Lynda Sandoval - You, And No Other

“Look, I thought we could talk this out, but it’s obvious you’re not willing to listen to any of my explanations about the past. I will say this about the future, though,” Cagney said, softly. “If you donated that hospital wing in some inexplicable attempt to hurt me, you wasted your money.” A wistful half smile lifted the corners of her lips. “And, then again, you didn’t. There are a lot of needy kids in pain—a lot of people who will benefit from what you’re doing here. Sorry if that’s not what you intended.”

He scowled, completely off his game. How in the hell had his revenge plan backfired so monumentally? “You have no idea about my intentions. You might recall, I was one of those needy kids in pain, thanks to this town. To your father, in particular.” And you, he wanted to say. He settled for a snide tone as he added, “But I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the old bastard now that you play on his team.”

A shadow of shame crossed her expression. Just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a look of penetrating recognition. “Okay, point taken. I’m a cop and you don’t approve. Take a number, get in line.” She paused. “So, how’s the writing going, Jonas?”

The jab hit home. He struggled for footing on his own slippery rock of pain, his own shame, his own purpose—if he had one anymore. Truth was, he hadn’t written a word in twelve years. Easier to point out her failings than face his own. “Tell me, Cagney, how long did it take him to browbeat you into submission? Into giving up everything you ever wanted for the almighty badge and gun?”

Her gaze went distant. “Stop it.”

He ignored her. “Unless everything we talked and dreamed about was just another elaborate set of Cagney Bishop lies, and you never wanted to be an artist in the first place. Maybe our whole so-called relationship was bull, beginning to end, and you were more your father’s daughter than I realized. What was I, then, other than the town fool?” he asked in a rough tone. “Your little wrong-side-of-the-tracks experiment? Every rich Gulch girl wants to get with a bad boy, right?”

Cagney yanked her hand from the doorjamb as though the metal had shocked her. Her eyes went round, filled with tears. “Oh, my God. I get it now. I can’t believe this.”

“Believe what,” he snapped, hating to see her cry.

“You … hate me,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “I never would’ve imagined it, but you actually hate me. ”

The anguish in her tone tore him up. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. The past twelve years zipped through his vision, like the view out of a bus window as he fought to slam on the brakes. He grappled for something familiar to get him through. Anger. Anger always worked, didn’t it?

“Jonas, say it,” she persisted, her voice wavering. “Be a man and say it if it’s true. You hate me. Right?”

Hate implied passion, and passion was way too close to love. Not going there. What he felt for Cagney wasn’t what he expected upon his return, but he didn’t dare examine it too closely. Not in front of her, at least. So, he did the only thing he knew to do anymore: he retreated. “Nope.” He grabbed the door handle and formulated the lie that felt like poison at the back of his throat. “It’s worse than that, Officer Bishop. I just don’t care.”

He slammed the door, desperate to escape, then pressed the speaker button and told his driver, Leon, to hit it.

“You’ve become just like him,” came Cagney’s muffled voice through the closed window, “and you can’t even see it. God, Jonas, how could you have let him win?”

His entire body began to shake, as everything he’d based his adult life on disintegrated before his eyes. He had to get away from the disaster this day—his whole world—had become. Had to get away from Cagney and her excruciatingly clear insights.

Could he have misread the situation all along?

No. Not going there, either.

The engine sprang to life, and Cagney stumbled backward from the limo, wrapping her arms around her middle. He knew she couldn’t see him through the dark window, but she never took those piercing eyes off it anyway. He watched as one tear spilled over and coursed down her soft cheek, and yet she stood in stoic silence, not bothering to wipe it away.

I am not like that bastard, he thought, his jaw tight, head pounding. But it felt like a lie, and that killed him. He pressed his palm to the glass and let the regret for everything they’d lost, everything it was far too late to get back, wash over him. The whole fiasco might be funny if it weren’t so damn tragic.

Twelve years ago, he’d walked blindly into a wellset trap of blame and anger and resentment, and he’d been stuck there ever since. Now he had nothing good left inside him, nor did he have Cagney. And there was no going back.

Wouldn’t Chief Bishop be thrilled?

“I don’t hate you,” Jonas whispered, as the only woman he’d ever loved grew smaller and smaller in the distance. “But it’s way too late to fix that now.”

It had taken an emergency pity party with Lexy, Erin and Faith, two extralarge pizzas, a box of Godiva chocolates and three bottles of wine, but she’d done it. Merely two days after her confrontation with Jonas, Cagney had regained her footing enough to set some ideas of her own in motion.

If Jonas thought she would simply hide and lick her wounds after their clash at the press conference, he was sadly mistaken. Life had hardened him, no doubt about that, but she’d toughened up, too. Enough to know that a large part of his armor was for self-protection. She knew him well enough to see past the cold veneer to the vulnerable guy inside, no matter how much he wanted to pretend that person no longer existed.

She’d poked around and learned that he’d earned his fortune doing something with computers and would be in Troublesome Gulch until the hospital wing was finished, which meant months. Perfect. They might never be a couple again, but by the time he left, they would be friends if it killed her. They’d have their closure, if nothing else. How exactly to break through his steel shell and make all that happen … well, she wasn’t sure yet. But she’d figure out a way.

This wasn’t over between them.

Not by a long shot.

She’d just finished her patrol shift and had stopped by the city building to drop off some paperwork at the human resources department. As she walked by the conference room, she caught the sound of her father’s angry voice. It surprised her enough to stop her in her tracks. Cold and in command was more his style—at least in public. Had to keep up that image, after all.

Pausing out of sight by the door, she leaned her head back against the brick wall and eavesdropped.

“Look, the hospital wing is one thing—”

“It’s a great thing,” Walt Hennessy said.

“Whatever. The point is, we don’t have the available space, nor do we have the need, for some idiotic youth center on top of that,” her father said. “If there are displaced teens loitering about this town, we need to ticket them instead of rewarding their poor behavior with a fun place to hang out.”

“Sorry to disagree, Chief Bishop,” came none other than Jonas’s voice, not sounding sorry at all, “but statistically, towns with designated after-school hangouts—especially for the underprivileged kids whose families might not be able to afford involving them in school or community sponsored activities like sports—have far lower crime rates.”

Chief and Jonas in a room together?

Yeah, Cagney wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well, thank you for the lesson on crime, Eberhardt,” Chief said, barely able to hold back his sneer. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate being one-upped by the kid he’d effectively run out of town. “I guess you’d know.”

“That I would. Hence my vested interest.”

Chief’s disgust threaded through his words. “Right. However, I might point out that I have a helluva lot more experience with law enforcement than you do.”

“This isn’t about law enforcement, Chief,” Mayor Ron Blackman interjected. “It’s about serving the needs of our community, and Jonas has an excellent point.”

Cagney grinned, in spite of herself. The fact that the city leaders were on a first-name basis with Jonas—and on his side—had to be killing Chief. Priceless.

Blackman continued, “We need to give these kids something to do besides causing trouble.”

“Isn’t that what their parents are for?” Chief barked.

“Bill,” Walt Hennessy said, his tone chastising. “As one of the most prominent members of our community, your attitude is surprising. I don’t understand why you’re so against such a positive improvement for the Gulch. You more than anyone should know that not every child has the advantage of involved parents like yourself.”

Like Chief? Cagney thought, muffling a snort. Boy, Hennessy had no clue how off base he was. She honestly couldn’t believe Chief had managed to hide his true nature from an entire city for so many years.

“Well, then, the neglectful parents need to be punished somehow,” Chief sputtered. “Why should we have to cater to these people?”

“Because these people are citizens of Troublesome Gulch,” the mayor said, his tone indignant. “And Troublesome Gulch isn’t a prison, nor is it some elitist country-club community. It’s a town in which people of all socioeconomic levels are welcome. No one appointed us judge, jury and executioner. We aren’t the moral police, either.”

“It’s our job to provide services to the citizens,” one of the female city council members said, which—Cagney knew—would enrage her father even more. He hated to be contradicted by women. “All the citizens. Perhaps you’ve lost a bit of perspective, Chief Bishop. A lot of those parents you refer to as neglectful simply have to work more than one job to make ends meet.”

Glee bubbled up in Cagney’s throat. She smacked a palm over her mouth and swallowed to avoid busting into laughter and getting caught spying. But, man, she loved witnessing her father outnumbered and outwitted.

“Well, the fact remains, we don’t have available space in the areas zoned for such business,” Chief said, his tone stiff. “It’s a moot point. Is there even money left in this year’s budget for nonsense like this, Walt?”

“I’ll be funding the majority of it,” Jonas said, shooting down that argument.

A flash of inspiration struck Cagney, and she jolted.

Wait one minute.

This was her chance, staring her in the face.

She could subtly stand up to her father, in front of witnesses, and set her plan with Jonas into motion by offering one simple suggestion. She’d pay dearly for this later with Chief, but who the hell cared? What could he do—fire her? She wasn’t his minor child anymore. She turned into the doorway and rapped her knuckles on the open door.

Jonas, Chief, Walt Hennessy, Mayor Blackman and the entire city council glanced toward her at the sound. She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. I was walking by and happened to catch some of your debate. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she fibbed, “but I think I might have an excellent solution.”

“Officer Bishop, don’t you have duties to attend to?” her father asked in a voice as cold and stinging as dry ice.

“As a matter of fact, no,” she said, saccharine sweet. “I’m just off shift.”

The mayor’s chair scraped back, and he stood. “Come in, come in.” He glanced toward the council. “I’m sure you all know Chief Bishop’s youngest daughter, Cagney, one of our esteemed police officers.”