While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  Long minutes passed while she sobbed, at first unable to even begin bottling it back up. Max didn’t say a word, just held her tight until she sniffed, weak and utterly defeated.

  “Damn you,” she whispered brokenly and felt him smile.

  “Yeah. Damn me.”

  “I worked so hard to get over this.” She didn’t move, still needing his solid warmth next to her, his arms so comfortingly steady around her.

  “You know I can’t stand your walls between us. Never have.”

  It was true. From that first afternoon, he’d attacked, tearing them down, time and again, until she’d finally stopped building them. And then he left. A fresh wave of tears started. “I can’t do this, Max.”

  “There’s nothing you have to do, baby. Just be. Right now, right here, be with me. We both need it.”

  “I can’t. There’s too much–”

  “Shhh.” His hands cupped her face, tilting it up to his and she opened her eyes. “Shut off that incredible brain of yours, just for tonight. I’m not going to push you for anything, not going to talk about stuff that hurts any more. Just be here with me.”

  He kissed her then, silencing another protest and Kat quietly but firmly shut the door on her common sense. It wasn’t even that hard, because oh, he was right. She needed this, needed him, as much as she needed air to live. Some things never changed.

  Max knew the exact moment of her surrender and nearly sighed at the overwhelming relief he felt. Kat’s walls had never been easy to fell, and years of practice had made them thicker and stronger than ever. She was exhausted. He intended to take full advantage of her momentary weakness. She’d hate him tomorrow, but not as much as she’d hated him this morning. It’s the way it was with her–tear down a wall, she’d build another one, but the second one wouldn’t be as strong. Eventually, she’d run out of bricks.

  He lifted her, sure she wasn’t aware they were moving as he continued to kiss her, savoring the sweet taste, smell and feel of her. His journey home had taken eleven years, not three, but he was on the doorstep at last.

  ##

  Hours later, Kat could feel herself waking up and didn’t like it one bit. She was dreaming again, but it was so different, so deliciously different she couldn’t stand for it to end. Max, this Max, wasn’t out to conquer and destroy. This Max was more familiar, his hands gentle as they expertly soothed and stirred the embers banked deep inside. He kissed her, soft but so thoroughly she was desperate to breathe and overflowing with an insatiable need for more. Sweet urgency spiraled inside, curling tighter, swirling deeper, keeping time with the rhythm his hands and mouth played upon her.

  She moaned, wanting only closer. . .more. This was Max, her Max. The closeness, the intimacy, this was what she’d struggled long years to find again.

  “Kat?” A gentle stroke of fingers on her cheek and the concerned whisper in her ear intruded. Max hovered above her, up on one elbow, his fully clad body next to hers on her bed. She lifted her hand to stroke his warm, male, achingly-familiar cheek, to pull him close again, even as foggy confusion filtered into her awareness. He shouldn’t be dressed, he’d been making love to her. She wanted him to keep making love to her, to make her fly, to fill her with himself, to make her whole again.

  “Max,” she whispered, smiling, allowing the plea into her eyes as the more-familiar strands of the lovely dream drifted near again. He’d always told her she was irresistible.

  Then Max groaned and his forehead glistened with sudden sweat. “Close your eyes, Kat,” he ordered fiercely.

  What could be wrong? She searched his warm blue eyes for an answer. She didn’t want to close her eyes–wanted to revel in this stolen moment, to watch her passion reflected in the clear depths of his gaze.

  Suddenly it was. Max traced her chin with a single finger that trembled. “Close your eyes,” he whispered and she would have instinctively obeyed if not for the warning hidden in his uneven breath. “Close your eyes or I’ll take you back to that dream faster than you can blink.”

  Full awareness annihilated arousal. Painfully awake now, embarrassment stung hot on her cheeks. He knew! Her eyes slammed shut. But Max didn’t move. How could he know?

  “On second thought, let’s go back to that dream, baby.”

  Yes, let’s. Mortified by her thoughts, by how he’d so clearly read her, Kat rolled away. Was she out of her mind? She sprang out of bed and clutched her completely buttoned cotton shirt together in front of her breasts. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” No, it was worse than that. “In my bed!” The demand fell fall short when her voice squeaked badly on the last word. Coffee. She needed coffee, bitter and black, preferably via an IV.

  Max grinned, for all that the sweat still shone on his forehead. “You fell asleep. Your couch isn’t big enough for both of us and you wouldn’t let me go.”

  Hot heat flushed her cheeks again. “Please don’t sugar coat it on my expense.” His laughter followed her into the bathroom, where she slammed the door. The vicious bang didn’t help. Back in the bedroom, Max was whistling. Whistling!

  Appalled, Kat stared at her reflection in the mirror. Nothing happened, that was the only fact she was sure of. If anything had happened, she wouldn’t feel so, so. . .needy. No, a night spent making love with Max left her weightless, sated, not trembling with compelling restlessness. “You’re pathetic,” she whispered to her reflection. Kat frowned and turned on the shower. Coffee. Her stomach growled angrily. Coffee and dry toast. Did she have any cigarettes left? Definitely time for damage control.

  Ten minutes later, she’d just wrapped herself in a towel when the door flew open. Max wasn’t whistling now. He wasn’t even smiling. His face was pale, his mouth pinched with pain.

  “The police just called. They’ve got something.”

  The bottom dropped out of her world. Lizzie.

  Chapter Five

  We’ve got your number.

  Max’s eyes devoured the simple note, now encased in plastic. Found on a breakfast tray outside Miriam’s room an hour ago, the envelope bore a scrawled child’s handwriting–not Lizzie’s. Lizzie had picture perfect handwriting. This was sloppily drawn, with abnormally large letters that proclaimed, “Uncle Max.”

  Kat’s fingers tightened around his arm. Seeking support? He wasn’t about to reject it. He pulled her inside the circle of his arm, his comfort automatic while he continued to stare at the note.

  “What does it mean–they’ve got your number?” Kat’s voice shook. “Your phone number?” Obvious, but something about the wording struck him as strange. Reluctantly, he handed the note back to Detective Reicher. “You’ll let me know on the prints?” There were two, one partial and a full. Max dared to hope for the first time. Ransom. Lizzie might have survived the night. He moved to the window, not seeing the greening grass outside.

  “As soon as I do,” the solemn detective promised.

  Yesterday these very doors swallowed Lizzie. Tough to walk through. Now even the hospital walls threatened to close in on him. Rage ate at the cold steel inside.

  He felt Kat beside him again and wrapped her up tight, her shudders strong enough to jar him. “Let’s go,” she whispered, eyes firmly focused away from the cones surrounding one table in the dining room.

  He gave a short nod. “I need to see Miriam first.”

  “Not to–“

  Max squeezed her waist, shaking his head. “No.” Miriam still didn’t know, and Max didn’t want to change that. Not unless he had to. His sister’s infection was worsening and the resulting high fever, coupled with her disease-ravaged kidneys, had her semi-conscious at best.

  Kat walked out of his arms. “I’ll wait here,” she announced and then stepped closer to a nearby table where two police officers were conducting employee interviews. Why wouldn’t she go with him to see Miriam? And Miriam never mentioned Kat, not once. Why not? He watched her pull out her cell phone and page through something.

  Detective Reicher tapped his arm. “She
involved?” He nodded surreptitiously to Kat.

  Max shook his head. As strange as the circumstances were, he couldn’t believe Kat could be involved with Lizzie’s disappearance. “Friend of the family.”

  “Not a bad friend to have at a time like this. I’ve heard she’s one of the best.”

  Max raked his fingers through his hair. “What’s next?”

  Reicher had worked with Max before when a burglary gang had drifted north from Denver to Bluff River Falls. Max had been instrumental in assuring Bluff River Falls was their final stop. He didn’t try to sweeten his news. “You wait.” He gave the taller man a nod. “I know, not what you want to hear. We’ve got a team interviewing all the employees who were on duty yesterday and hopefully somebody saw something. It was unfortunate that it happened just before shift change. We tried to reach a bunch of the workers last night, but it got too late. We’ll finish up the interviews early this afternoon. If we get any new information, we’ll call you.”

  “I want to help.” He knew the answer before he asked, but nothing could have stopped the offer.

  “Get some rest, Max. You should have Doc Jannsen prescribe something for you. You can’t help if you keel over and you look pretty damn close.”

  Kat returned in time to hear the detective’s advice. Her gaze raked his face. “Didn’t you sleep?”

  “I rested.” Lizzie’s absence was tearing a hole inside. A hole that continued to grow. No way he would put Miriam through this, at least not if he could help it.

  “Max, let’s go home. The detective’s right–you won’t do anybody any good if you don’t get some rest. We’ll stop by the pharmacy on the way.”

  “No drugs. No arguments. I need to see Miriam.”

  Kat subsided, but he had the feeling his respite was only momentary. No matter. Despite what Reicher said, there were things to do. Lists to make. Details to recall.

  Max left Kat with the detective and headed for the elevator. Minutes later, he stepped out of the busy hospital corridor and into the relative quiet of Miriam’s room. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed with the effort her body made to fight the infection threatening her. But underneath the bright spots of color on her cheeks, her face was pale. She looked fragile. Max cleared his throat but prayed she wouldn’t wake up. She knew him too well and fever or no fever, she’d know something was wrong.

  But she didn’t awaken, even when he took her limp hand and squeezed her fingers gently. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I’m taking care of things, Mim. You keep fighting.” He made certain for the fortieth time that the nurses had his cell phone number and then rejoined Detective Reicher in the cafeteria. Kat stood next to the table he’d shared with Lizzie, hands clutching the back of a chair as if her legs wouldn’t hold her.

  He glanced at the detective and gave it one more try. “There’s got to be something I can do.” If he hadn’t spent precious seconds in the parking lot daydreaming over Kat. If he hadn’t answered Craig’s page. If he’d taken Lizzie with him.

  “You wait.”

  “No.“

  ”Wait for the phone call, Max, and let my guys do their job. You’re not trained for this. We are. When we have something, we’ll call.”

  Same thing he’d said last night. Max fisted his hands deep in his pockets, wanting to hit someone. Or pick up one of the ludicrous orange chairs and send it flying through the large window beyond. Why the hell had he spent all that time in the parking lot thinking about Kat? He knew Lizzie was alone in there–even wondered if it was safe for her. Damn it all!

  Kat gave a sudden, choking gasp, and Max realized he’d been staring at her over the detective’s shoulder. She looked pale and sick. Max was at her side in two long strides. “What?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, was even now squeezing her eyelids shut in a futile effort to stop a flood. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “Didn’t realize.”

  “Realize what?” Concerned, he backed her up to the wall of windows, aware of the curious eyes around them. “Baby, what?” he asked, when she only shook her head.

  Tears streamed for another few seconds, and then her shoulders shook with a massive tremor. She opened eyes overcast with grief and guilt. “It’s my fault. You were distracted by me. . .by us.”

  He gave her shoulders a shake. “Stop it, Kat!” he snapped. “This is not your fault.” When she only returned his stare with a miserable one of her own, he sighed. “We’ll be at Dr. Jannsen’s, Reicher. I’ve got my cell.”

  Kat tried to wriggle free then, but he didn’t release her. Not until they were in the parking lot next to his car. Then it was only to open the door for her. When he got in beside her, one glance confirmed she was building walls with guilt bricks and self-incriminating mortar as fast as she could.

  “Don’t do this, Kat.”

  She turned on him, suddenly angry. “Deny it then. But you can’t. If we hadn’t met yesterday you would have been more focused. You would have stopped them.” She turned her head to stare out the window. No way did he allow her to shoulder the blame for this. All of that belonged squarely on his shoulders.

  Max smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn it, Kat. Don’t.” She hadn’t changed a bit. Sucking in all the world’s problems and making them her own. Her responsibility. Her problem. “What’s the point? It doesn’t help Lizzie, and it sure as hell doesn’t help me.”

  That got her. Troubled eyes fastened immediately on his. “I’m sorry. You’re right. What can I do?”

  Anger evaporated in a flash and he touched her cheek. She ripped his heart right out when she looked at him that way. “Feed me?”

  She nodded, eyes telegraphing an apology. Those eyes of hers. A man could drown.

  He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles because he didn’t have a choice. “I’ve missed you so damn much, baby.”

  Her answering smile didn’t reach her eyes and he watched the walls climb inside. Fine. If it took a play for sympathy, then he’d use it. Whatever it took.

  True to her word, Kat fed him and kept up a constant stream of conversation while she cooked an omelet just the way he liked it. Just like there hadn’t been a hole of more than a decade in their relationship. She told him of some of her more interesting cases, cases responsible for making her the admired and respected psychiatrist he knew she was. He knew the cases too, because he hadn’t been able to stop himself from catching up on her career and then following it with a painful, morbid fascination. Like a dieter with his nose pressed to a confectioner’s shop window.

  “I was a mess,” she admitted with a wry smile–a smile that still didn’t reach her eyes. “Here I was, gaining a reputation in my career, and I couldn’t fix myself. It was silly, I told myself. We’d had, what? Six months together?”

  He smiled and she seemed to calm a little. She was leading up to something, something big, he could tell by the flighty little journeys her hands made when she spoke. Journeys without a destination, without a purpose, except to tell him how very hard this conversation was for her. “Or a lifetime,” he whispered, tracing a line down her arm when it stilled for a moment on the counter in front of him.

  Kat jerked away from him. “Six months,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “and here it was three years later and I–“ Her voice trembled and she turned her back on him. “I couldn’t get over it.” Her shoulders straightened. “Over you.” She swung around to face him, stiff and determined. Her gaze flitted up to his and then away. He nearly smiled. She was strong, his Kat, but not that strong.

  “I know,” he offered, wanting to help, not knowing how, only that she had to get this out, whatever it was.

  Once again, she ran over his words. “I didn’t know where to go, where to turn.”

  A dishrag twisted slowly in her hands. Max waited.

  Kat exhaled slowly, resolutely. “And then there was Victor–Vic. Steady, English-upper-crust-to-the-core Vic.” She smoothed the towel over the counter with deliberate car
e, then grabbed it up to twist it again, never once looking at Max.

  Jealousy came out of nowhere, began chomping up giant bites of his composure. Max flattened his hands on the cool tile of her countertop. He didn’t want to hear this part, maybe as much as she didn’t want to tell it. Only it had to be told. And heard.

  “He was,” she paused and Max held his breath. “Everything I thought I needed. He told me, about myself, about grief, about moving on. I trusted him.”

  Max’s eyes slammed shut so she couldn’t see her words joining forces with the jealousy monster to shred his heart. If she looked, which she probably wouldn’t. He forced his eyes back open. She trusted Vic.

  Kat had her back to him again but he could see she’d actually worked a hole through the dish cloth. “Not at first, of course, but he–he didn’t let up. I told him about you. . .”