by Vella Munn
“What it takes is the proper food at the proper time. And trimming them back ruthlessly.” Mara loved the pocket of quiet she’d created out of sight of her clients. She’d had to erect a fence around the garden to keep the rabbits out and almost put herself in the poorhouse by making the mistake of going to the most complete nursery in the area, but the results pleased her. She was glad Reed had noticed.
Mara leaned back, kicked off her shoes and sipped the wine. Nothing touched her except the presence of the man next to her. “If you like roses that much, maybe you should grow them.”
“No time.”
“Because you’re always on assignment?”
“Sometimes it seems that way. I can’t get over your place,” Reed told her. “You grew up with the freedom, the necessity to always be on the move. And yet here you are.”
“Yes.”
“Living by yourself. Running your own business. Why?”
“Why what?” Mara wasn’t sure how, or if, she’d answer should the question turn out to be the one she anticipated.
“Why aren’t you married?”
Mara blinked in surprise. “I guess it just hasn’t happened,” she said, voice faltering. “Getting the business off the ground has taken an incredible amount of work.”
“It’s off the ground.”
He was right. “My brothers say there’s probably no man alive who could put up with me.”
“Do you believe that?”
Of course not. There had been men in Mara’s life. A great passion when she was seventeen that had turned her world on end and passed in a flood of tears. A couple of times she’d found someone she thought might be the one. Dates. Enough casual dates that she was no longer interested in that. For a long time now there’d been no one’s voice she wanted to hear, no one keeping her awake nights. She couldn’t, of course, tell Reed that. “I don’t go in for deep analysis,” she said instead. “I don’t believe in trying to come up with a profile of the right man, or right friend, or right employee, or right anything for me. When the connection is there, it’s there.”
Reed chuckled, a deep, almost brooding sound. “You have to be around someone for any kind of connection to work, Mara.”
Mara wanted to point out that he could be talking about himself, too, but he must know that. She leaned back, willing herself to relax and give up the effort of thinking. The sun was turning hot orange. She gazed at it, concentrating on the movement of hawks and wind. She thought about Reed sitting next to her, his space somehow infringing on hers, and her need for it to be like that.
When he left to do what was necessary, Mara would have nothing more than a memory of a strong, independent, self-reliant man. On those rare occasions when thoughts of him crossed her mind, she would wonder where he was, what he was doing with his life. Whether he was safe. Whether there was anyone to care about him. They would be casual questions. Casual. That’s all.
She wouldn’t tangle herself in what tonight hinted at.
“I thought I might get here before you did this morning,” Reed was saying, his voice slow. “You must have left the motel early.”
“I didn’t stay,” Mara said softly. She turned and looked at him, willing him to understand. “I came back home.”
“You—what? You were here alone last night? You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Don’t.” Mara stopped him. “It was my call.”
She expected an argument. Instead Reed did nothing more than set down his wineglass. He shifted slightly, and the wind found a lock of hair to play with. Now Reed looked somehow off balance. Or maybe she was the one without equilibrium.
“I tried,” she said. “I sat down on the bed and thought about the luxury of washing my hair, reading the paper.” I thought about you. “But—”
“But you didn’t stay. Why?”
“I’m trying to tell you. Please let me.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. Still, she didn’t stop talking. “I come from gutsy stock, Reed. My father taught me a great deal about taking risks and facing life. He was almost killed five years ago. Still, he hasn’t stopped racing. That— The man who kidnapped me— There are things, maybe there are things I’ll never get back. But I’m going to fight.”
“What do you mean, things you might never get back?”
“I don’t know.” That wasn’t the truth. Mara knew she had lost a measure of courage, a certain sense of security. She’d seen a side of herself she didn’t like. She understood vulnerability in a way she’d never dreamed possible. But how could she tell that to Reed—Reed with his courage and determination and dedication? “Friday night was hours and hours and hours ago,” she told him instead. “I have new locks, my car back, a less-than-classy purse. Life goes on.”
“Does it?”
“What do you mean?”
Reed retrieved his wineglass and pressed his fingers tightly around it. He spoke with his eyes on her and not on what he was doing. “You haven’t given yourself much time. It’s only been a few days, yet you’re trying to act as if it never happened. You’re taking risks…”
“If I am, that’s my decision.”
“If you’re capable of making decisions. Don’t,” Reed warned when Mara tried to break in. “It’s your turn to hear me out. I’m thinking about Jack. Maybe seeing some parallels. Someone tried to kill him. He changed.”
“Where is he?”
“In the hospital.”
“I’m not in a hospital, Reed. I’m not out of my environment,” Mara told him. She stood, feeling somehow hemmed in by him. The roses Reed admired needed watering. If she remembered, she would cut a few buds and have them in the classroom tomorrow. “That’s the difference,” she went on, feeling her way word by word. “He’s helpless. I’m not. I—” Reed didn’t understand. She could see it in his quick blink, the constant worrying of his wineglass. “Would you like more to drink?”
Slowly Reed set down his glass, his fingers sliding down the stem to steady it. Then he stood. The gesture was somehow both rapid and incredibly slow, incredibly controlled. “No. Thank you. I called him this morning. He was still asleep. Chewed me out royally.”
“Still—” Mara struggled to speak around what she was feeling and seeing, “—he must have been glad to hear from you.”
“He said I was acting like an old woman.” Reed leaned over the railing and brought a rose to his nose. He inhaled, his features softening. “I ordered some flowers for his room. Some kind…I don’t remember what they’re called. It should have been roses.”
“But not from a florist,” Mara told him as if that was the most important piece of information she would ever pass on to another human being. Why were his movements so fascinating? “They lose their aroma if they’re refrigerated.”
“I’ll remember that. Maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
“Would you mind if I took him some of yours?”
Mara nodded. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“He’ll give me a hard time, tell me he’d rather have a six-pack. But he’ll like them,” Reed said. Then he stretched his hand toward her. There was no questioning the message. No questioning her response. She had to take a half step to reach him, but she did it.
So that’s what his hand felt like. Warm. So incredibly warm when she needed that. Big. Strong. She wished she could give him the same in return, but he would have to accept her cool, slender fingers.
“We shouldn’t have stayed out here. You’re chilled,” he said.
What would it feel like if he put his arm around her shoulder and put an end to everything except warmth? He didn’t. Thank heavens, he didn’t. “I wanted you to see my garden,” she managed. “I love anything that grows.”
“I know. I’ve seen your house.”
He’d read what of her heart and soul she’d put into her home. This moment of large, capable fingers wrapped around small, rapidly warming ones was about a great deal more than one of them guiding the other inside. He wanted to go b
ack within her walls. And she was welcoming him, closing out the world and the things left unresolved between them. She wanted him to see soft pillows and smoky blue couches and pictures of her family.
He wanted to take her roses to his friend. A man like that, one who understood the sound of silence, might understand that she couldn’t handle more than a few seconds of contact. He might even understand that those seconds would stay with her for a long time.
“I wasn’t sure,” Reed told her with his hand still wrapped around her fingers. “Maybe you don’t want this. You didn’t the other night.”
“That was— It’s all right.”
Mara waited for Reed to say more, but he didn’t, and she couldn’t think of anything herself. He’d taken the lead by reaching out for her. Now she charted her own direction by puffing away and walking, silent and aware, into her kitchen. So much of her was revealed here: a love of light and space and efficiency. He would see. He would know.
Reed worked beside her with the ease of a man used to taking care of himself. Mara functioned automatically, telling herself that, despite his nearness, she felt nothing. She wouldn’t be seeing him again, and nothing was all she should feel. She was still telling herself that when they were ready to eat.
But he wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t taking her away from the nothing that wasn’t nothing at all. Finally, when all she wanted was for him to walk out of her house so she could breathe without taking part of him into her, he leaned forward.
“This isn’t working,” he said.
“What isn’t?”
“What we’re doing or not doing.”
Was she that transparent? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? Mara, if I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”
“I don’t know.”
Reed brought himself even closer. Infringing on her space, when she both wanted and didn’t want that. “I deserved that. Look, I don’t want this to be the last time.”
He didn’t want… “Your job.”
“Yeah. My job. Something I have to do. A commitment that has nothing to do with what the bureau’s paying me. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“If I’m going to bring those men to justice, it has to be a total commitment. It isn’t something I can walk away from. But there might be times…I want to know how you’re doing.”
“I don’t need a keeper.”
“We’re not talking about a keeper, Mara. Though there’s still the possibility that man might come back.”
That man? Was this what Reed was talking about? “I don’t need to be told that,” she said, trying not to look at him.
“Don’t you, Mara? If I thought I could get away with it, I’d haul you out of here.”
As if she’d let him! Without her home, and without belief in her own strength, she was nothing. “Call me,” Mara countered. She felt stronger than she had a moment ago. Sadder, yes. Disappointed, yes, because she’d wanted to hear that this was about the two of them and not her attacker. But at least Reed was back to acting by the rules that had been set between them, and she could handle that. “Drop by if you can. I’ll tell you nothing has happened, that I’m busy with a new group of students, and I finally found time to do some repairs on my loaner.”
“I hope that’s exactly what I’ll hear. But I still want you to be able to get in touch with me.”
“Oh.”
“Mara…” The word trailed off, and Mara felt herself following it into nothing. Reed straightened. “I chose that particular hotel because Jack believes that’s where some of the members of this ring stay when they come to San Diego. I’m using another name. But you can reach me there if you ask for Lane Reaves.”
“I don’t understand. You’re undercover—I guess that’s the right word—but you want me to get in touch with you? Isn’t that a risk? Won’t—”
“Let me worry about that, Mara.” This time when he reached for her, there was no hesitation in the gesture. He knew he was taking. And she seemed to be willing to allow him to do exactly that. His fingers were cool, now almost as cool as hers.
He didn’t want things to end between them. There hadn’t been a beginning yet, not really. If she was wise, she wouldn’t see him beyond tonight. That way she wouldn’t begin to care. Or if it was already too late for that, at least she wouldn’t care more than she did. But they were holding hands again. Simply and not so simply holding hands. Her fingers, and more, absorbed his reality.
She held on because she needed something of him to keep close, and safe, and real within her.
Reed stayed for another hour. They ate. They even managed to find safe and simple things to talk about. For most of that time they sat in the living room while Mara concentrated on the effort it took for Reed to remain still. He wasn’t, she learned, a man who knew what to do with his body when it was at rest. He needed movement. In that respect he was a great deal like her father, her brothers. Like her. When it came time for him to leave, she watched him check the locks on her doors and windows, and then she followed him outside. “You’ll have Lobo inside?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Believe me—” His look stopped her. His eyes were so dark, his jaw clenched. Not asking herself why, Mara slid her arm around his waist and held on. Simply held on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your concern.”
“If you want to go to a motel, I’ll pay for it.”
Where was this awareness of him coming from? Why did she feel this need to go on touching, when his hands were hanging by his sides and he’d stopped looking down at her? His body was rigid now, as if he was the one who didn’t want contact between them. Still, until he moved to open the car door, Mara didn’t know how to let go. “I stayed here last night,” Mara whispered. “Nothing happened. Reed, please—”
“Yeah. I know. You don’t want anyone telling you that you can’t handle this.”
“No. I don’t,” Mara said firmly.
Still, she didn’t go back inside until she no longer heard the sound of Reed’s car.
Chapter Seven
Somehow, maybe because she could hear the reassuring sound of Lobo snoring nearby, Mara managed to fall asleep. She didn’t know what time it was when his growling woke her.
Mara’s first thought was that the alarm had sounded and Lobo was trying to get her to shut it off. But when she realized he wasn’t in the room, she forced herself out of bed to look for him. Lobo stood on his hind legs, bracing himself on the kitchen sink while he tried to look out the window. “Lobo,” Mara whispered. The word came out as a half squeak. “Lobo. Be quiet. It’s rabbits.”
The growling continued. She knew she should turn on the light. Grab a flashlight and look outside. No. There was no way she could talk herself into stepping beyond the safety of her locked house.
“What is it? What’s out there?” Mara asked the dog. Lobo gave her a quick glance before returning to his study of the night. His ears were pricked forward, his lean and strong body carrying the message of tension. For the better part of a minute he was motionless, growling.
It could be rabbits. They’d disturbed his nights before.
Mara started when Lobo dropped down onto all fours. She watched as he walked through the doorway leading from the kitchen to the small dining room and stopped with his nose pressed to the crack of the rear door. His deep breathing grated on her even more than his growling had.
Mara reached for the phone and dialed 911. No, she told the woman who answered, she wasn’t sure anyone was out there. But she’d been abducted a few days ago and her abductor hadn’t been caught. He knew who she was, where she lived. Would someone please…
Of course. The woman explained, slowly and patiently, that a patrol car would be dispatched as soon as possible. In the meantime Mara was to remain inside and stay on the line. “Try to calm down,” she said.
“It’s natural for you to be jumpy. I’m sure they aren’t going to find anything.”
Mara hung on, speaking of nothing in particular, taking reassurance from the presence of the woman on the other end of the line.
Lobo was pacing. “What do you smell?” she asked him. “Rabbits? Is it rabbits?”
Lobo had no answer for her. Although he remained tense and wary for another five minutes, he wasn’t clawing to get outside. It was as if he wasn’t sure what had disturbed his sleep and was disgusted because his nose and ears weren’t providing him with answers. At length he padded back into the bedroom and settled on the carpet with a disgruntled groan. Mara waited, calculating the minutes it would take the police to get out here. That time passed.
Lobo jumped back up when the patrol car arrived. Mara told the 911 operator that the police were there and hung up the phone. She waited until the police rang her doorbell and then, with her fingers wrapped around Lobo’s collar, opened the door. “I thought— I didn’t think it would take this long,” she managed.
“I’m sorry. But you’re pretty far off the beaten track,” the heavyset, rumpled policeman explained. “Would you like us to come in and check the house?”
“No. No. That won’t be necessary. It’s just that— I didn’t hear anything. I don’t know what bothered my dog. Maybe rabbits.”
“Rabbits. There’s a lot of them out here, aren’t there?”
The policeman looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Mara muttered, “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” and stepped back from the door. The officer’s partner hadn’t come onto the porch. He was heading toward the garage, his powerful flashlight cutting a lighted arc through the night.
Five minutes later they were gone. Mara concentrated on the sound of their car as long as she could hear it. “No one,” she told Lobo. “False alarm.”