Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (6 page)

But he’d had to go seduce her, hadn’t kept his libido under control. It wasn’t enough to date her and tease information about Grayson out of her, not that she knew much. Nope, he hadn’t been able to resist her lovely face and nice little body, so he seduced her in the line of duty. Duty should be so sweet. He tried, in the cold light of day, not to attach too much importance to that night, or any of the many before it either, carnal or no.

Connecting with Heather was part of the job. Taking her to bed was not. And he’d made love to her. He wouldn’t cheapen what they’d done by calling it sex, trying to distance himself. He acknowledged his feelings for Heather mirrored hers for him and it didn’t make it any easier. The betrayal Heather would experience, especially since she’d shared her body with him, would be so profound Manny couldn’t allow himself to think about it.

He still had the investigation to complete. He would stick to his plan to connect with Heather again tomorrow and not before. That avoidance didn’t include sending the occasional text, and a bouquet of roses, anything to lay the groundwork for a grovelling, abject apology looming in the future. Not that he had high hopes Heather would forgive him.

“Nothing to add, Baker? This Heather special?” McAllister just wouldn’t give it up.

“Shut it, Detective.” Bryce’s tone might have frozen spa waters solid.

The cop jerked his attention to Bryce. He regarded him speculatively while Manny brought himself under control.

“We have just over a day to check and double check our facts and figures, put that plan in place. There’s a veritable army to brief and organize. Let it go.” Bryce spoke inexorably and McAllister’s demeanor relaxed. His professionalism clearly asserted itself.

“Done. But Baker stays clear of that woman and if she’s involved, she goes down, too. No deals. I don’t roll that way.” McAllister’s eyes glowed with purpose.

Manny watched Bryce nod. “We won’t interfere with your investigation.”

The cop appeared to be satisfied and sat to join them. The next few hours passed amicably as they strategized once more, ensuring those individuals necessary to perpetrate a raid, a forensic accounting and mass interviews were available, not to mention those who would lock any interference or danger down.

* * * *

Heather daydreamed, forgetting she was in a police station with Moesha, waiting in line to report someone vandalizing her friend’s car. Her every waking thought was consumed with Matthew, making it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything. Her heart tried to break free from the prison of her chest and fly after his plane early Sunday afternoon, her face pressed to the departure lounge window, straining for a last glimpse as the jet
took flight. It clawed its way into the sky and receded from view with breathtaking speed. She realized then she had a long wait until Thursday and hugged her memories close for solace. She missed him acutely, but the time had somehow passed, eased by texts from Matthew and a stunning bouquet of soft shell-pink roses sent to her home on Monday. And he’d be back tomorrow.

Their night and morning together held the starring role in her head, but there was more to it than the physicality. Heather liked who Matthew was, from his acerbic wit to his quick mind. She adored the way he treated waitstaff, with such courtesy, his manner with everyone, attentive and tolerant. Matthew had a big family, three brothers and two sisters, both parents were still alive, and she lived the family life vicariously when Matthew shared his memories.

No man had listened to her, hung on her every word, wanting to know about her personal life, her job, her boss, her friends,
everything
about her. Until Matthew. And then there was the sex. Heather planned to have sex with Matthew at every opportunity and on every available surface, horizontal or vertical. She was in love and the lust mingling with her intense emotional commitment overwhelmed her at times. He unlocked her sensuality and there was no putting it back. He’d been patient with her over the previous weeks, respecting her boundaries, getting to know her, and she’d come to know him. He was a smart, confident, competent man. And a number of other adjectives she’d apply another time, because she was getting hot again, thinking about all his attributes and qualities. And something he’d said, when he kissed her good-bye at the gate, gave her hope. His comment spoke to the future, beyond Matthew’s short-lived time here, his current job.

“I’ll see you Thursday, honey. And we need to talk, soon, about us. This thing we have is different.”

Heather dared to believe they were on the same page, her and Matthew, that this was a
relationship.
And love surmounted all obstacles, right? Distance, work, everything.

“Goddamn it! Will you look at all those people? How’m I supposed to file a complaint and get back to work on time? Did
everybody
take their lunch hour to do their police business? Are Wednesdays significant somehow?”

Moesha’s outburst yanked Heather right from a vision of white lace and red roses. She figured Moesha’s questions were rhetorical and kept quiet. There might’ve been a time when the police came out to take a statement about your property being vandalized, but now you went to them and took a number. She supposed it made sense. They had bigger fish to fry.

Waiting stoically, the sandwich hastily consumed on the walk over sitting in her belly like a rock, Heather glanced idly around the lobby, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the myriad of smells combining in the room from the increasing number of fellow complainants. Moesha’s chatter faded to an irritating background buzz and Heather automatically set her sensory adaptors to pick up on cue words. If one didn’t respond appropriately and immediately to Moesha, she took umbrage and repeated herself, in detail. It wasn’t worth the pain. And her friend’s car
had
been keyed.

Movement at the door snagged her attention. She squinted in surprised recognition. Yes, it was indeed Matthew entering the station with another big man, both of them wearing dark pants and light, button-down shirts, the sleeves rolled back to display what Heather knew were muscled, tan forearms, at least in Matthew’s case. She loved to place a hand on those arms, delighting in their implicit strength, tracing the whirls of dark, silky hair patterning them. He liked her hands on his arms, on other parts, too, his eyes darkening to bittersweet chocolate in his tanned face.

The corners of her mouth lifted in a welcoming smile and she decided to wait for him to get closer before calling out. This was a wonderful surprise, him returning early. Heather felt the smile fade when she considered Matthew, too, might be here to make a complaint. She hoped nothing terrible had happened, then calmed herself with the reminder the police actually attended those kinds of things. Matthew was just back early from his trip and maybe had a fender bender with his rental. Maybe he’d gone to her office and someone told him she and Moesha were here.

Intent on his conversation with the other man, Matthew hadn’t yet noticed her, and she perused his well-built form with the lazy complacency of someone who’d fully made its acquaintance. Just as Matthew had made hers. She tingled with arousal at the memory, her breasts actually becoming heavy, her sex softening and plumping. Heather hurriedly tucked those thoughts away. They were private and special, and people might notice. She knew her face had flushed, her cheeks positively hot.

Instead of approaching the line at the optimistically labelled
Customer Service
desk, Matthew and the other man walked to the door set in the far wall, opposite the entrance. Strange. She had vaguely noticed policemen enter and leave through that portal. They either used a key card or punched in a code. Why would Matthew go with a policeman, if that’s what the other guy was, into the back of the station? Heather’s heart sped up and her breath shortened. Was he under arrest?

Blinking to clear her vision, she focused on Matthew’s wrist nearest the other man. No cuffs. But there
was
a glint of metal at his waist. Heather involuntarily stepped closer, and the slight improvement in distance confirmed it.
There was a badge on his belt.
A large gold badge. It stood out in stark relief against the dark fabric of his pants. She blinked again but it didn’t magically vanish. He lifted a swipe card to the lock and reached for the handle. Matthew was a cop.

Breath whooshing of her lungs, unable to suck any back in, her head whirled with the realization. Matthew was a cop. Not a tech rep for the head company back east, sent as a liaison to the company she worked for, but a cop. Maybe not a local cop, because she’d driven him to the airport herself, watched his plane take off, but a cop. Okay, she’d said it often enough to make it true. Matthew lied to her.
What was this?

As if he felt the weight of her eyes on him, Matthew looked up and scanned the room. Fortuitously, a large man hauled his bulk into view and blocked the sight line, giving her time to do something. Anything. When the Hulk ponderously moved aside, there was no sign of Matthew. That woman in the bible. The one who looked back. What was her name? She’d turned into a statue of salt. Heather couldn’t move, either.

“Heather! For Christ’s sake. Pay attention. We’re gonna lose our place!”

She turned back to Moesha with a Herculean effort and her friend abruptly stopped yammering. “What’s wrong? Heather? Jesus, girl.”

Moesha grabbed Heather’s arm and shoved her against one of the pillars in the lobby. The cool plaster against her spine and the solid strength of it stiffened Heather’s knees. She mutely shook her head against her friend’s concern and Moesha fumbled in her enormous purse, yanking out a bottle of water. Heather took it and managed to crack the cap. She raised it to her lips and let the liquid flow over her tongue and down her throat. Her swallowing sounded loud in her ears and the sandwich threatened to reappear.

“You’re next, Moesha. Get it done.” Heather’s voice didn’t sound like her. She didn’t
feel
like her. She had to get out of here.

Moesha gave her a harried glance, eyes shifting back and forth over Heather’s face, but she stepped up to the window, shoving the form through the opening at the bottom. The woman behind the safety glass ran the edge of her pen down the page and asked a few questions, noted something on the paper, and pushed it back for Moesha to sign. Heather catalogued all of this with remarkable clarity, despite the flickers of gray around the edges of her sanity. Things had taken on a weird overlay, soft and muzzy.

“C’mon.” Moesha slipped an arm around her waist and Heather welcomed the support and warmth. “You need a doctor? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“No,” she managed. “A place to sit.”

They made their way out of the station, down the broad steps, and Heather wondered that her knees could hold her. Moesha steered her to a bench on the boulevard and she sank down onto it, still clutching the bottle of water, the cap imprinted in the palm of her other hand, her purse hanging like a handicap from her right arm. It was hot in the sun, the young shade tree planted beside their bench years away from doing its job. Heather welcomed the heat, her insides quaking with cold.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick? Did you have an episode or something?”

Heather snorted in surprise. Hardly feminine, but fitting in this drama.

“Matthew’s a cop. I just saw him.”

Moesha’s eyes popped like a cartoon character’s. Her mouth dropped open, then closed. A few seconds later, an eternity in Moesha time, she said, “
Your
Matthew?”

“Probably not my Matthew. My Matthew’s a tech guy, remember? He’s been coming to Jameson and Company for nearly a month now, on and off. Meeting with my boss, romancing me. Going back east, coming back here. Probably someone else’s Matthew in the real world. Mine when he’s undercover.”

Moesha’s nimble brain processed the information quicker than Heather’s shell-shocked one had. “You weren’t mistaken? You really saw him? Here? And he’s a cop?”

“He had a badge on his belt, he was with another guy who had cop written all over him and they went through the security door at the back. With a key card. It was Matthew, Moesha. No doubt.” Come to think of it,
Matthew
had cop written all over him, too.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid.

They sat in silence. Traffic noises swirled around them, other pedestrians hurried or strolled as they passed by, various forms of footwear tapping out a chaotic beat on the pavement. The bass and treble sounds echoed in Heather’s head.

“I guess when you think about it, he kinda does look like a cop. You know, built, short hair, that ‘in charge personality,’ confident.” Moesha sneaked a sideways glance.

Right, nothing like the stereotypical techie, although Mr. Grayson seemed thoroughly convinced, too. Except
he
hadn’t slept with the man. Yay. It hardly excused her stupidity.

“I feel as though I’m in somebody else’s life, or a movie. If he’s a cop, then he’s investigating, undercover.” Matthew investigated
her
pretty thoroughly, undercover. Heather’s stomach and sex clenched simultaneously. Can you
say
used
?

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess go back to work and pretend.”

“Pretend what? That the man you’ve fallen ass over heels for is a fake? You’re not gonna tell your boss?” Moesha’s voice once again climbed the octaves.

Heather pushed to her feet, capping the water bottle and sticking it in her purse. “Nope. If the police are involved
I’m
not getting involved.”

“You
are
involved!”