Trust Me (11 page)

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"I'm one of them," she clarified. Then several hands shot up, but she shook her head. "I'm happy to tell you all about The Last Stand, what we do and what we're about. Maybe you'd even like to get involved. But let's finish our class first, okay?"

The class quieted and she returned to the blackboard just as someone at the very back spoke up. The voice startled her because it was a man's.

"How many guns do you own?"

Turning, Skye saw that Detective Willis had slipped into the room.

Where he'd come from or why he was there, she had no idea. But he was scowling.

"I have several, Detective," she said. "I have a 9mm pistol, but I generally prefer the Kel-Tec P-3 AT semiautomatic--although I wouldn't recommend it to a novice-- or the P232 Sig Sauer."

"And do they help you sleep better at night?"

"I wouldn't want to be without them," she retorted.

He said nothing more, but the disapproval on his face bothered her.

After his remarks in the past, she could imagine what he was thinking: What, no machine gun ? No grenade launcher? He wasn't happy that she hadn't called him last night; he thought she was trying to do too much on her own.

Skye continued her class as if he wasn't there and, a few minutes later, he stalked out. His attitude made her angry, and she wanted him to know.

But she had fifteen people in the room, who were all there to learn about self-defense. She discussed caliber in relation to gun size, had each woman try the various guns for fit and distributed a pamphlet on gun safety that she told them they had to read and sign. Then she put in a plug for TLS, promised to bring a sign-up sheet for volunteers to their next class and smiled as they filed out.

But even after it was over, she was angry. What did David think he was doing, showing up and making his views--his negative views--so obvious? He told her to rely on him but he wouldn't rely on her. Acted like he cared but didn't really care. Wanted her but not enough to take what she had to offer.

When everyone had left, Skye marched out of the building and down the front steps, planning to call him the minute she reached her car. But she didn't need to. He was waiting for her. She'd barely stepped onto the ground when he shoved away from the building and intercepted her. "Hey."

"What did you think you were doing in there?" she demanded.

His eyebrows knitted. "You're getting carried away, Skye."

"What does it matter to you?"

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"It matters."

She remembered the way he sat with her in the hospital, hour after hour. How gently he'd tried to question her, to pull everything she could possibly remember about Burke from her mind. The way he'd held her when those dark memories were too ugly to face. He'd been there for her through the darkest period of her life. But as soon as she'd begun to recover, he'd begun to back away.

"Then ignore it," she said. "You're good at ignoring things." She'd thought she wanted to talk to him, but she didn't. What was there to say?

They'd only disagree. She tried to pass him, but he blocked her from going around him.

"Can't you see yourself?" he asked. "You didn't call the sheriff's department last night because you think you've got it covered, with your guns and your training and your 'been there, done that' tough bullshit. Are you trying to become some sort of female Rambo? If so, that's foolish.

Reckless."

"Says you!"

"Yeah, says me! It's already Tuesday. Burke is getting out in three days. Do you really want to shut me out right now, when we most need to work together?"

She didn't. That was the problem. She wanted his help professionally, but working with him left her emotionally vulnerable. She couldn't separate the two, not as easily as he seemed to do.

She wished they could go back to the early days, when their feelings were first developing, when everything was still so innocent and unexpected that it took them both unawares. Now that David knew he had to guard against personal involvement, nothing was the same, which was why she'd changed, too--grown defensive. "And where will you be when Burke comes after me again?" she asked. "Sleeping with your ex-wife?"

He blanched but didn't respond to the verbal jab. "I'm hoping to find something that will enable me to arrest him again before that can happen.

And I could use a little cooperation."

"I'm handling the situation the best way I know how."

He glared at her for a moment, then sighed as if he realized it was his other feelings--the frustration and confusion he felt with her--that had him so worked up. "I talked with Jane this morning," he said, obviously trying to control his emotions.

Skye caught her breath, curious in spite of the need to put distance between them. "Jane Burke?"

"Yes."

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"How's she getting by without her husband?"

"She's making it, I guess. She cuts hair for a living at a small salon off Greenback and Van Maren."

"Is she still with Oliver?"

"Evidently. But she's beginning to wonder about him. Depending on how well they get along when he's released, she might become an ally before this is over."

"That's what you came to tell me?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was hoping it might make his imminent parole a bit easier for you--the fact that some of the people who were once so loyal to him might be having second thoughts."

"How'd you know I'd be here?" she asked.

"Sheridan told me." He touched her arm. "There's more, Skye."

Struggling to shore up her anger against the unrequited longing she always felt in David's presence, Skye tightened the ponytail that held her hair back. "What is it?"

"I checked with the phone company. That call the other night came from a pay phone in Oak Park."

Oak Park was a rough section of Sacramento, about as rough as California's capital got. But it wasn't San Quen-tin. "So it couldn't have been Oliver."

"No, but we already knew that."

"Thanks for checking." She started to move off again, but he closed the distance between them.

"Skye."

Stopping, she turned. "What?"

He said nothing. She could tell it was just more of the same old attraction. And the same old refusal to act on that attraction.

"It'd probably be best if you called when you need to talk to me," she said.

"You don't want to see me?" He said it as if he knew it was a lie.

"Not particularly."

She walked off again, and he caught her arm, only this time when she turned he didn't say anything. Pulling her to him, he slid his hand into her hair and glared down at her. The conflict inside him made his eyes darker than usual, gave his features a slightly harsh edge.

She parted her lips, determined to tell him to release her. But then his mouth found hers.

Skye had wanted this for so long she didn't hesitate. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, greedily accepting what he offered. His tongue moved 72

over hers, tasting, touching, giving--as his kiss said everything he never would.

It wasn't until another car entered the parking lot that they finally broke apart.

"God, you make me crazy," he muttered.

Winded, she gazed up at him. "Is that really so bad?"

He raked a hand through his hair. "Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because it's turning me into someone I'd rather not be."

"Human, David? Is it so bad to want someone?"

"When that desire means giving in to the easy thing, the most selfish thing, yes."

She pressed her fingers to both temples. She knew she should continue to her car, but that kiss had brought hope roaring back to life. "I need a date for Saturday night."

"You're asking me out?" The strain in his face eased into a half-hearted grin. "That kiss must've been even better than I thought."

"I'm not exactly weak in the knees," she lied. "Anyway, it's not an invitation to stay the night. It's business."

The grin disappeared. "What kind of business?"

"A fund-raiser for The Last Stand."

He shook his head. "Leave me out of it. In my opinion, you're already too involved. Someone called you last night to say he's going to slit your throat. Do you think I want you out there making more enemies?"

"I'm helping the little guy. If that makes enemies, so be it."

"So be it? Listen to yourself! You're making it impossible for me to protect you!"

"I'm ready for anyone who comes after me."

He stepped closer but didn't touch her. "Then God forbid you ever shoot someone you don't mean to kill."

"Maybe you don't like what I'm doing, but what's my other choice?"

she said. "Should I sit back and do nothing? Call you every time I get scared? Leave the battle to others? We have to fight back."

"That's what I do every day. That's what police are for!"

She didn't want to say they were falling short, not when he worked so hard. But they were falling short. Look at Sean Regan. Before class, she'd contacted the detective assigned to his case, a guy by the name of Fitzer.

She'd told him of her experience with Sean and her suspicions about Tasha Regan, but he didn't seem concerned. He'd brushed her off, said, "I'm checking into it," but gave her the impression that he was either so 73

overworked or so incompetent he hadn't done in the entire past week what he should've done the first day.

It was a good thing she'd hired Jonathan. He'd already reported that Sean's wife was likely seeing someone else, as Sean had said. And she'd gone on a spending spree, as if she was celebrating something. Those were hardly the actions of a traumatized wife.

Briefly covering her eyes with her hand, Skye struggled to rein in her emotions, to put the situation in perspective. She almost wished she didn't feel so passionate about everything--especially David. "It's just dinner and dancing, okay? All you have to do is smile and shake a few hands."

"Skye--"

She cut him off before he could argue any more. "It'd really help to have some police presence there, the appearance of support. I can't imagine it'd be bad for the department, either. We're both on the victim's side, right?

We should act friendly even if we're not."

"I just want to keep you safe."

"Then make sure I'm safe on Saturday."

With a heavy sigh, he shifted his gaze and stared off toward the shooting range, from which they could hear the "crack" and "pop" of gunfire. "I have Jeremy this weekend."

That was the one excuse she couldn't contest, which frustrated her more than ever. "Fine." Pivoting, she hurried across the parking lot, but when she reached her car, he called after her.

"I'll find a babysitter. What time do I pick you up?"

Pulling out her keys, she unlocked her door.

"Are you going to answer me?"

She told herself to put an end to the tug-of-war between them. To tell him to forget it and never contact her again. But, in the end, she couldn't do it. "Six."

"I'll be there."

"One more thing," she said.

"What's that?"

"It's formal."

"Formal?" His tone was a complaint, but she didn't give him the chance to back out. Getting in her car, she drove away.

The address in the phone book for Jane Burke corresponded to a rental off Sunrise. Tonight that rental was dark and quiet and had been since ten.

Skye knew because she'd been sitting across the street in her 1998 Volvo sedan for two hours. This late, there wasn't much to see. But it was still creepy to be here, to know Burke's wife and daughter were so close and that 74

he'd be joining them in just three days.

Tilting her seat back, Skye took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes at the building with its peeling paint and the child's swing hanging from a tree in the front yard. She wanted to leave and not look back, to go on as if what had happened with Burke would never happen again. David would be furious if he knew what she was doing tonight. But she couldn't leave. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Burke glaring at her as they read the verdict. He planned to come after her. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

And how many others would he hurt in the meantime?

She knew what he was. Couldn't ignore it. Which meant she had to stay one step ahead of him, anticipate his movements, act before he could. If she was lucky, she'd uncover enough evidence to put him away for life. If she wasn't...

Burke's blade flashed in her mind's eye, so real she almost lifted her arms to protect herself. When I get out, I'm going to slit your throat.... He couldn't have made that call himself. But someone else could've made it for him.

Alone on the dark street, frightened by her own thoughts, she grew even more uneasy when a pair of headlights swung around the corner.

Ducking so the driver couldn't see her, she listened for the hum of the motor.

But the car didn't pass as quickly as she expected it to. It decelerated as it drew near, then sped up again and continued down the street.

Why had it slowed? Raising her head long enough to check the rearview mirror, she noted that it was a midsize Lexus, which wouldn't draw stares in a middle- or upper-class neighborhood but didn't fit here. This neighborhood was cluttered with dented trucks, economy cars and a few pimped-out sports cars.

Still, she didn't think much of it until five minutes later, when the same car made another pass.

Again she slid down, listening. This time the Lexus moved at a crawl when it reached her, and she got the uneasy feeling the driver was trying to peer into her windows.

Obviously, she'd caught someone's interest. Jane's? There'd been a porch light on when Skye arrived, which had since gone off, but perhaps Jane had left a babysitter in charge of Kate.

Afraid that whoever it was would come by again--and that this time he or she would park and approach the car-- Skye waited until the taillights of the Lexus disappeared around the corner. Then she grabbed her flashlight and gun, shoved them into the pocket of her heavy coat, and crept out the passenger side, which fronted a duplex that looked every bit as drab as Jane 75