"We’ll stop off on our way to the station. You believe that I’m a cop now, don’t you?"
She lifted the mug slowly to her lips and gulped the last bit of liquid. "Yes. I hope you got what you wanted." He flushed. Guilt?
"Jen, you were a headache I didn’t need. You weren’t a pushover for sure. And I never meant you harm. What I want is for you to realize that things got a bit dicey because you were involved. In the end it’s turned out well, but it wasn’t worth risking your life." He paused and shifted his eyes away from her to watch the customers returning to their seats. A big gulp of his coffee and he faced her. "That will always haunt me. Do you think you can find some way of setting it aside?"
His sincerity tore at her heart. But she couldn’t deny the sickening feeling of having been bandied about like a piece of meat, all in the name of squelching criminal activity.
When her silence made it obvious that his question was difficult to answer, Mitch interrupted her thoughts. "I have news for you. The only way to tell you is straight out. Jake is dead. Looks like your worries are over."
"I know he’s dead. My worries aren’t over. I killed him."
"No. Rick told me he’d had cirrhosis of the liver--too much hard living. His lifestyle killed him. Since Bull will be incarcerated for years, you won’t have to think about him. He’s not like Jake. He wouldn’t rely on others to do his dirty work."
"And when Bull gets out?"
"I have something in mind to take care of that. Anyway, he’ll be after me before he even thinks about you."
"Oh, Mitch. That’s awful."
"It comes with the territory of police work."
"Dangerous work. I guess you like what you do. It seems you put your heart into it." She hung her head.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything has turned out well for you. I’m glad." She raised her head and jutted out her chin in a last show of determination. "Now I want to get my car and go home."
"I want to talk some more, Jen."
"Look, I’ve had a rough day and I’m not thinking straight. Let’s go. I’ve had enough. You and your cop friends will need to fill out reports. Then I’m leaving."
"Going where?"
"Anywhere. Maybe back to my apartment."
An exasperated breath filtered to her ears. "Okay. I’ll drive you on my Harley to pick up your car. But this isn’t over."
"Why? You got your pound of flesh."
"That’s what I mean, Jen. There’s something in your attitude about this whole thing that I don’t understand. And I’m going to get to the root of it."
"My attitude shouldn’t concern you. It’s simple. Your need for me is over."
"Are you so sure?" He hesitated as if he wanted to say more. "If you want to leave, we’ll go."
Mitch tucked Spooky into his jacket and zipped it enough to give a secure hold but allow him to stick his head out. When Jen hugged Mitch’s chest during the bike ride to her car, her security came from her fingers’ touch on Spooky’s hair. A checkup at the vet’s office and an x-ray showed he hadn’t been harmed by the kick.
At the next stop--the police station--she answered every question asked in a cool collected manner. She avoided any implication of being Mitch’s friend. Inside, she felt chilled, callous, unconcerned. Life had lost any residual glow in her new safety, and worse still, she didn’t care. When the interrogation ended and she was told she could go, she stalked to the office door. With one hand holding Spooky and her other hand on the doorknob, she turned and stated flatly, "Thank you for the ride, Mitch." She inhaled, looked him squarely in the eye and didn’t waver. "Goodbye."
He nodded and remained seated on the corner of Inspector James’ desk; one leg planted firmly on the floor, the other dangling. That last picture of him froze in her memory. Unkempt whiskers straggling every which way, a wayward forelock drooping from his shaggy hair, and his blue tee shirted expanse bulging through his open leather jacket--all left an indelible imprint on her heart. Bedraggled and battle-fatigued, he was the sexiest-looking guy she’d ever known. And she couldn’t even melt enough to smile.
Jen climbed into her car and sat still for a few minutes. When the car didn’t move, Spooky switched his eyes from the street ahead to her face and offered a big lick. He stayed on the console. Deep in thought Jen started the engine, and, as if she had no other choice, drove slowly down the next block until she came to a large yellow house trimmed with white. The neatly mowed grass and play equipment in the backyard lent an inviting atmosphere--to children, but not to her. Jen lingered a few moments, hands clasped tightly around the steering wheel. Spooky pranced happily from the front to the back seat, then back again in recognition of the place he’d spent much of his time.
Memories of the nights when women and children arrived in a state of frenzy punctured Jen’s thoughts. The frightened females usually carried pictures of their abusers tucked away in their wallets. Many of the men carried the rag-tag sexiness Mitch exuded. Yes, he’d played the role of tough guy well. Was everything going to bring him to mind from now on?
Jen exited her car and, leaving Spooky behind, hesitantly walked up the three concrete steps. She stopped and stood motionless. Something clawed at her throat preventing her from moving up the walkway. Then she remembered. A monster lived here. A dark multi-dimensional black cloud of doom groped for her now, just as it had that night. She turned and ran back to the car, slammed the door and switched on the ignition. Her foot hit the accelerator, startling a passerby as the tires squealed her departure.
The pedestrian jumped again with the sudden startup of a motorcycle.
Eleven
Pangs of guilt probed at his conscience when Jen walked out the door. Mitch couldn’t let her leave the police station with such finality and not know her destination. The fact she no longer needed his physical protection should have brought satisfaction--it didn’t. What about her mental state? Didn’t he owe it the same attention? Whatever burdened her slim shoulders concerned him. He needed, within himself, to rid her of the load to achieve peace.
He stayed well behind her vehicle, surprised when it only traveled to the next block and parked at the transition house. He pulled in behind a parked car and watched. This was a good sign--she must be planning to return to work. When she hung back and couldn’t force herself to the veranda, the dejected look on her face as she turnedL pierced his heart. Her slumped shoulders, pale face, fingers flexing at her sides, testified to a mind wracked with insecurity and helplessness. He anguished over her discouragement. Expecting her to linger and weigh the options, her abrupt departure caught him off-guard.
Mitch hoped she would return to the cabin. He could deal with her easier in familiar surroundings, maybe even entice her to go back to the loft. Sex wasn’t the great cure all, but it sure was a way to mellow the mood and relax the body. If he had the option. He sighed. She’d been definite in her goodbye.
Again she threw him a curve when she drove a few streets further and parked in the yard of a small apartment building. He cut his motor before she got out and observed her from a discreet distance. Why he didn’t simply help unload her suitcases he didn’t know. He was too damned scared, he guessed. Scared he’d lose any inroads he’d made. Scared he’d lose any chance to make things right. Stalking seemed to be the only way to hold on. And that could get him in serious trouble.
Jen made several trips back and forth to her car and finally returned for her laptop. With Spooky dancing happily at her feet, she looked like any modern professional making her own way in life. And that was the crux of the problem. She hadn’t made any headway getting on with her life after the shooting. He’d expected Jake’s death would make a difference, but the blank look on her face, when he’d given her the news, should have warned him. She needed help. He’d see she got it.
~ * ~
The stale air in her apartment almost knocked her over. Jen quickly opened the windows, breathed deeply into the soft salty breeze and glanced down the street.
A black Harley, peeking out from between two parked cars, with Mitch straddling it, forced her back behind the curtain. She let out a sigh of disgust and watched with intense interest. How long did Mitch intend to dog her tracks, her life?
The only thing left to bring up from the car was her laptop. She smiled. That was her connection to his world, his connection to hers. She’d make use of the thin lifeline one last time. The trip to the shelter had reminded her of the need to dump her fantasies. It would mean giving up the only confidante she’d ever had. No small loss, even though he’d been deceitful.
The burn of Mitch’s gaze, as she retrieved her laptop, seared painfully deep. She couldn’t ignore the effect he still had on her. In the police station, the interrogation had raked up everything they’d been through and left her numb. Now that it was over, she had breathing room. She looked down at her hands clutching her computer. A film of sweat streaked the black vinyl case. Her shallow breathing panted in beat to the hammering in her chest. She couldn’t let him get to her like this. She had to end it.
Jen dialed the police station, then cradled the receiver while she cuddled Spooky in her arms. "Inspector James, please." Spooky’s soft fur against her cheek helped calm the throb at her temples.
"Inspector James speaking. Hello?"
She grabbed the receiver. "This is Jennifer Murray."
"What can I do for you, Ms. Murray?"
"I’m not being charged with anything, am I?"
"Not that I’m aware of."
"Then why am I under surveillance?" She glanced out the window. Mitch was still focused on her building.
"You aren’t."
"Then perhaps you should tell Mitch. His bike is parked outside of my apartment house."
"I see. He has a right to park wherever he likes, especially if he’s off duty. But I see your point. I’ll ask him to leave."
"Thank you."
She hung up the phone and held Spooky so he could look out. "I don’t see Mitch, Spooky. Where did he go? Oh, there he is... under that big maple tree. See?" The little dog glanced at the activity in the street, then, seeing Mitch’s motorcycle, perked his ears and stiffened his legs in excitement. Spooky squirmed so much when he spied Mitch that Jen had to put him down. Once he landed on the floor, he raced to the door, and finding it partly open, dashed out.
"Spooky! Come back!" Jen sprinted after him, down the stairs and outside into the city’s reckoning. There was no stopping the exuberant pup. He ran into the street in Mitch’s direction.
Jen screamed when she saw the bus.
~ * ~
"What the hell are you doing harassing that woman, Mitch?" Rick James’ voice blasted into Mitch’s cell phone.
"I’m not!" Mitch hoped his disgruntled snarl would ward off the inspector. It was bad enough to be caught behaving like a schoolboy, he didn’t need to be chewed out, too. He held the phone away from his ear. "I’m off duty and just happened to be in the neighborhood." He leaned against a tree trunk, his back to Jen’s building.
"Neighborhood, right. Drag your ass out of there. We don’t want any more harping on police harassment. I’m serious. Leave her be."
Jen’s scream, followed by the screech of braking tires, rocked him into alert mode. "Gotta go, Rick!"
Only at the last instant had he turned and seen a flash of gray disappear beneath the front of the approaching bus. He ran across the street to where Jen stood like a zombie, frozen in horror, her hands covering her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight.
"Oh, Mitch, Spooky’s under there." Her lower lip quivered. "The bus didn’t stop in time."
"That was Spooky? I’ll check him out. Tell the driver to turn off the ignition."
Jen bolted to the vehicle’s door and pounded on the glass. "Shut down the engine!" The driver, still perched in his seat, did so. He opened the door and splayed his arms in the air. "I didn’t see the dog... I couldn’t stop." He turned to his passengers as he jumped up. "Everyone stay on the bus. We don’t want anyone getting hit by traffic. I’m going to see what I can do."
Jen ran to where Mitch’s feet were fast disappearing under the vehicle. "What do you see?"
Mitch’s hollowed voice bounced off the undergear from ground level. "Spooky’s breathing, Jen, but he’s not moving. I don’t see any blood though. I don’t think the tires touched him but the front bumper probably clipped him. I need something to slide underneath his body so I can pull him out."
Jen shouted into the crowd of pedestrians gathering around her. "We need something rigid in case the puppy has a spinal injury."
The driver of a car parked at a meter yelled, "I’ve got a cardboard box in my trunk. I’ll get it." The bus driver ran over to retrieve it.
From beneath the vehicle, Mitch caught a glimpse of Jen lowering the box to the ground, then directed his attention back to the pup. He heard her stomp the cardboard flat.
"Here, Mitch, can I crawl in to help?" Jen’s soft steady murmur gave hope she could handle whatever the outcome.
"No need. He’s so small I can ease it under him. He won’t feel a thing, Jen. I just don’t want to jar anything that might be broken. When I say ready, pull on the cardboard."
"Okay."
"Ready?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Okay, ease him out."
Jen pulled the cardboard slab, careful not to jar it. Spooky, still as death, moved into the sunlight. Mitch wiggled out and carried the makeshift litter to her car. Jen opened the back door and Mitch lifted bed and pup onto the back seat. "You want to drive or will I?"
She thrust the keys from her jeans pocket into his hand. "I’ll get in with him."
He nodded. "We’ll go back to the same vet."
"Oh, Mitch. He’s so still. He’s brought such joy to my life in spite of my problems. He’s
all I have left."
Mitch gritted his teeth trying to concentrate on his driving instead of on the heartbreaking sobs interspersed with gentle cooing in the back seat. With no hint of surrender, Jen’s constant flow of soft murmurs strove to give Spooky comfort when she was the one who sorely needed it.
Ten minutes later they were in the animal hospital’s waiting room. Mitch sprawled in a vinyl and chrome chair; Jen paced between the window and the examination room door. Her ashen face clearly displayed her inward struggle, but it was her dazed eyes and silence that worried him: like she was lost in another world, unable to ground herself in the present. She had been through a lot today and this final straw could send her into a state of no return. How could she deal with this on top of everything else? He rose and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped. Her eyes showed a strange fear. "Jen? Why don’t you come and sit down? This could take time."
She snapped out of her trance and followed his lead to the chair next to his. "Thank you for getting him here so fast. I hope it was soon enough."
He took her hand and held it, gently massaging the back with his index finger. "He’s lucky he’s so small that he went between the tires. I have to tell you, Jen, I didn’t think much of Spooky when I first saw him, but he’s turned out to be quite a dog. I’d want him in my corner anytime."
Jen smiled faintly through tearing eyes. "I don’t know what I’ll do if..."
"He’s not going to. His heartbeat was strong. Think positive."
"Mitch?" She touched his arm and the slight pressure sent his spirits soaring.
"What?"
"After we get the results here, no matter which way it goes, could you...?"
"Could I what?" Mitch’s finger stilled.
She shook her head. "I’ll ask after we find out about Spooky."
"Here comes the doc." They both rose; their handclasp tightened.
"Spooky is coming around," the veterinarian said. "He’s had a rough time for a little guy. He has a concussion, but other than that there’s been no damage. You can come in and see him, but I want to keep him here under observation for a day or two in case there’s a build-up of
fluid in the brain. If there is, we’ll have to operate to relieve the pressure."
A visible quiver tracked through Jen’s shoulders. Mitch’s arm automatically stretched around her waist, pulling her close. He guided her in the direction of the furry bundle on the examination room’s table.
"Spooky?" Jen’s fingers swept through the pup’s hair, and Spooky, weak but aware, slid his tongue over them. "You’re the best dog in the whole world," she whispered. "Rest and take it easy." She bent down and kissed him on his snout, then turned to the vet. "You’re sure he’s going to be all right?"
"I’m positive. You look like you could stand some rest yourself. If you leave the number where you can be reached, I’ll call if there’s any change."
"She will, doctor. I have a cell phone with me and I’ll leave my number, too."
As they walked into the sunshine, Mitch remembered Jen had started to ask him something. "What did you want to ask me back there?"
She paused, and he could tell it was taking great effort to answer.
"Could you c-come with me t-to the shelter?"
"You want to go back after just being there?"
"How did you know I stopped by? Were you following me?"
"Don’t get angry. I wanted to make sure I knew where you were going to stay before I went home. I had to know you weren’t leaving the area."
"Why? Am I going to have to face charges stemming from the shooting? If so, that increases my need to go back."
"I don’t think there’ll be charges. Self-defense is a strong argument for what you did, unless--"
"Unless?"
"Unless it’s proved you’ve done something wrong. Just so you know... you risk that by having me there as a cop."
"I want you with me as a friend, Mitch. I need your support. I have to forget the police angle. If I’ve done something wrong, I’ll have to suffer the consequences. I can’t go on not knowing."
"Then I’ll go as more than your friend. I care about you, Jen, you must know that. I wasn’t only following you as a cop. I wanted to know for my own benefit where you were." He kissed her on the tip of her nose. He could never turn down such a strong plea. Her eyes sparkled, illuminating the face of a woman who had suddenly put her cares aside with a single-minded purpose. "What do you hope to accomplish by going back?"
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