Mercy Read Free Page B

sent from the shop for the arrival of a baby were stuffed with daisies, for innocence, and moss, for maternal love. Valentine's arrangements had roses, of course, but also lilies for purity, h eliotrope for devotion, and forget-me-nots for true love. To Cam, she often sent designs that were full of messages she knew he could not understand. Sh e eyed her latest work critically, nodding over the tulips Jodi Picoult
    which made up the bulk of the piece. In Persia, a man would give a tulip to h is betrothed to show that as red as the flower was, he was on fire with love; as black as its center, his heart was smoldering like a coal. She filled out the vase with Michaelmas daisies, China asters, and fire th orn. And then, as she always did for Cam's arrangements, she added as many sprigs of purple clover as she could without making the lines of the flow ers seem overblown. Clover, which simply meant, Think of me. When she walked out the door to take the flowers to Cam, she did not bother to lock it. Very few people would try to rob the wife of the Wheelock poli ce chief.
    Hannah was on the telephone when she walked through the door of the police station, but waved her toward Cam's closed office door to tell her he was n't in a meeting. "No," she was saying firmly. "We don't use psychics, but thank you."
    Allie set the tall vase in the center of the main desk, where bookings were done, and then walked to Cameron's office. She gave a quick knock and push ed the door open with her shoulder before Cam could tell her to come in. He was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms on top of his desk. Smiling, Allie crept around behind his chair, running her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. She bent close to his ear to whisper. "While jus tice sleeps," she teased.
    Cameron came awake with a start, snapping his head up so abruptly he clipped Allie's chin. Allie staggered back, seeing black for a moment, until Cam gr abbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. "Jesus, Allie," he said. "You sc ared the hell out of me." Allie rubbed her jaw, testing it gingerly by setti ng her teeth. Cam's fingers came up to brush her throat. "You okay?" Allie smiled. "I brought you your flowers."
    Cam rubbed his hand down his face. "I told you you don't have to do that."
    "I like to."
    Cam snorted. "This is a police station, not a hotel lobby," he pointed out. " People who are arrested aren't much interested in interior design. They don't even notice."
    "But you do," Allie pressed.
    15
    Cam looked up at her wide brown eyes; her hands, gripping each other. "Sure,
    " he said softly. "Sure I do."
    He glanced out the open doorway to the front desk where Allie's latest arran gement stood. She was an artist; he told her that often. The mixtures of red s and blues, of stark lines and soft curves, and the overall whimsy of her f loral designs gave her creations a comfort and an ease that did not exist in Allie herself. Once he had peeked at her personal journal when she was at w ork, hoping to find a layer to his wife that she didn't have the courage to reveal. But there had been no racy thoughts or dreamy recollections, just a review of how she had acted and what she had said to Cam, and then notes on what she might have done differently.
    Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating, worried that after years of marriage to Allie he, too, would wind up editing his life, instead of simply living it.
    "Guess who came into the store today." Allie moved off his lap to sit on the corner of the desk, swinging one leg.
    "Am I supposed to go through everyone in the town?" Cam asked.
    "Verona MacBean." Allie frowned. "Well, I don't know if it's MacBean anymor e, but she's here, all the same. She's a famous writer now. They're doing s ome hotshot lunch for her at the library."
    "Verona MacBean," Cam said, grinning. He tipped his chair onto its two r ear legs. "Good old Verona MacBean."
    "Oh, cut it out," Allie said, lightly kicking him in the leg.