Kitabı oku: «Lipstick On His Collar», sayfa 3

3

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Nick was back, carrying a plastic bag of ice and a plate with two steaks Lilly had bought. “Don’t you ever eat solid food?” he asked her. “Besides these, all you have in your refrigerator are fruit, bottles of oil with weeds in them, powders and jars of cream.”

“I eat takeout usually, if that matters. And, what’s with the steaks? Chasing criminals makes you crave red meat?”

“They’re for you. Nothing like a fresh steak to keep down bruising.” He squatted beside her and held out a hunk of meat.

She stopped his hand. “You expect me to put raw beef on my eyes?”

“Relax. It will stop some of the swelling.”

She sighed and let him place one steak over her right eye and the other against her left cheekbone.

“Now hold these in place.”

She did it—this close up, Nick was hard to argue with. “I have some cream that will repair the cell damage more effectively, you know,” she said, watching out of the uncovered eye as he shaped the ice pack into a tight ball. His hands were so strong, so sure….

Nick set the ice bag on her ankle.

“Ow! Yow! God, that hurts!”

“It’ll settle down in a minute.”

“I prefer the sprain, thank you. Ouch. Ooh.”

“What a cranky patient you are. I bet you’re hell on wheels with a cold. Where do you keep the aspirin?”

“In the medicine cabinet in my bathroom,” she said grumpily. As he set off, she called out, “Bring me the Restorix, please. The triangular jar. I hate wasting good steak.” She felt like a fool holding raw meat to her face, but it did soothe the sting. She closed her eyes and breathed in the beefy smell.

Nick returned, and she exchanged the steak eye patches for pills and water. “Aspirin with codeine,” he said. “Stronger.”

“From my wisdom tooth extraction. But I’ll get sleepy.”

“Sleepy is good. Take them,” he commanded. “Your ankle’s going to hurt.”

“I have work to do.”

“Forget work. You’re going to rest if I have to tie you to the bed.”

She stopped, the suggestive image more than her jangled nerves could bear.

“Anyway, first aid for a strain is RICE—rest, ice, compression and elevation. You need to get your foot up.”

“Who needs the hospital when I’ve got Dr. Nick.” She sighed and took the pills, then handed him the water glass and reached for the Restorix he’d also brought.

“Allow me,” he said. He unscrewed the lid and scooped some cream with an index finger, which he began to apply to her face. “You may have a point about this being better. Raw beef does draw flies.”

She smiled and held her breath while he feathered the cool cream along her cheekbones and eyelids. His touch was so gentle she softened all over. She couldn’t help but look into his face as he worked. In this light, his irises were velvet brown, his pupils wide and black. The crinkles at the edges of his eyes made him look wise and wicked. Her gaze drifted downward, following the strong line of his cheek to a barely visible hair-thin scar along his jaw—a striking outline of his face that made him look dangerous. And sexy as hell. When she’d picked him out at the Backstreet, she’d had an incredibly good eye.

“There,” he said, admiring his handiwork.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

His gaze held hers. “How’s the pain?”

“Better. I guess I’m lucky the robber didn’t stick around. Who knows what more damage I could have done to myself.”

“Bingo.”

“How did he get into my apartment, anyway?” she asked to give him something policelike to do.

Nick looked up at her door from where they sat on the foyer step. “That’s no trick. Credit card on the latch will do the job in five seconds. You have no dead bolt. Bad idea.”

“This building is very safe,” she argued. “I mean we have a security guard—” She stopped, realizing how he might take that.

Nick flinched, then forced a smile. “That would be me, see. I don’t know how he got past me in the lobby.” His brows knit in thought. “The elevator jammed this morning. Maybe he came in during the confusion with the fire crew.”

“He was in my home. It’s so creepy…” Miranda said slowly, her heart going cold as what had happened began to sink in. The thug had sneaked into her apartment, touched her things, probably taken items, and listened while she and Nick searched the place. Picturing that, fear rose like a wave inside her.

“You feel violated,” Nick said. “That’s normal. But don’t worry. We’ll get this guy.”

But she hardly heard him because the moments with the punk were coming alive in her head. Again she tasted the stiff denim of his jeans, the blood in her mouth. She felt his legs as he’d struggled in her arms, the terror that he’d get free and hurt her. Again the odor of motor oil and dirt filled her nose. She could hardly breathe for the wash of feeling.

She looked at Nick, hoping he could pull her out of the memory. “I—I—” She couldn’t get the words out. “Oh…oh, dear.” Then she just burst into tears.

“Ah, Miranda.” Nick pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “It’s okay,” he said, rocking her, his voice a soothing rumble in her ear. He patted her back.

“I’m s-s-sorrry,” she said between sobs. “I think I’m just t-t-tired.”

“Cry it out. It’s all right.”

His arms felt as comforting and familiar as a dear friend’s. Pressed against his chest, she could hear his steady heartbeat—maybe a little faster than normal. He smelled of wool and clean sweat and some old-fashioned aftershave.

She breathed it all in, let herself rest in his arms. Gradually her fear subsided, along with the pain in her leg and face. Then she felt embarrassed to be huddled against him, so she pulled away. “I’m acting like a baby.”

“Nah. This is scary stuff.”

“I’m glad you were here, Nick.”

“Hell, you didn’t need me. In another minute, you’d have had him hog-tied in your nylons, begging for mercy.”

“Anyone else would have done the same.”

“No. Believe me, they wouldn’t. You’re unique.” He shook his head as if that weren’t entirely a good thing. “Anyway,” he sighed, “the cops in this precinct are good. They’ll get him. He’s probably a junkie after whatever he could grab.”

“We don’t need the police, do we? Couldn’t you call and cancel the order?”

“This isn’t a pizza delivery, Miranda.”

“I just don’t want cops traipsing through here.”

“They’re not going to bust down the door. If this guy is working the area, we’ll need to warn your neighbors anyway. Before the detectives get here, let’s see what’s missing. Hold on to your ice pack.”

She barely had time to grab the baggie before Nick lifted her into his arms, and she found herself staring into his eyes, being carried off like a bride swept to bed by her groom.

“I c-can walk,” she said, vividly aware of how each of Nick’s fingers pressed into the flesh of her thighs.

“We’ve got to keep your weight off that ankle,” he said, striding down the hall, then he frowned. “You’re too light, Miranda. Your bones are hollow as a bird’s. If you expect to tackle any more intruders, you’d better boost your calcium intake.”

“Right.” It was hard to focus on Nick’s words when his face was so close. His skin was perfect. He didn’t need her men’s face cream to retain suppleness. His neck and shoulder muscles seemed to go on forever. In fact, one of the shoulder seams of Charlie’s uniform had split from the strain of holding in his breadth.

Nick stopped short. “Don’t look now, but there’s a running shoe in your hallway.”

She looked down. “Oh, yeah! That’s his. I yanked it off.”

“No wonder he ran. He probably was afraid you’d strip him naked.”

“It’s a clue, right? You can get footprints.”

“I’ll tell the detectives to be on the lookout for a limping bandit.”

“Don’t make fun.”

“Sorry. If they got shoe prints at other crime scenes it might help. Nice call, Ms. Chase.”

Good. She might not have held on to the guy, but she’d gathered evidence. “And I can describe him, too. In detail.”

“Okay. Describe away,” he said, sounding amused. “In detail.”

She closed her eyes to picture the kid. “He was young. Twenty or so. Skinny, about five foot six. Long, narrow face, pale eyebrows, very short brown hair. He had a tattoo of a dragon on one arm. He was wearing Levi’s 501s and a ribbed tank top…indigo-blue in Peruvian Pima cotton.”

“Peruvian Pima?”

She opened her eyes at the surprise in his voice. “Yeah. More fibers per inch than your run-of-the-mill T-shirt.”

“When you say detail, you mean it.”

“I know quality, that’s all,” she said.

“I’m sure you do.” There was some kind of judgment in his tone, but before she could pursue his meaning, he asked, “Is this the room?”

They were at the door to the office, so she nodded. “And he was carrying a heavy backpack.”

He stopped and looked at her. “How did you know it was heavy?” He paused. “Never mind. You grabbed it, right?”

She nodded.

“Because he had your stuff.”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

Once inside the office, Nick carried her straight to the wall where her safe was hidden behind a painting.

“How did you know this was where the safe is?” she asked.

“All your other art is postmodern original oils. This Degas is the only reproduction in the place. A likely false front for a safe.”

“I’m impressed.”

“You think being a cop makes me a clod?” His voice held a defensive edge.

“No, I just…sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He was covering for his harsh reaction. He probably thought she was a snob. Nothing could be further from the truth, but she knew her protest would fall on deaf ears. Nick knew what he knew.

They found the safe had been emptied of its contents of gold coins and jewelry, some of which had been in the family for years. “It’s all gone,” she said, shocked at the cold reality of the thievery, her fingers unconsciously tightening on Nick’s neck.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. The cops are good, but I have to tell you, in cases like these, even if they get the guy, they rarely get back the stuff.” He carried her to the sofa and gently set her down. The sensation of cool leather gave her chills after having Nick’s warm hands on her.

“But the pack felt heavier than that—and lumpier,” she said slowly, figuring it out. “I bet he had a camera in there. He was probably taking photographs of my formulas. That’s why they’d been disturbed but none were missing!”

“What’s the value of the safe’s contents?”

“Fifty or sixty thousand, I think. My brother had everything appraised a year ago. But it’s more the sentimental value really.”

“Fifty K is a hell of a lot of sentiment.”

“Why would he steal my jewelry if he was after the formulas?”

“Forget the formulas. He was a junkie needing some quick cash.”

“A junkie who’s a safecracker?”

“He might have worked for a locksmith. They know how the units work. That’s how most safes get busted into these days.”

Before they could analyze the situation further, two police detectives arrived to examine the scene, write up the crime and take fingerprints—and the tennis shoe. Miranda could tell Nick commanded respect from the detectives, even in the ridiculous marching band uniform.

When Nick returned from walking the detectives out, Miranda felt a goofy grin spread onto her face. The codeine had vanquished her pain and had her feeling downright ruh-laxed.

“Time to take you to bed,” Nick said softly. His words sent an electric charge all the way to her swollen ankle.

“Whatever you say,” she said, lifting her arms in woozy anticipation.

He gave a soft chuckle and hefted her into his arms.

She clasped both hands behind his neck. It felt so good to be in his muscular arms. If Nick had tackled the thief, he’d have stayed tackled. “You’re sooo strong,” she murmured. Whoops! She’d just meant to think that.

Nick smiled. “Codeine kicked in, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“That’s good,” he said, moving again. “You’ll sleep.” He reached the staircase and began winding upward. Again and even more foolishly, she felt like a bride in her groom’s arms, a sensation that intensified when they approached her bed.

“Which side?” Nick asked.

Whichever one you’re on. For a confused second, she thought she’d said that out loud, too. But Nick didn’t react. With her swollen eyes and scraped cheekbones, she probably had all the sex appeal of a car wreck anyway. “Right side,” she murmured.

Without a word, he set her down, pulled back the covers so she could slide into the space. The slippery fabric was cool against her legs.

Nick’s hands rested for a moment on both sides of her on the feather-soft mattress, making two depressions next to her body, so close she felt the whisper of the hairs on his forearms. His face over hers was close as a lover’s. Their eyes met and held. Nick’s glittered with a restrained hunger. He wanted her. He wasn’t feeling sorry for her now, was he? Like that night? Her heart raced, her mind whirled.

“We need more ice,” Nick said, his words raspy with desire.

No kidding. The heat between them could melt steel.

He pushed himself to his feet, then backed toward the door, as if he were escaping something dangerous.

She listened to him head downstairs, feeling confused—and by more than painkiller. She’d put that year-ago night behind her—chalking up its intensity to her need to prove she was a sexual person. But it was happening all over again, the crazy desire to be in his arms.

He’d made her feel sexy that night, but there’d been more. She’d felt things she’d never felt with Donald. A special connection, a wordless understanding. There’d been so much she wanted to know about him, and about sex with him, and who knew where that might lead?

She’d thought he felt the same. So when he’d promised to call the next day, she’d believed him. Of course he’d call. Who wouldn’t call after a night like that?

Now, lying in her bed, her mind fuzzy with codeine, Miranda was locked so fiercely in the memory of the night that, when Nick bounded back into the room, his hands full of an ice bag and a black towel, she just burst out, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Call you? I was just downstairs getting ice.”

“The next morning. You said you’d call. You didn’t.”

Nick frowned, as if what she’d said didn’t make sense, then his face took on a thoughtful expression as he propped her leg on the rolled-up towel, then carefully placed the new ice bag over her ankle. “I did call,” he said, watching her. “Your assistant said she’d give you the message.”

“My assistant?”

He nodded.

“I never got the message,” she said softly, her mind sorting the implications. Lilly had forgotten? Or deliberately not told her?

“I guess we missed each other then,” he said. She saw a flicker of regret, but it passed so quickly she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. “I assumed one night had been enough.”

“Not at all.”

“A shame,” he said, straightening her covers, not meeting her eye.

“Absolutely. A real shame.” Her heart raced. Nick hadn’t felt sorry for her. He’d wanted to see her again. He’d been hurt that she’d refused him. It all made sense. Maybe now…right here, they could make up for lost time….

“That was a long time ago.” He shook his head, laughed softly, then pushed himself to his feet. “Probably for the best.”

She felt like an idiot. Again. “Right,” she said, pretending to laugh, her head swimming. She flopped back on the pillow.

“Sleepy?” he asked, misinterpreting her move.

She nodded. She felt dizzy and mixed up, and suddenly she just needed to be by herself. “I’ve kept you too long.”

“The maintenance guy’s been covering for me.”

“You should get back there.”

“I hate to leave you alone,” he said softly. “Is there a friend or relative I can call?”

No. She did not want her family to know about this. More fuel for their nag that she move out of the Palm View. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for all you’ve done.”

“If you’re sure.” He looked at her closely, then tilted his head at the codeine bottle on the night table. “Take two more in four hours. If you feel worse, call me, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, just wanting him gone.

“You keep saying that. You’ll call?”

“I’ll call.”

No, she wouldn’t. Even if her ankle swelled up like a cannoli, Nick was the last person she should call. She was a needy fool who’d made far more of a fleeting encounter than ever was or ever could be. Nick had certainly put it behind him. That was a long time ago. Probably for the best.

Forget all that, she told herself again. Focus on work. That was always safer for her. She had important things to do. In a few minutes, she’d get up and get started on her formulas. She fought the codeine, but her lids were so heavy. Maybe if she just rested her eyes for a moment…