Courting the Cop (15 page)

Abigail doesn’t mean anything to me. I only slept with her to pass the time.

Why did Brody say that? He didn’t mean that, did he? Did he?

It helped to get her onside with this stakeout.

The words curdled in her… She was going to throw up…

She ran to the sink and hung her head, dry retching, wishing she could vomit up all the feelings she had for Brody and be done with him. When the spasm passed without result, she remained bent over the sink, wrung out and raw, staring with unseeing eyes at the stained porcelain. If only she could stay here forever and not have to deal with her life.

Why had she gone up to the apartment without knocking? And, once she was in, why hadn’t she slipped away as soon as she heard Brody and Shane discussing her? Eavesdroppers never heard any good about themselves.

Well, maybe she should be grateful. The truth hurt badly, but at least she was under no illusions about what Brody honestly thought about her. She’d been conning herself these past few days. She’d begun to harbor little hopes that Brody might feel more for her than he let on, but now she knew that was just her imagination running away from her.

Straightening up, she sniffed away the last of her tears. She flicked on the cold tap and dashed icy water over her face, and rubbed her face briskly with a rough towel. The cracked mirror above the sink threw back a reflection of a pale, splotchy face with haunted eyes and tremulous lips. She scowled at herself. Dammit, she wouldn’t let herself be a victim. She wasn’t going to let some cocky cop demolish her self-confidence.

She was strong, independent, in charge. She pulled back her shoulders, sucked in her stomach and lifted her chin to throw a challenging stare at herself in the mirror.

Her heart might be breaking, but no one—least of all Brody—would ever know.

Saturday morning dawned gray and drizzly, and for once in his life Brody regretted not having a regular Monday-to-Friday job so he could roll over and sleep in. But he was a cop and he was working today, so he dragged himself out of bed and stuck himself under a hot shower. His reluctance to get up didn’t have so much to do with the weather as the task ahead of him. Lieutenant Farrell had ordered him to return the surveillance equipment to the station, seeing as he hadn’t had much success with it. Brody couldn’t argue with that. He’d stuffed up his one chance to grab O’Brien, and the lieutenant was losing patience. Now Brody had to visit Abigail again and pack up the camera set up in her bedroom.

As he parked outside her store, something panged inside him at the prospect of seeing her. Something that felt like shame.

He shouldn’t have said those things about her to Shane. He shouldn’t have let Shane get to him. He’d never discussed the women in his life with his buddies before, but he’d been spooked by Abigail, and he bitterly regretted ever opening his mouth.

Thank Christ she’d never find out what he’d said.

The muscles in his back tightened as he entered the store, the jangling doorbell announcing his presence. There were no customers inside, just Abigail and her friend Luna standing behind the counter.

Was it his imagination or did Abigail turn pale as he walked in? He forced himself to meet her gaze.

“Hey, Abigail.” He nodded at the other woman. “Luna.”

Abigail stared at him. Coolness radiated from her; it felt like he’d opened a giant freezer.

“Brody.” It sounded like her jaw was clenched.

Disquiet jagged through him. Shit, did she know? Was he giving something away? Maybe his guilty look was enough. Embarrassment burned in his gut, surged up his neck.

“Uh, I came to let you know I’ll be taking my stuff from your bedroom,” he said.

“Oh.”

Belatedly he remembered Luna’s presence. How much did she know about him being a cop? Well, it didn’t matter much anymore, he supposed, and he hadn’t said it was surveillance “stuff” he was removing.

Luna glanced at him, then Abigail. “I’ll go check that stock out the back,” she murmured tactfully to Abigail before gliding out of the room.

Abigail squared her jaw. She looked like she was about to have root-canal treatment.

“So it’s over?” She paused before adding, “The stakeout, I mean.”

The embarrassed heat was crawling all over his neck, making him itch like crazy. To his raw senses it seemed she was referring to something else besides the stakeout.

“The filming part is. Someone else needs the equipment more than I do.”

“And my bedroom? Do you still need it?” The moment she said the words, her cheeks turned pink. “I mean, for-for your stakeout.”

He didn’t know what to say. He was twenty-nine and dozens of women had come and gone in his life, and he didn’t have a clue what to say to this one woman who had the power to trigger a full-on freak-out in him.

“Uh, well, I dunno.”

His scintillating response met with a blank stare.

She shrugged. “Guess not, then.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The silence in the room was deafening.

“Abigail—”

“I need to say something,” she said in a rush. “Since you’re packing up the stakeout, this is probably a good time for us to part ways.” She halted, as if waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t, so she continued stiffly, “It was fun while it lasted, but, well, it’s better to quit before it stops being fun, right?”

His cheeks felt hot and scratchy, and his throat was dry and tight. Her blue eyes gazed up at him, wary and defiant. Faint smudges darkened the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and the lids looked swollen. Had she been crying? Over him? The heat in his face drained away to be replaced by ice.
Shit shit shit
. She might not have overheard what he’d said about her, but she’d still cried over him. That wasn’t right. She shouldn’t waste any tears over him. He wasn’t worth it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He hesitated, groping for the next words. He’d never been in this situation before, didn’t know what he was meant to say. “I hope I…I mean, you’re okay with this, right?”

She instantly bristled. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing, except”—he gestured at her puffy eyes—“it looks like you’ve been crying.”

Anger fizzed in those puffy blue eyes. “Crying?” She tossed back her hair. “Well, if I’m crying it’s only because…because I regret throwing out that poetry book the other night.”

“Poetry book?” He blinked.

“Don’t you remember?” Now she was looking very pissed off. “You encouraged me to throw it out. It was a gift from Robert.”

You ass
, she might as well have added.

“
I
encouraged you?” His anger rose with hers, and he welcomed of it. Anger, he could handle far better than guilt. “You did it yourself. You didn’t need any help from me to see what a dickwad your Robert is.”

“I wouldn’t have thrown it out if it weren’t for you. It was a special book.”

“Oh yeah, with that special message for you. Something lame about wild nights and luxury.”

“It’s not lame. It’s Emily Dickinson.”

You ass
. Once again he heard the refrain.

“Emily Dickinson? So he couldn’t even write you something original? I wonder how many times he used the same lines on his other research assistants?”

Her face grew pinched and white, and he knew he’d gone too far this time. She stepped back from the counter as if she couldn’t bear sharing the same air space with him. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and she looked like she wanted to wallop him.

“When you’ve finished upstairs, please return my spare key.” Her chilly voice wobbled a little, but she didn’t crumble and she didn’t look away from him, and deep down he admired her courage. He was a prick, but she wasn’t going to break down.

He didn’t have a comeback. Didn’t deserve one, either. He nodded and loped out of the store.

Packing up his equipment took only a minute. He glanced around Abigail’s room one final time. Plenty of hot and sexy times had happened here. Some funny moments, and some poignant ones, too. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to see this room anymore. He’d come to know it so well, the soft quilt, the comfy armchair, the delicate scent that was unique to Abigail.

He stood in the center of the room, feet rooted in the carpet, unable to move.

Come on, man. This is what you wanted, a short, sharp cut. So why are you being such a pussy now?

With a curt shake of his head, he strode out, never once looking back.

Chapter Twelve

“Oh, you look gorgeous!”

Abigail forced herself to smile at Gina’s words of praise.

“Thanks,” she murmured, smoothing down the full skirts of her chiffon gown. “You look fabulous, too.”

Gina beamed as she flicked at her red taffeta with the daringly low-scooped neckline. “I try my best. I aim to break a few hearts with this outfit.”

The smile on Abigail’s lips slipped a little. The last thing she needed tonight was to be reminded of broken hearts. No, tonight was about fun, having a good time, and forgetting about a certain cop who preferred being footloose and fancy-free over being with her.

She and Gina were in her aunt’s bedroom putting on the final touches before they set off for the fifties dance. Abigail tilted her chin up as she gazed at herself in her aunt’s full-length mirror. Without the least bit of vanity, she knew she looked damned good in her snugly fitted emerald-green dress. Good enough to attract a decent man who wanted a proper relationship. She was done with men who weren’t prepared to put her first.

She was done with living in the past.

Yes, it was time to let go of the past and embrace the future, no matter how scary that might be.

“Have you been cleaning up in here?” Gina asked, gesturing around the room. “It looks kinda empty.”

“Yes. I’ve sent most of my aunt’s clothes to Goodwill, and Stanley took a lot of the furniture.”

Brody had helped her move on from her aunt’s death, and she was thankful for that. Now, she saw that letting go of the past meant more than moving on from Brody and Robert, but also forgiving her parents for letting her down. She was finished with feeling second best. She was ready for a fresh start.

“Oh, Abigail.” Gina was looking alarmed. “You’re not going to sell up and move away, are you? The neighborhood just wouldn’t be the same without you. Please tell me you’re not.”

“Well, I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I wouldn’t discount it.”

“Nooo! Where would all the old ladies go for their yarn? And my dad will be devastated if you leave. You can’t do it. I won’t let you.” Gina grabbed Abigail’s arm as if she meant to chain her to the premises.

Abigail laughed. “It’s good to know someone wants me around.”

“
Everyone
wants you around, silly. It’s people like you who make a community.” Gina bit her lip as she slid a sideways glance at Abigail. “I hate to ask, but does this sudden clearing out have anything at all to do with Brody?”

Abigail couldn’t help stiffening. She’d tried so hard to push Brody to the back of her mind, without much success. Why did Gina have to mention him?

“No, it was simply time,” she replied as calmly as she could. “And by the way Brody and I are over, in case you didn’t know, but it was never serious, so no harm done.”

Gina’s chunky false eyelashes batted several times. “You and Brody are over?”

“Uh-huh. It’s all in the past, so I’m not going to talk about him.” Abigail pressed her lips together. “I hope you understand.”

Gina fiddled with her purse, a slight frown marring her pretty face. She seemed to be wrestling with some dilemma, but eventually she lifted her eyes to Abigail and nodded. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Okay, then.” Abigail exhaled. She really didn’t want to hear Gina confessing what she and Brody had been doing together. “We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.”

Excitement lit up Gina’s face as they hurried into the hallway to put on their coats. “Ooh, I’m looking forward to it. Have you been practicing your Shim Sham?”

“A bit.”

Not as much as she should have. She couldn’t do the Shim Sham without reliving that night she’d danced for Brody and he’d refused to learn the steps.
I’m not a dancing man
, he’d said. Oh, she’d learned that lesson. He wasn’t a dancing man, he wasn’t a staying-put man, and now he was out of her life. She let out a silent sigh as she slipped on her coat.

Brody started as he spotted Abigail and Gina coming out of her apartment. For a while the two girls stood on the sidewalk, looking like butterflies blown in from the south, their brightly colored skirts fluttering in the chilly breeze. Instinctively he slid lower in his seat, but his car was parked a fair distance away, and they were too busy trying to flag down a taxi to notice him.

He couldn’t drag his eyeballs away from Abigail. She looked so amazing in her shiny green dress, the puffy skirt lifting to reveal those long, sexy legs of hers. Her reddish-brown hair gleamed under the streetlights, falling in soft waves around her face. She was a knockout, and guys would be falling over themselves to be with her at the dance.

You could have been her date tonight. Instead of hiding here and hyperventilating at the sight of her.

His suit was hanging in his closet back home, fresh from the cleaners, mocking him every time he searched for clean underwear.

You could have had her on your arm. You could have dazzled her with your surprise.

The ache in his chest surprised him. Why couldn’t he stifle this stupid voice inside him? He didn’t want to go to a stupid fifties dance, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have dazzled her with his surprise. More likely she would’ve laughed at his pathetic attempts, along with everyone else at the stupid ball. No, he was better off here, and she was better off without him messing up her life.

She looked so animated and excited, her cheeks pink, her eyes shining. She didn’t look upset at all. Well someone had recovered in a hurry, he thought glumly. So why couldn’t he?

The question annoyed him. He scowled as he watched the two women jump into a taxi and drive off.

Of course he didn’t regret breaking up with Abigail. It wasn’t even a proper breaking up because there’d never been a real “relationship” in the first place.

Oh yeah? So why did he feel so shattered? Why were his hands shaking just because he’d caught a glimpse of Abigail?

Shit.

Dropping his head, he dragged his fingers through his untidy hair. He couldn’t stop his hands trembling, no matter how much he tried.

Shit shit shit.

He was in all kinds of trouble here.

It seemed he did have some feelings for Abigail, feelings that were strangling him, and they weren’t going away any time soon.

Several hours crawled by. From his car, Brody watched Katherine O’Brien’s house. He drank coffee. Drummed his fingers. Tried not to imagine who was dancing with Abigail. Cursed himself for breaking his resolution not to think about her. Restated his resolution.

He was flexing his stiff legs when the call came over the police radio.
Robbery in progress. Officer down
. The location was only about ten blocks away. Brody threw his car into gear and roared off.

He knew he’d reached his destination when he saw all the flashing vehicles converging in one spot. Uniformed officers swarmed around the nondescript house, while an ambulance screeched to a halt at the curb, paramedics jumping out. A cop lay groaning on the footpath, surrounded by fellow officers. One of them, young and ashen-faced, kneeled next to the fallen cop, muttering incoherently, remorse etched all over his stricken features.

The scene was eerily familiar to Brody, the rookie cop reminding him of himself nine years ago kneeling over a wounded Officer Campese. Except this time it appeared the perps had been caught. In the front yard of the house, two men were lying facedown in the dirt, hands cuffed behind their backs, a posse of cops surrounding them. A sergeant was instructing other officers to search the nearby houses for a possible third suspect.

As Brody joined in the search, he noticed Shane had also appeared. Every available cop in the area would have hurried here. They swept the neighborhood, and someone found the third perp cowering behind a shed. Satisfied he’d done all he could, Brody returned to the scene of the crime. The wounded officer was being strapped into a gurney, and he was gripping his sergeant’s arm.

“Sarge, will you call Lisa?” the officer asked hoarsely.

“I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

“Thanks, Sarge.” The officer visibly relaxed.

“You know, Smithie, once she stops crying over you she’s going to kill you.”

A weak smile cracked the officer’s lips. “Nope. I’m gonna get weeks of sugar outta this.”

“Huh. Is that the only way you can get some? By getting yourself shot?”

“She’s worth it, Sarge. She’s worth it.”

The paramedics wheeled Officer Smith into the ambulance, and a short time later, they were off. Brody walked back to his car, frowning. He got in and pushed the key into the ignition, but after that his body seemed to halt, and he couldn’t turn that damned key. The conversation between Smithie and his sergeant played over and over in his head, faster and louder each time.

Brody rubbed his eyes.

If he was shot and taken to hospital in the back of an ambulance, the one person he’d want to see above all else would be Abigail. When he woke up in some hospital ward, he’d need to see her blue eyes and that soft face. He’d need to feel her hands clinging to his, smell her sweet perfume, and hear her voice even if she was telling him off.

He’d need her because…because this pain in his chest couldn’t be ignored any longer. His heart belonged to Abigail. He ached for her. Burned for her. Wanted to conquer his fears for her.

His lungs squeezed as panic rushed in. Yeah, fine, he could finally acknowledge to himself the truth about his feelings, but what now? What did he do with all these scary emotions buzzing inside him, making him think crazy thoughts?

Out of his turmoil, one stark resolution crystallized.

He had to win Abigail back.

But how? How was he going to convince her to give him a second chance after he’d been such an ass with her? Did he even deserve a second chance? After all, he did have all that baggage about following in his father’s footsteps and being useless at relationships.

He shook his head impatiently. He might have inherited his Y chromosomes from his no-good dad, but he was his own man, and he made his own choices, DNA be damned.

He wasn’t going to give up Abigail so easily. He wanted her. Wanted her back in his life. Wanted to woo her with all his nonexistent wooing techniques. Wanted to make her laugh and smile. Wanted to prove himself worthy of her.

Only problem was, how to do all that when he had no fucking clue?

The taxi driver eyed Abigail suspiciously in the rearview mirror as she tried—unsuccessfully—to suppress another burp. Drinking too much alcohol always made her a bit gassy. She hadn’t planned on indulging so much, but it had seemed the only way to cope. When she and Gina had arrived at the dance, the noise and bright lights of the hall had hit her, making her wince and want to hang back. But she hadn’t been allowed to. Gina and others had propelled her inside, into the melee of laughter and music and dancing. She’d tried to get into the spirit of the party, but all the smiles and happy chatter around her only highlighted the growing misery inside her.

Oh, how pathetic she’d felt, and the only way to deal with that pathetic misery was to drink. A couple of Tom Collinses later, her nerves were dulled enough that she didn’t protest when a friend pulled her onto the dance floor. They danced together for a couple of songs. But when the emcee invited everyone onto the dance floor to do the Shim Sham, she shuddered as if a hundred claws were dragging down a hundred blackboards. Muttering an excuse, she slipped away to the restroom until the song was over. When she emerged, she desperately grabbed another Tom Collins. An hour later, her toes were pinching, her head was swimming, and she was fast approaching that state where she was bound to make a fool of herself. Aware of the danger signals, she’d said her goodbyes and slipped out early.

Now, as the taxi swayed and rattled, making her bilious stomach heave, she very much regretted those extra Tom Collinses.

“You can drop me off here,” she gasped out as she saw they were only a few blocks away from her place.

The taxi driver skidded to a halt, clearly relieved to be rid of her. She pushed a few bills at him and hauled herself out, glad to catch a blast of chilly air in her face. Hugging her coat closer to herself, head tucked in, she started down the street. When she got home, she would make herself a cup of tea and drink it while soaking in a warm bath. Then she would go to sleep and try to forget this entire, miserable night. In fact, the whole, miserable week, if she could—

“Oh, ’scuse me,” she muttered as she almost bumped into a figure walking in the same direction. The woman glanced over her shoulder, and Abigail recognized her in an instant. “Mrs. O’Brien? What’re you doing out so late?”

Katherine O’Brien started briefly. “Just, er, getting some cigarettes.”

“Cigarettes?” Abigail peered at the other woman. For some reason her eyes were having trouble focusing. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

The older woman shrugged, resuming her pace. “Haven’t had a cigarette for over fifteen years, but tonight”—she sighed—“tonight I need one badly.”

Abigail blinked, wishing her head didn’t feel so woozy. She almost stumbled as she hurried to keep up with Katherine.

“Are you all right, dear?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Hell, those cocktails were getting to her in a bad way, and the cold winter air wasn’t clearing her head fast enough.

“You look like you’ve had one too many.”

“More like three or four too many,” Abigail sighed.

“I’ll see you home.” Katherine tucked her hand into the crook of Abigail’s arm, pulling her straight as she veered toward a streetlight.

“Oh. Thanks.”

The night had just gotten weirder. She was drunk for the first time in forever, and timid old Katherine O’Brien was walking her home. The elderly woman was no chatterbox, but it was comforting to have her support, Abigail thought. It reminded her a bit of Aunt Edna. At that, a few tears welled up. She knew it was probably the alcohol affecting her, but she couldn’t help sniffing back the tears.

“Oh, dear. Is anything the matter?” Katherine asked.

Everything’s the matter, Abigail wanted to wail out. But she bit her lip. Compared to Katherine, her woes were nothing. She didn’t have a criminal son on the run driving her to take up smoking again.