He opened to a shot of himself holding a boy about a year old. The inscription read: “Brad Akers. Birthday is two days after Lauren’s.” Following the photo was a brief description of Brad’s milestones: standing at ten months, taking his first step at eleven.
“I tried to follow your growth. Your first words, your funny questions and comments. Of course, they weren’t really yours, but I pretended they were.” He leafed through image after image of babies, toddlers and preschoolers, some standing or sitting alone, some with parents and a few posing with him.
“Did you tell them about me?” Lauren asked.
“Doctors don’t talk much about their own families. It wouldn’t seem professional. But I thought about you.”
That Russ had loved his child at a distance touched Rachel with unexpected force. Despite his obvious instincts to guard his emotions, he’d allowed himself to care deeply about a child he might never be able to meet.
Her own birth father hadn’t left so much as a photo. She figured she must resemble him, since her mom had been petite with blond hair, but she wouldn’t recognize the man if their paths ever crossed. For all she knew, she might have busted him.
Russ finished reviewing the album and reopened Lauren’s. “Here’s the new picture of you with my parents. I found room in the back.”
Lauren frowned. “Do I have to call them Grandma and Grandpa?”
Recalling her earlier anxiety, Rachel suggested, “Why not Grandma and Grandpa McKenzie? Or Grandma Lois and Grandpa Max?”
Lauren’s gaze rested on the photo. “Okay.” She brightened. “I’m not confused about their faces anymore.”
Russ gave her a squeeze. “That’s why scrapbooks are so important.”
The little girl studied the group shot Max had snapped. “I like having parents, too.”
Above her head, Russ’s gaze met Rachel’s with surprising tenderness, almost as if they really did share—Don’t go there.
Lauren began to yawn, so they put her to bed. Despite her nap in the car, the day’s events proved exhausting, and she fell asleep in the middle of a story.
Russ and Rachel slipped out quietly. “You’re amazing,” she said in the hallway.
“How so?”
“That photo album. Those notes. The way you followed her growth.” Impulsively, she faced him and rested her forearms on his shoulders. “Impressive, Doc.”
“How impressive?” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her mouth.
For an instant she couldn’t speak, and then she said, “Just about overwhelming.” That described her reaction, all right: an utterly irresistible blend of desire and affection.
She expected him to draw back, the way he had in the past. Instead he tugged her through the doorway into the master bedroom.
Rachel wondered if she’d somehow fantasized this. If so, she intended to enjoy the heck out of it.
Chapter Twelve
The room was larger than Rachel had expected, or perhaps the expanse of carpet and subdued teak furnishings gave it that appearance. “You could hold a karate class in here and never break anything but a sweat,” she observed.
Russ kept hold of her. “You’ve studied karate?”
“A bit. Mostly I work out in the gym at the station.” A bad-smelling room not remotely as seductive and sensual as this place, she had to admit.
“Think you could take me down?” he teased.
She chuckled. “How far down?”
“As far as you like.” He found her strength a turn-on, she realized with a start.
Usually at this point—on the rare occasions that she reached this point with a man—she went for the main event. Tangling, thrusting, climaxing. But from Russ she wanted more. She wanted something she couldn’t quite name.
Love. Well, that was a crazy idea.
“What’s running through your mind?” He plucked off the beret, which she’d forgotten was still atop her head, and tossed it onto the bureau.
“Unprintable stuff,” she responded.
“That sounds promising.” What had gotten into this man? He was kissing her again. Hands exploring her rib cage and the underside of her breasts, raising a burst of sensations. “When do we start the wrestling match?”
“Karate isn’t wrestling.” Oh, the heck with discussing this to death. Rachel grabbed the guy and lobbed him onto the bed, landing astraddle. He made no attempt to resist. “How’s this, Doc?”
“Temperature rising,” he responded. “How’s yours?”
She laughed. “You’re monitoring our vital signs?”
“Call it training. Or instinct. Speaking of which…” His hands smoothed beneath her knit tunic and cupped her breasts through the brassiere. Her nipples strained against his fingers as Rachel braced above him, near melting point.
He arced up for another kiss and continued loosening her clothing. Rachel returned the favor by undoing his shirt and belt and stroking downward far enough to discover how hard he’d grown. Breath coming fast, too, just like hers.
No stopping now. As if anyone but an idiot would choose to.
Catching her off guard, he flipped them. Before she could react, his tongue traced a hot wet line along her throat and down to her swelling breasts.
The contact drew fire across her skin. Rachel could barely keep up with the man’s fervor as the last scraps of clothing became an intolerable restriction. She tossed them away.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured.
“Better yet, I’m on the pill,” she responded.
“Then you won’t mind if I do this.” He proceeded to pull off the rest of his clothes.
He looked fabulous, sculpted and eager, simultaneously demanding and gentle. The scent of his skin tantalized her beyond endurance.
When Russ parted her with a thrust, joy swept Rachel into a previously unsuspected realm. They seemed to be swirling through a fragrant heated pool that intensified her awareness.
She could no longer distinguish external sensations from the knife-edge of pleasure. A new freedom bloomed, the freedom to be vulnerable and to merge into another person. For the first time in her life, Rachel felt…beautiful.
Waves of exquisite agony seized her, too soon. She wanted so much more. Then there was more—soaring higher and higher, hearing Russ’s groans mingle with her gasps, until she settled into the comfort of his arms.
They remained, amazingly, in his bedroom. To Rachel, however, the place bore a striking resemblance to paradise.
She lay dozing as Russ adjusted the covers. When he kissed her hair, the gesture brought a sweet sigh.
She curled up beneath the sheet, and although she half expected him to retreat, he gathered her close.
When he switched off the light, a glow lingered briefly around his face. Perhaps Rachel was seeing the heat that emanated from him as luminescence. Or maybe she was seeing him with her heart.
Rachel had hoped someday to find the right man, but she’d never considered what being in love really meant. Suddenly here it was, overpowering every bit of common sense. She and Russ had fused at a level beyond ordinary emotions, as if some of their DNA had swapped strands.
She longed to hear him confirm that he too had fallen in love. But she didn’t dare press. As when pursuing a criminal into a building you hadn’t cleared, where an enemy or a booby trap might lurk around any corner, you had to hold your position until you determined the extent of danger.
In this case, no backup existed. Only risk. But wonderful possibilities if the risk paid off.
Content to take the future moment by moment, Rachel kissed Russ’s shoulder and let her eyes drift shut.
HE HADN’T KNOWN he could lose his inhibitions so utterly, or belong so completely to another person. Russ wasn’t sure how this relationship could work, given the vast differences between him and Rachel, but right now he didn’t care.
There remained a lot to learn about each other, a lot of potential potholes in the road. A week wasn’t long enough for two pe
ople to determine whether to spend their lives together. But if other people trumped obstacles, why couldn’t he and Rachel?
A fantasy engagement turned real. A home for Lauren complete with a mom who seemed born to the role. Maybe it was possible, after all.
Too perfect, warned the voice of experience. Too easy. Russ ignored it.
He must have dozed, because the ringing of a phone woke him. Russ was still trying to pinpoint the source of the noise when Rachel sprang up and grabbed the cell from her pants pocket on the floor.
She wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, but perhaps officers remained on call for emergencies. He certainly hoped nothing had happened to her family.
Then he heard the name “Lisa,” followed by series of monosyllabic responses that failed to clarify why his teenage neighbor was disturbing them again. Cops had a lot in common with doctors, Russ reflected grumpily. People tended to think of you as always available.
“I’ll go find him. Next time, get his cell number, okay?” Lisa must have apologized, because Rachel added, “Don’t worry about it,” before clicking off.
“What’s up?” Russ watched as she began throwing on clothing. He’d have preferred to leave Rachel dozing and take care of the problem himself, but she’d never allow it. Besides, why should either of them go out?
“Lisa’s babysitting for Keri and her husband.” Rachel located a sock beneath a chair. “Vince dropped by unexpectedly, and while he was there they both heard noises in the backyard.”
“I thought this prowler was supposed to be stalking Lisa. Why’s he poking around Keri’s yard?” The first incident hadn’t troubled Russ much, as it might have been simply a mistake, but this second occurrence signaled a real problem. That bothered him for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that his daughter spent weekday afternoons at the Sommers house.
“That’s the thing.” The tunic muffled Rachel’s words as she yanked it over her head. “Her ex-boyfriend, Gary, couldn’t be the prowler. She discovered that his family moved out of state. And she was so flustered tonight that she forgot to tell Vince when he went outside to investigate. He’s still out there.”
“Why does she expect you to act as her messenger service?” Russ growled.
“She’s afraid Vince might cut the perp too much slack, assuming he’s a kid. Someone has to warn him.”
Russ still didn’t like the arrangement. “They should have called 911.”
“I agree.” She donned her pants backward and had to take them off. “But since they didn’t, Vince went out there armed. Has a permit, no problem. Tricky, though, if the cops mistake him for the perp or he gets trigger-happy and fires on them. I’d hate to see somebody get shot.”
Anxiety gripped Russ’s stomach. “I’d hate to see you get shot.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” With a grin that squeezed his heart, she zipped the pants and headed out. “I won’t be long.”
He followed her progress aurally as she fetched her weapon and latched the front door. The whole business seemed wrong to Russ—Rachel acting as neighborhood security when he longed to shelter her. Maybe that made him an old-fashioned, domineering male. But what was wrong with wanting to protected the woman he loved?
Not loved. Their bond was too raw and untested. The woman he cherished, then.
Too restless to stay in bed, he threw on his robe and peeked into Lauren’s room. She was sleeping soundly with what appeared to be a death grip on Officer Bud. The new doll sat on her dresser in isolated splendor.
His mother had meant well. The abrupt appearance of a granddaughter must have thrown her for a loop. As he poured a glass of wine in the kitchen, Russ conceded that he never gave much thought to how his parents felt about much of anything. Such as his relinquishing Lauren in the first place.
He’d never told them how much he’d disliked their interference in his life these past few years. Stopping by his apartment unannounced, nagging him to attend their parties, discussing his activities with mutual acquaintances in the medical community. Perhaps he should have confronted them, but he’d preferred to move thirty miles away.
The rejection by their only child must have hurt. Until he’d taken in Lauren, Russ hadn’t considered how much his parents had invested in him emotionally.
In truth, he’d never worried about anyone. Right now, though, he carried his glass into the living room and peered into the darkness, wishing he could see around the corner and down the next block to Keri’s house.
Rachel should have reached the place by now. He hoped she didn’t feel obligated to patrol the entire area. Just deliver a caution to Vince and get her tail home again.
From a few blocks off came the sound of a car on Arches Avenue. Closer, a cat yowled. A few drops of wine sloshed onto his hand.
Minutes ticked by. Where the hell was she? He supposed Rachel took this kind of situation in stride. Probably handled prowlers on a regular basis, along with armed robbers and…Well, not often, surely. Not in a place like Villazon.
Still, her actions in the parking garage made more sense to him in this context. Not only had she believed he’d kidnapped a child, but there’d been no way of determining whether he was armed. He was glad she hadn’t cut him any slack. If she went soft on people, one of these days she might get—
A sharp crack from outside jolted him. Gunfire? Heart thundering, Russ braced for more, but none came.
Hurrying to the phone, he dialed 911. But the fear pooling in his gut warned that he might have waited too long.
THE BOOM OF A GUNSHOT halted Rachel in the Sommerses’ front yard. She judged that it originated behind the house.
On her cell phone, she rapid-dialed 911 and informed dispatch of what she knew. Then, weapon in hand, she edged toward the corner of the house, but hard as she peered into the darkness, she couldn’t see worth a darn. The nearest streetlamp cast more shadows than usable light.
About to call Vince’s name, she stopped on hearing a rustling noise by the fence. A dark form struggled with the gate latch, uttered a low curse and scrambled over the top.
This much-slimmer figure clearly didn’t belong to Chief Borrego. Rachel couldn’t make out any facial details, either, owing to the suspect’s ski mask.
She had to assume the guy was packing, since she’d heard gunfire. Vince could be lying dead in the yard, and this individual might be a rapist or robber sought in seven counties. Or he could be a high school prankster who’d nearly gotten his fanny tanned by the former chief’s bullet.
If she confronted him, she risked a shot to her unprotected gut. If she stood down, she might be letting a murderer escape.
Rachel had only a split second to make the choice.
Chapter Thirteen
With regret Rachel let the man go. The law didn’t allow her to shoot without a warning, since he posed no immediate threat and might not have committed a crime, despite the suspicious mask.
And if he was armed and trigger-happy, to leap out shouting “Police!” at nearly point-blank range constituted suicide. While she never shrank from danger, neither did she possess a death wish.
The figure vanished between two houses, heading toward the edge of the development. As he darted by, she caught a glimpse of brown hair with a reddish cast. Estimated height, five-ten.
Rachel updated the dispatcher and was about to check on Vince’s whereabouts when the ex-chief emerged through the side gate. He held his gun pointed toward the ground as a precaution.
Rachel identified herself and explained that she’d alerted patrol. “What happened?”
Disgust creased the older man’s face. “I spotted him across the yard. The creep was trying to break in my granddaughter’s window.”
“Who fired?” She wasn’t on duty and technically shouldn’t be quizzing him, but darn it, this was her neighborhood, and the jerk might target Lauren’s bedroom next.
“I did.” Vince holstered his weapon. “After he swung around and drew on me.”
“You’re sure
?” Distinguishing a gun from a cell phone or other innocuous device could be tricky at night.
“Absolutely. There’s a lamp just inside the window.” Vince scowled. “I didn’t dare hit the house, so my aim was off.”
“The perp never fired?” Rachel asked.
“The shot must have scared him.”
By the curb, a cruiser halted, its dome flashing. No siren, presumably to avoid tipping off the suspect if he lingered in the area. A second patrol car stopped across the street. And, a few houses down, the station wagon that belonged to newswoman Tracy Johnson sidled into place. She must have been monitoring the police frequencies.
“Glad you’re here,” Vince muttered. “You can verify that there really was a prowler.”
“You probably observed as much about the guy as I did.” Rachel sure wished she’d been able to stop the man.
“Lyons won’t be thrilled about my acting gun happy in a residential neighborhood. I can use all the corroboration I can get.”
Until now Rachel hadn’t given any thought to how this incident might look. In view of Villazon’s low crime rate, the disgraced ex-chief discharging a weapon near an occupied dwelling might make the front page. Although she considered his conduct justified, it would serve as an embarrassing reminder of the department’s former problems.
She resigned herself to detailing her observations to one of the arriving officers when what she longed to do was to climb back into bed with Russ. It was going to be a long evening, by the look of things.
POLICE CRUISERS, FLASHING BEACONS—Russ watched anxiously out the window for an ambulance that would indicate someone had been injured. The absence of one failed to reassure him, however.
At last he ventured into the front yard, the farthest he dared go with Lauren sleeping inside. Half a dozen other neighbors emerged also, but none had any information.
How infuriating to be unable to intervene! To stand here envisioning Rachel crumpled on the ground, a dark stain spreading across the sweater she’d thrown on so casually. “I won’t be long.” How could she make a promise like that? How could she tell whether she’d be returning at all?
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