Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel Page 14

  “Letterman had a quintuple bypass. Bill Clinton had a quadruple. Hell, if anything, I’m an underachiever with just a triple.”

  “You’ve no idea how tempted I am to call Dr. Ryan.”

  “Call him anything you want, but don’t call him a doctor.”

  “Dan Ryan is an excellent cardiologist,” she argued. “He happens to have saved your life.”

  “If it had been my time to go, there’s not a damn thing that kid could have done about it,” Mike grumbled. “Okay,” he said as she gave him her sternest look. The one she’d actually perfected in front of her bathroom mirror in preparation for law school moot court. “He did save my life and for that I’m grateful. But the point is that he didn’t save it for me to sit around on my ass watching the Golf Channel.”

  “You’ve never watched the Golf Channel in your life.”

  “Which shows you how frigging bored I’ve been,” he countered. He was lying. But she understood his need to work. She wouldn’t be able to sit home and watch The View and game shows all day, either.

  “Jake’s right,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “That I’m a chip off the old block.”

  It was his turn to laugh. They were sharing a moment when Eleanor arrived. “I’m sorry to break in,” she said. “But the nurse says that Detective Quinn wants to see you.”

  23

  Because the uniformed guard was only letting one visitor in at a time, knowing that her father would want to debrief the detective, although she was dying to see him for herself, she let him go first. Not being a man of many words, he wasn’t in there long. And when he came out and told her it was her turn, his face didn’t give away a thing.

  Tess’s heart sank as she entered the room. Donovan’s leg was in a cast nearly to his knee, his ribs were taped, he had a thick black patch over the white gauze bandages wrapped around his head covering one eye, and more gauze wrapped around his left hand. Knowing that it could have been so much worse, and determined not to burst into tears, she struggled to keep things light.

  “If that patch is part of your pirate’s costume, you’re a bit early for Halloween,” she said.

  “My timing’s been off on a lot of things lately. Like not being able to dodge that damn SUV fast enough. I scratched my cornea on a piece of glass, fractured my fibula, and my Ethiopian roast burned my hand when I tried to get out of the way. That warning on those to-go cups about it being extra hot isn’t a joke.”

  “Neither is getting run over,” Tess said.

  “If I’d been run over, there’d be tire tracks on my ass,” he said. Then flashed her a wicked grin. “Want to check and make sure the doc didn’t miss them?”

  “I suspect you’d know,” she said dryly, understanding that cop humor was their own form of social glue, normalizing a stressful situation and denying vulnerability because police who cried on the job weren’t going to last long.

  It was their way of whistling in the dark and not that different from her own profession, where she spent much of her days with murderers, rapists, child abusers, wife beaters, and other criminal defendants who’d never be given good citizen awards. There were days that if Tess didn’t laugh, she’d have to cry.

  “There were witnesses,” she said. “The guy’s not going to get away.”

  “Damn straight.” He shook his head, then, although he tried to hide it, cringed when it obviously caused him pain. “Jake said some Marine drove you here.”

  “He’s a novelist now. And supposedly a friend of yours…Nate Breslin.”

  “Yeah, Nate and I go back a long way. He ducked his head in for a minute while your dad’s new friend was upstairs getting you guys. Is he the one who sent you the bobblehead?”

  “He is.”

  “You should have him spend the night.”

  She lifted a brow, pretending to not understand his meaning. “It’s bad enough having my friends and Dad worrying about my lack of a love life,” she said. “Now you’re fixing me up?”

  “No.” His expression turned grave. “I’m trying to keep you safe. We’ve no idea if Vasilyev has decided to make a major move tonight. You could be the next target.”

  “Even so, I hadn’t realized Breslin had been made an honorary member of the Portland Police Bureau,” she said dryly. “What did he do to qualify? Take part in another citizen drive-along?”

  “He’s a Marine,” Donovan said.

  “Former.”

  “No such thing. And I’d rather have a jarhead I know and trust spend the night than some rookie cop who’s only ever shot his weapon on the police range.”

  “There isn’t going to be any shooting. Besides, he’s a writer. He may not even have a gun.”

  “He doesn’t. Apparently he got rid of them after he got out of the service. But Jake’s taking care of that problem.”

  “Are you saying that while I was up having coffee with my father, you three males were talking about how to best ‘handle’ the delicate little female?”

  “Handle isn’t exactly the word. More like protect.”

  “You didn’t have any right to decide this.”

  “We had every right.” Donovan’s voice, while laced with pain, was unmistakably firm. “Unless you want to spend the night with Mike—”

  “No. It’s bad enough that he’s decided to open up that agency with Jake. No way do I want to put his life at risk.”

  “Which means you realize this situation does present a risk,” he countered. He might have a concussion, but there wasn’t anything wrong with his thought processes. “We’re talking about your life, babe.”

  The endearment, which he’d used so easily during their brief time together, had her eyes filling up as they swept over him. “I don’t want to waste my time and your energy arguing. How are you? Really?”

  He grinned. “Just dandy. You don’t think a little brush with an SUV is going to keep a good man down, do you?” he asked with a bravado she had heard in her father’s voice far too many times over the years.

  “Cops,” she muttered, her soft smile belying her words, “you’re all crazy.”

  “You called that one right,” he answered cheerfully. “If you won’t let Breslin stay for me, do it for your dad. Because if the jarhead isn’t there, he will be. And do you really want him to stay up all night in vigilance mode?”

  She folded her arms. “That’s emotional blackmail.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Dammit.” She shook her head. “You knew it would.” She went around to the side of the bed, bent, and brushed her lips against his bruised and swollen cheek. “Behave yourself and listen to the doctors and nurses.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised. Although he grinned, she could see the exhaustion and pain fogging his eyes.

  “Pinkie swear?”

  Because his fingers were currently wrapped in gauze, he settled for crossing his right hand over the left of his bandaged chest. “Absolutely.”

  As she left the room, Tess couldn’t help thinking that if it hadn’t been for her calling him out to the house this evening, he never would’ve been at that Starbucks, which wouldn’t have put him in harm’s way.

  It wouldn’t have made a difference, she could hear him arguing. If Vasilyev was the one behind the hit-and-run, he would have found some other way to get to anyone standing in his way.

  But knowing that intellectually didn’t have her feeling any less guilty.

  24

  “This is totally unnecessary,” Tess said for the umpteenth time as she and Nate entered her house. “What makes you think you could do anything if the guy who hit Donovan does show up?”

  “I don’t think he will. Not with me here.”

  She tossed her purse onto the entry table. An outward sign, he thought, at how unnerved she truly was. It was undoubtedly the only thing out of place in the entire house.

  “Now that’s about the most overwhelming display of arrogance I’ve ever been privil
eged to witness,” she muttered.

  Although it took an effort, Nate remained outwardly unperturbed. Inwardly he was rapidly reaching the end of his rope. She’d given him the silent treatment most of the way from the hospital, only to occasionally bitch about being able to take care of herself just fine, thank you very much.

  From the moment she’d left Donovan’s room, Nate had gotten the very strong impression that she wouldn’t have even left the building with him if she hadn’t been concerned about upsetting her father.

  “Anyone who would resort to threatening a woman by phone isn’t much of a man. He’ll back down if he thinks he’s going to run into any real opposition.”

  Tess hated him for being logical when she was not. “I don’t have an extra toothbrush.”

  “Not a problem. My bag’s in the car.” At her sharp look, he lifted his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “Hey, I was on my way home from the airport, remember?”

  Objection overruled. Again.

  “Did I mention while this may be a two-bedroom townhouse, I’m using the second as my office? Which means I don’t have a guest room.”

  “No problem. I’ll rack out on the couch.”

  “It’s probably too short.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve slept in a lot worse places.”

  Thus reminding her of his Marine deployments. And, dammit, her appreciation for all those who put their lives on the line for her freedom. As much as she was irritated at being stuck with a babysitter, it wasn’t his fault that some Russian mobster might possibly be out to get her.

  “I’ll get you the linens.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “You’re a guest.”

  “If it makes you feel any better to think of me being here that way, fine.”

  She blew out a breath. Raked her hands through her hair, which she figured was probably looking like a bush atop her head about now. “I don’t mean to sound inhospitable. But all this is difficult.”

  “I can understand that. I can also understand how you’d feel as if me being here somehow takes away from your ability to handle events in your own life.”

  “It does,” she admitted.

  “I was a Marine scout sniper, which meant that I usually worked ahead of the team,” he said conversationally. “But the key word was always team. The other guys trusted me to check for bad guys. The same way I trusted them to have my back. Marines are independent types by nature, which is why we choose the Corps in the first place. But we all knew that none of us would have survived very long on our own.”

  So now he was calling them a team? As much as she couldn’t have imagined such a thing even a few days ago, she got his meaning. Loud and clear.

  “I’ll get the sheets, a pillow, and a blanket. When you come back in with your suitcase, go ahead and lock up. Because it’s been a long day and I’m going to bed.”

  As she left the room, despite that the circumstances for his spending the night weren’t what he would have preferred, Nate nevertheless experienced a surge of satisfaction.

  “I still don’t know what the hell you’re up to, Captain,” he said under his breath, “but I’ll have to admit, you’ve definitely piqued my interest.”

  * * *

  As exhausted as she was, Tess found sleep a difficult target. It was impossible to relax knowing that Nate was downstairs, sleeping on the red leather sofa she’d saved for three months to buy. It wasn’t that she was afraid that he’d have to leap up and put himself between some would-be killer and her. He wasn’t a Secret Service agent, after all. He hadn’t volunteered to take a bullet for her.

  Yet, she allowed, if it came down to it, he’d probably do exactly that. Not that she expected the situation to come up, she reassured herself yet again.

  What was keeping her tossing and turning was picturing Nate Breslin’s body, which was surprisingly tan for an Oregonian, sprawled on her crisp white sheets.

  She wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in the nude at home. But surely he wouldn’t do that here. Not only would it prove embarrassing if she, say, went downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night, she doubted any male would want to risk getting in a physical fight naked.

  So…

  Boxers?

  Or briefs?

  The question, and the erotic images it inspired, did nothing to encourage sleep.

  25

  “Nate Breslin seems like a nice enough man,” Eleanor said as Mike drove her home.

  “He doesn’t have a record, and the people Jake talked to in Shelter Bay only had positive things to say about him.”

  “You had him investigated?”

  “As soon as Jake ran his plates. I am an investigator,” he reminded her. “That’s what I do.”

  When she folded her arms, he felt a chill come over the inside of the car. “Can I expect to have you look into my life?”

  “Of course not. Unless,” he tacked on after a moment’s pause, “you started getting threatening calls or someone tried to hurt you. Then I’d be on the case like white on rice.”

  “Because that’s what you do.”

  “No. Because I like you.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “Cops have good instincts. And you have dynamite legs.”

  He liked that she laughed. “I like you, too. And not because you have great guns.”

  “You’re not talking about my service Glock.”

  “No.” She reached out and curled her fingers around his upper arm. “I’m talking about the fact that you obviously keep in good shape.”

  “I work out some.”

  Despite what the TV shows and movies suggested, cops and detectives spent more time sitting on their asses than they did chasing bad guys. Not wanting to look like a stereotypical Dunkin’ Donuts cop, he’d always passed his annual physical with flying colors.

  “I do, too. But, while I endure the stairstepper and treadmill, I much prefer yoga.”

  Mike knew he was in deep, deep trouble when an image of Eleanor in those clingy workout clothes women wore doing a downward dog or whatever those twisty movements were made him as instantly hard as he’d been at sixteen.

  Which, in turn, had him grateful for two things: that it was dark in the car, and he wouldn’t be needing blue pills if she decided one day to take their relationship to the next level.

  “Getting back to your daughter and the novelist, I doubt she’d be happy to know you’ve been checking up on her.”

  “She’d be pissed,” Mike allowed. “But she’d get over it. Because she knows I love her and want to protect her.” Which, dammit, he hadn’t always been able to do. And didn’t memories of that time still feel like a stone in the gut?

  “Do you always investigate men she’s involved with?”

  “No.” If he had, he would’ve realized she’d married one of those cops who crossed the line when it came to control issues. “Just the ones who threaten her.”

  The slight hint of disapproval he’d heard in her tone turned to surprise. “I have a hard time imagining that young man threatening anyone.”

  “He’s a Marine,” Mike pointed out. “Who’s done multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Which means he’s tougher than he looks, and could also have PTSD issues. And technically, he didn’t exactly threaten her. He just grabbed hold of her arm.” From what Jake had told him, her jacket, but that was close enough to put the guy smack in the middle of Mike’s sights.

  “Which would have been enough to trigger possible PTSD issues of her own,” Eleanor murmured.

  He shot her a look. “Now who’s the investigator?”

  “You’re an investigator. I’m a volunteer researcher. Though, in some respects, I suppose there’s not a lot of difference,” she said mildly. “I Googled both of you while you were off having coffee. The kidnapping must have been a horrible time for you.”

  “It wasn’t a cakewalk.” He brushed it off as he tended to do whenever the topic came up, then decided, for so
me reason he’d think about later, to come clean. “It was hell.” He decided this was too early to mention how it had also caused a slow, painful death to his marriage.

  “Worse because you weren’t only her father but a detective. One who had a reputation for closing more cases, and more quickly, than anyone else on the force.”

  “You’re not only thorough, you’re quick.” He and Tess hadn’t been in the cafe that long.

  “Not always.” Despite the serious turn the conversation had taken, she gave him an up-through-the-lashes look. “Quick can be a good thing. But there are also times I prefer things slow.”

  The pheromones were bouncing around like metal balls in a pinball machine inside the car as he pulled into her driveway. Suggesting that sometimes fate was generous, she’d taken advantage of Portland’s public transportation system to get to work this morning, so they hadn’t had to deal with two cars.

  Her eyes, gleaming in the dashboard lights, were like emerald pools. As he felt himself drowning in them, Mike didn’t have a single desire to be rescued.

  “You’re not talking about Googling or investigations anymore, are you?”

  “I can see why you were awarded all those citations,” she said on a purr. “Because you’ve definitely caught me, detective.”

  The hand that had checked out his biceps splayed across his chest. “You know what they say about life being too short. Fortunately, nights can be long.”

  As she led him by the hand into the house, and without a bit of social foreplay, like drinks or chit-chat, up the stairs to her bedroom, Mike decided that she only had that half right. Because the way he saw it, they’d caught each other.

  26

  Sometime in the early morning, Tess heard the water running in the downstairs bathroom and realized Nate was taking a shower. And wasn’t that thought enough to trigger a flash of hormonal lust?

  By the time she got through her own shower, dried her hair with the diffuser, and got dressed, the rich aroma of coffee was drifting up the stairs. Apparently he’d not merely invaded her life but her kitchen, as well.