by Jade Astor
“It’s part of the job.” Argo’s expression clouded over. “You, though—you could have been hurt. You’re not trained to intervene in a shootout.”
Hiding the guilt that bubbled up in him, Darian affected a flippant mood. “I’ve seen enough cop shows to wing it.”
“I’m serious, Darian.”
“So am I, actually. He shot you, Argo! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch him take aim?”
“I don’t think he planned to fire. It was a panic move. You shouldn’t have gone after him, Darian. You should have stepped aside and let me handle it, like I told you.”
Darian gaped. He’d saved Argo’s life—even Cutler had said so. He didn’t need or even want thanks, but to his astonishment Argo seemed almost angry.
Argo seemed to realize he’d gone too far. He sank back against his pillow. “Never mind. It’s over now. You did what you thought you had to do.” He glanced down at his bandaged arm. “Bastard wrecked my leather jacket, though. Finally got it broken in just the way I wanted.”
“Maybe we can repair it.”
“Nah. Too many bloodstains. Besides, Cutler took it to use as evidence.”
“That sucks.” Darian didn’t know what else to say. He figured Argo was high on medications and not himself. At least focusing on the jacket was giving him something besides his wound to think about. “I’m sorry, Argo. This wasn’t the way I wanted this evening to end. The worst part was not knowing if you were going to be all right. I…I thought for sure the bullet went in. There was so much blood.”
“Flesh wounds bleed a lot. It looked a lot worse than it really was.” Argo seemed to notice Darian’s stricken expression and softened his manner. “You did good by applying pressure.”
“I only did what you told me to do.”
“Yeah. Cop training comes in handy. The problem is when people don’t listen.”
The sharpness underlying the words made Darian recoil. Suddenly he realized it would be better if he left. Hopefully Argo would view the situation differently in the morning. “I know you need to rest, Argo, so I’m going to let you. But since we’re stuck here, can I get you anything? Do you want me to call your sister for you?”
“I’ll do that myself. If someone else calls, she’ll assume the worst and come flying down here. I don’t want that. But you can do me one favor. Tell Cutler I want him to drive you to your house. That’ll be the easiest thing, since you didn’t have your own car. Tell him to come back here when he’s finished.”
“Sure.” Darian lingered at the bedside for a moment, but Argo didn’t try to kiss him. Of course, Darian shouldn’t have expected that in a public place. Argo didn’t seem to have anything else to say to him, so he left. Somewhat numbly, he gave Cutler the message, and Cutler agreed to drop him off at home and return to the hospital afterward.
Everything looked so different as they pulled out onto the highway. The darkness looked frightening. Even the shapes of the trees and shrubs passing by them seemed vaguely threatening. When they got close to Darian’s house, they passed a guy walking along the road with his hands in his coat pockets, and Darian felt cold sweat prickle on the back of his neck.
“It’ll be like that for a while,” Cutler said, noticing. “Most people aren’t used to seeing guns pointed at them. It’s not like in the movies. It can mess up your head for a while. A little paranoia is normal. It’ll fade.”
“Has it happened to you? Being shot at, I mean?”
Cutler shrugged. “Once or twice. I’ve never been hit, though.”
“I wasn’t hit, either. It must be a hundred times worse for Argo.”
“Well, the sheriff has training. He’ll get police counseling. We have that available. The department looks after its own.” He cleared his throat. “We have a victim liaison officer, too. We can send her around to talk to you, if you want.”
“I don’t know. Is that necessary?”
Cutler fidgeted. “Look, Darian. What you experienced tonight is something every cop’s…uh…domestic partner has to think about at some point or another. The only thing worse is seeing two supervisors walk up to your front door in dress uniform.”
Darian shuddered. He was beginning to shake again. “I can imagine,” he muttered.
“I’ll give you the card for the crisis management people. You can call them 24-7. At least it’s a supportive voice on the phone. Better than nothing.”
“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m not hurt. Argo will be okay. I’m a strong person. You know what I went through last month. I’ll get through this, too.”
They rode in silence for a while. Darian wanted to ask Cutler a question: Did Argo seem different to you at the hospital? But he didn’t dare take Argo’s deputy that far into his confidence. It would only embarrass them both, and it would infuriate Argo.
Argo’s coolness was a result of stress, meds, and pain. That was all. Darian was sure everything would be back to normal in a day or two.
When Darian finally fell asleep that night, he dreamed that he was back in the store, standing at the counter while he learned he had just scratched off a winning lottery ticket. Before he could claim his winnings, another customer barged into the store. Darian knew at once that something was terribly wrong. The guy had a gray, cadaverous face that looked like a zombie’s. Ugly sharp teeth protruded like a vampire’s in a low-budget horror movie. Before Darian could react, he reached into his coat and pulled out a huge semiautomatic weapon. Candy, ice cream, and potato chip bags flew off the shelves as he began blasting everything in sight. At that point Darian jumped up and clutched his chest, certain he felt a bullet scorching through his rib cage.
But no. He was back in his own house, his own bed, tangled in the down-filled bedspread his moms had sent him via their favorite northern-living catalog. He was safe.
He was also alone. He checked the bedside clock. Just before six on Saturday morning. Way too early to make the call he dreaded to his moms. He couldn’t put it off too long, though. He knew very well they’d soon know more about the hold-up than people who lived two blocks from the scene of the crime. Rikki and Ange just had radar like that.
Staring at the nightstand somehow jarred his phone to life, and a number he didn’t recognize flashed across the screen. Argo calling from the hospital, maybe? He grabbed it and pressed the green button.
“Darian Winter? This is TV News North,” a cheerful female voice chirped. “We heard about the heroic role you played at the convenience store robbery, and we want to interview you about it on the air. Would you be free in an hour or so?”
“Sorry. No comment at this time,” Darian said, remembering what Cutler had told him.
“Please! The members of our community deserve to hear about your act of bravery,” the woman began again, but Darian hung up. It dawned on him that he would most likely be featured on the news whether he wanted to be or not—the media apparently had his name and phone number already. Dread crept over him when he realized they would probably start calling the school, too. Once again, Birchwood Academy would be connected to a crime, even though the holdup had taken place nowhere near the campus. Darian himself was the common link. He could imagine the questions already: “We understand this isn’t the first time you’ve been involved in a felony, Mr. Winter. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it? This area is the picture of tranquility for years and then bam, you come along. Did you bring the violence with you from Florida?”
He’d be lucky to have a job if his streak of bad luck continued. Reporters clamoring for exclusives would be the least of his problems if they started calling Jeanette, the school’s headmistress, as well. At some point she’d decide he wasn’t worth the scandal.
Soon, another number flashed up. This one he did recognize. Patricia and Jake Woodley, his colleague from school and her chef husband. They were calling from Into the Wood, the trendy restaurant they owned in town.
“We were listening to the news on the radio while we’re
prepping for the breakfast crowd,” Patricia, his fellow teacher at Birchwood, said breathlessly. “We couldn’t believe the things we heard! Darian, what did you get into now?”
“It was bad luck more than anything. Wrong place at the wrong time. Some drugged-out idiot came looking for fast cash.”
“Unfortunately, there are a lot of those around these days. This was a quiet town, once upon a time. But you know how it is when drugs move in.” He heard Patricia suck in a breath. “The news said a police officer was shot. It wasn’t—?”
“Yeah. Argo took a graze to the arm. They kept him at the hospital overnight, but thankfully, he’ll be okay.”
“Wow. I’m so glad he’s okay. You’ve sure brought some excitement into this town...and into Argo’s life especially.”
“Let’s not go there. It really was just a random stick-up. It’ll all blow over.”
“Well, come by the restaurant for breakfast. On the house for the hero. I can’t wait to hear all the details.” Patricia paused when her husband seemed to scold her from the background. “Or as much as you feel like sharing, anyway. We can even make up something to go and you can take it over to Argo.”
“Thanks,” Darian said, warming to the idea. The last thing he felt like doing this morning was cooking. And Argo would never settle for the hospital’s industrial-strength coffee. “I’ll do that. See you in a bit.”
He showered and dressed slowly, avoiding the call he knew he’d have to make next. Finally he couldn’t come up with any more excuses. He dialed his moms.
Thankfully, they hadn’t seen the news and the story hadn’t gone national. Suppressing a twinge of guilt, he soft-pedaled the whole thing, saying only that Argo had foiled a robbery and sustained a minor injury. As he predicted, even that sugar-coated version sent them into apoplectic despair.
“Are you sure it’s smart to be dating a cop?” his mom, Ange, demanded. “It’s dangerous. What if you’re with him one day and… and some cop-hating lunatic takes a pot shot at you?”
“It might not be smart, but I love him,” he said.
“Well, there’s no helping that,” his other mom, Rikki, conceded. “But couldn’t you just as easily love someone in a less dangerous position?”
“I can take care of myself. Really.”
“We know that. But what do you expect us to say when you seem to get in so much trouble? We thought you’d be lecturing about nineteenth-century poetry at a quiet little boys’ school in the woods. Instead you’re ducking bullets and finding bodies every time you turn a corner!”
“It’s not as bad as all that. And I promise to stick to the poetry from this day forward. The sappier, the better. Okay, gotta go. I’m bringing Argo breakfast.” He was careful to make no mention of driving to the hospital. If they found out later, they couldn’t say he’d outright lied. Fibbed, maybe. But sometimes that was justified in the interests of keeping the peace.
As soon as he put down the phone it rang again. This time it was Argo. His heart leaped.
“Argo? Are you okay?”
“I’m letting you know that I’m being discharged. One of my officers will drive me home in my own car. I didn’t want you to come here and find me checked out.”
It wasn’t the loving greeting Darian had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. At least Argo didn’t sound as emotionally flat as he had last night. The shock was wearing off, hopefully. Maybe there were a bunch of cops and nurses standing nearby, eavesdropping.
“Why don’t I meet you at your place? Patricia and Jake are packing up breakfast for us. I’ll have them put some gourmet coffees in, too.”
Argo paused. “I think I’ll have to take a rain check. They made me eat something here, and besides, Maddy’s on her way now. She’ll probably be at my house by the time I get there.”
“Well, Jake and Patricia won’t mind that. I’ll just have them put in some extra food.”
“No, no. Really, that’s not necessary. Why don’t you go ahead and have breakfast with them?” Argo said. He sounded a touch impatient. “You probably have a lot to do to get ready for school on Monday, anyway.”
“Nothing as important as you.” Darian felt his stomach clench. Something wasn’t right. “Argo, are you all right? Because if there’s something you’re not telling me—”
“No, no. Nothing. It’s not like that. I just don’t want everyone fussing over me. Maddy’s a nurse. She’ll take care of things for a couple of days. Look, I’ll call you later, after I get home. Promise.”
“Okay.” Darian didn’t bother to disguise his hurt. Still, as an only child, he could understand why Argo wanted to talk to his sister. Coming close to being killed would probably make anyone want to reach out to their family. He pushed his misgivings away and left for the restaurant.
As he’d expected, Jake and Patricia were eager to hear all the sordid details of the incident and compare them to what they’d heard on the news.
“They said you disarmed a gunman with your bare hands,” Patricia said in wonder as they sat in the kitchen eating omelets. The restaurant wasn’t due to open to the public for another hour, and Darian suspected they would pepper him with questions until the last possible minute. “Amazing stuff. I had no idea you were capable of moves like that. Do you study martial arts?”
“Nope. Just watch a lot of action movies. The reality’s a lot less glamorous, let me tell you.”
“Poor Argo. It must really rock your world to see a bullet coming at your chest. Life can change in the blink of an eye.” Patricia snapped her fingers. “Or even end.”
“Argo can handle it,” Jake said as Darian cringed at the thought. “He’s been trained to face situations like this.”
“How do you train to get shot at?” Patricia scoffed. “It’s got to be the scariest thing ever.”
“He’ll be okay. As we know, he’s even tougher than he looks, and that’s saying something,” Darian assured them. He turned to Patricia. “Do you think anyone at school has heard about this yet?”
“Oh, sure. If Jake and I heard it in on the news, at least one trustee did too. You know how it is in this town. The chairman’s probably already been on the horn to Jeannette.”
“You don’t think she’ll get mad at me? Blame me for making the school look bad somehow?”
“Blame you? Come on. You’re a hero. You saved a cop’s life—and probably the robber’s life, too. If Argo had got a clean shot at him, he might be cooling his heels in the morgue right now instead of in the county jail. He got off lucky, if you ask me.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Darian pushed away his empty plate. The idea of Argo killing someone made him feel cold and faint. It had to have occurred to Argo, too. That might explain his defensive attitude. Maybe Patricia and Jake were right about the psychological toll the incident would take. Even Cutler had hinted at it.
When the first few customers showed up at Into the Wood, Darian excused himself and headed for the sidewalk. Now that he couldn’t go to Argo’s house, he found himself at loose ends. He didn’t dare to hang around his own house now that reporters were on the lookout for him. Driving to some distant location didn’t appeal, either.
Maybe he should head for campus. He recalled a pile of quizzes waiting on his office desk. No reason he couldn’t’ get a jump on them now.
He had taken a few steps toward his car when he heard someone calling his name.
Chapter 3
Darian looked up to see Victor Reece hurrying down the sidewalk toward him, carrying a cup of take-out coffee from the bakery on the corner.
“Darian, hey! Nice to see you again. Looks like we’ve already both had our breakfasts, or I’d invite you to join me.”
“That’s okay,” Darian said, keeping his face neutral. He wasn’t really in the mood for casual conversation, but at the same time he saw no reason to take out his lousy luck on Victor. “I was just on my way to Birchwood, actually. Thought I’d catch up on some work in my office.”
Darian winced at the scent of the strong brew that wafted toward him when Victor raised the cup. Argo's need for fresh creamer had started the entire nightmare he was still wading through. Still, having nothing better to do, he fell into step beside Victor.
Clearly pleased, Victor flashed him an undeniably charming smile and went on with his happy chatter. He didn’t seem to have heard anything about the robbery, which came as a relief. Darian sensed he’d be talking about little else over the course of the next few days. This might be his last chance to enjoy a conversation without that topic.
“Funny I should run into you this morning. Our conversation last night got me thinking about my Birchwood days. Even when I’m staying at Reece Hall, I almost never visit my old haunts. I decided it was past time I did.”
“This town must seem dull compared to the city.”
“In a way.” Victor tossed his coffee cup into the first public trash can they passed. “In another way it’s reassuring. Nothing ever changes. It’s like my old self will always be here, too, frozen in time, just waiting for me to come back to it.”
“Do you have fond memories of your time as a student?”
“A few. I was only at Birchwood for my first two years of high school. Transferred out after that.” Victor shrugged. “I was kind of a mess when I was young. Didn’t know what I wanted, much less how to go about getting it in a healthy way.”
“I can relate.” Darian wasn’t fond of remembering the awkward, overly serious teen he had once been. Sure, he’d had a better childhood than most people he knew, but there had been plenty of low points too—figuring out his sexuality, planning his future, struggling to fit in with the people around him. He doubted Victor had ever faced an introvert’s problems, though. He was charming and outgoing, no doubt about that. In spite of everything weighing on his mind, Darian found his personality a pleasant distraction. After all, he reasoned, fighting off a surge of guilt, he was only here because Argo had pushed him away so he could visit with Maddy. Darian had every right to enjoy his Saturday morning as best he could.