All I've Ever Wanted (10 page)

Zone Five Precinct
Friday, 11:30 p.m.

A
lone, Kennedy sat in a hard wooden chair in the interrogation room. She held a cup of hot coffee, halfway hoping that its warmth would penetrate her bones and stop her shivering.

She guessed that she'd been at the police station now for about an hour. Detective Collier hadn't asked her too many questions. He seemed more concerned about her welfare and state of mind than anything else. But she knew the hard-hitting questions would come. She just didn't know what she was going to tell him.

She sipped her coffee, but didn't notice its taste. In her mind she remembered the awkward smile she shared with Tommy moments before all hell had broken loose. Had he entered the bathroom on his own, or had he been snatched from right under her nose?

Kennedy closed her eyes. She wanted to believe more than anything that Reverend Warner had him and they both were long gone by the time hell broke loose inside the stadium.

But what if he wasn't?

Thoughts of the alternatives overwhelmed her. She set her cup down onto the table with more force than she intended, causing coffee to slosh over the rim and burn her hand.

“Damn.” She waved her hand back and mentally cursed her stupidity. What would she say when Collier eventually asked about her son? Did she dare to trust the police?

Glancing at her watch, she wondered how much longer she would have to remain cooped up in the small room. She was already beginning to feel as though the walls were closing in on her.

What if Keenan had her son? By choosing to keep her mouth shut, she might be endangering Tommy's life.

With her head resting in the palms of her hands, she gripped chunks of her hair and actually considered pulling them out.

Just then, the door swung open with an intimidating whoosh. Kennedy stiffened and became instantly alert. Judging by the fierce, haggard look on Det. Collier's face, she predicted the pity party was over.

“Let's see if we can take this from the top,” he said, pulling the chair opposite her out. When he sat, his eyes took on an intensity she hadn't witnessed before.

She forced herself to shrug. “I can't think of anything to tell you that you don't already know.”

For a moment, she wondered whether he'd heard her. When he finally responded, his voice was low—edgy. “I don't know whether you can tell or not.” His eyes met hers. “I'm not in the mood to play games with you.”

Kennedy swallowed. She could definitely tell. She started to speak again, thought better of it, and then closed her mouth.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned back. The wooden chair creaked under his weight. “Good. Now that we've eliminated the b.s., let's take it from the top. Why would someone go to so much trouble to try and kill you, Ms. St. James?”

Kennedy pressed her muted lips together. Her skin felt hot beneath his glare. Through the room's suffocating tension, she almost expected him to lunge across the chair and strangle her.

“You're trying my patience, Ms. St. James.”

Again she remained silent.

Det. Collier slammed his hand against the wooden tabletop.

She jumped, but swallowed her scream of alarm.

“I have half a mind to haul you down to a jail cell—”

“On what charges?” She jerked her head up, the fire suddenly ignited by her own breaking point.

“I kind of like the sound of conspirator to the murder of A.D.A. Underwood.”

“What? You must be joking.”

“Am I?” He leaned toward her. “My partner is fighting for his life at Grady Hospital because of you. I should lock you up for the next twenty-four hours just because I'm in a bad mood.”

He could do it, too, she realized. She swallowed again, but the lump in her throat enlarged. She searched his hard features for signs of compassion—heck she'd even settle for pity for her plight.

There were none.

Her shoulders slumped as the past week's stress and frustration escaped her body in a long sigh. “Then I guess you're going to have to arrest me.”

Det. Collier jumped up. His chair screeched back like a locomotive. “Fine.”

Some small part of her died when her bluff failed and she watched him stride angrily toward the door.

“Don't you understand that I'm dead if I talk?”

Max stopped, but he didn't immediately turn around. “You have it wrong. You're dead if you don't talk to me. Or did you misunderstand what tonight's shoot-out was all about?”

“My son…”

When she failed to complete her sentence, he turned and met her opaque, yet even gaze. She looked frail and defeated. He hated himself for adding to her misery, but there was nothing he could do about it. She'd backed him into a corner. How could he protect her when she insisted on tying his hands?

“I'm sorry about your partner,” she whispered.

He found himself nodding and allowed a cloud of worry to drift across his troubled thoughts. “He's a good cop. A good man.”

He continued to stare at her. As he waited for her to say more, his gaze danced over the subtle details of her face. Before, he had noticed the richness of her almond-shaped eyes. He couldn't think of a man who wouldn't drown in their depths—including him. Right now, however, he noticed the long lashes that framed her eyes as she stared down at her hands. Then there were her lips. If he had to describe them in one word, it would be
fascinating.

In his humble opinion, she was simply the most beautiful woman he had ever met. And something in him died as he witnessed her shrink into herself.

“Let me ask you something, Ms. St. James.” He
intentionally lowered his voice and removed any trace of sarcasm. “If I were to release you right now, how long do you think it would take for Keenan Lawrence and his army to get to you?”

She jerked at the mention of Lawrence's name and Max gained a grain of satisfaction from knowing that his theory was correct.

A dark and troubled shadow fell over her. It was clear that she hadn't thought that far ahead and she grew smaller by the second.

“I can take care of myself,” she answered in a whisper that sounded nothing like the spitfire he'd met two days ago.

“No, you can't.”

Their gazes met again and he wished like hell that he could read her thoughts—wished that he knew the magic word that would get her to place her trust in him.

Kennedy was the first to pull her gaze away. “I have no choice.” And she believed that, but she had no idea how she planned to survive this.

“What about your son?”

“He's safe,” she answered with a nod of her head.

“You don't know that.”

“No,” she said. “But I have to believe it.”

It was Max's turn to drop his head. Kennedy St. James was as stubborn as she was beautiful, an irritating discovery.

The room fell silent again as Max searched his
mind for some type of compromise he could offer, but could find none. “I can't let you walk out of here, knowing that you won't make it to see the sunrise.” He looked up.

Her gaze fell and she bit her lower lip in concentration. He wondered if she was thinking where she could lie low. Were there friends that could take her in and protect her? Judging by the way her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, he concluded that she had no one she could depend on.

He was starting to think that locking her up for the night was the only way he could protect her.

What would happen to Tommy if something were to happen to her? Sure, her grandmother would try to raise him, but she was nearly eighty. She wouldn't be able to care for him for long.

She tried to think of another solution, but that was difficult to do under Collier's tight scrutiny.

“Kennedy?”

She lifted her head at the tenderness he used when he called her by her first name. This time, when their eyes met, she saw empathy in his expression.

“You have to trust me.”

For first time since they'd met, she wanted to trust him; wanted to share her burden and receive some type of protection from this craziness she'd found herself in.

Collier retrieved the chair he'd abandoned and placed it in front of her.

Kennedy followed his every move. She caught the faint scent of his cologne and when he spoke, she heard the exhaustion.

“What can I do to get you to trust me?”

She didn't have the answer to that. She didn't have an answer to anything. “I just need time to sort all this out,” she said truthfully.

“We don't have the luxury of time.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She closed them, ashamed that she'd lost control of her emotions.

His hands encircled hers and an undeniable warmth spread throughout her and had an amazing affect on calming her fears. She resisted the urge to lean forward and rest her head against the broad span of his chest, as she had done earlier at the stadium.

In that singular experience, she had cried until all her tears were spent, and a peace she had never experienced had settled in her soul.

“You can't go home,” he said softly. “You realize that, don't you?”

Kennedy nodded.

His fingers gently rubbed the palms of her hands, and something tingled at the base of her spine then spiraled upward.

She pulled her hands away, troubled by what she was feeling—what she had felt since the day she'd laid eyes on him.

He frowned, and then sighed. “Okay. We'll play
this your way. It's painfully obvious that I'm not going to get you to talk, am I?”

“I can't, not until I know that my son is safe.”

“And when will that be?”

She remembered when the Warners were due to drop off Tommy. “Noon tomorrow.”

Collier nodded. “All right then. Then we have to hide you for—” he looked at his watch “—twelve hours. I have a suggestion.”

Hope flashed as she stared up at him.

He held up a hand, as if expecting her to reject his idea. “It's the only way I can keep an eye on you while you wait to find out about your son.”

Suspicion replaced hope, and Kennedy waited for him to drop his bombshell.

Max met her direct gaze. “I think you should spend the night at my place.”

A
waterfall of tears cascaded down Lieutenant Kelly Scardino's face as she looked down at Dossman's motionless body. The doctors had assured her that the worst was over. The rest was up to Dossman and his will to live.

She stared at him, unnerved by his coloring. Their last argument echoed in her mind and a sour taste formed in her mouth. Marriage. He had actually proposed marriage.

The cocky laugh she had given him died in her throat. If she'd ever doubted that she loved this man, she stood corrected. She slid her hands toward his, and cringed at the lack of warmth they possessed.

What had she been thinking when she'd turned him down? The small voice in the back of her head answered clearly and succinctly. Her career. She had been thinking about her career.

Shame swept over her, along with regret. She wished that she could turn back the hands of time and change her answer.

She focused on their hands. Their colors were different and beautiful.

Dossman's eyes fluttered open and, for a moment, confusion reflected in their depths. Then he focused on the woman by his side and a lazy smile curved his lips. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, then licked his parched lips.

“You should look in a mirror,” she teased, and squeezed his hand.

He laughed, then winced as pain shot through his chest. “Damn, did I survive the hit or not?”

“What do you think?”

“It sure doesn't feel like it. It feels like someone drove a Mack truck through me.”

“I'd say, judging by the size of the hole in your chest, that's a possibility.”

“Were you worried?” His smile widened.

Her expression grew somber. “You know I was.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised that she'd come clean so easily. “How much?”

Tears crested and followed the previously laid tracks.

“Hey.” He lifted a trembling hand and caught one of her tears in midstream. “There's no need for these. I'm going to be just fine.”

She nodded as her smile wobbled. “I know you are.”

“Then what's with all the tears?”

“They're for us.”

Dossman took a deep breath, and this time ignored the pain that caused. “Are you planning on dumping me again?”

She laughed. “I don't think so. After what happened tonight, I doubt that you'll be able to shake me anytime soon.”

“That's always good to hear.”

She looked down, played with his fingers as she spoke. “I keep thinking about the other night.”

“Kelly—”

“Let me finish,” she said with a stern look. “I keep thinking about the other night, and thinking that I made a mistake.”

“Don't do this to yourself, hon. These types of situations always seem to elevate—”

“Elevate what I already feel for you—have felt for a long time.”

Dossman's gaze caressed her face—a face he had spent the past two years loving. The adoring look she gave him touched his heart and made what he had to
say that much harder. “I don't think you made a mistake, sweetheart.”

Fresh tears glistened in her eyes and he tightened his grip on her hand.

“Everything you said the other night made sense. If we let anyone know about us, it would cost you your career.”

She shook her head.

Dossman continued. “You've worked too hard to throw all that away now.”

“But I'm not willing to throw us away.” She pulled his hand up and placed it against her heart. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. If I have to choose, then I choose you.”

Dossman felt his own tears begin to surface. “You'll regret it. I don't ever want you to resent me, and that's exactly what you'll end up doing. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But you will.”

Her tears fell in earnest and Dossman patted his right shoulder for her to lay her head. When she did, he held her and shed his own tears.

 

“You want me to do what?” Kennedy's eyes rounded with astonishment.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Her forehead furrowed as she searched for another solution. Her short list of friends ran through her head. Sure they would take her in, but not with
out asking a lot of questions. And if she involved another party, would she be placing their lives in danger, too?

Collier frowned. “Surely, you don't think I'd harm you?”

“It's not that.” She clamped her mouth shut, unsure of what else she should say. She couldn't tell him that she was beginning to question her body's response to him, or that she enjoyed those feelings.

“Then what is it?”

“Look, I just don't think that it's a good idea.” She shrugged, aware that she sounded juvenile.

Collier tossed up his hands. “I give up. I shouldn't have to convince you to save your own life. But, if you don't care, I don't see why I should.”

Again, he bolted from his chair and headed toward the door. “You're free to go, Ms. St. James.”

The door slammed shut behind him and Kennedy jerked in response. She closed her eyes during the ensuing silence.

“Free to go,” she whispered. But she didn't move—couldn't move. She didn't know what waited for her outside that door. She opened her eyes, wondering how he'd managed to suck the oxygen out of the room when he left.

As minutes passed, she questioned why she still sat there, staring at the door. But, in her heart, she knew the answer. She wanted Collier to come back.

Slowly, she forced herself to stand and retrieve her purse. She had no idea where she was going, but there was no sense in staying there.

She put her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath before pulling the door open.

Det. Collier waited with his arms crossed on the other side. “Are you ready to go to my place?” he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded.

 

Keenan clenched his teeth as he paced the floor in long, angry strides. Tonight's screwup would cost him plenty, and bring unwanted scrutiny from the men in blue. That, in turn, would bring heat from his boss.

He swore under his breath and resisted the urge to throw something—anything. Nothing had gone right in the past week. The last thing he needed to do was to shoot a cop—in front of hundreds of witnesses. He cursed his foolish actions.

“You're slipping, ole boy,” he mumbled under his breath. As he waited to hear the word on the officer—a Detective Dossman, according to the news reports—he tried to plan his next move. He definitely needed to lie low, perhaps even skip town until everything died down.

He shook his head. He didn't like the thought of leaving town with unfinished business. Kennedy St. James.

He stopped pacing.

The woman either had an angel on her shoulder, or she was just lucky as hell. Twice she had slipped through his grasp. That wasn't an easy feat to pull off. He should have killed her at the park when he'd had the chance.

He paced again.

If he was going to take care of her, he needed to do it quick. Getting out of town would be easy, finding Ms. St. James would be a challenge. And one thing he loved was a challenge.

He smiled.