Dare to Love (10 page)

“H
I
, P
OP
. It's Andrea. How ya doing?”

Andrea stood beside her nightstand, twirling the phone cord around her fingers.

“Andi! You okay, hon?” Her father sounded worried.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I'm fine. I just haven't talked to you in a few days.”

Andrea knew the call was out of character. But sometimes a woman just had to call home for no apparent reason.

“Well, you know I always like to talk to my only daughter. Seems like I don't get much chance when your mother's around. She took Scotty and Lizzie to the movies this afternoon.”

“To the movies, huh? But they're only thirteen. I had to wait until I was fifteen to go out.”

“It's not really a date when your mother's with you,” Pop said, obviously mimicking Scotty. “Besides, your mother had already told him he could go and you know how she gets when she's made her mind up about something.”

Andrea sank down to the edge of the bed, still fidgeting with the phone cord, but smiling, too.

“That's right, Pop. I don't know how you've put up with her all these years.”

“Yes, you do, girl. And you love her too. Now, do you have any particular news to report?”

She sighed. “Not really. Things are wrapping up here. I should be back at my apartment sometime Sunday evening.”

“Come on, Andi. Make up something or your mother will be ranting at me all evening for not taking my duty to you seriously.” Pop was joking, Andrea knew, but she was just so tired.

“I went on a dinner date this week.”

“You did? Really?” She hadn't expected her
father
to be excited at the news. Andrea felt guilty. The only date she'd been on had been with Dave O'Dell. All the other dinners she'd had that week had been business.

“I did. But before you go getting all excited, you should know that he's married.”

“Andrea! What's the matter with you, girl? Your mother and I didn't raise you to take what doesn't belong to you.” Her father's voice was no longer teasing.

It was a sign of just how mixed up Andrea really was that she hadn't realized how her comment would sound to her father.

“Pop! It's okay. I only meant that it didn't amount to anything—that it can't, because he's married, not that I'm seeing a married man. He's
safely
married. He's a mentor here just like me and we talked about his wife all night.”

“Now that sounds more like my girl.” Andrea was relieved to hear Pop return to his normal, easygoing self. Upsetting her father was the last thing she'd had in mind.

“I just thought you could tell Ma the first part without telling her the rest. You know. Give her a little something to keep her calm for a week or two.”

There was a pause on the line. “You want me to get her off your back? Her meddling's starting to get to you again?”

Andrea smiled and ran her fingers through her bangs, letting them fall back across her forehead. She could always count on her father. “Would you mind, Pop? I know she means well, but I could really use a break if you could manage it.”

“I'll see what I can do, hon. Now, do you want to tell me about him?”

“Oh, Pop. There
is
no him.”

* * *

T
HE PHONE RANG
in Andrea's room an hour later. She was just drifting off to sleep and considered letting it ring, but she knew she couldn't. She never could get by the fact that someone might really need her.

“Hello?”

“Andrea? It's me. I have to talk softly because your father forbade me to call, but I just have to know about him. Your father thinks you've met someone and he wants me to leave you alone to see what develops, but he doesn't understand how women are, he never has. Women need to talk about these things, and I knew when I'd heard you'd called that you needed to talk to your mother. I'm just sorry I wasn't here for you earlier. So quick, before your dad catches me, who is he?”

Andrea flopped back against the pillows, flinging an arm over her eyes. She was too tired to deal with her mother. When was Gloria ever going to see that she could learn to be happy without a husband and children?

“His name's Steve, Ma. He's been a police officer for several years, he likes what he does and he's good at it. He doesn't take crap from people, but he's still sensitive enough to listen to those in need. You'd like him.”

“What's he look like?”

Andrea tried to get a clear picture in her head. Maybe if she did this well enough, her mother would finally leave her alone, just long enough for her to catch her breath. Then she could arrange to have Steve dump her.

“He's cute, in a rugged sort of way. His nose has been broken more than once, but it gives him a roguish kind of look.”

“Is he good to you? You know there are a lot of men out there who would be intimidated by a lady police officer, especially one as good as you are, baby.”

“Oh yeah, Ma. He's great. He respects what I'm doing here. He's really supportive.” He had to be. He wanted to be a DARE officer. Other than that, she wasn't sure Steve even knew her last name.

“Does he like kids?”

Andrea thought of the report she'd read on Steve almost two weeks before, and of the conversations she'd had with him over the course of the session. “He's got a daughter,” she said when she finally remembered. “He's really proud of her, and seems to miss her a lot. Yeah, he really likes kids. He's a good father.”

Andrea couldn't do it. She just couldn't lie to the woman whose only motivation was to see her happy. “He's been married three times, Ma.”

“He's been divorced three times?” Gloria asked, not nearly as enthusiastically.

“Yeah, three times, and to be perfectly honest, Ma, I'm not completely sure he's really over his last wife. She's remarried and all, but he's still not at peace with things. As a matter of fact, he's not from Columbus either, Ma, and you know how long-distance relationships are—they almost never work out. So, now that I think about it, I guess I won't be seeing Steve again after Sunday.” Andrea held the phone away from her ear, waiting.

“Andrea Lee Parker, if you ever do find a man, and he does want to marry you and give you babies, I hope you have a daughter who drives you in circles until you're dizzy....”

Andrea heard the click loud and clear, but it was another ten seconds before she realized that her mother had actually hung up on her. Astonished, she looked at the receiver, as if it somehow could explain what had just happened. Then she reached over and put it back in its cradle.

* * *

“M
IND IF
I
RIDE
?”

His voice came unexpectedly from behind her. Andrea jumped, and her foot slipped from the pedal of the exercise bike. “Feel free,” she panted.

She tried to concentrate on regaining her footing, but she was aware of every move Doug made as he slipped up onto the bike beside her. He was wearing cutoff sweats and the inevitable T-shirt. Andrea decided that his looks should be registered as a lethal weapon.

“Do these things work?” he asked. He was studying the control panel between his handlebars. The break in his nose was more obvious from the side.

“Just...punch in...your weight. It'll tell you...what to do.”

She continued pedaling, finding her rhythm again. She'd probably never see him after tomorrow.

She saw his legs in her peripheral vision as he began pedaling. Up, down, up, down. The muscles in his thighs were clearly defined, tight and hard. She pictured him on her bed, using those muscles to move up, down, up....

“How long do you normally ride?”

Her shocked gaze flew to his. He was punching things into his control panel.
Oh. Yeah. The bike.

“Half an hour.”

“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

Andrea lost her rhythm again. The lights on her panel started to blink, indicating that she was losing her speed.

“Tonight?”

“I thought maybe we could get away from here and spend a little more time alone together before tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.
Tomorrow they'd be going their separate ways. Tomorrow he'd be gone. The threat he posed would be gone, too. And so would the excitement.

“I'd like that....”

* * *

D
OUG DRESSED FOR DINNER
before he went to his last training session. Andrea was giving the lecture and they were planning to leave the hotel from there.

He hadn't been kidding when he'd told her he'd never really had anything that could be termed a first date. He'd never had predate jitters, or even prepared himself specifically for a woman. But here he was, thirty years old and feeling like he was getting ready for his high-school prom.

He had one decent outfit besides his blues, and he pulled it out of his duffle bag, disgruntled when he saw how wrinkled the dress slacks and blue oxford shirt were. He phoned down for an iron, and then had to ask the maid how to use it when it arrived. He practiced on a couple of T-shirts, threw the first one away and figured the scorch marks on the second wouldn't be that obvious, since it was black.

He didn't recognize the man who looked back at him from the hotel-room mirror when he was finally ready to go. But it wasn't because the clothes were ones he seldom wore, or because he'd brushed his hair until every strand was in place. He'd drawn the line at wearing a tie, so it wasn't even that he looked all that different. It was something about his face—about his eyes—that he didn't recognize. He looked almost happy.

* * *

“T
HE HARDEST THING
to accept as a DARE officer is the fact that you can't help them all. You have to know when to draw the line....” Andrea's words fell on a silent room.

What the hell?
Doug slouched down in his seat in the front row of tables in the meeting room. His chest was growing tighter by the second. These people had just spent two weeks telling him about choices, about survival, about hope. So what in the hell was this?

“Not all people in this world are good people. Not all children are good children. Not everyone wants to be helped. Sometimes the conditioning has been going on for so many years that by the time we get to them it's just too late. Sometimes the realities a kid would have to face, the memories of things that have happened to him, are too much. You must be aware of the existence of these young people. You must be able to know when to trust, yet also be aware of the fact that you can't always. Above all, you must protect the first group from the second.”

Doug couldn't believe his ears. He recognized Andrea's gentle voice, but what was she saying?

“The pushers in the schools are not slimy men who watch for innocent children on the playground. They are students themselves. Many of them are so bitter they can't be made to feel guilt or remorse for the kids they lead astray. They care only for their next fix. They'll lie, they'll playact, they'll agree to anything, all the while planning that next snort, or pill, or hypodermic.”

She was right there.

“This is when the barriers have to go back up, Officers. Beware of the hard-core druggies. By
each one
of them, there will be more than ten good kids led astray each year. You cannot afford to waste your compassion on them. In most cases, they won't even know it if you try. By the time they get to this state, their brains are so fried they can't even think straight. They need more than a friend. They need more than you are qualified to give them. They kill innocent children every day and don't give a damn. Don't ever forget that.”

Doug sat in his seat while the session was being wrapped up, but he didn't hear a word of what was said. His heart was turning to stone. She'd told them all to never forget. And dammit, she was right. He never would forget. He might not remember for an hour or two, but ultimately, he would never forget. He unsnapped his wristband, as if he needed the physical reminder to remember all that he'd been.

He'd been a fool to think he could leave it all behind, to think that maybe he'd paid his dues, that he deserved to share some part of his life with a woman like Andrea. But her words cut through him like a knife. He could never make her his. He could never make her a part of what he was.

He couldn't have her. He'd probably known it deep inside all along. It was probably that knowledge that had stopped him from taking her the other night.

But he didn't have to watch the admiration in her eyes turn to disgust, either. He'd stay away from her. He'd get out now, before she had a chance to learn who Doug Avery really was.

Refastening his wristband, Doug left the meeting hall, went to his room and changed back into the jeans and T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. And then, without a word to anybody, he slipped down the back stairs and out into the night. He went back to the only home he'd ever known, to the place where he really belonged, and spent the evening coming to terms with the reality of Douglas Phillip Avery.

* * *

D
OUG HAD BEEN NINE
when he'd first realized that drugs were the most important thing in his life, and eleven the first time he'd nearly killed a guy to get a single fix. By the time he was sixteen, he'd tripped on every hallucinogen known to the ghetto, sometimes more than one at the same time. He was well known to the pushers, and later on, to the dealers. And finally, he'd had the reputation of being a good source himself. He'd stolen from his father, from his neighbors, even from his friends, just to get another fix.

Doug was a druggie. He'd abused his body so badly that some of the damage was irreparable. He'd developed such a chemical dependence that even though he was straight, he would never be fully over his addiction. There were some drugs, legal drugs, that—were Doug to take them even once—could send him right back to where he'd been at seventeen, nineteen, twenty....