Nightshade

  “He was right about that,” Althea insisted. “Not about the rest, but about that. And he unzipped his pants. I ran for the door, but he threw me back on the bed. I hit my head pretty hard on the wall. I remember being dizzy for a minute, and hearing him telling me that he knew girls like me usually charged for it, but that I should be flattered that he was going to give me a thrill. He got on the bed. I slapped him, I swore at him. He backhanded me, and pinned me. And I started to scream. I kept screaming and screaming while he raped me. When he was finished, I wasn’t screaming anymore. I was just crying. He got off the bed, and zipped up his pants. He warned me that if I told anyone he’d deny it. And who were they going to believe, someone like him, or someone like me? He was blood, so there was no contest. And he could always get five of his buddies to say that I’d been willing with all of them. Then they’d just put me back in the home.

  “So I didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say and no one to say it to. He raped me twice more over the next month, before I got the nerve to run away again. Of course, they caught me. Maybe I’d wanted them to that time. I stayed in the home until I was eighteen. And when I got out, I knew no one was ever going to have that kind of control over me again. No one was ever going to make me feel like I was nothing ever again.”

  Unsure what to do, Colt reached up tentatively to brush a tear from her cheek. “You made your life into something, Althea.”

  “I made it into mine.” She let out a breath, then briskly rubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t like to dwell on before, Colt.”

  “But it’s there.”

  “It’s there,” she agreed. “Trying to make it go away only brings it closer to the surface. I learned that, too. Once you accept it’s simply a part of what makes you what you are, it doesn’t become as vital. It didn’t make me hate men, it didn’t make me hate myself. It did make me understand what it is to be a victim.”

  He wanted to gather her close, but was afraid she might not want to be touched. “I wish I could make the hurt go away.”

  “Old scars,” she murmured. “They only ache at odd moments.” She sensed his withdrawal, and felt the ache spread. “I’m the same person I was before I told you. The trouble is, after people hear a story like that, they change.”

  “I haven’t changed.” He started to touch her, drew back. “Damn it, Thea, I don’t know what to say to you. What to do for you.” Rising, he paced away from the bed. “I could make you some tea.”

  She nearly laughed. “Nightshade’s cure-all? No thanks.”

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “Just tell me.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  “What I want.” He strode to the window, whirled back. “I want to go back to when you were fifteen and kick that bastard’s face in. I want to hurt him a hundred times worse than he hurt you. Then I want to go back further and break your father’s legs, and I want to kick your mother’s butt while I’m at it.”

  “Well, you can’t,” she said coolly. “Pick something else.”

  “I want to hold you!” he shouted, jamming his fists into his pockets. “And I’m afraid to touch you!”

  “I don’t want your tea, and I don’t want your sympathy. So if that’s all you have to offer, you might as well leave.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is to be accepted for who and what I am. Not to be tiptoed around like an invalid because I survived rape and abuse.”

  He started to snap back at her, then stopped himself. He wasn’t thinking of her, he realized, but of his own rage, his own impotence, his own pain. Slowly he walked back to the bed and sat beside her. Her eyes were still wet; he could see them gleaming against the shadows. He slipped his arms around her, gently drew her close until her head rested on his shoulder.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Okay?”

  She sighed, settled. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Althea awakened at sunrise with a dull headache. She knew instantly that Colt was no longer beside her. Wearily she rolled onto her back and rubbed her swollen eyes.

  What had she expected? she asked herself. No man would be comfortable around a woman after hearing a story like the one she’d told him. And why in God’s name had she dumped out her past that way? How could she have trusted him with pieces of herself that she’d never given anyone before?

  Even Boyd, the person she considered her closest friend, knew only about the foster homes. As for the rest, she’d buried it—until last night.

  She didn’t doubt that her tie to Liz had unlocked the door and let the nightmare back in. But she should have been able to handle it, to hold back, to safeguard her privacy. The fact that she hadn’t could mean only one thing.

  Indulging in a sigh, Althea pushed herself up and rested her brow on her knees.

  She was in love with Colt. Ridiculous as it was, she had to face the truth. And, just as she’d always suspected, love made you stupid, vulnerable and unhappy.

  There ought to be a pill, she mused. A serum she could take. Like an antidote for snakebite.

  The sound of footsteps had her whipping her head up. Her eyes widened when Colt came to the doorway carrying a tray.

  He had a split second to read her reaction before she closed it off. She’d thought he’d taken a hike, he realized grimly. He was going to have to show the lady that he was sticking, no matter how hard she tried to shake him off.

  “Morning, Lieutenant. I figured you’d planned on a full day.”

  “You figured right.” Cautious, she watched as he crossed to the bed, waited until he’d set the tray at her feet. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, gesturing toward the plates of French toast.

  “I owe you a breakfast. Remember?”

  “Yeah.” Her gaze shifted from the plates to his face. Love still made her feel stupid, it still made her feel vulnerable, but it no longer made her unhappy. “You’re a regular whiz in the kitchen.”

  “We all have our talents.” He sat cross-legged on the other side of the tray and dug in. “I figure”—he chewed, swallowed—“after we’re married, I can handle the meals, you can handle the laundry.”

  She ignored the quick sprint of panic and sampled her first bite. “You ought to see someone about this obsessive fantasy life of yours, Nightshade.”

  “My mother’s dying to meet you.” He grinned when Althea’s fork clattered against her plate. “She and Dad send their best.”

  “You—” Words failed her.

  “She and my father know Liz. I called to relieve their minds, and I told them about you.” Smiling, he brushed her hair back from her shoulders. He hadn’t known a woman could look so sexy in a man’s undershirt. “She’s for a spring wedding—you know, all that June-bride stuff. But I told her I wasn’t waiting that long.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Maybe.” His grin faded. “But I’m in yours, Thea. I’m in there real good, and I’m not getting out.”

  He was right about that, but it didn’t change the bottom line. She was not walking down the aisle and saying “I do.” That was that.

  “Listen, Colt.” Try reason, she thought. “I’m very fond of you, but—”

  “You’re what?” His mouth quirked again. “You’re what of me?”

  “Fond,” she spit out, infuriated by the gleam of good humor in his eyes.

  “Euphemisms.” Affectionately he patted her hand, shook his head. “You disappoint me. I had you pegged as a straight shooter.”

  Forget reason. “Just shut up and let me eat.”

  He obliged her, because it gave him time to think, and to study her. She was still a bit pale, he mused. And her eyes were swollen from the bout of tears during the night. But she wouldn’t let herself be fragile. He had to admire her unceasing supply of strength. She didn’t want sympathy, he remembered, she wanted understanding. She would just have to learn to accept both from him.

  She’d
accepted his comfort the night before. Whether she knew it or not, she’d already come to rely on him. He wasn’t about to let her down.

  “How’s the coffee?”

  “Good.” And because it was, because the meal he’d prepared had already conquered her headache, she relented. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He leaned forward, touched his mouth to hers. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in an after-breakfast tussle.”

  She smiled now, fully, easily. “I’ll have to take a rain check.” But she spread a hand over his chest and kissed him again. Her fingers closed over his medal. “Why do you wear this?”

  “My grandmother gave it to me. She said that when a man was determined not to settle down in one place, he should have someone looking out for him. It’s worked pretty well so far.” He set the tray on the floor, then scooped Althea into his arms.

  “Nightshade, I said—”

  “I know, I know.” He hitched her up more comfortably. “But I had this idea that if we had that tussle in the shower, we could stay pretty much on schedule.”

  She laughed, nipped at his shoulder. “I’m a firm believer in time management.”

  * * *

  She had more than a full day to fit into twenty-four hours. There was a mountain of paperwork waiting for her, and she needed to talk to Boyd about his interrogation of Donner and Kline before she met with them herself. She wanted, for personal, as well as professional, reasons, to interview Liz again.

  She sat down and began efficiently chipping away at the mountain.

  Cilla knocked on the open door. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. Got a minute?”

  “For the captain’s wife,” she said, smiling and gesturing Cilla inside, “I’ve got a minute and a half. What are you doing down here?”

  “Boyd filled me in.” Cilla leaned down, peered close and, as a woman would, saw through the meticulously applied cosmetics to the signs of a difficult night. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I have decided that anyone who camps out on purpose needs immediate psychiatric help, but it was an experience.”

  “You should try it with three kids.”

  “No,” Althea said definitely. “No, I shouldn’t.”

  With a laugh, Cilla rested a hip against the edge of the desk. “I’m so glad you and Colt found the girl. How’s she doing?”

  “It’ll be rough for a while, but she’ll come through.”

  “Those creeps should be—” Cilla’s eyes flashed, but she cut herself off. “I didn’t come here to talk cop, I came to talk turkey.”

  “Oh?”

  “As in Thanksgiving. Don’t give me that look.” Cilla angled her chin, readying for battle. “Every year you’ve got some excuse for not coming to Thanksgiving dinner, and this time I’m not buying it.”

  “Cilla, you know I appreciate the offer.”

  “The hell with that. You’re family. We want you.” Even as Althea was shaking her head, Cilla was plowing on. “Deb and Gage are coming. You haven’t seen them in a year.”

  Althea thought of Cilla’s younger sister, Deborah, and her husband. She would like to see Deb again. They’d gotten close while Deborah was in Denver finishing up college. And Gage Guthrie. Althea pursed her lips as she thought of him. She genuinely liked Deborah’s husband, and a blind man could have seen that he adored his wife. But there was something about him—something Althea couldn’t put her finger on. Not a bad thing, she thought now, not a worrying thing. But something.

  “Taking a side trip?” Cilla asked.

  “Sorry.” Althea snapped back and fiddled with the papers on her desk. “You know I’d love to see them again, Cilla, but—”

  “They’re bringing Adrianna.” Cilla’s secret weapon was her sister’s baby girl, whom Althea had seen only in snapshots and videotapes. “You and I both know what a sucker you are for babies.”

  “You want to keep that down?” Althea stated with an uneasy glance toward the bull pen. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold around here.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “You know I want to see them, all of them. And since I’m sure they’ll be here through the holiday weekend, I will. We’ll shoot for Saturday.”

  “Thanksgiving dinner.” Cilla dusted her hands together as she straightened. “You’re coming this year, if I have to tell Boyd to make it an order. I’m having my family. My whole family.”

  “Cilla—”

  “That’s it.” Cilla folded her arms. “I’m taking this to the captain.”

  “You’re in luck,” Boyd said as he came to the door. “The captain happens to be available. And he’s brought you a present.” He stepped aside.

  “Natalie!” With a whoop of pleasure, Cilla threw her arms around her sister-in-law and squeezed. “I thought you were in New York.”

  “I was.” Natalie’s dark green eyes sparkled with laughter as she drew Cilla back to kiss her. “I had to fly in for a few days, and I figured I’d make this my first stop. I didn’t know I’d hit the jackpot. You look great.”

  “You look phenomenal, as always.” It was perfectly true. The tall, willow-slim woman with the sleek blond hair and the conservatively cut suit would always turn heads. “The kids are going to be thrilled.”

  “I can’t wait to get my hands on them.” She turned, held out both hands. “Thea. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to get all three of you at once.”

  “It’s really good to see you.” With their hands still linked, Althea pressed her cheek to Natalie’s. In the years Althea had been Boyd’s partner, she and his younger sister had become fast friends. “How are your parents?”

  “Terrific. They send love to everyone.” In an old habit, she glanced around Althea’s office, let out a sigh. “Thea, can’t you at least get a space with a window?”

  “I like this one. Fewer distractions.”

  “I’m calling Maria as soon as I get to the station,” Cilla announced. “She’ll whip up something special for tonight. You’re coming, Thea.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “What is this?” Colt demanded as he tried to squeeze into the room. “A conference? Thea, you’re going to have to get a bigger—” He broke off, stared. “Nat?”

  Her stunned expression mirrored his. “Colt?”

  His grin split his face. “Son of a gun.” He elbowed past Boyd to grab Natalie in a hug that lifted her feet from the floor. “I’ll be damned. Pretty Natalie. What’s it been? Six years?”

  “Seven.” She kissed him full on the mouth. “We ran into each other in San Francisco.”

  “At the Giants game, right. You look better than ever.”

  “I am better than ever. Why don’t we have a drink later, and catch up?”

  “Now, that’s …” He fumbled to a halt when he glanced at Althea. She was sitting on the edge of her desk, watching their reunion with an expression of mild curiosity and polite interest. When he realized his arm was still around Natalie’s waist, he dropped it quickly to his side. “Actually, I, ah …”

  How was a man supposed to talk to an old female friend when the woman he loved was studying him as if he were something smeared on a glass slide?

  Natalie caught the look that passed between Althea and Colt. Surprise came first, then a chuckle she disguised by clearing her throat. Well, well, she thought, what an interesting stew she’d dropped into. She couldn’t resist stirring the pot.

  “Colt and I go way back,” she said to Althea. “I had a terrible crush on him when I was a teenager.” She smiled wickedly up at Colt. “I’ve been waiting for years for him to take advantage of it.”

  “Really?” Althea tapped a finger to her lips. “He doesn’t strike me as being slow off the mark. A little dense, maybe, but not slow.”

  “You’re right about that. Cute, too, isn’t he?” She winked at Althea.

  “In an overt sort of way,” Althea agreed, enjoying Colt’s discomfort. “Why don’t you and I have that drink later, Natalie? It sounds as though you and I have
quite a bit to chat about.”

  “It certainly does.”

  “I don’t think this is the place to set up social engagements.” Well aware that he was outnumbered and outgunned, Colt stuck his hands into his pockets. “Althea looks busy.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a minute or two. What are you doing in town, Natalie?”

  “Business. Always nice when you can mix it with pleasure. I have an emergency meeting in an hour with the board of directors on one of Boyd’s and my downtown units. Owning real estate is a full-time job. Without proper management, it can be a huge headache,” she explained.

  “You don’t happen to own one on Second Avenue, do you?” Althea asked.

  “Mmm, no. Is one up for sale?” A gleam came into her eyes, and then she laughed. “It’s a weakness,” she explained. “There’s something about owning property, even with all the problems that come with it.”

  “What’s the trouble now?” Boyd asked, trying to work up some interest.

  “The manager decided to up all the rents and keep the difference.” Natalie said, her eyes hardening in startling contrast to her soft, lovely face. “I hate being duped.”

  “Pride,” Boyd said, and tapped a finger on her nose. “You hate making a mistake.”

  “I didn’t make a mistake.” Her chin angled upward. “The man’s résumé was outstanding.” When Boyd continued to grin, she wrinkled her nose at him. “The problem is, you have to give a manager autonomy. You can’t be everywhere at once. I remember one manager we had who was running a floating crap game in an empty apartment. He kept it rented under a fake name,” she continued, nearly amused now. “He’d even filled out an application, complete with faked references. He made enough profit off the games to afford the overhead, so the rent came in like clockwork. I’d never have found out if someone hadn’t tipped the cops and they raided the place. It turned out he’d done the same thing twice before.”

  “Good Lord,” Althea said, looking stunned.

  “Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Natalie went on. “Actually, it was pretty exciting stuff. I just— What is it?” she demanded when Althea sprang to her feet.

  “Let’s move.” Colt was already headed out the door.

  Althea grabbed her coat and sprinted after him. “Boyd, run a make on—”

  “Nieman,” he called out. “I got it. You want backup?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  When the room emptied, Natalie threw up her hands and stared at Cilla. “What brought that on?”

  “Cops.” Cilla shrugged. That said it all.

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe we let that slip by us.” Colt slammed the door to the Jeep and peeled away from the curb. This time he didn’t bother to remove the parking ticket under the windshield wiper.

  “We’re going on a hunch,” Althea reminded him. “We could very well get slapped down.”

  “You don’t think so.”

  She shut her eyes a moment, letting the pieces fall into place. “It fits,” she said grimly. “Not one single tenant could swear they’d ever seen this Mr. Davis. He was the man who wasn’t there—maybe because he never was.”

  “And who would have had access to the penthouse? Who could have faked references—references that didn’t have to exist? Who could have slipped through the building virtually unnoticed, because he was always there?”

  “Nieman.”

  “I told you he was a weasel,” Colt said between his teeth.

  She was forced to agree, but cautiously. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nightshade. We’re doing some follow-up questioning. That’s all.”

  “I’m getting answers,” he shot back. “That’s all.”

  “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Colt.” She said it quietly, calming him. “We’re going in there to ask questions. We may be able to shake him into slipping up. We may very well have to walk out without him. But now we have a place to start digging.”

  They’d dig, all right, Colt thought. Deep enough to bury Nieman. “I’ll follow your lead,” he said. For now. He pulled up at a red light, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. “I’d like to, ah … explain about Nat.”

  “Explain what?”

  “That we aren’t—weren’t. Ever,” he said savagely. “Got it?”

  “Really?” She’d laugh about this later, she was sure. Once there weren’t so many other things on her mind. Still, she wasn’t so preoccupied that she’d blow a chance to bait him. “Why not? She’s beautiful, she’s fun, she’s smart. Looks like you fell down on that one, Nightshade.”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t … I mean, I thought about it. Started to—” He swore,