MacKenzie's Promise Read online

  “Thank you, my dear. Your being here makes all the difference.”

  The air fairly crackled with brittle tension in the wake of her departure. “Well,” Linda said, her nerves stretched taut as a wire, “we might as well call it a day, as well. Get your bag and I’ll show you to your room.”

  But when she went to get up from the sofa, his fingers snapped around her wrist so unforgivingly she wondered her bones didn’t crumble, and forced her back down again. “Not so fast,” he said, with soft but unmistakable malevolence. “We’re not quite done in here yet.”

  “We’re not? I thought you were tired.”

  “Not nearly as tired as I’m ticked off.”

  “I don’t know why!”

  “Sure you do, cookie,” he said. “So we’re going to have a little chat in which I do all the talking and you do nothing but listen. I’m going to lay down a set of rules simple enough that even you can understand them. And if you choose to disregard them for any reason at all, then I’m out of here and you’re on your own. Am I making myself clear?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “CLEAR? Hardly!” she said. “My mother’s opened her home to you. She’s expressed her appreciation for your help. I fail to see why that should have brought about your sudden change in mood. What’s the matter—wasn’t she grateful enough?”

  As if clamping her to him in that iron-hard grip wasn’t insult enough, he had the temerity to shake her, though less with the intent to hurt than to shock, she had to admit. “Gratitude is fine, when it’s called for, but so far I’ve done little to earn it. What I don’t handle well is being set up by someone I expect to be up-front with me.”

  “And you think I haven’t been?”

  “We both know you haven’t, not when you let me walk in here unprepared for what I’d find.”

  “What you found, Mac, is a person who’s been given reason to hope again. A person who’ll face tomorrow with a little more encouragement than she was able to face today.”

  “I found a woman without a husband…one whom you’ve led to believe can expect a miracle. She seems to think I’m Superman.”

  “But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it, Mac?” she said. “It’s the fact that she’s in a wheelchair. Well, shame on you! I thought you were a bigger man than to let a little thing like that throw you for a loop.”

  “A little thing?” He released her and wiped his hand down his face. “Maybe for you, Linda, but from where I’m sitting, it smacks of emotional blackmail. Your mother’s in hell. It’s written all over her face. Yet every time she looked at me, I saw the faith in her eyes, the absolute conviction that I’m going to put an end to her misery—a conviction, I might add, which you put there, even though I’ve told you repeatedly that I can’t offer any guarantees that I’m going to find that baby or bring her home alive.”

  “Then tell her you’re not sure you can live up to her expectations. Prepare her for the worst.”

  “Oh, sure!” he sneered. “As if she’s not coping with enough already.”

  “You’re the one allowing a wheelchair to blackmail you, not she.”

  “Damned right I am! And if that makes me less of a man in your eyes, learn to live with it.”

  She regarded him soberly a moment. “If I’d told you ahead of time that my mother’s disabled, would you have turned down the job?”

  “I’d have been prepared to handle it better. I don’t like surprises. I particularly don’t like it when my so-called accomplice is the one responsible for them. One of the first things you learn in police academy is that if you want to live to see another day, you’d better be able to count on your partner, and I’m not sure I can count on you for a damn thing.”

  “Meeting my mother was hardly a life-or-death situation.”

  “I agree. On the other hand, you seem to get a charge out of keeping me guessing, and while it’s amusing once or twice, I don’t want you thinking you can make a habit of it. Showing me up for the fool I undoubtedly was in shooting off my ignorant mouth about your incompetence in the kitchen is one thing, but this business tonight was quite another. So here’s the way things are going to pan out from here on: there’ll be no more games. It’s not a question of one-upmanship, or you against me. Either we’re in this together, or we’re not.”

  “We are,” she assured him, dismayed. “I’m sorry if you felt I blindsided you tonight. It did occur to me to tell you about Mom right at the start, but if you were going to help us, I wanted you to do so free and clear of any sense of guilt or obligation.”

  “That no doubt explains why you parked your sweet behind on my doorstep and begged so pitifully to be let in,” he said, but the ruthless cast of his mouth relaxed into a smile which took the sting out of his words. “Talk about pulling out all the stops!”

  “I was desperate, and you can surely see why, now that you know the situation here. This whole business with June and Kirk has been a nightmare pretty much from the day they met. Obviously my mom is limited in what she can do to help. My sister now needs psychiatric care—and please note I’m warning you ahead of time what to expect in that department—which leaves me the only one able to take affirmative action. And I couldn’t do it alone.”

  “I understand that. And I willingly agreed to come on board. But there’d better not be any more withholding information, or trying to do an end run around me. No sneaking behind my back, or leaving me wide-open to situations I’m not expecting. We’ve got enough uncertainty on our hands. Kirk Thayer’s an unknown quantity and we have no idea how this is all going to play out. But one thing is certain: any man who steals a baby is unhinged. In my opinion, that’s more than enough to contend with.”

  “I understand,” she said again, chastened.

  “I hope you do. Because either you’re completely up-front with me from now on, or the whole deal’s off. It’s your call.”

  “There’ll be no more withholding anything, I promise. I need you too much to risk having you walk off the job.”

  “And I need some sleep.” He raked his hand through his hair, and looked at her, his eyes troubled. “Are you sure having me here isn’t too much for your mother?”

  “Quite sure. And don’t ask that question in her hearing or she’ll pin your ears back so far they’ll meet behind your head!”

  “Okay, if you say so.” He nodded at the tea tray. “What about clearing up all this?”

  “I’ll take care of it, as soon as I’ve shown you to your room.”

  “We’ll take care it before you show me to my room.”

  “I’m not the one who’s been driving all day.”

  “But you are the one who’s arguing with me—and right after I’d made it clear who’s calling the shots around here.”

  She shrugged, gathered the cups, saucers and plates onto the tray, and stood back. “Fine. Pick that up and follow me.”

  In the kitchen, a small brass lamp with a parchment shade threw a circle of mellow light over the telephone nook. Smooth indigo flooring echoed the blue of the Delft tiles above the counters. Through the open window, night-scented stocks in her mother’s flower garden filled the room with delicate fragrance.

  “This is nice,” he said, looking around. “Very nice. There’s a real feeling of home here.”

  “Yes. We’ve known some very happy times in this house.”

  He leaned against the counter and watched as she covered the remaining sandwiches with plastic wrap, stored them in the refrigerator, and loaded the china in the dishwasher. Then, as she went to lock the back door and turn off the lights, he said, “You haven’t said much about your father, Linda, beyond the fact that he left when you were a teenager.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing about him worth mentioning.”

  “How come?”

  A silence descended, leaving a void filled by a host of unwilling memories, of the man who’d taught her to ride a bike, who’d read bedtime stories to her and June, who’d dressed up as S
anta Claus and danced around this very kitchen with her mother in his arms. And who’d walked out on all of them when his pretty, vivacious wife became an invalid confined to a wheelchair.

  “Because,” she said coldly, hating the pain which, even all this time later, brought the sting of tears to her eyes, and hating Mac for being the one to revive it, “he hasn’t been a factor in our lives for years.”

  “So he doesn’t know about the baby?”

  “No. And he wouldn’t care, if he did.”

  She heard him move. Felt his unswerving gaze seeing into her mind as surely as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a father, Linda. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t fair. Kids should have both parents, all the time.”

  “Yes, but there’s a difference, you see,” she said, her voice thick with feeling. “The pain of having a father die has to be just a little bit compensated for by the knowledge that he didn’t have any choice in the matter. That if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have left. But when a father chooses to go—can’t wait to get away, in fact—it doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for doubt about how much he didn’t care for his family.”

  “Why haven’t you told me all this before now?”

  “For the same reason that I didn’t bleat about my mom having no legs,” she said bluntly. “I’ll pay for your help, but I’m not interested in buying your pity.”

  “How about simply accepting my help and my sympathy?”

  “I don’t need your sympathy. Save it for my mother who’s already lost more than anyone should have to forfeit, and who stands to lose even more if she never sets eyes on her first grandchild again. And don’t even bother accusing me of keeping secrets again, because my father has no bearing on any part of the problem my mother and sister and I are facing.”

  “Come on, cookie.” He touched her lightly, caressing her nape. A nothing touch, just like his kiss that morning. “This time, I’m offering a shoulder to cry on, not criticism or reprimands. Let me play hero at least once today.”

  “I don’t need your shoulder. I’m not crying.”

  But she was. She always did, whenever she opened that particular door from her childhood, and remembered her mother’s face, the day her husband left her alone to bring up a girl in her early teens, and another barely out of babyhood.

  Mac didn’t say a word to contradict her. He simply closed the remaining distance behind her and ran his hands over her shoulders and down her upper arms, the pressure warm and firm and comforting, which was a huge mistake on his part because it started the tears flowing in earnest.

  “Don’t be kind to me,” she said, covering her face and trying to stifle the gasps shuddering through her. “I can deal with anything but that. Tell me I’m a fool, an unfeeling wretch, but please don’t—”

  “Shut up, Linda.” The murmured command ruffled the hair on the crown of her head. Winding his arms around her waist, he cupped her elbows and drew her back until she stood cocooned in the shelter of his body. His chest pillowed her spine; his thighs cradled her hips. “Just shut up and lean on me. That’s what I’m here for.”

  He touched her deeply with his gentleness, and with his kindness. They left an indelible mark on her heart which she knew would remain long after he’d left her life. It was a warm, fine feeling, and it occurred to her that she could have remained like that indefinitely, with him holding her secure against all the fear and darkness which made up both past and present.

  Nothing stayed the same forever, though. Sometimes, love turned to hate; concern to indifference.

  And once in a very rare while, something unexpectedly beautiful sprang from ordinary beginnings. She didn’t know exactly when the tenor of his embrace changed, or how passion could encroach with such stealth that she was caught in its captivating web without being aware that she’d been trapped.

  But she did know when his mouth slid down her neck and came to settle with searching, shattering effect just below her ear. And she knew, too, with stunning certainty, that unlike that morning’s, this one could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be dismissed as a “nothing kiss.”

  This possessed the slow-building heat of a volcano, stirring the hidden layers of her soul, of her body, to simmering awareness. It came charged with implicit demands—for permission, for reciprocation. It stole without mercy, and left her helpless and quivering beneath its assault.

  It left her wanting and shameless. Starving for the feel of a man’s body pressed to hers in blatant hunger. She could no more contain her low moan of pleasure when his hands moved from her elbows to her breasts, than she could control the urge to reach behind and slide her palms with bold deliberation over the firm contours of his buttocks.

  She turned her head. He found her lips. Found them parted, willing, hungry. She felt him, strong and hard and rhythmically insistent, against her lower back. And the kitchen, whose tranquillity moments before had been disturbed by nothing more earthshaking than the hum of the refrigerator, became filled with the sound of desire; of a man and a woman caught in the staccato hiss of breathless avarice. Of two bodies intent upon only one conclusion.

  His hands roamed over her, traveling at random from her breasts to her hips, and further. To her thighs, to the subtle hint of cleavage between them. Fleeting touches only. Promises, not quite kept, of greater pleasures hers for the asking and his for the giving.

  But they were in her mother’s kitchen, and that sweet, beloved parent lay in her bed just down the hall, confident that she’d invited a gentleman to stay as her guest. Sure that at least one of her daughters knew better than to fall prey to the allure of sex without any guarantee of the emotional commitment that turned it from dross to gold. And if Linda was not cognizant of that fact, Mac was.

  “I can’t do this,” he groaned, prying her away. “Not here. Not in your mother’s house.”

  “Then where?” she asked, the question ragged with un-spent passion.

  He stepped away from her. Raised his hands high, beyond the range of temptation. Because he was still tempted. She saw the evidence he could not hide. It was printed on his face, stitched into his painful breathing—and sculpted there, beneath the trim fit of his blue jeans. She could have drawn the still-urgent length of him with her fingertip, so clearly was he revealed.

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, trapping her gaze. “That’s right, cookie. Your eyes aren’t deceiving you.”

  Unashamed at being caught staring, she touched her lips, wondering that they hadn’t blistered from the heat of his kiss. “If this had happened last night, at your house, would you have stopped?”

  “Probably not.”

  She sighed, all manner of lovely pictures floating through her mind. “Then I wish—”

  “Don’t push your luck,” he warned her. “And don’t go asking for trouble. You’ve got enough of that already.”

  Would he be trouble?

  Oh, yes!

  Could she handle it—him?

  No. Not in this lifetime! He lived on a different plane, a whole world removed from her realm of experience. She should be thanking him for his restraint, not regretting it.

  So why was she bleeding inside, as if something vital and indescribably precious had been cut away from her heart? Why did she feel as if, on top of everything else she stood to lose, she’d just been robbed of the most wondrous thing of all?

  He was watching her, those cool blue-gray eyes tracking her every expression and reading it all too clearly. “Don’t say it, Linda. Just go to bed and get some rest. You’re worn-out and not thinking straight. You’ll feel differently in the morning.”

  Funny how kindness could soothe in one context, and slash in another. Not ten minutes before, she’d soaked up his compassion. Now it crushed her.

  Willing her face and voice not to betray the pain she felt, she said, “I should show you where your room is, first.”

  “I’ll find it,” he said. “There can’t be too many to
choose from. The house isn’t that big.”

  “It’s the middle door on the right, down the hall on the other side of the front door. I’ll leave a lamp on for you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good night, then. Sleep well.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You, too.”

  As if!

  Smothering the reply, she turned and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, given that her pride trailed behind her, torn to shreds.

  “I know he had money,” Jessie said, of Kirk Thayer. “Far more, really, than his job seemed to warrant. He drove a very expensive car and was always showering June with gifts.”

  They were at the table in the nook off the kitchen, with the remains of breakfast still littering the table. The sun streamed in the window behind Linda’s chair, making it difficult for him to read her expression. Her mother sat across from her, and he’d been assigned to the head of the table, the place where the delinquent husband and father should have been.

  “Did he ever mention his family—parents, siblings, cousins? Anything that might give us a clue as to where he might be holed up with the baby?”

  “Only that he had relatives in Portland. He wasn’t very forthcoming about himself at all, probably because he knew I didn’t approve of his live-in relationship with June.”

  “Why not, Jessie?”

  “He was too possessive. He wanted her all to himself. That’s what finally made her leave him. If he’d had his way, she’d never have set foot in this house again.”

  “And June never confided in you?”

  “No. By the time the relationship ended, when she was seven months along, all she thought about was the baby. Kirk Thayer was the last thing she wanted to talk about, and I didn’t like to press her. Perhaps I should have insisted more, but…”

  “You couldn’t have known what would transpire,” he said. “Don’t blame yourself for any of this.”

  “It seems to me that you’re quizzing the wrong person,” Linda chimed in.