Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Page 20

  She handed him a cup. “Take your time.”

  He took a couple of sips then set the mug on a coaster on the coffee table. “I need to get it out. I want to get it out.”

  She settled back against the sofa cushions and blew across her mug. “I’m listening.”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So, it’s raining, and we’re in this dark alley littered with trashcans and dumpsters—most of the light is coming from streetlights on the cross street. I’m running flat out and yelling at the guy to halt when Maureen rounds the corner. He sees her and stops. We’re both ordering him to drop his gun, but he just keeps looking back and forth between us as we advance with our weapons drawn. Finally, as Maureen approaches, he sticks his hands in the air, but he’s still got the gun. When she reaches up to grab it and cuff him, he spins and somehow gets her in a headlock and rams the barrel of the gun against her temple.” Fear mixed with anger in his eyes at the memory.

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “I keep seeing the whole thing play out in slow motion, but it only took a split second. I’ll never forget the sight of them, silhouetted against the light from the street behind. The kid is screaming at me to get back or he’ll blow her head off, while she’s struggling to find an angle to take him down.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I froze. I was close enough. I had a shot, but I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t risk hitting Maureen.”

  “So what happened? Did she manage to break free?”

  Nick shook his head. “I was only about five yards away, with my pistol pointed at the suspect’s head. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could tell he was scared. The arm around Maureen’s neck was shaking, and he couldn’t hold the gun steady against her head. Suddenly, he shoved her to the ground, pointed his gun at me, and fired.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest. “Were you hit? The news article didn’t mention that.”

  “A split second after I heard the bang and saw the muzzle flare, the bullet whizzed past my ear.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “Luckier than the owner of the convenience store who’d stepped outside to dump his trash in the alley behind me.”

  “Was he hit?” She already knew the answer.

  “Square in the chest—never had a chance.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “If I’d shot the perp when I should have, that store owner would still be alive. The man lost his life because I hesitated. It never should have happened—none of it. And it wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gotten involved with my partner.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “The odds would have been greatly reduced.”

  Maybe, but she sensed there was more to the story. “Your mom also suggested Maureen had something to do with you leaving Detroit. What happened after the shooting?”

  “My captain and the rest of the precinct—including Maureen—tried to convince me it wasn’t my fault, but I knew better. I became more and more angry and bitter, drank too much, and was a general, all-around jerk. I basically pushed her away until she called it quits.”

  “What about your job?”

  “I didn’t have the stomach to go back on the streets, and without Maureen, I had no reason to stay in Detroit. I shoved it all and came home.”

  She raised her hand to his cheek with a gentle touch. “I know your family’s glad to have you back.”

  He nodded then reached for her arm and tugged her toward him until she settled against his chest with his cheek resting against her hair. “Now do you understand why we can’t take what’s happening between us to the next level until we’re off this case?”

  She nodded. “You don’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.”

  “This time it could be Lyman or Marian, or even you, and I couldn’t live with that.”

  Zoë twisted and leaned her head against his arm, tilting back until she could see his face. “I don’t want you to get hurt, either. Tonight, when I saw you lying on the ice bleeding, I felt like I was the one who’d been flattened by two hundred and twenty pounds of charging winger.”

  He touched the bandage on his forehead. “I’d almost forgotten about that. It’s just a little cut. Head wounds bleed a lot.”

  “That didn’t make it easier to watch.”

  A smile tickled the corners of his mouth then spread. “So, you were worried about me?”

  He was teasing her. She frowned and gave his chest a slight shove. “Yes, you big oaf. The ice turned red, and you didn’t move.”

  “I’d just had my bell rung. It wasn’t the first time. Probably won’t be the last.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Brain damage. That answers so many questions.” She started to scoot away, but he pulled her back until she lay half across his lap, facing him.

  “I’m sorry you were worried.” He tugged her closer to his mouth. “But I kind of like it, too.”

  When she started to protest, he silenced her with his lips. Without thinking, she allowed her arms to twine around his neck. He held her head in place with one big hand while the other found its way under her sweater to the bare skin of her lower back.

  Zoë shivered at the touch, partly because his hand was still chilled, but more because of the feelings his fingers evoked. When she sought deeper contact with his mouth, he groaned and obliged. She squirmed against him, the intensity of his kiss threatening to ignite every molecule in her body.

  She might not be the most experienced woman in the world, but she knew where this was leading. And it wasn’t to a platonic working relationship. She drew back. “I thought you just said our relationship couldn’t go any further while we’re working together.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves in the meantime.”

  His warm lips on her neck must be interfering with her brain waves. She couldn’t think. But something deep inside told her it was important to get this right, so she pulled herself back from the brink. “Enjoy ourselves?”

  “Think of it as a little pre-date exploration. Don’t worry. I won’t let things go too far.”

  He might have confidence in his self-control, but she had serious doubts about her own. After only a few minutes, her normally vigilant sense of caution was about to throw back its head and scream, “Yes, yes, yes!” When he shifted one hand to cup her breast, all pretense of sanity flew out the window.

  She was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when a persistent sound distracted her. She paused for a second to identify it. Her phone. It was buzzing on the kitchen counter where she’d left it.

  “Let it go,” Nick murmured against her lips.

  It buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed.

  Reluctantly, she broke contact and drew away. “I should get it. It might be important.”

  She dragged herself from the sofa, ran quick fingers through her hair to return it to some semblance of order, and crossed the room. Glancing at the screen, she saw the caller was Casey Callahan and frowned. “Hi, Casey. What’s up?”

  She listened for a moment, her anxiety rising with each word. “Got it. We’ll be there in an hour.” When she disconnected and glanced up, Nick stood before her with his shirt half untucked and concern in his eyes.

  “Who was that?”

  “Casey.” She was still trying to digest the implications of her friend’s call.

  “You look worried. What did she want?”

  “The police just called. Jimmy Mahoney escaped from jail.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nick’s mind clicked into high gear. He and Zoë had to get back to Lake Forest, and fast. Casey Callahan was alone at Strathmoor with Lyman and Marian. If Mahoney had half a brain, he’d be headed out of state as fast as his bike would take him, but that was a big “if.” His motivation for coming after the Prescotts, whatever it was, must be strong because of the risks he’d already taken. There was no way to predict what the man might do next
.

  Nick stuffed his shirttail back in his pants and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he’d dumped it. “Nobody escapes from the Cook County Jail. He must have had inside help.”

  Zoë headed toward the bedroom. “Since he’s a former cop, maybe he still has friends in the department.”

  “Not unless they’re dirty, too. The rank and file hates dirty cops. They make everybody look bad.”

  She emerged with her small suitcase, shrugged into her coat, and grabbed her purse. “Do you need to stop by your apartment on the way to pick up your bag?”

  “I can manage for a day or two. I’ll get it later.”

  They stepped into the hall, and Zoë locked the door behind them. When they reached the street, she headed toward her car, key in hand. “I’ll follow you.”

  Nick snugged his hat on his head and flipped his collar up. A couple inches of wet, heavy snow blanketed the sidewalk and parked cars, and it was still coming down. The street was a mess of deeply-rutted, rapidly-freezing slush. Given Zoë’s Mini Cooper’s low ground clearance, she would be lucky to make it out of her block, much less all the way to the Prescotts’ house. “I’d feel better if I followed you, in case you get stuck.”

  Her lips thinned in exasperation. “I won’t get stuck.”

  “Humor me.”

  She hesitated a second. “Okay, but let’s get going. It’s going to be a long trip in this weather.”

  She was right. The normally heavy, Saturday late-night traffic clogged Lake Shore Drive and didn’t thin out until they passed Glenview. By the time he pulled into the driveway at Strathmoor behind her, it was past midnight. The new exterior lights were on, but the windows were dark, so he assumed the Prescotts had gone to bed.

  Casey Callahan met them at the kitchen door. “I’m glad you came. After the police called, I wasn’t sure what to expect, and this is a big house.”

  Zoë rolled her bag into the house ahead of him. “You seem to have everything under control.”

  “The place is locked up tight, and as far as I can tell, the alarm system is functioning properly, but I haven’t been outside.”

  “Any phone calls?” Nick asked.

  “No, all quiet.”

  Zoë pulled off her gloves and unzipped her coat. “How did the Prescotts take the news about Jimmy?”

  “Lyman got agitated, and Marian seemed more concerned about him than about her ex.”

  Nick nodded. “That sounds like Marian. I still don’t’ think she believes Mahoney would do anything to hurt her, despite the evidence to the contrary.”

  Casey crossed to the stove, where a saucepan simmered over a low flame. “I fixed them some cocoa before they went to bed.” She lifted the pan and gave it a couple of swirls. “Would you like some? I’ve got plenty left.”

  “I’ll take a cup.” Nick took a mug from the upper cabinet and handed it to her. “I think I’ll stay up and keep an eye on things. You two get some sleep. I’ll call Kenny first thing in the morning for an update on the search for Mahoney.”

  “You can’t stay up all night,” Zoë protested. “You played hockey for two hours and had your head stitched up. You must be dead on your feet. If anyone’s going to stand guard tonight, it should be me.”

  “I want to scout around outside.”

  Her eyes rounded, and her brows shot up. “Are you nuts? It’s practically a blizzard out there. There’s no way Jimmy would be lurking around the grounds tonight. But what if he is?” She reached over and tapped Nick’s forehead with one finger. “You might as well wear a sign saying, ‘Go ahead. Hit me on the head. I’m already brain-damaged’.”

  He smiled at her indignation then bent and planted a swift kiss on her hair. When Casey’s brows shot up, he gave her a wink. “I’ll be fine. Thanks to the security lights and the snow, it’s so bright I won’t even need a flashlight. I just want to make a quick check for tire tracks or footprints. You two go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He downed his cocoa in a couple of swallows, set the mug on the counter, and headed for the back door.

  Zoë followed. “I’d better not find your frozen corpse on the back steps, or you’ll be sorry.”

  He stepped outside and shot a glance skyward. Snowflakes swirled and danced in the wide beam of light cast by the new floodlight above the door. “I’ll be back in less than an hour. Lock the door behind me, and don’t forget to re-set the alarm.” Then he swooped in for one last kiss before closing the door in her startled face.

  Forty-five minutes later, he was back—cold, soggy, and generally uncomfortable. The heavy, wet snow had the consistency of a half-melted Slurpee and could chill a man to the bone in a matter of minutes. Nick had tried to brush the snow off his cap and jacket on the back porch, but most of it had already melted and soaked in.

  “Did you find anything?”

  He glanced up and found Zoë standing in the kitchen, wearing an oversized University of Iowa sweatshirt and matching pants with a gold Hawkeye emblem on one leg.

  “No. There’s no sign anyone’s been out there tonight. Why aren’t you in bed?”

  She gave him a men-are-such-morons look. “You didn’t seriously expect me to sleep while you roamed around outside in a snowstorm, did you?”

  “I guess not, but there’s nothing stopping you now.”

  She hugged her arms to her chest. “I can’t relax—there’s too much running around in my head.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  She wandered over to the counter. “It’s too late for coffee, but I can make us some fresh cocoa if you like.” She lifted a small, square baking pan and peeled back the foil cover. “It looks like Casey made some of her famous killer brownies.”

  When she waved the pan under Nick’s nose, the rich chocolate aroma made his mouth water. The curry they’d eaten earlier was great, but dinner seemed like ages ago. “I wouldn’t say no to either.”

  “Casey also started a fire in the fireplace in the living room. Why don’t you go warm up, and I’ll be in shortly.”

  He tugged off his wet boots and left them on the mat by the door before padding across the dark foyer to the living room. Lit only by the glow from the fireplace, the room seemed to have shrunk to half its size and felt much cozier. He stood in front of the fire and allowed his chilled body to soak up the warmth.

  “Here we go.” Zoë entered and set a plate of brownies and two mugs on the coffee table.

  He sat beside her and grabbed a brownie in one hand and a mug of cocoa in the other. The first bite sent him straight to chocolate heaven. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the combination of not-too-sweet dark chocolate frosting and moist, chewy cake. A tiny groan might have slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention.

  “I know. It’s perfect, right?” Zoë took a sip from her mug then set it down. “Casey is soft, pretty, and feminine, in addition to being a fantastic baker and cook and pretty much everything—my mother’s idea of the ideal daughter.”

  “Everyone’s got their own talents, and besides, your cooking is improving every day.”

  Her lips tightened in annoyance at his effort to lighten her mood. “My mother always tells me—and anyone else who will listen—that I’m a ‘work in progress,’ and she’s right. For years I’ve been trying to figure out where I fit, but I keep missing the mark.”

  Something twisted in his chest at the barely-disguised hurt in her voice. “Hey, come here.” He gently pulled her into his arms.

  She settled against him, tucking her head under his chin to keep her gaze on the fire.

  Nick nuzzled her hair. “Casey seems very competent, but she’s got nothing on you. You’re bright, beautiful, and strong, and I’m sure your mother is very proud of you.”

  Zoë shook her head against his chest. “She had five boys because she wanted a girl so badly, then she got me. I tried to be girlie—I really did—but I never seemed to be able get it right.”

  With a short laugh, he tightened his hold. “If
you were any more of a girl, I might burst into flames right here on this couch.”

  She wriggled in protest and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Stop it. Here I am, baring my soul, and you’re making fun of me. I’m too tall, and only a blind man would describe me as voluptuous.”

  She had to be kidding. Her body was long and elegant, with perfect curves in all the right places. If they weren’t on duty in a client’s house, waiting for a dangerous fugitive to strike, he would gladly demonstrate the effect she had on him.

  But they were, and he couldn’t.

  “We are not getting into a discussion about your desirability.” He shifted her position across his lap a few inches to make his point.

  Zoë sucked in a quick breath and scooted back to more neutral territory before twisting to face him. “I should probably go upstairs.”

  “That’s up to you. I just want you to know where things stand.”

  She scampered off the sofa. “Message received, loud and clear. I think it would be safest if I went to bed.” Her eyes twinkled in the firelight. “A goodnight kiss is probably out of the question.”

  “A man can only be expected to resist so much temptation in one night.”

  She nodded. “True.” But as she passed, she dropped a quick peck on his forehead above the bandage. “See you in a few hours.” Then she slipped away into the darkness.

  Nick leaned back and listened for her steps on the stairs, but the house was silent except for an occasional pop from the burning logs in the fireplace. He closed his eyes—just for a second. It had been a hell of a day.

  The next thing he knew, a hand was shaking his shoulder. He jerked upright and blinked, trying to clear his head. The fire had burned out, and pale, watery light filtered through the curtains. How long had he been asleep?

  “Time for breakfast.” Zoë waved a cup of coffee under his nose.

  He accepted it and drank half the cup before setting it back on the saucer. “Thanks.”

  She stepped back and regarded him with a judgmental frown that reminded him way too much of his mother. “Did you stay up all night? You look awful.”