DARE TO REMEMBER

by Debra Cowan

  She gave him an uncertain smile and edged around him for a cup. As she poured steaming coffee into her mug and added a generous helping of sugar, she smiled up at him. "I had a great group of kids this year!"

  "That's nice." He kept his attention on the paper.

  She began telling him about the seven- and eight-year olds and Mace tried to scan the articles on the front page of the paper, fighting back a burst of irritation. Why was she talking? Why didn't she just drink her damn coffee and let him read in peace?

  She laughed softly and the sound moved over him like honeyed fire. He glanced up. As always when she talked about the special-education class she taught, her face lit up, and he couldn't look away.

  Color warmed her ivory skin and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, in a way he hadn't realized how sorely he'd missed.

  He found it hard to concentrate on her words, but did gather that she was talking about a little boy named Clay. "He is so smart and a great artist."

  He could hear her words, but they made no sense. Resentment crowded through him. He'd once mattered that much to her. Or thought he had.

  His heart thudded heavily in his chest and something stirred in his gut. With her large, expressive eyes and animated features, she touched a long-ignored part of himself. He suddenly wanted to pull her onto his lap and kiss those pink, full lips, run his hands up her clingy T-shirt and cup her breasts…

  "What?" He blinked, aware that she'd asked him something, but he had no idea what.

  "I said what do we do if we learn that my brakes were cut?" She stared solemnly at him, her eyes now dark with concern, her features pinched. "Tell me the truth."

  Reality intervened with a cruel snap. He glanced away briefly, then met her gaze head-on. Concern and fear clouded her eyes, but there was also a determination that he couldn't recall seeing before.

  Dread nagged at him, but he knew he would tell her the whole truth. "If they were cut, then you'll be put under police protection."

  "For how long?" She crossed her arms over her breasts. There was no quiver in her voice, just a blunt desire to know.

  He frowned, perplexed. She sure seemed to want to know everything. And she seemed to be handling it. So far. "Probably until the trial is over."

  "That could be months, a year!"

  "Yeah."

  Worry creased her brow and he could see the pulse flutter in her neck. She looked alone and fragile, yet defiantly calm.

  Finally she nodded, a short swift movement, and turned away, reaching for her mug.

  He stared at her stiff shoulders, thinking how once he would've offered empty reassurances or automatically have gone to her. But not now. He couldn't cushion the reality for her anymore. He wouldn't.

  The phone blared in the stilted silence and Mace's gaze cut sharply toward the wall. Bolting out of his chair, he sloshed scalding coffee over his hand and wrist. Cursing, he yanked up the phone receiver before the second ring.

  Devon, pale and gripping her coffee mug as though it were a lifeline, inched closer to him.

  "Yeah?" He kept his gaze on the wall, praying he'd been wrong, praying that his instincts were off.

  Captain Price didn't waste time with morning pleasantries. "You were right. Her brakes were cut, clean as a whistle."

  "Damn!" Mace's gut pulled tight. "Damn damn damn."

  "What?" Devon moved over next to him, crowding him into the corner by the cabinet, her thigh and shoulder nudging his. Slowly, she set her mug on the counter. "What is it, Mace?"

  "Hold on, Cap." Mace covered the phone with one hand and looked into Devon's troubled eyes. "Your brakes were cut."

  She paled, gripping the edge of the counter. "What does that mean? Exactly."

  "It means somebody knows about your statement."

  "How can that be?"

  He shook his head. Rage shoved through him, boiling up so fiercely that for a moment he couldn't answer. "That slimy bastard is always one step ahead."

  She swallowed, her face chalky. "And?"

  Mace gentled his tone, reminding himself that this would be overwhelming for anyone. "It means, Dev, that we've got to get you the hell out of town."

  * * *

  Anger rippled through her. Mace hadn't allowed her to call her mom. Or Josh. Or Carol. He'd ordered her to pack her bag, then had whisked her out of the apartment. In all fairness, her anger hid fear more than any real outrage. How could this be happening to her?

  She had argued with him at first, vehemently, but he insisted she couldn't stay there.

  "Why are you stalling? You know we have to move."

  "I'm not going." She'd taken a stand too few times in her life. She was doing so now.

  "You don't have to trust what I say," Mace snapped. "You were in that car. You know what they tried to do."

  Even Captain Price had tried to convince her. But only after Mace's captain had read the findings from the police lab report had Devon agreed to leave with Mace.

  Someone had deliberately cut her brake lines.

  Someone wanted her dead.

  In addition, there was the problem of Mace. She could no longer deny that he would be a problem. As silly as it sounded, she was convinced that his presence presented an emotional threat every bit as real as the physical one that had just materialized.

  After all the distance she'd put between herself and Mace, now they were stuck together for an indefinite period of time, and Devon didn't know if she could maintain the detachment necessary to walk away from him when the time came.

  Because right now she wanted to hide her face in his neck and pretend none of this was happening. But she was through pretending. And she had no right to expect anything personal from Mace. No right at all.

  It would be too easy to let him take care of everything the way her father used to. If Devon had learned anything since Dad's murder and her breakup with Mace it was that she had to handle things on her own.

  Despite the fear that pinched her insides, she focused instead on the anger. Whoever had killed her father had been responsible for a great tragedy in her life. They had also exposed the painful fact that, just like her mother, she wasn't strong enough to live as a cop's wife.

  Now they were trying to take her life.

  Devon and Mace stopped by her house, and she threw a week's worth of underwear and clothing into a small suitcase. Mace called O'Kelly, and less than thirty minutes later, he and Devon met his partner at a gas station.

  Mace filled in O'Kelly, then traded his Mustang for his partner's two-door, low-slung sports car.

  While not flashy, the blue car was new enough to draw attention, but Mace assured her that it would be overlooked more readily than the vintage Mustang.

  All the stops took less than an hour. As they pulled out of the gas station, panic sheared through her. She didn't want to be alone with Mace for an indefinite period of time. There was too much between them—pain, regret, broken trust.

  "Where are we going?" She gripped her overnight bag as if it held her life's blood. And perhaps it did.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, then pulled onto I-35 south out of Oklahoma City. "To Aunt Micki's cabin."

  Her breath lodged in her chest and she stared at him, her thoughts scrambled. "I thought you didn't want anyone else involved."

  "Aunt Micki won't be there. And we'll be safe there until I can get a fix on what's going on."

  If she had to be with someone, she knew she should be grateful that it was Mace. Steady, dependable, dangerous Mace. But instead she feared this would weaken her already flimsy guard against him, play upon her vulnerability to him—a vulnerability she supposed she would always have in regard to him.

  The whole scenario seemed straight out of a Godfather movie. If it weren't for the bump on her head and the scratches on her car, she would've decided she was delirious and dreaming in scratchy Technicolor.

  Her intense awareness of Mace rattled her as much as the anger and fear. "Can't I request another officer on the
case?"

  His gaze sliced to her and she saw the raw pain in his blue eyes. She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

  After a long pause, he said in a clipped tone, "Sure, you can ask."

  "A-all right. I … want somebody else."

  His features darkened in a way Devon had never seen, becoming a cruel mask. His jaw clenched; anger edged his jaw and lips. This Mace was almost unrecognizable. Why had she never noticed the way his skin paled beneath his tan when he was angry? Hadn't he been this angry at least once while they were together? She couldn't remember.

  She swallowed, waiting for him to speak. The silence scraped at her nerves. He didn't slow the car, didn't change lanes, gave no indication of even considering her request. His hands gripped the wheel, his knuckles blanched white.

  "I mean it—"

  "Tough," he growled. "I'm the officer in charge of the investigation and I'm refusing your request. You're stuck with me."

  "Well, I don't want you!"

  "You don't have to remind me." A muscle flexed in his jaw.

  Even Devon was astonished at the strength of her outburst, but fear and anger fueled the certainty that she might unravel at any moment. "I would be just as safe with O'Kelly."

  "The hell you would," he said dryly. "Reid's a sucker for women in need."

  "Are you saying he would make a pass at me?" she exclaimed. "I hardly think so."

  "Well, you're not going to be with O'Kelly," he growled. "So you won't need to worry."

  She thought he wanted to reach across the scant space between them and yank her over to him, but he kept his hands on the wheel. "There's no need to get any more people involved in this. No one else was supposed to know about it and now it's been splashed all over the front page of the paper."

  "But O'Kelly—"

  "Has his own job to do. He's the only one I can trust at the moment."

  "But if he already knows about it—"

  "I won't jeopardize any more people," Mace rasped. Though his quiet tone was almost gentle, Devon reeled with realization: Mace was with her, therefore he was in jeopardy. She didn't want to be the cause of his death. Or anyone else's.

  "I wasn't there for your father, but I can damn sure be there for you. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a minute."

  "You can't take control of my entire life!" The stress of the accident plus their rushed exit from the city combusted inside her. "You can't control my every movement! Even you can't do that."

  "Calm down," he ordered.

  "That's easy for you to say. This is all a job to you." Anger blazed through her and sharpened the fear. "Well, it's not a job to me. This isn't 'normal' to me, Mace. It scares me."

  "It scares me, too."

  Strangely, his quiet admission steadied her world. Mace Garrett, admitting he was afraid? "At least you know you can handle it."

  His voice was firm, but unexpectedly kind. "Now it's time to find out if you can."

  "Right." Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. Her head fell against the supple leather headrest and she slanted a look at him.

  How did he deal with the threats, the danger every day? She was practically hysterical and he was calmly driving toward the unknown.

  This fear was the same that had eaten at her since the night of her father's murder. She hated living with it. In fact, she'd found she couldn't. So she'd organized her life in a way that she wouldn't have to. Safe job, safe home, safe boyfriend.

  But the attempt on her life had shattered the illusion of control she'd so carefully erected. A sense of hopelessness settled in the pit of her stomach and her voice was tired, bleak. "We really have no control over our lives, do we?"

  He glanced at her, maneuvering the car around an eighteen-wheeler.

  "We organize and schedule and arrange as though we control our lives, but we don't. Not really. Everything involves chance. Your time could come in a car wreck. Or a tornado. Or a bullet."

  "Devon?"

  "I'm fine." She pushed her hair away from her face, trying to tamp down the anger that still burned inside her.

  Mace was protecting her, but differently than the way he had done before. She couldn't define it exactly. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that now he was apprising her of the dangers. He never would've done that in the past. Of course, she never would've asked back then, either.

  Despite the apprehension and uncertainty, she liked knowing. It gave her a sense of control. For the first time, he was treating her as an equal, a competent adult, a woman who could take fear in stride. And much to her complete confusion, she found that wildly stimulating.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  She had asked for another officer. She didn't want his protection.

  If he needed further proof of Devon's independence from him—which he didn't—Mace now had it.

  His first urge was to slam his fist against the steering wheel. She was trying to push him away—again. He knew it wasn't the same as when she'd broken their engagement, but he still felt the sting of rejection. She wasn't getting another officer. And that was that.

  This whole facet of her newfound self-reliance at once annoyed, relieved and confused him. And frustratingly enough, there was a part of him that found it very intriguing. It was as if she were a new woman in the guise of a familiar body. Which he found totally disorienting.

  He leashed his conflicting emotions with cold control, bit his tongue and drove with single-minded intent to Aunt Micki's cabin.

  Devon sat inches from him, yet emotionally she was much further away. It was as if they'd never touched in the most intimate of ways.

  Well, if she could remain aloof and detached, so could be. He could function as if she were any other case, even though his heart knew she wasn't. He didn't like it, but he'd been on worse jobs.

  He didn't have to talk to her to protect her, didn't have to notice that fatigue had carved tiny lines around her eyes, that worry had paled her skin even more or that her delicate hands worried the frayed edges of her shorts.

  She wanted independence. That's what she would get. They took the Davis exit off the highway and turned east onto Highway 7.

  "I'd like to use the phone."

  Mace's gaze swerved to hers. "What?"

  "I want to make a call." Her jaw firmed, more stubbornly than he remembered from before.

  "No."

  "My mom—"

  "Captain Price is taking care of her."

  Devon looked straight at him. "Josh will be worried. I want to call him."

  "You can't tell anybody—"

  "If he's worried, he'll start looking for me." She was calm, too calm, Mace thought. "I'm not a prisoner, am I?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Well then?"

  It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse again. After all, what did he care if her insipid bean counter knew where she was? But it wasn't fair to Devon; besides, it might help to allay some of her anxiety.

  Mace could remember a time when she'd been more than comfortable around him, when he was one of the few people who could ease her mind. But not anymore.

  As they entered the small town of Davis, he spied a gas station. "You can use the pay phone. For two minutes."

  She studied him dubiously and that look burned all over him. "Good," she said finally.

  Mace reined in his temper with an effort, still smarting from her request for another officer. They pulled off the road and he rammed the car into Park. She was out the door before he killed the engine. Cursing under his breath, he unfolded his length from O'Kelly's car and followed her to the phone.

  She turned, surprise widening her eyes. "You're not going to listen?"

  "Yep." If it were anyone else, he would do the same. He was through sugarcoating his job so as not to upset her.

  She heaved a sigh, glanced at a piece of paper in her hand and punched in the number quickly. After a few seconds, she spoke in a low voice. "Josh, it's me."
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  Mace's gut clenched, but he looked out over the highway, following the silver ribbon into the setting sun.

  "No, I can't tell you where I arm. But I'm fine. And I'll call you again in a couple of days."

  The hell you will. Mace speared her with a level gaze and she turned away from him.

  "No, really, I'm fine. Nothing like that."

  He glanced at his watch. A minute and a half had passed since the call began. He tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped, edging back from him as he pointed to his watch to indicate she should cut the connection.

  "I've got to go now. I'm sure. Yes, me too."

  She hung up then, irritation and fear tightening her lips. "There. Happy?"

  "I will be when we reach the cabin. Need anything from the store? Something to drink?"

  "No." She started back to the car, and he couldn't tear his gaze from the smooth, rolling walk, the way tight denim sleeked over her firm butt, the slender, tanned legs.

  He ran a hand over his chest, his body going tight with want. Man, he could look at her all day and never grow tired of it. Belatedly, he remembered the need to buy groceries, but he couldn't leave her alone in the car. Frustrated by his constant awareness of her, he went to get her. This was going to be one hell of a long assignment.

  * * *

  It was time to move on, put Devon behind him. Mace had told himself the same thing for months, but this time his heart knew it as well as his head. As much as he wanted to dismiss the presence of another man in her life, he couldn't.

  Sadness tugged at him, but he determined to make the best of the situation. For both of them. He didn't want Devon to feel apprehensive around him, not on top of this new threat.

  Tension pierced the air between them on the remaining hour's ride to the cabin. She was close enough that, if he chose, he could trail his finger down her arm or squeeze her leg, yet he didn't touch her.

  The soft, fresh scent of her abraded his nerves, already raw with the need to keep a distance. He resigned himself to the fact that he would always be physically aware of her, whether inches away, as they were now in the car, or watching her from across a crowded room.