Cavanaugh Heat. Marie Ferrarella
had been turned, that he was a dirty cop who paid the ultimate penalty. By not coming here, Lila was avoiding those people. But they were in the minority, she had to know that. And even so, she wasn’t to blame for what her husband had done. And neither were her kids.
Brian thought of pointing that out, then decided that he didn’t want to open any wounds. Not until she indicated that she was ready for that.
“Those also serve who push paper around,” he quipped. “Besides,” he went on, growing serious, “you did more than your part. A little more to the right and you wouldn’t be here right now.”
A cold shiver slithered down her spine the way it always did whenever she thought of that incident. Brian referred to the bullet that had ended her active career. How like him to take himself out of the equation when it came to taking credit.
“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” she corrected. “You’re the one who saved my life, Brian.” Her eyes shifted to the hands that were wrapped around his beer mug. A fond smile played on her lips. “You and those big hands of yours.”
Brian glanced down at them as if he’d just now noticed that they were a part of him. The incident vividly came back to him. He’d never been so scared before in his life. Without any effort at all, he could almost feel her warm blood pouring out of the hole, the hole he frantically pressed his fingers against. Waiting for the paramedics to arrive had been the longest ten minutes of his life.
“Susan used to say they were too big, too clumsy.”
“Susan never appreciated what she had.” Before the words were out, Lila regretted them. It wasn’t her place to criticize the man’s wife, especially now that she was gone. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Because she killed herself?” There, he thought, he laid it out in the open. Now they could get past it. “We all have our demons.”
“Amen to that,” she said softly.
She kept glancing around, he noticed. As if she expected someone to turn up. Someone she knew. Was she worried that one of her sons or daughters would walk in and see her? What difference would it make?
Very carefully, Brian took the mug of beer from her and placed it off to the side on the table, then took her hands in his. Her expression never changed, but he could feel her tensing.
“There’s nobody here who knows you. Except Shawn, and he always had a soft spot for you. Not Ben,” he allowed truthfully, “but you.”
He didn’t add that the reason for that didn’t have anything to do with the rumors about Ben selling out. It was because both he and Shawn, as well as a few others, were privy to the fact that Ben had stepped out on Lila more than once. Handsome to a fault, Ben McIntyre took advantage of the fact that he attracted women like a rock star attracted adoring fans.
Realizing that he was still holding her hands, Brian released them. Questions kept cropping up in his head, so many questions. He didn’t even know where to start. But he knew he needed to put her at ease if he hoped to get any answers. For the moment, he pushed aside the reason she’d sought him out. There was time enough for that later. Brian already knew what he was going to do about her problem.
Leaning over the table, his eyes on hers, he asked in the friendliest voice he could generate, “So how have you been?”
Lonely. “Busy,” she told him out loud. “I actually do like the work, although not as much as being out in the field,” she qualified honestly. “Wayne Langtree’s wife just had a baby and he took off some time to be with his new family, so we’re pretty swamped.”
Brian smiled to himself as he shook his head in wonder. “Maternity leave for men. Who would have thought it? There’s a whole new world out there now, Lila. It was a hell of a lot different when we first came on the job.” For one thing, he thought, there hadn’t been all that many women in uniform, much less carrying a detective’s shield. Lila had a lot to be proud of. “The world is really changing, Lila.” He thought of all the bureaucracy that had come into existence, bureaucracy that at times got in the way of honest cops doing their jobs. He shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
That made two of them, Lila thought. “Some things don’t change,” she reminded him. She saw him raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. “There are still bad guys out there for you to catch.”
“Not me,” he said, and she was certain she heard more than a slight note of regret.
The same sort of regret she felt, watching her children suit up for work while she went in to spend her days behind a desk. What she did was necessary, but there was nothing like the rush that came from knowing you’d saved someone’s life or that you’d stopped a murderer from killing again.
“That’s for the others to do.” His eyes met hers. He could see his former partner in there. The one he’d shared so many thoughts with. “You know, sometimes I really miss the old days.”
Something almost electrical zipped through her.
Lila cleared her throat, looking away. Who would have thought, after all this time, that she would still feel this pull, this magnetism dancing between them? This “thing” that went beyond the friendship she and he had forged over the six-year course of their working relationship?
After everything that she had been through, it was still there, still alive.
Maybe for you, but what about him?
She wasn’t prepared to find out.
“Me, too,” she agreed. Did he suspect? Did part of him know how she’d once felt about him? How she probably still felt about him? Banking down her thoughts, she took refuge in her children. It was a safe move. “I miss having the kids all living at home—I even miss the arguments.”
“Not sure I’d go that far.” Brian laughed. “But I do miss the sound of someone breathing in the house besides me.”
About to take another sip of her beer, she stopped and nodded vigorously. “Oh God, yes. Of course the dog’s there, but it’s not the same thing. I love her dearly, but she just doesn’t hold her own in a conversation.” Brian laughed. She’d forgotten how much she liked the sound of his laughter. It was warm and rich and deep. And disarming. She heard herself saying, “You know what’s the worst? When I wake up from a nightmare and still think they’re living at home. When the realization sinks in that they’re not, it’s just awful.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” He paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask and if she’d considered it prying. He assuaged his conscience by telling himself that friends didn’t pry, they expressed concern. “You have nightmares?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. He was going to think she’d become a drama queen. Like his wife. Too late now, she thought. He was obviously waiting for her to elaborate.
“Sometimes,” she finally admitted.
“About anything in particular?”
Yes, about Ben. About the way he looked when he washed up on shore. But out loud, she said, “About that night.” It wasn’t a lie. Sometimes she had nightmares about that. But not nearly as often as the other. “It never quite leaves me.”
Life had changed quickly after that night. They had never really had a chance to talk about it. Ben was always standing guard, limiting his access to Lila. And then she’d left the force and he’d gone on to become the chief of detectives. And a widower.
“Maybe you should have gone to the department shrink,” he suggested tactfully, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but maybe it was something she needed to hear. He saw her closing up before his eyes.
“Ben didn’t have any use for shrinks.”
Husband or not, Brian never got the sense that the man had her best interests at heart. “Ben