Dare to Love (5 page)

Her blue eyes opened wide. “But you're only thirty now. You're telling me you haven't seen her since you were a little boy?”

Doug nodded, wondering why she was making a big deal about it. Lots of guys grew up without mothers. “I was five when she took off.”

“She deserted you?” Andi asked, a hint of criticism in her voice.

Doug was getting ticked off again. Andi Parker had no business judging a woman she'd never met.

“She didn't desert me. She merely did what she had to do. She had a chance to escape an abusive situation that was going to kill her sooner or later, and she took it.”

“Was it your father she was running from? Did he hit her? Is that what you're saying?”

Doug could feel the muscles in his neck begin to clench.

“He hit her when he was in a good mood. It wasn't nearly so pretty when he wasn't.”

“And yet she just ran off and left you there with him?”

Doug couldn't believe her naiveté. The woman was still a police officer. Hadn't she learned anything during her years on the force?

He couldn't believe her nerve, either. His childhood was his business. He sat up in his chair, his hands ready to push off.

“The guy who offered to take her away from it all, to give her a chance at a better life, didn't include a snot-nosed kid in the bargain. She did what she had to do. That's what life's all about—each man for himself, the strongest wins and all that. Besides, she wouldn't have been doing me any good by staying just so I could watch the bastard kill her.”

Andi leaned forward. “But what about you? What happened to you after she left? Did he hit you, too?”

Doug shook his head. He'd had enough. None of this had anything to do with teaching kids to stay off drugs.

He looked her up and down, slowly, deliberately. “Doesn't your old man ever worry that you might be doing more with us guys than just talking, while you're here alone with us in a hotel room each night?” he asked.

He'd meant to unnerve her, to shake her up, to throw her off track. He hadn't meant to be interested in her answer.

She didn't blush. But her eyes were no longer boring into him. “I don't have a man, and if I did, he'd either trust me or be history.”

“You're not married?” he asked. He shouldn't have been so pleased to hear it. Besides, there was no reason for him to continue this line of questioning. He'd accomplished his goal—they were no longer talking about him. He wanted to hear her answer anyway.

“Not now,” she said, meeting his eyes with her own electric blue gaze. And for the first time, Doug looked back. Really looked back. The woman had something...substance, maybe. He kept looking.

“Were you ever?” he asked, knowing darn well that he was overstepping his bounds.

“I was, yes.”

“What happened?”

“He didn't like being married to a cop.”

“The jerk.”

“Yeah.”

“You got any kids?”

Her eyes became shuttered. Doug saw it, the barely perceptible shadowing, the hint of agony. Her husband must have gotten custody along with the divorce. A cop was hardly single-parent material.

“No.”

That wasn't the answer he'd expected. Had he imagined the pain he'd seen so briefly, then? Or was it something else? Maybe she was unable to have children....

“So what's the real reason you want to be a DARE officer?”

She slid the words in so casually that Doug almost missed them. Or rather, he almost missed the fact that they'd just returned to the roles of trainee and mentor.

But even being caught off guard wasn't enough to make him betray himself. Each man for himself—he'd learned the lesson well. And it worked. It had pulled him out of hell and turned him into a respected, even decorated member of the force. How much he liked or didn't like Andi Parker had no bearing on things at all.

He looked at his watch. Their time was about up, anyway.

“Look, lady,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “You're good at what you do. I'll admit I had hesitations about the training program at first, but I'm already convinced that it's not only a necessary part of DARE, but a vital one. You can take credit for that. You'll have my full participation. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?”

Andi got up too, facing him. She still hadn't put her shoes back on. Her head only came to his shoulders.

“Will you answer just one more question for me?”

Her bare toes were more of a distraction than they should have been. He'd never, not once, had a kinky thought about toes. Doug put his hands on his hips.

“Probably not,” he said.

“Do you really believe it's always each man for himself?”

Finally, an easy answer. “Absolutely.”

She slipped into her shoes and wrapped her arms around her midriff, cradling herself.

“How old were you when you left your father's home?”

She'd said only one more question. “Sixteen.”

“So you had to live with his abuse for more than half of your life....”

Her words hung between them, seeking confirmation. Doug simply shrugged.

“I'm sorry.”

She looked at his implacable expression for another second, then walked around him and left the room. But not before he'd seen the tears in her eyes.

No one, not even his mother, had ever cried for him before. It gave him the strangest feeling—like he was special or something, important enough to draw tears other than his own. Doug had absolutely no idea what to do about that.

And he had no idea what to do with the tiny beige teddy bear she had forgotten to take with her, either. With a shake of his head, he turned his back and left the suite, leaving the nosy glass eyes staring after him.

“H
ELLO
?”

“Yeah, is Celia around?”

Doug lay nude across his kingsize hotel bed, wondering what derelict Celia had taken in this time. He didn't recognize the guy's voice.

“She's here. Who's this?”

Doug frowned. The male voice on the other end of the line was almost challenging. None of the drunks Celia rented rooms to had ever before been sober enough to fight a flea.

“Tell her it's Doug. She'll come to the phone.” He was getting a little defensive himself. After the evening he'd just had, all he wanted was a little uncomplicated sex to sooth his raging nerves. He didn't need more complications; Andrea Parker and her stupid teddy bear presented enough to last him a lifetime.

Doug listened while the man spoke to someone, presumably Celia. He hadn't bothered to cover the mouthpiece.

“Some guy's on the phone. Says his name's Doug. Says you'll talk to him.”

Doug heard a feminine murmur, followed by the distinct muffling of the phone and an unintelligible masculine reply. What the hell was going on?

He sat up, his adrenalin pumping. Had Celia finally trusted one too many down-and-outers?

“Doug?”

“Yeah, babe, you okay?” he asked, relieved when Celia's familiar, high-pitched tones came over the line. She didn't sound scared.

“Sure, Doug. I'm fine. Just fine.”

He lay back down, searching for a clear picture of the woman on the other end of the line. He had some fond memories of midnight snacks and late-night sex shared with the buxom brunette. But he was having a hard time envisioning dark hair instead of blond. And Celia's full, rosy lips were being superceded by a megawatt smile.

“You know, it's, uh, been a long time. I really didn't think I'd be hearing from you again,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I've been doing some extra stuff for Stan. You know how it is.” He rolled over onto his back, staring at the shadowy shapes on the ceiling.

“You never called. Not once in all these months.”

He didn't need this. Celia had never given him a hard time before. Why the hell did she have to start tonight of all nights?

“I'm sorry, babe. I meant to. But you know how I get when I'm working on a case.”

“Yeah, I know, Doug. I understand.”

That was more like the old Celia—full of tolerance, never laying guilt where he couldn't take it. But she was different, too.

“So, you busy tonight?” he asked, trying to convince himself that he was imagining things, that if he just acted normally, so would the rest of the world.

“It's kinda late.” She'd never refused him before—ever.

“It's only eleven o'clock. I could be there in half an hour.” Doug didn't know why he was pressing so hard, except that he felt like something safe was slipping away from him and he couldn't seem to do anything about it.

Celia sighed, sending frissons of warning through him.

“I'm not alone, Doug.”

He rubbed his hand across his eyes, scraping it over the day's growth of whiskers. He'd known, of course. But surely she didn't want to do this. They were too good together. She just needed to make him pay for having neglected her for so long. He could understand that—she had her pride.

“So send him away.”

The line was quiet. Deathly quiet. And that's when Doug knew things had really changed. The guy who'd answered the phone had had a reason to sound defensive—apparently more reason than he had had. She'd found someone else.

“I'm sorry, Doug,” she finally said, her voice more sad than regretful.

“It's okay, babe.” He slid up to sit against the headboard. “It's my turn to understand. He treat you right?”

“Yeah. He's a good guy, Doug. You'd like him.”

He doubted that. “You be happy, okay?”

“I will, Doug. I am. If you'd just quit running long enough you might find a little happiness yourself one day.” Celia's voice was softer, more caring than he'd ever heard it before.

“I'm already happy,” he said, adjusting his aching genitals. “Call me if you ever need anything, you hear?”

He didn't bother to hang up the phone after Celia's goodbye. He lay there in the darkness, restless and awake as the night ticked slowly by, his only company the dead receiver resting on the bed beside him.

* * *

G
LORIA
P
ARKER DROVE
down the highway like a bulldozer plowing a field. The only concession she made to the other motorists sharing the road with her was the heavy hand she laid on her horn every time one got in her way. Scotty was at Liz's house for the afternoon. Gloria had a whole hour to fill, and she didn't want to waste one minute of it.

She knew exactly where she was going, and pulled into the parking lot in record time.

The dresses were all gorgeous, as usual, but for the first time, Gloria did more than window shop and worry. She opened the door and peeked inside, as excited as a child in a toy shop. Everywhere she looked there was white lace and satin and pearls. Gauzy veils lined the walls. Taffeta billowed out around perfectly shaped mannequins that seemed like they belonged in a fairy tale.

Andrea was going to look beautiful in one of those dresses, more beautiful than the models who wore them. And she would be happy again—finally. She would finally quit punishing herself for a crime she hadn't committed. She would have the babies she'd always dreamed of having. Gloria's baby girl was going to be happy again, even if Gloria had to move the world to make it so.

She let the door swing shut without going in. She couldn't go in, not yet. Not until she could shop for real. But she hadn't been able to resist the peek. Something was up—she was sure of it. Andrea had spent too much time extolling the virtues of two of her trainees that last time they'd talked.

Gloria wasn't fooled. She knew her daughter wasn't interested in either one of the men she'd talked about. And that was why she was so certain that Andrea had finally met the man that mattered. Her daughter was hiding something. And sooner or later, she would find out about it.

* * *

“T
RY IT
,
MAN
. It's better than sex.” The words held conviction and a hint of a dare.

“Naw. I gotta get home. My brother's on the warpath again.” The second voice was weary, aged and scared.

“That's why you need this, man. A couple of swallows and you'll be able to take anything the bastard dishes out. You'll even be strong enough to give him a little back for once, if you want to.” The first voice again, cajoling this time.

“Nothing's gonna make it any easier to face that jerk if he's in one of his moods. Nothing.”

“This will, man, I swear it. You'll be feelin' better than a wet dream. You're invincible. There ain't nothing you can't do. Come on. I ain't even gonna charge ya. It's yours. Take it.”

Andrea's eyes were glued to the stage, her throat thick with checked emotion. She was no longer a training officer watching an exercise in role-playing, she was on the streets of any one of a hundred cities, with two of the millions of kids living with the horrible fascination of drug use.

It had never been so real before, so tangibly painful.

“Thanks, man, but I better not. It'd kill my ma if she ever found out, and besides, it's just my luck I'd get some bad stuff. How'm I gonna help my ma if I'm six feet under? She's outta work again. Which reminds me, I gotta find some dinner for the little kids. You think D'Ambros put out his old bakery goods yet?”

“Not till six...and it ain't bad stuff, man, I swear it. I wouldn't give you nothin' bad. We're buddies, man, you know that. I took some of this stuff last night just before the Black Sox rumble. I took three punches and didn't feel one of ‘em. Broke some guy's nose, too. You should'a seen it, man. I was awesome.”

“It didn't hurt at all when they blasted you?”

Tears swam beneath Andrea's lids. She didn't want it to happen.

“I didn't feel a thing, except great. You'll see, man, it'll get you through anything.”

The owner of the second voice, Doug, reached out for the imaginary pipe, raised it to his mouth, took a long drag and held it, letting the narcotic fill his lungs. The floodlight glinted off the silver studs of his wristband.

Andrea bowed her head as the trainees left the stage. The auditorium full of police officers was deathly silent.

“It's two months later, same time, same place.”

Andrea's gaze flew back to the stage. Doug and Steve were back in place in the middle of the empty stage, a single floodlight their only illumination. They were dressed identically in the same ripped jeans and stained, too-small T-shirts, but the expressions they were wearing bore no resemblance to the weary yet strangely trusting glances of moments before. Andrea had no idea what was going on. She'd thought they'd completed their exercise.

“You get me more of that stuff, man, unless you feel like dying tonight.”

The voice was Doug's.

“What's wrong with you, man? This is Steve, remember? I'm the one who showed you where Old Man D'Ambros throws away his dayolds. I taught you how to steal fruit from Sherman's Market. I gave you Cindy Lou when we was ten and you wanted to try sex. Remeber Cindy Lou, Dougie?”

“I remember what my bastard brother's gonna do to me when he finds out I hid Ma's stash again. I gotta have those pills,
now.
”

“Maybe if you talk to him, maybe he'll listen.”

Doug laughed harshly, humorlessly. The sound chilled Andrea. She had to remind herself that he was role-playing, fulfilling an assignment. His bitterness felt so real.

“Oh yeah, he'll listen, while he's pounding my brains into the porch. Trouble is, I won't be able to talk no more by then, and neither will you,
Stevie,
if you don't come up with some stuff.”

“I don't have it, man. I swear to God, I don't have it. My supplier's gone dry. There was a big bust down by the waterfront last week.”

“Don't give me that bull, man. You're holding out on me, keeping it all for yourself. You got to like it just a little too much, didn't you? But I'm not going to let you do this to me.”

Doug stepped closer to Steve, grabbing a fistful of the other man's T-shirt. “Now, you gonna get me that stuff, or do I have to hurt you first?”

Steve lifted both hands to Doug's arm, struggling to free himself from his grasp.

“Calm down, Doug. You're losing it, man. I haven't taken any of that stuff for weeks, not since I saw what it's doing to you. You need help, man. You gotta get some help.”

Doug pushed Steve, causing the other man to stumble backward. He spat at Steve's feet.

“You're really low, man, you know that? Telling me
I
need help. I need help beating a little weasel like you into the ground. You're the one who sold me on ‘em, remember? And you were right. Those pills are keeping me sane, man. They're all I got. When I'm high I can feed the kids, take care of Ma
and
put up with the bruises. I can't make it without them and you know it.”

Doug started to walk away, but he turned back.

“You say we're buddies, Steve. You say we been thick. But what kind of guy would hold out on a buddy? You're no friend—you're a damn pig, just like the rest. And I'll tell you something else. I'm gonna get my stuff, with or without you. I'm gonna get it. Just watch me.”

Steve moved forward, back into the middle of the floodlight. He reached out a hand imploringly, holding onto Doug's shoulder as Doug turned to walk away again.

“Please don't do this, Dougie. You got hope. You're smart. You got a chance to get out of this hellhole, to have a real life, but you're not gonna get anywhere if you don't stop this. Smoke some pot, man. Cool out. And then get some help.”

Doug whirled around, appearing to throw his forearm up and to smash Steve's face. Steve reeled, fell backward, then slowly started to rise.

“
Never
tell me what to do again, you hear me? You have no idea what I need.”

“Sure I do. Listen to me—”

Doug's fist shot out, making contact with Steve's jaw. Steve's head jerked backward once, twice, before he fell to the stage once more.

“You have no idea what it's like!” Doug was shouting now. “You go home to a little old lady who doesn't even kill the roaches in her kitchen. She may be looney, but you never have to wonder when you go to bed at night if you're going to wake up with your arm pinned to your shoulder blades or a knee breaking your back.”

Steve didn't get up this time. He lay still on the stage, limp and lifeless.

Doug stood over him for a frozen second, looking down at the body of his friend. Then he reached down and pulled a plastic bag from Steve's front pocket.

“You don't need these, man. I do,” he said, and turned and strode away.

The spotlight remained on the supine body in the middle of the stage.

Andrea swallowed the lump in her throat, glad she was not visible in the darkened auditorium. The afternoon's session had been intended to impart new understanding to the trainees surrounding her. But Andrea had a feeling that she'd learned the biggest lesson of all. The bitterness, the despair she was feeling couldn't possibly be the products of a cold, heartless man.

* * *

D
OUG PULLED
the too-small T-shirt over his head, dropping it in the trash can in his hotel room. Thursday's dinner was supposed to be a barbecue, an informal event conducive to socializing. Doug didn't feel like socializing. He had to get out.

He was on his third beer in Harry's, the first tavern he'd come to after leaving the Hetherington Hotel, before the tension in the back of his neck finally slackened. He slouched down on his stool, resting his arms on the bar in front of him.