Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta) by Peggy Webb Page A

chin up with a forefinger and looked deep into her eyes. He had to taste her one last time, even if it meant missing his plane. “No, it’s a promise.”
    They came together with the wild hunger of two people who had lived too long with denial. He hauled her hips into his, seeking to ease his passion by fitting himself into her soft hollows. He could feel the heat of her through their clothes. He groaned as his lips took hers.
    Theirs was no gentle joining. It was the thunder of a storm on the Pacific; it was the roar of a glacier splitting and plunging into the bay; it was the explosion of a million stars burning through the night.
    They kissed until their lips felt bruised. Jim was the one to pull away.
    “If only there were time enough,” he whispered.
    “There will never be time for us.”
    “No,” he agreed. “You’ll be going back to Glacier Bay?”
    “Yes. In two weeks. And you to San Francisco.”
    He nodded. “You’ll have your marine research.”
    “And you’ll have your battles with crime.”
    “Always.”
    “It’s best. Men complicate my life.”
    His smile was crooked. “Even fierce West Coast Warriors?”
    “Especially warriors.”
    “Then it’s good that I’m leaving.” Slowly he traced her face with his hand, memorizing every contour. “Independent women with smoky blue eyes and storm cloud hair complicate mine.”
    “We would have been good together, Jim.”
    “Thunder and lightning always are.” He longed for one last desperate kiss, but he knew if he tasted her lips once more, he might never leave. He released her. “Goodbye, Hannah.” From somewhere deep inside he summoned up indifference to combat his passion. “Come out to San Francisco to see me—any Thursday. That’s my day off.”
    Without giving her time to reply, he picked up his bag and hurried from the room. He never looked back.
     o0o
    Hannah caught the doorknob for support as she watched him walk out of her life.
    It’s best.
     She’d known that when she came up the stairs. The night before she’d gone to him to prove her independence, and now she’d come to him to prove . . . Her mind groped for the right answer. Independence again? Not likely. She was too honest to accept that lie, even from herself. The plain and simple truth was that she’d gotten exactly what she’d come for—a mind-shattering, resolve-shaking, heart-thundering kiss.
    It was over, and she was walking away untouched. She’d keep telling herself that until she believed it.
    Hannah squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and walked downstairs to join her family.
     o0o
    “I’ve never seen you so restless.”
    For a moment Jim didn’t reply. He stood at the window of John Searles’s Pacific Heights home, which overlooked the panorama of San Francisco. Everything was clean and beautiful, shaded with the perpetual mist that hung over the city, from the opulent homes that nestled into the hills all the way down to the sleek boats in the bay. He was glad to be back.
    “It’s this damned inactivity,” he finally said, turning from the window to face his publisher. “When are you going to turn me loose on the bastards that are turning our kids into junkies and our streets into a jungle?”
    “It’s too soon.”
    “Too soon! It’s been six weeks.” He crammed his hands into his pockets and paced the polished marble floor. “I feel like some damned hothouse flower. Covering the doings of the jet set all over the country is not my idea of investigative reporting.”
    “Take a look at this, Jim. It came this morning.”
    Jim glanced from John to the flat brown envelope that lay on the chrome and glass table. He recognized the scrawl, done in red ink, that snaked boldly across the envelope.
    “The same people?”
    “Yes. Same type stationery, same phrasing. No outright threats, but pointing clearly enough to you this time that we can go to the police.”
    “No police. If I have to have cops wet-nurse me every time I step on