Dangerous Reunion Page 8

  Not nearly as ready to start her day as he was, Yashi pushed herself from the bed, shoved her feet into her oldest, most worn-down and comfiest slippers, and started down the stairs. She’d gone only partway when a solid rap-rap-rap rattled the door and shook her whole world. Her feet in the battered house shoes slid out from under her, and she landed hard on her butt on the landing. Above her, Bobcat arched again, fur standing on end in a perfect illustration of a scary Halloween cat, and his hiss warned her exactly who was at the door.

  Heart pounding, she jumped to her feet, rubbed her hip ruefully, kicked off the shoes and hustled to open the door. Ben’s broad-shouldered frame filled the porch. Filled her entire existence in that moment. The thud of her heart stopped abruptly, and her chest tightened so she couldn’t breathe as she studied his face for a hint. No relief lightened his dark chocolate eyes or softened the thin line of his mouth. Not good news, damn it.

  But whether it was bad or indifferent, he gave no clue. If she were uncharitable, she might say he was playing the stoic warrior stereotype to the hilt, but it wasn’t play. Quiet, unfazed, controlled—that was just his way. He felt things deeply. He just didn’t wear his emotions on his face or anywhere else.

  Before she could ask any questions, could even think of anything to say, he spoke.

  “Did you see the text?”

  “What text?” She whipped her head around so quickly that the ends of her hair slapped her in the face. The chair where she’d curled last night to stare at the television was empty save for the quilt. The tray that served as an end table held the TV remote and a box of tissues but nothing else. What had she done with her phone? Plugged it into the charger in the kitchen? Of course not, not with Will and Lolly and Theo missing.

  Spinning around, she dashed across the living room and up the stairs. She’d made a mess of the bed, tossing and turning all night, and she had to yank off most of the covers to find the cell phone. The screen showed a message received nearly ten minutes ago, probably the reason for her sudden awakening. The note was simple and to the point.

  Let’s trade.

  Accompanied by a poorly lit photo of Will.

  Her legs gave way, and she sank onto the bed. Though the trembling in her hands and the stinging of her eyes made seeing difficult, the man in the picture was definitely her cousin. He wore a T-shirt for Theo’s soccer team, his jaw was in need of a shave, his brown hair was rumpled and his face lined with stress. What appeared to be a bruise darkened his left cheek, another on his jaw, and a smear across his upper lip and on the shoulder of his shirt looked like blood, possibly from the punch that had made his nose so puffy. The shot had been taken so close that his head and shoulders filled the frame, allowing no hint of a background. It could have been taken anywhere.

  And there was no sign of Lolly or Theo.

  She should have been startled when Ben appeared on the stairs a few feet in front of her, but she wasn’t. She’d always marveled at how quickly and quietly he could move. It came in handy in his job, he’d said, and it had been invaluable in helping his mother raise his brothers and sisters. The kids might have sneaked something past Mary Grace, but never past Mary Grace and Ben.

  He didn’t come into the bedroom proper. At its peak, the ceiling nearly brushed the top of her hair. As it was, three steps down, it did brush the top of his. “He sent it to me, too. I texted back, asked when and where but haven’t gotten a response. It’s probably a prepaid phone. Next contact will probably be from a different number.”

  Yashi squeezed her eyes shut as the screen blurred even more and tried to think with her brain and not her heart. “Why didn’t he send a picture of Theo? People are naturally more willing to negotiate when it involves a child. Or Lolly. Women are still seen as more vulnerable than men.”

  “Rational people.” He glanced around the loft, his gaze taking note of the railing that encircled the area and the narrow strip that stretched along the south side all the way to the front of the house. The space gave the house a defined entry with the lower ceiling below, the builder had explained. All Yashi cared about was the built-in storage it held.

  “Do you think they’re together? That he’s keeping them in one place?”

  Ben eased down to sit on the top step. “Look at Will’s eyes. He’s not looking at the camera. He’s focused on something off to his right. I bet that’s Lolly and Theo.”

  She looked at the photo again. Ben was right. Will wasn’t gazing listlessly into the distance. He was looking at something. Someone. And those lines on his face weren’t just stress. There was ferocity. Anger. Fear. Hope.

  As long as they breathed, they had hope.

  “Should I text him, too?” She didn’t want to—didn’t want to even pretend for one second that she would give Brit to some pervert nutjob—but if Ben thought she should, she would compose a response and send it onto the airwaves with wings.

  “Not yet. We’ll talk about it with the rest of the team. Can you come in to the station?”

  “Of course.” She jumped to her feet, grabbed a dress, shoes and underwear from their various storage cubbies, then stopped short. Usually, she would strip where she stood or dress in the bathroom after a shower. Usually, she didn’t have Ben Little Bear in her house. “I, uh...”

  He stood, bumped his head and retreated a step. “Did you never consider you might bring someone of normal height up here sometimes?”

  His voice, dark and warm with just the slightest hint of humor, sent shivers through her that made the pink panties she held slide loose and flutter to the floor between them. His gaze skimmed over them before she ducked and scooped them up.

  “Six foot four isn’t normal height around here for anyone except you.” And you would never come up here of your own free will. A pang of regret twinged in her chest.

  He headed down the stairs. “Has the demon offspring been fed yet?”

  “No. I’ll get it—”

  He made a dismissive gesture before disappearing from sight. Bobcat watched him walk into the kitchen, then leaped to the floor and stalked after him. Ben had never made his favorites list—except possibly under the heading of Humans Most Entertaining to Annoy—but he clearly understood the connection between people and their ability to provide the food he loved.

  She undressed quickly, put on the clothes she’d chosen and went downstairs to the bathroom. When she passed through the kitchen, Ben was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and Bobcat was sitting next to his food and water dishes against the wall, their gazes locked. She passed between them, not slowing when she said, “You know he won’t eat while you watch him.”

  Ben snorted. The cat sniffed.

  Like old times. She closed the bathroom door behind her, letting herself slip into the memories she rarely visited. It was a cold, wet day when she’d come home from work and found a tiny, bedraggled lump of something curled next to her door. Her first thought had been a dead bird or rodent, but when he heard her approach, Bobcat had lifted his head and issued the most pitiful meow in feline history. She hadn’t wanted a cat—in fact, her plans had included a dog, the bigger and doggier, the better—but no one with a functioning heart could have turned away that kitten.

  Ben had snickered when he’d seen them a few hours later. He didn’t dislike cats in general, just Bobcat, but to be fair, Bobcat had started it by hissing every time Ben came into his line of sight. The cat had escalated to “accidental” bites, swipes across bare skin, sharpening his claws on Ben’s clothes and calves alike and generally doing everything to alienate the other male except piss on him.

  Yashi’s sigh was wistful as she met her own gaze in the mirror. She had a lot of sad memories, a lot of bad ones, but she’d had her share of good times, too. It was okay to remember them, as long as she didn’t lull herself into thinking that she could have those times with Ben back again. His presence in her life this time was
dictated by one thing—this crime—and when it was resolved, he would disappear again. She had to be ready for that. No relying on him. No mistaking his professional interest for personal. No thinking that this time might be different.

  * * *

  Sunday mornings were usually quiet at the police department. When Ben parked in the lot, Sam’s and JJ’s cars were already there, along with Morwenna’s. She wasn’t on the schedule for the day, which meant another dispatcher must have called in.

  He got out of his truck and waited on the sidewalk for Yashi. She’d insisted on driving her own car so no one would be bothered later by giving her a ride. It had been a good idea. The less time he spent with her, the more he could pretend that nothing had changed. That this was just another case. That she was just another victim’s family member. Not an old friend. Not someone he’d once slept with. Not someone he’d once loved.

  She hadn’t often worn dresses when they were together, which had made the times she did more special. Seeing her long, muscled legs had always been cause for celebration, and when the dress also bared her arms, that was a double pleasure. This morning’s red dress did both, clinging to her breasts, flaring out at her hips—which, memory wouldn’t let him ignore, were covered by a delicate scrap of pink. A tiny, fragile scrap not meant to conceal but to tease and tempt and titillate.

  Despite his efforts, a small sigh escaped. He’d seen her in every piece of clothing she’d owned, and out of them, too. Dressed, naked and everywhere in between, she was an inspiring sight.

  And he didn’t need any inspiration of that kind this morning.

  Her shoes, sandals that revealed hot-pink toenails, made little clacky noises on the sidewalk alongside his running shoes, and her hair fluttered in the breeze while her gaze seemed distant. Was she remembering all the times her job had brought her to the police station? Or maybe the times when the job had just been an excuse to see him there? Her office had been only two minutes away, in the courthouse behind them, but as far as he knew, she’d gone back only when cases required it, and none of the work she did now required dealing with the police.

  He held open the heavy door, and she stepped past him, leaving some sweetly floral note tickling his nose. The fragrance was light and teasing, a scent to lift the spirits with each breath.

  Just like the inspiration, he didn’t need that today, either.

  A walking psychedelic display was coming down the hall from the direction of Sam’s office toward them. Morwenna’s smile bloomed when she saw Yashi. “Did you get any sleep last night? Have you had breakfast? Need coffee? I’m about to make a run to Mama Little Bear’s. Anything you want?”

  Ben watched peripherally as Yashi’s gaze moved over Morwenna. She took in the leggings, the layered shirts, the mismatched jewelry, the plaid headband paired with a polka-dotted one, and she smiled as fully as she seemed capable of. Good. Morwenna wasn’t delusional—she knew her fashion style didn’t appeal to most people—but no one got to hurt her feelings over it.

  “Coffee would be lovely,” Yashi said. “And one of those cinnamon rolls?”

  “And maybe a little protein to give you energy? You can’t run on sugar all day. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Morwenna made a face before moving to pass them.

  “Hey.” Ben stopped her, one arm out. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Coffee, scorched. Eggs, rubbery. Toast, burned. Sausage, just disgusting.” Feigning a shudder, she walked on.

  Ben watched her, a fluidly shifting mass of color and light that made the rest of the space look drabber than ever. He hadn’t been too happy when Sam hired her four years ago. She’d seemed flighty and forgetful and totally lacking in competency—he’d later learned she always got that way when nervous—but she’d turned out to be smart and capable and exactly what the department needed to lighten and brighten up.

  “How long have you been together?”

  Yashi’s question was so far off the mark that for a moment, Ben debated whether he’d heard her properly. When he turned to look at her, he saw by the look on her face that he had. He liked Morwenna—loved her, even—but in such a nonromantic way that, despite the guys joking about it yesterday, they were in a different universe. But he could see why Yashi might think differently. He’d told her himself that he and Morwenna had been having breakfast when they realized something was wrong at the Muellers’ house, and she knew he didn’t indulge in hookups at his house.

  Her expression was such a failure at casual interest that he was tempted to let her believe the ridiculous. But getting intimate with Morwenna—ugh—wasn’t something he could even pretend in. “She went out with her girlfriends Friday night, had too much to drink and called me for a ride. She didn’t want her mum getting upset with her.”

  Yep, there was relief in Yashi’s blue eyes. As if she still cared.

  Caring had never been the problem, he sternly reminded himself. It had been the things she did in spite of the caring that came between them. Betraying his trust. Using his words against him. Violating the intimacy of their relationship. Those had killed the relationship, not lack of love.

  She drew a breath, blinked, and the relief was gone, her expression neutral. “She’s a grown woman. Unless she has a drinking problem, why would her mom be upset?”

  “You haven’t met Dr. Armstrong, have you? She’s an extreme marathoner—she’s done some hundred-kilometer runs—and she’s religious about staying in shape. Nutrition, exercise, meditation, focus, yoga, sleep—it’s all a huge deal to her. And Morwenna...” He gestured. She was softer, rounder, carrying a few pounds more than her mother would ever dream of. She loved good food and junk food and lived on caffeine. Meditation was an alien concept—energy hummed through her even when she slept—and she tended to like a little more of everything than was good for her. Mum’s passion was fitness. Morwenna’s was life.

  “Isn’t one of the inspired. Okay. Got it.”

  Yashi shifted her attention to the lobby where they stood and the desks behind the counter. Ben looked, too. Nothing had changed in the years since she’d been there: same desks, same floors, mostly the same people. For those people, though, everything had changed. Sam had gotten married and become a father. Daniel’s ex-fiancée had walked in that big door one day last year and turned his world upside down. Quint had practically grieved himself right into the grave alongside his own fiancée, but with a lot of struggle, he’d found his way back to where he belonged, and he’d brought JJ with him.

  And then there was Ben. Still single. Still alone. Still regretting what might have been. Rather than reflect any more than that on the past five years of his life, he started toward the conference room.

  Sam and JJ were there, as he’d expected. So was Daniel, who lived only a couple blocks away, and another surprise: Sam’s three-month-old daughter, looking bright-eyed over her daddy’s shoulder and happily babbling. She had her mother’s dark hair and eyes and her father’s outgoing nature, evidenced as she reached for Yashi the moment she saw her.

  “Oh Sam.” Yashi took the baby and held her out for inspection. “She’s gorgeous. She must take after her mother.” She smiled brightly at his smirk. “Did you stick with the family tradition in naming her?”

  Family traditions were important to her, enough to make Ben feel a tiny pinch deep inside.

  “We did.”

  “Okay, let me guess.” Yashi’s words were mumbled around the chubby fingers with which the baby was exploring her mouth. She removed the tiny hand, cradled her on her hip and pursed her lips. “The obvious would be Samantha, but you’ve got one already. And a Samson and several Samuels and a Sammy. If I recall, your wife’s name is Mila, so Samila would be my choice.”

  “That was his choice, too,” Daniel murmured from his seat at the table, “but he didn’t get it.”

  “You gonna get your choice on naming your kid?
” Sam asked.

  Daniel grinned. “He’s gonna be a Harper. That’s all I care about.”

  “Being named after one parent is enough. I didn’t think she needed both our names.” That was Mila, coming through the doorway, dabbing at the shoulder of her dress with a damp cloth. She was accompanied by a faint hint of sourness, courtesy of the baby and her morning milk.

  Yashi shifted Sameen and extended her right hand. “Yashi Baker.”

  A few years ago, Ben reflected, the gesture would have bewildered Mila. Thanks to a horrific upbringing, she’d had no one in her life but her grandmother, her dog and the coworkers she didn’t interact with. It had taken several murders—and Sam—to bring her out of her solitary existence.

  Now she shook hands as if she’d been doing it all her life. She even touched Ben’s arm as she passed. “Mila Douglas, and this is Sameen. I’ll warn you, she has no sense of propriety. She’ll stick her fingers in your mouth, chew on anything she can put in her mouth, even if it happens to be attached to you, and she overflows her diaper without warning.”

  Yashi grinned at Sam. “Mama’s looks. Daddy’s manners. She’s perfect.” Her gaze shifted back to the baby, and the lightheartedness slowly faded.

  Was she thinking about the babies she’d expected to have by now? Envying Mila and feeling the sense of loss before she even handed Sameen to her? The sweet smells, the soft skin, the bright eyes, the warmth and movement and sheer contentment that made up Sameen’s existence?

  That longing sometimes sneaked into Ben’s consciousness—when Sam announced Mila’s pregnancy, when Natasha announced her own, especially when he saw the little fair-haired babies snoozing in car seats or screaming their lungs out in shopping carts. Biology stacked the odds against it, with his black hair, brown eyes and Creek heritage, but for years, he’d had a yearning for a pretty little girl with her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes.