Too hot to sleep (14 page)

T
HE BUS RIDE
across town was torturous. Georgia kept replaying the events of the past few days in tandem with the messages left on her machine, frantically searching for some explanation other than the one that left a rock in her stomach, but coming up empty-handed. The implication was nauseating: She was dating one man, having phone sex with another, and having real sex with a third.

When had her life taken such a bizarre twist?

She closed her eyes briefly. When she’d allowed physical needs to override her good judgment. One thing was certain—she had to get to Rob’s before he found the little note she’d left about having X-rated fun on the phone. After that, she’d take it one step at a time, assuming there was actually a way to extricate herself from the mess she’d created.

So, dragging the box containing her phone system, she disembarked from the bus and practically trotted the distance to Rob’s home. When she saw the local Sunday paper and the
New York Times
lying rolled up on the stoop, she was torn between relief that he hadn’t arrived home and dismay that her suspicions were beginning to look horrifically correct.

She set down her box, scooped up the papers, and fished the door key from her wallet with a hand that
shook uncontrollably. She dropped the key altogether when a car horn sounded from the street. When she turned, her heart dove. Rob’s black Lexus rolled into the driveway. The note—she had to get the note. The garage door went up and he guided the car inside. She scrambled for the key, thinking she could still beat him to the kitchen even if he entered the house through the mud room. At last she seized the key, then shoved it home and turned it. The dead bolt gave, and she practically fell inside. When she slid into the kitchen, Rob had already spotted her note and was two steps away. She darted in front of him and yanked it out of reach, then gave him a cheerful smile.

“Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a quick peck on the mouth, then his smooth face creased into a quizzical frown. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That piece of paper you just grabbed.”

She looked down at her hand. “Oh. This is nothing—just a note I left when I came over the other day to, um, bring in your newspapers.”

“Oh. So you did get my messages?”

“Um, yes. Yes, I did.”

He smiled. “I was beginning to think there was something wrong with your machine because I couldn’t catch you.”

Nothing wrong with my machine, just me,
she thought miserably. She had hoped for some spark, some sense of excitement at the sight of Rob, but she was merely…sad. Sad that she and Rob both maintained a physical and emotional distance that neither seemed
able to pierce, and neither seemed willing to shed. And perhaps neither was to blame—they simply weren’t compatible on any level of intensity. In the few days that had passed since she’d last seen him, she had changed too much, had learned things about herself that would alarm and perhaps disgust someone as placid and passionless as Rob Trainer. Still, she owed him some sort of explanation.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You look…worried.”

The understatement of the year. “Rob, we need to talk.”

“Is that Stacey and Neil’s wedding?” he blurted, distracted by the Sunday paper that had fallen open on the counter where she’d tossed it.
Local Cop Saves the Wedding Day.
Sure enough, a photo series obviously taken from video stills showed Officer Ken Medlock holding a folding chair over the balcony, the madman being struck down—especially effective since his knife had been knocked from his hand and hung in midair—and another of Ken handcuffing the man. Georgia sighed. Was she destined to be reminded of the man at every turn?

“Yes,” she said. “It was a bit of a commotion, but everyone was fine. Um, your friend Ken Medlock saved the day.”

His pleasant face folded. “My friend?”

“Officer Ken Medlock. You know, the cop from the gym. I’ve, um, run into him a few times over the past few days.”

Rob squinted at her and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Your face is all red. Does this have something to do with the cop?”

She tried to will away the flush and clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “Well—”

“Georgia.”

She glanced up at his sharp tone, stunned that his expression was a cross between fury and panic.

“I don’t appreciate anyone poking around in my past,” he said quietly.

Her mouth opened and she shook her head. “But I wasn’t—”

“I don’t know anyone by the name of Ken Medlock, and I certainly don’t know any city cops.”

“But he said—”

“I made a mistake,” Rob said, smacking his hand on the counter, causing her to jump. “And I served my time.”

Georgia backed up a step, stunned by his mood change and the turn of the conversation. He had a record? “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked with as much calm as she could muster.

“Because my past is none of your business,” he bit out. “It was one lousy charge of embezzlement—a few thousand dollars to pay off some debts. What is it to you?”

She felt like a fool. Rob had no intention of getting close to her, and deep down, she’d known it from the beginning. She’d perpetuated the relationship because it was safe, because it didn’t require her to extend herself or be vulnerable in return. Rob was the kind of man she thought would provide the most stable home for a family, someone to…offset her urges?

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It’s none of my business. I’m leaving.”

“Georgia, wait,” he said, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry to go off on you like that.” He sighed. “It’s just not working between us, you know?”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But you’re such a nice person.”

“Thanks, Rob. I feel the same way about you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone about that mess back in Ohio.” He smiled sheepishly, and she wondered what she had ever seen in the man.

“I won’t.” She laid the door key on the counter, then walked out, nearly tripping over the box that held her phone system. All she wanted to do was go home, lie on her hard couch, and have a good, long cry.

T
ONI SAT
in the hard chair that matched the hard couch. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.”

Georgia lay with her hand over her forehead. “Believe it.”

“And you have no idea who this guy is?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Wow. How romantic.”

She sighed. “I was thinking it was more like something in
Penthouse
Forum.”

“Your life is so exciting. Oh! This is just like my situation with Dr. Baxter—he doesn’t know who I am, either, but there’s this connection, you know?”

“Toni, I don’t think it’s the same thing at all.”

“Well, do you want to find out who this guy is?”

She turned her head. “Of course I do. He could be
some psycho with caller ID who knows my name and number.”

“Or some gorgeous single hunk.”

“Toni, you’re nuts. He’s probably married and has kids.” Like her father.

“Why don’t you call the number now?”

Georgia frowned. “Now?”

“Maybe the guy works during the day and he’ll have his machine on, or someone else will answer.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think I want to call the number again.”

“I’ll do it from my cell phone,” Toni offered, reaching for her purse.

Georgia recited the number and sat up as Toni punched it in. “It’s ringing,” she said excitedly, then handed the phone to Georgia.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, praying a wife or child wouldn’t answer. But after the fourth ring, a voice recorder kicked on with a generic mechanical message. She hung up with a sigh. “Maybe I should just chalk it up to a bad experience. After all, the guy hasn’t called me back.”

“But that doesn’t mean he won’t,” Toni said. “He could be outside right now, going through your trash, looking for the hair from your brush.”

“Oh, now that makes me feel good.”

Toni snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! A friend of mine told me the police have those reverse phone indexes—they can look up names by the number.”

“And what good does that do me?”

“All you have to do is ask that big strapping Officer
Medlock to do you a favor. Besides,” she wagged her eyebrows, “now that Rob is out of the picture—”

“Don’t even say it,” Georgia said, holding up her hand. She had enough problems on her plate without getting involved with Ken Medlock. She blinked back hot tears. How utterly stupid she’d been—anyone could have walked in on them, anyone could have seen them coming out of that room. Besides, she’d traded twenty minutes of passion for a lifetime of regret—regret because she knew if given the opportunity, she’d probably do it again. And again. And again.

“You have to admit, he’s a hottie,” Toni pressed. “When he came charging into the back of the church wearing that uniform, I swear half the women in the church swooned. Rebecca Dooley had her eye on him at the reception, but he disappeared right after the toast.”

“Really?” Georgia pressed her palms into her eyes, but snatches of his lovemaking remained so vivid in her mind, her womb clenched and her thighs tingled. God help her, even with everything else going on, she couldn’t stop thinking about the man—a clue as to how dangerous he was to her mental well-being.

“He’s
interested,
Georgia. You’re crazy if you don’t go out with him.”

“He’s a player, Toni. The man told me himself he’s not interested in settling down.”

“So? You don’t have to marry him. Just have a little fun.”

She smiled wryly to herself. Just have a little fun? Ken Medlock would be too easy to fall for, and too
hard to forget. She had already set into motion events that might haunt her for years. She’d learned her lesson about indulging her darker urges, no matter how tempting.

Toni sighed. “You should go see him, you know. You wouldn’t have to give him all the details, just make up something. He owes you one after almost getting you fired and all.”

Actually, after their encounter in the closet, they were even, she conceded silently. She’d felt so ashamed for her behavior that she’d even lashed out at him for calling her “ma’am.”

I’m sorry. I was only being respectful.

Considering what she had just allowed to transpire, his respectfulness had grated at the time.

Georgia closed her eyes and sighed. The man had only been trying to make the best out of a horribly awkward situation. And Toni was right—the quickest way to find the identity of the guy on the other end of the phone line and to have peace of mind was to go to Ken. She wouldn’t have to give him all the details, and she believed he would be discreet. Besides, as far as he knew, she was still dating Rob, so he wouldn’t pressure her to see him, not after their discussion in the closet. Indeed, asking for his help would give them a chance to ease the awkwardness of their last parting. And once Ken told her the name of the man who belonged to that phone number, she would be able to put the chaos of the past week to rest.

K
EN JUMPED UP
when the hot coffee hit his lap. “Dammit!” He stamped around, swiping at the wetness with a paper towel, then glared at his partner Klone. “What are you looking at?”

From his adjacent desk, Klone lifted an eyebrow. “I’m wondering when someone kidnapped my sweet-tempered partner and left a wounded bear in his place.”

He frowned as he dropped back into his seat. “Just having a bad day, that’s all.”

Klone gestured to the pile of cards and letters that had accumulated throughout the day. “Yeah, it’s rough being a freaking hero, ain’t it?”

Ken scoffed in the direction of the mail. “My home phone has been ringing off the damn hook.” Everyone who had his number had called—his mother, his sisters, his brother, his neighbors, his buddies—everyone except Georgia. And he’d only flipped through the silly cards today on the slim chance that Georgia had sent him a note of some kind.

Why she would, he had no idea, but a man could hope. Since Saturday, he had thought of little but Georgia, wondering if Trainer had made it home, and if she’d discovered she hadn’t been talking to her boyfriend when she’d…

Ken rubbed his fists over his scratchy eyes. He hadn’t slept much at all the past two nights, and the strong coffee meant to clear his head was making him irritable.

Then he frowned. Okay, his conscience was making him irritable. One foolish split-second decision to selfishly seize the moment had snowballed into an emotional quagmire. Worse, he’d passed up several chances to stop the madness and/or confess the truth. The fact that he’d used a nice, innocent woman led to a troubling state of mind—he was disappointed in himself. Before now he’d always thought of himself as a person of decent character, but one of his father’s favorite sayings kept circling in his mind:
It’s easy to be a good person if your character is never tested.

Boy oh boy, he’d failed miserably. He sighed. The answer was painful, but simple: He had to tell Georgia the truth, no matter the consequences.

“Woman trouble?” Klone asked, clamping him on the shoulder.

He looked up. “What the devil makes you think that?”

“Takes a lot to get you discombobulated.”

Ken scowled. “Well, it’s not a woman.” It was what he’d done to her.

Klone shook his head. “You’re a bad liar, son.”

No, he was a great liar—that was the problem.

“It’s that little slip of a nurse who was in here the other day, ain’t it?”

“No.”

“The one you rounded up all the guys for the blood bank to impress.”

“No.”

“Well, at least she’s an upstanding woman. Might make an honest man out of you.”

Ken smacked his hand on the desk. “Dammit, Klone, I’m telling you it’s not—” He stopped when he spotted none other than Georgia Adams being led toward his office. A goofy grin hung itself on his face. He stood so abruptly his chair went flying backward. And his stupid heart rolled over like a trained pet.

“Well, lookie there,” Klone drawled. “If it ain’t the woman who don’t have you tied up in knots.”

Ken watched her. Her heavy-lidded smoky gaze, the way she moved, the whole of her made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, he had a revelation. From now on, he would refer to his life in two phases: before he met Georgia Adams, and after.

“Wonder what she wants,” Klone muttered.

He didn’t care, as long as she was here. One thing he knew for certain—if Rob Trainer wanted Georgia, the man was in for the fight of his life. Unable to stop himself, he met her halfway, grinning like a dolt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiled and blushed, a great sign that bolstered his mood higher. His imagination took flight. She had broken off with Rob. She was hoping they could get together for a movie or something. She wasn’t busy for the next forty years or so. She wouldn’t mind having a gimpy dog underfoot.

“I brought the pictures of Crash,” she said, handing him an envelope.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“And I need a favor,” she said, her blue eyes wide and earnest.

He focused on not touching her, not here in front of everyone. “Anything,” he said, and meant it. “Come on back to my desk.” He pointed the way, then walked behind her a half step, throwing Klone a warning glare as Georgia sat down. The man pursed his mouth and turned back to his own paperwork.

Ken tried not to be distracted by her slim thighs as she crossed her legs. The simple, close-fitting khaki shorts hugged her figure, bringing back gut-clutching memories of her legs around his waist. He cleared his throat. “What can I help you with, Georgia?”

She removed a slip of paper from her purse and extended it to him. “Can you tell me the name of the person who has this local number?”

His heart stopped at the sight of his own phone number written in dainty little numbers, so innocent. Unable to take the slip of paper, he simply stared at it, willing it to go away. His brain clogged, and his vision blurred. What had seemed like the right decision a few moments ago now faded in the wake of losing the chance to win her over.

“Why do you need it?” he heard himself ask in an amazingly calm voice.

Her coloring rose and she squirmed. “Well, I’d rather not go into too much detail. The number has been called from my phone, and I’m just curious as to who is on the other end, that’s all.” But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Ken didn’t know what to do, so he stalled. “Some
one has been using your phone without your permission?”

“N-no.”

“So you made the calls.”

“Yes, but I dialed the wrong number—this number.”

Picking up on her discomfort, he decided that if he pushed her, she might change her mind about wanting the name. “If it was the wrong number, why do you need the name?”

“B-because,” she said softly, “I, um, divulged information to this man which was rather personal.”

“Information that was meant for someone else?” he pressed.

“Um, yes.”

“What purpose would be served by finding this person?”

She averted her eyes and rolled her shoulders. “I’m not sure—”

“Hey, Ken,” Klone called from his desk a few feet away, a phone in the crook of his shoulder. “There’s a lady up front who wants to talk to you about a lost dog.”

A sliver of disappointment cut into him. That mutt was starting to grow on him, and he was halfway hoping no one claimed him. At the same time, he knew someone was probably worried to death about the poor pooch. And he recognized the opportunity to collect his jumbled thoughts. He gave Georgia an apologetic glance. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” she said, standing. “I think I’ve
changed my mind anyway. It’s silly, really. I’m sure the man dismissed the incident.”

No, he didn’t dismiss it,
he wanted to say.
He loved it. He might even love you.
Ken straightened, shocked by the direction of his guilty thoughts. “I’m due a break. What would you say to grabbing a bite to eat? I’d like to talk to you, in private.” She looked as if she were going to say no, so he added, “Please?”

At last she smiled and nodded. “Okay, but just for a little while.”

He grinned. “Great. Sit tight and I’ll be right back to get you, okay?”

She nodded and sank back into the chair, looking small and gorgeous and…perfect. He couldn’t tell her now, not when that tentative look was starting to leave her eyes.
She’ll never know I was the man she was talking to,
he told himself.
And it’s better for both of us.

“I’ll hurry,” he said, as eager to return as a boomerang.

G
EORGIA FELT CONSPICUOUS
sitting in Ken’s big chair. She glanced around his work environment, thinking it wasn’t so different from her own—lots of shared space, a smidgen of private space, loads of camaraderie, a flurry of constant activity. She liked it.

And she liked Ken. A lot. Maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t the ladies’ man he was reputed to be. Maybe that closet episode was as remarkable for him as it had been for her. Maybe the odd coincidences of their paths crossing meant something special was supposed to happen between them.

She sighed, remembering the reason she’d come to
the station in the first place. Ken was right. What would she do with the information if she did get the guy’s name? Call him and demand that he not tell anyone that she preferred sleeping in the nude? Chances were the man had an interest in remaining anonymous, and she would probably never know his identity. She conceded, however, that months might pass before she stopped glancing at men on the bus and wondering if
he
were the one.

Whoever the guy was, he was probably having a belly laugh over the desperate woman who had to make the first move with her boyfriend, and who was so distracted she couldn’t even tell that the person on the other end wasn’t him. She burned with humiliation when she thought of the things she’d told him—intimate things she thought she was sharing with a man who cared about her. If the guy had caller ID, he knew her name. Had he told all of his buddies? Was her name being distributed on the Internet?
For a good time, Georgia Adams will call
you.

“Howdy,” said a lumpy-looking middle-aged man who came over to pick up a form from Ken’s cluttered desk. “I’m Klone.”

“I’m Georgia Adams,” she murmured. “You’re Ken’s partner, aren’t you?”

“That I am.”

From the twinkle in the man’s eyes, she knew he was fond of Ken. “He’s spoken of you,” she said.

He smiled again. “And I know all about you, too.”

She blinked. “Ken has mentioned me?”

“Oh, sure, Ken has mentioned you to just about anyone who’ll listen.” He leaned forward and dipped
his chin. “He thinks you’re just about the hottest number in Birmingham.”

Guilty heat flooded her face.

A young man walked up, his hands full. “Another stack of cards for Ken,” he said, adding to the pile of envelopes overflowing the small desk. He held up a postcard. “As if the man didn’t have enough women chasing him, he has to go and make the front page of the paper. Listen to this: ‘You can handcuff me to your bed any time. Call me, Barbie.’” He rolled his eyes.

The officers in the vicinity laughed, and Georgia felt uneasy. The man obviously had his pick of women to coax into a closet. Why would he be interested in her?

Klone picked up the slip of paper she’d left lying on Ken’s desk and to her surprise, winked broadly as he handed it back to her. “Ken really should get business cards for as often as he’s probably passed out this number.”

Georgia’s mind flooded with confusion. She tried to smile. “Do you…recognize this phone number?”

Klone glanced at the paper again. “Yep—555-6252—I’ve sure as hell dialed it enough. It’s Ken’s home number.”

The floor fell out from under her feet, leaving her in a free fall. A week’s worth of seemingly disjointed events fell into place with mocking ease, like a preschooler’s puzzle. Running into him at the hospital, then seemingly at every turn. At the hospital, at the mall, at the blood bank, at the church. He’d looked her up and hunted her down. He’d played her for a fool, an
easy
fool. Scoring in the supply closet. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.

“Is something wrong?” the man asked.

Oh, sure, Ken has mentioned you to just about anyone who’ll listen. He thinks you’re just about the hottest number in Birmingham.

Georgia lunged to her feet, stumbling backward before she gained her footing. Bile rose in her mouth. “I…have to go,” she whispered, then ran blindly toward the exit.

K
EN WAS WHISTLING
when he walked back to his desk. The woman’s lost dog wasn’t Crash, and Georgia was waiting for hi—

He frowned at the empty chair, then panned the adjacent area looking for her. “Klone,” he called, threading his way through people to their desk area. “Where’s Georgia?”

The older man shrugged. “Took off, like someone set her on fire.”

“Just like that?” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say something to her?”

“Maybe a little good-hearted teasing, but nothing to send her off like that. I think she’s a little touched in the head.”

“You’re the only one here touched in the head. Think, man. You had to have said something that upset her.”

The man shook his head. “Nope. Cal over there delivered some more mail from your fan club and was cutting up about what a lady killer you are. Then I cracked a joke about you making up business cards so you wouldn’t have to write down your phone number so often.”

Dread pooled at the top of his head and oozed downward. “My phone number?”

“Yeah, she had it written on a piece of paper. Guess you wore her down for a date?”

He leaned forward and gripped the sides of his desk. “You told her that was
my
phone number written on that piece of paper?”

“Well, wasn’t it?”

Ken closed his eyes and swallowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Klone asked.

He straightened. “I’m going on break.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

Ken jogged to the front of the building and burst through the double doors. A hundred feet away, a city bus had stopped for passengers. He caught the flash of a pink blouse and took off sprinting. But the bus lumbered into motion and pulled away just as he ran up next to it. He searched the windows for her face and when he saw her, his stride broke. Tears streaked her face and she looked at him with such loathing, he was rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth, but knew it was too late for words.

He watched the bus carry her away from him and felt like the piece of trash that lay on the sidewalk at his feet.