Читать книгу In the Blink of an Eye - Julie Miller - Страница 11

“With a cane you could tap your surroundings and find the way out.” Julia’s calm suggestion made a mockery of Mac’s own common sense.

“Shut up.”

He could control this. He could figure a way out of the maze of his own living room.

The rustle of sound barely registered as he concentrated on getting his bearings. He detected her unique scent, coming from behind him now, an instant before her hand latched onto his.

For an unthinking moment, he folded his fingers around hers, clinging to her sure grip, anchoring himself in the spinning disorientation of darkness. For all his crude words and rude behavior, he was grateful for the un-deserved patience in the gesture.

“This way.”

Her gentle voice beckoned and he followed. He allowed himself to be led a few steps, until he was free of the embarrassing hazards of his own home. He stopped when she stopped, but she tugged on his hand and pulled him forward another step.

His remaining senses buzzed into full alert as she guided his hand to the crook of her elbow. A practical gesture, he supposed. But the skin on the back of his hand and wrist bristled with acute awareness after brushing against the bountiful softness of what had to be a breast. In contrast, her strong shoulder nudged against his chest as she positioned herself to guide him. About chin height, he estimated, judging how she measured up against him. Maybe a shade taller.

The scent he had detected earlier and identified as her own pooled at nose level. It was her hair, he deduced. Her shampoo, to be more precise. Nothing perfumy. Clean, but not antiseptic. Fresh. Sassy. Just like…

Mac snatched his hand away and stepped back, shocked to realize he’d been analyzing Jules in a way that had nothing to do with science, and everything to do with the primal way a man checked out a woman.

As if he had any business checking her out.

As if she’d have any interest in being checked out by a scarred-up waste of a man like him.

“I don’t need you to be my guide dog.” His raspy voice, already ruined by the toxic fire that had destroyed his lab and killed a friend, sounded harsh in the monstrous quiet of the house.

He expected her to pack her things and run. The other nurses had refused to put up with his churlish behavior. He wanted to be alone right now. He needed his solitude.

But he’d met his match when it came to bullheaded determination.

Jules had somehow moved behind him. She touched his shoulders and turned him slightly. But she released him before he could justify any protest. “The archway’s about five steps directly in front of you.” Could he trust her guidance? He took two tentative steps, then three more. Her crisp, no-nonsense voice remained behind him. “The wall’s just to your right now. Put your hand out and use it to guide you.”

Mac reached out. The wall was there, just as she’d said. Hiding his tentative sigh of relief, he made his way through the dining room without bumping so much as a shinbone. His pulse quickened in anticipation as he entered the hallway. Close to escaping her, or close to reaching his sanctuary, he couldn’t tell. He simply knew she wouldn’t have to see him, and he wouldn’t have to deal with not seeing her. He wouldn’t have to deal with anyone or anything if he could just reach the relative security of his room.

His fingers curled around the doorjamb. An overwhelming sense of relief rushed through him, making him light-headed. He ducked inside and turned to shut the door.

“What’s with the mad scientist routine?”

Startled by her voice, he spun toward the curious question.

He heard the clunk of glass on wood, and knew she was inspecting the beakers on his dresser. “Pew! Formaldehyde isn’t exactly standard air freshener.”

“Get out of here.” He defended his makeshift lab with a hollow whisper.

She’d snuck past him somehow. Hell. How easy was it to sneak past a blind man?

Anger swelled inside him, quickly replacing the embarrassment of being caught and questioned like a little kid. He felt the same need to defend his ideas and actions as he had the day his mother caught him trashing her kitchen to perform a series of experiments as an eleven-year-old. That same indulgent curiosity, blended with a gentle reprimand, colored Julia’s voice.

“I’m guessing hydrochloric acid on this one. Alcohol.” She went down the line, correctly naming the contents of each beaker. “What are you trying do here?”

He reached for that voice. He hit her neck first, idly noting the cropped wisps of curls that indicated how short she wore her hair. His fingers glided down a swanlike arch of neck and he cursed himself for noticing anything about her at all.

Damning the fact that he could be distracted by something so unattainable as the discovery of a pretty woman, he slid his hand down to her shoulder and turned her. He clamped his fingers around her so she couldn’t escape.

“Ow!”

Despite her squirming struggles, he found the other shoulder and pushed her into the hallway. Her hands flattened against his chest and resisted, but he had superior strength and momentum on his side. He backed her up until she hit the wall.

“Get the hell out and stay out,” he ordered.

But now momentum worked against him. He cursed the law of science that carried him forward into Julia’s body. For the briefest of instants, his thighs and torso crushed into hers, giving him a fleeting impression of muscles and curves and soft spots that gave way beneath his harder body.

“Damn, damn, damn!” He jerked away from the contact and staggered back to his room, escaping the subversive distraction of discovering the tomboy-next-door from his youth had matured into a full-figured woman.

So much for intimidation. Even the ability to hold a decent argument with her frustrated him.

Breathing hard, from emotion as much as exertion, he closed the door behind him. He leaned his shoulder into the aging wood, absorbing the brunt of her furious knocks until his fingers could find the lock and turn it.

“I don’t do room service! If you want to eat, you come to the kitchen.” Mac stood where he was, savoring his victory. Let her fuss and fume. He wouldn’t have another thing to do with her.

The doorbell rang, a distant call from the outside world that made him realize he hadn’t really escaped at all.

“You want me to get that? Or should I throw them out on their backside, too?”

“Give it up, Jules.” He pushed away from the door, feeling trapped in the place where he’d sought freedom only moments ago.

“I don’t give up on people, Mac.”

Mac laughed at her vehement promise. It was a sick sound, raspy and unnatural. She’d learn soon enough about lost causes.

Six weeks ago he’d learned the hard way.

I DON’T GIVE UP on people, Mac.

Julia listened to her words echo off the closed door and backed away. She clutched her arms across her middle, nearly doubling over at the hypocrisy of what she’d shouted.

I don’t know who the hell you think you are. There’s nothing between us. We had our fun. Now be an adult and move on.

The harsh, horrible words rang fresh and true inside her head, spreading salt on an age-old wound that refused to heal.

Well, maybe she’d given up on just one person.

The doorbell rang a second time, forcing her to leave the downward spiral of self-recriminations and put on a pleasant facade to greet the outside world. Still charged from the fury of doing battle with Mac, and drained by the unexpected memory of the mistake she’d made in Chicago, she wiped her damp palms on her jeans. She took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the front door, practicing different versions of a smile along the way.

She opted for a polite but distant grin. Securing the chain on the door first, she opened it a few inches and looked out at the two men in suits and ties on the front step. “Yes?”

The older one, with snowy white hair and a bulbous nose that indicated a fondness for alcohol, pulled a thick, chewy cigar from his mouth and answered. “KCPD, ma’am. I’m Sergeant Joe Niederhaus, Internal Affairs. This is my partner, Eli Masterson.”

Two decades younger and packing muscle where his partner packed fat, the dark-haired detective tipped his head in greeting. “Ma’am.”

Julia clamped down on a genuine urge to smile. These two were a real life send-up of the Dragnet-duo her father loved to watch in reruns on TV. “What can I do for you?”

Sergeant Niederhaus took charge of the visit. “We’re here to see Mac Taylor. He’s an officer in the Crime Scene Investigation unit. Is he in?”

Did they expect a blind man to be off on an afternoon drive? Her amusement at their plain, polite talk faded with a nagging sense of unease. What sort of questions did cops ask other cops? What sort of answers did they expect to get from Mac?

“Could I see your badges, please?”

Detective Masterson reached inside his jacket, revealing the curve of the black leather holster strapped across his shoulders. Seeing the firepower he carried shouldn’t have fueled her suspicions. She’d seen cops with guns before, both uniformed officers and detectives. Plenty of them showed up to question victims and suspects in the ER. Two had even shown up as patients during her tenure there.

Maybe it was just the lingering tension of spending time with Mac that made her so jumpy. She quickly read the pertinent facts about Eli Masterson and nodded her thanks. Sergeant Niederhaus tapped his cigar ashes out on the stoop, ignoring her request.

But with Julia’s staunch refusal to open the door any farther, and Eli’s questioning glance, he reached inside the rotund silhouette of his jacket and pulled out his badge.

Satisfied that the two had official business to conduct, Julia stepped back to unchain the door. She nodded toward the sergeant’s thick stogie. “I’ll ask you to put that out before you come in.”

“Dammit, lady—” His face reddened as he caught himself. He could cuss loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood, if he wanted. Julia had certain rules around her patients. And certain personal tastes. She simply expected him to cooperate. Once the cigar hit the step and was ground out beneath his shoe, she closed the door and released the chain. Then she stepped back to usher the two men inside.

“I don’t mean to be unfriendly,” she explained, “but I’ve lived the past several years on my own in Chicago. You can never be too careful about who you invite in.”

Detective Masterson smiled in approval. “It pays to be smart, ma’am.”

“Is Taylor here? We have to ask him some questions.” Clearly, Niederhaus was from the old school. Maybe he didn’t approve of single career women or small talk. Maybe he simply didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Julia had dealt with all kinds of curmudgeons in her line of work. This old fart might be lacking in the charm department, but he deserved her patience and respect until he proved otherwise.

“Sorry about the mess. I was hired just this morning and haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. Feel free to push something aside and have a seat.”

“Thanks.” It was Eli who answered.

But as she crossed through the dining room en route to Mac’s locked door, she noticed that neither officer chose to sit.

That unnerved feeling crept along her spine again. Not for the first time that morning, she wished she was home, locked in her own room with her books and the mementoes from her childhood. Locked up in the past where she didn’t have to deal with men and their egos and all the games they liked to play.

Fearing the volume of Mac’s scarred voice would reach their guests in the living room, Julia gritted her teeth and knocked quietly on the old oak door.

“Mac, there are two police officers here to see you.”

“Nice try.” His tortured rasp reached no farther than her own ears. “Leave me alone.”

She glanced down the hallway and offered an embarrassed smile to the two officers whose watchful gaze she could feel, even at this distance.

She knocked again. “It’s Joe Niederhaus and Eli Masterson from Internal Affairs. They need to speak to you.”

She rested her ear against the wood and listened for sounds of activity on the other side. She heard the creak of a mattress. But was he getting into bed or out?

When another minute of silence answered her, she assumed he’d gone to bed and dismissed her. Her disappointment hissed out on a breath of air. Great. Now she’d have to come up with some excuse to get the detectives out of the house. Something like, Mac’s on his pity pot right now and won’t come out. Or, the professor’s in the middle of an experiment, and doesn’t want any company until hell freezes over.

She jumped at the unexpected click of the lock. Her breath came in shallow, sporadic gasps as the door opened a slit and Mac’s blank gaze glowered into the hallway.

“If you’re lying to me…”

The accusation hurt. If only. If she was a better liar, she could have saved herself a lot of pain over the years. “I’m not. It’s one of my shortcomings.”

His eyes swiveled from side to side, as if searching. But for what? “Is that supposed to mean something?”

She looked up into his face and shrugged, behaving as if he could see her reaction. Acting as if the expression on her face could tell him all about how much believing in lies had cost her.

But he couldn’t really see her. Nobody could see inside to the insecurities of a lifetime. She covered the awkward moment as she always did. By turning it into a joke.

“It means your company’s waiting in the living room. It’s a hazard area, so we don’t want to leave them there for long.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, as if the effort to figure her out made him weary.

“Internal Affairs?” he asked.

Julia nodded, then realized the foolishness of the gesture. She gave the verbal answer he needed. “Yes.”

The door opened wider. She watched in curious fascination as his long, eloquent fingers reached out through the doorway. She stepped aside when she realized he was coming on out, but didn’t move quickly enough to avoid the graze of his fingers across her cheek in an unintended caress.

Mac snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” She failed to keep the catch from her voice. But at least she could spare herself the embarrassment of him seeing how the pink blotches of self-consciousness heating her face clashed with the honey-tan freckles that covered her skin.

For years, she’d fantasized about Mac Taylor touching her in a personal way. They’d collided more than once today, but she knew his hand skimming her breast or cheek meant nothing.

Whenever a man touched her, it meant nothing.

“We’d better get out there.” He nodded at the reminder. Julia swallowed what was left of her battered pride and made doubly sure to get out of his way as he marched Frankenstein-like across the hall.

When his hand hit the wall, he turned. Trailing the fingers of his right hand along the panelling, he reached out with his left, moving it back and forth in the uneven sway of a broken pendulum. Julia followed a step behind, chomping down on the urge to take his arm and guide him safely out to his guests.

“You really should have the rugs removed,” she admonished, when he stumbled on the dining room carpet. “Streamline the arrangement of furniture so you don’t have as many turns in your pathway.”

Mac stopped midstride and turned his face over his shoulder as if he could peer at her. “Drop the fix-it-up routine, okay?”

“I’m surprised the other nurses didn’t make those recommendations.” He turned so that his body faced her, and opened his mouth for another terse remark. But Julia cut him off. “I’ll bet they did. You’re just too pigheaded to let anybody try to help.”

“If you’re trying to goad me—”

“Officer Taylor?”

Mac stilled at the question from behind him. Julia’s combative energy whooshed out at the transformation on Mac’s face. Even sightless, even scarred and stiff, his features changed from defensive to startled to suddenly wary.

“Mac?” One golden brow dipped at the corner. She wondered what thoughts crossed that clever mind of his. “Mac?” she repeated.

Remembering their last encounter, when Mac reached out, she backed up. “No.”

Responding to body heat or instinct or pure luck, he clamped his hands around her shoulders and kept her in place. A fourth expression altered the contours of his face. The man was tucking away his pride.

Curious, yet disheartened at the same time, Julia held still as he trailed his fingers down the sleeve of her cotton sweater to the crook of her elbow. He held on and circled around her. She realized his intent when he aligned himself behind her left shoulder.

“Take me to the living room.”

Considering his aversion to any kind of help from her thus far, this display of trust surprised her. “You sure?”

“Internal Affairs never pays a social visit. I’d better find out what they want and send them on their way.”

“That sounds comforting.” With a shade of sarcasm coloring her voice, she covered her hand with his. She held off reminding him how his less than pleasant demeanor had been more than enough to chase away several people. These two cops shouldn’t be a problem. She led him on a straight path down through the dining room, without once allowing him to bump into anything.

The two detectives exchanged curious glances as they entered the living room.

“Recliner or sofa?” she asked, ready to forge a path to either seat.

Mac straightened behind her, standing almost a head taller than she, as if he could sense the surprised scrutiny of Niederhaus and Masterson. “I’ll stand. You boys never see a blind man before?”

Niederhaus seemed genuinely surprised to see the extent of Mac’s handicap. “We heard you were in the explosion that killed Jeff Ringlein.”

Mac’s grip tightened around her arm, betraying a tension that put her on guard. Was he about to bolt? Should she get rid of these two men?

But Mac patted her hand, and sounded perfectly at ease when he answered. “I was there, all right. What can I do for you?”

Amazed at the transition from hotheaded patient to cool-under-pressure cop, Julia disengaged herself from Mac. “Would you gentlemen like some coffee?”

Eli Masterson smiled and dismissed her at the same time. “Thank you. Black, please.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” said his partner.

Fine. Man talk. With her skin still tingling where Mac had held her, she could use some time to herself in the kitchen to regroup. She only hoped Mac was up to an interrogation. She couldn’t tell what the sudden change in his behavior meant. Was this a cover? Or was the Mac she’d known from the old days in the neighborhood finally showing himself?

Julia searched the cabinets, locating a tray and three matching mugs while the coffee brewed. With Sergeant Niederhaus’s booming voice, she couldn’t help but hear snatches of conversation from the living room.

“We believe Ringlein may have been involved in something illegal. Did you suspect anything? Is that why you were there that night?”

“Jeff may not have been the most skilled technician, but he was loyal.” Mac’s voice reflected a calm detachment that had been absent from her encounters with him. “I can’t see him being a part of what you’re suggesting.”

Julia tuned out the conversation and looked about for a snack to serve with the coffee. It might be a way to sneak some food into Mac’s stomach and rebuild his strength.

“Did he say anything to you that would indicate he was suicidal?” That sensitive-as-nails question came from Niederhaus.

“He wasn’t suicidal. He was in trouble. He mentioned that someone had threatened his wife.”

“Who?”

Julia put grocery shopping high on her list, right behind cleaning. The only suitable food she found to serve with the coffee was a box of stale doughnuts. The stereotype of serving doughnuts to cops didn’t bother her as much as the crusty shells that had hardened around the sugary confections.

Caught between the choices of serving old doughnuts or making sandwiches, Julia stuck her head into the living room, intending to ask Mac which he preferred. But she pressed her lips together and said nothing. Like the coffee, her temper brewed at what she saw.

Mac had perched on the edge of the recliner while Sergeant Niederhaus pressed him for information from his spot on the couch. Eli Masterson, it seemed, had little interest in the interview. He circled the room on silent feet, his head tilted at an intent angle to lift and study photographs, and thumb his way through the books and CDs behind Mac.

How dare he take advantage of Mac’s handicap by sneaking around like that! Julia cleared her throat and garnered the attention of all three men. But her focus was on Eli. “Don’t you need to have a search warrant?”

“Excuse me?”

Julia’s take-charge voice kicked in. “Can I help you find something?”

He shrugged his shoulders like he’d done nothing wrong. “I was looking for the restroom.”

Behind the bookshelf? Though she didn’t believe his quick response, she pointed him in the right direction. “Down the hall. On your left.”

She watched him to be sure he reached his destination, then glanced back at Mac. Had he even realized Detective Masterson was snooping around the living room?

Just who was under investigation here, anyway?

Joe Niederhaus rolled to his feet, leaving Mac staring at the place where he’d been sitting. “Your deposition claimed Ringlein set fire to the lab himself. Do you think he was trying to eliminate you?”

Mac tipped his head to the sound of Niederhaus’s voice, then stood when he realized his inquisitor had done the same. “What are you getting at?”

The toilet flushed in the back of the house, and Niederhaus shrugged, seeming to lose interest in his questions all of a sudden. He smiled for the first time. “Don’t get in a sweat. Whenever an officer dies, it’s I.A.’s job to check it out. Rule out any criminal activity.”

“You should check into his wife’s safety.”

Eli returned to the living room, his quiet voice approaching Mac from behind. “You believe that claim?”

Startled by the second officer’s approach, Mac turned himself sideways, shifting on the balls of his feet as if he felt penned in by the two men. “It was one of the last things he said.”

“What was the last thing he said?” Niederhaus’s question sounded like a taunt. Judging by the defensive angle of Mac’s shoulders, he heard it the same way, too.

Julia knew little about police investigations, even less about male posturing. But she was an ace when it came to protecting her patients.

She joined Mac in the center of the room, changing the unsettling topic of conversation and giving Mac an ally to face off against the two investigators. She put on her best innocent expression and smiled like a diplomat. “I know it’s early in the day, but I thought I’d see if you wanted sandwiches with your coffee?”

Niederhaus looked at Julia as if really seeing her for the first time. He made a noise that was half laugh, half grunt, and shook his head. “We need to be going.”

A few defensive instincts of her own made Julia turn to keep Detective Masterson in her sights. “It wouldn’t take me a minute,” she offered.

“Thanks, anyway.” Eli crossed the room to join Niederhaus at the door. Side by side in the small living room, the two men formed an opposing front.

But they wore badges. That made them the good guys, right? So why did she feel the need to take a step back toward Mac?

Her shoulder blade bumped against his chest, and she shivered at the unexpected contact. But she didn’t get a chance to move away. Mac’s searching hand tapped first on her arm, then slid up to rest atop her shoulder. His long fingers splayed across her collarbone and down to the V-neckline of her sweater.

Masterson’s gaze zeroed in on the spot. Then he looked at Mac’s face and spoke as if Mac could see him. “Sorry you got hurt. I’m sure this will turn out to be a routine investigation. We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Yeah.” What part of Eli’s words was Niederhaus agreeing with? “Sorry you got hurt, too.”

With a nod of their heads, the two detectives left, closing the door softly behind them. Julia curled her arms around her middle, wondering if her imagination had gotten the better of her. Had she read something into their visit that wasn’t there because she was already such an emotional wreck? She’d discovered she was a pro at misreading men and their intentions.

That’s when her skin started to burn beneath Mac’s hand.

Though the pressure of his hand never increased, what had seemed like an intimate stamp of possession, of protection, at the very least, now weighed down upon her like a confining manacle.

Maybe Mac sensed the change in her from wary to self-conscious. Maybe the involuntary shiver that shook her was enough to repel his touch.

He lifted his hand. The throaty whisper at her ear startled her, yet rooted her in place. “Easy, Jules. Your heart’s racing like a comet. Something wrong?”

She couldn’t help but think of that night, half a lifetime ago, when he whispered to her so gently. The voice was deeper now, more hoarse than it had been back then. But the effect was still the same. The unadorned words comforted her battered soul, and her mind raced with hopeless possibilities.

But she was no foolish teenager anymore. She was smart enough to recognize compassion for what it was. She was smart enough to walk away.

She walked all the way to the front door, where she locked the dead bolt and reattached the chain. “I’m okay,” she reassured him, trying to reassure herself. “I spooked myself somehow. Probably fatigue. It’s been a long couple of weeks for me.”

She turned around to see Mac’s questioning look. A crease formed in the scar tissue beside his eyes as he squinted to focus on something he could not see.

“You are a rotten liar.”

She longed to put a complimentary twist on his words, but could only come up with sarcasm. “Gee, thanks.”

“They spooked me, too.” He stepped out, stumbled through the obstacle course, with a clear destination in mind. Julia went to help him, but he clamped down on her arms when he felt her touch, and gave her a little shake. “Tell me exactly what Masterson was doing.”

The sharp clip in his raspy voice was a welcome relief to the tender touch of a moment ago. She could handle Officer Taylor, crime-scene investigator, a lot more easily than Mac, the hero, who triggered those silly, sentimental feelings from her youth.

“Nosing around. He seemed interested in the stuff on your bookshelves.”

“I have crap on my bookshelves.” He cast her aside with a sense of urgency, an intellectual ferocity that wasn’t directed at her. He headed toward the corner of the room, rammed his hip into the desk and cursed. Julia hurried to his side as he fumbled around the desktop, rearranging the existing mess by creating another.

“Mac, what is it?” This frantic burst of energy worried her more than her suspicions surrounding Niederhaus and Masterson. She captured both of his hands in hers to stop his search. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“Where’s the damn phone?”