His Ordinary Life (23 page)

He killed the connection and pocketed the phone. Tick chuckled. “Did I say you were whipped?” He nudged Cookie’s side. “What’s below whipped?”

Cookie turned his gaze away from the road long enough to smirk at him. “You.”

Glaring, Tick slumped in his seat. Silence descended on the car, broken only by occasional bursts from the radio. Del stared out the window, long snakes of nerves slithering in his gut. Tick moved, pulled his gun from its holster, checked the magazine and replaced it.

Cookie slowed to turn into an older residential area of town. In varying stages of restoration, the small houses sat close together with tiny yards. Another patrol car pulled in behind them. Killing the headlights, Cookie brought the car to a silent stop in front of a compact pink-stucco. He shifted into park, and Tick turned in his seat. “Stay here.”

“He has to.” Cookie chuckled, unsnapping his holster. He squelched the car’s radio. “He’s locked in.”

They exited the vehicle, closing the doors with quiet clicks. Two deputies climbed out of the other car, and with smooth precision, the four men moved toward the house. The backup officers went around the sides, and Cookie and Tick approached the front porch, their movements slow and measured.

Gun drawn and crouched low, with Cookie using the brick post of the porch as cover, Tick reached over his head to knock on the door. Enclosed in silent safety, Del watched, his pulse pounding in his throat. He couldn’t hear anything outside the car, but he could see everything—the noiseless communication passing between his brother and his partner, the slow movement of Tick’s hand on the doorknob, the door swinging inward. His chest tightened. This—his being here, trapped in the car—hadn’t been a good idea. He watched his brother going into God-knew-what, and if something went wrong, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He couldn’t face that again.

He tried not watching, but couldn’t keep his gaze from the front of the dark house as Tick and Cookie moved inside. The bright beam of a flashlight bounced inside, disappeared. Long minutes passed, filled only by the soft patter of raindrops on the roof and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Tick appeared at the door, Cookie on his heels, and the deputies came around the side of the house. His face grim, Tick jogged down the steps and to the car. He opened the back door and stepped back to let Del climb out. “They’re not here.”

Uneasy, Del passed his palm down his leg. “What now?”

Reaching into the front seat, Tick grabbed his department cap and tugged it on. He went to the trunk and opened it, rummaging. He straightened, holding a roll of yellow tape. “We treat it like a crime scene. I’m closing it until we get a warrant to search the place.”

“But where do you look now?” Frustration curled in him. He wanted this over immediately, wanted the bastards behind bars.

Tick sighed, spinning the roll of tape on his index finger. “I don’t know. We’ve got to start looking into Rawlings’s background, find out where he’s lived before, who’s in his past, that sort of thing. That’ll give us a starting point.”

“So they just get away.” His voice came out harsher than he intended.

“No, but this isn’t
Law and Order
, Del. I can’t wrap up an investigation in an hour. I wish I could, but it doesn’t work like that. I’ve got open cases that are months old and one years old. Chris is putting out a BOLO for Rawlings’s car. But we don’t know when they left or where they might be going. I need a place to begin before I can look anywhere else.”

Gritting his teeth, Del leaned against the car. Tick walked away, affixing the tape to the fencepost to begin a boundary around the house. The deputies stood on the sidewalk, one talking into the radio handset attached to his shoulder. Cookie held his cell phone to his ear, gesturing with one hand.

Their studied patience grated. The rain had stopped once more, only a damp mist hovering under the streetlights. Tapping his fingers on the car door, Del stared at the wet asphalt. This was like watching a hurricane approach, wondering which city would take the hit, trying to figure the risk factors, wondering where the biggest insurance payouts would be.

Risk factors. Eyes narrowed, Del lifted his head and stared at the house. As far as they knew, Rawlings didn’t know they were on to him yet. He knew they were on to Monroe. He’d want to get away, to put as much time and distance between him and Monroe and Chandler County as possible before those prints matched or the connection between him and Monroe clicked. He’d want to keep up the appearance, maintain the charade, minimize the risk of being found out.

Maintain the charade. He needed to look like a regular guy, like the responsible teacher everyone thought he was. And he’d need to know if that appearance was compromised.

Holy hell.

He jerked upright. “Tick!”

His brother spun, the edge of the yellow tape fluttering from his hand. “What?”

“We have to get to my house.”

Tick frowned. “Why?”

“Because Rawlings will go there before he leaves.”

“This is so pointless.” She pushed away from the desk to pace the living room. Like she could think about quizzes and essays and percentages when every cell in her body still throbbed with the memory of Del’s touch. Or when every thought came back to the sorrowful anger, the sadness in his voice.

You never really needed me, did you, Barb?

His words pounded in her head. Of course she’d needed him. Why couldn’t he see that? She’d depended on him for so much—his support, his approval, his love. Having that taken away had shown her how needy she really was. She’d worked so hard at beginning to become a strong, independent woman instead of the weak, clingy girl she’d been. Go back?

He’s given that power to you.

She stopped at the window, staring into the rain, remembering. Del, holding her as she cried the night of the break-in. Letting her take the lead afterwards and make the decisions about where they’d stay. Making sure the mess was cleared so she didn’t have to deal with it. Consulting her about Blake. He’d been there when she needed him, taken a backseat when she needed to be in charge instead.

If I haven’t already told you, Barbara Gail Calvert, I like the new you.

He hadn’t tried to change her. Instead, he’d stepped back and accepted her as she was. Even the gun. She’d expected an ultimatum. Yes, he’d walked out to cool off, but he hadn’t said, “It’s me or the gun.” He hadn’t turned the issue into a power struggle. He’d never questioned her right to purchase the gun, merely the wisdom of having it in the house.

He’d done everything she needed him to do.

I’m still the same mistake you made that summer in the back of my truck, and you’re bound and determined not to make the same mistake twice, aren’t you?

“Oh, Lord.” She pressed her fingers to her burning eyes. He was right. She’d spent sixteen years regretting that youthful folly and its consequences, even while loving her children and him. With everyone talking and passing judgment, proving herself, finishing college and gaining respect had lain underneath everything she did. She’d built her life around proving herself to others instead of the one person who mattered most. And he’d supported her the whole way.

She didn’t want him thinking she regretted loving him any longer.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass, the tears slipping free. He was still doing it, putting her first, taking none of the credit for his actions. He deserved so much more.

He deserved everything.

And when he returned, she meant to give it to him.

With a deep breath, she dashed the tears from her face and turned from the window. What to do? He’d said he would have his cell. Maybe she should try to call him. Surely this burning need to talk to him was reason enough. Doubts crowded in. Maybe she should give him time to calm down. Maybe that was another excuse, another attempt at self-preservation.

“Oh, just call him, Barbara Gail.” Nerves jumping in her stomach, she moved back to the desk and reached for the phone. Lights swept the front of the house, and she relaxed before the nerves rushed back in, stronger than before. Oh, Lord, he was here. What would she say?

Footsteps sounded on the walkway, and she hurried to the front door to swing it open. Under the porch light, Brian Rawlings shook water from his hair and grinned at her.

Disappointment filled her and she sagged, holding the door and trying to appear welcoming. “Brian. What a surprise.”

His expression turned sheepish and apologetic. “I’m sorry for coming by so late, but I needed a favor.”

A breeze gusted a sheet of rain onto the porch. Blinking, she stepped back. “Of course. Come in.”

She closed the door behind him. He cast a glance around the living room, and she saw it through his eyes—her stacks of graded papers on the desk, Del’s open bag by the couch, one of his golf shirts tossed on the coffee table, the newspaper folded neatly on top of it. Quiet hovered, no television or radio on, none of the noise associated with her children, only the soft fall of rain smattering against the window.

Tucking her bangs behind her ears, she smiled, the forced expression straining her face. “You said something about a favor?”

“Yes.” He held out a manila folder. “I need to go out of town, and I thought I’d leave my sub plans with you.”

“Of course.” She took the file. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

He shook his head, running a hand over his nape. “Not really. Just a family issue. I’m going to visit my mother for a few days is all.”

“Oh.” Silence stretched again, and she shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, have a good trip.”

“You’re working on grades again, huh?” Brian gestured toward her laptop, the screen showing the web-based grading program the school system had adopted.

“You could say that.” She sighed, the frustration returning. “They’re still not right, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Not right?”

She nodded. “Two or three in each class. According to this thing, Keimond Jones has an A, but I know his grade had slipped into the low C’s.”

“Want me to take a look?” Brian moved toward the desk. “I’m pretty good with this system. Maybe your set-up percentages are off again.”

She crossed to stand next to him. He clicked the menu button, receiving a server-not-found message. Barbara glanced at the toolbar running along the bottom of the screen. “Oh, wait, it’s disconnected. It does that automatically. I really need to invest in wireless instead of dial-up.”

The red message light blinked on the phone handset next to the computer. She reached for the cordless phone. “Let me check this first. It could be Del calling about Blake.”

His hand covered hers. “Let it wait. This will only take a second.”

“Brian.” She disguised her sudden nervousness with a laugh. His damp palm against her skin sent shivers of alarm along her skin. She hadn’t thought twice about letting a trusted colleague into the house, but the quiet and isolation swamped her now. Suddenly, she wanted Del there with a vengeance. She’d take his steady presence over the piece of metal two rooms away any day. Brian stared at her, his eyes blank.
Do what he wants
. The little voice came from nowhere, murmuring at the back of her mind, and she smiled, relaxing her fingers. “Sure.”

He looked at her a moment more before lifting his hand from hers and manipulating the mouse again. The modem clicked on, the sounds of dialing pinging in the heavy silence. She wanted to move away, but his waiting, watchful air frightened her. She stayed where she was.

The front door opened, and simultaneously, a key turned in the back lock. Brian jerked as if shot, spinning toward the front door, and she took advantage of his surprise to back away, toward the kitchen.

Tick stood in the front door, gun drawn, his face set in tense lines. Mark Cook brushed her shoulder as he moved from the kitchen into the room, his pistol in hand and pointed at Brian as well. Cookie’s sturdy frame stood between her and Brian, but even with the weapons directed away from her, the easy, confident way the men held them clenched her stomach. Tick marked Brian’s chest as easily as he’d shown her to mark a target on the range.

Tick’s hard gaze pinned Brian. “On the floor, Rawlings.”

She glanced at the three men in a wild arc, sure this was all some surreal dream. She took another shaky step backwards. Brian stared at Tick but didn’t move to obey. His hands twitched. His shoulder shifted.

“Down.” Tick’s voice hardened, taking on a deeper edge of authority. “Now.”

Barbara froze, afraid to move as the standoff stretched for long seconds more. Finally, Brian moved in slow motion to lie face down on the floor. Tick and Cook circled him, Tick moving behind him. He holstered his gun and pulled his cuffs from his belt.

“Brian Rawlings, you’re under arrest.” Metal snapped and rasped. Brian grunted. “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…”

Tick’s voice faded into a dull buzzing in her ears. This wasn’t happening, was it? Who had she allowed into her home?

Strong hands closed on her shoulders, pulling her into the kitchen, spinning her to allow someone to hold her close against a sturdy chest. A familiar male scent filled her nostrils.
Del
. Shaking, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight.

He pulled her closer, his face buried in the curve between her neck and shoulder. “Oh, God, Barb.”

She couldn’t stop the tremors attacking her body, and her lungs didn’t want to work. “What’s happening?”

He stroked her hair, lifting his head to rain kisses along her brow and temple. “It’s Rawlings. He’s the one, baby.”

She shook her head, clinging to him. “No, he can’t be. I let him in the house, Del. He can’t—”

His long fingers held her head still, his dark, anguished gaze staring into hers. “He is. It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled her against him once more, whispering, his voice cracking. “Oh, Lord, baby, I was so damned
scared
. We thought he’d come here, but when I saw his car in the drive…I didn’t know what was going on and all I could think of was you and the girls…sweet Jesus, Barb, I love you.”

Tears spilling over, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to his. He cradled her nape and kissed her, a fierce kiss of affirmation and longing, void of desire and passion, but filled with a need so strong it consumed them both.

Finally, he straightened and smoothed her hair from her face again. “I shouldn’t have walked out like I did. I should have stayed, listened to you, talked to you.”

“No.” She touched his dimple with trembling fingers and tried to smile, eager to ease the wary anguish in his gaze. “You were right. I’ve been so selfish, only thinking of myself, my wishes and what I wanted—”

“Hush.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.” She caressed the curve of his lips again. “All I’ve ever seen is how everything affected me, what I gave up. I never thought about what our decisions cost you.”

A crooked grin lifted the right corner of his mouth. “I didn’t give anything up. I got you. And three pretty darn good kids.”

A surge of love washed through her, bringing a fresh wave of weeping. He groaned, catching her tears on his thumbs, smoothing the moisture from her skin.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “We both made mistakes, hurt each other, but we can’t change that, can’t live in the past.”

He feathered his lips down her jaw, and her sharp inhalation filled her with his scent. Male voices drifted from the living room, blending with Cookie’s cynical chuckle. She remained focused on the man holding her. She stroked her hands along his arms, loving the feel of him, warm and alive and steady.

Tilting her head back, she met his gaze. “You were wrong. I do need you. I’ve always needed you.” She blinked against more tears. “I love you.”

His eyes darkened, grew more intent. “Tell me what you want.”

She didn’t smile, but let her fingers travel up his arms and over his shoulders to the hot skin of his throat. His pulse thudded against her fingertips. “I want everything.”

He grinned and lowered his head. His breath whispered across her lips. She closed her eyes, anticipating the touch of his mouth on hers.

“Mama?” Anna’s frightened voice quavered. Barbara’s eyes flew open. She straightened, trying to step away from Del, but he refused to let go. Both girls hovered in the doorway, their eyes wide and hair rumpled from sleep. “The front door’s open, and Uncle Tick’s outside with a bunch of deputies. What’s going on?”

“And why are you kissing Daddy?” Lyssa’s tone held more gleeful curiosity than fear. “Does this mean y’all really are getting back together?”

Del chuckled, caressing the small of her back. “I think we’re busted. Come on, Barb, our real life calls.”