All the while, he stared at the counter where he'd taken her, remembering how good she felt wrapped around him.
She'd tried to nudge him awake a couple minutes ago, saying, "Hey. Malloy. Don't you have to go to work today?"
He cracked his eyes open far enough to catch her studying his uniform, bulletproof vest, duty belt, gun and boots in a heap on the floor. She'd already showered and dressed for the day, wearing one of her seductive power suits. But he'd been too tired to be disappointed that he missed getting to see her dress up.
Mumbling something unintelligible, he winced at the light and rolled over away from her.
"What?" she asked and nudged him again, making him growl.
"It's my day off," he repeated, more loudly this time. He didn't have to go in until later to fill some hours because of Wilmer's absence.
"Okay then," DeVane relented. "Make the bed before you leave."
Now that he was awake and alert, he wished he had snagged her wrist and tugged her down on top of him to get a lusty little kiss goodbye.
She was officially his lover now, so he felt perfectly within his rights to do so. Well, she hadn't balked at the idea when he'd suggested it last night. So, damn it, she was his lover now.
Still amazed by that fact, he lingered in her home and surrounded himself with her things. He rinsed the bowl in her sink and thought about leaving it there, but changed his mind and cleaned it properly, drying and
putting it back where he found it.
Afterward, he just kind of stood around and set his hand on the counter, right where she'd sat a few weeks ago when he'd shoved her robe aside and pushed his way inside her. Steeped in memories, he slid his palm over the surface of the countertop and groaned, feeling like an idiot for reliving that moment in his head. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and rested his head on a cabinet door.
"You are so screwed, Malloy," he told himself.
When he left a few minutes later, he locked her back door behind him.
~ * ~
When Willow made it home, he was gone. He'd left her bed a mess—probably on purpose, the ass—but other than that, there was no trace of his presence. She didn't want to admit how much that disappointed her. She'd pictured him lounging around her house all day, eating all the food from her fridge and being completely lazy. And shame on her, but she had liked the image.
She'd never confess it aloud, but she'd hurried home just to see if he was still hanging around. The locked back door that greeted her made her growl in frustration because she had to drop her briefcase and dig inside her purse for a key. But then it made her smile because it reminded her of him. She pushed her way inside, spilling into the kitchen in a rush.
The house was quiet. And lonely.
After walking through the halls to make sure he was really gone, she returned to the kitchen and mechanically started dinner. Halfway through cooking a heaping pot of pasta alfredo, she realized it'd take her a month to finish such a serving all by herself. Even more depressed by that notion, she called Camille and Dylan and demanded they come eat with her.
She should've called Chase and his wife Allison or maybe Kit and Tina instead, she decided an hour later when she and the Taggarts settled into the living room, because the first after-dinner topic out of her cousin's mouth was the very one she'd been wanting to avoid all evening.
"So... how's Malloy doing?" Camille asked bluntly.
Willow sent her an arch look. "Why do you assume I know the answer to that question? Maybe I haven't seen him since running into him at the theatre with you two."
"If that's the case, then why do you have a new figurine?" her cousin countered and held up a tiny brass statue Willow hadn't even noticed before.
She sucked in a breath when she saw it. Only about five inches tall, the sculpture of a police officer with a whistle in his mouth and a hand up in the universal sign for stop as if he was directing traffic instantly captivated her. Willow snatched up the sculpture, envisioning Malloy strolling around her room and examining her menagerie as she'd talked on the phone. He knew she liked to collect statuettes.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "I wonder when he left this here?" Quietly, she speculated why he hadn't given her the trinket in person, only to figure he'd been too embarrassed to offer her a gift. She grinned. That sounded like Malloy. He'd cut off his arm before looking like a "nice" guy.
It never occurred to her that maybe he hadn't left the item. But come on. Why would anyone else give her such a present? No one besides Camille and Dylan even knew of her involvement with a deputy.
"He must've put it here after I left this morning," she mused, grinning slightly at the thought of him really being awake when she'd left, only to fly out of bed as soon as she closed the door, and hurry into the living room to set up his surprise.
"Hey." Camille snapped her fingers in front of Willow's face, making her blink up at her two guests. Neither of them smiled back. "What in the world?" her cousin exploded. "I thought you said you didn't like him. I thought…" She shook her head. "What was up with all that Don't-worryCamille-I'll-never-see-him-again crap?"
Wincing and sending the pair giving her similar accusing scowls a guilty little smile, she shrugged. "Oops."
"Oops?" Camille exploded. "But... but..."
"It's still not serious," Willow hurried to reassure. "I mean, three different encounters hardly means we're going to start picking out china together."
"Three!" Camille sputtered as Willow continued.
"It's nothing at all. It's just... just..."
"Sex?" Dylan finished blandly.
Willow snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "Exactly."
"Oh, Willow," Camille groaned, reaching up to clutch her own face in agony. "How could you? And even after you saw him with another woman at the theatre."
"She was his sister," Willow answered, unconsciously defending Malloy. But then her eyes brightened. "See. The man took his sister to a play for her birthday because she wanted to go. That should tell us he has at least one compassionate bone in his body."
Though Dylan only scowled at Willow's reasoning, his wife looked thoughtful. "Well," she murmured, "that was kind of sweet. He doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who would voluntarily go to a play."
"He's not," Willow said just as Dylan frowned at his wife.
"Camille. Don't you dare be swayed."
Sending her husband an apologetic wince, Camille said, "But Willow seems to like him."
"I don't like him," Willow quickly cut in, denial thick in her voice. "I can't stand the guy."
Both Taggarts looked at her as if she was insane.
"I'm not lying," she exploded. "I swear it's not serious. If I'm still,
uh, associating with him in another month, I'll personally pay for tickets to take both of you to the next theatre performance in town."
When Camille and Dylan merely exchanged a quick look, Willow paused.
"What?" she said, frowning as she wondered what she was missing. The two obviously knew something she didn't.
"Yeah, about next year. We, uh, have something to discuss with you."
Willow straightened, instantly alert. She glanced toward Dylan and grew more alarmed when he shifted uncomfortably and wouldn't meet her gaze. "Oh, God," she whispered. "What? Is it the baby? Is he okay?"
Camille shook her head and smiled in reassurance. "No. Nothing like that." She set a protective hand on her stomach and began to rub. "No. It's... well, Dylan was contacted by a horse breeder in Kentucky. This guy's the top in the nation. He only gets the best for his program and he wants us. He wants Dylan anyway. He's heard about the clinic we started and he... he offered Dylan a job to be his private vet." Wincing in apology, she added. "It'd be the opportunity of a lifetime for him."
Willow glanced toward Camille's husband but he had shoved his hands in his pockets and still wouldn't look her way. She swung her gaze back to her cousin, the best friend she had ever had.
Heart dr
opping into her knees, she whispered, "You're moving."
Camille's chin trembled and she hurried forward, reaching for her childhood companion with both hands. Clenching her fingers around Willow's, she said, "Nothing's been decided yet."
But Willow already knew. It wouldn't be much longer before she lost her best friend. The thought was both sobering and scary as hell. She suddenly wanted to grab both Camille and Dylan into her arms and pull them close for a tight hug. She didn't want them to leave her. She didn't want to be alone. Acting as their third wheel was better than loneliness.
She didn't start bawling as she watched her friends holding their breaths, eyeing her with bated concern. No, she knew she couldn't be selfish and throw a fit, forcing them to stay close to her forever. If this was their chance of a lifetime, then she should be happy for them. She would be happy for them.
Forcing a bright smile, she opened her arms to Dylan and said, "Congratulations, handsome."
As his arms clasped around her, however, she glanced over his shoulder at his wife, who was grinning and rubbing her huge stomach. Immediately, pain ached through Willow again. She wouldn't get to watch their baby grow up. She wouldn't get to be Auntie Willow who came over all the time and spoiled the boy like crazy.
Closing her eyes, she squeezed Dylan closer for a brief second, and then she pulled away, giving them a brave grin. "I'm so happy for you guys."
~ * ~
Raith was starving. Though it had been a scheduled day off for him, he'd just worked from noon to eight, and he'd been so swamped with calls, there hadn't been time to stop and take a meal break. He'd found a squashed pack of crackers under the seat of his patrol car and still been so hungry after wolfing them down, he'd licked the excess crumbs from the package.
It was a good thing he'd eaten DeVane's cereal for breakfast. If he'd gone home for his own brand, he wouldn't have gotten any whole grain nutrition, and probably would've passed out hours ago.
He wasn't feeling very stable as it was. And the only thing he could find in his cupboards that would make any kind of meal was canned tuna. Hands shaking from the hunger pangs, he opened the tin lid and scooped out the meat inside, only to stop halfway through the task. He cringed as he stared at what he was fixing for himself.
"Hell, I could have leftovers better than this at DeVane's," he muttered aloud, yanking a spoon from the drawer and eating the tuna cold and plain.
After tossing the empty can, he pulled a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. He turned on only one light in the living room and prowled the dimly-lit floor, not even bothering to watch the muted television as he drank heartily.
He'd been serious when he'd said he could get better leftovers at DeVane's. Hell, that lasagna he'd eaten the first night at her place had been damn fine. Wondering what else she might have lingering in her refrigerator, he suddenly remembered seeing a reusable container next to the milk carton that morning.
His stomach gurgled, letting him know the tuna hadn't filled his stomach at all. After finishing his beer, he headed out the back door. As he climbed into his truck, he told himself this wasn't about DeVane or her body or even getting a little companionship. This was only about filling his stomach.
So, why did his heart race at the thought of seeing her again? And why did he make a quick detour by his bedside nightstand before leaving?
The area about five inches down from his belly obviously wasn't so convinced this trip had anything to do with food. It clearly heard the handful of condom packages crinkling in his pockets with every move he made, and realizing where he was headed, it sprang to attention, impatient to reach their destination.
Though her ritzy neighborhood was only about a ten-minute trek across town, Raith thought he'd never reach DeVane's place. Glad he was no longer on duty because he'd seen about twenty traffic violations on the way over, half of them his own, he couldn't seem to obey the speed limit until he finally turned down her street. Then he slowed so as not to look too eager.
About to pull in her drive, he punched the brake when he found
another automobile already sitting behind her BMW. Eyes narrowing, Raith hit the gas and kept driving. He crept around the block, his mind whirling the entire way. Who the hell was inside with her? Instantly imagining her in the bedroom with some loser, he gripped his hands tight around the steering wheel. If it was DiAngelo, Raith was going to kill him.
He blew out a breath. The damn fool woman. Maybe he hadn't been clear enough about the whole "exclusive" speech he'd given her the night before. Or maybe he'd been too clear, and this was her way of showing him his dominant male attitude wasn't going to fly with her. Or worse yet, maybe this was her saying she was done with him.
Muttering curses under his breath, Raith slowed in front of her house and spontaneously pulled to the curb across the street, put his truck in park and killed the engine. Damn it, now he was staking out her house. If Lewis didn't serve him with a restraining order by the end of the week, he'd be surprised. He couldn't believe he'd turned stalker.
There was no way he was moving until he found out whose car that was, though. Tempted to pull out his cell phone, call dispatch and give them the tag number of the maroon Lexus, he sat stiffly, barely stopping himself from using his connection for personal gain.
A five-minute wait later, he hit pay dirt. Rubbing his frozen fingers together and blowing out a white cloud of frosty air, he paused in the middle of a body-trembling shiver and sat forward. At the side of the house, DeVane's back door came open. A shadowed male form stepped out into the night and started down her drive, dodging iced-over puddles formed from the rain earlier in the day that had frozen by sundown. His body went taut.
So she was seeing someone else. Damn it, he couldn't believe she had screwed another man. The taillights flashed once on the Lexus as it was unlocked, and then Raith's mystery man opened the driver's side door. As the interior light flooded out and filtered over his face, he sucked in a startled breath.
"What the hell," he uttered aloud, falling back into his seat.
Dylan Taggart climbed into his car, shut the door and started the engine. After his encounter with the ex-con that first night at DeVane's, Raith had done a background check. He'd been bowled over to discover the scumbag he'd once known was now Dr. Dylan Taggart.
The man had cleaned his act up years ago, gotten an education and become a veterinarian, a very good vet judging by all the awards and honorable mentions he'd won for his work. He'd opened a large animal, equine veterinary clinic on the north side of town and led a very distinguished career, frequently volunteering his time at the humane society and providing his services pro bono.
He'd married DeVane's first cousin, Dr. Camille Fletcher, who was a child psychologist. She'd been plastered to Taggart's side in almost every picture of him in the newspaper Raith had found during his online research. The two were always holding each other close and grinning at the camera as one or the other of them posed with a plaque for their upstanding roles in the community.
They'd seemed like the ideal loving couple at the theatre when Taggart had rushed to her side and bent over backward trying to placate his petite wife.
Realizing that was all a sham, Raith sneered as the door to the car reopened and Taggart slid out again.
"Oh, go back for more, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "Your sweet little pregnant wife is just sitting at home all alone while you're here, doing her..."
His words died as the back door opened and his sweet little pregnant wife stepped outside, followed by DeVane herself. Taggart hurried to Camille's side and took her hand, helping her manage the icy puddles. Glancing back at his car, Raith suddenly realized exhaust was coming from its tailpipe. It was still running. Taggart had only been going out to warm up the car for her.
Mrs. Taggart paused to give DeVane a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, to which her husband promptly followed suit, wrapping an arm around her waist before pressing his mouth to her temple.
Suddenly glad he sat alone in his truck so no one could know what a fool he'd just made of himself, Raith watched DeVane shiver and pull her coat tighter around her as she stood on the back porch and waited for her guests to make it safely to their ride. Once Taggart opened the door for his wife and helped her into the passenger seat, DeVane finally turned and went inside.
Raith hunkered in his truck and stewed. He'd been jealous. He'd been goddamn jealous, and he didn't like the sensation. Wanting to escape the emotions raging through him, he told himself to put his truck into drive and take himself back home before he got sucked into something deeper than he could handle. But he really wanted to see DeVane. So he loitered a while longer before coming to the decision he needed to get laid. And fed.