He walked her up the steps and unlocked the door. He grabbed a towel off the kitchen counter and wiped down his face. He asked if she wanted a beer from the fridge.

“No. Thanks.”

Karen was like a bundle of nerves, and she walked around like she was holding something deep inside. She went up to the easel by the window. He followed her over, taking a seat on the stool.

“I didn’t know you paint.”

Hauck shrugged. “You better look at it closely before you use that word.”

She stepped up to the easel. So close that Hauck could smell her scent-sweet, blossomy-his pulse climbing. He held back the urge to touch her.

“It’s nice,” she said. “You’re always full of surprises, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

“That’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about it.” He smiled.

“You probably cook, too. I bet you-”

“Karen…” He had never seen her so wound up. He swiveled around and went to grab her arm.

She pulled away.

“It was him,” she said. Her eyes were liquid, angry, almost glaring at him. “He answered me. It took three days. I had to write him twice.” She put a hand to the back of her neck. “I didn’t know what to say to him, Ty. What the hell could I say? ‘I know it’s you, Charles. Please answer me’? Finally he did.”

“What did he say?”

“What did he say?” She sniffed, blew out a derisive blast of air. “He said ‘Hello, baby.’”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, hurt. “That was all.” She took a few steps around, as if she were holding back some torrent, checking out the view of the cove off the deck. She went over to a console against the wall. He kept a couple of pictures on it. She picked them up, one by one. A shot of the two girls when they were babies. He saw her staring at it. Another of Hauck’s boat, the Merrily.

“Yours?”

“Mine.” Hauck nodded. He stood up. “Not exactly like the sultan of Brunei ’s, but Jessie likes it. In the summer we go up to Newington or out to Shelter Island. Fish. When the weather’s nice, I’ve been known to-”

“You do it all, don’t you, Ty?” Her eyes were ablaze, flashing at him. “You’re what they call a good man.”

Hauck wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. Karen compressed her lips tightly, ran a hand through her tousled hair. It was like she was ready to explode.

He stepped forward. “Karen…”

“‘ Hello, baby,’” she said again, her voice cracking. “That’s all he fucking said to me, Ty. Like, ‘What have you been up to, hon? Anything new with the kids?’ It was Charles! The man I buried. The man I slept next to for eighteen years! ‘Hello, baby.’ What the hell do I say to him now, Ty? What the hell happens now?”

Hauck went to her and took her in his arms. This time as he had always dreamed of holding her tightly, pressing her close to his chest, hard. His blood almost burst out of his veins.

At first she tried to pull away, anger coursing. Then she let him, tears smearing on his shirt, her hair honey-scented and disarrayed, her breasts full against his chest.

He kissed her. Karen didn’t resist. Instead she parted her lips in response, her tongue seeming just as eager to seek out his, something beyond their control taking hold of them, her scent deep in his nostrils-an intoxication, something sweet, jasmine-driving him wild.

His hand traveled down the curve of her back, his fingers crawling underneath the belt on her jeans. Arousing him. He drew it back, her blouse loose, finding the warmth of the exposed flesh of her belly, drew it past the breathless sigh of her breasts, and cupped her face in his hands.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said.

“I can’t.” Karen looked at him, tears glistening off her cheeks. “I can’t be there alone.”

He kissed her again. This time their tongues lingered in a sweet, slow dance. “I just can’t…”

Hauck wiped the tears off her face. “You don’t have to,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Then he picked her up in his arms.

THEY MADE LOVE in the bedroom.

Slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt, ran his hands over the black lace of her bra, tenderly down to her groin, as she drew back, a little afraid, parts of her that hadn’t been touched in a year.

Her breathing heavy, Karen tilted her head against his bare chest. “Ty, I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“I know,” he said, gently pulling her arms through her sleeves, running his hand along her thigh, underneath her jeans.

She tensed with anticipation.

“I mean with someone else,” she said. “I’ve been with Charles for twenty years.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I know.”

He laid her back on the bed, drew her jeans out from under her firm thighs a leg at a time, slipped his hand underneath her panties, felt the tremor of anticipation there. The throbbing in her womb was driving Karen wild. She looked up at him. He had been there for her, steadied her, when everything else was just insanity. He had been the one thing in which she could believe. She reached up and gently touched his side, the marks healing, and kissed them, his perspiration sweet. Hauck, tensing, unbuckled his shorts. He was the one thing that held her together. Without him she didn’t know what she would have done.

She put her face close to him. “Ty…”

He moved his body firmly over hers, his buttocks tight, arms strong, athletic. Their bodies came together like a warm wave, electricity shooting down Karen’s spine. She arched her back. Her breasts, his chest came together, a hundred degrees.

Suddenly there was nothing holding them back. She felt this yearning rising up from her center. Karen let her head fall back, fall from side to side as he entered her, a tremor shooting through her from the tips of her fingers to her toes, like a current, a long-awaited prize. She cupped his rear and drew him into her deeply. A wildness taking over. Gasping, their bodies became a tangle of pelvises and thighs. She clung to him. This man had risked everything for her. She didn’t want to hold anything back. They rocked. She wanted to give him everything. A part of her she had never given to anyone. Even Charles. A part of her she had always held back.

Everything.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

Afterward they lay on the bed, spent, Karen’s body slick with lovely sweat, still radiating fire. Hauck cooled her, blowing on her chest, her neck. Her hair was a tangled mess.

“Must be your lucky day,” she mused, with an ironic roll of her eyes. “Normally I never give out until at least the third date. It’s a hard-and-fast rule at Match.com.”

Hauck laughed, lifting a leg up on his other knee. “Listen, if it means anything, I promise I’ll still come through with a couple of meals.”

“Whew!” Karen blew out a breath. “That’s a load off my mind.”

She glanced around the cramped bedroom, looking for things about him she didn’t know. A simple wooden bed frame, a night table with a couple of books stacked-a biography of Einstein, a novel by Dennis Lehane-a pair of jeans tossed over a chair in the corner. A small TV.

“What the hell is that?” Karen said, pointing to something against the wall.

“Hockey stick,” Hauck said, falling back.

Karen propped up on her elbow. “Tell me I didn’t just sleep with a man who keeps a hockey stick in his bedroom.”

Hauck shrugged. “Winter league. Guess I never moved it.”

“Ty, it’s fucking June.”

He nodded, like a little boy discovered with a stash of cookies under his bed. “You’re lucky you weren’t here last week. My skates were in here, too.”

Karen brushed her hand against his cheek. “It’s good to see you laugh, Lieutenant.”

“I guess we could say we’re both a bit overdue.”

For a while they lay like two starfish on the large bed, barely covered, just the tips of their fingers touching, still finding each other.