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After inhaling deeply, he blew out a long breath, ran his hands through his hair—and that’s when he saw her.
Cagney. Standing next to his limo.
He stopped dead as—much to his surprise—a wave of uncertainty assailed him.
His Cagney, all grown-up and more beautiful than ever, stood right within reach. Her hair was pulled back, but wisps of it danced around her face. She fiddled her fingers together, finally settling on crossing her arms—just like she’d always done when she was nervous around him. Was she nervous? When he didn’t move, she offered him a brave, small smile. Happy? Anxious?
Everything inside him twisted and tightened. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He was supposed to hate her.
Her lips looked the same. Did they taste the same? And her thick, blond hair … would it still feel like mink against his palms?
“Hi,” she said, her tone choked off.
His well-honed composure crumbled, and all he wanted in that split second was her. Some uncontrollable insanity urged him to toss his vengeful plans out the window, then wrap her in his arms and whisper that everything was okay. They were adults now, and Chief Bishop no longer had a say in their choices. That evil SOB didn’t even have to be a part of their lives if they didn’t want him to be.
Drunk on impulse and long-dead romantic dreams, he took two steps forward before he noticed her outfit: a Troublesome Gulch Police uniform. It stunned him like an uppercut from out of nowhere. So much for excising Chief from their lives.
Oh, yeah. They didn’t have a life together.
Remember? Never had, never would.
Ugly reality settled over him like armor, which was exactly what he needed to survive this unexpected encounter. He cleared his throat, hardened his heart. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” she said, easily.
He didn’t want to hear the unspoken, and you don’t, but the implication ribboned through his brain unbidden. He raised one eyebrow and huffed. “Well, you have my sympathies in that respect.”
Her smile faded into a look of confusion, which quickly transformed into something far more invasive and insightful. She cocked her head to the side, studying him with those laser-blue eyes that had always been able to see into his soul.
Good thing he’d developed a nearly impenetrable emotional shell over the years. Still, his breathing shallowed. “What?”
“Nice speech out there.”
He didn’t need her approval. “What do you want, Cagney?”
“At this point? A simple answer to a simple question.”
He exhaled with impatience. “Make it fast. I have meetings,” he lied.
“Oh, I will.” She paused until he looked at her. “If you hate Troublesome Gulch so much, then why did you bring your zillions here, to our hospital? And an art therapy wing, of all things.” Her tone was soft, unassuming. Her words were not. “It’s pretty puzzling.”
She knew him.
She’d always known him.
He didn’t have to put up with this. After a moment’s hesitation, he shouldered gently past her and opened the limo’s back door.
“Don’t you have a driver to do that kind of thing for you?”
He threw his tie inside the plush vehicle, then shrugged out of his jacket and did the same with it. He turned to face her, disconcerted by how close she stood. He could smell the unique perfume of her skin, etched into his memory. Pine and wildflowers and woman. “I don’t believe in making people wait on me just because I earn more money than they do. I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugged. “But then, why the limo? Isn’t that sort of service the whole point?”
Valid question. Damn it. He silently castigated himself, then muttered, “Seemed fitting under the circumstances.”
“Ah, the circumstances.” Another pointed pause. “You haven’t answered my first question. Why here? Why this particular donation?”
Revenge was the honest answer. An eye for an eye. Paybacks. He wanted to hurt her like she’d hurt him. Worse. Of course, he couldn’t come right out and say that.
He dragged his gaze over the length of her body, ending at her face. “Maybe I thought you’d followed your dreams, though by the look of your work attire, I’m obviously mistaken.”
Her cheeks reddened as though he’d slapped her.
A surge of remorse bolted through him.
Then again, why should it? After the way she’d destroyed him, he shouldn’t feel bad about anything he said to her.
“You could’ve asked.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been here. Number’s in the book.”
Right. He struggled for a plausible explanation. “Maybe I did it for you, Cagney. Ever thought of that?” He held both palms up. “My error, since you seem to have taken a different path.”
Seemingly impervious to his icy demeanor, she hiked her chin. “Use your words as weapons all you want, but I don’t believe that.”
He frowned, feeling off-kilter and not liking it one bit. She was so together, so steady. “Don’t believe what?”
She gestured toward the hospital. “That you’d do something like … this art therapy wing … for me.”
His gaze narrowed. “Yeah? Why not? Finally learn to hate me from your old man?”
She paused again, but he could see the slight tremor of her hands. “If anyone has learned hate and anger, it’s obviously you.”
It pained him that he couldn’t deny it. He looked away.
“I don’t believe you’d do something this … huge … for me because you never even talked to me again, never let me explain what happened,” she said in a level tone.
“Which is what you wanted.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She spread her arms, the first show of frustration pinking her cheeks. “You actually switched colleges, Jonas. After everything you and I had gone through to get there together. You declined your hard-earned financial aid package and disappeared. Never told a soul where you’d gone. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but clearly it was what you wanted.”
A boost of anger emboldened him. Now he was to blame? Frowning, he leaned closer and lowered his tone. “Why would I stay in touch after what happened? Go through with our so-called plans? Your feelings were abundantly clear.”
To her credit, she held her ground. “They weren’t. You never gave me the chance to discuss my feelings before you hightailed it out of here, forwarding address unknown.” She shook her head. “The going got a little tough, Jonas, and you ran. Without a single word.”
“That’s bull.”
“Why can’t you own up to it?”
Now he was pissed. “I have to go.”
“Going getting tough again?”
“Drop it. I’m not kidding.”
She reached out and grabbed his forearm, not cowed by his obvious anger. “I’m not done.”
“Then finish,” he snapped, pulling away from her grasp.
Those blue eyes of hers went round. “You never visited me in the hospital after the crash on prom night. Not once. Why?”
Jonas held her gaze, but not easily, and he didn’t say a word. Truth was, he hadn’t known. Not right away. He remembered every minute detail of the morning he’d read about the crash, more than two years after it happened. Some kind of exposé in the Sunday paper about teen driving dangers. He remembered gripping the newsprint so tightly that it had torn, and not being able to take a breath until he knew Cagney had survived. And then breaking down … and hating himself for it.
“Fine, don’t answer.” Her eyes shone, but she didn’t waver. “Doesn’t matter anyway, because I know the truth. I lived it. You just flat out vanished when I needed you more than ever. Our love was obviously a lie—”
“No kidding.”
That startled her, but she covered it quickly. “So, you see? It’s only logical. With all that evidence, why would I believe that you’d cater to a decade-old dream of mine now?”
Decade-old, huh? He supposed he should be happy about her dreams going to dust, but strangely, he wasn’t. She was born to be an artist, and artists created. Her abandoning that God-given gift felt like a death, and he’d stomached more than his share of that recently. But she didn’t deserve his compassion. He needed to remember that. “I got all the explanation I needed that night.”
“Explanation from whom? Chief?”
He hesitated, questioning his motivation for the first time ever. “From your actions,” he said, although, admittedly, Chief’s words had a lot to do with it.
“And that was enough for you? Chief? Assumptions? My so-called actions?” she asked, with a small, humorless laugh. “Without ever talking to me again? You said you would love me forever, Jonas.”
“I—” His gut twisted as the ugly night rushed back at him. In his blinding, teenage, lovesick anger, he’d truly never looked at the whole thing from all perspectives. He had loved her, more than life itself. But it hardly mattered now, and he wouldn’t stand here and let her manipulate him into looking like the bad guy. “Talking would’ve been a waste of time—” he took in her uniform and couldn’t hold back the derision “—obviously. Just let it go. It’s over, Cagney. It’s been over.”
“Okay, it’s over. But don’t you think we should talk? Get some closure at least?”
“Closure’s overrated.” Shaking his head in disgust, he got into the limo and tried to shut the door.
She held it open, but her blue eyes had lost some of their hopefulness. “Run away if you have to. But you’re wrong, Jonas. About me, about that night. About so many things, and it just makes me …”
“What?” he asked in a belligerent tone, daring her to say she was angry.
She seemed to consider her words, but finally, she shrugged. “It makes me sad.”
Unexpected. But he had to hold on to his purpose. Now he was in the wrong and she was sad? What about his pain? His own heartbreak? His body flashed over with that familiar, blinding bitterness that had ruled his world for so many years. “Wow, I’m sorry you feel sad, Cagney,” he snapped. “By the way, how was prom with Tad?”
She flinched visibly, looking at him as if she hadn’t a clue who he was anymore. “My God. Tad is dead, Jonas. And so are three of my best friends in the world. I can’t believe you’d throw that in my face.”
He clenched his fists, silently chastising himself. He’d known that, of course. His comment had been knee-jerk, heartless and unwarranted. Damn it. He should apologize—right then and there. He knew it, and yet his throat constricted until he couldn’t say the words.
“Look, I thought we could talk this out, but it’s obvious you’re not willing to listen to any of my explanations about the past. I will say this about the future, though,” Cagney said, softly. “If you donated that hospital wing in some inexplicable attempt to hurt me, you wasted your money.” A wistful half smile lifted the corners of her lips. “And, then again, you didn’t. There are a lot of needy kids in pain—a lot of people who will benefit from what you’re doing here. Sorry if that’s not what you intended.”
He scowled, completely off his game. How in the hell had his revenge plan backfired so monumentally? “You have no idea about my intentions. You might recall, I was one of those needy kids in pain, thanks to this town. To your father, in particular.” And you, he wanted to say. He settled for a snide tone as he added, “But I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the old bastard now that you play on his team.”
A shadow of shame crossed her expression. Just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a look of penetrating recognition. “Okay, point taken. I’m a cop and you don’t approve. Take a number, get in line.” She paused. “So, how’s the writing going, Jonas?”
The jab hit home. He struggled for footing on his own slippery rock of pain, his own shame, his own purpose—if he had one anymore. Truth was, he hadn’t written a word in twelve years. Easier to point out her failings than face his own. “Tell me, Cagney, how long did it take him to browbeat you into submission? Into giving up everything you ever wanted for the almighty badge and gun?”
Her gaze went distant. “Stop it.”
He ignored her. “Unless everything we talked and dreamed about was just another elaborate set of Cagney Bishop lies, and you never wanted to be an artist in the first place. Maybe our whole so-called relationship was bull, beginning to end, and you were more your father’s daughter than I realized. What was I, then, other than the town fool?” he asked in a rough tone. “Your little wrong-side-of-the-tracks experiment? Every rich Gulch girl wants to get with a bad boy, right?”
Cagney yanked her hand from the doorjamb as though the metal had shocked her. Her eyes went round, filled with tears. “Oh, my God. I get it now. I can’t believe this.”
“Believe what,” he snapped, hating to see her cry.
“You … hate me,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “I never would’ve imagined it, but you actually hate me.”
The anguish in her tone tore him up. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. The past twelve years zipped through his vision, like the view out of a bus window as he fought to slam on the brakes. He grappled for something familiar to get him through. Anger. Anger always worked, didn’t it?
“Jonas, say it,” she persisted, her voice wavering. “Be a man and say it if it’s true. You hate me. Right?”
Hate implied passion, and passion was way too close to love. Not going there. What he felt for Cagney wasn’t what he expected upon his return, but he didn’t dare examine it too closely. Not in front of her, at least. So, he did the only thing he knew to do anymore: he retreated. “Nope.” He grabbed the door handle and formulated the lie that felt like poison at the back of his throat. “It’s worse than that, Officer Bishop. I just don’t care.”
He slammed the door, desperate to escape, then pressed the speaker button and told his driver, Leon, to hit it.
“You’ve become just like him,” came Cagney’s muffled voice through the closed window, “and you can’t even see it. God, Jonas, how could you have let him win?”
His entire body began to shake, as everything he’d based his adult life on disintegrated before his eyes. He had to get away from the disaster this day—his whole world—had become. Had to get away from Cagney and her excruciatingly clear insights.
Could he have misread the situation all along?
No. Not going there, either.
The engine sprang to life, and Cagney stumbled backward from the limo, wrapping her arms around her middle. He knew she couldn’t see him through the dark window, but she never took those piercing eyes off it anyway. He watched as one tear spilled over and coursed down her soft cheek, and yet she stood in stoic silence, not bothering to wipe it away.
I am not like that bastard, he thought, his jaw tight, head pounding. But it felt like a lie, and that killed him. He pressed his palm to the glass and let the regret for everything they’d lost, everything it was far too late to get back, wash over him. The whole fiasco might be funny if it weren’t so damn tragic.
Twelve years ago, he’d walked blindly into a wellset trap of blame and anger and resentment, and he’d been stuck there ever since. Now he had nothing good left inside him, nor did he have Cagney. And there was no going back.
Wouldn’t Chief Bishop be thrilled?
“I don’t hate you,” Jonas whispered, as the only woman he’d ever loved grew smaller and smaller in the distance. “But it’s way too late to fix that now.”
Chapter Three
It had taken an emergency pity party with Lexy, Erin and Faith, two extralarge pizzas, a box of Godiva chocolates and three bottles of wine, but she’d done it. Merely two days after her confrontation with Jonas, Cagney had regained her footing enough to set some ideas of her own in motion.
If Jonas thought she would simply hide and lick her wounds after their clash at the press conference, he was sadly mistaken. Life had hardened him, no doubt about that, but she’d toughened up, too. Enough to know that a large part of his armor was for self-protection. She knew him well enough to see past the cold veneer to the vulnerable guy inside, no matter how much he wanted to pretend that person no longer existed.
She’d poked around and learned that he’d earned his fortune doing something with computers and would be in Troublesome Gulch until the hospital wing was finished, which meant months. Perfect. They might never be a couple again, but by the time he left, they would be friends if it killed her. They’d have their closure, if nothing else. How exactly to break through his steel shell and make all that happen … well, she wasn’t sure yet. But she’d figure out a way.
This wasn’t over between them.
Not by a long shot.
She’d just finished her patrol shift and had stopped by the city building to drop off some paperwork at the human resources department. As she walked by the conference room, she caught the sound of her father’s angry voice. It surprised her enough to stop her in her tracks. Cold and in command was more his style—at least in public. Had to keep up that image, after all.
Pausing out of sight by the door, she leaned her head back against the brick wall and eavesdropped.
“Look, the hospital wing is one thing—”
“It’s a great thing,” Walt Hennessy said.
“Whatever. The point is, we don’t have the available space, nor do we have the need, for some idiotic youth center on top of that,” her father said. “If there are displaced teens loitering about this town, we need to ticket them instead of rewarding their poor behavior with a fun place to hang out.”
“Sorry to disagree, Chief Bishop,” came none other than Jonas’s voice, not sounding sorry at all, “but statistically, towns with designated after-school hangouts—especially for the underprivileged kids whose families might not be able to afford involving them in school or community sponsored activities like sports—have far lower crime rates.”
Chief and Jonas in a room together?
Yeah, Cagney wasn’t going anywhere.
“Well, thank you for the lesson on crime, Eberhardt,” Chief said, barely able to hold back his sneer. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate being one-upped by the kid he’d effectively run out of town. “I guess you’d know.”
“That I would. Hence my vested interest.”
Chief’s disgust threaded through his words. “Right. However, I might point out that I have a helluva lot more experience with law enforcement than you do.”
“This isn’t about law enforcement, Chief,” Mayor Ron Blackman interjected. “It’s about serving the needs of our community, and Jonas has an excellent point.”
Cagney grinned, in spite of herself. The fact that the city leaders were on a first-name basis with Jonas—and on his side—had to be killing Chief. Priceless.
Blackman continued, “We need to give these kids something to do besides causing trouble.”
“Isn’t that what their parents are for?” Chief barked.
“Bill,” Walt Hennessy said, his tone chastising. “As one of the most prominent members of our community, your attitude is surprising. I don’t understand why you’re so against such a positive improvement for the Gulch. You more than anyone should know that not every child has the advantage of involved parents like yourself.”
Like Chief? Cagney thought, muffling a snort. Boy, Hennessy had no clue how off base he was. She honestly couldn’t believe Chief had managed to hide his true nature from an entire city for so many years.
“Well, then, the neglectful parents need to be punished somehow,” Chief sputtered. “Why should we have to cater to these people?”
“Because these people are citizens of Troublesome Gulch,” the mayor said, his tone indignant. “And Troublesome Gulch isn’t a prison, nor is it some elitist country-club community. It’s a town in which people of all socioeconomic levels are welcome. No one appointed us judge, jury and executioner. We aren’t the moral police, either.”
“It’s our job to provide services to the citizens,” one of the female city council members said, which—Cagney knew—would enrage her father even more. He hated to be contradicted by women. “All the citizens. Perhaps you’ve lost a bit of perspective, Chief Bishop. A lot of those parents you refer to as neglectful simply have to work more than one job to make ends meet.”
Glee bubbled up in Cagney’s throat. She smacked a palm over her mouth and swallowed to avoid busting into laughter and getting caught spying. But, man, she loved witnessing her father outnumbered and outwitted.
“Well, the fact remains, we don’t have available space in the areas zoned for such business,” Chief said, his tone stiff. “It’s a moot point. Is there even money left in this year’s budget for nonsense like this, Walt?”
“I’ll be funding the majority of it,” Jonas said, shooting down that argument.
A flash of inspiration struck Cagney, and she jolted.
Wait one minute.
This was her chance, staring her in the face.
She could subtly stand up to her father, in front of witnesses, and set her plan with Jonas into motion by offering one simple suggestion. She’d pay dearly for this later with Chief, but who the hell cared? What could he do—fire her? She wasn’t his minor child anymore. She turned into the doorway and rapped her knuckles on the open door.
Jonas, Chief, Walt Hennessy, Mayor Blackman and the entire city council glanced toward her at the sound. She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. I was walking by and happened to catch some of your debate. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she fibbed, “but I think I might have an excellent solution.”
“Officer Bishop, don’t you have duties to attend to?” her father asked in a voice as cold and stinging as dry ice.
“As a matter of fact, no,” she said, saccharine sweet. “I’m just off shift.”
The mayor’s chair scraped back, and he stood. “Come in, come in.” He glanced toward the council. “I’m sure you all know Chief Bishop’s youngest daughter, Cagney, one of our esteemed police officers.”
Nods and murmured hellos followed.
Cagney didn’t know if she would use the word esteemed to describe her half-hearted contribution to public safety, but whatever. It meant a paycheck every two weeks.
“Have a seat,” Blackman said. “What brainstorm have you come up with, dear? Goodness knows, we’re just going in circles here and could use a fresh perspective.”
As she took a seat, she glanced surreptitiously at both her father and Jonas. Chief looked red-faced and ready to blow a gasket, and Jonas? Confused and more than a little intrigued. Maybe a tad annoyed, too, but so be it. She’d had enough of impossible men to last her ten lifetimes.
Steepling her hands on the table before her, she addressed the eager members of the group, letting her gaze pass over the two men who probably wished she’d never happened to come by. “As you all know, I purchased and renovated the old horse saddle plant several years ago.”
“And you did a fine job,” Hennessy blustered.
As if he knew. She smiled anyway. “Thank you. What you all might not know is this—I received approval from the building inspectors to use the space as residential property once I’d finished, but it’s still in an area of town zoned for business. And the building is extremely large, of course, having been a manufacturing plant.”
“Three stories tall, isn’t it, Cagney?” the mayor asked.
She nodded. “More than fifteen thousand square feet, all told. I chose to live on the second and third floors, and I left the street level floor unfinished. It’s just over five thousand square feet of wide open warehouse space.”
“What’s your point, Cagney?” her father growled. “We’re having a meeting here, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Walt frowned at him. “For God’s sake, Bill, let the woman talk. She’s not a child anymore.”
“She is my employee.”
“Yes, well, right now she’s off duty and she’s here as a citizen of Troublesome Gulch,” Mayor Blackman snapped. “So let her speak her piece.”