by Alana Lorens
First, Morgan coming to talk to Reichert about Nick, now this? Oh yes, something was up.
His mind turned to more practical considerations. Even though he’d hoped he and Suzanne would spend the night together, he hadn’t really planned for it. “Breakfast,” he muttered to himself, tearing his thoughts away from the woman in his shower. He wasn’t sure what he had in the refrigerator. He sure hoped there was something.
He leaned on the door as he studied the contents of his refrigerator. Half a pizza in a plain white box. Some Italian takeout from the week before. Four bottles left from a six-pack of dark beer. Half a carton of orange juice. A loaf of sourdough bread. Mustard, horseradish. On the bottom shelf he found some chopped ham and a carton of eggs, which seemed promising till he looked inside. Three eggs? Really?
Nick sighed.
He stared a little longer, as if he could magically change what lay on the shelves in front of him by sheer force of will. The shower quit running. A few minutes later, the bathroom door whispered open, and he caught a glimpse of a maroon robe coming up behind him. She moved quietly, but he restrained himself from a startled reaction. Never sneak up on a cop, honey.
“I’m starving,” she said, her voice soft like syrup.
“That’s a shame,” he said. “We could get dressed and—”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Let’s not.” She pushed past him, taking the juice out of the refrigerator, along with the ham, bread, eggs and mustard. “This’ll work.”
He watched, amused, as she slathered mustard on four slices of bread, then scrambled the eggs in the microwave, layering them on the bread with the ham. A minute under the broiler, and they had breakfast fit for—well, for a single man, and a woman used to making do.
“A woman of many talents, I see,” he said.
“You have no idea.” She chuckled. “Least you could do is pour the coffee.”
“Well, if it’s the least I could do…” Nick laughed and took a second cup from the cupboard, and filled it to a half-inch from the top. He thought he remembered she took cream. If he had cream. Frowning, he looked in the refrigerator again. Nope. He had the powdered stuff in the closet, though, so he got that out. His Boy Scout leader would be horrified at his failure to be prepared. He might even lose a badge or two.
Suzanne didn’t seem dismayed in the least at the false cream, though. She seemed like a different person, not self-conscious, not closed up, not pushing him away. Something between them had changed overnight, but he didn’t think it was simply the act of making love. After what had happened with the pictures, she’d decided to trust him.
Finishing the impromptu breakfast, he licked his fingers and sighed. She seemed distracted now, picking at the pages of the Post-Gazette. What he really wanted to talk about was her safety. A small voice in his head nagged him for making the events seem so dramatic. Her “life” hadn’t been in any particular danger. But it could have been. He didn’t need to lecture her—surely she had that speech memorized and delineated, as often as she must give it to her own clients. But to let her know she could count on him if she needed help. Not just for a single night, but for as long as she needed it.
“So what are you going to do about those pictures?” he asked.
She froze a moment, then closed the newspaper. “I suppose I’ll hang on to them. Until I have more.”
“Last night you said there was a bigger picture.”
“Actually, you’re the one who said it.” Her head cocked at a sassy angle as she studied him. “But this isn’t the first incident about the girls.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on, Suzanne? I’m not trying to get into your business. I just want to help.”
She pulled the robe closer around her. “Someone sent Riv a threatening email the other night. The day we worked on the garden, actually.”
Nick’s lips twitched into a frown. “No one she knew?”
Suzanne shook her head. “I would have written it off as just kids screwing around, except for the comment that this person would come after Riviera for something her mother had done.”
“So you didn’t think it was kids.”
Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t know who it was. It could have been some high school kids trying to prank her.” She looked away. “It could have been more.”
“Did you report this?”
“I didn’t want to overreact.”
His blood pressure hit the escalator. “You—overreact? When your child is threatened? Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing as overreaction.”
She pulled back from him physically, and a veil of distance came into her eyes.
Nick realized too late he’d stepped across an invisible line. “I know, I don’t have children. So my opinion may not be relevant. I’m just—”
“And you don’t have my life,” she said tartly. “Believe it or not, I’ve managed to take care of myself and my children all these years before I met you.” She stood up.
“Suzanne! Please.” He stood up, too, feeling helpless, knowing he could make her stay and listen to him if he so chose. But he wanted her to want to stay. “I have resources.”
“In the city. I’m in State Police territory. Believe me, I’ve advised clients over the last fifteen years to report incidents like this. You know what they get? They get ‘Oh gee, I’m sorry I can’t help you unless you can prove who sent that.’ Not very useful.” She eyed him for a long moment, then relented. “Look, Nick, I saved the email. I’ll save these photos. If it’s really…him…I can go after him when we’re done. I’ll take action when it’s safe. For everyone.”
“You mean for Madeleine Morgan.”
She nodded. “I mean for Madeleine Morgan.”
He tried to understand. He did. At least they agreed on that. Maddie Morgan needed to be protected. But did it have to be at the expense of Suzanne and her daughter?
“To timing,” he said, raising his cup.
“To timing.” She clinked her cup against his, then drained it. “I should be getting home.”
Disappointed, he finished his coffee, too. “Sure? We could take in a movie or catch the new artist at the Mattress Factory.”
“I appreciate the offer. Maybe another time.” She stood up, tightening the thick cloth belt. “Thanks for breakfast.”
His hand reached up to cup her cheek, her skin soft under his worn fingers. Just as he wondered whether he could persuade her to stay, she pulled away and escaped to the bedroom. The door closed with the distinct sound of the lock being turned. So much for that. He ran some water onto the dishes in the sink and waited for her to come out.
When the door opened, he was surprised to see she’d appropriated one of his Jimmy Buffett t-shirts instead of the fancy shirt she’d worn the night before, wearing it over her dress slacks. She blushed when their eyes met.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I just—I thought it would be more comfortable than what I wore last night.”
He found her curves no less appealing in his shirt. Something light, Nick. Don’t upset her. “I was hoping you’d found the night worthy of a souvenir.”
Suzanne’s face warmed into a smile, though she stayed across the room from him. “Well, it certainly was that.” Her hands smoothed the shirt down across her stomach, a little longer than was necessary. “Look at it this way. As long as I have the shirt, we’ll have an excuse to get together sometime.”
“That sounds like a deal.” He mumbled something about getting dressed. “Have some more coffee if you want,” he said. In the bedroom, he grabbed a pair of jeans off the back of a chair, pulling them on in a hurry, nearly falling over as he hopped on one foot. A police gym t-shirt went next, and a Dolphins sweatshirt on top. Nothing fancy. He wasn’t a fancy kind of guy.
Which made it all the more strange that he’d fallen so hard for a lawyer.
“Not that you’re going to have to buy a tuxedo any time soon, Nicky boy,” he scolded himself. “Got to win her first.”
> He ran fingers through his close-cut hair and shoved size-ten feet into some worn off-brand sneakers. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he thought he’d pass for a lazy Saturday. Especially if he was spending the rest of it alone. He forced a cheery smile onto his lips and headed back into the living room. “Ready?” he asked.
Suzanne stood before the wall of framed citations Nick had received in the course of his career. Nick wasn’t vain about the awards. The fact he knew his mother had used her pin money to have each of the six commendations matted and framed out of her own sense of pride in her son’s accomplishments made them more valuable to him. He hadn’t the heart to take them down. In truth, he hardly ever noticed them since he’d made lieutenant. He spent too many hours on the job to rest on any laurels, even well-framed ones.
“You’re some hotshot, hmm?” she asked, without turning around. “No wonder you got promoted.”
His turn to blush. “Thanks. I just do my job.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Thank you. For doing your job, I mean. It has to be rough. We count on the police to put themselves at risk every day. Like what you did at Maddie’s.”
“Me? You’re the one I thought was going to elicit some imminent violence!” He hesitated on the way to the door. “You apparently hit your mark. If Greg Morgan had come unglued there, you could have been smack in the line of fire.”
She chewed her lip. “I suppose that’s so. The bastard burned me, the way he just expected all you men to take his side.” As he bristled, she raised a hand to halt him. “Not that you did. But you saw those other guys.”
“I did,” he admitted. “Maddie seems to me to be a good wife and mother. She and the children shouldn’t have to live in that kind of household. I’m glad we can help her.”
“Me, too,” she said, relaxing into a faint smile. “Don’t worry. He won’t get to us. We’ll kick his ass. Give him a little of his own medicine.” She gathered her purse and other belongings from the floor where she must have dropped them the night before, and waited awkwardly near the door. He could tell she was ready to escape.
“Come on, we better get you back before you turn into a pumpkin or something.” He held the door open for her, then they headed out to his car amidst a cool late autumn wind ripe with the scents of fallen leaves and wood smoke.
They didn’t speak much on the way back to the lot off Carson Street where she’d left her car. He struggled with warm words he wanted to say but was afraid to speak, since she seemed so touchy. Wanting to make sure she was comfortable, not wanting to scare her off after he’d worked so hard to get to that “yes”, he held back what he might have said to some more casual partner. He found that he needed to devote plenty of attention to Saturday morning traffic around the Strip, popular this time of year for the final farmer’s markets before the cold set in. When they pulled up to the lot, he made her wait while he checked her car locks for signs of tampering, or any wires that didn’t belong. Nothing.
Apparently Morgan had made his point.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Suzanne walked up to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks again, Lieutenant. For everything.” She got into her car, and she was gone.
He turned the truck around in a nearby driveway, feeling suddenly bereft. The need for company settled into his bones. He could stop by the office—always plenty to do there. But the thought of encountering the Three Amigos changed his mind. Instead, he set his course for the small apartment where his father lived alone. Two guys together, that was the ticket.
They could talk football, family and finally, women. Stubborn, mystifying, maddening women. Maybe Joe Sansone would guide Nick’s heart in the right direction to make sure this one didn’t get away.
Chapter Thirteen
Suzanne was already on the interstate when she quit burning over Nick’s comments. She’d thought about retreating to her office but Nick might have followed her to continue his lecture. She’d held her tongue, tried to be polite, even appreciative of his motives. But the last thing she’d wanted was more conversation with him.
How dare he criticize how she raised her children?
She’d taken care of them on her own for thirteen years. She didn’t need advice from some self-important police lieutenant with a knight-in-shining-armor complex. Maybe it was irrational, but in the morning light, particularly when he wanted to get back into the discussion of the pictures, the emails, all with a critical note in his voice, her back just came up. It was her natural tendency, and she knew it, ready to toss the baby, the bathwater, the basin, all of it, just to save her pride. Wasn’t the first time it had happened. Each time she thought it would be the last. But it wasn’t.
She’d managed to be polite, even once the criticism started. They’d had a wonderful night. She sighed. A really wonderful night. Remembered sensations of their lovemaking tingled her skin and brought a rush of blood to her face.
God, I’m an idiot.
She was human. And a woman. A woman who had physical needs. Needs she’d denied herself for a long time, worried about just this happening. A man feeling like he had the right to control her life.
Calm down.
He’d checked her trunk thoroughly, seeming sincerely worried about her. He probably was. She was glad for that. All the same, since the moment she’d allowed him to “rescue” her from the goon in the parking lot, when he’d sped away with her in his car, muttering about stalkers and danger, she’d been under his control.
Once she’d closed the door and was alone, she started to feel more like herself again. Driving out of the lot, she didn’t look back. Nick Sansone was the best man she’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t right for her. She should have gone with her gut and left this one alone from the beginning. Cops were trouble. That’s all there was to it.
Trouble wasn’t on her agenda. What was on her schedule for the day was the drive north of the city to her parents’ house in Perrysville, to pick up the girls.
She never expected the ambush that awaited her there.
Perrysville was a nice small town, enough local services and shops to provide her retired parents with their daily needs, and an easy drive to the city if there was more they needed. Paul and Maureen Young lived just outside town. A hundred years earlier, the old white house had once been the home that ruled all the lands within view, but financially-pressed owners had sold off bits of property until all that was left was the house itself on a half-acre of land, set amid a stand of maple trees, now in a blaze of fall colors. The yard was big enough for her mother to grow flowers and some tomatoes and beans in the summer, while her dad could putter in the two-car garage out back and easily maintain the grass with his small riding mower.
Their Airedale, Maggie, came running to meet Suzanne’s car as she pulled into the long driveway. Suzanne carefully avoided the enthusiastic dog and pulled into her usual parking spot next to the daylily bed. The old stems had been clipped and a pile of wood mulch sat next to the bed, ready to tuck them in for winter.
She greeted the dog, who’d finally learned not to jump on visitors—it had only taken thirteen months—and kept her at arms’ length as she walked up to the porch that lined the north side of the house. This wasn’t her shirt. She didn’t want to be responsible for any claw holes in it. Besides, she was more of a cat person. “Mom? Call off your guard dog!”
“Suzie, I didn’t hear you come up.” Wrapped in the old green wool sweater she’d brought back from a trip to Scotland a dozen years before, her mother came out the screen door. The sweater smelled like mothballs and wet dog and almond hand lotion, but her mother refused to set it aside for the new ones Suzanne had bought her in the interim. She clapped her hands. “Maggie, come here, girl!”
The brown dog scampered up on the porch, tail wagging.
Suzanne hugged her mother, noticing a few more graying threads in her auburn hair. As her mother’s mouth opened to speak, no doubt ready to jump on the subject of the o
dd phone call the night before, Suzanne chose the topic of conversation instead. “You look great, Mom. Did the girls give you any trouble?”
“Honey, when do they ever? Those girls are just angels.”
“Angels? Of course.” Suzanne laughed. The girls knew how to play their cards, that was true. Their doting grandparents were patsies in the hand. Which suited Suzanne just fine. Her parents got the chance to meddle in the girls’ lives instead of her own. The frequent visits between grandparents and granddaughters also gave the girls the opportunity to be more rambunctious, a little more needy and be coddled just that much more.
“They’ll be back soon. They were just down the road at the neighbor’s house helping her put up some apples.” Her mother petted the dog once more, then held the door open for Suzanne to enter the kitchen. The homey blue gingham curtains were familiar, replicas of ones that had graced the kitchen of Suzanne’s childhood home, some ten miles south in Mount Lebanon. The kitchen smelled of baking cookies. Off to the left, sounds of some sports event drifted in from the living room, where her father was absorbed in front of his large-screened television.
Suzanne poured herself a glass of fresh lemonade from the refrigerator and sat on one of the polished oak chairs at the kitchen table, feeling like a little girl again.
Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to just be a kid and let someone else make all the big decisions? Not to have to worry about bills or bullies or relationships? Adult choices are hard.
Like choices about love. Suzanne’s thoughts strayed to the improvised breakfast with Nick, the little-boy rumple to his hair, the warmth of his smile…the depth of his frown at his disappointment with the bold way she decided to handle Greg Morgan. The memory annoyed her. She’d let her outraged ego run free after what she’d seen at Maddie’s house, instead of her sense of propriety. Perhaps it would have been better to be more diplomatic. What she’d wanted to do was slap Greg Morgan silly. She’d just done it verbally instead.