Second Chances: A PAVAD Duet Page 24

  The remaining bit of tension that had held her captive for the last few hours dissipated. “Ed.”

  He smiled, held out his uninjured arm to her. “Mari, sweetheart. What are you doing here? How’s Nate and Ted?”

  “Sleeping. At Ana and Fin’s. I think they’ll be fine. Nate’s been a bit quiet, but that’s the way he deals with things. How are you?”

  “Just fine. Now. Come here.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, God.”

  “I know. But it’s over now. And if you’re still willing, it’s time to take that next step. So…Dr. Glendower, how would you like to go for coffee sometime? Perhaps, now? I know this great little bagel shop not too far from here. What do you say? Give me a chance?”

  “Director Ed, I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more.” Marianna smiled at him, exhausted just as she knew he was. But that didn’t matter. She wanted their second chance, and she couldn’t think of a better time to take it. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “Then let’s get going.”

  He wrapped his uninjured arm behind her back and pulled her close.

  Marianna reached up and kissed him, pouring all the emotions she had into the quick embrace. “I’m ready.”

  “So am I. So am I.”

  Epilogue

  Slow and steady. Marianna laughed as she thought of those words a few months later. Slow and steady weren’t really in Ed Dennis’s vocabulary anymore. He had dinner at her house nearly every weeknight, and on weekends, she and the boys spent at least one evening at his estate. It just felt…right. For all of them.

  The boys loved having him in their lives. The three younger couldn’t wait to spend time with him on the weekends, and he was just as likely as they to instigate a game of tag or kickball. The older twins seemed to respect him a lot and he always went to their soccer games and theatre productions. Ted was happier, as well. Ed had arranged for him to spend time with some of the computer specialists at the PAVAD building, and Ted was finally able to focus some of his talents for good purposes. He was still a bit awkward at school, and probably always would be. But they were working on that.

  Nate…Nate still struggled with what had happened with Schild, but she’d started taking him to a counselor and it was helping. And he was even more determined to join the FBI after what he’d seen. She sometimes worried about his focus, but if it was what he wanted she’d support him one hundred percent.

  As for her and Ed?

  Marianna couldn’t imagine her life being any different than it was right then. She loved him, and though he’d never said it, knew he felt the same toward her and the seven boys.

  And tonight she was going to give him the answer to the question he’d posed a few nights ago.

  She never expected she’d want to get married again. Never thought to expose her sons to a step-parent. But she’d had a frank discussion with the boys about Ed’s proposal, and they’d all agreed they were ok with it. More than ok.

  It would mean big changes. They’d move in with Ed, and she wondered how he would adjust to having seven boys running around underfoot. Eight, considering he kept Matthew when Georgia and Hell were out of town. And once their new baby was born, Marianna suspected she and Ed would be babysitting the baby on occasion as well. Still, she strongly suspected he could handle it.

  They were finally ready, she thought, for that second chance at normal.

  Nate and the older twins were watching the younger. She had called and made reservations at Ed’s favorite restaurant.

  In less than ninety minutes she’d tell him her answer.

  A resounding yes…

  For more in the

  Prevention & Analysis

  of Violent Acts Division

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  Coming June 2013

  HUNTING…

  Jules just wanted to get away. Just stand up, get out of her chair, and walk completely out of the St. Louis bullpen and disappear for a while. A week, a month, maybe even a year. Maybe forever. Only the knowledge that she didn’t have anywhere else to go kept her butt glued to the ergonomic chair she’d pushed up to the edge of her borrowed desk.

  Being alone sucked. Working for the FBI sucked. Cutting up dead bodies sucked. Dr. Malachi Brockman and his all-knowing blue eyes sucked. It all sucked.

  And Jules could do nothing about it. And that’s what sucked the most.

  She couldn’t leave St. Louis; her only family lived there, and in the last several months she’d come to the realization that even she couldn’t cut herself off from family completely. She could honestly say she’d had that truth knocked into her head months earlier. And that bastard Stephenson’s fist had packed quite a wallop.

  So if that meant putting up with the know-it-all Brockman, Jules would do it.

  It was his own fault she disliked him. She knew she was justified in her opinion. He had no right butting in, sticking his patrician nose into her business. And then making excuses for himself, “I’m just worried for you, Julia. It can’t be easy dealing with the type of victims you see daily, on top of your own tragedy. Hah! No shit, Sherlock.”

  Her tragedy—what did he truly know of tragedy? Sure, he saw things in the job, but from all accounts, the great Dr. Brockman had had an idyllic life. Grew up the oldest of three perfect children, both his perfect parents still living, scholarships to all the right perfect schools. Perfect. Not to mention that he was good-looking and had tons of money.

  Damned psychologist had everything practically handed to him, and then he had the nerve to tell her she was acting spoiled. Self-centered. Self-absorbed.

  Just who the hell did he think he was? They’d not spoken to one another for personal reasons in the entire time she’d worked in St. Louis, then all of the sudden she’d looked up from the autopsy reports she’d been studying to see Brockman staring down at her. Coming to her desk and telling her she should basically just ‘get over’ Rick’s death and move on—before she dragged those who cared about her down as well?

  She shot a glare toward the half-rise where his office was located next to Agent Reynolds’. She could just make out the dark head of her new nemesis as he sat speaking with Agent Hellbrook. Damned jerk, she wished someone would punch him in the nose, do something to ruin all that damned perfectness. Even if just temporarily.

  God how she wished she had the balls to do it herself. She tightened her fists as she imagined it. Only the Hippocratic Oath she’d sworn years ago kept her from doing that and so much more to the arrogant bastard.

  As if he could read her mind—and she wouldn’t put it past him, with his three PhDs in mind reading and fortune telling and smarm—he looked up and smiled the smile that he probably thought would get him out of anything.

  Julia snarled. Not with her it wouldn’t.

  ***

  Malachi Brockman fought the urge to laugh in satisfaction as his eyes caught those of the lone team member still seated in the bullpen his team shared with Hellbrook’s.

  The woman did the damnedest job of hiding how she felt but occasionally her true feelings would slip through that mask. Malachi was determined to remove that mask completely. If she didn’t kill him first. He knew—had heard from her closest friend—that she had one hell of a temper when it was aroused. And he knew that was probably exactly what she needed. Fury, anger, rancor—anything other than the numbing grief she’d let grip her for the last three years. Nobody deserved to be that sad for that long. It wasn’t healthy. It would eventually eat a person alive. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

  If that meant she hated him for the rest of their days,
so be it. People had to be in top mental condition to handle the job they did, and Dr. Bellows wasn’t in it. She would be—or Malachi would see to it that she was removed from her position with the St. Louis PAVAD unit. Until she became more aware of things around her, he wasn’t comfortable sending her out in the field. Period. It was too dangerous.

  But then again—she wasn’t his agent, she was Hellbrook’s, and since her field work mainly consisted of retrieving dead bodies and autopsying them, Hellbrook felt she was more than capable of the job. Malachi completely disagreed.

  He’d seen much stronger agents break under far less provocation.

  “That’s one angry medical examiner down there.” Hellbrook made the observation mildly. Malachi smirked. “What did you do to her?”

  “What makes you think I did anything to her?” Mal asked, still smirking. He didn’t miss the way her expression darkened.

  “Because the normally calm-natured doctor is shooting poison glares straight over my shoulder, directly at you,” Hellbrook laughed.

  “I did nothing to her to warrant what she did to me.”

  “Which was?”

  “Threw a stapler at my head. And the woman has almost excellent aim.” Malachi rubbed his shoulder.

  “Sounds eerily reminiscent of my morning, as well.” Hellbrook said.

  “Oh? Bellows throw a stapler at you, too?”

  “No. George did. And it was the television remote. And apparently her aim is better than Jules’.”

  “I ducked. How is George?”

  “Cranky. That woman hates to be sick.” Worry touched the other man’s eyes for a moment. “Julia’s been over at the house at least once a day. I don’t know who is more concerned—Jules, George, or me.”

  “At least George has her own personal physician.” Malachi watched as she gathered her bag and then stomped from the bullpen. Her actual office was down in near the morgue, but she spent many hours in the bullpen.

  “I am eternally grateful for Jules. She’s been a godsend since this flu’s been making the rounds. I think George would have killed me if not for Jules.”

  “So there is some benefit to the woman.”

  Hellbrook’s brow rose. “Seriously? What is going on with you two?”

  “Nothing of importance.” Mal stood, and Hellbrook followed suit. “But I do believe we shall agree to disagree on the subject of the good doctor.”

  “Sounds eerily familiar as well. I remember feeling a serious bit of rancor toward a woman with good doctor in her title.”

  “Yes, but in this instance there won’t be the same resolution. I have no intention of doing that with Dr. Julia Bellows.” Malachi shuddered at the thought. Whoever did marry that woman would have to wear body armor. Two inches higher and to the left and she’d have broken his nose with that stapler.

  So much for do no harm. If he hadn’t ducked right when he had...Malachi abhorred violence. There were so many other ways of dealing with conflict. The woman could have killed him. He made a mental note to avoid being alone with her until she’d had time to cool down.

  In the meantime, he had a party to host.

  ***

  Several hours later Mal laughed, watching Julia across the room. He was looking forward to the rest of the party. He’d make it his mission to keep her so riled, she’d have no choice but to explode...again.

  He made a mental note to duck when needed.

  What he hadn’t counted on was Julia’s apparent ability to avoid confrontation. It took him nearly an hour to find her.

  The dress was lovely, low-cut and revealing. And a good color choice for her.

  He might not have liked her personality, but even he had to admit there was nothing wrong with her body. Pity she usually kept it so ruthlessly covered.

  He either saw her dressed in shapeless suits or medical scrubs. Scrubs were his favorite—they at least hinted at the female body beneath. And when dressed in her medical garb she appeared confident.

  She was hard at work helping his sister Alex set out punch, applying herself to the task with utmost concentration. Hiding.

  “Dr. Bellows, I was at least hoping for one dance before the night ends. Instead I find you in here.”

  “I’m sorry; I make it a point not to dance with apes.” She didn’t look up from the peach punch she was ladling. Mal heard his sister snicker.

  “Julia is a bit angry at me. She wouldn’t really say I’m an ape. Then I’d have to say she was a shrew, or something of that nature.” He grinned at the shrew in question. “I would never do that.”

  “Of course, you’re too perfect for that.” She thickened her slight accent into a more noticeable southern drawl. “And who would ever accuse the great Malachi Brockman of not being perfect? Surely not I.”

  She showed just the barest hint of teeth before looking away. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” She left Malachi and Alex standing watching her back as she wove through the reception hall.

  “Good one, Mal.” Alex bumped his shoulder with hers. “What did you do to her this time?”

  Malachi smiled. “I probably deserved the stapler she heaved at my head this morning. I just can’t seem to resist pushing her buttons. But she will dance with me before this party ends.”

  He’d make sure of it.

  It took him another forty minutes to corner her, and it was only in front of Ana and Paige that he did.

  Julia wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of her friends. And one thing Malachi could say about Julia was that she valued and protected her friends. God knew the woman didn’t have very many. Just Georgia, Ana, Paige, and Alessandra.

  As luck would have it, the tempo slowed just as he slipped his arms around her. A woman’s voice, low and throaty floated over the dance floor, soon joined by more. Paige, Carrie, and Al sang beautifully, even more so when they sang together. This time they sang of enduring love, a song dedicated to the new couple.

  Mal pulled his partner closer, ignoring the way she resisted. Her hair brushed his chin, but he allowed her to keep an appropriate distance between their bodies.

  It wasn’t as if they were lovers, after all. It wasn’t as if they even liked one another. He just wanted to dance with her. He held her almost gently, one hand low on her back, the other holding her left hand against his chest. She wasn’t any bigger than Georgia or Ana and he’d danced with them hundreds of times. So why did she feel so different?

  Mal didn’t have a clue.

  ***

  Jules almost wished she liked him. Then she could pretend that the dance meant something other than him trying to torment her. And that was exactly what he was trying to do. And he was doing a damned good job, too. But he probably didn’t even know how.

  The jerk wore the same cologne as her dead husband. If she closed her eyes, and shrank Brockman just a little she could pretend she was dancing with Rick again. They said the sense of smell was the most powerful for evoking memories and she believed it. Now. Damn him.

  Julia tried to pull back. He frowned down at her and held tight. “You surely can finish one dance, Julia.”

  She hated how he said her name. Nobody called her Julia. Hadn’t since Rick. She’d told Brockman to call her Jules, but he refused. “It’s Jules. J. U. L. E. S., for someone so damned smart you’re remarkably thick-headed. Don’t call me Julia.”

  “Jules sounds like something you’d name a Cocker spaniel.” His words were mild, which aggravated her all that much more.

  “Thanks. Try Dr. Bellows then if Jules offends you in some way.”

  “Too formal for friends.” He guided her around the dance floor almost effortlessly. They never once stepped on each other.

  “We’re not friends.” It took her a few moments to say it, but it did come out completely flat. Mild. Truthful. “We don’t even like each other. Not that I will admit that to anyone else. Don’t want to be accused of blaspheme against the great god Brockman.”

  “Of course we’re friends. Why
else would we be dancing?”

  “Because you’re a sadistic moron who can’t tell when someone wants nothing to do with you. Far be it from me to point out your idiocy. You’re the great psychologist, shouldn’t you be able to figured it out for yourself?”

  ***

  The entire time they danced she never raised her voice, never gave any indication she wasn’t perfectly content right where she was. Malachi had to admit a small bit of admiration. The woman could say so much while saying so little. He pulled her a bit closer, just enough that he could feel the barest hint of her body pressed against his. If possible he thought she was thinner than Georgia or Ana. Too thin. He had no trouble feeling the outline of her ribs beneath his hand. Unhealthily thin.

  He remembered the home videos he’d watched with Georgia just last week. He’d stopped by for a visit and found the extremely maudlin woman weeping as she’d watched four-year-old videos. It had concerned him at first, but Georgia had explained. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a toddler around, so she watched videos of Matthew’s second birthday.

  Malachi watched with her a moment, eyes cataloging what appeared to be a happy, healthy young couple play with the beautiful little boy Malachi considered an honorary nephew. He’d watched as a younger Georgia answered the doorbell, revealing Dr. and Dr. Bellows.

  The man was of average height, with brown hair and eyes. Average. Until the camera focused on his face, where the sparks of humor and intelligence were hard to miss.

  But it was the love in the man’s eyes as he looked down at the beautiful brunette at his side that Malachi would always remember. Dr. Rick Bellows had adored his wife, and it didn’t take a behavioral scientist to see it. For a moment Malachi had wondered what it would be like to love a woman that much. To have her look up at him with just that expression that Julia had shot at the man.

  Malachi had barely recognized her. She’d had glorious curves, for one thing. Dressed in a low-cut blouse that flattered her body and coloring, she was a very stunning woman. And she flaunted that in front of her husband. He just looked at her with indulgence as she flirted and pranced around him. The woman on video was nothing like the plain little stick she tried to convince everyone she was now.