Will dived down to the bottom of the pool and swam in rapid circles until a need for breath catapulted him to the surface. He flipped over onto his back and floated. The run and the water had calmed his adrenalin driven muscles so he could think. Taking bear form always steadied him.
He was shaken by the realization that he had probably spent four years looking in the wrong places for his mate. He had paid Jordan Nakamura a small fortune to trace Martha’s supposed grandmother Barbara Brown and had turned up no indication that the woman had even had a child, let alone a granddaughter. He still didn’t know how Martha had come to live with this woman when she was fourteen, but that no longer mattered.
He now had a different surname and a different state for Nakamura to dig through. Maybe this lead would fizzle too, but it felt good to have one. He rolled onto his front and executed a series of rolls from sheer animal spirits. It was spring and for the first time in four years he was looking forward to the spring rut.
He might know intellectually that other females held no interest for him once his bear had bonded to Martha’s. But the reality of his total loss of libido was not simply a matter of mental fidelity. And, most distressingly, lately not even fantasies of his luscious, curvy, zestful woman could rouse him. Without Martha he seemed doomed to be as neutered as an old house cat.
Will swam upstream towards his house. Where the river joined a shallow creek he got out and shook himself dry. He followed the creek to his front yard and outside his back door he took human form. There were clothes in the mud room and he put them on. Time to get hold of Nakamura and see what he made of this new lead.
He was proud of the house he had built. Over the last four years he had added a winterized porch off the kitchen and put in a walk-in pantry. He had to keep believing that he would find his mate, and in the meantime he was preparing his house for her. Martha liked to cook and bake. She would need plenty of storage for her stand mixer and her other appliances.
He thought she would like to eat or sew or knit out here on the porch where the big windows looked out over the stream and the flood plain below. He had often seen wild turkeys and deer and rabbits as he drank his coffee and ate his meals. He kept his lap top here too and now he fired it up and did a search for Martha Metcalfe and Wisconsin. Couple of hits, but none that was his woman.
He pulled out his cell and sent a text to Nakamura in LA. His buddy called him right back.
“Why are you still working?” Will asked. “I sent a text so you’d call in the morning.”
“Work’s better than sleep sometimes,” Nakamura said flatly.
Will grunted but didn’t comment. When you had been blown up by an anti-personnel mine and had lost both your legs, bad dreams came with the territory. Nakamura didn’t want sympathy, he wanted occupation. “Listen, I think I have a lead on Martha.”
“Yeah? How’s that?” Nakamura sounded interested but not too hopeful. In the last four years he had looked in a lot of empty holes for Will. But looking for missing persons online was a profitable sideline when you ran a security company that specialized in background checks. Will knew that the former SEAL would hammer away at finding Martha until he located her. Four years or forty, he wouldn’t quit. That wasn’t the SEAL way.
“Jack brought a girl home. She’s a dead ringer for Martha. She was a foster kid, knows squat about her family. She has the same birthday as Martha. What’s the odds they’re not twins?” He sent Nakamura an email with Hannah’s particulars.
“Lotta towns in Wisconsin. Give me a day or two.” Nakamura paused. “Did I mention that I got a hit on Kyle Brown a while back?”
“No, you did not,” said Will through his teeth. “What about that son of a forking biscuit?”
“His name turned up on the list of cases tainted by the Prescott and Kowalski perjury hearings.”
“Well, damn. Tell me Prescott and Kowalski weren’t the arresting officers.”
Prescott and Kowalski were LAPD officers who had been caught running a drug charges scam. A statistical review had shown them as outliers in possession charges. They were responsible for many more arrests than the average. An investigation had turned up the reason why. Three different ADAs had dealt with a number of different public defenders who claimed Prescott and Kowalski had framed their clients. Clients without priors.
After the hearings, the judge had indicted Prescott and Kowalski. They had been suspended and were out on bail awaiting trial. The courts had tossed out convictions based on their testimony, freeing a whole lot of bad guys along with the innocent.
“Brown was released with time served. Drug charge was overturned. He got out three days ago.”
“Fork my goat.”
“My sentiments exactly, Enright.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gordie Wilson stood beside Martha Metcalfe as they locked the casino office up for the evening. He walked down the hall to the door into the parking lot and held it open for her.
“Heard that Kelsy Willis hired Shelly to help out at his campground,” he said. “You must be pleased.” His handsome face creased into a broad grin.
Martha adjusted her purse strap on her black suit jacket and returned his grin with a prim smile. “It’s only three hours a day washing and folding towels and keeping the laundromat clean. And it doesn’t start till school’s out. But she’s really excited.”
“That’s good. Not too far to walk neither.”
“Mile and a half. Now if I can just get her to remember that she can’t take a lift from just anyone.”
Gordie shook his head. “Should be mostly folks she knows on Haversack. But I can see why you’re worried. Lotta girls disappear hitchhiking.”
“I’ve explained that she can only take a ride from someone she knows. And them telling her their name isn’t the same as knowing them.”
“Gotta be specific,” Gordie agreed. “She’s right literal. But you can’t keep her locked up to protect her. And it’s good for her to have a job.”
“It is, isn’t it. Last three summers I had to pay Nola Axeman to watch her.”
“I hear Nola had her watching her kids while she watched TV.”
“That too. But Shelly likes little kids, and it made her feel useful. But earning money, well that’s a whole new level of grown up.”
Gordie let the door fall shut and keyed in his code. Martha keyed hers. He tested the door. “Night, Martha,” he said.
“Night,” said Martha. “Say hey to Melissa.”
Shelly and Honey were waiting for her in the kitchen of their rented bungalow. When Martha opened the back door Shelly ran to give her a big hug. Martha hugged her cousin back and ran a tender hand over the girl’s cropped black curls. Honey stood on her hind legs and did her excited happy dance between Shelly and Martha. The Pomeranian yapped until Shelly squealed, “Supper.”
Shelly cautiously opened the bin of Honey’s kibble and carefully measured a scoopful into Honey’s dish. She closed the bin and checked that it was secure. “Sit,” she said importantly and the little dog plopped down on her haunches, her brown eyes on Shelly, and her tongue hanging out of her mouth.
Shelly put the dish down and began to count. “One, two, three…” When she got to thirty, she said, “Eat.” Honey lunged for her meal and Shelly squealed happily and looked proudly at Martha. Honey polished her bowl.
The kitchen smelled of beef stew and excited teen. Shelly had put a large apron on over her school clothes. She had laid the little Formica table carefully and put plates beside the crock pot. A large covered pot on the stove was steaming.
“Let me get out of my work clothes and we can eat.”
“I can turn up the stove for the noodles.”
“That would be good.”
“Wash your hands good,” Shelly reminded her.
“I will.” That was the trouble with teaching Shelly. Once she learned she parroted your nagging right back at you.
“I put the noodles in. And I stirred. I didn’t put t
he lid on. I set the timer for six minutes.” Shelly updated as soon as Martha came back in her baggy tee-shirt and faded jeans.
“Good job.” Martha glanced at the sink. A white plastic colander awaited the cooked noodles. Potholders lay on the counter beside but not too close to the sink. Tongs lay beside the potholders. Excellent. She crossed to the crock pot and opened the lid.
“I didn’t stir it even one time,” Shelly assured her. There had been a few instances of helpful stirring and forgetting to replace the lid that had resulted in uncooked dinner.
“That’s good. Want a taste?” Martha dipped in a spoon and sampled the broth.
Shelly scurried over and blew gently on the spoon. She sipped. “Yummy.” Her brown eyes sparkled.
The timer went off and Martha rushed over to the stove. She carefully reached into the pot with the tongs and extracted an egg noodle. She fanned it in the air and then ate it. “It’s done!”
“You can drain them.”
Shelly put on the padded gloves and carefully carried the pot to the waiting colander. She poured the noodles painstakingly into the sink and giggled at the waves of steam. Just as deliberately she added an inch of water to the pot from the tap and set the pot back on the stove.
“I put it on a cold burner,” she announced.
“Well done. Do you want to put butter on the noodles.”
“I forgot the butter!” Shelly looked around in alarm.
“It’s right here on the counter.” Martha pointed.
Shelly grabbed the metal butter dish and put a small knob onto the steaming noodles. She stirred it in with the tongs. She carefully put noodles in the center of the two plates she had put out earlier and moved them a little closer to the crock pot. Martha handed her a ladle and she lifted out the beef and vegetables and poured the stew over the noodles. She carried the plates to the table and set them down.
“I didn’t spill,” Shelly said proudly. “I gotta put the lid back.” She ran back to the crock pot and covered it.
Martha sat down. Shelly pulled out her chair and joined her. “I made the dinner.” Honey came and lay down under the table and went to sleep.
“Yes you did. Good job. Thank you,” Martha said.
“You like to come home to dinner.”
“I do. Tell me about school.”
Shelly’s excited voice rose as she described the events of her day and what her assistant had said to Mrs. Willis and what Mrs. Willis had said to Lisa. Martha listened with half an ear. Shelly’s recital was pretty much the same every day.
Routine was what she liked and fortunately she got routine in Mrs. Willis’ Grade Six class. She had learned to read and to do simple arithmetic thanks to Lisa’s efforts, but unfortunately since she had turned eighteen in January, this was her last year in school. Ready or not, the state was done providing for her. Come September it would be up to Martha to find her a safe place while she went to work.
At least she had her stash from the fight club to fall back on. It was stowed in her safety deposit box in Wausau along with her ruby pendant. Once she had got to Wesheno and been hired by the casino, she had barely touched the money, knowing this day would come. The trouble was that Shelly wasn’t eligible for the few day programs in Menominee County, and the money wouldn’t go far if she had to pay someone to stay with Shelly even part of the day.
But at least Kelsy Willis had hired Shelly for the summer. Shelly would be fully occupied for around five hours a day. She would be happy and busy and when she came home she would be tired and unlikely to have time to be bored before Martha got home. She smiled fondly across the table as her cousin babbled on about her uneventful but happy day.
After supper they cleaned up together and Shelly took Honey for a walk. She enjoyed the responsibility of looking after the little dog. Honey had been such a life saver. When they had first come to Wesheno Shelly had trouble sleeping and she cowered away from most males. When the tiny, half-starved Pomeranian had shown up at their front door Shelly had become a different girl.
She had found an old towel and made Honey a bed in her room. “She’s hungry,” she declared as she looked in the fridge for food. “What do dogs eat?”
Martha had insisted on a bath for the emaciated Pom. And Shelly had gently bathed her. Martha had worried that her cousin was becoming attached to a stray who would shortly be claimed by her owners. She had asked around in town.
“Family from Milwaukee. Last day, dog took off. They called for a while, and then they got in their camper and left. Happens every year,” Kelsy Willis explained. “It’s like they hope their dogs will get lost.”
Martha took the abandoned dog to the vet in Shawano. Shelly stopped shaking and wetting her bed. Martha didn’t know which of them was most grateful to the little dog.
Martha settled on the old couch that had come with the rental. She turned on the TV to watch the news while she waited for Shelly and Honey. CNN was repeating their special on Operation Thunderclap. The President awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor to an enormous, unsmiling Marine. The camera showed the President’s hands pinning the medal to a massive chest.
The camera panned to the soldier’s hard, much bruised face. He looked so much like Will that Martha’s mouth fell open. Will’s double stepped back smartly and saluted. The camera moved to the audience.
The anchorman informed the public that Master Sergeant Jack Enright was a twenty year veteran of the Marine Corps. His mother was Olympic shot putter Katharina Zhadanova who had defected from the USSR in 1976 after winning a silver medal in Montreal. Enright’s twin brother, William, was a Navy SEAL. His older brother, Douglas, had served three tours in Iraq in the Infantry and had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.
Jack Enright’s family stood shoulder to shoulder in dignified solidarity. Five men with black hair and massive builds stared proudly back at the cameras from their position head and shoulders above the audience. Two of them were also in uniform. The tallest one was wearing dress blues and the hard planes of his face were as familiar to Martha as her own. Will’s broad chest sported even more medals than his brother’s.
The shortest man was graying, but he was clearly as strong and fit as his gigantic sons. The lone woman was tall and curvaceous, but she looked almost diminutive in the protective phalanx of her towering males. They looked happy and proud and united. This could have been my family.
After she had rescued Shelly, she had been sure that Will had lied to her about being a naval officer and a SEAL. It had seemed obvious that Will and Lance had been in cahoots together at the fight club, and that Will was probably earning his living fighting in shifter-tournaments. And that his so-called secret missions were just a lie to cover his disgusting way of life. She had run away from LA to protect herself from Will as much as from Lance.
But if Will really was a much decorated SEAL, she had abandoned her mate and her loneliness was her own fault for not trusting him. After all this time it was too late for her. For them. By now Will had probably married someone else. He would have kids and a new mate. Not that it would have worked out for them. He was addicted to adventure—witness the fight club—and she wanted her kids to have a father who was more than a photo in a frame.
Shelly’s hand was patting her shoulder. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she said worriedly.
Martha had not been aware that she was weeping. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and smiled determinedly at her cousin. “All better,” she said. “Want some ice cream?” She let Shelly scoop bowls of raspberry fudge ripple.
Showering before bed, Martha ran her hands over her soapy body. Her breasts felt like they belonged to someone else. Her skin felt loose and saggy. Her bush was a bush. She felt old and dried up, as if loneliness had sucked her dry. She tried to remember how she had felt when she met Will, but she couldn’t recapture the feeling.
When had she stopped taking care of herself? She pulled her hair back in a tight bun at work and wore it in a braid
at home. When she and Shelly did Taekwondo together she pulled it on top of her head in a bundle. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had it trimmed. Ah, but she did. She had hacked three inches off two months ago when her bun seemed too bulky one morning.
At least she did her nails. Shelly liked having pretty nails and she insisted on their Sunday night manis and pedis. Her nails were still neat champagne colored ovals and her toes sported whatever Shelly thought was a good color for her. She looked down. Greenish yellow. OMG. I let her paint my toenails fungus yellow.
She rootled around until she found a cracked tube of body lotion at the back of the bathroom drawer. But when she squeezed it, orange goo and a clear greasy liquid made a disgusting puddle in her hand. She dumped the lot in the trash.
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