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Uh-oh.He leaned back in his chair.Here we go again.The same argument they had been having for a long, long time.
“I am. I mean, I will.”
She sauntered into the room, backlit by the hall light, arms still crossed, and rested a hip against his desk. “When?” The sounds of the house at night, hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, ticking of the old clock in the front hallway, occasional rush of a car as it passed on the street outside, closed in on him. Through her thin robe he saw the outline of her body, felt a stirring deep down, the same male response she always elicited no matter how many years they’d been together. He studied the slope of her hip, the mound of her breasts.
“Soon. I swear.” They’d had this argument for the past several years. He could leave the department at any time. Full retirement. Spend more time at home. Teach if he wanted to. Consult. But . . . he flat-out loved his job.
“You’ve been saying ‘soon’ for what? Five years? Six?” Now the smile faded from her eyes. “You’re not going to leave the department until they force you to or”—she drew a deep breath—“until you’re killed in the line of duty. We both know it.”
“You know I can’t leave now, Livvie. Jesus, not after Jay’s murder. Kristi was nearly killed herself.” He pushed back his chair, stood, and heard his back pop.
“I wouldn’t ask that,” she said as he rounded the desk.
“Good.” He drew her close.
“But when this case is over, when you know Kristi’s safe and Jay’s murderer is either dead or behind bars, you’ll retire.”
“Yeah,” he said automatically, and ignored that niggle of doubt that wormed through his mind. “I will.” He placed his forehead against hers and tried to kiss her, but she put a finger to his lips, stopping him short.
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Sure.” She smelled so good of soap and some faint perfume that he equated with her and always turned him on.
“I’m going to hold you to it.”
Her eyes held his. Wide and intelligent, so deep they seemed to scrape into his soul and possibly ferret out any lies he might concoct.
“I know.”
“You have Ginny now. She’s going to be one soon, almost walking, and you’re missing so much of it.” She sighed. “And you have me. Kristi, too, of course, but in your zeal to protect her, please, Rick, don’t forget us.”
“I—I couldn’t if I wanted to,” he said with raw truth. “And I don’t want to.”
She seemed to believe him, to understand, and she drew her finger away and kissed him, her lips warm and pliant before parting.
He was lost then.
Picking her up, he carried her into their bedroom and kicked the door shut. Together they rolled onto the bed and for the next few hours he forgot about Father John and Jay McKnight and Helene Laroche and Teri Marie Gaines. He was so lost in the touch and feel of his wife that he even, for the moment, let his worries for his firstborn slide into the farthest corners of his mind.
For the first time in the better part of a month, Rick Bentz slept long and hard, his worries melting away with slumber, his wife’s warm body snuggled next to his.
* * *
His cell phone hummed across the night table.
Opening a bleary eye, Montoya saw that it was one in the morning. He snagged the phone off its charger hoping not to wake his wife, but he heard her mumble something unintelligible into her pillow.
He didn’t recognize the number.
Almost hung up.
Then, with an instinct reserved for siblings, he rolled off the bed and eased into the hallway. The dog gave a soft “woof,” but Montoya quieted him with a quick, “Shh,” and padded outside to the back porch where the night was clear, only a few stars visible over the ambient light glowing up from the city. “Hello?”
“Bro.”
“I knew it was you!” Montoya said, sighing. “Where the hell are you, Cruz?”
“On my way.”
