Obsession (Southern Comfort) (21 page)

“Maybe I needed to come for myself.”

She studied his face, so familiar, but somehow so… different.  And realized from his expression that he was absolutely sincere.  “You know,” she told him, “when I declared my intention to join the police force, my dad did everything he could to talk me out of it. From detailing the history of law-flouters in our family beginning when Murphy’s was a speakeasy during Prohibition, to appealing to my latent sense of femininity by saying that men were turned off by women who wore a gun to work.  In reality though, it was the danger that he feared.  As a parent, he didn’t want to see his child deliberately placing herself in harm’s way.  So I told him fine.  I’d decided to be a logger.”

Justin waited a beat. “A logger.”

“Yep.” Idly, Kathleen picked up her tea again and bobbed the bag in the steaming water.  “It was either that or working on a fishing boat, though given the prominence of that industry in the area – and my dad’s love of baiting a hook – I didn’t think it would have quite the same impact.  So I told him I was going to be a logger, and that I’d found a job opening in Oregon.”

His lips twitched.
“I hear the Pacific Northwest is lovely.”

“You bet.  It probably has something to do with the fresh air from all of those enormous trees. Which, of course, I would be cutting down using chainsaws and various other pieces of heavy machinery.
You gotta be careful how you handle those babies though, because one wrong cut and…”  She used her free hand to mime a tree falling over, squashing the hapless lumberjack beneath. “Splat.” 

“Not even my surgical skills could fix a splat.
  My guess here, is that you, in your very Kathleen way, were demonstrating to your father that there are more dangerous jobs than being a cop.”

“
I made a chart, complete with corroborating evidence from the Bureau of Labor Statistics, showing that cops usually aren’t even in the top ten.  Being a farmer is more dangerous – statistically speaking – than being a police officer.  And I knew, all along, that I wanted to be a homicide detective.  That would take me even further out of the danger zone, as it’s the patrol officers that are more likely to encounter the unexpected.  And really, with a couple of notable exceptions, I’ve found myself in very few truly threatening situations over the years.  Hell, the closest I’ve come to being shot was sitting in a restaurant with you.”

Justin, being Justin, figured out
where she was going.  “Kathleen.” He reached out, took the tea which had become a sort of absurd conversational prop, and set it aside.  Then he grasped her empty hands in his.     

His were warm. 
He
was warm.  And when he pulled her closer, she realized that she was shivering.

“Kathleen.” He said her name again, and brushed a thumb over her cheek.  “I can’t know, because I’ve never been in your situation, but I can guess how you must be feeling.
  The danger you’ve faced on the job up to now, however minimal or extreme, has been acceptable to you because you chose your career with your eyes wide open.  Obviously, you’d done your research.  You knew the risks.  But what you didn’t count on is that your career choice could impact your family directly.  That they could be at risk.  And while I want to tell you not to be foolish, because you know that tonight’s incident is not your fault, there’s no way to convince you not to feel what you feel.  Emotions, particularly visceral emotions like guilt and fear, don’t tend to listen to reason.”

She blinked, horrified to feel the sting of tears behind her eyes. 
The guilt, well, there wasn’t much she could do about that in this instance.  But the fear was unacceptable. “I hate being afraid,” she found herself admitting.

“Everyone’s afraid of something at one time or another.  It’s perfectly human.” 

“And perfectly weak.  Fear is the flight response. It means you’re the prey.  And if I’m going to be the prey, I might as well hand over my badge.”

“What bullshit.” 
His tone was brisk.  “Kathleen.” He tilted her chin up so that she had little choice but to meet his gaze.  And this time his tone held exasperation.  “Do you really think that, because you’re a detective, you’re not allowed to be afraid?”

It wasn’t so much that she was a detective.  It was more that she was a
female
detective.  And yes, she knew that shouldn’t make a difference, but then Justin wasn’t a woman working in what was – despite what the politically correct bureaucrats would have everyone believe – still mostly a man’s world.

“I was afraid,” he said, interrupting her train of thought.  “Last night.”

“What?”

“Last night,” he repeated.  And then proceeded to tell her what had happened at his house.  “I was afraid that something I had done had, however unintentionally,
put James in danger.  The potential threat to myself I can deal with.  The potential threat to my little brother is a tougher pill to swallow.  Does the fact that I was afraid, for whatever reason, make me less capable? Make me less of a man?”

“Of course not,” Kathleen said on a sigh. “And okay, okay.  Point taken.”

“You’ll do what needs to be done to find whoever is responsible for the incident with the doll, and you’ll put the bastard away.  It’s your job, and you’re damn good at it.”    

“I am good,” she said with a hint of a smile.  “Aren’t I?” But then her smile faded.  “Justin
.  You don’t need me to tell you that the person who’s doing this to you is – not to put too fine a point on it – crazy.  You don’t need me to tell you to be careful.”

He brushed her hair back from her face.  “No, I don’t need you to tell me.  But it probably made you feel better to do it.  Just like you didn’t need me to be here, but it made me feel better to come.”

After only the briefest of hesitations, Kathleen stepped in, laid her lips gently against his.  “Maybe,” she whispered “I did need you.  Just a little.”

The heat, the hint of pure male possession that flashed into his eyes was as gratifying as it was – still – unexpected.

He slid his hand into her hair, and when he kissed her this time, it was a good bit more than gentle.

Minutes later – or hell, maybe it had been hours, seeing as she’d lost all track of time – he broke off the kiss, laid his forehead against hers.

“One of these times.” He fought to steady his breathing.  “I’m going to kiss you when we’re not outside in a rainstorm, or in a semi-public forum.  And that time is going to be soon.”

With that, he stepped back, then stripped off his coat and tossed it over one of the waiting room sofas.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable,” he said as he plopped down, stretched his long legs out in front of him.  “You mind if I change the channel?”

Kathleen flicked a glance at the TV.  She’d barely been aware it was even on. 
“No.  But Justin, you don’t need –”

“To stay?
” He raised a single brow.  “Of course I don’t.  But I want to.  And besides, this will cut down considerably on my morning commute.”

Kathleen stood there, uncertain, while Justin surfed through the channels.

“Since you’re just standing there, why don’t you make yourself useful and bring me a cup of coffee.”

The request, uttered without even another glance in her direction, somehow made the situation seem less… important.

“What am I, your beck and call girl?”

“If you were my beck and call girl, you’d be doing something a lot more exciting than bringing me coffee.”

He smirked, and Kathleen felt the easy, familiar rhythm of their friendship kick back in.

“If this is the way you treat the nurses you date, no wonder they’re coming after you with scalpels.”

When he grinned, Kathleen’s heart gave one hard lurch. 

Familiar rhythm?
More like a slow waltz that segued unexpectedly into a tango. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

KATHLEEN
closed her tired eyes, hoping that the steam in the shower would bring the puffiness down.

Or maybe she was supposed to use something cold? It seemed that she recalled Sadie once slathering slices of cucumber, or some other vegetable she’d taken from the refrigerator, all over her face after they’d pulled an all-nighter.  Not that Kathleen had any cucumbers handy, anyway.

She wondered if other women simply came by that sort of knowledge through osmosis, or perhaps it was programmed into a particular gene that Kathleen lacked.  It wasn’t that she was masculine or anything, and she certainly enjoyed looking like – and being – a woman when the occasion called for it.

Like when Justin kissed her.  She definitely enjoyed being a woman when Justin kissed her.

But she still seemed to lack the inherent female…
sensibility,
she guessed, which her sister and her cousin and her best friend all seemed to have in abundance.

Although – to their credit – the women in her family were also capable of kicking ass when they had to.  If they weren’t, Kathleen would have felt a lot more awful about the conversation she’d had with her sister just before leaving the hospital.  Aside from what Kathleen thought of as good old Irish temper, Maureen’s
mother
instinct had been on full-fledged, terrifying display at the idea that someone might threaten her baby.

Kathleen figured a mama bear would be no more formidable a foe than Maureen Murphy.

Shutting off the water, she reached blindly for a towel, stepped with legs that felt like limp noodles out of the shower.  Unlike certain other people, who’d slept without moving on the cramped, uncomfortable waiting room sofa, Kathleen hadn’t been able to settle at all last night.  She’d stalked from Maureen’s room to the nursery back to the waiting room in a restless sort of triangle, noting with first relief – and then annoyance – that all of those room’s occupants were sleeping peacefully.  Even the baby.  After Maureen had nursed her for the last time a little after midnight, the kid settled in for almost a solid five hours.

Justin slept like the proverbial brick, and then popped up – if not precisely bright-eyed, at least alert – before dropping a warm, sleepy kiss on her lips and then heading downstairs to the locker room.

Kathleen had left the hospital feeling exhausted, baffled and edgy.  

As she dried her hair with the towel, Kathleen heard a muffled
thunk
coming from the kitchen.  Her loft – a renovated storage space located on the third floor over Maureen’s pharmacy – had ridiculously high ceilings with exposed pipes and ductwork, so sound tended to carry. 

The muttered curse following the
thunk
let her know for sure that she wasn’t alone.

Grabbing her robe from the hook on the bathroom door, Kathleen wrapped it around her before lifting her firearm from the counter.  She wasn’t normally the type that felt she needed to be armed at all times, but that edginess with which she’d left the hospital carried a certain degree of caution.

Thumbing off the safety, she eased open the door, crouched low to avoid presenting an easy target.  When she’d assured herself that her bedroom was clear, she waited three beats, heard no further noises coming from the kitchen. Moved rapidly into the living area, weapon drawn.

And nearly collided with Anthony as he came around the corner from the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, nearly bobbling the two large Styrofoam takeout cups he carried.  “I already spilled coffee on my shirt.  Let’s try not to add blood to it.”

“Anthony.”  Relieved, chagrined, Kathleen put the safety back on before
lowering her firearm.  “What the hell are you doing, sneaking around like that? I could have shot you.”

“Well, considering I was making about as much noise as your average elephant, I don’t think that sneaking is an accurate description.  And I’ve never known you to shoot first, ask questions later.”

Because he was right, a flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.  And for the first time in their relationship, she felt self-conscious about the fact that she was standing there half-naked, wearing nothing more than a damp and clinging robe.

“Sorry.” She set the weapon on the sofa table, pulled the lapels of that robe a little tighter together.  “I guess I’m a little on edge.”

He tilted his head, his night-dark eyes assessing.  “That’s understandable, given the events of the past few days.  Being run off the road, becoming an aunt for the first time, having someone threaten your family.  That’s enough to make anyone jumpy.”

Kathleen closed her eyes as another layer of guilt added its weight to her shoulders.

She hadn’t called Anthony.  Or texted him.  Or sent up a freaking smoke signal.  Not that they were in each other’s pockets so much that they conveyed every single aspect of their days, but yeah.  All three of those things were pretty noteworthy.  The fact that she hadn’t contacted him afterward was even more so.

“I
should have called.”

“Well,
should
is a pretty subjective term.  Here.”  Shoving the cup – strong coffee, judging by its smell – into her hands, he placed his hand on the small of her back and maneuvered her around to the sofa.