Hold on to Me (25 page)

Tick dropped his head, sighed and lifted the radio to his mouth. “10-4, Chandler. 10-76.”

God, not now. Not when she finally had her courage in place.

“Damn Troy Lee’s hide. Give him a badge, give him a gun and I still have to go hold his freakin’ hand.” He rolled from the bed and pulled on his clothes. “Told them I was out of service when I left. I’m not even supposed to be on call tonight.”

Caitlin pulled the sheet around her and watched him, frustration a wicked sting. “We…” She swallowed. “I need to talk to you as soon as you’re done.”

“Who knows when that will be, the way the night’s going?” He slanted a harried smile at her, tucking his shirt in. “This is what your life will be like if we’re together.”

Together. A wonderful sound wrapped up in a simple word. She rested her chin on her knees. “I can handle your job if you can handle mine.”

“It’s a deal.” He dropped to the edge of the bed to put on his socks and shoes. A long breath shook his lean frame and he lifted his head to look at her. “I’ll give it up, Cait, go back to the bureau, to Virginia, if that’s what it takes. You’re more important.”

For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t let him say these things, not until he knew everything. “Tick—”

“I’ve got to go.” Fully dressed, he leaned to graze his mouth over hers. “You could meet me back at the department, if you’re planning on working anymore tonight. Feel free to commandeer my office.”

She bit her lip. This was it. She would tell him, tonight, before things went any further. He deserved to know and she
needed
to tell him. “And we’ll talk later.”

“Sounds good.” He was already moving toward the door, his mind on the call. “Be careful, precious.”

Tick ended up trying to teach Troy Lee one more time how to write an incident report. If they managed to turn the kid into a real cop, he’d give up smoking for good.

Fat chance that was going to happen. Across his desk, he eyed the unhappy slump of the younger man’s shoulders as Troy Lee balanced his notebook on one knee, the clipboard with his report on the other.

Tick’s ancient desk chair creaked as he leaned back, dragging his hands down his face. He was so wiped out his skin felt numb.

“I didn’t say you had to agree with me, Schaefer. I just said I think it’s important.” Beyond the closed door of his office, Caitlin’s husky tones carried to him.

“Yeah, but you can’t explain
why
.” Frustration twisted Jeff’s voice as it faded down the hall.

Tick frowned. He needed to talk to Tori about him, find out exactly where that little relationship was going.

“Damn it.” Troy Lee ripped the report free, crumpled it and tossed it toward the trashcan. He missed and the paper ball joined the two others on the floor.

Tick swallowed a long-suffering groan. They’d be here all night, but damn if he was going to do it for the kid.

Surely he hadn’t given Cookie this much grief when he’d been wet-behind-the-ears.

Troy Lee settled in to write again. Tick turned sideways and nudged his mouse, bringing his computer screen to life, intending to play a couple of hands of solitaire while he waited.

Feeling a little like a teenage boy with a crush, he clicked on the Internet browser icon instead. The aging CPU whirred and the search page opened. With a grin, feeling a lot like a teenage boy with a crush, he typed Caitlin’s name in the search box and hit enter.

Couldn’t let Cookie know more than he did.

The first couple of hits were recent society columns in her hometown newspaper. The third mentioned her as the granddaughter of Judge Troupe Cavanaugh in a report on some political shindig back in February. There was a photo there, of Caitlin in a sleek, simple black gown that blew his mind, on the arm of a distinguished gray-haired man in his seventies or eighties. Everything below that turned his stomach.

News articles on the attack.

He moved the mouse, intending to shut the browser. He didn’t need to read this stuff. His imagination had done a fine job of conjuring images of what had happened to her without his reading about it.

He paused, moved the arrow back, clicked on the first story.

It was a transcript of a news video, the written form awkward. Beside the brief column was a mug shot of one Benjamin James Fuller.

The rage stirred to life in Tick’s chest, curling tenacious tentacles along his nerve endings.

So this was the guy. Besides being disheveled and sporting long scratches on one cheek, the bastard looked damned normal—neat professional haircut, clean shaven, intelligent blue eyes.

Tick’s gaze tracked to the article. Fuller had been her grandfather’s personal administrative assistant, with access to the home on a regular basis. He possessed no prior criminal record, not even a traffic offense.

“Tick?” Caitlin’s husky voice shivered over his ears and he jerked like a guilty teenage boy caught…well, doing what teenage boys did.

“Hey.” He closed the browser window, sure she wouldn’t be too happy with his reading about her. He rose.

“I thought I’d see if you were able to take a break.”

At the sound of her voice, Troy Lee studied her also, his attention seemingly riveted to the length of her legs as well as the curve of her other assets in a pair of jeans. Tick restrained himself from smacking the kid on the back of the head.

“Troy Lee, finish that damn report.” He clipped his cell phone and handheld radio on his belt and picked up an unopened pack of cigarettes. “Let’s go.”

Outside the air was redolent with the smells of summer: camellias, jasmine, a hint of rain. He gestured toward the coffeehouse on the corner, its neon light still glowing. “Want a drink or something?”

“Actually…” Her gaze darted toward the small park on the other side of the sheriff’s department, where two huge oak trees curved over a brick patio scattered with benches. “Why don’t we take a walk?”

“Sure.” He scrutinized her as they strolled down the block. Fiddling with the light necklace at her throat, she carried an edgy nervous excitement with her he wasn’t used to. Unconfident, insecure almost. Apprehension prickled to life in him.

The dark shadows beneath the trees offered a sense of privacy and he slipped an arm about her waist as they stepped into the dimness. She surprised him by turning into his embrace in front of one of the benches. She smoothed his collar. “I need to talk to you. I need you to listen to me.”

Her voice shook and his apprehension morphed into anxiety. He’d almost swear she was trembling. He curved a hand over her shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the soft skin revealed by the neckline of her thin T-shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you…” She tugged free of his easy hold and dropped onto the stone bench. Leaning forward, she buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, this is so
hard
.”

His stomach fell. Holy hell, she knew who their murderer was. It was probably someone in his damn department.

Lord, please don’t let it be Cookie.

He discarded the thought as soon as it popped into his head. Cookie couldn't kill someone in cold blood.

He lowered himself to sit beside her. “Just tell me, Cait.”

“While you were in Mississippi…when you came home and I told you I didn’t want you anymore…”

There’d been someone else. His chest tightened as if he’d been delivered a heart punch.

Not Ransome. He could handle a lot, but not hearing she’d been sleeping with that lab jerk while he’d been in Mississippi dreaming of her every night.

“You’re killing me here, precious.” He laughed roughly and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Just get to the point.”

She pulled in a shaky, audible breath. The soft moonlight filtering through the shadows highlighted silver traces of tears on her cheeks.

“Cait, baby.” He grasped her right hand in his left. “Don’t.”

With her free fingers, she covered her mouth and he felt the shuddery sigh that traveled through her. “Remember saying Carter was a breathing what-if?”

His brain shut down. It had to because everything just stopped. His heart froze, his lungs ceased, his thoughts ground to a halt.

“What are you telling me?”

Her grasp on his hand tightened to a painful level, his knuckles grinding under the pressure. “The month after you left, I learned I was pregnant.”

“Oh, God.” The raw groan couldn’t be his.

“That’s what put Fuller over the edge.” She swiped at the tears, sniffling. “I’d told…I’d finally told Troupe because I couldn’t very well keep it from him and heaven knows Troupe Cavanaugh can’t keep a secret. I didn’t want everyone knowing yet because you didn’t but I was starting to show and…”

He rocked forward, his burning eyes squeezed shut, their clenched hands pressed to his forehead. This wasn’t happening, he wasn’t hearing this, she wasn’t
saying
this.

She was not telling him she’d been pregnant with his child, that the son of a bitch had killed his baby.

Their baby.

She’d never told him. After he’d come home, she’d had every opportunity and she’d never said a word—not when he turned up in her office, not when she sent him away with that sexual-harassment bluff of hers, not when she’d arrived to assist on this case, not when she’d gone to bed with him again.

Not when he’d cajoled, pleaded,
begged
for the truth.

The agony of that silence settled deep inside, twisting his heart into a painful knot.

Why hadn’t she said anything?

He lifted his head, pressed his mouth against her trembling fingers linked with his. “And you couldn’t tell me this? God, Cait, why?”

“I wanted to. I tried…I know that’s hard to believe, but I practiced how and…then when you walked in, I c-couldn’t get the words out. I looked at you and I just
couldn’t
.” Her gasping sob tore at him. She leaned into him, her face against his, her tears wetting his skin. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me, Tick, I can’t bear that, I don’t think—”

“Hate you?” His voice cracked. She thought he’d hate her? He pulled her closer, wrapped her as tightly as he could in his embrace. “Precious, I’d never hate you.”

She cried harder, shaking. He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and held on. She clung to him, her fingers digging in to his back, a need in her touch he’d never felt before. “I’d lost him and I knew…thought I’d lose you, too, especially once the doctors…once they said I c-couldn’t…”

Him
. A son. His throat closed.

She tightened her hold on him, huddling into him, still trembling.

Months of this. His heart, hell, his entire chest hurt for the suffering that poured out of her. He cupped the back of her head, shifted on the bench so he could draw her nearer. The ragged dampness of her weeping puffed against his throat. She’d carried this loss and desperation, this fear and pain, around for months, alone.

She hadn’t trusted him enough to let him shoulder it with her and that slashed deep in his soul, at the core of who he was.

But she trusted him enough to bring it to him now. He had to hang on to that as the most important thing.

He turned his head, pressed his mouth to her temple. “You’re not going to lose me.”

Her weeping showed no signs of abating. He rocked them, stroking the length of her spine in long, slow sweeps, murmuring the comforting nonsense he used with Charlie.

His radio squawked, a garbled transmission between Jeff and Chris, and he squelched it to a low buzz. Above them, a whip-o-will called its lonesome song. Across the street at the take-out fried chicken stand, a group of teenagers laughed and cut the fool around a picnic table. He closed his eyes, cradling, loving, letting the dark soothe the anguish.

Finally, he felt a certain sense of calm claim her. She released a slow, shuddery breath against his neck and he knew she was pulling herself together. He swept his mouth against her temple once more, smoothed her hair. “Better?”

She nodded, brushing at her cheeks. He tipped her face up, the filtered mingling of moonlight and streetlights giving him just enough illumination to see her eyes glittering. Free of shadows for once, a little wary still, but holding an emotion that stole his breath and curled through him, binding him to her.

He was already bound. He rubbed a thumb over her lips, traced the back of one finger along her jaw and let himself simply look at her, drinking in the barely visible details of her tearstained face.

This was the mother of his child and that tied him to her on a level he’d never really understood before.

Words danced on his lips, wanting to be said, but he held them back. There’d be time for those words, he was sure of it now, and the wound of her silence still beat in his soul. This was enough for now, having her in his arms, having her trust in him.

The rest would come.

The radio crackled low at his side. “C-4 to C-2.”

Jeff. Damn it. What now?

With a frustrated growl, he released Caitlin and lifted the mike to his mouth. She didn’t move away, her leg still pressed along his. “Go ahead, C-4.”

“What’s your 10-20?”