Protector With A Past Read online

  Cord had been right, Julia had told herself hopelessly. Donner's alibis always checked out.

  "Because I'm not convinced that he didn't have a hand in every unsolved crime that's occurred within a hundred-mile radius over the last ten or fifteen years," he replied unwillingly. "I can't seem to think rationally where he's concerned. My God, Julia—what if I've been wrong all along? What if he really was unaware of the killings his 'family' carried out?"

  His hands stilled on her shoulders, and opening her eyes she saw the doubt that crossed his features. She turned to him.

  "Don't forget what he did to Marshall at the end of our meeting. And that reference to creating a new 'family'—we can't dismiss that. He's hiding something, I know it. So do you."

  "He's a violent man, I'll grant you that," Cord sighed. "But all the reference to his new family shows is that he knows exactly how to push my buttons. He threw that in to get me off balance, just like he threw in the Bradley farmhouse, and just like he brought up the subject of Davey. None of that proves he's guilty of the crimes we're trying to pin on him."

  "But how did he know about Davey? What's even more important is why does he know something so private about me?"

  "That bothered me, too, honey, but it wouldn't have been impossible for him to find out about it." He took her hands in both of his. "He plays with people's minds. That's how he operates."

  "And it's worked." She searched his face fearfully. "I don't know who to suspect anymore."

  "We're left with Tascoe. When I talked with Stamp he said they're closing in on him—they found the boardinghouse where he was staying up until yesterday."

  "If Tascoe really did kill Paul and Sheila, then he's got to be totally unhinged." Her eyes clouded. "And for God's sake—we still don't have any proof that he was involved with DiMarco's drug operation."

  "DiMarco told us that Dean was looking to sell information," he reminded her. "I know he's not the best source we could hope for, but why would he finger Tascoe if there wasn't something to his story?"

  "Because Tascoe was a threat to him?" she ventured. "Don't you think it's odd that Dean Tascoe's name keeps coming up in relation to cases and suspects that the department's been investigating, Cord? It's like he's been a shadowy one-man police force."

  "You mentioned that once before." The dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Vigilante policing, to show the powers that he deserves to be given his old job back?"

  "I'm reaching, aren't I?" She gave him a small smile and sat down on the bed, her shoulders slumping tiredly. "I told you, Cord—investigation never was my specialty. I always worked on instinct and impressions, but now I can't even trust those anymore."

  "You're strung out, and so am I, honey." Sitting down beside her, he framed her troubled face with his hands and leaned forward until the tips of their noses touched. "Remember porcupine kisses?" He smiled. "You asked me once if they kissed, and I told you yes, but—"

  "But very carefully." Julia rubbed the tip of her nose against his and laughed softly. "I remember. I remember everything we've ever done together."

  "Refresh my memory on what we did last night, honey." He frowned exaggeratedly. "You know, I'm a few years older than you are, and this'll probably start happening more and more—me forgetting things, you having to remind me. That's really the only reason I let you hang around—that and because I like looking at that cute butt of yours."

  "That's why I let you hang around me." She widened her eyes in mock surprise. "The nice buns factor. But this memory thing has me worried—are you absolutely sure you don't remember this?"

  As she spoke, she brought her mouth to his. Her tongue darted quickly inside his parted lips and then out again. Cord sighed.

  "Hell, it's worse than I thought. What else did we do?"

  "Well, I bit the back of your neck, like this." Undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, she pushed open the neckline until the hard ridge of his collarbone was exposed. Raising herself slightly, she nipped him gently on the sensitive nape of his neck. "Nothing?" she breathed. "It doesn't ring a bell?"

  He shook his head tensely. "Nope." His eyes were half-closed, and she could feel his biceps harden, as if he was keeping a rigid control over his reactions. "Not a darn thing, honey," he said tightly.

  "As a last resort, I guess we could do it all over again." She gave him a dubious look. "But there's really no guarantee your memory won't blank out on you again, is there?"

  "Oh, I don't know." He turned his head to meet her gaze, and a corner of his mouth lifted teasingly. "It just depends how memorable we make it."

  Their lovemaking the night before had had a raw urgency about it that had brought her to fever pitch again and again, but this time, by unspoken agreement, they came together in a languorous, almost dream-like coupling. It was as if they were two halves of a whole, Julia thought hazily at one point, when Cord's legs were entwined with hers and their fingers were laced together. Nothing could separate them now. Nothing would ever come between them again. They would marry and grow old together, he and she, and their world would be perfect and complete as long as they had each other.

  He'll want children. You know he'll want children—will you be able to make a family with him?

  Even the small voice in her head was only a momentary distraction, and as the two of them urged each other slowly toward an ultimate height, she forgot everything but the way Cord was making her feel, the touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth…

  "You don't know what it does to me to hear you crying out my name," Cord said softly a few hours later as they lay together in the darkening room. "Sometimes when I'm walking around in the daytime, or talking to someone, or driving, the memory of how you look just before you call out flashes into my mind, and I just about die, honey."

  She traced the line of his mouth with a soft finger. "I know. It happens to me, too, Cord."

  He stared at her for a long moment, and in the dusky shadows she saw him smile. "Let's make it legal."

  His voice was still charged and husky with sex, but the look in those eyes so close to hers was serious and waiting. Julia felt foolishly as if she was about to cry.

  "I—I'd like that, Cord." Her lips curved tremulously, and then the tears were spilling over, even as a little embarrassed laugh escaped her. His arms were around her immediately, holding her close to his heart.

  "Is this a good sign or a bad sign?" he said shakily, his gaze bright. "Because if I'd known I was going to make you cry, I would have just asked you to be my mistress for the next fifty years." He tipped her chin up and kissed the corner of her mouth.

  "I don't want to be your mistress, Cord. I want us to get married and have a family one day," she whispered, her voice uneven. "And this time it'll be different. Maybe that's partly why I was so terrified when I found out I was preg—"

  She bit the word off, but she knew even as she did that she'd left it too late. He stared at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

  "You were pregnant?" he said in a voice that didn't sound like his. "You were pregnant, and I never knew?"

  He drew slightly away from her, but for some reason it felt like he'd opened an unbridgeable gap between them. "What happened to the baby? You didn't—oh dear God, you didn't have an—"

  "No!" His eyes were so dark, Julia thought fearfully. "Of course I didn't—it was a false alarm. The test result was wrong, except I didn't know for a few weeks, and I—"

  "For a few weeks? For a few weeks you thought we were going to have a baby, and you didn't think that was something I should know? In God's name, why? Why wouldn't you tell me something so important?"

  Sitting up, he snapped on the bedside lamp, and in the sudden light his features were drawn. "Were you deciding what to do about our child? Did you even have any intention of letting me in on the decision?"

  "I don't know!" She sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. "You don't understand, Cord—I was out of my mind with fear when I found out. I just k
ept hoping I'd wake up and find out it wasn't true."

  Her voice had risen unevenly, and her eyes, only moments ago spilling over with tears of happiness, were anguished and so dry they felt as if they were burning.

  "You see, I never could have kept our child safe—never. Never!" she whispered harshly, shaking her head in frantic denial. "I would have failed both of you one day—I knew I would. It would just have been a matter of time before I let my guard down, or I slipped up somehow, or I—or I—"

  "Did you sneak down to the Sunfish and put the life belts in like I told you, Julia? You sure?"

  Her expression was haunted, her voice almost inaudible. "I would have lost our child. I would have tried to do everything right, and it wouldn't have been good enough! I would have been responsible for losing the child I loved, and nothing I ever did would be able to atone for that, not if I spent the rest of my life trying to make it right again, not if I made sure I was perfect, that I never let anyone down ever again, that I—that I—"

  Her eyes squeezed shut and just as immediately flew open as Cord gripped her arms and gave her a little shake. "You were five years old, goddammit!" he said hoarsely, his face almost touching hers. "You were a child yourself!"

  "I—" Julia met the brilliant black gaze fearfully. "I don't understand," she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

  "Davey's death," Cord said flatly. "Davey's death, and the fact that you survived. You've never been able to forgive yourself for either of those things, have you?"

  She tried to pull away, but his grip was unbreakable. "The only child you betrayed was yourself. The only child you didn't save was that frightened little girl who's been screaming out her pain and her fear somewhere deep inside you all these years—the little girl you won't forgive. You always felt she should have been the one to die, didn't you?"

  "That's crazy," she said automatically. "That's not true. You know it's not—"

  "It is true, and I've known it for years. I just had no idea it went so deep." His voice lost its edge. "You could see it in Lopez—the crippling guilt, the pain. Why can't you see it in yourself?"

  "Because it's not true, dammit!" Finally jerking her arms from him, Julia's eyes blazed. "And this has nothing to do with how I reacted two years ago, anyway. I was stressed—the job had overwhelmed me—"

  "You don't want to admit that you blame that little five-year-old girl, do you?" he asked slowly. "Because if you ever did admit it, you'd have to forgive he—and that you'll never do."

  He gazed at her, and at first she couldn't identify the expression on his face. Then she recognized it for what it was, and suddenly an icy hand seemed to be wrapping itself around her heart.

  There was no anger in those dark eyes anymore. They were filled with regret, and very slowly he reached out and pushed her hair from her temples with a touch so light she could hardly feel it.

  "I loved her," he said softly. "And I loved the woman who took her place. All I ever wanted was to love you and to make you happy, Julia—you, and the little girl you'd once been. But I ended up almost tearing you apart, and that's why I left the first time."

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, although what she intended to say she didn't know. All of a sudden it was vitally important to say something—anything—to interrupt him. But he anticipated her, laying a gentle finger on her lips.

  "I didn't know what I was doing wrong, but I knew I was destroying you. I walked away from you, even though leaving almost destroyed me. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that one day you'd want me back." He smiled, but his eyes were bright with pain. "I let myself hope that, because I knew what we had was indestructible, no matter what happened in our lives. And I was right—it is indestructible."

  He hand reached tremblingly to his and she let out a shaky breath. "I thought you were telling me you were leaving me," she said, her voice faltering. "Oh, Cord—I thought you didn't want me anymore."

  "I'll want you till the day I die, honey. My last thought on this earth will be of you, and the last thing I see when I close my eyes that final time will be your face," he said huskily. "And you love me … but you can't love yourself. You won't forgive that little girl, and you won't let her go in peace—not while I'm still in your life, anyway."

  He brought her fingertips to his mouth and pressed a kiss against them. "That's why this time when I walk away it'll be for good."

  The ice around her heart was numbingly cold, and it felt like it was sluggishly spreading through her veins, forcing its way through her limbs. If she made even the slightest movement she would crack, she thought distantly. She had to be very, very careful, because she was about to break in two.

  The boom came around and attacked him, Cord! Davey fell in the water, and he's not wearing a life jacket like he's supposed to, and it's all my fault Cord—it's my fault! I made him die, Cord!

  She wanted to close her eyes to shut out the memory, but she knew that would be dangerous. Maybe in a while she would start to thaw out a little—enough to go through the motions, at least. But the ice would still be inside her.

  "Your dad told me he's got a business trip coming up in the next few days," Cord said softly. "I think you should go with him, honey. I'd feel better if I knew you were safe while Tascoe's still—"

  The phone on the bedside table rang, and its shrill sound hit Julia with the force of a hammer, shattering the numb stillness that had encased her.

  "I'm not going anywhere!" Her voice sounded rusty even to herself. "Lizbet's still in danger, and I have to keep her safe. You'll see, Cord—I'll prove to you I can do it!"

  "You don't have to prove anything to—" he began, but she overrode him as the phone rang again.

  "But I've got to! You think you have to leave because I'll fall apart again, or because I can't handle it, or—"

  "No—that's you talking. You think you have to prove yourself, you think you have to be perfect for me or anyone else to love you, even a little, but—"

  Again the phone shrilled, and with a muttered oath Cord grabbed the receiver. "Hunter," he said curtly. "Who the hell is—" He bit back the rest of his sentence. Watching him, Julia saw his hand tighten around the phone. "How did it happen?" he snapped, but before he could have received an answer he spoke again, his voice sharp. "Forget it—just tell me when they lost him." He swore again, with more earthiness than she'd ever heard from him. "Okay, Stamp, I appreciate you letting us know. Yeah, I hope so. I'll keep you posted."

  He cut the connection, and immediately started dialing a number. "The officers who were tailing Donner lost him about an hour ago." He ground the words out. "Just in case, I want Mary and Frank and the kids to leave the house right away. Frank's got a brother in town—they can stay with him for the night."

  Julia slid from the bed, handed Cord his jeans and pulled her own on, her movements swiftly controlled. She felt a slight sense of wonder that she was functioning so efficiently when her world had just been torn apart. But emotion was a luxury she couldn't afford, she thought. Part of her had never stopped being a cop, and that was the part that was taking over right now.

  After they knew Lizbet was safe she could fall to pieces, she told herself tightly. Not before.

  She slipped her arms into a shoulder holster and picked up the .45 that Cord had insisted she get after Jackie's Redmond's death. "I thought you weren't taking him seriously as a suspect anymore."

  "I know. But Stamp says losing his tail was a deliberate move on Donner's part. That's got me—" He switched his attention to the instrument in his hand and spoke urgently into the receiver. "Mary—"

  He stopped before he'd gotten a more than a word out and Julia heard a muffled metallic voice coming from the phone he held to his ear. The next moment Cord was slamming the receiver down and grabbing for his gun.

  "It's a damn recording," he said grimly, pulling his sweatshirt over his head then opening the dresser drawer where he kept his spare ammunition. "The Whitefield phone's out of service.
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  Chapter 15

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  Cord had snatched Julia's car keys as he'd run out the door, and now as they sped down the highway be glanced at her. "You got a screwdriver or something in the glove box?" he asked distractedly.

  "I think so." Tensely Julia watched the taillights of the car ahead of them magically change from tiny, far-off pinpoints to glowing cherry discs and then flash by on the right-hand side in a blur of hot red as Cord passed the vehicle. She let out her breath. "It's a miniature one. Will it do?"

  "Yeah, it'll do. Pry off the plastic cover of the dome light and unscrew the bulb. When we get off the highway I'll stop and smash the brake lights. At least the paint job on this thing's a lot less conspicuous than the Bronco."

  "You think he's there already." Her tone was flat as she jammed the blade of the screwdriver under the plastic dome above her head and popped it off. "Why didn't you tell Phil to send backup?"

  "For the same reason I chose a dark blue vehicle over a white one—if Donner's there, I don't want to alert him to our presence. I won't have this turning into a standoff situation like it did with his suicidal 'family.'"

  Their exit came rushing up, and he took it. "And no, I'm not sure he's there already. I'm not sure of anything where he's concerned, but I don't like the fact that two experienced police officers told Phil Stamp that the bastard did a deliberate end run around them and lost them. Besides, for Donner's alibi to be watertight I'll have to know that he was in his seat at least an hour before he got that award."

  He applied the brakes, and in the bright beam of their headlights Julia saw a cloud of gritty dust fly up as they hit the graveled shoulder of the road. Cord turned to her, his face grim.