by Terry Odell
A Cerridwen Press Publication
www.cerridwenpress.com
Coping Mechanisms
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Coping Mechanisms Copyright © 2009 Terry Odell
Edited by Helen Woodall
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book Publication April 2009
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®
Coping Mechanisms
Terry Odell
Dedication
For Dan—after all these years, we’re still coping.
Acknowledgements
To my first crit partners, the wonderful Pregnant Pigs. Darlyn, Kay and Katherine—you’re great. And to Sandra, my first mentor, who’s been there for me since we played with Duncan and Richie. Thanks for the help, support and not-so-idle threats.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Jameson: Irish Distillers Limited Corporation Ireland
Chapter One
Sarah smiled at the sound of the front door opening. She centered the last slice of cheese on a water cracker, wiped her hands on a dish towel and gave a quick finger-comb to her new hairdo before rushing out of the kitchen to greet her husband. Would he notice the gold highlights scattered though the otherwise dull brown? After all, he was a detective.
His night shifts had ended, and they could finally share a dinner followed by… Her grin widened as she thought of the night ahead. It had been awhile since both were awake enough to enjoy each other’s company. Kind of tough on newlyweds, but the special meal she’d planned should start making up for lost time.
Her smile faded as she saw Randy’s expression. “My God, what’s wrong?”
He pushed past her to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a Jameson. He downed half in one gulp and stared at some distant point. His lips were clenched, his brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field. Being a cop was a high-stress job, but it wasn’t like Randy to turn to whiskey. Her disapproval must have shown on her face. He glowered, and she felt the heat of rising tears behind her eyes.
“Not yet,” he growled. He pivoted and stalked to the spare room. Sarah heard the door close behind him. Sounds of Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu burst from the piano. Sarah knew Randy played Chopin when he was upset because he had to concentrate. She also knew there was no point in disturbing him. He’d appear when he worked through whatever had him so tormented.
Sarah crossed to the kitchen. Hands on her hips, she took stock of dinner. The salad was ready. She added the milk and butter to the boiled potatoes, gave them a quick mash and stored them in the refrigerator. Lamb chops, Randy’s favorite, sat on a platter, ready to broil. Dinner would wait. Listening to Chopin wasn’t what she’d had in mind for an appetizer, but she’d give Randy his space.
She went to the living room and clicked on the television. Maybe something on the news would give her a hint to Randy’s distress.
She flipped through the local channels and found only commercials. As she waited, she mulled over Randy’s behavior. Given his job, there were lots of things he couldn’t share with her. But didn’t she mean as much as his piano, his punching bag in the basement, or the track at the high school where he ran countless laps? True, their schedules had barely overlapped the last few weeks, but that didn’t take away the hurt that he couldn’t accept her as one of his coping mechanisms.
The news theme song brought her attention back to the television. “And, our lead story,” the announcer was saying, “is the apparent abduction of eight-year-old Amanda Brooks. Could this be related to the disappearances in Portland? We’ll be right back with that story and more.”
Sarah gasped. A missing child. Oh God, no wonder Randy was upset. Sarah hit the mute button and listened for the music. Still Chopin. Something in a minor key. Louder now. More frenzied. The announcer’s face returned to the television screen and Sarah turned up the volume.
“The parents of Amanda Brooks reported her missing when her teacher called to check on the child’s absence. Pine Hills Police officers have been working diligently to locate the child.” The television displayed a school photograph of a sweet young girl, auburn curls tied back with a green ribbon, freckles on her cheeks, smiling into the camera with the innocence of youth. The picture switched to a taped interview with the parents, surprisingly tolerant of the cameras and microphones that intruded on their anguish. “All the kids walked to school,” the mother said. “This is such a safe neighborhood. And it’s only a few blocks.”
They are numb, Sarah thought. It hadn’t sunk in for them. That none of the victims in Portland had been found yet. That their daughter might never return.
And then Randy and Kovak, his partner, were on the screen. Sarah saw Randy’s clenched jaw, the hands jammed into his pockets. “We have a few leads,” Kovak said. “If anyone has any information, please call the department.” A number flashed at the bottom of the screen. “That’s all I can say at the moment.” The two men turned away from the camera, and the announcer’s face came back on the screen.
“We’ll keep you informed as we get more information. Now, for a look at the weather, here’s our own Jamie Franklin.” Sarah clicked off the television set and stepped toward the spare room.
Determined, she strode to the music room, but hesitated at the door. Closing it was Randy’s way of establishing his need for privacy, something she’d never violated. But damn it, weren’t they supposed to be there for each other? For better or for worse? She reached for the knob.
The music swelled as she opened the door. The curtains were drawn, and she stood in the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. Randy sat in the near darkness, oblivious to her presence. Sarah crossed the room and sat in the armchair by the window.
When the last note faded, Randy leaned his elbows on the edge of the keyboard and dropped his head in his hands. Sarah stepped behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. He stiffened at her touch, then sighed as she began kneading his tense muscles.
“Please, let me help,” she said.
“You know you can’t help with a case,” he snapped without lifting his head.
“Not the case. Help you. You’re upset. I’m part of your life now. You can’t ignore me.”
“Stop.” He reached up and removed her hands. “I’m going to the track. Eat if you’re hungry. I’m not.”
“Randy—” But he was already out of the room.
Sarah sat on the piano bench and slammed her fist on the keys. Before the discordant sound died, she heard the front door slam, followed by the sounds of Randy
’s truck tires crunching down the driveway. She whispered an apology to the picture of Randy’s grandmother for abusing her piano and went to clean up the kitchen.
Randy had been single a long time, and letting her in would be harder than remembering to put the toilet seat down, but he’d have to adjust. She settled in front of the computer. Mahjongg solitaire was her Chopin. And when Randy got back from the track, she’d make him talk to her.
Chapter Two
An hour passed, then two. Frustration turned to anger, anger turned to worry. Half a dozen times Sarah had picked up the phone, then put it back. If he needed to be alone tonight, so be it. But she vowed this would be the last time he shut her out.
The telephone rang and her stomach flipped at Kovak’s voice.
“Oh God. Has something happened to Randy?”
“No, no. Randy’s fine. We had a lead on the kidnapper and I dragged him away from the track. Things happened pretty fast and we’ve been preoccupied. The suspect’s in custody. Randy’s fine, but cleaning this all up will take a while. Tons of paperwork. He’ll be late and he didn’t want you to worry.”
“Did you find the child—the children? The ones from Portland too?” Were they alive? Her heart pounded.
“All accounted for. And yes, they’re alive.” His voice was grim. She wouldn’t ask what had been done to them, where they’d been. “Well, gotta get back to work. Randy said not to wait up.”
She clenched the handset. It was all she could do to control her voice. She forced a lightness to her response. “Thanks. I’m sure everyone will be relieved.”
“You’re upset,” he said. “Look, I’ve known Randy a long time. He builds walls. He’s not a talker. This was a tough one for him. How about I ask Jeannie to call you tomorrow? She’s been a cop’s wife a long time. She might be able to help.”
She might have known she couldn’t fool Kovak. “That won’t be… That’ll be fine. Thanks,” she said before her voice gave way, and she broke the connection.
She stood holding the phone for a long moment. The lump in her throat disappeared and a cold fury suffused her. How dare Randy blow her off and have Kovak call? He could put the phone on speaker and talk while he filled out the damn paperwork. It was called multitasking.
She shook it off. Getting angry was not the answer. Randy loved her. He just hadn’t figured out how to let her into the cop part of his life yet. She’d have to help him. Tomorrow, she’d insist they talk it out. Right now, she would take a long, hot bubble bath. One of her coping mechanisms.
Steam filled the bathroom as Sarah ran the water. One of the luxuries of being married to a very tall man with a custom-built bathroom was a tub she could lose herself in. She poked through the cabinet for candles and arranged them all around the tub ledge. After slipping out of her clothes, she pulled the box of matches from a drawer. The flickering glow of the candles and the popping of the bubbles began to soothe her.
Sarah climbed the three steps to the tub and lowered herself into its enveloping warmth, felt the tension flow out of her body. She concentrated on slowing her breathing, and did some of the relaxation exercises she’d learned at the support group sessions after her kidnapping. Memories of those days were buried deep within her, but she could remember how Randy had blamed himself for her abduction. It hadn’t been his fault. Pine Hills was usually a quiet town. On a normal day, Randy would deal with petty theft, malicious mischief, kids getting drunk. Even though whatever had happened to Amanda was nothing like her own experience, she could understand how Randy must have felt.
The rational side of her said Randy wanted to be alone. It was a ‘guy thing’, he’d say. But simply being in Randy’s arms calmed her as nothing else could. His touch brought her so much comfort. Didn’t it work that way for him? Couldn’t he open up enough to let her try? Just be there? She wiped her face and soapy bubbles stung her eyes. Or so she told herself as tears began to flow. She covered her face with a washcloth until the tears stopped. She released the drain and toweled off. The satin and lace nightgown she’d set out to wear tonight didn’t seem right. She grabbed one of Randy’s t-shirts from his drawer and pulled it on.
A rumbling from her stomach belied her lack of appetite. She fixed herself a mug of hot chocolate and took the mystery novel she’d been reading to the couch, willing the phone to ring and trying to ignore its impertinent silence. At eleven, she gave up and crawled into bed.
Her inner clock told her she’d been asleep for several hours when she heard the front door open. Eyes closed, she listened to Randy’s familiar routine—hanging up his keys and shoulder holster, pulling off his shoes. The sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. He never played the piano this late, but he might listen to the stereo. No, the bedroom door opened. She heard him in the bathroom, and heard the nightstand drawer open as he placed his gun inside. A sharp intake of breath and a suppressed groan snapped her eyes open. She reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. His left eye was swollen, and there were bruises forming on his torso.
“Randy! What happened? Are you all right?”
He pulled on his boxers, but not before she noticed he was fully aroused. He was breathing heavily now, and he lowered himself to the bed without answering.
“Randy. I’m serious. You’re hurt. Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
She sat up and stared at him. “Yes, you can. You can’t keep running away from me. I know you’re not used to having someone around, but I’m here, and you’re not getting rid of me. Talk to me.”
“Nothing to say.” His voice was rough. “The creep resisted arrest. He took a little convincing, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”
She reached over and stroked his cheek. “Let me in, Randy. Please. Whatever happened, you shouldn’t have to be alone.”
“I can’t. Not now.”
Sarah didn’t need to know the details yet. For now, she could offer physical release. She encircled his erection, and he gripped her wrist. “No,” he whispered.
“No? But—”
“I want you so much it hurts,” he said. “But I don’t think… I can’t. It’s the adrenaline. I’m afraid of…afraid I’ll hurt you.”
“My God, Randy. I’m not going to break.” She leaned into him and pressed her lips against his, forced his lips apart, probed with her tongue. His tongue met hers, and his kisses went from gentle passion to wild frenzy. She reached for his shorts, and he lifted his hips enough to allow her to pull them away. Even as he kicked them off, his hands found her breasts under the T-shirt. His touch triggered a surge of excitement, and she helped him pull the shirt over her head. He covered her body with his. He kissed, he stroked, he squeezed, as if he needed to touch every part of her at once. He nipped at her breasts, and she gasped, but the pain merely heightened her arousal. She met his needs, matched his desire, raking her fingernails along his back, tugging at his hair, scraping her teeth on his neck. She couldn’t tell if the guttural sounds came from her throat or his.
Sarah opened herself to him and he entered in a single, powerful thrust. Tonight’s lovemaking was feral in its lust. Yet she understood, and took him deeper and deeper until he screamed as he reached his fulfillment. He collapsed on top of her, shuddering. She held him and bore his weight as he gasped for breath.
He withdrew slowly, and rolled onto his back, still panting. Snuggling next to him, she rested her head on his chest, listened to the pounding of his heart. She ran her fingers through the silky hair on his sweat-filmed belly. “You feeling better?”
With a groan, he pulled away and went into the bathroom. When she heard the shower running, Sarah flung herself out of bed. Not this time, buster. He wasn’t running away again. She crept into the bathroom and saw Randy, arms extended against the shower tiles as the hot water poured over his head and cascaded down his body. Opening the glass door, she stepped into the steamy enclosure and wrapped her arms around his waist. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“I’m n
ot leaving,” she said.
“Suit yourself, but it’s going to get cold.” He lowered the water temperature until they were both covered in gooseflesh, and she had to clench her teeth against their chattering, but she wouldn’t let go. His breathing slowed, and he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping herself in her robe, she followed Randy to the living room. She watched him pour a whiskey, take it to the couch. Saw the trembling in his hands.
She poured a brandy for herself and joined him. “So, it was a rough one?”
“Sarah, please.”
“No, Randy. You listen. You can’t keep the ugliness away from me. On the job, it’s you and Kovak, but when you come through that door, it’s you and me. I’m not fragile. Can’t you include me? Let me sit with you while you play the piano? Hold your hand? Massage your shoulders? Something? Anything? Please.” Her voice started to crack, and she hurried to blurt out the rest. “Don’t shut me out. I feel so safe when you hold me. Like nothing can be wrong. Doesn’t it work that way for you?”
He gathered her in his arms. “When I hold you, it’s like the entire universe gets realigned.” He gave a deep sigh. “I’ll try to remember. You’ll have to remind me when I forget.”
“Count on it. Starting tomorrow.” She snuggled even tighter. “You going to tell me how you got that shiner? I can’t imagine a slimebag really got a clean punch past you.”
“Not exactly.”
“So, go on.”
“Kovak did it,” he mumbled.
“What? Your partner punched you? Why?”
Randy muttered something.
“I didn’t get that.”
“He said I was acting like a jerk, avoiding you, and I told him to mind his own business, and—”