Dangerous To Love

by Chevon Gael

  "You mean I'm not going to incite a riot."

  "Exactly."

  She felt flattered, sort of, but declined to bait him. She was more than a little anxious about their timing when they turned into a gravel driveway a few moments later. The sooner Brett finished his business here and they got back on the road, the better.

  "Molly Malone's? Is this it? It looks ... undesirable.” She chose her words carefully, presuming that Brett had done business here before. It wasn't his judgment that made her apprehensive, it was the sight of the chopped Harleys and their leather-clad owners who lounged in front of the bar. Their shaved heads, gold earrings, and tattoos were unhealthy reminders of the kind of people Roman employed from time to time.

  "I think I'll stay in the car,” she murmured.

  "I think that's a good idea,” he agreed. “And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk to anyone. I don't want some of these people to know I'm a cop. They might decide to drive their bikes across the hood of my car."

  Tara hunkered down in her seat, determined not to attract attention. She watched Brett wade through the sea of questionable humanity. Most of them didn't pay any attention to him. The last thing she needed was to get involved if they decided to tie Brett to the back of a motorcycle and take him for a ride. She knew a little about bike gangs. She knew they migrated from one end of North America to the other. And they made frequent stops in Chicago for money, drugs and weapons, all courtesy of what the F.B.I. dubbed “The Unholy Roman Empire.” She couldn't take the chance that one of them might accidentally recognize her.

  Damn! Why hadn't she taken her sunglasses out of her suitcase? Or a hat? Maybe she should just lie down in the back seat until Brett returned.

  And that had been her plan for all of five minutes. Then she saw a burgundy van pull into the parking lot. She did a double take as the driver parked the van a few feet from her. It couldn't be! The door of the van opened and a tall thin man, his face hidden behind thick-rimmed sunglasses and a baseball cap, maneuvered one leg at a time to the ground. He produced a cane and struggled to lean on it while he slammed the driver's side door. He limped around to the passenger side, opened it and started to assist his passenger. Tara gasped in horror.

  Carter! Rachel must have sent Carter to look for her. Forgetting her own fear of the bikers, Tara unbuckled her seat belt, threw open her door and was gone like a shot, running hell-bent for Carter's van. She rounded the back of the van in time to see the man holding a strawberry blonde toddler who was busy spilling her box of apple juice down the front of an oversized “WPD Kicks Ass” T-shirt.

  Tara felt her heart burst out of her chest at the site of the child's uncombed curls, sticky hands and cookie-crumb encrusted rosebud mouth. There was no stopping her tears or her feet as she ran, arms outstretched toward the pair and crying, “Carter! Kerry Rose! Oh, baby!"

  "Tara?” The man's face lit up in surprise and he took a step toward her, struggling to maintain his hold on the small child who started to wriggle excitedly in his grasp.

  Juice forgotten, the box tumbled to the ground as the child held out her arms and squealed, “Mommy!"

  CHAPTER 5

  It hardly seemed possible. For months Tara had dreamed of nothing but holding Kerry Rose in her arms again, hearing her piercing squeals and smelling her baby-soft skin. The toddler buried her head in her mother's shoulder and sobbed, along with Tara.

  "Wet, Mommy. Wet."

  Tara couldn't care less how many tears she shed. She had cried rivers over the last few years. She continued to rain kisses on her daughter's head. “Mommy missed you so much."

  "Got a hug for the sitter?"

  "Oh, Carter. I'm sorry. It's just that I-I, oh!” And she buried her face in Kerry's hair and cried even harder.

  "It's okay, kid. Rachel got worried after you called this morning and sent me out to look for you. I was just making a pit stop for the leprechaun here and, man, I couldn't believe it when I saw you coming toward us. At least Rachel won't have my head on a platter."

  Tara raised her head and sniffed loudly, suddenly taking in the meaning of Carter's words, but unable to believe what she'd heard. “A pit stop? Did I hear right? You're going to take my daughter into a biker bar?"

  Carter balanced himself on his cane. “What biker bar? What are you talking about?"

  "Brett, Constable Sinclair, Rachel told you about him?” He nodded and Tara continued. “He said he had to meet an informant inside and told me to stay in the car. Those men are members of a dangerous bike gang. They probably have guns and I ... What's so funny?” she demanded.

  "Honey, I don't know what the white door is up to, but I think you two could stand alone in a liar's challenge. This is a cop bar, not a biker bar. Those ‘dangerous men’ over there are our undercover guys. I know most of them. Some of them are Mounties and, yes, they probably do have guns."

  Tara did a double take and peeked around the front of the van. She didn't have a clue what “white door” meant, but it didn't sound good. She ducked back shaking her head.

  "I don't believe it. They look positively ... chilling.” Then she shifted her grasp on Kerry who still clutched her mother and sniffled.

  "Wet,” Kerry fretted in a tearful voice.

  "Yes, sweetheart. Mommy will find you something dry. My goodness, you're getting heavy. What's Rachel been feeding her?"

  Carter laughed. “Anything cleaned and dressed. She eats like a horse. It's a good thing you and Rachel are going to be the breadwinners for awhile.” He saw the look on Tara's face and quickly apologized. “Sorry, Tara. I know you feel responsible for this"—tapping his bad leg with his cane—"but you shouldn't. Roman used you like he used everyone else to get what he wanted."

  "I know. But if I had only stayed away from Patrick, then he wouldn't have had me followed."

  Carter put his arms around Tara and gave her a comforting hug. “Hey, kid. Who knew Roman would use you to get to us. Remember, because of that night, the streets are minus a few dozen guns and several pounds lighter in the cocaine department. He paid dearly at his end, too. What really pisses me off is that you've paid the highest price of all. You lost Patrick."

  "For now."

  "Right, sweety. Just for now. Let's get the rug-rat here changed and fed before we hit the road. You tell your fed you found a better date."

  Tara felt herself blushing. “Carter, don't start. He's just a nice guy who helped me."

  Carter wasn't as confident. “A nice guy who could send all our plans to hell in a hand basket. Let's say hi and good-bye and then go.” He turned toward the door of the bar and waited for Tara to join him.

  "You really want me to take my daughter in here? Where liquor is being served? Where grotty-looking men may be playing pool?” She stared at him in disbelief.

  Carter flashed her a devilish grin and winked. “Yeah. And she even might hear some dirty words."

  "That's not funny, Carter."

  "C'mon, Tara. It's not like I do this sort of thing everyday."

  * * * *

  "Carter! You ratty old bugger, back so soon?"

  "Ratty bugger,” repeated the toddler.

  Tara glared at her brother-in-law and immediately covered Kerry's ears. And if looks could kill, then the waitress who addressed him would be lying dead on the floor.

  "The usual, Carter?"

  "Usual?” Tara's voice rose a notch.

  "And there's Kerry Rose. How's Molly's favorite sweetheart this week?"

  Tara clenched her jaw to keep from publicly castigating her brother-in-law. “What does she mean, ‘this week'?"

  The self-addressed Molly was short, plump and had the wrinkled face of an apple-doll. She wore a kerchief tied around her head from which short strands of gray hair escaped. The only thing that redeemed her in Tara's eyes was that over her jeans she wore a sweatshirt bearing the RCMP buffalo head logo.

  "Tara, don't look so shocked. This is the owner, Molly Malone."

  Molly stuck out her h
and and Tara reluctantly shook hands with her. “Pleased to meet you, Tara. Carter here's told me a lot about you. Say, you're a real looker. You know, there's a right bootfull of good looks and long gun over there who'd look good dancin’ with you.” She gave Tara's shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Say, Carter, Brett Sinclair wandered in here a few minutes ago looking for the big man. Why don't I introduce these two?"

  Tara's cheeks felt like they had gone up in flames. She bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Carter suddenly busied himself by running his hands through his iron gray hair. “Uh, that's not necessary, Molly. You don't have to fix-up every single cop between here and the Plains. How about just bringing us a jug of beer and a plate of wings."

  "A glass of beer and a glass of ice tea,” Tara interjected. “And forget the wings. This is only a pit stop. Remember, Carter?"

  Carter had the decency to look embarrassed.

  Molly stood patiently, trying not to grin at the interchange. But from the way her gaze drifted between Tara and Carter, it was clear her wizened eyes missed nothing. She patted her kerchief and turned her attention to Kerry Rose.

  "And how about the usual for my Rosy?"

  "My daughter has a usual?” Tara cried, aghast.

  "Hot dog,” sang Kerry.

  "Got your favorite roost right by the pool table. Go on over."

  Tara followed Carter, who limped in the direction Molly pointed. “Busted,” she hissed behind him.

  "Big time,” he admitted. “What can I say, Kerry likes to play with the balls."

  "Before or after I cut them off!"

  * * * *

  Brett was deep in conversation with his “informant,” the man Corporal Dennison called Big Mike. And Denny wasn't kidding. Brett figured the man topped the scales within five pounds of three hundred. He also remembered seeing the man at last summer's police games. He'd been the anchor for the Winnipeg team. Big Mike also remembered Brett.

  "Why, if it isn't the muddy Mountie. Denny said you'd be looking for me,” Mike said over his pool cue.

  "Good news travels fast. He tell you why?"

  "Grab a stick and we can talk. Only that you're doing a u/c and need to contact Carter."

  Mike was the type of guy you didn't say no to, so Brett obliged the man with a game of pool.

  Mike leaned over the table to line up his shot. “Carter doesn't work anymore. Nine in the corner.” Despite his bulk, Mike handled the cue like an artist might handle a brush. He closed one eye and exhaled before giving the cue the slightest push through his chubby fingers. Faster than Brett could blink, the ball found its mark.

  "It's more of a family matter,” said Brett, watching as Mike lined up another flawless shot.

  "Carter doesn't have family. Six in the side, off the rail."

  Brett shook his head in admiration. No wonder Mike had been so coveted in undercover work. He looked, acted, and talked like the grungiest low life and handled his pool cue with the finesse of a master. He tapped the corner pocket.

  "Three in the corner."

  "His wife, Rachel. Her family."

  To his amazement, Mike missed the shot. The white cue-ball bounced into the pocket instead.

  "I believe you scratched."

  Mike tossed his pool cue on the table, grabbed Brett by the arm and hustled him over to a dark corner table.

  "Don't fuck with me! Why you askin’ about her? She doesn't have family either."

  "Easy, Mike. Rachel's sister, Tara. I think she might be in some kind of trouble. I want to help her, but first I have to find Carter.” Mike eyed him suspiciously, and Brett could see the man was weighing every word. At length, Brett placed both hands on the table. “You can frisk me if you want to. I'm not wired."

  Mike did. And would have eventually anyway, whether Brett was conscious or not.

  "Okay. You're clean. This official business, fed? What's Tara got herself mixed up with now?"

  Now? This was proving to be an enlightening, if dangerous conversation. Brett could see he was either going to end up spending a little money to buy the guy a beer, or a lot of money on dental work for himself.

  "I'm not sure. I picked her up on a minor highway misdemeanor, but her car died, so I'm giving her a lift to Carter's house. I ran CPIC on the car and Denny flagged her. There might be a stolen car issue in Illinois. She seems like a nice girl. I'd hate to see her involved in something that might cost Carter his medical pension."

  Mike leaned back in a chair and stroked his flabby chin. His eyes never left Brett. “The only thing Tara's ever been guilty of is being naïve. Whatever happened in the past wasn't her fault. Carter and Rachel love her a lot. If you find out whatever it is might be troubling her, would you let me know?"

  Brett nodded. He'd heard that tone of voice many times, even if he hadn't spoken to Mike before this afternoon. It was that “we cops are family and we look after our own” voice. “Yeah, I'll let you know.” They traded business cards and Mike offered to buy Brett a beer, which he politely declined. “Have to drive. I'll take a rain check.” He got up to leave and shake Mike's hand when he noticed the man's eyes widen.

  "Son of a bitch,” he swore softly. “Speak of the devil. It's Carter and Tara."

  "Hey, bud.” Mike shook Carter's hand then turned to Tara. “Hi'ya, kid. Remember me?"

  Tara's brow wrinkled, then softened in pseudo-recognition. “Vaguely."

  "It's been a while. I came to the house right after Kerry was born. I..."

  "Ahem,” Carter interrupted and tapped his cane loudly on the floor. “Molly,” he yelled. “where's my beer?"

  Out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw Mike raise a questioning brow at Carter. Carter signaled with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Brett eyed the exchange between the two men carefully. Everybody seemed to be in on the secret except him. The baby in Tara's arms didn't make things any easier.

  "Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike.” She raised her chubby arms in his direction and Carter nodded to Tara that it was okay for her to hand over the baby.

  Something that resembled real anguish crossed Tara's features. But she placed the toddler in the big man's lap, whereupon Kerry busied herself with trying to capture Mike's lone round, gold earring. “How's my Kerry, today,” he cooed to the child. “How's our Rose of Tralee. That's a pretty nice T-shirt my little Kerry Rose is wearing.” He didn't look up at Brett but added, “You too, fed."

  Brett rolled his eyes in mock agony. Why hadn't he remembered to change his shirt?

  Kerry chuckled and pointed to the large white letters on the shirt that hung almost to her ankles. “Win'peg P'lice kick Ass."

  The men roared with laughter and Tara nearly choked. She turned murderous eyes on Carter. “Okay, that's enough."

  Molly came to the rescue. “One hot dog, two beers and ice tea. Here,” she handed Tara a wad of napkins. “She likes to play in the mustard."

  Tara's eyes widened in astonishment. “And he lets her?” She glared daggers at Carter.

  Molly laughed with a loud open-mouthed guffaw. “Hell, lady, that's nothing. When the tyke was still in diapers all the time, he used to change her on the pool table. One afternoon he ran out of disposables. We sent her out of here with a bar towel wrapped around her butt. Remember that, Mike. We had to pay to re-felt the table.” Everyone except Tara was laughing.

  Brett wasn't a special detective, but it didn't take a genius to put two and two together when he saw Tara holding the little girl. But like any mystery, the more answers he got, the more questions he had. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and found Carter standing next to him.

  "I'd like a word with you in private."

  Brett shrugged. “Okay. In the office?"

  The office turned out to be the men's room. After checking the stalls, Brett leaned against the wall and waited for Carter to begin.

  "I'd like to thank you for helping Tara. We, Rachel and I, appreciate it. We're all the family Tara has. Rachel's a few years older than Tara and raised her aft
er her dad split and her mom died. We're very protective of her.” Brett didn't miss the emphasis in Carter's voice.

  "I'm just a cop doing my job. But if you care for her as much as you say, then I'd try to get her out of whatever trouble she's in.” Then Brett told him about the plates and how Denny tracked her to Canada. Carter declined to confirm or deny anything.

  Finally Carter asked, “What are you going to do?"

  "I know what I can do, legally. I can charge her with a misdemeanor and send her back to the States.” Brett didn't trust the sound of his own words. Of course, he could do just that. And perhaps he should have right from the beginning. But he was getting in deeper now and the thought of separating a mother from her child, especially this mother, didn't settle too well on his conscience. But, the idea dissolved with Carter's next words.

  "Then you'll be sending her to her death,” he said shortly.

  Brett stood there in silence, trying to digest what he'd heard. “Can I have the stupid person's version of this story?"

  Carter shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. It's family, my family and Rachel's blood. Just let us go on our way and forget you ever stumbled on Tara Morgan."

  Now it was Brett's turn to object. “Can't do that. There's a matter of a stolen car in Illinois and fake plates on a station wagon. Besides, I doubt if Tara has a visa and if I'm right, then I get to add illegal immigration to this very muddy picture. I wouldn't be doing my job if I let her go. You're a cop, or you were, so you know I'm right."

  Carter's knuckles closed around the curved handle of his cane. His eyes narrowed angrily at Brett. Brett could see the man was fighting for control and he didn't honestly know what he'd do if Carter decided to physically object. He certainly couldn't harm a disabled man. The best case scenario would be to subdue the man as quietly as possible. Brett hoped it wouldn't come to that. It didn't.

  "You know I'll try to stop you."

  "I wouldn't expect anything less. So let's avoid unpleasantness and let me in on the big secret. Why is Tara's life in danger?"