Courting the Cop (14 page)

She tied the apron on and started back toward her bedroom.

As she entered the room, she was almost run over by Brody charging in the opposite direction. He had his jeans and undershirt and one shoe on, and was hopping forward trying to get the other shoe on.

“I just saw O’Brien going into his mom’s house.” He spoke with calm urgency as he paused to shove his foot into the shoe.

Abigail sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to the chair where Brody had slung his holstered gun. It wasn’t there anymore. Fear snaked through her. Oh God. He was running into danger. What if he was hurt or shot…? Don’t go, she wanted to cry out.

Brody clamped his hands on Abigail’s shoulders, the weight of them powerful but not enough to steady the frightened pounding of her heart.

“I’ve called Shane for backup. Stay here, do you hear me, Abby?” he said with quiet force. He waited until she nodded before he pressed his lips briefly to her forehead. “Good girl.”

Then he was gone, leaving her icy cold and numb with fear.

Brody ducked out of Abigail’s property. Across the road stood Katherine O’Brien’s house, the windows dark as usual. A man had just come out of the front door and was hurrying toward the front gate, shoulders hunched. The guy froze as he caught sight of Brody.

Shit
. Michael O’Brien. For a split second their eyes met across the dim street. The years rolled back, and once again Brody was the rookie cop staring at a desperate punk who’d seconds ago shot his partner.

He reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, at the same time that a large truck lumbered down the street, blocking his vision. He ran around the truck, but O’Brien was already pelting down Main Street.

Shit.

Brody took off after him. He was in super-fit condition, and years of frustration lent him extra adrenaline. But it seemed desperation had given his target extra wings too. O’Brien hurtled down the street like the devil was after him, and he didn’t give a damn who got in his way. He crashed through a middle-aged couple strolling on the sidewalk. The woman cried out as she was shoved to the ground, and her husband tried to catch her. Brody slowed to check she wasn’t badly injured before leaping over them. That cost him a few precious seconds, enough for O’Brien to dart across the road, narrowly missing a bus and a cab, before he disappeared down a side street.

Brody’s senses worked on instinct as he threaded his way through the honking traffic. Forced to watch out for vehicles, he took his eyes off O’Brien, and by the time he made it to the side street, he’d lost sight of him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He began to run down the middle of the road, scanning the parked cars and shuttered buildings on either side. Bright headlights shone from behind as a car came up alongside him.

“Where did he go?” Shane asked from behind the wheel.

“Down this way, last I saw,” Brody huffed, keeping to his jogging pace.

“I’ll circle the block, take a look-see.”

Shane’s car zoomed off. Brody continued his search. The streets were dim, the night thick and moonless. There were a thousand and one places where a desperate man could hide—parked cars, unsecured buildings, shadowy alleyways, overgrown front yards. Here off Main Street only a few people walked the streets, the weather and the dark keeping most sensible people indoors.

Brody methodically searched a ten-block area, checking in with Shane and the patrol officers who’d also been alerted, but an hour later he was forced to admit defeat. Michael O’Brien had vanished like the rat that he was, and Brody was even further away from catching him.

“He might return to his mom’s place when all the fuss has died down,” Shane said to him. They were sitting in Shane’s parked car, and the patrol officers had already left, allowing the wintery darkness to reclaim the street.

Brody tugged his fingers through his messy hair, taking a faint pleasure from the pain he inflicted on himself. “Only a dumbass would do that, and O’Brien’s not that much of a dumbass. I thought I had more time, but he wasn’t there two minutes, so maybe his mom wasn’t home.” He fisted his hand on his knee. “Fuck it, man. The punk looked straight at me when he came out of his mom’s house. He recognized me. He knew I was a cop. That’s why he took off.”

“Maybe he took off because you had a gun in your hand.”

“Nope. He knew who I was. After all these years.” He cussed again. “Dammit, man. I was this close to grabbing him, and I let him get away.”

Frustration burned in his gut as he imagined O’Brien sniggering at his expense.

“What happened to your jacket?” Shane asked.

“Huh?” Brody gave him a blank stare.

“Your jacket, man, and your shirt.” Shane flicked the undershirt that was all that covered Brody’s chest. “It must be minus two below.”

Brody glanced down at his clothes as he registered for the first time how damn chilly he was. Adrenaline and movement had kept his core temperature up, but now he was sitting still, his muscles were starting to seize up.

“I must’ve forgotten them.”

Shane started the engine, and welcome warm air began to blast the interior. “Don’t tell me. You were buck naked in Abigail’s apartment when you spotted O’Brien.”

The snicker in his partner’s voice didn’t improve Brody’s mood. Nor did the reminder of Abigail. He should call her, let her know what had happened. Shit, he so did not want to talk to her at the moment, even though she’d probably be anxious about him.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“So did you have to pull out when—”

“Shut up, dude,” Brody growled. “I’m not discussing it.”

Shane eyed him for a moment before he shrugged and put the car into gear. “Want me to drop you off at her place?” he asked as they pulled away from the curb.

“Yes. No. Shit, I don’t know.” Brody clouted the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to order the confusion in his brain.

“You should go back to Abigail’s. She’ll want to know what happened to you.”

Brody slanted a suspicious eye at his friend, looking for a snicker, but there was only friendly concern. Leaning his head back, he let out a half-sigh half-groan.

“O’Brien would be in handcuffs by now if I wasn’t sleeping with Abigail.” He finally uttered the conclusion that had been hammering his brain for the past half hour.

“Yeah?” Shane didn’t look surprised or condemning, but that was no consolation to Brody.

“Yeah.” Lifting his head, he rubbed his forehead where a faint headache was beginning to throb. “I let myself get carried away with her. I should’ve been concentrating on the stakeout, not her. If I had, I would’ve been prepared when O’Brien showed up, and he’d be in the lockup tonight.”

Shane didn’t say anything as he steered his car through the quiet streets. A block away from Abigail’s store, he slowed to a crawl.

“It’s not often you get carried away with a girl,” he said eventually. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

Brody snorted. “You wouldn’t be singing that tune if it happened to you, buddy. You’re the first to run a mile as soon as a woman even looks like she wants a second date with you.”

“Hey, we’re talking about you, not me. I always suspected when you fell, you’d fall hard.”

Anger spewed out of Brody’s head. “Fuck, I’m not falling for anyone!”

“Okay, okay.” Shane made soothing noises that failed to make any impact on Brody.

“Jesus H Christ! Haven’t I just said what a dumb idea it was getting mixed up with her?” Brody hammered his fists on his knees. He was getting worked up, he knew, but he didn’t seem able to control himself. “She’s not even my type, and I’m definitely not her type. Shit. What was I thinking?”

“I believe you were thinking with your dick,” was Shane’s smug response.

Brody glared at his friend. “I want to punch you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Brody groaned. “No, I want to punch myself.”

They were right outside Abigail’s store. The upstairs windows were alight, indicating that Abigail was still up, no doubt anxiously waiting for Brody’s return. Something weird slid down Brody’s spine. He didn’t know what it was, a tremor of nerves mixed in with regret and the mopes. Damn, Abigail sure had screwed up his usually well-controlled emotions. He didn’t know what had come over him, but suddenly he was anxious about coming face-to-face with her again. Stupid and irrational, yes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

“You have to go in there.” Shane wore a distinctly disapproving expression, one Brody wasn’t used to. Tonight everything was mixed up.

Brody nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

He hauled himself out of the car and walked toward the store, feeling like a total bastard.

“You’re not staying the night?” Abigail winced at the disappointment in her voice. She should have expected that. Wasn’t it obvious from Brody’s stiff stance and dark expression that the last thing on his mind was spending the night with her?

She’d almost dissolved with relief when Brody had returned unharmed, ending her anxious pacing. She understood his frustration at getting so close to his goal and having it slip through his fingers, but she was unprepared for his tetchy grimness. She’d never seen this side to him before, and it intimidated her a little.

“No,” he grumped, a heavy scowl on his brow. He picked up the shirt and jacket he’d left behind and shrugged them on. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Are you going to go looking for Michael?” Trepidation clutched at her heart. “On your own?”

“It’s my job.” The frown intensified until he looked positively thunderous.

She nodded, linking and unlinking her fingers nervously. “Are you going to just drive around hoping to come across him?”

“No. I’m going to park my car in your alley and wait to see if he’ll come back to his mom’s.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You think he’ll do that? After he spotted you?”

“It’s a slim chance, but I’ll take it.” Brody zipped up his jacket, preparing to leave.

“But you’ll freeze sitting in your car all night. Why not wait up here?”

“I’ll be closer downstairs.” He swung away like he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

Abigail’s heart dipped. “I’m sorry,” she muttered before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry I…distracted you.”

He stiffened mid-stride. He turned back to her. “It wasn’t your fault,” came his gruff reply. “I’m the one who stuffed up.”

He walked out.

Biting her lip, she stared after him, listening as he descended the stairs. The ground-level door swung open and slammed shut.

Brody was wrong.
She
was the one who had stuffed up because she was stupid enough to be falling for him.

Chapter Eleven

She didn’t see Brody at all on Thursday. Instead, it was Shane, his partner, who turned up to view the surveillance camera footage. Brody had told her he wouldn’t be at Thursday’s Knit and Natter, and as it turned out neither was Katherine. Abigail wondered how much Katherine knew about last night. Brody had said she hadn’t been home when her son called, but had she been expecting him? If so, had she gone out on purpose to avoid him? Did she know about the chase?

The questions plagued Abigail, and she wasn’t very good company, especially when Sophia asked where Brody was. She gave a vague answer and busied herself by restacking the shelves, desperate not to think too much about the hunky detective who was so totally wrong for her it wasn’t funny.

Thursday evening she spent putting the final touches to the dress she would wear to the fifties dance on Saturday night. The dress was a beauty—emerald-green chiffon with a wide, tight waistband, and a generous, flaring skirt. As she fingered the black satin highlighting the sweetheart neckline, her heart lifted a little. Life might be tough at the moment, but she was going to dress up and have fun on the weekend. She would dance the Shim Sham with people who liked to dance, and she would totally forget about her bad choices in men.

“That’s a great dress,” Shane said when he turned up at eight for a stint at her apartment. “Going somewhere special?”

She held up the dress against her length for his inspection. “A fifties dance on Saturday.”

“Right. Brody mentioned you were into that fifties stuff.”

At the mention of Brody, her treacherous heart gave a lurch, but she collected herself and gave him a bright smile. “That’s right.” She forged on. “How are things going? Any progress with Michael O’Brien?”

Shane shook his head. “No. He’s gone to ground, the little cockroach. Brody’s run himself ragged searching for him. I’m taking a two-hour shift at your window, if that’s okay with you.”

She liked Shane well enough, but that didn’t stop her disappointment. Silly woman, she chided herself. She should just let the cops get on with their job and stay out of it.

“Of course.” The smile stretching her lips was beginning to hurt her cheek muscles. “Anything to help.”

“Hi, honey. Just calling to remind you about Sunday. I’m expecting you and Abigail at one sharp, so don’t be late.”

Brody gripped his cell phone as his mom’s chirpy words sent his stomach into a knot. As if this Friday wasn’t bad enough. Today was Officer Dave Campese’s last day on the force, and earlier, someone had brought in a big buttercream cake, and the whole station had gathered round to wish him well in his retirement. Brody had forced down a slice of cake, almost choking on the fact that he’d failed to bring in the man responsible for Campese’s early retirement.

To think he’d been that close to catching O’Brien. Damn everything to hell. He couldn’t stop kicking himself over his missed opportunities, couldn’t stop brooding over everything he’d fucked up.

And now, to make matters worse, his mom was on his case. Too bad he had to disappoint her. “Hey, Mom, I’m not sure I can make it Sunday—”

“What?” Moira’s voice rose with disappointment. “Why not?”

He reached for his tried and trusted excuse. “I’m up to my eyeballs in work.”

“You’re too busy to spare two hours? Why don’t I call your lieutenant and ask him?”

“Christ, Mom. You
cannot
call Lieutenant Farrell.”

“I don’t see why not. Eric and I go way back.”

Brody groaned as he buried his face in his free hand. No way was he having his mom talk to his boss about him. “Okay, okay, I’ll come.”

“And Abigail too.”

He jammed his elbows down on his desk. “I don’t think she’ll be coming.”

A short pause. “Why not? Have you split up with her already?” His mom sounded tetchy.

Brody took a quick glance at the bullpen where he was seated. There was only one other detective there typing up a report, but this was no place to discuss his love life with his mom. If ever.

“Something like that,” he replied cagily.

“Something like that? What kind of answer is that? Either she is your girlfriend or she’s not.”

“I told you what the real situation is. We’re not…” He waved his hand, agitated by his inability to articulate. He let out a frustrated exhale. “Just let it go, Mom. Whatever you think or hope is happening, isn’t.”

The silence this time was longer, frostier, and he began to think his mother was going to hang up on him. Then, she said in a no-nonsense tone like she was telling him to pick his clothes off the floor, “Maybe it’s not happening because you don’t want it to happen, Brody. You know, sometimes you just have to take the plunge and run the risk of being hurt in order to find happiness.”

His fingernails dug into his palm as he struggled to contain the sudden wave of anger breaking over him. “Yeah, Mom, like taking the plunge worked out so well for you.”

The instant the words left his mouth, he wanted to kick himself, but before he could apologize, Moira replied, “Fair point. Yes, your dad did walk out on me, and I’m not going to pretend that didn’t hurt, but I don’t regret taking a punt on him. I loved him, and he loved me in his own way, and if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have my three wonderful kids today, even if one of them is determined to act like an ass these days.”

The line went dead as she hung up, leaving Brody feeling like a complete dick.

After that spectacular conversation, Brody was glad to get out of the office. As he drove toward Katherine O’Brien’s house, he considered how long he should wait before calling his mom and apologizing. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ask forgiveness. Not when every second brought him closer to the cause of the argument—Abigail—and reminded him how he’d been avoiding her since Wednesday night’s debacle.

He drove past her yarn store and caught a glimpse of someone in blue moving inside. Was that Abigail in that cute blue sweater of hers? The sudden quickening of his pulses made his stomach queasy. Dammit, since when had he been so keen to see a woman? He wasn’t here to gawk at Abigail, he was here on official police business.

Yanking his thoughts away from her, he turned down Hillcrest Road and cruised past Katherine O’Brien’s house. He did a loop around the block and down the rear alley behind the shops before he was satisfied that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He found a parking spot half a block away, got out of his car, and began to walk back to Abigail’s building, where Shane was doing stakeout duty.

“Hiya, Brody,” a feminine voice sang out.

He turned to find Gina grinning at him. “Oh. Hey, Gina.” He managed to sound casual.

She fell into step beside him. “Thought I’d hear from you before now.”

Belatedly he realized what she was referring to. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“I’m free for a couple hours, if you’ve got some time.”

He was already shaking his head. “Sorry, Gina. Like I said, I’m real busy today.”

“But you need the practice—”

He halted abruptly and turned to face her fully. “Look, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but I’ve changed my mind. It was a stupid idea of mine, and I shouldn’t have asked you. You’ve been more than generous and patient, and I’m grateful, but I’m not going through with it.”

Gina’s finely plucked eyebrows shot up before drawing together into a fierce V.

“I can’t believe you! It’s not stupid. It’s a great idea, and you shouldn’t chicken out now.”

“It’s not about chickening out.” He frowned back at her. “I just changed my mind, that’s all. Sorry, but my mind’s made up.”

Her bright pink lips puckered together. Her hands landed on her hips, elbows stuck out. “Well! I’m disappointed in you, Brody. I thought you were different.”

“Looks like I’m not.” Shrugging, he moved on, irritation eroding his gut. Even as he walked away he could feel Gina’s disapproving glare boring into his back. Christ, by the time this was all over it would be a miracle if he didn’t have ulcers.

He took the long route to get to the rear of Abigail’s building. Just doing a recon, he told himself. Nothing to do with not wanting to walk past the yarn store. He texted Shane to let him know he was almost there, and his partner was ready to let him in.

As he entered Abigail’s apartment, he found himself tensing up, his body sensitive to every sign of Abigail. Even though she was downstairs in the shop, he felt as if he were drowning in her presence. Her thick winter coat hanging in the hallway, some knitting needles and yarn in the living room, that damn apron hanging over a chair in the kitchen.

It got worse when he had to follow Shane into Abigail’s bedroom, and his gaze instantly went to the bed where he’d spent some memorable nights with her. The bed was neat and tidy, the pillows smooth and innocent looking. But the subtle scent of geraniums and warm skin that was uniquely Abigail’s hit him in the back of the throat, and suddenly the walls he’d thrown up were shaking, and his insides were twisting and spinning.

Shane was talking to him, probably debriefing him about his shift, but to Brody it was just a mangle of words.

He shook his head to interrupt his partner. “Sorry, Shane. What did you say?”

Shane shot him a curious look. “Basically, nothing’s happened. I think O’Brien’s not going to come near his mom anymore, and we’re wasting our time here.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. He’s run out of options, and desperate people do desperate things.”

Shane’s expression turned wry. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

Brody narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We-ell, you seem pretty desperate to maintain a stakeout here. In Abigail’s apartment.” He lifted his eyebrows, a small grin on his lips. “I don’t blame you for wanting all the sugar you can get from her, but you do want to catch your man, don’t you?”

Brody’s lungs ached as if he’d suddenly lost the power to breathe. Sweat popped out on his forehead and rolled down the back of his neck. Shit, was he about to have a stroke or something? He crunched his fists, fighting for self-control but feeling it slip away.

“Jesus, Shane, what the hell are you talking about?” His voice crackled around Abigail’s soft, feminine room.

Shane cocked his head to one side, looking godawful smug. “I understand. Abigail’s a peach, a real peach, and it was only a matter of time before you fell.”

Shut up, just shut up. And how dare he call Abby a peach? But just shut up
. He was sweating bullets here, and somehow or other he had to make Shane shut the hell up.

“You’re talking crap as usual,” he snarled.

Shane smirked back at him. “And you’ve got your head up your ass. Come on, admit it. You’ve fallen for the girl. I hear it happens to the best of us.”

If looks could kill, the glare Brody shot at Shane would have incinerated him on the spot. “Jackson, don’t make me shut your mouth for you.”

Shane held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whatever, man, but I’m betting a year from now she’ll have you picking out china patterns for your dinner service.” With a final triumphant smirk, he turned back to the window.

Blood thumped in Brody’s head. China patterns? What next? A wedding and moving into a place together, maybe this apartment? And later on one or two kids? The thumping continued to build up inside his skull. What if he turned out to be a crappy husband and father, just like his dad? What if he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t fix his flaws? What if he ended up hurting Abigail and his kids?

He couldn’t stand that—ending up like his no-good dad, hurting his family, disappointing the people who mattered. Abigail didn’t deserve that. She deserved a steady, honest, decent man who could take care of her and give her everything she needed. Not a crapshoot like him, who didn’t know the first thing about relationships.

He swiped his hand across the back of his neck and found he was drenched in fear, in dread.

“Abigail doesn’t mean anything to me.” The words came out rough. “I only slept with her to pass the time.”

Shane spun around, his eyes sharp on him. “What?” He sounded surprised.

“You heard me.” Brody swallowed down the spiky lump in his throat. “It helped to get her onside with this stakeout.”

His friend shook his head. “Dude.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I’m not enjoying it, and Abigail’s a sweetheart, but she knows this thing doesn’t have legs.”

“Does she?”

“Sure.” Brody stuck out his jaw. On this he was on firmer ground. “We both knew beforehand it’s temporary. No one promised anything to anyone.”

Shane continued to eye him in silence for several more moments. Brody stared him out. Eventually Shane shrugged. “Whatever, man. Can we get back to work?”

“You were the one who brought up the subject.”

Brody’s heart rate slowed down to its normal pace, and the strangling knot around his chest loosened, allowing him to breathe again. His little “episode” was over—he hated calling it a panic attack—and he was back on his game. In a way it was good to state what the situation was. It clarified the mess inside his head. He could carry on with his life as usual now.

But he wasn’t as cool as he liked, and the squicky knot was still there in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t help thinking how glad he was that Abigail hadn’t overheard this particular conversation.

Abigail couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Which was just as well because she would die if Brody caught her standing here in the hallway, just a few paces away from her half-open bedroom door.

Maybe she was going to die anyway from the agony crushing her from the inside like a collapsing star.

She took a wobbly step away from her bedroom, her knees shaking like jelly. She chanced a quick inhale, and the air felt harsh in her lungs. Somehow she managed to stagger out of her apartment without alerting the two men in her bedroom to her presence. She stumbled downstairs and sought refuge in the jumbled storeroom out the back. Nauseous, she leaned her aching head against the wall. Her body was trembling, her soul cracking into a thousand pieces.

Oh God, she wanted to curl up and die…