Catherine Coulter: Blindside

He swallowed hard, and nodded, looking at her smiling mouth. Sean burped again.

Katie didn’t hurt if she stayed still, and that was a very nice thing. On the other hand, she wasn’t stupid enough to laugh or make any sudden movements. She was seated in Miles’s big comfortable leather chair, wearing sweats with a nice loose fleece top that hid the bandages under the sweats, her feet up on a big ottoman, her legs covered with a ratty afghan Miles’s mother had knitted many years before. She was wearing a pair of thick socks, no shoes.

Cracker had taken Sam and Keely to a children’s movie matinee so they wouldn’t see or hear the cops. Both of them had seemed fine, thank God, neither suspecting that she had something other than the flu. She was thankfully spared enthusiastic hugs that would surely have brought a moan out of her. She smiled over Sherlock and Savich, who’d arrived a few minutes earlier.

Miles brought in coffee and tea, and a plate of scones he’d picked up at Nathan’s Bakery just down on Cartwright Avenue.

Detective Benjamin Raven said the moment he sat down on the comfortable sofa in the living room, ignoring both scones and coffee, “I am royally pissed, Mrs. Kettering. That was a really stupid thing to do.”

To his surprise, she nodded. “I would agree with you, Detective, if I’d been wearing your cop’s shoes and not the victim’s.”

It was Sunday, his buddies were waiting for him down at the sports bar with peanuts, beer, and the Redskins game. Then Mr. Kettering had called. He’d been nursing his snit for a good half hour now and he wasn’t about to let go without cutting loose on the woman who’d ruined his day. “You’re a cop, Sheriff, yet you pulled this stunt. You’ve come pretty close to obstructing justice.”

“An interesting point, Detective,” Miles said, his voice mild, really quite reasonable now that he’d gotten over his own snit. He turned slightly in his chair and winked at Katie before he turned back. “I think it was pretty dumb, too, but we’ve already discussed why she did it. Can we move on to something helpful?”

Detective Raven shouted at all of them indiscriminately, “Are all you people nuts? Your macho sheriff here could have bloody bled to death!”

“I really prefer macha, Detective Raven.”

“Don’t you try to jolly me out of this, Sheriff!”

Miles said, “If she’d been shot bad, she would have yelled. She’s not stupid.” He paused a moment. “You would have yelled, wouldn’t you have, Katie?”

“Oh yes. I’ve always believed you’ve got to live to fight another day.” She stared at Miles, then gave him such a brilliant smile he blinked.

“Enough already,” Detective Raven said at last. He snagged a scone off the plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and said, “If you guys are through praising this crazy woman, why doesn’t somebody tell me who you think fired at you.”

Katie said, “I made a phone call back home to Jessborough just before you got here, Detective. Miles told you yesterday about all the hoopla we went through there. I asked about the congregation, about what was going on with them. Nothing, evidently. Interesting fact though. The place has been a disaster area what with all the storms, but once it started drying out, crews went out to the ruins of the McCamy house to start cleaning everything up and dig out the bodies. It’s still really slow going. There’s no word yet.”

Detective Raven said, “You think one of the McCamys survived?”

“No one could have survived in that house, Detective,” Miles said.

“Then what’s your point?”

Katie said, “I guess maybe I was just surprised that they hadn’t cleaned everything up. It’s just strange, all of it.”

“Basically, we ain’t got anymore diddly than we had yesterday,” Detective Raven said, rising, and dusting off his jeans. “I’ve always hated too many possibilities. It sucks, big time.”

“Yeah,” Miles said, “I agree.”

Savich’s cell phone played the 1812 Overture. He held up a staying hand, listened, and when he hung up, he said, “That was one of my agents. The white Toyota Camry the shooter was driving was stolen two days ago from a Mr. Alfred Morley, in Rockville, Maryland. Right out of his driveway, during the night. He told the local police and they put out an APB on it.”

“I don’t suppose the car’s turned up?” Detective Raven said.

Savich shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, like my daddy always says, if things come too easy in life, you have more fun than you deserve. Okay, that’s it then. Thanks for the scones.” He looked down at his watch. “Well, damn, I’ve missed a good half of the game.”

“The Redskins are probably losing anyway,” Savich said. “No fun watching that.”

S avich was depressed, he admitted it. Sherlock was in a meeting when he left headquarters early to stop at the gym. He wanted to sweat out some of the day’s frustrations and see what his back could manage. Maybe he’d find someone he could practice some easy throws with.

What he didn’t want to find at the gym was Valerie Rapper; her eyes were on him the moment he came out of the men’s locker room.

He nodded to her, nothing more, and headed into the big room to stretch. She followed him, stood at the barre in front of the mirrors and did some ballet moves with her toes pointed out. She said, “I’ve missed you, Agent Savich.”

He didn’t answer her, tried to concentrate on stretching out his knotted muscles. The stress had left him feeling tight and cold. At least his back wasn’t bothering him.

“Would you like me to walk on your back? I’m really very good at it and you look like you could use it.”

“No, thank you, I’m about all set now,” he said and left the exercise room. He worked out hard, moving between the weights and the treadmill, aware that she was always near, and it was driving him nuts. When she got on the treadmill next to him nearly an hour later, he knew he had to put a stop to this.

“Ms. Rapper.”

“Yes, Agent Savich?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, actually ran her tongue over her bottom lip. He stared at that slip-sliding tongue of hers, not out of overwhelming lust, but amazement that she actually did that. The only thing he knew for sure about Ms. Valerie Rapper was that she had supreme self-confidence. Hadn’t any guy ever said no to her? Evidently not.

He said with a touch of humor in his voice, “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Jake Palmer? You see the good-looking guy down there doing bench presses? He’s single, been divorced for a good long time, and I’ve heard he’s ready to start dating again. I’m not in the dating market, Ms. Rapper.”

“I’m glad you’re not, Agent Savich. I want you all to myself.”

Her arrogance astounded him, and he was silent for a moment. “I’ve already told you I’m married, Ms. Rapper. I’ve got a wife who wants me all to herself. I’m not available. Please, enough is enough. Hey, Jake can out-bench-press me.”

She stretched out her hand and pressed the “stop” button on his treadmill. He stared at her as she stepped over onto his treadmill, right in front of him, ignoring the dozen or so people on the machines near them, and pressed herself against him. She went up on her toes, clasped her palms around his face and kissed him, hard.

There was no punch of lust, just shock at what she was doing, and then anger.

He heard a wolf whistle, but mainly there was just stupefied silence. There was a comment, within hearing, about at least taking it to the parking lot.