“Yes.” She’d hoped mentioning Kara would chip away at the wall between them, but it only added more bricks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rub salt.”
A weary sigh leaked from his lips. “I assume you’re now making small talk and screwing up the courage to talk about a divorce.”
Their broken marriage dangled between them like glass shards. Hardly anyone would have noticed any hope glinting around the jagged edges. “No, I’m not.”
“No, you’re not what?”
This was the moment she’d rehearsed a hundred times on the long plane ride home. “I’m not filing the papers.”
His gray eyes narrowed. “You want me to?”
“No,” she blurted.
Wariness flashed as his eyes narrowed. “Why not? A clean break means you can get on with your life.”
If this had been a tug-of-war game, she’d have been digging in her heels. “Is that what you want?”
Staring. Silent. Still. He was giving her no glimpse of his thoughts. She’d have to work for every inch of progress.
“I’ve done everything I can think of to get free of you. I was sure ten thousand miles would do the trick. But no luck.” As the words rushed over her lips, she regretted them immediately.
Challenge sharpened already keen features.
A cold chill swept over her and threatened to scatter whatever hopes she’d painstakingly collected over the last weeks as she continued, “I thought eight months apart would mellow us both.”
“I haven’t changed and neither has my job, Tessa. It never will. I don’t know why you imagined I’d change.”
“I’ve changed.”
Shaking his head, he rose as if he could no longer stay still. “Do yourself a favor and move on with your life. File the fucking papers, and I’ll sign them.”
She stood quickly, again bumping the table, sloshing more coffee. As he turned away, she fired back, “I never figured you for a chickenshit, Sharp.”
He might recognize her outburst as one of the investigative techniques he used interviewing a hostile witness, but that didn’t mean he was immune when the tables were turned. “Provoking my temper won’t work, Tessa.”
“Figured you were more of a fighter,” she pressed. What the hell did she have to lose now? “Never pegged you for a quitter.”
Unruffled, he reached for his sunglasses. “I’m a realist. We are not suited for each other. I know. You know it.”
She moved a step closer to him, knowing the sunglasses were one of his tells. He put them on when he was rattled. She’d hit her target. “I’m not filing papers.”
“And then what? We remain in limbo?”
“No. We figure it out. We make our marriage work.”
“There’s nothing to figure, nothing to fix.”
She’d met him years ago through his sister, Kara, when Tessa was seventeen. More than a decade would pass before they reconnected and, after a quick, electric courtship, rushed into a marriage that had lasted eight months. It hadn’t taken long before the demands of his job bled into their marriage and she realized being married to a cop wasn’t easy. He worked long, hard hours and was dedicated to the work. The eleven-year age difference also began to widen the cracks forming between them. She wasn’t sure what she could have done, but darting halfway around the world hadn’t been the answer. Now she was back, determined to fight for a second chance.
She took his hand in hers, savoring the rough edges of his fingertips she’d once welcomed on her body. It had been so long since they’d touched. Kissed.
She expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Her bravery growing, she moved closer to him, sensing his gray eyes studying her.
Bolder now, she slid her hand up his arm and behind his neck. He watched her closely as she pulled him toward her. She pressed her lips to his mouth. Instinctively, he kissed her back.
The kiss sent a ripple of desire through her body, making nerve endings fire and muscles grow weak. Anger and resistance hummed under his touch, even as his hand came reluctantly to her side. She leaned in a fraction, skimming her breasts against his chest. She relished his scent. His taste. As heat rose up in her, she made no move to douse it.
“I haven’t been able to forget you,” she whispered.
Dakota lingered a beat before the fingers on her hip curled into a fist and he broke the connection. “Sex was never an issue with us.”
“The bedroom wasn’t the only place we connected,” she said.
“You’re wrong. Out of the bedroom was our issue. Still is. Like I said, I’ve not changed, Tessa,” he said, his voice strained. “And I mean it when I say I’ll never change.”
“Maybe I’m kidding myself.”
“You are.”
She shook her head. “But I’m willing to risk that I’m not.”
“Like I said, I am a realist, Tessa. I know when to cut my losses.”
He wasn’t ready to talk. Fair enough. What had she expected? That he’d greet her with open arms? There was always a challenge with Dakota.
But Tessa would embrace this damned second chance no matter what he said. “I’ll see you in the autopsy suite tomorrow, Agent Sharp.”
With measured movements, he turned and left without another word.
She dragged a shaking hand through her hair, glancing around to see who had witnessed the kiss. This was a hangout for cops, and several people were staring. No one said a word, but news would spread. Fine. Let ’em talk. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Sharp had been braced for Tessa’s one-two punch of divorce, but reconciliation had been an unexpected left hook.
There’d been no drama. No gushing words. But that was Tessa. She was always reasonable. Calm. Even when she’d told him she was leaving him, she’d been in control. He’d been the one who’d been pissed. Instead of listening to her plans to leave the country, and her desire to return to him after a sabbatical, he’d slammed the door to their house and left.
And now she was back. For a yearlong fellowship. And when it was over? And when she figured out he’d meant what he’d said and she realized he’d not changed, what would she do? She’d leave. Again.
Those thoughts chased Sharp twenty miles north on I-95 toward the high school Terrance Dillon had attended. He parked in the visitor lot and made his way to the office and the long counter that portioned students off from administration. Showing his badge, he asked to speak to the principal.
A short, fit man in his midfifties came out immediately and introduced himself as Principal Woodrow Tucker. “This must be about Terrance.”
“Yes, it is. There somewhere we can talk?”
“Of course. My office.”
Sharp followed the principal to his office and took a seat in a gray chair. “Have you ever met the boy’s father?”
“No. But one of my teachers met him years ago when she was teaching elementary school. Mr. Dillon wasn’t in prison then, and he came to one of Terrance’s class concerts. He was inebriated and by intermission was asked to leave school property. He wasn’t happy with the administration, but he did finally leave. We’ve never seen him again on our campus.”