Harper Allen - Protector With A Past

In the strong sunlight, dappled by the overarching elm boughs, his eyes darkened, the thick lashes throwing sharp shadows onto his high cheekbones. “Were you going through this when we were together?”

The conversation, personal as it had been from the start, was straying into forbidden territory as far as she was concerned, Julia thought. She withdrew from his grasp and shook her head.

“No. There was an incident at work that…”

She closed her eyes as the familiar images flashed through her mind like a home movie from hell—the narrow ledge of the office building, the stalled traffic far below, the hopeless and hate-filled expression of the man holding the child—

She drew a deep breath and forced her eyes open. The day was still perfect, the peaceful park-like setting around her a watercolor-like blur of soft greens and the gray of weathered stone as her vision wavered and cleared. “I was stressed out and I chose the wrong way to handle it. It had nothing to do with us.”

Her tone was deliberately final in an effort to shore up the barrier between them—a barrier that had somehow dangerously weakened in the last few minutes. He’d always been able to slip under her defenses, Julia thought nervously. It was one of the reasons she’d been relieved yesterday when he’d decided to make his base of operations a motel room in town rather than the lake house with her. He’d said it was more convenient that way, but they’d both known that living under the same roof, however temporarily, would be too emotionally distracting at a time when they needed to focus on working smoothly together.

She looked past him to a nearby group of mourners—fellow officers of Paul, she realized, recognizing one or two—and then her own edginess vanished as she took in the uncomfortable expressions on the group of faces and saw the reason for them.

“Good Lord, isn’t that—” she began, but Cord, following her glance, finished her thought.

“Dean Tascoe, damn him. And it looks like he’s spoiling for a fight.” His lips thinned and he scanned the area swiftly. “Betty must have left already, thank God, but even so, I’m not about to stand by and let Paul and Sheila’s funeral be turned into a free-for-all by that bastard. Emotions are running high enough as it is.”

Turning on his heel and striding purposefully across the lawn, he was already several yards away from her before Julia gathered her wits together and hurried after him. Ahead of her, Cord’s back was rigid with anger, the broad shoulders set stiffly under the somber and well-cut suit jacket. His hair, as glossy as a raven’s wing, gleamed with blue-black highlights under the buttery afternoon sunlight.

Tascoe had chosen the wrong place to air any grievances he might feel he had, she thought apprehensively. Cord had dealt with the man in the past and had made no secret of the fact that he considered him a disgrace to the uniform he’d once worn. To have him attempting to sully this solemn occasion was intolerable.

“Hey, Chief—long time no see.” Breaking off from the heated discussion he’d been having with an attractive but angry-looking woman—Paul’s partner, Cindy Lopez, Julia realized with belated recognition—the stocky ex-cop fixed a grave expression on his heavy features. “Hell of a note, isn’t it? The thin blue line just got a little thinner, but we all know that comes with the territory. To take out Durant’s lady too, though…”

He shrugged meaty shoulders. “Well, I guess we’re agreed that when this scumbag gets caught, the odds are pretty damn good he’s going to suffer a fatal accident long before he gets the chance to go before some bleeding-heart jury and tell them how misunderstood he is, right, folks? We know how to handle cop killers—all of us except for Chatchie here.” He shot a disgusted look at Lopez, and her lips tightened.

“Tascoe, I just lost the best partner anyone could have, so don’t tell me I wouldn’t know what to do if I found his killer,” she said, her dark brown eyes hard with contempt. “I’d read the bastard his rights, cuff him and expect justice to take its course—because that’s the way Paul would have handled it. I swore to uphold the law, not take it into my own hands.”

“You sound pretty cool for someone whose partner just got whacked, chiquita. I thought you people were supposed to be hot-blooded,” Tascoe drawled insinuatingly. “Or do you just reserve all that passion for your girlfriend? Now, that’s one hell of a waste.”

“Your kind of policework got you kicked off the force, Tascoe.” Stepping in front of the other man, Cord gave him a tight smile, his eyes glittering like chips of black ice. “Too bad you still haven’t figured out we’re supposed to be the good guys. If you came here to pay your respects to a decent cop and his wife, you’re going the wrong way about it.”

“He’s right, Dean. Don’t start anything.”

For the first time Julia noticed the thin, middle-aged blonde standing beside the burly ex-cop. Her face, like the faces of many there, bore traces of tears but Julia had the distinct impression that in her case grief was a constant companion rather than a reaction to today’s funeral. She tugged again at Tascoe’s arm.

“Please, Dean. Let’s go home.”

To Julia’s surprise, instead of shaking her off impatiently, Tascoe looked down at the woman with uncharacteristic gentleness. He patted her hand awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, Jackie. I know you’ve got to work with these people, and I’ve said what I came to say, anyway.” He raised his gaze to Cord, still standing in front of him. “I’ve got to admit, Chief, when I learned it was you who blew the whistle on me I was hoping for a long time that I’d run into you in a dark alley some night. But that’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned—you did what you thought you had to do, and I’m on easy street these days. I’ve got my own investigation agency now. If you’re ever looking to change jobs, give me a call.”

He fished a dog-eared business card out of the breast pocket of his blue suit and handed it to a silent Cord, but as he did, his glance fell on Julia, and the slightly bloodshot eyes widened in recognition. Then, curiously, his glance slid uncomfortably away from her and back to Cord again. He addressed him with insincere enthusiasm.

“Hey, you two lovebirds made up! I’ll tell you, Chief—this little girl just fell completely apart when you dumped—”

“Not one more word, Tascoe.”

Cord’s voice barely carried, but its very lack of emphasis was a threat in itself. If he was forced to take on Dean Tascoe he wouldn’t even break a sweat, Julia thought with a flicker of gratification that she instantly suppressed. Although clearly the other man had once been formidably muscled, much of his bulk had turned to fat, and despite his bullying manner it was obvious that he knew he’d pushed Cord to a dangerous limit. He gave an unconvincing shrug.

“No offense, Chief. I just thought—”

“Calling me Chief is offensive, Tascoe.” Cord sounded suddenly weary. “But today all I want is to say goodbye to my two best friends in peace. Just go.”

“We’re going.” The blond woman Tascoe looked pasty and ill, and her voice was thready. “I—I’m sorry about your friends. What happened to them was—was terrible. Terrible. Especially since there was a—a child involved.” The thin hand on Tascoe’s sleeve trembled visibly.

Tascoe bent his balding head once more to his companion, and again Julia was struck by the complete change in his personality as he did so. His arm around her, he nodded to Cord, ignoring Cindy Lopez and the others, and led the distraught Jackie away.

“I can’t believe he used to be a cop.” Darting a disgusted look at his retreating figure, Cindy raked strong fingers through a swath of shining hair and then patted her pockets. “I don’t want anyone ragging on me for this,” she said belligerently, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and scowling. She lit one with a quick nervous gesture and took a deep drag. “I’m trying to quit, but having to deal with that yahoo right after a funeral is too much.”

“Jerks like that aren’t worth it, Cin.” A slender, almost fragile-seeming woman in the group spoke up, her voice attractively husky. Chestnut hair curved in elegant feathers around the delicate bones of her face and her arched brows knitted together as the other woman drew agitatedly on the cigarette. “Why don’t we go home and I’ll brew up some maté? We can have it out on the balcony.”

Her clear green gaze rested on Cindy with a mixture of love and concern that seemed oddly familiar to Julia. With dawning comprehension, she realized that it was the same look that she’d seen in Sheila’s eyes when the stress of the job had gotten to Paul. The knowledge took her aback, but only for a moment. Although she hadn’t guessed at Cindy’s lifestyle when she’d met her after Cord had transferred out two years ago, Paul certainly would have known shortly after being partnered with her. He’d counted her among his friends, and that was good enough for Julia. Lopez sighed.

“I know, Erica.” She frowned and looked at Cord. “Dammit, he was grilling me for details like some stringer for the National Enquirer—asking me whether Paul was shot and then stabbed, or stabbed and then shot, wanting to know exactly where Sheila’s body had been found, what she’d been wearing…” Her voice shook. “Hell, after everything I’ve seen at work you’d think I’d be handling this better.”

“He used to be my partner. I’m not handling it too well, either,” Cord said bleakly. “Being a cop doesn’t mean you stop feeling—unless you want to end up like Dean Tascoe.”

He squinted through the elm branches at the cloudless sky, his hands shoved negligently in the pockets of his trousers, his jacket open. Against the crisp white of his shirt Julia glimpsed the worn brown leather of his shoulder holster, and at the sight a small jolt of fear ran through her. He’d come armed. What was he expecting to happen here, of all places?

“It seems all wrong, somehow, doesn’t it?” Cindy’s friend Erica looked at the perfect sky as Cord had and sketched a small, graceful gesture that encompassed the beautifully landscaped grounds, the freshly leafed trees, the golden sunlight bathing the scene. “If this was an opera the heavens would be splitting open with thunder and lightning, the sky would be dark, and we’d be rending our clothes and cursing the gods.”

“This is my only decent pantsuit,” Lopez said with a lopsided smile. “But that cursing the gods thing sounds good to me. Erica designs stage costumes,” she added to Julia with a note of pride in her voice. “She gets a little Wagnerian once in a while, but this time she’s right. I’d feel better if I could just be doing something.”

As they’d been speaking, the crowd around them had gradually thinned. Lopez’s frustrated comment brought forth a ragged and dispirited chorus of agreement from the few remaining officers clustered nearby, and one by one, men and women in uniform shook hands or clasped each other in brief, wordless hugs before heading toward the high and ornate iron gates enclosing the area. Beyond the gates, parked cars lined both sides of the winding, graveled drive that entered the cemetery.

“I guess we should be heading out, too, Cord,” Lopez said heavily. “Although tonight I don’t think a nice hot cup of maté’s going to cut it.” She shot a defiantly guilty look at Erica that under different circumstances might have brought a smile to Julia’s lips. “I’ve got a date with an almost full bottle of Scotch that I’ve been saving for a rainy day. Right now I feel like Noah.”