His voice wasn’t quiet tonight.
She stood on her own now. “What happened to Ms. Marshall?” she asked, seeking to divert him.
“Try acting like an intelligent adult,” he began, cut off by the ambulance’s screaming approach.
“I’m not going to the hospital,” said Heather. “Absolutely not. I’m feeling much stronger. Healthy as a horse.”
“And more stubborn than a mule.” His sigh was huge. “Why don’t you let the medics make the call? In fact, you might prefer the hospital.”
“Prefer?”
He nodded. “We’re going to have a little talk, Ms. Heather Marshall. Just as soon as you’re up to it.” He added something under his breath.
“What was that?” she asked.
He didn’t reply.
“Do you insult every law-abiding person on your beat?” she asked, her anger mounting. “I am not a child.”
His eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “I’ll let that pass. But you’re going to listen because what I’ve got to offer is a lot of common sense. Something you sorely need.”
The medics arrived then, preventing Heather from retorting. Five minutes later they pronounced her vital signs strong and, when she refused to accompany them to the E.R., they left.
Brenda and Alicia walked slowly toward her, their heads cocked to watch Dave at the same time. “Ms. Heather,” said Alicia, “I think I want to call my mama. I want to go home, and I don’t care what Brenda thinks.”
“I didn’t say nothin’,” said Brenda. “I’m going to the Youth Center across town. It’s better than goin’ home. I ain’t never goin’ back home.” She raised her chin as if to dare anyone to say otherwise.
“That’s fine,” said Heather quickly. “Sometimes home isn’t the best place.”
The familiar comfort of helping the youngsters enwrapped her like a soft flannel blanket. Helping them was what she did best. Dealing with Officer McCoy was another matter.
HEATHER GLANCED in her rearview mirror. Yup. The cop was following her to the women’s shelter. Five minutes later, she paused in the driveway of Welcome Home, pressed the button and waited for the chain-link fence to slide open. “Thanks, Diana,” she said into the speaker. “I’m not coming in tonight. Going straight home from here.”
Before leaving the van, however, she took the time to fill out a trip form, which included miles traveled, number of teens helped, amount of supplies used. The raw data would help to establish the need for teen services. McCoy was waiting for her when she drove her Neon from the lot. Furious, she pulled over to the curb and got out.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she snapped. “I can make my own way home.”
“Simply doing my job,” he replied in a calm voice.
“Look, McCoy,” she began. “You were really great back there, and I appreciate your help. But—”
“How about you getting back behind the wheel,” he interrupted, “so I can follow you home and call it a night?”
Without saying a word, she got back in her car and slammed the door shut. What choice did she have? She had to get home before Kathy called the police. It was after eleven. The cop hadn’t lied. McCoy worked 4:00 p.m. to midnight, and his shift really was coming to an end. He’d spent a lot of it on her.
The entrance light glowed over the door as she pulled in front of the small house she shared with her sister. Kathy’s car sat in the driveway, with Mark’s Lexus behind it. When Heather was home, Kathy’s fiancé normally parked in the street, leaving the driveway for the women. He must have stayed later than he’d planned that evening.
Her mind raced. Now, she’d have to explain her adventure to both of them if they saw McCoy. Well, McCoy wasn’t going inside, so maybe they wouldn’t have to know about her evening at all. The less Kathy knew, the better. Between her upcoming December wedding and Welcome Home, Kathy shouldn’t have to worry about Heather, too.
Heather left her vehicle and walked toward McCoy, who was standing next to his patrol car. She pasted a smile on her face. “You can go home now, McCoy. Thanks.”
He inclined his head toward a spot behind her. “Not so fast,” he replied with a smile.
Kathy and Mark were striding down the front walk toward them.
“Damn it!” said Heather, her temper rising at McCoy’s sense of humor. She glared at him. “I’ll do the talking, McCoy.”
But Mark cut her off before she could start. “Your sister’s worn a hole in the rug from pacing. Is there any law that can keep her off the streets this late?”
“Late? It’s only just past eleven o’clock,” said Heather.
The cop shook his head. “I suggest you form the Heather Marshall Safety Committee. At least insist on her having a partner. The woman doesn’t understand that a city as big as Houston is not safe like the small town she’s used to.”
“What happened tonight?” asked Kathy, looking from Heather to McCoy. “Was it the van again?”
“Ms. Marshall will explain everything,” Dave said. “I’m going to file my reports.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Kathy turned to Heather. “What kind of reports does he have to file?”
“It was nothing. Come on inside and I’ll tell you.” An expunged version.
By the time they reached the kitchen, she’d decided how to restructure the story. She left out the knives, the fainting spell. McCoy happened to be passing by—a truthful statement—and overreacted to the boys, not men. “You know I can take care of myself,” she said, glancing from Kathy to Mark. She stretched and flexed her arms. “I’ve trained in kickboxing.”
Mark stood in the doorway, shoulder against the wall, his posture as casual as his attitude seemed to be.
“And exactly why,” he began slowly, “are we speaking about fighting skills right now?”
“Oh, my God!” said Kathy, grasping Heather’s arm. “Something really did happen tonight.” Her eyes filled immediately, and Heather hugged her tight.
“I’m fine, Kath. I promise. It was nothing.”
“Officer McCoy suggested you take a partner, Heather,” said Mark. “And that makes sense to me.”
She looked up at the man. “I had a partner, but she backed out. I couldn’t not show up for the kids. End of story.”
“Do you want me to hire a security guard to go with her?” Mark asked Kathy.
“No!” Heather took a deep breath. “Of course not.” Mark came from Texas royalty—ran a successful pipeline company for the oil industry. But she had no call on his funds.
“Let’s calm down,” said Heather, modulating her voice while her thoughts raced at Mach speed. “I’ve been going out in the van for the past two years. So, what’s really changed?”
Kathy jumped up from her chair as though burned. Her dark eyes blazed, her hands fisted at her sides. “You want to know what’s changed? I’ll tell you—the van’s falling apart now, and you could be stranded anywhere—backstreets, dark parks—wherever the heck you go. You’re staying out later than you used to, and you used to arrange for a lot of volunteers to help. You’ve either forgotten about that, or you’re too busy, but I don’t like the results. And that’s just for starters.
“At work, you flag in the afternoons, and I need you at full strength. Welcome Home is our first priority. We have contracts to fulfill for those women and their children. They are our clients.” Kathy’s breath was labored, and Heather held up her hand. “No, I won’t stop,” continued Kathy. “Because more important, I love you, Heather. You’re the only sister I have, and I can’t lose you.”
Tears trickled down Kathy’s face. Heather reached for her sister and wiped her tears away. Then she felt Kathy’s fingers on her own cheeks.
“You’re crying, too,” whispered Kathy, squeezing her tight. “This girl never cries.”
“Good thing I don’t have sisters,” said Mark. “W-a-y too emotional for a guy like me.”
Heather gave him a thumbs-up and a w
obbly grin. “All we need is a new van,” she said. “And you’ll be happy again, right?”
“It’s a start,” said Kathy. “Know someone in the car business?”
Heather tapped her mouth with her forefinger. “No, but how about private funding?”
“Heather, every dollar we raise right now is for Welcome Home. I’m not screwing around with funding sources. We could lose donors or be shut down for transferring funds.”
“No, no. Of course not from the shelter,” Heather replied quickly. “But how about Sara Patterson? She’s got a birthday coming up. Perfect timing.”
Heather looked at her sister and grinned. An identical grin crossed Kathy’s face. “See why I love working with her?” Kathy said to Mark. “She’s the creative problem solver. I’m the dry administrator. We’re a great team.”
“Sweetheart,” said Mark, with a gleam in his eye, “I think you’re pretty darn creative.”
The two sisters looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“I don’t get it,” Mark added. “If it’s Sara’s birthday, why would you get a van? Doesn’t she get the presents?”
“Nope,” said Heather. “She throws herself a party and tells all the guests to make checks payable to her favorite charity.”
“Let’s make sure it’s us this year,” Kathy said.
“A very unique approach,” admitted Mark. “How’d you meet such a woman?”
“Heck, we knew her in Dry Creek. Same age as Heather,” replied Kathy. “She was as miserable in that dusty town as we were and practically took the next bus out of there after Heather’s, right after they graduated high school. She stayed with us in Houston for a little while, before her career took off.”
“She’s a real estate mogul,” added Heather. “I tease her about it all the time. The poor country girl makes good in the big city.” She reached for the phone.
“It’s late on a work night,” Mark said. “You could frighten her by calling now.”
“Sara’s evening is just getting started. She parties a lot.” Sure enough, Sara answered on the first ring. And five minutes later, they had a sponsor for the van.
She left her sister and Mark in the kitchen and made her way down the hall to her bedroom, flopping on the bed, exhausted. She wouldn’t give up on the kids. Not ever.
She closed her eyes and unexpectedly images of the big cop filled her head. Dave McCoy. What the hell did he know about living in a small town? Safe, huh? He didn’t know sic ’em from c’mere about a small town. And he didn’t know anything about her, either. Which was just the way she wanted it.
DAVE WALKED into the station house alone, his mind on the report he’d file. He’d follow up with Heather Marshall personally the next day or night. Right now, however, she had him stymied. The superwoman wasn’t pressing charges. Of course, he’d be pressing charges on behalf of the citizens of Houston. And she’d known that. The perps wouldn’t get away with violence.
She’d wanted to keep a low profile for the sake of Welcome Home. No newspaper articles or items on the police action sheets. Nothing that would connect her to the safe haven and expose its location. Her clients at the shelter needed to feel secure. He understood her point, but was surprised just the same. She could’ve been killed.
The thought made him sick. God knew she wasn’t easy to deal with. Some might say pigheaded, and he’d be one of them. But she was alive. Passionate about everything: her work, family, the kids. If he lived her way, he’d be exhausted. And out of a job. Dave’s reputation as a dependable cop rested on his ability to remain calm and in control.
By the time Dave reached his desk, he knew the thugs were behind bars clamoring for their lawyers. He’d also been slapped on the back by almost everyone in the station house.
As Dave picked up a pen to begin writing, Powers and Jazzman, his backup, came over ready to discuss the incident. And Heather Marshall.
“I never saw anything like it,” Powers said.
“Where is she now?” asked Jazzman.
“Home. She insisted on driving that godforsaken van back to the shelter. I stayed on her tail until she walked through her own front door.”
“Hell,” Jazzman said, nudging Powers, “I would have stayed on her tail, too.”
The guys laughed. “That is one fine-looking woman,” Powers agreed.
“Enough,” Dave growled.
“An Amazon,” Jazzman said, louder.
“She’s only this tall,” protested Dave, touching his chest. “Exactly.”
His buddies grinned at each other. “Exactly?” asked Powers. “And how do we know that?”
Damn. Dave felt his ears start to burn. “Knock it off.”
His friends didn’t budge. “Okay,” said Dave, “she passed out and I couldn’t let her fall…. Oh, what the hell. You both know the neighborhood. You must know the Marshall sisters.”
“Yeah, but…uh…we’re not that up close and personal. It’s your beat. We’re just neighbors. But if you want to trade off with me…?” Powers raised his voice suggestively.
“Get out of here and let me do my work.”
Laughing, his buddies finally left him in peace. But Dave couldn’t concentrate. He kept picturing Heather, alone, surrounded by those men. With knives. A lucky kick to the groin bought her time, but there was no defense against a well-aimed blade or bullet.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN HEATHER OPENED her eyes the next morning, the sun shone brightly into her room. The house seemed quiet. Too quiet. She checked the clock radio on her night table, jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Kathy had left a note on the fridge saying to take her time, and she’d see her at work.
But Heather had a group to lead at ten o’clock, a mere thirty-five minutes from now. She washed quickly, pulled on a pair of jeans and plain knit jersey, jumped into the car and arrived at the shelter with eight minutes to spare.
Welcome Home sat on one acre surrounded by a ten-foot fence. The two-story brick building used to be an old school. Kathy and Heather had made the building and land part of their proposal for federal funding in the grant they’d written five years ago. Since opening the shelter, Heather pinched herself each time she went to work in the morning. Heck, she pinched herself every time she thought about her life. Childhood had definitely been overrated.
She parked in her assigned spot, locked her car and walked around to the front door. A camera perched above the entrance; others were strategically placed around the building, outside and in. Visitors were admitted by security personnel who guarded the premises 24/7, sitting by a bank of monitors at the front desk.
“Hey, Trish,” she greeted the day shift guard. “Anything happen that I should know about?”
“Mornin’ Heather. When I came on at seven, Diana told me she’d had a quiet night.”
Heather grinned, thinking of her night. “Just the way we like them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve got a group in five minutes, but page me if you need to.” Heather pushed open the steel door to the administrative wing, heard it clang shut as she walked down the corridor to her office. Kathy’s office was diagonally across from hers, and beyond theirs was payroll-accounting, fund-raising and the switchboard.
She put her purse in a file drawer and glanced at the folders on her desk. Each one represented a new resident. The women she worked with needed so much…she had so much responsibility here at Welcome Home. And yet, she couldn’t give up her work with the runaway kids. No matter what anyone else said.
She patted a very fat folder labeled: GIRLFRIENDS—A SHELTER FOR TEENAGE GIRLS. Inside it were copies of the funding applications she’d submitted to the federal and state governments. The awards would be announced Friday, posted on the Internet, and her nerves got the best of her whenever she thought about it. Was she crazy to start something new? To start over again with another shelter?
She thought about her childhood in Dry Creek. About her father, big George Marshall. About
how she herself had tried to run away. Except she’d been caught. She inhaled deeply. Then again. Kids needed a safe place. She’d find a way to do everything.
The phone rang. It was an outside call.
“Heather Marshall speaking.”
“I need a place to…I need…help. My kids aren’t… Please. Can you help me?” The woman sounded frantic.
“Talk to me,” said Heather in a calm tone. “Where are you?”
“A pay phone, downtown, near the bus transit center. My husband went to work, and we’re getting out. I can barely walk. I c-can’t take it anymore.”
“Get on the west side bus to the Katy Freeway,” said Heather slowly. “Get off at Campbell Road. Look for a white van. My name is Heather, and I will meet you. Or I can send someone to pick you up where you are right now.”
“I’ll take the bus.”
Heather made the woman repeat the directions. “How old are the kids?”
“Seven and ten.”
“Okay. No problem.”
“And one more thing…” The woman on the phone hesitated.
“Yes?” prompted Heather.
“My husband…he’s the one…well, he’s…he’s a Houston cop. And no one will believe me. Can I still come there?” Her last words tumbled over one another.
“Of course,” Heather replied instantly. “You and your children are very welcome here.”
“Thank God. Thank you. I’ve been calling everywhere.”
Strange. Heather replaced the receiver slowly and took the folders into Kathy’s office. She told her about the new resident.
“I said I’d pick her up in the van, so can you take my group? Or should I get one of the counselors to cover?”
“I’ll do it.” Kathy’s expression was thoughtful.
“What?” asked Heather.
Kathy stood up. “I hate to say this, but having a cop’s wife here could get…complicated. Even dangerous to our anonymity if her husband’s intent on tracking her down. He’s an abuser who’s also a cop. He’ll know how to find us.”
Heather hadn’t thought of that. That was why the woman had been forced to make several calls. The Police Department was a good friend to Welcome Home and to all the shelters in the city. The cops knew the locations because they often transported abuse victims to these safe places. They were usually very supportive.
A Man of Honor (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 2