by Cecy Robson
It doesn’t take a genius to know he blames me for putting him in that chair.
And he’s right.
Someone cuts his eyes my way—I recognize him as the brother of the defendant. He blinks once and lunges at the deputy, stirring the two family members on either side of him to attack.
Something silver flashes to my left. It’s then all hell breaks loose.
I should have barreled toward the perp; instead I freeze, trying to force the word out.
Knife.
It lodges in my throat.
Knife.
I break out in a sweat.
Goddamnit, knife. Just say it!
Two deputies respond, slamming the perp to the floor and inciting an all-out brawl. Tess screams. My head whips in her direction, her terror forcing me to act.
She and Simon huddle in the corner, away from where the judge’s deputy is lying on his side, curling inward to protect his weapon against the two men kicking him in the stomach.
I charge toward them. Bone crunches beneath my swinging fist when another perp tries to intercept me. He crashes to the floor, giving a smaller deputy the chance to cuff him. She has him, but the other two perps still have the judge’s guard.
In the tough Philly streets where I was raised, you learn to fight or you learn to get your ass kicked. The O’Briens are fighters, and as one of them, I’ve learned to inflict some serious damage.
My uppercut sends the bigger of the two assailants flying. Big man, glass jaw. The leaner one hurls himself at me. Tess screams again when I knock him out. One punch. That’s all it takes.
I dodge a fourth offender and wrench his arm back, kicking his feet out from under him.
Him I cuff, then I lug him to his feet and spout his Miranda. My eyes sweep my surroundings as adrenaline pumps through my veins, readying me for another attack. It doesn’t come. Thank Christ, more deputies have arrived and are quickly regaining order.
As I take in the blood and the swelling faces, it’s clear that the effort to secure the courthouse didn’t come easy. Shit. How did a knife get past security? The press is going to be all over this mess.
Simon stumbles forward when the perp I’m restraining is hauled away. “That was amazing,” he says. “Holy shit, dude, you’re one badass cop.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Tess’s shrill voice cuts through the sounds of the angry crowd and furious barks from the deputies herding them out. “Are you all right?”
Despite everything, I feel myself begin to smile. “Yeah, I’m—”
My voice cuts off when I realize she’s not talking to me.
Her hands clutch Declan’s arm like she’s afraid he’s going to die. Seeing how he’s standing there grinning, I’m pretty sure he’s going to make it.
A couple of drops of blood trickle down his nose and onto his crisp white shirt. He chuckles. “I’m fine, Contessa, really. Just caught an elbow to the face. It happens when you’re forced to throw down.”
“You were so brave,” she says, her doe eyes blinking up, at him. She removes the paisley scarf from around her neck and dabs his nose, even though it’s already stopped bleeding. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
What. Da. Fuck?
He lifts the scarf from her grasp, smiling down at her and patting her arm. Jesus, help me. It’s all I can do not to finish breaking his nose.
“I’ve seriously never seen anything like that, dude,” Simon continues, his breath fast and his voice filled with excitement. “I mean you were like a machine. I thought that Jackie Chan stuff only happened in movies!”
Declan has Tess. I have Simon. Somehow, this shit doesn’t seem fair.
Tess’s eyes whip open when she finally notices me. She races over, pulling at my torn shirt. “Your brother hurled a man against the wall who charged me, but he’s hurt and needs immediate medical attention.”
Tell it to my bleeding knuckles. I turn to Declan. “Wow. You threw one guy against the wall?” I motion to the scrawny teen being led away. “That one right there? You’re a goddamn warrior, Deck.”
He nods like he believes me. “I know.”
The guard assigned to the judge’s chambers is being cared for by two EMTs, even though he’s pissed as all hell over it. Good thing he held tight to his gun, or else…
I shake the thought away. For the most part, things are slowing down. That doesn’t mean we’re safe. I clasp Tess’s elbow. “Come on. I need to get you and Declan back to the office.”
I move them out and away, holding tight to Tess while keeping tabs on Declan. It’s not until we reach the DA’s office that she notices my shredded hands.
She screams, pointing at them. “Oh, God. You’re bleeding too!”
Before I can tell her I’m fine, she runs out like the building’s on fire. “I don’t think she’s good with blood,” I say to Declan.
“Not even a little bit.” He gives me a long, hard look. “How’d it go?” he asks.
I shrug. “Shitty. But trial’s over. Jury came back quick due to the preponderance of evidence. Sentencing was today, which is why everyone lost it. Judge Bronson’s all freed up to hear the Montenegro case. You should get your trial date soon.”
He ignores my last comment. “Was Joey there?”
Although I keep my face neutral, the muscles of my neck tighten like a noose. “Yup. All week. He was led out by his family when things got heated following the sentencing.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. Twice I tried to approach him. Both times he rolled away from me in his wheelchair.”
“He needs time, Curran.”
“Time won’t give him back the use of his legs.”
The door crashes open, and Tess stumbles into the room with a first aid kit clutched in her arms. “Declan, Detective Wendt needs to see you in the interrogation room. They arrested the gumad and are speaking to her now. They said they have enough for a search and seizure, but need to conference with you. I’ll get started on the paperwork as soon as I see to Officer O’Brien.”
For the first time since he started on this case, my brother hesitates. And it really pisses me off. “Go,” I snap. “This is the chance you’ve been waiting for.”
He snags his jacket and hurries out, but not before shooting me one last glance.
Tess cracks open the kit and immediately sprays my knuckles with white foam. It sizzles my raw flesh, burning its way down to the bone. I jump and shake out my hands. “What the hell is that?”
“Antiseptic.” She sprays me again, this time with more.
“Shit, are you sure?” My skin is on fire.
“Of course I’m sure,” she says. She glances at the bottle, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Wash your hands—Jesus Christ, wash your hands now!”
“It’s not antiseptic?”
She falls all over herself, trying to lead me to the sink tucked in the corner of Declan’s office. The sink’s tiny; my scorching hands barely fit. In her haste, Tess blasts the water, soaking us both.
“Not hot—cold—cold, damnit!”
“I’m trying!” She fumbles with the faucets, completely flustered. “Is that better?” She reaches for the soap and lathers me up.
I yank my hands back. “It was until you added soap!”
She thrusts them back under the water. “Trust me, you need soap!” She reaches for more, her body trembling.
“What did you spray on my hands?” She doesn’t answer, continuing her task and averting her gaze. “Tess, what the hell did you spray me with?”
She drops her hands to her sides. “Something that shouldn’t have been in there. I borrowed the kit from one of the secretaries. Had I known she would fill it with random medication I never would have—”
“What did you spray me with?” I growl.
She sighs with defeat. “Wart remover.”
“Wart remover?”
She adjusts her spot-covered glasses. “Watch your tone, Officer.”
“Wa
tch my tone? You sprayed me with wart remover!”
“I was trying to help—”
“I don’t have goddamn warts!”
She lifts her chin. “Well, I should hope not,” she says, her face heating.
Oh, I see….
I turn off the water and reach for the paper towels. My skin continues to throb, but I don’t let it show, my attention now solely on her.
She points to the sink. “Y-you should keep rinsing them. I’m not certain what adverse effects the medication may have on your delicate skin—”
“I don’t have delicate skin. But you already know that.” I clasp her shoulders and pull her to me, kissing her softly, holding her gently, allowing her the opportunity to break away.
But she doesn’t.
Her hands travel across my forearms to carefully hold my wrists, surrendering to my tongue as it circles hers. It’s one of those kisses girls talk to death about: slow, delicate, unremitting, the kind of kiss that lasts all day and ends after hours in bed.
My lips linger over hers until I pull back and leave her mouth completely. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I whisper.
She lowers her chin when I release her. “You seemed occupied.”
“Yeah. I was.”
She looks at me then with enough sadness in her expression to tighten my gut. “I take it the testimony on behalf of your friend was this week?”
I almost don’t answer. But she saw me in court, so there’s no denying it now. “That’s right.”
“It must have been difficult,” she says, quietly.
I tighten my jaw and stay silent.
“And stressful, I’m sure,” she adds.
My mouth remains shut. I know she’s trying to get me to talk, but I can’t give her what she wants.
Still she waits, and for a long time doesn’t move. Finally, when she realizes I’m not going to open up, she says, “If I’d known, I would have been there.”
When I do nothing more than breathe, she inches away and returns to where the first aid kit is teetering on the edge of Declan’s desk.
“I didn’t want you there,” I admit. Her back stiffens. “I didn’t want anyone there.”
She shuts the lid to the kit. “I see.”
“No you don’t.”
I don’t miss the hurt in her voice, despite how quietly she speaks. “I would if you’d just let me.”
Maybe she’s right. But I don’t tell her that.
She lifts the box and heads for the door, reaching for the handle.
“I should’ve called,” I repeat. I’m trying to keep her here, but when her shattered expression meets mine, I know it’s too late.
She turns just enough to meet me square in the eye. “Don’t bother. I told you, I have enough wrong in my life.”
Chapter 13
Tess
I don’t see Curran for the remainder of the week. But what did I expect? He didn’t follow when I left Declan’s office, nor did he try to stop me from leaving. I told him not to call me, but it’s not because I didn’t want him to. It’s because I’m not sure he ever will.
And it hurts.
Curran adds color to my world. Loud, bold, obnoxious color mixed with arrogance and often disturbing references, but color nonetheless.
He’s also a really great kisser.
Among other things.
Dear Lord, that tongue.
Declan laughs. “What are you smiling about, Contessa?”
I pass him a criminal file and reach for another one, hoping to give my cheeks a moment to cool. “I’m just happy your hard work is paying off, and that we’re getting closer to justice being served.”
Okay. I might have laid that on a little thick.
To my relief, he nods as he flips through the file, one of many he’ll be reading this weekend. “Snagging the mistress and finding all that evidence was our big break,” he agrees. “Can’t believe all the crap the search and seizure turned up. I owe Curran big-time.”
I fix the loose pages dangling from the next folder, trying to keep my tone light. “How is Officer O’Brien? He hasn’t been assigned to guard me lately.”
Declan pauses in the middle of stuffing his briefcase. It’s Friday, and almost midnight. Aside from our guards who are waiting in the hall, we’re the only ones here, having just finished the pending motions and depositions. “His testimony took a lot of his time,” he says, carefully. “He needed to debrief with his superiors about the trial and then had to collaborate with the Sheriff’s Department with regard to the multiple arrests and charges that resulted from the altercation following the sentencing.”
It’s what he claims, and I believe him, but I can’t help thinking he’s also making excuses for his brother. I force a smile and pass him the last file, realizing that around Curran, my smiles always seem to come naturally.
—
It’s not until the following day that I finally see Curran. It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve spent the day catching up on my law classes. The briefs I had to write took all day. Now I’m rushing to tidy my apartment and prepare for Spencer’s fundraiser.
I open my door to find him waiting in the seating area at the end of the hall. My arms are filled with my recycling and I’m wearing my oldest pair of pajamas—a Hello Kitty set, for heaven’s sake!—while strands of my unwashed hair dangle from the messy bun perched on top of my head.
He’s dressed in dark slacks and a royal-blue shirt that brings out his striking features and spellbinding eyes.
He looks sexy.
Damn sexy.
I don’t.
Dear God, kill me.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.” I teeter back and forth awkwardly because hey, I’m clearly not awkward enough. “How are your hands?”
He holds them up. “Good. No warts. That shit really works.”
I trip over my words trying to formulate a decent response—something witty, funny. Yeah, I have nothing. With a sigh, I let my door shut behind me and head to the opposite end of the hall.
“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that.”
I slow my steps at the approach of his heavy feet. “I’ll be right back.”
“That’s not the point.”
I stop and turn around to face him. “Curran…what are you doing here?”
He surprises me by smiling. “I’m back on duty.” He frowns. “Something wrong?”
Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on. I think you like me, but you won’t talk to me about anything that matters. I can’t get you to open up, even though it seems like you really need to. I want to be your friend, yet I don’t think you want my friendship. And I want to be your lover, but not only when it suits you.
“No,” I answer.
I resume my quick pace until I reach the disposal chute and feed it my recyclables. I fiddle with my hair, for all the good it does, then march back in the direction of my apartment. “I have a fundraiser to attend this evening,” I say when he catches up to walk beside me.
“For Hello Kitty?”
My blush answers for me.
“Just asking,” he says, doing a horrible job of squelching his grin.
I glance down, but despite my embarrassment, my clothes, and my absolute shock to find him here, I can’t hide my smile. I’ve missed him and his stupid jokes. “Would you like to come in?”
“Yes,” he tells me, his voice gruff.
My eyes widen. Slowly, I walk back to my apartment with Curran close beside me. He follows me inside and turns the deadbolt, stopping in my living room.
I stroll into my kitchen and wash my hands. It’s when I’m drying them that I realize he’s staring at the hideous dress my father bought me. I draped it over the couch when the dry cleaning service dropped it off earlier. I didn’t think to hide it. But maybe I should have.
He lifts his chin. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I almost lie because it’s just that ugly. “Yes.”
“Oh,” he says like it pains him.
“You don’t like it,” I say, not that I’m surprised.
“No, it’s a nice dress. We buried my Grammie—God rest her soul—in something just like it.”
Of course he did. Of course…
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I…” I rub the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. The stress of my classes this past week and the late hours working with Declan have taken their toll. But it was the constant calls from my father that pushed me to my breaking point. He’s phoned twice a day, sometimes more, to “help” me become better acquainted with Spencer. He told me his likes, dislikes, favorite political influences, even the way he prefers his coffee in the morning—no, that wasn’t a hint or anything.
My father doesn’t know my favorite color, nor does he care. But he made certain I knew Spencer’s. Blue. No wonder he’d selected that hideous dress.
“Tess?”
I drop my hand away, detesting the awful way my voice shakes when I speak. “I hate the dress, Curran. I don’t want to go to this function. And I think Spencer Woodworth—my date for the evening, and Philly’s probable next mayor—is a complete and utter asshole.”
I’m certain Curran will laugh, or poke fun at me or Spencer. But all signs of humor are lost from his face.
“So why are you going? And why the hell are you wearing that dress?”
I place my hands on my hips and look down. “I have to go. It’s not something I can get out of.”
“Why?”
“I promised.” I didn’t really. It’s more of a forced expectation. But the truth will trigger more questions that I’m not prepared to answer, and I’ve already said enough.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re wearing something that belongs on one of your elderly neighbors,” he bites out. “I mean damn, you have a body that won’t quit and you hide it beneath layers of goddamn tweed and polyester.”
“You like my body?” I’m not trying to redirect him, but it’s the one thing he said that I fixate on. “Even after the weight I’ve gained?”
Curran crosses the room to stand in front of me. “You didn’t gain weight. You gained curves. Men, real men, like curves, not fucking angles.”