Facing It (23 page)

Desk duty. Chris blew out a long breath. At least Tick wasn’t talking suspension. If he’d pulled this stunt over at Tifton, he’d have been looking at thirty days off.

Tick thumped a finger on the table in a sharp staccato. “You’re going to have to see someone, a counselor, whatever, to work through this, Chris. You can pick who you want to see, but I’m going to need clearance from whoever it is before I put you back in a car.”

Ah, damn it all, he should have seen that one coming. Talk to a counselor?

Oh hell. Just what he needed.

“How many this time?” Beecham asked, gleeful teasing coloring his voice. She lifted her head to glare at him across the small office they shared.

“Six.” She hit the delete code once more. “And guess what? Five of them are about you.”

“Me?” That got his attention. With almost comical speed, he abandoned his laptop where he was checking his backlog of email and swiveled to stare at her. “What do you mean, about me?”

“She wants me to come home my next weekend off.” Jennifer smirked at him. “And I’m supposed to bring you with me.”

He returned his attention to his computer. “Wouldn’t have this problem if you hadn’t told her about us.”

“If I hadn’t told her, she’d have me set up with Paul Coleman for the Junior League ball and from there, it’s a slippery downhill slope to engraved invitations and bridal registries, Beech. My mother is the master matchmaker.”

He snorted but didn’t look at her.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes at the back of his head. God, the man was thick sometimes.

“So, how do you feel about the Junior League ball, Beecham?”

“Never been to one.”

For a split second, she considered nailing the back of his head with the stuffed pig that graced the shelf behind her desk. “I think you’re missing the point—”

“Harrell!” The pleased, vaguely familiar voice filled the tiny area with exuberance. Beecham’s body jerked before every muscle stiffened. Jennifer glanced toward the door. The perfectly coifed blonde woman with the trim leopard-spotted jacket over black slacks didn’t look like anyone’s threat, but Jennifer knew firsthand how a mother’s presence could inspire mingled joy and dread. For a man like Harrell Beecham, having his mother in his professional space probably had every molecule in his body crawling.

“Mom.” He rose, a taut welcoming smile pinned to his face. He caught her in a tight hug. “What are you doing here?”

“What? A mother can’t drop by to see her only child?” Julia Gruen reached up to pat his cheek and Jennifer caught the glimmer of light over a diamond on her third finger, left hand. Her stomach dropped like a stone. Oh, this was not going to be good.

“Flying from Palm Beach to Atlanta is not dropping by.” He leaned down to brush a kiss over her cheek and Jennifer knew the instant he caught sight of the engagement ring. If he’d stiffened at his mother’s voice, he went downright rigid now, his smile slipping. He recovered quickly. “But I’m glad to see you.”

He darted a look in Jennifer’s direction and she didn’t need a codebook to decipher that expression. She stood, smothering a fake yawn. “I’m going to grab a latte and let you two catch up.”

“Oh, Jennifer, you don’t have to go.” Julia reached for her hands like they were old friends, rather than mere acquaintances who’d met once. She leaned forward to brush a kiss over Jennifer’s cheek. “You look lovely, dear.”

“Thank you. And I am just going to slip out and—”

“Isn’t she lovely, Harrell?” Julia’s grip tightened and Jennifer stood still, feeling rather helpless. She could take the older woman, sure, but somehow, using her Bureau training to escape from her secret lover’s mother didn’t seem like the best route right now.

“Yes, Mom, she is.” His gaze slid to Jennifer’s and she caught a glimpse of desperation there. If she really wanted to torture him for being thickheaded earlier, this would be the time to do it. Too bad she was crazy in love with the guy.

Gently, she extricated herself from Julia’s intense hold. “Wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Gruen—”

“Call me Julia, please.”

“Julia.” Jennifer smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. Damn it, his mother liked her. She could like the older woman, simply because she’d produced Beecham. “Y’all have a nice visit. Beecham, I’ll catch up to you later.”

She closed the door behind her with a soft
snick
and leaned against it for a second. Really stupid of her to feel this level of hurt because she had to hide what she felt around his mother.

Really, really stupid. But telling herself that didn’t make the hurt any less real.

His mother studied the closed door, lips pursed. “You should snap her up, Harrell. She’s smart, beautiful—”

“Mom.” Wasn’t this just like her, going off on a tangent about how he should hook up with Jennifer, when she was sporting yet another diamond ring? He tapped a fingertip against the gaudy rock. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The brightness of her smile rivaled the stone’s sparkle. “Isn’t it wonderful? Barry proposed. We’re flying to Vegas this weekend for the wedding.”

Oh, good God. He closed his eyes. Not again. “Mom…don’t you think this is a little sudden? How long have you known this guy? And it’s only been a couple of months since the divorce was final—”

“Harrell, my darling, love is sudden and timeless and—”

“You’ve been married eight times already.” Not to mention the various broken engagements and dead-end relationships.

“Oh, this time it’s for sure, darling, and I want you to give me away.” Her long, mascaraed lashes fluttered and a trilling laugh fell from her lips. “You’ll love Barry, I know you will.”

Like hell he would. And like hell he’d play any part in this particular fiasco. Thank God in heaven for this security detail. “I have to work part of the weekend, Mom.”

Her face fell and he almost felt guilty. “Can’t you get away, sweetie? I so want you to be there.”

No sense in blowing this into a huge fuss here in the office. “I’ll see, okay? But no promises.”

“But you can come to dinner with us tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

The tentative plans he and Jennifer had tossed around earlier tumbled through his head: dinner at her place, a movie, probably his spending the night over there since they’d been sleeping apart during their days with Chason. Not asking her to go with him to this dinner would get sticky. He knew it, as surely as he knew she’d been angling to get him to go to that damn ball with her.

He sighed. “Sure, Mom. I can do dinner tonight.”

And he jolly couldn’t wait.

Jennifer curled her bare toes around the edge of the coffee table. She scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl at her side and popped it in her mouth, chasing it with a bite of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. On the screen, a massive genetically engineered snake chased a hapless band of jungle adventurers. She really hoped the obnoxious guide who bore a striking resemblance to Harrell Beecham bought it next.

“Oh, don’t go in the water, you bimbo.” She sighed at the bikini-clad scientist’s lack of brain cells. “Snakes can swim.”

The beautiful women in these movies were always stunningly stupid. And men with commitment issues never really changed, did they?

She jammed her spoon in the half-empty carton and leaned forward to set it on the table. Telling herself to be patient was all fine and dandy and good as long as she wasn’t staring the evidence of his fear in the face.

The doorbell pealed and she paused in mid-grab over the popcorn bowl. With her chest tight, she scrambled from the couch. She’d hoped he wouldn’t show up tonight. She wasn’t completely sure she could pull off “calm and nontemperamental”.

She really needed that pig to throw at his head.

Without bothering to use the peephole, she swung the door open. He stood outside her apartment, still wearing his navy Fibbie suit and carrying a takeout bag from Bone’s. A weary smile broke on his face at the sight of her and he stepped forward into the foyer, wrapping her close, the bag tapping against her lower back.

“God, am I glad to see you,” he muttered against her hair. She tried to relax in his embrace. He didn’t seem to notice, pulling back to brush his mouth over hers and shove the door closed behind him. He cupped her nape and tugged her in for another brief, hard kiss before holding the bag aloft. “I brought you dinner.”

She shrugged. “Already ate. But thanks.”

Stripping off his tie, he followed as she carried the bag into the kitchen and tossed it in the refrigerator. “I am so glad this night is over.”

She closed the refrigerator door softly. So…he went to dinner with his mother, pretended she didn’t exist, then showed up at her door to unwind. Yeah. That made calm and nontemperamental easy to do.

“C’mere.” He leaned against the pass-through bar and tugged her into his arms. She went, still unable to let go into his touch. He pressed his cheek to hers on a humming sigh, thumbs rubbing at the small of her back. Her skin crept under the easy caress. She caught a glimpse of them in the wavy reflection at the microwave.

He appeared relaxed, the miserable tension draining from his face and posture now that he was in her presence. She wrapped her arms about his waist. The fact he could do that with her eased the lingering hurt somewhat. He nuzzled the side of her neck. “Missed you tonight.”

You didn’t have to
. The words trembled at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them. Somehow, they didn’t smack of calm and nontemperamental. Besides, pushing that point would lead to an argument, she was sure of it, and he didn’t need any further emotional upheaval so soon on the heels of his mother’s arrival.

She turned her head and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You too.”

He lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah. Tell that to someone else.” He rubbed at the base of her spine again. “You don’t feel right, Jen.”

She slipped free of his hold with a light laugh. “Maybe it’s you. You’re pretty tense.”

His brows lowered, he rested his hands on the counter’s edge and studied her. She feathered a hand through her hair and turned away. “I left ice cream melting in the living room.”

Grateful for the excuse, she escaped. The reprieve proved to be temporary as he followed on her heels. “Pissed off at me, aren’t you. For not taking you with me tonight.”

She snagged the ice cream carton and bypassed the couch for the armchair. She folded herself into it yoga-style and spooned up a melting mouthful of banana, chocolate and walnut therapy. “Not pissed. Hurt. There’s a difference.” She shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”

His shoulders heaved with a rough sigh. “Jen…”

She held up both hands, condensation-dripping carton in one, sticky spoon in the other. “I don’t want to talk about it, Harrell. You’re not going to change your mind and it’s not worth fighting over tonight. Sit down, have some popcorn and watch giant snakes eat stupid people.”

He didn’t move, hands resting at his waist, his entire body tight with renewed tension. She knew that look. He wasn’t going to let this go, which made absolutely no sense. Keeping her a big, dirty secret from everyone was his issue, not hers. He should be glad she was letting him off the hook.

Mouth set in a straight, thin line, he leaned down, grabbed the remote and turned off the television. Jennifer gaped at the blank screen for a moment, a hint of blue still glowing there, then turned a scowl on him. “I was watching that.”

“I think this is—”

The phone cut him off. Jennifer swallowed a sharp, humorless giggle. My God, the irony. Only one person would call her after ten o’clock at night. She’d never thought she’d be happy about one of her mother’s calls. She lunged for the cordless phone on the coffee table, nearly dumping ice cream and herself on the carpet in the process.

An inarticulate growl grumbled from Beecham’s throat. “Jen, let the voice mail—”

“It’s my mom.” She lifted the phone to her ear and unfolded her legs. “Hello?”

“Jennifer, I didn’t wake you, did I?” The soothing familiarity of her mother’s serene voice flowed over the line.

“No, I was watching a movie.”

“Oh.” A long pause vibrated between them. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” A sudden and completely ridiculous urge to cry gripped her throat. She’d never been one for confiding in her maternal parental unit.

“You sound…strained.”

“Ice cream. Froze my tongue.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped one arm around them, ignoring the stiff way Beecham turned away, his back ramrod straight. “Did you need something, Mom?”

“I need to give Trish a final count on our tickets for the ball. Are you coming home? And should I buy one or two?”

“Yes, I’m coming,” she said quietly, her gaze trained on the wall of Beecham’s back. Solid, sturdy…unyielding. She blinked away a film of tears. “But you just need one for me.”

“So Harrell isn’t coming?” She hated the sympathy that entered her mother’s tone. Hated even more how the warm emotion weakened her.

“No, he’s not coming with me.” If anything, Beecham’s body stiffened further. Jennifer made a quick dash at her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “Mom, I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I love you.”

“You too. Good night.” She laid the phone aside and watched a puddle of condensation gather about the bottom of the ice cream box.

“I guess I’m supposed to feel guilty and agree to go to that damn ball with you?”