inserted her key, and swung the door wide. She brushed the wall to find the switch and flooded the room with light.
Rory looked as haggard as she felt, in wrinkled jeans and a black DCI golf shirt that proclaimed his allegiance. Deep shadows lay beneath his eyes, bruise-like. “May I come in?”
She should send him away, for nothing either of them could say or do would change their situation.
“Please,” he said softly, without pleading.
With her usual frame of reference upside down, she gestured him inside.
He shut the door behind them. “Where’s your liquor?”
She waved toward a kitchen cabinet and made her way to the living room. Soft cushions on her couch took her into a welcome embrace.
Rory poured two glasses of amber liquid and brought one to her. Taking it, she swallowed raw whiskey around the hard place in the back of her throat.
He frowned and gently touched the bandage above her eye. “That was close.”
“Eleven stitches.” The quaking in her grew worse when she recalled how she and Cassie had nearly been on the hoist.
Rory sat beside her. “Did you know the victims?”
“Not Andrew Green.” She drank again, coughed. “But Charley Barrett …”
“The fellow who went sailing with us.”
She nodded. In June of that long-ago summer, the three of them had cruised beyond the Golden Gate to toast the limitless lives ahead of them. “That’s him … was him.” She swallowed. “My best friend in the whole world.”
“Charley was a good man.”
“Tom’s a good man, too, who shouldn’t have to go through this.” If there were anybody to blame, it might make it easier. She took another burning drink, and a seed that had been planted when the hoist crashed germinated. “I’ll bet your father’s glad.”
Rory surged to his feet. “Look here … I can’t control what he thinks.”
“We
can’t do anything about our fathers.” Her glass trembled. “Don’t we settle that every time we see one another?”
He moved swiftly, taking Mariah’s drink and setting it aside. He pulled her to her feet and gripped her shoulders. “To hell with our fathers. When I heard about the accident, I ran through the streets to Grant Plaza like a wild man. I had to know you weren’t hurt or … I crashed the police barricade, went into the trailer …” His voice broke. “I only knew people had died.”
His anguish penetrated her haze. He gathered her to him, her face against the side of his neck, the smell of his skin familiar, yet new. They were both alive and Charley …
Rory’s mouth came down, crushing hers so she felt his teeth behind his lips. The desperation that had been in his voice a moment now before flavored his embrace.
For a wild instant, response flickered in her, a sense of “what if.” Should she twine her arms around his neck and give in to this treacherous tide of feeling, it would be all or nothing, the way it had been with them from the start.
Then his intensity became too much for her, after all she’d been through this day. All she could imagine was to lie down in the dark and find her way to a sleep where she wouldn’t dream of blood and broken glass.
She pushed at his shoulders.
His lips softened on hers, then were withdrawn. “What am I doing? You need rest.”
Even so, he drew her back against his chest. Beneath her ear, she heard the pounding of his heart, the way it must have been when he raced through the city streets. But could she trust he was his own man and not his father’s?
“You need to go.” Her tears were coming, and if she cried in his arms, she’d be lost.
Rory smoothed her hair and set her away from him. Torn by the temptation to call him back, she watched him leave his untouched drink on the table and let himself out.
She curled into a ball of hurt. Salt stung her eyes and cheeks … how cruel that she and Davis Campbell’s son had been placed by accident of birth on their fathers’ chessboard.
Yet, tonight Rory had said, “To
Rory looked as haggard as she felt, in wrinkled jeans and a black DCI golf shirt that proclaimed his allegiance. Deep shadows lay beneath his eyes, bruise-like. “May I come in?”
She should send him away, for nothing either of them could say or do would change their situation.
“Please,” he said softly, without pleading.
With her usual frame of reference upside down, she gestured him inside.
He shut the door behind them. “Where’s your liquor?”
She waved toward a kitchen cabinet and made her way to the living room. Soft cushions on her couch took her into a welcome embrace.
Rory poured two glasses of amber liquid and brought one to her. Taking it, she swallowed raw whiskey around the hard place in the back of her throat.
He frowned and gently touched the bandage above her eye. “That was close.”
“Eleven stitches.” The quaking in her grew worse when she recalled how she and Cassie had nearly been on the hoist.
Rory sat beside her. “Did you know the victims?”
“Not Andrew Green.” She drank again, coughed. “But Charley Barrett …”
“The fellow who went sailing with us.”
She nodded. In June of that long-ago summer, the three of them had cruised beyond the Golden Gate to toast the limitless lives ahead of them. “That’s him … was him.” She swallowed. “My best friend in the whole world.”
“Charley was a good man.”
“Tom’s a good man, too, who shouldn’t have to go through this.” If there were anybody to blame, it might make it easier. She took another burning drink, and a seed that had been planted when the hoist crashed germinated. “I’ll bet your father’s glad.”
Rory surged to his feet. “Look here … I can’t control what he thinks.”
“We
can’t do anything about our fathers.” Her glass trembled. “Don’t we settle that every time we see one another?”
He moved swiftly, taking Mariah’s drink and setting it aside. He pulled her to her feet and gripped her shoulders. “To hell with our fathers. When I heard about the accident, I ran through the streets to Grant Plaza like a wild man. I had to know you weren’t hurt or … I crashed the police barricade, went into the trailer …” His voice broke. “I only knew people had died.”
His anguish penetrated her haze. He gathered her to him, her face against the side of his neck, the smell of his skin familiar, yet new. They were both alive and Charley …
Rory’s mouth came down, crushing hers so she felt his teeth behind his lips. The desperation that had been in his voice a moment now before flavored his embrace.
For a wild instant, response flickered in her, a sense of “what if.” Should she twine her arms around his neck and give in to this treacherous tide of feeling, it would be all or nothing, the way it had been with them from the start.
Then his intensity became too much for her, after all she’d been through this day. All she could imagine was to lie down in the dark and find her way to a sleep where she wouldn’t dream of blood and broken glass.
She pushed at his shoulders.
His lips softened on hers, then were withdrawn. “What am I doing? You need rest.”
Even so, he drew her back against his chest. Beneath her ear, she heard the pounding of his heart, the way it must have been when he raced through the city streets. But could she trust he was his own man and not his father’s?
“You need to go.” Her tears were coming, and if she cried in his arms, she’d be lost.
Rory smoothed her hair and set her away from him. Torn by the temptation to call him back, she watched him leave his untouched drink on the table and let himself out.
She curled into a ball of hurt. Salt stung her eyes and cheeks … how cruel that she and Davis Campbell’s son had been placed by accident of birth on their fathers’ chessboard.
Yet, tonight Rory had said, “To
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