And she liked being in his arms. “Would you mind,” she whispered, caressing his cheek, “one little kiss?”
His lips had barely skimmed hers, when she ignited. She kissed him back, hard. She needed speed and heat. She needed to feel alive. Heather set the pace.
In the end, they didn’t even make it to the couch.
HE AWOKE TO SUNSHINE streaming through the window. His body ached, and there was no sign of Heather. Brace yourself, McCoy. It’s the morning after, so what do you expect? He slowly got to his feet and stretched, then winced. He needed a hot shower.
“Good morning.”
Heather stood at the entry to the living room, neat, clean and dressed in her usual jeans and a short-sleeved jersey. He examined her features one by one: eyes were clear, skin tone normal and her mouth…well, her mouth looked delicious enough to nibble.
“Good morning,” he replied, his voice rusty. He coughed.
“I found a new toothbrush for you.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “Go ahead. Take your time. I’ll make breakfast.”
She sounded cheerful enough, but in his experience, women were hard to predict. He’d follow her lead in this, too.
When he emerged from the bathroom feeling more human, the tantalizing breakfast aromas led him right to the kitchen. The table was set for two. A big frying pan had a mess of eggs, onions and green peppers in it, and the fragrance of freshly perked coffee had him salivating.
“We need to talk.”
Just as he’d predicted. Morning-after regrets. “Mind if I have my coffee first?” he asked, trying to brace himself for the worst.
“Of course not. Here, I’ll pour it.” She handed him an almost-full mug, retrieved a carton of milk from the refrigerator and gave it to him. She poured a second mug for herself and raised it in a toast as though it were a glass of champagne. “To life,” she said before taking a sip.
“Always a good choice.” And very appropriate today. Now, he knew where their conversation was heading. He swallowed once, then again, and enjoyed the liquid heat coursing through his body. He took the two full plates she handed him and set them on the table. Waited for her to get the toast and sit down.
“Smells delicious,” he said. “I’m impressed. Another one of your hidden talents?”
Her head snapped up. “What do you mean by that?”
She’s jumpy, McCoy. Keep your cool. He met her gaze. “I had a fabulous night with you, Heather, but I was referring to the kickboxing.”
A deep pink stained her cheeks, but she maintained eye contact. “And I had a fabulous night with you, but it only happened because of the near-death experience.”
Gotcha. “You mean having sex with any guy on the street would have been okay?”
Silence. He actually saw her think, watched her expressions change until only distaste remained.
“Well, no…of course not. But, we’re not in love or anything. I mean, I like you more than I used to, McCoy, and I have no regrets about last night, but don’t start hearing wedding bells.” She blushed again. “You are looking at a woman who will not date a cop, who will not live with a cop and who certainly will not fall in love with a cop. Get it?”
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “Too late, Heather. Last night, when I held you in my arms, you weren’t thinking about McCoy, the cop. You were thinking about Dave, the man. And sweetheart, that’s me, too.” She stared as though he were speaking a foreign language.
“Eat your breakfast, McCoy. I’ve got a busy day ahead checking out the Girlfriends complex.”
“I’m going, too.”
She glared at him. “I don’t need a watchdog.”
He held up his hands in protest. “I know that. The new shelter is simply in my beat.”
THAT AFTERNOON, Mary Beth leafed through the pages of her journal, studying the brief entries she’d made since arriving at Welcome Home five days earlier.
Tuesday: Entered the shelter. Met Heather Marshall, my case worker. She’s nice. Saw the doctor. The kids and I slept in our own apartment.
Wednesday: We’re the ones living in a prison, when Hank is the one who should be put away. It’s a nice enough place, but every window here is locked and the curtains are drawn. At least I’m walking better. Except for meals, Neil and Megan and I stayed together in our little apartment all day. The food was fine, and the kids ate. It’s weird how we’re surrounded by strangers, but the women look just like me. Worried, confused, shell-shocked.
Thursday: After breakfast, most of the other women went to various activities. I don’t know what. The kids and I went outside to the back patio, which has tables and chairs. There’s also a big yard and a vegetable garden. The kids played on the swings and slide, and I picked zucchini, yellow squash and tomatoes—enough to fill a grocer’s bin. With some mushrooms and eggplant, I could make a nice ratatouille. Then the kids’ tutor joined us. Young, pretty and full of smiles. The kids liked her. She brought some books and stayed awhile. They’ll meet with her and the children every morning. Good.
Friday: I woke up crying. I dreamed about my friends and my parents. They must be worrying by now. I wonder what Hank has told them. But I’m glad I left. I can breathe here. And that’s what I said in Group this morning. My first group session with other women who have recently come to the shelter.
I sat on a worn leather couch between two other women, and I listened as they told their stories. Theirs sounded like mine. They used the word victim over and over, and for the first time, I feel as if I’m one, too. I didn’t cause this. I’m not too stupid to live. I’m not guilty. More important, I know these women will believe everything I tell them. I started to cry, and Heather passed me the tissues. There’s a box of tissues in every room.
Saturday: The kids want to live here forever. Heather says we can stay as long as we need to. But Neil is still convinced his daddy will find us despite the walls, the cameras and the locks that make our prison safe. Hank did an excellent job brainwashing our son—in brainwashing all of us. That we couldn’t have secrets from him. And if we lied, he’d find out sooner or later, and then we’d pay. We’ve already paid so much.
Sunday: I took the kids to the small chapel here this morning. It’s really just a converted classroom. The service was nondenominational and perfect for this place. Most people showed up. No mystery about what everyone was praying for! Then I got a surprise. When the prayers were over, and the leader sat down, the singing started. Some ladies have very fine voices and no hesitation about using them. The room rocked with a gospel beat. When was the last time I enjoyed music?
Mary Beth closed her diary, satisfied she’d written exactly what had happened and how she’d felt each day of the first week. She would continue to write, to keep a record. And when this crazy period was over, she’d be able to look back and marvel that she and the kids had survived. It was a nice dream—a miracle really—and it would keep her going. But she couldn’t allow herself to hope too hard. Not as long as Hank wore the uniform.
“I’VE GOT DRAW-DOWN MONEY for capital expenditures,” said Heather, “but the place looks worse than I remember. At least on the outside.”
She and Dave stood on the sidewalk looking at the brick-faced house which would become Girlfriends. The building had a wide wraparound porch and four apartments—two over two—each with three bedrooms. A center entrance revealed a front hall; a door on each side opened to an apartment. A staircase led to the second-floor units. The front and backyards had grown wild. Weeds were starting to consume the cement sidewalk, too.
“With Houston’s eleven-month growing season, what did you expect?” Dave asked. “And don’t wade through the lawn. It’s ankle deep. Fire ants, rodents, snakes…no telling what’s living there now.”
“Happy thought. Now, remind me why I let you tag along.”
“My charm?” He grinned, and she shook her in mock exasperation.
They each recognized the accord behind their banter. Despite her protests, she’d bee
n afraid to be alone. Not that she would have admitted it, not at any cost. It was stupid. Really stupid. The perp was behind bars. But what if he had more friends? What if those friends knew where he’d been going? What if…
Dave had told her to write a novel. With her imagination, she’d sell it to Hollywood and make a cool million.
So she’d gone with him back to his apartment. He lived a good twenty minutes southwest of her, off Westheimer, in a lovely complex of two-story buildings with a swimming pool and tennis courts.
His apartment was sparsely furnished, but there were pictures on the walls, and the place looked more like a home than a pit stop.
While he took a shower, Heather had looked around.
It seemed that Dave actually lived in his living room. Magazines covered the coffee table, the remote control for the television on top of them. The book shelves had just what she imagined a cop would read. Thrillers. Police procedurals. Mysteries. Horror. Great authors. Too good, in fact. They made their stories so real, she could only read them in small chunks.
She’d wandered to his movie collection. And that’s when she was so surprised, she had to look twice. A collection of comedies—DVDs and cassettes—filled two shelves. Comedies of all kinds. Laugh-out-loud slapstick, smart romantic comedies.
Heather was too cynical to really believe in all these happily-ever-after endings, but at least they were hopeful stories.
Regardless of her personal beliefs, Dave was a Jekyll and Hyde character in his tastes. Interesting. He was a lot more complicated than she’d expected.
“You’re going to need a load of tools to straighten this up,” said Dave, kicking at a weed, “or else hire a lawn service.”
“A volunteer army is what we’re talking about.” She took out her pad and a pen and wrote, Landscaping. “Let’s start with the tools first.” Mower, edger, trimmer, rakes, gloves, plastic bags.
“Don’t forget about wearing closed shoes. Boots would be even better,” said Dave. “Now, let’s go inside.”
Heather was eager to explore. She’d inspected each of the apartments when she wrote the grant, and knew the building had potential. A city engineer had accompanied her, talking about building codes, electricity, beams, windows. Her key turned in the lock, but Dave had to shoulder the door open.
Inside it was stuffy and warm, but the rooms in the first apartment were fairly clean. The four units were mirror images of each other, each with a large eat-in kitchen, dining room, living room and bathroom as well as three bedrooms.
“I want to break through some walls,” said Heather, leading Dave to the back of the apartment. “I want us all connected. Maybe the top floor can be set up with bedrooms for the kids, one for live-in staff and also a family room with a television. We can take out the kitchens up there and have more room for sleeping, socializing and studying.”
“Then you want more than cosmetics, and you’ll need a general contractor.”
“And that’ll cost me,” Heather replied. “But it’ll save money in the long run. If I operate four separate apartments, I’ll need four employees. I can’t leave the kids alone.”
His eyebrow jerked upward, his eyes wide. “Teenage girls? Alone? A scary thought.”
But she shook her head. “No, McCoy. They’re not scary. They’re just plain scared.” She changed direction and ran her hand lightly along the wall as she led him back toward the entrance. “Once upon a time,” she whispered, “I needed a place…”
“Tell me.”
But she couldn’t. The words choked her, and she looked at the floor. “It was a long time ago. It’s all over now. And I’m here. I survived. Happy and healthy.” She made an effort to lighten up. “My only trouble seems to be with weapon-toting drug runners.”
“Hey, kiddo. That’s my department.”
“I’m glad you came back in time.” Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I could feel the impact of each strike from where I stood.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m a big boy. I can defend myself.” He tapped her on the nose and grinned. “Or anyone that needs help.”
“Yes, I know.” She managed a smile. “You throw a good punch.” If he ever got angry and needed a target… He was almost twice her size. He could knock her out with one heavy swing if she didn’t see it coming.
“Heather…”
The concern in his voice got her attention. “What?” She still didn’t look up.
“Please,” he said softly. “Look at me. What are you thinking? What’s wrong? Sure, I threw some punches, but I only did it in self-defense. And to protect you.”
She said nothing.
“And you took some pretty hefty action yourself. And I thank you.”
“Defense is justified,” she mumbled. “Defense is the only reason…”
“I agree. So what’s the problem?”
HEATHER COULDN’T SLEEP. She tossed on her bed, thinking about how happy Kathy and Mark had been when they’d returned from the Texas hill country earlier. Her sister had looked wonderful, sounded wonderful. Mark’s parents had greeted her with affection, which was progress for his mother, who thought no woman worthy of her only son. When the couple had paused for breath, Heather reluctantly explained the damage to Kathy’s car. Mark reacted first.
“The hell with the car.” He took out his cell and started punching numbers. “First thing in the morning, Jim. A complete system—windows and doors. And I want the monitoring service to connect to the local HPD station house, not the big one downtown.”
“That’s what McCoy wanted us to do,” whispered Heather to Kathy. “But it’s Sunday night. How can Mark reach anyone?”
Kathy patted her hands. “There’s a whole other world out there, Heather. I’m betting this Jim person provides security services for Mark’s company—and that’s a lot of buildings and other facilities.”
“Kath,” said Heather, as she first glanced at Mark, then tilted her head to stare at her sister, “you’re going to be really rich.”
Her sister shrugged. “I’m going to be really happy.” Kathy stared at her fiancé who was winding up the phone call. Her love for him was so visible that Heather blinked back tears.
Heather punched her pillow one more time. She doubted she would ever look at a man the way Kathy looked at Mark. She’d have to find her happiness in other areas—work, friends, the kids she helped, her family. She’d create her own definition of happiness.
So, what’s the problem? Dave’s question boomed in her head.
The problem was Heather and her judgment of men. She could spot the bozos in a heartbeat—and stood clear. But she rarely gave anyone else a chance; never if they wore a uniform. Until last night.
Last night, she’d slipped up. And today she discovered that McCoy liked to laugh. So now, she had to make sure nothing as sweet ever happened between them again.
CHAPTER SIX
DAILY ROUTINES brought an order to life. By the end of the following work week, Heather’s confidence had rebounded, and she attacked each day with her usual energy. As she and Kathy left the house on Friday morning, she paused to set the new alarm system, then locked the door with her key from the outside—as they’d been taught. Mark had made them go through the steps three times, making them promise to set the alarm every time they left the house. They’d all memorized the code numbers.
“Notice my skill with that lock!” She grinned at her sister.
“The poor guy’s been having nightmares,” replied Kathy. “Don’t be surprised if he wants to move in.”
Heather laughed out loud. “Good excuse. Doesn’t bother me at all.”
Kathy’s eyes twinkled, but she didn’t say anything until Heather had unlocked the car, and they were both inside.
“Speaking of moving,” Kathy began, “…and don’t answer right away…Mark and I would like you to consider moving in with us after the wedding.” She rushed on. “The new house is certainly big enough, you’d have your own bedroom and bath—as mu
ch privacy as you’d want. And we wouldn’t interfere with your social life….”
Heather stared at her sister in disbelief. “Are you nuts? We’re lucky I haven’t started the car ’cause I would have crashed into the mailbox.” She turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway. “You two are really sweet, but I’m fine right here. I like this neighborhood.”
“It’s not the neighborhood we’re worried about, Heather. It’s you.”
“But the men are all in jail or deported. I’ll be safe, especially with the high-tech system we have.”
“Until the next thing happens,” grumbled Kathy.
“There won’t be a next thing,” said Heather as calmly as she could. “We’re getting the new van in a few days, and I can spread the word about Girlfriends.”
“You mean you and a partner can spread the word.”
“Absolutely—and I’m not kidding. For all our sakes.”
“Too bad Officer McCoy’s on duty nights. I bet he’d volunteer to tag along with you every time.”
As if she’d allow that. “No thanks. He’d scare the kids away.”
“Not if he were out of uniform…and the boys might relate to him better. You never know.”
Heather pulled into the driveway of Welcome Home. “He’s only off duty on weekends, but it doesn’t matter. Even I know when my plate’s too full to pile on more. I can’t go out on Saturday or Sunday now. There’s so much work ahead of me at Girlfriends—my weekends won’t be my own for months, if ever.”
Kathy’s wedding in December would wind up being a welcome distraction.
Heather got out of the car and looked at the building. Everything else could wait. “Right now,” she said, “I’ve got a group of women who need one another.”
MARY BETH CLUTCHED a ball of tissues in her sweaty hands as she entered the brightly lit meeting room. Her heart raced like a thoroughbred crossing the finish line, but she made herself smile at Kimberly and Tashika, who had arrived ahead of her. Both were about her age, and had already sat in their usual club chairs.
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