by Donna Ball
“I wish I could paint," she murmured. "I would like to frame that and hang it in my living room."
"There's not even room to hang a hat in your living room," he teased her. "Much less a painting." But his eyes followed her gaze over the rumpled beach and past the last few swimmers to the horizon. "I had an oil painting once, of rain at sea. It didn't entirely capture the true effect, but close enough."
"What happened to it?"
He shrugged. "I never keep anything for long. One of the hazards of my profession."
And so it went, idle conversation about nothing of consequence, just easy talk between people who were almost friends. He passed her a folded cocktail napkin, and Teale opened it, anticipating his message as she always did, expecting some amusing remark about Sam or some flattering or tender comment that would make her blush.
The note read, "I think I'm falling in love with you."
Teale's heart jumped and stopped, and then beat so fast it seemed to fill her entire chest. She stared at the words. Something swelled and soared within her—it might have been happiness or it might have been terror. I think I'm falling in love with you....
She raised her eyes slowly to David, but his expression had not changed. His eyes were still studying the horizon, his profile strong and clear. Then he moved his eyes to her, and the tenderness she saw there, the quiet and certain truth, closed around her heart until it hurt.
Then he said easily, "Are you ready to go?"
Teale's hand closed around the napkin, and she nodded wordlessly.
There were no more notes that night. He walked her to her door as he always did; he did not kiss her goodnight, as he never did. Teale went inside and turned on all the lights, and she listened until the sound of David's footsteps had disappeared. She opened the crumpled cocktail napkin and looked at the words scrawled there for a very long time.
And then she began to cry.
******************
All right, Teale, she told herself as she went into work the next morning. You're a grown woman. More than that, you're a professional. This has gone too far. You know what you have to do.
She hadn't slept at all the night before, and she knew it showed on her face. Her skin was bloodless, and her eyes were circled with mauve; the humidity was so oppressive that even her clothes felt weighted down by it. She didn't care; she hardly even noticed. The important thing was that she had come to a decision.
She must ask to be removed from the case.
What would happen after that, she didn't know. Somehow she had to come to terms with what she could no longer deny were her feelings for David Carey. Somehow she had to convince herself that all her training, all her study and work and devotion to the law had not been simply window dressing to be tossed aside for the first handsome man who offered her a life of crime. She had to find a way to reaffirm that she was who she thought she was: a woman with unbreachable standards and principles who knew her purpose in life and had the courage to follow it.
She needed time; she needed distance. She needed never to see David Carey again. She needed to see David more than anything in the world.
Sam was waiting for her as she came into the office. "You look like hell," he greeted her.
"Shocking, isn't it? Is Hollis in?"
"Yeah, but listen." The peculiar frown on Sam's face made her hesitate and come over to his desk. "You remember that friend of mine in Central Records?"
"The one with the chicken-fried steak?"
"Also the one with the computers. The woman is a whiz. You want it; she's got it. There's nothing she can't get her hands on—except David Carey's personal history."
Teale stared at him, not quite understanding.
Sam leaned back in his chair. "It's been lifted, babe," he elaborated, "right out of the data banks. What we've got on Carey is all there is. Anywhere. In the world. Period."
Teale frowned. "Oh, come on. There's got to be something. Income-tax records, passport applications, driver's licenses, service record, credit cards for heavens' sake—"
"Exactly the kind of paper trail somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble to eliminate."
Teale shook her head slowly. "It doesn't make any sense."
"It does to somebody who doesn't want to be traced."
"That's ridiculous. A man who's trying to create a new identity does it with full backup, all the way back to the birth certificate. He doesn't leave blank spaces for people to find."
“Maybe be does if he changes identity so often he doesn't have time to fill in the blanks. Or maybe—" he looked at her soberly "—he's so well-protected he doesn't have to worry about the cops finding out what he's up to."
The prickle of a shiver went down Teale's spine. "Who would have that kind of power?"
"Diangelo," Sam replied without hesitation. "The evidence seems to indicate, partner, that somebody has invested a lot in our boy. My guess is he goes back a lot further with the Organization than this one job— and that he's placed a lot higher up in it than we ever guessed."
Teale didn't make it to Captain Hollis's office that day. She went to her desk and spent a great deal of time shuffling papers and looking busy, all the while trying to assimilate this new information, to understand it or excuse it.
Of course they had always known there was a connection with Diangelo. But this kind of connection? Even a man as powerful as Diangelo wouldn't take this kind of risk for a minor-league operator. It was expensive, it was dangerous, and no one would go to that kind of trouble unless he expected a big payoff. And that kind of payoff was not forthcoming from the small-time gambling house David Carey was running on the beach.
Then what was really going on in that house? And who was David Carey?
Of course there were other explanations for a spotty file and the inaccessibility of his records. Maybe he was sloppy. Maybe he didn't expect anyone to look hard enough to find the blank spaces. Maybe he didn't know about or have access to the kind of sophisticated techniques it would take to completely cover his tracks. Maybe it was all a mistake.
Those were all perfectly reasonable, plausible explanations. Then why did she have to think the worst?
Because she was a law officer, that was why. Because, contrary to anything suggested otherwise by the Constitution or any other document, she was trained to believe in guilt until innocence was proven. To do otherwise in her line of work would not only be naive but dangerous. And because, for the sake of her peace of mind, she simply had to know the truth.
At three o'clock, David called her cell phone.
Her heart began a heavy, dry thumping as soon as she saw his name on the caller I.D. She said, "This is Detective Saunders."
"Hi," he said softly. “Keep it casual, if you can, don’t say anything. This isn't an official call. I need to see you this afternoon, alone."
She picked up a pencil and pretended to write something down. "Okay. Good."
"Can you meet me by the pier, about five? I think we need to talk."
Her chest tightened. She kept her voice easy and polite. "Sounds great. I'll pick it up on my way home from work. Thanks."
She hung up the telephone and glanced across at Sam's desk. "Laptop," she explained to his inquiring look. "Can you believe it took them two weeks to replace a wire on the circuit board?"
Sam shrugged and turned back to his paperwork. "That's the American way."
So now she had done it. She had lied to her partner, she had declined to report contact from a suspect, and she had agreed to a secret meeting with a person under investigation without informing her superior. Were there any more rules she could break? What was happening to her?
Her palms were damp with guilt, and she hated herself, but when she left the office she still hadn't spoken to Captain Hollis, and she wasn't wearing a wire.
David was waiting for her in the parking lot next to the pier. He was wearing shorts and a collarless shirt of soft cotton weave, his hair was sunburnished and shiny, and the smile o
f greeting in his eyes made the muggy gray day seem bright and fresh. Teale felt frumpy and worn in her rumpled skirt and blouse, with her wilted hair and circled eyes. But David seemed not to notice. Before she could say a word, he stepped forward and took her arms, and in full view of anyone who wanted to see, he kissed her on the lips.
"I've been wanting to do that all week," he said softly. "I don't think I could have waited another minute."
Teale's lips still tingled with the soft surprise of his kiss, and her blood pumped with instinctive anticipation of more. The light in his eyes washed through her like a slow, cleansing wave, and the dark disturbing thoughts of the day, even the torment of the night, seemed very far away.
She smiled. "Is that why you wanted me to meet you?"
"Partly," he admitted. "Maybe the biggest part. But there's something else." He took her hand and pulled her toward his car. "Let's go for a drive. I want to show you something.”
He seemed so eager and excited—almost boyish— that she couldn't help laughing. "I thought you'd given up kidnapping."
"I don't remember too many complaints about the last time."
"That was because I have a weakness for lobster."
"This is even better."
"Shrimp Creole?"
"Just wait and see."
It wasn't until they were speeding along the coastal highway that the euphoria of seeing him again began to fade, and Teale thought wonderingly, What power he has over me. Eight hours ago she had been ready to ask for a transfer because of him; since then she had learned alarming, incriminating things about him, dark suspicions had been stirred up, and she had come here intending to confront him with them. But all he had to do was look at her and she was no longer thinking like a police officer. In his presence she was simply Teale the woman with all her weaknesses and all her foibles and, at the moment, feeling very weak and confused inside.
And that was more than half the reason she had come to him today. Because last night he had written I think I'm falling in love with you, and at that moment she had known she could no longer keep Teale the woman and Teale the detective in separate compartments. Her two worlds had collided, and she knew she couldn't go on like this any longer.
She said, "I lied to my partner for you."
David reached across the console and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
He sounded as though he meant it, and that made it much more difficult to go on. She looked down at their hands, twined together, light and dark, large and small. A study in opposites.
"I almost asked to be transferred from the case today," she said quietly.
His hand squeezed hers lightly, in comfort and reassurance. "I know it's hard for you, Teale. It won't be much longer, I promise."
She looked up at him intently. His bronze profile, muted in the light of the overcast day, his hair curling gracefully around his ear, his expression quiet and relaxed and...innocent. David, don't do this to me, she thought suddenly, fiercely. Please don't let this be happening....
But her voice was very calm as she asked, "How do you know that, David?"
He glanced at her and smiled. It was a gentle smile, almost reproving, and it said, Don't ask.
Out loud he said, "You haven't asked where we're going."
Teale looked around at the bleak, still day, the disappearing asphalt, the ragged seascape speeding by. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. "To the ends of the earth, I hope," she sighed tiredly.
David's hand tightened on hers, affectionately, once more, and they didn't speak again for the rest of the trip.
Teale didn't notice how far they'd gone until she opened her eyes to a vastly changed landscape. The marshes swept away on either side of them, dark gray-green, flat, vast and surrealistically still for as far as the eye could see. It was a stunning sight, potent and throbbing with life, yet as perfect as an oil painting.
Even the air had taken on a different color and texture, slightly greenish in cast and grainy with the power of an impending storm. The sky had dropped so low one could almost walk into it, spinning out tunnels of clouds that dripped over the marsh like pointing fingers ready to strike. Everything was uncannily silent, poised on the edge of expectancy. In such a place Teale wanted to hold her breath for fear of disturbing the delicate balance of beauty.
David stopped the car, and they got out. "My God," Teale said softly. "It's incredible."
The air had a funny taste to it, salty and stale, yet rich with the verdancy of growing things. Nothing moved, not even a breeze, but the soaking humidity was gone and the air seemed cooler. Teale recognized the faint electric scent of an impending storm.
David gestured to a cedar house suspended on stilts at the edge of the marsh, and, taking her arm, guided her toward it. "The ocean breaks away on the back side of the house," he said. His voice sounded muted in the heavy stillness. "The view is unobstructed for miles."
There was an unreality about it all, a sense of disorientation. Walking through the strange yellow light, looking at the three dimensional cloud formations that hung over the marsh, was like moving through a dream. Not even their footsteps echoed. It was beautiful, all absorbing and oddly alarming.
They mounted the steps to the house, and David took out a key.
"What are you doing?" Teale demanded. "Whose house is this?"
“No one's, yet." He opened the door and gestured her inside. "Come in, look around."
Teale hesitated, looking back over the marsh. "David, there's a storm coming. I don't think—"
"I know there's a storm coming, and if we don't hurry we're going to be stuck in it. Go on in."
Teale stepped inside. It was dark and musty-smelling, the way vacation homes often are when they haven't been used for a time. "Is this what you wanted me to see?" she asked, puzzled.
"That's right."
David closed the door and pressed the light switch. Two lamps blotted out the eerie quality of the faint daylight and painted the room in warm, cozy colors. It was a pleasant house with many windows and driftwood paneled walls. There was a sunken living room and a large fireplace in gray stone, and from the sliding glass doors that opened off the dining area Teale could see the dark choppy waters of the Atlantic. A view of the marsh swept away on two sides.
"It's nice," she said hesitantly. It was nice, only she didn't understand why he had brought her here.
"It has three bedrooms, two baths and a fully equipped kitchen. The master bath has a Jacuzzi. I'm thinking of buying it."
Teale, absently running her hand over an end table, looked up at him. "You have a house."
His expression was patient and tinged with amusement. "You know I don't own that house.''
"Who does? Diangelo?"
She hadn't meant to bring it up like that, so abruptly, so much like an interrogating officer. But once it was done, she was glad.
A measure of surprise touched his eyes, and then absolute opaqueness. "As a matter of fact," he responded casually, "I don't know who owns it. I lease it from a real-estate company. Of course," he went on, walking over to the sunflower-print sofa and examining it critically, "I'd want to redecorate. It might even be fun. Do you know, I'm thirty-eight years old and I've never decorated my own place? I'm not even sure what my taste is."
Distant thunder rolled, muted but powerful. Teale had a sudden impression of how isolated they were, and how alone. No electronic wire connected her to Sam and the real world this time, no city lights, no familiar surroundings. No one knew where she was, and there would be no excuses or explanations to make in the morning. There was nothing to come between her and her own feelings, and nothing to protect her from David... or her own desires.
Abruptly, she walked over to the window and tried to open it, hoping the sting of salt air would clear away the cloudy, dreamlike quality of her thoughts. It was stuck. "You'll have to rehang the windows," she said.
"All windows in beach houses do tha
t. The wood swells.”
He came up behind her and reached around her to assist with the window. Teale stiffened, but everything within her flared to life. She could feel his warmth surround her, and taste the mild scent of his cologne—sea breezes and masculinity. His pelvis brushed against her buttocks, and his arm encircled hers as he grasped the window sash. She could feel the touch of his chest against her shoulder blades and his gentle indrawn breath. Her nerves tingled with awareness of him, and she thought how easy it would be to sink back into his embrace. She had to fight to keep her muscles rigid.
He lifted the window an inch, but he didn't move away. She felt his breath lightly stirring her hair. "Your hair smells wonderful," he murmured.
If she turned, her lips would meet his and she would be completely lost. So she remained perfectly still. "If you brought me here for the purpose of seduction," she said, managing to inject a note of lightness into her voice, "I think you should know I'm trained in self-defense."
His face brushed against her hair and moved slowly down the shape of her head, luxuriating in the texture. She felt his smile curve against the nape of her neck. "Not very well, I should think, or you'd know better than to let a dangerous felon sneak up on you from behind."
Her breath was coming rapidly, and she braced her hands against the window sill. "Are you dangerous, David?"
His hands came to rest upon her waist, lightly caressing, and with the movement gently tugging her blouse from her waistband. "What do you think?"
His hand slipped beneath the material, light butterfly touches that molded the pliant flesh of her waist and danced over the shape of her ribs. She couldn't move, her chest ached with the effort of keeping her breathing steady, and her heart thundered so she thought surely he could feel its pressure shaking her ribs. No, she thought, somewhat desperately. No, you can't let this happen. While another part of her, a deeper, softer, more demanding part whispered, Yes...