Jason shook his head.
“Neither have I. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, and I took it as a sign. I thought he was trying to tell me that there was still beauty in the world. That horrible as it seems sometimes, there are still moments of perfection to be had.”
“That’s why you have the butterfly tattoo,” he said, moving his thumb over the wing that peeked out from her v-neck t-shirt.
“Mmm-hmm. I wanted a constant reminder that life goes on. That things get better. And they did, because later that day, I got the call that I’d been hired by the Evanston Fire Department.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, breathing deeply and feeling the tears evaporate from her cheeks.
She liked that Jason didn’t ask any more questions, that he didn’t try to talk the subject to death. She didn’t need to talk about it anymore. She’d had months of therapy to do that. She knew her mind was solid. The logical part of her brain understood that Harding’s death was not her fault.
But logic wasn’t always enough.
Logic might keep her sane, but it didn’t do squat for the rock of despair in her stomach or the suffocating pressure of guilt in her chest. Those physiological responses couldn’t always be talked away. It was why she ran—to replace those physical manifestations of emotion with the exhilaration of a good old runner’s high.
Needing that same kind of relief, wanting to feel something other than heartache, she nuzzled her nose against his. He could make her feel alive. His hands could chase away the sadness, the guilt, the despair.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to ask for what she needed, so she pulled back slightly, hoping if he looked her in the eyes, he’d see.
Those dark-edged, light-blue eyes had the same effect on her now that they’d had the day their photo had been snapped outside the hospital. His steady gaze—calm and comforting—drew her in.
It was impossible to say who kissed who. It happened so naturally—one moment looking into his eyes, the next closing hers to savor the feel of his lips on her mouth. The kiss was long and slow and somehow different from any that had come before.
He leaned her back on the sofa, never breaking the kiss while he covered her body with his own. Sighing with pleasure from the weight of him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and they moved together. The rhythm was as hypnotic as his lake-meets-sky eyes, like waves gently lapping at the shoreline, like anything and everything that had ever brought her peace.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the sounds of their love making, the rustle of clothes being removed, the groans of the sofa beneath their weight, and her favorite, the hitch of his breath as he entered her. She raised her hips in time with his, loving the feel of his warm breath on her neck and drawing in the clean male scent she’d come to know as his.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, and because he’d learned her body so well, he changed his angle so that with each long, slow stroke, his pelvis rolled against her sweet spot.
She remained ensnared in his hypnotic gaze even as the beginnings of an orgasm started to steal her breath. She couldn’t look away, and she didn’t want to. Everything she’d ever needed was staring right back at her, reminding her that she was here, she was alive, and living was good.
*
Rule number one: No sleepovers. He was currently obeying on the technicality that he wasn’t sleeping even if she was. Staring at the ceiling with a naked Victoria tucked against his side, he knew there was little chance he’d drift off.
He’d never been able to sleep with someone else in the room. Not since he was a kid. He’d only gotten used to sharing a room with Preston because he snored like a lawn mower—a weirdly comforting reminder of who was with him. But boarding school had been four years of studying all night and catching catnaps during the day while his roommate was out.
He skimmed his fingers up and down the soft skin of her arm, and she hummed in her sleep, snuggling closer to him. God, he loved this. Laying here, listening to the even rhythm of her sleep breathing. He wanted to steal just a few more moments of this simple pleasure before he left.
And he would leave. He had to.
He was done kidding himself about this friends-with-benefits bullshit. Last night’s fist-to-face encounter with Flaherty made it glaringly clear to Jason that his feelings for Victoria had crossed some invisible line.
He knew it because the beast wouldn’t stay caged.
Not a week went by in his line of work where someone didn’t get physical. Jason had broken up more fights than he could count, had intervened in domestic disputes, and wrangled uncooperative and often violent drunks and addicts. But never in his six years as a police officer had he resorted to physical force when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. His use of force reports were truthful and by the book.
And how was that possible? Easy. Professional detachment.
He could pull the reins on his inner beast for just about anyone. Except for those who meant the most. When someone he cared about was in danger, there were no chains thick enough to hold back the demon inside.
And it was exactly that trait—that flaw in his character—that drove the people he cared about away.
But not Victoria. Not yet, anyway.
He shifted on the sofa, angling himself so he could see her face. Her cheek rested on his chest, right over his heart, and her expression was so peaceful, it was hard to imagine that not one hour ago she was replaying some of the most horrible things to have ever happened to her.
Maybe it was because of what she’d seen in her life that she hadn’t run for the hills when she learned what he was capable of, but whatever the reason, he didn’t deserve her loyalty. He didn’t deserve it because he didn’t know the first thing about being the man she needed. God, just look at what he’d done tonight. She’d shared that horrific story with him, and what did he do? Did he tell her that it wasn’t her fault? Did he assure her that she’d done all she could? Did he give her a chance to talk about what she was feeling now?
No.
No, he hadn’t done any of those things because he was too busy making love to her. Christ, he hadn’t even used a condom. Granted, she’d mentioned last week that she was on the pill, but still. They’d agreed using both contraceptives was smart, and he’d blown it tonight. Completely forgot because all he could think about was getting closer to her. He’d let his need to be inside her trump her need to talk about what she was feeling.
She deserved better than that. She deserved better than him.
Preston had warned him not to hurt her, and as much as it might sting to cut things off now, it would only get worse if he let this drag on.
Worse for both of them.
He brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek, tracing her face, memorizing what she looked like in sleep.
Because he knew that after today, he’d never see her like this again.
Chapter 21
Victoria took pride in her ability to see the best in people. She gave her mother a pass on her meddling ways because…well, she meant well. She tried not to dislike Flaherty too much because she knew he’d been through a lot and had his own inner battles to wage. She forgave Jason’s sudden distance because she knew the last night they’d shared had probably freaked him out a little.
She was a silver linings kind of person. Someone always willing to extend the benefit of the doubt.
But after three days with no communication from Jason? Her desire to make excuses for him was wearing thin, and all she wanted to extend was her foot to his rear end.
“I don’t get it,” Camille said, passing Victoria another strawberry margarita. “You have this night of—what did you call it?”
“Soul-binding connection.”
“Right—this soul-binding connection—and then poof. He disappears. Without a trace.”
“It was hardly that mysterious. He left a note.”
“Note schmote. It didn’t
explain why he’s being a tool.”
No, it certainly didn’t. In fact, the note was rather sweet. Sorry I won’t be here when you wake up. Need to do some follow-up after talking to Flaherty. Help yourself to something to eat if you’re hungry. Wish I had another cream cheese brownie for you, but hopefully you like fruit.
And then he’d signed it simply, J. Which made her smile for some unknown reason. Just J.
So, no, the note hadn’t explained why Jason left. But Preston’s story had.
She’d never forget the vulnerability in his voice when he apologized for punching Flaherty in front of her. He’d fully expected her to run from him, to not want anything to do with him.
She thought they’d turned a corner that night. She thought they’d broken past some of his barriers. And maybe they had, but he’d sure been quick to put them right back up.
She’d texted him later that evening, using their running joke of meeting to not have meals together. His reply was short.
Can’t. Working overtime on this serial arson case. Feeling the pressure of the 9/27 deadline. Only two weeks to go.
She hadn’t thought much about it the next day. He was busy. Under a deadline. Totally understandable. But…he’d always found ways to stop by the firehouse before. Debris from one of the scenes to test with the equipment they kept at the fire station. Or chemicals to identify. Sometimes the excuse was even more flimsy. A question for the chief about where he could find a place to do some scene reconstruction burns—something he absolutely could’ve asked via e-mail. But instead, he would come to the firehouse, find Victoria if she wasn’t on a call, and do his best to have an innuendo-laden conversation with her.
In three days there had been no such encounters.
“So, what’s your next move?” Camille asked.
“My next move is not to move.”
They sat cross-legged on Victoria’s couch, both wearing their most comfortable worn tshirts and yoga pants. Victoria wasn’t sure they’d still be having their girls’ nights after Camille and Tony married, so she was beyond thrilled when Camille called to say she was heading over. Her timing could not have been better. Chips, guac, margaritas and a friend were exactly what Victoria needed right now.
“You’re not going to do anything?” Camille asked between bites of tortilla chip.
“I can’t force him to engage.” She couldn’t tell Camille what she suspected. Jason’s history was just that. His story. And Preston hadn’t trusted her with it so she could broadcast it to her friends.
So, Camille would never understand why Victoria was willing to put up with Jason’s sudden disappearance. Why she was willing to wait patiently for him to come to his senses. Why she would continue to reach out, even if all she got in return was radio silence and the urge to kick his ass.
He thought he could leave her before she left him? Well, he had another thing coming. He had no idea how loyal Victoria could be. No idea how long she could hang on when others would have long ago lost hope.
Hope was her superpower. And the symbol of it was tattooed on her chest.
*
Frustrated over yet another work failure, Jason slammed his locker shut, and the steel on steel sound echoed through the locker room.
“Dude,” Nick said, laying a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You need to chill.”
It was all Jason could do not to forcibly remove Nick’s hand and twist it behind his back. It didn’t matter that Nick was trying to be friendly. Jason’s rage was indiscriminant these days.
“I’m chill,” Jason said through clenched teeth. “I’m fucking chill.” Now get your hand off me.
Heeding the silent warning, Nick removed his hand, and Jason worked on refastening his duty belt. He’d been forced to change into his spare uniform after getting puked on at the jail. He and Nick had pulled over a possible DUI that turned out to be a definite DUI. Drugs and alcohol.
Probably realizing his carefree days were over, the driver—a repeat offender—was extremely uncooperative, demanding both Nick and Jason’s energy to subdue, and while they were dealing with him, the passenger slinked away into the shadows.
The driver coughed up his buddy’s name—James Perry—and a quick check with the dispatcher revealed there was a warrant for Perry’s arrest for failure to appear.
Knowing they’d had Perry but had let him slip away fucking pissed Jason off.
Leaving the locker room, he pulled the door open so hard it hit the concrete wall of the locker room before closing behind him.
“Man, what’s with you lately?” Nick asked, following Jason through the hall. “Everything okay?”
Jason stopped and turned back to Nick, his bad temper still simmering. “Everything’s fine. Why?”
“You’re not acting like yourself.”
“What are you talking about? Of course I am.”
“No you’re not. Two days ago, you yelled at the new rookie—”
“He deserved it. How hard is it to write a report in chronological order? It’s simple. Relate the facts and events in the order they happened. It’s not difficult, and he still had to do three drafts before he got it right. He’d have worn out your patience too.”
“Yeah, but calling him a ‘fucking space-wasting, mouth-breathing, ignoramus’ wasn’t really necessary.”
“It was. It was very necessary.”
“Okay, he’s a little slower than most, but that’s not your style. Rookies like you because you offer criticism with humor. There was no humor the other day.”
“Well, it can’t be fun and games every day.”
“Okay. True. But what about yesterday?”
“What about yesterday?”
“You almost punched a hole through the vending machine.”
“I was thirsty.”
“You were thirsty? So you punched the vending machine?”
“I put my money in. It took my money. It kept my water. This is not how the world works. I give you my money, you give me your water.”
“So, the vending machine needed a lesson?”
Jason didn’t answer. He was tired of defending himself. Not that his attitude in the last few days had been defensible, but nonetheless, he was tired of it.
He was tired of a lot of things. Tired of not being able to sleep at night because he was thinking about Victoria. Tired of not getting anywhere on his arson case. Tired of worrying about what would happen on September twenty-seventh and where Victoria would be when it happened.
He’d never been one to have stomach issues, but he’d been popping the little pink chewables like candy, and much as he’d like to think it was some sort of bug, he knew it was because a certain brown-eyed blonde had him tied in knots. He vacillated between worrying that his incommunicado status was hurting her feelings and worrying about a far worse outcome—that she didn’t give a damn that he’d disappeared from her life for three days.
He couldn’t handle dealing with people in this state. His ability to maintain that easy-going attitude his co-workers expected from him was long gone. Without time with Victoria to look forward to at the end of his workday, he was one surly motherfucker.
He and Nick stepped out of the PD and into the muggy evening air. Taking a deep breath, Jason attempted to release some of his negative energy.
God, he missed Victoria. Missed the sound of her deep, rich laughter. Missed the feel of her citrus-scented skin against his. Missed the way she skimmed her fingernails gently over his scalp as they lay quietly in her bed, recovering from the amazing sex they always had.
He missed every damn thing about her. So much so, he was finding it hard to remember why the hell he’d thought it was so necessary to stay away.
Interrupting his brooding, his radio squawked in his ear. “Officer 9-6-2.”
Nick pressed his earpiece into his ear, and Jason tilted his head toward his mic. “Yeah, this is 9-6-2, go ahead.”
“Got a possible location on James Perry. Caller reported a man matching his de
scription, harassing people at a bus stop.”
“Got it.” Jason and Nick were already jogging to their squad cars. The dispatcher gave the location—a bus stop not far from the police station.
Jason peeled out of the parking lot, thankful for the distraction of a pursuit. He drove aggressively, much more aggressively than Nick, whose squad car got smaller and smaller in Jason’s rearview as he was forced to stop for a red light—stuck behind drivers who hadn’t pulled off to the side of the road in time.
Several blocks away, Jason pulled over near the bus stop and got out of his squad. “Excuse me, miss?” He approached a young mother sitting in the bus vestibule. “Have you seen a man, about my height, jeans, neon green t-shirt?”
“Oh, that crazy guy?” She rocked her baby’s stroller back and forth. “The one babbling and carrying on?”
“Did you see where he went? Did he get on a bus?”
“No, he didn’t get on the bus. He couldn’t pay. Bus driver wouldn’t let him on, and I thought there was going to be a fight. That guy was high as a kite.”
“Where’d he go after the bus driver didn’t let him on the bus?”
“He went that way.” She pointed to the alley between two brick buildings, shops housed on the ground levels and apartments up above.
Hand resting on his holster, Jason looked down the street. Nick was nowhere to be seen, probably still fighting traffic, and time was a wastin’. Deciding not to wait for backup, Jason started toward the alley.
It didn’t take long to spot the neon green shirt, even in the cloud-covered, fading light of day. Perry was standing on a dumpster, reaching for the bottom rung of the fire escape’s ladder.
“Police. Stop right there.”
Not surprisingly, Perry didn’t stop. With absolutely no regard for his own safety—another clue he was higher than a skyscraper—Perry spider-manned it up the ladder.
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