Talk Me Down (17 page)

Instead, she headed straight for the kitchen to grab her sharpest butcher knife. Some coward was ruining her life and she couldn’t take it anymore, so instead of calling and crying to Ben, she checked the back door—locked—and the cellar door—also locked—then searched her home from top to bottom.

By the time she got back to her desk and sat down, the anger had melted away to reveal the fear beneath, and her knees gave out, dropping her like a rock into her ergonomic desk chair.

Coming back to Tumble Creek was supposed to have brought peace to her life. Her hometown was secure and stable, a refuge from the city. So what the hell had she unleashed when she’d moved back? She hadn’t stolen anyone’s boyfriend in high school, hadn’t voted anybody off the cheerleading squad. She hadn’t even
been
on the cheerleading squad. No one in Tumble Creek should have a grudge against her. She hadn’t come to town and taken someone’s job. The only thing she’d done was get it on with the hot police chief.

“Hey…” Molly planted her boots on the floor and sat up straight. Maybe this had nothing to do with her. Maybe it was all about responsible, upstanding Ben and whatever women were in
his
past. Sure, he’d claimed that he didn’t date in town, but he’d been “not dating” her for a week now, after all, and they’d gotten pretty personal. Oh, the man might have some ’splaining to do.

Smirking at the thought of knocking him off his high horse, Molly rubbed her hands together. Yeah, he’d come over sometime in the next few hours, all outraged and protective, then she’d confront him about just how many women in town he
hadn’t
dated.

Energized by the thought of being the one in the right, Molly unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and took her laptop out. She fired it up, signed on and zeroed in on an e-mail from her publisher.

First, her editor assured her that, no, they hadn’t received any unusually creepy letters about Molly or her stories. Just the usual diatribes from Mrs. Gibson.

Then…Ah-ha! Molly’s new sales numbers. The lovely, luscious new sales numbers that she really needed right now. This was her
career.
She was good at it and she enjoyed it. A secret career, yes, but nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to regret.

She’d tell Ben about it some day soon, and he’d try to make her feel bad, and they’d be done.

“I can handle this,” she said to her computer, happy with the surety in her voice. “I will be fine.”

After days of frustration, trying to find a solution, some
weapon,
the
Tumble Creek Tribune
offered a gift.

Lo and behold, Molly Jennings had a secret. A secret even the Chief didn’t know, if the
Tribune
was correct. Whatever it was…nobody kept a secret like that unless it was harmful. Sordid even.

Whatever she was hiding, that was the key. The wedge to pry them apart. The club she could be beaten with. But how to ferret it out?

She had an office in her home, had a computer and locked cabinets. As far as access…Well, the woman had got herself a fancy new set of locks, but the place wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. The department just happened to have received a brand-new bump key, the latest in lock-picking convenience. The bump key looked like any other household key, but once inserted, all it needed was a good whack to disrupt the tumblers of any lock.

So if Molly continued to spend her nights away—and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t—there’d be time to page leisurely through her files and find out exactly what embarrassing truth she was hiding from her new boyfriend.

And when Chief Lawson dropped her like a hot potato, she’d hit the ground running until she was out of Tumble Creek and back where she belonged.

Ready to blow him away with her surprise theory, Molly sauntered over to the station, Tupperware container in hand, then stopped short to find his office empty. Well, crap.

She spun in a slow circle, taking in Brenda’s empty desk and the deserted hallway. All this genius floating around in her head and no one nearby to hear it. But they couldn’t have gone far.

After one last glance toward the front door, Molly stepped past the threshold of Ben’s office, a swirl of anticipation twisting around her stomach. She felt sneaky as a spy, looking over this space where Ben spent so much time.

The room smelled of him, clean skin and leather. A faint touch of some oil that made her think of guns. His desk was organized, but not clear, and two paperbacks perched on one corner weighted by a stained coffee cup.

She eased the first book out from under the cup, turned it over in her hand. A Western. Definitely not a sexy romance, but almost as romantic at heart, really. A time when men were men and women liked to be tied up. Oh, wait. That was
her
version of a Western.

Grinning, she eased the book back into place and put the mug carefully back on top.

“What do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice barked.

Guilty fear hit her in the gut as she swung toward the sound. Something hard struck her knuckles, and a crash boomed through the room just as Molly registered Brenda’s broad shoulders filling up the doorway.

“Oh!” Molly yelped, looking from Brenda to the shards of ceramic mug spread across the floor. “Brenda, you scared me!”

“What are you doing, sneaking around in here?”

“Not, uh,
sneaking.
I’m just looking for Ben and…Oh! Here!” She thrust the Tupperware bowl toward Brenda, a light-blue peace offering.

The woman snatched the bowl away, but she didn’t seem to understand its symbolism. Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself.”

“Sorry. There was no one around.”

“And you’ve broken Ben’s favorite mug. His mother gave that to him when he made chief.”

“His…” Hand over her mouth in horror, Molly looked back to the floor. Of course the damn thing had hit at the exact wrong angle. Instead of splitting into two or three big chunks, it had shattered like glass. “Oh, shit. Do you…do you think I could find another one?”

“And then what?” Brenda snapped. “Lie to him about it?”

“No! I just meant I could give it as a peace offering! Are you having a bad day or something?”

Instead of answering, Brenda just huffed and spun away. “I’ll get a broom. You need to wait in the reception area.”

“Jeez Louise,” Molly muttered. Brenda was turning out to be just as grumpy as her mom had been. Brenda’s mother had always had a cigarette in her hand and a chip on her shoulder.

Molly wanted to tell Brenda that she didn’t have to stay in Tumble Creek and become her mother. She could move anywhere and be anyone, just like Molly had done, but the woman didn’t look in the mood to have a heart-to-heart. A tactical retreat to the reception area seemed in order.

As soon as her butt hit one of uncomfortable chairs, the main door opened and Ben walked in, carrying the bright scent of snow with him.

His eyebrows rose. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure. I just wanted to talk with you.”

His eyebrows lowered to the frown he’d been wearing before he’d seen her. “The electrical and brake lines were cut, just like Lori said. I dusted for prints, but…” He jerked his head toward his office, indicating Molly should follow him toward the sound of tinkling ceramic.

“Uh, Ben.” She hurried after him. “I broke your mug, and I’m really, really sorry. If there’s a way I can replace it…”

“Hi, Brenda,” he said before he glanced back at Molly. “What mug?”

Brenda finished sweeping and hustled past them both, nodding to Ben and totally ignoring Molly, who stood there helpless, wringing her hands.

“The mug your mom gave you when you became chief. I’m so sorry!” She stopped wringing her hands when he gave her an exasperated look that strongly impugned her sanity.

“I’m sure I’ll survive the loss. I’m not even sure which mug you’re talking about. My mom sends me one for every holiday. I think that’s the default for grown men who don’t wear ties to work.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” Though she tossed a glare over her shoulder for Brenda, the woman seemed uncowed. She glared right back.

“Anyhoo…” Molly dropped into one of his chairs. “I have an idea of who the stalker could be.”

Ben stuttered on his descent into his own chair. “Who?”

“Well.” Reaching blindly back, she grabbed the edge of the door and swung it closed. “You know how we’re not dating?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do. And you said you never date women in Tumble Creek.”

“I don’t.”

She rolled her eyes at his grumpy reticence. “So do you ‘not date’ them in the same way you’re ‘not dating’ me? You know, with a lot of sex and making out and flirting?”

He hardly moved at all, but he went so tense that his chair squeaked beneath him.

“Because a mere mortal woman could take that the wrong way.”

“Molly.” Oh, he’d learned that tone from hanging around her parents in his youth. Teeth ground together, he added a simple, conversation-ending, “No.”

“Whatever. I think there’s a woman in this town you used to get it on with. And I think she’s after me. So who is it?”

“There’s no one,” he growled.

“There’s got to be someone! You’re telling me you haven’t had sex once during the winter in the past ten years? Give me a break.”

He blinked twice, some of the certainty leaving his gaze.

“A-ha!” Molly pounced, leaning forward to point a finger at his give-away eyes. “Liar!”

“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not her.”

Just that little word. Three letters. H-E-R. And an ulcer drilled straight through Molly’s stomach. “Ow,” she muttered, rubbing her waist. She thought she’d been certain of her theory, but clearly she hadn’t been, or that word wouldn’t have speared her with such pointy jealousy.

“There’s only been one woman,” Ben insisted. “And it couldn’t be her.”

“Who? And why not?”
And who?

“Because she’s been married for six years and has four children.”

“So maybe she’s hanging on to her youthful fantasies. Who was it?” Molly repeated. “And just having children doesn’t take away any stalking skills, as far as I’ve heard.”

“Aside from the fact that she had her fourth child last Monday, I guess that’d be true.”

“Oh.” Damn. “Okay. Who is she?”

“Jealous?”

“She just gave birth! No, I’m not jealous.” Much.

Ben’s half smile rubbed her pride like sandpaper. He was all arrogance and triumph. “Shall we get back to some real theories about why someone’s stalking you? Or do you have something else?” he drawled.

“Wilhelm Smythe!” she blurted. “I saw him walking down your street this morning, and I can’t imagine why—”

“His ex-daughter-in-law lives on my street. He comes to visit his grandson.”

“Oh.” Another theory shot down. Molly didn’t like to think of herself as petty, but she was feeling pretty petty right now. Both her pitiful theories had been shot down and Ben had some wholesome ex-flame he wouldn’t tell her about. So she aimed her own smirk right at his. “Well, I’ve got nothing else except the threatening note taped to my front door.”

His chair screamed as his knee thumped against the underside of the desk. “What?”

She waved her hand. “Just go over and take your pictures and your prints. I don’t know anything more than you do. Maybe I’ll call you later, Chief.”

His stunned frustration went a long way toward making her feel better as she walked out, which proved just how petty she was.

She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His jaw was rough steel. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and now he looked menacing. Dark. Furious.

Sexy.

Molly gave her head a shake. “I think Lori has a car I can borrow, actually.”

His eyes slanted toward her, narrowed against her words. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” he repeated.

Had his mouth even moved when he said that? Man, he was in a bad mood. “’Kay,” she chirped.

She didn’t need him to start bitching about the note and how she hadn’t called him, and why had she gone half the day without telling him, and when the hell was she gonna start taking this seriously? Molly sighed just at the thought of it, and wondered how she was going to get her own car the next day.

But when she woke up on Saturday morning, ass pressed to Ben’s hip, a brilliant idea hit her smack between the eyes. Cameron would be in town sometime in the next few hours, and she didn’t want him crossing Ben’s path. So she would take Ben’s path straight out of town.

“Ben!”

“Mmm?”

“I need to go to Grand Valley this morning.”

“Mmm.” He rolled to his side and snuck an arm around her hip to pull her against his morning glory.

“Hellooo,” she crooned, then yelped, “Oh, hello!” when his hand delved between her legs with no preliminaries. Not that she needed any. He had her purring in seconds.

Oh, God. Gaaaawd, that felt so good, and his thick length was pressing against her ass, promising even better stuff to come. But…“Wait, I need to…take a shower. I’ve gotta go to…oh…I…I need to go to Grand Valley.”

“Don’t worry, this’ll only take a minute.”

She snorted in delight, happy with any excuse to stay.

“Just hold still, darlin’.”

“Stop!” She was shaking now, laughing hard even as her body sang.

His lips teased her neck as he guided her knee up and pulled her leg over his thigh. “Count to ten and this will all be over.”

“Hey, I’m not supposed to be laughing when you—Oh! Mmm…”

But he was a sneaky liar, after all, and they spent a good twenty minutes laughing and groaning and sighing before he was done with her. Then he stole the shower while she sprawled bonelessly across his bed, breathing in the scent of his sweat on the pillow. Damn that man had some awesome pheromones. And fingering skills. Those years in the junior-high trombone section had paid off for him. Finger, slide. Finger, slide.

Molly laughed so hard at her own joke that she had to sprint to the bathroom to pee. A little too intimate with Ben showering right there, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just stepped out of the tub when she flushed the toilet, wrapped a towel around his waist—sadly—and gestured her toward the steamy spray.

“Still hot,” he said, always the gentleman. “I’m only working a few hours tonight, so I’m at your disposal for the rest of the day. What’s got you so fired up to go to Grand Valley?”

Molly was glad she had the excuse of stepping into the tub and adjusting the shower head to buy some time. “Uh…I need some office supplies.” Well, she’d stepped right into a sticky subject, but at least it sounded true. And she always needed ink and paper, so it wasn’t even really a lie. Jackpot. “And, you know, I’ve got some work to do this afternoon, so I wanted to get out there this morning. Maybe we could have breakfast!” And lunch.

“Sure.”

She could hear the purposeful neutrality in his answer. He really was trying, which only made her feel worse. She’d lulled herself to sleep last night by thinking of all the ways she could ease him into the truth, imagining the unlikely scenarios in which he might react positively to her writing. Maybe she could feed him bits and pieces of the real story. She could tell him she was a writer, then later explain exactly what she did write.

Maybe he wouldn’t accuse her of producing smut or trash or women’s porn. Maybe he’d be interested. He loved books
and
he loved sex, after all. If the conversation went well, she could give him one of her novellas. But not the one she’d written about him. She could pull him deeper with another book and then another. And when he was waxing poetic about her gorgeous imagination, her impressive use of craft, her impeccable sense of language, when he’d been brought fully over to the dark side…then she’d spring the Story of Ben on him. Hell, at that point he might even be flattered!

When she snorted water into her nose at the thought and choked, Ben tapped on the shower curtain. “Want me to get your water wings?”

“I think every time we have sex, more of my sense of humor rubs off on you.”

“I think I’m really damn relaxed. And naturally witty.”

“Ha! Actually, you always did make me laugh. When you used to come camping with my family, you’d have me laughing so hard my stomach hurt.” She smiled at the memory. “I remember thinking it was strange that people at school thought you were shy. But when you and Quinn both made varsity basketball and we started coming to the games, I saw you interacting with other people and I realized you
were
shy.”

“I prefer to think of it as reserved,” he countered. “And dignified, if you know what that means.”

She splashed water over the curtain rod, kind of hoping he’d retaliate by lunging back into the shower with her, but she washed on unmolested. Soon enough she was dried and dressed and they were on their way.

The day was gorgeous; bright and crisp, the sun glinting off rapidly melting snow. A perfect fall day, and she was making a brilliant escape, and her heart was flying, flying.

They had breakfast, then went to the little office supply store wedged between the insurance office and the VFW Hall. After a quick stop at the drugstore so that Molly could stock up on exotic items like face moisturizer, they drove. Just drove.

Ben took her through the whole valley, a place she hadn’t explored since she was a teen. They followed the river, passing herds of elk that seemed unconcerned with the nearness of the truck. Molly watched a family of foxes playing on the opposite bank, darting in and out of dried reeds, and she felt so, so glad to be home.

Next summer she would come and walk in the water here, revel in the contrast of snow-melt water and impossibly hot sun. She’d get sunburned and tipsy on mountain air, and she’d go home and…and Ben wouldn’t be there.

But he was here now, holding her hand, giving her back the life she thought she’d left too far behind. He was here, and it was perfect.

Until Cameron called. That day-ruining bastard.

To be fair, it wasn’t actually Cameron who called, because Molly had turned off her phone and was unreachable. She’d thought that would be enough, being out of town and unreachable. But Cameron Kasten was no mere mortal man bound by the rules of wireless technology and societal norms. He was a magic manipulator, able to bend time and space, or at least able to bend small-town cops to his will.

“Hey, Andrew,” Ben answered his phone. “What’s up?”

She knew as soon as Ben looked at her, knew he was hearing something about Cameron. He made a lot of “uh-huh” noises, eyes getting narrower as each second ticked by. When he slowed the truck and swung it in a tight circle to head back the way they’d come, her heart dropped.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

But Ben was busy snarling something to Andrew that ended with, “He’ll just have to fucking wait and see, won’t he?” before he closed the phone with a snap and hit the accelerator.

“What’s going on?” No answer, just glowering silence. “Ben?”

“Your
boyfriend.
Is sitting. In my place of employment. Telling
my
employees—”

“Ben—”

“No. He’s telling
my
employees that he’s
worried
about you, Molly. Because you were supposed to have a big date with him, and you’ve gone missing.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“You knew he was coming, didn’t you?”

“Uh…”

He bit out,
“Office supplies,”
as if he were cursing some cruel god, and Molly flinched.

“I’m not there,” she said in a rush. “I knew he might come and I’m not there because I don’t want to see him.”

“Jesus Christ, Molly, this isn’t grade school. If you don’t like someone, you tell him. You don’t run away and hide, just to avoid having an actual adult conversation!”

Molly sucked in a deep breath full of outrage. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’ve got communication issues, but—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she gasped.

“You’re clearly reluctant to tell anybody the truth about anything—”

She made a high-pitched noise of frustration that cut him off. “Why,” she bit out, “do you always think the worst of me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Your supposedly
ex-
boyfriend comes up to take you out on a date, and you run away like a kid who’s trying to avoid punishment! You don’t even think about what might happen while you’re hiding in blissful ignorance, and now all my officers think I’m a fool who can’t keep an eye on his girlfriend, much less a whole town. What the hell isn’t ‘worst’ about that?”

“Screw you, Ben Lawson.” She twisted toward her window and stared pointedly out.

Perfect day, my ass. Hard to have a perfect day when you were out with an arrogant, judgmental control freak. Not that she was surprised. No one in her life ever expected much from her, and then they all had the nerve to wonder why she wouldn’t share the important parts of her world.

Just because she tried not to take life too seriously, her friends and family assumed she
couldn’t
be serious. Or mature. Or responsible. Fuck, she couldn’t even handle one lowly ex-boyfriend, how the hell could they trust her with her whole
life?

That was one reason she reveled in her secrets. There was nothing for her father to point at, exasperated, demanding an explanation. Nothing for her mother to cluck over and shake her head with that look in her eye. That “Oh, what else could we expect from Molly?” look.

So she’d changed majors eleven times in college; she hadn’t found her passion yet. So she’d stranded herself in Mexico once; a driver’s license was an easy thing to misplace. And so she wasn’t her genius brother who’d always known what he wanted, who’d scored nearly perfect on his SATs, who was well on his way to being rich as hell, who’d never dated a cute biker dude with tattoos on his neck, who was carving a name for himself out of granite and hardwood and years of hard work.

Yes, she was irresponsible sometimes, and irreverent, and she’d failed trigonometry and couldn’t build a fucking house out of Lincoln Logs, much less iron and rare timber. And she hovered on the razor’s edge of constant scandal and didn’t really give a shit if or when she tumbled over. Yes, she was imperfect. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t also spectacular.

It took thirty minutes of thick silence to reach Tumble Creek. Molly slammed out of the truck without waiting for Ben and stomped up the steps and into the police station.

Cameron, resplendent in a black suit and lavender tie, stood from the chair he’d pulled close to Brenda’s desk, and had the nerve to smile at Molly as if she’d just shit a pot of gold, complete with rainbow. His sculpted dark blond hair didn’t budge despite his movements.

“Molly, you’re all right!”

“Not even close.”

“Well, you look terrific.”

The door opened and closed behind her, sucking the air from the room and leaving tension in its place. Molly caught sight of at least two officers shifting in the hallway to her left. No one was going to miss this little show.

“Chief,” Brenda said, standing also. She made a jerky gesture toward Cameron, her mouth wavering between a tight smile and a sneer. “This is
Sergeant
Kasten from the Denver P.D. Ms. Jennings’s
boyfriend,
it seems.”

“Not even close,” Molly repeated, but Cameron was already moving past her, hand outstretched, green eyes sparkling, his trust-me smile in place.

“Chief Lawson,” he beamed, and he was on.

Create normalcy,
Molly thought, keeping track of the negotiation steps in her head. She’d memorized them once she’d realized that she was stuck in a relationship she’d never even been interested in. Cameron was an expert, but she’d be damned if she’d let him create any normalcy here.

She turned toward the men as they shook hands. “Ben, meet Cameron, my ex-boyfriend.
Ex.
Cameron meet Ben, the man I’m now having sex with. Lots of sex. Lots of hot, hard sex as often as I can.”

Brenda gasped, but her desperate grab for air was the only sound in the room. Everyone else had frozen, though Cameron thawed within seconds.

“Chief,” he said easily, then rolled his eyes toward Molly, an exasperated smile in place. “She’s a real handful, huh?”

Allow the subject to save face.

Ben ended the handshake quickly, but Cameron just shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forward. “Listen, Chief Lawson, could I speak with you in private for a few minutes?”

Isolate the subject.

“No,” Molly said.

Ben’s face was stone, but his eyes were burning ice when he looked at her. “I think private would be just fine.”