Make Me Melt

by Karen Foley

  He stared at her, his expression dark. “Caroline, whatever I said that night, I said out of self-preservation. You were sixteen. I would have said anything to get you to leave me alone.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Whatever. I wasn’t woman enough for you, right? My boobs weren’t big enough, and I had no experience. Why bother with a scrawny teenage virgin when you could have a real woman, right?”

  Jason made a growling sound of annoyance and rose to his feet. Planting his hands on the table, he leaned toward her, and it took all Caroline’s resolve not to cringe from the heat and anger she saw reflected in his eyes. She stared boldly back at him instead.

  “Is that what you think?” he said through gritted teeth. “Well, here’s the truth. I was barely holding it together that night. If you hadn’t left when you did, I would have had you on your back in that bed, and I would have screwed you blind. I would have taken you six ways to Sunday, and I wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass about your virginity, or the fact that I owed your father everything. I would have hurt you, Caroline, and in the morning, I would have been gone.”

  For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. His crude depiction had her imagination surging with lurid images of what might have happened that night. The vehemence in his voice almost made her believe him.

  “Well,” she said when she could finally speak. “At least that’s better than thinking you didn’t want me.”

  “But I didn’t,” he continued, his voice harsh. “Oh, I wanted your hot little body, but I didn’t want you. I didn’t want a girlfriend or a relationship, and if you think that’s where we were headed, you are deluding yourself.”

  Even after all these years, his words had the ability to inflict pain. Here, finally, was a glimpse of the angry, dangerous youth he had once been. “So where were we headed?”

  He laughed sardonically. “To hell, sweetheart. Because I would have used you and then left. You would have tried to put a good face on it, but every time my name came up in conversation, it would have felt like someone twisting a knife in your gut. And if by some miracle I hadn’t gotten you pregnant, you still wouldn’t have been able to hide the truth from your father.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “He would have learned what happened, and if he didn’t have me arrested for statutory rape, he would have found another way to ruin me. And in time, I’d have grown to hate you almost as much as you hated me.”

  The picture he painted was so cruel and so bleak that Caroline felt tears prick the back of her eyelids. Her voice, when she spoke, was little more than a whisper. “You really would have hated me?”

  “Without a doubt,” he assured her. “But not nearly as much as I would have hated myself.”

  5

  JASON HADN’T BEEN back to the beach house in Santa Cruz since the night he’d found Caroline waiting for him in his bed. The place hadn’t changed much in twelve years, and despite the fact that he and Caroline had hardly spoken through the course of the long day, some of the tightness in his chest eased as he walked through the spacious house and onto the back deck, which overlooked the beach and the crashing surf.

  The sun was beginning to set over the water, streaking the sky with brilliant reds and pinks. Several couples walked along the water’s edge, letting the waves lap at their feet. To the right of the deck, standing near the dunes, he could just make out Colton’s shadowy figure.

  Deputy Black, Deputy Mitchell and three other officers had arrived earlier to get the layout of the house and evaluate the security. Even now, they stood guard both inside and on the surrounding property. Jason hoped that he and Caroline wouldn’t be here for more than a couple of days. He liked the house, but he didn’t relish the long drive back and forth to the hospital, with Caroline silent and cold beside him.

  He knew he’d hurt her feelings with the ugly picture he’d painted for her, but he needed her to understand that when he’d turned her away twelve years ago, he’d done it for her own sake. And for his.

  Truth was, he’d lied when he’d told her that he would have hurt her. That he would have left her. That he would have hated her.

  But the reality was that she’d been much too young. There had been no chance that they could have had any kind of relationship, even if her father would have allowed it, which he wouldn’t have. Not then. Maybe not even now.

  Jason thought of the cases he’d recently worked in San Diego, involving some of the worst kinds of criminals. While he felt a certain satisfaction in putting them behind bars, he also experienced a sense of guilt, because on some level, he related to those lowlifes. Under different circumstances, it could have been him behind bars. He knew that some of the people he worked with were aware of his background and looked down their noses at him because of it. As much as he tried to tell himself that his past experiences made him a better law enforcement officer, he couldn’t shake the sense that he’d never completely eradicated the angry delinquent kid that he’d once been. He was just better at hiding it.

  Caroline had once accused him of keeping his tattoos concealed because of what others might think about him. In truth, he couldn’t care less what anyone thought about him, but he took no pride in the ink he’d gotten as a teenager. There were times he’d even considered having the tattoos removed, but he had decided to keep them as a reminder of who he really was. He could fool some people, but he couldn’t fool himself.

  He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the railing of the deck, and breathed in the clean, salt-tinged air. Now that Caroline was living in Virginia, the judge rarely spent any time at the beach house. He refused to sell it, however, despite the fact he could get a small fortune for the oceanfront property. The house had belonged to his late wife, who had died in a car crash when Caroline was just a toddler. William had always maintained that the house was part of Caroline’s inheritance.

  Being back at the beach house only served to remind Jason that he and Caroline came from different worlds. He didn’t like to think about his own parents, or his miserable childhood in Hunters Point, one of the most impoverished and crime-ridden districts of San Francisco.

  He only knew that if it hadn’t been for Judge Banks, he probably wouldn’t have survived to adulthood. He hadn’t been back to his old neighborhood since he’d turned eighteen. He hadn’t seen his old man since he was twenty, when his father had turned up at his college dormitory looking to borrow money. He could still recall the anger and shame he’d felt when he’d opened his door to see Daryl Cooper outside his room, looking like a homeless bum and obviously in need of his next fix. Jason had wanted him gone before any of the other guys in the dorm saw him and guessed who he was and where Jason had come from.

  But everything in him had rebelled against giving his father money, especially when he knew it would only go toward drugs or alcohol. Only when Daryl had grown belligerent and threatened to make a scene had Jason relented. He’d given his father everything he’d had, under the condition that he never come back and never try to get in touch with him again.

  That had been almost fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t seen Daryl Cooper since. But the memory of that exchange remained vivid. Even now, there were times when he felt his life was a sham and that sooner or later people would realize he was nothing more than poor white trash.

  He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and saw Deputy Mitchell and another man just inside the house. He recognized the second man as Steven Anderson, the judge’s legal assistant. They’d met several times when Jason had traveled to San Francisco to visit the judge. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties, and he reminded Jason of the ambitious Stanford law students who had frequented Judge Banks’s house back when he was a teenager: good-looking, affluent and entitled. As Steven pushed a two-wheeled dolly, stacked high with white cardboard boxes, Jason couldn’t help thinking that the legal assistant looked as if he’d be more comfortable on a golf c
ourse than in a courtroom.

  He stepped through the French doors into the house and shook Steven’s hand.

  “Thanks for bringing these over on such short notice,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get them back as soon as possible.”

  Steven nodded. “No problem. I had our paralegals working around the clock to make copies of everything before the FBI confiscated the files. This is every case the judge worked on for the past twelve months.” He indicated one box with an orange label on the outside. “These are the high-profile cases, like the Sanchez case and the Conrad Kelly case.”

  Conrad Kelly was the leader of an antigovernment extremist group, and he’d been found guilty of bombing numerous state and federal buildings in California over a ten-year time span. He’d been convicted earlier that year, and Judge Banks had sentenced him to thirty years in prison. As a result, the judge had received several death threats, but subsequent investigations had led nowhere.

  “Got it,” he said to the other man, lifting the top box and placing it on the nearby dining table. “I’ll start with this box.”

  Steven hesitated.

  Jason paused in the process of opening the box. “Was there something else?”

  The legal assistant shifted his weight. “No. It’s just that the judge dealt with a lot of slimeballs. It could have been any one of them. But—”

  “But what?”

  Steven looked embarrassed. “It’s probably nothing, but there was this one night a few weeks ago, when I was at the judge’s house. We were reviewing a case that’s coming to trial in another week.” Seeing Jason’s expression, he hurried on. “Anyway, as I was leaving that night, there was this car parked outside the house, with someone inside. I didn’t think too much of it, other than the car definitely didn’t belong in a neighborhood like Sea Cliff. But it took off when I came down the walkway toward the sidewalk. I didn’t get a look at the driver.”

  Jason frowned. “When was this, exactly?”

  “Almost three weeks ago, on Wednesday night at ten.”

  “Do you remember the make or model of the car? Could you determine the color?”

  “No. I’m not much of a car aficionado, so the best I can tell you is that it was a shit-box sedan, either brown or greenish-brown. But I noticed that one of the taillights wasn’t working.” He made an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry—that’s the best I can tell you. Like I said, it might not mean anything.”

  “Or it could mean everything.” This from Colton, who had come in behind the other man. “Did you tell any of this to the police?”

  Steven nodded. “Yeah, of course. I mentioned it when they came to the office to look at the judge’s casework. They said they’d look into it.”

  “Thank you, Steven.” Jason shook the other man’s hand. “Deputy Black will show you out.”

  Steven hesitated. “Is, uh, Judge Banks’s daughter here? I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? Speaking of which, why would she choose to stay in Santa Cruz and not in San Francisco? I’d think she’d want to be closer to her father.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “I haven’t seen her since she graduated. Would be nice to say hello.”

  Jason exchanged a look with Colton. “Thanks again for coming by. I appreciate you making the drive, and I’ll make sure you get the files back once we’re done.”

  He was glad when the other man took the hint and left. Wasting no time, he opened the first box and began methodically removing the case files, laying them all out on the table. He looked up brusquely when Colton returned.

  “I want everything you can find on Steven Anderson. How long he’s worked for the judge, and what his relationship is to the family. And to Caroline.”

  Colton nodded. “Yes, sir. Probably nothing more than a youthful crush. She’s the boss’s daughter, after all, and she’s very attractive. I’ll bet all the judge’s interns were panting after her back when she lived here. Anderson seems pretty benign.”

  Privately, Jason agreed. “Not taking any chances,” he said evenly.

  “Got it.”

  When Colton departed, Jason glanced toward the stairs. Caroline had claimed a headache and had gone straight to her room when they’d arrived at the beach house. He didn’t doubt that she was exhausted; they had spent the entire day at the hospital with her father, and the ride to Santa Cruz had seemed endless, especially since she had refused to speak with him. Jason had never considered himself much of a conversationalist, and there were few things he hated more than meaningless chitchat. So aside from a few questions related to whether the air-conditioning was sufficient or if she needed to stop and take a break, they hadn’t spoken at all. But he’d been acutely aware of her during the long drive. He’d heard every soft sigh, noticed every shift of position in the seat next to him, and had to keep his hands firmly on the steering wheel to prevent himself from reaching over to cover her fingers with his own. In short, the drive had been sheer torture.

  Outside, the sun had disappeared over the horizon, and he walked deliberately through the house, checking the windows and doors. Upstairs, he paused outside Caroline’s room to listen, but there was no sound from inside. He moved down the hall to the guest room and opened the door. This was his room when he stayed at the beach house, and seeing it now brought the events of that long-ago summer night rushing back.

  He could still see Caroline, so sweet and tempting, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy panties. If he closed his eyes, he could even feel her skin...taste her lips...smell the fragrance of coconut and honeysuckle. The room hadn’t changed at all in the past twelve years, and for just a moment, he thought he could smell the exotic-scented skin lotion that Caroline wore. With a stifled groan, he closed the door and went back downstairs.

  It was almost ten o’clock, but Jason knew he’d never get to sleep. He rarely went to bed before 1:00 a.m., a habit that Caroline would no doubt say he’d gotten from her father. He pulled the folders out of the first box and sorted quickly through them until he found the case files he was looking for. He spent the next several hours poring through the documents, trying to decipher any clues that might hint at who had shot Judge Banks.

  He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps behind him until it was too late. He caught a faint whiff of coconut and whirled in his chair. Except for the small table lamp near his elbow, the house was steeped in darkness, but he could see Caroline clearly. She stood just outside the circle of lamplight, wearing a short white bathrobe that left her slender legs bare. Her blond hair fell loosely around her face and shoulders, and she hugged her arms around her middle.

  “Caroline?” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “What is it?”

  She stared him, her eyes haunted in her pale face. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a dream...”

  Jason didn’t move toward her. He didn’t trust himself to touch her, not when she looked so vulnerable and everything in him wanted to haul her into his arms and assure her that he’d take care of her.

  “Here,” he said, indicating the nearby sofa. “Come sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Where are Deputy Black and Deputy Mitchell?” she asked, looking around the silent house.

  “Deputy Mitchell has the night shift. He’ll keep watch in the patrol car tonight.” He gestured toward the end of the hallway, where her father’s bedroom and a second guest room were located. “Deputy Black is asleep in the guest room. He’ll relieve Mitchell at dawn. You’re safe, Caroline. Come sit down.”

  Obediently, she sat down on the sofa and curled her legs beneath her. He’d closed the doors that led to the deck but had opened the nearest window so that he could enjoy the cool ocean breezes. Realizing she was shivering, he pulled a cotton throw from the opposite end of the sofa and draped it around her shoulders before walking over to the wet bar.

  He poured the
m each a glass of bourbon. After handing one to Caroline, he sat down beside her, carefully putting some space between them. She turned toward him on the cushions, and the blanket slipped enough to one side so that he caught a glimpse of one slim thigh. He took a hefty swig of his drink.

  Caroline cradled her own glass in her hands. “I had a dream about my father.” Her voice was low and troubled. “In the dream, I’m standing on the sidewalk when he opens the door. I can see that the person standing on the porch has a gun. I try to scream a warning, but nothing comes out.”

  “Caroline—”

  “So I run toward the house, but my feet are so heavy, as if they’re encased in concrete. All I can do is watch while he’s shot. And there’s so much blood...it spills down the steps in a gush, until it surrounds my feet.”

  She sobbed and covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Jason took her glass and set it down on the coffee table with his own. She didn’t resist when he pulled her across the distance that separated them and enfolded her in his arms.

  “Shh,” he murmured against her hair. “It was just a dream. Your father is alive, and we’ll find whoever did this to him.”

  Her fingers clutched at his shirt, and she shuddered with recalled horror. “It seemed so real. And when I woke up, I felt so helpless. So alone.” She raised her face to look at him. “But then I remembered that you were here. And I knew everything would be okay.”

  Her words caused something to shift in Jason’s chest, and he had to fight to keep his arms from tightening around her.

  “Caroline—”

  She swallowed, tears still shimmering in her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so miserable to you today. I just kept thinking about what you said last night, about hating me.”

  “I never said I hated you,” he corrected her. “I said I would have grown to hate you if we had slept together back then. There’s a big difference.”