Dead Calm

by Lindsay Longford

  “If you only knew.”

  She waved her arms airily above her head. “I haven’t handcuffed you to the bed, Judah.”

  “Smart aleck.” A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Might be fun.”

  Sophie couldn’t help the blush that rose from the top of her chest and burned the tips of her ears. She raised the sheet to her chin until her eyes barely peeped over it. “Not that you’ll ever know.”

  For a second she thought he was considering the idea, and the blush burned hotter on her face.

  Then he shifted restlessly. He checked his watch and grimaced. “I really have to go.” He still hadn’t moved from the foot of her bed.

  She wanted to beg him to stay. Lifting her chin, she said, “Then why are you still here?”

  “Yeah. That’s the big question, isn’t it?” He shook his head.

  “I don’t have an answer.”

  “Neither do I.” He came to sit on the bed beside her and pulled at the sheet until it drooped at the top of her breasts. “All I know is that I want to stay.”

  “And you still hate me.” She gripped the sheet tightly.

  “Want to,” he corrected. “Need to. Can’t.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.”

  “Didn’t mean for it to. I’m being straight with you.”

  “That’s decent of you.”

  “I’m a decent guy, remember, one of Poinciana’s knights in blue? Except that you don’t like cops.”

  “I don’t like some cops.”

  “And that leaves us where we always wind up, doesn’t it?” Abruptly he stood. The bed jounced. “I don’t know how this has happened, Sophie. You’re a drug in my system, making me feel things, do things that—” He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t understand it. I don’t like it.”

  “If anyone ever tries to convince you that you’re a silver-tongued devil, Judah, seriously, don’t believe a word they say,” she said politely.

  He sat down again. “I’m trying to explain—”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah.” Placing one arm on each side of her curled body, he leaned close. “You’re right. I’m not good with words. I’m better at showing instead of telling. And you have no idea, Sophie, the things I want to show you, do to you. With you.”

  Her stomach lurched. And, that fast, she wanted him in bed with her, needed to have him wrap himself around her. In bed, the tiny pinpricks of words wouldn’t matter. “Easy talk, buster.”

  This time a real smile danced over his drawn face. “By the way, what’s with all this sudden modesty?” He plucked once more at the sheet.

  “You make me shy?”

  “Not likely.” He dipped forward and closed his mouth around her nipple, dampening the sheet and making her groan.

  But the truth was that he did make her shy, and she didn’t know why.

  Pulling the damp sheet down her body, he paused. “I heard you on the phone this morning. I wasn’t asleep.”

  She grabbed the sheet from him and moved away from the heat of his lips. “I started the paperwork to foster-parent Angel.”

  “At four in the morning?”

  “Jeannette’s my friend. She’s head of Children and Family Services. She can make it happen. I’m not asking her to do anything illegal. I’m asking her to take a shortcut. I’m qualified to be a foster parent. I’ve fostered babies from the hospital before for short periods.”

  He didn’t move for long seconds. “You’re serious about doing this.” It wasn’t a question. Then he shrugged. “Well.” He circled her damp nipple slowly, reluctantly, with his forefinger. And before she could gather her thoughts to tell him the rest, he sent them spinning. “Come with me to Tyree’s barbecue later today.”

  She sat bolt upright. “What?”

  “Tyree and his wife have a monthly barbecue at their home. After church services. Come with me.”

  “Like a date?”

  “No, not like a date. It would be a date.”

  “A date.” She blinked. “This is weird, Judah. After everything that’s happened between us, to go out on a real date— Don’t you think that’s a little bit strange?”

  “At least you won’t have to worry about whether or not I’m going to try and jump your bones on a first date.” He traced the line of her hipbone. “By the way, I like your bones, Sophie.”

  “You made a joke.”

  “I might have.”

  “A date?”

  “Now you’re making me nervous. I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Wouldn’t you be uncomfortable?”

  “I’m going to be uncomfortable anyway.” The frown returned and he stood up.

  “Why? Won’t all your cop buddies be there? The guys you hang out with?”

  His face closed up in that way that made her crazy. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “Oh. I get it. You don’t hang out, do you?”

  “I’ve never been to Tyree’s before.”

  “You’re afraid to go alone?” She wrapped the sheet around her and stood up next to him. “Is that why you’re asking me to go with you? You need protection, that’s it. Awww, poor baby,” she cooed.

  “I told Tyree I’d come. You might enjoy it. I don’t know who’ll be there. But I don’t think there’ll be many cops.”

  Tilting her head, she studied him. “What’s going on, Judah? What’s the hidden agenda?”

  “Damn it, there’s no agenda, and I’m not ‘afraid’ to go to Tyree’s by myself.” He glared at her. “Sheesh, I’m not that socially inept, Sophie.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me.” Biting her lip to keep from giggling, she added, “But all right. I’ll go. And I’ll protect you.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Well, okay yourself, hotshot.” She anchored the sheet under her arms and started past him. “Tell me when and where.”

  He caught her arm. “Your car’s at Charlie’s. I’ll pick you up. We’ll get your car after the barbecue.”

  “No. I’ll get my car and meet you at Tyree’s house.”

  “Sophie, don’t be stubborn.”

  She twitched the end of the sheet free of her feet. “I’m not always stubborn.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded vigorously. His hand rested between her underarm and the swell of her breast, and she wanted to turn toward it, let her breast fill his palm. “But I don’t want to be stranded here all day without my car.”

  “Fine. Give me your car keys. I’ll get someone to drive it back here.” Moving away from her, he lifted the heap of bedspread and clothes.

  Without his touch, her skin felt cold.

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “I can get my car. Nobody has to drive it back here.” She suppressed a strong urge to stamp her foot. Not her style, and she’d probably trip over the sheet. “Lord, you’re a pushy man.”

  “And you’re a hardheaded woman.” He didn’t move an inch.

  “Probably why we get along so well. No arguments and all that.”

  He threw up both hands. “All right. We’ll do it your way. Go take your shower, Sophie. I’ll call you with the address.”

  “You have to find out Tyree’s address? You don’t even know where your partner lives? For someone who notices every detail, how could you not know that one?”

  “I’ll see you at Tyree’s around eight.” He wheeled on his heel and barreled out of her bedroom.

  “What shall I bring?” Tripping and stumbling after him, she clutched the sheet to her. “Judah!”

  Her front door slammed behind him. She winced.

  And then she giggled as she caught a glimpse of her tousled, red-faced, sheet-wrapped reflection. She did a little dance step and curtseyed to the mirror, flinging the sheet open and closed in a parody of a strip tease. “Sophie Brennan, you’ve been a bad, bad girl, haven’t you?”

  In the mirror the woman with the wicked smile and flushed body danced
in circles as sunlight blazed across the floor of the bedroom.

  Chapter 12

  When Sophie drove up, Judah was waiting with his bike at the end of Tyree’s driveway. She braked her small red car in a rattle of oyster shells. As she climbed out, the breeze caught the ends of the red scarf she’d tied around her waist and blew them up against her sweater.

  “Nice,” he said, his glance following the lick of red against cream.

  “My outfit?”

  “Sure, that, too.” His glance lingered where red and cream smoothed against her breasts.

  As aware of his gaze as if he were touching her, she tossed him a casual wave as she went to the rear of her car. She was relieved he stayed with the bike while she popped open the trunk. Seeing him under the streetlight next to the driveway had taken her breath away. A cliché, all that black leather stretched over a flat belly and wide shoulders, rock-star mufti, but her mouth had gone dry as he’d straightened from his slouch against the black bike.

  Even in the space of hours, she’d forgotten the impact he had on her senses. Judah Finnegan had her number, that was for sure. Breathing carefully, she took out a food carrier. “Pirozki,” she said and turned as his footsteps came up behind her.

  “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  She shrugged. “It’s my Bushka’s recipe. Remember I told you about my grandmother who gave me the cross? She taught me how to make these. Pirozki are Russian, but almost every country has its own version.” She poked his arm as he wrinkled his nose. “Wuss. Where’s your spirit of adventure, country boy? It’s nothing weird. See? Comfort food.” She lifted the lid to show him the small pastry packets.

  “These have meat and cabbage inside.” She held one to his mouth. “Taste.”

  He took the offering in one bite. “Good. But not precisely what I’m hungry for.” He tugged at a scarf end and touched her mouth. “I told you, Sophie. You’re in my blood. I see you, and I want you. Right that moment. I heard a line in a song once, and I never understood it before I met you. ‘Every little thing you do fills me with desire.’ It’s that simple. And, yes, like you said earlier, that complicated. I keep thinking this is some kind of madness that will leave me. I want it to. I need it to. It doesn’t.”

  “I know.” Her hands trembled slightly as she held the food container. Stunned, she glanced down at them. “But, Judah, do me a favor? Don’t ever come into an operating room when I’m holding sharp instruments. It wouldn’t be safe.” She held the carrier in front of her and watched her shaking hands. “I can’t believe this. What have you done to me?”

  “Exactly what you’ve done to me. And I’m not any more comfortable with your effect on me than you are with mine on you. But it is what it is.” He touched her trembling fingers, stilling them.

  “Why didn’t you go inside? Why were you waiting out here?”

  He slung the grocery sack he carried over his shoulder and took the food from her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  She matched his strides. “I said I would.” She was still troubled that he could affect her so easily.

  “Folks change their minds.” He motioned her toward the walk leading up to the front door. “I figured I’d wait and see. Something might have come up.”

  “I would have called.” Catching his elbow, she stopped him. “I may be impulsive, Judah, but I’m not careless with people.”

  He studied her face slowly, as if he were seeking answers to the unspoken questions that lay between them.

  As reluctant to disturb the equilibrium between them as he, she poked the plastic bag over his shoulder and peered inside. “Soft drinks? Not beer? Or wine?” She shook her head in a mock scold. “What a cheapskate.”

  “It’s Sunday. Knew better than to bring alcohol to a church-going bunch.”

  She shot him a glance.

  He sighed. “All right, Sophie, in the interest of full disclosure and you and me getting along, you need to know. My daddy was a preacher.”

  “I don’t get the connection, but I’m all in favor of full disclosure. It’s a way of getting to know a person.”

  “You think you don’t already know me?”

  “You think I do?”

  “Reckon not.” He shrugged. “Biblically, maybe.”

  “Another joke? This is a whole new side of you, Judah. So. Where’s your father now? Are you in touch with him?”

  “No.”

  “Oh?”

  “He died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The world’s better off without that old man.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “Hell, Sophie, don’t give me that look. There was no love lost between me and my old man. He and his God aren’t on my visiting list, okay?”

  “Whatever you say. But what does that have to do with bringing colas to Tyree’s?” In the lamplit shadows of the sidewalk, Sophie waited patiently. What Judah was struggling to tell her was important. She hoped it would shine a light on some of the dark corners in this difficult man.

  The sound of voices came faintly from inside the house.

  He fidgeted, shifted. “Okay. Okay. Here’s the deal. Calvin Finnegan was one of the meanest sons of bitches alive. He clubbed me over the head with God and religion from the time I was born until the day he slapped me upside the head with his Bible for the last time, and I walked out. He used the stick of his religion to beat out the darkness and evil in my soul. I’m talking literally here, sugar. On me. And he used that stick and Bible on my pretty mama until all her joy and prettiness dried up and died and took her with it. His God was a God of damnation and hellfire. A God with no pity. No forgiveness. That’s the God he preached and the God who ruled everything Preacher Calvin did. Everything he thought or felt. Hell? Nobody around Calvin Finnegan had to wait for an afterlife to find out about Hell. He made every living, breathing moment on this earth hell.”

  Sophie took a slow breath and remained silent, absorbing his words. His tone was matter-of-fact. His lack of emotion disturbed her the most. Talking about an ugliness that had to have been soul-searing, he recited the details with complete detachment. She could only imagine the details he omitted.

  Distancing. That was what she’d done each time she had to do a morbidity report. She separated herself from the emotions of losing a patient because if she didn’t, she couldn’t have gone on. That was what Judah was doing. Distancing himself exactly as she had. In order to survive. There were all kinds of ways to distance oneself. They’d talked earlier about how their respective jobs used language to achieve distance, to provide objectivity. But how much more destructive for a child to have to create distance in order to be safe. Oh, Judah, she longed to say. But didn’t.

  “No forgiveness? Not even for a small, scared boy?”

  “He saw evil in me. His job—as he saw it—was to clean out my soul one way or another. And he tried. With every ounce of determination in him, he tried.”

  “That’s a hard way to grow up.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Sophie. I was never scared.”

  “Really? Gave as good as you got, did you?”

  She could picture the young, fierce-eyed Judah staring down a father filled with wrath and righteousness. No, he wouldn’t have yielded. Not ever. Seeking the love and forgiveness denied him, he would have fought his father every inch of the way. A child denied love and forgiveness would have sought attention through the only tools available to him: defiance, indifference, numbness. Instinct made her take a risk and leap right off the high dive. “That’s why you became a cop, isn’t it? In a way, Judah, you’re like your father. You mete out justice. Punishment. And like him, you don’t offer redemption or forgiveness to those you arrest. You judge them.”

  “Like him? I’m nothing like him. We shared nothing except a batch of DNA.” Judah’s voice suddenly turned venomous. “That old preacher man is nothing to me. Was nothing.”

  “And yet he lives in your head, does
n’t he?” She touched his cheek.

  “Don’t kid yourself. If he was alive and I saw him lying in the street bleeding to death, I wouldn’t cross the street to help him. Okay? Got it?”

  So much passion, she thought. Her heart ached for the child he’d been, the lonely, scared boy hungry for love and finding it nowhere.

  “I get it, Judah,” she said and stood on tiptoes, kissing him softly on his open, surprised mouth. “But that whole forgiveness thing? Think about it. Because not forgiving can become a canker on the soul. Now, let’s go inside and have dinner.”

  For a long moment he simply stared at her, and then he stooped and pressed his mouth against her forehead. Not a kiss, exactly—she couldn’t put a name to that brush of his lips against her. But whatever it was, there was a tenderness in that lingering touch that made her eyes burn. “Dinner? It’s suppertime down here, Yankee Girl. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Pish.” Tweaking his nose, she tugged him forward. “Come on. This Yankee girl is hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry.”

  “And you’re still not talking about food, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Complaining?”

  “Grateful.”

  “You should be.”

  The door opened before they could knock.

  “Hey there, y’all.” Breathless, a tall, slim woman beckoned them in. A toddler had both arms clamped around the woman’s leg. “It’s a madhouse in here, but come on in. If you dare.” Stooping, she gathered the child up into her arms. “This is Taylor Bell, our middle child. She’s—”

  Sophie smiled. “Hi, Taylor Bell.”

  The little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck.

  “Clingy?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Smiling ruefully, the woman shifted Taylor Bell onto a hip. She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Yvonna, Tyree’s better half. You must be Judah’s friend.”

  Sophie realized her face must have registered astonishment because Yvonna gave a tiny smile. “Oh, like that, is it?”

  Judah cleared his throat. “Hey, Yvonna, Taylor Bell.”

  Friend? Sophie didn’t know how to respond. Friendship required a level of trust. Judah didn’t trust her. She thought perhaps he didn’t trust anyone except himself. But he’d talked to her about his father. Coming from Judah, that revelation meant something.