THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE LAW

by Wendy Rosnau

  Endures.

  It was for self-preservation's sake, she told herself, that she hadn't mentioned being a mother or wife. Knowing the Blu Devil less than twenty-four hours, how could he expect her to bare her entire soul?

  We'll have to accept each other's little quirks. And what if one of his "quirks" was steering clear of married women? Or, what if he hated kids? No, she'd been right to choose her words carefully.

  He'd been quiet throughout her confession, and she continued to worry about that. Maybe he was going to change his mind, after all. Maybe he'd decided that helping her was a mistake.

  "You said nothing would surprise you," Kristen reminded him.

  He was standing at the back of the cruiser, a knee bent, resting it on the leather that wrapped the stern. It was his injured leg, the one that caused him to limp.

  Suddenly he slid his leg off the seat and faced her. "You don't look like the type who would put up with a man who enjoys beating up women. What aren't you telling me, Angel? What are you hiding?"

  "I'm not hiding anything."

  "Maland have a reason to beat you?"

  "No!"

  Kristen would never confess the extent of her humiliation. It made her sick remembering the way Salva enjoyed torturing her, the way he liked to hold her down and watch the fear grow in her eyes before he hurt her. But all of it, all the abuse and degradation, was her pain to keep inside or to share, and she chose to keep it, to bury it deep and never let her shame out. The Blu Devil wasn't going to hear any of the sordid details because, frankly, she didn't want to see the disgust in his eyes, or the pity.

  "Why did you stay with him so long?"

  Kristen went for an easy lie. "Because he was rich and life there was easy."

  "It isn't easy living with bruises. Try again."

  "You don't know me."

  "I know big men make you uncomfortable as hell. That says it all."

  Kristen lowered her eyes. "All right. I couldn't leave."

  "But you did leave. You're here. Why not a year ago, two years ago?"

  "I don't know." Kristen couldn't keep the anger from seeping into her voice. Still, she refused to detail her reasons for staying. Amanda was so tiny, so vulnerable in the beginning; she had weighed less than five pounds at birth.

  She watched as he turned back to stare out over the water. The sun was setting and clouds were moving in. Dark clouds. The afternoon had slipped away and it was getting late. She needed to get back to the shelter, back to Amanda.

  "Tell me more about the picture you showed me yesterday. You said you found it in a file."

  "Yes. I found it in a file labeled Old Business."

  "Was there anything else in the file?"

  "No, just photos."

  "Of people other than me?"

  "Yes."

  "But you didn't take any of the other pictures? Just the one of me?"

  "I took six pictures from Salva's office, two of you and four of me." That wasn't entirely true, but Kristen wasn't going to mention Amanda's baby album that she had taken from Miandera's sitting room. "I didn't feel strongly about any of the others, so—"

  He turned around, locked eyes with her. "Explain that."

  He was looking at her in that hard, demanding way again. As uncomfortable as that made her, Kristen tossed her hair away from her face and met his demand with a bit of reckless defiance that was purely bluff. "I didn't connect with anyone in the other photos, all right? I didn't feel … I didn't feel something for any of the others."

  "But the picture of me was different?"

  Kristen felt her cheeks heat up. "Yes."

  "Because you thought you and I— You thought I would recognize you yesterday. Isn't that right?"

  He was suddenly looking at her with new eyes. Damn him for making her feel more vulnerable than she already did. "I told you why. I told you about the winch."

  "But there was more, wasn't there?"

  Yes, there was more. But she wasn't going to mention how, when she'd first seen his picture on the wall in Salva's office, she'd frozen on the spot for several minutes to stare at him. Her stomach … it had done an entire flip. Her cheeks were burning up now. "Okay, yes, I thought it was possible we were related. Then I thought you might work with Salva. But you don't have the tattoo so—"

  "Hold it. What tattoo?"

  "All the men who work for Salva have a dagger tattoo on the palm of their left hand."

  He stood there for a long time considering her words. Finally he said, "I don't work for anyone but myself. And I've never seen you before yesterday. For sure, we're not related."

  Feeling foolish, Kristen lowered her gaze. "I could show you the other photos. Maybe—"

  "Do you have them with you?"

  "No."

  "Where are you staying?"

  She looked up to find him staring again, only this time he was sizing up her figure, his fierce gaze locking on her breasts. She wanted to cross her arms over her chest, but instead she turned away and feigned interest in the sunset.

  "I asked you, where are you staying?"

  The words were so close that Kristen knew he now stood directly behind her. A gentle breeze lifted her hair and she angled her face to cool her cheeks and calm her racing heart.

  "Come on, Angel. It's time you trusted somebody."

  She shook her head. "I could meet you tomorrow."

  "What makes you think I'm letting you off this boat tonight?"

  Kristen spun around and found herself practically in his arms. "Now you sound like Salva. You said you weren't like him. Please, don't be him now." When he didn't answer, she said, "I don't trust anyone, and for now that's the way it has to be. That's the secret to survival."

  They were toe-to-toe. Kristen suddenly felt his fingers on the backs of her arms. Slowly he brushed them over the bruises. It was a shock, him touching her—no, not the touch, but the manner in which he was touching her—so gentle it was almost nonexistent.

  Still caught up in his feather-light caress, she didn't move when he leaned forward. Bending his knees so he could move closer, he whispered next to her ear, "The secret to survival, Angel, isn't a matter of not trusting anyone, but trusting the right someone. In this case, that would be me."

  The feel of his warm breath against her skin made Kristen shiver. His fingers were still moving over her arms, doing the oddest thing to her pulse. And her stomach was suddenly tied in dozens of tiny knots. He dropped his hands and took a step back. With nothing to say, Kristen simply stood there, drinking in the wild scent of the Blu Devil and scrambling to make sense out of what had just happened.

  "We'll meet tomorrow night at Cruger's," he said, breaking the silence and the spell he'd cast over her. "Nine o'clock sharp. Bring the pictures."

  Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Was he going to let her go?

  Kristen had her answer an hour later when the Blu Devil moored the Nightwing to DuBay Pier and helped her off the boat. "Tomorrow night at Cruger's," he reminded her, hopping back onto the deck of his cruiser. "I'll see you at nine."

  * * *

  "Thanks be praised, you're back." Sister Marian thrust a fussy Amanda into Kristen's arms, then collapsed in a heap in the only chair the small room provided, a shabby green stuffed recliner on shaky legs.

  "I'm sorry I took so long." Kristen kissed her daughter's cheek. She noticed Amanda's swollen eyes and runny nose. "Amanda, sweetheart, you know Mommy always comes back. There's no need to cry."

  Amanda rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists, then slumped against her mother's shoulder.

  "She's such a beautiful child." Sister Marian angled her head and peered at Kristen for a long minute. "You look like you're ready to collapse in a heap. You're nearly asleep on your feet. You need ten hours on your back in that bed."

  "I'm fine," Kristen insisted, refusing to let her exhaustion slow her down. At the most, she had only a few days at the shelter, then she'd need to relocate. Staying in one place too long wouldn't
be smart. "Did you speak to Mother Ramose about me staying another day or two?"

  "You can stay as long as you like, dear. That's never been an issue." Sister Marian glanced at the clock. "I feel I need to warn you, however, about staying out this late in Algiers. The streets aren't safe after dark."

  "I appreciate your concern. But if I'm going to change things for me and Amanda, I'm going to have to take a few risks." The conversation reminded Kristen that she'd made a promise to the Blu Devil to meet him tomorrow night. "I have to go out again tomorrow evening. It could get late."

  Sister Marian arched one of her dark eyebrows. "Well, I've warned you. Now all I can do is pray that God has a spare angel with time on his hands to watch over you."

  "He?" Kristen smiled and reached out to pat the nun's arm. "I believe I already have my angel. You've been very kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

  Sister Marian blushed. "You, dear girl, are as beautiful as you are brave. Your mother must be very proud of you."

  The comment was unexpected, but Kristen kept her focus. She had lied to Sister Marian. She'd said she was searching for her father who had abandoned her and her mother years ago. She hadn't revealed her loss of memory, or that she was on the run from Salva. She'd just needed a strong enough reason to allow her and Amanda to stay at the shelter. An abandoned family in search of the bastard father who had run out on them seemed like the perfect excuse to be asking the shelter for sanctuary. And it had worked—the shelter had welcomed them with open arms.

  "So you'll stay with Amanda tomorrow night?" Kristen asked.

  "Tomorrow it's my turn to lead the evening praise service. It usually lasts until eight, sometimes eight-thirty."

  "I can't take Amanda with me. He can't know about—" Kristen snapped her mouth shut.

  "What was that? Are you speaking about that wild Blu Devil again? Do you really think he has information about your father?"

  "Yes, I do." Hating the way she had to continue to lie, Kristen changed the subject. "Were you able to get me a phone book?"

  "It's on your nightstand." Sister Marian stood, then painted to the thick directory where it sat on the tattered little table. "I'll let you rest now, and see you in the morning at breakfast. And don't worry about tomorrow night. As soon as I can, I'll be back to watch Amanda for you."

  Hours after Sister Marian had left, Kristen was still up. Amanda was asleep on the narrow bed, but she was seated in the chair with the phone directory in her lap, scanning the pages in hopes that a name would spark her memory. All she needed was one name—any name—that would become a small clue as to who she was and where she belonged.

  Kristen was still going through the lists of names at 4:00 a.m.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Cruger's was always crowded on Friday nights, and noisy, too. But when the screen door swung open, then slammed shut, the noise settled and heads turned to watch the Blu Devil saunter through the door in his usual attire of faded jeans and a black sleeveless T-shirt. What followed was at least a dozen offers to pay for his beer and share a table—a year ago, no one would have offered him squat. Just look what a few newspaper articles could do for a man's image, Blu thought with disgust.

  He declined the offers, waved a few genuine friends off with a nod, and dismissed the three women bunched together at the bar who were anxiously waiting to be asked upstairs. In truth, since he'd made the decision to work for Patch, the only sex he could round up was the kind he had to pay for. But it had been weeks since he'd used an upstairs room.

  Dismissing the women, Blu limped to the far end of the bar and hooked his backside onto a stool. Nate Cruger, the establishment's owner, stood behind the bar, both hands moving in two different directions. He'd been serving beer and gossip to his customers for over thirty years and he was the best in the business at both. With Oui, mon ami, and a smile quickly following, he slid a beer bottle in Blu's direction while he kept one ear on Billy-Bob LaRoux whining about his girlfriend's old man, and his free hand ringing up Spoon Thompson's tab.

  When Spoon spied Blu, he stuffed the change into his pocket and came to stand beside him. "You want to find a table and talk over my offer, duFray? I've been rethinking the money end of it and—"

  "And it won't be enough, Thompson. You can't afford me."

  Spoon shook his head. "Now, Blu, I don't think that's true. I'm willing to—"

  Blu turned his head barely an inch and evil-eyed Spoon into silence. "Go away, Thompson. We don't have anything to talk about."

  When Blu released the older man from his devil's stare, he tipped up his beer bottle and took a healthy swig. He heard Spoon swear, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw him back up—right into a drunk who had staggered to the bar to pay for the pleasure of his condition. The drunk lost his balance and fell to the floor. When Blu saw who was beneath Spoon's feet, he took a second look. Perch Aldwin—drunk? That was a surprise.

  He knew Perch had hit on hard times—only yesterday Spoon had said that his business had gone belly-up. But falling-down drunk didn't fit Perch Aldwin. He'd been raised on principles and the idea that hard work fixed everything. Or fast fists and no conscience, Blu thought with a sardonic grunt that was directed at himself more than anyone else.

  As Perch grumbled his displeasure from his sprawled position on the floor, Spoon Thompson laughed, then gave the downed man a kick before stepping over him. Blu watched as Perch groaned, then tried to get up. On the third try, he gave up and laid there. Blu waited to see if someone was going to be a good-ol'-Joe and help him out. When no one made an effort, he slid off his bar stool and hauled the old man to his feet. Since Perch was too rubber-legged to stay vertical, he shouldered him and headed out the back door.

  In the alley, Blu propped Perch against the brick wall, then backed off. When the older man finally focused on who it was who had come to his aid, he started swinging his arms. "Get away from me, you no-good evil bastard. You got no reason to come after me. Not anymore, you don't."

  "I'm not hassling you, old man. I'm not in that line of work any longer. You want me to call somebody to pick you up? Curt?"

  "Go to hell, you black-haired devil. Don't owe nobody nothing anymore. Ain't got nothing no more."

  They were old enemies, and Blu knew that Perch would forever remember the night he had put his grandson in the hospital. He eyed the scar over the old man's graying brow, knowing every time he faced this man, he would be reminded of who he had been once upon a desperate time.

  Realizing there was nothing he could say to make Perch feel better, to make himself feel better, Blu left the old man in the alley and went back inside. Seated at the bar once more, he slipped Billy-Bob LaRoux twenty bucks to drive Perch Aldwin home, then checked his watch.

  It was after nine, and Blu was beginning to think Angel wasn't going to show. He would be annoyed if that was the case, but not worried. Last night he'd followed her after dropping her off at DuBay Pier, and he'd learned she was staying at the Catholic women's shelter on Carmel Avenue.

  He didn't want to have to run her down, though. It was crazy, but he wanted her to come looking for him, as she'd done before. He wanted to see her step into the bar and scan the room full of faces until she found him. He wanted her to come to him a step at a time, wanted to watch it happen.

  Wanted her to trust him.

  Hell, he was wanting too much from a little fille he barely knew. That wasn't the Blu Devil's style—wanting what you couldn't pay for, or didn't deserve.

  He glanced at the door as it opened, disappointed when he saw it wasn't her. He wished he had mentioned someplace a little less busy for them to meet. Cruger's was packed on weekends and he should have considered that. And if that wasn't bad enough, the crowd was mostly men. With what Angel had gone through in the past three years, she didn't need to be meeting him in a barroom full of rowdy, obnoxious men. Especially since the men viewed the women who frequented Cruger's in the same li
ght as the three easy females at the other end of the bar.

  When Angel finally showed up, she was forty minutes late and Blu was on his fifth beer, two over his limit—a limit he'd set for himself not because he didn't enjoy drinking, but because excess often led to reckless behavior he usually regretted later, or couldn't afford financially.

  He pushed away from the bar, forgetting all about waiting for her to come to him. Relieved to see her, and at the same time annoyed as hell that she'd kept him waiting, he crossed to the door, took hold of her arm, and steered her toward an empty table at the back of the room. Without a word, he jerked the chair out and put her on it. Then he reached for a chair close by and straddled it, wedging her into the corner, forgetting about her fear of big men and being manhandled.

  "You're late," he snapped. "Where the hell have you been? I said nine o'clock."

  "Nine didn't work."

  Blu eyed her hair, suddenly realizing that half the length was gone. "Where is it?"

  "Where's what?"

  "Your hair, dammit."

  "I feel better if I keep changing my looks in case Salva—" She stopped herself. "It's a wig."

  Blu eyed the wig. "So you think Maland's out looking for you."

  "I don't think. I know he's looking for me." She laid her small bag on the table, opened it and pulled out the photos. Handing them to him, she said, "The first four are me, the other two are you. The ones of me aren't recent." She leaned toward him and Blu caught a whiff of lemon. "See, my hair is short in that one. These were taken before I met Salva because I've worn my hair to my waist for two years. Salva insists."

  Her last comment made Blu take his eyes from the picture to stare at her. "What do you mean, he insists?"