Together always (10 page)

**rm sorry. God, I'm sorry." He sank into his chair, elbows on knees, his shoulders hunched. The scotch glass dangled loosely from his fingers. He stared at the floor between his feet. Pain throbbed in his temples, pounding in rhythm with his pulse.

**It's okay. I shouldn't have asked." Lily's soft voice stroked across him.

"No, you've got a right to ask. I shouldn't have blown up like that. If s been a rough few days." He leaned back in the chair, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

''Did you find him?"

The quiet question brought flashing images playing across his closed eyelids as if they were a movie screen. The ache in his head intensified and he opened his eyes. Lily sat so close, her eyes full of sympathy and grief. He wanted to lay his aching head on her breast and let the contact soothe away the pain, but he couldn't do that. He sighed and swallowed the last few drops of Scotch.

**I found him. The killer set off the alarm at the store on his way out. Mike always had it wired so that it rang here and at the police station. I beat the police there but he was already dead."

He twisted the empty glass aimlessly between his fingers, watching the way the firelight caught in the heavy glass, reflecting gold and red colors back as if lit with a fire of its own.

"Trace, I know it hurts but I'd really like to know what happened."

"Why? Isn't it enough that he's dead?"

"Ever since you called, I've been imagining what happened in my mind. You can't tell me anything worse than what my imagination has already come up with."

He didn't say anything for a long time, weighing her words against his memories. He'd been protecting Lily for so long. It was hard to let go of those old instincts. He wanted to shield her from anything harsh or unpleasant. Looking at her now, he knew it was time to put aside the image of the little girl she'd been. That little girl had needed his protection but she was gone. The woman who sat across from him deserved to be treated as an adult.

*'Mike's car was out of commission," he started abruptly. "I had the day off so I loaned him the 'Vette. I had some work I wanted to do on my motorcycle and Mike was letting me use the garage here. The manager of my apartment building frowns on having parts strewn all over the garage."

He stopped, staring at the empty glass, but he was seeing other things. *T was making coffee when the alarm went off. Scared the life out of me. I hadn't started on the bike yet so I took it and made it down the hill in record time. I don't even remember what I was thinking. I knew Mike must have been at the store. I do remember thinking that maybe he'd set it off himself. I thought how embarrassed he'd be to have me and the cops all rushing over there only to find out it had been his mistake.

**I wasn't all that worried. Concerned, but not worried. Even if it was a burglar, Mike could take care of himself. He had a gun under the register, and besides, he could talk himself out of anything. It couldn't have been more than five or six minutes after the alarm went off before I got to the store. I'd grabbed my gun on the way out of the house and I took it out just in case. I called Mike's name but he didn't answer. The door was open and the alarm was screaming loud enough to wake the dead but Mike didn't answer.

"I guess that was when I began to think that maybe something was wrong. I worked my way to the door, trying

to keep out of sight, but there wasn't any real need. There wasn't any need at all/'

His eyes were a dark tortured blue. He drew his mouth in tight, chewing on the inner skin of his lip, looking at things only he could see.

*'Mike was lying in front of the counter. There wasn't anyone else in the store. I could see he was dead. He had to be. All that blood. But I couldn't believe it. I tried C.P.R. but it was too late. I didn't hear the units responding to the alarm. They finally pulled me away from him. I had blood all over my hands. Mike's blood."

He stood up, thrusting his fingers through his hair, his lean frame tense with memories. He didn't look at Lily. He was beyond worrying about what this might be doing to her, beyond stopping. He hadn't talked to anyone about the events of that morning. Now that the floodgates were open, they couldn't be closed.

'*He must have just opened up the store. Whoever it was came in behind him and opened fire with a .357. The impact of the slugs spun him around. They emptied the chamber into him."

Lily pressed her hand to her mouth, her fingers shaking. "Did he... it must have killed him instantly."

"It should have. God knows it should have. The coroner said he should have been dead by the time the fourth bullet hit him but he lived at least a minute or two. Somehow he managed to get to his wallet."

"His wallet? Why would he want his wallet?"

Trace shrugged. "I don't know. There wasn't anything unusual in it. A few pictures, driver's license, about thirty dollars. Nothing special."

"Do you have any idea who did it?"

"Nothing so far. Nothing was stolen. No fingerprints. No motive. At this point it looks like it was just random violence. Dammit!" He picked up the glass, his knuckles white

around it for an instant before he hurled it into the fire. It shattered against the back of the fireplace with a crash.

The small act of violence did little to ease his pain. He braced his arm along the mantel, leaning his forehead against it and staring into the fire, watching the fragments of glass fill with red flames. It was a long time before he looked at Lily again.

She was sitting very still, her hands clasped together in her lap. Her face was composed, her eyes on the fire. The flickering light caught on the shiny track of a solitary tear that slid slowly down her cheek.

*'I think I'll go to bed now. It's been a long day." She didn't look at him as she stood up. Trace watched her leave the room, feeling the weight of her pain as if it were his own.

Too much lay between them. He wondered if she still thought of that hot summer day when everything had changed. Or had she put it out of her mind? He wanted to go to her, put his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right—that he'd make it right. Only he couldn't make it right this time. He couldn't take her and run away from this hurt the way he had when they were children. This was a hurt they both carried inside. He hs-tened to Lily climb the stairs, knowing she was going to cry herself to sleep, helpless to comfort her.

There was nothing he could do or say that was going to change the fact that Mike was gone. He wasn't going to come striding into the room, demanding to know what Trace was doing standing around lollygagging. He'd taken two children off the streets and treated them as if they were his own. He'd provided them with more than shelter, he'd given them a real home, the first either of them had known. He'd laughed, scolded, disciplined when necessary and kept them both safe and secure.

Because of Mike, Trace had ended up a cop instead of a criminal. Lily had been able to go to college and they'd both

had the security of a home, someone to love them and care about what they did with their hves. In a few moments of violence, it was all gone. Shattered.

Trace's head dropped to his arm again. The heat of the fire dried the slow painful tears before they had a chance to fall, but nothing could ease the ache in his chest.

Chapter Seven

The clouds drifted away some time during the night, leaving the day to dawn with the promise of blue skies and warm weather. The beaches would be crowded with tourists and natives eager to take advantage of the sunshine. It promised to be the kind of day that made visitors swear they'd never go home and made Angelenos feel very smug.

Trace barely noticed the weather, other than to note that it wasn't raining. As soon as he woke, he was aware of the change in his hfe. Mike was gone and Lily was back. The two balanced uneasily in his emotions. Grief for Mike mixed with the joy of having Lily in his life again, if only for a little while.

He dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, rolling the sleeves up to bare his forearms. The scent of coffee reached him as he slipped on running shoes. He inhaled deeply, feeling a faint twinge of anticipation for the first time in days.

Lily was downstairs, making coffee. His sorrow over Mike was strong but his life couldn't be all wrong when Lily was in it. He'd missed her. More than he'd admitted to himself. He'd missed her for a long time now.

He rarely allowed himself to think of that hot summer afternoon when she'd come to him and told him she loved him. He knew it was only a girl's infatuation. He'd known

it at the time, which was why he'd sent her away and tried to put it out of his mind. But it crept up on him sometimes, catching him unawares, making him remember how soft her mouth had been, how right she'd felt in his arms.

For the first time, he deliberately conjured up that day, trying to picture every detail just as it had been the summer Lily turned eighteen. One of the hottest sunruners on record.

Trace poked tentatively at the contents of the air conditioner. Wires and parts stared back at him enigmatically. There had to be a reason why it wasn't working but he couldn't see what it was. Not that that was surprising. He'd never claimed to be a mechanical genius.

He leaned back in his chair, tilting it up on two legs as he reached for a beer. The icy liquid flowed down his throat, giving a temporary illusion of comfort. The moment he set it down again, the heat settled in like a living presence. It was the end of August and Los Angeles was breaking records for temperatures. Ten days in a row the temperature had soared to one hundred or more. It was all anybody thought about, all anybody talked about.

Crime soared along with the mercury. Heat always brought out the crazies. He'd worked eight days straight, patroUing the streets, trying to control his temper when the people he was dealing with had long since lost theirs. It was his first day off in all that time and the air conditioner had decided to call it quits.

He took another swallow of beer and stared at the offending appliance. Why couldn't it have waited another week or two? The weather was bound to have cooled off some by then.

When the doorbell rang, it was a welcome distraction. He stood up, stretching to his full six feet two inches, running his hand over the mat of hair on his bare chest. It was too

hot for clothes, too hot to breathe. He crossed the small living room, weaving his way around the coffee table and chair that took up any room left by the sofa. Maybe it was one of the guys. Some one-on-one on the basketball court sounded good. If he was going to sweat, he might as well have fun doing it.

"Lily." He stood in the open doorway, wishing he*d taken time to throw on a shirt, wishing he was wearing something more than a pair of ragged cutoffs, wishing the apartment wasn't so classically bachelor untidy.

"Hi." She looked up at him, her eyes holding a trace of uncertainty. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a bad time. Unless you count the fact that the air conditioner has decided to die on me. The place is hke an oven. Not to mention I haven't cleaned in weeks." He shut the door behind her and watched her walk into the scruffy room. She was wearing a scarlet sundress that curved low across her back, and Trace looked away, ashamed of the way his pulse quickened at the sight of her smooth skin. This was Lily, for crying out loud.

"You want a soda or a glass of milk or something?"

She turned to look at him, raising one delicate brow. "Milk? I'm eighteen now, Trace. I'm a little old for you to be offering me milk."

"Sorry." He shrugged, grinning. "I guess I'm inclined to forget." Actually, looking at her now he found it impossible to forget. He shoved the thought away. "How about a Coke?"

"Sure." He moved to the refrigerator, thankful for something to do. "Here you go. At least the refrigerator's still working."

She took the icy can from him and tilted her head to take a drink. Trace's eyes followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed, noticing the delicate indentation at the base of her neck. From there it was a short inevitable jour-

ney to where the sundress crossed over her breasts, hinting at soft curves, revealing shadowy hollows. He jerked his eyes away and stared at the broken air conditioner. It was the heat.

He reached for his beer, downing the rest of the cool liquid in a gulp before meeting Lily's eyes again. She looked at him, that dark green gaze seeming to see right into his soul. As always, her beauty struck him. Her skin was too pale, her hair too black and those eyes ... A man could drown in her eyes. Not him, of course. But some other man, someday. In the future. A long way in the future. A long, long way.

*'So, are you looking forward to college? You leave next week, don't you?"

"Fm supposed to." She leaned against the table, her eyes on the bright red can she held.

^^Supposed to? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts. I thought you were really looking forward to this."

She glanced up at him and then looked down again. **I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you."

Trace's finger slipped on the top of the neyv can of beer, jabbing the tab under his fingernail. He noticed the pain distantly. The room was still for a long moment, only the hum of traffic on the street outside breaking the thick silence. He laughed uneasily.

"I guess it's understandable that you'd be a little nervous. I mean, it's going to be a big change. Living in a dorm isn't going to be like living with Mike, but you'll be home for the holidays and next summer will be here before you know it. College is a great experience. A lot of guys I work with went to college and they all think—"

*'I love you. Trace." The simple sentence cut off his rambling dialogue as effectively as a hatchet slicing through butter. Her eyes lifted to meet his and what they held made

his heart stop for an instant before it began to pound in a heavy rhythm. He looked away, not wanting to see.

"Of course you love me. I love you^ too. I mean, we've been through a lot together. It's only natural—'* He broke off as her pabns came to rest against his chest. Such a short step she'd taken but she'd crossed a barrier he hadn't even admitted existed. The beer can slipped from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud. He didn't notice it.

"Trace, I love you. Not like a little girl. This is something more, something deeper."

He reached up to smooth back a heavy fall of black heiir, aware of the fact that his hand was not quite steady. "Lily, you're only eighteen. That may seem like a lot to you now but it's not."

"Kiss me, Trace. Kiss me and tell me you don't love me."

Trace felt as if he were suffocating. She was standing so close. He could catch the scent of her perfume, soft and warm, like her skin. He hadn't even been aware that he was touching her until he saw his hand smoothing her shoulder, his thumb finding the pulse at the base of her throat.

"Lily, this is crazy."

"It's only crazy if you don't kiss me."

Her mouth looked so soft, so warm. He was hardly conscious of his actions as he bent toward her. She met him halfway, rising up on her toes, balancing herself against his bare chest. He'd only kiss her to prove how wrong she was. It was just to prove a point. That was all.

But somehow, with the feel of her mouth under his, he couldn't seem to remember the point. Her mouth felt soft and warm and right. So right. He groaned low in his throat, one hand coming up to cup her chin, holding her still for his kiss, the other arm sweeping around her lower back, lifting her into his body. The soft cotton of her dress wrapped itself around his legs, pulling him closer still. Her hands lost themselves in the thick blond hair at the base of his skull.

He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, struggling for some control, but her lashes rose and he stared into the smoky green of her eyes. Control was a fragile thing at best and it couldn't withstand the need—the love—he saw there.

**Oh, God." The words were half a prayer, muffled against her mouth as his arms tightened around her imtil not even a shadow could have slipped between them.

He couldn't have said how long they stood there, aware of nothing but each other. The sweltering heat of the August afternoon faded in comparison to the heat they were generating.

It wasn't until he realized he was lowering her onto the sofa that Trace came to his senses. He pulled her upright, staring down into her eyes. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to ignore the voice of conscience and drown in the wide pools of her eyes. He wanted her like he'd never wanted a woman in his life. His body ached with wanting. But there was more to it than that.

He loved her.

And because he loved her, this couldn't go any further. This was Lily, not some woman he'd met in a bar. She deserved more. So much more. More than a tumble on a worn sofa. More than a sweltering afternoon in a stuffy apartment. More than him. He could never, ever be what she needed.

**Trace?" Her voice held questions and it held desire. It took all his willpower to slide his arms away from her and turn his back, fighting for control. His body pulsed with hunger and he flinched as if from a burning brand when she set her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." The word came out harsh and abrupt but he didn't try to soften it. "This is crazy. It's all wrong."

"How can it be wrong to love you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. You're not in love with me. You're young. You're in love with the idea

of love. And you're scared about going off to college. You're looking for an excuse to avoid it."

He turned to her, trying not to notice the bruised look of her mouth or the way her hair lay tangled on her shoulders, tangled by his hands.

'*You sound awfully sure of what I'm feeling." Her tone was unreadable. She was staring at the floor between them and Trace couldn't judge what she was thinking.

'*It's obvious. We just got a httle carried away by the heat. Heat can do crazy things to a person. You wouldn't believe the way crime picks up in a heat wave. You'll see. When you get to college, there'll be all those gorgeous fraternity guys and I'll seem like an old fogy in comparison."

Her eyes swept up to meet his and he almost changed his mind when he saw the tears beading her lashes. He steeled himself against the pain in her eyes. This was what was best for her.

"You're wrong, Trace. So wrong." A single tear sHd down her cheek and Trace felt as if it were burning acid etching into his soul. He reached out, catching the droplet on his fingertip, his palm cupping her cheek.

"This is for the best, Lily. You may hate me now but someday you'll understand."

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before looking at him again. *'I could never hate you. No matter what. I couldn't hate you. You're the one who doesn't understand."

He stared into her eyes, fighting the uneasy feeling that she was right. Fighting the desperate need to hold her again, to make her his forever. His hand dropped away from her face as she turned, her skirt drifting around her.

Trace watched her walk to the door, feeling as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. Somewhere he'd missed something, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Lily turned at the door, her face pale but composed.

*'Sorry if I made a fool of myself." She was gone before he could say anything. The door closed behind her with a gentle click.

Trace stared at the blank panel for a long time, searching for answers to questions he couldn't quite ask. He'd done the right thing. He didn't doubt that he'd done the right thing. No matter what his feelings were, he wasn't the right person for Lily. Besides, it was just a temporary aberration. He wasn't really in love with her. It wasn't possible.

He bent slowly and picked up the dropped can of beer, hooking his finger around the tab. Yes, he'd definitely done the right thing.

But if it was the right thing, why did it feel so wrong? The shaken beer exploded over him as if in silent conmientary.

Trace shook himself, coming back to the present. The scent of coffee was still in the air but he could ahnost smell the heat of an August afternoon. They'd never spoken of that afternoon. For a long time he'd avoided her, but when they saw each other again, there was nothing in Lily's manner that led him to believe she ever thought about it. It might never have happened if it hadn't been for the memories, too vivid to be anything but real.

As he walked downstairs, he reminded himself that nothing had really changed. True, Lily wasn't the near child she'd been six years ago, but that was all that was different. She still deserved someone who could give her far more than he could ever offer.

The kitchen was bright with sunshine spilling in through the window over the sink. In jeans and a pale gold shirt, Lily looked as ethereal as a shaft of sunlight. She turned away from the stove as Trace came into the room, her smile a little ragged around the edges, her eyes red rimmed with exhaustion or tears, Trace couldn't be sure which.

**Good morning. I hope you still like French toast. I found some bread and eggs but not much else.*'

'Trench toast sounds great." His stomach twisted sluggishly at the thought of food but he ignored it. Life had to start getting back to normal, no matter how hard it was. Breakfast was as good a place to begin as any.

"I thought I might do some shopping today, get some food in the house. You'll be staying here, won't you, at least for a little while?"

Trace hesitated only a moment. His common sense told him he was going to get hurt. But he couldn't look into those eyes and tell her no.

**Sure. There's nothing at my apartment that can't survive without my presence for a while." The relief in her face was worth any future price he might have to pay.

"I'm glad. I wasn't really too anxious to stay here alone."

**I know what you mean." He leaned back as she set a plate of gently steaming French toast in front of him. **This looks wonderful. Did they teach you to cook in England? I thought all they ate in England was boiled vegetables and overdone meat."

Lily smiled at his gentle gibe. **That's a false rumor. There's really some quite wonderful food there if you know where to look. The only thing I had a hard time getting used to was that I always had to beg for ice in my drinks and then I'd be lucky to get one measly ice cube, which melted before the glass hit the table."

*'If that's your only complaint, it can't have been too bad."

**No, it was a good experience. I really learned a lot and I enjoyed myself." She took a sip of hot coffee and jotted some notes on the shopping list next to her plate. **Is there anything in particular you want me to get at the store? It looks like we need everything."

**Just get whatever you want. I haven't been much in the mood for eating or shopping since—for the past few days." For just a few moments they'd almost managed to forget what had happened. Trace toyed with his food, his appetite gone. He glanced at Lily. Her eyes were lowered, watching the aimless movements of her coffee cup as she twisted it around and around between her hands. Her mouth wasiield tight, as if that were the only way to prevent it from quivering.

Danm his clumsy tongue. But it was too late now. There'd been a short time when they'd managed to pretend they didn't have such a tragic reason for being here. The fragile mood was gone now, not to be regained. He stood up, scraping the remains of his breakfast into the garbage disposal.

* Thanks. It was great French toast."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." She didn't mention the fact that he'd barely eaten two bites. What they both needed right now was the illusion of hfe being normal, no matter how fragile that illusion was.

The day drifted by without reality. No one stopped by, the phone didn't ring. They were living next to one of the biggest cities in the country but there was a feeUng of isolation about the day, as if, despite the millions of people nearby, they were all alone, set apart by their shared grief.

Trace worked aimlessly in the garage, cleaning things that didn't need to be cleaned, sharpening tools that didn't need to be sharpened. Lily dusted and vacuumed, filling her time with mindlesis tasks that served to occupy her hands, if not still her thoughts. They spoke occasionally on the most mundane of topics. But for the most part they avoided each other as much as they avoided their own thoughts.

Lunch was eaten in virtual silence, each picking at the pasta salad Lily made. It had been prepared more in an effort to keep them from thinking than because either of them

was hungry. The afternoon was more of the same. Time drifted by with little meaning or purpose.

Everywhere Trace turned he was reminded of his loss. The house was full of memories, all of them painful at the mo^ ment. If it hadn't been for Lily, he wouldn't have stayed here. Mike's death was too new, too hurtful. But Lily was here and this was where he'd stay. He couldn't leave her alone. Honesty compelled him to admit that, no matter what the circumstances, he wanted to be near her.

Late in the afternoon the Santa Ana winds started to blow through the foothills, gusting across the canyons. Trace was grateful for something definite to do. He tied down trash can lids and moved potted plants to sheltered places. What he needed was something solid to sink his teeth into. Something he could take action on, something with a purpose. His mouth twisted. Something like a good hurricane would be nice.

As the sun set, the winds seemed to pick up force, or perhaps it was only the darkness that made them seem to howl louder. Occasionally the little house shuddered under the impact of a particularly strong gust, but it had withstood thirty years of winds; it wasn't too disturbed by this latest gale.