His Partner's Wife (22 page)

If Stuart had stolen a half a million bucks worth of heroin,
where was it? Where was the money? The department would figure she must know
the answer.

John had pulled the car into his slot in the garage beneath
the station, but he didn't turn off the engine. Beside him, Hugh waited,
slouched bonelessly in the seat, the epitome of patience.

"I kissed her last night." John sounded hoarse.

Hugh waited some more.

"She kissed me back, but afterward she didn't want to
talk about it. We were good friends. I'm guessing that's something she doesn't
want to change."

"But you do," his brother said.

"I don't know." John let out a long breath.
"I just can't quit thinking about her. I want…" He stopped.

"Her," Hugh finished succinctly.

"More, I was going to say." John squeezed his eyes
shut. "But hell, yeah, I want her."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed." His brother's tone of
faint amusement penetrated John's absorption.

His eyes shot open, then narrowed. "You think it's
funny?"

"Connor and I both figure you've been half in love with
her since you woke up one morning and realized she wasn't married anymore. It's
just taken you a while to admit it."

John digested the fact that his brothers had been talking
about him, then dismissed his irritation. "You know Natalie. Do
you
think
she's lying about the money?"

"Nah." He hesitated, then shrugged. "The lady's
got secrets. I never feel like I'm seeing all the way through her. But you know
her better than I do. If you trust her, I trust her."

"I do."

His brother spread his hands and reached for the door
handle. "Good enough for me."

Turning off the ignition, John nodded. He would have felt
the same. He and Hugh had their differences, but in other ways they were tight.

"You know," he said into the silence,
conversationally, "Internal Affairs would look hard at me, too. Stuart
Reed and I were partners."

Hugh swung back, quick anger glinting in his eyes. "I'd
better not hear that kind of crap from anyone."

"How could I not have known? Damn it, we
worked
together."

"We all knew him! He'd been in the department long
enough." Hugh's brows drew together. "Maybe you overlooked his flaws.
The way he encouraged people to whine, for example."

"He did?"

"Hell, yeah. You probably didn't see it because you
went home after your shift instead of stopping by the tavern. He didn't bitch
about the department himself, but he'd egg everyone else on. I didn't like to
sit with him at the Lantern when I stopped for a beer. Just seemed like
everyone around him would be grumbling about pay or why our esteemed chief had
his head up his you-know-what. Not my style. This one time, I overheard him
drop a word in Bettelman's ear that Verbeek had been talking about how
Bettelman had frozen at that shoot-out at First National. Remember?" Hugh
shook his head. "Yeah, Verbeek said a few things, but he was willing to
cut Bettelman some slack. The kid was young. Instead they both ended up with
black eyes and they could have gotten the boot. Stuart Reed thought it was
funny."

Frowning, John said, "I never noticed."

His brother gave a grunt of laughter. "That's because
you're above such things."

He scowled.

Dropping the comedy, Hugh got back to the point. "The
thing is, Reed listened to people. He liked to know when they were
dissatisfied. He could have found somebody of like mind easy enough."

"Why?" John looked to his brother for answers he
didn't have. "That's what I don't get. Nobody goes into law enforcement
for the bucks. You get caught, you lose your badge and end up flipping
burgers."

Hugh shrugged. "Maybe he figured he was doing the world
a favor knocking off a couple of dealers. If he got rich out of it, he deserved
it, right? Slaving in the trenches all these years, why not get some payback?
You could justify it."

"He was a cop."

"There speaks your honest soul. Maybe he soured. Maybe
he was on the take all along, and this was just his big chance to score."

"I thought I knew him." Damn it, he sounded
plaintive.

"And now we have to doubt everyone." Hugh didn't
look any happier than John felt.

"Let me think about our next step."

Hugh only nodded. "It's your call."

Not an easy one to make. Not when it meant lying to friends
and colleagues.

Starting with Geoff Baxter, his partner. John knew how
deeply insulted he would be if the situation were reversed. Trouble was, he'd
remembered something about Baxter.

John had taken some time off work last year, when Debbie had
been diagnosed and they were trying to decide what to do and the kids were
scared. In John's absence, Stuart Reed had had a temporary partner: Baxter. Six
weeks, hand in glove. Funny coincidence that, during the same six weeks, Stuart
Reed had apparently offed a couple of drug dealers and stolen a major shipment
of heroin.
And
that Geoff Baxter was obsessively determined to search every
cranny of Natalie's house.

Which had gotten John to thinking things he hadn't said even
to his brother.

Chapter
10

«
^
»

S
tupid, stupid, stupid.

Natalie hid in her office, a cup of coffee growing cold as
she stewed over the night before. She'd spent it tossing and turning,
alternately chewing herself out, despairing and rejoicing.

She had never, ever, in all her life, felt such glorious,
unrestrained passion. So much wondering, and now she knew. The ache low in her
belly had helped keep her restless. Why hadn't he followed her? And why should
she expect that he would? He'd made a reckless move. Would he wait for her to
make the next one?

Half a dozen times during the night she'd wondered: What if
she went down the hall and said,
I
want you?

Now, at her desk, Natalie buried a moan in her hands at the
very idea. She knew she was a mass of contradictions: bold at work, pushy when
she had to be, but shy with men and not
open,
even with her friends. She made friends easily enough, but
most didn't seem to notice that she never mentioned her childhood or her doubts
about her marriage or her growing anger at Stuart.

Or, God forbid, her crush on Det. John McLean.

All she knew was, she had never in her life done something
as brash and risky as walking into a man's bedroom and throwing herself at him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She hardly knew whether she was bemoaning her cowardice, or
the weakness that had led her to take that step toward him and to say,
"I've thought the same thing." If their friendship was to be
salvaged,
that
was the moment to have laughed and said something like,
"It's probably inevitable, considering we
are
a man
and a woman. Of course I've wondered, too! But let's not mess up a good
thing."

She could have made it light enough to rescue their dignity.
She could even have stayed and chatted a while longer.

But, no. She'd gasped, whispered, "I've thought the
same thing," and walked into his arms.

For the most wonderful, sensual, sexy kiss of her life.

Only now was she remembering everything she had to lose.
What if she did sleep with him, and it wasn't that great? Natalie let out
something halfway between a sob and a laugh. Okay. She couldn't imagine that
would happen. So, what if it was great, but sex was all they had? Sex plus
friendship did not necessarily equal love. And only love and marriage and
forever was worth risking all that could go wrong.

She'd expected some of the fall to begin this morning, when
Natalie was certain they wouldn't be able to meet each other's eyes. What if he
was already sorry about the kiss? What if sex was casual to him, and he didn't
figure it would get in the way of their friendship?

But it would. It had to. Natalie was so afraid that if they
became sexually involved, eventually one of them would lose interest, and then
he wouldn't drop by anymore, or call her at night just to talk, or come running
when she needed him.

Reason said she needed him as a friend more than she did as
a lover.

Her heart whispered, yes, but what if he
could
fall in
love with her? What if he had? Could
she?
Wasn't that possibility worth almost any risk?

She didn't know. Yes. No. Maybe.

With another moan, Natalie opened a drawer and stared inside
blankly. She needed several files. But which ones?

Face it, Natalie thought, she had no idea how to
take
the
risk, short of tucking her dignity in a drawer and presenting herself in his
bedroom. No idea what to say to him tonight. No idea what to do if he didn't
make another move and say anything to her.

She was a coward.

Coward enough to have been relieved to shower and dress and
find John and the kids already gone that morning, only a note on the kitchen
counter saying,
Had an early appointment
today. Mom will take the kids to school. See you after work. John.

Her day consisted of meetings. It had begun with their usual
Monday morning quarterbacking session, when she and heads of other departments
sat around a conference table and went page by page through competing
newspapers to see how the
Sentinel
compared.

Generally well, she thought, at least on the advertising
side. Editorials were sometimes mealy-mouthed, a sin common to newspapers from
a community where everyone knew everyone. Local coverage was excellent, and
wasn't that why the citizens of Port Dare subscribed to the
Sentinel?
For the
most part, she was able to tune out.

She'd calmed herself enough to recollect what information she
needed to see one of several local businessmen who didn't like the expensive,
glossy inserts run by chain stores. They couldn't afford to compete, of course,
and her only answer was to suggest they host events that might make the news
pages.

The owner of a hardware store, he glowered at her. "You
mean, one of those damn things where I give away a car to whoever sits in it
longest?"

"Why not?" she countered. "Think of
Survivor.
You
know how the world watched." She'd paused just long enough. "On the
other hand, if you don't want quite as much publicity, go for a simple donation
to a needy family. I guarantee you'll get an article."

She left him thoughtfully eyeing the rows of ride-on mowers
with balloons tied to their gear shifts. Dang, maybe she should change careers.
She'd make a heck of a fund-raiser for a charity.

On the other hand, she didn't have the nerve to grab her
cell phone and call John.

Contradictions.

Having brought her riding clothes, she went straight to the
stable after work and rode in the large outdoor arena despite a slight autumn
drizzle. The stallion was in an irritable, fidgety mood, fighting her every
command. He wanted to gallop, not trot, and he refused to change leads as she
reined him in a tight figure-eight. Some days Natalie would have thrown up her
hands and opened the gate, taking him for a long, freewheeling ride in the
foothills. Today she grimly worked him until sweat soaked his flanks and he did
as she bid.

"Congratulations," Pam Reynolds said, as Natalie
led him into the wide aisle of the barn, shook dampness from her hair and
reached for the buckle to loosen the girth. "You usually let him ride
roughshod over you."