Madigan's Wife

“Dr. Dearborne,” she corrected without rancor. “And I have to admit,” she said with real admiration, “you were right. I went to his office the morning after we had lunch last time, and told him I expected to be treated like a professional. I told him I’d have to start looking for another job if he didn’t stop making improper suggestions when we found ourselves alone. He hasn’t made a pass at me since.”

“He doesn’t want to lose his office manager,” Ray said, his smile gone. “Folks aren’t exactly lining up, panting to go to work for smarmy dentists.”

“Dr. Dearborne isn’t smarmy,” she said without enthusiasm. “He’s just…challenged in the personality department.”

“He’s a creep,” Ray muttered as the waitress placed the lemon icebox pie before him. “Trish went to him with a toothache a few months back, and he actually made a pass at her while he had his hand in her mouth. The bastard called her every day for two weeks.”

“Trish. She was your second wife, right?” Grace asked, as if she didn’t know perfectly well who Trish was. Wife number two, blond, a party girl. She and Ray had met in a bar, gotten totally wasted and decided they were perfectly suited for one another. The marriage had lasted all of three months. Well, officially the marriage had lasted for three months. Word was they hadn’t lived together a full two weeks.

Ray nodded. “I called Patty and she fixed Trish up with her dentist.” The look he gave her was censuring. “I can’t believe you’re working for that jerk.”

Patty was wife number three, a nurse who’d tended Ray in the emergency room more than once. A more level-headed woman than the flighty Trish, she’d made her marriage to Ray last almost eight months. They’d parted amicably, or so she heard.

Grace thought it damned unnatural that the three of them, Ray and Trish and Patty, were friends. Of course, it was kinda unnatural that she and Ray were sitting here, together, right now.

Unnatural for most, maybe, but not for Ray. She’d rarely seen him angry; he took everything in stride. Sadly, she suspected he didn’t care enough about anything or anyone to get truly angry. People came and went, in and out of his life, and he carried on as if nothing had changed.

She tried to steer the conversation away from her boss and Ray’s ex-wives. He never seemed satisfied with the explanation that she worked for Dr. Dearborne because the pay was good and the benefits were better, and talking about Trish and Patty always made her teeth ache.

“How can you eat like that and not get fat?” she said, pointing accusingly at his huge piece of pie.

“I inherited my father’s metabolism,” he said with a grin.

“One day that metabolism of yours is gonna give out,” she said, wondering if it was true. Last time she’d seen Ray’s father he’d been fifty-nine years old, fit as a fiddle, and wolfing down a meal fit for three teenage boys. That had been nearly nine years ago. Ray and his father were not close, and didn’t visit one another often. Of course, on the few times she’d seen them together there hadn’t been any animosity, either. They acted like old acquaintances who got together now and again because they felt like they should, not because they wanted to see one another. “You should come running with me sometime.”

He made a face as he dug into the pie. “Run? On purpose? I don’t think so. Besides,” he cocked one eyebrow at her. “You run at the crack of dawn.” He shook his fork at her and deepened his lazy, honeyed Southern drawl. “It ain’t natural.”

With his pie finished and the last of his coffee drained, Ray settled his eyes on her in a way that told her he was about to say something she wouldn’t like. She saw the man behind the charmer, the intensity flashing in the friendly blue eyes he locked to hers. Her stomach flipped uneasily. This look hadn’t changed in years.

“You remember Stan Wilkins?” he asked.

“Sure. He moved south a few years back, didn’t he?”

Ray nodded, a slow, deliberate motion. “Yep. He’s in Mobile. He called me a couple of days ago.”

Grace wanted to believe it had been a purely social call, but the fluttering in her stomach suggested otherwise. “Great,” she said indifferently. “How’s Mary?”

“Fine,” Ray said with a small smile. “Their oldest is in high school, can you believe it?”

Had it been so long? Deep down, she shivered. Yes, it had been. One day melted into another, and then another, and then another, and the next thing you know years have passed. Days you can’t get back are gone. “Hard to imagine.”

Ray leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes clear and guileless. He looked like a man who could do no wrong, who knew what he wanted and would do anything to get it, the rest of the world be damned. Darn his hide, she knew this look, too. No good ever came of it. He hesitated, drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and in an instant Grace knew what was coming.

“Stan’s heading up the narcotics unit in Mobile, and he’s looking for someone to come in and work undercover. When he heard what had happened up here…”

“You’re not considering it,” she said softly. Her face paled—she could feel it, as if her skin turned suddenly cold. “Tell me you’re not even thinking about…”

Unrepentant, Ray said casually, “I told him I’d call in a few days and let him know.”

Taking a deep breath, Grace reminded herself that she shouldn’t be angry. She should be able to take anything and everything Ray Madigan did in stride. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

“You’ve been off the Huntsville force for a year,” she snapped, trying to keep her voice low. “Your P.I. business is going well, you told me so yourself. And you haven’t been shot once!” Her heart leapt into her throat, but she worked hard not to show it. “Dammit, Ray, you know what happens when you get involved in something like this.”

He didn’t look surprised by her response. “I told Stan I’d think about it.”

All of a sudden she remembered, too clearly, why she’d left him in the first place. The worry, the horror, the feeling that at any moment someone would knock on the door and reach deep inside and yank her heart out again were too much for her to bear.

She started to slide from the booth, but Ray’s quick hand on her wrist stopped her. His fingers manacled her, long, strong fingers tight and warm against her pale wrist. She stared at his hand on her arm for a long moment, marveled, for a heartbeat, at the size and power and undeniable masculinity of that hand.

She’d been so careful not to touch him, so cautious on the occasions they’d met for coffee or lunch, like any two civilized human beings might be. They didn’t hug hello, they didn’t kiss goodbye, they didn’t even shake hands. And now here she sat motionless while he held her in place, his hand firm and heated on her wrist. The sensation brought back so many memories…good and bad.

He peeled his fingers away from her skin, slowly, as if he’d just realized what he’d done. “Sorry.”

She settled back in her seat, still rattled but no longer furious. “You were shot three times while you were working narcotics, Ray. Three damn times!” Her heart clenched as she remembered that third, most horrifying time. “What on earth would make you want to walk into that again?”

He didn’t have an answer for her, but he wasn’t ready to give in, either. She saw the determination in his eyes, the flicker of restlessness. He hadn’t yet told her why he’d quit his job with the Huntsville Police Department, but she knew there had to be more to it than a simple early retirement or the need for a change. He’d loved his job too much, he’d devoted too much of himself to it. He’d given up too much for the job; including her.

Grace hadn’t looked up many old friends since her return to Huntsville, but she had called Nell Rose and Sandy. Cops’ wives, both of them. They were more than happy to catch up, have lunch, go shopping and gossip about Trish and Patty, but when Grace had asked why Ray left the force she got the runaround. Nell Rose said she had no idea and then decided she wanted dessert after all, launching into a glowing rave about chocolate. On another afternoon, Sandy’s soft answer was, “same ol’ same ol’,” just before she reached for a pair of suddenly exciting half-price black heels.

“I told him I’d think about it, that’s all,” Ray said softly. “I haven’t made any promises.”

No, Ray Madigan didn’t make promises.

The waitress came back and dropped two tickets on the table. Separate checks, always.

Grace dug in her purse for a ten-dollar bill, more than enough for her barbecue plate and a generous tip.

“At least listen to me,” Ray said softly. “I know you don’t like what I do…”

“I don’t care what you do, not anymore,” she said coolly, hoping her fury didn’t show. She tried so hard not to care. “If you want to go to Mobile and get yourself killed, go right ahead.” She slid quickly from the booth and tried to walk past him.

“Dammit, Gracie, sit down.” Ray reached out and grabbed her wrist again, effectively restraining her as she tried to make her escape.

“Let me go.” Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper. Something unwanted welled up inside her and made her long to sit beside him, lay her head on his shoulder and beg him not to go to Mobile. She’d fought these feelings for a long time, and she fought them now.

“Just sit back down,” he insisted softly, refusing to release his grip as he assaulted her with his most cajoling, most seductive voice.

“No.”

“Gracie…”

“No,” she said, just a little bit louder.

The waitress walked by to pick up Grace’s check and the ten-dollar bill. Maybe she sensed the tension, maybe she was concerned about the other customers who stared over their own coffee and pie. To defuse the situation she smiled, winked and said, “Why don’t you just marry the poor guy and put him out of his misery?”

Grace gave the young girl a wide, unconcerned, very calm grin. “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”

The waitress’s eyes widened in surprise. Ray lifted a lazy hand. “Tamara sweetheart, this is Grace. Mrs. Ray Madigan number one.”