by Donna Ball
"I never leave anything to chance, my dear. I followed you, of course. And lucky for you I did."
"You're a mechanic?"
"Not on your life," he replied cheerfully, "But I won't charge you for the ride home." He popped the lock on the door, and when she hesitated he lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you'd rather walk?"
Teale opened the door and slid onto the rich leather upholstery. There was something very annoying about accepting a ride in a car that cost more than her annual net salary while her own pathetic bucket of bolts stood wheezing at the side of the road, but she tried to be gracious. "Nice car."
He cast her a laughing look. "Who says crime doesn't pay?"
Teale took a deep breath, which she hoped he did not notice. So, here she was. It was one thing to spend the day resigning herself to her assignment and to the fact that she would be forced to see David again; it was quite another to actually do it. Too many emotions were bouncing back and forth in her head. How was she supposed to feel, how was she supposed to act? Did he really expect her to pretend as though last night had never happened and continue with their semi-professional adversarial relationship? Was that even possible? Or perhaps what he was expecting was just the opposite. After last night, perhaps he no longer considered her his adversary.
Well, if that were the case, it was up to her to point out his error in judgment without delay.
Absently, Teale pushed her perspiration-soaked bangs away from her forehead, and David, noticing the gesture, raised the windows with a touch of a button. In an instant, cool air flowed over her face from the air-conditioning vents.
"Rough day at the office?" he inquired solicitously.
She smiled sweetly. "No more than usual when I'm in hot pursuit of a dangerous felon."
"And the dangerous felon would be—"
"You."
"Wrong," he pointed out. "I'm not a felon, and I'm not dangerous. However, I do like the idea of being the object of a hot pursuit." He paused. "What did you find out?
She laughed.
He slanted her a quick crooked grin. "Just checking."
Dimly Teale heard the alarm bells go off in the back of her mind. There it was again: the charm, the easy laughter, the feeling of being comfortable around him. The way he leaned back in the seat, one hand casually guiding the wheel, his light hair ruffled and his eyes shaded by tinted driving glasses.... For goodness' sake, why was it so difficult to think vicious thoughts about a man who wore glasses?
He was wearing a bright blue T-shirt, white duck pants and deck shoes, and the clothes only added to her sense of disorientation. She preferred him as she had first seen him at the party, smooth and sophisticated in high-fashion linen and silk, holding a glass in his hand, regarding her with cool amused eyes from across a room filled with strangers. Then he had looked like just what he was, a high-powered operator with a taste for luxury and the illegal means for satisfying that taste. Today—even last night—he looked almost ordinary. Except, of course, that he was still better looking than any ordinary man she had ever known.
David signaled a turn and pulled into a service station. "They should be able to tow your car from here. What's the problem, do you know? Water pump?"
Teale shrugged. "Old age, ill health and a general decline. The hazards of a low, low sticker price."
David looked at her sympathetically. "It sounds like you should seriously consider upgrading your lifestyle."
"And I suppose you know just the way to do it."
He chuckled. “I know better than to answer that.” He opened the door. "Sit tight where it's cool. I'll take care of everything."
Teale didn't like the genuine temptation she felt to just sit back and let David take care of everything, so she made herself leave the luxury of the air-conditioned car and follow him into the greasy-smelling service station. She listened in quiet amazement while he briskly described the location of her automobile and the probable cause of the problem, gave her license number and proceeded to leave explicit instructions for what he wanted done when the car was towed in. But when he reached for his wallet Teale pushed ahead of him, plopping her credit card down on the counter with a stern look for David.
"I take it you don't like the take-charge type," he murmured.
"You take it correctly."
He nodded, as though in agreement. "I can understand that, I suppose. You must get tired of men wanting to take care of you, but it's not really our fault. You look so small and fragile it's only natural to assume you need taking care of. The male protective instinct, you know."
Her withering look told him explicitly what she thought of that assumption, but in case he missed the point, she said, "Most people only make that mistake once, Carey."
"I'll remember that."
She signed the charge slip, and he touched her shoulder lightly as they walked back to his car. Even that innocent, meaningless brush of his hand against her shoulder brought back too-poignant memories of last night, making her skin heat briefly before she sternly regained control of herself. A job, Teale, she reminded herself. It's only a job. But just how much was she expected to endure for the sake of duty?
"I don't suppose I have to give you my address," she said as they got back into the car.
"Now what kind of bad guy would I be if I hadn't already cased the joint?" And, when she didn't smile, he added, "How would you like to have dinner first? In a real restaurant this time, if you like."
"Thank you, I have other plans."
"Which means you left your hidden microphone at the office."
"Bad planning on my part."
"Does that mean you're officially off duty?"
She shot him a meaningful glance. "I'm never off duty."
"And I thought I had bad hours," he murmured.
Teale turned to look out the window in order to disguise a smile. Damn, but he was hard to resist. The moment she had convinced herself to despise him—or at the very least, to regard him as nothing more than another lowly suspect—he did something to make her smile or draw her into an exchange of wits or make her forget who she was and who he was.
And perhaps that was the entire problem. The line between duty and desire was becoming too easily blurred, and Detective Saunders was slipping too often into Teale, the woman. That had never happened to her before. The lines of demarcation had always been clearly drawn; she never allowed her personal life to encroach upon her professional one nor vice versa. She had always known exactly who she was and what her job was. But with David....She knew her job. She had him, as it were, under surveillance. She had him in the car with her. She had, to a certain extent, his confidence.
So why didn't she ask him about Diangelo?
Her gaze happened to rest upon his hand as it lay on the steering wheel. It was strong and lean, the fingers slender and long and lightly tanned. Her gaze moved to his wrist, with its sprinkling of pale hairs, and along the length of his forearm. She watched the way the muscles flexed slightly as he turned the wheel, lengthening and relaxing, and she remembered how his arms had felt around her last night, how his hands had felt, pressing her back, cupping her waist.
And then she knew very clearly where duty ended. She had stepped over the thin line that separated the law officer from the woman the moment she had allowed him to take her in his arms last night, and she didn't want to make that mistake again.
But she was afraid the damage had already been done.
She pulled her gaze away from him and cleared her throat, which had suddenly grown dry. "That's it, up ahead."
"I know." He made a turn into the neatly landscaped apartment complex and gave her a smile that made her heart beat faster. Deliberately, she looked away.
"So," he inquired, "what's on the agenda for tonight?"
"A cool shower, a tuna sandwich and the Alfred Hitchcock festival on Channel 39."
"No kidding? That's exactly what I had planned."
"I'll just bet."
He pu
lled his car into an empty parking space in front of her building. Teale's hand was on the door handle before the car came to a complete stop.
"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Carey," she said briskly. "I hope we'll meet again under more formal circumstances—your trial, perhaps?"
He turned to her, resting an arm across the wheel, as she opened the door. "You're not going to, uh..." He made a gesture toward her apartment.
She smiled coolly as she got out. "No, I'm not going to invite you in. Good night."
"I'm disappointed in you, Detective," he said sadly. "This is a flagrant disregard of your duty. What would your superior say?"
He couldn't have picked a more unfortunate time to be right. She was neglecting her duty. Her assignment was to keep an eye on Carey, to foster their relationship. He had provided her with the perfect opportunity and she was walking away. Captain Hollis would be shocked. She was shocked. And she took it out on David.
She stood before the open door, looking down at him, for just another moment. Then she said simply, "My job description does not include entertaining suspects. Nor does it include romantic candlelit dinners, long walks on the beach, listening to cheap pickup lines or physical contact, except when making an arrest. It most certainly does not include heartfelt tete-a-tetes or long soulful kisses. So if you will excuse me:—" she smiled politely "—I'm hot and tired and I've had a hard day. Besides, I've just decided I am off duty, after all."
She slammed the car door and walked to her apartment, holding a satisfied picture in her mind's eye of the look on David Carey's face. For once, she had had the last word.
****************
For the first time all day she was at ease with herself concerning David Carey. She knew what she had done tonight was no permanent solution, nor was it probably the wisest course of action—in fact, she was certain there were repercussions yet to come—but for now, it felt good. She'd bought time to fall back and regroup; later, she would plan a new strategy.
She felt renewed as she stepped out of the shower and let the cool stream from the air-conditioning vents dry her skin. She stepped into a pair of shorts, put on a halter top and pulled her wet hair into a ponytail without bothering to dry it. She left the bedroom with nothing but tuna fish and Alfred Hitchcok on her mind.
David Carey was sitting on her sofa, casually watching the evening news. "There's a tropical depression off the coast of North Carolina," he said in greeting. "Looks like we might be in for a storm."
For a moment Teale was rooted to the spot with rage and indignation. But before the anger even peaked, it faded into simple resignation. Sometimes there was just no point in fighting the inevitable, and the truth was that she had a job to do. She couldn't avoid it, she couldn't ignore it; David Carey was here and the decision was taken out of her hands.
And on the heels of that acceptance came another realization: she was glad. She should have been furious, dismayed and resentful, and to a certain extent she was all those things. But when she came into the room and saw him sitting back on her sofa, lean and lanky and relaxed and looking so perfectly at home, an easy acceptance settled over her that she couldn't explain and didn't even want to try to understand. He filled the room and brought it to life, and everything within her responded to his presence.
She didn't know whether that was good or bad. But she was fairly certain it had nothing whatsoever to do with her job.
He stood and let his gaze travel slowly over her sparsely clad figure. Her skin prickled with his gaze, but she faced him in stony silence.
He gestured toward the door. "You left your door unlocked," he explained.
She said nothing.
He took a step toward her, and there was something in his expression that intrigued her—sincerity mixed with a trace of uncertainty. She'd never seen him look uncertain before and hadn't thought he was capable of it.
"Look," he said quietly, "I won't stay. But I couldn't leave you with the wrong impression about what happened last night. You can accuse me of a lot of things, and you'd be right about most of them. But I wasn't using you last night. It started out as a game; we both knew the rules. But the things I said to you I said to Teale the woman, not the cop, and I meant them. When I kissed you, I did it because I wanted to. If you want to know the absolute truth, it took me by surprise."
The way his eyes flickered over her lips, then back to her eyes again brought a rush of memories—his taste and texture, his warmth and power. For an instant she relived the dizziness, the rush of pulses, the blind sensation, and she thought, Oh, yes. It was good, it was real. And it took me by surprise, too....
The moment between them suddenly seemed poignant and electric, bridged by memories neither could control, and Teale was glad that he was the first to break the eye contact. A half smile crooked his lips as he finished, "Of course, if I were smart it might occur to me to wonder who was really using who last night. I notice you're not making any claims about your own motives."
That rankled—which was, perhaps, exactly what he wanted. "I don't owe you any explanations, Carey," she said briskly. "And I'd appreciate it if you would stop treating our relationship like a blind date. I—"
"Relationship?" he interjected with a lift of his eyebrow. "Well, that's a start, anyway."
"You humiliated me," she said quietly, "in front of my co-workers and my supervisors. You knew damn well that everything you said or did last night was being monitored and recorded—"
"So did you," he pointed out mildly.
"You made me look like a fool! Worse yet, you plotted it from start to finish. Now you expect me to believe this drivel about your sincere intentions—"
His eyes flashed with brief sharp anger, then went cool."Just so you know,” he said, "if I wanted to feed you a line, I could come up with one better than that. I've got more respect for your intelligence than that; I certainly hope you have more respect for mine."
She took a breath, momentarily uncertain. The anger in his eyes and the tone of his voice caught her off guard. He didn't look like a smooth con artist anymore. He looked like... a rejected suitor.
"I don't like being used," she said forcefully. "Especially not by you, and especially not—“
"Sexually?" he finished for her, and Teale glared at him. She clamped her mouth shut.
David released a slow breath. "Look," he said, with deliberate calmness. "I wasn't using you. Not then, not now. I don't have to, don't you understand that?"
Teale remained stubbornly silent. She had gone too far already. What was the matter with her, arguing with a suspect? What good did she possibly think it would do?
But a part of her was unwillingly intrigued, and she made no move to end the discussion. She wanted to hear what else David had to say.
"You have nothing I want," he explained patiently, as though it really mattered to him that she understand. "I have no motive to lie to you or deceive you or try to seduce you. Whatever information you might have, I can get a lot quicker and more easily from another source—as I've already proven. I'm not stupid enough to think that if I make love to you you're going to drop the case. In fact, it's just the opposite. If the department suspects you're getting personally involved they'll pull you off the case and assign someone else and what good would that do me? As a matter of fact, I'm the one taking all the risks here, and you're the only one who has anything to gain."
Reluctantly, she had to admit that made a certain kind of twisted sense. What did he have to gain by a kiss along a moonlit beach? Except the obvious, of course.
He must have seen a flicker of concession in her eyes, because he continued, more gently, "The plain fact is, unless you asked to be transferred from the case, we are going to see each other again. There’s nothing I can do about that. The other fact is that I'm attracted to you." His lips curved downward in a smite that was both self-mocking and endearing. "And there's nothing I can do about that. What I can do, however, is keep my hands to myself, if that's what you want. As you p
ointed out, a man like me doesn't allow his life to be ruled by his hormones. I'm sorry you misinterpreted what happened last night, and I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. It doesn't have to happen again."
She stared at him. What an incredible man. She didn't believe a word he said, of course, but... what an incredible man.
He hesitated, as though waiting for her response. Then he glanced toward the door. "Well. That's all I wanted to say. I was with you last night because I wanted to be, and I'm here tonight for the same reason. But I can see the feeling isn't mutual, so I'll leave."
It said something for Teale's powers of recuperation that he was halfway to the door before she said, "Wait." And it said even more for her state of mind that, even as she spoke, she didn't know why she had called him back.
He turned.
She didn't believe him, not for a minute. This was nothing more than another facet of his renowned charm, just another trick to catch her off guard. She assured herself of this, she acknowledged that she knew perfectly well what she was getting into and was entirely capable of handling it. She said casually, "You don't have to leave."
He came back over to her slowly, a questioning look in his eyes. "Does this mean you believe me?”
She looked at him thoughtfully. "No," she answered. "It means I have a job to do. And I just went back on duty."
"Pity. I just went off duty."
He smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back, and she thought helplessly, Who are you kidding? You believe him. She didn't want to, she tried not to, but for just that moment she believed everything he said was true. And though she knew it was foolish, it made her feel good to believe.
"Shall we start over?" he suggested. "Would you like me to go outside and knock on your door and pretend the last ten minutes never happened?"
She shook her head. "No," she said seriously. "I think we do too much pretending as it is."
Something in his eyes deepened, as though in approval, or even tenderness, and he touched her arm lightly. "Good for you."
She felt her heart begin to speed, though whether it was from his touch or that entrancing light in his eyes she couldn't be sure. She turned quickly toward the kitchen. "Do you like tuna?"