Playing With Fire (27 page)

“Great work, Eric. But greedy bastard that I am, I’m looking
for the money ball. You’ve eliminated six of the eight that Dylan squeezed.
What about the other two? Tell me one of them was mad enough to kill.”

“Mark is talking to one of the unlucky saps now. He texted
me that the guy, like all the others, is angry… but did agree to settle and let
it go at that.”

“And the eighth one?”

“Ah, yes. Apparently there was one person who did not agree.
Not only did he disagree, he threatened to take Willoughby and Finch to court.”

“Would this be the ‘would be partner’ the Chief referred to?
The one he heard Dylan arguing with?”

“None other, according to Finch. Those damn instincts of
yours, Nate. How long have you had this figured? Since the first time you
talked to Warner?”

“Yeah, that’s when my neck started itching. But dammit,
Eric. We still don’t have him.”

“No, but we’re so close my balls are itching. Uh, sorry
Erin.”

“Hell, Eric, they always are,” said Nate. “You gotta start
tuning up other body parts or you’ll always think you are close.”

“Right on, Nate. But back to number eight. According to Mike
Finch, the guy had Dylan worried. So much so that he didn’t sic the Chief on
him. Finch said his boss was also concerned. Intimated they thought the guy was
‘connected.’ Said Dylan may have met his match. Had found someone as
unscrupulous as he was. And as dangerous. Willoughby was getting ready to meet
with him to make yet another offer when Dylan disappeared. At which point,
coincidentally, the guy seemed to lose interest.”

“Okay Eric. Enough of the tease. You’ve dropped the pasties
and we’re impressed with your tits. Now shuck off that g-string and tell me who
the fucker is.”

“Wish I could, Nate. But I’m gonna have to keep my hot tush
covered for now. Finch insists he never met him. That only his boss had. The
guy went to school with Dylan. College or something. And before you ask: no, we
haven’t talked to Willoughby. He’s jetting in tomorrow from some Micronesian
island. We plan to welcome him in style. Turns out he and Mike Finch roll the
same way. Only Willoughby gets his rocks off having his ass beat by a domme
bitch at the Hot Snatch.

“By the way, I may need another pair of these jeans, Nate. I
can’t say that they are worth five hundred bucks, but the ‘lady’ behind the
counter at the Circle K told me that my ass was hot, and the woman behind me agreed.
I know you hear that all the time, Nate. But for me? Not so much. Gotta credit
the jeans. Make the case with J.R. will ya?”

“Uh, Eric, perhaps you forget who is participating in this
call?”

“Oh, sorry about that, Erin. My apologies. Just guy smash talk.
Giving your man a tough time.”

Erin spoke for the first time.

“I accept your apology, Eric. This isn’t the first time I’ve
heard that women think Nate has a hot ass.”

Nate looked up in surprise. If he tried hard enough he might
construe Erin’s ironic remark as a compliment. But what captured his attention
more was that she hadn’t taken issue with Eric’s description of Nate as “her
man.” Maybe there was a God.

He turned his attention back to Eric.

“I don’t have to tell you Eric, how critical it is that Willoughby
cough up that name.”

“Don’t worry, boss man. By this time tomorrow, Damon
Willoughby, ‘blood sucker extraordinaire,’ will be singing like the proverbial
canary. When you get back to your office and see the transcript of my
conversation with Finch, as well as some unusually titillating photographs, you
will agree that we have more than enough to convince Damon Willoughby to break
a client’s trust. Particularly when said client is dead.”

After Nate ended the call, Erin sat silently, staring
straight ahead. She’d managed to pull her hands away from his. He didn’t try to
take them back. She put both elbows on the table and propped her head in her
hands. She longed to lay her head on the table and close her eyes. She was
exhausted. She wasn’t sure where she would get the strength but she desperately
needed to get as far away from Nate as she could. The telephone conversation
with the three men rang in her ears. Hearing them calmly discussing Dylan’s
perfidy, their casual “cop talk,” sleazy references, and raunchy conversation
barely connected in her addled brain. What resonated was Nate’s confession that
he never thought she was guilty. But that he was willing to let her believe
that he thought she was a murderer. And that he was willing to use her as bait
to solve the crime.

The memory gave her the fortitude to push away from the
table. When Nate rose and moved toward her, she raised her hands, stopping him.

“No, Nate. Don’t touch me. I… I need to lie down. I’m
tired.”

His voice was quiet, almost gentle.

“How about I put you in bed, Erin? It’s more comfortable
than the sofa.”

She started to refuse, but the idea of lying in a bed and
pulling the covers over her head was too tempting.

“Show me where it is. But I can walk. I don’t want you near me.”

She was gratified by the pain flickering in his eyes. She
wanted him to hurt as much as she did.

He sighed.

“I just have the one bedroom, Erin. It’s the room we were in
earlier. But my bed is comfortable. I hope you can sleep. I promise I won’t
bother you.”

Erin hesitated at the side of the bed. Nate had closed the
door but she could feel his presence. Slipping out of his too-large clothes,
she slid naked under the warm blankets on his bed. She tried to ignore the
familiar smell of him on the pillows and sheets. Or the fact that as angry as
she was, the smell was comforting. It made her feel safe.

She didn’t know how long she’d slept when she heard voices.
She lay quietly listening to Connor and Nate discussing the case. Connor asked
the same questions she had. He seemed as stunned by Nate’s disclosures as she
was. He pumped Nate for detail after detail. Nate’s answers filled in the holes
in Erin’s understanding. At first, Connor’s questions were confrontational,
seeped in anger. Nate didn’t couch his responses. He took responsibility for
his decisions and didn’t try to justify his actions.

After they were silent for several minutes, Connor spoke.
His voice was soft. Erin had to strain to hear what he said. His words shocked
her.

“Damn, Nate. I didn’t think it was possible to admire you
more than I already do. But you stepped up on this one, buddy. It must have
hurt like hell to do that to Erin. When you love her the way you do.”

Erin roused up in bed, waiting for Nate to deny Connor’s
outrageous assertion.

Instead he murmured, “Yeah, Connor, and the hell of it is
that she’ll never forgive me and I can’t blame her. It was a horseshit thing to
do.”

Connor’s sigh penetrated the silence.

“Face it, Nate. There’s no way you can separate the man from
the cop. You’re one and the same. This time that combination probably saved
Erin’s life. But, you’re right. She may never forgive you.”

~~~

Nate lounged in his chair before the fire, nursing his
Jameson’s. He was glad that Erin was sleeping. He’d cooked up a pot of chowder
in the event she woke up. But even though she needed to eat, he knew sleep was
what she needed most.

He mused over his conversation with Connor. Why he was
surprised by Connor’s reaction, he didn’t know. Connor was the most generous
man he knew. Not in material ways, although he was that. No, he gave of
himself. When Nate gave him the preliminary findings showing that the
“accident” was the work of someone intent on killing Erin, Connor left the
hospital to come over and see for himself that Erin was all right. And, Nate
understood now, to make sure that his older cousin was okay. Even though he was
angry that Nate didn’t bring him into his confidence, Connor deferred to Nate’s
judgment. Hell, he even admitted it was unlikely he could have pulled off the
subterfuge.

As he was sorting through the crush of emotions warring in
his agitated brain, he heard the sound of the shower. For a moment, he was
excited that Erin was awake. His anticipation died knowing that it likely
signaled her intent to leave. Not something that he would allow… but he didn’t
relish the coming argument. He moved into the kitchen and turned on the heat
under the chowder. He stuck a loaf of French bread in the oven and put the
finishing touches on the salad. He knew it was a vain hope but maybe he could
divert her with food. Hell, women do that all the time. Wonder if it works for
us chumps when we’re in trouble with a woman we’ve hurt.

He couldn’t help but smile when she came out of the bedroom.
She’d put on another of his long sleeved t-shirts but this time had added one
of his flannel robes. It dragged on the floor but she had tied it securely
around her waist.

She followed his gaze to the tie and flushed. Tossing her
head, she shrugged.

“I decided it was wise to use a belt if I am going to wear
your clothes that are all six sizes too big.”

He quirked a brow not sure if she was making a joking
reference to her pants falling down, but was relieved that she didn’t seem
angry. He kept his response non-committal.

“Wise choice.”

When she didn’t take offense, he added, “I made some seafood
chowder. Do you feel like eating?”

She nodded.

“It smells good. I didn’t know how hungry I was, until I
smelled that wonderful smell.”

“Good. You need to keep up your strength. How about we eat
in front of the fire where you can be warm?”

She gave another shy nod.

“I’d like that.”

Nate resisted the impulse to reach out and scoop her up in
his arms. It was obvious they were both treading carefully and he sure as hell
didn’t want to blow what could be a turning point in their relationship.
Instead of picking her up, he followed her and handed her a wool throw when
she’d settled into the far corner of the sofa.

He picked up his empty glass and held it up to her.

“I don’t think I will offer you Jameson’s, but how about a
glass of wine? I have either a white or a red that will go well with my
chowder.”

Again, she gave him a faint smile.

“I think I’d prefer a red if that is okay. I… I’m not too
much up on what wine goes best with what food.”

Seeing the pained look on her face, Nate was sure the
reference brought back a difficult memory. He made light of it.

“I agree. Mama D is always trying to tell me what wine is
the ONLY wine that is acceptable with each of her gastronomic delights. But if
it tastes good to me and it makes the food taste even better, then it doesn’t
matter to me if a wine snob likes my choice. I’m the one who is drinking it.”

Erin gave him a pensive nod.

“You’re always sure of yourself, aren’t you Nate.”

He shrugged.

“Most of the time I am. I don’t spend a heck of a lot of
time worrying about what people think of me. Hell, if I did I wouldn’t get out
of bed in the morning.”

She smiled, apparently taking his offhand comment the way he
intended.

“He added, “However, it matters a hell of a lot what certain
people think. The Chief, for example; Connor, Luke. And of course, you.”

Erin blushed, then tipped up her chin.

“I stopped worrying a long time ago what people thought of
me,” she said. “People have always made up their mind about me before they take
the time to get to know me. I guess it’s because of the way I look. But then
I’m not an easy person to get to know.”

Nate debated if he would make light of what was obviously an
aggrieved admission but decided to address it head on.

“Given the kind of experiences that you’ve had, Erin, it’s
wise to be guarded. I can get away with telling people to shove it up their
ass, because I look like I can deliver on the threat.”

“I wish people were afraid of me.”

Nate was startled at her poignant admission.

He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her with a
rueful grin.

“Honey, if it make you feel any better, I’m scared shitless
of you.”

She actually grinned and tossed her head when she clinked
his glass.

“Good, that means you are a smart man.”

He turned to add more wood to the fire, congratulating
himself for not stepping onto any minefields. Yet.

“I heard you and Connor talking. How long was he here?”

“Not long. He came over to see how you are. I told him all
about the accident and he insisted on coming personally to check on you. He
refused to let me wake you. He was glad to see you sleeping.”

“I’m surprised he left the hospital. Isn’t Kaitlin in
labor?”

“Yeah. Seems she’s stuck. Not going forward and not going
back. Apparently not all that uncommon for a first baby. Connor thinks they may
have to induce her in the morning.”

He threw another large log on the fire, then replaced the
screen and turned to see a quizzical expression on her face.

“What? If ever I saw a question brewing, I see one on your
face. Hit me with it. I can handle it. I think.”

“I was just thinking how unpredictable you are, Nate.”

He chortled and settled in the chair across from her.

“Hell, baby, I’m an open book. What you see is what you get.
I’m just a big arrogant bad-assed cop.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“I know that’s what you want everyone to think. And I agree
that you are. But tell me how come that bad-assed cop lives in a gorgeous place
like this? I thought for sure you’d live in a bachelor pad with lots of black
leather and chrome, a wall-sized flat screen television — and the required
chains on your headboard.”

He laughed, a deep infectious sound.

“Well, I do have a condo close to the station where I stay
when I’m working late. But this is my sanctuary. I designed it and built most
of it myself. I’ve been working on it for the last three years. It’s been a
great hobby and yeah, I love the place.”