Wildfire (16 page)

Brady’s question struck a nerve, a nerve too painful to probe. As she always did when backed into a corner, Amanda verbally side-stepped. “I learned that it’s better to be in a position of asking the questions than answering them. Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What?”

Her fingers slid down the material of his coat sleeve, until she reached his hand and the cool silver of his ID-bracelet. “Who gave you this?”

Brady seemed surprised by her interest. “My parents. Why?”

She ignored his question, silently fingering the metal chain.

“Come on, Mandy.” He tightened his arms with persuasive intent. “Why the interest?”

“All right,” she spoke defiantly. “I thought an old girlfriend might have given it to you.”

“And that bothered you?” He smoothed back her hair, viewing her flushed profile with satisfaction. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. I can see it bothered you.”

“You don’t have to sound so smug.” The words were meant to be a stern rebuke.

“Sorry,” Brady grinned. “I’ll work on that. And to think all this havoc was caused by a simple allergy to penicillin.”

“Penicillin?” Her voice was laced with confusion. “I don’t get the connection.”

“That’s why my parents gave me this bracelet. Turn it around,” he instructed. “On the back side it lists the allergy.”

Amanda lifted his left hand to read the engraved notice. “It’s because you’re a cop, isn’t it?” she concluded.

“That I’m allergic to penicillin? No, I don’t think so.”

“I meant the reason your parents gave you this bracelet. In case
anything . . . happened to you in the line of duty.”

“You make it sound like I’m on
Hill Street Blues.
Deerfield is comparatively quiet, aside from the current situation with the arsonist.”

Which brought them right back to square one, the reason Brady had felt the need to get away for a while today.

“I’m sorry,” Amanda apologized softly. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“You didn’t,” he harshly denied. “It’s me. I just can’t seem to get a handle on this damn case!”

Amanda winced at the angry frustration his tone reflected. It hurt her to see him being so hard on himself. She wanted to help him, so she said, “You’re an excellent detective, Brady. Deerfield’s police department is lucky to have you.”

For some reason that was the wrong thing to say. She could feel his withdrawal even before he stepped away from her. She shivered suddenly, cold without his warmth beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” His assurance fell flat.

“Was it something I said?” she pressed.

But Brady maintained, “I’m fine.”

“I can see you’re not.”

He ignored her concerned observation. “Come on, it’s getting dark. We’d better get back to the car.”

Brady walked ahead of her, his shoulders bent as though he were carrying the weight of the world upon them. Amanda caught up to him and walked beside him, her presence silently offering compassion. Then, unsure of his reaction, she slipped her arm across his back, conveying by touch the measure of her concern. Brady didn’t reject her overture, instead his own arm came out to encircle her waist. A silent channel of communication existed between them, linking them together with nebulous chains.

When they were back in the car again, he turned to her and said, “Thanks.” The grateful acknowledgment was accompanied by a tender flick to the tip of her nose.

“You’re welcome. Maybe it would help if I gave you back your good luck shirt,” Amanda offered.

She was pleased that her teasing suggestion elicited a laugh from Brady. “You’d give me the very shirt off your back?”

“I’d prefer not to at this very second. It is a little cold to be without a shirt.”

“I could keep you warm,” Brady leaned close to murmur seductively, stirring the tendrils of hair near her ear.

“Not in a car with bucket seats,” she cautioned.

“No problem. I planned ahead. This model doesn’t have an in-the-floor console.”

“You devious man!”

“Compliments will get you nowhere,” he retorted. “Now do you want to get warmed up or not?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then I’ll turn on the heater,” he mocked, his teasing eyes shining in the Mustang’s shadowy interior.

“You don’t need to do that,” Amanda purred, reaching out a bold hand to lower the zipper on his winter jacket.

“I don’t?” he echoed, watching her brazen fingers unbutton his shirt.

Amanda shook her head, slanting him an impudently saucy look. “You can supply all the warmth I need,” she purred. While Brady was still recovering from the inviting provocation of her words, she placed her ice cold hands on the unprotected planes of his bare chest.

“You little devil!” he gasped.

“Compliments will get you nowhere,” she recycled his words back to him.

“Then how about a little of this?” Brady reached for her, sliding her down onto the seat with one lithe, economical movement. His retributive hands pinned her to the vinyl upholstery in such a way that her bottom snugly filled the space between the two bucket seats. Her denim-clad legs tangled with his in the ensuing mirthful tousle.

“We’re going to fog up your windows,” she warned with a breathless laugh.

“You fog up my brain,” Brady muttered, freeing the toggles of her stadium coat, unwrapping her like a present.

When he deftly unfastened her shirt, she had to tease him. “I guess this shirt must be yours. I always have trouble with those buttons.”

“Oh, Mandy,” he groaned. “I needed to see you today.”

“You don’t need to see all of me today,” she gasped, stilling his hand on the waistband of her jeans.

Brady didn’t protest her decision, resorting back to seductive humor. “It’s too dark in here to see much of anything. I’ll have to feel my way.”

Amanda’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his warm finger trail down the center of her body, from collarbone to navel. Since she wasn’t wearing a bra, she’d expected a more aggressive approach, but Brady was a leisurely lover. His deliberately slow touch aroused her more than any urgent demand could ever have done. Her flesh actually tingled, as if he’d indelibly marked her with a kindling brand. Trembling perceptibly, she passionately chanted his name.

Brady lowered himself until the small space between them had disappeared entirely. Her hands tugged on his gapping shirt, freeing it from its imprisonment inside his jeans. She then gripped the bare flesh of his waist as he distributed his weight more evenly, taking care not to crush her.

With unhurried deliberation Brady’s lips homed in on hers. Their kisses blended and incorporated the variety of emotions they were experiencing: desire, hunger, passion, and excitement. Brady’s normally clean-shaven face was rough, but not enough to cause discomfort, just enough to add a new texture to his kisses.

Amanda’s mouth molded itself to the shape of his, her tongue sampling his taste. It was a heady elixir she could easily get addicted to. She deeply inhaled the scent that was unique unto him, a combination of tangy shower soap and warm cotton shirts. She felt the pounding of his heart and heard the unsteadiness of his breathing.

True to his word, Brady did feel his way over her feminine curves, monitoring her palpable signs of arousal. Her gasp became a moan as his lips left the familiar softness of hers to wander across her collarbone before sinking lower, reconnoitering the creamy slopes of her breasts.

Amanda returned the favor, her lips mapping the slope of his shoulder and the underside of his jaw. Her slender fingers anchored themselves through the belt loops of his jeans while her thumbs swam across the sea of his bare skin.

As time went on, the aching need for fulfillment made itself more and more insistently known. Cocooned in a den of warmth, the interpretation of this as “making out on the front seat of a car” never entered her passion-hazed mind.
Amanda was shivering under the onslaught of erotic sensations that were intoxicating her, and she communicated her desire by arching her body against his. She felt Brady’s answering hardness and was amazed by his hidden power.

The syncopated sound of modern communication interrupted their passionate excursion.

“What’s that?” Amanda hazily questioned.

His voice was raspy with desire. “My beeper.”

“Your what?”

But Brady was already moving away from her, automatically readjusting his clothing. “I’ve got to get to a phone and call headquarters.”

“Headquarters?” Amanda knew her repetitive echoes sounded dense, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I should’ve brought the unmarked squad car,” he muttered to himself, turning the ignition on the Mustang. “Then I could’ve used the two-way radio.”

Amanda was still trying to collect herself and the sides of her flapping shirt. As she’d complained, the buttons refused to cooperate for her. Overhearing her muffled curse, Brady turned to offer his assistance. “I’m sorry about this, Mandy,” he apologized while matching buttons to buttonholes. “But perhaps it’s just as well, I’d hate the first time for us to be in the crowded confines of a car.”

Amanda didn’t know what to say to that. It seemed pretty useless to deny that that’s where they’d been headed, not after the abandoned way she’s responded to him.

Brady stopped at the first gas station they came to, utilizing their pay phone. The leashed gait of his stride as he returned to the car warned her that something was up. “We’ve finally got a lead that’s panned out. I’ll drop you off at home, and then I’ve got to get back to the station.”

Although she told herself not to, Amanda half-anticipated a call later from Brady, giving her some hint about what had happened on the case. There was no news until Monday afternoon. She was up to her elbows in reference tools, checking through issues of
Library Journal
magazine and selecting books. With over three thousand titles being published each month, the field had to be narrowed down considerably. Consequently numerous book reviews were used to justify each purchase.

Amanda prided herself on the library’s evenly balanced collection. Too often librarians gave in to faculty pressure, as John did with Guy, and the results were a collection that didn’t serve the students, but instead pampered certain professors’ egos. It was a difficult compromise, with each department vying for their piece of the cake.

“Have you heard the news?” Beth burst into her office, shouting. “They caught the arsonist!”

Amanda removed her reading glasses. “You’re kidding! How do you know?”

“I just talked to Carolyn, the switchboard operator. She said that the police came a few minutes ago and took some man with them—in handcuffs! And the dean’s secretary told me that Dean Routledge will be issuing a memo within the hour to announce that the arsonist has been arrested. Officially they’re withholding further information pending a decision on filing criminal charges.”

Amanda knew from experience that official statements never affected the college grapevine. “Who was it?”

“Carolyn said it was one of the guys from Security.”

Amanda was shocked. “From the college security force?”

“That’s what she said.”

“But why would he want to set fires around the campus?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask Brady.”

Determined not to get into a discussion on Brady, Amanda vaguely replied, “I guess I will,” before promptly returning to work. “Here is the first group of this month’s book orders.” She handed Beth a pile of neatly printed cards. “Remember to use our new jobber for all the general publishers.”

Brady did finally call her, right before five, with the promise that he’d stop by that evening. Amanda was told she’d have to wait until then for the details concerning the arrest. Brady arrived after dinner, just in time to sample the cinnamon cookies she was laying out on a cooling rack.

“So what happened?” Amanda eagerly prompted.

“Let me finish my cookie first,” Brady protested. “You wouldn’t want me talking while my mouth is full, would you?”

Since his statement had been mumbled around the cookie, she didn’t see the difference. “You’re already talking with your mouth full.”

Brady was straddling one of her kitchen chairs, his folded arms resting on the top rung of the chair’s back. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you, but things started breaking pretty fast and there really wasn’t time.”

“That’s all right,” she allowed. “I did get a little worried though, so I called the station.”

“They told me you called.” His look was one of warm approval.

“Did they warn you about fast older women?” Damn, what made her say that?  It wasn’t like everyone at the police station knew her age.

“Mandy!” He shook his head in exasperation. “You’re not an older woman.”

“I’m older than you are.”

“Chronologically, perhaps. As I’ve told you before, you worry too much about appearances.”

“How did we get onto this subject?” she interrupted, as she always did when he got too close to the truth. “You were going to tell me about the arsonist.”

“I suppose you’ve already heard that it was someone from college security.”

Amanda nodded. “The campus grapevine is very efficient.”

“I know,” Brady acknowledged. “That was one of the reasons it took us so long to catch this guy. He always seemed to be one step ahead of us.”

“Do you know why he set the fires?”

“Via the same college grapevine, he’d heard that several of the Security positions were going to be downgraded to part-time status. Setting the fires was his way of assuring himself job security.”

“Didn’t he realize that any one of those fires could have seriously injured, even killed people?”

“He was desperate, and desperation doesn’t lend itself to contemplation.”

Amanda turned to look at Brady in surprise. He shifted in his seat, tugging his hair in a gesture she’d come to know as a sign of embarrassment.

His self-observation was deliberately wry. “Pretty heavy philosophy for a small-town cop, right?”

“Left,” she teased.

“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”