Chapter 20

 

"Is that why no one talks about it?" Nickie asked.

"What do you mean?"

"No one talks about your time in the service. Not your family, not Dave. I wouldn't have known if we hadn't done background checks on each other. Mine perfectly legal, I might add."

She could feel his cheeks expand and wished she was facing him. His smiles were so rare and incredibly beautiful.

"I guess they've been more aware than I've given them credit for," he said.

"I'm sorry then."

"Don't be. I didn't ask you not to."

"Okay, then. Why did it backfire?"

The silence was long enough to make her uneasy but she wanted to know.

"I wasn't helpful," he finally said simply.

She sensed there was more. "Every day I recognize how much your gift could be considered a curse, especially for what you've been through." She thought of a little boy whose parents died in a plane crash when he was four. A boy only a few years older who was used as bait in an attempted murder. He turned and looked at her with eyes of night.

"My turn." He took her hands and traced his fingers along the knuckles of her gloves. "Tell me about your years in foster care."

"I guess I asked for that."

She crossed her legs in the dirt with the fire at her back. "When I... came back, my parents wanted nothing to do with me. That's not true. When I first came back, they were all about the lost daughter that had come home. I had expected them to take advantage of the media during my absence. Soon, I realized they didn't want the media to know. Monticellos didn't have runaway daughters. When they found out what had really happened to me, they wanted even less to do with me. Monticellos certainly didn't turn tricks."

"Turn tricks?"

She let her shoulder lift and fall. "Same difference to them. They were disgusted. I rebelled. They gave me up. It was mutual."

She appreciated that he didn't offer condolences or sympathy. Instead, he leaned in and warmed her in other ways.

* * *

Duncan opened one eye to the red numbers on his digital clock. Six a.m.

She'd stayed the night. It was a first. Still, she slept with a mile of space between them. The slight waves of her hair drew lines along her back, camouflaging her scars. He allowed himself time to study them from the across-the-bed distance.

One small piece of hay stuck to the top of her head. It was no wonder. She'd spent nearly as much time brushing Abigail and tossing her fresh hay as they had spent on the trail. Before he had a chance to laugh at that, he heard her.

Whimpering softly, her shoulders twitched as she slept. He wasn't sure if he should wake her, but it was difficult wondering what she could be dreaming about. Gently, he placed his hand on the center of her back. "Nick—"

Simultaneously, she twisted upright as her right arm flew around in a hook that was much too accurate for someone who was just waking up. As he was wide awake, he was able to dodge it with barely a brush across his temple. It was the returning uppercut that got him.

Afraid to grab her arms, he worked to block the next handful of blows. They came like rapid fire.

His heart tore when realization hit her face.

Gasping at air, she let her arms drop listlessly at her sides.

"Nickie."

She swung her legs from the bed, gathered up her clothes from the floor and stomped to the bathroom.

He knew he needed to move, to get up and get dressed, but he was stunned. Shaking his head, he forced himself to be a man and slid on his pants both literally and metaphorically. What. The. Hell had they done to her?

He needed to decide if he wanted this woman and all that came with her. It took him under two seconds to decide.

Not out of pity or curiosity but because she was a survivor. She was rock hard and as soft as the dry snow. He wanted to learn the many sides of her, be with her, wake with her swinging arms and all.

She came out quickly, running her fingers through her hair. She went for her purse like nothing had happened, but her eyes were red. "I overslept, damn it. Can I use your pool?"

He stood barefoot and shirtless and followed her lead. "I could use a swim myself," he said as casually as he could.

Shaking her head free of a loose strand of hair, she turned to him. "I have no suit."

He smiled. "I'll cover my eyes."

She looked startled at the light comment. Taking advantage, he walked to her and took hold of her fingers as they dangled at her side. "Are we exclusive here?"

Her beautiful eyes dropped. Others may not have noticed the slight turn in the corners of her lips, but he could.

She spoke softly, "I can do that."

* * *

Duncan sat in the stained chair of the waiting room. His brother was across from him with Rose who looked like she might need to take the elevator up to labor and delivery at any moment. His cousins gathered next to him as Nathan paced.

His chest rose and fell slow and steady as he gripped the armrests with white knuckles. He kept an eye on the recovery room door, waiting for the nurse to come and tell them Brie could be seen.

Memories, crystal clear memories of the last time he waited in the hospital for Brie played in his mind. He had been eight and the only witness when MollyAnne Melbourne bloodied the back of her head, leaving her for dead halfway in the cold water of Black Creek.

He would never admit to himself that Melbourne's latest stunt was what helped find the cancer. They caught it soon enough that his aunt's chance of full recovery was extremely high.

It wasn't her head today. Was that a good thing? he wondered. It was her left breast, Nathan had said. He understood how difficult that must be for a woman, but then, no. He couldn't understand. And he shouldn't be thinking of himself. This must be gut-wrenching for his uncle. Nathan never... paced. He wasn't a nervous person about, well, anything.

The door opened. Finally.

"Mr. Reed?" The eyes of several men turned to the nurse. She stood until she figured out that Nathan was the one who fit the age. "Are you waiting for Brianna Reed, sir?"

Nathan nodded and followed her back.

* * *

Duncan drove too fast on roads not meant for a low-riding two-seater. Brie was one tough woman, but he already knew that. It was long past time she let someone else be tough for her. He hoped she would allow Nathan and the rest of them that time.

His reaction was textbook. He knew this. Young boy loses his parents to a plane wreck at the age of four, finally allows another mother figure into his heart and nearly brutally loses her, first to a baseball bat, then to arson. He was over-emulating, overprotective, dwelling. Blah, blah, fucking blah. Knowing wasn't changing anything.

He took corners as if he were on rails, drove until the sun shone from the top most point in the sky. Then, found himself in front of Nickie's foster family's home. Gloria's home. Textbook, yes.

Sitting behind the running car, he thought of the woman inside and imagined her standing at her sink in the homey, cramped kitchen. Did she miss her husband of twenty-nine years? He thought of the dates he remembered in his head of her husband's death, her take with breast cancer and how she must have gone through it alone. No, not alone, he corrected his thoughts. She had a slew of children, Nickie included.

As does Brie. They would comfort her, distract her, be there for her, and for Nathan. He nearly pulled away when the door opened.

Gloria stood with her long, glossy hair draped over her right shoulder, and her hands on her healthy hips.

He rolled down his window.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Gloria didn't wait for him to answer but went inside, shutting the storm door and leaving the front door open.

He turned off his car and beeped the lock as he meandered up the short drive.

Knocking would be a moot point. Awkwardly, he opened the storm door and walked through. It was different in the quiet of a midweek day. Her home seemed... bigger.

It smelled different, too. Minus the big-meal aroma, it smelled like just-vacuumed carpet and faintly floral. Dishes clanked from the kitchen and he headed back.

"I have fresh coffee. None of the frappe, toffee, mocha stuff. Just coffee. You drink coffee, don't you? Nickie never has. We have soda in the fridge if you'd prefer." She didn't turn to greet him. He appreciated it as he was in no mood for formalities.

"Coffee would be fine, thank you."

He pulled down a mug from one of the dozen or so hanging on hooks above the coffee maker. None of them matched. As he didn't notice one anywhere near Gloria, he offered, "Shall I pour one for you?"

"Mmm, that would be just about right. Let me finish up here and we'll sit."

He poured them both a cup, took a sip of his, set it down, and grabbed a dish towel. The kitchen was arranged efficiently. Plates and cups directly over the dish drying rack, silverware underneath. They washed and dried in silence. She didn't ask why he was there.

Draping her wet drying cloth over the faucet, he mimicked Gloria, then picked up his still-steaming coffee. She squirted lotion into her hands and rubbed them together as she moved to the small kitchen table he and Nickie had eaten at weeks before. The lotion smelled of lavender and it made him think of her.

They had some of the same gestures, Gloria and Nickie. Confident, purposeful. Similar, like mother and daughter. He had many questions, none of which he had the energy to ask.

Gloria allowed the right amount of blissful silence before she spoke. "How is she?"

"Nickie?"

She had a beautiful smile, caramel and smooth. "No, honey. Your mother."

"My mother passed when I was young."

Her smile widened now. "I expect she did, dear. I meant your other mother."

"Very well, thank you. I apologize for stopping by unannounced. I was out for a drive and—"

"You don't have to be formal here, Duncan. Although, I expect formal is your casual to a point. I also expect you're not sure how to act... around your other mother." She took the mug in both hands, wrapping her fingers around the warmth.

"Yes." Her eyes were deep and nearly onyx. "Yes, I suppose that is why I'm here."

"She'll want you to continue like nothing happened, although she'll want to see you more than usual."

"That won't be hard as my usual wasn't much."

"And why is that, I wonder?"

"Career, business... travel, I presume."

"It's safer when things are... shallow."

He thought about that for a full several minutes. Warmed up their java before he sat back down.

"Nickie doesn't do simple. Or shallow," she said.

He felt the corners of his mouth lift for the first time in days. "No, she doesn't, does she?" Taking in the comparison, he looked up to Gloria. "I won't... hurt her."

"Of course you will." She took a sip, effectively allowing her response to sink in. "You're two different human beings who are attracted to each other. Two different human beings who are also different genders. You'll hurt each other because you care for each other."

Wise, he decided.

"Be there for her."

"Who?" Brie or Nickie?

Gloria's eyes sparkled as she patted the top of his hand.

* * *

Duncan carried jelly-filled donuts in one hand and a box of deep roast java in the other. Juggling the box, he maneuvered the doorknob and frowned that it was locked. It was for the best, he reminded himself. As he waited for an answer to the bell, he debated whether he should share with his aunt all he knew about Melbourne. Continue like nothing happened, he remembered.

He was surprised it was Brie who answered and felt warmth with the way her face lit at the sight of him. He was also surprised she was fully dressed, hair and makeup and all.

"Good morning, Duncan." She opened the door for his full hands.

He winced as she favored her left arm. Like nothing happened, he chanted in his head.

"Your father's in the shower. I made him. You'd think I couldn't take care of myself for ten minutes while the man takes a shower." They walked together to the back of the house.

"Sit, Duncan. I'll get some plates and cups."

Patiently, he took out some napkins and unscrewed the top of the coffee-to-go box. Brie did look very much in her element as she prepared and arranged.

He heard his uncle's footsteps as he came down the stairs. "I can't stay long," Duncan said. "Melbourne's coming to the station this morning."

Nathan spoke from behind him. "Be careful, she's crazier than she was before she went away." He walked over with wet hair and kissed the top of Brie's head. "Jelly-filled. Yes."

"Nickie and I have been tag teaming her. She'll make a mistake. We'll get her."

"Tag teaming?" Brie asked as she folded her legs up in her chair.

"I might have ran into her and Brusco and let it slip that she's seeing the new fireman. Nickie has her convinced that she saved your life by..." He took a deep breath more for himself than Brie. "... by causing your ER visit and subsequent cancer diagnosis." He would have choked on his words if not for her reaction.

Brie threw her head back in laughter. "Oh, the irony. I would almost feel sorry for her, except every time I try to, I think of her with a gun to your head." She looked around thoughtfully. "Nope. Sorry for Lucy, sorry for the people she's hurt. Not for her."

He could see the itch in his uncle's eyes, wanting to come with him to the station, Duncan presumed. "I'll give you the play-by-play. As soon as I have one. She's breaking down, Dad. It's different this time. She's not hidden."

"Still don't know who she has working with her, sneaky bitch."

"Tanner is tired. He describes it as one of those cases in a cop's life that leaves his job as a whole unsettled, unsolved."

Brie leaned back in her chair. "That's an interesting way to put it. We're not young like we used to be. I'm not fresh out of college. He's moved up from detective to lieutenant to captain. Lucky we all still look smashing." She smiled brightly at Nathan and leaned in for a short kiss. "I'm going to rest now," she said.

Nathan lowered his brows before he smiled. "I'll be up in a minute."

She left the dishes. For the first time Duncan could remember, Brie left the dirty dishes in the sink.

* * *

Nickie had a lot on her mind. She really didn't have time for the flutter in her stomach at the sight of Duncan. They hadn't spoken of the morning of his mother's surgery. The morning Nickie had ruined with her outburst. She also hadn't spent the night since then. No sense taking chances.

He wore the deep brown leather boots and jacket he often did with dark khaki slacks and a sweater. His waves brushed the top of the leather collar as he swaggered down the hall of the police station toward her. She was getting used to seeing him here and hoped that wasn't a bad thing.

She read the look on his face. Focused, serious, a little pissed off, and determined to be involved in this. Today would be his lucky day.

"Good morning, Nickie. I'd like you to know—"

"How is your aunt?"

He startled at the question momentarily. It was a good thing to trip up Duncan Reed. "She's... well, thank you. I went to see Gloria." He looked surprised, and she wondered if it was at his apparent confession or the change in subject.

"That's good. She's good with people."

"Intuitive, yes."

He brushed the backs of his fingers absently down her upper arm. "You look sexy in your uniform."

Sheesh, she definitely didn't have time for this. "I don't wear a uniform, Duncan. Rarely," she corrected. "If you're trying to butter me up, there's no need."

"If I thought it would help, I would, but no, I'm not."

"I've already discussed it with Tanner and Nolan. We all think you add a nice tone for Melbourne's visit. You've spent twenty-two years growing up in a loving home and becoming a famed artist. She spent that time in prison."

"All right, then. Where would you like me?"

"In my office, for now. I left the blinds open. Make yourself at home... and visible. The captain is waiting downstairs. He wants to escort her up himself."