All I've Ever Wanted (11 page)

D
et. Collier opened his apartment door and gestured for Kennedy to enter. “Ladies first,” he said with a smile.

With an unexplained nervousness, she crossed the threshold and immediately heard the click of a light switch behind her.

Bright lights bathed his spacious living room that was decorated with black leather furniture and little else.

“Forgive the mess, the maid is on vacation,” he joked as he closed the door behind them.

She glanced around again, and saw a few empty beer bottles on the coffee table, along with a stack
of paper. Other than that, the place appeared immaculate. If he considered this a mess, she wondered what he thought of her apartment.

The awkward silence between them grew as they stood near the front door. Then Collier remembered his manners. “Ah, I guess I should show you my bedroom.”

She jerked around to meet his gaze.

“I'll take the couch,” he added.

She nodded, suddenly embarrassed by the direction her thoughts had gone in response to such an innocent remark.

“Of course,” she said. Then she followed him across the living room and down the hallway. Still glancing around, Kennedy thought it was odd that there weren't any knickknacks on the shelves.

“Just moved in?” she asked, absently.

“Yeah, about a year ago.” He entered a room and switched on the lights.

She peeked in and saw only a king-size bed. Again, there weren't any pictures; heck there wasn't even a headboard or a bedside table.

“Are you sure you live here?”

“Did the last time I checked.” He smiled. “If you'll hold on for a moment, I'll get you some clean sheets.”

She nodded, then moved farther into the room. While he was gone, she noticed an adjoining bathroom and a closed door to what she assumed was the
closet. Overall, the room was less than homey—way less.

Collier returned, carrying a set of folded white sheets.

“I'm starting to feel like I'm staying in a hospital, Detective Collier.”

He laughed. “Please, I'd say, given the circumstances, we should at least be on a first name basis. Call me Max.”

“All right, then,
Max.
I feel like I'm staying in a hospital. White walls, white sheets…do you have anything with a splash of color?”

Again, he laughed. “You know, my mother taught me that beggars can't be choosers.”

Kennedy's hands jumped to her hips. “I'm no beggar, Detective Collier.”

“Max.”

“I'm no beggar,
Max.
”

He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. “I'll get you a set of sheets with color.”

She couldn't help but smile.

After the sheets were changed, Max handed Kennedy a set of pajamas he had just bought a couple of days before. The flannel pajamas were still in the store's plastic packaging. Kennedy took it along with some clean towels—again white—and headed off to the shower.

Not until she stood beneath a steady stream of
water did she realize how much her body ached and how much she wanted to cry.

After stepping out of the shower, Kennedy toweled herself dry and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The first thing she noticed was how old she looked. She leaned closer and touched the bags under her eyes and wondered when she'd developed them. She dropped her hand from her face, and shook her head. Life was doing a number on her.

Kennedy tore the plastic off the new pair of pajamas. She stepped into the pants then laughed at how they swallowed her body. Not only was there no chance the waistband would cling to her small hips, the legs were so long her feet were buried in enough material to made an additional pair for Tommy.

The top wasn't much better. While it fit her like a midlength dress, the shoulders were too wide and the sleeves too long.

After several attempts to tie and fold the material to make the pants fit, she gave up on them and decided to just wear the pajama top.

As she stepped from the bathroom and turned off the light, she heard a rap at the door.

“Yes?”

“Are you decent?”

She laughed. “It's as good as it gets, I suppose.”

The bedroom door opened a crack and Max
stuck his head through. When he caught sight of her, he laughed.

“Ha, Ha. Where do you shop anyway, the Jolly Green Giant's closet?”

He shrugged. “Beggars can't be—”

She cut him off with a hard glare.

“All right, all right. I just came to ask if you were hungry. I could eat a couple of horses myself.”

“Where are we going to get something to eat at three in the morning?”

He pushed the door farther open and made a dramatic bow. “Chef Maxwell Collier at your service.”

She crossed her arms and asked with a measure of disbelief, “You cook?”

“Madam, I do more than that. I create masterpieces.”

Her skepticism lasted a few seconds, before her stomach's loud growl answered for her.

“I guess I'll take that as a yes.” He winked.

She turned her head, in the hope that he wouldn't notice her flustered look, and caught sight of a white phone sitting on the floor by the bed. She turned back toward him. “Can I join you in a few minutes? There are a few things I want to take care of.”

“Sure.”

Kennedy watched as his jovial expression faded, but was surprised when he didn't ask any questions.

“I'll see you in the kitchen in a few.”

She nodded and waited until he closed the door
before she rushed over to the phone. She punched in the Warners' phone number, and then nervously twisted the phone cord while she waited for the line to connect.

On the fifth ring, she reached the answering machine. She listened to Mrs. Warner tell her that they weren't in and to please leave a message. At the beep, she hung up.

She stared at the phone and somehow managed to resist the urge to cry.
He's all right. He's all right.
Kennedy closed her eyes and clung to her affirmation—her hope. At this moment and time, it was all she had.

When she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she thought the vast emptiness reflected how she felt inside. She'd lost so many important people in her life that she couldn't fathom losing her baby. What would she do if she did?

Kennedy shook her head and refused to delve into that possibility. Her stomach growled and she remembered Max in the kitchen. Hopefully, once she ate something, she'd be able to crawl into bed and snatch a couple of hours of sleep. She stood and gazed at the bed and knew that she was fooling herself. There was no way that she was going to get any sleep tonight—or any night. Not until she knew her son was safe.

“Soup's on,” Max called from the kitchen.

Kennedy went to join him in the kitchen. “What smells so good?” She froze at the kitchen door, stunned at the sight of Max before her.

He was dressed only in a pair of black flannel pajama pants. He stood, stirring a pot on the stove. His bare, muscular chest drew her gaze like a magnet and invited her imagination to explore a world of possibilities.

He turned and faced her. It was his frown that jolted her from her deep reverie.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, I hope you like soup.”

“Soup?”

His frown transformed into a smile.

Kennedy crossed her arms and tapped a bare foot on the linoleum floor. “What happened to you creating masterpieces?”

His smile widened. “Now this isn't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill soup. This is my grandmother's special recipe.”

“Your grandmother's recipe?”

“Yes, ma'am. She's the best cook this side of the Mississippi.”

She stared at him for a moment, then had to admit, “Well, it does smell pretty good.”

“If you think that's something, wait until you taste it.” He turned and reached into a nearby cabinet and withdrew two bowls.

As he prepared everything, Kennedy couldn't help but think that his giddiness reminded her of a child's. It was obvious that the man loved to cook.

He placed the steaming bowls of soup on the dining-room table, and then went back into the kitchen to get spoons.

Kennedy sat down. “Do you have any salt and pepper?”

He stopped and looked as if she had kicked him. “You haven't even tasted it yet.”

Suddenly, Kennedy felt as though she had grown two heads. “I always use—”

“Trust me, you won't need it.” His smile returned as he joined her at the table.

She couldn't help but return the gesture. Closing her eyes, she leaned over her bowl and inhaled the heavenly aroma. “Mmm.”

“Good, huh?”

Her eyes fluttered open and their gazes met. A warm, sweet sensation coursed through her. She swore that she was drowning in the dark pools of his eyes, and swore that it took more effort to breathe in his presence.

He lowered his gaze and the spell broke. “Go ahead and give it a try,” he said, not quite sounding like himself. He obviously noticed the difference, too, and cleared his throat.

Kennedy dipped her spoon and tasted Max's
“masterpiece.” She blinked once, and stared at her empty spoon.

“Well?” he probed.

She tasted it again, then eyed him suspiciously.

He continued to watch her expectantly.

Kennedy picked up her napkin and threw it at him. “This is Campbell's soup!”

Max kicked back in his chair and a hearty laugh rumbled from his chest.

“I don't believe you.” She wished she had something else to throw.

His laugh deepened and tears seeped from the corner of his eyes. “I had you going there for a moment.”

“You can't cook, can you?”

“I plead the Fifth,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“I just bet you do, Chef Collier.”

“Aw, come on. You're not mad at me, are you?”

“I knew that you were full of it. Canned soup is probably all you can handle.”

“I resent that.”

“But you don't deny it?” Kennedy rolled her eyes and gave him the silent treatment.

“Okay, I'm sorry. I thought that you could use a good joke.” He sobered as he added, “Especially after the day you had. I just wanted to put a smile on your face.” He reached out and grasped her hand.

A familiar jolt of electricity surged through her.
She met his gaze again, and then smiled. “Well, you succeeded. Thank you.”

Max's gaze caressed her face. “The pleasure was all mine.”

M
ax and Kennedy finished their dinner in silence, but not without their share of secret glances.

Kennedy couldn't remember the last time she'd shared a meal with someone of the opposite sex, four-year-olds excluded. She had reached a strange level of intimacy with Max—being in his home, wearing his clothes.

She stole another glance at him, took in his bare chest and smooth complexion. How long had it been since she had enjoyed the touch of a man? When was the last time she'd lost herself in the folds of a man's embrace?

Memories of Lee Carsey surfaced and Kennedy smiled down at her soup.

“Now that's a smile,” Max observed.

Kennedy blinked; then her face grew warm with embarrassment. The reaction only fueled his curiosity.

“Come on. What are you thinking about?”

“It was nothing.”

“It sure didn't look like nothing. You looked like the cat that swallowed a coveted canary.”

She shrugged, then flashed him a quick smile. “Women are allowed to have secrets.”

“Secrets, eh?” He stood with his empty bowl and reached for hers. “Are you through with that, or are you going to continue smiling at it all night?”

She handed him the bowl. “Here. I can't eat another bite.”

“I hope not. That was your fourth serving.”

“You counted?”

His brows rose. “You didn't?”

“All right, all right. So I was a little hungry.” She laughed. “What's the matter? Are you running low on canned goods?”

“Hey, you should know how much a cop makes. It's enough to make a grown man weep. Trust me.”

“So, why do you do it?” she asked with genuine interest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you're unhappy about the pay, then why are you a cop?”

He shrugged. “I guess because my old man was a cop and I thought he was the coolest guy on earth.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, when I was young, my pop would come home late at night and regale us with stories about the good guys versus the bad guys. It all played like a comic-book adventure in my head.”

“It's in your blood, huh?”

“Bad.” He cocked his head. “Your father was a cop. You were never tempted to join the force?”

“Not just no, but oh, hell, no.”

He laughed.

“You don't understand,” she said. “My father may have been a highly decorated officer but, deep down, he hated his job. He hated what he saw on the streets night after night. He often told me that the job stole any hopes he had for the country and for our people. One part of our community is fighting for the right things and the right causes, while another part is busy destroying what we've achieved.”

Max nodded. “He was right.”

“He usually was.”

Max took the dishes into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“What are my choices?”

“Let's see. I have water, beer, water, did I mention beer?”

She shook her head and stood. When she leaned against the archway, she crossed her arms. “As soon as I get a chance, I'm going to pray for you.”

“What?”

She laughed at his feigned look of innocence. “You know what? Since it's been a while since I've had a chance to behave like an adult, I think I'll take a beer.”

“All right. Now we're talking.”

The phone rang just as he handed her a bottle.

“Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the wall unit in the kitchen. “Yeah.”

“I thought you were coming back to the hospital?” Lieutenant Scardino's voice came over the line.

“Sudden change of plans. I'll have to tell you about it later. How's he doing?” Out of the corner of his eyes, Max watched Kennedy move away from the kitchen to give him his privacy.

“He's awake and doing good.”

Max detected a note of sadness in her voice. “That's definitely good to hear.” He hesitated, not knowing how much he could or should say. “How are you holding up?”

There was a long pause and he suddenly wished that he had ripped out his tongue.

“I'm not sure,” she answered in a wavery voice. “In the back of my head, I always knew something like this was a possibility, but I never prepared myself for it.”

“No one can. But, hey, Dossman is a strong man. If he made it this far, he's going to be fine, right?”

“That's what the doctors are saying.”

The line fell silent again, but he sensed that she wanted to say more. When she finally spoke, her tattered emotions rattled her vocal cords. “I love him, Max.”

His heart squeezed and he wished that he could be there for her. “I know.”

He listened as she tried to pull herself together, but she was doing a lousy job of it.

“I'd better go now,” she said, sniffing.

“Are you sure? I'm a good listener.”

“Nah.” She sniffed again. “I've already said too much. Where's Ms. St. James?”

“Here.”

“You're joking?”

“No. She's sitting in my living room as we speak.”

“Did she talk?”

“Of course not. I'm never that lucky.”

“What's your next move?” She was starting to sound more like herself again.

He glanced around to make sure that he was still alone. “I don't know. I'm pretty much playing this one by ear.”

The line fell silent again.

“I don't like how this is playing out. I feel that we're walking into a den of lions with blindfolds on,” she said.

“Keenan is just a punk. I'm on it.”

“I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“You, too?” He exhaled. “Dossman and I believe that Keenan and his gang are just hired hands—puppets, if you will.”

“You have anything to support those hunches?”

“Not a damn thing.” He listened to her weary exhalation.

“Do me a favor,” she finally said.

“Name it.”

“Be careful.”

He smiled. “That goes without saying.”

“And—”

“There's more?” he asked.

“Yeah. Make sure you get Ms. St. James to talk.”

“You can count on it.” He hung up, and then glanced back toward the living room. The small voice of his conscience preached about doing the right thing. She was vulnerable, he knew, but he had a job to do.

Entering the living room, he groaned when he saw her holding the file he'd left on the coffee table—the file that detailed everything he'd learned about her.

She looked up, stabbing him her glare. “Some light reading?”

“I call it working overtime.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, closing the folder and tossing
it back down onto the coffee table. “I forgot that Tommy and I are just another job for you.” A cynical smile curved her lips.

Max locked gazes with her and took a swig of his beer before responding, “I'm a cop, Kennedy. And, believe it or not, I'm on your side. I thought I proved that much tonight when I saved your life.”

She looked away. “Maybe,” she said, and then took a swig of her own beer. “Maybe.”

He walked over to the La-Z-Boy and dropped his weight into the seat. “I'd say that I was the least of your problems. Wouldn't you?”

Kennedy took another sip of beer and thought about Keenan, Tommy, her job, her classes, and had to admit she had little room on her list of troubles.

“Have you heard anything more about your partner?” She wanted to change the subject, plus she was genuinely concerned.

He nodded. “Actually, that call was from our Lieutenant. She says he's awake now and the doctors believe he's going to pull through.”

That was a load off her shoulders. Kennedy sat on the edge of the leather couch, continued to nurse her beer. “You're trying to figure me out,” she stated.

“What gave me away?” His lips gave a small hint of a smile.

“Your eyes,” she answered honestly. She could feel herself relaxing under the influence of alcohol.

“Damn,” he said, but didn't look sorry at all.

She smiled. “Half the time I don't know whether to take you seriously or not. You have a habit of coming off like a professional comic.”

“Ah.” His smile became disarming. “Let me give you a hint.”

When he leaned forward in his chair, she followed his lead.

“Always take me seriously.”

A strange, yet familiar yearning fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and a sudden haze clouded her head. She frowned, uncertain whether it was the beer or the intriguing man that affected her. She had a sinking feeling that it was the man.

“You want another one?” he asked.

Kennedy looked up, confused. “What?”

“Drink.” He pointed to her empty bottle. “You want another drink?”

She blinked. When had she finished it? “Sure.”

Max got up and went into the kitchen. As he walked away, she took her time assessing him. His gait was confident, graceful, and he didn't have a bad butt, either.

Her smile widened.

Moments later when he returned, she took in his direct profile. She looked at his shoulders and remembered their comfort. His chest had been rock hard and his abdomen was like a chiseled six-pack.

“You must work out a lot,” she said, accepting the bottle he offered.

Max cocked his head. “Were you checking me out?”

Heat blazed up her neck and scorched her cheeks. “I…uh…”

He nodded, then winked. “Yeah. You were checking me out. How did I score?”

Belatedly, she shrugged and tried to lie convincingly. “Maybe a six.”

“Tough crowd.” He laughed and returned to his seat.

Her embarrassment lingered as she watched him blatantly assess her.

“I think I'll give you a nine. I'm not so hard to please.”

She took a deep gulp from the uncapped bottle. A low rumble of laughter met her ears.

“It sure doesn't take much to embarrass you,” he noted.

She shifted.

“What's the matter? Surely you've had plenty of guys tell you that you're beautiful.”

She shrugged but said nothing.

He cocked his head again. “No?”

“I suppose so.”

“You suppose so?” He shook his head. “Go figure. A beautiful woman who doesn't know she's beautiful. Hats off to you. You're a rare one, Kennedy.”

“Thanks.” She laughed. “I think.”

They fell silent again, but she could still feel his gaze.

“What is it now?”

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“About when was the last time I had a woman here—at this time of night—wearing my clothes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Only if you're not offended.”

She laughed, probably a bit too loud. “Oh, you're good.”

“You think so?”

Kennedy nodded. “Tell me.” She leaned forward and he followed suit. “Is seducing me part of the job—overtime maybe?”

Hurt stabbed his expression, as he answered in a clipped voice, “No.”

She straightened. “It never hurts to ask.”

“Is that right? Okay then, let me ask
you
something.”

Warning bells chimed in her head. “Shoot.”

“Would you like me to seduce you?”