More Than Words: Stories of Strength: Close Call / Built to Last / Find the Way

“I don’t want any trouble,” Marianne said firmly. “If you don’t want Ms. Stewart here—if she’s stalking you—”

“Jess? Stalking me? No way. It’s nothing like that.”

“And you. You’re not—”

“No, I’m not stalking her.”

She seemed at least partially relieved. “I hope not.”

He pointed to his bandaged forehead. “I was in a scrape at work a couple days ago. Jess is worried about me is all. She and I go way back.”

“You’re a police officer, aren’t you? Were you—”

“It was nothing.”

Jess had been talking. O’Malley had known her since she was a recruit. She’d gone through the police academy two years after him and had done a good job on the force, but her heart wasn’t in it, not the way it was in her job as a prosecutor. She absolutely believed that the system could, should and most often did work, and that she was there to get to the truth, not advance her own career, change the world or pander to public opinion.

O’Malley wasn’t that idealistic. Jess insisted it wasn’t idealism on her part, but a serious, hardheaded understanding of her duties as a representative of the state’s interests. She’d tried to convince him of that over one of their dinners together. But he wasn’t convinced of anything, except she was a bigger workaholic than he was and needed to take a vacation once in a while.

And he’d wanted to make love to her.

He’d been very convinced of that.

After Marianne retreated downstairs, he stood out in the hall and stared at Jess’s shut door. Damn. What was she doing here?

The three-legged puppy syndrome, he thought.

She must have been the kind of kid who brought home injured animals, and that was what he was at the moment.

Except he didn’t see it that way.

He walked over to the door and stood a few inches from the threshold, wondering if he’d be able to figure out what she was doing in there. Sleeping? Plotting what she’d do once he got there? But he didn’t hear a sound from inside—no radio, no running water, no happy humming.

No gulping.

No window creaking open as she tied sheets together to make good her escape.

She must have heard him talking in the hall with their hostess.

The door jerked open suddenly, and Jess was there in shorts and a top, barefoot, her hair still damp and her skin still pink from a recent bath or shower.

“O’Malley,” she said. “What a coincidence.”

“Like minds and all that?”

“Mmm.”

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing ‘like’ about our minds.”

But she was unflappable—she’d had longer to prepare for this moment. “I saw all those Nova Scotia brochures on your dining-room table and couldn’t resist. Funny we picked the same B and B.”

“You’re not even trying hard to sound convincing.”

She ignored him. “It’s adorable, isn’t it? I love the cottage touches and the raspberry theme.”

He had no idea what she meant by “cottage touches.” He placed one hand on the doorjamb and leaned in toward her, smelling the fragrance of her shampoo. “How’s your room?”

“Perfect.”

He tried to peer past her. “I think it’s bigger than mine.”

She opened the door a bit wider. “See for yourself.”

In her own way, Jessica Stewart liked to play with fire. O’Malley stepped into her room and saw that it was shaped differently from his, but about the same size. “I didn’t see your car,” he said.

“Really?”

All innocence. “Did you hide it?”

“I engaged in strategic parking. If you’d arrived with a woman friend, I’d have been out of here in a flash.”

He smiled. “Don’t want any competition?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to embarrass you. You deserve a break, you know, after the shooting. It’s just that you also need to be around friends.” She scrutinized his head as he walked past her. “How’s the wound?”

“I’ve cut myself worse shaving.” He peered into her bathroom. “Do you have pink towels?”

“They’re a shade of raspberry. Don’t think of it as a feminine color.”

“It’s a cheerful place. I’ll say that.” He stopped in front of Jess’s bed and turned to her, noticing the color in her cheeks. It was more than the aftereffects of her shower. “Now that you see me, do you feel like a dope for following me?”

“It’d take a lot for you to make me feel like a dope, O’Malley. Everyone’s worried about you. What did you think would happen when you snuck off like that?”

He shrugged. “I thought I’d get to spend a few quiet days on my own in Nova Scotia.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought I’d follow you. That’s why you circled the name of the B and B—”

“You didn’t have a key to my place.”

“You knew I’d ask your brother. I’ll bet he okayed it with you to give me the key. Am I right?”

“Hey, hey. I’m not on the witness stand, prosecutor.”

She sighed, shoving her hands into her shorts’ pockets. “O’Malley—” She broke off with a small groan. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I ever slept with you. My first day at the academy ten years ago, I was warned about you.”

He feigned indignation. “Warned in what way?”

“Every way.”