RENEGADE'S REDEMPTION Page 10

  The woman who’d done that had enough courage for five men. Royal wondered if she realized quite how vulnerable she was. Her ammonia wouldn’t have been worth squat if he’d been one of the goons that had surprised him in the bushes near her kitchen. As she stepped between his legs, passed the bandage around his waist and anchored it, he sighed.

  He didn’t want to like her, he didn’t want to be responsible for her or her equally tough son in any way, but here he was, and he’d brought violence into her house. Maybe he did owe her an apology of some sort. “Elly?” Bending forward and sucking in the gasp that almost came whistling out, he touched her wrist. “Look, I’m sorry.”

  “For kissing me?” She threw up her hands in annoyance, and the tape unrolled across his knees to the floor. She stooped to pick it up, and her hair floated across his thigh. Looking up at him with the tape in her hands, she said, “We both agreed. The subject is closed—”

  “No. For coming here tonight. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She was quick. “You think those men followed you? That they knew who you were?”

  “I believe it’s highly probable.”

  “I thought—” She closed her mouth tightly, stopping the flood of words. Unconsciously, she placed her hand on his knee for support and leaned toward him. “Why would thugs beat up on you?”

  “I’m not a good man, Elly. I know a lot of bad people. Bad people make a game out of hurting people sometimes.”

  “I don’t understand.” She edged closer, her pointed chin tilting up toward him. Elastic tape wedged between her fingers, she curved her hand over his thigh in unspoken entreaty. “I need to know why you were attacked, Royal. For my own sake. You see, I thought—” Again, she tightened her lips, stopping whatever she’d been about to say.

  He knew what she thought. She thought the men had attacked him because of her, that they’d been waiting for her, so he answered her in the best way he could. “I’ve made enemies. Some of them are crooks. And some are cops.”

  “Explain it to me. Please.” Her fingers tightened, and an arrow of exquisite pain shot straight to his groin. “Were those men who beat you up cops? Does what happened tonight have anything to do with why you quit being a detective?”

  He chose to answer her last question. “No. I managed that all on my own. I screwed up.” With that admission, desolation filled him. Too many memories. Too many regrets. But what could he have changed? He was what he was. A strand of her hair drifted across his fist in a tickling, teasing slide and he turned his palm toward it, letting the tendril wrap around his thumb. He wanted to bury his face in the mass of that light, soft brown and forget all the reasons why he found himself in Elly Malloy’s bathroom with her on her knees in front on him. He shrugged, and the effort hurt now that his muscles were stiffening and tightening up. Or maybe it was the deeper hurt, the loss he hadn’t admitted, not even to himself until this moment. “I threw away everything in my life.”

  “Why? What did you do?” With slow movements, she untangled the bandage and moved in to his chest, passing the bandage around his waist and back, pulling the tape tightly around his aching ribs, smoothing it with easy, gentle strokes while she waited, silent, for him to say whatever he was going to.

  Royal had a hard time shaping his thoughts into words. He hadn’t talked about what had happened with anyone, not even Maggie. “I like to walk on the razor’s edge. It’s my drug of choice. The danger. The adrenaline. The buzz of figuring out what a crook will do before he’s even decided himself. I like crawling inside their minds and living there, thinking like them, walking the same streets they do, and then, just when they think they’re safe, I walk up and tap them on the shoulder. And they look like they’re going to sh— Well. I love being there, waiting, when they think they’ve made it home free.”

  “Sounds like you were doing a good job.”

  “It’s more than a job. It’s who I am.”

  “How so?” Her tongue was caught between her teeth as she kept working the bandage into place, her hair tickling his bare skin with her every dip and twist around him. “Are you saying you had no life outside catching crooks?”

  “Not much. It’s where I’m alive, you understand?” He trapped a handful of her hair and tugged lightly until she paused and looked up at him. “I live it, breathe it. I love the expression on their faces when they see me.” Excitement crackled through his blood as he remembered. “They always think they’ve figured all the angles, but somewhere along the way, they forget something, and there I am.”

  “Lift your arm as high as you can.”

  Feeling his muscles protest, Royal lifted his arm. He definitely wasn’t in the condition he’d been when he was a detective. “That okay?”

  “Sure.” She ducked under his arm. Her head was under his arm as she reached to his back to catch the roll of tape, her breath damply warm against his nipples, and he felt them harden to that whisper of air. She’d worked the tape almost to its end and she passed it once more around his chest with the hand that had been on his thigh. Her expression as she leaned forward to catch the roll was so endearingly earnest and sweet that he almost told her to shag him out of her house as fast as she could. Stretching the tape as tight as she could, she fastened the end tab in place and leaned back on her heels. “Do you realize you talk about being a cop in the present tense?”

  “Do I?” Excitement trickled away, and he leaned back wearily, shutting his eyes, letting himself drift away. “I didn’t know that. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “No?” She stood up, and he thought she brushed her hand across his cheek. “Maybe you still care.”

  “I used to say that there was a thin line between us and crooks. One or the other. I think I probably have more in common with the weasels. One thing is for sure, though. I don’t think of myself in any way as a cop. I gave up that right when I surrendered my pistol.”

  “And why, exactly, did you do that, Royal?” Her voice was soft, lulling him to sleep, hypnotizing him as she soaped his scalp, working the hair free of his wound and then blotting the wet strands. “What did you do that was so terrible? Did you start selling drugs? Did you kill someone? Did you take bribes? How did you screw up, Royal?”

  The bite of ointment on his scalp jerked him back to alertness. He opened his eyes and found himself nose to nose with her, the warm brown of her eyes compassionate and, for the first time since he’d known her, unguarded.

  Of all the things he wanted least from Elly, compassion and pity topped the list.

  Capturing her wrist, he tugged her closer. The tube of Neosporin tumbled to the floor. “That’s what Palmaflora thinks. That I was involved in murders, in a police protection ring that allowed toxic dumping, that I betrayed my partner, my best friend. That I sold out. Because I was the department’s fair-haired wonder. Because I was corrupt and liked the easy life.”

  “Did you?” Her whisper was soft.

  “What if I did?” With his free hand, he captured her other wrist. “You’re in my power now, Elly. You’ve let me in your house. No one knows I’m here. I told you, cop or crook. What do you think? Which am I, Elly? Tell me.”

  *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  In some remote corner of his soul, in the darkness filling him, Royal yearned for Elly to tell him she trusted him with her life, with herself, with everything she had. He yearned for her to take a leap of faith and see past the disillusionment and emptiness killing him.

  With the narrow bones of her wrists clasped in his hands and exhaustion blanketing him, he thought he must have been hit over the head harder than he’d realized to hope for that from her. From anyone.

  For months, for a lifetime, he’d pretended that he didn’t care about anything, didn’t care about the destruction of his reputation, of his life. Now, too late, Elly made him care, made him regret the waste of his life. He’d made his choices, lousy though they were. He shook his head, clearing it of the fatigue muddyi
ng his reactions. “Cop or crook? Saint or sinner, Elly?”

  “I think you’ve cleverly managed to avoid telling me why you think those men attacked you.” Elly watched him as he blinked stupidly at her with his good eye, trying to keep up with her. “And I think you’re testing me for some reason. So quit trying to intimidate me. Every time you want to distract me, you play games of one kind or another with me. I don’t like it one damned bit. And I’d like some straightforward answers, buster.” She didn’t move, didn’t make an attempt to free herself.

  “You’re too damned smart,” he said, staring at her but not releasing her wrists. “But I underestimated you, Elly. You’re quick out of the starting gate. Nothing escapes you, does it?”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Compared to you, sugar, I’m the last horse in the race.” He’d tried to make her think the attack was random, but she hadn’t bought that for a minute. He’d thought he could blow it past her. He’d deliberately avoided identifying his attackers. In fact, his muggers could have been anybody’s goons trying to force him to pay up any number of gambling debts. They could have been—

  She jiggled her wrists and stuck her face close to his insistently. “Spell what’s happening out very clearly for me, will you? Because I need to know if you recognized these men. You act as if you’re keeping some bit of information from me, but I need to know why they attacked you. Were they cops? Is that what you’ve been hinting? Because I don’t care if you screwed up, I don’t care why you quit being a detective, but I have to know if those men attacked you because of something in your past. Tell me.” She shoved his shoulder. “Were those men cops? Is that why you didn’t want me to call the police?”

  “They could have been.”

  Indignation bloomed in her face. “If you were attacked by cops, that’s lousy. Even if you screwed up somehow, they shouldn’t be allowed to get away with assaulting you. Because that’s what it was, even if they were former colleagues. And no matter what, the attack should be reported, especially if you have the slightest idea who those jerks were.”

  “Some people hold grudges.”

  “Do they have a right to?” Her steady gaze met his as she finally came out and asked him the sixty-four-thousand dollar question.

  “They think so.”

  “Why?”

  “If they’re good cops, they’re pissed at me because they think I sold them out.”

  “Did you?”

  “Do you think I did?”

  “Why do you keep answering questions with a question? It’s damned annoying, let me tell you.”

  “Is it?”

  In the mirror to her side, her annoyed movement shimmered and flashed. Her shrug was a nonanswer, a tiny lift of one shoulder. “Did you betray your colleagues, your friends? I haven’t the slightest idea. You’d be capable of it, I think. But if you did, I think you’d have a darned good reason.”

  In the twilight zone where pain and tiredness had taken him, he discovered that her offhanded observation left him speechless. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  “Even if it didn’t wash with anyone except yourself. You’re like an onion, Royal, layer after layer, all translucent and deceptively clear.” Resignation replaced the irritation.

  “You sure cut a guy down to size, sugar.” He focused on the wary depth of her eyes. “My body’s not the only thing that’s taken a beating tonight.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, not the least apologetically, a faint smile glowing in the warm brown of her eyes. “Anyway, the way you read the situation is that the attackers could have been good guys who had personal reasons for interacting violently—”

  “Such fancy talk. I’m stupefied with awe.”

  “Stupefied, I believe.” Her smile melted into a genuine one.

  “Remind me to check for extra wounds before I leave, will you, sugar?” He scowled at her. “I must have lost an extra quart of blood since I’ve known you. I’m goin’ to need a transfusion if I hang around you much longer.”

  “Poor baby.” She wrinkled her nose at him before continuing. “But enough sympathy. Back to business—”

  “Tough lady, keeping that elegant little nose to the grindstone. And such a lovely nose it is.” He lifted their joined hands and skimmed the back of his down the bridge of her nose.

  “I said ‘business,’ Royal. Not monkey business.” She shook her head, bouncing his hand away. “I’m clear about the motivation if they’re good cops. But if they’re bad cops?”

  “Same thing. Kind of a lose-lose situation, huh?” He yawned and his ears popped.

  “But if they’re not cops? What about that possibility?”

  “I have a whole bunch of gambling debts. They could have been making me aware of their feelings on the subject. They’re not patient men.” And if those men had showed up to collect gambling debts, they had come from Scanlon. A wisp of an idea teased him, vanished like smoke.

  She frowned. “Gambling debts. That doesn’t sound like you. You’re not that kind of personality. To gamble to the point you’d owe some slime-bag money.”

  In his lassitude and sadness, her absolute certainty moved him. “But I am. I did. I truly did lose almost every dime to my name.” He laughed. This truth was so easy, but she wasn’t buying it. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  She was so sure of herself, she didn’t miss a beat. “You’re a man who likes to play games.”

  “It’s simple,” he said patiently, bewildered by her unwillingness to accept what was, in fact, the truth. “I like walking the edge. I like taking risks. I like all kinds of games. Poker’s one of them.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt for a second that you might gamble. Play the dogs. Whatever. I can see that. The excitement would appeal to you. It would jump-start your engine.”

  “Lot of things jump-start my engine, sugar,” he drawled, tiredness slurring his words again, everything blurring and fading in and out, but he didn’t want her following the thread of her thoughts any further. “Interested in a drive?”

  She rolled her eyes, amusement clear in the shake of her head. “Sheesh, give it up, Gaines. Take a rest.”

  “But resting is boring, sugar. Leastwise, that’s what I’ve always found.” His eyes drifted closed, and he forced them open with an effort that for a second seemed beyond him.

  Scratching the back of one calf with her foot, she stood on one leg, assessing him in much the same way he’d evaluated her earlier. “You do like being in control. And you wouldn’t like losing that control. Losing control to anyone or anything would kill you.”

  “But gambling’s an addiction, sugar.” He didn’t know why he was trying to convince her of the worst about himself. The more she understood, the harder he pushed her away. Weariness made him feel as if he were moving through molasses, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Lord help her, if she didn’t already know he was bad news, he didn’t have to work overtime dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s for her. He opened his eyes grittily. “See, with addictions, a person can’t help himself. Control doesn’t enter the equation.”

  “That’s the point. If you started to lose money, you’d stop gambling. You’d stop before you became addicted. To anything. Drugs, habits, people.” She shook her head slowly, reaching her conclusion. “No. I don’t believe that you’re in debt to hoodlums.” And then she amazed him, left him staring at her witlessly. “Unless—” she scrunched her face in thought, her pink mouth pursed “—unless you meant to be. Because you didn’t care one way or another. Because you’d given up on everything important to you.”

  “All you need is a couch and you could hang out a shingle, Elly. All this analysis is putting me to sleep. You’re boring me, sugar, let me tell you.” This time, his yawn was deliberately rude. Only Maggie had fought him so hard, had believed him despite all the evidence to the contrary. Maggie, of course, had known him better than anyone. They’d been partners, in sync. Even Leesha had reservat
ions about him.

  But skinny, mouthy, fragile blossom Elly Malloy, who didn’t know beans about him, who had no facts to base her statement on, she’d pinned down the perverse pride that had driven him down the road to his own personal hell. “Do I owe you ninety bucks, sweetheart? For the fifty-five-minute hour?”

  Tilting her face thoughtfully, she frowned. “Did you, ex-Detective Gaines, set yourself up for a fall?”

  “You’d make a hell of an interrogator, Elly. You don’t give up, either, do you?”

  “Never.”

  Under his thumb, her pulse beat rapidly and he loosened his grasp, circling her wrists with his thumb and forefinger, the inner skin of her wrist so silky he wanted to bring it to his mouth and run his lips over it, just to test that smoothness for himself, to breathe in the scent of her skin that came to him like a promise of redemption.

  One thought stirred in the fog of his brain. He released her wrists, and she stepped back. “And you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  “Should I be?” Reaching behind her and gripping the washrag she’d cleaned his scalp with, she waited for his answer.

  “Yes.” He nodded sluggishly. “People get hurt around me, sugar.”

  “I won’t. I told you. I can take care of myself and my son. You’re not responsible for me.”

  Hearing her echo his own thoughts, Royal almost smiled. “But you saved my life. So that makes you responsible for me.”

  Bemused, he peered up at her.

  “Not likely.” She narrowed her eyes. “You saved Tommy. Do you consider yourself responsible for him?”

  Thinking of the sturdy little boy with the streak of stubborn curiosity and the unwarranted trust Tommy had given him, Royal felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered Scanlon’s thin-lipped smile, the curiously self-satisfied smile as he’d talked of his wife’s kidnapping of his son. The kid had a sweetness to him that was pure Elly and none of Scanlon, a sweetness that looked through Royal and saw something of value.