by Helen Brenna
“Erica, I could’ve killed that ma—”
“That man was big and mean and drunk. He scared me to death. I don’t know what he was planning on doing and I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.”
“If you hadn’t stopped—”
“No.” She shook her head. “You would’ve stopped yourself.”
“You don’t know that.” He tried to pull his hand away, but still she wouldn’t let go. “You can never know what’s inside a man.”
“I think I understand what’s inside you.”
“You think—”
“I’ve known blackhearted men,” she said. “My mother dated more than I care to remember. Some made her promises they never kept. Some said horrible things to her. Some beat her. And Marie and me.” She placed his hand against her cheek and flattened her own hand against his, and all he could think about was how he might scratch her soft skin. “The one who knocked her around the most was a cop.”
That explained a lot.
“He only lived with us for a couple of months, but it was enough. One night, Marie and I woke up in the middle of the night and heard him hitting her. I couldn’t stand it. I hopped up, made Marie slide under the bed and wait for me, then I tiptoed down the stairs. He had her cornered in the kitchen. He backhanded her and then punched her in the gut. I stood there on the steps, paralyzed. I never did anything to make him stop. I was eight, and I’ve never gotten that uniform out of my mind.”
Well, he’d wanted the truth and he’d sure as hell gotten it. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if that could make up for the fact that he’d been born a man.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She glanced up at him, the challenge back in her eyes. “Because you are not that kind of man.”
Maybe not, but he was close.
“You know what the worst part was about seeing my own mother getting beaten?”
He swallowed, unable to imagine. His father had used a heavy hand, spanking him and his brothers now and again, but he’d never hit their mother.
“The worst part was being too scared to do anything about it.” Tears fell down her pale cheeks. “You, Garrett, you don’t stand back. You don’t wait. You’re not scared mindless. You protect. You defend.”
There was nothing he could say, nothing that would help her understand.
“A while back, you told Jason that it was never okay to hit. Well, that advice needs an amendment. It’s never okay to hit, unless you’re protecting yourself or someone else.” Reaching up on her toes, she kissed his chin, in a touch as soft as it was sweet.
He stood, ramrod straight, trying not to lean into her, but when she wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him down to her he let her kiss his mouth.
Her lips were gentle and loving, and he kissed her back softly, slowly, but then their tongues met and her breathing quickened and he felt the current of need she stirred up deep in his soul. The strength of that need scared the shit out of him. “You need to go.”
“Garrett—”
“Go!” he yelled, wanting to frighten her, wanting to turn her away from him as his dreams of a happy, contented life here on Mirabelle shattered to pieces.
She didn’t jump, just stood there, looking at him with tenderness in her eyes.
He couldn’t stand it. “Don’t you get it? I could be that cop who beat your mother.”
“Never.”
“Tell that to the guy I almost killed in Chicago. Tell that to his family. I almost kill a man and all I got was a suspension. With pay. They cheered my first day back at the precinct. Patted me on the back, gave me high fives. A man—no, a husband and a son—was paralyzed because of me and they cheered.”
“You were doing your job.”
“But no one understands what was going through my mind that day.”
“Tell me.”
“I wanted to kill him. One less problem on this earth.”
“Don’t you think every single one of us has had those kinds of thoughts? I know I have.”
“Yeah. The difference is that you don’t carry a gun.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That’s why I came to Mirabelle. I wanted the Chicago cop I’d become…gone. Out of my life. I didn’t ever want to think like him again. You know what? I’d done a damned good job of getting rid of him until you showed up. You brought him back, Erica. One look at you and my thoughts go wild. I want you every which way but Sunday. Even now.” He closed his eyes. “It’s everything I can do to keep my hands off you.”
“What’s wrong with feeling that way? Why is that so bad?”
“Because I’d tear someone apart if I thought he was keeping me from you. You bring out the worst in me. You bring out a man I don’t want to be.” Mirabelle had changed him, but what he felt for Erica had thrown him back to square one. “So I’m asking you…please. Stay away from me.”
ERICA STALKED DOWN THE hill, Garrett’s words raging through her mind like gasoline on a fire. She had never, in her life, been this agitated over a man. He made her feel so angry, so frustrated, so…small.
She stopped and hung her head, tears popping up from nowhere. She could stand a lot of abuse from people. Her skin had gotten pretty damned thick through the years, but to have the first man in a very long while she’d grown to respect, a man she almost trusted, a man she was actually starting to have feelings for turn on her in this way was too much.
She charged into the pub’s kitchen and stopped outside Lynn’s office. “Can I use your computer?”
Lynn glanced up from some paperwork on her desk. “Sure. What’s the matter?”
“I need to search for something.”
“Search? What do you mean?”
“Boy, you really don’t know much about computers.” Erica moved past Lynn’s chair, knelt in front of the keyboard and screen, and showed Lynn how to perform a search. “You can find out almost anything. Phone numbers, answers to trivia questions that are driving you nuts, old friends even.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Old news articles on something.” Erica hesitated. “Garrett. He said he almost killed a man in Chicago.”
“Oh, that.” Lynn waved her hand dismissively. “Our last police chief, Jim Bennett, looked into that before he hired Garrett. That guy was connected to a murderer.”
“Garrett said he paralyzed the man.”
“Well, that’s not the whole story, but I don’t remember the specifics. That guy was all drugged up on something when he attacked Garrett’s partner.”
With Lynn looking over her shoulder, Erica ran a search on Garrett and found several news articles on alleged police brutality in Chicago, one on Garrett in particular. She remembered hearing about it on the news, seeing the photos in the paper and immediately dismissing the situation as another bad cop practically getting away with murder.
Now, she read the articles in an entirely new light. Garrett and his partner were looking to question a man about a murder that had taken place the night before. He wasn’t a suspect, but there were eyewitness accounts that he’d been with the suspect around the time of the crime.
When they approached the man at his house with a search warrant, the guy bolted upstairs. While the man’s wife pleaded with them to come back another time, that her husband was ill and would calm down if they left, they had no choice but to corner the guy in the second floor of the home. High on meth, the man attacked Garrett’s partner. Garrett had beaten the guy and the man had fallen through a window in front of the wife and three children, breaking his back.
Garrett’s partner was later found to have two broken ribs and bruised kidneys from the altercation, and after several weeks Garrett was cleared through an internal investigation and fully reinstated. The man who had attacked them was permanently paralyzed.
There was a picture of Garrett dressed in a black suit and tie coming out of a courthouse with, most likely, an attorney. Garrett, with gaunt cheeks and dark circles under his eyes, looked as if he hadn’t slept or eat
en for weeks.
“Bad cops don’t agonize over hurting someone,” Erica whispered.
“No, they don’t,” Lynn said. “If Garrett hadn’t been here last night, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.”
“He’s a good man,” Erica said softly. How could she get him to believe that if he kept pushing her away?
LATE MONDAY, BILLY SAT at his desk, listening to his voice mail. One of the other detectives came in and sat down a few desks away. “So how’d your vacation go?” Billy asked the man, only half listening to some woman involved in one his cases blubbering away on the message left on his phone.
“Perfect. I love that place. Any news on your wife?”
“Eh. Naw.” Billy was so sick of people asking him. “Where’d you go again?” He deleted the message and went on to the next.
“Wisconsin. Mirabelle Island on Lake Superior.”
Since the time Al Capone and his cronies had built rustic hideouts in northern Wisconsin, the state had been considered Chicago’s playground, but Billy had never understood people’s fascination for the woods.
“It’s a straight shot north on Highway 51,” the detective went on. “Feels like it takes forever to get there, but once you do, it’s all relaxation.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Exactly what I need. Except for this time. There was a real nasty bar fight on the Fourth. As good as any you get down here, that’s for sure.”
“You break it up?”
“Didn’t get the chance. Their police chief nailed the guy. Normally, Mirabelle’s the quietest place on earth.”
“Vegas, baby. That’s my style.”
“Not me, man. The wife and I been going to Mirabelle every year since the kids moved out. Now they’ve got a golf course, pools, and some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. Better Italian than anyplace down here.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“I swear.” He put his hand on his chest. “Some Chicago chef is taking a walk on the quiet side.”
“No way.”
“Cheryl had fettuccini with the creamiest white sauce. Different than anything I’ve had down here. A little sweetness to cut that rich, heavy flavor, you know.”
“Yeah. I’ve had something like that before.” For Marie’s last birthday, her sister had brought over some new recipe she’d concocted. “Did it have scotch in it?”
“How would I know? I like what I had better. Some tomatoey dish with peppers, artichokes, olives and…”
“Eggplant?”
“Yeah! That was it.”
Well, I’ll be damned. Erica went to Mirabelle. That’s where that Polaroid picture had been taken of Marie with her sister and mother. Billy pushed back from his desk and grabbed his suit coat.
“Where you going?”
“All this talk of food has me hungry. See you later.” Billy walked away from the detective’s desk.
Time for a road trip.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE NIGHT WAS RAINY and too cold for the likes of July, so business was slow in the pub. The kitchen was closed, Erica was helping Lynn out at the bar, and Jason was sound asleep upstairs. Given how busy the bar had become, the three stooges had elected to switch their customary gathering night from Fridays to Mondays. Erica set a couple beers down on the bar in front of Bob Henderson and Dan Newman, and was freshening Doc’s club soda when the front door opened, letting in a blast of cool, wet air.
With a smile on her face, she glanced up ready to welcome whoever had decided to brave the elements. A man, his head down and wearing a baseball cap, stepped in and shook the dampness off his jacket. The second he looked up she felt the blood drain from her face. Billy Samson. He caught her gaze and the beer mug slipped from her hand, smashing onto the floor. He headed straight for the bar.
“Whoa!” Lynn said. “Can’t believe you haven’t done that before tonight, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Erica bent down and picked up a large chunk of broken glass, a thick bottom piece with one edge rounded and the other jagged and pointed.
Lynn watched her put it in the front pocket of her apron, then glanced into her face. “You okay?”
“Call Garrett,” Erica whispered, clenching her jaw. She did not want Lynn, or anyone else for that matter in this bar to get hurt, but if push came to shove, she wasn’t going to be backing away from trouble.
Billy took one of the empty stools directly in front of her and nodded at the three older men on the other side of the bar. “A little chilly out there.”
“Ah, that’s nothing,” Bob said. “Wait a couple months.”
Billy turned his full attention on her. “Hello, Erica.”
“Billy.”
Lynn glanced between the two of them. “I’ll go get a broom and dustpan.” As Lynn slipped into the kitchen, Erica hoped her friend understood the direness of this situation.
“Gimme a beer,” Billy said.
Erica popped the cap off the nearest bottle and set it in front of him. “What are you doing here, Billy?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
She glared at him. “Where’s Marie?”
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”
“Liar.” He was only saying that for the benefit of everyone else at the bar. Erica swallowed and leaned over the bar. “If you’ve hurt one hair on her head, I swear, I’m going to come after you.”
He laughed. “I’d like to see that,” he said, and then took a long pull off the bottle. “Now, where’s my son?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lynn came back with a broom and swept up the broken glass. “Still pretty wet outside, huh?” she said. “Is it looking like it might clear up?”
“Oh, I think it’s going to get worse,” Billy said. “Before it gets better.”
While Billy drank his beer, Lynn, for some reason, started up with some inane small talk, and it was all Erica could do to not lunge over the bar at him. Her nerves had had about all they could take when Garrett walked through the door. Without bothering to shake the rain off his shoulders, his gaze darted back and forth, assessing the situation. He sat down a few stools away from Billy.
Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have noticed his slight shortness of breath or the sheen of sweat on his upper lip, but it was clear to Erica that he’d run all the way down the hill. He’d also managed to put on his uniform jacket with his badge clearly displayed on the outside pocket. Erica had never been so happy to see a man, any man, before. She could’ve kissed him, right then and there.
“Hey, Erica. Lynn,” he said, sounding surprisingly calm. “How’s it going tonight?”
“So far, so good,” Erica said. “What can I get for you, Chief?”
He gave her a slight, reassuring smile. “Water’s fine.”
Billy glanced back and forth between Erica and Garrett, and then settled on Erica. “Made some new friends, I see.”
Erica let Garrett’s badge speak for itself.
“I got one of those, too.” Billy stuffed his hand into his back pocket and threw his own shield onto the bar.
Garrett made a show of studying the ID. “Detective. Chicago PD. Good for you. What are you doing on Mirabelle?”
“She’s got my son, Jason.”
The couple tourists at the bar seemed oblivious to the building tension, but at the tone of Garrett’s voice, Dan, Doc and Bob quieted and focused on their conversation.
“Who does?” Garrett asked calmly.
“Her.” Billy stabbed a finger in Erica’s direction.
“What makes you think that?”
“Couple months ago, Jason disappeared from school the same day she did.”
“Hmph.” Garrett grunted. “That doesn’t sound like a lot of evidence to go on. How long you been a detective?”
“Look. She’s got Jason. I know it.”
“Why would she have your son?”
“How the hell should I know?
Can’t have one of her own, has to take someone else’s. I know she’s got him. Somewhere on this island.”
Garrett held the man’s gaze. “Lynn, you ever seen a kid with Erica?”
Lynn held Billy’s gaze for a moment before shifting to Garrett. “A kid?” she said. “With Erica? No, sir.”
“Bob, Dan, Doc? Did Erica move to Mirabelle with a kid?”
They all shook their heads.
“Naw.”
“She doesn’t have a kid.”
“No, siree.”
It was all Erica could do to hold back the sudden rush of tears. These people who hardly knew her and Jason were protecting them.
“I know everyone who comes and goes on this island,” Garrett said. “She isn’t hiding anyone.”
Billy glanced from one face to the next and nodded. “I get it. You’ve made lots of friends, Erica.” Then he stared at Garrett. “I want to see her place.”
“You got a valid search warrant?”
Billy remained silent for a moment. “I can get one.”
“Erica, you want to show Billy your apartment?”
“No.”
“Why, you—” He made a show of lunging across the bar.
Lynn stepped protectively in front of Erica, but Erica put her hands gently on the older woman’s shoulders and moved her aside. “Thanks, Lynn, but Billy only beats up women in private.”
Garrett slammed his gun onto the bar. “This how you want to handle the situation?”
The tourists at the bar backed away, and everyone in the restaurant seemed to turn toward the commotion. The only sound was the jukebox playing in the background.
Billy glanced at the gun and went still. “I got one of those, too, but I know how to use mine.”
“Good for you.”
“I’d be willing to bet a cop in a town this size doesn’t have much of an occasion for a gun. You know how to use that, Chief?”
“Fifteen years on the Chicago PD, the last seven in Homicide,” Garrett said softly, “would indicate, yes. Maybe you’ve heard of me. Garrett Taylor.”
Recognition dawned in Billy’s eyes. “I remember. You were in the news a while back.”
“Yes, I was.”