Together Always Page 14

  He couldn't have said just how far it might have gone if the shower hadn't come on upstairs, reminding them that they weren't alone. The muffled sound acted like a dash of cold water in his face and he realized how close he'd come to taking her on the kitchen counter, half-dressed, their clothes tugged open and pushed aside.

  He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his breathing ragged as he fought to regain control. My God, this was Lily and he was treating her like a streetwalker. It was several long moments before he could lift his head, feeling the flush that mantled his cheeks. The look on her face stopped the apology he was about to offer. She didn't look shocked or horrified or offended. She looked as disappointed as he felt. She hadn't been an innocent victim of his lust, she'd been a willing participant.

  Trace gave a half laugh, shaking his head at her questioning look. He couldn't explain it to her. It was his own idiocy and he'd keep it to himself. The shower went off upstairs and he put his hands on her waist, lifting her down from the counter. She kept her hands on his shoulders, clinging to him for a moment as if she weren't quite sure of the strength of her knees.

  "We're going to have company pretty soon," he told her.

  *Too bad." He caught the words with his mouth, kissing her briefly and thoroughly before setting her away from him. He backed away, not trusting himself until he'd put several feet between him and temptation. She smiled, rec-

  ognizing the move for what it was. There was such a wealth of feminine knowledge in that smile that he almost swept her back into his arms and kissed it from her mouth.

  A door shut upstairs and they could hear John's footsteps in the hall. Trace picked up his coffee, downing the rest of it in a gulp.

  "Fd better get going or I'm going to end up late." He still had plenty of time to get to the station but he had the feeling he'd be safer putting some distance between him and Lily. He had to remember all the good, logical reasons why it was better to stay away from her. He lifted a hand to John as the other man entered the room. '*rm off. See you later."

  "Sure. See you later." John moved to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. Trace turned in the doorway, aware that Lily had followed him.

  "Is it true?"

  "Is what true?" How was it possible that she was so utterly beautiful?

  "That accountants have a younger death rate than cops."

  "How would I know? I'm a cop, not an accountant." He ducked the playful swing she took at him, grinning down at her. For just a moment he felt young and carefree in a way he couldn't remember feeling in years. Lily's smile shifted, and her eyes took on a look of poorly concealed worry.

  "Be careful. Okay?"

  "Sure. I'm always careful." He glanced over her head but John still had his back to the door, giving a momentary privacy. Her mouth was too sweet, too t^npting, and he couldn't resist giving her a quick hard kiss, tasting her response. He raised his head and looked at her intently, his thumb brushing over her swollen mouth.

  "Have a good day."

  The hackneyed words said so little when he wanted to say so much. Mostly things that were better left unsaid. He backed the 'Vette out of the garage and headed down the hill

  into Glendale, his thoughts more on what he'd left behind than on what he was going toward.

  The school for handicapped children was on a quiet street in the hills above Pasadena. Jacarandas arched across the road, the first hints of lavender showing amid the pale green leaves. In another couple of weeks they'd make a spectacular display.

  Trace parked the 'Vette beneath one of them and got out. The air was warm and there could be no doubting that spring was here. The school was a low building, the front yard neatly landscaped to blend in with the surrounding homes. Calendula and pansies bloomed in cheerful disarray in a bed that lined the walkway. The door was opened by a black woman in her mid-fifties who smiled a welcome when he asked for Lily.

  *'rm Mary Leigh. You must be Trace. Lily has mentioned you. She's telling the children a story. If you'd like to come in and wait, she shouldn't be much longer. In fact, you're welcome to listen in on the last of the story."

  **Thank you." He followed Mary's tall elegant figure down a hallway decorated in bright yellows and greens. She gestured to a doorway on his right, raising her finger to her mouth to caution him to silence before she moved off down the hall.

  Trace approached the door hesitantly, hearing the soft rise and fall of Lily's voice. Inside the room was as bright as the hallway, this time yellow and red. Low murals graced the walls and the tile floor was decorated with an occasional painted flower in purple or orange. It should have clashed but somehow it gave an effect of cheery disarray. Despite the disabilities of the students, there was nothing clinical about the school. It was obvious that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the place as warm and happy as possible.

  At first the room seemed to be a sea of children, but they sorted out into fifteen or so. Several of them were in wheelchairs. There were two little boys whose legs were thrust straight out ahead of them, encased in steel braces. Trace looked away, his eyes finding Lily.

  She was sitting on a low stool, her bright green skirt spread out on the floor around her. He wondered if she'd chosen the color to go with the room or if the room was just so bright that any vivid color seemed to blend in. There was a book open in her lap but it was obvious that she was telling the story from memory, her face animated, her eyes flashing with the proper emotions as she spun a tale of dragons and unicorns.

  The children stared at her, as caught up in the story as she herself seemed to be. She hadn't seen him yet and Trace took the opportunity to watch her. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look more beautiful. She told the famihar tale with all the fervor of someone who was as eager to hear the ending as her young listeners. And when it came to the climactic moment when everyone was rescued and good won out over evil, she seemed just as relieved as they were.

  There was a general shuffle of movement as Lily shut the book and stood up. She looked over to see Trace and froze. The children turned to see what had caught her attention and he found himself being scrutinized by sixteen pairs of eyes. He smiled weakly.

  * Trace."

  "Lily."

  The children continued to stare at him and he nodded to them, smiling. *'Hi."

  Lily seemed to shake herself. "Children, this is a friend of mine. His name is Trace."

  "Hello." A chorus of young voices piped the greeting.

  He smiled again, feeling like a bug on display. It was clear that a friend of their teacher's was something new and interesting in their day.

  * Trace. That's a funny name." The voice came from roughly knee level so he looked down. The Uttle girl who spoke was tilted way back to look up at him. She was probably six or seven but her legs were tiny twisted things, making her appear much younger.

  "Sara, you shouldn't make personal remarks." Lily's mild reproach brought a flush to the child's dehcate face.

  "That's okay." Trace knelt down so that he was at eye level. Dark gray eyes met his, full of curiosity. "You know, I used to know another little girl who thought it was a funny name." He glanced up, his eyes meeting Lily's, sharing a memory.

  "Did you?"

  "I did, but she got used to it after a while."

  "Time for lunch, children." Mary Leigh's voice came from the doorway and food took immediate precedence over a visitor. There was a quick rush toward the door, those who were a little slower receiving help from their companions. Trace watched the exodus, surprised to find a sharp pain in his throat.

  "They really get to you, don't they?" He turned at Lily's quiet comment to find her watching him.

  "It makes you realize how fortunate you are, I guess. Like most people, I don't think about having two arms and two legs that work."

  "They're good kids." She gathered up a few toys, putting them in bins along the walls. "I like working with them."

  "Doesn't it ever get depressing? I mean, there's so
little you can do for them."

  "No. I usually come away from here with a renewed sense of how precious hfe is. They're so accepting of what life has

  handed them. Not that they don't get frustrated by their Hmitations, but more often than not they set their teeth and look for a way around them/'

  He looked at her, seeing a new side to her, wondering if she would ever cease to surprise him. Lily glanced up, catching his eye.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Fm just thinking that you're a pretty incredible lady."

  She flushed with pleasure, her eyes taking on a coquettish glint. "Are you just now figuring that out?"

  "No, but I guess I forget sometimes."

  "I'm thinking about opening the store back up." John made the announcement over dinner. Trace's head jerked up, his dinner forgotten.

  "Mike's?" The question was automatic. What other store would he be talking about?

  "Mike's." John shoved his chair back from the table, reaching out to grab the coffeepot off the stove. He poured himself a full cup and reached for his cigarettes. Trace shoved his plate away, aware of Lily doing the same.

  "I hadn't given the store much thought," Lily said, and Trace could have agreed with her wholeheartedly. Every time he thought of the store, he remembered Mike's body lying on the floor, all the life drained from him. It was not a memory he went out of his way to resurrect.

  John shrugged, inhaling a deep lungful of smoke. "I've been thinking about it for the last week or so. It seems foolish to just leave the place sitting there. Dad worked hard to build up his business. Besides, it would give me something to do. With both of you at work I'm beginning to feel like a bum."

  "Don't you have to get back to your job?"

  Trace half expected the answer Lily's question received.

  *'Vm on a leave of absence, more or less. I had a lot of vacation time saved up/' His eyes met Trace's for a moment but there was nothing Trace could read there. Not that he expected to see the truth written in blazing letters across the man's forehead, but he had his suspicions. There were a lot of little things that added up to someone in an unorthodox and probably highly classified job.

  ''When are you thinking of reopening?" Trace asked.

  **I thought I'd go down to the place tomorrow and take a look around. Maybe open the next day." He paused, waiting for some comment, but no one said anything. "Dad's will left everything split among the three of us. I wouldn't reopen the place without your okay. That's why I brought it up with you."

  "I've got no objection." Trace picked up the coffeepot John had set on the table and poured himself a steaming cup, aware of Lily's silence across the table.

  "Lily?" John's voice was gentle and she looked up, her eyes a little too bright.

  "I don't have any objections."

  "Are you sure?"

  She shook her head, the movement causing her hair to lift and settle around her face. "It's hard to think of anyone but Mike being behind that counter, but I know Mike wouldn't want the place just sitting there." She drew in a deep breath and forced a smile. "I think it's a good idea. I'm sure it's what Mike would want."

  Trace felt a sharp pain in his chest. It was almost a month now and the pain had settled into a dull sense of loss that had become so familiar he rarely noticed it. Lily's words brought it alive for a moment, reminding him of just how much they'd all lost.

  John reached out to cover Lily's hand with his and Trace had to restrain the urge to punch him in the nose. "I know

  this isn't an easy thing. If it would bother you too much, I'll drop the idea."

  Lily smiled at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "No, I really think this is a good idea." She turned her hand under his, squeezing his palm. **rm glad you're going to do it."

  Trace watched the exchange broodingly, tilting his chair back on two legs in a way that would have earned him a thorough scold when Mike was alive. But Mike was gone and everything was different now. Things had changed so quickly that he sometimes felt as if he were walking on quicksand, trying to keep his balance.

  **How about you, Trace? Are you okay with this?'* John's hand slid away from Lily's as he turned to Trace. Trace looked at him, still plagued by that nagging feeling that they'd met somewhere before. John's eyes were an unfathomable gray, taking everything in but revealing httle. Trace still hadn't decided whether or not he trusted the man, let alone liked him.

  "I'm okay with it. It doesn't make any sense to leave the place sitting empty."

  So Mike's Liquor reopened even though Mike was gone. John leaned against the counter and wondered what they'd think of him back at the head office if they could see him now. Not that he doubted that they knew exactly what he was up to. They might have granted him the time he wanted but they had too much invested in him to back off entirely. He looked around the small store, feeling a definite swell of pride. It had taken him two days of hard work before the place was ready for reopening. He still wasn't entirely sure he knew how to run the cash register but he had a fairly good handle on how his father had managed the stock. It was enough for now. The floors shone, the shelves were immaculate, and he was ready for his first customer.

  People trickled in throughout the day. He was surprised and a little touched at how many of them mentioned Mike and expressed their condolences. The man he remembered hadn't been the type to inspire affection in casual acquaintances.

  It started to rain in the late afternoon and the trickle of customers became a drip. For the time being he was keeping the same hours his father had kept, which meant that the store was open until eight. The darkness closed in by six, leaving the lights to gleam off the wet streets.

  John glanced at the clock and stretched. There hadn't been a customer in half an hour. Another twenty minutes and he wouldn't have to feel guilty about turning the Closed sign over and calling it a night. He rolled his head to one side and then the other, stretching out the kinks. He was tired, but not unpleasantly so.

  The bell pinged, signaling another customer, and he straightened, trying to look like someone who belonged behind the counter at a Hquor store. The man who entered was typical of the people who'd been coming in all day. Past middle age but not yet in a category that could be labeled elderly. His gray hair was still thick and neatly combed back from a face that might have been handsome in its youth. He glanced up, catching John's eye, and smiled. John returned the smile with the vague feeling that he'd seen the man before. He watched as the customer selected a bottle of orange juice before coming up to the counter.

  '*One of the small bottles of Kamchatka, please."

  "Screwdrivers, huh?" John set the bottle of vodka on the counter. It hadn't taken him long to learn that most of the people who came in enjoyed a moment or two of conversation. This man was no exception.

  "I have a friend coming to dinner tonight and I know she has a fondness for them."

  John rang up the sale and took the money the man handed him. As he gave him the change, their eyes met and he felt a twinge of uneasiness. There was something in the back of the older man's eyes that didn't seem right.

  *'You must be Mike's boy. Michael, isn't it?"

  *'John. My father was the only one who ever called me Michael."

  The man smiled. **Mike always did like to go his own way."

  **Did you know my father?" John asked, trying to pinpoint the source of his uneasiness.

  *'A long time ago. A very long time ago. I've been out of the area and we saw each other only once before he was killed." He shook his head. *'A terrible tragedy, that. Do the police have any idea who was responsible?"

  * They're working on some leads." Over the years he'd learned the hard way to trust his instincts. He didn't doubt his uneasiness but he couldn't find a source for it. There was just something about the man.

  *'Well, I'd best be on my way. I wouldn't want my friend to think I'd abandoned her. My condolences on your father's death."

  *'Thanks. Come in again."
He spoke automatically, his eyes narrowed on the man as he walked to the door. There was nothing there to warrant the way he felt. The man turned at the door, the lights casting his eyes into shadow, giving him a vaguely threatening look. Or maybe it was the way his left brow kicked up at the outer edge, twisted by an old scar that ran toward his temple. Whatever it was, something about the man made him uneasy.

  "I'll definitely be back." The bell pinged sharply and then the door was swinging shut behind him. John watched through the window as he walked up the street. Apparently he lived close enough to walk. Or he'd parked his car out of

  sight. The suspicious thought popped into his head but he shook it off.

  He was getting paranoid in his old age. It was one of the hazards of his job and one of the reasons he was giving serious thought to a change of career. He crossed to the door and flipped the Closed sign outward before turning back to look at the store. Yes, there was a definite feeling of pride in having reopened the place and he'd enjoyed running it for the day, but he knew it wasn't something he could do forever.

  In an odd way, he felt as if he were getting to know his father by running the store. It was surprising how much you could learn about a man by looking at the way he ran his business. Maybe it was a way to make peace with the past.

  He'd asked for this time off to put his life in order. His father's death had punched home his own mortality and made him face the fact that he was getting too old for the kind of games he was still playing. It was time to make some changes. He knew that. The only question was, what kind of changes?

  But he had time. All the time he wanted, they'd promised. And while he was thinking about what he might want to do with the rest of his life, he was enjoying the present, the first time off he'd taken in more years than he could remember. Trace and Lily were providing the closest thing he'd had to a family since he fought with his father and left home.

  Trace didn't entirely trust him. It wasn't hard to read that wariness in his eyes. He should probably tell him that they'd met before, remind him of that snowy Oklahoma afternoon, but some perverse part of him wanted to see if Trace would figure it out on his own.