In the Teeth of the Wind (5 page)

"Inside," she repeated, breaking through the red-hot mist of lust clouding his vision. "Invite me inside."

He pushed up from the floor, a snarl of mating rage skinning his lips back from his teeth and he

reached for her, his hands like claws.

"Inside!" she hissed. "I'll not be taken like a common whore on the floor of your dirty porch!"

Rage, impotent and devouring, flooded him and he growled like a cornered animal. He could smell her

-
smell
_her - _that musky, wet heat driving him insane, taunting him as he crouched there, blotting out all

rational thought. But even in his excited state, he knew if he could get her into the house, he could have

her as he wished. Any way he wished. He could ram himself to the hilt inside her, tear her apart with his

lust if he so desired, make her scream with passion.

Cursing beneath his breath, he shoved the key into the lock, burst through the door, expecting her to

be right behind him, enraged that she was not. Consummate fury turned his handsome face ugly as he

bolted through the door and wrapped one hard hand around her left arm. He jerked her inside - bruising

her - and she lashed out at him.

"Don't manhandle me! Invite me in!"

The vivid red imprint of her hand was tattooed to his sweaty cheek, but he had not felt the savage slap.

"I want you!" he shouted at her. When she hesitated, he snarled, "Goddamn you, come in! I need you,

bitch!"

Felicity Rogers smiled and stepped across his threshold. "Why didn't you just say so, warrior?"

Conor Nolan fell on her like a rutting beast and drove his way into hell.

*Chapter Five*

For the tenth time that evening, Rhianna looked at her watch. It was well past nine o'clock and Conor

hadn't even called to tell her he'd be late. Not that it was anything new. If he were involved in a case, he

lost track of time and would call half an hour later to apologize. But as the hands of the clock swept

toward nine-thirty, she became concerned and reached for the phone to call him. As she did, it rang,

startling her. She snatched the receiver.

"You'd better have a damned good reason for standing me up, Nolan!" There was a pause then

Cortesio's voice came across from the other end. "He ain't there?"

"Joey?" Disappointment clawed her stomach. "No, he's not. I haven't heard from him."

"Damn."

"Have you?" She looked up at the ceiling.

"He was wired this morning." She heard a nervous, embarrassed chuckle. "You wouldn't want him

attacking you the minute he came through the door, would you?"

Rhianna blushed. "Not much chance of that happening, Joey."

"I don't know. You shook him up today. I ain't seen him like that since…" He stopped, no doubt

annoyed by what he'd almost said.

"Hey, look," Rhianna said with a forced gaiety. "If the man don't want me, he don't want me."

"Marek… you've known Nolan long enough to know he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do.

Honey, I'm sorry." His voice hardened. "The man's retarded, what can I say?"

Rhianna laughed despite her bitterness. "You do wonders for a gal's ego, you know that, Cortesio?"

"Any man who doesn't want you has got to be either blind or neutered."

"You're sweet." When the silence played out, she asked, "If I hear from him, do you want me to have

him call you?"

"Nah," he replied. "I was just going out to the roadhouse. If you hear from him, just let him know."

"You be careful."

"Yeah. You, too, kiddo." He hung up, but not before she heard him cursing in his ancestral tongue.

Rhianna stared at the phone for a long, long time before pushing aside her pride and punching in Conor

Nolan's number. Her hand was tense, her palm damp. Almost immediately she had her answer. The line

was busy. He was home and talking to someone or…

"Okay." She replaced the receiver. "Someone could be calling in, leaving a message. Probably Joey."

She waited a few minutes and tried again. The line was still busy. She depressed the disconnect button

and held it, then tried again. The call went through and she heard Conor's voice, hollow and crackling, on

the answering machine: "This is Nolan. Leave a message."

Rhianna hesitated after the beep gave her permission to speak. She bit her lip, then once more pushed

aside her pride.

"It's me. Are you there?" She paused, hoping he'd pick up. Her heart sank when he didn't. She closed

her eyes and swallowed. "Look, I guess something came up and you couldn't come over. That's okay,

you know? I understand. Just give me a call when you get in so I won't stay up all night and worry about

you."

She waited, praying there would be a breathless "hello" and he'd be on the line, explaining away his

cold feet or his disinterest or stumbling through an apology. When that did not happen, she slowly

replaced the receiver.

*Chapter Six*

Rhianna was tying up loose ends at her desk before she and Triplett headed out to an interview when

Nolan showed up for work. She glanced up at the operations clock. It was eleven o'clock. Conor was

four hours late and he hadn't even bothered to call.

"What's with the dark shades, Nolan?" Chuck Corbettson called out as he and his partner, Jason

Fullick, prepared to leave.

"Must have tied on a good one last night, huh?" added Fullick.

Cortesio turned away from the copying machine and watched as his partner entered the room. He

whistled softly. The Irishman was pale, his complexion made paler by the black turtleneck sweater and

black leather motorcycle jacket he wore. When he reached for his chair, his hand trembled and when he

sat down, he slumped as though exhausted or ill. "You okay, Irish?" someone asked, but Nolan didn't

answer. He was fumbling around in his desk for a bottle of aspirin. He emptied four tablets into his hand.

"How much did you drink last night, bro?" asked Triplett.

"_Nolan! Get your sorry ass in here, now!_"

Everyone in the squad room jumped as Captain Darlington's voice cut through the bantering. The

room became quiet as a tomb as the Irishman dropped the aspirins onto the desk blotter, pushed wearily

up from his chair with an audible sigh, then disappeared into Darlington's office without a word.

Joe Cortesio hadn't had a chance to speak to Rhianna since he'd come in that morning, but now he

looked across the room at her, a question in his dark eyes.

Rhianna met Joe's look and shook her head in answer. She saw the immediate anger flash across Joe's

dark face.

"Darlington is gonna suspend him," said Brett Samuel.

"Why ain't The Darling bitching at him?" asked Fullick.

Rhianna stopped what she was doing. She sat listening and was just as surprised as the others that no

shouting and screaming came from Darlington's office. The low murmur of voices didn't last long, then the

door opened and Nolan came out, slipping on the dark sunglasses he'd worn into the squad room.

"What happened?" asked Cortesio.

"Two days," Nolan answered in a hoarse voice. "Without pay."

Samuel nodded. "The Darling don't like us to drink."

Nolan didn't reply. He walked back to his desk, picked up the aspirins one by one, then headed for

the break room.

"You'd better go talk to him," Fullick told Cortesio. "That man's got problems."

"Irish-type problems," Corbettson sneered. "It's called alcoholism; just like his old man."

"And you don't drink?" Cortesio pointed out. "We all drink."

"We don't all get drunk on a regular basis like Nolan does," argued Corbettson.

"He's trying to cut down," Rhianna told Corbettson. She had no liking for the detective and resented

his remarks about Nolan.

"Yeah," Corbettson sneered. "I can see that."

"Rhianna?" Nolan spoke from the break room door. She turned to see the Irishman standing there,

clutching the doorjamb for support. "Have you got any Alka-Seltzer in your purse, baby?"

"God, you look like death warmed over!" said Samuel. "You ougtta go home, bro."

"I will," Nolan said softly before fading into the break room.

"You ought to let the bastard suffer," Cortesio told Rhianna as she took up her shoulder bag and

started rummaging through it. He went to her and put an arm around her shoulder, and spoke so only she

could hear. "Did he ever show up at your place last night?"

"No." She found the foil packet of antacid. "And he didn't call." Glancing toward Nolan, she shrugged

as though it didn't matter. "I guess we know why, huh? He was too busy getting drunk."

Nolan was sitting at one of the tables with his head in his hands when Rhianna joined him. The aspirin

were lying on the table before him. She took one look at the picture of misery he painted and her lips

twitched with disgust. His slacks were wrinkled and she was almost sure they were the same ones he'd

worn the day before. Dotted with pills of lint, the turtleneck sweater looked as though it hadn't been worn

in several years; a rip ran along the right shoulder seam. His black loafers were scuffed and in need of

polishing.

"Must have been one hell of a night, Nolan."

At the sink, she got a paper cup, filled it with tap water and then dropped in the two Alka-Seltzer

tablets. The mist of the dissolving disks sprayed her hand as she carried it to the table and set it in front of

Conor. "Here you go, but don't take the aspirin."

"Thank you."

She noted the trembling in his hand as he took up the cup and tilted his head back to drain the

bubbling liquid. His pallor alarmed her, as did the tremor in his hands, and the way he kept his eyes

closed behind the barrier of the dark glasses told her the over head fluorescent light must be barely

tolerable.

"Are you all right?" Compassion was absent in her soft Southern voice.

The effort to nod was nearly his undoing and Conor sucked in his breath at the pain the movement

brought to his throbbing head. "I would be if the damned room would stop spinning," he muttered.

Pushing the cup aside, he laid his head down on his arms, turned his face away from the light streaming in

through the windows, and took deep breaths to ease the nausea threatening to erupt.

Rhianna was more angry than concerned now. The asshole had all the symptoms of a classic

hangover. "I understand about last night, Nolan."

He lifted his head and looked up at her through the curtain of dark glasses. "Last night?" Confusion

strained his voice. "What about last night?"

"Hey, it's no big deal, see? If you didn't want to come over, that's okay. I can accept that. I just wish

you'd called to tell me you weren't coming." She lifted one slim shoulder in nonchalance. "That's all right,

too. I'm not your keeper."

He straightened up in the chair, his pallid face flushing with color. "Oh, damn, Rhianna. I'm sorry!"

"I understand! It didn't mean anything to you. We got caught up in something in here yesterday. I don't

know what, but it got out of hand, you know? Neither one of us ever expected anything like that and

now we regret it."

"Baby, I don't know what to say."

"It's kosher, okay?" She made herself put her hands on his shoulders. "You thought about it and

realized that it wasn't right. You probably went to a bar, had a few too many." She laughed. "A lot too

many from the looks of you. Time got away from you and you went home snockered." As she spoke,

she massaged his shoulders. "Let's just forget it happened, okay?"

Nolan turned in the chair, caught one of her hands and held it. "Baby, listen, I don't know what

happened to me last night. I've never done that kind of thing before and I'm not ever going to let it

happen again. She didn't mean a thing to me. Honest."

"It's okay!" she told him, her eyes wide. So he had been with another woman. That shouldn't surprise

her, but it hurt her deeply this time.

Even as he moved to get up, she backed away from him. "Rhianna, I can explain."

"There's no need." She held up a hand to keep him at bay. "Jeez, Nolan, we're both adults here, aren't

we?" She swung her attention to the door where Trip was standing, crooking a finger for her. "Look, I've

got to go."

"Not before we get this straight," Nolan said. He looked pointedly at Triplett. "Can we have some

privacy?"

"We've got an interview," Trip told him. "Come on, Marek."

"Not yet!" snapped Nolan.

"Gotta go," said Rhianna.

"Baby, please," Nolan pleaded with her, then turned an angry face to her partner. "Damn it, Trip, will

you go wait in the car?"

Trip glanced at Marek. "We're due there in half an hour." At her quick nod, he turned and left.

Nolan took another step toward her but Marek shook her head. "It's over, okay? Finished."

"What are you talking about? What's over?"

"Us. Seeing one another outside work."

"No. That isn't what I want." Her snort of contempt bring him up short.

"What you want? What
you
want? Damn it to hell and back, that's what it's always been, hasn't it,

Conor? What you want!" She thumped her chest. "What about me? What about what I want? Huh?

Doesn't it matter what
I
want?" Before he could answer, she ran from the room.

"Rhianna, wait!" He staggered as he rushed after her, shoving aside the chairs and tables in his way.

"Rhianna!
"

"What's the matter?" Cortesio yelled as his partner stumbled out of the squad room and down the hall.