Bear Claw Lawman

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Bear Claw Lawman Page 10

by Jessica Andersen


  “That would’ve been better.” Would it really, though? Would it have been any easier for her to know he still wanted her all that time, only not enough to take the risk of being with her?

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

  Knowing there was no way to go back and have a do-over, she forced a smile. “Well, seeing as you’ve now saved my life twice, I guess I owe you one.”

  His expression went fierce. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

  “Still. I forgive you. I even understand, sort of.” Because the more she thought of it, the more she really remembered how it had been between them, she had to admit that “crazy” had been the exact right word for it. And if back then he had told her the things he’d just revealed, she would have wanted them to stay involved, would’ve forced herself to let it be enough. And despite all the warnings, she would’ve been utterly shattered when he left.

  She had been crazy about him. Still was, really. Now, though, she saw the pitfalls.

  “You’re sure?”

  After giving his hand one last squeeze, she let go and eased away from him. “I’m sure. I’m—” The door leading to the roof swung open, and sent a jolt of adrenaline through her.

  Nick put himself in front of her and drew his sidearm in a single deadly move, then let out a low curse as a man stepped through. “Damn it, Tucker. A little warning would be nice. We’re a bit twitchy here.”

  “I trust your twitches,” the other man said. He stood in the doorway, propping the heavy door with his shoulder. “Which is why I came up here to talk to you both unofficially rather than doing it in front of the others.”

  “Doing what?” Jenn asked, her stomach sinking when all she could think about was her probationary period, her job. Please don’t fire me; I’m trying my hardest. I didn’t mean to lose the evidence.

  “Assigning you with an official guard, twenty-four/seven, until the Investor is off the streets.”

  “An official…oh.” She stopped, nonplussed, trying to catch up when her brain had gone in a totally different—and admittedly paranoid—direction.

  This wasn’t about her job, at least not directly. It was about the case…and the fact that Slider had said the Investor wouldn’t leave town until she was no longer a threat. A loose end. Which she had so far filed under “things I don’t want to think about.” She was thinking about it now, though, and suddenly realizing that she wasn’t going to be truly safe anywhere. Not in the lab and not in her home…and she’d be damned if she ran back to the mountain safe house when she had work to do.

  She was in serious danger, though. That was probably why Nick had brought her up to the roof rather than down the street to a coffee shop or something. He’d wanted her on P.D. property, and had figured there was a low risk of the Investor seeing her and getting a sniper into place in the short amount of time they had been visible, vulnerable.

  A sick shudder ran through her at the idea, and the realization that was how she was going to have to think for the foreseeable future.

  “I’ll do it,” Nick said.

  He had hesitated, though. More, she felt the sudden tension in the air between them, the quiver that said he wasn’t sure this was a good idea.

  “Jenn?” Tucker said. “Does that work for you? If not, I can assign—”

  “It’s fine.” She nodded, taking a deep breath to settle the sudden queasiness in the pit of her stomach. “Better than fine. If I have to deal with a guard, I’d rather it be Nick than—” Anyone else, she started to say, but bit off the words, not wanting to give Tucker—or Nick—the wrong idea. So she swallowed and said again, “It’s fine. He can have the couch.”

  Tucker cleared his throat at that one, suggesting it was TMI, but she didn’t care. The air was clear between her and Nick now, and she didn’t intend to play any games. Hadn’t ever intended to. He was the chameleon, not her.

  And he’d hesitated before saying he would guard her. That shouldn’t have stung. Because it did, her chin came up. “What about using me to draw out the Investor?”

  “No way,” Nick said sharply, rounding on her. “You’re not playing bait.”

  She ignored him and said to Tucker, “Tell me you’re considering it.”

  “It’s been discussed.”

  Nick transferred his glare. “Why wasn’t I part of this conversation?”

  Tucker ignored that and said to Jenn, “We’re not ready to make the move right now, but it’s on the table.”

  She nodded, heart thudding against her ribs. “I’ll do it. Whenever, wherever you say. Whatever it takes to get this guy.”

  “For now, just keep yourself safe and see if you can remember his face.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now that we’ve got that settled, consider me on guard duty as of now,” Nick said, scowling as he holstered his sidearm, leaving the snap undone. “I’ll cover her whenever she’s out of the lab, but if you keep the uniforms on the access points, I can keep working my angles when she’s safe underground.” He wasn’t looking at her, his anger palpable.

  “Hello?” she said, irritation sparking to match his. “I’m right here.”

  “Sorry,” he grated. Then he stopped himself and blew out a long, slow breath, just like he had done outside the interrogation room. Meeting her eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, really. I just wasn’t prepared for the bait thing. I should’ve been, I know.”

  “If you were in my shoes, you would’ve volunteered two weeks ago.”

  “You’re right. But that doesn’t make this any easier for me.”

  “It’s not about you.”

  His eyes went shadowed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “Like I said, I’ll stick close to you whenever you’re out of the lab, so you need to promise me—and Tucker and the other analysts—that you won’t leave the lab without letting me know. If I’m not there for some reason and you absolutely can’t put off whatever you need to do, then you’ll check in with Tucker or one of the other ranking detectives, and they’ll hook you up with an escort.”

  “What about crime scenes?”

  It was Tucker who shook his head. “You’re going to be strictly in the lab until further notice.”

  She hoped none of the others had blabbed her hatred of crime scenes, that this was simply protocol, or him being safe. “With all due respect, I’d rather not—” She stopped herself, though, blew out a breath, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  There was no point in insisting on something that would make more work for cops who had far more important things to do. Like find the man who was trying to kill her.

  Right now, though, she was just as happy that Tucker had vetoed using her as bait. She had needed to make the offer—and had meant it, still did—but the thought of actually doing it had cold sweat greasing her skin beneath the heavy bomber she still had clutched around her.

  Where before it had made her feel as if Nick was surrounding her, protecting her, now it seemed like a thin shield between her and the outside world, and the man who hunted her. Nick would still be protecting her, it was true, but their conversation had put a new distance between them, a new level of understanding.

  He wanted her, but only on his terms.

  Tucker and Nick talked for another minute, going over logistics, but in the end it was decided that they would stick with the basic plan Nick had outlined. He would escort her home, stay with her overnight and then bring her back to the lab in the morning. In addition, there would be two surveillance teams, one following her, the other keeping watch on the apartment building and its interior camera feeds.

  They might not think twice about a well-dressed businessman going into her building, Jenn thought with a tug of nerves, but they would definitely notice if he went for her door, and they would sound the alarm.

  She was trying to be okay with all the surveillance, trying to tell herself that it was part of the case, another way they might catch the Investor. It was easier to think of it like that than really admitting, even
to herself, that she was going to be practically on house arrest because a madman wanted her dead.

  “Okay, we’ve got a plan,” Tucker said, and headed for the stairs. “I’ll let the others know, and see if the D.A. has come through yet with that paperwork on your informant.”

  Nick gestured for Jenn to precede him down the stairs, but as she passed, he caught her hand. “Hang on a sec. We got interrupted there, but I wanted to say it again—I’m sorry I broke things off like that. I should’ve told you everything right from the beginning. I just didn’t realize that it—that you were going to turn out to be so important. And when I did…well, I didn’t handle things well.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak when he was that close to her, when he was touching her. Even though he’d made it clear that he could only offer her the same short-term fling they’d had before, only this time without the craziness or the secret hope that it would turn into something more, her blood still burned at the pressure of his grip on her arm, the nearness of his body beneath the athletic sweater and the fog of his breath on the air between them.

  Bad idea, she told herself. He’s not your lover anymore. He’s just your bodyguard.

  And that, too, was a hell of a thought.

  Tugging her arm away, she said, “It’s okay, Nick. It’s over and done, and we’re moving on… . But given that we’re going to be up in each other’s business for the time being, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Anything.” He said it as if he meant it, though they both knew it wasn’t true.

  “I don’t like seeing you be all these different people. It freaks me out. When we’re together, especially at the apartment, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t play any roles with me.”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Agreed. I’ll be myself when we’re alone.” As she headed down the stairs, she thought she heard him murmur, “I always am, with you.”

  That had to be her imagination, though. Either that, or it was a lie. Because she had seen too many faces of Nick Lang to believe he was always being himself with her. In fact, she wondered if he even knew who he

  really was anymore.

  Chapter Eight

  Nick figured it would be weird going back to Jenn’s apartment for the first time since he’d moved out. The sadness caught him by surprise, though, hitting him the moment he came through the door and caught himself starting to shrug out of his jacket and hang it on the curved coatrack.

  Instead, he kept it on and pulled his piece.

  “Close the door and wait here,” he said quietly, and moved into the apartment, senses on high alert. The apartment was under full surveillance, but he still wasn’t willing to trust that the bastard hadn’t slipped through the perimeter.

  As he crossed the living room, scanned the open-concept kitchen and headed for the two bedrooms and a bath that opened off the back, he had a hell of a time staying professional when just about every damn thing he touched or even saw triggered memories.

  There was the couch they had spent countless hours on together, cuddling while watching the TV, or just talking; there were the pillows and blankets they had tossed on the floor one night, so they could have an impromptu picnic in front of the fake fire crackling from the flat screen; and the surviving lamp of a pair still sat next to the sofa, alone now because they had broken its mate when their lovemaking had spun them off the couch and they knocked over an end table.

  And everywhere he looked, he saw puzzles. Huge, glossy two-dimensional puzzles with intricate designs and thousands of pieces hung on the walls, sealed and framed. Smaller 2D designs stood in boxy frames on the mantel and bookcase, while other flat surfaces held beautifully detailed three-dimensional puzzles—a ship in a bottle, the Eiffel Tower, the skeleton of a horse suspended in midgallop.

  They weren’t just puzzles Jenn had completed, either, though that was what he had assumed at first. He’d been blown away to learn that she’d designed and made them, then sold the plans to a boutique company she’d been working with for years.

  She had told him—during a rare moment when a conversation over buffalo burgers and beer had gone deeper than their usual surface chats—that she had taken up the hobby when her husband had been working the late shift, giving her something to do that was hers. She hadn’t told him that the projects reflected her mood, but he had guessed as much when he’d seen that she had gone from family scenes to bleak black-and-white photos of windswept mountains and empty skies, and from there, more recently, to pictures taken in and around Bear Claw.

  Now, seeing a half-finished 3D prototype on the dining table, he tried not to wonder what it meant that she was working on a small, exquisitely detailed cottage with a cute yard and picket fence, but nobody home.

  Body tight, he moved into the second bedroom, which she used as a home office. The texts, journals and forensic reference books should have reminded him of the case, but the desk and its swivel chair put him in mind of something very different, as did the bathroom, with its oversize tub and shower, and the fluffy blue towels he’d wrapped around her before carrying her to the bedroom when the hot water had run out.

  Focus, damn it. There was no reason for him to be so distracted. Especially not after the talk they’d had back on the roof. He had cleared the air and apologized; she had accepted. End of story. He shouldn’t be obsessing about the past at this point, and there was no reason that seeing the apartment again should hit him so hard.

  Then again, maybe it made sense. By the time he’d moved out of the house he and Stacia had bought, their relationship had been over and done with, and when he’d visited after the fact, things had been different, moved around and changed, making him feel like a stranger, a visitor. Here, though, everything was the same…including his and Jenn’s chemistry.

  Gritting his teeth, he checked her bedroom, with its soothing blues and greens, and unexpected zebra-striped pillows, and too many memories to process.

  With his pulse thudding in his temples, he let the surveillance team know that they were secure, and reconfirmed that they were monitoring the exterior and hallways only, with no interior bugs, infrared or

  amplifiers. He didn’t care what they thought about his insistence; he just wanted to know that whatever got said between him and Jenn stayed private, tonight and for however long this took.

  He didn’t dare think about how long that might be. Part of him wished it were already over; part of him was hoping it took a long damn time. And he needed to get his head screwed on tight, or he was going to drive both of them nuts.

  “All clear,” he announced gruffly, waving Jenn in from the entryway. “Door locked?”

  “Locked, bolted and security set.” She tossed her coat on the rack, started to hold out a hand for his, hesitated and then held out her hand, anyway. “Let me take your coat. Feel free to crank the heat. I’ve got it on a timer, and we’re home a little earlier than my usual.”

  Some of his tension leaked away as she hung up his coat and put her bag in the office. They had both brought their laptops home so they could work remotely; he dropped his bag near the couch, this time doing a better job of blocking the sensory memories that popped up at the sight of those pillows and throw blankets, and the empty space between the coffee table and the flat screen, where he’d made love to her for the last time.

  Okay, so he wasn’t doing that good a job of blocking the memories. He would manage it, though. She needed protection, and whether or not she wanted to hear it, he owed her. More, he wanted to be here, wanted more…but that was his problem, and he wasn’t going to make it hers, too.

  So he headed for the thermostat, bumped the temp a few degrees and said, “You want me to call in a delivery for dinner?”

  She turned back. “Is it safe?”

  “We can make it be.”

  After a brief hesitation, she nodded. “I’ll get the menus.”

  It wasn’t the first time they had gone through the local takeout options together, but the flinch
factor was starting to mellow out, he found, as if his body was figuring out that they were back in the apartment, but things weren’t going to be the same as they had been before.

  Eventually, they settled on Asian fusion and put in the order, and he okayed it through the perimeter when it came. They broke open a bottle of wine—more for her than for him, as he was on duty and capped it at a half glass—ate at the breakfast bar and stuck to neutral topics—the weather, the case, Matt’s early performance as the city’s mayor and his old job as a SWAT team leader in her hometown.

  “My dad had a ton of respect for him,” she said with a soft, reminiscing smile before dipping into the pad Thai. “He was sorry when Matt left town.”

  “Your dad was a cop?” How had he not known that?

  She nodded fondly. “He’s retired now. My mom’s retired, too—she was a genetics professor, still teaches sometimes at the university. I was a surprise for them, pretty late in life.”

  “And you combined their interests by going into forensics.”

  “Dad wanted me to be a cop. Mom wanted another scientist in the family. It seemed like a good match, not just for them, but for me, too.”

  “You’re good.”

  “I love it. I missed it.” She glanced over at him. “You never asked me what happened, why I left and why I’m on probation now. Did you pull the files?”

  Before, when she had hinted at the subject of her husband and a scandal at her old crime lab, he had changed the subject, figuring they were together in the present, in the moment, and the past didn’t matter.

  Now, though, he said, “Nope. I figured it was your call to tell me, or not.” Then added, “Besides, it wasn’t like we were doing baggage at ten paces. We were just going with the flow and keeping things simple.”

  “Until today.” She slid him a sidelong look. “Do you want to hear it?”

  Did he? The smarter part of him said there was no point to it, that he’d only told her about Stacia and the boys as part of explaining why he’d fumbled their breakup. Another part of him, though, said this would be easier if they were friendly. And, more, that if she was relaxed with him, felt safe with him, she might be more likely to regain those lost memories. So maybe it would be in the best interests of everyone—him, her, the case—for him to put her at ease.

 

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