Lisa Jackson: Malice

“I wish I could.” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she knew him well enough to sense when he was being evasive on purpose. “You’ve been shutting me out.”

One of his bushy eyebrows quirked. “You think?”

“I know.”

“See…it’s those extra powers of perception you’ve got.”

“You and I both know that whatever ‘powers’ I had quit working years ago.” She didn’t want to think about that time, when she’d first met Bentz and she could see the horror of a series of grisly murders through the killer’s eyes. At first he’d openly scoffed at her visions, but eventually he’d learned differently. And he never let her forget it. “Don’t try to change the subject. It’s not gonna work.” She shoved her plate to one side and set her elbows on the table. “It’s more than you suffering from your injuries after the accident. Something’s eating at you. Something big.”

“You’re right. I can’t stand not working.”

“Really?” She didn’t buy it. His attachment to work didn’t explain the distance she felt between them. Besides, he was too quick with his answer. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. Stonewalling her.

“You’d tell me if there was?”

“Of course.” He offered her that lazy grin she found so charming, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand. “Be patient with me, okay?”

“Haven’t I been?”

His gaze slid away.

“Is it that I want a baby?” She’d always been a straight shooter, saw no reason not to acknowledge the problem they’d avoided discussing. For the first few weeks after his accident Bentz had been impotent. Hell, he’d barely been able to walk, much less make love. But that problem had corrected itself.

“I think I told you about that. I’m pushing fifty, out of a job at the moment, still using a damned cane some of the time, and I’ve got a grown kid who’s about to get married. I don’t…it’s not that I don’t want a child with you, it’s just that I’m not sure the timing’s right or that I want to start over.”

“But I do. And I’m in my late thirties. My biological clock isn’t ticking, Bentz. It’s tolling like thunder in my ears. I don’t think I have time to wait, to mull things over. If I want a child, and I do, then we have to try.”

His jaw slid to the side and he took a swallow from his bottle, then looked away, as if the roofline of the restaurant were suddenly fascinating. She felt the gulf between them widen and when she saw the waiter seating a young couple and their three-year-old toddler, her heart twisted painfully.

“What the hell’s happening to us?”

A muscle worked in his jaw and her heart clutched. He was struggling with something, weighing if he could trust her with the truth. Her stomach dropped. “What is it?” she asked, her voice a whisper, a new fear chasing after her, burrowing deep into her heart. She believed he loved her, she did. But…

And then he closed her out again. “I’ve just got a lot to deal with.”

Translation: Stop bothering me and for God’s sake, don’t pressure me into a decision about having a baby.

“I’m a psychologist. I can feel you blocking me out.”

“And I’m a cop. A detective. Or I was. I’ve just got to figure out a few things.” He looked at her again, the expression in his eyes unreadable. But this time when he touched her, he held fast. “Trust me.”

“I do. But I think you’re depressed and no one can blame you. Maybe we need a change of scenery, a new start.”

“And a baby? Look, I don’t think that will solve the problem.” He met her gaze evenly. “You can’t run from problems, Livvie. You know that. Sooner or later they catch up to you. Mistakes have a way of chasing you down. Even ones from a long time ago.”

“That’s what you think’s happened?” she asked, her mind spinning to tiny references he’d made lately. “Your past in L.A. finally finding you?” She pulled her hand away from his.

“I don’t know what’s happening. But I’m working on it. Right now, it’s the best I can do.” He signaled a passing waiter for the bill and the conversation was effectively ended. They settled up and Bentz walked stiffly, though unaided, through the dark restaurant toward the street where his Jeep was parked. He’d insisted on driving and had done a fair enough job on the way to dinner. Though now, on the way home, Olivia whispered a few Hail Marys as he pushed the speed limit on the freeway and she accused him of driving like Montoya.

He flashed her a grin and stepped on it.

They drove home in relative silence, the radio playing softly, the engine humming, each of them lost in thought. At the house he walked her up the front steps, held the door for her, and outwardly seemed attentive. Even loving.

They went through their usual routine. She took care of the pets and went upstairs to read in bed; he watched the news before coming up to their room. They didn’t say much; uncertainty and the tension between them still simmered in the air.

From the corner of her eye Olivia watched Bentz strip down to his boxers, noticing that he winced a little as he slid into bed. She dog-eared the page she’d been reading, folded the book closed, and placed it on her nightstand. “I don’t want to fight,” she said, reaching to turn out the light. She lay still a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. “I don’t want to go to sleep angry.”

“Are you?”

A breeze lifted the curtains at the window as it blew in from the bayou. “Yeah, a little. And frustrated and…worried, I guess. It seems like…like you’re right here but I can’t find you.”

The mattress creaked as he turned to her. “Keep looking,” he whispered into her hair, his breath warm as it brushed over her skin. One big hand smoothed over the curve of her waist. “Don’t give up on me.”

“Don’t give up on us,” she said, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes.

“Never.” His arms surrounded her as he pulled her close. His lips found hers in the dark and he kissed her hard, with a pulsing intensity that ignited her blood.

She shouldn’t do this, fall into this sexual trap when she was riddled with angst over their future. But his touch, as always, was seductive, the feel of his body comforting. His tongue pressed hard, then slid through her teeth, touching and dancing with hers.

Don’t do this, Livvie. Don’t fall for this sex in lieu of conversation.

He began tugging her nightgown ever upward, his fingers grazing her skin. Still kissing her, he skimmed one warm hand over her thighs, her hips, and higher still to her waist.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she whispered.

“It isn’t. It’s a great idea.” He yanked the damned nightgown over her head, tossed it to the floor, then quickly settled over her, his body stretching the length of her. “Don’t think for a second I would give up on us,” he said against her skin as she tore off his boxers, her fingertips skimming his tight buttocks and sinewy legs.

She wanted to believe him. With all her heart.

“Feel good,” he said, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up, body and soul, to his touch.

Later, she was still awake. The ceiling fan whirred above the bed, forcing the air to move.

God, she loved this man. Her heart ached with the burden of loving him. But she wouldn’t let that love destroy her.

She ran her fingers through his coarse hair and listened to him gently snore. His eyes were moving rapidly behind his lids, his body hardening, muscles tense rather than relaxed. “No,” he said aloud. “No…oh…God. Stop!”

“Shh,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”

“Stop! Please! Don’t!” He was frantic, his breathing wild. “Jennifer!” He yelled her name without waking, then settled into a troubled slumber.