Jen’s time alone in the bedroom wore thin after awhile. After listening to Mitch banging at the door and suddenly rummaging about in the kitchen, her curiosity got the best of her. Hugging her robe around her, she emerged from her room sniffing the aroma of hot coffee readied on a tray. Complete with two mugs, cream pitcher and a plate of her stale bakery-bought ginger snaps, she found the break appealing. Hostility wouldn’t get what she needed. She’d make a deliberate attempt to be friendly and ignore the guilt rising in her chest. "Wow. Your expertise amazes me, Mitch."
"I’m a man of many talents. Come sit at the table. The hard chair will be better for you. How’s the back?"
She changed her hard-nose tack and sweetened her tone. "Much improved thanks to you. I’m curious about your other interests besides exploring, doctoring, and seeking thrills." She sat down cautiously, keeping her back in alignment.
"That’s the limit. I’m very focused. What effect did those prowlers have on you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You aren’t going to let them scare you away are you, Jen? You have to watch that you don’t put more stress on yourself for awhile."
"Being here with you is more stress."
"Why?"
"Because I don’t like what you do to my rational way of thinking," she stated flatly.
"Maybe I’m not as irrational as you think. Don’t pigeonhole me. Things aren’t always what they seem." Mitch sat down at right angles to her, sipped a mouthful of the hot drink, then hopped up and brought back the sugar bowl.
"And I suppose that means you could be an angel in disguise?"
"No. I don’t pretend to be an angel. I’m just saying, give me a little leeway. I know you don’t understand where I’m coming from."
"Then explain it." She breathed in the steam before taking a sip. Her eyes planted firmly on his hand as he ladled a heaping spoonful of sugar into his mug.
"I can’t. Jen, you’ll have to trust me. I’m no thug. I’m sworn to secrecy. I’ll tell you everything soon. But not now."
"Do you always use that much sugar?"
"Only when I’m tense. The more tense, the more sugar. Let’s talk about you, instead."
"There’s nothing to say."
"I think there is. What happened last night? What did I do that upset you?" Mitch helped himself to a cookie, then pushed the plate toward her. He concentrated on dipping his ginger snap into the mug, ate it and switched his attention to her.
"Cookies for breakfast?"
"I usually eat breakfast at a doughnut shop in town. I found these in your cupboard when I was looking for bread. Okay, let’s get back to last night."
She bit hers in half and took her time chewing it. Maybe the ginger would help her nausea. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It just wasn’t right." To avoid looking at him, she copied his action and dunked her second half.
"There was nothing wrong about it. We were two unattached adults wanting the same thing; at least I thought we wanted the same thing. Am I barking up the wrong tree?"
She sipped her coffee, then set down the mug. Her hands fell to her lap. "No." She paused. "Right tree, wrong woman." Her fingers interlaced.
Mitch reached over and lifted her chin. "Tell me what was going on in your head. I know what was going on in your body." His sultry gaze brought up those devilish sensations again, making her want to relieve the tension. Making her want to risk a repeat of last night, but this time carry it through.
Jen tried to cool the heat in her face by blowing upward. Didn’t work. She was on fire. "You win. A face hovered above me and it wasn’t yours." She rose and walked stiffly to the window, her back to him, hoping he didn’t come near.
"Whose face?"
"I don’t know. I couldn’t see it clearly."
"This ever happen before?" He stayed put, but his inspection burrowed between her shoulder blades.
"I don’t make a habit of making out, Mitch. It hasn’t happened in the same way, but yes, I’ve experienced the terror before." There was no escaping the pressure he was throwing her way, so she turned and faced him.
"Ever see a doctor for help?"
"No. I know I’m not crazy. I avoid thinking about it. You sound like you’re interrogating me; I don’t like it."
He leaned back in his chair; his chin perched on his clasped hands. "I’m only curious. Running isn’t usually the best way to deal with problems, you know."
"It’s worked so far. Running from the city has kept me alive if I’m to believe the seriousness of the threat that I got from your friend."
"Jake isn’t my friend. I never met him."
"You know his name?" Jen sensed an alarm bell’s ring somewhere deep in her subconscious. "If you aren’t a member of the gang, how would you know his name?"
"I told you, he has a contract out on you. I heard the guys talking about it."
"Why would they talk in front of you if you aren’t one of them? You aren’t being honest with me, Mitch, and it’s been that way from the start."
"Who’s interrogating who?" He frowned and shifted his position, then continued, "They’ve known me so long they trust me."
"Does Bull spend a lot of time at the bar?"
"He’s got an office out back."
"An office? That gorilla has an office? That’s a laugh."
"A room where he lives and meets friends. I hope you aren’t considering reporting him to the police. He would know in a minute if you did." Mitch’s long arm reached over and touched her shoulder. She flinched and brushed his hand away. He straightened his posture.
She couldn’t miss the sigh from his lips. "How would he know?"
"Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘the walls have ears?’"
Jen fumed. "Yes. You mean this place is bugged?"
"No." He threaded his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I mean he has people watching out for him." Mitch had to admire her skill at interrogation.
"I guess they trust you because you’re close to the same mold. I was beginning to hope you weren’t, but that’s only wishful thinking. I don’t see why you don’t own up to it. I’m going to finish my coffee and go back to bed. I don’t really feel better now."
Mitch slammed his mug down on the table and stomped to the door.
Jen changed her mind on the coffee and hobbled back to her room. She listened to an array of disgusted grunts issuing from her bang-happy carpenter as he worked away. She had to reach Bull, and pushing Mitch to anger hadn’t been a wise way to do it.
~ * ~
Mitch wished he could tell her the truth but undercover work was strictly that. To keep his mission safe and on track, he had to proceed with as few people as possible knowing his business. This part of his job sucked. They were both in danger now, just like he’d known would happen. He’d checked out the area where the mystery vehicle had been parked. He didn’t like what he found: a cigarette butt of a brand that was not that common in these parts. And he knew who’d been smoking it. Trouble was written all over it.
Last night he should have been more careful on his ride back home, but his mind had been traveling where it shouldn’t. Smack-dab on her. The smell of her shampooed hair and the touch of her damp skin had conspired to take his thoughts off his business and land him in an emotional wasteland with a woman who wanted nothing more than to live in peace. And he wasn’t even able to give her that--let alone titillate her into a willing acceptance of his pathetic attempt to mean something to her.
As he fixed the bracket on the door’s frame, each infuriated twist of the screwdriver brought home the helplessness of his position. For the first time in years, he was challenged into wanting something more from a relationship and it had to be with a neighbor who must think he was doomed to damnation. He opened the screen door and closed it. It hung perfectly.
What was she thinking as she lay in the bedroom at his mercy? Nothing pleasant he was sure. His body urges were tugging strong against his jeans. Her flimsy nightgown, what he’d seen
of it, was more enticing than if she’d been naked. One flick of his wrist and it could be over her head in a drift of pleasure, then he’d be free to let his hands wander again along those luscious curves he’d merely sampled. Now, how could he work off his frustration? He looked at the pile of lumber. "Damn," he mumbled to himself, "I might as well start on the porch floor--work off my libido. I can keep a closer watch over her here, too."
Spooky’s nose nestled against his leg, and he bent down and ruffled his neck. "Why aren’t you in with your mistress, Spooks? She’ll do more for you than I can. I want a big dog, not a pissanty runt that only squeaks. If those guys had broken in, Jen wouldn’t have had a chance and we both know it. Gun or no gun. I don’t need this worry; they could be back. I’m going to have to see Bull about this tonight."
"Okay, your door is fixed," Mitch yelled after a short break of tossing sticks that he had to retrieve himself, while Spooky watched with grave interest. "I’m going to work on the porch."
"Thanks," flowed her muffled reply from the bedroom.
~ * ~
Jen moved cautiously around her kitchen making ham and cheese sandwiches and heating a can of chicken noodle soup.
Mitch’s eyes brightened when she appeared at the doorway.
"I’ve made lunch." Pleased with herself, for once, she grinned.
"Should you be out of bed?"
"I’ll go crazy if I’m in there any longer. The pills have kicked in. I read that you shouldn’t stay on your back too long. Exercise is good for it." She stayed behind the screen and examined his progress. "The doorstep is looking pretty good. You’re making it bigger?" Her hand opened and closed the screen door. "This door swings better than before it was broken. Thanks, Mitch."
"You had so much lumber, I decided to make it more like a deck." He climbed up on the exposed joists and joined her. "Are you thinking of selling the cabin?"
His question took her by surprise. "Why? Do you want to buy it?" She moved inside to the kitchen table.
"Maybe." He washed his hands at the sink and followed. "I want to buy the one I’m in, but I doubt I can afford it. Give me a shout though, if you decide to unload yours. It needs repairs, but I like it out here and I could work on it at my leisure."
"You seem to have a lot of leisure time, Mitch."
"I told you, I’m on vacation."
"What kind of investigative work do you do?"
He avoided looking directly into her eyes by reaching for a sandwich. "I investigate crimes that the police don’t have time for. They’re short-staffed, you know."
"You mean what you do is legal?"
"Yes. You seem surprised."
"I am. Frankly, I was wondering who’d ever hire a--"
"Scruffy bum like me?" This time he faced her dead on. "You’re easily influenced by appearances aren’t you? You make snap judgments based on them."
"That’s hardly fair. You have to admit you’re kind of rough around the edges."
"And I fit a pattern, I suppose." Mitch scratched his forehead. He knew damn well she had a point.
"Yes, you do." She finished her soup and studied the plate of sandwiches.
"Tell me about the pattern."
Her appetite appeased, she leaned back and smiled. "Scruffy dresser that rides a motorcycle and postures like he owns the world."
"And that makes me a bad person?"
"It makes you a dangerous one."
"How so?" He leaned closer.
"You attract the unsavory types, like Bull."
His devil-may-care twinkle bore down on her with his blunt statement. "I attract you, don’t I?"
She didn’t appreciate his humor. "Not exactly."
"Yes, I do, Jen. Face it and talk about it rationally. You’re attracted to me and scared to get involved. Your highfalutin ways are holding you back from having a good time." He moved closer still and teased his lips along her neck, barely touching. His heated breath sent a tingling sensation skipping down her arms. "You’re missing out on things that could be exciting."
"Like what?" She shook her head as if his action displeased her and moved her chair sideways.
"Like enjoying the pleasures of a relationship. Nothing serious, just fun." Mitch didn’t pursue her.
"Fun? With my life on the line? Nothing serious, huh? Fun leaving you to carouse, come and go, no attachment. I’ve heard about your type. I could draw you a diagram of the misery ‘your type’ leaves behind every time he decides he wants fun." Her hand slapped the table. "The tattered dreams, the kids left without a father. Yep, I’ve seen it many times and it’s not for me."
"You have a warped view of life. What’s made you so hard?" Mitch asked, crossing his arms, seeming prepared for a deep discussion.
"I’m warped?" She raised one eyebrow.
"I said your view on life was, don’t change my meanings."
"I’ve seen the unhappy homes your kind leaves behind."
"Now you’re being unfair. You see no such thing. I’ll tell you what I see."
"Fire away; take your best shot."
He sat up straight. "I see a sexy lady afraid of being sexy. Afraid of taking a chance. I see a woman who’s afraid to let her hair down, who wants to sneak through life without life touching her. And I see something else, Jen."
She took a minute to think about what he’d said. He had hit close to the mark. "I suppose you’re going to tell me," she said softly.
"Now that I’ve got your attention, it’ll be the last I say about it, but here goes. I see you as a woman putting her energies into helping others instead of concentrating on the fact that she’s the one that needs help. And that’s why you run. Running from threats is okay and probably wise for now, but running from yourself only prolongs your misery." Mitch shuffled his feet and shoved back his chair. Jen knew he didn’t want another argumentative session. "I’m going back to work. Think about what I said." He left her sitting at the table, burrowing holes through his back as he went out to the porch.
Mitch worked without a break through the afternoon. Jen had no intention of offering another meal. At suppertime he gathered up his tools, hollered he was going, waited for a response that didn’t come, and left. She assumed he had a trip to the city on for tonight.
Eight
"You boys done good, Spike. Wish I’d been here when you came lookin’ for me last night, but I had a deal goin’ down." Bull rested his heels on top of his makeshift desk. "If you hadn’t scratched down Mitch’s license number when he left here the other night, we still might not know where that bitch is. Seems pretty stupid him drivin’ her car here, but he didn’t know I was out to get the broad at the time." The two flunkies stayed quiet while Bull swiveled in his chair and grabbed three beers from a small fridge. "You did even better by followin’ him home. I been workin’ out his angle on this and here’s what I come up with: Mitch has to be a cop."
He passed each of the men a bottle and opened his. "Probably on her protection detail. Otherwise she wouldn’t be livin’ next door to him. Wonder why he didn’t have her move in?" Bull swilled in a mouthful. "Looks like we’ll be gettin’ two birds at once."
Spike straightened from his slouch against the wall. "Let me at him."
"Not yet. I want to deal with the woman first... as a favor to Jake."
"Want Pugsy and me to take care of her?"
"I’ll ask Jake what he wants to do about it. Just a minute, I’ll call his hospital room."
It didn’t take long to get a response. He hung up the phone. "Seems Jake’s gone up for emergency surgery and won’t be able to talk to anyone ‘til tomorrow. We gotta sit on this info until then. Mitch and that broad think they’re pretty clever waltzin’ in here like that. They won’t be goin’ no place. Can’t get over Mitch thinkin’ he’d get away with this though."
~ * ~
Jen had whiled away the day, listening to Mitch clamor on the porch. Through the afternoon she made her plans and they didn’t include making out with him. She knew if she
wanted to get hold of Bull, it would have to be in the early evening. Mitch probably met the gang at the bar on his late-night jaunts, and she didn’t want to bump into him. She didn’t fancy running into those hookers again, either. She silently prayed they didn’t start their solicitation until well after dark.
Unable to face Mitch, afraid he’d know she was up to something, she hadn’t gone near him. When he’d finished the job at suppertime, she’d stayed clear of him still. She relaxed when he went home.
On the drive into the city, her stomach muscles trembled. Mitch’s face was everywhere she looked. She cursed herself for being so sensitive where he was concerned. There was no reason for her to feel guilty going behind his back to get Bull’s help. She hoped it would be to her advantage and not more trouble, but she didn’t know what else to do. Mitch knew who she was. Bull didn’t. It was safer to ask the gang leader for the documents, then take off where no one would know her.
When she drove into the bar’s front parking lot, a sharp pain shot from one temple to the other. She tarried a few minutes before getting out of the car, hoping her nerves would settle. They didn’t. Her head throbbed.
The bar carried a different atmosphere than earlier. Only two patrons sat with their drinks at the tables. Though the place still stunk from the smell of beer and smoke, the air was clear of the haze. The sound of tinkling glasses as the bartender washed and racked them was a welcome change from the loud music.
"I’m looking for Bull. Is he around?"
"Yeah, he’s out back." He pointed toward the doorway at the rear. "Go through there and knock on the first door to the left."
She ignored his questioning look and the leering stares from the others and sashayed across the room like she owned the joint. She’d not taken any pains with makeup and wore jeans with a plain white blouse buttoned to the neck. Her cloth multi-colored purse slung from her shoulder. To steady it and herself, she rested her hand on the upward zippered side--they must be hard up, she surmised. The hard steel she could feel in the purse gave only a small touch of confidence.
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