Not now.
Hell, he might even buy that prick a drink.
They’d just given him an early Christmas present.
“No,” Summers said, her voice gentle.
He looked up and met her gaze. She smiled. “I thought maybe you’d like to contact them. Mike, I mean. And his sister.”
“I seem to be missing something…?”
Ignoring the lawyer, Alex started to skim the report. “It was a clean pick-up, right, L.T.?”
“Clean as a whistle, O’Malley.” A hot fire burned in the lieutenant’s eyes as he flicked a look at the lawyer who seemed to be getting more and more irritated.
“Something’s going on,” Hobart said, rising and smacking his palms on the surface of the table. “Now look, you three are clearly having fun with your little secret conversation, but I will talk to this man—”
Alex laughed and slammed the image down on the table in front of the lawyer. “Talk all you want…I’ll even let you go first. When you talk to him, be sure to let him know that Detectives O’Malley and Ryan will be looking forward to seeing him…real soon.”
Then he flipped through the file’s contents. It would be in there, he knew it would. Katrina Summers was too anal—
There.
It was short and simple.
The detailed report of how a rookie uniform and the former chief of police had the bad—or maybe the good luck, depending on you looked at it—to end up in a liquor store the same night one man with a lot of bullets and a lot of desperation decided to hold it up. The chief of police talked the gunman into letting the rookie uniform take one of the men behind the counter out when he started to gasp, clutching at his chest.
The rookie cop got the man out, called 9-1-1 and went to rush back in.
But the man with the gun saw him and panicked.
Alex figured he saw the look in the rookie’s eyes.
He also figured the chief of police saw something in the gunman’s eyes and he just reacted.
Alex stared at the signature at the bottom.
Officer Michael Ryan.
It had to have been hard, filling out the report about the death of your own father.
Enraged, he grabbed it and flung it toward the lawyer.
Without saying another word, he stormed out of the office and threw himself into his chair.
Brooding, he stared up at the ceiling.
His phone beeped and he pulled it out, eyed it.
It was a text from Mike.
He ignored the text, shoved the phone back into his pocket.
His thoughts drifted to Alison and the message she’d sent him. A sexual relationship. She wanted to pursue a sexual relationship with him so she could…
He wanted to hit something, hard. He’d wanted her for…weeks. Months. He had a chance to have exactly what he’d been wanting ever since that cold night in February.
And now he had to tell her something that was going to unsettle the happy world she’d managed to create for herself.
Chapter Eleven
She didn’t answer the text he sent until nearly two hours later.
When she did, it was with an apology.
Sorry. Training at my new job. Can’t text when I’m on the floor.
It took Alex a few seconds to remember the new job and when he did, he started rubbing his head.
Right. Working the ER. University of Louisville, across the river.
He shot her a text back.
I need to talk to you. Today, if possible. Is it possible?
His phone rang a few seconds later.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice short and clipped.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” he asked.
“Easy,” Alison said, her voice light and casual. “I know you. You haven’t answered me about what I asked you earlier and I don’t think that’s why you’re texting me about talking later, but you need to talk to me…so something is wrong.”
“That might make sense…in an odd sort of way.” Alex debated over it for a minute and then just shook his head. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You do that. Now answer the question.”
“Not…” Alex swore. Spying the old tennis ball he kept on his desk, he tossed it up into the air. He caught it. Threw it again. “Not on the phone, Ali, okay? Can we have dinner? Talk?”
“Fine. I’m on until seven though.”
“Fine. We can meet at that Mediterranean place near the river. You know it?”
She snorted. “You mean the one that’s like a block from my house? I think I can find it.”
He was sitting on the porch when Alison got home.
Parking her car, she climbed out and stood there for a long moment staring at him.
But Alex wasn’t staring at her.
He was staring at her car.
It had belonged to her dad.
For reasons that still escaped her, he had left the car to her. Why he’d leave her the muscle car and then the art that he’d collected with her mother to Mike, she’d never know.
But he had done just that.
“You’re driving it,” Alex said softly, staring the ’72 Mustang.
Alison half-turned to stare at the car. It was painted a deep shade of red with just a hint of purple in it. The soft cream of the leather interior perfectly matched the convertible top.
“Yeah,” she murmured. Then she shrugged. “It…it took a while.”
“A while?” He eyed. “Yeah. Like ten years. It’s been sitting in the garage ever since he left it to you. Mike takes it out and keeps it up, but you…”
Alison toyed with her necklace, self-conscious. “Hey, I’ve taken it out. In the summer, I can’t stand the thought of it just sitting in the garage. Dad…” She stopped when her voice threatened to break. “Dad worked so hard on it. He loved taking Mom out in this car.”
“He changed a lot after she died.”
Alison nodded. She grabbed her stuff from the small space behind the front seat and then locked the door. Plodding up the sidewalk, she waited for him to stand up before they moved to the front door. “I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant.”
He didn’t respond right away.
When he did look up at her, his expression was grim. “We need to talk, Ali-cat. I didn’t think it was a good idea to do it at the restaurant.”
Because the ache in her gut was spreading, she tried to cover it. Alison had discovered that flippancy was one hell of a weapon—and one hell of a shield. “Talk about what?” she asked breezily as she passed by him. “If this is about my message—”
He caught her arm and turned her to face him.
Even before he spoke, she knew.
“It’s not.”
Somehow, she’d known. Just by the way his gaze had lingered on the car, just by the expression on his face.
Cops had a way of looking at people, Alison knew. When there was bad news? She knew that kind of look. All too well.
Even before he reached out to take her hand, some part of her realized what he had to tell her.
Strange. She’d waited years for this. But now, she didn’t want to know.
∞
Broodingly, Alex watched Alison’s narrow back as she walked out of the room.
He’d come over here prepared to take her out to dinner. They’d make small talk and chat and he’d see if he couldn’t tease a few more smiles out of her, but as soon as he’d seen her, he’d known it was all wrong.
He was wanting to tease a few smiles out of her, make her feel more open to him so when he talked his way inside, she’d be more open to letting him comfort her after he told her. He could comfort her and then…
Even now, he felt like kicking his own ass.
Alex generally had little shame when it came to women. If they wanted to cry on his shoulder, he was happy to let them and then he’d kiss their tears away, kiss his way down their bodies and make them forget just why they were crying. C
ome morning, he’d even hang around, do it all over again. People didn’t give the physical sort of comfort enough respect.
But Alison wasn’t the kind of woman who’d take comfort in a quick fuck and he wished Mike was here so he could tell him what a bastard he was. If Mike was here, Alex knew he could get his ass kicked. It might help.
So caught up in his thinking, he didn’t realize how much time had passed until Alison appeared in the door way wearing a pair of brief running shorts, a sport bra and a tank top.
His brain flickered and tried to die. Vainly, he forced himself to focus on something other than the long, pale length of her legs. “What are you doing?”
“Going running,” she said, her voice brusque. “I need to think.”
“Gimme a minute.” He looked down at the charcoal gray trousers and black polo he’d pulled on, thinking he’d take her out to dinner. “I’ve got gym clothes—”
But she was already out the door.
“Son of a—”
After the news he’d just dumped on her, did she really think he was going to leave her alone?
Snarling, he jogged out of the house and trailed after her up the block, watched as she swung a left. She was heading for the Big Four Bridge. Swinging back to her place, he popped the trunk on his car and grabbed his bag. It was the quickest change of clothes he’d ever done in his life and he only barely remembered to arm the system and lock up her house. He had the codes, because he’d been there the day it was installed. Fortunately, she hadn’t changed them or he might have been talking to some of his co-workers.
∞
She couldn’t outrun grief…or Alex, it seemed.
She wasn’t even a quarter a way across when he caught up with her, his legs pumping hard and fast. As he reached her side, he shortened his strides, his gaze straight ahead, his mouth set.
“I don’t want you here.”
He ignored her.
She spun around and turned back the way she’d come.
He just fell into step next to her.
Stopping, she turned to the railing, her air coming in painful rasps. She’d been pushing herself too hard and fast, but it was the only way to silence the screaming girl still trapped inside her head.
“Do you have anybody you can call?” The cop had kind eyes. The grief counsellor held her hand while Mike lay in a hospital bed, face as white as the sheets beneath him.
Alison just sat there, unable to speak. What she wanted to do was scream. To cry. But the Ryans didn’t cry.
Gripping the railing, she sucked in one painful breath after another while the ache in her chest grew larger and larger.
They’d found him.
For more than ten years, they’d been searching for the man who’d killed her father. The man who’d shot her brother.
Alex had just told her they’d found him.
So why did she want to cry?
A hand brushed down her back.
She spun around and shoved Alex away. “Get away from me!” she shouted.
People turned to look at her before looking away. No, no, no…mustn’t pay any attention. Not when she can see, Alison thought, half hysterical.
She could almost hear her father’s voice in the back of her head. You don’t make a fuss in public, Alison. You’re a Ryan, remember that.
“Take it out on me,” Alex said, his voice calm. “I don’t mind.”
The gentleness in his voice would be her undoing. She didn’t want him to be gentle or understanding…
Swearing, she shoved past him and started to run again, at a slower pace.
She lapped through downtown Jeffersonville, but for once, she took little notice of the slow revitalization taking place. Dodging families and couples, she pounded the pavement until her lungs burned and her legs were heavy. Twilight had settled in and darkness was chasing close behind when she finally trudged up the street where she lived. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Dumbly, she stared at it. She hadn’t locked it.
Keys jangled and Alex came up from behind her. “Let me.”
Numb, she stood there as he unlocked the door and then, still feeling oddly disconnected, she let him guide her into the house.
Alex circled around to stand in front of her, big, warm hands coming up to cup her shoulders.
Without thinking about it, she said, “I guess it was too much to hope for that you wanted to get together to talk about my proposition.”
He blinked, thrown off-guard.
“Well?” There was a hot, almost burning pain inside her and she wanted to grab him, wrap herself around him, get lost in him. It might dull the agony roaring inside.
A phone rang. Alex tugged his out, check the screen.
Then he put it down and hit a button.
As Mike’s voice filled the room, she sagged backward against the counter.
∞
“Everybody is sure it’s him?” she asked after Mike had finished talking. She’d had a thousand questions, but she’d kept them locked inside during her run. Until she talked to Mike, she wasn’t going to voice any of those questions.
Some miseries were too private.
“Yes,” Alex said softly. “There’s no doubt about it.”
She just nodded and lifted her gaze to stare out at the bridges, the foot traffic that had grown steadily on her side of the river.
Mike and Alex continued to talk and then dimly, she heard them saying their goodbyes. She sipped at her whisky in the silence.
Alex waited.
She said nothing.
He continued to wait.
She just sipped at her whisky.
She didn’t know what to think.
The man who’d stolen her father from her was now sitting in jail.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked quietly.
“I’m fine.” She felt numb. She didn’t think fine was the right answer, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.
She’d been ten when her mother died and her father had told her she couldn’t cry. You’re a Ryan. You don’t cry. Don’t let them see you cry.
She’d been eighteen when her father died and she hadn’t let herself cry at his funeral—even then, his voice had echoed in her ear.
You’re a Ryan.
Ryans don’t cry.
And she hadn’t let herself, not when he’d thrown himself in front of a gunman. Mike had been there, too, in uniform responding to a possible suspicious person and he’d ended up injured, taking a bullet in the side. Alison hadn’t cried over that, either.
She hadn’t cried when their father had been lying in a casket, not when that casket had been lowered into the ground.
“He’s in jail,” she said softly.
“He’s in jail. And he’ll be going to prison for killing a cop,” Alex said.
She just nodded.
“Ali?”
Hearing the concern in Alex’s voice, she forced herself to look up, to smile. She hadn’t done a lot of that lately. If she didn’t want to smile, she didn’t smile. If she didn’t want to talk, she didn’t talk. If she didn’t want to pretend everything was fine, then she didn’t.
For the first time in her life, her life felt like it was her life.
But in that moment, as she thought about the formidable, frightening figure who had been her father, she realized she felt a little lost.
She didn’t know what to think or feel and she didn’t think she could cry, despite the tears burning in her throat.
So she pasted a fake smile on her face and softly said, “Alex, stop worrying so much. I’m fine.”
He wondered if pulling the liar liar pants on fire routine would work on her.
He couldn’t leave her, though. She denied being hungry, so he played on years of knowledge and guilted her into saying yes. I hate eating alone…come on, you said we could have dinner. How are we going to talk if you’re stuck inside?
So they had dinner.
It was stiff and formal and nothing he said or did
lightened the atmosphere at all. When it ended, he was thankful, but as they walked back to her place, he found himself reluctant for the night to end. Reaching out, he took her hand, folding his fingers around hers.
After a moment, she did the same.
He stopped in the drive way and leaned against his car. Because he still gripped her hand, she came to a stop as well, facing him.
The breeze tangled her air, blowing it across her face. She looked incredibly pretty and he wanted to kick himself for not seeing it sooner. For not seeing her sooner.
“So. You’re sure you’re going to be okay.”
“Of course.” She angled her head toward him and gave him a look of wide-eyed confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Alex shrugged. “Well, I mean…it’s kind of a big deal. It’s been ten years.” He kept watching her face and if he hadn’t been waiting for it, he never would have seen her flinch.
“Alex, I know how long it’s been. He was my father, you know? But…” She shrugged. “It’s not like this isn’t what we wanted. We always wanted to know who killed him. What happened. Why. Maybe we’ll get answers now.”
He could give her answers. Mike could have given her answers.
The one thing she wanted was to stare in the eyes of the man who’d killed her father and let him know he’d stolen something from her.
Most of the time it was a waste.
That wasn’t to say that career criminals didn’t feel regret. Plenty of them did, but too many would be sorry for all the wrong things. They’d be sorry they’d hurt somebody, sure. But were they sorry enough to change what they did and how they lived? Even if they were and even if they tried, they couldn’t undo the godawful thing they’d done in the first place.
But he didn’t tell her that.
Instead, he pushed off the car and closed the distance between them.
Her hair blew across her cheek and he caught a strand, twined it around his fingers.
“Do you want me to go?”
Chapter Twelve
What a loaded question.
Staring up at him in the night, she almost said yes.
Then she thought about the dark house behind her. It was too big for her and there were too many rooms, but it had never seemed as empty as it did the night.
Wicked Wild Fantasies Page 9