She couldn’t possibly want him again so soon; he couldn’t be growing hard already. But she did; he was. And, oh, it was delicious to know her own power over him. For a woman who had had to fight for any power at all, a gift like this couldn’t be wasted.
“But not yet,” she said throatily, her head falling back as his mouth found her breast again. “You don’t have to miss me yet.”
JACK WAS ALMOST completely happy those next weeks. He’d have liked it better, of course, if he could have openly shared Beth’s bed instead of skulking into it on those rare occasions when her children were away. In fact, he’d have liked to see more of her, period.
She had him over for dinner twice a week, at least, and they managed an official date at least once more, sometimes when the girls were with their father, sometimes by hiring a baby-sitter. But damn it, seeing Beth three times a week wasn’t enough! He was hungry for her smiles, her kisses, her breathless laughter. Hungry to hear what she thought of local political races, a book he’d talked her into reading, the color purple. Anything. He was giddily in love as he couldn’t ever remember being. He wanted to learn everything about Beth Sommers, and he was making a good start.
He understood the need for patience. Her kids needed to get to know him. They’d had a tough year. He needed to win them as well as Beth, if he was to become their stepfather.
Putting into words what he already knew—that he intended to marry Beth—gave him pause for only a second. He’d always been a man who knew his mind; he was an effective cop partly because he was decisive. He knew what he wanted, and he could wait. For her.
It wasn’t her children, or even her caution, that ate at him. It was something he couldn’t at first put a finger on, but finally identified. He wanted to know everything about her. She didn’t want to know everything about him.
A week passed, then another and another. They Christmas-shopped together, listened to street carolers, admired the lights strung down Main Street, complained about the increased traffic and crowds now that the skiers had come to town. He and she talked about a million and one things, trivial and not. His job fell in the trivial part. He could tell funny stories, talk about personalities, politics, frustrations. But she didn’t ask about the bad times, although she’d heard him tell Stephanie that he thought he might have damaged people’s lives. If she’d said something like that about herself, he’d have asked what she was talking about. She didn’t.
Plainly, she didn’t want to hear about cops who hurt someone or got hurt themselves. The blood and despair and dark, painful mysteries that made up a working detective’s day were anathema to her. She was determined that Jack be a kind of businessman, government-style.
The longer he knew her, the more he wanted to confess his mistakes, ask for her absolution. He needed her to say, “You were young. You had reason to make the choices you did. But now you’re the kind of man you always meant to be. Don’t worry about who you used to be.”
He couldn’t say she didn’t give him an opening. Caution made him hold back. All he had to do was remember the repugnance with which she’d looked at him the night he cuffed her ex-husband. And her words…hell, he’d never forget what she’d said: You’re just like him. You were as furious as he was, as ready to hurt someone.
Sure he was. What kind of cop would he be if he wasn’t ready to physically defend the citizens of this county?
But that wasn’t the point. Maybe Beth even agreed that a cop needed to have the capacity to use force. That’s exactly why she was wary about him, had been from the beginning. The qualities she wanted to see in a law enforcement officer weren’t the same thing she could love and admire in a husband.
What he needed to prove to her was that his willingness to use force didn’t equate to her husband’s. Jack was not an angry man. He rarely lost his temper. He didn’t enjoy dominating his fellow man—or woman.
But the only way he could think to prove it was to let time tell its tale. If he was unfailingly gentle, if he didn’t rub her face in what his occupation implied about him, she’d learn to trust him. It came down, as always, to patience.
Trouble was, he didn’t feel patient. He could have talked to her twenty hours a day. He’d never before had this craving to tell another person everything about his life, learn just as much about hers. The first thing he did when he got home every evening was call Beth. Sometimes they talked for an hour or more.
But she never asked about his secrets or regrets or mistakes. All he could do was take his cue from that.
Tonight he pushed the boundaries a little bit, because he was on the verge of having to discipline a deputy. Usually he didn’t suffer from doubts. This time he had some.
Partly, that was because he’d known Gary Hansen for years. When Jack was still with the Elk Springs P.D., he’d worked with Gary on bringing an end to a sophisticated burglary ring that didn’t respect jurisdictional boundaries. Gary had been a good cop, first a patrolman, then a detective in Investigations and finally Major Crimes. But the past year had seen a spiral downward. Clearly, he had a problem with booze. He was late to work. Once he had failed to respond to a crime in progress call only two blocks from where he was parked. Napping, he claimed, but another cop had reluctantly told Jack he smelled whiskey on Hansen’s breath.
First Jack had demoted him. Tomorrow, he was calling him on the carpet again. Putting him at a desk job at the least, suspending him maybe.
“I don’t know what’s right,” Jack said to Beth. They’d had dinner out, but had agreed afterward to have coffee at Jack’s place. Coffee, and one of those rare intervals for kissing or even making love. Tiffany, the neighbor kid, was baby-sitting. Because it was Sunday, Beth would have to be home early. Maybe he should be taking advantage of their limited time to throw Beth over his shoulder and take her to his bed. But tonight, more than usual, he found he wanted her perspective on an issue.
Beth sat on one of the bar stools in his kitchen, her feet curled around the legs and her elbows on the tiled countertop. Tonight she wore drapey black pants made of some silky fabric with a fuzzy pale blue sweater that fit snuggly and looked sexy as hell. Her dark hair was fastened loosely with iridescent butterfly clips on each side, the curls tumbling over her shoulders and back. He kept wanting to pet the sweater—and then the silky vee of skin where it revealed the beginnings of cleavage.
“What do you mean, what’s right?” she asked.
He dragged his mind back to Hansen’s troubles. “Oh, hell, it’s almost Christmas, for one thing. Mainly, though, this cop has had a lot of years on the force. I don’t want to dump him. But how can I risk other officers when I know he’s slacking?”
Her expression changed subtly. “Risk?”
“What if someone needs backup and he’s the closest, but he’s boozed up?” Forgetting her silky skin, Jack grimaced. “If he’s actually boozing on the job, I can’t let this slide. I can’t have him out there on the street with impaired judgment.”
“If he got in a car accident or something?” She didn’t want to understand him. “That would be scary.”
“What if he pulls his gun when he shouldn’t? Or doesn’t when he should?”
“But…police around here hardly ever have to use their guns.”
“More often than you’d think.” Make her see that life out there wasn’t a rose garden, Jack thought. If she could accept that much, he might not seem such a brute to her. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s needed a cop lately? I can assure you, you’re not.”
Her chin came up. “I’ve looked at the crime report in the paper. It’s pretty minor stuff.”
“That’s the Elk Springs P.D. crime stats. Not the county’s.”
“You don’t have to convince me that you do something important.” Her smile coaxed him to forget the nasty topic—or so he suspected. “You came to my rescue twice. You’re my hero. And the girls’.”
“Most of what we do isn’t heroic,” Jack said flatly. “Necessary, but no
t noble. Let’s not make it prettier than it is.”
“You sound as if you don’t like your job.” She tilted her head and studied him, perplexity crinkling her forehead.
“I don’t like it when I have to fire a good man who has personal problems.”
She pushed her stool back. “Now you know why I didn’t like seeing you handcuff Ray.”
“Your ex and a cop who is drinking a little too much aren’t comparable.”
“Aren’t they?” she asked quietly.
“Forget it.” He was starting to feel irritated. He didn’t get her. She apparently still sympathized with Sommers, and she didn’t want to hear about the stresses of being a cop and what it could do to a man.
“I think maybe we should,” she agreed. “Actually, I should get home.”
His frustration with the conversation instantly became sexual. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
She didn’t smile. “Why?”
“I haven’t kissed you.” He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “I missed you yesterday.”
Beth flowed off the stool into his arms. “I missed you, too.”
“I called.”
“I know. I heard your message.”
“Come upstairs with me.” He brushed his mouth over hers, nibbled at her plump lower lip.
“Mmm.” Her head fell back and her dark lashes formed crescents against porcelain skin. “Are you sure?”
His insatiable need for her was partly physical and partly emotional. The sexual desire, he had no doubts about.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, low in his throat. “I need you, Beth.”
He’d spoken the magic words. She melted. This time, they made it up the stairs before shedding clothes. Otherwise, not much had changed since the first time they’d made love. They were incredibly compatible. His every touch seemed to please her. She didn’t grab his hand and say, “No, not like that. Like this.” He didn’t move too fast or too slow for her.
The only time she froze at all was when he became too aggressive. If his tongue plundered her mouth too deeply or his hands squeezed too roughly, she would stiffen. He had to be careful, not let desire go to his head. He didn’t dare do anything that would make her think of him as a beast; he didn’t dare lose control. He was damned careful not to.
Her touches invariably held an innocent wonder that fueled his hunger. She wasn’t clumsy, but her hands weren’t practiced, either. She read his responses with unerring accuracy. If something didn’t turn him on, she didn’t do it again. Instead, she was learning what did push his buttons, and seemed to enjoy the way his muscles jerked in response or he groaned at a featherlight touch.
Every single time he penetrated her, he had the same feeling of having come home. The fit was perfect. Yeah, she was tight but not too small, and he liked the way she wrapped her legs around his waist. But it wasn’t that. The sensation wasn’t so much physical as… Oh, hell. He didn’t even know. Just that she was right for him. That he wanted to make love to her every night for the rest of his life, even if he did have to hold something back, if sometimes it took every ounce of will he possessed not to hammer into her, not to have wild sex instead of gentle lovemaking. But here in bed, the price was worth the reward.
This part, he thought half an hour later, as he stroked her bare flank and felt her lips tickle his skin as she brushed tiny kisses over his chest, he could do.
He was less sure he could keep hiding the ignoble things he’d done, the history of violence, the shame that had been a companion for twenty years. For Beth, he was willing to try.
He just wished he didn’t have to.
“THIS SUSPENSION is temporary.” Jack felt like a grade-A SOB, kicking a man when he was down. And two weeks before Christmas. But what could he do? “You’ve got to get a handle on your problems. You know the department pays for alcohol treatment.”
Gary Hansen sat in the chair with his feet planted right together and his elbows at his side, shoulders back and crew-cut blond head held high. Not until now had he shown any real response.
A nerve twitched under one eye. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Maybe not.” Jack moved his shoulders to unkink taut muscles. “But you’ve got booze on your breath and a bottle in your desk drawer. You’ve picked two fights with fellow officers, and you weren’t there when another one needed you.”
Anger flared in Hansen’s eyes. “You’ve never pulled over for a catnap? It was the middle of the damned night! Nothing was happening. The wife and I had it out the day before and I didn’t get any sleep.”
“You trying to tell me you weren’t drinking?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.” His out-thrust chin was suddenly belligerent.
“I hear different.” Jack held up a hand. “I don’t listen to gossip. I’ve been watching you for a while. Damn it, Hansen, look at yourself! You’ve got the shakes. Your eyes are bloodshot. Something is wrong. Maybe you’re not an alcoholic. Maybe you’re just anesthetizing yourself because something else is making you hurt like hell. I don’t know. I can’t know unless you tell me. But I also can’t let you go out there operating at fifty percent or less. You know that.”
“It was Wentz, wasn’t it?” Damn near vibrating with anger, Hansen half stood, then sank back into the chair. “You know we’ve never gotten along. Why in hell would you listen to him?” He uttered a profanity. “The bastard doesn’t drink! He doesn’t think anyone else should.”
Actually, it had been Ben Shea, Meg’s brother-in-law, who had reluctantly come to Jack with rumors. What Hansen didn’t get was that he was the issue here, not his accuser.
“Get help.” Jack flattened his hands on his desk. “If you want your badge back, you’ll talk to the psychologist and you’ll go into Fairhaven. You can’t tell me Janet won’t support you if you give up the booze.”
Hansen gave a bitter laugh. “Support me? That’s a laugh.”
Torn between dismay—Jack didn’t like playing Ann Landers—and satisfaction because Gary Hansen was finally coming out with what had been eating at him, Jack made a noncommittal sound.
“She’s talking about leaving me.” Hansen’s gray eyes burned. “She doesn’t like the hours. She doesn’t like the moods. No matter what’s happened at work, I’m supposed to come home and play happy husband and daddy. Crap!” he exclaimed violently. “She knew I was a cop from the get-go. For better or worse, she promised. ‘Better’ is all she had in mind.”
“Your drinking an issue at home?” Jack asked mildly.
The stocky thirty-year-old shot to his feet. “It has to be my fault?”
“I didn’t say that. The divorce rate is high for police officers. You know the statistics. Living with a cop isn’t easy. I’ve met your wife a few times. Seemed like a nice lady who loved you. I’m wondering what’s changed.”
“Hell if I know.” Hansen paced jerkily. “Okay. Things are tough at home. I’ve taken nips a few times from the bottle when I was seriously pissed. I’m not doing antidepressants or tranquilizers. I’ve had a drink or two. I won’t do it on the job again.”
“That’s not good enough.” Jack didn’t let his expression react to the blistering anger and despair he saw on the other man’s face. “Talk to Bill Zuelhke. Maybe he can suggest a marriage counselor, if Janet is willing. But for now, I have to ask for your badge.”
Hansen stepped back, his face twisted. “Don’t do this.”
“I have no choice.” Jack rose slowly to his feet and waited, hurting inside but inflexible. The department was a family. Sometimes, if you cared about someone, you had to force him to get help.
Beth had made him think. Was Hansen any different from her husband? Should Jack be giving him a break because he’d been a good cop? Even on a desk job, he could do some damage.
She was right for another reason, too. Ray Sommers had cracked. Gary Hansen teetered on the edge. Out there, a cop had to be able to trust his fellow officers. Hansen wasn’t dependable.
The d
eputy flung his badge and holstered weapon onto the desk. “Keep ’em,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t be wanting this one.”
He stalked out and slammed the door so hard the pane of glass shimmied. Jack had one glimpse of a rage-engorged face before Gary Hansen stormed out of the police station.
A tingle of alarm walked over Jack’s skin, raising the hair on his arms. This one. He wouldn’t have meant the badge. It had to be the revolver he was talking about.
Like most cops, he probably had an arsenal at home. God almighty. Was he thinking of swallowing a bullet?
Jack didn’t want to think so, but he opened his intercom and asked his secretary to look up Janet Hansen’s work phone number, if she had one. Maybe he should have talked to her before today’s meeting, but it seemed a man should be able to confide his own troubles to his wife, not have his boss ratting on him.
But this…this she should know.
While Jack waited, his thoughts turned inexorably to Beth. He’d told the truth. Cops’ marriages had a rate of failure twice the average. Their work hours were long and erratic; they had moods because of the horrors they saw, the waste of lives; and the threat of violent death was ever present for them.
If he couldn’t talk about any of this with Beth, how could he imagine her becoming a cop’s wife? His wife?
She had guts. She was independent. But he didn’t dare let her see who he was, what he was. She might look at him again with horror and fear. He couldn’t face that. Yet, without a clear-eyed beginning, did they have any hope?
He swore aloud, the single profane word echoing sharply in the silent office.
Be honest, he thought. Was she refusing to see him, or was he the one hiding from her? Had she ever really tried to cut him off when he started to tell her something? Was she really the fragile flower he treated her as?
So what was it? Did he want her to meet the real Jack Murray, or didn’t he?
Face it. The real question might be, did he want her to dig deep enough to meet Johnny, the boy who’d crawled away and left Meg Patton to her fate?
Jack Murray, Sheriff Page 18