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Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two

Page 6

by Sandra Marton


  Anyway, she’d had her number changed so it wouldn’t happen anymore.

  Admittedly, some of her cases made her shudder. The guy who dreamed about his mother’s death even though she was very much alive. The eighteen-year-old who’d served three years as a juvenile for murder and who’d stopped showing up for appointments with her as well as with his parole officer.

  Her work could be tough. Draining. But she loved it, the challenge of listening without judging, and helping put torn lives back together.

  “Someday,” her shrink had said, “you might want to try to heal your own wounds,” but he was wrong. She had no wounds. What she had was a logical approach to life. Those who didn’t had no place in hers.

  And that, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror, brought her straight back to Chay Olivieri, a man whose life was all about emotion.

  What else could you call it when he reveled in danger, risk, and adrenaline? She had to admit it did make him exciting, but quicksand was also exciting and no sane person would deliberately step into quicksand…

  “’Scuse me. Could I get to the mirror?”

  Bianca blinked. One of the teens was trying to peer over her shoulder.

  “Oh. Oh, of course. Sorry.”

  She stepped back, ducked to the side so she could still get a glimpse of herself and made a face as she tried to flatten her hair.

  “What you should do,” the girl said, “is bend forward and run your hands through it.”

  Bianca raised her eyebrows.

  “Your hair. You know. Fluff it. Get those waves even looser. Wish I had hair like that. It looks great.”

  What her hair looked was awful. Wild. Untamed. Uncontrolled.

  “No,” Bianca said emphatically, trying to smooth it down again. “It doesn’t.”

  “Mannaggia, B,” Alessandra snorted. She grabbed he comb and dumped it into her purse. “If we don’t get out there soon,” she said, grasping her sister’s hand and pulling her towards the door, “the guys will have given up hope, ordered pizza with garlic and anchovies, and we’ll have to choose between pretending we like garlic and anchovies or just sitting there and stuffing our faces with bread.”

  The teens giggled. Bianca tried for a smile, and what choice did she have except to let Alessandra hurry her out the door?

  Anyway, the evening was almost over. Supper would be quick. Chay wouldn’t want to spend any more time in her company than she wanted to spend in his, and despite their so-called truce, she suspected things wouldn’t be very comfortable for anybody. So they’d eat, make an attempt at polite conversation. Then they’d all say “goodnight”; the lieutenant would get on his Harley; she, her sister and Tanner would climb into the truck, and that would be the end of it.

  The restaurant, already busy when she and the lieutenant had arrived, had crowded up. The place was evidently a weekend destination, probably because of that three-piece band on a raised platform in the rear of the room.

  Music, Bianca thought disconsolately. Just what she wasn’t in the mood for.

  And what had happened to their table? The lieutenant and her brother-in-law were no longer sitting where they’d left them. That space was now occupied by six women.

  “Where—” Bianca started to say, but Alessandra interrupted.

  “The guys are in a booth. See? Over there, near that big potted palm.”

  Bianca followed her sister’s pointing finger and spotted Chay and Tanner seated across from each other in a leather booth that clearly had not been constructed to accommodate men who each stood six feet two inches and weighed in at what had to be two hundred muscle-hard pounds.

  Alessandra laughed. “They look like giants trapped at a kids’ table.”

  Bianca supposed it was an apt description.

  But all she could really think about was how close she’d be sitting to Chay.

  Her pulse beat stuttered.

  And of how perfect a male specimen he was.

  There was nothing new in the knowledge.

  No matter how much he irritated her, she wasn’t a fool.

  The chiseled face. The deep green eyes with their thick fringe of dark lashes. The short, thick midnight-black hair. The long, sculpted body.

  Any woman who didn’t admire what she saw was kidding herself.

  Now, for reasons that were beyond her comprehension, looking at him almost stole her breath away.

  Maybe it was how he was sitting, his arms folded over his chest because he really had nowhere else to put them, his body all but sprawled across the seat so he could gain some floor space for his long legs.

  Maybe it was the intensity with which he was listening to Tanner, an intensity that radiated in the glitter of his eyes, the tilt of his smiling mouth.

  Maybe it was something more basic than any of those things.

  Maybe it was the memory of how it had felt to hold him on that bike…

  “Here they are,” Tanner said, smiling as he got to his feet. “They asked us to move from our table. Seems they had a larger group to seat…Well, anyway, we said this booth was fine.” His smile broadened. “You know, ladies, there’ll come a time when some smart guy is gonna figure out why women go to the bathroom in groups, what takes them so long once they get there, and he’ll make himself a small fortune.”

  Alessandra slipped past her husband. It was a tight fit and she turned her face up to his, grinned and fluttered her lashes. Tanner brushed his mouth lightly over hers.

  “Welcome back,” he said softly. “I missed you.”

  Bianca looked away. The moment was too intimate, too tender to watch. Instead, she turned her attention to the lieutenant.

  He’d stood up as soon as he saw her. And, unlike Tanner, he’d stepped into the aisle to give her room to get into the booth without their bodies coming in contact. She was grateful for that. Her thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion. The last thing she wanted was to feel him against her.

  “Thank you,” she said politely.

  He nodded, but just as she started to edge into the booth, a harried voice said, “Sorry! Sorry! Coming through.”

  She barely had time to see the waiter barreling towards her, a huge tray laden with steaming plates in his hands.

  Chay grabbed her arm and tugged her out of the waiter’s path. She fell against him, his body hard against hers, his strong arms locking her to him.

  A tremor swept through her.

  She looked up and found herself staring into his eyes. They were fixed on hers and burned hot with emerald fire.

  Her heart began to race.

  And—and so did his. She could feel its swift beat under her hands, which had ended up spread over his chest.

  She felt his hands spread over her back. Felt the quick, exciting response of his erection against her belly.

  The sounds of the restaurant—the tinkle of silverware, the chatter of conversation, the music—faded. All she could hear was the quick, indrawn sound of Chay’s breath.

  And then it was over.

  The world went back to spinning on its axis. The hum of conversation, the clink of china, the music… Everything was normal again.

  Chay let go of her, stepped back, nodded politely and motioned her into the booth.

  She searched for something intelligent to say, something that would erase whatever it was that had just happened, but her brain wouldn’t work properly.

  “Close call,” was the best she could manage.

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah? That was it? Had she misread that look in his eyes? Imagined the sudden race of his heart? The sharpness of his breath? Evidently she had, because he’d picked up his menu and was reading it as if it was the latest best seller.

  Bianca reached for her own menu.

  That was fine with her.

  In fact, it was
sensible, because her reactions as well as his hadn’t come from his catching her in his arms. It had come from almost ending up wearing platters of pasta as adornments.

  Amazing what your head could do with a simple incident.

  “B? You okay?”

  She looked up. Alessandra was staring across the table at her.

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m fine. I’m just…What’s good here? The pasta? Pizza? Anybody have any suggestions?”

  “The zabaglione is fantastic,” Tanner said, and Alessandra rolled her eyes and said that was just like him, to think of dessert first, and Tanner grinned, leaned in and kissed her, and said something about dessert always being the best part of anything.

  Alessandra blushed and laughed.

  And Chay… Chay made a sound, a muffled groan that seemed to imply distress. Or maybe not, because when Bianca looked at him, his gaze was still on the menu.

  Which was where hers should be, she told herself firmly, and though the letters swam before her eyes, looking at the menu was exactly what she did.

  • • •

  They decided to order drinks while they thought about what to have for dinner. Tanner stayed with Stone ale. Alessandra named something that made her husband sigh.

  “Fruit salad in a glass,” he said, “topped with a paper umbrella.”

  She poked him, he grinned and opened his menu so they could lean in and share it.

  The waiter looked expectantly at Bianca. “Would you like something to drink, miss?”

  Chay put his hand lightly on her arm before she could respond. “What Malbecs do you have?”

  Bianca looked at him in surprise as the waiter rattled off several names.

  “That one,” Chay said. “The Noemia de Patagonia. The lady and I will have a bottle.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Bianca said quietly when the waiter was gone.

  “No big thing.” His eyes met hers. “I like something different every now and then.”

  “Eggplant lasagna,” Tanner said, “and pasta carbonara. And how about sharing an antipasto?”

  Chay looked at Tanner. “What?”

  “I said, we know what we’re having. Eggplant lasagna for my veggie bride, the carbonara for me. How about you?”

  Dammit, Chay thought. How about him, indeed?

  Why had he said that to Bianca? That thing about wanting to try something different every now and then? It was a come-on line. She’d known it—he’d seen her eyes widen, the color sweep into her face when he’d spoken—and the last thing he was interested in was coming on to Bianca Bellini Wilde. All he’d wanted to do was order a wine she’d like by way of apologizing for having been such an asshole in the parking lot at the LZ.

  And in the LZ itself.

  He’d been rude.

  Okay. He’d been deliberately unkind.

  Truth was, no way would he have abandoned her in that lot, let her take a taxi even if he’d remembered the name of the restaurant they were now in. She was a walking, talking bundle of attitude, and she got under his skin every time, but he wasn’t a man who’d ever treat a woman badly…

  “Hey,” Tanner said, “I know it’s a huge decision, but what are two going to have for dinner?”

  Chay looked at Bianca. From the expression on her face, she hadn’t paid the menu any more attention than he had.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t…I’m not really very hungry.”

  “Cioppino,” Chay said, because it was the first thing he thought of. “For both of us.”

  That brought things back to normal. She sat up straighter and fixed him with what he was starting to think of as That Look.

  “Lieutenant,” she said briskly, “I am perfectly capable of choosing my own meal.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then choose it.”

  “A steak. Small. No more than seven ounces. Done rare. Not raw. Pink, not red…” She looked around the table. Alessandra and Tanner were dutifully staring at their menus. Chay was staring at her.

  Glowering was more like it.

  She considered slapping him with her menu.

  No! Never. Why would she even think of doing something so out of control? She smiled, though it wasn’t easy to do, and closed her menu.

  “On second thought,” she said pleasantly, I’ll have the tagliata with parmesan.”

  The Akechetas seemed to let out their breath.

  Chay nodded. “Sliced steak. With cheese shaved over it.”

  “Good idea?” she said, smiling with all her teeth.

  “Great idea,” he said, smiling with all his.

  And in the flurry of handing over their menus, and then the arrival of the wine and the drinks, the conversation eased into more normal channels, giving Chay the chance to glance at his watch and figure how much more time he’d have to spend before he could say good-night, hunt up Maguire and Sanchez, find some women men could understand, and take them to bed where life could be reduced to basics. Hot sex. Mindless pleasure, and never mind how badly he’d handled things with the brunette a couple of hours ago. He was back from deployment, his mood was in the toilet, and a night with a woman who knew how to please a man would change it, not a night spent sparring with the prickly, pluperfect, pain in the ass Bianca Bellini Wilde who knew nothing about pleasing a man.

  And never would.

  • • •

  The wine was excellent. The antipasto they’d eventually settled on was good. And if the food wasn’t four-star, what in life was?

  As for Bianca…

  Alessandra was working hard at drawing her into conversation. At first, it didn’t work. Then Alessandra told a joke, a god-awful joke, and after they all groaned, Bianca told it again, but with an ironic twist that actually made it funny.

  Interesting.

  The lady had a sense of humor. Wry, but that was fine with him. He’d never laughed at slip-on-the-banana peel jokes and, it seemed, neither did she.

  And she had a brain. Well, he’d already figured that out, but once you got her off that high horse she rode, she could make interesting conversation.

  So many of the women he met didn’t, unless you thought discussing the lives of pop stars in endless, boring, unbelievable detail was interesting.

  Bianca had real interests, and a real life.

  She didn’t bring up any of that. Her sister did. Alessandra got her to admit that she was writing her PhD dissertation.

  “What’s it called again?”

  “Alessandra. Nobody wants to hear—”

  “I do,” Chay said. “What’s the title?”

  Bianca sighed. “Interpersonal Bonding Among Millennials in the Age of the Internet.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then Tanner raised his bottle of ale. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Everyone laughed, even Bianca. “What can I tell you? I wanted to research something current.”

  “And she has a fancy job,” Alessandra said proudly, “as a clinical psychologist at this mega-upscale private practice. East Side Associates,” she added, rolling her eyes.

  “Alessandra,” Bianca said in a low voice, “really—”

  “Where you help millennials form interpersonal relationships.”

  Bianca gave Chay a cool look.

  “Actually, that’s not at all what I do.”

  “No?”

  “No. I help people with serious problems.”

  “Ah.” Chay grinned. “Meaning, people in interpersonal relationships don’t have real problems?”

  Was he laughing at her or just laughing at life? Because he was right, even if she had no intention of telling him so. The people she’d studied for her dissertation were lightweights compared with the real people she now dealt with day to day.

  “Meaning,” she said, “I don’t talk about my p
atients.” She said it more harshly than she’d intended, but she had the feeling she knew where Alessandra was taking this. “Professional ethics,” she added quickly, hoping she was wrong about her sister.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t.

  “It’s true,” Alessandra said. “She never does—but I wish she’d talk about the one who called her when we were in Texas.”

  “Yeah,” Tanner said. “I’m glad he never called you ag—What?” he said, when his wife dug her elbow into his ribs. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Alessandra told me what happened.”

  Bianca glared at Alessandra, who tried to look contrite—and failed.

  “I’m sorry,” Alessandra said. “And I didn’t mention the call to anyone else.” She looked at her husband. “When you love someone so much that it feels as if you’re a part of him and he’s a part of you…” She shook her head. “I was upset. And when I’m upset, I turn to Tanner.”

  “I hope you always will,” Tanner said softly, taking his wife’s hand and bringing it to his lips.

  Chay cleared his throat.

  “Would one of you like to clue me in on what the hell you’re all talking about?”

  Bianca hesitated. Then shrugged her shoulders. “I had a call from a man. A patient.”

  “While you were away? Don’t you have somebody who covers for you?”

  “I do. The thing is, I’m not sure how he got my private cell number.”

  Chay frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. I never give my personal number to patients.”

  “And the call from this guy was upsetting?”

  Upsetting wasn’t a good enough word to describe that call or the five that had followed, but Alessandra didn’t know about them—and she wasn’t going to.

  “He was,” Bianca said carefully, “a little distraught.”

  “Distraught,” Chay repeated in a grim tone.

  “Look, I really don’t want to—”

  “Does he have other personal information about you? Your address, maybe?”

 

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