Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two

by Sandra Marton

  David was charged with everything the law could come up with. Assault. Attempted murder. Breaking and entering. Stalking. Sexual harassment. Attempted rape. Some of the charges might not hold. All might be set aside if David pleaded to mental incompetence.

  Whatever happened, he’d be locked away for a long, long time.

  “And,” Bianca told Annie, who’d sat with her in the hospital that first night, “hopefully, he’ll get the treatment he needs.”

  She told Chay the same thing the day she drove him home, and Chay shook his head and kissed her and said that it took one hell of an amazing Tigress to show concern for a man who’d tried to kill her.

  Lacey phoned in the middle of the week.

  The office was buzzing over what had happened. And Dr. Epstein had stepped down as head of East Side Associates. One of the other doctors was taking over. The entire staff was going to have a reorganization meeting Monday morning.

  Could Bianca be there?

  Bianca knew that the word could was incorrect. There was no could about it. She had a job. An important job. She had responsibilities. She had to return to New York and resume her life.

  She anguished over how to tell Chay.

  What would he say? How would he react?

  They still made love. A little more carefully than before, considering Chay’s arm, but it was still wonderful.

  They still held hands as they strolled along the beach.

  They still talked about all kinds of things, but something had changed between them. It was a subtle change, but it was a real one.

  Bianca knew what it was.

  The situation that had brought them together was gone.

  There was no more reason for her to be in California, or for Chay to talk about going to New York.

  The mission, as she knew Chay would have put it, was over.

  • • •

  Thursday evening, Bianca poured two glasses of wine.

  “How about we go out on the deck and watch the sunset?” she said.

  He nodded. “I was about to suggest the same thing.”

  He opened the sliding doors. They stepped outside and for the first time Bianca could remember, Chay didn’t gather her into his arms.

  Well, his arm was probably hurting. The wound was healing well, but there were times it twinged.

  This had to be one of those times.

  So they stood side by side, watching the sun as it dipped lower and lower in the sky, while Bianca told herself to stop being a coward.

  She had to tell him about the meeting in New York. About her responsibilities in New York.

  What would he say?

  Would he ask her not to go?

  She’d tried not to think about that, tried not to plan ahead…but if he asked, she knew what she would say.

  She would say yes.

  Really, it had been an easy decision to make.

  Yes, she would stay in California. Or, to be accurate, she would move to California. Give up her apartment. Well, she’d do that anyway. She never wanted to set foot in those rooms again.

  As for her job… East Side Associates would probably not be sorry to lose her. Marilyn Epstein was gone, but the memories—and the gossip—would linger. Bianca had been part of the mess. An unwitting part, but still…

  So, it was time to go. To start over.

  And California was a perfect place for that.

  She had excellent academic credentials and she could find the same kind of work here, finish her dissertation here.

  She could be happy here, with her lieutenant.

  She’d never even imagined herself doing anything like it. Meeting a man. Falling in love with him, falling so deeply in love that she’d willingly make life changes to accommodate his career, because she knew that to ask Chay to leave the military would be like asking him not to breathe.

  The real question was, would he ask her to stay? To be with him?

  Or maybe the real question was, would he tell her he loved her? Because if he didn’t love her, there was no point in any of it.

  • • •

  By that evening, Chay had decided he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  The suspense.

  The not knowing.

  The endless wondering.

  It was time to ask Bianca, straight out, if she loved him. Because, Jesus, he sure as hell loved her.

  The problem was that asking the question was only step one.

  If she said yes—if she said yes, step two would be figuring out what to do next

  She had a life back east.

  He had one right here.

  There’d been a time he’d never imagined leaving the service. Leaving STUD. Then Tanner had almost died and, well, Chay had done a lot of thinking. And what he’d thought was that he loved what he was doing, but maybe he’d only do it for another couple of years.

  Thirty-four, thirty-five looked like good ages to retire.

  He’d still be young enough to start a new, different kind of life. He didn’t want to be one of those ex-military guys you sometimes ran into in bars, guys who talked endlessly abut the good old days because they really didn’t have many good new days.

  You could see that they’d never planned ahead.

  Never planned something to do with the rest of their lives.

  Bottom line? He’d be cleared for duty soon and that was what he wanted. He wasn’t ready to leave STUD. He would be, in a couple of years, but a couple of years was a long time.

  How could he and Bianca make that work?

  She could stay in the east, he could stay in the west, and they’d spend all their free time together.

  Yeah. Right. Like weekends, if he wasn’t deployed. And when he was deployed? He’d leave from the West Coast. Return to the West Coast.

  No good.

  Okay. He’d explain things to her, say that he wanted to put in another two, three years in STUD, and he’d ask her to move here.

  Jesus.

  Ask her to give up her career, her position at one hell of a practice, and start all over again in California?

  Chay glanced at her as she stood beside him on the deck.

  He thought of how she’d dealt with David Epstein. How she’d, man, how she’d punched him right in the belly, put him flat on his back, and told him she’d kill him if he made any more trouble.

  He thought of how she’d stopped the blood pouring from his arm.

  He thought of what she’d said, that, despite everything, she was glad the man who’d tried to kill her was going to get help for his illness

  There was nobody like his Bianca. His Tigress.

  There never would be.

  But how much could he ask of her?

  And another question. How much would she do out of the goodness of her heart? Even if she cared for him. Hell, even if she loved him. Would she give up everything because he asked it of her?

  Fuck.

  That was the last thing he’d ever want her to do.

  Goddammit, Olivieri, take a deep breath. Be a man.

  “Bianca—”

  “Chay—”

  Each of them smiled.

  “You first,” she said.

  “No, that’s okay. You first.”

  She nodded. Looked away from him. Looked at the ocean. At the floor. At the sun as it slid into the water.

  “I—I had a call from Lacey. You know. From my office.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded again. “Marilyn Epstein resigned.”

  Chay made a rude noise. Bianca laughed.

  “I know. Amazing news, right?” She paused and searched for the right words. “So there’s going to be a new person in charge.”

  Chay swung towards her. “You?” He was so happy for her. Still, he f
elt his heart drop. “Honey, they couldn’t make a better choice.”

  “No. No, of course not me. I’m much too new. I don’t even have my doctorate.”

  “Oh.” Shit. He hated feeling relieved. “Who, then? Not the woman whose husband wants to be in an open marriage?” he said, trying for a smile.

  “No. Not her. It’s Carl Anderson. He’s been part of the team from the beginning. Smart guy. Easy to get along with. It’s a good choice.”

  “Ah. Okay. Glad to hear it.”

  “Right. Right.” Bianca’s hands were shaking. She dug them into the pockets of her shorts. “They voted.”

  “Without you?”

  “Well, I voted, too. By phone. The thing is, they’re going to meet Monday morning. To, you know, to reorganize.”

  “Monday morning,” Chay said. Could she hear the hollowness in his voice?

  “Yes. And—”

  “And you have to be there.”

  “I—Yes. I should be there.”

  “Get back into the swing of things.”

  “Right. I mean—”

  “Get back to work. Because your patients need you.”

  He sounded so calm. So matter-of-fact. Didn’t the prospect of her leaving mean anything to him?

  “They do need me.” Even though I won’t be staying. I wouldn’t feel comfortable there anymore. Now was the time to tell him that—or was it? Why did he have to sound so composed?

  “And your dissertation. I know you have to get back into that.”

  She did, but she’d just lost her advisor. No way would they work together anymore. Did she need a new advisor when she was this close to completing her dissertation? She had no idea, but she’d find out.

  As for the dissertation itself… Not a problem.

  She was almost at the finish line. Time to defend her dissertation. When she was ready, she’d fly back to New York and do it.

  She’d explain that to Chay.

  “Well, sure,” she said. “I mean, yes, I have some last things to organize. But what I’m hoping is, since I’m fairly close to finishing my dissertation, to defending it…”

  He laughed. The laugh sounded forced.

  “How in hell do you defend a dissertation? I know how to defend a town. A hill. But a stack of papers? A bunch of statistics from something called Interpersonal Relationships Among Millennials in the Digital Age?” Another of those tight laughs. “I can’t even imagine it.”

  Bianca stiffened.

  “It’s Interpersonal Bonding Among Millennials in the Age of the Internet. And it’s a lot more than a bunch of statistics.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Not whatever. It’s an important piece of work, Chay, and I’ve put a lot of time and effort into it.”

  Yeah, he thought. Right. It was an important piece of work, her piece of work, and what she was trying to tell him was that the fun was over and it was time she went home.

  Well, it probably was.

  He’d been a fool to think she would put him ahead of her work. Why would she? Hell, he wouldn’t put her ahead of his work, either.

  Of course he wouldn’t.

  The love thing…

  The sex had been great.

  Spending time with her had been great.

  He’d never spent time with a woman before.

  Well, he had. In bed. But out of it it? Not really.

  Maybe he’d learned something. That man could not live by mission alone. Hadn’t one of the guys in his unit said that one time and made them all roar with laughter?

  Still, he—he cared for her. She was—she was an interesting woman. An amazing woman. And she had a big heart. That evening in the coffee shop, when she’d told the idiot who’d been giving her a hard time that he needed help, and the other night, when she’d warned David Epstein she’d kill him two seconds after she’d assured him that she understood that he was sick. Plus that last bit of business, her saying she was glad Epstein was going to get some help…

  Yes. She had a big heart.

  And he wasn’t going to make her feel bad about this.

  He was going to make it easy.

  “Bianca.” He took a deep breath. “I know what you’re trying to tell me.”

  She turned towards him. Was she smiling?

  “You do?”

  Chay nodded. “This has been—it’s been an interesting week.”

  Where had that smile gone?

  “Interesting,” she repeated.

  “Yeah. But, you know, but like all good things, it’s come to an end.”

  “To an end,” she said, and he realized he’d only imagined that smile.

  He nodded again. He felt like one of those fucking dolls people put on their dashboards, head bobbing up and down in sheer idiocy.

  “You have a job to go back to. And I’m going to be deployed next week.”

  “You are?”

  Maybe. Assuming he could convince the STUD docs he was already up to it.

  “Yes,” he said with utmost assurance. “I’ll be gone at least a month. So we’re both moving on.”

  Were those tears in her eyes? No. It had to be a reflection from the candles on the table.

  “Yes,” she said. “Moving on.”

  He took hold of her shoulders. His heart was lodged someplace in his throat. For a second, he was afraid to speak, but that was dumb.

  Men didn’t cry.

  Men never cried.

  He’d learned that early, when his old man had beaten him almost senseless because he’d cried over the death of a puppy.

  “So,” he said, “so here’s what I suggest. Let’s go out to dinner. Go dancing.” He swallowed hard. “Or—or, you know, we could just stay here and—and be together.”

  What he meant was make love. Have sex. Go to bed one final time.

  She could almost feel her heart break at the thought, and she pulled free of his hands.

  “I can’t.” Her voice shook. “I just can’t. I—I called the airport. There’s a flight out tonight. I really want to get home fast. I have so much to do before Monday…”

  “Bianca.” His voice was raw. “Honey…”

  She swung away and fled into the house. Into the bathroom. She had a cellphone in her pocket—she’d picked up a disposable one while Chay was in the hospital—and with trembling fingers, she turned it on, found Annie’s number and punched it.

  Annie answered on the first ring. “Bianca?”

  “Annie,” she whispered. “Can you come and get me? Or are you with Declan? If you are—”

  “I’m not with Declan. I’m not with anybody. Bianca, what’s the matter?”

  “Just come and get me. Please.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Annie said, and she was as good as her word. By the time she pulled her car into Chay’s driveway, Bianca was packed and waiting outside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Bianca lucked out.

  There was a red-eye to La Guardia and she got the last available seat.

  It wasn’t a good seat. She sat jammed between a guy who unwrapped a salami sandwich when the plane reached cruising altitude, and a woman who must have bathed in a tub of cheap perfume.

  It was hard to decide which smell was worse, but at least she was on her way home.

  There was lots to think about, lots to plan, and Bianca wanted to hit the ground running.

  She changed planes in Denver, crossed her fingers in hopes of getting a better seat, and ended up trapped between a man on her right who should have bought two tickets and one on her left who fell asleep as soon as the plane took off, and spent most of the flight snoring in her ear.

  The plane touched down in a light drizzle.

  Bianca hurried out of the terminal. Was rain going to accompany her through life?
<
br />   She thought about taking the subway, but the idea of having to sit next to anybody else made her shudder, so she splurged on a taxi. It got stuck in traffic when she was half a dozen blocks from her apartment.

  She’d tried to come up with a way of not going back to that apartment, but she needed her things.

  Ten minutes and endless clicks of the meter later, she paid the driver, got out of the cab and walked the rest of the distance.

  Her hands started to shake when she took out the key to her apartment.

  “Stop being a wimp,” she said, and she jabbed the key into the lock.

  The apartment was just as she’d left it, except there was dust everywhere.

  A glass stood on the kitchen sink, still filled with the wine Chay had poured into it.

  And, in the bedroom, the drawer, her underwear drawer, still stood open.

  Bianca shuddered.

  No. No, she could not stay here.

  Quickly, she pulled her suitcase from the back of the closet, opened drawers, tore down hangers, plucked her shoes from the rack on the closet floor and dumped everything into the suitcase.

  Not the underwear.

  She would never touch any of it again.

  The furniture? She’d hire a moving company to get it out of here. Her books? Dishes? Glasses? Pots and pans, towels, pictures, books…You could pay movers to pack your things, and that was what she would do. It would be expensive, but she’d earned a good living at East Side Associates and she wasn’t frivolous.

  Alessandra always teased her about being frugal, but frugality was about to pay off.

  She could afford to get out of here and let someone else worry about the packing.

  She paused just long enough to pull the underwear drawer from the dresser, carry it into the kitchen and upend the contents into the trash. No way did she want some industrious moving guy to pack up the underwear and deliver it to her.

  The suitcase was heavy, but she half-dragged, half-carried it to the street and hailed yet another cab.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  Bianca though about it. Where, indeed? Two of her half-sisters and their husbands, and both of her brothers and their wives had pieds-à-terre in the city, but there wasn’t a way in hell she was going to show up on their doorsteps and try to explain what had happened to her.