Julia closed her eyes and rode out the storm.
John lay in the semidarkness and tried hard not to think about what he’d done. He should have felt like a million bucks lying next to a beautiful woman after having the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had in his life.
Instead he felt like hell.
He felt like hell because there was still a part of him that was decent enough to know this was going to hurt the one person he cared for most. Julia.
She was decent and kind, with a heart as big as Lake Pontchartrain. John wasn’t even sure he had a heart anymore. He had nothing left to give. He knew if he forged a relationship with her it would end badly. She would end up hating him, and that was the one thing he simply couldn’t handle.
But he’d slept with her anyway. He’d taken advantage of her big heart and hauled her to his bed for a few minutes of physical satisfaction. What the hell kind of a man did that make him?
A son of a bitch, a cruel little voice answered.
He ached as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Next to him Julia slept. He could have taken comfort in the warmth of her body against his, but he didn’t. He was in too deep for any of this to be comfortable. Evidently, she was in too deep, too.
I love you.
Her words echoed inside his head like the retort of a killing shot. He told himself she’d just been caught up in the moment. But he knew Julia wasn’t the kind of woman who slept with someone just because it felt good.
How could he have let things go this far?
But John knew why, and the answer terrified him. He’d let things go this far because he hadn’t been able to keep his own emotions out of it. If the irony hadn’t been so bitter, he might have laughed. He’d never been in love before, so he didn’t have a point of reference from which to measure. But the emotional turmoil inside him was off the scale.
Somehow, he’d fallen in love with her. She was the one bright light in a life that was as black as the darkest of nights. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle it. He couldn’t pursue it. All he could do was let her go and hope she didn’t hate him for it.
“If facial expressions could speak, I’d be getting an earful right now.”
John actually jolted at the sound of her voice.
Holding the sheet to her breast, she rose onto one elbow and set her hand against his cheek. “My God, John, you’re trembling.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
“You’re not.”
Annoyed and embarrassed by her concern, he shoved her hand away and sat up. “I said I’m fine.”
She went silent beside him and he felt like a jerk. Jesus, this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He didn’t want to lash out at her, but that’s what he did best. That’s what he did to the people he cared about.
Sighing, he scraped a hand over his face and turned to her. “Julia . . .”
“It’s okay.” She started to rise, but he stopped her by grasping her arm.
“Don’t go.”
She looked back at him then. The hurt he saw in her eyes devastated him. For no good reason he’d hurt this lovely woman who’d just given him so much. She’d made him feel human again. Made him feel like a man. He couldn’t imagine why, but she cared for him. She wanted to be with him. And all he could do was push her away . . .
Relief slipped through him when she relaxed back into the sheets. “Why do you do that?” she asked.
“You mean act like a jerk?”
“I mean push people away.”
“Because it’s easier than getting too close, and a hell of a lot less risky.”
“John, I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
He didn’t want to have his psyche sliced and diced by a woman who meant more to him than he’d ever imagined possible. He didn’t want her to look inside him or get inside his head. Maybe he was afraid of what she might find if she looked too hard.
“If you’re looking for something in return, you’re looking in the wrong place. I don’t have anything to give back.” He turned to her, looked into her eyes. “I don’t have anything left.”
“I don’t believe that.” She raised her hand.
He winced when she brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Then don’t.”
Panic swirled uneasily in his gut. She wasn’t making this easy. She was saying all the things he didn’t want to hear. She was too close. Too kind and beautiful and giving. They’d just made love, but already he was aroused again and aching for her. He wanted to believe this was all about sex, but he knew it wasn’t. The truth of that was scaring the hell out of him.
“I’m not the kind of man you want to care about,” he ground out.
“Too late,” she whispered.
He stared at her, too shaken to react. The need twisted inside him. But the need to protect himself—to protect her—outweighed the physical. John reacted the only way he could.
Throwing off the sheet, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Without looking at her, he reached for his jeans and jammed his legs into them.
Julia sat up, her eyes large and wary. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve got to make some calls.”
“It’s almost four A.M.”
He didn’t even spare her a glance as he started for the door. “Go to sleep.”
“John—”
He reached the door and turned to her. “Don’t.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m a son of a bitch. Better you learn that now than later.”
Pulling the sheet around her, she rose. He stiffened when she crossed to him. “You’re running.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m good at that, too.”
“That is such a cop-out.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“John, you’re one of the most courageous people I’ve ever known,” she said. “For twelve years you put your life on the line.”
“So do tens of thousands of other cops every single day,” he snapped. “I’m no different. I’m sure as hell no hero.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “You can walk into a dark warehouse and face drug runners and murderers and God only knows what else. But when it comes to facing the one woman who loves you, you turn tail and run.”
The fury that swept through him was so powerful that for a moment he was dizzy with it. He would never physically hurt a woman. Never Julia. But he was not above hurting her emotionally.
Grasping her arm, he spun her toward him. He caught a glimpse of wide eyes, her mouth parted in surprise. Before he could stop himself he ripped the sheet from her grasp and flung it to the floor. She gasped when he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth to hers.
Her body went rigid against his. He tasted shock and the bitter taste of his own shame. Need tangled with the knowledge that he was screwing this up. But he could not let this go any further.
A sound escaped her as she set her hands against his chest and shoved. For an instant he held her against him. He slid his tongue along her teeth, but she refused him entry. He told himself that was what he wanted. Go ahead, the little voice taunted. Scare her away. Disgust her. That’s what you want, isn’t it?
He released her with a tad too much force. She stumbled back. He told himself it didn’t hurt to see the hurt, the accusation in her eyes. But John was getting good at lying to himself, and he didn’t let himself analyze it any more deeply than that.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” Bending, she snagged the sheet from the floor and clutched it to her breast.
“Yeah?” He looked her up and down. “What’s that?”
“Push me away so you don’t have to deal with your feelings.”
“The only feeling I have for you right now is lust,” he said.
“Coward.”
“Drop that sheet and I’ll show you just how much of a cowar
d I am, Julia.”
In a subconscious gesture, her knuckles tightened on the sheet. “I’m not going to let you do this.”
She spun away from him and began gathering her clothes from the floor. John stood his ground, his heart pounding, and swore he wasn’t going to stop her.
This is what you wanted, hotshot. She’s leaving. She won’t be back. Now you can wallow in the muck your pathetic life has become and not worry about anyone but yourself.
“I’ll drive you to your father’s,” he said.
“Go to hell.” Glaring at him over her shoulder, she walked into the bathroom.
“You’re not leaving alone, Julia.” John was midway there when she slammed the door in his face.
Julia’s hands shook as she quickly washed up and stepped into her clothes. She avoided the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair with a shaking hand. But it wasn’t the bruises on her body that were hurting now. She remembered the words she’d uttered while in the throes of lovemaking. She knew those words were plastered all over her face.
I love you.
She closed her eyes against the pain. She’d never been in love before. Why now? Why John? How could her timing be so bad? She knew he would hurt her before all was said and done. But the fact of the matter was he’d already hurt her. All she could do now was salvage as much of her self-respect as she could and get out before she fell apart.
For a full minute she stood facing the door, trying to gather enough courage to step out. The man outside that door was not the same man who’d made love to her so passionately just scant minutes before. She didn’t fully understand the motivations for his transformation. All she knew was that he’d purposefully been cruel to her, and she needed to get away from him. She’d figure out the rest later, when her head was clear. When her body wasn’t humming with the aftermath of his touch.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. John looked up from where he stood at the bar, a tumbler in his hand. He’d put on his shirt, boots and bomber jacket.
“I’m going home.” Snagging her purse from the kitchen table, she started for the door.
“You’re not going anywhere alone,” he said.
She didn’t even pause. Just as she reached for the knob, he touched her arm. Furious that he would touch her after all that had been said, Julia spun. Her hand shot out to slap his face. But he was faster and grabbed her wrist.
For an instant, she stared into his eyes, trying to decipher what she saw. For the life of her, she couldn’t.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
The urge to argue was strong. But Julia was exhausted and overwrought. She longed for the privacy of her little apartment over the shop, but knew she couldn’t return there. Her father kept a room for her at his Garden District mansion. She had the overnight bag Claudia had packed. It was enough to get her through the night.
“If you don’t want me to drive you, I’ll call Mitch.” His jaw flexed. “But you can’t leave alone.”
“I’d rather not drag Mitch into this,” she said as coolly as she could manage.
Grimacing, he released her wrist, crossed to the door and opened it. “Let’s go.”
Julia walked out without looking back.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Two days had passed since the ugly scene in John’s apartment, but it seemed like an eternity since he’d last seen her. He hated knowing he’d hurt her. Hated even more missing her so much some nights he wasn’t sure he was going to make it through. He’d picked up the phone a dozen times in the last forty-eight hours.
He never made the call.
His heart jumped every time his cell phone rang. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t keep his mind from replaying the hurtful scene that had transpired between them. On an intellectual level, he knew she was better off without him. But on a more primal, selfish level, he didn’t give a damn about right and wrong. He wanted her. He wanted to hear her voice. The music of her laughter. He wanted to feel her body next to his every night from here to eternity.
Goddamn it, why did things have to be so complicated?
John hadn’t slept. He ate, but didn’t taste the food. He drank, but only enough to take the sharp edge off the crushing pain in his chest. Not even alcohol could make him that numb.
The one thing he had been able to do was work the case, which he’d done like a man possessed. He’d kept in close contact with Mitch. He’d called Benjamin Wainwright several times, but the old man didn’t return his calls. John didn’t blame him.
Sitting at the kitchen table in his tiny apartment, he stared down at the copies of the letters spread out before him and read the chilling words for the hundredth time. Yet each man kills the thing he loves. To his right lay a legal pad upon which he’d written a list of suspects. He knew that many times the stalking victim knew the stalker, and so he’d started with the people Julia knew. Rory Beauchamp, Claudia’s strange boyfriend. Jacob Brooks, her part-time clerk. Parker Bradley, Benjamin Wainwright’s assistant. Skip Stockton, her scorned date. Even her sister, Claudia.
He’d run background checks on every name he could come up with, friends and family and acquaintances. All had come back squeaky clean. Although that didn’t necessarily mean they were.
Out of desperation—and unbeknownst to anyone—he’d also run a background check on the Wainwright patriarch. Maybe the old man knew about Julia’s book. Maybe he wanted her to stop writing without having to confront her. Maybe he’d hired someone to frighten her.
But John didn’t buy it. He’d known Wainwright since he was a teenager, and even though the old man could be controlling, this wasn’t his style. He could see the old man sending a few harmless letters for what he perceived to be the greater good, but he couldn’t see him resorting to violence.
But if not someone she knew, then who? A stranger? A fan? A customer from the shop? A neighbor?
John closed his eyes and rubbed them. A glance at the clock above the stove told him it was after ten P.M. He’d been looking at the same scant evidence for almost two hours and he wasn’t any farther along than when he’d started.
He thought about Julia and wondered what she was doing. He wondered if she missed him. Wondered if she would speak to him if he called . . .
“She’s way too smart for that, buddy,” he muttered.
His voice sounded strange in the silence of his apartment. The best he could hope for was that someday she would realize he’d done what he had to protect her. Because she deserved better. His life was a fucked-up mess. Not only was his career over, but he now had the civil suit to contend with. Best case scenario, it would financially devastate him. The last thing he wanted to do was drag her down with him.
It was the thousandth time he’d found himself thinking about her. The thousandth time he’d arrived at the same conclusion. He had to let her go. But dear God it hurt to think of never seeing her again.
Rising, he crossed to the counter and picked up the bottle of gin. He expertly twisted it open and proceeded to pour. Just a little to kill the pain, he told himself. Yeah. Right.
He’d just taken that first, dangerous sip when his doorbell rang. Odd for him to have a visitor anytime. Even odder at ten o’clock at night. Setting down the glass, he crossed to the door, checked the peephole. Surprise rippled through him at the sight of Parker Bradley standing on the porch looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Benjamin Wainwright was conspicuously absent.
John opened the door. “You lost or what?”
“No.” The other man looked uncomfortable. “May I come in?”
John stepped aside. “Get you a drink?”
Bradley entered and shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“What a surprise.” John didn’t miss the other man’s quick perusal of his living quarters. If he hadn’t been so damn depressed he might have smiled at the look of distaste on Bradley’s face.
“Mr. Wainwright wanted me to deliver this in person,” Bradley said.
/>
“Why didn’t he deliver it himself?”
“He would have, of course, but he had a meeting in Baton Rouge tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be joining him there as soon as I finish up here.”
“Well then by all means finish up.”
Bradley actually flushed as he handed him the envelope. “For what it’s worth, I tried to talk him out of it,” he said. “For Julia’s sake. For some reason unbeknownst to anyone, she cares about you.”
John already knew what was inside the envelope. He opened it and looked at the check inside. Eight hundred and ninety-two dollars.
“That’s final payment for your services.”
Final payment. John did laugh then, but it was a bitter sound. “You can tell him to keep his check.” He shoved both the envelope and check at Parker.
“Take it.” Bradley raised his hands. “I’m sorry, man.”
Shaking his head, John tossed the envelope onto the counter. Bradley started for the door, but John stopped him. “Has Mr. Wainwright hired someone to keep an eye on her?”
Bradley stopped and turned. “He hired a private detective.”
John nodded. Now that Julia’s safety was out of his hands, he should have been relieved. But he wasn’t.
“How’s she doing?”
He hadn’t meant to ask. But he had to know. He met the other man’s gaze. He saw knowledge and a damning amount of sympathy in them.
“She’s doing well,” the other man said. “Still bruised, but she’s definitely on the mend.”
“She open the shop?”
“Not yet.”
“She still staying with her father?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said. But deep inside all he could think was there was nothing good about any of this.
He wanted to know more. He wanted to know how she was doing emotionally. He wanted to know about her frame of mind. What she was thinking. He wanted to know if she missed him as viciously as he missed her . . .
“I’ve got to go.” Bradley started for the door.
John watched him leave, then walked to the bar, picked up the bottle of gin and took a long pull straight from it.