.
Finally, she pulled into the long, quiet driveway that led to his house. Last time she'd come here by herself, she'd been bent on faking her own suicide.
She shivered and twisted the heat control on the dash. The rain had started just after she left the city. It wasn't a hard rain, but steady. A dull, dreary downpour that seemed to coat the whole world in cold gray.
Nick's house appeared in front of her. Once free of the spindly trees that flanked the driveway, Helen noticed the wind had picked up. A lone gull battled the updrafts above the house.
She quickly parked and dashed for the house. Her head was soaked before she reached the covered porch. After fumbling with the keys, she found the right one and let herself in, careful to lock the door behind her.
The house was cold. Only a few weeks ago, summer had still lingered here along the coast. But not now. Autumn was here, hinting of the icy, damp days of winter ahead.
Helen set her purse and the keys down and kicked off her shoes. She headed straight for the woodstove and quickly made a fire.
What heat Nick's kiss had kindled in her was all but gone. As the papers and sticks caught fire, she sat back on her heels and stuck out her hands.
It was all over. All over. The words echoed and danced in her head. Clive had been caught. Sooner or later, in light of the evidence, he and Mills would confess and the police would close the case.
Those few times she'd seen the big, ugly Darlington ran through her mind. Jamie telling him to do something. Jamie ordering him out when she walked in.
Jamie was dead. It wouldn't take the police long to confirm who killed him. They would have the ballistic report. They could compare the bullet that killed him to the bullet that killed Tony. Providing they hadn't gone missing, as well. The bullets would match, she knew, just as she knew Clive had access to Jamie's handgun.
Helen's ankles ached and she shifted to relieve them. The heat of the stove felt good against her cold face.
And if Mills had been trying to take over the flow of drugs, then he'd have wanted the tape Jamie had made for blackmail purposes. He'd have wanted Helen dead if he thought she knew too much.
Mills. He looked so small, so thin, lying there in that bed. As small and thin as her father had been in his coffin.
Helen tightened her jaw and pursed her lips. No tears. She'd got over her father's death years ago. And as good as he was, he wasn't her perfect savior.
Mills was so small.
Cold rippled through her, settling in her stomach like a block of ice. Not even the blasting fire in front of her couldn't melt it. She stood, flexing to ease the aches her body had accumulated ove
r the last few days.
Oh, mercy.
Mills was small. And very short. And everyone at that party had towered over her.
The man who'd tried to run her down was big. Nick had seen his silhouette. The eyewitness had concurred. A big, muscular man. As big as Nick or Mark or Clive.
Feeling faint, she dropped to the couch, the truth sinking into her like she sank into the soft cushions.
Mills wasn't the one who tried to run her down. Nor was he going to say anything to the police until he saw his lawyer, which could be as late as tomorrow, or even the next day.
She put an unsteady hand to her mouth, not surprised to find her lips quivering.
A thumping at the front door made her jump. Nick! She had his keys, had kept the lights off on the porch and locked the door behind her.
She hurried to the door, glad she could tell him what she'd realized. He would know what to do. Perhaps even Clive or Mills had finally told the truth.
She found her way through the dimness easily. Quickly, she twisted the deadlock and threw open the door.
It wasn't Nick.
Chapter 15
He couldn't look back at Helen as he left the TV room, so he went straight into Mills's hospital room. Mark turned when he entered. A quick glimpse at Mills told Nick the man had fallen asleep. His eyes were shut, his mouth was slack as he snored lightly, beneath an oxygen mask.
"They just called up for you," Mark said. "They want you down at the station to give your statement."
"I'll leave in a few minutes."
"They want Helen's statement, too. Where is she?"
"I sent her back to my house, in my truck. I'll bring her back in, don't worry."
Mark lifted his eyebrows. "You realize that this means we're stuck here."
Nick nodded, listening to the soft hum of the machines in front of him. One machine seemed to be monitoring Mills's pulse and respirations, while the other looked like it was connected to the IV bag. He wasn't a doctor, but the fact that Mills was out of intensive care and these machines weren't beeping or wailing must mean the guy was going to pull through.
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