by J. M. Madden
“You did do that,” she agreed, pointing with her free hand at him. He stepped in toward her and leaned one hand on the car, the other brushing her bangs out of her face. “I’m really very…” she stuttered as he moved in closer to her and then stopped suddenly.
“Flat,” he announced, furrowing his brows together as he looked down.
“Excuse me? I mean, I don’t think it’s really your place to judge and nor do I care about your opinion, but I am a very satisfied B cup, thank you very much. And you just lost any hope of ever seeing them.” She folded her hands over her chest and huffed out her indignation.
“What?” It took him an extra second to make the connection. “No, not those, those are fine. Your tire. The car is lower here in the front.” He backed up a step from her and pulled out the keychain flashlight he kept with him. “Your tire is flat.” He leaned down to take a better look.
“I wasn’t going to show you them tonight anyway. I’m not like that. If it sounded like I was implying that, I wasn’t. You weren’t rounding any bases with me,” she rambled on as she shook her head.
“Can you stop talking about your boobs for a second? Someone slashed your tire. Any idea who would do something like that?”
“No,” she replied, in a worried tone. “I mean, the guy who I just poured a drink on might be considering it right now, but he wouldn’t have had a chance to do it.”
“Have you pissed anyone else off lately? Dumped any other drinks?”
“I told you, I don’t do things like that normally. I’m just regular old Demi. I don’t have enemies if that’s what you’re asking. My life is completely boring. I’ve been held up in a hospital working on a clinical trial around the clock for two years.”
Roark thought back to the case files he pored over about the home invasion Demi survived. There was nothing boring about that. She was beaten almost beyond recognition. If the crime scene photo had been the only picture he’d ever seen of her he certainly wouldn’t know this was the same girl. But there was her high school graduation picture and her DMV shot also in the file. That’s how he’d remembered the beautiful features he was standing across from now. He wasn’t going to call her out, though, and challenge the fact that her life had not always been boring. He had no reason to believe a slit tire had anything to do with what she’d been through almost a decade ago. If she’d built a new life, who was he to knock it down?
“I’ll call a tow truck. I don’t have a spare,” she said, searching for her cell phone.
“You don’t?” Roark asked incredulously, throwing some judgment her way.
“Don’t lecture me. I took it out a couple weeks ago. I needed the trunk space when I was moving. I forgot to put it back in. You don’t have to wait. I’ve taken up enough of your time and thoroughly embarrassed myself with the whole B-cup thing.”
“I’m not going to leave you in an alley while you wait for a tow truck at midnight. Not after you just made so many friends in there,” he insisted as he gestured back toward the club.
“Why the hell is it called the Oyster’s Crystal?” she asked, pulling her phone out of her bag. “That name makes no sense at all.”
“I know.” He threw his hands up as though he couldn’t agree more. “I can’t wait to have to come back here Saturday,” he groaned.
“At least I’ll know where to find you,” she answered coyly before taking a few steps away and starting her phone conversation with the tow company.
Did she want to find him? He’d been so focused on her face before, but now he took in her whole body. Demi’s sleek black pants hugged a pair of long, lean legs. Her thin sweater was a soft shade of pale green that matched her eyes. The neckline revealed creamy white skin and the hint of toned shoulders. She was hot, and not cougar hot, just plain hot. Maybe if she tracked him down this weekend it wouldn’t be so bad.
TWO
He was trying not to stare at the door. Well, not for too long anyway. Part of his job was watching the nightclub door, but he also had a hell of a lot more responsibilities than that. He should be watching for anyone out of the ordinary in the club, not watching for the one person who he thought was extraordinary.
It had been two days since he saw Demi at the club and she was all he could think about. It wasn’t all sexual. Most of it was, but not all. He wondered what had happened to her after the home invasion. How long was she in the hospital? How long until she picked her stuff up from her place and where did she go from there? Did she change her name right away or had she waited a while? It was the detective in him.
She seemed relatively well-adjusted for someone who’d gone through such a trauma. Funny and charismatic, pretty well put together as far as he could see. She was a nurse, so clearly she’d gone to school, gotten on a good path. That was impressive. She was resilient. He liked that characteristic in people. He never understood those who fell down and just lay there.
“This place sucks balls,” the nasally voice of Kimberly Transtan, his client’s nineteen-year-old daughter, shouted over the music. “I want to go somewhere else.” Her friends were all standing behind her, nodding their heads in agreement.
“Me too,” he said in a gruff, annoyed tone. “How about home?”
“It’s only eleven-thirty. Most people aren’t even out of the house yet for the night. This is so lame. I want to go scope out the Leopard’s Lair,” Kimberly commanded, her face reading like someone who’d just given an order.
“No.” Roark had no interest in entertaining her dumb ideas.
“Why?” she whined again.
“Because I haven’t had a chance to clear it yet, and I won’t be able to tonight. Also, because it’s a strip-club. Not a night club.”
“I know what it is,” Kimberly huffed with a bite in her voice. “It’s amateur night there and I’ve been taking a pole dancing class.”
“Oh, in that case let’s go,” Roark agreed, grabbing Kimberly’s arm and leading her toward the door.
“Really?” she asked, brimming with excitement.
“No, are you an idiot? Actually don’t answer that. You’re a nineteen-year-old girl with every luxury known to man at her fingertips and you want to go take your clothes off for a room full of nasty guys throwing dollar bills at you. The question answers itself. We’re going home.”
Kimberly shook out of his grip and pointed her finger up at him angrily. “You are not the boss of me. I’m your boss.”
This day was a long time coming. Kimberly had been getting more tenacious in her refusal to be guarded and Roark knew eventually he’d have to part ways with the family. He had a rule; he didn’t protect people who didn’t want protection.
“I’m taking you home and then you can find another security detail. I don’t need this shit.” Roark flagged down his backup, John, and indicated that they were exiting.
“I’m not going with you. I’m going to the Leopard’s Lair,” she said, snapping her gum defiantly.
“I love that top,” a familiar voice called from behind Roark. “Where did you get that?” Demi asked, pointing at Kimberly’s blue sequined shirt that left nothing to the imagination.
“It’s one-of-a-kind, from a designer in Paris,” Kimberly gushed, her vanity enough to distract her from the moment.
“That’s incredible. I’m Demi.” She smiled widely at the group of girls who hadn’t made their minds up about her yet. “I’m a writer for Elusive Blue Magazine.” Roark recognized the title from some grocery check out line fashion crap he’d never read. “I was in here tonight waiting on some celebs to profile, but I have to tell you, you girls have some incredible fashion sense.”
The girls all looked down at their, in Roark’s eyes, hideous ensembles and started to explain where they’d gotten the inspiration.
“I know this is a lot to ask, girls, but do you think there is any chance I could interview you all instead? I’m so exhausted with the high profile celebs, I really want to talk to some people who can pull off outfits like th
is.”
“Sure,” Kimberly agreed enthusiastically. “Would you put our names in the article?”
“If you don’t mind. I’d hate to get you guys followed by the paparazzi or anything. We can do this anonymously if you’d prefer.”
“No!” they all shouted at once as they headed for a corner booth Demi had gestured toward.
“I just need to go out to my car and get my notebook. I’ll be right back,” Demi called over her shoulder.
Roark motioned to John and told him he’d be right back. The girls weren’t going anywhere now, and he had to get a minute alone with Demi.
“You are something else,” he laughed as they stepped outside of the club and the door slammed shut, trapping the loud music inside.
“Don’t judge me, help me dig through my car for a notebook and something decent to write with,” she countered, brushing off his compliment.
“You’re really going to go in there and pretend to interview them about fashion. Do you even know anything about it?”
Demi stopped and looked down at her silky, lose fitting top and designer jeans. “I’m not the one in a tucked in button down shirt and pleated khakis.”
“Hey, this is part of my work attire. It’s not what I wear normally,” he defended, shifting the collar of his shirt slightly. “Thanks for doing that.” He pulled open her other car door and started looking for something decent to write on.
“I heard the conversation. You were losing her and about to quit your job. I didn’t want to see that happen.”
“I’m still going to quit my job tonight, but losing her before that would have been disastrous. So thanks.”
“Now we’re even. You saved me from a couple things too.”
“A couple things?” he asked, his mind flashing back to that photo of her badly beaten. Was she thinking about that day, about needing to really be saved?
“You saved me from my crazy coworkers by sending them to the dance floor. You also saved me from fooling around with a stranger in the back of my car by accidently insulting my cup size.”
“I didn’t insult your cup size. You misunderstood,” Roark insisted.
“Whatever,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I can’t find anything in here. Should I just tell them I’m recording on my cell phone and never turn the thing on?”
“That’ll work on these girls for sure. You’re full of good ideas.” Roark again considered leaning in and kissing her, but he was on the job. There weren’t supposed to be any distractions. But he’d be without a job soon enough and he could kiss her then. There was something about her that had his brain considering things he usually never did. Like a future.
THREE
Roark’s phone chirped with a text message. It was a picture from Demi. Her familiar car, this time with four flat tires. The text read. Maybe I was wrong.
He immediately dialed her number.
“You didn’t need to call right back. That was my way of letting you know I couldn’t make it to dinner tonight,” she groaned breathlessly.
“Where are you? I’m coming to you,” he asserted. “I know we joked around but this is serious. Your tires getting sliced twice in a few days, at two different locations, that’s absolutely no coincidence.”
“I know,” she agreed, her voice tugging at his heart. She was afraid. A guy like Roark, he couldn’t take it when someone like Demi was scared. His urge to get to her was something primal. “I’ll text you my address.”
“We can still go to dinner. Just stay put. I’ll be right there.”
He usually never broke the speed limit. Well, unless he was tailing someone. Or trying to get a client to safety. Or really hungry. Ok, so he broke the speed limit a lot, and tonight was no exception. As he headed toward Demi’s house, the street became more and more familiar. This was his old precinct’s territory. He’d walked the beat here as a boot. He’d been promoted to detective with two of his fellow officers and this was where he’d patrolled. It meant Demi didn’t live too far from where she had when Toby was killed and she was attacked.
He pulled up to her car and saw her sitting on her front porch steps in sweats and a t-shirt with holes in it. She was biting nervously at her nails and clutching her cell phone tightly. Hopping to her feet at the sight of him, she raced over.
“I’m sorry you came over here like this. I should have just called the police. I should file a report, right?” she asked, the pace of her speech showing her nerves.
If she did call the cops now he’d see some familiar faces, people who knew his past and might give him shit about being here right now. “You can, but I wouldn’t just yet.”
“Why?” she queried, trying to tame her hair as it blew wildly in the wind.
“You don’t have much to tell them yet. I always think it’s better to get a handle on what you have before you bring in the cavalry. Otherwise they’ll be dismissive. Talk it through with me. Forget we were going to dinner and talk to me like a professional; this is what I do for a living. Protect people. Tell me who you think might be targeting you.”
“I really don’t know,” she said again, keeping close to him as he circled the car and looked for evidence. “I work at a hospital, but not with any patients who would have a vendetta against me. I do case studies and boring test samples.”
“How about exes. Any problems with former lovers?”
“I, um, no. Sorry, it’s weird talking about this with you. My ex-boyfriend moved to Montana with his new girlfriend, a cowgirl bitch named Tanya. Before him, that would be going back a few years, there certainly wasn’t anyone I would worry about. They are all married and happy. Which should maybe be telling me something,” she supposed aloud, staring off into the distance for a second as she contemplated it.
“Ok, how about anyone new in your life. Anything unusual?” Roark squatted down for a minute and looked at the cut in the tire.
Demi shifted uncomfortably, “You. I mean, this did start the night I met you.”
“I swear it isn’t me slashing your tires. I’m too lazy and inconsistent to be a killer or a stalker. Way too much work.” He nudged her with his elbow. “I’ve had extensive background checks by all of my employers. They’re incredibly wealthy people who trust me to protect their lives.”
“Good points, but I’m still watching you.” She narrowed her eyes and teased him with a grin.
“Get serious, you need to think about who this could be. Is there anything further in your past, anything you’ve been involved in? Sometimes these things, they can creep up again. You think they’re behind you, but they come back to haunt you.”
He tuned in to her face, looking for that moment when her lip might twitch or for a flutter in her eyelid, but there was nothing. “I grew up in Maine. My parents owned a little store. I came out here for a job because a group of people from my nursing school was coming. They’d just built St. Lutheran Hospital and it had one of the best up and coming programs for people with our schooling.”
He marveled at the backstory she’d created. He remembered the details of the case and Alexandria had lived her life in Detroit. Her parents weren’t store owners if he remembered correctly. Her father was a janitor and her mother was a dental hygienist.
“Where are they now?” he asked, still walking the fine line between uprooting the life she created and the truth. Roark was never great with victims. He was always more focused on solving the crime than holding their hands, but he knew the basics. Whatever she’d invented to keep her peace of mind about the attack was something he couldn’t just blow up on her.
“Most of them went back to Maine. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s a little rough out here in Detroit. We were built for the cold weather but most of them weren’t built for the crime. We don’t have much of it back home. A couple of their cars and houses got broken into. One guy got mugged on the way home from the hospital. That’s ancient history though. All back when I first moved. It’s pretty much just me left out here.”<
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“Anything like that ever happen to you? Any problems with crime?” he probed now, hoping she would tell him the truth since the danger seemed more tangible.
“Petty stuff years ago, but I’ve adapted. I know how to walk, where to walk, and I have mace in my bag,” Demi said, trying to look confident.
Either this girl had a stone cold poker face or she’d repressed the memories of the attack so much that she could overlook them as a possible motive. He wasn’t going to press any further. He’d seen enough psychological work ups on victims to know that if you forced them to remember what they were trying to forget under the wrong circumstances you could do some serious damage.
“At first when I moved here, I didn’t feel safe.” She paused, a gulping back of something, the first indication that Roark had seen of an acknowledgment of the crime. “But you have to get past those things. You can’t live in fear all the time.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about right now. Like I said, this is what I do for a living,” he comforted, reaching out and touching her shoulder gently.
“I’ve got to call for a tow and line up the mechanic. I don’t think I’ll be able to do dinner tonight. I’m sorry.”
“You’re halfway to your dream date right now. I mean, you have the sweatpants on. Any terrible television shows you were planning on catching up on?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“You’d spend your night like that? Chinese takeout and bad television?” she asked incredulously.
He sighed as though it was a big sacrifice, but the smile on his face said otherwise. “I’ll cancel the reservations and order some food. You get this taken care of.” He gestured over at her car. “Then after we numb our minds with some awful television we can talk more about what you can do about this trouble you’re having.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call the police?” she questioned again, looking from him to her phone as if she were thinking it over.
“It’ll certainly ruin our night.” He laughed, though there was a significant amount of truth in what he was saying. “I’ll take photos of the car and the area. I’ll check out your apartment to make sure it’s secure. Then we can focus on something to help us both relax.” He clamped down on her shoulder and rubbed his thumb in a circular motion, kneading at her tense muscles.