Courting the Cop (12 page)

She couldn’t help smiling and sighing again as she traced her fingers over her neck where Brody’s stubble had left red marks. She arched her back, her body still thrumming from the fast and frantic sex, a long trail of desire flickering deep in her bloodstream. Every cell pulsed. She felt alive and vibrant, and she knew it was all because of Brody. Because of how he made her feel. When those lust-filled hazel-green eyes fixed on her, she felt special, unique, like she was the only woman in the world who could inspire that look in him.

Chuckling, she drifted over to her aunt’s collection of records and lifted one onto the old-fashioned turntable. Brody was still in her bedroom, reviewing his surveillance tapes and keeping a lookout on Mrs. O’Brien’s house. She’d leave him in peace for a while; she knew how important his police work was to him, how eager he was to catch Michael O’Brien.

The strains of “Tain’t What You Do” filled the living room. She moved to the center of the room and shuffled her feet in time to the music, clicking her fingers at each beat. She began to dance. Stomp-brush-step with her right foot, then with her left, hips and shoulders swaying.

“Push it and you push it,” she murmured to herself, running the choreography through her mind. “And you…crossover…”

She shimmied until the end of the routine and paused to run her fingers through her hair.

“Do that again.” Brody’s voice from the doorway startled her. He leaned against the doorframe, looking tempting as sin in his low-slung jeans, barefoot, his unbuttoned shirt revealing a delicious slice of abdomen.

“You like my Shim Sham?” She straightened, wondering how long he’d been watching her.

“Is that what you call it?”

She nodded. “It’s a swing line dance I’m practicing for that fifties dance I’m going to next Saturday. Ever heard of Frankie Manning?” Brody shook his head. “He was this amazing dancer and choreographer during the thirties and forties, and later, during the eighties, he helped the revival of swing dancing, especially the Lindy Hop and the Shim Sham. He died before his ninety-fifth birthday, but people around the world still celebrated the day by doing Frankie’s Shim Sham.” She paused, conscious that she was babbling on a bit. “Anyway, I enjoy doing it.”

“And I enjoy watching you do it. Especially the way you wiggle your ass as you shuffle backward.”

The glint in his eye got her heart revving faster. She moved to the turntable where the song had ended.

“You could learn it too,” she said, resetting the needle to the beginning. “You could come to this dance with me.”

There was silence, except for the scratchy start of the record. The trumpets and trombones blew, and the prickling silence stretched on.

“Uh, I’m not much of a dancing man,” Brody said.

Finally she looked at him. He’d pushed off the doorway and stood there looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“The Shim Sham isn’t that hard to pick up.”

The corners of his lips turned down. “You haven’t seen me dance.”

She didn’t care if he had two left feet. She’d love for him to come with her to the dance. How wonderful it would be to dress up and make herself as pretty as possible for him, to go with him out in public and enjoy his company, enjoy being with him and making sure he was enjoying himself.

“If Frankie Manning could dance in his nineties, then you can too.” She kept her voice light as she began to do the steps. “See, you do this with your right foot, and then you do the same with your left foot, and afterward this.” She demonstrated the routine, trying to smile encouragingly at him.

Brody pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His feet remained stubbornly glued to the floor. “No, you’re not dragging me in. I know what I’m good at and what I’m not, and you’re not changing my mind no matter how much you shake that booty of yours.”

A flush surged up Abigail’s cheeks as her feet missed a couple of steps. Was it her imagination, or were they talking about something other than dancing? Was she asking more of Brody than just to learn a few steps? Yes, she was, she had to admit. She was asking him to be her date to the dance, for real, not as her fake boyfriend. She was asking him to take whatever this was between them beyond the bedroom and out into the real world.

And he was not comfortable with that.

Hurt squeezed like a fist around her heart. Shuffling to a halt, she lifted an arm to her head in a pretext of wiping her forehead. She couldn’t let Brody see her face, how disappointed—how crushed—she was.

She huffed out a breath, focusing her eyes on the floor.

“Abigail?” There was uncertainty in his voice, a scuffing of bare feet. “I’d only make a fool of myself at your dance. You’d be better off going with someone who’s into all that swing-dancing stuff.”

Yep, they were definitely talking about more than just dancing. That drink in his neighborhood bar earlier this week had been an aberration. He’d regretted that, regretted allowing her into his apartment too, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Well, she could take a hint. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d made her any false promises, unlike a certain professor. No, Brody had been upfront with her from the start. Whatever they had between them was not a relationship, was not dating and was definitely not permanent.

She could appreciate his honesty. He was a straight-up guy, and she could count on him not to lie to her. That meant something. That meant she wouldn’t get her heart broken again. Though it was feeling mighty bruised right this moment.

She sucked in her stomach muscles and made herself to look at him, forcing a cheerful expression.

“Yes, you’re probably right. I know this fifties stuff is silly to you, and I don’t want to embarrass you by forcing you to do something you’re not comfortable with. Don’t worry. I know lots of people going to the dance. I’ll have a great time.”

Brody eyed her carefully, cautiously. Then he nodded and turned on his heel.

Heart sinking, Abigail stared out the window while the big-band sound filled the living room. The city lights twinkling in the darkness made her feel even smaller and emptier. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d felt so unimportant.

When her parents had left her here with Aunt Edna, she’d thought it was her fault. She wasn’t the strong, healthy child they’d wanted. Later, she’d realized they hadn’t wanted any children, that they preferred being together working in faraway countries without the added responsibility of their own offspring. That realization hadn’t lessened the hurt much. Even though she couldn’t have asked for a better guardian than Aunt Edna, being rejected by her own parents had left deep scars.

Later, she’d met and fallen in love with Professor Robert Lindhoff, who had assured her that he and his wife were separated and the only thing holding up the divorce was her strictly religious parents. Abigail had believed him, just like she’d believed him when he told her that they couldn’t be seen together in public for fear of ruining his tenureship prospects. Of course she didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize his career. That meant sneaking around, lies, pretense. They had never had a proper date, never gone to a restaurant as a couple, never held hands on the street, never kissed in public.

She’d put up with being last on Robert’s priorities because she’d thought it was only temporary. But she’d accidentally discovered that Robert and his wife weren’t as separated as he’d made out, and that he’d made a fool of her, a stupid,
stupid
fool. Oh, how she’d burned with embarrassment and disgust. Not simply disgust with him, but with herself, too. She’d let herself be duped. She’d allowed herself to be the footnote in Robert’s life, extraneous and disposable.

But now, wasn’t she repeating the same mistake with Brody? Wasn’t she nothing more than a little diversion in his life? He was a busy cop, focused on his job, with no time for dating and especially not with someone like her, who yearned for a man to woo her the old-fashioned way. Well, she couldn’t blame him because she was the one who’d forgotten about the wooing as soon as he came near her. All her wishes about courting and taking things slowly had vanished like smoke in the fire he struck in her.

She rubbed her chilled arms, her entire body heavy and sore. For once in her life, she’d like someone to go out of their way and do something special for her, something that would make her toes curl and her heart leap for joy. Just once. Was that too much to ask for?

That night, Brody didn’t sleep over at her place.

He didn’t call her the following day either.

Chapter Nine

Sorry, can’t make it today
.

The terse text message glowed on Abigail’s cell phone, burning her retinas. She should have expected Brody to miss this Tuesday’s Knit and Natter, but like a fool she’d hoped he would come. With a grimace she shoved the phone back into her pocket. She must have scared him off on Sunday with her talk about teaching him the Shim Sham and dragging him to a fifties dance. God, the poor guy must have had nightmares about her.

Well, she wasn’t going to waste any more time angsting over him. Squaring her shoulders, she forced her mind to her store. After the dismal failure of her yarn costume, she needed another way of drumming up business. So she’d decided to have a sale this week, and she had a fresh stack of flyers which she planned to distribute around the neighborhood after the Knit and Natter.

Sophia and Jennifer entered the store.

“Where’s that hot boyfriend of yours?” Sophia immediately asked, her gaze darting about the place.

Abigail tossed her hair in what she hoped was a don’t-care attitude. “He’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, actor things.”

Sophia’s pouchy eyes narrowed. “No trouble, is there?”

“No, of course not. What makes you think that?”

“You’re not your usual chirpy self.”

Damn, she hadn’t realized Brody had such an effect on her. She didn’t like that. “I’m just worrying about business, as usual. You know about my sale, don’t you?” She pointed to the stack of flyers. “Tell everyone you know. I need to drum up business or you ladies will have to find somewhere else to Knit and Natter.”

Both Sophia and Jennifer let out a chorus of protests, which lifted Abigail’s heart a little. At least she still had her small community, even if she couldn’t find a man who would put her first.

Katherine O’Brien didn’t show up, so Abigail supposed it was just as well Brody hadn’t come and wasted his time. After the ladies had left, she put on her coat, gathered the flyers and shut the shop. She worked her way down Main Street, handing out flyers to any interested passersby and posting some of them to streetlights. She turned down Tenth Avenue and walked toward the library where she intended to put a flyer on the community notice board.

A stream of cars passed by her. She barely noticed them until a familiar car caught her attention. Brody had driven her to his apartment in a green Pontiac exactly like that one, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that was his broad-shouldered frame in the driver’s seat…and in the passenger seat was a woman with a mass of bouncy red hair.

Abigail’s mouth fell open. The car was in front, heading away from her, but she could see enough. The woman leaned toward Brody closely, as if she had a hand on his thigh. She was smiling seductively at him like a cat about to catch a sparrow. That big red hair and come-hither smile could only belong to one woman—Gina Mariano. And Brody wasn’t exactly fighting her off.

Abigail’s teeth ground painfully as she snapped her mouth shut, her stomach suddenly hollow.

Boy, he’d moved onto greener pastures in a hurry.

She stood on the sidewalk, unable to move as pain worked slowly through her. So that’s why Brody hadn’t shown up at the yarn store today. Because he was busy with another woman. Fair enough; she’d scared him off with her Shim Sham silliness. But why did it have to be Gina? Why couldn’t he pick a woman from his own turf? Gina was her friend. Abigail had never thought her the type to put the moves on someone else’s boyfriend, even if the man was as irresistible as Brody.

Doubt came over her. Maybe there was nothing going on between them. Gina was friendly with everyone, especially hunky men. And Brody wasn’t the type to lie. He would tell her straight up if he wanted to break things off with her.

But maybe he’d only do that once he caught his fugitive and no longer needed her place as a stakeout. He had his priorities, after all, and catching Michael O’Brien was right up there at the top.

She tried to push the unwelcome thought away, but it persisted like a toxic smell. Damn, why did she have to second-guess this? Why did she find herself in these situations?

Hugging her coat closer to her body, she strode off at a brisk pace, desperate to put Brody to the back of her mind. She had her own work to do, and he wasn’t helping her. She reached the library and went inside to pin her flyer to the notice board.

As she was leaving, a slight scuffling sound caught her attention. It seemed to be coming from the side of the building. Curious, she headed that way. In the narrow side passage, a large, burly man stood over a small, cowering woman.

Abigail gaped. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

The man spun round. A gray beanie stretched over a craggy face. Hulking shoulders filled out a nylon jacket. Black eyes glared at her.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he snarled at her.

Michael O’Brien. Brody had shown her the mug shots. And that poor woman behind him was his mother, Katherine.

“Mrs. O’Brien! Are you all right?”

Katherine began to speak when Michael rounded on her. “Shut up.” He thrust his jaw at her, a threatening scowl darkening his face. “And don’t forget what we talked about.”

With that he moved toward Abigail. Despite her best intentions, she found herself faltering back. Anxiety dried her mouth. What was he going to do? Surely in a public place like this he wouldn’t— Before she could worry any further, he shoved past her, causing her to stumble against the wall of the building.

She caught herself before she fell and righted herself. Michael had already disappeared. She ran out the library gates and frantically scanned the street either way. No sign of him. He seemed to have vanished into thin air. Damn, he was as shifty as a rat.

She pulled out her phone, ready to call Brody, but a groan from behind claimed her attention. She ran back to Katherine, who was leaning against the gates, her face gray, her hair askew.

Abigail bit her lip as she debated what to do next. She couldn’t blurt out that she’d recognized Michael without having to reveal that she knew all about her fugitive son, and that might alert her to who Brody really was.

“Mrs. O’Brien, who was that?” she asked, lending her support to the older woman. “Was he mugging you? I’m going to call the police right away.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” Katherine’s eyes widened as she gripped Abigail’s arm. “Please, don’t bother the police. It-it was nothing, dear. Just-just a man asking for some spare change, that’s all.”

“It looked more than that to me. He spoke to you. Do you know him?”

“No, no, I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Why was the woman lying? Especially when her son had been so intimidating? Abigail didn’t get it. She needed to call Brody, but she couldn’t do that without arousing Katherine’s suspicion. The woman was clearly in need of help, and Abigail couldn’t abandon her.

“Here, let me help you home.” She pushed her flyers into her bag and tucked her hand around the other woman’s arm.

“Why, thank you, dear.” Katherine’s lips wobbled. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

Abigail kept a close eye out for any sign of Michael, but he had vanished, as she’d expected. By the time she had escorted Katherine to her house, any chance of picking up Michael had long gone, so she waited until she was back in her store before calling Brody. The phone rang and rang. Where was Brody? What was he so busy doing? The image of Gina in his car taunted her, causing her stomach to clench. She didn’t want to suspect Gina…

“Abigail?” Brody’s voice suddenly popped in her ear. “What’s up?”

He sounded breathless, as if he’d been running up stairs…or maybe making out with someone… Anger mixed in with her confusion.

“Where are you?” she blurted out. “You sound all out of breath.”

“I, uh… I’m down at the riverfront. Working on something.”

Yeah right, and she was the Queen of Sheba. “The riverfront? Is that where you’ve been all morning?”

“Yup. That’s why I couldn’t make it to the Knit and Natter.”

Her heart shrank. Liar, she wanted to yell at him. But she bit her lip, lifted her chin. If he felt the need to lie to her, that was his problem, not hers.

“So what’s up?” Brody asked again.

She drew in a deep breath. Okay, she could do this. She wasn’t going to let another man make her fall to pieces.

“I saw Michael O’Brien about half-an-hour ago.”

“What!” His holler made her pull back from the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because he was with Katherine, and I couldn’t call you without rousing her suspicion.”

He muttered something under his breath, and it didn’t sound too complimentary. “I’ll be with you soon,” he growled into her ear before the phone went dead.

Brody put his phone away and grimaced at Gina. “I have to go. Something’s come up.”

Gina flicked her fingers through her immaculate hair. The past half hour had left him breathless and a little dizzy, but she’d barely broken a sweat. Gina had a lot of stamina.

“Sure.” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s Abigail, is it?”

He nodded. No point lying when she’d heard half the conversation. He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and slung it on. “I’ll call you later. That okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Thanks, Gina. I appreciate it, and remember, not a word to Abigail.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I don’t like lying to her.”

“It’s for the best. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re not going to disappoint me.” Gina wagged her finger at him. “Not after all the effort I’m putting into you.”

“You won’t.” Brody hesitated before dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for today. I’ll see you around.”

He left Gina’s apartment building, his thoughts already leaping ahead to Abigail. If only she’d called him as soon as she’d spotted Michael O’Brien. If he hadn’t been with Gina, he might have caught his man and this whole drama would be over. And he was only with Gina because of Abigail. Whichever way he looked at it, Abigail was beginning to seriously impact on his life, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that.

“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?” Brody ran his gaze over Abigail. She seemed okay, though a bit standoffish.

“I’m fine. He just pushed me aside and ran off.” She blinked a couple of times. “I kind of froze when he came toward me. Maybe I should have done something.”

“No, absolutely not.” Brody’s heart twitched in fright.

He reached for her, wanting to touch her face, but she flinched away, and he dropped his hand. Maybe she was still rattled by the close encounter with Michael, or maybe she was annoyed with him because he’d refused to go to that fifties dance with her. Could be she was also pissed off because he hadn’t slept over with her Sunday night, hadn’t seen her since then, and hadn’t shown up for her Knit and Natter session.

He had to admit she’d thrown him when she suggested they go to the dance together. Maybe taking her out for a drink last week had been a mistake. He hadn’t realized they were edging this close to being “a couple”. That had given him a few ulcers just thinking about it.

“If you run into him again, please promise me you won’t try to stop him,” he said in earnest. As frightening as it was to imagine going to a dance with Abigail, even more terrifying was her attempting to tackle a mean dog like Michael O’Brien.

“I won’t. I’m not stupid.” She frowned at him.

The doorbell jingled, and Katherine crept into the store, looking pale but composed. She hesitated when she saw Brody.

“Mrs. O’Brien, is anything the matter?” Abigail leaped forward and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.

“No, I…” Her gaze darted to Brody and back to Abigail. “I just wanted to thank you properly. I wasn’t calm enough earlier.”

Brody stepped up, studying Katherine intently. Why was she lying to cover Michael? Why couldn’t she see that her son was a dangerous thug who needed to be locked up?

“Abigail told me what happened,” he said. “We should tell the cops on the beat so they can be on the lookout for this jerk.”

Katherine’s eyes were two black pools in a sagging face. “No, I don’t want any trouble. He was j-just a vagrant, not worth anyone’s time.”

Brody’s shoulders bunched up with impatience. Michael wanted something from his mother. What was it? Money? Was he coming back soon? Did Katherine know where he was hiding out?

He was about to say something when the doorbell chimed, letting in a group of women bundled up in coats and scarves. He smothered a groan. Damn knitters. Why did they have to show up now?

“Brody?” A woman spoke from behind him. “Is that you?”

The voice was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Shock ran down his spine and zapped him in the butt.

With a sense of impending doom, he turned around. “Hi, Mom.”

She blinked back at him. In the couple of milliseconds, he summed up the situation. His mom had somehow found the yarn store, she didn’t know about his stakeout, and Katherine and Abigail were standing just a few feet away. This could get tricky.

“What are you doing in a
yarn store
?” his mom asked, looking like he’d sprouted wings or something.

He could ask her the same thing. Moira had never been the knitting-baking-sewing kind of mother. The last place he’d ever expect to find her was in a yarn store. But, then again, she had taken to cooking with a fierce vengeance, so maybe she’d decided to tackle knitting next.

“I’m helping Abigail out.” He shot a speaking look at Abigail, trying to convey to her that he needed help here.

“Abigail?” His mom appeared even more bewildered.

“His girlfriend,” Katherine piped up. She gave Moira a sympathetic nod. “I suppose you didn’t know about her.” She clicked her tongue after Moira shook her head. “Mothers are always the last to find out.”

Brody cleared his throat. He had to take charge of the situation before all his hard work unraveled. “Mom, this is Abigail Brightwater, the owner of this store. Abigail, this is my mom, Moira.”

The two women shook hands, both clearly bursting with questions they were too polite to voice.