Stop in the Name of Love

by Nina Bruhns

  “This big?” he urged hoarsely as he covered her, fitting the hot length of his cock to the apex of her parted thighs.

  She cried out when he thrust home, but he captured the sound in his mouth and fed it back to her as his own, and thrust again. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and shivered in ecstasy, sandwiched between the slick, shiny wax of the hood and the iron hard muscle of his torso. He moved over her, driving in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster, making them both gasp for air.

  He felt so good, so right, she nearly wept.

  How could she ever give him up?

  He rode her like there would be no tomorrow, and she kissed him like this would be the very last time they would ever make love. And as the heat and ecstasy overtook them and they both shot over the edge of oblivion in each other’s arms, she cried out again.

  Because she knew this would be the very last time.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Oh, woman.”

  Bridger let out a half-groan, half-chuckle and handed her the packet of tissues he’d confiscated from the glove compartment. “Just look at what you’ve done to me. Standing in somebody else’s garage, making love with my pants around my ankles like some oversexed teenager.”

  For a man who hadn’t gotten any sleep in nearly four days he felt pretty damned good.

  He looked down at Mary Alice and wished like hell he had a camera. Her creamy white skin glowed pearlescent in the puddle of moonbeams lapping at her neck and breasts, highlighted perfectly by the dark backdrop of the cherry-red car hood that matched her kiss-stung lips. Pale ringlets of hair surrounded her shadowed face, sparkling in the dim light spilling in from the garage window.

  He sighed, blessing the day he was born to see such a beautiful sight. The words just slipped out. “I’m crazy in love with you, Mary Alice Flannery, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving it.”

  “Oh, Bridge,” she whispered, sounding so sorrowful a whip of foreboding prickled at his scalp.

  She reached up and delicately touched his chest with the tips of her fingers. He caught them and brought them to his lips, kissing the soft pads one by one. He saw the glimmer of a tear slide down her cheek, and his heart lodged in his throat.

  He pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her in his embrace. “Angel? What’s wrong?”

  Her body was still warm from their lovemaking, and he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, wanting to memorize the feel and smell of her. He figured he knew what was coming, and he wanted to roar in protest.

  “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” she murmured into his neck, and he could feel her hot tears trickle onto his shoulder.

  Already, he could feel her pulling away from him emotionally. “But?”

  “But the past few days have been hell, wondering if you were lying hurt somewhere. Or worse. Bridge, I just can’t do this.”

  “Oh, no. No, baby—” His heart stalled as the finality of her tone and her statement hit him.

  Never to hold her again. Never to walk with her, laugh with her.

  Impossible.

  He had to talk her out of this terrible idea. He couldn’t stand it if she really meant what she was saying. “You can’t intend to just walk away from me? From everything we have, everything we’ve come to mean to each other?”

  For several moments she was silent while he rocked her back and forth in his arms, praying for some kind of miracle. Praying she’d change her mind. When she finally spoke, he could barely hear her.

  “We should never have started. I knew this would happen. We both did. If I don’t leave now, I’ll end up driving you away with my worrying.”

  “But you don’t have to worry. Trust me, Mary Alice. You trusted me when we made love the other night. You can trust me about this, too.” He held her away from his chest and grasped her arms, looking at her intently. “I won’t take any chances on the job, not anymore. I swear. I told you, I’m very good at what I do.”

  Gazing at him, she smiled bleakly. “I know you’re a good cop, Bridge. The problem’s not with you. It’s with me. I just don’t make a good cop’s girlfriend.”

  “I’ll quit, then,” he blurted out recklessly, meaning every word. If that’s what it took to keep her, he was more than willing to do it.

  “No!” She shook her head and tightened her arms around him. “I know how much your job means to you. I would never forgive myself if you gave it up for me. And you wouldn’t forgive me, either. Maybe not right away, but eventually you would resent it—and me.”

  “My captain has been trying to give me a promotion. To lieutenant, and a desk job. It’ll be better when I’m—”

  “No, Bridge. I have to be strong in this. For both our sakes. Have you forgotten about your mother? Your promise to her?”

  He let out a measured breath, stroking Mary Alice’s hair. How could he explain how fundamentally different she was from his mother? As he’d gotten to know Mary Alice, he’d become more and more convinced she had plenty enough inner courage to deal with her fears—and his—and come out the victor.

  He just had to convince Mary Alice of that.

  “If you’re going to be strong, angel, be strong with me, not against me. We can do this if we work together. I know we can. Don’t you even want to try?”

  She sniffed, and he felt her breath sough raggedly over his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully. “I can’t take the chance. I just can’t.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  So be it.

  Bridger whipped through three of the five stages of grief he’d learned about in Psych 101, and was now firmly mired in the fourth.

  Anger.

  But this was no damn stage. He’d be angry for the rest of his life. He didn’t need any know-it-all psychologist telling him he’d eventually accept reality. He knew he wouldn’t. Not. Ever.

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted most—to get Mary Alice back, or to strangle her for her reluctance to give their relationship a real chance. Either way, for his own peace of mind he had to gain some distance and put himself back on an even keel.

  Standing under a storm cloud with a deadly glower carved into his face, he watched her dress, then stomped out of the garage after her. He did a spinning double-take when he spied Sam Grayson hustling some curvy brunette at the buffet table, but figured the feeb must have gotten Mary Alice to let him tag along to the party when Bridge hadn’t shown up yet.

  Good. That got him off the hook so he could collect his gear from her place and head back to his own apartment for a well-deserved week’s worth of sleep. Jason Deane had been assigned to take over for Bridge for a few days while he recuperated from his three-day Bienvenido adventure. He planned to make that a permanent switch.

  Ignoring Sam Grayson’s surprised look, he strode out Watson’s door and into the night.

  Screw it all.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Monday morning Bridge was still angry, but he was channeling it better now that he was somewhat rested. At the station, he stalked into Trujillo’s office.

  “Take me off the Watson task force,” Bridge demanded. When the cap looked at him askance, he added, “Please.”

  Trujillo steepled his hands on the desk in front of him. “If I do, will you take that promotion to lieutenant?”

  Bridger dragged a hand down his haggard face. He’d already decided to accept the promotion. He’d made up his mind a week ago, the first time he and Mary Alice had made love. Subconsciously, he’d known from the beginning where things with her were headed, even if his conscious mind hadn’t.

  So, why was he suddenly hesitating now?

  Because I’ll probably end up with the boring job and won’t get the girl, anyway.

  “Yeah. I’ll take it,” he heard himself say.

  Trujillo pursed his lips. “Damn, you must want off this case pretty bad. What the hell happened?” His eyes narrowed. “Or do I want to know?”
<
br />   “Not a thing, Cap. I’m just going nuts rattling around in that dinky old cottage with nothing to do all day but walk the perimeter and watch the grass grow. Watson’s being super careful. Whatever’s going down, I doubt it’s happening at his own house. Besides, Deane needs the experience in surveillance. I don’t.”

  The captain studied him for a minute, but apparently decided he looked miserable enough and spared him a cross-examination. “Fine. But I still expect you to back up Officer Deane.”

  Bridge grunted, then mumbled, “Thanks,” and beat it out of Trujillo’s office before he could get pinned with any more questions.

  At the elevator he was promptly accosted by Grayson. “I want you off the Watson task force, Bridger.”

  He snorted. “Too late. I already quit.”

  “You know the rules about conduct unbecoming—” Grayson halted and looked over in astonishment. “Wait. What?”

  “I just took myself off the task force. You’ll get my final report by end of day.” Bridge threw himself into his desk chair and leaned it as far back as it went, stacking his hands behind his head. “And speaking of conduct unbecoming, how’d it go with that brunette I saw you with Saturday night?”

  Grayson sputtered. “I’ll have you know she’s the prime suspect for Watson’s go-between with the Chinese. She speaks four languages, including Mandarin and Arabic, and has no VMI.”

  “Her means of income seemed pretty visible to me the other night.” Bridge gave the red-faced Grayson a snicker. “I hear Deane got photos of all the party-goers as they left. Any other leads?”

  The other man straightened his tie. For once the knot wasn’t perfectly square, and Bridge wondered idly if the pressure was finally getting to him. “Yeah,” Grayson said. “We got a couple good leads we’re following up. Chatter says a big money exchange is happening sometime this week. We’re counting on it to wrap up the case for us.”

  “Good. Then you won’t miss me.”

  “Ya think?” Grayson perched on a corner of his desk. “But someone else will. Listen, Bridger, Jason Deane told me what’s been going on. It didn’t take an FBI special agent to see how upset Miss Flannery was after you left the party Saturday night. Deane’s done fine replacing you, and I thought if I took you off the case permanently, things might be easier…” He shrugged.

  Bridge’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Damn. The man was actually trying to make his life easier?

  “Being in law enforcement is hard enough,” Grayson said, “let alone trying to have a normal relationship, too. Believe me, I’ve failed often enough to know.” He sighed, looking so forlorn Bridger suddenly felt sorry for the man. Hell, he couldn’t possibly like this guy?

  “Thanks, Sam,” he said quietly. “I appreciate the thought.”

  “No problem.” Grayson slapped him on the back and turned to go. “By the way, friends call me Gray.”

  Well. Wonders never ceased. Bridge smiled. “All right, Gray it is.”

  “Anyway, hope everything works out for you.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Mary Alice walked somberly through the hospital parking lot and got into her car. She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Her throat ached with the need to cry, but there were no tears left in her. In the six days since Charlie’s party, it seemed as if she’d done nothing but weep.

  First over Bridge, now for Nancy and Ben.

  Despondent, Mary Alice started her car and pointed it toward home. It was late afternoon, almost quitting time on the road crew. Officer Deane would be at her place soon and he would not be expecting her back today, so she wanted to be in plain sight when he arrived—one gun aimed at her neck was plenty for a lifetime.

  She had been staying at Nancy’s place again to help her cope since Ben was admitted to the hospital two days earlier after blacking out several times. They were doing more tests to see if surgery on the tumor would even be possible, given its sensitive position in his brain. But today, Nancy had sent her home.

  Mary Alice sighed deeply, thinking about Ben. They were bringing in a specialist from another hospital, but while the doctors were arguing, Ben’s health was deteriorating fast. The prognosis was bleak.

  Mary Alice had tried to comfort Nancy, helping her through the days, minute by minute, as her friend had done for her three years ago. But getting Nancy to eat or sleep was next to impossible.

  Not that Mary Alice had much use for those activities herself.

  She missed Bridge with a physical longing that was all-consuming. Even in her darkest moments with Nancy, she still couldn’t forget him. Like Ben’s tumor, she feared her sorrow was untreatable, and she was destined to slowly waste away until there was nothing left of her but a shadow.

  Like Ben.

  Ben, the accountant.

  Ben, who had the safe, comfortable, benign life of a man whose most dangerous activity was making a bad stock trade, or walking across Baldwin Avenue to get a sandwich at the deli for lunch.

  Gazing up at the purple mountains towering over her small hometown, Mary Alice finally accepted the certain knowledge that had crept into her heart as softly and quietly as the clouds that drifted over the distant peaks.

  A cop couldn’t be taken from this world any faster or more surely than Nancy’s Ben was being taken from her at this very moment.

  Nice, gentle, safe Ben.

  Chapter Sixty

  The construction had finally moved past Mary Alice and Watson’s houses while she’d been at Nancy’s, so she turned into her driveway and parked. She inhaled a long breath and looked around. She frowned when she spotted a stranger holding the stop sign out on the crew. She couldn’t see Officer Deane anywhere.

  Well, maybe they’d given him the day off. The poor kid had been pulling double and sometimes twenty-four hour shifts since Bridge had gone chasing off last week.

  On the other hand, according to Deane, the task force had been convinced Watson would be exchanging the stolen data drives for cash payment by today, so maybe it had already happened and she’d find a note that Deane had moved out.

  That would suit her fine. She didn’t feel like having company.

  Unless it was Bridge.

  But Bridge wouldn’t ever be coming back. He hadn’t phoned her since the party. Or even texted. Nothing. She would do anything to hear his voice right now, but the best she could hope for was listening to the recording of him and the kids singing that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to return to school.

  Walking onto the porch, she noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Her heart leapt with hope.

  “Bridge?” She flung open the door and ran inside. “Bridge, is it you?”

  There was someone in the living room. Gasping in surprise, she slammed to a stop, right in front of the large man who greeted her.

  “Hello, Mary Alice,” he said, reaching out to grasp her arms.

  She clutched her canvas tote bag to her chest in sudden fear. “Charlie!”

  Heaven help her, he must have found out about the surveillance.

  “What are you doing in my house?” she demanded. “How did you get in?” She tried to back away from her neighbor, but he held her arms firmly in his painful grip.

  “I thought we were friends, Mary Alice.”

  “Of course we’re friends. I don’t know what you mean,” she said, playing for time. Bridge had said the man was a dangerous criminal, a traitor to his own country. But this was Charlie, her neighbor. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  Would he?

  He sighed wearily, and pulled her by the arm over to the sofa where he pushed her down to sit. “I’m very disappointed in you. I had hoped”—he shrugged—“well, that perhaps we would become even better friends. And then I find out you are spying on me.”

  She sat forward, her heart beating an anxious tattoo. “No! It wasn’t me. They didn’t give me a choice, Charlie. Please, what are you going to do?”

  Casting
around nervously for a clue to his intentions, her gaze skittered onto the photos from the Historical Rose Society meeting last Friday that she had printed out to give to Miss Beadle. They were now strewn across the coffee table instead of sitting neatly on the mantle as she’d left them.

  He tipped his head and mimicked hitting on a new idea. “Perhaps we can become better friends, after all. How would you like to go on a little trip with me?”

  Tentacles of alarm crawled up her arms. She rubbed her hands up and down the rising goose flesh. “A trip? I don’t think so. I’ve got work, and—”

  “I’m afraid you leave me no alternative, Mary Alice. These photos…” His voice trailed off as he pushed a finger through the scattered stack. “Clever. Very clever.”

  She frowned, staring at the pictures of Mrs. Underwood, Mrs. Wyeth, Miss Beadle, and the other board members posing in her garden. “I don’t understand. What have they got to do with anything?”

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. “Don’t play dumb with me, sweet cakes. I know you and that bastard cop have it all figured out. But I’m afraid your plans to arrest me won’t work.”

  She shook her head, truly at a loss. “I don’t know what you mean. Officer Deane doesn’t confide in me.”

  “I wasn’t talking about him,” Charlie snapped.

  She bit down on her bottom lip, getting more frightened by the second. “He will be here any minute, you know—Officer Deane. He won’t let you take me anywhere.”

  Watson smirked. “Pack a bag, Mary Alice. We leave in five minutes. Deane, you take care of the laptop?”

  Mary Alice gasped as she turned. The young cop strolled out of the hall, nodding. “Officer Deane! What—?” She broke off, unable to credit what seemed to be happening.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Flannery.” Jason Deane stopped by the coffee table, shifting his feet, and glanced at her uncomfortably. “The money… I couldn’t make this much money working for ten years on the force.”