Maternal Instinct. Janice Johnson Kay

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      “I didn’t say—”

      “You thought.” He released her so suddenly she staggered.

      “We have a briefing,” he said unemotionally, and stalked off.

      Profane and even obscene descriptions of her new partner presented themselves for her tongue’s pleasure, but she had the self-control not to speak a one. Instead, she marched behind him into a smaller conference room, where John McLean and his partner had charts spread over the large table. Others were crowding in, too.

      “Welcome Officers Granstrom and McLean,” Hugh’s brother said, with a brisk nod. “Okay, here’s where we’re at, folks. Four hundred and forty-two people work in the Joplin Building. We’ve managed so far to talk to fifty-four. We need detailed recollections, before they’ve all watched so damn much TV they start telling us what they heard and not what they experienced themselves.”

      More nods; everyone knew the tricks memory played.

      “We’ve broken them down by where they worked in the building, so that by luck you can track the son of a bitch’s progress down the hall, spot any anomalies. Did he backtrack? Why? It would be good to know whether he targeted individuals, or just shot whoever showed up in his path. Did he track anyone down? If you get someone who wasn’t at her desk, get the story, then pass it on to whichever officer is handling the part of the building where she was during the shooting. Meet here at the end of the day and report anything interesting. Questions?” He looked around. “Then let’s hit the road, folks.”

      Nell was getting tired of playing the little woman trailing her man down the halls, but saw no alternative short of making a scene. Why, of all the officers on the Port Dare force, had Fisher assigned her to work with Hugh McLean?

      Okay, he was more complex than she’d guessed when she first developed a dislike for him. That didn’t mean she liked him one iota better.

      In the car, her riding shotgun again as though it were a given—me man, me belong behind the wheel—he reached for the ignition, then let his hand drop.

      “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I was a jackass up there.”

      Okay, he’d surprised her again. “Yes, you were,” Nell agreed.

      He gripped the steering wheel, fingers flexing. “I didn’t sleep well.”

      With a woman friend, she would have asked why. With him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Nell only nodded.

      “I guess you hit a raw nerve, suggesting I’ve gotten where I am because of my brothers’ influence.”

      Nell bowed her head and stared fixedly at her hands on her lap. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she admitted. “I was just being…bitchy.”

      His glance was tinged with humor. “I bring that out in you?”

      Among other things. Heat touched her cheeks again. “Apparently.”

      He cleared his throat. “I’ll try not to.”

      “I’ll do better, too.”

      He gave a brief nod, started the car and backed out. She stole a look at his face while he was preoccupied with checking over his shoulder. The earlier tension was missing; his mouth was relaxed, his eyes a more vivid blue than the wintry hue chilled by anger.

      How like a man, Nell thought. Situation dealt with, he was satisfied and had moved on. All forgiven and forgotten.

      Including, she wondered, the drunken, bawdy interlude in the back seat of his SUV? Had it occurred to him that he hadn’t used a condom? Or did he assume such worries were hers?

      Worry did indeed stir like a coiled asp, necessitating a few slow, deep breaths to calm herself. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. She wouldn’t be pregnant. Focus on the job, quit agonizing over nothing.

      Thank God on bended knee that Kim never would know how foolish her mother had been. If she ever found out…Nell shuddered. All of those talks about maturity, impulse control, looking to the future, might as well have been given to herself in the shower, to swirl down the drain with the water that had been sluicing her body.

      Of course, those very same—no, not lectures, she tried hard not to be autocratic—those very same mother-daughter talks, might be useless anyway. Teenage love, lust and sense of invincibility were powerful opponents to a mother’s word and common sense. What if, right this minute, Kim was letting Colin slip his hand inside that skimpy bikini top, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, his urgently whispered, “Come on, we love each other,” filling her heart with a glorious need to show him how much she loved him?

      Nell must have moved, because Hugh asked, “Something wrong?”

      She surfaced to see that they were turning into a neighborhood she knew well from patrolling.

      “No…yes. I don’t know.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “You were a teenage boy. If you had a girlfriend, did you respect her desire to wait for sex until—oh, not marriage, but until she was older?”

      “Respect her for wanting to wait? Maybe.” The car paused at a stop sign, and his eyes met hers. “But I still tried to get down her pants. That’s what teenage boys do.”

      She whimpered.

      “Your daughter?”

      “She’s sixteen. I told you that, didn’t I? She seems to be spending every day with her boyfriend this summer. What can I do?” Nell begged.

      “Cuff her and lock the door.”

      “Thanks,” she said dryly. “I thought about sending her away to summer camp, but she’s a little old for that.”

      “Isn’t she working?”

      “Part-time at the library. She’s a page during the school year, too. She didn’t want to quit that to work full-time at some fast-food joint, and I figured, hey, she’s still a kid, let her enjoy one last summer.”

      “There was your mistake.” He frowned. “Damn it, I thought Vista Drive was right here.”

      She shook her head. “Another couple of blocks. I patrolled this neighborhood for a year.”

      “All rentals?” he asked.

      “Yup. I got on-the-job training in domestic disturbances. Couple a night, sometimes.”

      Not that the neighborhood was a slum. The houses were decent but low-end in price, which meant they were starters for young couples or owned by landlords. Clearly thrown up by one builder, the ranch and split-level houses varied little except by color and orientation—garage doors might be on one side or the other so that bedroom windows didn’t line up. Lawns were already turning brown in a neighborhood where homeowners didn’t bother sprinkling. Most were too busy trying to scratch out a living.

      A kid in baggy cargo pants burst from between parked cars on his skateboard. Hugh braked and muttered a curse as the boy gave one push with his foot and rocketed away without any realization of how close he had come to getting hit. Nell saw up the СКАЧАТЬ