Nowhere to Hide (20 page)

“
You’re thinking about Jeffrey, right?”

He nodded and fished a strand of linguini from the pot, testing it with his teeth. “Two minutes.” He took two plates from a cabinet and handed them to Colleen, then found bowls for the salad.

“
Silverware’s in the middle drawer,” she said. “And I want to hear all about your day.” Those words were spoken softly, as if she remembered how the evening had begun and wasn’t sure she wanted to go there again.

He got out the cutlery and watched as Colleen laid two place settings. Her color was back, along with the light in her eyes. Satisfied she was all right, he poured his dressing over the salad, gave it a quick toss and passed the bowl to her. While she portioned out the salad, he drained the pasta and mixed it with the sauce.

“
I wanted garlic bread, but you don’t have anything but garlic salt. You don’t have French bread, for that matter. Hope you don’t mind hamburger buns. And you should get fresh Parmesan. This carton stuff doesn’t come close, but it’ll have to do.” He fetched the butter and cheese-topped bread from the broiler and placed one piece on each plate, then added pasta. “Dinner is served.”

He watched in anticipation as she twirled a forkful and brought it to her mouth. He thought of his lips being where the pasta was.

Get real.
This was not the time. The woman had done a total freak-out and he still had no clue why. “Is it okay?”

She said nothing, merely sat there with her eyes closed. Finally, the tip of her tongue swirled around her lips, and her eyes popped wide. “Okay? Miraculous is more like it. How did you make anything this good come out of my kitchen?”

“
I like to think I can rise to any challenge.” He put his napkin in his lap to hide the proof, and picked up his fork. “You’ll have to let me cook a real meal for you someday. I think you’re being too kind here. An onion, some canned tomatoes, and a few carrots is hardly gourmet.”

“
Well, compared to my kitchen efforts, this is super good.”

Once they’d finished eating, Colleen insisted on doing the dishes. “It’s a McDonald rule. Cook never has to clean. It’s your turn to go sit.”

Graham hurried out to Colleen’s car and retrieved his briefcase. When he came back inside, the sight of her standing so calmly over the sink, arms immersed to the elbows in suds, let him relax for the first time since he’d left the station with her.

“
I called Dispatch,” he said. “They’ll mention Jeffrey to St. Johns and notify me as soon as they have an ID. There’s not much more we can do about that. Their jurisdiction, unless it turns out to be Jeffrey. Which seems unlikely.” After he spoke, he realized he’d said, “we.” As if they were a team.

Slow down. Way down
. He held his breath for a count of ten and then released it slowly as he walked to the couch and spread the papers on the coffee table.

She came over and sat cross-legged on the floor across from the coffee table, looking innocent and eager. Her red curls fell about her face, and she kept tucking a wayward strand behind one ear. Even with no makeup, wearing baggy sweats and thick wool socks, she was as enticing as she’d been last night in that green dress. He remembered those firm round breasts and knew from the way they moved, tonight they were unrestrained under her shirt.

Keep your mind above your belt. CID. Detective. Transfer. Promotion
.

“
I put on some coffee,” she said. “Now let me have it. Blow by blow of Harrigan, CID Investigator, day one.”

He had to chuckle. “Maybe not a blow by blow. How about a quick summary?”

He brought her up to speed on his visit with snooty Mrs. Wyckoff. “Apparently, Doris doesn’t have much money of her own. Jeffrey was trying to work out an arrangement, as the Ice Lady put it, so she could move into the place. They’re pretty exclusive.”

“
What about all those phone calls? Any progress?”

“
If you can call crossing names off my list progress.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “It took hours to get all the phone numbers out of the directories. I made one hundred and thirteen calls, got hold of eighty-seven people and five of them actually knew something about Jeffrey. All agreed he’s a nice man, personable, and the project had merit, although they weren’t ready to commit great sums of money at the time.”

“
Well, what about the project?”

“
It was still in the early stages. They didn’t even have all the permits for the development yet, and most of the people I talked to seemed to say, ‘It looked like something I might support,’ or—”

“
Keep going. I’ll get the coffee.” She popped to her feet and went to the kitchen.

As he talked, he flipped through the pages, hunting for the list of names where he’d jotted some notes. “Or they wanted to go to a cocktail party with some celebrities. There were a few local bigwigs on the list. Of course, none of them was in for me when I called.”

He heard the fireworks at Universal start and reflexively glanced at his watch. The crash of a mug falling to the floor brought him to the kitchen in two strides. Colleen was staring at the floor, her eyes not quite focused, shaking her head.

“
Fireworks. I know it’s the fireworks. Why? Why?” she whispered.

“
Come. Back to the couch.” He put his arms around her shoulders and she fought away.

“
I know it’s fireworks.” She squinted at him, as if she was surprised to find him there. “It startled me. I dropped the cup. No big deal. I’ll get another one.”

“
Sure you will. Now come sit.”

“
I need to clean it up.”

“
It can wait. Sit with me.”

She shrugged away, but stormed across the room and threw herself onto the couch.

“
What happened?” he asked, sitting next to her and taking her face in his hands. “Tell me.”

She pulled his hands aside. “I did. The noise made me jump and I dropped the mug.”

“
We both know that’s not it.” He drew her head to his shoulder. “Something in Pine Hills, right?”

“
Right.” There was anger in her voice, but he didn’t think it was directed at him. “Bad domestic. Lots of gunfire. Sudden noises set me off sometimes.”

“
You never get used to it.” It made sense now, and  he berated himself for not seeing it sooner. But he hadn’t been thinking of her as a cop, and even when she’d told him, he’d only thought of her as a woman. Her breathing had steadied, but he didn’t let her go. “Tell me.”

“
I can’t. Please.”

He held her tighter. “All right. But I’m here.” She rested her head on his shoulder. After several minutes, he felt her go limp. Her color, although pale, was good, and there was no cold sweat, nothing to indicate she was shocky. He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep,
mo chridhe
.”

After fifteen minutes, he worked his way free and settled her down on the couch, covering her with the soft blanket draped over its back. He stood over her for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and he realized she filled an emptiness in him, one he hadn’t been aware of. Switching the lamp to its lowest setting, he picked up the pile of papers.

He crept into the kitchen and set the papers on the table while he sought out a broom, finding one in the oversized closet masquerading as a laundry room. When he finished sweeping up the broken coffee mug, he fixed a cup of coffee for himself and settled down with the papers, glancing at Colleen every few minutes to reassure himself she was all right. She’d said a domestic. Orlando had a specialty squad exclusively for domestics. They were a nightmare. That was another division he had no desire to join.

One more trip through the file folder didn’t ring any bells, but started a nagging headache. He refilled his coffee and searched for some aspirin. Nothing in the kitchen. He found a bottle of Advil in the bathroom medicine cabinet and swallowed two tablets. When he got back to the living room, Colleen was curled up in a ball, whimpering. He darted to her side and crouched beside her.

“
Colleen. Wake up. It’s a bad dream. You’re home. Safe. It’s Graham.”

She thrashed and fought him. “No! Stop! Montoya! Look out!”

He sat beside her, slid his arms under her and rocked her until her demons disappeared. When at last she woke, she gave a shuddering sigh and swiped her palms across her wet face. “Shit,” she said.

“
You’re shivering again.”

She managed a weak smile. “That’s all right. Usually I throw up.”

“
You okay?” He tried to keep the fear off his face, out of his voice.

“
Yeah.”

“
Good. I might think it was my cooking.”

“
No way.” She fingered the buttons on his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see all this. They’re my problems, and I’ve got to deal with them.”

“
Not alone, you don’t. How often do you get these nightmares?”

She shrugged. “Now and then.”

He glared at her.

“
Okay, so almost every night. I thought moving as far away from Oregon as I could get would help.”

“
Running away never helps.”

“
You don’t understand.”

“
Of course I don’t. Tell me. Explain.”

“
If I tell you, I have to tell
me
, too.” She was speaking into his chest now, her words barely audible. He felt the warmth of her breath through the cotton of his shirt.

“
You can’t hide from yourself, Colleen. We can get through it together. Who’s Montoya?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes twin green oceans. “How did you—?”

“
You shouted it in your sleep.”

“
I was backing him up. His regular partner was sick. I told you, a bad domestic.”

“
What happened?” He kept his voice as low as hers, kept stroking her back. He could see her reliving the incident, something he was all too familiar with. Still, you had to work through the ones that went south, or you’d burn out.

“
It was going fine. But then their kid showed up on the stairs. Behind us. Had a gun.”

He watched her eyes, focused somewhere beyond this dimension. “The wife pulled a gun out from under the sofa cushions. Everyone was shooting. I saw the kid aiming at his father. He wouldn’t put the gun down. I asked him to. Begged him to.” Her breathing was rough.

“
Easy. Slow down,” he said.

“
The mother. She said it was a family problem and no cop was going to butt in. She was pointing the gun at Montoya, the kid was pointing his at the father. I had to choose. I shot at the kid. I thought Montoya had the mother, but—but …”

“
You had to choose.”

She jerked out of his grasp, paced from living room to kitchen and back again. He let her go. She needed to work off the anger, the pain.

She was screaming now. “I chose the father. Clipped the kid in the arm. Let my partner down. The wife blew Montoya’s head off. She killed him. I saved a wife beater and let my partner die!”

He got up and went to her. “All cops know their lives are on the line. Every day.”

“
Tell that to the guys. Montoya’s regular partner said I killed him. Because I was a woman. I was a damn good cop. But they look at you like you’re a failure, and they avoid you, and you hear the talking stop when you walk into the squad room, and everyone gets busy with something.”

That explained some of her reaction at the station. His heart ached for her as he remembered the pain. And how long it took—was still taking—to be fully accepted. “But you work through it and they forget. You prove you can do the job, and they realize you’re a good cop. They’d have come around.”

“
That’s what Randy said. He knew I was a good cop. But I couldn’t. I failed.” She was shivering. “Hold me?”

“
I’m putting you to bed. You’ve had enough for one night. And you’re soaked again.” He tucked an arm around her waist, practically carrying her to the bedroom, and set her on the bed the way he had before. She clutched at him, wouldn’t let go.

“
Don’t leave.” She was raw, exposed and trembling. That she’d opened herself to him made him ache all the more.

“
Let me get you another shirt. I’m not going anywhere.” She didn’t resist when he pulled the wet shirt over her head. Forcing himself to ignore the automatic reaction to her lush breasts, he helped her into an oversized jersey. She didn’t protest when he slid her damp sweats off. Didn’t say anything when he stripped down to his briefs and climbed into bed beside her. “I’m not going anywhere. You get some sleep.”

He lay on his back and she pillowed her head on his chest. Only when she turned on her side, her breathing slow and even, did he allow himself to sleep.

*****

Graham awoke to find Colleen snuggled up against his back. Her knee was between his thighs, her arm around his waist. Below his waist, actually. A little too low. He took her hand in his and pressed it against his chest, tried to work her leg free. She stirred, inched closer, sighing softly. She pulled her hips away, wrenched her hand back, and it brushed against his erection.

She gasped. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean … I was dreaming … I don’t—”

He shifted to face her. The clock read two a.m. “Shh. No harm, no foul. I’m flattered. At least, I hope it was me you were dreaming about.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You’re warm. No fever, though.” He moved his lips lower, to her eyelids, her cheeks.

A tiny corner of his brain told him to stop, to make sure she wasn’t merely scared and vulnerable. It needed to be him she wanted, not physical release.

Damn it, what was wrong with physical release? He needed it, she needed it, and it was the way he was used to having sex. Why was she so different?