Chapter 13

© Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Delayne



Amy edged passed Derek and walked out of Anna's house ahead of him. He shut the door with a snap and followed her as she headed toward his SUV. She said nothing, so neither did he.

It was his own fault—the anger, the hurt. He was letting the emotions over rule simple facts.

Amy was not his problem. Hadn't she made that clear? He was nothing more to Amy than a disturbance to her life.

Derek pulled to a stop at the first intersection. "Are you going to give me directions?"

"What?"

"I don't know where you live, Amy."

"That's surprising," she muttered.

The anger boiled fast an furious. He did his best to tamp the heat down and curled his fingers around the steering wheel. "If you're insinuating that I'm the one stalking you again—"

"I'm not insinuating anything," she said and held up a hand. "I'm just tired."

The light changed to green and Derek looked over at her and waited. She sighed. "Straight. Turn right at Fordham and head toward the beach."

He pressed the gas and he could all but feel Amy fume.

Hi ex-girlfriend had not been able to tell him she was miserable. He'd been shocked when she walked away. Derek had to give Amy points for being able to show her feelings. Explaining them, he thought—now that could take a dozen psychiatrist. Sharing them?

She would, he hoped, when she was ready.

He glanced over at her. The walls were still up and reinforced.

The view of the ocean at the horizon only made him remember that she had not told him. When he wanted to yell, he tightened his jaw. His own anger grew so that when she gave the next direction, he ignored it and pulled into the closest parking lot.

Derek got out and slammed the door to his SUV. Needing air, he stalked down the beach. He was ready for a fight, ready to throw the words, the emotions right at her. Amy knew what it was like for a man to control her with his anger. He didn't want to be that kind of man.

So he walked. And he let the anger roll through him.

Few people were on the beach as the breeze blew in a cool November wind. The cry of the gulls, the sound of the surf, soothed at the edge of his anger.

What am I supposed to do? he asked in prayer.

Serve and protect. The order was in his blood—but that wasn't the answer, that was just his own desire.

He'd never forget the first time he'd seen her walk through the doors at the station. Ham was in the hospital. She was worried. She was nervous.

And she was just beginning to realize that her dreams would have to change.

She'd hated him on the spot.

Guilt nagged him at times. The job over the station had never been exclusively a police position. Amy came out of the problems, out of defeat, set her goals and moved toward where she wanted to go. Ham had given her hope, faith, vision.

But she had more in her then a stationary captain. Derek wished that he had the words to tell her what he saw in her. He wished they had a relationship so that when she listened she would know where the words came from and why. She might disagree, otherwise, with his prognosis.

Amy was a people person, though she fought it. She had an edge, one she'd earned. She knew the tough side of bad decisions.

She knew how to climb back out.

He knew what it was like for the world to topple around him. When the investigations started through the police department he left, the media immediately railed him. Protestor's rallied outside the doors of the city hall and he'd been forced to face them when he went to work each morning.

Could he help but admire her grit and perseverance?

Derek also remembered seeing Amy disappear into the ocean. He could still feel the tremble in his own hands as he'd pulled her out saw the shock and panic in her eyes.

Someone had hurt her then. Someone was trying to hurt her, scare her, now.

Serve and protect.

He laughed bitterly at himself.

Derek turned and headed back to his SUV.

She was only leaning against his SUV, frowning, his keys dangled from her fingertips, her arms crossed. He wouldn't have been surprised if Amy had driven off with it as he'd left his keys in the ignition.

As Amy rarely smiled in his presence, he thought little of it.

"Get off your snit?" she asked, tossing him the keys.

He caught them and walked passed her, unlocking the doors with a push of the button. "Don't start."

"You're angry with me."

His fingers clenched on the door handle. "Is that what you think?"

"I wanted Ham."

He shut the door he had opened and turned to face her. "I know, and I know that you resent that I'm in his place. I've never tried to be Ham for you—I couldn't anyway. I understand. Believe me."

When he started to open the door again, she put her hand to it and kept it closed. "Can we have this out now?"

"Can we?" He turned on her. "You're the one who holds back from me. You're the one that lies to me."

"I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you. You're my boss. I don't have to line up and jump three times because you say so—not in my personal life."

"So you've said."

"I'm angry as well. Every time I turn around you're into what's mine. I didn't ask you to become part of this investigation. I'm tired." She rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm just so tired of all this."

"All right, Amy—fine." If it had been weariness in her voice he could have backed down, but the resentment hammered at his gut. "I'm out, you're in. Let's get what you need at your apartment and I'll take you back to Anna's."



"It's time we make plans."

Amy set down her glass and leaned back in her chair before she looked across the rectangular table. Andrea and Chloe had rescued her for the night, but it was an effort to concentrate. She'd been drowning in the silence since moving in with Anna, and the silence forced her to think and to worry.

Lights from the stage behind her flashed across Andrea's face. It had been three weeks since the fight with Derek on the beach and she still couldn't shake the finality in his eyes.

"What kind of plans?"

"Thanksgiving is next week."

"You'll be with your family." Amy muttered, twirling her straw as she watched the way the ice clinked against the glass. "The Lyons yearly bash."

"And where will you be?"

Amy looked around the crowded restaurant and watched as the singer in tonight's band made his way across the room. "I've found a way to occupy myself for the last few years. Thanks, though."

"Chloe?"

On the other side of the table, Chloe looked up from the textbook she was reading and followed Andrea's easy lead. "You should spend it with Andrea."

Amy frowned. For the last two years she and Chloe had enjoyed deli-sliced turkey sandwiches on Thanksgiving. "And what are you going to do?"

"Joe and a couple of the guys are heading to the mountains. I'm going to catch a ride," their food arrived by way of two teenage boys so Chloe shifted to the right, then moved her books over so that their food could be placed on the table. "You're Uncle Pete's going to put me up."

Amy frowned and ignored the plates. "The family cabin is usually taken on Thanksgiving."

"He said he had a place."

"When did you talk to my Uncle Pete?"

"I didn't. Mitch did. We're both invited to the town feast your Uncle puts on. If you're not going to spend it with Andrea, you could come up."

Amy shrugged and thought of Anna and the arrangements. She would have to schedule the trip with her probation officer—and anything with Carl was never easy. Her father was already grumbling about her Christmas plans. Derek would have a few of his own choice words to say she was sure—if would say anything to her at all.

He did not even look in her direction when they passed each other in the station house. His instructions came through John. She would have thought it petty of him had she wanted it any other way.

But he was playing things her way, she thought, the air between them was cold as ice.

Not comfortable as she had hoped.

"I'll take a shift at the station."

"With Derek?" Chloe asked with a raised eyebrow as she held her monster sandwich with both hands.

"We're dealing with each other."

"You're not dealing with each other when you're not talking."

Amy shrugged and wrinkled her nose as she turned toward Andrea. "Look, the Lyons always have a big family gathering. I understand that, but it's not the way things are for us."

Her father wouldn't be alone on Thanksgiving. He was rarely alone. He just didn't choose to be with his daughter.

"Not the way they have to be."

"Have you asked Eric what he's doing for Thanksgiving?" When Andrea looked away, Amy shrugged before turning to Chloe. "You're leaving on Wednesday?"

"Tuesday afternoon after my class."

"Not wasting any time, are you?"

Chloe only smiled so that her dimple popped out. "Joe's already waiting on me. He has to be back for services on Sunday, so he'll only be able to get in so much time on the slopes."

"And you're going up to spend time with Joe?" Amy teased.

"Amy—" Andrea broke in and leaned across the table. "You shouldn't spend Thanksgiving alone. This last year has been horrible on you. Chloe and I are just worried."

"I haven't been alone. Thanksgiving is just a day some people put a great deal of importance on. I choose to focus on the days I have with you guys, out at the beach, in front of my hut, soaking up the sun. I find that no less important than you find a holiday meal around the table with your family."

"Besides, I haven't spent a day alone the last three days. Anna's got friends picking me up from school and work. John has me chained to the desk. My feet are experiencing a withdrawal from sand. And I'm tired of being around people who don't talk to me—which is not the same thing as being alone."

"Look—I didn't mean to argue. I just wanted you to know you're welcome—if you decide you want to come."

"Thanks." Amy said and reached for her plate and drew it toward the edge of the table. "Now what about Eric? You two have been a regular couple for a couple of weeks now."

"We're not a regular couple."

"Fine—irregular—emphasis still on couple. You're spending so much time trying to make plans for me, you might want to make some of your own."

With that, Amy popped a cucumber slice into her mouth and found herself enjoying life for the first time in weeks.



Eric sat at his desk, his coat tossed over a chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He scrolled down the screen, his fingers lightly touching his mouse, as he skimmed another legal brief. Tapping his pen against his lips he turned to add a note to an already extensive list.

"Congratulations."

He looked over and felt the immediate smile when he saw Andrea leaning against the door frame. She wore her golden hair down so that it fell over her shoulders.

"Mom said you won today."

"It should pay the rent."

She smiled. "You busy?"

"Just catching up on recent cases cross country."

"I thought you had that look in your eyes. The studious tiger on the prowl."

He smiled, having heard the description before.

"Are you sure you're not busy?" she asked, and he thought that he saw a moment of uncertainty in her eyes. It pleased him. "You've been occupied a great deal."

He shrugged. "Not too."

"You haven't called."

"Giving you space. I don't want to crowd you."

"Sure." She sat down in the chair across from him. "You came all the way across country so you wouldn't crowd me."

The chair she sat in was one she'd helped him pick out on one of their several shopping sprees. In the weeks since her parents turned the office over to him, Andrea had added her own simple touches.

Very straight, clean lined, furniture. She'd added sleek black picture frames around the masculine prints. The second hand armoire they'd discovered was in excellent shape, the doorknobs replaced with simple iron rod-like knobs.

Eric smiled. "I came across country so you wouldn't forget me. I don't think you've forgotten."

She took a breath, then leaned back. Her move was a retreat, but calculated. He smiled, recognizing strategy. He didn't want her running from him.

"Speaking of cross country—are you going back to Boston for Thanksgiving?"

"You know my family doesn't play that way."

"Mine does. My brother and his wife won't be coming cross country—as they're soon to be parents, so there's an extra place at the table. You're welcome, if you're free."

He smiled and for a moment just looked at her. She fit California, he thought, much more than she had ever fit New England. He skin was such a healthy brown, her hair growing out natural summer highlights.

She was more confident, he thought, and dealt with the familiar tug of panic that came from knowing she was still out of his reach.

"Thanks," he said at last. "I'll be there."

"I'm sure mom will have the details," Andrea said as she stood. "It's her day to orchestrate things the way she likes them."

She stood and walked to the door. His eyes followed. When she turned around, he softened his look.

"Eric—if we're friends, I don't need so much space."

And then, as if she'd scared herself, she dashed away.

Eric leaned back in his chair and smiled.



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