by J W Becton
It seemed useless to berate these two. After all, they had mostly noble intentions, even if their results could have been better. Much better.
“Come on,” I said wearily, looking them over. Rain splattered both their clothes, and I was soaking wet. “Let’s get you upstairs and into some dry clothes.”
Anxiety crawled up my spine as the elevator opened its doors. I hoped we would make it to the top in once piece. The last thing I needed was to get trapped in this thing with two elderly vigilantes. But then again, it might be a good way to avoid everything else that was falling apart in my life.
I felt Mrs. Twilley studying me.
Then, Sydney took my arm.
“Here,” he said, pushing the button for the top floor. “You look like you could use a little support. Not a fan of elevators, huh?”
I shook my head.
“Just this one,” I said.
Good grief. Why couldn’t I get into this elevator without freaking out? What kind of cop was I?
A bad one.
I knew it. I could admit it.
I had screwed up everything: this “easy” fraud case, the prosecution of my sister’s rapist, not to mention the lives of everyone in my family.
We limped our way to Sydney’s apartment, and he laid the ladder on its side at the door. After that, he gave me a towel, which I used to blot at my clothes and hair.
It was useless. Suddenly, every ounce of stress I’d felt over the past weeks caught up to me, and a tear slipped down my cheek.
“What is wrong with you?” Mrs. Twilley asked, craning her neck slightly to try to get a look at my face.
I shook my head and tried to avert my face from her invasive gaze.
“Nothing. It’s rainwater.”
I swiped at my tears with my fingertips, but they wouldn’t quit falling.
“What is wrong with her? Do we need to call an ambulance?” Mrs. Twilley demanded of Sydney, who gave her a long-suffering look. “Maybe that nut hit her with the shovel while we weren’t looking.”
“Move out of the way, you old biddy,” Sydney said affectionately, pulling me to his sofa and putting an arm around me. “She’s upset about something. Any ninny could see that she’s crying.”
Mrs. Twilley narrowed her eyes as I leaned into Sydney’s fatherly embrace.
“So what’s got you blubbering? We caught the guy,” Mrs. Twilley said, waving a blurry Polaroid at me.
I tried to pull it together, and between sniffles, I managed to explain myself.
“I’ve totally screwed up everything,” I began, not knowing how to explain what a huge failure I was.
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Twilley demanded, and when I only sniffled again, she turned to Sydney. “What is she talking about?”
“Now, hang on a minute and let her tell us,” Sydney said, looking into my eyes. “What is it, my dear?”
“Blissett knows we’re onto him,” I lamented. “By the time I get home, he’ll probably be waiting in the bushes to ambush me and take the evidence.”
“That sounds a little far-fetched, doesn’t it?” Sydney crooned. “To get rid of everyone who knows, he’d have to kill you, me, your partner, and this old bat. Sounds unlikely to me.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said under my breath, thinking back on all the fraudsters who had shot at or driven cars straight toward Vincent and me. “But you’re right. He could come after you if we don’t do something quickly.”
“Let ’im come after me,” Mrs. Twilley said. “I can take ’im.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Sydney interpreted. “Besides, he doesn’t know our names or how to find us. But that can’t be all that’s bothering you. You don’t strike me as the type of female who bawls about something as minor as a little attempted murder.”
I gave him a watery, sideways smile and wondered if I should just let the moment pass. But Sydney gave me another gentle squeeze, and fresh tears started to fall.
“A long time ago, I did something,” I said, feeling the weight of my crime pressing down on me. “Something not quite legal. And today, I admitted it to a judge. Now—because of me—a really bad man might go free. And I might go to prison.”
“You going to the big house, then?” Mrs. Twilley asked, sounding impressed.
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “But that isn’t the biggest issue.”
“I think we may need to reexamine your definition of ‘problem’ if avoiding a prison sentence isn’t an issue,” Sydney said softly.
“What I did back then could ruin me now, more than just sending me to prison. When it’s all over, I might not have any friends or family left.”
“What about Cop Face?” Mrs. Twilley asked. “You won’t lose him.”
I shrugged. So far, Vincent’s support was rock solid, but how could I be sure he would still be there when the repercussions began? And could I blame him if he pulled away as the others had? Besides, I honestly had no idea where our relationship stood. Whatever we had, was it strong enough to get through something like this?
“Vincent already knows what I did,” I said, “but he doesn’t realize the fallout I caused. It’s probably just a matter of time before I’ve lost him too.”
“Poppycock!” Mrs. Twilley declared, stamping her foot perilously close to my own. “That man loves you.”
Sydney nodded.
I longed for them to be right, but, if I were honest, I had to admit that few signs were there. Our relationship had never progressed beyond the last, passionate kiss. And that was a while ago. I shook my head without speaking.
“Please,” Mrs. Twilley huffed. “You could probably run over that man of yours with a truck, and he’d still love you after.”
“I doubt that very seriously,” I said. “He’s not the type to let himself be run over by a woman.”
Mrs. Twilley lifted an eyebrow at me.
“Don’t be so literal, lady,” she said softly, her tone growing gentle. “I only meant that it would take a lot more than whatever it is you’ve done to get rid of that man. He’s one of the good ones, and you’re wasting time sitting here boohooing over things that are out of your control.”
“But I don’t know what to do,” I said, feeling just as pathetic as I sounded.
“I do,” Mrs. Twilley said. “Get off that couch, tell Cop Face what happened with the man across the street, and make sure you stop him from showing up at your house or whatever it is you’re afraid he’s going to do.”
“Yes,” Sydney agreed. “And don’t give another thought to us. We’ll be fine.”
I sighed, and Sydney gave Mrs. Twilley a pointed look that seemed to indicate that her brusqueness had gone too far.
“And if you need to talk, well, you know how to find us,” Sydney said, rubbing my upper arm with his palm.
“Thanks,” I said. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
And it really did mean a great deal. As much as I loved my parents, they had ceased to be my support system years ago. Other people could call and ask for advice or vent their frustrations to their mothers and fathers, but not me. I hadn’t had the feeling of absolute familial support in so long that it almost hurt to feel it now.
And I wasn’t even related to these two people.
I leaned over, wrapped an arm around Sydney’s thin shoulder, and tried to come up with something to say that would convey all that I was feeling.
I had nothing.
I just looked into his brown eyes and tried to smile. He seemed to understand and gave me one last squeeze before letting go.
Time to take action, I thought as I stood up. Mrs. Twilley was right. I needed to call Vincent, but before that, I had to make arrangements that would ensure the older couple had a safe place to sleep that night.
The chances were remote that Blissett would identify them and find out where they lived. On the other hand, there was only one vantage point into that yard, so if he really wanted to come after the old couple
in a demented revenge scheme, it was possible for him to show up at the top floor of the Heights and start knocking on doors until he found them.
“You two need to stay elsewhere tonight,” I said. “Not at the Heights. Just in case Blissett decides to eliminate all the witnesses. A hotel, maybe.”
I pulled out my wallet, thinking to offer them money for hotel rooms, but Mrs. Twilley patted my hand.
“No need for that,” she said as she reached down to help Sydney up from the sofa.
After she pulled him up, the two of them continued to hold hands.
“Sydney is going to stay at my house tonight. Aren’t you?” she asked saucily.
My law enforcement thoughts came first. Yes, Mrs. Twilley’s house would likely be safe for the night. After all, it was unlikely that Blissett could track her there.
I nodded my approval of the plan, and then realized that Sydney and Mrs. Twilley were grinning at each other.
Understanding dawned on me, and I felt myself blush.
“You got that right.” Sydney looked at me and shrugged. “I may be old, but I’m not dead.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. “I’ll wait until you’re safely on your way. Go get your things, Sydney.”
Sydney stood and began to pack a bag. Mrs. Twilley took his place beside me on the sofa.
“You remember what we told you, Julia,” she said. “You’re not alone.”
Twenty-one
I saw Mrs. Twilley and Sydney safely off and then went to retrieve my Explorer, which rested at an awkward angle across from Blissett’s house. His place was quiet and dark now, and he didn’t come after me with his shovel, but I called Vincent to confess to pissing off another fraudster anyway.
How sad is it that I had a record for pissing off these people?
My propensity to incite murderers to action meant I had to take the same precautions with Blissett, just in case he harbored homicidal tendencies. At the very least, I needed to secure my house, and if I were really paranoid, I’d need to find alternate sleeping arrangements.
No matter what, I had to let Vincent know that our surveillance was blown. I dialed his number, and he answered on the third ring. I tried to keep my tone light.
“I’m at the Heights. You’ll never believe what just happened.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll bet Ted won’t like it,” Vincent said dryly.
“Definitely not,” I said before explaining about Sydney, Mrs. Twilley, and Blissett’s so-called grave digging. “The way I figure it, Blissett will probably show up on my doorstep with a shotgun.”
I could almost feel the change in Vincent’s posture through the phone.
“Does he know who you are? Did he threaten you?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “Blissett knows of the DOI’s investigation, and his reaction to the news was, well, strange.”
“Strange?” Vincent repeated. “What does that mean?”
“He displayed more anxiety than I expected. He was shaking and couldn’t retreat inside fast enough. But if history is any indication, the guy should be plotting something homicidal right now.”
There was a pause on the line before Vincent admitted, “Sadly, you have a point there.”
“Sydney and Mrs. Twilley are staying at her place for the rest of the weekend, just in case.”
“I can be at the Heights in half an hour,” he said.
“No need,” I replied. “Everything is under control, and I’m headed home.”
Bone tired, I pulled into the quiet of my neighborhood. The rain stopped again, and my headlights illuminated the fine mist that hovered over the ground.
I’d taken a circuitous route home to make certain I wasn’t being followed, and I went around the block once to make sure no one was staking out my house. Now that I was fairly sure I was alone, I was ready for a hot shower and bed.
By rote, I pulled into the garage, closed the door behind me, and then went inside. I performed a sweep of the house, gun ready, looking for the shadowy figure of Blissett out my windows, in my closets. I may have even checked under the bed. I’m not admitting anything.
Only Maxwell knows for sure.
Once I was certain Blissett wasn’t there, I secured my M&P in the safe and hit the shower.
The hot water sluiced over my body, warming and relaxing every muscle. I indulged in some vanilla-scented body wash, inhaling deeply as I smoothed it over my skin. I stayed under the warm spray longer than I should have, and my fingertips and toes wrinkled. But it was heaven. Under the pounding water, I could hear nothing, not even the sound of my own thoughts.
When the water began to chill of its own accord, I sighed, turned off the tap, and reached for my towel. I’d barely gotten a chance to dab the water droplets from my face when I heard it.
The sound of a car door nearby.
Anxiety slammed back into my body, and my eyes began to scan the bathroom as if Blissett might materialize there. My mind flashed back to the last time someone had broken into my house.
The sound of gunshots.
The cloud of gun smoke hanging heavy in my darkened bedroom.
The reek of blood in the air.
Me, huddled in pain and fear behind my old bookshelf.
My pulse leapt at the memory, and yet I stood frozen, water dripping off my skin as I clutched my towel to my chest. I swore I could hear movement outside, but that was impossible. It was my imagination. No one was trying to break in through the front door.
I strained my ears, hoping to confirm that I was crazy. But I heard another thump. A rattle.
Holy crap.
Was it all going to happen again?
Hell, no! I wouldn’t let it happen again.
Forgetting everything but the sounds outside, I threw aside my towel, grabbed my bright pink bathrobe, and headed for my gun safe.
Somehow, my saturated fingers worked the combination, and soon I had the M&P in my hand. As an afterthought, I slipped my cell phone in my robe pocket. If it turned out someone was there—and I wasn’t simply experiencing paranoia on an epic scale—I’d call for backup.
But first, I needed to find out what was really going on.
I felt everything and nothing as I moved on silent, damp feet to the front of the house and peered out the window. On the very edge of my field of vision, I could see a sliver of my driveway, bathed in dark and mist.
A vehicle was parked there just as brazen as you please.
From my angle and in the dark, I could see only a portion of the bumper. I couldn’t tell what it was, much less who it belonged to. I needed a closer look.
I considered calling the police, but again, I held off. I still had no idea what I was dealing with, and I didn’t want to add “cries wolf” to the list of charges pending against me.
Drawn forward by sheer force of will and my determination not to be victimized again, I crept down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked. Keeping to the shadows, I headed toward the window with the best view to my driveway, but before I reached it I heard another noise. My head swiveled to the front door.
The knob rattled again.
No freaking way, I thought. No way was this going to happen.
I diverted my course, taking the safety off my M&P as I went, but keeping my finger off the trigger. I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and threw it open in a swift motion.
“Show me your hands,” I shouted as the door swung open.
It was a good thing I didn’t have my finger on the trigger because there Vincent stood, his hands in the air.
“What the hell?” I demanded, putting the safety on the M&P and lowering it in one practiced movement. “What. The. Hell!”
I shouted that phrase at him a few more times, and I couldn’t seem to tone it down. “I thought you were Blissett coming to chop my head off!”
Vincent remained frozen with his hands raised, his expression totally blank.
“I’m sorry, but—”
“I could have s
hot you. You’re a freaking protection specialist. You should know better than to show up unannounced at a cop’s doorstep in the middle of the night. Rattling my doorknobs no less!”
“I did try to announce myself,” he said, his tone even and sure. “I called. You didn’t answer. I left a message.”
I stared at him and slipped my phone from my pocket.
The voicemail notification light blinked at me.
“Augh!” I groaned, frustration and adrenaline robbing me of speech. I was so keyed up that I wanted to throw the phone at him.
I sucked in a few deep breaths of cold night air, and at length, I realized I was dripping wet and wearing nothing but a hot pink robe. In the middle of the night. On my front stoop.
I reached for Vincent and pulled him inside.
“Get in here,” I ordered. My voice came out colder than I’d intended as I yanked him into the house. I let go of him and took a few steps away. I needed time to calm down, or I’d just keep making cavewoman noises at him. I turned my back to Vincent, placed my gun safely on the counter, and grabbed a clean dishtowel from a nearby drawer. I began blotting my hair, and only then did I face Vincent.
He was watching me with heated eyes. I glanced down at myself and flushed from head to toe. I presented an erotic picture—gaping pink robe, wet hair, bare legs—and in Vincent’s case, I was sure the gun just added to the fantasy.
Now was so not the time.
I tossed the towel aside, yanked my robe tighter around me, and retied the belt.
“You should explain yourself,” I stammered. “Did you really expect me to check my voicemail when I thought someone might be trying to break in?”
“No.” He shook his head, eyes still warm and wanting, and for a moment, it looked as if he might move closer to me. “I was worried when you didn’t pick up. I called a couple more times and decided to check for signs of a break-in.”
“You thought Blissett might have gotten the jump on me.” I crossed my arms. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
Vincent looked pointedly at the gun that had recently been trained on him. “I’m well aware of that.”
“But you still felt the need to drive across town and check on me….” I let the sentence hang there.