Past in the Present (MidKnight Blue Book 9) Read online

  Stevie stared back at him for a full minute, trying to assimilate all he had just said. “You’ll help me?” she asked, making sure she’d fully understood.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You’ll work on nothing but Tiempo for two weeks?”

  “I’ll eat, drink, and sleep Tiempo for two weeks.”

  “And you’ll help me take him down?”

  “If it’s within my power to do it, yes.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I can damn sure try.”

  “And I come back to the department?”

  “Yes.”

  “As what? An inmate?”

  Dave grinned at that, shaking his head slowly. “An officer.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can do that.”

  “But why?” she asked, her disbelief evident.

  “Because that’s what Midnight wants.”

  Stevie looked back at him, then finally nodded, as if still trying to accept what he was telling her but willing to trust him for the moment.

  “Sergeant, I think you have yourself a deal,” she said after a long pause.

  “Cool,” he replied simply, grinning at her engagingly.

  Stevie narrowed her eyes. She’d have to be careful with this one.

  Donovan Curtis stood in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a black cotton shirt, open at the throat. His sleeves were rolled up over tanned, well-toned forearms, and he had a dishtowel thrown carelessly over his shoulder. Locks of sandy-brown hair fell over his forehead as he chopped. He sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He was barefoot, but his lean, tall frame was the picture of modern masculinity. The radio was on in the living room, just a few feet from the kitchen, so he didn’t hear the front door open.

  When Erin Shandley laid eyes on him for the first time she was sure her heart stopped, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the surprise of finding someone in the house when she expected it to be empty. When Donovan’s head snapped up, a frown on his lips, all she could think was what incredibly beautiful eyes he had, a teal blue that seemed to glow.

  “Hi,” she stammered, realizing how awkward a situation this was.

  Donovan canted his head to the side, a grin starting on his lips. “Hello…” he said, trailing off with an invitation for her to explain what she was doing in his house.

  “You must be Donovan,” Erin said, still standing in the doorway to the kitchen as if rooted to the spot.

  “I’m Donovan,” he said matter-of-factly as he set his knife down and turned to her, reaching up for the towel on his shoulder to wipe his hands. “And who would you be?” he asked, his grin widening.

  “Oh, duh,” Erin said, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. “I’m Erin Shandley. I’m a friend of Jeanie’s.”

  She stepped forward, extending her hand. He took it, smiling down at her. “Nice to meet you, Erin. And my fiancée is where?”

  “She dropped me off—she had to go pick something up. She said she’d be right back,” Erin rattled off, nervous in his presence. She couldn’t stop staring up at him. Jesus! Jeanie was a lucky girl!

  Donovan nodded and went back over to the cutting board. Erin noticed then that there was a pot boiling on the stove, and the aroma of chicken came to her as she inhaled. When she turned back to Donovan, he was looking at her.

  “Jeanie said you cook,” she said lamely.

  He laughed. “Did she also tell you that she doesn’t?” His grin told her that it was probably an ongoing joke between the two of them.

  “Well, she said you do most of the cooking,” Erin said, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing again. “Because last time I let her cook, she almost ruined one of my best saucepans.”

  Erin laughed, thinking that did sound like Jeanie. She watched as Donovan picked up a glass of wine and took a drink, glancing at her over the rim of the glass.

  Gesturing to her with the glass, he asked, “Do you want some wine?” Then he canted his head to the side, giving her a measuring look. “Or are you old enough?”

  Erin gave him a wide smile. She heard that a lot. “Yes, I’m old enough, but just barely.” She wrinkled her nose comically. “I’ve never tasted wine, though, so I don’t know…”

  “What have you tasted?” he asked, leaning against the refrigerator.

  “Champagne, and a beer once,” she replied, making a face. “Beer is gross.”

  Donovan laughed, liking her youthful candor. “You just haven’t tasted the right kind yet.” He held his glass out to her. “Would you like to try this?”

  Erin was surprised. She had never been in the presence of a guy this good-looking before, and she certainly had never had a man like Donovan be as nice to her as this. They didn’t even make men that looked like Donovan in Iowa.

  Tentatively, she reached out and took the glass. Donovan watched her with a warm grin on his face. When she hesitated, he said, “It’s just old grapes—it can’t kill you.”

  She laughed at his description, then took a sip. It was definitely different, and definitely an acquired taste, but she found that she liked it.

  She handed the glass back to him, nodding. “I like it. It’s really different from what I’ve tasted before, but it’s good.”

  “Do you want one of your own?” he asked, already reaching for one of the crystal wine glasses suspended from the bottom of his kitchen cabinets.

  “Sure,” she said, thinking, Can I just keep drinking from yours? She knew she was being bad. This was Jeanie’s man, and she was having all these thoughts. She almost giggled to herself, thinking she was such a kid.

  Donovan poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. Taking another drink of his and then refilling his glass, he glanced over at her. “So do you work for the department?”

  Erin sipped her wine. “I work in the secretarial pool.”

  Donovan nodded. “I thought you seemed a little young to be an officer.”

  “Just twenty-one a month ago,” she said, biting her lip.

  Donovan caught that and canted his head to the side again. “Do I make you nervous?”

  Erin couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open at the directness of his question. She closed it hastily as she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She averted her eyes as she nodded.

  “Why?” he asked, his look puzzled.

  “Um,” she stammered, not sure what to say, then blurted out her answer anyway. “Because I’m not used to gorgeous guys being nice to me.” She rolled her eyes, putting her forehead against the cabinet next to her. “God! I can’t believe I just said that!”

  Donovan laughed; the sound was warm and rich. He shook his head, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, rolling her head from side to side, her forehead still pressed against the wood. “So you say now—later you’re gonna think, what a dork!”

  Again Donovan laughed. “Sorry, I’m not a ‘what a dork’ kinda guy.”

  She rolled her head to the side, looking up at him. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Whew!” she said, grinning as she straightened up. “Another social disaster averted. Where’s my wine?” Reaching for her glass, she pretended to take a long drink. Donovan grinned. He already liked her; she was very unaffected.

  Erin was pretty in a very fresh way. She was more cute than beautiful, with blond hair and creamy skin, and big, bright blue eyes that reminded you of wide-eyed innocence. Today she looked particularly young; her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore only light makeup. Her outfit was a pale blue straight skirt and a navy blouse, with navy flats.

  They chatted a few more minutes about what he was cooking, and made some small talk about the weather while Donovan went back to chopping. A little while later Jeanie came in.

  “Hey!” she said, smiling widely at Donovan. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

  “I do live here,
” he pointed out, even as he leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips.

  Jeanie reached around, smacking him playfully on the butt as she laughed, twitching her nose. “I know you live here, brat. You’re just never here anymore!” she said, and in the same breath, “God, I hate that goatee. When do you get to shave it?”

  Donovan gave her a look of mock affront. “I happen to like the goatee,” he said, smoothing his fingers down the sides of it.

  “It’s scratchy,” Jeanie said, wrinkling her nose again.

  “Wah,” Donovan said, grinning as he poured her a glass of wine. Then he looked over at Erin. “What do you think?”

  “About what?” Erin hedged.

  Jeanie turned, leaning against the counter between Erin and Donovan as she waited for the answer.

  “About the goatee,” Donovan clarified.

  “Um…” Erin grinned solicitously, then bit her lip as her eyes darted between Donovan and Jeanie. “I kinda like it.”

  “Ugh!” Jeanie said, throwing up her hands, while Donovan beamed. She shot him a dirty look. “Well, I don’t like it, and you have to live with me!”

  “Oh, I dunno about that…” Donovan said, looking thoughtfully at his wine glass then quirking his eyebrow at Erin.

  “Shut up!” Jeanie said, laughing as she smacked him on the butt again. Donovan and Erin laughed. After a long moment, Jeanie glanced between the two of them. “So I take it you two met?”

  “We had no choice, Jay,” Donovan said, giving her a caustic look, his grin still evident.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be home,” she said, gesturing futilely. “Why are you home, anyway?” she asked, sipping her wine.

  “Got time off—thought I’d come home to my girl,” Donovan said, smiling down at her.

  “You left that fancy undercover apartment to come home to me,” Jeanie said wistfully, even as she grinned. “What a guy.”

  “If you want me to leave…” He put his wine glass down and took a few steps toward the front door.

  Jeanie grabbed him by the belt, pulling him back. “Hold on there, buddy! You’re not going anywhere.”

  Donovan grinned at Erin. “I love it when she gets rough.”

  Erin laughed.

  Donovan turned around, grabbing Jeanie up by the waist and lifting her off her feet, sitting her down on the counter so that she was face to face with him. Jeanie laughed, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him close. Donovan leaned in, his lips hovering near hers, looking into her eyes. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Donovan,” Jeanie said, kissing him softly, then dropped her head to his shoulder, nuzzling his neck with her lips. Donovan hugged her to him, closing his eyes. He was enjoying the feel of her again.

  Erin tried to ignore the exchange, but couldn’t help but watch, as if this were her favorite romantic movie. Donovan and Jeanie really were a great-looking couple—Jeanie with her long chestnut hair, her beautiful face set with dark, long-lashed eyes, and her perfect, petite body and great tan. And then there was Donovan, who was just gorgeous, and obviously so sweet.

  Jeanie and she had talked about Donovan. Jeanie had told Erin how Donovan had been her first lover, and how wonderful he’d been. She’d told Erin about Donovan being shot, and how they’d broken up because Jeanie couldn’t handle how serious things were. Then about the car bomb in Mexico, when Jeanie had heard a San Diego PD officer had been killed but didn’t know if it was Donovan or Midnight Chevalier. Later, of course, Jeanie had told her about how Donovan had proposed on their trip up the coast. It was one of the most romantic things Erin had ever heard.

  Now, meeting Donovan, she could see why Jeanie’s eyes shined so bright when she talked about him. It was apparent they were very close.

  Erin hoped someday to find someone like Donovan. Her first brush with “love” had left a great deal to be desired. At least she had Bobby to show for it. Bobby was her five-year-old son, and the reason she’d been able to go on so many times in the last five years.

  Growing up in Iowa had left a lot to be desired in terms of excitement. So when Tyler Bodine had blown into town on his motorcycle, it had seemed like some great adventure to flirt with him. He had seemed so handsome, with his blond hair and brown eyes. He was five feet, ten inches, and muscled from working construction. Being a virgin at fifteen, she had no idea that messing with a nineteen-year-old man was a bad idea. She realized that a few hours later when he all but raped her in the barn out behind her parents’ house. It wasn’t really rape, because she didn’t really mind until he actually entered her, and it hurt so much she thought she was going to die. Then she cried and pleaded with him to stop, but he just said, “Well, the damage is done now—might as well finish.”

  She realized much later that she should have known then what kind of man he was, but she didn’t. Afterward he was nice, and apologized for hurting her. “It always hurts the first time,” he said. “The next time won’t hurt so much.” Well, the next time did hurt just as much, and the time after that, and the time after that.

  Tyler was working at a nearby farm, helping to build a cattle pen and a barn. The man he was working for had known Erin her entire life. He’d seen what was going on between the young man working for him and “little Erin,” as he had thought of her. Mr. Handy had seen fit to inform Erin’s parents of what he thought was happening. They had questioned Erin, but she told them they were just seeing each other, that nothing sexual was going on. The fact that she’d lied to them became evident four months later when she cried in their arms, telling them she was pregnant. Erin’s father had gone after Tyler with a shotgun.

  It had been the classic shotgun wedding, Erin in her ill-fitting Sunday dress and Tyler in his best jeans and a white-collared shirt loaned to him by Erin’s father; it was two sizes too big and had a stain on the pocket. They’d moved into her parents’ small mother-in-law cottage, and things had been okay. Tyler had become even more of a stranger after that. He’d worked long hours at the Handy place, and finished the job a month before the baby was due. Tyler traded his motorcycle for a truck and packed up the few things they had, along with Erin, and they left town. Erin’s parents had been distraught, but Tyler had been adamant. “I’m not staying in this one-fucking-horse town.”

  Erin was determined to make her marriage with Tyler work. She thought she loved him; after all, he was her first. Tyler told her he loved her—usually when he made love to her at night in the dark, but she was sure he meant it. The baby’s birth had occurred when they were passing through a town; he dropped her at the emergency room and came back to pick her up two days later when she was released, barely glancing at the baby and not even asking how she was.

  The birth had been terrifying. It had hurt so much, and she’d been so afraid and alone. The nurses were mean to her, telling her she should have taken a prenatal class so she’d know what to do. Since they didn’t have any insurance, the hospital wouldn’t give her any medication to help ease the pain. She’d screamed over and over again, begging them to get Tyler for her. She had cried when the baby was born, and she’d named him Bobby after her father, Robert.

  A week later, Tyler found work in Wichita, Kansas, and they got an apartment. It was small, but Erin set about trying to make it a nice home for them. She found some material to make curtains, and tried to find furniture at the secondhand store. She walked or took the bus to wherever she could, taking Bobby with her in a handmade carrier that she wrapped around herself. It was during that time that she became a loving mother in every way. Even though she was a child herself, her baby’s safety, health, and happiness became paramount.

  Tyler took to being out at all hours of the night, leaving Erin and Bobby alone. Whenever Erin would question Tyler, he would say he was picking up extra work so they could find a better apartment with some “real” furniture. When he was home, he criticized her cooking, her decorations, and the way she handled Bobby. If Bobby cried for more than a minute, Tyler yelled at her to
shut him the hell up, then proceeded to tell her what a lousy mother she was, that if she was smarter she’d know what to do to keep her baby happy. But since she wasn’t… he’d always leave that part off, letting her imagine what he meant.

  The beatings started a year and a half after they were married. Tyler had come home drunk. He had gotten paid that night, and had spent half his paycheck buying rounds at the bar. When he handed Erin half the meager sum he usually gave her for buying groceries, she asked where the rest was. “Gotta cut back,” Tyler slurred.

  “That sure didn’t apply at the bar tonight, did it?” Erin snapped, in a rare show of anger.

  Tyler backhanded her. “I make the fucking money, I can spend the fucking money—you got that, bitch?” he yelled.

  Erin had been stunned. She’d never in her life been hit in the face. But Tyler wasn’t done. He’d gone on to hit her again and again, telling her that she better not ever question him again. After that, he beat her whenever he was in a bad mood, or whenever she had the nerve to question him.

  It had taken her three years to finally set aside enough money to get away from him. She had been terrified that night six months ago, when she took what money he had left from his paycheck out of his wallet as he lay passed out on the couch and grabbed the small suitcase and raggedy backpack in which she’d stored as much clothing and food for herself and Bobby as she could. She had managed to save a measly five hundred dollars, and she had another five hundred from what was left of Tyler’s check. She bought them bus tickets under fake names and headed for California.

  Once there she found herself a job as a waitress, and found three roommates who were college students. One of the girls, thankfully, was studying to be a daycare provider, and went to school nights, so she offered to watch Bobby while Erin worked. A month later she found out about some night courses she could take to learn to work on a word processor, and spent her last two hundred dollars to enroll. In four months she had her certification for office skills, and went looking for a job. She got lucky on her third interview, with the San Diego Police Department. She’d been working there for a week when she met a very harried officer coming in the door one day with an armload of papers. Erin offered to help her, and Jeanie accepted gratefully. They’d become fast friends. Now she’d met Jeanie’s other half. Life was definitely getting interesting.