by Metsy Hingle
Instantly an image of Angela came to mind. As though it were only yesterday, he could see her kneeling in the flower beds of the ranch-style house they’d bought during the last year of their marriage, her cheeks streaked with dirt and those blue eyes of hers bright with excitement as she described how beautiful the azaleas would be when they bloomed, all the different flowers that would be pushing up through the earth when spring came. At the time he would have sworn the two of them would have grown old together in that house. They’d already started trying to have a baby and he’d envisioned kids racing through those flower beds with a couple of dogs at their heels. But a hard winter freeze had destroyed the azaleas, and by the time spring arrived, she’d been gone. A sharp pang stabbed through him at the memory. Justin found himself wondering now if the couple he’d sold the house to had ever seen any of Angela’s flowers bloom or if they’d filled in the garden with concrete and made other use for the space.
When a light came on in an upstairs room of Angela’s condo, Justin blinked. Shaking off the memories and the melancholy that accompanied them, he shifted his attention to the window. Although the drapes had been drawn shut, evidently the fabric wasn’t lined because there was no mistaking the feminine form on the other side of those curtains—or the fact that the woman was undressing.
He had no business watching this.
Justin knew it, told himself not to watch her. Yet he did watch—mesmerized by the sight of Angela’s silhouette on the other side of that flimsy curtain unbuttoning her blouse, stepping out of her slacks. When she arched her back and unhooked her bra, Justin’s mouth went dry.
“Damn!”
Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, he rested his head against it, all too aware of the burgeoning ache against his zipper. Disgusted with himself, he lifted his head and drew in a ragged breath. He was a grown man of thirty-five and the county’s sheriff, not some adolescent at a peep show. Besides the fact that the woman was his ex-wife, she was a cop, he reminded himself. And it was the cop he’d come here to see, not the woman.
Determined to get things over with, he scooped up the file folder from the passenger seat of the truck and shoved open the vehicle’s door. Gravel from the side of the road crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the street and started toward the condo. Judging from the darkened windows of the adjacent units, either Angela’s neighbors turned in before nine o’clock or the other condos remained unoccupied. Suspecting the latter, Justin frowned at the idea of Angela or any woman living out here all alone.
Not smart, Mason, he thought. Isolation would make anyone more vulnerable, but especially a woman. Even a woman like her who had been trained to take care of herself wouldn’t be immune to the dangers of living alone. More than likely her training would only place her at greater risk, because knowing Angela as he did, he didn’t doubt she would be inclined to handle any threat to her safety on her own.
Reminding himself that Angela Mason was no longer his responsibility, Justin approached the front door of the condo. And that was when he heard the music. Immediately he recognized the female harmony and country rock tune as the Dixie Chicks’ newest release. He couldn’t help but smile. His and Angela’s tastes in music had always run along the same lines, and to this day he’d yet to meet another woman who could follow his lead on the dance floor so perfectly. Pushing the doorbell, he recalled the many times during their marriage when they’d been in the midst of some chore and a song would come on the radio. All he had to do was take her hand, and regardless of where they were or what they’d been doing, he’d dance her around the floor. In the living room, in the bedroom, even in the kitchen. And as they moved to the music’s rhythm, as thigh brushed against thigh, as chest pressed against chest, they would invariably end up making love. Suddenly realizing the direction of his thoughts, Justin sobered and punched the bell again.
“Coming,” Angela called out from somewhere inside the condo. The music stopped, more lights were flicked on, and moments later he heard the snick of the locks and she opened the door. “Justin?” She said his name in a breathless rush.
Justin stared at her. In one sweeping glance he took in everything about her. The tennis shoes. The threadbare gray sweatpants. The strip of flesh between her waistband and the frayed bottom of the ugly San Antonio Police Department sweatshirt. The arms left bare by the ripped-out shirtsleeves. The short tousle of dark curls along her neck and forehead. The flushed cheeks. The wariness in those haunting blue eyes.
Even void of feminine frills and makeup, Angela was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on. And just looking at her still had the power to make him ache with wanting. Furious with himself for his weakness where she was concerned, he said, “I’d have thought a woman trained in law enforcement would have the sense to at least find out who’s on the other side of a door before she opens it.”
Angela’s mouth thinned. She hiked up her chin, making him all too aware of that long, slender neck. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I checked you out through the peephole before unlocking the door.”
Now that she’d called his attention to it, Justin noted the hole in the door that he had failed to see when he’d first approached the condo. That he had missed it only drove home the fact that being anywhere near the woman tied him up in knots. The realization did nothing to improve his mood or alter his belief that working with her was a lousy idea.
“So did you drive out here at this time of night just to insult me? Or are you here for some other reason?”
The snap in her voice helped to clear his sex-charged brain. “I talked to the feds.”
She crossed her arms, met his gaze evenly. “And?”
“They informed me that you’ll be working independently of them, but keeping them apprised.”
“That’s right.”
“Wrong. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer and have you work the kidnapping case with me on one condition.”
She arched one dark brow. “Which is?”
“Nothing you learn about this case gets back to Ricky Mercado or anyone in his family.”
Angela sighed. “I suppose that means you know that Ricky believes his sister, Haley, is still alive and that the baby belongs to her.”
“I’m aware that there’s a rumor to that effect. But so far that’s all it is—a rumor. I don’t have any proof to substantiate it,” Justin informed her. “And until I do, I want the Mercados kept out of this. So do we have a deal?”
“All right. You have my word. I won’t share any information with Ricky. Any other conditions?”
“No. That’s it.”
“I guess I should be grateful that you didn’t try to have me taken off the case,” she said, some of the stiffness going out of her. “When I left your office, I was sure you’d use your influence to have me removed.”
“I tried,” he admitted. “But I was voted down. The Carsons and Luke Callaghan were the ones who wanted you brought in.”
“Luke Callaghan?”
“He’s the little girl’s father.”
“But I thought… Then the mother…”
“Luke doesn’t know who she is. It was a one-night stand. It’s all in here,” he said, and shoved the file at her. “There’s a copy of everything I have on the case so far.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the file from him. “But I would have come by your office to pick it up. You really didn’t have to drive out here to bring it to me,” she said, her expression softening, along with her voice.
He shrugged. “It was no big deal,” he said, far too aware of her for his own peace of mine. “I figured it was probably more detailed than what you got from the feds, and I knew you’d be itching to get started on working up a profile of the kidnapper, so I decided to drop it off.”
“You’re right. I am eager to get started. Thanks again for bringing it out.”
Justin nodded. “Well, it’s getting late. I’ll go and let you get back to…to whatever it was y
ou were doing.”
She looked down at her clothes, then back up at him. “I was trying to make myself work out. And trust me, I was glad to have an excuse to stop,” she informed him, and almost smiled. “Would you like to come in? I mean, if you have the time. I’d really like to talk about the case.”
Justin hesitated. “I think you’ll probably find the answers to any questions you have in there,” he informed her, indicating the file folder she held.
“But what I won’t find are your perceptions and theories about the kidnapping.”
Justin remained silent, eyed her cautiously.
“You were always a good lawman, Justin, and a good judge of people. I’d be foolish not to take advantage of those facts and pick your brain a little. And while I realize you don’t think much of my methods, I know you want to find that little girl every bit as much as I do. Getting your impressions could save me some time and might help us find her faster.”
Her mention about his lack of respect for her abilities reminded him of his earlier behavior. Embarrassed, Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, about that crack I made earlier in my office, I—”
Suddenly headlights flooded the darkened road as a sedan turned onto the street. Justin fell silent as the vehicle pulled up and parked in the driveway of the corner condo, two units over from Angela’s. Moments later laughter spilled out into the quiet night air as a man and woman exited the car. The giggles and laughter died as the pair engaged in a steamy, groping kiss that, in Justin’s opinion, went on and on and on.
“They’re newlyweds,” Angela explained.
Just what he needed, Justin thought, as the passionate duo locked lips again and made no attempt to move it inside. It reminded Justin of the erotic thoughts that had been occupying his own mind since seeing Angela again.
“Maybe we should finish this conversation inside,” she suggested when the man backed the woman up against the car and began to sample her neck.
Instead of arguing, Justin followed her into the condo and did his best to wipe away the memory of the early days of their own marriage. Like Angela’s neighbors, the two of them hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other, either.
“Would you like something to drink?” she offered after leading him into the den.
“Got any beer?”
Angela made a face. “Afraid not. I’m sure I have some wine, though. Or I can offer you iced tea.”
“Tea’s good.”
“Still drink it sweetened and with lemon?”
“Yes,” Justin replied, surprised that she’d remembered, because he’d been sure she would have done her best to forget everything about him. Still, he was pleased that she hadn’t.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she told him, motioning to the couch. “I’ll only be a minute.”
But instead of sitting down, Justin checked out the room. It was larger than he’d first suspected. The walls had been painted a basic white, but big leafy green plants had been tucked in strategic corners. And an eclectic mix of paintings provided splashes of color ranging from sunset orange to midnight blue. Two overstuffed chairs and a couch with an afghan tossed over one arm had been grouped around a marble-and-glass coffee table that was stacked high with books, photos and candles. Huge throw pillows lay on the floor in front of a stone fireplace and gave the room a cozy, welcoming touch. Angela may have moved in only a few days ago, but the place already had a lived-in, homey feel to it.
“Here we are,” Angela said as she entered the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea, two glasses and a dish of extra lemons.
“Let me get that for you,” Justin offered, and took the tray from her and placed it on the table.
“Thanks,” she said politely.
Following her lead, Justin sat down. The awkward silence that had hung between them in his office earlier that day reared its head again while she poured them each a glass of tea. Worse, there was a sense of intimacy at being alone in the softly lit room with her that made him far too aware of Angela as a woman and the fact that he was still attracted to her. Determined to say his piece and get out of there as quickly as he could, Justin began, “About that crack I made back in the office about your dreams…I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“So you think my psychic mumbo jumbo might actually help us to find the baby, after all?”
Justin grimaced. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Mason. Just because I don’t buy into the psychic stuff doesn’t mean I don’t recognize that you’re good at your job. You are. I doubt there’s another profiler in the country who’s better. I’m sorry if it sounded otherwise.”
She arched her brow and watched him over the rim of her glass. “Two apologies from you in one day? That must be a record.”
Shame had heat climbing his neck. “I don’t usually need to apologize,” he said defensively. “And I try not to make a habit of offending people, particularly women.”
“Then it must be me,” she said, a hint of unhappiness in her voice. “Apparently I bring out the worst in you.”
“Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”
“Maybe we do,” she conceded, and stared down into her glass of tea as though it held all the answers to life’s mysteries.
She looked so unhappy, so alone, he was tempted to reach out, tip up her chin and rub his thumb along the curve of those sad lips. Realizing the dangerous direction of his thoughts, Justin stood abruptly and stalked over to the fireplace—away from Angela. Away from temptation. He remained silent for one beat, then another, and only when he’d marshaled the wild thoughts she had set off in him did he turn around to face her. “This isn’t going to work.”
She tipped her head to the side, gave him a perplexed look. “What isn’t going to work?”
“Us. You and me. There’s no way we’re going to be able to work together on this case. There’s just too much history between us.” He jammed a fist through his hair. “Why don’t you make it easier on both of us, Angel? Call the feds and tell them you have to pass on this case.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” he insisted as desperation set in. “It’s not like you have any ties here. And you haven’t invested a lot of time in this case yet. No one’s going to think less of you if you say you’ve changed your mind.”
“You don’t realize what you’re asking. I can’t just walk away.”
“Why not?”
“Because somewhere out there is a baby who’s been taken from everyone she knows and loves. You said yourself the FBI has come up empty and there’s been no ransom demand of any kind. So whoever has her isn’t going to just give her back. She needs me… She needs us to find her.”
“Don’t you think I’ve been trying? That I’ll keep on trying?” Justin fired back. “There hasn’t been a single day that’s gone by that I haven’t spent hours going over every detail again and again, checking out every lead I get.” Frustrated and afraid he’d revealed too much of the turmoil inside him, Justin turned away and stared into the cold hearth.
He heard only the whisper of movement, and then Angela’s voice was behind him saying, “I know you’ve tried and that you won’t stop trying to find her. But together we can find her faster.” When he said nothing, she continued. “Put yourself in Luke Callaghan’s shoes, Justin. Suppose I had been able to give you the child you’d wanted, imagine how you’d feel if it was our little girl who had been stolen.”
Her words caught him by surprise. It had been more than five years since he’d even allowed himself to think of what it would be like to be a father. In his arrogance, he’d assumed that when he was ready to start a family, he and Angela would simply make a baby. Their inability to conceive had been a source of major tension and frustration during that last year of their marriage. The specialists, the fertility drugs, the shots and in-vitro procedures had taken all the joy and pleasure out of their lovemaking, and it had left them both feeling like failures. By the time the third in-
vitro attempt failed, Angela had completely withdrawn from him and within weeks she’d been gone from his life.
“If Lena was our daughter, wouldn’t you be willing to do anything, use every resource available to you to try to get her back?”
Justin turned around, stared into the stark blueness of her eyes. “You know I would.”
“Then use me.”
He knew her statement wasn’t meant to be provocative, but that didn’t stop him from experiencing that one-two punch of desire again. Dammit, he didn’t want to want Angela.
“Please, Justin,” she said, touching his arm. “Please, let me help you find her.”
Justin locked his eyes with hers. And when her gaze lowered to his mouth, he sucked in a breath. But instead of steadying him, her scent—that hint of apricots, mixed with sweat and female—had a familiar tightness settling in his loins.
And because he was tempted to cup her jaw and taste that mouth, he shoved his fists into his pockets and took a step back. “All right. We’ll work the case together. But we do it my way, on my terms. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Go over the file,” he instructed her with a nod toward the folder on the coffee table. “When you’ve finished, we’ll meet in my office and decide where to go from there.”