Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 212

"It's Monday."

"That's why we're celebrating."

He snorted but smiled as he climbed off the machine and swabbed his face with the towel. "Life must be pretty boring if Monday is cause for a celebration."

"I thought you might need to get out."

He arched an inquisitive, thick brow. Yeah, he was in his forties, and yeah, he'd had more than one life-threatening scare in the years that she'd know him, but he was still a hunk. Big-time. Still turned her inside out when he made love to her, which, unfortunately had been spotty since the accident. She thought about trying to seduce him right here and now, but knew he'd suspect she had an ulterior motive of getting pregnant. Which wouldn't be too far from the truth.

"How about Chez Mich.e.l.le?" he suggested.

"Oooh, upscale. I was thinking more like a hole-in-the-wall kind of place where they serve curly fries and spicy Cajun shrimp in buckets."

His dark eyes flickered with the memory of their first "date." With a chuckle, he said, "That's what I like about you, Livvie, you're a true romantic. You're on." He snapped his towel at her as he pa.s.sed and made his way to the bathroom.

Two hours later they were seated at a table in a brick courtyard where doves cooed and pecked at crumbs while the sun began to set. Shadows crept through the pots of herbs that bloomed and scented the air.

The restaurant itself was narrow and dark, its walls strung with fis.h.i.+ng nets, the tables b.u.t.ting up to huge tubs of shaved ice packed with bottles of beer. Luckily, this place had been spared the wrath of the hurricane.

Olivia sipped from a gla.s.s of iced tea and ate heartily from the spicy Cajun shrimp and crisp French fries. Conversation buzzed around them and rattling flatware echoed through the courtyard. It was her favorite place, one they patronized often. Bentz had walked into the courtyard without the use of his cane and his movements were surer now, steadier. But there was still something bothering him, something that he was keeping from her.

And she was sick of waiting for him to open up. It wasn't happening.

"So," she said, pus.h.i.+ng her plate aside and wiping her fingers on the lemon wedge and napkin provided. "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't do this, Rick." She met his gaze. "You and I both know that things are strained. I suppose it's partly due to the accident. Heaven knows you've been through a lot, but there's more to it."

"Using your ESP on me?" he asked, taking a slug from his zero-alcohol beer.

"I wish I could." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she knew him well enough to sense when he was being evasive on purpose. "You've been shutting me out."

One of his bushy eyebrows quirked. "You think?"

"I know."

"See...it's those extra powers of perception you've got."

"You and I both know that whatever 'powers' I had quit working years ago." She didn't want to think about that time, when she'd first met Bentz and she could see the horror of a series of grisly murders through the killer's eyes. At first he'd openly scoffed at her visions, but eventually he'd learned differently. And he never let her forget it. "Don't try to change the subject. It's not gonna work." She shoved her plate to one side and set her elbows on the table. "It's more than you suffering from your injuries after the accident. Something's eating at you. Something big."

"You're right. I can't stand not working."

"Really?" She didn't buy it. His attachment to work didn't explain the distance she felt between them. Besides, he was too quick with his answer. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. Stonewalling her.

"You'd tell me if there was?"

"Of course." He offered her that lazy grin she found so charming, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand. "Be patient with me, okay?"

"Haven't I been?"

His gaze slid away.

"Is it that I want a baby?" She'd always been a straight shooter, saw no reason not to acknowledge the problem they'd avoided discussing. For the first few weeks after his accident Bentz had been impotent. h.e.l.l, he'd barely been able to walk, much less make love. But that problem had corrected itself.

"I think I told you about that. I'm pus.h.i.+ng fifty, out of a job at the moment, still using a d.a.m.ned cane some of the time, and I've got a grown kid who's about to get married. I don't...it's not that I don't want a child with you, it's just that I'm not sure the timing's right or that I want to start over."

"But I do. And I'm in my late thirties. My biological clock isn't ticking, Bentz. It's tolling like thunder in my ears. I don't think I have time to wait, to mull things over. If I want a child, and I do, then we have to try."

His jaw slid to the side and he took a swallow from his bottle, then looked away, as if the roofline of the restaurant were suddenly fascinating. She felt the gulf between them widen and when she saw the waiter seating a young couple and their three-year-old toddler, her heart twisted painfully.

"What the h.e.l.l's happening to us?"

A muscle worked in his jaw and her heart clutched. He was struggling with something, weighing if he could trust her with the truth. Her stomach dropped. "What is it?" she asked, her voice a whisper, a new fear chasing after her, burrowing deep into her heart. She believed he loved her, she did. But...

And then he closed her out again. "I've just got a lot to deal with."

Translation: Stop bothering me and for G.o.d's sake, don't pressure me into a decision about having a baby. Stop bothering me and for G.o.d's sake, don't pressure me into a decision about having a baby.

"I'm a psychologist. I can feel you blocking me out."

"And I'm a cop. A detective. Or I was. I've just got to figure out a few things." He looked at her again, the expression in his eyes unreadable. But this time when he touched her, he held fast. "Trust me."

"I do. But I think you're depressed and no one can blame you. Maybe we need a change of scenery, a new start."

"And a baby? Look, I don't think that will solve the problem." He met her gaze evenly. "You can't run from problems, Livvie. You know that. Sooner or later they catch up to you. Mistakes have a way of chasing you down. Even ones from a long time ago."

"That's what you think's happened?" she asked, her mind spinning to tiny references he'd made lately. "Your past in L.A. finally finding you?" She pulled her hand away from his.

"I don't know what's happening. But I'm working on it. Right now, it's the best I can do." He signaled a pa.s.sing waiter for the bill and the conversation was effectively ended. They settled up and Bentz walked stiffly, though unaided, through the dark restaurant toward the street where his Jeep was parked. He'd insisted on driving and had done a fair enough job on the way to dinner. Though now, on the way home, Olivia whispered a few Hail Marys as he pushed the speed limit on the freeway and she accused him of driving like Montoya.

He flashed her a grin and stepped on it.

They drove home in relative silence, the radio playing softly, the engine humming, each of them lost in thought. At the house he walked her up the front steps, held the door for her, and outwardly seemed attentive. Even loving.

They went through their usual routine. She took care of the pets and went upstairs to read in bed; he watched the news before coming up to their room. They didn't say much; uncertainty and the tension between them still simmered in the air.

From the corner of her eye Olivia watched Bentz strip down to his boxers, noticing that he winced a little as he slid into bed. She dog-eared the page she'd been reading, folded the book closed, and placed it on her nightstand. "I don't want to fight," she said, reaching to turn out the light. She lay still a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. "I don't want to go to sleep angry."

"Are you?"

A breeze lifted the curtains at the window as it blew in from the bayou. "Yeah, a little. And frustrated and...worried, I guess. It seems like...like you're right here but I can't find you."

The mattress creaked as he turned to her. "Keep looking," he whispered into her hair, his breath warm as it brushed over her skin. One big hand smoothed over the curve of her waist. "Don't give up on me."

"Don't give up on us," she said, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes.

"Never." His arms surrounded her as he pulled her close. His lips found hers in the dark and he kissed her hard, with a pulsing intensity that ignited her blood.

She shouldn't do this, fall into this s.e.xual trap when she was riddled with angst over their future. But his touch, as always, was seductive, the feel of his body comforting. His tongue pressed hard, then slid through her teeth, touching and dancing with hers.

Don't do this, Livvie. Don't fall for this s.e.x in lieu of conversation.

He began tugging her nightgown ever upward, his fingers grazing her skin. Still kissing her, he skimmed one warm hand over her thighs, her hips, and higher still to her waist.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," she whispered.

"It isn't. It's a great idea." He yanked the d.a.m.ned nightgown over her head, tossed it to the floor, then quickly settled over her, his body stretching the length of her. "Don't think for a second I would give up on us," he said against her skin as she tore off his boxers, her fingertips skimming his tight b.u.t.tocks and sinewy legs.

She wanted to believe him. With all her heart.

"Feel good," he said, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up, body and soul, to his touch.

Later, she was still awake. The ceiling fan whirred above the bed, forcing the air to move.

G.o.d, she loved this man. Her heart ached with the burden of loving him. But she wouldn't let that love destroy her.

She ran her fingers through his coa.r.s.e hair and listened to him gently snore. His eyes were moving rapidly behind his lids, his body hardening, muscles tense rather than relaxed. "No," he said aloud. "No...oh...G.o.d. Stop!"

"Shh," she whispered. "It's all right."

"Stop! Please! Don't!" He was frantic, his breathing wild. "Jennifer!" He yelled her name without waking, then settled into a troubled slumber.

But Olivia didn't sleep a wink.

The sound of his voice yelling Jennifer's name echoed through her mind. She slid from beneath the covers and walked downstairs. She wrapped a fuzzy blanket around her, stretched out on the couch, and let the dog curl into her lap as she stared out the window at the rising moon.

Olivia didn't know what was going on with her husband, but realized that somehow, some way, Rick's first wife was causing a rift between them.

It was ridiculous. She'd met Bentz long after Jennifer had died and though she suspected he carried some guilt for his young wife's death, for living when she lost her life, he seemed to have handled it well.

Until he'd spent two weeks in a coma.

Something had happened in those lost days when he'd been unconscious. Rick Bentz had changed. Which wasn't unusual, considering the circ.u.mstances. He'd nearly died.

No one could escape such a trauma without some emotional scarring. Withdrawal and introspection were normal. The man had faced death, for G.o.d's sake, so Olivia had granted him ample time to heal, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

But what the h.e.l.l did Jennifer Nichols Bentz have to do with it?

She must've dozed because she was surprised to notice dawn seeping over the horizon. Deep shades of magenta and lilac streaked the eastern sky and she couldn't stand lying on the couch another second. Her head ached and she decided to start the coffee. Decaf, she reminded herself as she walked into the bathroom and pulled out the small wastebasket beneath the sink.

Lying on the top of a pile of wadded tissues was the remains of her most recent pregnancy test, the package unmistakable, the test stick with its pink line still giving a positive reading, indicating that yes, indeed, Olivia Bentz was pregnant.

CHAPTER 3.

"Help me." Jennifer's voice was as clear as it had been the last time he'd seen her alive. "Rick...help me." She was lying in the car, her face bloodied, her body broken, unmoving. And yet he'd heard her voice.

"You'll be okay," he said, trying to move closer to her, but his legs were leaden, weighted as if in quicksand. The harder he tried to reach her, the more distant she was, her face disintegrating before him.

Suddenly, her eyes opened.

"It's your fault," she said as the flesh peeled away, revealing only a skull with d.a.m.ning eyes. "Your fault."

"No!"

Bentz's eyes flew open and he found himself in bed. Alone. His heart was thundering, pounding in his brain, but over it all he heard the rumbling of a truck at the edge of the drive, then the clatter of garbage cans being lifted.

What the h.e.l.l time was it?

Sunlight burned through the windows and he glanced at the clock. After nine. He'd finally slept. Fitfully, but for a long while. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and tried to dispel the nightmare of Jennifer.

Olivia had already left for the day.

Because she still has a life.

He curled a fist, angry at the world, then slowly straightened his fingers.

Oh h.e.l.l, Bentz, get over your sorry self. This poor-pitiful-me act is wearing thin.

He gave himself a swift mental kick, used the john, then hobbled downstairs where coffee was still warming in a gla.s.s pot. She hadn't left a note, but he knew she was meeting with a friend, a woman who worked with her in the shop. She and Manda had a standing date for cafe au lait, beignets, and gossip at the Cafe Du Monde on Decatur. They read the paper and people-watched as they sipped their steaming brews from outdoor tables.

Bentz poured himself a cup of coffee, let the dog outside and, while Hairy S sniffed around the edges of the veranda, he stared into the woods where only a few days earlier he'd been certain he'd seen Jennifer.

Or someone who looked so much like her it stole the breath from his lungs.

Of course she hadn't been out there; he'd checked the spot where she'd stood between the two bleached cypress trees. There had been no footprints on the ground, no bit of trace evidence left to indicate anyone had recently been in the spot where he would've sworn on his daughter's life he'd seen his first d.a.m.ned wife. Ex Ex-wife. They hadn't been married at the time of her death.

If she'd really been killed in that freak accident.

Bentz had always thought the "accident" had been Jennifer's way of escape. A suicide, though it was a d.a.m.ned messy way to take care of things.

He figured she'd felt so guilty not so much about cheating on him-more than once-but because she'd been caught in bed with another man. Bentz's own half brother. Even now, years later, he still felt the rage that had ripped through him as much from the sting of her infidelity as the fact that he'd been stupid enough to trust her again.

So she'd taken herself out, left him to raise their daughter alone. She'd even written a suicide note, explaining her actions, her guilt.

At the time Bentz had been certain that the woman behind the wheel of the battered van had been Jennifer, and he'd buried her as such. There had been no DNA tests, no blood taken. Just his word that his wife was the driver.

Now, as he stared at that area at the edge of the swampland where he'd witnessed his latest "Jennifer sighting," he felt a little tickle upon the back of his neck, as if someone were silently observing him. He turned quickly, teetering slightly, his eyes trained on the windows of his home.

Nothing.