His eyes darkened. They glittered like black diamonds in the tan of his face, and all of a sudden she saw the hard-edged, implacably committed detective he’d been when they’d both worked together so long ago—the detective he still was.
“He knew he could trust me. He couldn’t be sure about anyone else, since whoever was phoning Sheila had to have gotten her cell phone number from the precinct. You know why she carried that damn phone. Only his work had the number, and it was only ever to be used for one reason.”
“I pray it never rings, Julia. But if anything happened to Paul and they couldn’t get in touch with me I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for not being with him. I carry it all the time—just in case…”
It had been the only time Sheila had confessed the fear that lurked beneath her wholehearted support of her husband’s career choice. She’d been haunted by the worst-case scenario that every cop’s spouse tried not to dwell on—that one day the man she loved would go to work and never come home alive.
Instead, Paul had been killed in his own home. And Sheila had been taken down first. The thought that one of his fellow officers might have had something to do with it seemed the most monstrous betrayal of all.
“I caught the first flight available.” His words came out with an effort. “As soon as I got to their house I knew something was wrong—the front door was open wide. I ran in with my gun drawn and the first thing I saw was Sheila’s body in the hall. She’d been killed instantly.”
“Thank God she didn’t suffer, at least,” Julia whispered brokenly. She held back the tears that were threatening again and bit her lip to keep the sobs from rising to her throat.
“Paul had been shot at the top of the basement stairs. I found him half in and half out of the doorway, but he’d been rolled over onto his back.” Cord’s mouth tightened grimly. “He’d been stabbed in the chest, as well.”
And the hits just keep on coming. Julia swayed and felt behind her for the familiar solidity of the countertop.
“I don’t want to know any more.” Her voice was barely audible. A sliver of panicky urgency ran through it. “They’re dead—isn’t that enough? I hope whoever did this to them is caught and brought to justice, but even justice won’t bring Paul and Sheila back. There’s nothing we can do to make it right again, Cord—absolutely nothing—so what’s the use of going over every terrible detail?”
He looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Those details, as you call them, are clues. How the hell are we supposed to track down the killer if you refuse to examine the details?”
His voice had a raw edge to it, and with a quick glance at the hallway where the bedrooms were he went on more quietly. “I know you were planning on quitting when I left—when you told me to get out of your life. You wanted to come back to the kind of life and the kind of people you’d grown up with—people who knew a Monet from a Manet, whose carefully rustic summer properties cost more than the homes of the ordinary working stiffs that you’d been forced to rub shoulders with for too long, people who hired men like my father to work for them. I accepted that, finally.”
“That’s right,” she said through stiff lips. “So now I leave the detective work to the professionals—like you, Cord. It’s not what I do anymore.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.” His glance took in the shabby robe she was wearing, the battered scuffs on her feet and the dark circles under her eyes. It rested finally on her bandaged hand. “But what I haven’t figured out is what you have been doing for the past couple of years—aside from getting up in the middle of the night to reach for the bottle, that is.”
“I haven’t had a drink for nineteen months.” Even as she snapped out the automatic reply she realized her mistake. Before she could gloss it over, he’d picked up on her slip. His eyes narrowed appraisingly on her.
“The only people who know exactly how long it’s been since their last drink are the ones who found it damned hard to quit,” he said slowly. “Just what in hell’s been happening to you since you threw me out of your life? You’re living here year-round, aren’t you? You never returned to your old life at all—you just retreated from everything. For God’s sake, Julia, have you been here by yourself for two whole years?”
For one dangerous moment she felt like pouring out everything. Then common sense reasserted itself. No matter how tempting it might be to reveal her demons to Cord, to respond to the note of wary compassion in his voice and finally tell him the truth that she’d successfully hidden from him so long, to do so would be fatal. He might tell himself that he understood her fears, Julia thought dully. He might even make an attempt to rebuild the relationship that had once existed between them—and at that thought, an irrational spark of hope flared within her. She quenched it immediately. In the end she’d have to send him away again, but this time it would be harder because he’d know why she was doing it. He’d insist on staying—out of pity, out of compassion, out of a sense of duty. But eventually the love would die.
He’s the marrying kind. He wants a family of his own.
“My life isn’t your concern anymore, Cord. Stop grilling me.” She could feel her fragile self-control slipping away and she prayed she could hold onto it long enough to convince him. “Paul and Sheila were my best friends, too—but if you’re determined to look into their deaths you’re going to have to find someone else to work with. Investigation never was my field of expertise, anyway.”
“No. You were a Child Protection Specialist—one of the best.” He ground the words out, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. His eyes were as cold and as threatening as black ice. “And now you’re willing to put a little girl in jeopardy just because you don’t want to get involved? What about that vow you took with me, promising to take the place of her parents if the day ever came that she needed us? Didn’t that mean anything to you? For God’s sake, she’s so petrified that she hasn’t said a word since she told me what happened—and you’re the only person who has the faintest chance of getting through to her before she retreats into herself for good!”
“I’ll get her killed!” The words spilled from her like acid, tinged with the corrosive terror of a hundred sleepless nights and the soul-destroying guilt of memory-laden days. Her face was colorless except for the pale fire behind her hazel eyes, a fire that seemed to be consuming her. “God help me, Cord— I’m no good at keeping them safe anymore! I’m a liability! She’s in jeopardy just by being here in my home!”
She felt a pressure on her knee, and at her feet King whined loudly. He nudged her again with his muzzle, but she ignored him.
“You have to take her away.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper, sibilant with fear. She clutched his arm. “I’ll do something or say something that’ll put her in more danger than she’s in already, Cord. Get her out of here before another child pays for my mistakes!”
The remoteness had vanished from his features, to be replaced with baffled concern. Impatiently he shoved the whining dog away from them and searched her tortured expression. “What the hell are you talking about? You brought more children back than anyone else ever had. You were a damned legend! Lost children, children held hostage, abused children—you were the avenging angel that came in and scooped them up to safety! How many kids out there owe their lives to you, Julia? A liability? For more kids than I can remember, you were their last hope—and you came through for them!”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her arms were crossed tightly just below her breasts, her fists clenched, and her slim frame was hunched slightly forward at the waist, as if she was trying to protect herself from a blow. Her voice was despairingly ragged, and her eyes were blind with tears. “I’m not a damned legend, Cord—I’m a ghost story! The person you