Apache Nights (12 page)

He could tell how much he'd hurt Joyce. He'd seen the tears in her eyes. He'd heard the pain in her voice.

Was Allie right? Did Joyce love him? And what about himself? Was he too stubborn to admit that he was in love, too? Or too scared, as Allie had suggested?

He closed his eyes, wondering what he should do. Call Joyce? Go see her? Ask her to forgive him?

He didn't like being enthralled by a woman. It went against his nature, his big, bad macho lifestyle. But worse yet was not being with her at all.

His cell phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He checked the readout, hoping it was Joyce. But it wasn't. The display indicated that the caller was Allie.

He answered the summons, and her voice rushed over the line.

“Kyle? I tried your house, but you weren't there.”

“I'm in one of my sheds.” And it was late for her to be calling him. Almost midnight. “What's going on?”

“Have you seen Joyce? Is she with you?”

“No.” Instantly alarmed, his pulse jumped to his throat. “Why? What's wrong?”

“I've been trying to reach her, but she's not answering her phone. Not her home number or her cell.” Allie stalled for a second, then said, “I heard on the news that two police officers were shot this evening. I think one of them was a woman. Maybe even a detective.”

Oh, God. He took a deep breath, warning himself not to panic. “Are you sure? Are you sure you heard the report correctly?”

“Not really, no. I missed a portion of it. I was in the kitchen and the TV was on in the living room.” She paused and made a nervous sound. “But just to be sure, I called the Los Angeles Street Station where Joyce works, but they wouldn't answer any of my questions. They wouldn't tell me anything.”

“What about Olivia? What about West? They work with the police, they—”

“My sister and West went out of town on some covert FBI case. I can't reach them, either.”

“Hospitals,” he said, starting to panic. “Did you try—”

“No, but I doubt they would give me any information. I'm not a relative.”

He turned and nearly knocked over the lamp. He wasn't a relative, either. He was nothing to Joyce. Nothing but the man who'd made her cry.

“I'm trying not to overreact, not to think bad thoughts,” Allie said. “But it's awful not to know what's going on.”

“I'll find out.” As soon as he could breathe, as soon as he quit envisioning Joyce with a bullet through her body. If something bad happened to her, he wouldn't survive. He wouldn't make it through another day. “I broke up with her. I walked away.”

“Don't beat yourself up. You were just trying to cope with your feelings.”

His forced the air from his lungs. “You and Olivia weren't pulling a matchmaking scam. Her prediction was real, wasn't it?”

“As real as a psychic reading can be.”

But sometimes Olivia was wrong, he thought. Sometimes she made mistakes. There was no guarantee that what she said would come true.

Not if Joyce was dead, he told himself.

Not if he'd just lost the woman he loved.

K
yle went crazy trying to find out if Joyce was safe. The first thing he did was call the network that had reported the shootings to get more information, but the lady who answered in the news department told him that she didn't have the capability of researching the story for him. He would have to call back in the morning when the network was fully staffed.

After that, he drove everywhere, all over the city, looking for answers. He entered the Los Angeles Street Station and inquired about Joyce in person, but the desk sergeant didn't appear to believe that he was Joyce's lover. The other man refused to share any in
formation with him. Instead, the wary sergeant treated him as though he were a criminal stalking a cop.

Kyle tried to locate her partner, a detective he'd met eight months ago when he'd first met Joyce, but that was a dead end, too. There was no one at the station who could vouch for him, who knew he'd helped the police in the past.

From there, he drove to her parents' house, but they weren't home. To him, that was a major red flag. Where would her mom and dad be at this hour? Keeping vigil at their daughter's hospital bed? At the morgue, identifying her body?

There was nothing left to do but check hospitals and morgues himself. He spent hours going from place to place, battling the tightness in his stomach, looking for the lady he loved. But he didn't find her or her family.

He wasn't able to contact Joyce's sisters. He had no idea where they lived or what their phone numbers were. And since all of them were married, he didn't know their last names. Calling the local directory wouldn't help.

At daybreak, he sat in his car, wondering if he'd missed any hospitals. Los Angeles and the surrounding areas were filled with medical centers. He didn't know where the shooting had occurred and what facility the police officers had been taken to, but he'd gone to as many locations as he could.

The morgues he'd visited had left him cold, chilled straight to the bone. If Joyce was laid out on a slab somewhere, he hadn't been directed to her body.

At this point, he was lost, alone and confused. He called Allie to check in with her, then drove to Joyce's apartment.

What else could he do but go to her house and wait? Pray that she came home, that this nightmare was a mistake, that the report Allie had heard was flawed.

He used his key and went inside. The empty apartment gave him a ghostly feeling. He walked from room to room, then remained in her bedroom, where he lifted a perfume bottle from her vanity table.

The familiar fragrance made him ache.

He would do anything to hold her again, to take her in his arms and feel her heart beating next to his. He sat on the edge of her bed. It was neatly made, the pillows fluffed, the white quilt draped like a wedding dress.

Kyle knew he wanted to marry her. He knew, without a doubt, that he wanted her to be his wife.

For all the good it did. If she never came home, then his vow wouldn't matter. All that would be left was the night he'd left her standing alone in the dark.

The night he'd ended their relationship.

Too weary to think straight, he turned on the clock radio. The small black box came alive, sending music
into the air. He found a station that was reporting the local news and listened intently, but they didn't mention the shootings.

Nothing. No update.

Exhausted, he turned it off, then flopped down and closed his eyes. If he fell asleep, would Joyce appear in his mind? Kyle wasn't a dream shaman. Even if he saw her in his subconscious, he wouldn't know what it meant.

Still, he wanted to see her. He wanted to be with her, as close as possible. Even if she wasn't real.

For him, it was better than not having her at all.

 

Butterflies lit upon Kyle's cheek. No, not butterflies. Fingertips. Someone was touching him, but only for a second.

He squinted in the misty morning light and saw the outline of a woman standing over him.

Was this the dream he'd been hoping for? “Joyce?” he said, wondering if she was an angel or a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” she responded.

“Waiting for you.” Groggy, he struggled to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Her voice sounded distant, faraway.

His lover. The woman he feared was dead.

By now, his pulse was trembling. He clutched the quilt, afraid the room might spin, that she might disappear.

Confused, he sat up. “Is this actually happening? Are you real?”

“Of course, I am. You're in my apartment. What's going on?”

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen. He wanted to grab her and never let go. But she seemed cautious, unsure of him.

“I thought something terrible happened to you.” He explained everything, starting with Allie's phone call. “I've been so scared, Joyce. So worried.”

She sat next to him. Her hair framed her face and her makeup was slightly mussed. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew it was too soon. She hadn't accepted him yet.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I saw that news report. But those officers weren't shot here. It happened in Northern California.”

Which made sense, the reason he couldn't find any answers last night. “Do you know if they're okay?”

“The last I heard, they were both in stable condition.” She brushed his knee, a barely there touch. “You look exhausted, Kyle.”

“Can you blame me? How would you look if you thought I was dead?” He wished she trusted him enough to keep touching him, to make their connection more real. “Why couldn't I find you? Where were you?”

“I spent the night at Jessica's house. I've been
there for the past few days. My sister is helping me cope with…”

Her words faded into nothingness, but he knew what she meant. Joyce was hurting over their breakup, and he hated himself for what he'd done to her. “Your parents weren't home last night, either.”

“They're on a holiday. Dad surprised Mom with an anniversary trip to Hawaii.”

“Why didn't you answer your cell phone? Allie left messages and so did I.” He paused, unable to clear the emotion from his voice. “I kept calling all night.”

She made a troubled face. “I lost my phone. Or Owen lost it, I guess. He was playing ‘police radio' with it and it disappeared. It's probably buried in Jessica's yard somewhere.”

Suddenly Kyle couldn't help but smile, picturing her nephew leaving her phone in a pile of kid rubble.

A second later, his smile fell. “The cops at your station wouldn't tell me anything. They didn't believe that we dated. That I was your lover.”

“I'm sorry. I never told my co-workers about you.”

He understood. He hadn't told his Warrior Society about her, either.

In the next instant, they both fell silent. The moment turned awkward, and he didn't know what to
say. Their affair seemed like a long, lost memory. Yet they'd made love less than a week ago.

Finally, she spoke. “Maybe you should call Allie. You should tell her I'm safe.”

He agreed, using his cell phone, putting Allie's concerns to rest. Afterward, he gazed at Joyce. He was nervous about admitting that he loved her, nervous about saying the words out loud.

“Are you as mixed up as I am?” he asked.

She nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for her honesty. Relationships had never been easy for Kyle. He'd based his life on the mess his parents had made of theirs, on the hurt and pain his mother had endured. He never wanted to do that to a woman.

Never.

But he knew he wouldn't. Not if Joyce would give him a chance.

“I'm in love with you,” he said, taking the fear-induced plunge.

She all but blinked at him. “Because you thought I died?”

“Yes. No. Sort of.” His nerves kicked in again. He wasn't good at expressing himself, at exposing his heart. “I started figuring out how I felt before Allie called. Before I thought something happened to you.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice vibrated. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I've never been more for sure of anything in my life.”

“I'm in love with you, too.” Sunlight streamed into the room, making her hair seem more golden, her eyes more blue. “But how can we make it work? We're so different from each other.”

“That shouldn't matter, Joyce.”

“But it does. You know it does.” She stalled for a moment. “Why do you carry a concealed weapon, Kyle?”

Her question caught him off guard. He wasn't armed. He'd left his SIG at home. “It's been my way of rebelling, I guess. Of being a modern-day warrior. But I won't carry a gun anymore.” He smiled a little, making a silly joke, hoping to ease the tension. “Not unless you can help me get a permit.”

She smiled too, but she didn't seem any calmer than he was. When she folded her hands on her lap, he noticed that some of her fingernails were chipped, splintered, as though she'd torn them purposely, as though it were an anxiety-ridden habit, something she struggled to control.

“I'm willing to make all sorts of changes,” he said. “To compromise, to do whatever I have to do for us to be together.”

“That's what I wanted you to say on the night you broke up with me. I wanted you to alter your lifestyle for me, but I don't know if that's fair, if it's right.” Her eyes locked on his. “You are who you are.”

He feared that he was losing her, that she would never marry him, never agree to be his wife. He frowned at her. “I just told you that I wasn't going to carry an illegal firearm anymore. That it isn't important.”

“What about your missions? Stealing back stolen antiquities?” She held his gaze. “I could never condone that. Never accept it. But if you gave up your missions, you'd probably resent me for interfering.”

“I don't have to give up my missions. I can pursue them legally. And you can help. You and the FBI. You already said you would.”

She pushed the issue. “What about the other men in your Warrior Society? How are they going to feel about you being in love with a white cop?”

“They're going to think I'm nuts,” he admitted. “But they already think I'm half-crazy anyway. And if they don't accept the woman I love, then they're not my friends. They're not the brotherhood I thought they were.” He turned the conversation in her direction. “Maybe this is harder for you than it is for me. You've got your family and your job to consider. What would everyone think if you got engaged to a guy like me? If I became your husband?”

“My husband?” Her breath hitched. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes.” His heart blasted his chest. He'd done it.
He'd just proposed to her. “I want us to have the baby Olivia predicted. I want a future with you.”

“I want that, too.” She gave into her emotions, letting her eyes water, letting him see what his words meant to her. “I've been fantasizing about you being my husband all along.”

He reached for her. “Please tell me that's your way of saying yes.”

She fell into his embrace, nearly crying in his arms. “Yes.”

He nuzzled her hair. “Are we losing our minds, Detective Riggs?”

“Yes,” she said again, making him laugh. “But I'm willing to compromise, too.”

“To live with me and all of my junk? To tell your family and your co-workers that you're marrying a big, bad Apache?” He pulled her onto his lap, holding her gently, refusing to let go. “You've got your work cut out for you.”

“My family likes you.” She put her head on his shoulder. “And my co-workers will learn to accept you. If they don't, I'll kick their law enforcement butts.”

“Listen to you. Tough girl.”

“I've had a good trainer.” She gave him a warm, willing kiss, showing him that she needed him as much as he needed her. “A big, bad Apache who changed my life.”

 

On Halloween, Joyce and Kyle spent the evening at her apartment. She arranged a mixture of candy in a large glass bowl, and he carved a pumpkin, giving the jack-o-lantern a big, toothy smile.

She moved to stand beside him. There were squash innards all over the kitchen table. “He looks friendly.”

“I don't want to scare the little kids who come to the door. And it's a she.” He pointed to the marks above the rectangular eyes. “See? Long, pretty lashes.”

She studied his handiwork. She couldn't have imagined a more perfect holiday, a more perfect man. He turned to kiss her, and she tugged on his shirt, keeping him close to her heart.

Suddenly Bonnie barked, nabbing their attention, dancing happily at their feet. Joyce picked up the little pooch and nuzzled her. She was dressed like an angel, with a doggie halo Kyle had found at a pet store.

She shifted her gaze to Clyde. The rottweiler wore a set of devil horns. But he didn't seem to mind. If anything, he took it in stride, accepting the silly costume as another aspect of his loyal duties.

She set Bonnie down and went over to Clyde, kneeling to scratch his chin. Now that he realized she was Kyle's lifelong mate, he'd warmed up to her.

Kyle illuminated the jack-o-lantern with a bat
tery-operated device that looked like a candle. He placed the pumpkin outside, preparing for trick or treaters.

When he returned, he smiled at Joyce. “Have you thought of any names?”

She adjusted Clyde's horns. “Names?”

“For our daughter.”

Her pulse fluttered. “It's too soon. I'm not anywhere near being pregnant.”

“Yeah, but you will be. I threw away the condoms.”

“Kyle.”

“Don't
Kyle
me. I'm pushing forty, too. If we're going to have kids, then we need to get started.”

“Don't you think we should get married first?” she teased, even though they'd been planning their wedding. She wanted a formal ceremony, so he'd agreed to wear a tux, as long as the lapels were beaded with an Apache design. She thought it was a beautiful idea.