Midnight Hero (2 page)

“It's not. The only way to be secure, have peace of mind, is to be organized and prepared. Keep things under control.”

“Life isn't in our control. Crap happens. You deal with it.” He shrugged. “We'll handle whatever comes, as it comes. Together.”

“You can't know that. We've only been dating six months.”

He used his index finger to tip up her chin until her gaze again met his. “I fell in love with you in six seconds.”

Stark misery shadowed her blue eyes. But there was no mistaking the resolve in her gaze. His gut clenched. For the first time since she'd ambushed him with the breakup, he questioned his ability to assault-and-rescue her doubts. He squared his shoulders. He never accepted defeat. On any level.

Tears pooled in her eyes. “Sometimes love isn't enough. It boils down to who we are. You shake hands with violence and death on a daily basis. I don't understand violence, can't be a part of it.” She gave him a sad, tremulous smile. “I can't even kill the mice that get into the storage room at the shop, even though they chew the books. I use humane traps and let them go.”

Trap and release didn't work with criminals. He'd arrested too many perps already on parole for prior crimes. The minute the vermin got out, they crawled right back into your house. But his sensitive girl wouldn't buy that—she was determined to see the best in everyone. He shrugged. “I don't have a problem with humane mousetraps.”

“This isn't about mice, and you know it. It's your job.”

“Why now? You've known what I do since our first date.”

“And lived in denial. Knowing and seeing are two very different things. The morning news forced me to face it.”

Understanding dawned. “Ah. Well, you know the media maggots. They always blow everything out of proportion. Sensationalize every detail. Juice it up to increase ratings.”

“I saw the raging fire and the SWAT team dodging exploding gunshots. Saw the burnt-out meth lab your team was called up to serve a high-risk warrant on. Saw the medical examiners carrying out body bags.” Tears streaked her face with crystal rivers of sorrow. “Four body bags. Three suspects and one SWAT officer.” Her voice broke. “They didn't say who the officer was.”

He cradled her hand in his. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I had no idea they broadcast that. The casualty was from another team. I was going to call you this morning as soon as I was sure you were awake and let you know I was okay. You called me instead.”

Her fingers trembled in his grasp. “You can't help wanting to be first in line to catch bullets between your teeth. You can't help
being a hero, because that's what you are. Who you are. And I'd never ask you to give it up. Ever.”

“I'm no hero.” Ice slinked up his spine. This was no mere case of commitment jitters. The survival of their relationship was in serious jeopardy. “I'm just doing my damn job.”

“Accountants are just doing their jobs. Shoe salesmen are just doing their jobs. You're risking your life every minute. My father was a hero, and he came home in a body bag. After what that did to my mother, to me, I can't go through it again.” Her entire body was shaking violently.

He studied her stricken face. The decision was tearing her apart. If she really wanted to break off with him, she wouldn't be so heartbroken. “You can't seriously tell me this is what you really want.”

“What I
want
doesn't matter. I can't make this choice with my heart. I have to make it with my head.”

“The
only
way to make this choice is with your heart.”

“No. I have to do what's best. For your sake.”

Bewilderment snaked through him. “What does that mean?”

“I'm not the kind of woman you need. Or deserve. I don't have the strength to support you.” She was openly crying now. “I've seen the consequences. With my parents.”

“We are not our parents.” He cupped her face. Hot, wet tears dripped onto his hand, making his throat ache. “Bailey, listen. You're exactly the kind of woman I need. You're the only woman I want. We can work this out.”

“We can't. I was drawn to your vitality, your heat—tempted to dance too close to the fire. I'm more like my father than I thought. My mother warned him, and he didn't listen. He died. She might as well have, too, and I refuse to end up like her.”

“You need some space. I respect that. We'll spend time together and work it out. We won't get physical. No pressure.”

“Con, the more we're together, the closer we get, and the harder it will be to end it. I'm just not cut out for your brand of adventure.”

“
Life
is an adventure, darlin'.”

“Not my life. I like my life steady. Predictable. Safe. No mat
ter how much attraction sizzles between us, no matter how much I…I c-care about you—” She choked and blew her nose on a paper napkin. “In the end, my fears will destroy you.”

“You're upset, understandably so.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Last night was an ugly business. On TV, the incident probably looked scary and chaotic, but my team had everything under control. Once you get used to it—”

She shuddered. “A daily dose of violence and death, and you grow immune? I could never get used to it. I
refuse.
”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I could never do what you do.”

“Nobody expects you to.” Frustrated, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Let's go somewhere private and I'll explain—”

“I'm sorry, I'm simply not brave enough.” She tugged her hand from his and grabbed her purse. “No matter how thrilling the ride, I won't buy a ticket on a runaway train to heartbreak.”

“Bailey—”

She leaped to her feet. “Goodbye, Con.” Sobbing, she fled.

 

Con sat unmoving in the tomb-silent booth, as stunned and shaken as if a flash-bang grenade had exploded in his face. What the hell had just happened? He'd walked in pumped to ask Bailey to marry him. And here he sat. Alone.

She'd left her coat on the seat when they'd switched places, and then run out without it. He picked it up and buried his nose in the soft beige wool. Like the woman, the disparate scents of rose petals and peppermint mingled into an intriguing combination. Soft and sweet, yet fresh and invigorating.

The world went gray. For a few moments he thought the lights had gone out, then realized the clouds outside were massing overhead. The sky darkened, until morning looked like midnight. Then again, maybe it was the haze over his vision.

What was he supposed to do now? He'd unblinkingly faced down gangbangers bearing Uzis. Been stabbed in the forearm by a crazed crack addict during a raid and kept shooting. Rappelled out of a chopper without hesitation into a line of gunfire so heavy the smoke obliterated his sight. In five years on the force, he'd
never frozen in the line of duty. But none of his combat training had prepared him for a direct assault on his heart.

A cold shot to the heart hurt more than he'd ever imagined.

 

Fighting the urge to run inside and snatch back her fateful words, Bailey choked back sobs as she drove out of the parking lot. Con wasn't the type to surrender. He'd come charging out the diner's doorway any minute, determined to batter down her barricades. She had to get away. Before he got her alone and her resolve crumbled under the hurt in his beautiful brown eyes. Wounds she'd inflicted.

Trembling all over, she resisted the need to look back as the diner shrank in her rearview mirror. To watch her future fade along with the place that held so many happy memories. Streaming tears blurred her vision. Driving in this condition was as dangerous as driving drunk.

She pulled into Riverbend Park. Twisted branches formed a skeletal canopy overhead. A fountain in the park's center spewed icy cascades into the air. The park was deserted, the fountain lonely. As cold and empty as her soul. She shivered under the morning's damp bite. She'd accidentally left her coat in the diner, but there was no going back. Not now. Tears flooded her eyes and she swiped them away. The coat was the least valuable thing she'd left behind.

This was the second-worst day of her life. Only her father's funeral had been more painful. Her chest hurt, and misery churned in her stomach. Bailey clutched the wheel so hard her hands ached. She wanted to cling as tightly to Con as she was to the steering wheel. She never wanted to hurt him in any way.

Which is why she had to leave him.

She watched the fountain and prayed for peace. The rushing water created miniature waterfalls, which brought to mind her and Con's first real date. When he discovered she loved bird-watching and being near the water, he'd asked her to hike the waterfall trail in the Columbia River Gorge. On a gorgeous summer day in July, they had walked the circular trail through the green woods, stopping at five waterfalls scattered along the loop.

Thrilled to her toes, she'd stood hand in hand with him on a bluff over a shimmering waterfall as they'd watched a pair of bald eagles wheeling and dipping over the shining water.

Afterward, they ate on an outdoor deck at an inn overlooking the river. Sun glinted off the choppy waves, and the breeze tousled her curls. Con reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, and the high-voltage connection that arced between them shook them both. Breathless, she turned her head and watched the dozens of windsurfers on the river. Their sailboards danced across the waves like bright butterflies.

Con asked if she wanted to windsurf. She declined. But she couldn't hold out against his enthusiasm, and five minutes later, found herself in the inn's gift shop renting a wetsuit. Con had been windsurfing the day before and still had his board and wetsuit in the back of his truck. They spent a sparkling afternoon on the river. Con's warm, solid body behind her, his protective stance around her as he steadied her on the board felt so right. Like she belonged in his arms.

A patient tutor, he good-naturedly hauled them both out of the water when she repeatedly overbalanced and upended them. She laughed more that day than she had in a lifetime.

When they returned her wetsuit, they bought ice cream stacked inside waffle cones. Peppermint for her, huckleberry for him. Con noticed her admiring glance snag on a tiny silver hummingbird charm in the gift shop, and insisted on buying it for her. They drove home engrossed in conversation.

At her door, she'd longed for him to kiss her. Instead, he'd tugged a lock of her hair and flashed his mischievous grin. The sexy cop's killer grin should be a felony. It sure assassinated all her inhibitions. He'd extracted a promise from her to have dinner with him that weekend, then sauntered to his truck.

Intoxicated by happiness, she'd waltzed into her apartment with a sun-kissed complexion and soaring spirits. Her sense of wonder and rightness had confirmed their initial whammo attraction. The connection wasn't merely chemistry.

It was destiny.

An hour after Con left, her mom had dropped by and deliv
ered a stern lecture about skin cancer from sun exposure and the dangers of windsurfing, along with a dire warning about risk-taking men. Bailey had let her mother voice her worries, while silently holding her own joy close to her heart.

Outside, the wind howled, rocking the car in its frigid teeth, as if trying to tear away her warm memories. Her mom used to be different. Her parents had started out happy. Bailey remembered sunny, laughter-filled family outings. Affectionate glances between her mom and dad. Loving embraces. As time had passed though, the silences lengthened and grew cold. Angry words screamed in the darkness as she huddled, scared and shaking, in her bed.

She'd been too young to understand what the fights were about, or why her mom wanted her dad to quit his job. How could he? When his job was such an important part of him. A firefighter. A brave knight in Nomex armor who battled fire-breathing dragons and rescued the innocent. A hero.

When Bailey was fourteen, he'd died being a hero.

Her mom had frozen into a glacier. She'd grown overprotective, smothering her daughter. Bailey hadn't had the heart to fight her after the trauma they'd suffered. In self-defense, she'd retreated more deeply into her beloved books, becoming subdued and withdrawn.

The wind howled louder. A pinecone slammed into the windshield, and Bailey crashed back to the present. Nothing lasted forever. Carefree summer days were over. Summer was dead and winter's cold fingers held the world in an icy grip.

She clutched the hummingbird charm. She couldn't suppress her fears and be the wife Con needed. She'd make him unhappy. Bitter. They'd both be unhappy. She was a Pisces, a water sign. Con was as bright and hot and appealing to her quiet nature as the fire sign that marked his birth date. Aries, the god of war.

In the end, water would quench the fire. Leaving ashes.

Giving in to sorrow, she sobbed out her heartbreak. In the end, love wasn't enough. Yet love would give her the strength to do what she must. She loved Con too much to destroy him.

She had to let him go.

12:00 p.m.

F
or a woman who'd suffered an emotional meltdown, Bailey put on a pretty good front. She turned from the refreshment bar in the reading corner of Bookworm's bookstore carrying a bag holding three warm chocolate chip cookies. Today, the sweet smell made her stomach churn. “Here you go, Nan. Anything else?”

Nan Thompson's green eyes sparkled as she patted her distended abdomen. “I'd like a baby to go, please.” The young brunette giggled. “The ultrasound said it was a boy and it must be right. Men are perpetually late. He's probably in there refusing to ask for directions.”

Bailey's heart contracted. Con had never once been late.
Con.
The man she'd left dazed and wounded. Thinking of him hurt so badly she could barely breathe. So much for a pretty good front. “You should be home, resting.” Nan had insisted on staying in her position at the mall's bank right up to her due date. “I'm surprised the bank manager hasn't booted you out, for fear you'll have that baby in the lobby.”

“He's already griping about my maternity leave.”

Bailey lowered her head to hide her roiling emotions. “Seems bosses are all the same.”

“Seems like.” Nan's sharp gaze fastened on Bailey's face. After years of lunchtime heart-to-hearts, Bailey's shaky facade probably hadn't fooled her friend. She'd done her best to repair the wreckage, but she wasn't a pretty crier. No surprise considering how splintered and torn she was inside.

Nan frowned. “Is that what's bothering you? Mole Man up to his usual tricks?”

Bailey focused on Nan's watermelon shape. Big mistake. She'd dreamed about some day having Con's children. Had pictured them cradled in her arms. Long-lashed, starry brown eyes and irresistible smiles, just like their daddy. That wouldn't happen now. Another woman would carry Con's babies. Scalding air jammed her lungs. She fumbled for a cup of water and tried to douse the anguish with icy liquid. It didn't work. “I'm fine.”

Nan's voice gentled. “You're anything but fine. Business is dead-slow today.” She patted an overstuffed navy chair in the cozy reading nook. “Did you decide to leave us and take that other job after all?”

Business
was
slow. A combination of New Year's Eve and the nasty weather forecast. Too much time to think. To remember. Bailey couldn't get Con's bewildered face out of her mind. His devastated brown eyes. The hurt bracketing his mouth. Pain lanced through her. She couldn't bear to think about him. Or talk about him without losing it completely. “I can't discuss it. Not now.”

“Okay but—” Nan's eyes widened. “Yikes! Monster spider!” She grabbed a newspaper, rapidly rolled it and raised the weapon.

Bailey grabbed her arm. “Don't kill it!”

“What, you want to take it home on a leash?” The big gray-brown spider meandered along the brick-red counter and Nan edged back. “That sucker is big enough to wrestle my cat.”

“It's a wolf spider. They usually stay in their burrows in winter. Poor lost soul.” Bailey snatched the paper and scooped up the lethargic arachnid. Her gaze traveled around the deserted room. “Watch the store for me? I'll be right back.”

“Yeah, if Franken-Spider doesn't eat you.”

Bailey carefully balanced the newspaper as she strode down the mall's quiet corridor and out the main doors. Dark clouds overhead wept icy drizzle, a dreary reflection of her sorrow.

A barrel-chested man with salt-and-pepper hair lounged outside under the entryway, smoking. He was turned aside so she couldn't see his face, but she felt his eyes watching from the shadows.

As she gently dumped the spider beneath the sheltered bushes
beside the building, he took a drag on his cigarette. “Most women have screaming fits over anything that big and ugly.” His speech bore a hint of the Bronx.

The spider scurried under a leaf. Bailey empathized with the arachnid's relief at being returned to her environment, away from threatening predators. The spider would burrow under the dirt, safe from the storm. A pointed lesson from nature. Don't wander from where you belong. Adventure often has a lethal ending. “She's a wolf spider. They live in underground burrows and eat damaging insects. There's no reason to kill her simply because she got lost and wandered into the wrong territory.”

His broad shoulders covered by a black wool peacoat hunched against the cold. “A smart babe with a soft heart.” He laughed, but the deep, graveled bark wasn't humorous. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”

Bailey sensed his gaze assessing her, a hawk watching his prey. The back of her neck prickled and she shivered. Chill or warning? Mom had always forbidden her to talk to strangers. Of course, Mom was paranoid. Still, it was good advice. Without another word, she spun on her heel and hurried inside.

Syrone Spencer, the hulking security guard, stood by the one-hour photo booth. People would never guess the intimidating man was an avid chess player. A week after Con had started dating Bailey, Syrone had shown up at the bookstore at closing. Under the guise of a chess match, Syrone had checked him out as expertly and thoroughly as any wary father. Con had passed muster, and the two men had become close friends over the past six months. He and Con often amused themselves with competitive matches while he waited for her to close up the bookstore.

Con.
Nothing in her life was untouched by memories of him. She'd have to live with the throbbing echoes forever. Just penance for hurting him.

Syrone's ebony face broke into a smile as she approached. “Hey, Bailey. What's up?”

“Hey, big guy. Not much, it's slow.” She hesitated. Maybe the man outside was simply indulging a nicotine fit. The mall was a public place, frequented by all kinds. Maybe the men
ace she'd felt wasn't real. Her traumatic morning had thrown her off balance. However, her creep radar was usually right on target. “There's a guy smoking outside the main entrance. Black peacoat, gray-streaked hair. He seemed…spooky. Out of place.”

Syrone's expression grew serious. “I'm all over it.”

“I feel safer knowing you're on the job. Be careful, okay?”

Syrone nodded. “I'm always careful. I've got a beautiful wife and four munchkins who depend on me.”

She hurried back to the bookstore, where Nan leaned against the counter. The store's cheerful warmth did nothing to ease the chill that had seeped into Bailey's bones. She shivered again.

Nan pointed to the picture tucked on the far side of the cash register. “You take that?”

Bailey glanced at the snapshot of Con and his three brothers, and sorrow slammed into her. “Yes, Christmas Day.” Christmas at the O'Rourkes' was an event. Unlike the quiet holidays spent alone with her mom, the O'Rourke home had been a rowdy whirlwind of bright wrapping paper, bountiful food, nonstop teasing and masculine laughter. An event she'd never again be part of. The picture showcased how much Con, Aidan, Liam and Grady, all SWAT officers, looked alike. Yet each man's unique, vibrant personality shone through.

Their irrepressible mom called the boys her four “S” men. Not just because they stair-stepped in age from twenty-seven to thirty. Or because they were all SWAT. She had her own special handle for each of them. Aidan, the strong. Con, the sensitive. Liam, the scamp. Grady, the searcher. As if Maureen O'Rourke had room to talk. The vibrant, sixty-year-old redhead was as strong and stubborn and capable in her own way as any of her sons. Maybe more than all four of 'em put together. Tears she'd thought cried out crowded behind Bailey's eyelids.

“Verra nice, girlfriend. A woman would have to be a hopeless idiot to turn down a dip in that gene pool.”

So what did that make her?
Bailey blinked rapidly, nearly unable to speak around the choking lump in her throat. Had she ever been as young and exuberant as Nan? She hadn't felt young
since she was fourteen. She'd been forced to grow up overnight—between her dad's death and his funeral. “The weather's getting dicey. Maybe you should go home early.”

Nan's face lit up. “Great idea! Maybe I can throw together an impromptu New Year's Eve party. You and Con want to come?”

Con had planned a candlelight dinner, followed by dancing at the Montrose Hotel. Instead of spending New Year's Eve with the man she loved, Bailey would be home crying her eyes out.
Your choice.
No. Her responsibility. She cleared the tightness from her throat. “I'm not really in a party mood, thanks.”

“Okay. Try to have a Happy New Year.” Nan patted her arm. “I've got to scoot. When you want to talk, look me up.”

Happy New Year? Not a chance. Heaviness weighed on Bailey's chest like a sodden blanket. How long did a broken heart take to mend? She suspected healing would take a very long time.

Letty Jacobson scurried into the store, bundled in a red parka with black fur trim. Eiffel Tower earrings and a zebra bag completed the colorful ensemble. Claiming she needed some stud muffins to keep her warm if the power went out, Bailey's favorite senior citizen quickly selected a stack of romance novels. The O'Rourke family's lifelong neighbor, Letty possessed an abundance of grandmotherly interest and a serious case of matchmaking fever.

When Bailey slotted Letty's debit card, the lights flickered and the cash register didn't respond. Neither did the debit authorization center, and Letty had to make out a check. The weather must have worsened enough to affect the power and slow the phone lines.

While Letty wrote, the lively octogenarian waxed lyrical about a new generation of O'Rourke scamps, and how she couldn't wait to hold Bailey and Con's future babies.

Keeping her face averted, Bailey bagged the books and battled for composure.
Get a grip. You can cry at home.
Once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. By the time she turned and passed the purchase over the counter, her expression was under control.

Letty patted Bailey's arm. “Honey, whatever has happened between you and your young man, talk it out. Don't let the sun set on your troubles.”

The woman bustled out toward the bank, and Bailey slumped against the counter. How had Letty guessed the reason she was so upset? Sometimes, the older woman's perception was downright scary. Much more of this and she'd be on the floor. She needed to go home, curl up in her favorite raspberry-plaid fleece blanket and sip a comforting cup of tea.

The lights flickered again, and the mall's PA system crackled. “Attention River View Mall customers. Due to a computer malfunction, our registers are not working. The mall is closing. All outer doors and freight doors have been automatically locked for your safety. Please proceed to the three main exits on the ground floor, where a security guard will escort you out. We are sorry for the inconvenience, and hope you will shop with us again.”

Safety, right. The doors automatically locked down during emergencies to prevent widespread five-finger discounts. Theft by both customers and certain employees was a constant problem. But the computer glitch explained the cash register's constipation.

Bailey checked her marcasite watch. Nearly one o'clock. They weren't due to close for five hours. The several ice storms Riverside experienced each winter usually started farther east and moved in fast. Mild storms caused slippery inconveniences that melted overnight. Severe storms entombed everything in a thick layer of ice for days and brought trees and power lines crashing down. Widespread destruction. She shivered and wondered what kind of storm was headed their way.

She strode to the back of the store to begin the pre-closing routine. She unplugged the Christmas tree, using the arm of the navy chair beside it to rise. When Con wasn't playing chess with Syrone, he'd often settle into the chair and read a magazine while Bailey closed up. At least he'd start out reading. Then she'd glance up and find him courting her with his eyes. Sending silent messages her heart didn't have any trouble interpreting. He didn't have to touch her. Her skin would heat, her cheeks flush, her body tingle. By the time they arrived home, she'd be longing for his kisses. Aching for his caresses.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Memories of Con were every
where. Healing was impossible here. She would have to accept the other position offered by a store across town. Leave her beloved regular customers, familiar routine and mall-employee friends. Start over. Where reminders of the man she'd given up wouldn't haunt her every waking moment.

The PA system crackled again. “Attention employees. The mall is now closed. Because of the electrical instability, security gates for individual stores may not operate. Follow emergency procedure code yellow. Your key cards will not open any doors, including freight doors. When you complete cleanup and cash tallies, proceed to the main mall exit B on the ground floor, where a uniformed security guard will escort you out.”

Emergency procedure code yellow? Bailey hurried to the storeroom to locate a handbook. It instructed her to tally her register and deposit the contents at the mall's bank. Included was a notation that no funds would be disbursed until the following day.

No funds disbursed. She groaned. She'd forgotten it was payday. She'd have to wait until tomorrow for her money. Oh well. She wasn't going anywhere except home. A hot bath and a good cry were the only items on her agenda.

Her decision to let Con go had cost her everything. But grief was free.

Carrying the cash bag stamped with the store's name and account number, she exited the storeroom. A gasp punched out of her and she jerked to a halt. Con stood beside the counter, his face solemn, hands clasped behind his back.

Memories of the first time she'd seen him flooded her. He'd strolled into the store, a modern Lancelot exuding confident grace and power. He'd asked for an antique book of Celtic verse, a birthday gift for his mother. Bailey had been struck by lightning. It was the only explanation for the flash of blinding sparks and overwhelming heat. She'd fumbled through the special order in a daze. She'd spent the following week thinking of nothing but Conall O'Rourke and his breath-stealing grin. And counting the minutes until he returned to pick up the book.