he retire?”
“Killed in the line of duty when I was twelve.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She grabbed her heart, like the tragedy had struck someone she loved.
“That was twenty years ago,” he said, shrugging.
“What was he like, your father?”
“Strict. Serious. No bullshit. If I even thought about doing anything wrong, he was on me.”
“What wrong things did you do?”
“The usual kid nonsense. Fistfights, staying out late, setting off fireworks.”
“He must have inspired you, though.”
“He didn’t talk much about the job, but I knew he was proud.” He remembered the crisp uniform and the smell his pop brought in of metal and smoke and upholstery and clean sweat. He’d set down his gun hard, like it was the weight of his job on the shelf, waiting to be picked up the next day.
“Was your mom scared of the danger?”
“She got pissed over his hours. I remember that. When she bitched about a ruined dinner, he’d say, ‘What should I tell the folks that got broke into? Cold air coming through the smashed window, their belongings tossed to the floor, scared the guy’ll come back on ’em? Sorry, the wife’s got pot roast waiting?’”
“She probably felt guilty.”
“I guess. I was a kid, so I don’t know the whole story. After my dad died, she couldn’t handle me, so I went to live with my dad’s brother, Frank.” Who had been distant like his dad, but angrier. Seething and sulky. It took Riley a while to figure out it was because Riley’s parents considered his father a hero, while Frank was a mere truck driver.
“Did you get along? You and your uncle?”
Jeez, the woman didn’t leave anything alone. “We did okay.” The resentment played out with Frank beating the crap out of him over stupid shit—a broken plate, an unmade bed, coming in at eleven instead of ten-thirty. Finally ashamed, Frank started taking long hauls and staying on for a return job to avoid Riley. “He was a truck driver. I was on my own a lot.”
“No aunt on the scene? Or a girlfriend?” She spoke tentatively, as if she’d read something into his silence.
“Frank wasn’t much with the ladies. Not that I saw, anyway. He died when I was at the Academy. Heart attack…asleep in his truck. Just how he’d have wanted to go—on the road.”
“Sounds like he wasn’t much of a parent to you.”
“He called once a trip. You can’t expect more of people than they have to give. Same with my mother. She did her best.”
She was silent for a moment, as if she disagreed, but didn’t want to argue with him. “I’m sorry, Riley.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Everybody has troubles, Chloe.” You took the blows, got up, dusted off and moved on. That was life.
“You lost both your parents, really. My mom left us when I was ten and my sister was six.”
“That’s a shame.” He didn’t know what to say to that. She looked sad. “You see her much now?”
“Mostly she writes. We talk at Christmas and birthdays. She feels guilty about having left us, I know now.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Same with my mom.”
“So we have a sad thing in common, huh? Moms missing in action.” Her blue eyes held his, full of sympathy and sorrow and he got the old ache in his gut. He didn’t think about it much, but losing his parents so fast, then trying to live with his belligerent uncle, had been tough. He’d fought to please Frank—cooked him dinner, polished his dress shoes, built bookshelves. The kiss-up bullshit only made the man harder.
As a kid, he couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t yet know the way people could twist up emotions—turn guilt to fury, jealousy to hatred. “We learned from it, too,” he said firmly. He’d learned to watch out for himself, to respect others’ privacy. Not difficult for him, really. He was like his dad—not big on emotion. His squad mates were all the family he needed.
“That’s true,” she said, but he had the feeling her lessons had been different. He rolled his shoulder, uneasy that he’d said so much about himself. “So you have a sister?”
“Yeah. Clarissa.” She sighed.
“What’s the big sigh about?”
“Oh, just that it’s taken her forever to grow up. She dropped in and out of college, kept running out of money. She’s married now, finishing school, I hope. Her husband finally gave up being a rock-band roadie and took a job as a sound engineer. I don’t know why Clarissa’s so…I guess the only word is flaky. Maybe I babied her to make up for Mom. Maybe I did too much for her all the time.”
“You did your best.” And spoiled the hell out of her, he’d bet. The woman had a big, soft heart. Hell, she’d adopted a feral cat. He’d never have the patience for an uphill battle like that. “So, where would I get a waffle iron like that?” he asked to change the subject.
She named a gourmet kitchen store and added, “Are you looking to impress the women you bring home?”
“Who says I bring home women?”
“You brought me, remember? You were very smooth.”
“That was a special occasion, Chloe.” A rare one. When the urge got strong, he hooked up, but only short-term. He didn’t want emotional blowback. Couldn’t stand hurting anyone. After his encounter last month with Marie Sendrow, a fellow officer, he’d decided to stay clear for a while.
As down-to-earth as Marie was, she’d acted funny after that night—holding his gaze, letting their bodies brush, talking low. He’d decided to keep his head down and focus on work.
Chloe had caught him off guard. She was different from the women he usually chose. Fresh and new and so awake.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him now.
“You,” he answered honestly. “And last night.”
“Oh.” Her eyes warmed with arousal, startled by his admission, he could tell. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. It’s almost all I can think about right now.” She leaned in.
So did he. When he got close to her, the world went as blurry as a dream, and he couldn’t think at all. They breathed the same air, inches apart. His cock fought the confines of his jeans. She tilted her mouth. So did he.
Right before it was too late, Chloe pulled back. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”
“No. Probably not.” Last night was last night. This morning was different. Chloe’s father was in trouble with the Sylvestris, who appeared to be Chloe’s second family, and Riley had questions to ask. Lots of them.
“I
