"Run! Go, go, go! All right!" Bouncing on his couch, Tom Ryan pounded his fist on the coffee table. "Touchdown!" Reaching into a chip-filled bowl, he grabbed up a handful, plowed them through a plate of salsa, and stuffed the mass into his open mouth. Chewing sloppily, he followed the food with a healthy swig of beer.
It was a perfect day: Super Bowl Sunday. He didn't have to go into the office, wasn't on call, and his partner and personal best-friend-and-pain-in-the-ass was in Miami visiting her sister.
Someone knocked on his door.
*Damn.* He grabbed a hurried swallow of beer to clear the crumbs from his throat. "Who is it?"
The knocking grew more insistent.
Rising from the couch, he yelled at the offending party. "What!?"
"Tom!"
He knew that voice. "No," he groaned, sinking back down into the leather cushions.
"Tom, open up!"
"You're in Miami; it's the fourth quarter; go away!"
"I'm not in Miami, and if you don't hurry up and open this door, I'll shoot the lock and open it myself."
"Okay!" He unfolded from the couch. "Jeez," he whined, opening the door. "Can't you let me enjoy a football game in peace?"
Cassy pushed past him into the small efficiency apartment. "Tom, it's just a football game."
"Cassy," he said, through gritted teeth. "It's the Super Bowl. The male equivalent of Nordstrom's annual shoe sale, and I know you and shoes."
"Pah!" She pushed past him, plopping down on the couch and grabbing a handful of chips. "Ugh, how can you eat these greasy things?"
He snatched the bowl away from her. "It's traditional to eat junk food while watching the Super Bowl. Which I was doing, quite happily, I might add, before you pounded on my door." Settling back into the couch, he forced her to move. It was either that or sit in his lap, and they both knew she didn't want to be anywhere near his lap. "Why aren't you in Miami?"
Cassy frowned, turning away and feigning interest in the game. "So, who's winning?"
"You don't even know who's playing," he said. "Why are you here, Cass?"
"I do so." She shrugged, sliding farther toward the opposite end of the couch. "So, who's winning?"
"The Cubs."
"Oh, good." She frowned in annoyance, realizing what she'd said. "Okay, so I don't follow football as slavishly as you do." She sat primly, back straight, staring fixedly at the screen. "That doesn't mean I can't be interested."
Okay, so he'd let her pass on the question for now. "Well, there's only one reason I know of for your sudden interest in football. What's his name?"
"Can't I express an interest in a sport without you looking for an ulterior motive?" she snapped.
"Fine." He grabbed up another fistful of chips and turned his attention back to the game.
"Do you miss it?"
Cassy's quiet voice penetrated through the TV crowd's cheers. He washed down the latest mouthful with another swallow of beer. "What?"
"Football."
"What do you mean? I'm not missing it; I watch it all the time."
"No, " she said softly. "Do you miss not being able to play? Not having the career you dreamed of."
"Oh, that." He was quiet for a moment, looking inward, looking backward. "Yes," he said honestly. "Yes, there are times when I still wish I'd played pro ball."
"It must have been hard for you."
He looked her over carefully, gauging her frame of mind, trying to figure out where the question had come from, where it was leading. "It was." Her silence made him suddenly uncomfortable. He began to speak to fill in the emptiness. "It all happened so fast." His eyes took on a distant look as he allowed the memories to surface. "One second, the crowd was cheering, the next I was on the ground, feeling like my arm had been ripped off." He shook his head. "I've never been in pain like that. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe.
"I remember the ride to the hospital. I was all alone. The coach couldn't leave in the middle of the game, neither could anybody else. It was the most important game of the season." He laughed mirthlessly. "We won. We won, and I lost."
"Weren't your parents there?"
"No, they were back home in Boston. They saw the whole thing in living color on their television set. Then they got to see it again, and again, through the wonder of instant replay. By the time they got down to the hospital, the surgery was over and so was my pro football career." He took a deep breath, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "I was twenty-one years old; all I had to do was win one more game for the team and my future was set. I had it all, Cass, everything you see in the movies. Pro scouts talking to me about being drafted to their teams. The promise of fame, of money beyond anything I could imagine. I was a star. A star." He shook his head. "And then it was gone. Bam! Just like that. Finito. So long and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
"I'm sorry, Tom."
"Why? It was a long time ago; I'm over it. You never asked before. Why bring it up now?"
"Were they disappointed in you?"
"My parents?"
She nodded, glancing at him and then back to the television.
He shook his head, puzzled by the question. "No. Why would they be?"
"They had dreams for you. Expectations. Hopes that you couldn't fulfill anymore."
The beer bottle was empty. He carried it to the recycling bin, then reached into the refrigerator and pulled out another. He took a long pull on the bottle before answering her. "They loved me. All they wanted was for me to be okay. If they were disappointed, it was for me, not in me." He settled back down on the couch. "I guess, I guess every parent has hopes for his child. To be happy, successful...." He shrugged. "But their lives didn't revolve around whether or not I played pro football.
"Where's all this coming from, Cass?" His voice grew softer. "Why are you here instead of in Miami with Christina?"
An ironic smile flashed across her lips. "My mother showed up."
Tom frowned, reaching forward and turning off the television. "I thought you said she wasn't going to be there, and that's why you'd agreed to go."
"That's what Christina told me. But when I got there, I found out it was a setup. Claudia and Christina, my loving sisters, decided it was time for all of us to be one big happy family."
"Oh." He sat quietly, waiting for her to continue.
"The St. John women, united against the world. Three sisters following their mother through life. Making Momma happy. Making Momma proud." She shook her head, blinking back angry tears. "It was all about meeting Momma's expectations. Christina'd done it. Married the right kind of man, had beautiful babies. Claudia was on her way now that she and Richard ironed out their problems, and then there was Cassandra, the bad one. The one who couldn't get the right kind of man, the one who wanted a career instead of a passel of brats!"
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Cass." Tom reached out to take her in his arms.
She slapped him away. "Don't! Don't you dare try to calm me down when I'm this mad."
"Look, Cass, every parent has dreams-"
"Oh yeah, my mother had dreams all right. Dreams of a perfect life with a perfect man that didn't include an imperfect daughter. She's hated me from the day I was born."
"I think you're over reacting."
"Really?" She moved next to him on the sofa, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in her hand and forcing his head to her level. "She hated you."
He sneered. "That's no surprise."
"Yeah, but do you know why? Because you weren't nearly good enough for her. You were a nobody. An Irish Catholic nobody from the wrong side of the tracks in Boston. You didn't know what the social register was, much less have your name in it. You had a lousy civil service job, with an old car and no money. Most importantly, no money. She said you were all wrong for me.
"You really wanna know why I married you? To get back at her. To prove that she was wrong about me. That I didn't need her to tell me what would make me happy."
"Did you ever love me?"
"Did I--" She stopped her tirade, his simple question penetrating her shield of righteous anger and lodging squarely in her heart. She looked at him, his face inches from hers, his eyes wide, naked. He'd done it again, set himself up for her to take him down. The pattern that repeated over and over through their years together repeating itself once more, here, today, in his small apartment.
She pushed off the couch and stood looking around. This was Tom's world. His whole life confined within these four walls. His old football jersey, cleaned and framed, along with newspaper clippings over a decade old, all a testament to what he'd been. His loss. She glanced at the wall of books and knickknacks, mementoes of his life in Florida. His small desk, littered with sheets of music paper, all covered with his almost-illegible handwriting. Another reminder of his failed dreams.
Turning back, she looked down at him, half sprawled on the couch, leaning back against the armrest, one long leg stretched out on the cushions, the other resting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, wearing a grease-stained old sweatshirt and jersey shorts long past their useful period. He was pathetic, her head said. The part of her that was Evelyn St. John's daughter agreed. No, he's Tom, and he loves me for me, her heart replied. She'd been operating for too long with her head, maybe it was time to listen to another voice.
"When I married you," she began, sitting back on the sofa, "I don't know if I really knew what love was. I knew that I wanted you. You were a good lover, a good cook, a good work partner. I also knew that you would drive my mother crazy, and that was a big factor in the decision."
He ducked his head, hearing the raw honesty in her voice, unable to look into her eyes.
"And I believed that, all through the marriage, and the divorce, and even the repartnering. And then you were shot, and everyone was saying that you wouldn't survive, and even... even if you did, there'd probably be brain damage." She captured his jaw with her hand, making him turn and look at her, resting her other hand against his heart. "And that's when I knew, that I really did love you all those years ago." It was her turn to look away. "That I still love you now."
He shifted, uncomfortably aware of her position between his outstretched legs and of her hand on his chest. "Cassy...." His voice dropped off, suddenly at a loss for words.
"How do you feel about me, Tom?" Her voice was husky. "Do you still love me?" She rubbed her hand across his torso, sliding it down to his waist. "Do you still want me?"
"Yes."
She leaned in, kissing him softly on the mouth. "Then prove it. Take me. Right here, right now."
He pulled away, not quite trusting her motive. "Why, so you can stick it to your mother again?"
Her hand moved lower, caressing him, encouraging his arousal. "No, this is about me. About us. Make love to me, Tom. Let me love you back."
His hand wound through her hair, pulling her mouth back to his. "Yes."
The room was dark; wan moonlight barely breached the windows. Tom roused slowly, uncomfortably aware of his skin sticking to the soft leather of the sofa. He lay pressed against the sofa back, his neck and shoulders bent at an awkward angle. He could feel the length of Cassy's naked body pressing against his. The smell of chips and beer and sex filled his nostrils as he shifted, trying to get up without disturbing the sleeping woman.
She raised her head, eyes still closed. "Hmm? Wha..?"
"Shh," He stroked her head, watching it lower again to the couch. "C'mon, we've gotta move now, or we won't be able to move in the morning." Gently, he maneuvered them both off the couch. Guiding Cassy, he sleepwalked her over to his bed. Pulling back the covers, he helped her onto the comfortable mattress, settling the light blankets over her body.
Cassy shifted, mumbling in a sleepy voice. "Too early to get up. Come back to bed."
He looked down at her. *Wonder who she's talking to?*
"Tom? Tom, come back to bed."
A warm smile crossed his lips as he eased down beside her. She moved into his arms, nestling her body against his warmth. Pressing a gentle kiss into her hair, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Super Bowl Sunday; he knew it was gonna be a good day, he just hadn't known how great a day it would turn out to be. Of course, the nagging thought skittered through his fuzzy brain, who knows what she'll be like in the morning when that cold, calculating, all-business Cassandra realizes what she'd done. *Can't think about that now....* His eyelids slid shut, silencing the words in his head.
Strong sunlight blazed through the window, shearing a path directly across Cassy's eyes. "No," she groaned. Turning her back to the offensive beam, she hunched deeper into the cozy blankets, stretched her legs, and connected with warm flesh.
Her eyes flew open. "What the hell?" She was in a strange bed, naked, with a man. A man sleeping with his back turned to her. She blinked and memory kicked in. *Oh shit. Tom.* Pushing back the blanket, she slid toward the edge of the bed.
He stirred, rolling toward her. "Cass?"
"Shh, go back to sleep." She was on her feet now. *Where the hell are my clothes?*
"Leaving so soon?" Tom was stretched out on the bed watching her.
"Yeah, gotta go home." Her eyes swept the small apartment. *They've gotta be around here somewhere.*
He flipped the covers off. "Sure I can't entice you to stay?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned, his eyes sliding appreciatively over her body.
Snatching up a handy towel, she threw it at him. "Cover up."
"Come back to bed. It's still early."
"No." Spotting her clothes thrown haphazardly around the couch, she scooped them up and quickly pulled them on.
Tom came up behind her, stopping her hands as she reached back to find her zipper. "Why the hurry?" He kissed the nape of her neck.
"Stop that!" She pulled away and started searching for her purse. Turning around, she bumped into her naked partner. "For godsakes, Tom, put some clothes on!"
Snatching up his jersey shorts, he pulled them on. "What's the matter, Cass? You couldn't wait to get me out of these last night," he snapped.
She pushed past him, pausing only long enough to unlock the front door. "I'll see you at the office. Don't be late."
SLAM!
The Boxter was already in the lot when Tom pulled in, a good half-hour early for his shift. Crossing the squad room, he detoured to the coffeepot. With one eye on the steaming pot and the other on his partner, he fixed himself a cup of the strong precinct brew. He used the time to study her. She sat rigidly in her chair, eyes fixed on the pages, diligently pouring over case files. Closed case files, he observed. Yep, Cassy was in full denial mode. *Okay,* he sighed. *Let's get this over with.*
Sliding into his desk chair, he set the cup of coffee down. Leaning forward across his desk, he flipped a paper clip onto her open file. "Good morning." He paused and smiled broadly. "Again."
She ignored him, frowning and shuffling papers within the folder.
"I said," he whispered, while rolling his chair to her side. "Good morning."
She glared at him. "I heard you."
"You didn't respond. You didn't say, 'Good morning, Tom.' in your usual cheery tone." He slid closer. "Isn't it a good morning, Cassy?"
"No." She shoved his chair with her foot.
"You two not playing nice again?" Harry Lipschitz glared down at his homicide team.
"We're fine, Harry," Cassy snapped.
"Yeah, Harry." Tom glared at his partner. "Fine."
"Oh-kay, children, I will not have my squad room disrupted by your bickering." He fixed them with a disapproving look. "Again."
Cassy rose to protest. "Everything's fine."
"No, it's not. I know you two; I've seen the warning signs."
Tom stood up, opening his mouth to speak.
"Not a word," Lipschitz warned. "Things are quiet for the moment. I want the two of you to go into one of the interrogation rooms and work out whatever the hell is wrong this time. And I don't wanna see your faces again until you do. Clear?"
"Clear."
Cassy pushed open the door of Interrogation Room Three. Purposeful strides took her to the opposite end of the small room. Planting her back solidly against the wall, she crossed her arms, lifted her chin, and stared at her partner. "Okay. Harry wants us to talk, let's talk."
Tom looked at her, reading her body language. He knew her better than she thought. They'd been in similar positions before. He knew the look. It was the same look when she faced down a suspect. The same look when she went head to head with the D.A.. The same look when she told him they were through. Cassy was so sure that she knew how he'd react that she'd already prepared the end of the discussion. Well, he had a surprise for her.
Pulling out a chair, he settled down comfortably, legs stretched out, heels resting on the table. "So, do you wanna start or should I?"
"I will." Her lips pursed into a thin line. She appeared to be considering her words before she spoke.
*That'd be a first,* Tom thought wryly.
She began. "Tom, last night-"
"Was a mistake," he finished. Holding up a hand, he stopped her from speaking. "It never should have happened. You didn't mean what you said. You don't want to mess up our working relationship. You were horny and I was an easy lay."
She opened her mouth to protest.
"It's okay, Cass." He smiled, an easy smile without malice or pain. "Because you're right. Last night was a mistake." He pulled one leg off the table and used it to kick the other chair toward her. "Sit down, partner. Let's really talk about this. About us.
"After you left this morning, I did a lot of thinking and took a long hard look at myself. I didn't much like what I saw. Look at me. I'm thirty-five years old, unmarried, no prospects, no kids, nothing in my life except my work." He shrugged. "Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, but I realized that it wasn't the life I wanted. I thought, I thought I was happy, but I realized, standing there in the cold, hard light of day, that I wasn't.
"As much as you don't want your mother's life, that's how much I do want my father's. I want a job I can be satisfied doing, a job that I know makes a difference in people's lives. I want a wife and children to come home to at the end of the day. But I know that's something I'll never have with you."
She sat quietly, watching him, her body relaxing a little more with each phrase he spoke. A small smile settled on her mouth.
"When Harry reteamed us, you called me the last true romantic. Maybe I am. Maybe the little house with the white picket fence dream isn't realistic in this day and age, but it's what I want, and I'm not willing to compromise without one hell of a fight."
She reached out, touching his arm lightly. "You shouldn't have to, not when it comes to being happy."
His other hand covered hers. "I made one other big self-discovery this morning."
"Two in one morning? Don't strain yourself, Thomas," she teased with a wink.
"It was about my feelings, my true feelings, for you, Cassy." He ducked his head, avoiding her eyes while he searched for the right words. "I do love you."
She shook her head slowly. "Tom."
"Let me finish. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Cass, you're my best friend, and absolutely the best partner I've ever had, but as far as us being together as a couple." He shook his head. "That's not gonna happen. It never should have happened." He shrugged and smiled. "Outside of the job, we're totally incompatible. Oil and water."
"O.J. and Nicole." She frowned, seeing him grimace. "Okay, so, bad analogy. But you're right. I love you, too, but I'm not in love with you. Maybe I never was."
His face was solemn. "Maybe not. But that doesn't matter now. Now, what matters is that we both agree that last night will never happen again. Ever."
"Agreed. Never again." She held out her hand and he took it shaking decisively.
"So," Tom began. "You wanna kill a few more hours in here not making out, or you wanna go back out there and tell Harry that the problem's solved?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I must've drunk a gallon of coffee this morning, and I really have to go to the bathroom."
He laughed. "You're not the only one." Standing, he crossed the floor and opened the door. "After you, partner."
"Thanks," Cassy said, beaming. "Partner."
Cassy walked slowly into the squad room, pausing at the top of the short flight of steps. A sudden small wave of dizziness lapped over her, and she held tightly to the railing while waiting for it to pass. "Damn," she muttered under her breath.
"You okay, Sergeant?"
She turned and smiled at the dark-haired, uniformed officer standing beside her. "I'm fine, Vicky. I think it's just a touch of that damned flu bug that's been running through the place."
The other woman smiled, placing a hand against her stomach. "I know just what you mean." She patted Cassy's shoulder comfortingly. "It takes about a week and a half, but it will pass. Meanwhile, take it easy, okay?"
"Okay, " Cassy smiled again. "Thanks. I'll see you later." Keeping a tight hold on the railing, she made it down the steps and into her desk chair without incident.
She was engrossed in their latest case file when something suddenly dropped onto the report. "What the hell?" A green carnation lay in the center of the paper. Glancing up, she saw Tom standing over her, the rest of a bouquet of green carnations still in his hands. "Oh my god, what the hell are you doing, auditioning for Robin Hood meets Miami Vice?"
He was dressed in green from head to toe: forest green shirt, slacks, and shoes, with a kelly green blazer over the outfit. A silly, shiny green cardboard hat with shamrocks was cocked at a rakish angle on his head. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Cass." He planted a swift kiss on her cheek and dropped the rest of the flowers into her lap before settling in at his own desk.
"St. Patrick's Day? Today?" She looked in surprise at her desk calendar. March seventeenth. Where had the time gone? It seemed like yesterday that she and Tom had finally resolved their relationship. Ever since then, they'd been red-hot as a team, clearing ninety percent of their cases and winning a few commendations along the way.
Harry opened his door and beckoned the two detectives into his office. Waiting until they'd seated themselves, he cast a withering eye on the taller of the two. "Is it Halloween again, so soon, Detective?"
Cassy grinned. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Harry."
"Happy nothing. We got a DB at the Palm Beach Hilton. Morton's team is already on the scene."
Tom rose swiftly. "We're on our way, Skipper." He moved quickly to the door, Cassy on his heels.
"Ryan."
"Yes, Harry?"
"Could you lose the hat before you get to the hotel?"
Tom scooped it off his head and flipped it onto the captain's desk. "There you go, Harry, now get into the spirit of the day."
"I hate these cockamamie holidays," he mumbled, tossing the hat aside and reaching for his bottle of Maalox.
The office door opened again, and another green-clad figure walked in.
"What is this?" Lipschitz stormed. "A leprechaun convention?"
"I love you, too, darling."
Harry looked up, stunned. "Frannie. Sweetie, I didn't realize it was you. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I just thought I'd bring you a little something special in honor of St. Patrick's Day." She held out a container. "I made blintzes."
Eagerly, he took the plastic box and opened it. "They're green."
"Oh, Harry, it's only food coloring."
"Yes. It's.. it's just.... They're green."
"Let's take them down to the commissary," she said soothingly, linking her arm through his. "Put enough sour cream on top and you'll never notice the color."
"That's a great idea, so who cares if my arteries will need roto-rooter? At least I won't have to look at green blintzes."
"Speaking of green," Fran said, "is Cassy okay? I saw her in the hall and she was looking a little off."
"Ah, she's probably got a touch of that flu that's been going around. She'll be okay."
"She's working too hard. She needs to take a break every now and again."
Harry smiled fondly down at his wife. "You sound like her mother." He frowned. "Strike that. I meant that sometimes you treat my officers like-"
"Like children?" Her smile was wistful. "God never blessed us with children. So, I suppose I turn that love to other things, other people." A far off look crossed her face, and she blinked suddenly.
He hugged her tightly. "I know, Fran. I miss them, too. It's funny. After Chris died, and Rita left, I never thought I'd fill the hole that opened in my heart."
"I know," she said softly. "But then you got closer to Tom and Cassy."
"Yeah. Those two are something else. There are times I don't know whether to kiss them or kill them. Especially Tom."
"He's a good man, Harry. He reminds me a lot of you."
"You mean tall, dark, and handsome?"
"Well, that, too." She reached up and pinched his cheek. "But more than that. Tom's a decent, honorable man, and a very good cop. Just like my Hesh."
He sighed. "I suppose you're right. I just wish he'd take things a little more seriously at times."
"Oh, he takes them very seriously. He cares. Sometimes I think he cares too much. So he uses humor as a way to cope. I suppose it's a lot better than using booze or drugs like some other cops have."
"You're right." He planted a light kiss on her head. "How come you're always right?"
She raised a saucy eyebrow. "It's a woman-thing."
"A woman-thing? Oy. Let's go eat."
"So what do you think?" Tom held the hotel room door open for his partner. They'd spent the better part of an hour inside, working around the body, looking for any clues that would tell them what happened in that room.
"I think you're right: rough sex gone bad." Cassy answered. "By the way, in case I forgot to mention it, thanks for changing your jacket."
He smiled his easy smile. "Even I knew it was too much. I just wanted to see your reaction." He brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his off-white blazer. "That's why I brought the spare." Leading the way down the long winding corridor to the elevator, he continued. "Do we know if she checked in under her real name, or if she came in with anybody?"
"Tom?" Cassy had stopped a few feet behind him. She was leaning against the wall.
"My god, you're as white as a sheet." He moved toward her, but he was too late. Her eyes rolled back and she slipped to the floor. "Cassy!" Sliding to his knees beside her, he checked her pulse while pulling out his cell phone. Hurriedly punching in a code he shouted into the instrument. "This is Sergeant Ryan. Officer down, sixteenth floor, Palm Beach Hilton." He gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "Cassy? Cassy, can you hear me?"
"Tom, what happened?"
He looked up to see Morton leaning over his shoulder. "I don't know. She was fine, then she just folded."
"Let's get her down on the floor." Morton grabbed a small pillow and a larger cushion from a couch in the hall. The pillow went under Cassy's head, the cushion elevated her legs. "She's looking a little pale, this ought to help. Let me get my bag, I'll be right back."
"Bag?"
"I am a licensed physician, and occasionally I do happen upon a live person who needs a little help." He frowned at Tom's incredulous look.
"Okay, how about my mother gave it to me and it makes her happy when I carry it. Is that better?"
"Sorry, Sterling."
Tom sat on the floor next to his partner, speaking to her softly. Then he held tightly to Cassy's hand while Morton did a preliminary check of her vitals.
"Her pressure's a little low, but everything else seems fine," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Has she been ill?"
Tom shook his head. "I don't think so. There's that flu that's going around...."
"Maybe that's it. Look, I'll stay with you until the EMTs get here, they'll take her to the hospital and get her checked out."
"No," Cassy moaned, opening her eyes and trying to sit up. "No hospital."
Tom held her down on the floor. "Yes hospital. Don't argue, Cass." He spared a grateful glance for the M.E. "Thanks, Sterling."
"Sure. Just call me when you know how she's doing."
The elevator doors opened and a frightened hotel manager ran out, followed by a team of paramedics. Tom moved back, letting them work, while he answered a few questions about what had just happened.
"Tom?"
Cassy was strapped to the gurney, ready for transport. He took her hand, smiling reassuringly. "I'm right here."
"Don't want to go to the hospital."
"We've already had that argument. I won."
"Stay with me?"
He squeezed her hand. "All the way, partner, all the way."
"I hate hospitals," Tom muttered under his breath. Two hours, it had been two hours since they'd brought Cassy in, and no one had come to tell him anything. He'd spoken with Harry, who said he'd be there as soon as he could clear his afternoon calendar.
"Tom!"
He turned in time to catch Frannie Lipschitz as she ran into his arms.
"How is she?" Harry asked.
He shook his head, hugging Frannie tightly. "I don't know. Nobody's telling me anything."
Harry put on his most determined face and marched to the desk. "I"m Captain Lipschitz, Palm Beach P.D.. One of my officers, Cassandra St. John, was brought in by ambulance about two hours ago. I want a report on her condition, and I want it now."
The E.R. clerk cowered under his glare. "I'll find out what the delay is, Captain."
A minute later, the E.R. doors slid open and a middle-aged woman walked out. "Captain Lipschitz?"
"Here."
She nodded, ushering the three into a small empty waiting room just off the main emergency room doors. "I'm Dr. Knapp. I've been treating Sergeant St. John."
"How is she?" Tom asked, running a nervous hand through his hair.
Dr. Knapp smiled. "She's fine."
"But she fainted. Wham, just passed out cold," Tom protested. "Are you sure?"
"I'm quite sure. You must be her partner, Tom, is it?"
"Yes, sorry. I'm Tom Ryan, this is our captain, Harry Lipschitz, and his wife, Fran.
"Pleased to meet you, all. Really, Sergeant Ryan, your partner is just fine. She was resting comfortably when I left. I'd like her to stay quiet for a little while longer, and then she can get dressed, and you can take her home. I'm sorry it took so long, but I wanted to run a few tests, just to make sure, before I came out to talk with you." Dr. Knapp smiled and shook Tom's hand. "Don't worry, Sergeant Ryan. She's fine, really, just fine. I gave her a prescription for some vitamins that she should start taking, and advised her to check with her personal physician in a few days and schedule a check-up. Good-bye."
Harry shook her hand. "Thanks, Doctor, we appreciate it."
"You're welcome."
"Can I see her?" Frannie asked. "I can help her get dressed when she's ready."
"Of course, come with me Mrs. Lipschitz, I'll take you to her." Ushering Frannie ahead of her, the doctor smiled once again at the anxious men. "Really, gentlemen, Sergeant St. John is fine. She just needs to slow down a little for now."
"I'll see to that," Harry affirmed.
Tom just nodded. He was still worried. Something was going on, something the doctor wasn't telling them. A cold knot formed in his gut, and he knew it wouldn't go away until he could talk to Cassy and find out the reason she fainted.
Frannie pulled the cubicle curtain back and peeked inside. "Cassy? Honey, can I come in?"
"Sure, Frannie." Cassy lay quietly on the bed. "Dr. Knapp wanted me to stay quiet for a little while longer, and then I can get dressed and go home. Why are you here?"
"I was with Harry when Tom's call came in."
"Tom? Is he still here?"
Frannie smiled. She never knew a couple so right and so wrong for each other as Cassy and Tom. "Where else would he be?"
"Oh. I guess I scared him, huh?" She smiled weakly. "Is he okay?"
"Well, I don't think he'll believe the doctor until he sees you for himself. Do you want me to go get him?"
"No." Cassy shivered, curling up on her side. "I don't want to see him. Not now."
Frannie moved to the bed, leaning against the mattress and stroking an errant fall of hair out of Cassy's eyes. "Oh, honey, what's wrong? The doctor said you were fine."
Cassy's hand shot out from under the blanket, grasping Frannie's tightly. "Promise you won't tell anyone. Not even Harry."
Frannie looked long and hard into Cassy's eyes. Something was wrong. Something serious. She'd never kept a secret from her husband, but she couldn't deny the young woman's desperate request. "I promise."
Tears slipped down Cassy's face. "I'm pregnant."
"What?"
"I'm pregnant." She wiped angrily at the tears. "How could I have been so stupid?"
"Cassy, you didn't get pregnant by yourself," Frannie said softly. "You can't take all the blame."
Cassy smiled and sniffed. "You're such a good friend. Aren't you even going to ask me who the father is?"
Frannie shook her head. "Not unless you want to tell me. The last thing you need is for anyone to put more pressure on you. But you know you'll have to tell Harry eventually."
"Yeah. I suppose it will become obvious." She released Frannie's hand, rolling onto her other side. "If I let it."
"Cassy?" Frannie reached out, smoothing the soft golden hair. It was a comforting gesture, a mother comforting her child. "Is there someone you want me to call?"
"Who? My mother? Oh, she'd really love that. Not only do I make a mess of my personal life, dare to want a career instead of a husband, but now I'm having a baby out of wedlock. Well, wouldn't that just be the final nail in the coffin of our relationship?"
There was nothing to say, Frannie thought, as she held the younger woman's hand. She and Cassy had developed a friendship outside of Cassy's working relationship with Harry. The two women shared confidences in the past. When Cassy and Tom returned to Palm Beach after eloping, Frannie was the first person who knew about the marriage. And when Cassy decided to end the marriage, Frannie was the first to receive the news, even before Tom.
Cassy pushed herself up on the bed. "Time to get dressed and face the world." She began slipping on her clothes, wincing when she caught her skin in the zipper of her skirt. "When I put this on, this morning, I figured that I'd gained a couple of pounds. Probably all that junk food I've been eating on stakeouts with Tom; it never even crossed my mind that I was pregnant. Not once."
"Didn't you notice that your period was late?"
She shook her head. "I've been so busy working, that I didn't even know it was St. Patrick's Day. The only time I seem to be aware of dates is if someone else reminds me."
"How far along are you?"
"The doctor thinks about six to eight weeks, depending on when my last period was. That would make it around end of January." Confusion was evident on her face as she thought back through the year. "I don't even remember if I was dating someone then."
"Weren't you seeing that guy, Steve? The one who kept sending you flowers and annoying Harry because he said the squad room was starting to look like a florist's shop?"
She shook her head. "No, we broke up right after New Years. I think he just wanted a sexy blonde on his arm for his company's party."
Frannie looked embarrassed. "You didn't, maybe have any one-night stands, did you?"
Frannie, I would never-" She stopped, a memory flashing across her mind's eye. "Oh my god." She looked wildly at Frannie. "There was one guy. It was so sudden, spur of the moment, nothing planned, we'd never planned.... It just happened. It was so fast, we never even thought to use protection. Oh, god."
"Cassy, you have to tell him."
"No." She shook her head adamantly. "I can't."
Frannie's voice was firm. "He has a right to know."
"No! He doesn't ever have to know. I can go away for a while, take a leave of absence."
"And what happens when you come back with a baby? Or is this someone you'll never see again?"
The room started to spin, bright dots of light danced before her eyes. Cassy grabbed the bed rail and eased herself back to the mattress, waiting for it to pass. "I'm okay," she said, seeing Frannie move to the curtain. "I'm okay, just a little dizzy. It'll pass."
"Cassy, sweetheart," Frannie soothed. "You don't have to do anything right now. You need to think about this pregnancy. You'll have to tell Harry, and eventually Tom and everyone else is going to find out."
At the mention of her partner's name, the tears came in earnest. "No. No one has to know, because there doesn't have to be a baby."
"Don't make that decision now. It's too soon; you just found out you're pregnant. You need time to think clearly. Take a few days off, I know Harry will put you on sick leave. Please, Cassy, don't make a decision you might spend the rest of your life regretting."
Cassy pushed off the bed again, ready to leave. "Can I get a lift home?"
"Of course. Cassy-"
"I don't want to talk about this. You promised not to say anything." She fixed the small woman with an icy stare. "You promised."
"I did. And I won't say anything, but please, come and talk with me before you make any final decisions?"
Cassy smiled, she knew she had a friend she could count on. "I will." Taking a deep breath, she pushed the curtain aside and moved toward the waiting room.
No sooner had she passed through the automatic doors, than Tom pulled her into a bear hug. "Don't you ever do that to me again, Cassy."
She pushed back, freeing herself, and reached out to take Harry's hand. "I'm fine. Really. It's just this stupid flu bug that everyone's got."
"So how come the doctor told us you needed some special vitamins?" Harry asked.
"Okay, so I'm a little rundown, that's all." She looked around distracted. "Ohmygod, where's my purse?"
"It's okay," Tom said. "One of the uniforms found it in the hall. It's back at the station, everything's intact."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was worried. My gun."
"Look, let me take you home and then I'll swing by the station and pick it up," he offered.
She shook her head, turning to the Lipschitzs. "Frannie offered to come home with me and stay for a little while. Harry can bring it when he comes to pick her up. Okay?"
"Sure," Harry said. He looked from Tom's worried face to Cassy. She was clearly avoiding her partner. Here we go again, he thought sourly. Something else with these two. Dammit, couldn't they just get over the past and on with their lives? Why did something always have to bubble up and cause bickering?
Cassy smiled, linking arms with Frannie and pulling the smaller woman toward the door. "Then let's get out of here. I hate hospitals."
Tom moved to block them. "Cassy-"
"I'm fine." Her eyes flashed anger. "Now will you please just let it go. I'll talk to you in a few days, okay?" She pushed past him into the bright sunlight outside.
Tom stood, watching the two women walking toward the parking lot. A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned.
"You okay?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He forced a smile. "I was just worried about Cassy."
"The doctor said it was nothing. So let it go, will you? I'm reassigning your case to Meyers and Briggs. With Cassy off, this will be a fine time for you to catch up on your paperwork." Harry frowned. "I'm still waiting for the final on that Thomas report."
Tom sighed heavily. "I'm on it, Skipper."
"Good." Harry clapped him on the back. "So I'll see you back at the office later?
"I'll be there." He gave his captain a reassuring smile and watched as the man left to drive the women to Cassy's home. The smile died on his lips. *I know you, Cassandra. There's something you're not telling me. I can feel it. And it's scaring the hell out of me.*
Cassy walked into her condo, kicked off her shoes, and sank tiredly into the soft couch in her living room. "Thanks again for letting us in, Mr. Roberts," she heard Frannie say to the complex's maintenance man.
"He's a nice man," Frannie chattered. "Did you see those tattoos? I bet he was in the Navy."
Cassy closed her eyes, rubbing her temples against the nagging headache that had lodged in her skull when the doctor gave her the news of her condition. "I don't know; I never asked." The telephone rang, and she reached for it. "St. John.... Oh, hi, hold on a minute." She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "It's my sister, Claudia."
Frannie nodded. "Do you feel like a cup of tea? I could go make some while you two talk."
Smiling, Cassy nodded, thankful that Frannie understood her unspoken request for privacy. "So, Claudia, what's new?"
"Cassy! Guess what?" Claudia's voice gushed through the wires.
"What?"
"I'm pregnant! Richard and I are going to have a baby, isn't that great?"
"Hey, that-that's great," she stuttered, trying to sound sincere. "When are you due?"
"Early October. I must have gotten pregnant right after New Years. Mother is absolutly thrilled."
Cassy tried to smile, hoping it would transfer through the phone lines. "Yes, I'm sure she is. So, how are you feeling?"
"Well, to tell the truth, not so hot. The smell of food makes me want to throw up, and I'm a little light headed most of the time, not to mention that I'm so darn tired all I want to do is sleep. But," Claudia laughed a small laugh, "Christina and Mother say that'll pass after the first trimester, then I should have about three months of getting fat but feeling fine. Then another three months of feeling and looking like a beached whale."
"Mmm, sounds like fun."
"Yeah, right. But on the bright side, I've quit my job. Richard doesn't want me working and Mother agrees. So I've got almost eight months of rest and relaxation before the baby comes."
"But, you'll go back to work after it's born, won't you?"
"Between us, I'll probably want to, but Richard's dead set against me working anyway, so I guess I'll be a stay-at-home-mom." A small hint of desperation crept into Claudia's voice. "Do you think that'll be okay?"
"Claudia, I'm the last person to ask if anything is okay, these days."
"Hey, are you all right?"
Cassy smiled at her sister's concern. "I'm fine. I've just got a lot of things on my mind right now."
"Oh, okay. Hold on a sec, got another call. .... I'm back. Gotta go, Cassy, it's Mom, she wants to take me shopping for maternity clothes, and then pick up a few things for the baby. I'll talk to you later, bye."
Cassy frowned at the receiver in her hand. So Claudia was pregnant, too. But she did it the right way, with a socially acceptable husband and no career ambitions beyond wife and mother. She felt the tears welling up again and blinked hard, angry at being so easily beset by her emotions.
"Are you okay?" Frannie asked, bringing a tea-laden tray into the room.
"I'm fine, just suddenly teary. Again."
"It's hormones; I'm told they tend to run amok in pregnant women."
"Oh, good, that'll really improve my disposition. Look, Frannie, I don't mean to be unkind, but I've got a lot on my mind right now, do you mind terribly taking a cab home? I really want to be alone."
"Sure, honey, just let me call Harry and let him know. Do you still want him to bring your purse by later?"
"No, that's okay. As long as I know where it is, and that my gun's in a safe place, I'm not concerned. I'll just get it when I go back to work." She levered herself off the couch, suddenly feeling like she'd run a marathon. "I'm going up to bed. Thanks for everything."
"You're welcome. Cassy, you won't do anything drastic, will you?"
Cassy searched the woman's face, seeing only concern and love for her on it. "No. I promise. I need to think about my options, Frannie. I won't lie to you. Having a baby never entered into my life plans."
"You mean you and Tom never talked about children when you got married?"
Cassy smiled ruefully. "Tom talked about it a lot, at first, before we started fighting all the time." She shook her head. "But I never did. I guess I never really thought about it. We talked about it more after the divorce. Mostly when we'd been with Daniel and Amanda, you know, our friends who adopted that baby boy. It was easy to say I'd wanted a child when I knew that it wasn't going to happen. Tom even asked me if I was sorry we hadn't had kids. I said yes, but it was because I knew it was what he wanted to hear.
"And, there was that time during the Justin Greer case, when that little boy looked like he was going to lose his parents, remember?"
"This was the one with the aunt in Texas and a pony? The people Harry called for you?"
"Yeah. I was at Tom's, feeling bad about the kid, and I remember wondering if Tom thought I'd make a good mom."
"And what did he say?"
"He's Tom, what do you think he said?" She grinned, but the smile faded as the memory came back. "He said I just needed to find the right guy." She shook her head, feeling the tears start up again. "But there isn't a right guy. Not now. There's just me, Cassandra, just like always."
"Cassy...."
"No, it's okay. I'm okay." She wiped the tears and headed for the stairs. "Good bye, Frannie, I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Frannie smiled, watching Cassy move up to her bedroom. The young woman had a lot to think about and Fran didn't envy her position. There was nothing she could do, nothing except be there for Cassy when she needed her. Shaking her head, she picked up the telephone and dialed for a cab.
"Welcome back, partner."
A bouquet of daisies plopped down on Cassy's desk. Taking the flowers, she inhaled their fragrance and flashed a smile at her partner. "Thanks."
Tom leaned forward across his desk, grinning broadly. "So, you all over that nasty flu?"
She nodded, feeling a little queasy as the smell of the flowers hit her again. She felt her stomach jump. "Oh," she said rising, "maybe not." She ran out of the squad room.
"She okay?" Harry asked, coming out of his office just in time to see Cassy's flight.
Tom shrugged. "I don't think she's as okay as she says she is." He pushed back in his chair, watching the doors for his partner's entrance. "I'm worried about her, Harry. You didn't see her just before she fainted. She went absolutely stark white. She wasn't herself in the hospital, and now she comes back and she's still sick."
"Why don't you just ask her what's wrong?"
"I can't." He shook his head. "I've tried, but she just keeps brushing me off. Did Frannie say anything to you?"
"Just what you already know. I think you're over reacting, Thomas. Spend a little more time on your files and a little less on your partner. Cassy's a big girl, she can take care of herself. Haven't you learned that lesson by now?" Turning on his heel, Harry went back into his office and closed the door.
Tom busied himself with papers, all the while watching the clock, waiting for Cassy to come back. Finally, she returned, walking on shaky legs back to her desk.
Easing herself back down into her chair, she pushed the flowers aside.
"Here," Tom said, coming over to her and picking up the offending blooms. "Maybe I'd better put these somewhere else, huh?"
"Yeah, sorry."
He took the flowers over to the coffee area, putting them in a small jar he filled with water. Then he smiled at her, as if to say, it's okay, I won't take it personally, before returning to their desks.
Cassy wiped a hand across her brow. "Lately, the smell of things just seems awfully strong. I guess that flu took more out of me than I thought."
"Look, I can finish up here." He bent over her desk, scooping up reports and folders.
"Stop that!" She slapped him away. "I'm fully capable of doing my share of the work around here."
"Cass, I was just-"
"Well, don't! Leave me alone. I don't need your help. I don't need anything from you!"
His temper flared at her reaction. "Fine! We're partners, or did you forget that?"
"How could I? You never stop reminding me." Her lip curled into an angry sneer. "I don't know about you, Ryan, but I can work just fine on my own."
"You do that!" He pushed through a cluster of gaping cops and was out the door before she could say another word.
"Now what?" Lipschitz's angry voice rang through the room. "St. John, in my office."
She'd barely made it through the door when he started in on her.
"What the hell is going on? You told me you worked things out, that the tantrums were over, and now you're fighting again? And this time, I saw you start it. What are you trying to do? Break up this partnership, too?"
She opened her mouth to speak. He cut her off.
"Forget it, Sergeant. I will not have you manipulating things around here. Either Ryan's your partner, or I'll assign you to records where you can work alone."
"I'm homicide, you can't do that."
"I'm captain around here, in case you forgot. I make the rules. I make the assignments." He paced the small room, needing physical release to keep from exploding. "I've cut you some slack because you've been sick, but we've all been fighting this damn bug and you are not someone special."
"You're right. I'm sorry, Harry, really." Her voice cracked and tears threatened. "I don't know what's happening to me."
He was unmoved. "Well find out, Sergeant. Find out and fix it. I've overlooked a lot from you, maybe more from you than most, but that ends right now. Whatever's biting at your butt, leave it at home. Don't bring it to work, understand?
"Yes, Sir." She swallowed down the tears and stood. "Is there anything else, Captain?"
"No, get outta here, and when I see you again, Sergeant, I expect you to have solved your problem." He sat down, and picked up a folder. "Dismissed."
Cassy closed the door softly behind her. Gathering up her purse, she walked slowly from the room. She had a lot of thinking to do. Decisions to make. And this was the last place she could do that.
Water lapped against the shore. A warm salt-breeze wrapped around her, whispering in her ear as she walked along the shore. Sand squished between her toes, soft and prickly at the same time.
Cassy looked out over the ocean, seeing the starlight dancing on the waves. She'd come down to the beach after leaving the office. She'd been here all day. There was something about the ocean, the endless expanse of water, unmarred by obstacles, rolling over everything in its path to the shore, that gave her a sense of freedom. Sometimes she felt like just stepping into the swell, letting the water take her, caress her, and set her free. Free from her worries, her obligations, her dreams. Everything.
She was losing control. She knew that. Suddenly, her life wasn't her own any more. And it was all his fault. Tom. He was the source of her problem. He was always making trouble for her. Throwing stones in her path. Blocking her moves and tackling her, just as if he was on the football field again. He couldn't stop playing quarterback. Calling the plays in their work life. In her personal life, too. Always making comments about the men in her life, or the lack of men in her life. Always taking her to task about things she'd done or wanted to do. Like her mother. He was just like her mother. Why hadn't she seen that before?
Coming to Palm Beach, becoming a cop, didn't change anything. She wanted to be in control, but she wasn't. She'd never been in control. Not once in her whole miserable life had she taken real control. She was like driftwood on the ocean, being pushed and pulled in every direction by forces outside her control.
Bitter tears dripped down her face. She still wasn't in control. She was a grown woman, she had a career, a life she'd made on her own, and now it was all falling apart. All because of one, stupid, careless mistake! And that was Tom's fault, too. He should have known she was upset. He should have sent her home that afternoon. But no, he took advantage of her instead. Used her, then told her that he didn't want her either. Fine. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.
Her days of dependency were over. From now on she was going to do what was best for Cassy St. John. She was taking control of her life and to hell with the rest of them!
Cassy ran through her condo, pulling open drawers, searching through closets. "At last! There you are." Pulling the phone book out from under her couch, she quickly turned to the yellow pages and began scanning the ads. "Good," she said, circling a number in ink. "Twenty-four hour telephone number." Taking a deep breath, she dialed. "Hello? I'd like to make an appointment. .... As soon as possible. .... Yes, yes, I understand. That's not a problem. .... Tomorrow, then? Thank you, I'll be there."
She glanced at her wristwatch: eleven pm. It was too late to call Frannie; she'd do that in the morning. Twelve hours. That's all. Just twelve hours and her life would be back in her control again.
Buzz! Buzz!
"Mmmph," Tom groaned, slapping out at the alarm clock.
Buzz! Buzzz!
"Damn, phone," he mumbled. Fumbling the instrument, he hauled it to his ear. "Ryan."
Buzzz! Buzzzzz!
"Door. Someone's at the door." Rolling out of bed naked, he stumbled into a nearby pair of boxers and staggered to the door. Yanking it open, he found himself face to face with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.
"Here," Cassy pushed past him into the apartment, handing off the flowers. "Put these in water."
Her sudden appearance cleared the cobwebs from his head. "Shh! Go away!" he hissed.
"Why?" She smiled brightly, going through his cabinets looking for a vase. "I know you've got one, Thomas. I let you have it in the divorce, remember."
"Cassy, get the hell out of here," he hissed again.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Who the hell is this?" A third voice cut through the air.
Cassy turned to see a beautiful brunette hurriedly pulling on clothes and glaring at them. "Oops, bad timing, huh?"
"Kelly, I can explain," Tom faltered.
"Oh no, let me." Cassy turned her cheeriest smile to the woman. "I'm, well, I'm Tom's-- How do I explain all the things we are to each other, Thomas?"
"Don't even try," the brunette snapped. "I'm outta here."
"Kelly!" The door slammed, shaking the pictures on the wall. Tom shook his head, putting the roses on the counter and extending his hands toward his partner's throat. "I'll get you for this, St. John."
She slipped deftly out from under his threatening hands, ducking beneath his arm. "Oh, there it is." Pulling a crystal vase out from under the breakfast bar, she filled it with water and plunked the roses in. "There, aren't they gorgeous?
"Why?" Tom moaned. "Why now? What the hell are you doing on my doorstep at five o'clock in the morning?"
"Apologizing."
"What? It couldn't wait a few hours? It had to be right now?" He shook his head, a look of pure misery on his face.
"I'm sorry. I suppose it could have waited. But you're always telling me to stop thinking things out so much, to be spontaneous. So I was."
"Lucky me."
"I didn't know you were dating anyone."
He moved back to the bed, sitting heavily and searching under the frame for his pants. "I wasn't. We just met. Last night, at the health club." He found his slacks and pulled them on.
"I thought you weren't a first date kind of guy."
"She changed my mind." He smiled tightly. "Not that it's any of your business."
"I really am sorry, Tom. I had no idea you weren't alone." She smiled apologetically. "You want me to call her later and explain?"
He looked sideways at her, trying to figure out if she was setting him up again. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. "Nah, that's okay. It's not like I was gonna ask her to be the mother of my children."
"Look, why don't you go take a shower and put on some clean clothes. I'll make us some coffee and we can talk. I really do need to talk to you."
"Sure, why not?" He shambled off to the bathroom, muttering under his breath.
When he came back, he felt clean, presentable, and cranky. "Okay, Cassy, what's this all about?"
She handed him a cup of steaming coffee laced with cream. "Here. Aren't you going to thank me for the roses?"
"Thank you." He sipped the hot brew, feeling it burn down to his stomach. "I'm still waiting for an explanation."
Cassy busied herself with fixing her own cup and pulling a bagel out of the toaster. She pulled a plate from the cupboard, cream cheese out of the fridge, and a knife from the drawer. She made a great show of slathering cream cheese on the bagel and placing it smartly down in front of him. "There you go, breakfast ala Cassy."
"Aren't you going to have some?"
"Nah, I'm not hungry. My stomach's still a teensy bit off from that flu." She sat on the stool next to him. "Tom, I really am sorry for the way I treated you yesterday. You didn't deserve that."
He was silent, waiting for her to go on.
She shrugged. "I've had a lot on my mind lately, and I guess it got all mixed up with work and not feeling well, and I took it out on you."
"You want to talk about it?"
Cassy looked him in the eyes. He was genuinely concerned. Poor Tom. Didn't he know how much he was giving away with that expressive face of his? No wonder people took advantage of him. Well tough, he'd just have to learn to deal with it. He wasn't her problem anymore. She could take him on the job, but from now on their personal lives were just that: personal, separate. She had to cut free, make her own life, with no one to answer to except herself. "No."
"You sure?"
*Give it a rest, will you?* "I said no."
He took a bite of bagel, turning his attention to his plate and away from her.
Good, she thought, he got the message. "Well, I've got to be going."
He swallowed quickly. "So soon? It's barely six o'clock. We don't have to be in until eight."
"Maybe you don't, but I've got some things to catch up on. I'll be out of the office most of the day."
"Why?"
"If you must know, I've got a date to go shopping with Frannie, and I'm picking her up at ten thirty."
He frowned, wiping cream cheese from his mouth. "How'd you get another day off?"
"I'm not officially back yet. After you stormed out, Harry reamed me out royally. Told me to get my head on straight before I came back."
"If it makes you feel any better, he yelled at me when I got back," he confessed.
She shook her head. "You didn't deserve it. I'll tell him when I get back that it was all my fault. It won't happen again. I promise."
He looked incredulous. "You mean that one shopping trip is going to solve whatever it is that's been eating you?"
"Yep. It's a girl-thing." Slipping off the stool, she headed for the door. "I'll see you later. Everything will be better from now on, I promise."
He listened to the door slam. "Yeah, right. You say that now, but I know you Cassy. Something's up, and one way or another, I'm gonna find out what it is." Putting the dishes in the sink, he grabbed up his car keys and headed out the door. "You're not the only one who can go in early and play catch-up."
The morning passed uneventfully. Palm Beach's most volatile cop-partners managed to get through the time without a single cross word. Mostly because they didn't speak. Tom tried, but Cassy just smiled sweetly and stayed focused on her papers.
Cassy's pen hit the desk with a decisive snap. "Gosh, look at the time. I gotta get out of here." She stood quickly, knocking her open purse onto the floor. "Damn." She stabbed a quick finger at her partner. "I can get it myself, Sir Galahad."
He raised his palms. "Yes, your ladyship. Have a good time."
She rushed past him, up the stairs and out of the squad room. Tom watched her go with a satisfied smile. Whatever it was that was troubling her, she seemed to have worked it out. He didn't believe that it was the end of problems between them, but for the moment, the peace was nice. Turning back to his desk, he knocked a folder to the floor. "Nice move, Ryan," he mumbled. Ducking under the desk to retrieve it, he spotted a small black leather book. Cassy's personal appointment book. He thought briefly about trying to call her, but no, she probably would think he was snooping.
A crooked smile crossed his lips. Opening the book, he turned to today's date. Only one entry: eleven am, Women's Health Clinic. A slight frown creased his brow; the name triggered something somewhere in the back of his mind. He shrugged, it probably wasn't anything important. Picking up a pen he scribbled in the seven p.m. space. Dinner - Tom. He'd bring the book by her place after work and casually point out the entry. Then he wouldn't leave until he was sure that everything really was all right.
"Hi Frannie!" Tom beamed at the small woman. "I didn't realize you'd still be with Cassy. Are you going to join us for dinner?"
She stood blocking the door. "Tom? What are you doing here?"
Bending to kiss her cheek, he slipped past her into the living room.
"Cass and I had a dinner date." He opened the small leather book in his hand. "See. Right here. Dinner - Tom, seven o'clock. So where is she?"
"Upstairs. She's lying down."
Something was wrong; he could feel it. The curtains were drawn and the house was unusually quiet. A worried frown creased his forehead.
"Is she okay? I mean, she was fine this morning when we had breakfast. She's not sick again, is she?"
"No, no," Frannie soothed. "She's fine. Really. Just tired from the shopping." She smiled. A forced smile. "You know Cassy when she's in the mood to shop."
"Yeah. Sherman's march through Georgia left less damage in its wake." He fidgeted, looking up the stairs. "Look, I'll just pop upstairs and say a quick hello, then I'll leave, okay?"
"Tom. No, don't-"
"Tom?" Cassy stood at the top of the stairs. "What are you doing here?" She was pale, leaning against the wall.
His heart gave a jump. "What's wrong, Cass? Do you need me to call a doctor? Take you back to the hospital?"
She managed a tiny smile. "No, thanks, I'll be fine."
He knew that look. She didn't want him to baby her. Okay. He could be a grown-up and treat her the same way. "Sure." Jogging up the stairs, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Take care." A short jump and he was at the bottom of the stairs and heading toward the door. "Frannie, you call me if she needs anything."
"I will." The small woman opened the door, smiling fondly at the younger man.
"Okay. I'll call-" His eyes fell on a piece of paper tossed carelessly on the couch. "What's this?" His eyes narrowed as he read. "First trimester dilation and curettage? What?" Confusion crossed his face. He shook his head, unable to speak. Women's Health Clinic. It all came back. He'd read the reports a few years ago. Picketing. Protesting. He looked up sharply at the woman on the stairs. "Abortion? You had an abortion? You were pregnant?" Memories came rushing back. Super Bowl Sunday. "How far along were you?" *Oh, God. Oh, God, no.* He ran back up the stairs. "How far along?"
Her face crumpled. "Tom, don't."
"How far?"
"About eight weeks."
"Whose baby was it?"
"Mine. It was my baby."
"Yours and somebody else's. Whose?"
"Mine! Mine and nobody else's!" She started to cry, her body sliding down the wall to the floor.
"Whose?!" He dropped to his knees, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "TELL ME!"
"YOURS!"
He went numb. Cassy's cry echoed in his head. YOURS! He shook his head, denial screaming forth from every pore. "No. .. No. ... It-it was mine? Yours and mine?" He looked down at his hands, still locked around her arms. He looked up into her face, seeing the truth. "Oh, God. You killed our baby?" His voice broke. "How could you? How?"
She broke free, wiping angrily at her tears. "Our baby? Ours? It was my baby. My body. My decision. You had nothing to do with it." She pushed him away, sending him staggering back down the steps. "Don't you dare look at me like that, Thomas. Don't you dare judge me."
"You never said a word. All this time. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why should I? It was my problem."
"Problem? Our baby was a problem?"
"Our baby?" She came down the stairs to face him. "I was the one pregnant. I was the one whose life would've been turned upside down. I would have been the one living with the consequences for the rest of my life! You?" she sneered. "All you were was a sperm donor."
Tom felt himself grow cold. All feeling locked down tight. He was numb, through and through. He looked at Cassy, seeing a stranger. Someone he didn't know. Someone he never knew. Pulling in a shuddering breath, he walked stiffly to the door. Turning, he looked back at Cassy, saw her standing, shaking with rage at him, saw her mother standing behind her. "I've been a fool. I thought if I could love you, that you'd see yourself as someone deserving of love. That you'd stop thinking of yourself as Evelyn St. John's unwanted child. That you'd learn to love yourself. But what I didn't see. Because I was too blind, or too stubborn, or too damn stupid to see, is that you've always loved yourself. You are the only person you've ever loved. Or will ever love.
"Dammit, Cassy, why didn't you tell me? You knew... you knew that I wanted children. I would have taken it, raised it by myself if that's the way you wanted it. Why?"
"Big words!" she spat. "Talk! All talk! I was the one who had the symptoms. I've been nauseated, dizzy, tired, hungry, up one minute, down the next. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't be with people. I couldn't work." She pulled in a long breath. "It took everything away from me. Everything. It took my work and my body and my life. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't stand the thought of the snickering behind my back. Of what those Harpies, my mother and my sisters, would have said. I've given up enough. I'm not giving up anything else."
His voice was soft, sad. "Just our baby." A hand touched his arm.
He looked to its source. "Frannie. You knew didn't you? You helped her do this?"
"Tom, I-"
"I don't understand." Tears ran down his face as he looked at the small, dark-haired woman. "I thought you were my friend. How could you help her kill my child?"
Frannie turned away, unable to face him.
"Go home, Tom," Cassy said, sinking onto the couch. "We'll talk about this later."
"No." His voice was ice. "We'll never talk again. I hate you, Cassandra. I never thought it was in me to truly hate anyone. But I hate you." He opened the door, turning back once more to look at the woman who'd meant so much to him, who'd been such a large part of his life, who'd taken his child away from him forever. "I never want to see you again."
The door closed quietly behind him. A shroud of silence descended upon the two women. Finally, Frannie turned to her friend. "He didn't mean it, Cassy."
"Yes," Cassy said quietly. "Yes he did. Every word.
"All my life, I've wanted to be independent. My own woman. Answerable to no one. I've worked very hard to get where I am in my career. I'm compulsive, obsessive, planning every little detail down to the nth degree. And then, one man, one moment of lost control, and all my planning goes to hell." She laughed, an empty, bitter sound.
Rising, she walked to the window, pulling back the sheer curtain to stare down the empty street. "Fool."
The squad room was quiet when Tom walked in. Hanford was at his desk. He looked up, nodding at the tall detective. "Tom. You're in late."
"Yeah. I just-just gotta leave something for the captain." He smiled at the man, moving quickly to the closed office door.
The lights were off in Harry's office. It didn't matter. There was enough illumination coming in through the windows from the other room. He didn't need extra light to do what he had to do.
Calmly, deliberately, he unhooked his badge from his belt and pulled the service revolver from its holster. He stood quietly, looking down at them in his hands, at the symbols of his work, thinking about everything they represented in his life. He thought about the friends he'd made in his years here. He thought about the cases he'd solved, the killers he'd put behind bars, the victims he'd avenged. He thought about his successes and his failures, about football and music, and all the songs he'd never write now. He thought about his partner. He'd given her his heart, his hopes, his dreams, and she destroyed them all. There was nothing left for him here. He placed the badge and gun in the center of Harry's desk. "Goodbye, Skipper. Thanks for everything."
Tom walked through the halls of the precinct house. Seeing everything. Seeing nothing. He moved through the outer doors and down the steps, never once looking back.
Wearily, Tom pushed open the door to his apartment. He'd never noticed how heavy the door was until now. Its weight matched the icy heaviness frozen around his heart. He stepped inside, giving the door a slight push and automatically turning on a light.
Rainbows danced around the room. Light refracting through the delicate crystal vase holding a dozen blood-red roses.
The ice around his heart shattered, replaced by raging fire. He grabbed the vase in both hands; the roses, a symbol of love, meant death to him now. "NOOOOO!" The delicate crystal exploded in his hands. He tore at the roses as the thorns tore through his bleeding hands. "Nooo! Damn you, Cassy! DAMN YOU!!"
He rampaged through the apartment, rage and grief giving him unnatural strength. He upended furniture, sending chairs flying, smashing into shelves piled with the bric-a-brac of his life. "I should have known!"
Attacking the desk, he shredded the papers, ripping the songs into small, blood-stained pieces of paper.
"I should have seen!"
He swept plates and glasses from the kitchen shelves, ripped the bedding from the mattress.
"I should have stopped you!"
Frantic hands tore the framed jersey from its place on the wall.
"Nothing! You're nothing!"
Shattering the glass, he pulled the red fabric free, throwing the garment against the far wall. It lay, crumpled and torn, on top of a pile of books and trophies. More detritus of his life.
He staggered through his small dressing room, leaving blood-streaked clothing scattered in his wake. Finally, he stumbled into his bathroom, staring in shock at the ravaged figure staring back at him in the silvered glass. Blood and tears streaked his face and his clothing. His hair lay wildly around his face, sparkling oddly with bits of crystal. He faced himself. His mouth opened, working to produce a sound, nothing came out. He raised his hands, one final act of fury, smashing the glass, fracturing the image, killing the one he hated most. Himself.
With an inarticulate cry, he slipped to the floor, curling into a fetal position on the rug, his bleeding hands cradled against his chest, as, in his anguished mind, he cradled his neverborn child.
Tom Ryan stood at the United gate, waiting for his plane to be called for boarding. On the outside, he was tanned and fit, on the inside, bruised and broken, but healing. Slowly healing. He looked down at his gauze-wrapped hands, then lifted his head and smiled at the older couple standing nearby. Harry and Frannie. He owed them so much.
When he left Cassy's place that horrific night, Frannie, fearing what he might do, had immediately called her husband. Harry looked all over Palm for him, finally finding him curled on his bathroom floor, bleeding and incoherent. They stayed with him in the emergency room while the doctors and nurses removed the crystal fragments and stitched the worst of the cuts. Then they took him to their home, forced antibiotics and tranquilizers into him, and gave him a place to hide until he could face himself again.
Frannie mothered him, letting him voice his anger and holding him when he cried. She forced chicken soup down his throat and gave him unconditional love. She explained that she never knew the identity of the baby's father, and apologized for her part of his pain. And he forgave her, knowing that she only had Cassy's best interests at heart, and that she'd never consciously do anything to hurt him.
Harry was his rock. Taking all the abuse Tom dished out and returning it with patience and love. He found the gun and badge on his desk when he returned to work the next day and never once, to his credit, tried to talk the younger man out of his decision, no matter how much the thought of losing Tom hurt him.
And now it was time to say goodbye. He walked toward them, opening his arms, and they both moved into his embrace. "Thank you so much," he whispered. "I never could've gotten through this last week without you."
Frannie reached up, stroking his face and pulling him down to kiss his cheek. "Goodbye, Tom. Good luck. We love you."
"Goodbye, Frannie. I love you, too. Both of you." He extended his hand to Harry.
The older man gently pushed the hand aside, pulling Tom into a tight hug. Then he pulled away, holding out a small folded piece of paper. "Here. I talked with an old friend of mine; she's a captain at a precinct up north. I know it's too soon, but when you're ready to go back to work, she said to give her a call; she can use a good homicide detective."
Tom looked down at the folded scrap in his hand. "Thanks."
The paging system crackled to life. "Now boarding United flight 555 for Boston."
"That's me," Tom said. His eyes filled, and his throat closed. He watched Harry pull Frannie into an embrace, holding his wife tightly while their eyes glistened with tears. "Goodbye."
He walked up the ramp to his plane, nodded politely to the flight attendant, and slipped into his seat. Fastening his seatbelt, he let his head rest against the seat back and closed his eyes. He listened to the emergency instructions and felt the plane rolling to the runway, then gradually pick up speed and launch into the air.
Opening his eyes, Tom looked out the window, watching Palm Beach and his past fall away beneath him. Opening the paper he still held gingerly in his hand, he smiled reading a telephone number and a single name. *Thanks, Harry. When I'm ready, I'll call. I promise.*
Brilliant sunlight streamed through the windows of the Ryan family home. Tom listened to his parents' good-natured bantering in the other room. Tomorrow was the Memorial Day parade and his father was marching with his old unit. Voices drifted into the room.
"Hold still, Lyam, let me fasten this medal on right."
"It's fine. I just wish the cleaners hadn't shrunk the damn thing."
"They didn't shrink it, my darling, you grew."
"That's not true...."
Tom grinned as he heard them carry the conversation into another part of the house. It felt good to smile again. He was healing. Slowly. Sometimes he thought he must be crazy, grieving over a child he'd never even known had existed until it was gone. But he'd spent time talking with the parish priest, who'd introduced him to others who had also lost children unborn. He learned that it was natural to grieve, that he had to grieve before he could move on, that his dreams of life with a faceless child were natural and that eventually the pain wouldn't be so bad. They were right. He could go through whole days now, without thinking about it. And the pain in his heart, when he watched fathers playing in the park with their children, had lessened to a manageable ache.
He heard the front door slam and automatically checked his watch. His parents were off to open the restaurant for the day. What In Blazes had turned out to be a great success, and the Ryans found their marriage revived by the challenge of working together to run the place. They were happy. Their lives were in place. It was time he did the same thing.
Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, Tom picked up the phone, dialing the number Harry gave him the day he left Palm. "Hello, my name is Thomas Ryan. Captain Harry Lipschitz of the Palm Beach Police Department gave me this number. I'd like to speak to Captain Karen Simms, please."
~finis~