Heroes In Uniform (192 page)

“Terry. We live at the end of the street. I talked to Sophie about renting the house for my parents. They lost their home to a scam artist. Living with us now, but they’re older and need peace and quiet, not four ADHD grandkids. There’s only one guest bedroom, so they have to share. They hadn’t shared in years. My father snores like a machine. My mother hasn’t slept through the night for weeks.”

Her tone carried desperation as she continued. “When my mother is on the edge, everybody is on the edge. Especially my husband.” She gazed at the house with raw longing. “I guess you put in your bid first.” She didn’t bother hiding her disappointment.

“We shouldn’t be here long. If you want to talk to Sophie about renting, just call her,” Wendy said over her shoulder as she hurried back inside.

She didn’t like leaving Justin unattended. A minute was all it took for an accident to happen. Or, say, the furniture to get wrapped in toilet paper. Or a throw pillow to be frosted with melted butter. She blinked those images away. No sense in dwelling in the past.

She locked the door behind her and walked to her son, who was singing the Sheep Shimmy song with the TV. Okay, no disaster. She picked him up and put kisses all over his chubby little face. “Ready for lunch?”

“PBJ!” he squealed. He wasn’t the type who had to be talked into eating. “I do it!”

God, it was good to hear that little voice. He’d come to talking late, worrying Wendy. But once he’d started, he picked up speed and vocabulary pretty fast.

“Okay. Let’s wash hands first.” She switched him to her hip and carried him out into the kitchen.

Sophie’s kitchen was larger than the one at the apartment, comfortable and homey with the kind of country chic décor that fit the rest of the house perfectly. Sliding glass doors led to a deck in the back, where squirrels liked to race along the top of the fence to Justin’s delight.

She helped him wash his chubby little hands in the sink, then collected the jars of grape jelly and peanut butter and a plastic knife so he could try spreading. “Can you hold this? You are such a big boy. Thank you for helping.”

In the yard on the other side of the fence, four kids between the ages of five and ten poured out the back door, screaming as they ran for the swing set. She wondered if they were Terry’s.

Was Sophie losing rental income because Wendy and Justin were here? That didn’t seem fair. Keith’s voice popped into her head, taunting her. “
Your friends pity you, for heaven’s sake.”

She needed to straighten things out with him. They couldn’t hide from him forever. She needed to find a solution to her problems with him, and needed to do it in a hurry. The end of April was four days away. If she could straighten out her life by then, Terry’s parents could start renting the house from the first of May.

She got out the bread.

“I can do it. I can do it!”

She let Justin put two slices of bread into the toaster, then push the button down. Toast wouldn’t fall apart so easily when he went at it with the plastic knife. He always got a kick out of the bread popping up, plus Sophie had the kind of toaster that printed cartoon characters on the side.

When the two slices sprang up, she took them over to the kitchen table and put them on Justin’s plastic plate. She was settling her son onto the chair when the doorbell rang.

“Sounds like Aunt Sophie forgot something. Don’t make a mess.” She smacked a loud kiss on the top of her son’s head before she walked away.

But when she opened the door, she found herself looking into Joe Kessler’s turbulent gaze.

When she’d first met him, he’d been all boyish charm mixed with pure masculine charisma, as close to physical perfection as any of the models she’d worked with. In his crisp uniform, he’d looked more like a stripper cop heading to a bachelorette party than a real police officer. Then that second time at that charity ball, in a sharp tux….

Now his dark hair fell in disheveled locks across his forehead, several inches past regulation length. He wore faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt, both wrinkled, as if they’d spent some time sitting in his dryer. The sexy smile was gone from his chiseled lips. An angry, red wound stretched across his left cheek, the stitches still in.

His entire energy and aura were completely different. He had a hard edge to him today that made him look a couple of years older.

If it weren’t for the eyes, she might not have recognized him so fast. He had eyes the color of strong, black English tea. Those eyes had gotten her in trouble in the first place, and the way he’d smiled at her when he’d offered her that ride home from the fund-raiser at the Ritz. When he smiled, a cocky glint would come into his dark eyes that could make a girl’s breath hitch.

He wasn’t smiling now. Annoyance glinted in his eyes, everything about him somber.

She was so stunned by the change in him that she stepped back to let him in without arguing the need for his presence. She stared at his scar. “What happened?”

“Captain said you need help.” He strode in, carrying a dark blue gym bag.

She had a bad feeling about that. “It’s really nothing. Sophie is being overprotective. Are you okay?”

“The captain filled me in on what’s going on. I thought about it.” He glanced at Justin making an unholy mess in the kitchen, and dropped his bag at the foot of the stairs. “I’m moving in.”

Deathblow: Chapter Four

Wendy Belle wasn’t the type of model foreign princes married. Yes, tall and graceful, but she didn’t radiate a Grace Kelly-like cold beauty. Her lips were too sensuous for that, her eyes too mysterious. Her face was beautiful and perfect in its own way. More than beautiful—interesting. She was the type of woman a man could look at for a lifetime and not get bored.

“When did Bing talk to you about this?” she asked, her mysterious gray eyes narrowing.

“An hour ago.” Not that he saw what difference that made.

“Sophie just left here.” She smoothed down the soft fabric of her azure slacks. She wore a white knit top with matching azure threads shimmering through it. The clothes accentuated her slim figure, the outfit as relaxed as the easy ponytail she had her golden hair in.

At six foot tall, Joe was no garden gnome, but in heels, Wendy would be taller than him. She was the first woman Joe had ever met who made him feel like she was out of his league. If he had a vain side—very small, miniscule—he might have found that disconcerting. But he wasn’t vain. And he wasn’t going to let her get to him.

He paused to think over her words, put two and two together and came up with, “We’ve been set up.”

“I don’t need protection,” she said. “Keith and I had a fight. It was my fault. I was upset, and Sophie misunderstood.”

Familiar words, denial and defense of the abuser. Not unusual from victims of long-term abuse. Joe looked at her more closely, noted the wariness in her eyes that he’d missed before because he’d been too busy staring at her kissable mouth and long legs. “What did you fight about?”

She pressed her lips together and took a step back. “I would like full custody of Justin, and I pushed too hard. Keith had a rough day at work. We’ll work it out. You really don’t need to be here.
I
don’t even need to be here. I should go back to the apartment.”

Every time he stepped forward, she stepped back, keeping a safe distance between them. He didn’t think she even noticed she did it, just acted on reflex. For some reason, that small, ingrained defensive habit of hers pissed him off. How in hell hadn’t he caught it before?

Of course, they hadn’t spent all that much time together. And he’d been distracted by other things.

“I’ll just hang around for a while. In case you need me.”

Her body stiffened. “I don’t need you. You’re confusing me with your other women. Won’t they go into mourning if you disappear suddenly? I wouldn’t want to be responsible for all the wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth in Broslin.” She offered a syrupy smile. “Seriously. Thanks, but no thanks.”

She was stonewalling him. He’d been a cop long enough to recognize victim behavior. It made him incredibly sad for Wendy, and beyond pissed at the jerk who would do this to her.

Sugarcoating wasn’t going to help her. “Do you think your loser ex is capable of hurting you?”

“He didn’t mean it—”

“I’m moving in.” After the night and morning he’d had, Joe didn’t have the energy to go through the whole song and dance. He looked around. “Give me your cell phone.”

She folded her arms in front of her as she did her best to stare him down.

He spotted the phone on the sofa table and grabbed it. He’d picked up a new phone on his way over. He entered his new number, then put her phone back down. “I’m going to stick as close to you as possible for the next couple of days, but if I’m not right there and something happens, I want you to call me.”

“I’m not sleeping with you again,” she said between her teeth.

That she thought that was why he’d come, that he was the kind of guy who would take advantage of her problems, ticked him off another notch.

He raised an eyebrow, then let his lips stretch into a lazy smile. “Rocked your world, huh?” He shook his head. “I’m not here for a repeat. Sorry. I’m planning on sleeping downstairs. The couch will do.”

Then he strolled out to the kitchen, leaving her staring daggers after him.

Sophie’s kitchen was smaller than his but homier, had the woman’s touch—houseplants and flea-market art, little sayings like YES, YOU CAN painted on signs she had hanging all over the place. Sophie was big on positive thinking.

Joe’s gaze settled on the kid at the table who was making what might have been lunch, absorbed completely in the task.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hi,” Justin said without looking up. He was spreading jelly everywhere but the slice of bread in front of him, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“I’m Joe. Do you remember me? I’m a friend of Sophie’s and your mom’s.”

Justin spared a glance, shook his head, went back to spreading. A glob of purple jelly glistened on his ear, dripping on the green T-Rex on the front of his shirt.

“I’m going to hang out here for a while. Um…a dinosaur sat on my house.”

Justin’s attention snapped to him, eyes wide now and staring. Then he focused on Joe’s face and pointed. “You have a boo-boo.”

“He smacked me with his tail by accident.”

The kid’s eyes went even wider. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” Joe said. “Piece of cake. I’m a tough guy. I can take care of myself.”

“Did he make a mess?”

Joe gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You wouldn’t believe it. The dishes are in the bathtub. The chairs are hanging from the ceiling.”

Justin giggled.

“My socks are in the toilet.”

The little boy squealed with laughter.

“My pillows blew away when he sneezed.”

The kid laughed even harder.

“What are you making?” Joe asked as he stepped closer.

“PBJ,” the little boy said proudly.

Joe took in the table. Beat him why Wendy would let the kid make his own food. The mess was insane. It didn’t seem possible that anything was left in the jars. Half the table was frosted with a mix of sticky brownish-purple substances.

He glanced at Wendy. “He’s thorough. Definitely goes above and beyond. Not to mention sideways.”

The tension slipped off her face, replaced by an indulgent smile as she looked at the boy. “I keep telling myself that’ll be a good thing when he grows up.”

She stepped over to her son. “Let me help for a second.” She fixed up the PBJ, cut it into wedges, then cleaned up within seconds, telling her son how much she loved him.

The warmth of the scene seeped into Joe. Yet another side of Wendy he liked, the mother side. She wasn’t afraid of a little dirt, clearly, even if she
was
a city girl. She was probably afraid of the woods. And cows too, Joe decided. No sense in mooning over a fancy city girl and being a total sap for her.

While Wendy joked and chatted with her son in the kitchen, Joe went to check on the house. He found the security in top shape, all the windows and doors secured, the front door brand-new with a new lock and dead bolt. When Sophie had had a break-in a couple of months ago, Bing had fortified the place.

Justin was still eating when Joe strode back into the kitchen.

Wendy was washing dishes, so he picked up a kitchen towel to help with drying.

She shifted a foot to the side.

He noted the distance she put between them and stayed where he was. She could keep her comfort zone, her private space. “Your parents live around here?”

“Florida.”

“Siblings?”

“None. Only child.”

Isolated.
Exactly how abusers liked their victims.

She handed him a dripping plate, moving efficiently but gracefully, focused on her work.

He caught himself. He was here to protect her, not to speculate on how many kisses a determined man could line up between her collarbone and the small hollow behind her ear, how the creamy white skin of her neck would taste.