Chapter 27

Bruin was ahead of Mac on the sidewalk, following his nose. Ordinarily, Mac would have given him shit, called him a name, asked him if he was on his way to the virgin convention and wanted to be first in line. Today, he didn’t have the energy to fuck with the guy. He didn’t feel like eating, either. Kind of felt a little like sitting in a corner and counting the cracks in the sidewalk, but whatever. He could put one foot in front of the other.

He slowed down even more, not looking where he was going. People streamed past him in both directions, one of them bumping his elbow. Whatever. Shit. He just knew she was gone already. He would never find her if she didn’t want to be found. It wasn’t like him to say die, to give up, to feel hopeless, but something about Rogue had him twisted up inside.

Bruin grabbed him by the arm. “Here, Mac, let’s eat lunch here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mac said, not even looking up to see where here was. How many people lived in Chicago? Almost three million? That was a lot of humans to sort through. It seemed impossible-

“Mac, come on. Inside.” Bruin steered him by the elbow and Mac had just enough time to read the sign on the door, Best Slice Pie Company, before he was pushed inside. Pies. Great. Exactly what he fucking wanted for lunch-

The sweet smell of citrus flooded his nostrils and he picked his head up, looking around carefully, grabbing at Bruin to stop him from walking to the register. The place was big for a pie shop. Twenty tables or so, more room than he would have thought, but most of them were empty. His gaze played over the people in the room as he elbowed Bruin, hard. “She’s here.”

“Who?”

Mac rolled his eyes, his spirit back. “The motherfucking pie fairy.”

He elbowed Bruin again before he could start going off about ‘Is there really a pie fairy? Why haven’t you told me before?’ and whispered, “Rogue.”

“Oh. Sweet.” Bruin stopped for a beat, then said, “You sure?” as he looked around.

Mac shook his head. He didn’t see a tall, athletic female with dark blonde hair either. But she was here. Her scent was strong and steady. He looked everyone over again. No, on the couple at the table next to them. Not any of the young men behind the counter. No on the man sitting in the corner. Not the elderly lady bent over her walker near the register, with the bright scarf covering her hair. Shit. What was he missing? He walked forward slowly, following the scent, until it took him right to the register, right next to the woman who was standing there. If he had to give an initial assessment of her age, based solely on the way her back was bent and the hump at the base of her neck, covered by her sweater and her scarf, plus the age and style of the clothes she wore, the smartness of her black pocketbook, he would have said in her eighties. But her stockinged ankles were slim and shapely, and the hand she was using to drop the change into a pocket in her tan sweater had age spots, but no thinness of skin.

Her back tensed and she turned away from him, to go back out through the line, instead of the way most people who were done with their transaction would go. She knew he was there. Somehow.

He took a large step to come up close to her. “Hungry?” he whispered, bending down toward her, his hand reaching into his pocket so when she started screaming, he could flash his badge and shut everybody up.

But she didn’t scream. She kept up the charade, acting like he didn’t exist, until he went around the other way and got in front of her. Still he couldn’t see her face, because she was bent over the walker, and her scarf was pulled low over her forehead.

But it was her.

He stepped in her path, and his heart soared when she lifted her eyes to his, even though hers were narrowed in anger and… not hate. Please not hate.

She stood up straight and looked him in the eye. “Your mother ever teach you it’s not polite to follow people?”

He grinned. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about it.”

***

Rogue couldn’t believe he’d found her. She was slipping. She had to have done something wrong, for him to track her this well. Now she just had to find out what he knew, and then figure out how to get rid of him.

Her flight to Australia wasn’t leaving till three the next afternoon. She had plenty of time to give him the slip. She just couldn’t let him get under her skin. Sex was definitely off the table, no matter how much one look at him made her want to climb right on the table and flip over onto her back.

But she knew when she was caught. She made her way to a table near the wall, walking normally, folding up her walker as she went. She sat down with her back to the wall, stuffed the walker between the chair and the wall, took off her scarf and her glasses, then started to wipe the makeup off her face and hands, fishing a wet-nap out of her purse to help.

He sat down across from her, a smile beaming on his face. She shot him a dirty look, then realized that he wasn’t the only person watching her. A guy at the door. Bigger than Mac by a few inches and some bulk. Handsome, in a sweet kind of way. Not a cop, for sure, but he was staring at her so hard he was obviously with Mac. “Who’s that?” she said, lifting her chin at the big guy. A few jabs played through her mind. Your lesbian life partner? Nah, insulting to lesbians. Your sandbox playmate? No, that didn’t even make sense. Your big, hairy sidekick? Closer. Ah, she had it. “Your domestic partner? The P.D. let you carry him on your healthcare?”

Mac scowled at her and she hid a grin. He turned around to speak to his friend. “Bruin, get some pie, stay close.”

Rogue spoke loud enough that everyone in the place could hear her. “Yeah, stay close, Bruin, just in case Mac can’t handle me. Two guys on one little girl. That’s fair.”

“Keep your voice down,” Mac told her.

She laughed. “Or what? I would ask are you gonna spank me, but I know how hot you are for me, and I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

His mouth dropped open. Rogue leaned back in her chair and opened her bag of food, getting out her spinach quiche, trying not to smile. No reason not to get eating out of the way while she was dealing with his stubborn ass.

He leaned forward over the table, practically hissing at her. “There were two of us in those woods. I know you were into it, too. You can’t fake something like that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? You ever seen When Harry Met Sally?”

He shook his head, and looked almost hurt. Oh well. He couldn’t, under any circumstances, know how much he affected her. She’d let too much out already. Much more than was good for her. His hurt seemed a small price to pay for her freedom, so she hardened her heart against caring about how he felt.

She cocked her head to the left and eyed him. “You look a little like that guy that starred in it… what was his name? Ah, never mind. He’s forgettable.”

She looked away, not wanting to see him when she said what else she had to say.

“Just like you.”

***

Mac ran a hand through his hair, then itched his damn scratchy beard. He couldn’t wait to shave the motherfucker off, and he would as soon as he had a spare second. This woman was confounding him, and he didn’t know if he hated it or loved it. Fuck! He wanted to stand up and pace, burn off some energy, but he couldn’t let her see how much she got to him.

He knew women like this, had slept with as many as he could get to respond to him. They turned up their noses at the first sign of weakness… until they had fallen for you, then you got a bit of a pass. But she hadn’t fallen for him yet. According to her, she never would. She found him forgettable, and presumably, not attractive. Fuck, if that wasn’t a kick in the balls, he didn’t know what was.

She leaned back in her seat, staring at him, her eyes flashing, flaming, burning holes in him. A bit of stage makeup was smudged on her left temple and he had to physically hold himself back from wiping it away. He wanted to touch her so bad it hurt, but she wasn’t about to allow it. He knew the only way he was going to put his hands on her without her trying to break one of his wrists was if he arrested her. Even then, she still might try to pop one of his joints. Fuck, he needed to move around.

She stuck her long legs out from under the table and crossed them at the ankle. He couldn’t help but follow the movement, starting at granny-skirt and ending at blocky, granny-shoes, but everything in between, shit, it was exquisite, the curve of her calf beckoning to him.

When he looked up from her legs, her eyes were narrowed. “So what are we doing here?” she asked, her voice tired. “You swore you weren’t going to arrest me. Were you lying?”

He shifted in his chair, knowing damn good and well he wasn’t going to let her get away from him again. If he had to arrest her to get her home with him, he would. And then what? Throw her in jail? Keep her at his house? Force her to love him? He wasn’t a big winning-over kind of guy. Women either loved him or hated him, and there wasn’t much he was capable of doing to change that. He threw a look at Bruin who was three tables over, but the guy was ankle deep in a pie and absolutely no help.

“I don’t want to arrest you,” he said softly.

Her eyebrows raised, and she sat up straighter in her chair, her ankles disappearing under the table. Damnit. She looked around theatrically, then put her hand to her eyebrows, as if she was shielding her eyes from the sun and looking for something. Finally, she dropped her hand and gave him a hard glare. “I don’t see the guy holding the gun to your head. If you don’t want to arrest me, then don’t. Let me go.”

“I can’t.”

She nodded briskly. “Right, you said that already. Here we fucking go again. You gonna tell me why?” She held up a hand. “No, don’t. I just know it’s gonna be some story that ends up with me being in great danger if I don’t come back to your bedroom, right now, and play into your secret fantasy. You’re the hero of this story, right? And I’m the damsel in distress?” She leaned forward, and the enmity in her expression made him shudder. “Let me fill you in on something, princess, I’m good. I don’t need your protection.”

Mac thought his heart was going to stop in his chest. He’d never felt so much emotional pain in his life. Being rejected by his mate was a whole new kind of hell, one he’d never been able to imagine before.

She stood, her chair scraping loudly on the tile floor. He stood also, but slowly, all his fight gone again. She stole it without even trying. She held up a hand. “I just gotta pee. I’ll be right back. Look, I’ll leave my purse.” She tossed it on the table and turned toward the sign marked restroom, which led down a small hallway. Mac sank back into his chair and watched her go, making sure she didn’t head out the back way.

She didn’t. He sighed and put his hands behind his head. The way she’d pre-empted his truth left him with few options. He hadn’t wanted to tell her what was going on until they’d gotten together, but that was a complete bust. At this point, he’d settle for her just being nice to him, one time. But that wasn’t going to happen, either. And if he tried to explain it now? She was either going to think he was a lunatic, or he was making it all up. She’d as much as said so.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think of a way to proceed that didn’t make him look like an asshole. He’d never cared much what people thought about him, but he cared very much what she thought about him, and he also didn’t want to have to go back to Serenity with his mate handcuffed in the back of a patrol car to keep her from bolting. He would never hear the end of it.

Mac glanced over at Bruin, then back at the bathroom door, then half stood as a suspicion came over him. He stared hard at the door, trying to calculate how long she’d been in there. He grabbed her purse off the table and ripped the mouth of it open wide. Nothing in there but a few wet-naps and some tissue paper.

Motherfuck. “Bruin,” he said urgently, getting the big male’s attention and heading to the bathroom door. He knocked on it as Bruin came close. “Hey,” he called, “You in there?” She didn’t know he knew her name yet, and this wasn’t how he wanted her to find out. No answer, though. Frantic, he tried the knob. Locked. Shit. Find a key? No time.

“B, I need this door open, now.”

Bruin nodded, got opposite of it, and slammed his bulk into it. The flimsy lock gave way easily and the door slammed off the back wall.

The bathroom was empty, the small window leading to a back alley open, as if it were laughing at him.