Cavanaugh Standoff Page 10

  Sierra spoke up, trying to help him out. “Well, the short answer to that is that you want to protect and serve.”

  He finished his drink and put the glass down hard as he laughed harshly. “Well, that isn’t exactly working out very well lately.”

  “Most days it does,” she insisted. “And if everyone took that stance,” she went on firmly, “everyone would win.”

  He leaned back in his chair and instead of ridiculing her as she expected, he grinned and pointed to something just behind her.

  “There, I see them.”

  She turned to look, but didn’t see what he might have been referring to. “See what?”

  “Your wings.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to get hold of his thoughts, which were beginning to slip in and out of his head. “They’re opening up, Carlyle. You’d better go home before you can’t get into your car because they’ve spread out too wide.”

  Sierra raised her glass to his line of vision. “Still drinking.”

  He waved his hand at her dismissively. “That’s not drinking. That’s barely wetting your lips.”

  By her count, he’d downed three drinks and was about to do the same to a fourth. He gave no sign of stopping. This wasn’t good.

  “Why don’t you let me drive you home now?” she suggested gently.

  “I told you, I don’t need to be driven home,” he said curtly.

  She wasn’t about to let up. “You don’t want to cause a scene and I certainly don’t,” she informed him forcefully. “Why don’t we go now before you do something you’re going to regret?”

  His thought turned toward what day it was. There was a sadness in his voice as he replied, “It’s too late for that.”

  She took a guess at what he meant. “If you’re referring to inviting me out for a drink—”

  “I’m not,” he said cutting her off. “You don’t have anything to do with it.” And then he realized that his voice had gotten louder. A couple of people, sitting close by, were looking their way. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap like that.”

  “Put the glass down, Ronan,” she ordered, keeping her voice low but sounding far more authoritative than she ever had around him. “It’s time to go.”

  She looked at him, her eyes meeting his as she put on the same no-nonsense face she reverted to with her brothers when one of them had had too much to drink and needed to be extricated from a bar.

  Ronan gazed at the empty glass. Just like his life, he thought morosely.

  Something pinched inside him.

  He should have never invited Carlyle out for a drink. What had he been thinking? She wasn’t a substitute for Wendy.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled to himself, “maybe it is.” Ronan raised his eyes to hers.

  She saw the sadness there and it hurt to look at. It had to hurt even more to live with it.

  She made up her mind.

  Because, despite his protests, Ronan was somewhat unsteady on his feet, she slung his arm over her shoulders and threaded her arm around his waist.

  “Are we going to dance?” he asked.

  “Shut up, Ronan. You can do this,” she told him in what amounted to almost a whisper.

  Taking small steps, she managed to guide him to the front door and out of Malone’s, relieved that no one had stepped up to help. Because if they had, they would have recognized the kind of shape Ronan was in and she knew that would prove to be embarrassing for him tomorrow.

  “One foot in front of the other,” she coached. “My car’s not far away.”

  “Where did you park? Washington?” he asked.

  “Closer than that,” she assured him. She just hoped they’d get to her car before her arms ached too much to keep him upright and moving.

  Chapter Ten

  “This isn’t my car,” Ronan said as she leaned him against the passenger side of her vehicle. Sierra watched him to make sure he didn’t slide to the ground while she fished out her car keys so she could release the door locks.

  “No, it’s mine.”

  Finding her keys, she pressed the key fob and all four locks were released. Very gingerly, she moved Ronan back just enough so that she could open the passenger door for him. But he tilted slightly and she almost fell over with him before she finally managed to pull him upright.

  Unaware of the sudden, unexpected meeting he almost had with the ground, Ronan found his face buried in her hair and took a deep, appreciative breath.

  “You smell good,” he pronounced.

  She tried not to dwell on the feelings generated by having Ronan’s face against the side of her neck. But it wasn’t easy. There were sensations slivering up and down her spine and parts in between.

  “Thank you,” she said with effort. “That’s probably my cologne mixed with the smell of the bar,” she said. “Now get into the car, please.” Not waiting for him to comply, she all but pushed him onto the passenger seat.

  “Um, what are you doing?” he asked, amused and curious as she stuck her head into the car and reached over his torso.

  “I’m securing your seat belt, something I’m not sure you’re up to doing right now.” Sliding the metal tongue into the slot, Sierra immediately stepped back, creating space between them. “I’d hate to stop short and suddenly have you flying out through the windshield.”

  Ronan stared at the dashboard in front of him, his face the very picture of concentration, like an elementary-school student trying to work out a tricky math problem.

  “Don’t your air bags work?” he asked as she got in on her side.

  “With my luck, probably not.” Buckling her own seat belt, Sierra put the key into the ignition and then turned to Ronan. “Okay, give me your address.”

  A very coy and utterly sexy smile rose to his lips. This was not the Ronan O’Bannon she knew.

  “Why?”

  She focused on her goal and not on the way her stomach muscles were quickening. “Because I’m taking you home and I need to know where you live.”

  He looked around his surroundings. “This isn’t my car.”

  She suppressed a sigh. “We’ve already established that. You’ve had a little too much to drink,” she said, wording it as tactfully as possible, “so I’m taking you home.”

  His brow furrowed, obviously trying to process what she was saying. “How will my car get there?”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll pick you up and bring you back here so you can get it.” It was getting late and all she wanted to do was to get this over with and get home herself. “Now will you please give me your address?”

  He closed his eyes for a minute, as if he was trying to remember, but when he opened them again and looked at her, there was a warm smile on his face. “Don’t play coy, Wendy, you know my address,” he said. “You’re there all the time.”

  Oh, Lord, she was losing him, Sierra thought. “It slipped my mind.”

  “Yeah, right.” He laughed as if they were sharing a private joke. “Okay, I’ll play your game,” he told her, then recited his address.

  “Hold on.” Looking both ways to make sure there was no one in her path, Sierra backed out of the space and drove off the parking lot.

  The address he had given her belonged to a house located in a residential development that wasn’t too far from the precinct.

  “I’ve missed you, Wendy,” he told her as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

  She had no idea what to do with that. So she said the only logical thing she could, assuring herself that he wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  She did the speed limit—and a little beyond that—and flew the rest of the way to his house.

  Ten minutes later she was pulling up in front of a small, one-story house. Making a judgment call,
she parked in his driveway instead of at the curb, which she would have preferred. But in his present state, she wasn’t sure Ronan could get out of the car if it was parked close to the curb.

  Turning off the ignition, she got out and quickly hurried around to the passenger side. Ronan had already opened the door on his side and had one foot out. But it was as if he was undecided whether or not to bring the second foot out, as well.

  “I think you’ll have more luck getting out of the car if you unbuckle your seat belt,” she advised, pressing her lips together not to laugh.

  Ronan looked at her blankly. Rather than repeat herself, she reached over him just as she had before and hit the release button.

  “How could I have forgotten that?” Ronan shook his head.

  It sounded as if he was asking himself the question rather than asking her, but she still answered, “It happens sometimes,” just to make him feel better about himself and the situation.

  Leaning in, she eased Ronan around so that he could finally get out. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” she coaxed, slipping her arm around his waist again. She tugged but found that she couldn’t budge him. “You’re supposed to be helping me, Ronan,” she told him. “I can’t do this alone.”

  Instead of answering her, or doing as she’d asked, with one sudden move, he pulled her onto his lap.

  Sierra was so surprised, the air seemed to just whoosh out of her. And then the next moment he was cupping her cheek with his hand, his lips were against hers and he was kissing her. Her first instinct was to struggle, but his kiss was so gentle, so tender and so completely soul-melting, she found herself surrendering without even realizing what she was doing.

  Before she knew it, she was going with the moment and kissing him back.

  As the kiss deepened, she felt emotions suddenly popping up and swirling around inside her, taking her for a breathless ride she was totally unprepared for.

  Mayday! What are you doing? a voice in her head demanded. Stop this right now!

  The problem was, she really didn’t want to, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

  The only thing to do.

  Ronan wasn’t kissing her, he was kissing someone named Wendy. Someone, she knew, who was no longer among the living.

  Pulling herself together, Sierra wedged her hands against his chest and pushed, then stumbled onto her feet, putting some much needed space between them. Her heart was hammering so hard, she was surprised it didn’t just break through her chest.

  She saw that Ronan had a bewildered look on his face and realized that he still, obviously, thought she was someone else. She had to find a way to spare his feelings until he was thinking clearly again—like, in the morning.

  “We can’t make out in the car like a couple of teenagers, Ronan,” she told him, speaking softly. “You don’t want the neighbors seeing us like that.”

  “I don’t care who sees, but you’re probably right. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed.” He began to get out of the car but he was unsteady and his knees buckled for a moment.

  Afraid he was going to hurt himself, she lunged forward, making a grab for him.

  Ronan grabbed onto the car door, managing to steady himself. “I’ll be okay in a second,” he promised, taking a moment.

  Sierra repositioned herself so that she was once again acting like a human crutch. She slipped her arm under his. “Let’s get you into the house so you can sleep it off.”

  “That’s not what I want to do,” he told her, turning his head so that his face was flush against her cheek and his breath was slipping almost seductively against her skin.

  Warm waves rippled through her, swiftly weakening her knees.

  Think of something else. Think of something else! Sierra ordered herself.

  “You need your sleep, Romeo. Plenty of time for that kind of thing later on,” she added, hoping she sounded convincingly gruff.

  A few false starts impeded her but she finally managed to get Ronan to his door. Trying not to pant—as a limp weight, he was exceedingly heavy—she said, “Give me your key.”

  “You telling me you don’t think I can open my own door?”

  If he was actually asking her the question, Sierra was certain it would have sounded far more hostile or belligerent. But he wasn’t asking her, he was asking Wendy, and unless she was hallucinating, his voice had taken on a teasing quality.

  She almost wished she was Wendy. For a number of reasons.

  But she wasn’t Wendy and right now her main goal was to get him into his house and onto something horizontal he could just sack out on.

  “Go ahead, unlock your door,” she told him.

  He jabbed his key toward the door, attempting to go higher, then lower, without coming anywhere close to breaching the keyhole.

  “I would,” he grumbled, “if this damn lock would just stop moving around so much.”

  Still supporting him as best she could with her shoulder under his arm, Sierra put her hand out. “Maybe I can get it to stop,” she told him, using her best upbeat voice.

  “Good luck,” he told her, handing over the key. When she unlocked the door and pushed it open, he looked at her with nothing short of awestruck wonder. “How did you do that?”

  “Beginner’s luck,” she said, giving him back his key. “Now let’s get you inside.”

  He groaned a little and swayed as she managed to get him past the threshold.

  There was a sofa several feet into the house and she silently blessed the fact that the ordeal of getting him safely inside the house and onto a horizontal surface was almost over.

  Exerting a mighty effort, Sierra finally managed to get him to the first piece of furniture in the room and then released her hold on his body. He slumped onto the sofa.

  “I don’t understand.” She was panting. “How did you manage to get like this on only four drinks?” She marveled that his ability to hold his liquor wasn’t better than this, even if she had seen him down the drinks rather quickly.

  “They were doubles,” he answered, his voice all but muffled because he was lying facedown on the sofa cushion.

  “Of course they were,” she said. Well, that explained it, she thought. “You are going to be one sorry man tomorrow morning—if you wind up making it through the night,” she amended.

  Ronan didn’t answer her.

  In fact, he was out like a light. Good. That was the best thing for him right now.

  Starting to walk away, Sierra was almost to the front door when she stopped abruptly. She looked over her shoulder at the slumped figure, concerned. If Ronan woke in the middle of the night, nauseous and needing to throw up, he would probably never make it to the bathroom—wherever that was.

  She decided to put a pail by the sofa just in case that happened—but first she had to find one. She turned on a light switch on the wall, illuminating the room. Fearing she would wind up waking him, Sierra held her breath as she looked in his direction. But Ronan didn’t stir.

  Crossing back to the sofa and standing over him, she listened intently. Ronan was sound asleep—and breathing.

  Okay, back to looking for a pail.

  She wandered through the living room and made her way to the next room, which was the kitchen. She briefly considered dragging the garbage pail over to the sofa, then decided against it. Going on to the next room, she found herself in what she took to be the master bedroom.

  His bedroom.

  It looked nothing short of chaotic. The double bed’s sheets were all bunched up and partially on the floor, as was one pillow. Neatness obviously didn’t count in his book, she mused.

  She found what she was looking for in his bathroom: a small white garbage pail right next to the sink. Taking it, she passed through his bedroom again on her way to the living room.

 
That was when she noticed it.

  He had a framed photograph on his bureau. Curious, she turned on the light to get a better look. When she did, her breath backed up in her throat.

  At first glance she could have been looking at a picture of herself. Closer scrutiny had her seeing the differences, but that first glance—

  No wonder Ronan had kissed her. In his present state of intoxication, he had confused his past with his present and when he’d looked at her, he’d thought he was looking at his fiancée.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered to Ronan.

  Replacing the framed photograph, she shut off the light and took the pail she’d found to the living room. She positioned the pail right beside the sofa where she knew he was bound to see it.

  At least, she thought he was bound to see the pail.

  But then she reconsidered. Given his present state, he might not.

  Torn, she looked back at Ronan, who at least for now was still asleep although he had begun making strange, fitful noises. If he continued that way, he was going to wake himself up. Or maybe make himself sicker. It would be a shame if he wound up throwing up on the sofa. It appeared to be relatively new and was a nice medium gray color. Getting it cleaned would be a real challenge.

  But she couldn’t just stay there for the rest of the night, babysitting him, Sierra silently argued. He wouldn’t be grateful for her sacrifice when he woke in the morning. Other than being hungover, he’d be annoyed that she’d stayed to “watch over him” as if he was some helpless frat boy liable to choke on his own vomit.

  The hell with him and his pride. She didn’t care what he’d say.

  With a sigh, she looked around the living room for somewhere that she could spend the rest of the night.

  There was his bedroom, of course, but that defeated the purpose. She wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on him from there.

  All he had in the living room beyond the coffee table and the sofa was an upholstered chair. Resigned, she dragged the chair over to the sofa so she could sit closer to him.

  She sank into it and began her unofficial vigil.