“No, if I’m going to be doped up on painkillers, I want to be that way in my own bed.”
Eventually, Griff acquiesced to her decision and told her he’d leave too. “I gotta make sure you get home okay,” he said by way of explanation.
After a short flight, Griff made Midnight wait in the terminal while he brought his car around. When a Harbor police officer gave him a hard time about parking in front of the terminal and leaving the vehicle to go in and pick up their luggage—and keep Midnight from even considering grabbing her own luggage off the carousel—Griff flashed the younger man his Special Agent badge and told him that this was official business, that he had an injured San Diego PD officer inside the terminal. It was the truth, after all, Griff reasoned, knowing he shouldn’t use his peace officer powers to get away with breaking the rules, but he did need to help Midnight.
By this time, Midnight was exhausted and in visible pain, but she refused to take any of the medication until she got home and made sure everything was as it should be. Griff had told her she was just putting herself through more pain for nothing, but Midnight insisted, explaining that she didn’t like how she felt when she took strong painkillers—narcotics. She certainly didn’t want to be that way in front of him or any other member of the public. Griff had shaken his head, but gave up trying to convince her.
The ride home, though only twenty minutes, seemed interminable. Midnight leaned her forehead against the window, the cool glass giving her something to focus on. Her head was swimming from the deep throbbing in her shoulder; she couldn’t believe how much pain could come from a simple hairline fracture. She’d had more serious injuries, but for some reason this seemed to be worse. Midnight was sure it was just because she was tired—she hadn’t slept well the last few weeks. All the tension and anger in the house just seemed to keep building, to a point where she couldn’t unwind enough to get a good sleep. Part of her was afraid to take the painkillers, because she knew they would make her tired, and in her exhausted state, she might never wake up.
Reflecting on her morbid thoughts, Midnight knew she was just out of it and that the narcotics wouldn’t kill her, but her mind kept churning out possibilities. A few times, her imagination tried to touch on what was happening with Rick, what she might find out when she got home. Would he be there—would Sheila? Had they been there, had they… Midnight recoiled forcefully away from the thought. She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to see Rick’s face, smug and guilty at the same time. Her thoughts whirled in a tornado of fear, anger, and humiliation, spiraling around in her head, making it tingle with emotions that then shot down to the pit of her stomach, making her want to retch violently. She felt her entire body strain with the effort to remain seated in the car—and just then they pulled up to her house. Midnight grabbed the handle, forgetting about her shoulder in her haste to get out. As she yanked the door open, she gasped involuntarily at the pain that shot up her arm. Then she was on the ground, desperate for air, coughing and crying at the same time.
Griff threw the car into park and jumped out. He ran around the front and skidded to a stop, startled. In the almost four years he had known Midnight, he had never seen her this way. He wasn’t sure what to do—he just knew he had to get her into the house. Hopefully that louse of a husband of hers was home. He glanced around, looking for Rick’s Mustang—no sight of it.
He rushed to Midnight’s side, still reeling at seeing her like this. All he wanted to do was make her pain stop, but at this point he wasn’t even sure it was just her shoulder. He knelt down in front of her.
“Midnight,” he said soothingly, “I’m gonna pick you up so I can get you into the house, okay?”
Midnight nodded, not looking up at him. Among all the other emotions she was feeling, a deep shame was prevalent. She couldn’t control herself, the tears just kept coming, and she just wanted to crawl into the nearest corner, curl up into a ball, and cry. Throughout her life she had always cried in private, mostly in the shower with the water running down her face. Very few people had ever seen it, much less when she was in a state like this. She felt Griff’s powerful arms lift her gently. She winced slightly as the movement jarred her shoulder, but her face was against Griff’s chest, so he didn’t see.
He carried her to the door, then saw the security keypad. “Honey,” he whispered against her hair, “I need you to tell me your security code so I can open the door. I’m a cop—you can trust me.” He was relieved when he heard her laugh softly. “Three, three, two, four,” she said softly. Then in a slightly stronger voice, “And if my VCR disappears, I know where you work.”
Griff laughed out loud, seriously relieved that she was obviously coming out of it. “You got it, babe.”
Once in the house, he followed her directions to her and Rick’s bedroom. It was obvious Rick was not at home. Griff set her gently on her bed. Turning on the light, he looked her over. Her face was wet from her tears, and he dried them with his handkerchief.
Midnight grinned at him. “I thought only really old guys carried those.”
“You’re so perceptive,” Griff shot back.
Midnight nodded, then started to get up from the bed. Griff blocked her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“I want to check on Mikeyla.”
“You stay here, I’ll do it.”
“You don’t know where her room is.”
“So tell me.”
He came back a few minutes later. “She’s not here. I saw a note on her door from a Marie that said she left her with Joe, that her aunt was sick.”
Midnight nodded, relaxing against the pillows. An hour later, Griff had gotten her comfortable. He had heated up some soup he found in the refrigerator, then made her take her painkillers. She was still very shaky, and Griff did not want her alone in the house. Finally he decided to call Joe, hoping he would know where Rick was. It was almost midnight by this time, so Griff wasn’t surprised to wake Joe up.
“Yeah,” Joe said groggily.
“Joe, it’s Phil Griffin.”
“Aren’t you chasing drug dealers awfully late?”
“Actually, I’m babysitting.”
“I see.” Joe was still half asleep. “And this relates to me how?”
“Well, I’m babysitting your partner, because your best friend is an asshole,” Griff said angrily.
Joe was silent for a minute. “What happened?” he asked, concern creeping into his voice.
“She’ll be fine, she just beat the shit out of herself with a Benelli shotgun. I think it’s her heart that’s not doin’ so well. Do you know where Rick is?”
“Obviously not there,” Joe replied, his voice cold. He had a feeling something was going on with Rick. He hadn’t seen him since Midnight had left. But he was pretty sure where he’d find him. “I’ll hunt him up. Can you stay there awhile?”
“You got it. Thanks, Joe. I knew she could count on you—too bad I can’t say the same for her husband.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, hearing the anger in the other man’s voice. He hadn’t realized the BNE SAC had such a thing for Midnight, but he wasn’t surprised either. He knew how she could make someone want to protect her against everything—he’d been there many times.
Half an hour later, Joe drove up to the Thelands’ home. He was not surprised to see Rick’s Mustang parked out front. Fortunately—for everyone involved—Sheila and Rick were still in the car. Had they been in the house, Joe would have woken everybody inside in order to drag Rick out of there. As it was, he had to fight not to knock out the man he considered one of his best friends in the world. The problem was, Midnight was the other person he considered his best friend in the world.
Joe walked over to the driver’s side of the car and snatched the door open. To his surprise, Rick and Sheila were only talking. Rick’s head snapped around, and out of sheer reflex his hand went for the holstered weapon under his right arm. Joe glared at him; when Rick’s hand moved away fro
m the weapon, Joe hauled him out of the vehicle by a handful of his jacket. “Little late for tea, ain’t it?” Joe said harshly. Rick’s face was only inches from his own.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Rick asked, anger his first reaction to Joe’s words.
“I came to find you, and it’s pretty obvious I needed to.” Joe craned his neck around to shoot Sheila a dirty look.
“Joseph Sinclair,” Sheila began in her most regal tone.
Joe cut her off. “Save it, bitch! Don’t you have nothin’ better to do than stealin’ another woman’s husband?”
Sheila got out of the car and turned as if to leave. “I will not—”
“You better be plannin’ on sayin’ that you will not see this man again, ’cause anything else comes outta that mouth o’ yours an’ I may shut it permanently.”
Joe had released Rick by then, and Rick was leaning back against the car, staring up at the sky. He knew he was in the wrong place, and in deep.
Sheila, on the other hand, had no idea who she was dealing with, or how loyal Joe was to Midnight and her marriage with Rick. She whirled around, the pillar of society, and stalked around the car. She stared insolently up at Joe.
“Richard is a grown man. He can see who he chooses,” she said, her voice that of a queen, not a mistress. “And,” she started, and Rick knew what she was going to say—he began shaking his head, but Sheila paid him no mind. “If that uncouth slut he’s married to wanted to stay married, well, then she’d stay at home where she belongs, now, wouldn’t she?”
Rick had closed his eyes, sure of what Joe’s reaction would be. He was very surprised Joe had even let her go past the words “uncouth slut.”
Joe stared down at the woman he had known a good portion of his life, having come from the same social circles. He realized he had never wanted to strangle a woman more than he wanted to at that moment, but he controlled himself. He looked at Rick, and Rick was surprised to have Joe’s anger turned back on him so quickly.
“Is that what you’ve told her?” Joe said, cold as an iceberg. “You’ve told her that Midnight is leavin’ you alone? Have you convinced her that Midnight doesn’t love you? Or are you tryin’ to convince yourself?”
Rick stared at Joe, his mouth set in a hard line. “I tried, Joe,” he said finally, anger of his own starting to flood his veins. “I tried to get her to stay, tried to get her to go away with me, but all she gives a shit about is that goddamned job!” He sneered. “And you know what, your little goddess ain’t so innocent either. She was shackin’ up with some guy up there—she isn’t as pure as you’d like to think.” Rick looked Joe square in the eye. “And as far as I’m concerned, if you love her so goddamned much, why the fuck didn’t you marry her?”
That was the final straw for Joe. His punch hurled Rick a good three feet and laid him out flat. Rick sprawled on the ground, his vision swimming as he stared up at Joe.
“When you’re man enough to get up, just try me,” Joe said, his voice colder than Rick had ever heard it. “And while you’re lyin’ there, let me enlighten you a little bit, you dumb sonofabitch. That guy she was ‘shackin’ up with’ is at your house right now, with your wife. He’s takin’ care of her ’cause you’re here with princess. Now,” Joe all but shouted, “tell me again how I don’t know Midnight. And as far as marryin’ her, I would have, but she turned me down a long fuckin’ time ago.”
Rick said nothing. He had dropped his head back on the pavement and now lay there motionless, gazing up at the sky.
“To hell with ya,” Joe said, waving Rick away. “I’ll take care of her. You stay here with your tart.”
Joe got into his car, kicking up dust and gravel as he accelerated out of the driveway.
Joe got to Midnight and Rick’s house five minutes later. He punched in the code to open the door and strode into the bedroom where Midnight lay asleep. Griff was sitting in a chair in the corner, watching her. He looked up when Joe entered. His eyes went to the hallway behind Joe, expecting Rick to be right behind him; he was very surprised when Rick did not appear. He looked at Joe again, closer this time. He could see the anger in Joe’s eyes now, and he knew Rick wasn’t coming.
“So,” Griff said almost in a whisper, “where is he?”
Joe motioned Griff to the hallway, not wanting Midnight to hear what he was going to say, but Midnight’s voice stopped them both.
“He’s with Sheila, isn’t he?” The question was for the most part rhetorical, but the look on Joe’s face told her everything she needed to know. She nodded slowly, her eyes closing, but Joe knew she wasn’t sleeping again. He knew she was holding back tears she didn’t want Griff to see.
“I’ll take care of her from here,” Joe said to Griff, nodding toward the hallway. The look on his face told Griff he should bow out at this point. Griff looked over at Midnight. She was trembling ever so slightly, and he was pretty sure she was about to repeat the surprising scene from out in the driveway. Griff knew Midnight wouldn’t want him to see, and in a way he didn’t want to watch her fall apart again—it hurt too much, especially knowing she couldn’t share it with him, so he couldn’t make everything alright. Griff nodded to Joe and turned to leave. Again, he was stopped by Midnight’s voice.
“Griff?” she said quietly. Her eyes were open again, unshed tears shining in them.
“Yeah?” he replied softly.
“Thanks,” she said simply. But she looked at him for a long moment, her eyes pleading with him to understand why she needed him to leave just now. Griff nodded and left the room.
Joe moved to sit on the side of the bed, next to his partner of many years. He looked down at her, and knew that the lack of Rick’s presence was affecting her deeply. He could see the betrayal in her eyes, and a hurt that she wouldn’t acknowledge at this point. Midnight’s eyes narrowed as she looked away from Joe. He could tell she was rallying all of her pride, her courage, her ability to overcome anything. He didn’t say a word as he watched Midnight go through a battle with herself. She was warring with her emotions; part of her wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, and another part of her wanted to find Rick and Sheila, and one, beat the shit out of Sheila, and two, take her wedding ring and shove it down Rick’s throat. Fortunately for her she was stronger than crying like a baby, and Rick and Sheila were equally fortunate that Midnight had some modicum of control left.
After a little while, Joe leaned against the headboard alongside Midnight. She rested her head against his chest and stared unseeingly at the wall while he stroked her hair. Joe was pissed as hell at Rick for what he was putting Midnight through. What irritated him more was that he knew Rick really loved his wife; it was his pride that was causing the problem. He knew Midnight wouldn’t give up FORS for Rick, and that Rick wouldn’t stand for what he considered coming in second in her life. As far as Joe could tell, there was no easy answer here, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about the situation. He really hated that. At the moment, though, Joe did know Rick was in the wrong, and for that reason he was siding with Midnight. If things had been reversed, and Midnight was cheating, Joe would have just as vehemently sided with Rick. So he sat, quietly holding his partner and wondering what would happen. He knew only time would tell.
Chapter 7
Rick didn’t come home that night, nor the following days. After about three days, Midnight felt up to going back to work. She had spent a lot of time with Mikeyla while she was off. Randy had brought the little girl over the morning after the incident with Rick. Mikeyla was thrilled to see her mother and immediately threw herself into Midnight’s arms. Midnight had had to fight back a wave of nausea as Mikeyla bounded into her, but she didn’t want the little girl to know she had hurt her mother, so she said nothing.
A few hours later, Midnight explained to Mikeyla that Mommy had an “owy” and that that was the reason she couldn’t pick her up. Mikeyla had wanted to see the owy, so Midnight showed her part of the dark bruise on her shoulder. The little girl asked
if a “bad guy” had caused the owy, but Midnight told her that Mommy just hadn’t been careful at the range. Midnight had spent another ten minutes trying to explain what a range was, and subsequently what a shotgun was. By the time Mikeyla nodded her understanding, Midnight was ready for a nap, and so, thankfully, was Mikeyla. The two lay down together on Mommy’s “big girl bed” and slept.
It was almost ten hours before Mikeyla asked about Daddy, assuming he had been at work. When Midnight said Daddy was out of town, Mikeyla asked if he had been with Mommy the previous days. Midnight knew then that Rick hadn’t been home the whole time she was gone. Mikeyla said that Daddy had called a lot, but Marie had said he was busy and that was why he wasn’t home.
Later that day, Midnight had talked to Marie and the girl had explained that Mr. Debenshire had called from his car the day that Midnight left, and had stopped by the house at one point during the evening, changed clothes, and left again. Marie said she hadn’t seen him after that, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t come back to the house. She also explained that on the day Midnight was at the range in Sacramento, Marie’s aunt had called, telling Marie that she needed her. Marie had tried to contact Rick and had also tried the hotel where Midnight had been staying, but she couldn’t get ahold of either of them. Midnight asked what time Marie had called the hotel, and Marie indicated it had been about 6:00 p.m. Midnight realized she had been at the hospital at that point. It dawned on her, with growing anger, that Rick had basically dumped their daughter with Marie and gone off with Sheila and her high-priced friends.
By the time Midnight saw Rick, almost a week after she returned home, she was ready to kill him. Midnight was sitting in her office when she heard his voice. She felt herself tense in anticipation, but he hadn’t even come to talk to her. Obviously, he knew she was aware of his indiscretions and didn’t want to get into a confrontation with her in public. That’s what she thought, anyway, until her door was slammed open and Rick stood there, looking fit to be tied.
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