Midnight Hero (3 page)

He'd accepted the volume with a smile that had kicked her pulse into the stratosphere. Cradling the book in his big, capa
ble hands, he'd flipped through the pages. Then, his gaze holding hers, his eyes as warm and lustrous as polished mahogany, he'd recited:

“Would you like to know the realm of mysteries, Bailey?” he'd asked in a voice as rich and tempting as a caramel sundae.

The most contagious case of charisma she'd ever seen. She'd succumbed. Fallen hard and fast, with no known cure. She'd accepted his invitation to the mall's coffee shop after her shift. Two hours and three cups of peppermint tea later, her heart was irrevocably under his spell.

“Bailey?” Con said gently. The past merged into the present and she jolted back. He had on the snug, faded jeans, work boots and long-sleeved dark blue T-shirt under the black leather jacket he'd worn at breakfast. But his dark spiky hair was sleek and wet, as if he'd just come from the shower. He must have been working out. He hit the gym whenever he was troubled.

She'd caused his troubles today. Bailey steeled her resolve. She would
not
go there. She had to stay strong. For both their sakes. “How did you get in? The mall is closed.”

“Syrone let me in.” He inclined his head toward the counter, where her coat rested. “You forgot your coat this morning. I didn't want you to be cold.”

She
was
cold, clear to her soul. However, the coat wouldn't help. She'd never be warm again.

“And these.” He produced two dozen pink roses from behind his back. “You're a fair woman. Let me have my say.”

Her favorite flowers. “Oh,
that's
not fair.” A suffocating lump wedged in her throat. “Con, please don't do this.”

“All's fair in love and war, sweetheart. This is both.” He held out the vibrant bouquet.

Afraid she was already losing the battle, she accepted the flowers and walked to the storeroom. Con followed as she found a pitcher used to water the store's plants and shakily filled it at the sink. She nestled the fragrant blooms inside, set them on the storeroom counter and then snatched up a paper towel. She blotted the water she'd spilled with nervous, jerky movements.

Con took the towel and settled gentle hands on her shoulders. He turned her to face him. “Talk to me, Bailey.”

His touch was as electric as it had been the first time. As it was every time he touched her. A startling connection of mind, body and soul. She should pull away, but her ravaged heart craved his hands on her, no matter how brief. “Okay.”

His shoulders hitched, the barest movement, and he exhaled a quiet, relieved sigh.

The small, vulnerable gesture nearly destroyed her. Bailey couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she glanced around the dim storeroom, crowded with boxes. The room seemed too tiny to contain Con's formidable energy. Though the words stung like acid in her mouth, she'd say them as many times as necessary. “We have to break up. We're too different—”

He cut her off. “Not the rehearsed version. You sound like a politician stumping on the campaign trail.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Look at me. Speak to me from your heart.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze and saw determined steel in the dark pools. Her fingers curled into fists, nails cutting into her palms as she summoned resolve. “I told you, I'm trying to make this decision with my head, not my heart.”

“Is that why you chose to break it off with me in the diner? You wanted a clean, surgical strike, right? No arguments, no emotional fallout.” The hurt swimming in his eyes burrowed into her chest. He shook his head. “Did you actually believe you could drop a bomb like that and then walk away?”

How could she possibly speak from her heart when it ached
so badly she could hardly talk? “A clean, fast incision is less painful, and heals better.”

“Those are your mother's words, not yours.”

The world stopped.
Oh no!
Was it too late? Had her mother succeeded in making Bailey over into her image?
No.
That's what Bailey was trying to prevent. She refused to amputate her feelings. She would feel every stab of pain, be completely honest with Con. She owed him that. Owed herself. “I chose a public place because I knew if we were alone, you'd use your talent for blarney, and if necessary, those agile hands to charm and sway me.”

Needing distance, she stepped back, breaking his hold, and he released her. Why couldn't it be that easy to break his emotional hold on her? “I can't resist you when you're in persuasive mode, Con.”

“If you could, I would let you go. It's the same for me, sweetheart—I can't resist you, either. We belong together.”

“We'd start out happy. But I'll end up bitter and angry and you'll be cold and resentful. I've seen it before.”

“Like your parents, you said. You've never talked about them until now.”

Maybe if she explained, he'd accept her decision. “I've never talked about them before because it hurt too much.”

“I don't want to dredge up bad memories, but if it affects us, you need to tell me.”

“Yes. You
should
know.” She braced herself against the pain and dove in. “My parents met at a ball for the children's burn ward at Mercy Hospital. He was a fireman, she was in her last year of residency. The attraction was instantaneous for them, too. He was a handsome, risk-taking adrenaline junkie, and Mom fell hard. They dated for six exciting, romantic months, then married. I was born two years later. At first, everything was wonderful.”

“What happened?”

“When I was eight, Dad got trapped in a warehouse fire and received second-and third-degree burns on his arms and face.”

Empathy softened his eyes to brown velvet. He reached for her hand, held it in both of his big, warm ones. “That's why you volunteer at the children's burn ward.”

“Yes. As a tribute to his courage and devotion.”

He squeezed her hand. “He…didn't recover?”

“He did. His recovery was painful, but he was back on the job in a year. With major facial scarring. Not that it mattered. I could see past the scars to the man underneath.” Pulled by need stronger than will, she edged nearer to Con. The heat and strength of his lean body compelled her, comforted her.

“But the injury changed more than his face.”

She nodded. “He had scars on the outside, but Mom had scars on the inside. They argued about him returning to active duty. Between disputes, they were silent for days. He said firefighting was his calling, just as healing was hers. The arguments escalated. Screaming recriminations. Tears. Ultimatums.”

“That must have been terrifying for you.”

She gazed at the compassionate face of the man she loved and her heart shattered for the second time that day. “You're just like him. Brave and dedicated, one hundred percent committed. The chances you take scare me beyond belief.” She was trembling all over. “The same thing would happen to us. We'd fight. You'd go to work distracted, and—”

“And what?”

“You'd die.”

He tugged her closer, a mere breath away. “Is that what happened?” She watched the light shimmer in shiny water droplets in his hair, smelled the fresh, tangy soap he'd used. Longed to be held in his arms. But she'd relinquished that privilege.

“They had a terrible argument—the worst. He got called up for a five-alarm fire. Mom said if he walked out the door, she was taking me and divorcing him. He kissed me with tears in his eyes, and told me he had to do his job.” Living it again, tears pooled in her own eyes. “The look of resignation on his face as he left…” She struggled for control. “He knew by choosing duty, he'd lost us.”

He drew her into his arms, held her close. “And a man with no hope is a man with no fear. I'm sorry, darlin'.”

Weary beyond bearing, she rested her cheek on his chest and sought comfort she had no right to accept. Listened to the steady
thud of his heart under his soft cotton shirt. “Dad was attempting to rescue a family of five from the top floor. The captain radioed him, warning the roof was about to collapse and ordered him out. The family made it out, with his help.” Her voice broke. “He didn't.”

“I'm so sorry. Grief and guilt, a two g-force.” Con rocked her in a soothing rhythm. “Do you blame your mom for your father's death? Is that why things are strained between you?”

“No.” She got a grip on her faltering composure. She couldn't afford to fall apart. “Mom couldn't help being terrified for his safety. His scars were a constant reminder of the danger he faced every day. I'm sure she blames herself, though. She wasn't always the Ice Queen. After Dad's death, she shut off her emotions. Almost like she died, too. She became obsessed over something happening to me, and got so overprotective I could barely breathe.”

He tipped up her chin. Understanding softened his handsome face. “I wish you'd told me before. It explains a lot.”

“I wish I'd thought it through before I got involved with you, and spared us both. You're fire, Con. Hot, bright, and so tempting, I couldn't resist. Like my dad, I thought I could slay the dragon.” She stared into his eyes, willing him to accept, to walk away from her. “I couldn't. And burned us both. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not. I'll never regret loving you.”

She couldn't stop shaking. “You're wrong. I'll quench your spirit. Mix water and fire and you get nothing but ashes.” She hated herself for being unable to stop another rush of tears. “Cold ashes in a body bag.”

He cupped her face and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “Please, don't. When you cry, it rips my guts out.”

“There will only be more tears. More sorrow. Regrets are inevitable. I never want to hurt you, in any way.” She swallowed, trying to hold in her grief. She dug deep, summoned the fortitude to pull away, but this time, he didn't release her. “I'm not good for you. Which is why I have to let you go.”

“Sweetheart,
you're
wrong. You aren't bad for me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. “You make me whole.” His steady gaze held hers. “Trust what we have together.”

She inhaled sharply. How could she stand up to his steadfast faith? How could she make him see it wouldn't work? “Con—”

He lowered his head and his lips touched hers in a sensual whisper. “Believe in the realm of mysteries. Believe in
us.
” His soft, warm lips brushed hers in a feathered caress.

“I can't.” She nearly choked on the words.

“You can. I'll help you.” His hand slid to her nape, steadying her, and he covered her mouth with his. She was so cold…and his warmth surrounded her. So empty…and his faith filled her. Her heart ached…and his light, tender kiss comforted her. She'd hurt him, yet his gentle lips forgave her.

Absolution.

Rational thought fled. Her fears and objections seemed foolish, evaporating like morning dew in the sun. She slid her arms around his neck, urging him closer. Body to body, soul to soul. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, his heart calling to hers. A cry she could not ignore if her life depended on it. He deepened the kiss, and his dauntless love filled her.

Completion.

His tongue swept inside, and she tasted her own salty tears, spicy sweet cinnamon gum, and Con. Clean, warm, male. Her mate. On fire—for her. The taste and scent of him raced through her system like molten silver. Hot, bright and dangerous, luring her in. Breaching all her defenses. His gallant soul wooed her.

Seduction.

He drank her in as if he'd been wandering scorched and blinded in a desert. He was shaking now, too. She reveled in his awe, absorbed his reverence. Making her feel as if she were his own personal miracle, he made love to her mouth. He ravished her senses, consumed her with his heat. She fell into the spiraling pleasure, into the inferno. Searing connection arced between them, fused them into one mind, one body.

One spirit.

His fingers threaded into her hair, kneading her scalp, and she melted against him. They touched and tasted. Took and gave back. This strange phenomenon happened every time he touched her. He scrambled her brains, ignited her body. Satisfied her
heart. She'd never needed, wanted anything like she needed him. Weightless, she floated in hot, bubbling delight.

One broad hand slid down her spine to the small of her back, both soothing and inciting. He pressed her closer, and his arousal pulsed hard and insistent against her. Heartbeat slammed against heartbeat. Desire sparked in her veins, sizzled through her limbs. His passion fueled hers and she moaned into his mouth. Liquid, shattering intimacy that was so much more than physical welled inside her. Nothing, no one existed but Con.

He broke the kiss, and his essence ebbed away, leaving her empty and aching. He took a half step back and loss punched into her heart like a fist, leaving it bruised and lonely.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his pulse pistoned in his throat like a jackhammer. Desire smoked his gaze. “You know what you get when you mix fire and water, Bailey?”

Dazed, she looked up at him, unable to think. To speak. She shook her head.

He gave her a shaky grin. “Steam.”

1:00 p.m.

P
anting, Con wrestled for self-control, which had incinerated in the vicinity of his kibbles and bits. Breaking the connection between them and stepping back had taken every ounce of willpower. As much as he wanted to make love to Bailey until she forgot every objection, they both needed clear heads.

He looked at the woman who owned him, body and soul. Her cheeks were flushed pinker than the roses he'd brought, her lips swollen from his kisses and her eyes sparks of blue flame. His heart jolted. He'd rather chop off his right arm than lose her. Which would damn well wreak havoc on his status as the team's best shooter.

Bailey leaned against the counter, her uneven breathing loud in the small space. “Kissing doesn't solve anything.”

When his breathing slowed, he brushed back a red-gold curl that had strayed over her temple. He couldn't stop a grin. “Very good kissing. Set-my-tighty-whities-on-fire kissing.”

“We need results, here.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, you got plenty of results.” Pressed body to body mere seconds ago, she couldn't have any doubts about what he meant.

She smiled, but worried her lower lip with her teeth, drawing his focus to where his mouth had sipped her minty sweetness. His gut clutched on a rush of heat, and he battled the impulse to kiss her again. As if she read his thoughts, her smile wobbled. “We're complicating things even more.”

“I hate to admit it, but I agree. Come home with me where we can discuss this in private.”

She hesitated and he held his breath, waiting. Finally, she shook her head. “I can't be alone with you.”

“You're not afraid of me.” Not a question—a challenge.

“Of course not.” Her glance flitted around the room, her posture as tense and wary as a cornered suspect's. “I'm afraid of myself. I don't have any willpower where you're concerned. You're a dangerous narcotic, and I can't ‘just say no.'”

“Don't feel like the Lone Ranger, darlin'. I could stand to attend a few Bailey-Anonymous meetings myself.”

Her gaze collided with his and her eyes widened with anxiety. “This is impossible. What are we going to do?”

“Sit with me.” Holding her hand, he led her to the reading area. One night she'd confessed she'd volunteered three weeks of her own time last year during the remodeling to choose the store's decor. A natural-born nester, she would create a warm, cozy home for their family. All he had to do was convince
her.

When they moved to the love seat, she tried to scoot to the opposite corner. He pulled her down beside him. “You're not running away from me that easily.”
Physically or emotionally.

“We're here to talk, remember?”

“I remember. However, if you have a more prone scenario in mind, sing out.” He patted the cushion. “It's a tad small, but will get the job done.” He wiggled his eyebrows, hoping his teasing would lighten the mood. “I meant the love seat.”

Her lips twitched. It was working. “I'm well aware of your…arsenal, Officer. There's no need for shameless bragging.”

“A woman who appreciates a double-action, wide-barrel shotgun.”

A reluctant grin bloomed. “Behave, Conall Patrick O'Rourke.”

“Uh-oh. The full name, I'm in trouble now.”

Her grin disappeared. “We're both in trouble.” The distress in her low reply made his stomach clench again, for a different reason.

“All right. Let's talk about the realities of my job. I admit some cops are hooked on the adrenaline rush. I'm not a hotdogger.” He took her hand, held her gaze. “I stand between you and the
bad guys. I stand for every innocent victim. I take the bad guys down, get them off the streets. I make a difference.”

“Yes, you do. Don't get me wrong, Con. I admire that.”

He stroked his thumb in a circular caress over her palm, and her hand trembled. “SWAT officers don't take stupid chances, despite the creatively edited, sensationalized crap they show on TV. Every op is planned and rehearsed for hours, sometimes days. As thoroughly as possible. No detail is left to chance. We don't bash down doors, charge in and hope nobody dies.”

The lights flickered again and then went out. Con snatched his hand from hers and thrust it inside his jacket for the Glock that normally rode in a holster over his rib cage. Dammit! The Glock that he'd dropped off at the gun cage to have adjusted on his way out of the station. Riverside PD officers were not required to carry a weapon when off-duty, though he usually did. He'd pick up his weapon on the way home, but right now, he felt naked without it.

Seconds later, the mall's amber emergency backup lights blinked on. The security cage dropped a third of the way and then ground to a halt. “What's up with that?”

“During the remodel, all the security cages were automated, so we can push a button instead of cranking them down manually. Those manual gates were heavy, awkward and downright dangerous. In the event of a power failure, the emergency backup is supposed to provide enough current to operate them. Looks like it doesn't. Unfortunately, higher technology equals more glitches.”

His internal red alert stood down and he withdrew his hand from his jacket. “The power surge must have made them malfunction. Lucky for us the gate didn't drop all the way, or we'd have to bust our way out.”

Bailey looked at his hand and sadness shadowed her face. “That says it all. When the power fails, most guys reach for a flashlight. You go for your gun.”

He despised being responsible for dimming the glow inside her. “That reflex keeps me alive, darlin'.”

“Exactly my point. No matter how thorough your plans, people
die.
”

“People die every day, just driving to the grocery store. Hell, you can buy it slipping in the shower.”

“But they don't purposely put themselves in harm's way. The fact that you do is horrifying.” She swallowed hard. “Factor in the violence and I…I'm sorry, Con. I can't live with it.”

He lifted her chin to stare into her eyes, dark with distress. “There's no possible way we can compromise here?”

Her chin quivered, and she firmed it. “I'm afraid not.”

“That's it, then? Your final decision?”

“I lo—love you.” She stumbled over the word. “I admire you. More than you'll ever know. I'm in awe of your strength, courage and dedication. And
yes,
that is my final decision.”

“I love you, too. We
can
make this work.”

“Your job is incomprehensible to me. I'd drag you down.” She gripped his arm. “We do not have a future together.”

They did, and he knew exactly how to prove it. He tugged a set of papers from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and showed them to her. “Promotion to team leader.” Awe welled in his throat. When his C.O. had given him the papers that morning after breakfast, he'd been stunned.
Team leader.
The ultimate dream—a SWAT team to command at thirty. A goal he'd worked toward since his first day on the force. Through hard work and good choices, by doing the right thing last night, he'd earned his heart's desire. Pop would have been proud of him.

“Congratulations,” she murmured. “I know how long you've wanted that.”

One look at her face told him differently. By doing the right thing last night, he'd lost the woman he loved.

Awe sank under dread's cold weight. His ultimate dream was Bailey's ultimate nightmare. Accepting the position would be the kill shot that doomed their relationship. Fate, that unpredictable son of a bitch, had thrown a sadistic twist his way. He had the devil's own choice to make.

Light glinted off the hummingbird charm at her throat, and realization whammed into him. If she was serious about the breakup, she wouldn't be wearing it. Any lingering doubts dissolved. She loved him. She was just scared. They shared the key
ingredients of a lasting relationship. Friendship, fidelity and faith. Her faith was a little shaky right now, but he had enough for both of them. He hoped.

Deadly calm settled, displacing hurt and anger. His thoughts crystallized, painfully clear. He knew what he had to do. Had suspected since breakfast this morning. He made his decision as he'd made every other in his life. Quickly. With his eyes wide open and fully aware of his options. Which didn't mean it didn't hurt. He opened his hand and let go of his dream, and the papers dropped into the garbage can beside him.

“What are you doing?”

Burying one future so he could have another. She was worth any cost. “I quit.”

She gasped. “No! You can't! I won't let you!”

“I want a life, a future with you. And if it means giving up SWAT for a desk job, I can deal with that.”

“What about the knight in shining armor, standing for the innocents? That wasn't just talk. That was from your heart.”

“My heart chooses you.”

Her face paled. “Get out.”

“Come again?”

She pointed with a trembling finger. “Get out. Leave.”

Whoa! Where were her happy squeals, the jumping for joy? Bewildered, he frowned. “What the hell?”

The outrage clouding her angelic features was anything but joyous. “Your father lost his career and never recovered. He died before realizing his dream. I
refuse
to be the reason you lose yours.”

“Pop's career was snatched out from under him. I'm making a choice. Entirely different.”

“You think this is what you want now.” Even her lips were white with strain, stark contrast to the dark sorrow in her eyes. “What happens a few years down the road? When resentment kicks down love's door and bitterness barges in?”

“We are not our parents, sweetheart. I promise I won't resent you. Ever.”

“Dad promised he'd never leave me.” She shoved to her feet.
“But promises walk away. They get burned up.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They die.”

He swore under his breath. He was a moron. He should have figured it out the minute she'd told him. He rose and drew her into his arms. “Oh, baby. Your mom and dad weren't the only ones scarred by his accident and death.”

She snatched in a breath. “What are you talking about?”

“Danger, violence are valid worries. But what you're really afraid of is when the going gets tough, I'll pick the job over you. And walk…like your dad.”

Her body shook. “He did what he had to do. I don't blame him.” She gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. “He saved five lives that night. He was a brave hero.”

“He did what he thought best. But he was just a man, sweetheart. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for all the right reasons.”

She dropped her head into her hands and covered her face. “How does a person know? I'm struggling to do what's best for you, Con.”

“So, instead, you're doing what you believe is the right thing—leaving me—for all the wrong reasons, darlin'?”

“They don't seem wrong to me.”

“That's the hell of it. Trying to discern which decisions are right, and which are fear-driven. Look at me.” She complied, and he continued. “I understand you've been hurt. You're scared, and I don't blame you. I wish I could protect you, make it all go away. But only you can slay that dragon.”

Torment burned like a blue flame in her eyes. “I'm so confused. I don't even know which way is up anymore.”

He wanted to ease her pain, and couldn't. Hated feeling helpless, hated the uncertainty that was tearing her apart. Tearing them apart. For the first time in his life, he faced an enemy he couldn't bring down with force. He could not conquer her fear with fists or weapons.

So Con charged into combat with the only ammo he had. Faith. Integrity. Trust. He placed her palm over his heart and covered her hand with his. “I swear on my life, nothing you do will
ever make me walk. Nothing will ever make me stop loving you. I've made my choice. I'm off the streets, off SWAT.”

She jerked. “Con, no!”

“Think it over and make a logic-based decision. If you still want to end it, I'll accept that.” Though losing her would rip out his heart. “But I won't let you push me away because of fear.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Look past the scars, see what the woman inside you really wants.”

He cupped her head and kissed her soft mouth. Her rosy fragrance surrounded him, filled him. An exhilarating, too-brief taste. He stepped back and thrust his hands in his jacket pockets before he was tempted to do more. He'd just committed to riding a desk for the next twenty-five years. He shuddered. His fingers brushed velvet and he closed his fist over the ring box, holding it tight. When push came to shove, she mattered most. With her by his side, he'd be content painting houses.

“Now
you
have a choice to make.” He turned and strode out of the store.

 

Stunned, Bailey stared at the empty doorway. Of all the reactions she'd envisioned, Con giving up active duty wasn't even on the list. No way would she let him do it. He'd never be happy strangled in a suit and tie. Wielding a pen against reams of papers instead of wielding weapons against bad guys. Mediating political squabbles instead of protecting innocents. And the worst slap in the face, approving ops—sending other men into harm's way—without taking part.

She reached down and plucked the team leader application from the garbage. As she straightened the sheets crumpled by Con's lean, capable hands, she read:
Qualities demonstrated in the field by Officer C. O'Rourke. Above average intelligence. Can assess a situation, review possible alternatives and come to a sound decision, all while under tremendous stress. Maintains emotional control, whether in traumatic situations or with suspects who may have perpetrated heinous acts upon hostages. Well-disciplined team member who looks out for other mem
bers. Quickly and flexibly adapts when the unexpected event occurs that throws the plan into disarray. Suppression of fear—cool head and high function under fire. Highly motivated and patient. Does not rush into incidents without thinking.