Memories of that day seventeen months earlier flooded her mind…
Everyone brought food or snacks and drinks to share while they all chatted about the loss. Alex hadn’t wanted to eat, but politeness prevailed, so she accepted plates and cups from well-meaning friends and neighbors. Connor had been there for her, quietly staying in the background during the afternoon’s visitation. But as soon as she reached for a refill or to throw away anything, he was right there. Handing her a new glass of water and telling her to drink it, taking the empty dishes from her. When Mr. McGillicuddy came over to ask her when would be a good time to go over her father’s estate, she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him it wasn’t a good time and that she couldn’t think. All she could see was an open door, her father’s motorcycle begging to be ridden out, to never return, and the old treehouse out back. Fight or flight at its most primal. Back and forth, she had been weighing her options for the past hour, while numbly accepting condolences from people she knew and complete strangers. But Connor stepped in again, and quietly handed him his business card, assuring the man he would be in touch after Alex had a few days to recover. Then he took her by the hand and pulled her outside, away from all the chaos.
“Give me the keys.”
“What keys?” She sounded like she was in a hollow tube as she covetously leaned toward her salvation, the big gleaming Harley her father had never let her ride—it was his baby.
He pulled her hips into him, yanked the loops on her waistband, fished the small set out of her right front pocket, and held them in his fist, meeting her gaze squarely. “Let’s go, Pip.”
Numbly, she followed him. Watched him pull down the black helmet from the shelf and hand it to her. She wasn’t sure what to do with this thing. In a fog, she turned it over and inspected it. What was she looking for?
Connor gently took it from her, pulled her hair back and over her shoulder and placed the helmet on her head, and then turned to start the monster up. It didn’t occur to her until months later how big the thing was, and how hard it would have been for her to start and maneuver.
It roared to life, muting the sounds from the house, shielding her from having to hear anymore crying, laughing, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’es. And she embraced it.
Connor backed the thing out and reached for her, his open hand a beckon to the escape she had wanted so badly. But should she leave a house full of people, all there for her and her father? He didn’t press or try to rush her, just stood with one leg slung over that monster raging below him.
Mrs. Quinn, her father’s next-door neighbor came over with a sad look on her face. “You go ahead, child. I’ll make sure everyone is taken care of and that the house is locked up. I’ll leave the key under my mat.”
Alex nodded gratefully, accepted Connor’s hand, and slid on the bike behind him. He drove down the driveway stopping at the entrance to the two-lane road. “Left or right, Pip?”
She didn’t care. She just wanted out of there. The open road called to her, and she could follow it for a million miles and forget about everything for just a while. Escape. Ride. Nothing else mattered at that moment. She stifled a sob. Damn it. She had kept herself in control this whole time. No tears. No emotional outbursts. Wow, Dad would have been proud. Her tummy gnawed at her. Usually, she was the ‘Crap, I can’t believe I said that’ person, who while she didn’t cry much, she did emote a lot. But not this week. She was too angry, too hurt, too… Whatever it was, she was it. So she had held it together. Especially today. The last thing her father would have wanted was for her to break down like a blubbering idiot. Sons didn’t make asses out of themselves by showing weakness and crying. She might not have a penis, but damned if that hadn’t been drilled into her head from the age of three. Tears were for the pitiful and weak and those unable to control their own emotions. Yeah, he would have been proud of her today all right. Not a single damn tear. But now she couldn’t make a simple decision if it meant her life. Left or right? She didn’t care. She would accept straight ahead through Mr. Johnson’s cornfield, and then into the old pond and quarry if it were an option. “I, I don’t know.” She bit the inside of her cheek and stopped the fresh wave of tears threatening.
Connor pulled out and onto the lonely stretch of road. He went left.
Wind ripped around them, and even with the helmet on, her hair slipped out of its tie, flowing in a trail behind her. She wanted to take the helmet off, feel the air rushing against her face as they sped along route 55, hugging the tight curves, leaning forward as they accelerated. But reason spoke within her head. If they were in an accident, she could be killed—not the best way to memorialize her father. Besides, growing up with a cop for her dad had shown her the all too gruesome details of the dangers on the road. She couldn’t believe Connor was riding without one. He had given her the only helmet. Her muddled brain slowly started clearing. He was usually so in control, steady, safe, the Boy Scout type—always prepared.
Now his longer layers of hair whipped around in the wind, slapping against her helmet. He still hadn’t cut it off after his last undercover assignment. It curled at the ends and swept along her field of vision.
She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his firm waist. Cornfields sped past them and a mountain loomed in the distance. Her father used to take her camping along Grandfather Ridge.
Don’t lose it on the back of a motorcycle going sixty miles per hour, she thought. She bit her lower lip as hard as she could, and the metallic taste and smell of blood filled her helmet. She was suffocating in the thing that was supposed to protect her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t feel. The loud roar of the engine faded and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest. It hurt. So bad. And being close to Connor, feeling his warm body tight against her chest as she warred with emotions she could barely contain, was overwhelming her. She was going to explode if she didn’t get off this thing and away from him. Thirty seconds tops.
He must have sensed her distress. Either that or she had broken one of his ribs in her sudden death grip. She started to let go, but Connor took her hands and cupped them with one hand against his rock-hard chest, before releasing her and pointing to a small lot about a quarter of a mile up and on the left.
Was this the other side of the quarry? She had never been to this side. Dark, empty, most would have called it forbidding and scary, but today it had become her sanctuary. No one sat at the overlook. There were no empty cars. It was empty and quiet except for the wind rustling through the trees around them.
Connor pulled into a shady spot in the corner, turned off the engine, and released a long exhausted breath. He sounded as drained as she felt. It would make sense. He and her father had been partners for years and were close. There was an intimacy on the force—a lot like the military, her father had told her once. And when one died, the other bore the pain and responsibility of the death just as hard as most family members. He was hurting too.
She yanked off her helmet, gasping in lungfuls of air.
“How are you doing?” Connor helped her off the back of the bike and set her on her feet, before running his finger across her lower lip and wiping it on his shirt.
She wasn’t going to cry, dammit. She was stronger than this, and Connor was suffering as much as she was. Blinking her eyes hard, she took slow even breaths, reminding herself to stay in control of her wrecked emotions. “What is this place?” she asked, scanning the tree line.
“It’s the west side of the quarry.” He took her hand and led her down a short trail and to a rock outcropping overlooking the huge ravine. “Your father brought me here once, and I come here now whenever I need to think.”
“A bonding moment between new partners to discuss life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?” she snarked, not meaning to sound bitter.
“More like a meeting of the minds and some proactive damage control.” He smiled and sat down on the edge looking out. “He called me a cocky, arrogant kid, and threate
ned to throw me over the edge if I ever did something as stupid as I had done my first day on the job.”
“He probably meant it,” Alex laughed.
“Yeah, I thought so too. We talked for a while, and he helped me figure out how to get the chip off my shoulder and head out of my ass. We became real partners after that night.”
“He never told me that. I always thought you were like God’s gift to the force. Superman incarnate in blue.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Is that what he told you?”
“I read between the lines.”
The fog lifted from her cluttered mind, as they sat there regaling each other with stories from their individual adventures with the man who had been so close to each of them. “My father did not dress in drag to get a drug dealer,” she said, laughing so hard her belly hurt. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
His eyes twinkled as he slipped her hand into his. It felt nice. Comfortable. Right. “He swore me to never tell a soul.”
“He’d be so pissed at you right now, he probably would throw you over this edge.” Nostalgia warmed her.
“Yeah, he probably would.” He sobered and looked thoughtfully out into the pink and orange sky as the sun set. “But you seemed like you could use a laugh.”
“Thanks. I did.” She squeezed his hand and felt the warmth sidle through her body, filling the void, the chill dissipating as she looked into the depths of his eyes. She needed something else right now, and it didn’t involve laughing or comparing memories. It was deeper, richer… primal. She licked her lips, and her heart rate increased as he gazed down at her, his eyes darker, heavier, his lips firm and inviting. He held completely still when she moved her body into his, his eyes never leaving hers as she inched toward his mouth. He swallowed and tilted his head down to meet hers as she finally made contact, kissing his firm lips. They tasted like chocolate, and she moaned when he grabbed her head and took over. Commanding her with his strength, beckoning her with his taste, he ravaged her mouth and she succumbed as for one moment all she felt was bliss.
She groaned with pleasure and pent-up aggression as his tongue warred with hers over who would be the victor and lay claim to their mouths. Practically sitting on him, she could feel his hard length as it pressed against her. The sun dipped down, the trees rustled, frogs and crickets began their nightly serenade, and all time stopped. Perfection and symmetry fused into a moment of passion and heat, and she grew anxious for more. She groped at his shirt and ran her hands against his hard chest, wishing his shirt wasn’t tucked in. How she longed to feel the tightly corded muscles on his chest, run her fingers through the curls that led down to his jeans.
It stopped so suddenly the air whooshed from her, and he yanked back as if she were a poisonous viper and not the woman he had just been voraciously nibbling, sucking, and licking. His eyes were a combination of disappointment and anger and regret, and his whole body screamed of rejection. He backed away some more and shook his head, his eyes now hardened with disgust. “Damnit. That shouldn’t have happened.”
She could have gone a million lifetimes without ever hearing those words again, or seeing that look. It gutted her like a blunt knife; slow, easy burning that built in intensity as she tried to process what had just happened. She had been blown off and dumped and stomped on mercilessly by guys in the past. Why did this one hurt so much more? “I need to get back to my house.” She raised her chin and squarely met his guilty gaze. “Are you going to drive me back, or do I need to call Triple A or something?”
His eyes registered shock.
“I might be a tad look before leaper, but I’m not an idiot. That thing is too big for me to handle. I’ve never ridden it, and I sure as hell am not popping my cherry in the dark. Are you too pissed off at me to take me back, or can you handle me being in your personal space for a quick moonlight ride home?”
“God, Pip, it’s not like—”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your little sister, I sure as hell am not your girlfriend. And I don’t like it.”
He nodded and held his hands out as if trying to calm her. “Would you just let me talk to you for a minute?”
“We’ve been talking for three hours. I don’t think there’s anything else to be said.”
With a frustrated growl, he yanked her up out of her sitting position and pulled her to the bike, handing her the helmet, before throwing his leg over it with a low curse.
“You wear it. You’re in front.”
If looks could have killed, she would have been ash right there. He grabbed her chin and shoved the thing on her head, maybe a little harder than he meant to, because he grunted an apology when she winced. “Don’t take it off again. Get on.”
She waited a full five seconds, just to make sure he knew she was getting on only because she wanted to, and not because he was her best bet for getting home. Hell, she would have walked the bike back home if he left her. She got on and only touched him as much as was necessary as he backed up and out of their spot.
He wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? “Um, I could be wrong, but I think you have to twist the throttle with your right hand, and ease off the clutch with your left. That’s the turny thing right there. Big motorcycles go vroom vroom. You know. Go forward.” Her snarkometer was a bit higher than her normal ratio of above average for what was deemed socially acceptable. But hey, she was kind of having a rough day.
The engine stopped. Connor’s shoulders started shaking hard, and his whole body started swaying along with the rhythm of his shoulders.
Oh, my fracking God, was he crying? “Um, listen, are you okay?” She was not quite at capacity to deal with another person going all emotionally unstable, especially the man who had been her father’s partner for these past years. Plus the fact that her father had not quite instilled in her the ability to empathize with these kind of outbursts. Maybe she should punch him? “Okay, you are seriously starting to freak me out. You are in no shape to drive this damn deathtrap. Get off the bike.”
That made him quake even more, and he let out a huge snortle from the front.
She got off and watched him follow suit and turn to her. “You’re laughing?”
His face was red and he belly laughed hard and sat down.
“Wait, what, oh my God, you’ve cracked. Okay, should I call the paramedics or some of those guys with the white jackets so they can take you back to the center for loony tunes?”
That made him laugh even harder. “Do you mean loony bins? That’s not very politically correct of you.”
She punched him in the shoulder. Ow, that hurt. “I don’t care about being PC right now. I just need to know if you’re going insane on me, because I don’t want you driving Dad’s baby if you’re about to lose it.”
He cocked his head and stopped laughing for a moment, analyzing her. “Do you always talk about yourself in third person or just when you’re upset?”
“What? I don’t talk in—oh. The bike. Dad’s baby was the Harley. Um, he nicknamed her Baby.” A flush erupted up her face and neck.
That got him laughing again, and this time she couldn’t help but join in. “I think we both need to go to… loony tunes.” She gasped through a fit of hard giggles while sitting on the ground next to Connor and Baby.
“I think you’re right.” He smiled and grasped her hand, shaking out a few last chuckles. “Sorry about earlier.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you mean when you accused me of talking about myself in third person or when you kicked me in the head after a much needed pressure release that came in the form of the hottest kiss I’ve ever had?”
“I like that you always say what you’re thinking.” He gave her hand a squeeze.
“Yeah, Alex is good at always saying what’s on her mind. She might be a little overbearing and sarcastic, but dang, I like her that way.”
“You’re a nut.”
She looked up into his eyes, and felt the shift. Her tears fell before she could stop them.
“I miss him. I don’t want to cry in front of you. It makes me feel pathetic and stupid, and…” She looked down at her lap, and willed the tears to go away. Connor was going to think she was a big baby.
“You don’t have to cry if you don’t want to. But I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t want to meet his gaze. For him to see her like this. Vulnerable, angry, sad, defeated, confused. Her tears were like a beacon to the inner femininity that she had tried to hide for so long. Dad wouldn’t have liked it.
“Alexis. Do you know the second thing your father told me when we got to this quarry?”
She shook her head and clenched and unclenched her fists, and he kept a gentle hold. “After the threat of what would happen if you didn’t get your head out of your ass?”
“Yeah, after that.” He squeezed her hands and released. “He told me about the best thing that had ever happened to him; and no, it wasn’t a damn motorcycle. It was a feisty little blonde who loved him so much she modeled him in every way, followed him everywhere he went, and even vowed much to his chagrin to follow in his footsteps and be a cop, someday.”
Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes.
“He said if I ever got lucky enough to find a good woman, settle down, and have kids, that it should be someone like his baby. And he wasn’t talking about a damn motorcycle. You were his baby. You were all he fought for in this world, why he worked so hard, why he went undercover in drag, got shot, beaten up, became a hero to the city. It was to give you the kind of world that you could be free in. Safe. I don’t know how much he said to you about love, but he said it to me. You were the one thing above all else that he cherished.”
She looked up and her breath hitched when she saw the tears in his eyes.
“He was like a father to me. The first one to really see my potential and push me to be better. I loved him.” His eyes swam. He cleared his throat. “And I fucking kissed you.”
“Okay, first of all, you hard-headed male, I kissed you. I needed something real, and you reciprocated. It helped.” She rubbed her eyes. “Second…” the tears came fast and she sounded like a little girl, “h-h-he said those things about me?”
Undercover Daddy Page 8