Under Cover Page 12

  She brought her hands to his wrist, but could do no more than rest her fingertips there, feeling the strong bones and the light dusting of hair on his forearms. His hands had moved upward so they rested just beneath the band of her bra, but went no farther. Her breasts felt full and swollen, aching for that slight upward movement of his fingertips, his cupping hands.

  She said steadily, with all the will at her command, "I'm not the kind of woman who can go to bed with any man who crosses her path, David."

  The gentle caressing motion of his fingers stopped, and he lifted his head a little. He inquired quietly, "Am I just any man, Teale?"

  She closed her eyes against the agony of need, the insistent demands of her clamoring heart. Firmly, she closed her hands around his wrists, moving his hands away. "You know you're not," she whispered.

  He stepped away, and the absence of him was like a physical pain. She leaned forward and lifted the window to its fufl height. A gust of cool air swept through, and she drank k, letting it soothe her fevered cheeks and calm her quivering muscles. Across the marshes the clouds had begun to darken and roll, powerful shifting shapes of beauty and awe.

  She turned slowly, bracing herself against the open window. David was watching her, waiting patiently. There was sadness in his eyes.

  She met the gentleness of David's gaze and hardened herself against it. "This can't go on," she said evenly. "There's more at stake now than your little cops-and-robbers games. David, I've got to know the truth. How long have you been working for Diangelo? What is your relationship with him?"

  Again, the peculiar opaqueness came over his eyes, and he responded simply, "I don't know the man."

  Something within Teale snapped. "Damn it, David, don't lie to me! I know—"

  His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. Anger darkened his eyes, and his face went hard. "Don't ever say that again," he commanded harshly. "I've made a career out of lying, and if I wanted to do it now I'd do it so well you'd never find out. But I have never lied to you." His hand tightened on her wrist, painfully, and his eyes blazed with low cold fire very close to hers. "Do you understand that? I will never lie to you!"

  Teale stared at him, her breath caught in her chest, tendrils of shock and a little bit of fear tracing through her. She tugged experimentally at her wrist. "That hurts," she said.

  He released her wrist abruptly, and half turned away. Tension radiated from the set of his shoulders and the cords of his neck. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly.

  She rubbed her wrist absently, her breath coming back in shaky waves. David's voice came to her quietly.

  "I never planned for this to happen," he said, without turning to look at her. "It's as hard for me as it is for you. You think you're taking a risk by being with me?" She saw the corner of his lips curve downward in a dry, self-mocking smile. "Compared to the chances I'm taking, you don't know what risk is."

  Still he didn't turn. He spoke quietly, almost to himself. At times Teale had to strain to catch the words over the sound of the rising wind. "I've spent a lifetime running from one adventure to the other, filling up the spaces, being good at what I did because that was all I knew. I've been shot at in the Sudan, kidnapped in Ireland, lost in the jungles of South America with assassins on my trail. I've had to talk myself out of a blind alley while looking down the barrel of an Uzi and nobody spoke English but me; I've been pistol-whipped, firebombed, jailed. And none of it mattered, nothing bothered me, because it was all just a game."

  He made a small sound, the ghost of a laugh, and shook his head slightly. He turned to face her, and his expression was quiet, naked with the unadorned truth. "Now, I've finally found something real, something worth staying for, believing in, and it has to be you."

  Tears were hot in her chest, tears of longing and pain and the need to reach out to him, to comfort him, to reassure him, to simply hold him. But she shook her head, violently. "David, you don't know what you're saying—what you're asking." Her voice was thick and muffled, strained with the effort to keep the tears at bay. "It doesn't matter what you feel, what I feel. It can't be, don't you see that? We're only going to cause more pain if we let this go on. I am what I am, and you are—"

  "What am I?" He took a step forward, his voice intent, his movements taut and restrained. "Look at me, Teale, and tell me what you see. Is it really so bad?"

  Helplessly, she lifted her eyes to him. What did she see? A man of quiet strength and sincerity, of warmth and tenderness and sensitivity, a man who could look at her and make her believe there were no secrets, who made her want to crawl into his arms and stay there forever.... A gentle man, a solid man. A good man.

  She closed her eyes fiercely, trying to blot out the impression. She tried to swallow the tears but her throat only thickened with them. "Do you think it's that easy?" she cried. "Do you think the line between right and wrong is so easily blurred? Damn it, David, I've got to believe in the strength of that line— it's all I know, all I have!"

  Her fists clenched at her sides, unconsciously infusing strength into her tone. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. "If I say gambling is all right because it doesn't hurt anyone, why can't I say murder is all right as long as the victim deserved to be killed? If I overlook your activities because they appear to be harmless, then I have to overlook an entire syndicate of drugs and prostitution and graft and corruption because that is what you represent and that's where your so-called innocent money is going. Don't you understand that? There is no middle ground for me!"

  He said quietly, "I do understand, Teale. I know what you've been through, I know the guilt that drives you to be the best. I know how terrified you are of making a mistake. But listen to me."

  He came toward her slowly, and when less than a foot separated them he lifted his hands and clasped her arms, lightly at first and then with more intensity. "I am not a part of syndicated crime," he said clearly, with quiet force. His eyes burned with a low intense light that seemed to want to bore its way into her very soul. "I am not working for or with Diangelo. None of my money will ever find its way into his hands or into those of anyone like him." His fingers dug into her flesh, as though he could physically impart the truth of his words to her. "Believe me, Teale," he said in a low voice. "You have to believe me."

  She wanted to believe him. Her soul, her mind, her body ached to believe him. She looked at him helplessly.

  "Have you learned to listen to your instincts, Teale?" he demanded softly. "What do your instincts tell you about me?"

  She remembered the look on her father's face. You do believe me, don't you, Teale? You're my daughter, you must believe me. She remembered the agonizing war between instinct and logic; she remembered the course on which her choice had finally taken her. Had she learned to listen to her instincts? Could she risk making the same mistake again?

  Her eyes blurred, and her mouth and her nose were thick with moisture. She looked at David, and she knew what her instincts told her. And if it was a mistake, it was too late to turn away from it now.

  "I believe you," she whispered, and she went into his arms.

  It was as simple as that.

  ****************

  EIGHT

  They stayed together for a long time, saying nothing, just holding each other. The problems, the complications, the uncertainties dissolved into the simple inevitability of the truth, a truth that had been there all along but that Teale had simply refused to see. The wind gusted through the window and tugged at her skirt. Thunder cracked on a distant shore, but in David's arms she was safe, at peace in the eye of the storm.

  "Oh, David," she sighed. "The minute I walked into that party and saw you I knew I was in over my head."

  His hands caressed her shoulder blades. "Funny," he said huskily. "I thought exactly the same thing, the first time I saw you."

  Teale leaned away from him, tilting her face up to study him. Lightly she traced the shape of his face with her fingertips, brushing at the hair that fell over his forehead,
smoothing his eyebrows and the satiny flesh across his cheekbones. She filled her eyes with him, memorizing details against that time when he might no longer be there to touch.

  "In another lifetime," she whispered, "I could have loved you...."

  His fingers cupped her chin, lifted her face even closer to his. His eyes were dark and filled to brimming with quiet, certain emotions. "In another lifetime," he answered softly, "I did, and still do."

  Their lips met and melded, drawing from each other, tasting and stroking and caressing, fanning the fires of passion that had smoldered too long unquenched. When their mouths parted both were left shaken and deeply moved, but the final shreds of uncertainty were gone; there were no more questions to be asked.

  Teale stepped away from him and looked at him for a long time. Then she laced her fingers through his and held them tightly. Her gaze didn't waver. "Why don't you show me the bedroom?" she suggested softly.

  Rain came. Lightning surged in pink and yellow flares. Thunder rolled and gathered and rolled again, rattling the windowpanes and shuddering through the very foundations of the house. The wind exploded in a rush, flinging hard pellets of rain against the windows. Teale noticed none of it. Locked in the power of David's embrace, swept away on the rhythms they created together, for her the universe began and ended within his arms.

  They lay together, their perspiration-slick limbs entwined, listening to the sounds of their own unsteady breathing and the roar of the rain against the roof. All this time, Teale thought in stunned and distant wonder, I never knew it could be like this. All the time we were meant to be together, waiting to find each other.... For he was still a part of her, absorbed into every cell of her body and every fiber of her soul. David. Hers.

  He bent his head, and his lips brushed her damp hair. "I knew," he whispered, almost as though in response to her thoughts. "I knew it was meant to be like this... you and me, together. I'm so glad I found you."

  Her hand tightened against his chest. "I love you, David."

  She felt his breath, deep and slow, as though from joy or wonder. His arms tightened around her. "I have loved you, Teale," he said huskily, "forever."

  A beauty filled her, happiness expanding inside her chest and thickening her throat. The only way such wonder could find expression was in a low, gurgling laugh. She lifted her face to him and teased, "Despite all those other women?"

  He smiled, lightly tracing her nose from brow to tip with his finger. "There were no other women. It was all just a cover. I also," he told her, "love your eyebrows." And to prove it he kissed each one separately.

  She snuggled into his arms, so at peace, so safe while the storm pounded outside, that she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt this way. She felt as though it would last forever, this warmth, this love, this simple Rightness, and that she would never be threatened again.

  David rested his head on the pillow beside her, and he said, "Well, what do you think?"

  She looked at him inquiringly.

  "Should I buy the house?"

  She laughed, low in her throat. "I think you're going to have to," she murmured. "We left the window open in the other room, and you probably have an entire carpet to replace by now."

  His hand smoothed her brow with delicate, repeated strokes. "Tomorrow we can pick out new carpet together. I don't intend to live here alone," he said quietly.

  And there it was, reality creeping back. The feeling wouldn't last forever. The peace, the simplicity, the certain choices, already they were being threatened.

  She turned onto her back, her hands tightening on the sheet at her chest, and opened her eyes to the ceiling. "Do you know," she asked softly, "what frightens me most about my work? Doors. They're every cop's nightmare, I suppose. You walk through a door, you never know what's behind it. The sweat breaks out, your adrenaline starts pumping, you want to shoot at anything that moves, you hear noises, your nerves are screaming. Every time I go through a door I think if I make it out of this one alive, I'll never do it again."

  David's arm tightened around her in silent understanding. Teale released a slow breath and closed her eyes. "That's what the future looks like to me now, David. A series of doors. And I'm so scared."

  He gathered her into his arms, he pressed a long lingering kiss upon her forehead. "Ah, Teale," he whispered. "You don't know how much I wish I could make it easier for you. But please, just hold on for a little while longer. And trust me. I promise it's going to be all right."

  Teale wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. She wanted to believe. For tonight, if no more, she wanted to believe that somehow, magically, everything was going to be all right. But she knew that in the days ahead she was going to have to be braver than she had ever been in her life.

  ****************

  They didn't leave the marsh house until dawn. Standing on the deck, watching the still white mist rise from the marshes, leaning back into David's embrace and sharing the contented silence only lovers know, Teale could actually imagine herself living here with him. She could imagine quiet days and long nights like the one that had just passed, and David's smile, David's voice, David's touch, filling up her hours for the rest of her life.

  He kissed her one last time on the pier before she got into her car. No one was there to see but the gulls and the sun rising by golden inches over the water, but Teale wouldn't have cared at that moment if the entire Bretton Beach Police Department had been there to bear witness to what she had found with David.

  "Will I see you tonight?" he asked. His eyes, as he looked down at her, had taken on the silvery reflection of the sun, and Teale thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the eyes of her lover looking at her.

  "Yes," she responded, without hesitation

  He touched her face lightly, and though he smiled there was a trace of wistfulness to it. "You look happy," he said softly. "Stay that way, all right?"

  Teale nodded, and at that moment she had no doubt she could make the happiness last.

  She went home to shower and change, and despite the lack of sleep, she felt renewed as she drove to work. The storm had washed the world and left it sparkling. The air was clear and bright, and the sky was a blinding blue; sunshine danced off the asphalt and bounced from rooftops, and Teale's mood was just as buoyant. She had an idea.

  She strode into the squad room and motioned Sam to follow her into the Captain's office. Sam commented suspiciously, "The last time I saw you looking this smug was when we broke the Harris case. Don't tell me Carey up and turned himself in?"

  "Just shut up and listen."

  She knocked on the door and received permission to enter. Captain Hollis was standing by the window, watering a stubborn, wilting philodendron. "Damn thing," he muttered without turning. "If I wasn't afraid my wife'd find out I'd pitch the thing through the window. She thought the office needed cheering up. Well, this sure cheers it up, doesn't it?" He plucked off a yellow leaf and tucked it into his pocket.

  "Captain," Teale began without preamble, "what kind of deal do you think we could cut David Carey?"

  Sam stared at her.

  Hollis waved a dismissing hand, busily pruning his plant. "Talk to the D.A. What makes you think Carey can be turned?"

  "He can," she answered confidently, and the suspicion in Sam's eyes darkened.

  Hollis turned, looking at her for a moment speculatively. "Can he give us Diangelo?"

  "I don't think that he's any closer to Diangelo than we are," she said carefully. "But he wants out. And he just might be able to help us wrap up this case."

  Hollis frowned and turned back to the plant. "Don't come to me with a lot of ifs and mights. Bring me something to work with."

  "Then I have your permission to talk to him?"

  Hollis grunted an affirmative. "Damn thing." He plucked off another leaf. "Give it sun, water, plant food—do you think that's enough? No, it still wants more. A lot like my wife."

  "I'll keep you informed, sir."


  "Saunders."

  Teale turned at the door to find Captain Hollis looking at her sternly—and perhaps a bit too perceptively. "You be damn sure you know what you're doing."

  "Yes, sir." Teale quickly left the office.

  "And just what the hell was that all about?" Sam demanded in an undertone, keeping step with her. "You know how close Carey is to Diangelo—"

  "We don't know anything," Teale interrupted firmly.

  " We agreed—"

  "We were wrong."

  Sam stopped and looked at her. "You were with him last night, weren't you?" he demanded quietly.

  A flush crawled over her cheeks, and she couldn't meet Sam's eyes. She went over to her desk, and he followed her. "I'm sorry, Sam," she said, for that was the least she owed her partner for the lie. Then she firmly resumed a businesslike demeanor. "But you know we were getting nowhere with the wire—it was a joke. I had to show him some respect. It was the only way I could ever get his trust."

  Sam's expression was sober and disappointed and very worried. "He's getting to you, isn't he?"

  Teale sat down at her desk and opened a drawer. She drew out a stack of forms she had no intention of filling out and pretended to rearrange them.

  "All right," Sam said quietly, after a time. "You're a grown woman, I can't run your life for you. But listen to me."

  He sat on the edge of her desk and leaned close. Teale was forced to look up at him. "You're no rookie, Teale," he said levelly. "You know better than this. A man like David Carey has been in this business too long and has gotten too good at it to turn over a new leaf now. Oh, I'm not saying he won't cop a plea to get out of this one—if the D.A. will even deal with him, which I very much doubt—but that's all it will be. Just another narrow escape for him. Don't go talking yourself into thinking you can save the man's soul, because you can't."

  For just a moment reality crept back in, and with it despair. She looked at Sam, trying to fight back helplessness with bravado. "I've got to try," she said stubbornly. But even as she spoke she knew the odds were against her, and a note of pleading softened her voice. "Sam, I've got to try."