“Get back inside before I have to arrest you for public indecency,” Nicole said, then rolled up her window and drove away.
SOMETIMES, THERE REALLY WAS poetic justice in life. As a police officer, Nicole had seen far too many instances where justice was never served in the traditional sense. But seeing Ethan standing next to the street with his Johnson dangling in the wind for the world to see was proof that, occasionally, people got what was coming to them one way or another.
Nicole’s cell phone rang as she was pulling away from the pharmacy near her apartment. She grabbed it from the passenger seat, checked the number, and saw that it was her sister Gina. She clicked the speakerphone button and put the phone down.
“Hey, I’m driving. Make it quick.”
“I’m at your apartment and you’re not here. Where the hell are you?” Gina had never been one to mince words.
“I’m like one minute away. Got stuck in a traffic jam, so just chill.”
“I don’t want to be here alone when you’ve probably got some stalker lurking around waiting to kill you.”
“Then lock your car door. ’Bye, sis.” Nicole hit the phone’s hang-up button, and cruised down her block. That’s what she got for calling her mom this morning to let her know what was going on—she already had family members descending on her like vultures to get all the latest gossip.
A few seconds later, she was in her parking lot, next to Gina’s car, a beat-up old Impala that was a castoff from her first husband.
It was odd, the farther Nicole got from Ethan, the clearer her thoughts felt, and the more she had to wonder how he was any temptation to her at all. She had willpower, so she should be able to apply it to any situation, right?
She got out of the car at the same time as her sister, whose empty rear car seats indicated she must have left the kids with their grandmother or another sitter.
“I finally get free of the rug rats and you make me spend my precious time sitting here waiting for you?” was Gina’s greeting.
“I didn’t even know you were showing up. You could have called earlier.”
“I did. Got no answer. You can’t tell Mom there’s some guy out to kill you and not expect one of your dear sisters to be sent over to get the scoop.”
“Sorry, I forgot gossiping about my life is one of your favorite forms of entertainment.” Nicole headed toward the stairwell and climbed it with Gina behind her.
She did feel a lot safer with another warm body there, even if there was a plainclothes cop parked across the street, and even if Gina was the very sister who’d stood by and let Nicole get beaten up by the class bully in second grade.
Outside her apartment now, she felt exposed, even though logically she knew she was safe in broad daylight with eyewitnesses and a cop watching. But still. She was vulnerable. For the first time in years, Nicole felt as though someone or something could get to her.
She quickly unlocked the front door and went inside, her sister following.
“So what are you doing about this psycho who wants to kill you? You going to go in the witness protection program or something?”
Nicole really needed to stick with her policy of telling her family nothing more often.
“I’m not a witness to any crime, so I don’t qualify for the witness protection program,” Nicole said as she rolled her eyes at the wall before turning back to Gina. “I’m going to be staying at a friend’s house for a while. You can reach me on my cell phone if you need anything.”
“Which friend?” Gina could spot potential gossip a mile away.
“Someone you don’t know.”
“A male friend?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“He’s sort of male or sort of a friend?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re shacking up with some guy! Finally, my little sister is getting her groove on. It’s about damn time, you prude.”
“I’m not a virgin, you know.”
Gina flopped down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. She was wearing a pair of knee-high black boots and a denim miniskirt that was about two inches too short, along with a black leather jacket and a T-shirt that said Fresh Cherry Pie, Served Good and Hot. That was Gina’s idea of extreme subtlety.
“Boots off my coffee table. I eat there, you know.”
“Oh, sorry,” Gina said, but her feet remained planted, which was one of the many reasons Nicole would have never let any of her sisters crash at her place after their inevitable divorces or separations. “Why don’t you eat at the dining room table?”
“What? Alone?”
“My point exactly. You need to get yourself a man before you reach your old age and have nothing to show for it but a gun collection.”
“And what would be so bad about that? I like guns.”
Okay, so Nicole said that just to piss off her sister, and as always, it worked.
“You are one sorry-ass little chica if that’s what you think life is all about.”
Nicole and her sisters were half-Mexican—on their father’s side—and half-white, but they’d grown up with their white mother, whose temper had sent their father fleeing when Nicole was two. Yet, Gina insisted on peppering her speech with the limited Spanish words she knew as her way of playing up her minority side and playing down her white-girl side. Strange how no one ever thought it was cool to be a white girl.
“So what? You think I should live by your example instead and go get myself a new man every time something in my life goes wrong? Have three kids by three different fathers, and every time Jerry Springer comes on it’ll be about something that’s happened to me?”
Nicole didn’t wait for an answer because she already knew what Gina would say. Instead, she spun around and headed for her bedroom to pack.
“You little bitch!” her sister called out as she flipped through a magazine, the pages slapping together with each flip.
That was her standard answer any time she had no immediate comeback. She’d think of something in a minute and come storming back to the bedroom to argue some more.
Nicole had to admit, she kind of missed this part of having her sisters around. It was sick that she actually liked to argue, but she did. It was probably a by-product of having grown up with three sisters. Arguing had been a way of life in their house.
She found a duffel bag under her bed, then started filling it with underwear, pajamas, a few changes of clothes, her toiletries…. She paused in the middle of placing her cosmetics bag in the side compartment. She was packing as if she was going to be staying at a friend’s house, but was she?
Would she really be able to resist Ethan? Sure, she felt as though she could now, but whenever she got near him, there was that thing.
That vibe.
Could she resist? Or should she be packing the jumbo box of condoms, all her best panties and her sexy pj’s with the see-through top and the lace bottoms?
No, that would be way too obvious. She grabbed her red flannel pajamas out of the bag, inspected them for wear and tear, and decided they were a little tired-looking. Then she went hunting for the new pink satin pj’s her mother had given her last Christmas that she hadn’t worn but a few times because she didn’t care much for pink. For whatever reason, a sleepover at a guy’s house—even a guy she really didn’t want to sleep with—seemed to call for hot pink satin pj’s. A little sexy, but not too revealing.
Dear Lord, she was losing her mind. Any respectable person would have stuck with the red flannel or maybe a T-shirt and some boxers, but Nicole clearly had a bit of Arroyo family blood in her that she couldn’t shake no matter how much she tried.
Just in case, for the sake of common sense, she went into the bathroom and grabbed the box of condoms she kept hidden under a towel in the cabinet, then peered out of the bathroom hoping the coast was clear to make it back to her bag. But there stood Gina, with her impeccably bad timing, and her gaze dropped immediately to the condom box.
Damn it.
Why it bothered Nicole for her sister to know she had an active sex life—in theory, anyway—she couldn’t say.
“Just a friend? Does your friend need rubbers?”
“I always keep protection with me. Just in case,” Nicole said lamely, heading back to her bag.
“You are so full of shit. Why can’t you just admit you’re going to get laid? What’s so bad about that?”
“I don’t want to discuss my sex life.”
“You’re not lying about not being a virgin, are you? Because if you are, that’s just really, really sad.”
“Why would it be sad if I were saving myself for…marriage, or whatever people save themselves for these days?”
“Oh, God, can you imagine, not even knowing if a guy is good in bed before you marry him? How awful would that be?”
She looked at Gina and narrowed her eyes. “You’ve really got your priorities straight, haven’t you? I mean, that whole good-in-bed filter’s really worked out well for you over the course of…what? How many marriages and countless failed relationships?”
Nicole dropped the box of condoms in the bag, covered it with some clothes, and then realized it was possible Ethan would go through her bag when she wasn’t looking. What would he think? He’d be convinced she had every intention of sleeping with him, even though she didn’t, and if she didn’t, why the hell was she packing the condoms?
Gina was fuming, glaring at Nicole so hard she could feel the look burning into her forehead. “At least I get laid. At least I know how to have a good time, instead of always being an uptight prude who can’t uncross her legs without worrying about a breeze penetrating her panties.”
“Oh, sure, hit me where it hurts,” Nicole deadpanned, but her gut did give a little lurch at the uptight prude accusation.
Was that how the whole world saw her? Was that what she really was? In all her efforts to stay in control and not lose herself to the wrong guy, had she turned into a caricature of a woman?
Well, at least no one could have accused her of being a prude Friday night.
She went to her lingerie drawer, pulled out her sexiest panties and matching bras, along with a black baby-doll nightie she’d never worn, brought them to the bag and dropped them on top of the pile of clothes inside. She cast a look at her sister, daring her to comment.
“Be sure to take the store tags off those before you try to seduce anyone in them,” Gina said.
“Screw you,” Nicole shot back as she zipped up the bag.
“Oh, and the skinny part of the thong goes in the back, in case you haven’t worn one before.”
Nicole tried not to laugh but failed. When Gina saw that she’d gotten to her, she laughed and flopped down on the bed, then lay back with her arms over her head. Her shirt slid up, revealing a little C-section scar on her belly from her third baby, Tyson, who tried to come out breech.
“I know how to wear a thong, thanks.”
“Don’t look at my scar, bitch.” Gina paused, and then said, “You ever going to have any babies?”
A question their mother asked approximately once every three months. She must have thought asking over and over would eventually get her the answer she wanted.
“I’d have to actually have a father in mind to help produce the hypothetical babies, but…” Nicole sighed.
Did she want babies? She had no idea. She was happy enough playing auntie to her many nieces and nephews. She saw how much work parenthood was, and she loved her own job enough that she never wanted to give it up, even for a few years.
“But what? You’re afraid of getting screwed over by some jerk guy? The babies are still worth putting up with the assholes—just to get the kids, you know?”
“That’s a charming way to look at it.”
“Shit,” Gina said, shrugging. “Life happens. You can’t avoid having fun forever out of some silly fear that you might get hurt or things might get messy.”
“You’re definitely the expert on messy.”
“Messy is where all the fun is.”
Nicole frowned and remembered she hadn’t packed any extra shoes. The last thing she needed was philosophy from Gina. But that’s exactly what she was getting, and it really pissed her off that her sister’s uninvited words of wisdom weren’t sounding so dumb right now.
Her life may have been controlled and she may have had a successful career thus far, but she did feel a little…hollow. Or something. Maybe not hollow in the sense of wanting a baby, or hollow in the sense that her career didn’t fulfill her—it did—but maybe hollow in the sense that it would be nice to have someone to share her life with.
“I’ll keep that in mind next time you call me crying about your latest breakup. In fact, I’ll make a note of it next to my phone and repeat that very slogan to you, okay?”
“I don’t expect you to understand it at all, so spare me the advice. I might have had some pretty crappy breakups, but at least I’m happy with my life and I don’t have any psychopath murderer guys stalking me.”
“I’m happy with my life too!” But why was Nicole suddenly feeling so defensive about it, if that was true?
Was it because Gina’s logic rang with a little note of unexpected truth? Had to be it. Nothing more. Really.
“Sure you are.”
“I really need to go, okay? Is there any reason you stopped by other than to harass me?”
“Mom wants me to get the real scoop on all this stalker shit. You’re not going to let her worry endlessly and drive the rest of us insane, are you?”
“That pretty much sounds like my plan. I mean, no matter what I say, she’s going to worry endlessly, right?”
“Why’d you even tell her about all this stuff?”
“I didn’t want you guys stopping by here to visit me while I’m gone and risk being followed…or worse. I need to make sure I don’t have to worry about you being in danger too.”
Gina sat bolt upright on the bed and looked as if she was about to throttle someone, namely, Nicole. “And you let me come here to your place? You put me in danger? Why didn’t you warn me? We have to get the hell out of here!”
She was scrambling off the bed, when Nicole grabbed her by the arm and said, “Calm down. There’s a cop outside keeping an eye on things here, and the guy who’s after me knows it. He’s not going to come looking for me in broad daylight with a cop right there.”
“How do you know? It happens all the time in the suspense novels I read. Just when some dumb-ass thinks they’re safe, that’s when the killer is actually watching or getting ready to come after them.”
“That’s fiction. This is real life, in case you haven’t noticed lately.”
Nicole grabbed the bag from her bed and carried it to the living room, then set it down in front of the door. She glanced around the apartment, trying to think of what she might be forgetting. She didn’t want to have to come back here again, not until Pulatski was caught.
“Yeah, well, real life’s a hell of a lot stranger than fiction. If you get me killed—”
“Stop it, Gina. I’ll follow you home and make sure no one else is following you. Will that make you feel better?”
“That’s the very least you can do,” her sister said, pouting now.
They left the apartment, and Nicole locked the door, her pulse racing at the thought of going back to Ethan’s house. Going back to temptation.
Could she handle it? Could she stay in control?
Did she even want to?
What she really wanted, she feared, was to lose control once more, to take all her pent-up desires and burn them up with Ethan for a little while. All the explosive chemistry between them would be a nice stress relief, an escape from harsh reality. Unfortunately, this was a time she needed to stay on alert, to look out for dangers.
And here she was worried about condoms and sleepwear.
She needed to get a grip.
10
ETHAN LOOKED OUT the front window at the empty
yard and tried to imagine danger lurking there. All he could picture though was Lou, the guy who did the yard work, and he was no threat. But then Nicole’s car appeared in the driveway again, and Ethan’s heart lurched in his chest.
She’d come back. She’d told him she would but he hadn’t quite believed it. Maybe she’d left something here at the house, or maybe she wanted to give him a good kick in the family jewels, or maybe she had some other unexciting reason to be here, but none of those thoughts quelled his excitement.
She was here. That’s what mattered.
He watched her park, get out of the car, and head toward the front door.
Stupidly he glanced down at himself to make sure he was dressed now. Of course he was. With a death grip on his repositioned towel, he’d gone straight from the curb to the bedroom—cursing himself the whole way—and put on his clothes before he incited someone to arrest him for indecent exposure. Of all the humiliations he’d ever suffered, the ones that occurred in front of Nicole were the ones that bugged him most.
The rest, no big deal. He could laugh at his own asinine behavior most of the time, but Nicole made him want to rise above his own inadequacies and be more…something. More impressive. Less flawed. Something like that.
He flopped down on the sofa so as to appear as if he hadn’t just been watching out the window, but when the doorbell rang, he realized it didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t as though she could see inside the house. But he could just tell her to come in, and then she’d see him being all casual and aloof, right? Didn’t women like aloof?
“Come in,” he called out.
He heard her turn the doorknob, then push the front door open. She stood there looking around the room until her gaze landed on him.
He realized seconds too late his mistake—an unlocked door.
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” she said by way of greeting.
A Whisper Of Wanting Page 9