Hearts Awakened (16 page)

Mark released a pent-up breath. At that second, he wanted only to leave the shopping cart where it was, hustle her out of here and go back to her place, seduce her into bed with him, make his dream come to fruition. He wanted to show her how good it really could be, between the right two people.

Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue darted out to dampen her lips. A spurt of desire hit him hard and he swallowed a groan. She was trying to kill him.

A police radio squawked behind him. Close behind him. At the familiar, distinctive sound, he stiffened. Tori blinked, her eyes a little dazed. She glanced over his shoulder and flushed.

A little garbled by the radio, Roger Gentry rattled off a call to Steve Monroe. Mark removed his arm from Tori’s loose hold and turned to see which Chandler County deputy had walked up on him tangled up with Tick Calvert’s baby sister.

Oh, hell. Not one deputy, but two. Mere feet away, Troy Lee and Chris grinned at him, although only Troy Lee’s grin held a lascivious shade that sent anger simmering under Mark’s skin. Chris, tossing a pack of dog biscuits into the air and catching them one-handed, simply looked pleased.

This wasn’t good. Chris could be trusted to keep his mouth shut, but Troy Lee? He made the gossipy old-biddy committee look positively close-mouthed. Tick would know of this little grocery-store trip before morning. Heck, probably before midnight.

Mark straightened and shifted away from Tori. Troy Lee’s knowing male grin widened. Mark narrowed his eyes at him. “Is there a reason both of you are in the same place while on duty?”

Troy Lee’s eyebrows lifted. “My unit’s in the shop. We’re riding together.”

Chris held the package of dog treats aloft. “Hound was hungry and I was out of dog snacks. We figured we’d raid the deli while we’re here.”

Just his luck. Mark ran a hand over his nape and nodded at Chris. “I’m glad you’re here. Did Stanton or Tick talk to you yet?”

“This morning.” Chris glanced at Tori. “I’m really sorry to hear Tick’s sick.”

She smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Thank you.”

Mark shifted, uncomfortably aware of his colleagues’ continued interest. He looked down at her. “I want to talk to Chris for a minute. You mind grabbing anything else you need? I’ll meet you at the checkout line.”

Her posture stiffened, but she nodded. “Sure. Five minutes or so?”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”

She disappeared into canned goods with the cart. Troy Lee punched Mark’s arm and laughed, a just-between-us-guys sound that grated on Mark’s one remaining nerve. “Way to go, Cookie.”

Mark glared at him. “We’re grocery shopping.”

“Yeah. Now.” Troy Lee grinned. “It’s pretty obvious that’s not all you’ve been doing.”

Anger buzzed in Mark’s ears. He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t grab the kid. Grabbing him might lead to hurting him. Instead, he took one step forward. “Farr,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately quiet. “Go somewhere. Now.”

Troy Lee’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yes, sir. I’ll just…” He glanced at Chris and motioned toward the deli. “I’m going to grab a sandwich.”

As the kid walked away, Mark rubbed a hand over his eyes. Chris laughed quietly. “One day we’ll actually turn him into a real cop.”

“I’ll be gray and retired by then.”

Chris stuck the dog treats under his arm, leather gun belt creaking with the movement. “He’s just a kid. He’ll grow up. And she does look a little rumpled, Cookie. Does Tick know about this?”

“Yeah.”

Chris grimaced. “I take it he’s not happy.”

“At all.” Mark rolled his tense shoulders. The last thing he wanted to get into now was Tick’s blatant disapproval. “Listen, about this investigative move for you…”

They talked for a few minutes more before Chris went in search of Troy Lee. Mark glanced toward the checkout area. No Tori. He walked through the nearby aisles, picking up a few items as he went.

He found her in the frozen-food section, loading Lean Cuisine meals in the cart. She didn’t acknowledge him, her movements jerky and tight. Great. A pissed-off woman. His favorite thing to handle. He added his spices, olive oil and gourmet vinegar to her items and picked up one of the frozen meals, glancing at the nutrition facts. She leaned over, took it from his hand and replaced it on the short stack of boxes.

He sighed. “What’s wrong?”

She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “What was that all about?”

Oh man, she’d heard Troy Lee. “Tor, he’s—”

“Don’t
Tor
me. Tell me why I turned into a leper as soon as your buddies walked in. Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

“What?” He laughed. Wrong thing to do. Her eyes narrowed further, to fiery slits, and angry color flushed her cheeks. He propped against the cart. “Why on earth would I be ashamed to be seen with you?”

“I don’t know, but you couldn’t get far enough away from me when Troy Lee Farr and Chris Parker appeared.” She clutched the other end of the cart, her fingers so tight the knuckles were bloodless. “What’s the deal, Mark? Are we going to be one way in private and another in public? Is it the victim status? You know, a lot of guys would consider me used goods—”

“Are you done?” He leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. “I don’t look at you and see a rape victim. I see you and you already know I like what I see. I backed off because Troy Lee has a big mouth and I didn’t want him to have anything else to take back to your brother, who’s already being an ass about the whole thing.”

She closed her eyes, fingers gripping the cart in a stranglehold. “I get so tired of being just his
little
sister. Even you see me that way—”

“Far from it. Earlier, do you think I was thinking about Tick at all, with you in my arms?” He pitched his voice lower and she opened her eyes, dark with confusion. “No way, honey. I wasn’t thinking of you as Tick’s baby sister or Billy Reese’s victim, just the hot, sweet woman in bed with me, driving me out of my mind.”

Doubt flashed in her espresso eyes. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He released his hold on the cart and stepped back. “I swear.”

She didn’t let go of the cart. “Prove it.”

He laughed. “What?”

“Make love to me.”

He couldn’t have heard her right. It had to be the stress, the hunger, the aftereffects of a near-wet dream. No way had Tori Calvert just stood in the frozen foods section of Winn Dixie and told him to make love to her. “Excuse me?”

She shifted her weight and bit her lip. “I want you to make love to me.” She dragged a hand through already tousled hair. “I mean, I can’t promise you I won’t freak out at some point, but I’m ready to try—”

“No.” God, he must be crazy. She told him she wanted to make love and he told her no. What was he thinking? “Not tonight. Not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want it to be because you’re ready to be with me. Not because you’ve had a rough day and you’re mad at Tick. I don’t want you regretting it the next morning.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Sure you would. So would I. It’s too soon.” These words were not coming out of his mouth. He wasn’t blowing this opportunity with heroic idealism. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

As they unloaded the cart at the checkout, she grinned. “You’re going to regret saying no tomorrow.”

He reached for his wallet. “I’m regretting it now.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Me too.”

A chilly wind whipped a hamburger wrapper across the parking lot. Tori shivered and Mark passed her his keys after he unlocked the hatch window. “Get in and start the engine, let the heater get to work.”

Grateful, she climbed into the passenger seat and did as he said. Plastic bags rustled as he filled the cargo area. Warmth flowed from the vents and she rested her head against the seat. He was right. It had been a rough day. Her emotions had been on a wild carnival ride—happiness, fear, pain, anger. She could add disappointment to the mix now, although she understood his reasons for refusing to make love with her.

Later, she might even appreciate his reserve. This second, she wanted to kiss him, persuade him to do all the things he’d talked about earlier.

Her cell phone launched into its musical tones and she pulled it from her purse to find Tick’s cell number on the display. Closing her eyes on a sigh, she pushed the call button. “Yes?”

“Hey. I tried you at home, but you didn’t answer.” His voice sounded lighter, happier. “Where are you?”

“Winn Dixie.” She sank lower in the seat. “There wasn’t any food in my place.”

“Like you’re going to cook anyway.” His words resonated with affection, but it didn’t warm her. She rubbed at her temple. “I thought you’d want to know Cait’s awake.”

“That’s great. Does your son have a name yet?”

“Actually, he does. Lamar Eugene III and we’ll call him Lee.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Behind her the hatch closed with a solid thump. “How’s Cait?”

“Groggy since they upped her meds and sore, but feeling pretty good, considering. I’ll tell her you asked.” He paused. “Are you okay? You sound strange.”

“I’m just tired.”

The driver’s door opened and Mark slid into the seat. “Pasta and a salad sound…sorry, didn’t know you were on the phone.”

Silence stretched over the phone connection, followed by Tick’s indrawn breath. He swore. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, fingers pressing harder against the ache starting at her temple. She couldn’t fight with him, didn’t
want
to fight with him, now. He was going into surgery in a few hours and they didn’t know what awaited him afterwards. “Tick, can we please not get into this again tonight?”

“We don’t have to get into it all, if you’ll just listen. Tori, the guy’s no good for you.”

“Tick—”

“Damn it, I told him to stay away from you.”

Anger trembled through her, but she swallowed her furious retort. She sat up straighter in the seat and opened her eyes. Mark watched her from the driver’s seat, his hand propped on the wheel, brows drawn into a frown. “I’m tired. Tell Cait I asked about her and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Tori—”

She killed the connection, cutting off his urgent voice. Tears burned her eyes. Why did this have to be so complicated?

Mark shifted in his seat. “Everything okay?”

Blinking, she nodded. “Sure. Everything’s going to be fine.”

A glance around told him he was alone on the familiar beach, not even a seagull accompanying him. He frowned. There should be a house to his left, a huge white contemporary that loomed over this section of the beach. Instead the dunes rose, sea grass stirring under the chilly breeze.

A whitecap crashed into a huge piece of driftwood half-buried in the shore. Seaweed slithered to the sand. A raindrop splashed on his shoulder and trickled down his spine, like an icy finger. He shuddered. Nothing felt right—not the light, the near silence, the deserted beach.

He didn’t feel right.

Turning, he froze. The sand stretched on forever behind him. This wasn’t any beach he knew, despite its familiarity. Fear fluttered in his chest and he lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. He stared at his hand, heart kicking into overdrive.

His wedding ring. In the dimness of dawn, the cheap circle of gold gleamed on his ring finger. No way. He hadn’t worn that ring in forever, although he knew exactly where it was, tucked in a wooden box in his top dresser drawer. When had he taken it out and put it on? And when had he arrived here?

Hell, he couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d had one of those stress-induced breakdowns. Surely he hadn’t pitched a drunk and ended up here. The unease tried to edge toward panic, but he tamped it down. Getting upset never got anybody anywhere but deeper in trouble.

He reached for his keys. No pockets. Glancing down, he discovered bare feet, no shirt, and a pair of white cotton trousers without pockets, something men wore on tropical beaches, something he didn’t own. Where the hell were his keys? What was going on?

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, afraid to turn and see who stood behind him. He stared at the waves of endless white sand.

The fingers pressed into his skin. “Mark.”

Oh, God. He recoiled from the voice, once sweet and almost musical, and now gritty, choked as if she spoke around the dirt of a grave. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Jenny?”

“I’ve missed you, Mark.” She stroked his back and he cringed at the grimy trail her fingers left behind. She rubbed her knuckles into the small of his back, a caress that long ago had melted him every time. Nausea pushed into his throat. This wasn’t happening. It had to be a dream, a nightmare and God please let him wake up soon…

Other sounds filtered into his consciousness—the raspy sound of her breathing, and something more, the snuffling sounds an infant made as it awoke. His lungs shut down, cramps attacking his stomach. A baby’s cry rose, as strangled as Jenny’s voice. Her touch left his skin and she whispered soothing words, the horror wrapping tentacles around him.

“You have a son, Mark,” she said, and water washed onto his feet, seaweed tangling about his ankles with cold, slithery fingers. “He’s beautiful. Don’t you want to see him?”

No. He wanted to run, to be as far from this as he could. He took a step, stopped. What kind of father, husband, was he?

She touched him again and he suppressed the shudder of revulsion. She deserved better from him.

“We need you to find us,” she whispered and his heart twisted. “Don’t leave us out here alone. Find us.”

He opened his eyes, the eerie white sand undulating before him, as far as he could see. Jenny pressed her cheek to his bare shoulder, the touch moist, slimy. “Bring us home.”

Tears burned his eyes, clogged his throat, and he nodded. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned around.

Heart thudding in a mad rhythm, Mark sat straight up, a harsh gasp wrung from him. The covers tangled about his legs and he kicked them off, struggling to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his face and onto his chest. Still panting for oxygen, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his up-drawn knees. The dream had been too real. He expected to find sand in the bed, seaweed caught around his ankles. Jenny’s voice echoed around him.

And the baby. The cries pounded in his head, wrapped up with Jenny’s pleas that he find them, bring them home.

Just a dream. He pulled in a shallow breath, chest aching. Probably brought on by seeing Tick’s son yesterday, by the intensity of his growing feelings for Tori. He’d been congratulating himself on handling Tick’s fatherhood, thinking it was easier than he’d expected, and now this—dreaming of a baby long dead. A baby never born.

“Damn it,” he muttered and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. The numerals on his bedside clock glowed red. A little after four in the morning. He rubbed both hands down his face and pushed up from the bed. After that dream, he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Didn’t want to sleep again.

In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee. Once a dark stream of aromatic liquid began pouring into the carafe, he wandered into the living room. A peek between the blinds showed him a quiet parking lot. Lights glowed in Tori’s apartment across the way. He hoped she was sleeping. Whatever Tick had said on the phone last night had really topped her day. Mark had glimpsed a glitter of tears in her eyes before she regained her composure. During the drive home, she’d been quiet, even more so when they’d returned to her place. He’d thrown together a quick meal for them, but she’d done more pushing around of food than eating.

For a moment at her door, after they’d shared a sweet kiss, he’d thought she was going to invite him to stay, to hold her through the night. Maybe it had been a good thing she hadn’t. He didn’t believe Jenny was visiting him from beyond the grave, any more than he believed Santa Claus would deliver a custom motorcycle for Christmas, but something had triggered that dream.

We need you to find us. Don’t leave us out here alone.

Legally, he was free. A widower. In the same box where his wedding ring rested lay Jenny’s official death certificate, issued seven years after her disappearance. But inside, where it counted? He was still tied to her on some level, as surely as if he wore that ring, and he would be until he’d done everything possible to bring them home.

Tori rushed through her minimal makeup and pulled her hair up in a hasty knot. She’d overslept, and between the need to hurry and her sleep-deprived state, she felt awful. Darn Mark Cook and his deep voice whispering fantasies anyway. She’d spent half the night dreaming of him, of the acts he’d described, waking up each time with her body hovering on the brink of something wild and wonderful and out of reach. No wonder she’d slept through her alarm.

She eased her aching foot into a leather clog, trying to put her earrings in at the same time. She grabbed her purse and keys, making sure the door locked behind her. Squinting against the bright, crisp sunlight, she scrambled into the Miata. She wasn’t going to make it in time to see Tick before he went to surgery.

Her mama was going to have a fit, and rightly so.

Mark’s Blazer was gone from the parking lot. If she’d gotten up on time, maybe she could have seen him before he left for work. The night before, he’d told her he needed to be in the office with Chris Parker, but would check in on Tick. Strain had laced his voice and she frowned. This whole thing was such a mess and they couldn’t even begin sorting it out until Tick was through surgery and on the road to recovery.

If there was a road to recovery. Her throat closed. Her focus should be on him, not on the possibilities being with Mark offered. Tick had always been there when she needed him. Always. Now it was her turn.

“Sure, Victoria,” she muttered, turning onto Broad Avenue. “Practically hanging up on him was really being there for him.”

Please don’t let it be too late. Let me get there in time. Let me have a chance to apologize.

Even this early, the hospital parking lot was full and she had to circle three times before she found a vacant spot. Nerves jerked in her stomach as she hobbled across the asphalt. Tick would be all right. She just needed to keep telling herself that. Everything would turn out okay.

The surgical waiting room held several small groups, people settling in for tense vigils. Her family was one of those groups, her mama in a chair by the window, her brother Del sitting next to her. Even Tori’s aunts Ella and Maureen sat nearby, looking as put together as they would for Sunday morning church—suits, pearls, matching purses. Tori fingered the side seam on her jeans. Obviously, she came from a different part of the gene pool.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward, an apology on her lips. “Mama, I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept and—”

“It’s all right, baby.” Mama held out a hand. Del, a year younger than Tick, rose to let Tori have his chair, wrapping her in an affectionate hug before she sat. “They put things off for a little while. He’s downstairs in the NICU.”

Tori tucked her purse under the chair, nervousness making her movements jerky. “Is something wrong?”

Her mama patted her knee. “Lee’s having a little trouble breathing, so they were assessing him before making a decision about the ventilator this morning. Dr. Gurley said they could wait long enough for Lamar to be with him and Caitlin if they decide to put in the breathing tube.”

Relieved she hadn’t missed seeing Tick, Tori subsided into her chair, hid behind an outdated
Cosmopolitan
and let her mother’s conversation with her aunts about the baby wash over her. She flipped pages, skimming fashion articles and glancing at advertisements with no real interest. The next page strangled the breath in her throat.

Seven Must-Try Positions for Sensational Sex.
Her gaze darted from the title to the accompanying photo that had snagged her attention. Against white sheets, a dark-haired man leaned over a brunette, arched backward on her elbows, sensuality all over her face. The pair oozed sex.

She wanted that to be her and Mark.

Trying to quell the little stab of desire low in her stomach, she skimmed the first paragraph, then took a deep breath and read it again. That was possible? Oh. She definitely wanted that to be her and Mark. Her own imagination kicked in, a montage of Mark’s descriptions, the magazine article and her dreams.

She glanced up, her face hot. What was she thinking, fantasizing while her brother awaited major surgery? The photo drew her gaze again. Like that would ever be her. She wanted it, but there was no way she’d be able to approach making love with that unconscious sensuality. Dreams and fantasies were one thing, reality quite another. She didn’t know when the memories would kick in, pulling her out of whatever spell Mark might be able to cast.

And now she knew what he wanted—the fantasy woman who wanted him. The woman without hang-ups. Why would he settle for the fearful mess she really was? She couldn’t expect to be anything but a disappointment to him. Even if she managed to actually get through the act of making love once, what about all the other times? They stretched before her like a heavy chain keeping her locked in isolation.

Another pat on her knee dragged her from the confused musings. Her mother smiled, worry lines deepened around her eyes. “There’s your brother.”

Tori laid the magazine aside and stood as their mother embraced Tick. “How’s the baby?”

“Good.” Tick straightened and rubbed at his eyes. “The respirator’s on its lowest setting and his pulse oxygen level is up already.”

Del clapped him on the shoulder. “You ready?”

Tick grimaced. “As I’ll ever be.”

“We’ll be here when you come out.” Their mama patted his arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Tori moved forward to hug him. “Good luck. I love you,” she whispered near his ear. She swallowed hard. “And I’m sorry about last night.”

His arms tightened around her. “Still mad at me?”

She pulled back and smiled, the skin around her mouth feeling painfully stretched. “Of course not. Now get in there and let them take care of you.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, deep concern glinting in his eyes, the same dark shade of chocolate as her own. “I just want what’s best for you, Tor. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know.” He really did want that. The one thing she could always count on was his looking out for her best interest.

He glanced over his shoulder at their mother and brother a few feet away. “Tori, listen,” he said, his voice low. “I like him, you know that. He’s a damn good cop and most of the time he’s a good guy. Just not the guy for you. Not the kind who’s going to stick around once the initial challenge wears off. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Sure.” Her mouth trembled. Is that all she was? A challenge? “Go on. Get moving.”

With a crooked grin and another hug for their mother, he disappeared into the patient area behind the desk. The door closed with a quiet click.

Oh, Lord. This was really happening. Her stomach dropped and Tori turned, the bright smile pasted on her face. “Come on, Mama. Let’s get you some coffee.”

They settled in to wait.

Radio noise drifted out of the dispatch office on the sheriff’s department lower level. At the front desk, Lydia Fowler clacked away at her keyboard. Mark picked up the stack of open-case files from the corner of his desk and settled into his chair. The string of burglaries in the north end of the county had gone cold—nothing had shown up in the local pawn shops or at the flea market. The one lead he’d had, a white Buick seen in the area, had turned out to be a new paper carrier, according to a terse notation in Tick’s handwriting.