Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  She sipped hers, and a tiny bit of foam clung to her upper lip. When her tongue darted out to catch it, he shifted in his seat and tried to keep from staring and hoping for a repeat performance.

  “Yeah, I’m not picky. Mushrooms are good. I draw the line at green peppers though.”

  Feeling safe with the topic, Mark smiled. “Really? What do you have against peppers?” He took a sip of his beer. He’d never been a big drinker, but he’d missed having one now and again. Mostly, he’d missed the social aspect, being with friends and relaxing.

  Jessie made a face and shuddered. “Ugh. I can’t even stand the smell. It makes me want to puke.” She grinned at him. “Consider yourself warned.”

  “Noted. I’ll be sure never to eat green peppers before kissing—” He broke off when her eyes widened and met his. Heat flooded his face. “I’m sorry. I guess I was back in the past.” He couldn’t look at her as he lifted his beer and gulped.

  She turned in her seat. “I wonder when that pizza will get here? I’m starved.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  The TV screen was a blur as he stared at it. He hated this. He hated the awkwardness and the stilted conversation. He hated making her feel uncomfortable. Deciding he’d rather just rip off the bandage rather than tease it off bit by bit, Mark took a deep breath and plunged into the topic that was foremost in his mind. “I completely understand if you’ve moved on in your life, so you can tell me. I just have to know.” He searched her face, unable to read what she was thinking.

  She played with an earring, her eyes averted. He took her silence for an affirmative and tried to quell the pain that swept from his chest through his body down to the bones in his hands. He couldn’t blame her.

  “I just want you to know that I never had any involvement with terrorists.” Sitting back, he blew out a deep breath. There — it was out. A burden lifted. He rubbed his hands together, studying his fingers because he couldn’t look at her. “All this time, it killed me that you might think that I had something to do with it. I...I just wanted you to know. And for what it’s worth, the government finally figured it out too.”

  The waitress arrived bearing the pizza. She chirped on about how hot it was, to be careful, and if there was anything more they needed to let her know. Mark might have thanked her, but he couldn’t have sworn to it. All he wanted to do was escape.

  Jessie sat with her hands clasped around her glass, her eyes on the pizza, but she made no move to take a slice. “I never really thought you had anything to do with it, Mark.” She tilted her head, running the fingers of one hand through her hair and gave him a tight smile.

  “You…you didn’t?” He wanted to believe her so badly, but he recalled when he’d seen her in the cell. Fear and doubt had been written all over her face. He’d never forget that. “What about in the cell? You said I should tell them what I know even after I said I didn’t know anything.”

  She shook her head. “I was confused. What was I supposed to think? You’d been taken away, had already been gone weeks. The newspapers were calling you a terrorist—”

  Mark sat back hard. “It was in the papers?” So, everyone in country probably thought he was a terrorist. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did. My dad mentioned something, but I didn’t think much about it at the time.” There had been too many other revelations that night at his parents’ kitchen table.

  “I hated myself for believing the papers. Then a CIA agent came and questioned me after you had been gone awhile. I don’t think I gave him the answers that he was looking for, but he made me think. I asked myself how could you possibly be guilty?” Her eyes never left his face and he held her gaze like a falling man clutched a lifeline. She tilted her head and twisted the earring again. “I remembered the pictures you’d shown me from your Afghanistan trip. Nobody who cared that much could hurt someone.”

  Mark’s throat convulsed and he swallowed to ease the tightness.

  “So, I tried to find out where you were, but I couldn’t. It was like you fell off the face of the earth. Eventually, even the newspapers stopped covering it. Your release didn’t get even a small mention that I could see.” Her bitter tone at the last bit surprised him.

  He wiped his hands on his thighs. Another thought hit him. The pictures. “Is that where the pictures came from? The newspapers?”

  She gave a little shake of her head, her eyebrows knit in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he leaned towards her. “Gary—my manager at the camera shop—told me that you had pictures of me in, um...” He shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, he said bondage, but I’m guessing they’re from when I was in the brig.”

  Mark hadn’t seen the pictures, but he could imagine them. He tried to stop his leg from jumping, but it rattled the table. Sitting back, he swiped the back of his arm across his forehead. How the hell could he be sweating when it was like a damn freezer in here?

  Jessie’s eyes hardened along with her tone. “Yeah. I do have pictures. It’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, but Gary wasn’t supposed to say anything.” She finished off her beer and poured more.

  His body tensed as he waited for her to continue. Even his leg stilled.

  “I’m the only one with those pictures. They weren’t in the papers.”

  He closed his eyes, relief washing over him, but then he thought of another question. “But if they weren’t in the papers…?”

  “I happened to go by your old building on the day you were evicted.” She picked at the edge of the pizza, eyes downcast.

  He tried to ignore his embarrassment, and encouraged her. “And…?”

  “There were boxes of your belongings out on the front lawn. I took what I could, mostly photography equipment. I saved it for you at my apartment.”

  Mark straightened in surprise. “You have some of my stuff?” That was the best news he’d had since getting out.

  She nodded, and then shrugged. “I wish I could have saved more, but I fit as much as I could in my car, took it home, and when I came back, there wasn’t anything left.”

  Mark smiled. “No, that’s fine. Anything is better than nothing, which is what I thought I had.” He started to grab a slice of pizza, and then stopped. “But that doesn’t explain the pictures.”

  “In one of the boxes was an old camera. I think it must have been overlooked or something. One day, I needed a camera to take pictures of my niece at a dance recital and I couldn’t find mine. Yours was sitting right there, and I was in a hurry.” She blushed. “I didn’t think you’d mind, so I borrowed it.”

  He eased back against the seat, holding his breath.

  “The pictures were fine, except for the last few. Those ones showed you chained.” Her eyes flicked to his before sliding away.

  Beer washed up in the back of his throat, and he stumbled out of the booth. “Excuse me.” He rushed for the bathroom, and made it just in time to for the beer to hit the toilet bowl. When he stopped heaving, he used some toilet paper to wipe his face. Shaking, he staggered to the sink and washed his hands, leaned on the counter until the trembling subsided. He couldn’t go back out there. Did she figure out what had happened? Is that why he’d had the dreams in the brig too? Mark grabbed some paper towels and wet them before running them over the back of his neck.

  After a few moments, he tossed the paper towels in the trash and returned to the booth. Jessie had taken a slice of pizza, but hadn’t bitten into it yet.

  She angled her head so that he couldn’t avoid looking at her. “Mark? You’re pale. Are you okay?”

  He nodded and grabbed some pizza and put it on his plate. “I’m fine. Guess I shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.” He tried to smile, but it felt fake, and he was sure it didn’t fool her.

  “You only had one glass of beer.” She took a bite of the pizza.

 
“Is it any good?” He ignored the remark and nodded towards the pizza.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah. Great.”

  He forced himself to take a bite. It was good, and he took another bite, washing it down with ice water. “So, how are you doing? Anything new going on with you?” Not only did he want to change the subject, he wanted small talk. He craved normal conversation.

  As if sensing his need, Jessie began talking about her niece, Chicago politics and sports. They finished off the pizza and he felt better. Braving a second glass of beer, he took a sip. He didn’t want the evening to end despite how hard it had been.

  Jessie pushed her plate away and folded her arms on the table. “So, now I’ve seen first-hand the powers of your camera, which, by the way, I have right here.” She reached down to the floor and retrieved the camera, setting it on the table.

  Mark recoiled. “I don’t want it. Why the hell would you think I’d want it back?”

  Her eyes lit with excitement. “Yeah, it’s scary, but it’s also amazing. You, of all people, know how powerful this is. Now I know how you managed to get involved with all those crazy things.” She fiddled with the lens. “I never had any dreams though.”

  He cleared his throat and said in a low voice, “That’s because I did.”

  “You had the dreams?” Her eyes widened, and she said, “You dreamed what was in the pictures before it happened.”

  Speaking of it made the visions pop back into his head and he wasn’t sure what was a memory of the dream, and what was the real thing. Not that it mattered. Both had been terrifying. He nodded, looking everywhere but at her.

  “Oh, Mark. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugged. “It’s over now. I just want to forget it.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  “You expecting someone?”

  “Huh?”

  Jessie pointed down the aisle. “You seem to be looking for someone.”

  “No. Just thought I heard someone call my name.” Mark tried to ignore the compulsion to check to see if anyone was listening.

  “Okay.” Her brow knit and she didn’t look convinced. “After seeing those pictures, I worried even more about you. Did you tell your lawyer what they did to you? That they tortured you?”

  His leg twitched. “Listen, I was treated just fine. I wasn’t tortured.” A sheen of sweat coated his palms and he wiped them on his thighs. “Can we just stop talking about it?”

  Shock registered on her face. “I saw those pictures, Mark. Even Jim Sheridan didn’t deny it when he saw the photos.”

  “Jim Sheridan? How the hell do you know him?” This second shock threatened to send him rushing to the bathroom again.

  “He came to Chicago last summer and questioned me. I…I showed him the camera.” She bit her lip.

  “Shit.” So, for months, Jim had known and hadn’t revealed that information. No, instead he’d led at least a dozen more interrogations. The bastard.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I figured if I showed him, proved to him that you had been telling the truth all along, that they’d set you free.”

  Sincerity was written all over her face and he couldn’t be angry for her attempts on his behalf. “It’s okay.”

  “But I still think you should get a lawyer.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

  “No! I can’t talk about it. Don’t ya understand?” His breathing quickened and he fought the urge to flee the bar. “I don’t want to go back there.”

  Jessie cocked her head and reached across the table, taking one of his hands in hers. “Did they threaten you with that?”

  Mark kept his mouth closed, feeling muscles in his jaw jump. He didn’t answer but instead looked at their intertwined hands. Hers felt soft and warm and she rubbed one up his forearm. Clear nail polish coated the short neat nails. The contact felt wonderful, but, when he looked up, the pity in her eyes doused the feelings of warmth that had begun to stir.

  “Listen, Mark. They won’t lock you up again.”

  He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms. “You don’t know that. They did it once, they can do it again.”

  She shook her head. “They made a mistake.”

  “Maybe, but it was a helluva mistake and took them over a year to fix it.” Leaning forward, both hands braced on the table edge, he went on, in a low, harsh voice, “For all I know, this might all be some kind of trick. One of their sick twisted methods of control. I don’t even know who I can trust anymore.”

  Jessie sat forward, mirroring his posture, her tone low but firm, “Now you’re sounding paranoid, Mark.”

  He gave a short sarcastic chuckle and looked towards the door of the pub. Shaking his head, he tried to form a reply. In her mind, his fears probably seemed overblown. “Yeah, guess I do sound paranoid. But, I think I have a damn good reason to worry.”

  “I guess you do have good reason, but I don’t see the government letting you go just to play a cruel trick.”

  Mark shrugged, still unable to look at her, and they fell into an uneasy silence.

  “You trust me, don’t you?”

  He turned to her ready to say yes, but hesitated. Mohommad had been a friend. Someone he’d trusted. He’d trusted his country too. But this was Jessie.

  Before he could answer, she said, “Is that why you didn’t call me when you got out?” She sounded hurt.

  This time he took her hand in his. “No…no. I do trust you, Jessie. And I did call you once, but I got your voice mail. I couldn’t see leaving a message. For all I knew, you could have been married by now.”

  A soft smile dawned on her face. “Nope. Not married.”

  Even though he’d guessed she wasn’t, a feeling of lightness fill him at her confirmation.

  She looked at her watch. “I’m sorry. I have to get going. I have an early meeting scheduled in the morning.”

  Mark nodded and pulled out his wallet.

  She waved him off when he attempted to look at the check. “No, my treat. I invited you.”

  “I’ve got money.”

  “Yes, but I know times are tough for you now.”

  “Listen, I don’t need your damn charity or your pity.” He pulled some bills out of his wallet and threw them on the table. “That should cover the tab.” He rose, backing away from the booth, but stopped, unable to leave like this. Stepping up to the table, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers in the briefest of kisses. “Sorry. I just had to do that. It’s been good seeing you again, Jessie.”

  Twenty-One

  Mark stirred the scrambled eggs, scraping the cooked portions from the bottom of the pan. The toaster popped, and he snatched the slices and buttered them before they could cool.

  The pan and the toaster had both been recent purchases at the thrift store. His kitchen was now stocked with a hodge-podge of plates, cups and silverware. Tilting the pan, he scooped the eggs onto a plate. In the brig, he had vowed to never eat scrambled eggs again, but eggs were cheap. Finances won out over aversions, and after the second or third time, they started tasting good again. As he added the toast to the plate, there was a knock on the door.

  He glanced at the clock, figuring it must be Bud. He was the only person who ever stopped by, but he wondered what had made the landlord get out of bed before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Maybe Bud had another apartment that needed painting. Mark hoped so. His wallet could sure use some extra padding. He sucked a buttery crumb off his finger as he opened the door. “Hey Bu—”

  “Hello, Mark.”

  “Jessie?” He wiped his fingers on his pants and stepped forward, pulling the door partially closed so that his body filled the threshold. “How’d you find me?”

  She smiled. “I’m a detective, remember?” She held a box, and shifted her weight, hiking the box up to get a better grip.

  “Yeah, but, I mean, why are you here?” Stunned, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. The hurt in her eyes made him cringe. “Sorry. I’m jus
t surprised.”

  Jessie ducked her head and nodded. When she lifted it, her face had a pleasant, overly bright smile. “That’s okay. I had a couple of reasons for stopping by. May I come in?”

  The paint job and rug had helped make the room livable, but they couldn’t work miracles and he felt heat creeping into his face. “Uh, sure.” He moved back, allowing her to get past him. “Come on in.”

  Her smile warmed. “Thanks.” She crossed to the sofa and set the box on it. Flexing her fingers as she glanced around, she nodded at the wall. “Nice shade of blue. And something smells wonderful.”

  “I just made some eggs…want some? There’s plenty.” He hated the note of eagerness that had crept into his voice. It made him sound needy, but he did have plenty of eggs.

  “Oh no, I’m not hungry, but you go ahead and eat.” A suspicious gurgle sounded loud in the room, and her hand flew to her stomach as her eyes went wide.

  He grinned. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  Her face turned crimson, but she laughed. “Guilty. I lied. I’m starving and it smells great in here.”

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the table just outside the kitchen. “I’ll just stick some more bread in the toaster.” He went to the kitchen before she changed her mind. After putting the toast down, he opened the fridge, and ducked his head in to see how much juice he had left. Satisfied there was enough to offer, he turned to ask if she wanted that or milk, but found her right behind him, her mouth level with his. All it would take was for him to lean forward just a fraction, and he could kiss her. He fought the impulse. She didn’t need someone like him in her life.

  Her face flushed, but she held ground for a second. Eyes wide, they flashed to his before she averted hers and stepped towards the sink. “I...I just wanted to wash my hands first.” She spread her fingers and held them up.

  He cleared his throat. “Right. Go ahead. I was just wondering what you wanted to drink. I have O.J. or milk.”