by Nina Bruhns
Chapter Forty-Nine
Bridge awoke the next morning with Mary Alice’s warm body snugged against his, their limbs tangled, her hair draped across the pillow they shared, the sweet scent of strawberries and love filling the air around them.
He sighed contentedly and pulled her close. Last night had been amazing. He had to be the luckiest man on earth to have landed in this position with this generous, passionate woman. Sure, there were still things to work out between them, but this morning he figured life was just about perfect.
Right up until the cell phone rang and Captain Trujillo ordered him downtown to take part in a raid.
Damn.
“Aw, hell, Cap. I just came off a really hard double shift. I didn’t get an hour’s sleep last night. Give me a break.”
Bridge winked at Mary Alice, who had awakened when he reached over her for the phone. Now she lay under him, laughing and trying to stifle the little moans his fingers were causing her to make. He glanced at the clock. Six-oh-five a.m. Double damn. He’d been counting on sleeping as long as the perimeter beeper let him.
“Sorry, Bridge. We got a hot tip and we’re moving on the Bienvenido Street thing. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss it.” The cap’s voice left little doubt that he had better not want to miss it, if he liked his career.
Bridge blew out a breath and stilled his fingers. He’d been working on that case for sixteen months and it was going down in less than an hour. The captain was right. He’d kick himself if he wasn’t part of it. “When do we roll?”
“Seven. Be here and suited up.”
“Got it.”
Bridge tapped off the cell phone and reinserted it in the pocket of the shirt hanging over the drawer. “Bad news, sweetheart. I have to get to work.”
The laughter in her face faded. “So early?”
“Yeah. Big case going down.” He gave her a kiss filled with regret. “I’m really sorry.”
A thousand questions and emotions shadowed her eyes, but she only said, “It’s okay. I understand.”
“Of all the damned mornings,” he muttered, and pulled her close for a hug.
“Guess I better get used to it, if we…” Her words trailed off.
There wasn’t a lot he could say to that, so he kissed her again, then rose to get ready.
He ground his jaw in frustration. Fucking hell. This was not remotely what he’d had in mind for the morning after with Mary Alice. He’d expected to have a few more hours before reality intruded—love play and leisure time to cement the relationship they’d truly begun last night. The timing on this bust was just plain rotten.
Last night, he’d shown her graphically how much she could trust him, and that she could rely on him when she put that trust to the test. That good things could, and did, happen when she let go and lost control of what was happening, putting her fate in another’s hands—in his hands. He only hoped she would make the connection between bed and his job. He’d wanted to explore the concept a bit more before trying it out in a potentially explosive situation.
Like this one.
He grabbed a quick shower, and when he came out to the kitchen, she had made him a thermos of coffee and a sandwich.
“For the road,” she said in a thready voice as she put them into his hands. “You need to eat.”
He took them gratefully, and said without thinking, “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
For a second she looked stricken, and he instantly regretted using a word containing any hint of mortality. She tried hard to hide her fear, but it was there, plain as day, making her pretty face ashen.
God, he hated leaving her like this.
“Trust me,” he said as he kissed her goodbye at the door. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
She nodded. But she didn’t believe him. That was also on her face, plain as day.
Damn.
Nothing like trial by goddamn fire.
Chapter Fifty
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bridge, Mary Alice thought miserably at school that afternoon. It was all those criminals and weirdoes out there she didn’t trust.
She’d made it through the morning okay. No reason to panic yet, right? But as the hours went by and she still didn’t hear from Bridge, she’d gotten more and more worried.
She was valiantly fighting it—the growing anxiety gnawing at her stomach. All day she’d wanted to call or text him to make sure he was okay. As she always had with her dad. But she forbade herself from doing it.
Her calling hadn’t helped her dad, or Jack. And she would rather bite off her tongue than ask Bridge to text her every five minutes like some wayward teenager checking in with an overprotective mother.
This was just another day on the job for him. And like she’d said, if she was going to be a part of his life, she’d better get used to it.
But damn, she really, really hated this.
Losing the battle, she gave in and wrapped her fingers around her forehead and squeezed tight.
He would be all right.
He was all right.
He had to be. He’d promised, hadn’t he?
“Mac, what’s wrong?” Nancy slid into a pint-sized chair across from Mary Alice at the craft table she was attempting to set up for tomorrow. “You look like my reflection.”
Mary Alice came out from behind her hands and smiled weakly at the attempt at humor from her friend. Nancy had been a total wreck ever since Ben was diagnosed with his brain tumor last week. Mary Alice must really look terrible if even Nancy had noticed.
“That bad, eh?” she murmured.
“You tell me,” Nancy said. “Things okay with your new man?”
“No. Yes. No.” Mary Alice fought to keep her eyes from filling. “Oh, Nan, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
“Come on,” Nancy said, standing. “Let’s go get a drink and you can tell your old buddy all about it. Frankly, I could use a stiff one, myself.”
It was only three-thirty, but extreme measures seemed justified under the circumstances. And besides, she might just have a nervous breakdown waiting by herself until either Bridge walked back through her door or—
Not going there.
They went to the Fisherman—the place where she and Bridge had bought fresh shrimp to barbecue just a few short days ago. They sat at a quiet table for two, and after listening to Nancy pour out all her terror and feelings of uncertainty about Ben’s condition, Mary Alice finally allowed all her own fears spill out into Nancy’s sympathetic ear. How she was slowly starting to lose it, how she was petrified Bridge would be hurt or killed, scared to death for him when he’d simply been called in to do his job.
“Strange that we’re going through such similar anguish,” Nancy said bleakly. “Even though our men have such different jobs.”
“It’s not fair,” Mary Alice said vehemently. “Ben is an accountant, for crying out loud. You shouldn’t have to go through this kind of thing.”
Nancy slowly shook her head. “It is what it is. At least you have a choice.”
Mary Alice nodded miserably. “I do. And I don’t think I can take it, Nan,” she said with a moan. “I think I’m in love with Bridge. No, I am in love with him. But I’m terrified I’ll drive myself nuts worrying about him. And make him hate me for it. Last night, everything seemed so perfect. I was ready to face anything to keep him. Now, I’m not so sure I can actually deal with the reality of it.”
Nancy gazed at her sympathetically. “I wish I could give you a magic formula to make things easier. But sometimes all you can do is let go and roll with the punches.”
Mary Alice watched Nancy refill her wine glass from the carafe they’d ordered, thinking about the major, heartbreaking punches her friend was being forced to roll with these days. “I haven’t had much practice rolling,” Mary Alice murmured. “Things always seem to knock me down completely. How do you do it?”
Nancy smiled weakly. “If you really love him, you’ll find a way to face this. You ca
n do it. You have it in you, Mary Alice. Just reach deep.”
“I’ll try. But I don’t know if I can, Nan,” she whispered. “I just don’t know.”
Chapter Fifty-One
It was after five o’clock when Mary Alice drove the few blocks up the Canyon to the cottage—well past the time Bridge would normally be working his first surveillance shift. Her heart sank. The road crew was gone, and the cut-out was empty of vehicles. She parked and walked dejectedly up the front porch steps, fishing for her key. When she inserted it, the door swung open on its own.
Bridge!
She ran inside and threw her canvas tote bag on the sofa. The kid’s digital recorder with Bridge’s singing on it spilled out onto the cushion. She’d brought it home from school, thinking that listening to his voice might help calm her nerves.
“Bridge?” she called, peeking into the kitchen. It was empty.
She cocked her head, listening. There. She heard the sound of him typing on his laptop in the spare room. Her whole body sagged in relief that he was home and presumably in one piece. She rushed in, only to skid to a crashing halt behind a stranger sitting at the desk.
She screamed.
In one motion, the stranger jumped and turned, slamming the laptop shut and frantically reaching under his arm for a gun that wasn’t there.
“Officer Deane! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you scared the daylights out of me.”
Wild-eyed and bracing an arm on the desk, Jason Deane looked like he might expire on the spot. “Sorry, Miss Flannery. I was, um, absorbed in what I was doing and didn’t hear you come in. You sort of took me by surprise.” He gave a shaky laugh and rubbed his palm on his chest. “Yikes.”
“Where’s Bridge?”
“Bridge?” The young man grew even paler, if that was possible, and pulled at the collar of his T-shirt. “He, uh, well, um… That is, we don’t rightly know…exactly. I’m here to take his shift.” Deane coughed nervously. “Until he turns up.”
Every emotion she was feeling must have branded itself on her face, because he looked alarmed and immediately added, “Which he will. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. Very soon.”
Mary Alice groped her way back to the living room, followed by Deane. She wished she hadn’t had that second glass of wine with Nancy. Then again, maybe it was a good thing. Lord knew how she would have reacted if she’d been stone cold sober. Probably would have done something supremely idiotic, like falling into a dead faint.
We don’t rightly know?
She drew in a steadying breath. “Officer Deane, I don’t know if you are aware of Detective Sergeant Bridger’s and my…relationship?”
She paused and he nodded, his ears turning red. His eyes shifted away as he seated himself across from her.
“Please tell me what’s going on. How can the Pasadena Police Department lose one of its officers?”
She picked up the digital recorder from the sofa and fiddled nervously with it. Deane studied the device in her hands for a moment, obviously torn about telling her what might still be unreleased information.
Finally, he said, “The raid at Bienvenido Street was only partially successful. The team seized a shit—I mean, a huge stash of cocaine and meth, a bunch of lab equipment, and made a few arrests. But the main guy they were after escaped.” Deane glanced away, avoiding her probing gaze.
“And?”
He drilled a hand through his short-cropped hair. “The suspect got in a car and hightailed it. Last they saw Bridge, he’d commandeered an undercover vehicle and taken off after him.”
“He—” Oh, Lord. Her head spun at the news. “When was this?”
Deane shifted uncomfortably. “Sometime this morning.”
She stared at him in increasing horror. Her worst nightmare was coming true. Her lover was going to be killed in a fiery car crash chasing some stupid drug dealer across the whole state of California. “But what about his cell phone?” she asked, grasping desperately at straws. “I know he had it with him this morning.”
“They found it on the sidewalk. Must have dropped out of his pocket while he was running. Listen, Miss Flannery. I know you’re worried, but really, he’ll be okay. Bridge is a pro.”
“I know he is, I just—”
Just what?
She didn’t want to go into the whole story about her father, her uncle, and Jack all being killed in the line of duty. About how she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of her terror that the same thing would happen to Bridge.
“I’m just not used to all this…danger,” she said lamely. Her attempt at a smile failed miserably.
Deane waved his hand dismissively. “Aw, heck, this is nothing. Bridge has been in lots worse scrapes. Did he ever tell you about the time he single-handedly surrounded those gang-bangers up on Orange Grove?”
“No. He never did.” She dropped her head onto the sofa back, morbid curiosity overtaking her common sense. Deane was only trying to make her feel better, but somehow she knew hearing this was not going to help. She was pretty sure his story wasn’t going to involve subduing villains with rainbows and pixie dust.
Deane’s mouth split into a big grin. “What a mind!” he said, warming to his subject. “Bridge had the dispatcher patch him through from his cell phone to the two-way radio in his truck. Then he rigged his belt to keep the trigger on the truck’s megaphone pushed down while he sneaked around to the back of the convenience store the perps were trying to heist.” Deane sounded like he was recapping the latest issue of his favorite superhero comic. “When he was in position, he started shouting out commands from the cell phone through the megaphone in the truck parked out front of the store, and they all started blasting, backing up one by one into the rear storage room—where he was waiting for them.”
“Oh, God,” Mary Alice whispered. This really wasn’t helping.
Oblivious, Deane gestured in a vivid illustration of his narrative, a worshipful look on his face. “Bridge just whacked their weapons away and tossed the sleaze-balls into the walk-in freezer. That last bullet just grazed his ribs, really. By the time reinforcements arrived, he’d subdued all five bad guys.”
So much for old football injuries. The scar on his side had been from a bullet wound. She should have known. Or maybe she had known, but hadn’t wanted to.
A bullet wound.
She squeezed her eyes shut against a flood of emotions.
By the time Deane had regaled her with several more stories of Bridge’s heroics, she was beyond feeling anything. She was numb with sheer panic. Russell Bridger was nothing less than a loose cannon ready to explode at any second, showing total disregard for correct police procedure, and for his own safety.
Wow. Not only was he a cop, he was the worst kind of cop—one who had no concern for his own life. Wild and reckless.
Selfish.
How had she ever thought for a single second she could deal with this? With him?
A feeble whimper rose in her throat and she got to her feet midway through Deane’s tale of a double-timing snitch.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, barely noticing the astonishment in the young cop’s face as she walked out, gathering her hair up into a tight twist. “I have to take a bath now.”
Mechanically, she set aside the recorder she’d forgotten she was still holding and filled the tub to brimming with a warm, soothing bubble bath.
Her heart weighed heavy with the decision she had to make.
Not that there was really any choice. She knew which way it had to go.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The next morning Mary Alice’s panic had evened out to a sharp, throbbing ache in her chest.
Bridge still hadn’t come back, but he had managed to get a message through. Late last night he’d exchanged cars at breakneck speed in a gas station along the freeway heading east, thrusting the keys of the undercover car with an empty tank into the hands of the stunned owners of a tanked-up Jeep
, along with his card carrying a message scribbled on the back directing them to call the PPD.
Deane related all this over breakfast with a guarded look on his face, as if he feared the news might push her over some invisible edge she was balanced on.
He wasn’t far wrong.
Mary Alice was proud of how calmly she took it. Somewhere during the endlessly long, sleepless night she’d realized that, once again, she had to be the strong one. She could not let this defeat her.
Somehow she would go on living…even without Russell Bridger in her life.
For the rest of the day, blessedly, she would be required to think about something else. Tomorrow the whole board of directors of the Pasadena Historical Rose Society would be at the cottage to meet her, to inspect and document the two roses that were up for inclusion in their registry. So, today after school she had to clean and bake, and make sure the garden was ship-shape for the inspection.
She sighed and drained her coffee, forcing herself to pick up her canvas tote and go to work as usual. For the first time in years, she didn’t look forward to seeing the shining, smiling faces of the children. Even the prospect of hearing Ivy’s few, precious words shyly spoken didn’t shake her out of her indigo mood. Thank goodness it was nearly the weekend. Then she could hibernate without having to face a soul except Deane, who’d gotten pretty good about keeping out of her way.
Unless Bridge showed up.
What would she do when he did?
If he did.
After a stunt like he’d pulled, he couldn’t possibly think they had a future together. Not in a million years. Not knowing how much she worried about him. Surely, he’d totally understand why she had to put a stop to this madness right now—before they got in any deeper.
Deane had more news of Bridge when he got to her house after his shift on the road crew that evening. The Bienvenido Street suspect had taken to the desert, apparently heading for an established hide-out. Bridge had lost him in the web of little-used dirt tracks outside of Amboy, and had used a borrowed cell phone to call Trujillo and to arrange for the local sheriff’s office to join the hunt and help track the man. They hoped to end up with a storehouse full of product, and enough evidence to bury the perp behind bars.