FOR THE BABY'S SAKE

by Beverly Long

  He stood five inches taller, probably eighty pounds heavier and had wrists twice as big as hers. Liz felt the fear spread from her toes to her head. It didn’t matter that he was ten years younger. Age and experience didn’t give her an advantage. Brute strength would win every time.

  She took her free hand and stroked him under the chin with the back of her fingers. “I’d like that,” she said. When he took his free hand and cupped her butt, she forced the smile to stay on her face. “You stay here,” she said. “I’m gonna be right over there with those girls. You’ll be able to see me.” She opened her purse and pulled out a twenty. “Buy me a drink, sugar. Buy yourself one, too.”

  Then she pulled away from him and edged over to the group of girls that were still gathered just feet away. Several of them turned and stared at her when she joined the group. Then they started talking again as if she wasn’t there.

  Lord, it was just like high school.

  She couldn’t wait for them to warm up to her. She had only minutes before the creep at the bar got tired of waiting. She moved around the group, stopping when she stood next to a girl she guessed to be about five months pregnant.

  “What do you want?” The girl took another drag off her cigarette.

  Liz wanted to rip it away. Didn’t she know what that was doing to her baby’s lungs?

  “I’m looking for Mary Thorton.”

  The girl looked over both shoulders then started to move away. “Stop, please,” Liz pleaded, keeping her voice low. “My name is Liz, and I think she’s in trouble. I want to help her.”

  “Liz who?”

  “Liz Mayfield. I work at Options for Caring Mothers on Logan Street.”

  Liz saw the flicker of recognition in the young girl’s eyes. “You’ll get in trouble asking about Mary,” the girl advised, her voice low. “She ain’t around anyway. She and Dantel went to Wisconsin. She said they were going fishing. Up by Wisconsin Dells.”

  “Are you sure?” Liz asked, aware that the man from the bar, a drink in each hand, walked toward her.

  “That’s what she told me. I don’t think she wanted to go, but I don’t think her boyfriend likes the word no.”

  Liz wanted to hug the young woman. Instead, she winked at her, took a step backward and loudly said, “Hey, if you don’t know Annie Smith, you don’t need to be such a bitch about it. I just asked a freakin’ question.”

  She turned toward the door, but the guy with the drinks intercepted her before she got five feet. Damn. “Oh, thanks,” she said and reached for the drink that she had absolutely no intention of sipping. She might be thirty-two and well past the bar scene, but she knew all about date-rape drugs.

  Creepy Guy looked her up and down. Then he put his nearly empty glass and her full glass down on the nearest table, grabbed her hand and yanked her out into the sea of bodies. “Let’s dance, baby. You can drink later.”

  The smell of sweat and cheap liquor almost overwhelmed Liz. When the man pulled her close and she could feel his erection, her mind almost stopped working. He had his hands on her butt and his mouth close to her ear.

  She thought she might throw up.

  Suddenly, the crowd parted and girls started screaming. Twenty feet away, two men were fighting. One had picked up a chair, and the other had a knife. Liz watched as yet another man, holding a beer bottle like a club, stepped into the mix.

  Creepy Guy let go of her.

  “I gotta pee,” Liz said and ran for the bathroom.

  There was no damn window in the bathroom. She moved into one of the stalls and grabbed her phone out of her purse. She dialed Sawyer’s number. It rang and rang.

  “Hey, don’t take all day. The rest of us got to pee, too.” An angry fist pounded on the door.

  “Just a minute,” Liz said. Sawyer’s voice mail kicked on. Liz flushed the toilet so that she could talk. “Sawyer, I need help. I’m at 1882 Deyston.” She disconnected that call and had just started to dial 911 when the door to the stall was kicked open.

  “Everybody out,” a female cop yelled at her. “Put your hands in the air and walk to the door.”

  Liz wanted to put her arms around the woman and hug her. But the gun pointed at her told her that wouldn’t be appreciated.

  Liz walked out into the club area. Some of the grayness from the daytime had eased back in. The lights had been turned on, and the music had been turned off. There were at least ten cops, with more pouring through the open door. Within minutes, the cops paired off, breaking the group into smaller groups. Everybody had to empty their pockets, their purses. A female officer patted Liz down, looking for weapons. She didn’t care.

  Liz didn’t even care when she had to sit on the dirty floor, her hands on top of her head. Anything was better than dancing with that man, his erection pressed up against her, his hands grabbing at her butt. Thank God he hadn’t tried to kiss her. Even now, the thought of it made her gag.

  She sat quietly. The girl next to her cried; the boy on the other side screamed obscenities at the cops who stood around the perimeter of the room. Liz scanned the area for the pregnant girl who’d given her the info, but she was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, she’d managed to slip out.

  Liz tried to remember every cop show she’d ever watched. When did people get fingerprinted? When was the mug shot taken? Would she get to make a phone call before or after all that?

  Who the heck would she call? Sawyer hadn’t been at his desk. She couldn’t ask Carmen to come down to the police station at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. The only person she could call was Jamison. He’d have a cow, but then he’d come.

  A minute later, when Sawyer, with his partner Robert on his heels, came through the doors, she realized that Jamison wasn’t the only one likely to have a cow.

  Sawyer literally skidded to a stop. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.

  “Damn,” Robert said.

  “Hi,” Liz said.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sawyer demanded. God, he’d been scared. When he’d gotten her messages, he’d driven like a crazy person to the bar, calling Robert on the way. They’d gotten there almost at the same time. When he’d seen more than a dozen squads outside, all kinds of crazy thoughts had entered his head.

  Now that he was sure she wasn’t hurt, he wanted to wring her little neck. “You came here, looking like that?” he said.

  She put her chin in the air. “I had to fit in. I couldn’t wear my jeans.”

  “Did you have to dress like a damned hooker?”

  He regretted it the minute he said it. But he was scared. He hadn’t been there to protect her. What if she’d gotten hurt? Raped? Killed?

  “I didn’t think a three-piece suit would fit in,” she said.

  “You didn’t think. Period.”

  If anything, she put her nose a bit higher in the air. “I called you. I tried to reach you.”

  “You left a stupid message. Page me. That’s why I leave the number.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” she said.

  “Bother me?” This woman drove him crazy. “All you’ve been is a bother since the day I met you.”

  “Look, Sawyer,” Robert interjected. “There’s no harm done. She’s fine. We’re all fine. Don’t be an idiot about this.”

  Sawyer rubbed a hand across his face. He could see the pain in Liz’s pretty green eyes. It was hurt he’d caused.

  He took a deep breath. When he spoke, he raised his voice just enough that Liz could hear but that the rest of the people in the room would have to make up their own story. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m more sorry than you can imagine. I was worried and...and I’m not handling this well.” His voice cracked at the end.

  “I want to go home,” Liz said. “Will you take me?”

  He felt the weight of the world
lift off his shoulders. “Yeah, I’d be glad to.” He looked at Robert and nodded his head at the officer who seemed to be in charge. “Can you...”

  “No problem. I’ll give our boys the CliffsNotes version so that they understand why she’s making a quick exit. Get going.”

  Sawyer nodded, wrapped an arm around her and walked her out of the bar.

  He wished he had a coat, something that he could throw over her, cover up some skin. What in the hell had she been thinking?

  Once inside his car, Sawyer kept his hands firmly wrapped around the steering wheel, afraid that he might just reach out and shake her. Of course, once he touched her, he’d be toast. It would all be over for him. He’d end up kissing and touching her and maybe more if she didn’t have the good sense to stop him.

  It would be wrong. She deserved better than what he had to offer. Which was nothing. Liz Mayfield was young, pretty and someday would make some man a fine wife. They’d have pretty babies, and God willing, she and her husband would see them grow up, go to their first baseball game, drive a car, go to college, have a life.

  He’d thought he’d had it. Then he’d lost it. His baby’s precious body had grown cold in his arms. The nurses, the professionals who were used to saying the words baby and death in the same sentence, let him be. They walked around his rocking chair, careful to keep their voices down, their eyes never quite meeting his.

  Much wiser now, he knew what he had. He had his work, his career. He made important arrests that got scum off the streets. He made a difference every day. That was more than some people had in a lifetime. It had to be enough for him.

  He’d been half out of his mind with worry when he’d gotten the two voice mails from her. He’d listened to the first and realized that she intended to go to Deyston Street and then the second; when he’d heard the panic in her voice and knew she was scared and possibly hurt, his heart had almost stopped.

  It had been a huge relief when he saw her. And then he’d turned stupid. The worry eating at his soul had burst from his mouth, and he’d hurt her. He regretted that. But she needed to understand how big of a mistake she’d made. For her own sake. She didn’t understand how violent, how cruel, how humiliating the street—and those who called the street their home—could be.

  He would take her back to her apartment, and they would talk. He wouldn’t yell, and he wouldn’t accuse. It would be a civil conversation, one adult to another. He’d make her understand that she needed to let the police look for Mary. That she needed to stop seeing OCM’s clients at her apartment. Then he’d leave.

  Sawyer found a spot near the front of Liz’s apartment building. “I’d like to come in,” he said. He was proud that he sounded so calm, so reasonable. See, he could do this.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “We should talk. I’d be more comfortable talking in your apartment.” Wow. He should be the shrink.

  He waited until she nodded before he quickly got out of the car. Yep, everything would be fine. They’d have a nice quiet conversation, and he could leave, knowing that she’d be safe.

  He walked around the car and opened Liz’s door. Oh, hell. From this angle, her legs went on forever. She had them crossed, one sexy, small foot, with painted red toenails, dangling over the other. Tanned legs, absolutely silky smooth. Round knees, firm thighs and a...a snake. No way! It couldn’t be! He squatted down next to the open door, and with his index finger, he tapped against the tattoo.

  “What the hell is this? Are you nuts?”

  “Sawyer, it’s just...”

  “It’s not just a tattoo,” he yelled. “You have the most beautiful, incredibly sexy legs.” He pulled his hand back and rubbed his temple, as if he suddenly had a very bad headache. “How could you even think about getting a tattoo? And a snake. Were you drunk on your butt or what?”

  “Stop yelling. My neighbors will call the cops. I’m not dealing with that again tonight.”

  She unbuttoned the top three buttons on her shirt. “It’s a rub-on. See? Just like this one.”

  He did not intend to look. There was really no need. But he couldn’t stop himself. And when she stuck two slim fingers in her mouth, wet them with her tongue and then rubbed her breast, blending the stars and stripes of the American flag, his knees almost gave out.

  Chapter Six

  “You need to stop doing that,” he warned.

  “But...” She looked up at him, confusion clear in her green eyes. “I just wanted you to see—”

  “I see. I don’t need to see another thing. Let’s go.” He turned away, not looking as she maneuvered those long legs out of the car.

  “They came out of a cereal box,” she said.

  He’d never be able to eat his Cheerios again. “Fine. Let’s not talk about tattoos anymore, okay?” He motioned for her keys, and she handed them to him. He unlocked the apartment door. He held up his palm, stopping her. He went inside, took a quick look around the apartment, and when he came back, he pulled her inside and shut the door.

  “You and I are going to talk. But first, go take a shower. I’ll make coffee.”

  “I don’t really drink coffee at night. I’d prefer some tea. Something herbal. It’s in the cupboard.”

  Herbal. He needed strong, get-a-grip caffeine and she wanted herbal. “Fine. Whatever. Just get that stuff off your face and get rid of those tattoos.”

  He made the stupid tea and tried not to think about how she’d look in the shower, the water sliding over her slim, firm body. The woman truly had an incredible shape. He’d appreciated it before, but now that he’d seen a bit more of it, he might have moved into the worship stage.

  He had already finished one cup of tea when she came back to the kitchen. Her long hair, looking a bit darker when wet, was pulled back in a loose braid. She had on a T-shirt, a pair of jogging shorts and white socks. No makeup. Not a speck. She looked about sixteen. He felt better. He wouldn’t be tempted to stick his hands up her shirt if she didn’t look legal.

  “Here’s your tea.”

  “Thanks.”

  She sat on the stool next to the kitchen counter and took dainty little sips. Neither of them said a word for a few minutes. When she did speak, she surprised him.

  “I did a stupid thing tonight,” she said.

  Yeah, that was exactly what he’d intended to tell her.

  “Something bad could have happened, and it would have been my own fault.”

  Right. That about summed it up. Why didn’t it give him more pleasure to hear her say it? To have her admit that she was out of her league?

  “I didn’t want to miss meeting Mary’s friends. I didn’t stop to think about all the other people who would be there.”

  He hated—absolutely hated—seeing her this beaten. “Just forget it,” he said. “It’s over.”

  And then she started to cry. She might sip daintily, but she cried loud and rough. Her nose got red, big tears slid down her cheeks, her shoulders shook and she made choking sounds. Knowing it was stupid, knowing he’d probably regret it, he walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Now, now.” He tried to comfort her. “You had a tough night. Everything will be better in the morning.”

  “I hate being a girl. I hate being smaller, shorter, weaker. I hate being afraid.”

  The muscles in his stomach tightened.

  “Did somebody threaten you?” He pulled back just enough so that he could look her in the eye.

  “No. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  She was lying. “Did somebody touch you tonight?” He felt a burn. It started in the pit of his stomach, then exploded into his arms and legs, making him shake. He was going to kill the bastard.

  She shrugged her shoulders, trying to dismiss him. He stopped her. “I told y
ou once. Don’t lie to me. Don’t ever lie to me.”

  She gave one last sniff and lifted her chin in the air. “When I got out of the cab, there were a bunch of teenagers outside of the building. One of them said something. He looked a bit older than the rest, maybe twenty or so. I just ignored him. But when I got inside, I couldn’t shake him.”

  “What did he do?” He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to hear it.

  “He wanted to dance.”

  “Okay.”

  “I tried to get out of it. He was too strong. I couldn’t get away without making a scene. I’d gotten the information I needed. All I wanted to do was get out of there without a bunch of people wondering who I was and why I was there. I think he might have been high on something. He seemed just on the edge of being out of control.”

  She’d gotten information about Mary. He didn’t care. “What did he do to you?”

  “He pulled me close and I could feel...him.” She blushed but recovered quickly. “I could feel him poking into me and I got scared. I was in a strange place, I didn’t know a soul and he outweighed me by at least eighty pounds.” She blinked her eyes, where tears still clung to her thick lashes. “Then there was a fight. I guess that’s why the cops came. Anyway, I told him I had to pee and I ran to the bathroom. When the cops came, I almost hugged them.”

  He pulled her close, held her next to his heart and bent his mouth very close to her ear. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry he touched you. I’m sorry he scared you. But you need to forget it. You’re never going to see him again.”

  She moved even closer, and her curves suddenly filled his hands. Her heat warmed him. She kissed the side of his neck.

  Let it be enough, he prayed. Let it be enough. But he knew it wouldn’t. He wanted her mouth, he wanted her hands, he wanted her legs spread apart. He wanted to make love with her for about a day. That might be enough.

  “I’m very grateful,” she said, making him feel like a lecherous old man. She looked sixteen, and she’d just given him a shy, sweet little kiss and a gracious thank-you. And all he could do was think about pushing her backward, getting her legs hooked over his arms and coming inside of her until one of them passed out.