She drove the cruiser home, to discover MacAuley had left her a voice mail. She had a mandatory day off, courtesy of her ever-increasing overtime. She supposed it was the best excuse he could come up with. She wondered if Flynn got the same message.
She got an hour's sleep in before Geneva woke her up. She tried to interest the kids in the novelty of a stay-at-home day with Mommy, but Rec Camp was going to Aquaboggin-"With ice cream cones afterward, Mom!"-so she settled for a special breakfast of scrambled eggs before taking them to the middle school. On Barkley Avenue, a glint of red hair made her whip her head around, but it was just the director of the Free Clinic, unlocking the door.
She got back home, dodged Granddad's none-too-subtle remarks about late nights, tossed a load into the washer, and crawled back into bed as soon as he left for St. Alban's. She dreamed; intense, erotic dreams about Flynn's lean body and his hands all over her, and woke up reaching for him, sweaty and aroused. She curled around herself and thought, It's just sex. It's been a long time. Don't be stupid. He wasn't even her type. She liked her men edgy and artistic, with long hair and suffering eyes. Not overgrown Eagle Scouts.
She had half a million things to do, but she wound up spending most of the day swinging on the front porch, drinking lemonade and watching bumblebees flit from the peonies to the sunflowers and back again. She called in, once, to get word on the chief. "No change," Harlene said. "Still unconscious, still on a ventilator. But the doctor's real hopeful."
Hopeful of what? That he dies before he wakes up and realizes how bad it is?
She rocked and rocked on the narrow porch, one bare foot braced against the railing, a notebook propped against her thigh. Writing down pros and cons of staying on the force. PROS: Good pay, great benefits, only six weeks more of Basic. CONS: Could die or be disabled (insurance?), no natural ability, ugly uniform. That last was small change, but she thought she ought to put it down, to keep honest.
She wrote co-workers under CONS, then thought for a minute and included it under PROS as well. She wrote Flynn's name between the two lists. She added an arrow pointing to the CONS side, then another pointing to PROS. Then another, and another, until his name radiated dozens of sharp-tipped lines in every direction.
She wrote FEAR beneath Flynn's well-armed name. She wrote PUNTA DIABLOS under that. Then HUMVEE/HUMMER? Then 5. She slashed out the 5 and replaced it with 3.
She stared into the heat shimmers rising off Burgoyne Street. Across the way, one of her granddad's elderly neighbors waved. Hadley absently raised a hand.
The crunch of tires rolling into their drive snapped her out of her thoughts. It was an Aztek. Oh, no. She glanced into the window behind her before recalling she was alone for now. She held out the hope that he was just returning something she had left behind until he rounded his truck and she saw his face, shining like the sun.
He bounded up the steps, Romeo in baggy shorts and a MILLERS KILL MINUTEMEN T-shirt. He held a small wrapped package in one hand. Oh, hell, no. He tossed it onto the swing's cushion and squatted in front of her, crowding the space between the swing and the railing. He grinned, half-pirate, half-moonstruck. "Hi," he said.
Oh, shit. This was going to be like shooting a puppy.
"Hi," she said. "Uh, I see you got the day off, too."
"We're supposed to if we've been involved in a shooting. According to the regs, MacAuley should get a week off while the state investigates, but I guess nobody expected the chief and the deputy chief to both exchange fatal fire with suspects in the same incident." The whole time he was talking like one of her instructors, he was looking at her lips, her neck, her cleavage, as if he were picking which dish on the buffet line he would dig into first.
"Oh," she said.
"Are your kids here?"
"No. Nobody but me until Rec Camp gets out." Wrong answer. Heat flared behind his eyes. Against her will and good sense, her body responded. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea, some part of her that wasn't her brain suggested. Maybe just once-or twice-more?
"No. No, no, no." She pointed to the empty seat beside her. "Sit."
He scooped up the package and sat down. The swing creaked beneath his weight. "I got this for you," he said. He handed her the paisley-wrapped gift. She took it reluctantly. It was just the right size for a bracelet or a necklace. Heavier, though. He liked books. Oh, my God, maybe it was a collection of love poems.
"You shouldn't have," she said.
He smiled, pleased with her, with himself, with the whole world. "It's not anything."
"No, I mean it. You shouldn't have." She tucked one foot beneath her leg and turned toward him. "Flynn, I think you misunderstood what was going on last night."
"I was there. Believe me, I remember everything that happened." His cheeks reddened. "It was the most-" He shook his head. "You're the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me."
"Flynn. Thank you, that's really sweet. But it was just sex. It was"-achingly good-"lovely, but it was just sex."
He was shaking his head. "Don't underestimate yourself." He took her hand.
Oh, Christ. This wasn't going to be shooting a puppy. It was going to be slowly hacking it to bits with a rusty saw.
"This can't lead to anything," she said, grasping at the easy way out. "You know what the chief said. Absolutely no fraternizing."
"I've been thinking about that," he said. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, sending an electric jolt to the base of her spine. "I think if we go to him together and explain our relationship, he'll be okay. He's worried about somebody hassling you, not about two people-you know…" He blushed again.
She withdrew her hand. "Flynn. Kevin. Look. We don't have a relationship." She took a deep breath. "Yesterday, the whole thing at the Christie farm was like a horrible nightmare for me. I needed some human warmth and comfort, some… proof that I was alive and whole and that there was still something good in the world." She touched his arm. "And you gave that to me. Thank you. It was wonderful. But it's not a relationship, and it's not going to happen again."
He stared at her.
The ice-cream truck tinkled down the street, spilling calliope ragtime in its wake.
"I don't-" He stopped. Inhaled. "Okay. Wait. How do you feel about me? Now?"
"I-uh, like you. You're a nice guy. I thought you were a nice guy before."
He looked at her, baffled and desperate. "I'm a nice guy? But we made love! It was transcendent! It was passionate! It was-it was everything!"
She closed her mind to the images his words conjured up. She did not want a relationship with this young man. "It was sex, Flynn." She forced a smile. "You can't fall in love every time you have sex."