“I’m fine,” he said, too sharply. To compensate, he reached over and kissed her lightly on the lips. Damn, she tasted so good. He kissed her again.
He touched her beautiful face, the slender lines and thick lips, naturally red from their hot kisses. He wanted her. But not now, not like this. Not in a car, not when he couldn’t carry her up the stairs.
“Good night, Carina.”
It took every ounce of strength to get out of the car without his knees buckling and crumbling to the driveway. He stood next to the car, unable to walk away.
Carina stared at him through the windshield, thinking. Don’t think too hard, Carina. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want her sympathy. He just wanted her to leave so he could take care of himself, so he’d be ready tomorrow morning for the autopsy of another young woman who didn’t deserve her fate.
Finally, she started the engine and backed up. She stopped the car, rolled down the window. “Dream of me tonight, Nick.”
She drove off. He watched the car until it reached the end of the tree-lined street. He expected it to turn the corner; instead, she pulled into the driveway of the corner house. The garage door went up and she pulled in.
She lived really close to her parents.
The garage door closed behind the car and Nick released his breath, not realizing he’d been holding it.
Damn. Even now, nearly a year later, the Butcher had left a permanent mark on Nick.
His knees were so shot he didn’t think he’d make it up the stairs. He almost hadn’t made it out of Carina’s car, and he was grateful she hadn’t said anything.
He’d taken the ibuprofen back at Jodi’s apartment, but it had done nothing to help the pain. Worse, he’d forced himself to stand longer than he should, not wanting to show any weakness in front of the San Diego Police Department or Carina. Especially Carina.
He dry-swallowed two more pills and shuffled over to the stairs leading to the apartment, then sat on the bottom step. A light above the apartment door illuminated the stairs.
Something about Carina…it drew him in like no woman had done before. She intrigued him. Pretty, certainly, and sexy, but it was more than her looks: there was a sharp brain and deep confidence. Like so many people in the world, she’d suffered tragedy, but her strength and natural optimism gave her the ability to persevere and create something much, much better with her life. Her drive to be a good cop, a great cop, was alluring. Almost as sexy as the way she put her hand on her hip, subtly, unconsciously, drawing attention to her oh-so-feminine curves.
He closed his eyes and wondered what would happen between him and Carina if he didn’t have so much baggage. He liked the way she thought, the way she looked, the way she loved her parents and respected her family. She’d kissed him, not a tentative, uncertain kiss, but a fierce and confident embrace that told him she wouldn’t be a shrinking violet in bed. She would give as good as she got.
He wanted her in his bed. Her bed. He would have taken her in the car, and knew she’d be more than willing if, perhaps, they weren’t sitting in her parents’ driveway.
More than anything, he appreciated her straightforward manner, the fact that she said what she thought and didn’t agonize over every decision she made.
He realized that’s exactly what he’d been doing back home in Montana. Agonizing over whether to be sheriff or give it up. Not because he wasn’t a good cop, but because he didn’t know if he wanted it anymore. The only person his bad decision had affected last year in the Butcher investigation was himself. It could have been worse. Someone could have been killed because he’d acted the maverick.
Still, being here, working this case, showed him he still had a sharp mind. Maybe sharper now for what he’d gone through in the past. If only his body would cooperate, he’d be at the top of his game.
Carina was a physically active, intelligent woman. Could he keep up with her? He wanted to. But look at him now, sitting on the stairs, unable to walk to the apartment above. Was it even fair to her?
“Beautiful night.”
Nick tensed until he recognized Colonel Pat Kincaid’s deep voice.
“Yes, sir,” he said, opening his eyes. By the colonel’s expression, he didn’t know if he’d witnessed Nick’s make-out session in the car with his daughter. “You snuck up on me.”
The colonel grinned, leaned against the stair railing. “I’m light on my feet.”
Nick knew he should stand, but if he tried he’d fail. Embarrassment warred with his predicament. He needed help; he didn’t want to ask.
“Carina has been working long hours on this case,” the colonel said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You can drop the ‘sir.’ I’m retired. Makes me feel old. And on duty.”
Nick couldn’t help but grin. He remembered telling his favorite deputy, Lance Booker, virtually the same thing. Can the “sir.” But old habits die hard. He’d always said “Yes, sir” to his father. His father demanded the respect.
Already, Nick had more respect for Pat Kincaid than he had for his own father, and that thought unsettled him. The respect for Colonel Kincaid came from the results of his parentage, and one night of good conversation. He loved his family, showed it. Not only in the way he spoke of them, but in the way his children spoke of him.
“Carina is a good cop,” Nick said, feeling like he had to say something. He didn’t do well with small talk.
“That she is. Driven. You know about my grandson.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
The colonel took a deep breath. “It was the worst day of my life.” He paused. “When Nelia came home from law school and said she was pregnant, Rosa and I were shocked.” He grunted. “We shouldn’t have been. Kids have sex. They get pregnant. It happens all the time, but…we thought we’d raised a nun.” He looked pointedly at Nick. “Nelia was our first-first daughter, first child. We shouldn’t have been surprised. She was twenty-three. Not a young kid. And Andrew was willing to do the right thing. Marry her.”
They were silent for several minutes. The colonel wanted to talk, but Nick didn’t rush him. He understood the need to collect thoughts, try to make sense of the insensible.
“Rosa and I are from the old school. The right school, in our minds, even now. Men did the right thing in our day. You got a girl pregnant, you married her. Everything worked out, more or less.
“But maybe, sometimes, marriage isn’t always the right thing.”
The colonel paused again. “A lot of women are capable of raising kids on their own. Especially with family,” he said, more to himself than to Nick.
“Nelia and Andrew, they never argued. They never disagreed. They were always respectful, always polite. I should have seen it sooner.”
When the colonel didn’t say anything, Nick asked, “Seen what?”
“That they didn’t love each other.”
“But that certainly didn’t have anything to do with Justin’s murder.”
“No, it didn’t. But it’s never just one thing, is it? Wrong place, wrong time…or maybe a gradual layering of choices? First, having sex. Then getting married. Moving here, or there. Taking this job, or that one. Every decision, every choice, changes the path we’re on.
“Nelia and Andrew didn’t love each other, but they are both good people and they loved Justin. They did the wrong thing for the right reasons. If they had really loved each other, they wouldn’t have spent so much time apart.”
“But that has nothing to do with Justin’s murder.” Nick didn’t see where the colonel was going with the conversation. Maybe he was too tired, or in too much pain. But there seemed to be a disconnect that Nick just wasn’t getting.
“Have you ever been in love, Sheriff?” the colonel asked.
Nick’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Did you want to spend your free time with her? Did you think about her when you were apart? I mean, not all the time. There’re other things, like the job, the World Series, but work and sports aside, didn’t you just want to be with her?”