Officer Jarrett.
He was looking right at her, and she waved hesitantly while trying to ignore the small lurch in her stomach.
"Hey, it's Vic," Trevor said, pushing himself up and brushing the crumbs off his lap. "You know him?"
"Um, a little." Any other time, she would have been thrilled to see his car pulling up. At least he'd get to see her in something other than tears or her pink bathrobe. But right now, she felt vulnerable and maybe even a little resentful at the inconveniently-timed interruption.
"He pulled you over, didn't he?" Trevor's eyes widened, alight with humor.
"Um, yes." What else could she say?
Trevor laughed out loud and loped down the walk to the curb, where he waited until the officer was out of his car. Then he embraced him affectionately. From the porch steps, Juliette could clearly hear their conversation.
"I wondered if I'd get a chance to see you while you were here." Officer Jarrett briefly glanced over Trevor's shoulder in her direction. "Is everything all right here?"
"You bet. So you know Juliette, do you?" Trevor beckoned to her to join them.
She stood up and came down the steps; hesitantly, because she was beginning to feel really uncomfortable about the way the policeman was watching her. Why exactly was he here?
"How are you, Officer?" She smiled, and stuck out her hand in greeting. He paused briefly before he took it, his grip not nearly as gentle as the last handshake they'd shared, and there was no accompanying smile either. In fact, there was nothing warm about this contact, and she withdrew her hand quickly, squeezing it into a tight fist at her side. Oh, the zing was still there; at least it was for her. But it was obvious that any response on his part had all been in her imagination. She felt inexplicably bereft by his cold shoulder. It must have shown on her face.
"Look, Vic. You scared her." Trevor punched his friend in the arm. "But then, you scare me, too."
"Careful, man. I could arrest you for assaulting a police officer." Victor Jarrett was joking, she knew, but when he looked at her, his gaze had an edge to it that made her want to hide behind Trevor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE CALL CAME IN AS Victor was winding down for the night. He'd already processed all his paperwork, and he was starving; the pastrami sandwich he'd eaten on his break had not been sufficient to get him through his shift.
With a population of nearly 70,000, Midtown wasn't much bigger than a small town, but the crime rate was low, and the police station looked like something right out of a classic Hollywood television show. The building was an historical landmark, with pillars framing the huge oak double doors that opened into the foyer. The receptionist sat at a heavily-scrolled information desk in front of a Wall of Fame with portraits of officers who'd come and gone through the years. The dispatch office was off to one side behind security glass paneling, and depending on the time of day, there were at least two or more people sitting at the long counter taking calls.
"Hey Romeo! I know you're getting ready to head out, but you might want to take this one." Sarah waved a paper at him as he passed by the door that was propped open. "It's your girl, Juliette." She teased him relentlessly about Juliette Gustafson. After he pulled her over the second time, he'd come back to the station and regaled her with the story of their encounter. When Sarah found out he'd gone to her home to check on her at the end of the night, she wouldn't let it go, teasing him about going above and beyond the call of duty, even though she knew he'd never take advantage of his authority that way.
He didn't mind Sarah's jabs. She was level-headed, good-natured, and always remained calm under pressure. It's what made her such a great dispatcher. She knew how to get the facts and keep her wits about her, even when she was dealing with weeping mothers, terrified children, or worse.
He took the printout and read over it quickly. When he looked up, his brow was furrowed. "Is this a joke?"
Sarah shrugged. "I asked the woman twice. She swears it's true and is demanding someone come shut the place down. She seemed legitimately concerned for her personal safety. Maybe you should take a back-up."
Victor kept glancing at the words in front of him. A call-girl service? Juliette Gustafson was a call-girl? Nothing about her indicated to him that she might be involved in anything so seedy. Her neighbor's words, however, left little to the imagination. Juliette had different men over every week. Once, the woman claimed, there'd even been a fight in front of the house, one that involved some physical violence.
"Why didn't she call us then? About the fight?"
"She did, remember? Granted, it was a few days late, but that's why you went out there in the first place. It's a little confusing to me, but from what I gather, at first she really didn't want to get involved. She thought the guy was the boyfriend, that it was just a lover's quarrel. But now this Mrs. Cork believes the boyfriend is really Juliette's pimp-daddy."
"Pimp-daddy?" It all seemed so absurd, right down to the terminology.
"Her word, not mine," Sarah chuckled. But the humor didn't reach her eyes. Victor was clearly disturbed by the information, and he could see she was having second thoughts about giving him the call rather than handing it off to someone on the next shift. "She says the latest guy is a Hell's Angel, and he's disturbing the peace with his loud motorcycle."
"WHY DO I EVEN CARE?" Victor asked himself as he drove slowly from the station to her home. But that was exactly why he was taking his time to get there; he was trying to figure out why he was so stirred up by the notion of Juliette Gustafson being paid to entertain men. Was it really because it didn't seem possible, or was it because he didn't want it to be true?
Frustrated, he thumped the backrest of the passenger seat with his closed fist. "Get it together, man. She's a woman. It doesn't have to make sense." And like an on/off switch, his blood began to cool. "That's right, Vic," he nodded, breathing himself out of the closed-in sensation that accompanied any emotional flare up. "Did you really think that wide-eyed innocence was real?" He rolled down his window, letting the night air cool his flushed cheeks. "Man, red flags! She changed on a dime, remember? Hissing and clawing like a barn cat, then purring like a kitten, waving sweetly from the front steps." He shook his head over how easily he'd been fooled. "Fell for it hook, line, and sinker, didn't you."
By the time he turned down Juliette's street, he felt in complete control of his emotions.
When he saw her sitting companionably with a man on her front porch, he was glad for the opportunity to study her behavior and body language without her realizing.
When he recognized Trevor Zander, he felt something tighten in his gut, and he hoped and prayed that the neighbor was wrong; that his friend had a completely different reason for hanging out with Juliette Gustafson than what her neighbor claimed.
When Juliette rose and came toward them, Victor became absolutely certain the neighbor was right about her. She looked nothing like she had the other night, and he found it difficult to swallow as he watched her approach.
Maybe it was the boots that made her walk that way, but he was not prepared for the tantalizing sway of her hips that her tight jeans only served to accentuate. He forced himself to lift his gaze to her face, but her features were back-lit, and he couldn't read them. He did notice, however, the way her leather jacket slipped off her right shoulder as she walked, taking the fabric of her shirt with it. The pale curve of her neck and shoulder glowed like a beacon, and he clenched his teeth to keep the accusations from spilling out of his mouth. She stopped in front of him, sidling a little too closely to Trevor for Victor's comfort.
When he looked down at her face, now illuminated by the street lamp behind him, he almost cringed. There was that vulnerable uncertainty in her smoky eyes again, a look that made his blood run faster. But this was no longer the weepy girl in the pink bathrobe and messy hair. Tonight she was mesmerizing, a terrifying combination of fragility and mystery. He would not fall for it. And if he had any say about it, neither would
Trevor.
When he took Juliette's soft hand in his, the warmth in his belly became a blaze, and he had to resist the impulse to jerk his hand away, clasping hers tighter and more firmly instead. He saw her bewilderment over his rough handling, and scowled in response.
Nothing about this night was lining up; nothing. He didn't like the way he was feeling, and he didn't like that he was struggling so hard to keep his emotions in check. He didn't understand his reaction to her, and, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what Trevor Zander was doing in the company of the likes of her. He had the grace to feel slightly abashed when his friend reprimanded him for being so gruff, but he wasn't going to let down his guard any time soon.
"LET ME GUESS. OUR MAN, Taz, took you for a ride. That will leave you pale and shaking every time." Victor crossed his arms and stared at her, his expression unreadable.
"I'm fine, really." She brightened at the memory of the ride. "It certainly wasn't because of the bike. I've never been on one before tonight, and it was amazing!" Then she turned and poked Trevor in the arm. "But, Taz? I completely forgot about that! When I heard your name was Taz, I was expecting something a little different. Then you introduced yourself as Trevor and it slipped my mind." She smiled as her voice took on a teasing quality, and she shot a quick glance up at the policeman. "Thank you, Officer Jarrett, for reminding me. Now fess up, Mister. Taz, as in Tazmanian Devil?"
"Trevor Aidan Zander, at your service," he said, with a bow and a flourished hand. "I suppose I was a bit of a mad thing when I was a kid. Comes from being an only child, right?" Juliette could easily imagine a miniature version of Trevor bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him crazy.
"So what exactly did you expect?" He eyed her quizzically; so did Officer Jarrett. She stood straighter, suddenly in the spotlight again.
"Well, you're my little sister's friend. I was picturing a pimple-faced, boy-band type. Or maybe a Mohawk haircut and a studded collar?"
Officer Jarrett smirked, but she could tell his ridicule was directed at her, not at Trevor. "You haven't heard any of his music, have you?"
"Actually, I was at his concert last night." She didn't mention that her heart still ached from hearing Trevor sing again tonight. For whatever reason, this was not the man who'd come to her door a few weeks ago, asking if she was all right, promising to look out for her. What was wrong with him? What had changed? "It was amazing," she finished lamely.
"Amazing? Just like his ride?" The policeman's question dripped with sarcasm, mocking her words.
"Dude," Trevor cut in, looking from one to the other with a curious expression.
Victor looped his thumbs in his pockets and shrugged. "Surprised you liked it, that's all," he said by way of explanation. The obvious disdain in his voice cut her deeply.
She blinked away the sting behind her eyes and hugged herself against the chill that had nothing to do with the late September evening. Enough. If he wasn't here on business then maybe it was time for him to leave. "Was there something you needed to see me about, Officer?"
"See you?" His eyebrows rose as though even the thought was beneath him. "No. Just doing my rounds." He turned to Trevor, his expression not softening. "I need to get back to work. Touch base with me before you leave town, okay?"
Juliette knew it wasn't a suggestion. Trevor nodded and the two men shook hands. "Good night, Vic. I'll call you in the morning."
Officer Jarrett turned and saluted her. "Good night, Ms. Gustafson." She only nodded in response. They watched from the sidewalk as he climbed into his patrol car and drove away.
Finally, she turned to look at Trevor. He was deep in thought, concern etching shallow lines into his forehead. Afraid he might want to talk about what had just happened, and not prepared to discuss it, she spoke first. "You're leaving town?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“YEAH." HE NODDED, COMING out of his reverie. "Last night was the kick-off for my first West Coast tour. I'm heading out in a few days." When he saw the look on her face, he frowned. "I mentioned it a few times last night."
"I'm sure you did, but last night I didn't know you, so...." She smiled ruefully. A tear slid from the corner of her eye and she turned away so he wouldn't see it. Too late; he reached over and wiped it away with his fingertip.
"Hey." He took her hand and led her back to the steps, pulling her down to sit beside him. He waited patiently while she cried, shoulder to shoulder, otherwise, not touching her, but handing her napkins from the coffee tray as needed.
"I'm so sorry, Trevor. I really am a mess. Gia's worried for good reason. I feel like I'm doing everything I can possibly think of just to hold my head above water, but nothing I do seems to work. I keep going under, and I'm so afraid I'm not going to come back up." She paused, remembering his songs, his voice, and the things he shared about love. "Last night, you sang into places in my heart that haven't been reached in a long time. So long, in fact, that I didn't even know they were still there. You talked about being a slave to stuff and that's how I feel. I feel like those locked places house parts of me that are chained to anger and bitterness, to fear. I don't want to look at them, I don't want to face them, but they've been let out now, and I can't shut them up again."
She told him then about the night her parents were killed; about Angela Clinton, and the consuming anger she felt every time she thought of her. She told him about her years of tight-fisted control, of her perfectly laid plans, of the last near-decade she'd spent waiting for a man who didn't know if he wanted her.
"Oh, how I long to be loved unconditionally, the way God seems to love everyone but me. I would give anything to know that kind of love. To know He thinks of me that way. I wish I could see Him the way you do, the way my friend does. But I can't, Trevor. To me, God is cruel and unpredictable, and He doesn't like me any more than I like Him. Is...is it me? Is there something wrong with me?"
Trevor didn't answer her right away, and she saw his lips move silently again. She realized then that he was praying and she looked away, giving him privacy. He wasn't going to give her some flippant, easy answer to her deepest pain. He was going to handle with care what she'd entrusted to him.
Finally, he spoke. "Juliette, there are so many things that happen to us, things we can't control, both good and bad. Whether you believe in God or not, bad things are going to happen to us because we live in this imperfect world in these imperfect bodies with these terribly imperfect minds and hearts. Some of us will endure stuff far worse than others. What happened that night with your parents changed everything for you and your family. I can't even imagine what you've gone through." He poked her knee. "And you let me go on and on about how wonderful my parents are and how I couldn't have survived without them. But you somehow did just that, didn't you? I'm sorry."
"Don't be silly. You didn't know." She poked him back. "I could have spoiled the mood and said something like, 'Cool. My folks are dead.' Wouldn't that have been a downer?"
"Okay, yeah. That would have sucked a little. But I could have handled it. I'm a big boy now. Passed that pimple-faced stage years ago." He stood up and stretched, then crouched down in front of her so he could look her in the eyes.
"Listen. I don't have all the answers for you. Only God does. But this I can promise you." He reached over and lifted her face with a hand cupping her chin. "Are you listening?"
"Yes," she murmured softly, hoping her nose wasn't running.
"Remember the motorcycle ride? Remember how I said it was like being in a relationship with God, that you have to be willing to trust Him, and let Him lead, let Him be the One in control?" He rubbed away tears with his thumb then lowered his hand to her hands where they were clenched together in her lap.
She nodded, but didn't look away.
"If you will give Him all those hidden places, those chained up parts of you, He'll release you. It won't be easy, I can assure you. Daily, you'll have to choose to hand Him the keys to your heart. Daily, you'll have to choose to follow H
im into those dark rooms and let Him teach you how to be a new you. He doesn't let us just sit around while He does all the work. He's a much better Father than that! But He'll let you know what it is you must do to air out those rooms, and He'll go through it all with you." Trevor brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles and stood up again. "He loves you, Juliette, far more than any man ever could. He's not some cruel master. He wants you to call Him 'Husband.'" He said it just like Sharon had, and Juliette lowered her gaze, her breath catching at the intimacy in his voice. He placed a hand on the top of her head. It felt like a blessing. "All you have to do is get down off the slave block and into His wagon—or on the back of His Harley—and go home with Him so He can set you free from all that stuff keeping you enslaved."
Warmth flooded over her, from the top of her head where Trevor's hand rested, all the way to the tips of her toes, where they were still ensconced in Gia's boots. She knew, without a doubt, that he was right; she just had to let God take over. Something inside of her sprang open, like a skylight, and she smiled to herself, imagining how Sharon would react when she told her.
Right there on the front steps of her home, she and Trevor held hands while he led her in a prayer similar to the one the pastor prayed the night before. "Father, You know my broken heart even better than I do." Juliette repeated the words, forcing them out past the tightness in her throat. "I need You, Jesus, to wash me clean. I need You to break the chains of sin in my life. I'm sorry for my anger and bitterness toward You. I'm sorry for running from You again and again. I want You to live in me. I give You my heart, Jesus. Help me to see You as my loving husband. Teach me how to love like You do. Amen."
Trevor stayed with her a little longer to make sure she was okay, and she promised to let Sharon know about her freed heart first thing in the morning.
Juliette and the Monday ManDates Page 10