Chapter 21

Michelle had been sitting in one of the three tiny, airless, cramped interrogation rooms for the past hour in what would have to be the longest day of her life. The coffee in the stained, chipped mug that she now just played with was nothing but cold sludge clinging to the bottom of the cup. She was tired, hungry and had a headache big enough to sink the Titanic.

And they still wouldn't let her go home.

She sighed and rubbed the heels of her palms against her dry, irritated eyes, wishing that she could start the day over, or maybe the past three weeks over.

She knew the station's shrink was going to go into ecstasies about this. She could already see him, in that over stuffed office, sitting and playing with his yellow note pad and pen, asking her over and over in that bland, supposedly comforting voice; so how do you feel about this? She wanted to cry.

How the hell did she know how to feel about this? What was the right way to approach the fact that some unstable asshole was out there killing blondes, and the last one he dressed up to look like her?

She knew she should be upset, should be pissed off. Maybe she should even be scared. But right now she was just tired.

Nick came into the room, taking the seat across the table from her. He held a steaming cup of break room coffee in his hand and offered it to her.

Her stomach turned at the thought. She shook her head.

He sat the cup on the scarred wooden table, close enough for her to take if she changed her mind. Then he took a good long look at her.

She had bags under her eyes, shadows that were dark enough to hide in. Her face was pale and her hair was mussed. He could see the fine trembling in her hands, see how much of an effort she was making to stay professional. He admired her for it.

"Okay, Chelle," he said. "Let's go through this again. You were coming out of the car rental parking lot and... ?" he paused for her to continue.

"I know there is a reason to go over this again and again, but couldn't I just put it into a report." Please? was her unspoken plea.

"Just one more time, Chelle. You know I need to be able to see it." He wanted to reach out and cover her hand with his, to give her some kind of comfort. But he couldn't. And the memory of seeing the fed giving her the comfort that Nick couldn't soured his stomach and made his voice just a little irritated. "Okay, from the parking lot."

Michelle took a deep breath and prayed her voice wouldn't shake. "My pager went off, there was a phone number I'd never seen before." Nick had the pager, he knew the number. They had tracked it down to a phone booth in the Wal-Mart store in town. "I found my cell phone and called the number. The guy's voice was disguised and he giggled. It was a creepy sound." She tried to cover the shiver at the memory but knew he had seen it.

"He told me he had a tip for me about the killer and gave me the address. When I asked him how he got my beeper number, he hung up. I left town, went to the address and then called you."

"Why didn't you call someone to go out there with you, or even let someone know where you were going? That's very dangerous, Deputy, taking off on your own." He knew he sounded like a pompous ass, but he couldn't help thinking what could have happened if the killer had been there waiting for her. It clutched at his heart with cold, icy fingers that made it hard for him to breath.

"I guess I just figured that if it was nothing, then I would be wasting your time on a wild goose chase. If it was something than I could call it in." She sighed, staring at the oily residue that was swirling on the cold mug of coffee. "I was wrong and I didn't think."

Nick glanced at his watch, it was past eleven. They'd both come in early this morning and had been working ever since. Neither of them had stopped for dinner and he knew she had to be hungry.

"Okay, Michelle." She wasn't going to be happy about this but he didn't care. "You have three choices. One; you stay at my house tonight." He held up his hand to silence her before she could protest. "I'll sleep on the couch. Two; I stay on your couch tonight."

She was shaking her head. She couldn't stay with him. Sleep with him in her apartment, on the same couch where he had... No. She couldn't do it.

"What's number three?"

"We put you in a cell for protective custody."

She pushed herself out of the chair so hard it fell backwards. She started pacing the cramped area, furious. Some asshole is out there killing people. He gets to sleep in his own bed tonight and she might end up in jail. She wanted to scream with the injustice of it.

"Well?"

She wanted to throw something at him. Something hard that would wipe that self assured expression off of his face, maybe knock some kind of emotion back into it. Maybe then she would be able to talk to him without feeling like a school kid called into the principal's office.

"Fine, I need to stop by my apartment to pick up some stuff." She took her jacket off the back of the chair with enough force, it did fall over then. "Are you driving?" Without waiting for him to answer, she walked to the door and opened it with a furious jerk, making it almost slam back into the wall.

Nick got up and followed her out, catching the looks of sympathy from the uniforms that were working third. It was going to be a long night.

She got into his car without saying a word. The drive to her apartment was made in complete silence. She got out of the car at her apartment and wanted to howl when he went up the stairs first, took her key and made her wait while he checked inside.

She stormed into her apartment, muttering under her breath. When would he understand that she was a cop too, had signed on to take just the same kind of risks that he did.

He let her mutter, he let her storm. He watched while she pulled out a roll bag and started throwing clothing in it. She grabbed her bag from the bathroom, added her toothbrush and threw them in on top of the jumble of clothing. She zipped the bag closed, grabbed the handles and stormed past him.

When she reached the door, she realized he was still standing in the doorway of her bedroom. "Are you coming?" she snarled at him.

He winced at the sound of her voice. Well, there was nothing that he could do about it now.

They got into his car and he started out towards his house. He kept his mind on the road, traffic was heavy. Friday night brought out the weekenders. The trip took forever, especially with Michelle sitting next to him, glowering at him every time he looked at her.

By the time they got to his house, he was ready for a fight.

He opened the front door, turned off his security system and let her in, grabbing her bag from her hand. He closed the door, locked it and reset the security alarm. Then he stalked into his bedroom and dropped the bag on the floor.

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"Dammit, Michelle," he ground out. "You'll sleep in here, I'll take the couch.

She ignored him and picked up the bag to take it back into the living room. He grabbed the other handle and the wrestling match began as they both tugged to get their own way. She finally let go of her handle and let him have the bag. She turned away from him and walked out to the couch, sitting down and crossing her arms over her chest.

He stomped out. "Michelle, I'm tired and very close to losing my temper. Tonight isn't a good night to push me."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Tonight isn't a good night to push you? You?"

She stood and walked over to him, kicked him in the shins. "You don't have a serial killer dressing up his victims like deputy Barbie Dolls that look just like you. You don't have to have a bodyguard. You haven't been threatened to be thrown in jail."

He hopped on one leg, rubbing his aching shin. "Oh, and you think that I have it so great." He advanced on her, backing her up. "I am primary on a case where I'm probably going to get busted down to meter maid, if I have a job at all when the Sheriff's done with me. I get to work with a stubborn, mean tempered woman who likes to beat on me. I get to deal with the fact that she would rather flirt with some fed," he spat the word like it was foul in his mouth, "than even look at me. I get saddled with you, have to have you sleep in my house when I want you in my bed with me. God dammit," he growled when he realized what he was saying. He whirled around and tried to walk away from her but she grabbed his arm.

"I wasn't flirting with Roger."

He stared down at the small hand on his arm. It was safer than looking in her eyes. If he looked into her eyes he was going to kiss her. "That isn't what it looked like to me. You certainly seemed to be enjoying his company."

"He made me laugh. You were pissed at me, wouldn't even talk to me." She stepped closer to him. Call it being light headed from lack of food and sleep, but she didn't want any more fighting between them, she didn't want to have him mad at her. She didn't want to sleep in his big bed all by herself.

He risked looking into her face. And he groaned.

She went into his arms like she belonged there. He pulled her to him and felt a rightness within himself even as desired never banked long stirred and flared inside of him. His mouth covered hers with a curse that was more like a prayer, a supplication to let these feelings continue. He poured himself into that kiss giving her everything that he was, everything that he had. He let her see the fear he had felt walking into that scene and realizing that the killer was fixated on her, the anger when he had heard the fed laughing with her, the passion that she inspired in him when she walked into a room. He heard her gasp at the sheer passion of his kiss. And then he couldn't think anymore, he could only feel.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to his bedroom, laying her on the bed and following down after her. His hands were unsteady on her, trembling with need and something infinitely more terrifying. He pushed her hair back from her face, traced the soft skin over her cheek bone with the back of his hand.