Chapter Fifteen

Mid-September

Reese walked into the station house just in time to hear Nelson Parker say, "No way," in a tone that suggested no further discussion was welcome. She slowed just inside the door to reconnoiter. Bri and Allie, both in uniform, flanked Nelson at his desk. Both the look on Nelson's face and the fact that he was ripping the wrapper from a fresh roll of Turns indicated that whatever the two rookies had just said to him did not sit well.

"Afternoon." Reese edged through the dividing gate and crossed over to her desk across the narrow aisle from Nelson's. "Something up?"

Nelson grunted. Allie turned, her eyes glittering with barely contained enthusiasm, and said, "Bri and I had an idea about getting a handle on the dealers who are using the circuit parties to recruit new marks."

"No," Nelson growled again.

Reese's expression was noncommittal. "In two weeks, we haven't been able to get any kind of lead other than the fact that a few kids in town have heard rumors. The couple of local dealers we rousted either really didn't know anything about it or were getting paid off to keep silent."

"What we thought," Allie continued, apparently either oblivious or inured to her chief's obvious displeasure, "was that we could try picking up on these parties ourselves. Maybe by hanging out in some of the bars in Wellfleet or farther up the Cape, where no one knows us. You know, get invited."

"Undercover, you mean." Reese said the word evenly, as if it didn't represent one of the most dangerous assignments that a law enforcement officer could undertake. There was nothing harder than being on the front line with little backup in an unknown situation that could go from bad to worse in milliseconds. With inexperienced rookies like these two, it was a recipe for disaster.

Bri joined in. "We know that the people behind the parties have to have a way of getting the word out about where and when, or else no one would be able to find them. According to Robert Bridger's buddies, they heard about it in a bar. So," she went on, carefully not looking at her father, "Allie and I figured"

"You figured wrong." Nelson pushed back from his desk, stood, and paced the crowded space to the single window that looked out onto the black topped parking lot. It was late on Saturday afternoon, and Gladys had already left for the day. The four of them were alone in the station. "The case is going nowhere."

Unfortunately, that was the truth. Robert Bridger had been released from the hospital, and thus far, no charges had been brought against him. Tina, if that was even the dead girl's name, remained unidentified. It was not unusual for hundreds of young people from the United States and abroad to flock to Cape Cod in the summer to work and party. If she was in the country on a student visa or simply hadn't told anyone of her summer plans, she could remain unidentified for months, if not indefinitely. It rankled Reese to know that those responsible for a young girl's death and for turning on dozens of others to body- and soul-destroying drugs were operating unchecked within her province, but for the time being she was resolved to keeping an eye and ear out for potential leads while trying to be patient. She had briefly considered, and then discarded, the possibility of putting one or both of her young officers directly on the trail of the candy-bowl parties. She'd decided against it, even though the idea had distinct possibilities.

"There are plenty of people in the armed forces a lot younger than us who do things a lot more dangerous," Allie pointed out doggedly.

Nelson spun around, his eyes uncharacteristically hard. "You're not in the goddamn Army." He shot a look at Reese. "Or the Marines." Then he stomped out the front door.

"Oops," Allie said quietly.

"Your eagerness is commendable, Officer Tremont," Reese said quietly. "However, arguing with one's commanding officer is generally not recommended."

"It's a good idea," Allie said stubbornly.

Reese nodded. "In some ways, yes. The problem is that it's very difficult to monitor you in a bar, and almost impossible at a party. We are not set up for that kind of surveillance here."

"But," Bri pointed out reasonably, "there isn't any real danger. It's a drug party. If we're careful about what we drink and make sure no one slips us anything, there's not really much chance that anything could happen."

Reese suppressed a smile. She was proud of both of them for their initiative and their drive, and it was never a good idea to discourage that kind of enthusiasm in a young officer. She thought of the many recruits she'd trained over the years and how she had had to think of them only as marines not as eighteen- or nineteen-or twenty-year-old men and women who had barely begun their lives. They were marines. They would do what needed to be done, as would she. She wasn't entirely certain why she couldn't think of Bri and Allie in quite the same way. That, she realized, bore further consideration.

"Let me give it some thought. And the next time you two have a suggestion about an operation, follow the chain of command and come to me first."

Both Bri and Allie straightened perceptibly at the rebuke, although they couldn't hide their grins. "Yes, ma'am," they said in unison.

"I was thinking I could go to the wristlet and get rid of this splint," KT said as she settled at the table in Pia's treatment room. She'd just gotten off shift at the clinic and it was nearly 7 p.m., almost exactly two weeks to the minute from the night they'd had dinner. In those two weeks, her life had settled into a routine that was surprisingly comfortable. She'd instructed her housekeeper in Boston to pack up a few essential clothes, books, and her stereo system and ship the entire lot by truck to Provincetown. Those personal articles were enough to make the small apartment she had rented from Pia's mother comfortable. She was working twelve-hour shifts at the East End Health Clinic, despite Tory telling her eight hours was adequate. She'd quickly realized that if she didn't work twelve hours, Tory would. And Tory obviously wasn't ready for it. She was too thin, too pale, and the circles under her eyes were getting deeper rather than fading.

"You're not ready to go to the light immobilizer yet," Pia said quietly, releasing the Velcro straps that held the Orthoplast splint in place. They'd met almost every day for the last thirteen days for an hour of treatment. KT had been prompt and eager. She'd also been perfectly decorous in her comportment, with no repeat of the attempt at a kiss. Pia was relieved about that at least, that's what she told herself. She turned KT's hand palm up and began to massage the scar with both thumbs. She stopped when she saw KT wince. "What?"

KT unclenched her jaw. "Paresthesias. Ring finger. Man, it burns like fire."

"Here?" Pia tapped very lightly on the scar.

"No. A little more distal, toward the metacarpal-phalangeal joint."

Pia tapped slightly closer to the base of KT's finger, watching KT's face carefully.

KT jumped slightly and nodded. "Yep. That's the spot. Damn." She wanted to take another pain pill, but she'd taken one just prior to the session. Unfortunately, the pain was almost constant in her fingers, and the pills didn't seem to be doing as much good any longer. Even if she doubled up on them, it only dulled the shooting pains, pins and needles, and intermittent burning sensation that accompanied the nerve regeneration in her injured digits. At least she was able to work if she medicated herself enough to ignore most of the discomfort.

"From the location of the trigger points," Pia noted, "it looks like the nerve repair is on schedule. Anticipating a millimeter of regrowth a day, that's about where the healing nerves should be at this point."

"How much longer can I expect the pain?"

Pia saw the faint mist of perspiration on KT's forehead, and her stomach tightened in sympathy. She was accustomed to her work sometimes causing her clients discomfort, because effective physical rehabilitation was often impossible to achieve without forcing stiff joints to move and tight tendons to stretch. The sight of KT's obvious pain affected her more than she was used to. She caught herself just as she was about to reach out and stroke KT's cheek. What am I doing?

"It varies," Pia said softly. "If it doesn't let up soon, you might want to ask your hand surgeon about prescribing Tegretol. It sometimes quiets the nerve irritability enough for it to be tolerable."

"Thanks. I will." KT watched as Pia gently manipulated her finger and wrist joints through a complete range of motion. She looked forward to the hour that she spent with Pia almost every day. Not just because their time together was essential for her recovery, but because as Pia worked on her hand, they chatted about current events or local gossip or sometimes unusual cases they had seen and treated. KT brought Pia up to date on the changes at Boston Hospital in personnel and protocol. When she'd asked Pia why she had left the busy big-city hospital for the quiet life of her hometown, Pia had merely smiled and said that the pace suited her better and she liked the independence of her private practice. KT thought there was something more that Pia wasn't saying, but she hadn't pushed. And although it went contrary to her nature, she found that being with Pia was teaching her to tolerate, if not almost enjoy, waiting. At the moment, however, the throbbing pain that hadn't diminished was making patience difficult.

"I think if I don't have to wear the heavier splint," KT insisted, "it will take some of the stress off my hand."

Pia shook her head, but before she could speak, KT went on.

"Look, I know you're being conservative, but"

"It's not about being conservative," Pia said quietly, raising her head and meeting KT's eyes. "It's about making sure that you don't inadvertently stress the tendons and rupture them. Six to eight weeks after the repair is the critical period for delayed rupture, and you're right in the middle of that time. You're seeing patients every day, and if one of them slips and you reach out to catch them and rupture those tendon repairs, we could be right back to square one."

"I'll be careful."

"I know that you'll try to be, but"

"How about this," KT interrupted. "I'll wear the Orthoplast splint at work and the wristlet the rest of the time."

"This isn't Let's Make a Deal." As they talked, Pia continued to hold KT's hand, unconsciously rubbing her thumb up and down the inside of KT's forearm, caressing her softly even as she argued. When KT rested her right hand on Pia's, Pia reflexively intertwined her fingers with KT's.

"I'll be good," KT whispered.

Pia looked down at their joined hands, aware that her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. KT's fingers were supple and strong. And warm. Very warm as she slowly slid her fingers in and out between Pia's. "You have beautiful hands."

"Have dinner with me tonight."

"We have a half hour left of the session."

KT lifted their joined hands and rubbed the back of Pia's against her cheek. "After that."

"I'd need to shower and change." Pia was helpless to stop the words as she felt herself surrendering to the intensity in KT's dark eyes. She sensed the danger but had no desire to flee.

"So do I."

"I want to do some ultrasound on the scar."

KT nodded, resisting the urge, but just barely, to brush her lips over Pia's knuckles as she had that night two weeks before. She could smell the citrus scent on Pia's skin, and she hungered for the taste of her. "All right."

"You have to let go of my hand."

"No."

Pia laughed shakily, and a second later, so did KT. Finally, Pia was able to break the spell of KT's mesmerizing gaze and leaned back, gently withdrawing her fingers from KT's grasp. "Doctors make the most difficult patients."

"Oh?" KT's brows rose. "Have you had many doctors ask you out for dinner?"

Pia blushed. "I wasn't talking about that." She reached over for the small ultrasound probe, dabbed a bit of the gel on KT's palm, and began to work the oscillating probe back and forth over the scar to aid in softening the healing ridge of tissue. She kept her head down as she worked and could not see KT's appraising glance.

"I bet you had a lot of offers, though," KT said playfully.

"Not the kind I wanted," Pia replied before she could censor her comment.

KT heard the undercurrent of what sounded like sadness in her voice. "Is that why you're here? To leave the memory of someone behind?"

"Not everyone comes home to escape something painful," Pia answered quietly.

"What about you?" KT persisted.

Pia sighed and set the probe down. "No, No one hurt me. I'm not running from a disastrous love affair. This is where I'm happiest. Simple story."

KT studied her seriously. "Why hasn't anyone claimed your heart?"

"Because no one has ever asked for it."

"How can that be?" KT was genuinely confused. "You're beautiful, you're sexy, you're smart."

Pia laughed. "It's not about those things."

"Then what?"

Pia reached for the splint and gently placed KT's hand into the curved plastic mold. She reattached the elastics to the small hooks glued to each of KT's fingernails, drawing the ringers down into a protected position. Then she carefully closed the Velcro straps. When she was done, she met KT's eyes. "It's about forever."

"Forever." KT turned the word over in her mind, wondering where along the way she had stopped believing in it. It might have been when she'd lost Tory, but when she recalled her life in the years just before that final irreparable event, she realized that she had lost sight of what she had with Tory in the shadow of her unrelenting drive, her overpowering need, to excel. Almost before she knew it, it was all gone. "Is that what you're holding out for? Forever?"

Pia nodded. She'd seen the shadow pass over KT's face and wondered what painful memory the word had evoked. "Still interested in dinner?"

"Absolutely." Even as she said it, KT wondered if she had anything more than a casual evening to offer, knowing with certainty that that would never be enough for this woman. Still, even knowing that Pia wanted something she'd once had, then squandered, and finally forgotten, KT couldn't bring herself to walk away.

Reese pushed through the back door with two bags of Chinese takeout in her arms. Tory looked over from the sofa where she'd been half asleep watching the evening news.

"Tell me that I smell dinner," Tory said with a note of reverence in her voice.

"Kung Pao chicken, Moo Shu shrimp, and wonton soup, at your service, Madame." Reese set the bags down on the breakfast counter. "And enough for leftovers, including breakfast, if you should so desire."

Tory grasped Reese around the waist and turned her so her back was to the breakfast counter before pressing full-length against her. As she wrapped both arms around Reese's neck, she murmured, "I adore you."

Reese had no chance to reply before Tory's mouth covered hers. Surprised, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the welcome heat of Tory in her arms. After twenty seconds, she forgot that she was hungry. After thirty, she forgot that she had to be back on patrol in half an hour. She slid her hand beneath the loose T-shirt that Tory wore and caressed her palm up the center of Tory's back until her fingers rested against the nape of Tory's neck. With the other hand, she cupped Tory's rear, pulled her closer, and rocked her hips into her lover, "Mmm. You feel so good."

"Reese," Tory murmured, moving her mouth away an inch. "You don't really want to do that."

"Yes, I do," Reese answered, her voice thick and deep.

"Well...I can always eat later," Tory whispered, pulling Reese's shirt from her trousers.

"Baby asleep?" Reese asked breathlessly as she hurriedly unbuttoned her pants and jerked down the fly.

"Uh-huh." Tory stripped off her T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. She wore nothing beneath.

As Reese reached for Tory's breasts and Tory slid a hand down the front of Reese's abdomen and under the waistband of her briefs, the phone rang. They froze, listening to the mechanical voice announce the caller ID. It was a Boston prefix.

"Who?" Reese gasped.

"Don't know," Tory replied desperately. "Hospital, maybe."

"Better answer."

"Yes." Tory snatched up the phone in frustration and snapped, "Dr. King."

She stiffened and, after a second, held out the phone to Reese. "Your father."

Reese encircled Tory's waist with one arm as she reached for the receiver with the other. Holding Tory near, she said crisply, "Hello, sir."