Divorced, Desperate and Delicious, Page 9

His lips almost brushed against hers. Lacy pulled back. The clank of her handcuffs broke the silence. She blinked.

  “Can I . . . can I go to the bathroom now?”

  Chase drew back, feeling almost dizzy, and nodded. Drawing in a breath, he dug the key from his back pocket. “Sure.”

  When the cuff fell open, she rubbed her wrist. He found himself wanting to take her hand in his, to soothe away any of the pain that he’d caused.

  “Sorry.”

  She walked into the bathroom without acknowledging his apology, leaving Chase feeling emotionally baffled. Something flashed across the TV screen, drawing his attention. He looked up and saw the reporter was back on; the scene showed her standing in front of the lake.

  He dug around in the blankets on the bed until he found the remote and turned up the volume. “Officers still aren’t saying exactly what Kelly has done to raise their suspicions, but we do know that a rather large amount of drugs was found at his home. And we’re told that Kelly worked undercover in several known drug busts. One case is still being reviewed by Internal Affairs due to some missing drugs.”

  The reporter turned her head away from the camera. “Detective Dodd?” She hurried from one spot to another just in time to catch Jason, who was attempting to get into his car. “Can you tell us any more about this case? Were you not partners with Kelly for a while?” She shoved the mike in front of Jason’s face. Chase leaned closer to the screen. “Can you tell us about it?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing has been proven yet. I believe the rule is that a person is innocent until proven guilty,” Jason said, his tone accusing. Then he left the woman stupidly holding up the microphone.

  Something warm stirred inside Chase’s gut, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jason wasn’t buying Zeke’s lies. Even after everything Chase had put the man through this last year, Jason still believed in him. It occurred to Chase that this was the first time that he’d taken any blame for the fallout between them. And something told him that if he gave the issue more thought, he’d find that all the blame lay on his side of the fence.

  He cupped his hands over his knees, fighting the emotional upheaval that made him weak. At least now he knew who he would be contacting.

  As Lacy walked out of the bathroom, Chase glanced up and then back at the television. She stepped closer and watched the screen. The reporter was saying:

  “Well, there you have it. Right now all we know is that Detective Chase Kelly is suspected to be dead, shot we’re told by a longtime member of the force, Zeke Duncan. According to Sergeant Brown, Duncan is having a hard time dealing with the fact that he was forced to shoot his partner and fellow officer.”

  “Heartbroken, I bet,” Chase bit out. From the corner of his vision, he saw Lacy watching him. A second later, she sat down on the other side of the bed.

  “Meanwhile, Officer Brian Stokes is still in critical condition, but doctors are hopeful that he will pull through.” The screen flashed back to the originally scheduled program.

  Chase jumped up as the words replayed in his head. “He’s alive!” He grabbed Lacy by the shoulders, pulled her off the bed and kissed her on the lips. When he realized what he was doing, he jerked a way.

  “Stokes is alive,” he said, still grinning in spite of the fact that he knew kissing her had been a mistake. A big mistake, because he could see the shock in her eyes. A mistake because he wanted to do it again in spite of that shock—in spite of the crazy warning buzzing inside his head.

  “That’s good,” she said, her face flushed.

  “Damn right it is!” Chase moved across the room. “He’s a good man. Two young sons. And—” Chase gripped his hands “—that son of a bitch, Zeke, was trying to hang me out to dry for shooting him. He can’t do that now.” He ran a finger along the elastic of his sweat pants. “Thank God he’s alive.”

  “I’m . . . I’m glad he’s okay.” Lacy sucked on her bottom lip. Her eyes still held surprise from the kiss.

  Chase stopped pacing. His gaze focused on her lips, while thoughts of how her mouth tasted swilled in his head. Then the realization struck.

  “Damn! Stokes isn’t out of danger. Zeke doesn’t want him to make it. I need to get in touch with Jason.” He moved to the bedside table. “Where’s the phone?” he snapped.

  “You . . . you took it,” she answered.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Moving to the other side of the bed, he grabbed the phone from the under the mattress. He glanced back to see the clock on the bedside table. “It’s almost six. Knowing Jason, he’ll probably be at the hospital.”

  It took him a second to remember Jason’s cell number. He hadn’t dialed it in over six months. Regret tugged at his gut. How could he have just pulled away from Jason? Chase closed his eyes, thinking of everyone else whom he’d pulled away from these past years. He’d barely answered his sister’s calls from California, and when he did, he resisted the idea of them getting together. “Too busy,” he’d told her.

  His mind turned to his late wife’s family, whom he hadn’t seen since the funeral. He gritted his teeth, realizing he had a lot of wrongs to right when he got back to his life.

  He had started to punch in the number when it occurred to him that Zeke could be at the hospital, too. While he trusted Jason with all his heart, he didn’t want to catch him off guard. He stared at the phone, then back at Lacy.

  “You talk to him. Find out where he is and who is with him and, if Zeke isn’t there, hand me the phone.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Me? He doesn’t know me.”

  Chase shook his head. “Yeah, but Jason knows so many women, it’ll take him a while to figure out he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Just start talking to him like you know him. Ask him where he is, and when he answers you, ask who else is there.”

  She frowned, but then she nodded. “Dial the number.”

  He did and handed her the phone. He waited. She shook her head. “It’s going to his voice mail.”

  “Hang up,” he said, and she did.

  He took the phone and dialed Jason’s home line. It rang seven times. Chase hung up. “Damn!” He paced across the room. “I’ve got to stop Zeke from getting to Stokes.”

  Her touch on his arm brought him to a stop. She moved her hand as if touching him hadn’t been a good idea. And he had to agree; that quick touch had sent an emotional jolt straight to his gut .

  “They said he was still in critical condition. That means he only gets short visits from close relatives. That man—whatever his name was—probably can’t get to him now.”

  “You’re right.” Chase paced back across the room and then dialed Jason’s cell phone again. Chase handed it to her. She shook her head and clicked the off button again.

  She held the phone back to him. “I’m hungry,” she said. “I’m going to fix myself something to eat. You want anything?”

  Remembering his sandwich, he smiled. “Had my dinner. Thanks,” he said. “I’m purrfect.”

  She grinned, and he had to stop himself from leaning closer and kissing her again, only deeper. The kind of kiss that led to other things. As if she could read his mind, she turned and hurried down the hall. Chase changed the channels on the TV to see if he could pick up any other news, then went to sit down at the foot of the bed. Rubbing his aching shoulder, he thought of Stokes and the pain he must be feeling. He couldn’t let Zeke get to Stokes again. He’d give himself up if he had to.

  • • •

  How could he have messed up this bad? Zeke paced the cold halls of the hospital, hating the antiseptic smells, hating being here pretending he cared when . . . “Damn it to hell and back!” he muttered. He could have sworn Stokes had died. And now—

  Someone placed a firm hand on his shoulder and Zeke turned to find Officer Powell, who had partnered with Stokes a few years back. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Powell said. “I mean, it’s bad enough he takes a bullet, but to take one from one of our own. Kelly’s going to eat shit for this.
I swear I’ll shove it down his throat with my own hands.” Powell’s eyes began to water.

  “Yeah.” Zeke brushed off Powell’s touch. “He’s a bastard. I should have seen it. I should have stopped him.”

  Powell curled his hands into fist. “You know Stokes has two boys, don’t you?” He raised his fist in front of him, then, taking a deep breath, lowered it again. “Captain said you got a shot at him. I hope it was in the gut. I hope like hell he’s lying somewhere suffering right now.”

  “I just don’t get it,” someone said behind Powell.

  Zeke turned to see several officers from the precinct grouped behind him. Damn it, he had already escaped from them once. He needed to be alone, to think, to plan.

  Officer Candace started talking. “I mean, I knew Kelly had his head screwed on backwards lately, but . . . but he wasn’t like that before.”

  Knots formed in the pit of Zeke’s stomach. “He told me he did it,” Zeke said. “He bragged about it. That’s when I lost it. I fought him, got his gun . . . Damn it, if only I’d gotten there sooner, I could have . . .” Zeke looked away, scared his acting skills weren’t up to the task. Powell’s hand landed on his shoulder again, as if to offer condolence. Candace, however, didn’t appear convinced. Zeke had never cared too much for the man.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Powell said.

  “Hey.” Another officer walked up, one who looked too happy. “Good news! The doctors say Stokes might just pull through this.”

  Cheers and some backslapping filled the hall. Zeke snatched a pack of antacids from his pocket and chewed them into sweet chalk.

  He spotted some more people moving toward the group. He recognized Stokes’s wife. A young, teary-eyed boy clutched her hand. Jolts of unnamed and unwanted emotion rippled through Zeke’s chest.

  “I need some fresh air.” Zeke took off down the opposite hall. Yet even as the guilt tore him apart, he knew that he couldn’t let Stokes live. He couldn’t.

  • • •

  Chase sat on the bed for ten or fifteen more minutes, trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle. Zeke had to have reasons for setting this whole thing up, but what? Chase looked up at the doorway and suddenly realized that Lacy could be getting in her car trying to run or perhaps dialing the police right this minute. But she believed him now, didn’t she? Or was he fooling himself? Just because they’d shared a laugh together didn’t mean . . .

  Glancing at the phone he still held in his hand, he clicked the on button and prayed he’d hear the hum of a dial tone. He brought the phone to his ear. No dial tone. Then he heard her voice on the line.

  “You’ve got to believe me.” Lacy’s voice carried through the line, sending waves of disappointment into Chase’s chest.

  Chapter Eight