Little Belle Gone

by Whitlock, Stephanie

  She fell against him, finding his mouth and purring contentedly. For the first time in his life he felt whole, complete, and perfectly at peace. For years he had thrown himself into his work, desperately trying to find the feeling of fulfillment that had always eluded him. Graduating top in his class from high school, receiving honors in the military, and impressing his instructors in the academy had not given him what he longed for. Neither had a short string of disappointing relationships. Solving murders had been the closest thing he had found to happiness, until now. Feeling her trust and love had done what all his other endeavors had failed to do. His mind cleared, the fog of his unrequited need for her thoroughly dissolved in the face of last night’s victory.

  He sighed as the growing sunrise washed the room in pale orange light. From where he was propped up against the headboard he could see the light creeping over her body as she lay on her back next to him. She was humming softly and playing with Bucky. As he watcher her elbows brush over her breasts each time she wrestled with him, he remembered his ‘twice’ idea from earlier. The thought made him snicker. The sound interested her enough to cause her to roll over and look up at him, inquisitively. As her hair slipped across her back and fell over her shoulder, six thin white scars glistened along her spine. He had known they were there, she had, after all, told him about the attack, but seeing them was still a bit of a shock. Before he thought the motion all the way through, he ran his hand over her back, tracing one of the scars with his finger. He hadn’t intended to upset her but he knew instantly that he had.

  The feeling of his fingers on her scar shook her calm loose and a self-conscious panic washed through her. She had forgotten about them, gotten too comfortable in his arms and had let her guard slip. She knew he knew they were there. She knew that they were small and faint, her pale ivory skin proving a masterful camouflage, but they were proof that she was a victim, evidence of the violation she had endured. She sat up quickly, pulling herself out from under his touch. The loss of his warmth was acute, but she couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing them. She slid to the end of the bed, wanting to find something to cover herself with, wanting to hide those tiny, little white lines, but he caught her. His fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist and held her in place. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” His tone was determined. He knew that she was fleeing his bed because he had touched her shame, what he wanted was her reasoning. She couldn’t look at him, instead she intentionally brushed her hair back over her shoulder so that it would completely cover her back and hung her head.

  “I just don’t want…I can’t handle…you shouldn’t see them. I hate them. They’re so ugly.” She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t, not in front of him, not again.

  “Elizabeth, look at me.” His voice was soft and strong, but she couldn’t do it. “Elizabeth Cord, you have never run from anything, please don’t run from me…” The idea that she was hurting him made her sigh and turn back toward his voice. She still couldn’t look him in the eyes, but she couldn’t stand the thought of running from him either. “I think they are beautiful.” Her face pinched in horror and she snapped to face him, intent on arguing against that statement with everything she had, but the second she saw the love and sincerity in his eyes, she gave up the fight before it started.

  Her voice turned weak, “How can you possibly see them as anything but hideous?” The sad smile he gave her washed over her and swept her into his arms like a tidal wave. He pulled her in tight and she whispered against his chest, “I can’t stand them, Matt. They remind me of that day, of all I lost, of all I endured…I hate them.” The tears came now. She never used to cry. She had always prided herself on her stone resolve and her fierce nature, but in the past few days it seemed all she could do was sob like a ninny. Her face pressed against his strong, warm chest, against his powerful heart beat, she wept.

  “They are beautiful because they are part of you. Part of who you are. Yes, they remind you of what happened, but they should also remind you that you survived, you overcame. Those marks are your battle scars, and every warrior worth their salt has battle scars. And you are a warrior, my sweet Mara, my warrior goddess. Those scars, to me, represent your strength, your power. Because of those scars you turned your mind and body into weapons. Put yourself in the victim’s place so that there would be no more victims. You are the most selfless, and honorable person I have ever met, and those scars prove it. Wear them with pride, because you have every right to be proud of them, what they mean, and what they have made you to be.” Listening to him, his warm tone, his calm heartbeat, she found her self over come with gratitude. He saw more in her than she even saw in herself and her love for him magnified a thousand times. In that moment nothing existed past him. Sitting up straight, she smiled slightly at him. Leaning in, she placed a simple kiss on his lips before turning her back to him. Her hands were still shaking as she raked her hair away from her spine. He loved her, and she knew it. She had nothing left to hide, to be afraid or ashamed of.

  Without a sound, he shifted closer to her. She shivered a little as his fingers lightly touched the first scar. He made a soft, comforting shh sound as he continued his exploration. From one scar to the next he lightly traced each pale line. The feel of his strong fingers moving so gently over her turned the shiver from one of apprehension into one of passion, and his touch became over sensual. She had never been touched the way he touched her. Unable to hold it in any longer, she sighed seductively and the fingers were replaced by his lips. She leaned against him as his hands slid around to cup her breasts. As he began to pull her back into the bed, a sound shattered their intimacy. His cell phone was ringing out in the apartment. She tensed, but he continued his affections. “I have voice mail,” He rasped into her flesh as he turned her to him in search of a leading kiss. But no sooner did his cell phone stop ringing, than his apartment phone began. Groaning, he said, “Hold that thought.” He slid from the bed too quickly, leaving her lurching after him. She couldn’t help but chuckle in her throat as she heard him grumbling under his breath, “…this had better be fucking important…”

  She followed him off the bed and into the kitchen so he could answer the phone, not missing the disappointed look he gave her retreat from his sheets. She smiled as she passed him into the kitchen and started making coffee. His demeanor changed almost the instant he answered the phone, though his side of the conversation left her wanting for information. Seeing the scowl lingering on his face as he listened to whatever bad news was coming down the line, caused her to seek out her robe from the floor and swath her body in it. When he finished his call, he gave a deep sigh. “Liz, I need to go. There’s been a…problem with the crime scene at your apartment.”

  “What kind of problem?” He could see her brows arch in apprehensive curiosity as she moved toward him. He had forgotten she was his partner for a moment, seeing her as only the woman he loved, and the memory of her prowess as a detective kicked him in the gut a little. Of course she wants to know, she is a good cop, he thought proudly to himself.

  “It was broken into again. The odd thing is that they are pretty sure that nothing else was stolen, but the bedroom and bathroom were ransacked.” For a moment his mind puzzled over the strangeness of robbing an apartment twice without taking anything, when her voice snapped him out of it.

  “Okay, well, while you’re in the shower I’ll get dressed and we’ll get going.” She said it with such surety that he had to admire her bravery. Admire, but not concede to. She had just gotten out of the hospital and he was not about to let anything else happen to her. Especially not now.

  “Oh, no. You, my sweet, are going to take it easy here and I’ll be back as soon as I can manage with lunch. The doctor said you had to take it slow and I’m going to see that you do.” As he spoke he pulled her into a consoling hug, but she quickly tugged herself free and moved toward the bedroom.

  “What he actually said,” her voice was rich and teasing as she slid inside and out of sight, “w
as not to push me too hard, and you have already gone against his orders. That’s not a complaint by the way. So don’t act as if now you are going to obey them.” All he could do was stand, naked, in his kitchen and smile. He had called her a warrior, and she was living up to it. In truth, he wanted her to come with him. He could think around her now, more clearly than he had thought possible, and she was intuitive and quick witted, the perfect partner. Shaking his head, he gave up the fight and headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter 33

  “Are you ready for this?” He stood poised, ready to open the door, looking at her with concern. Smiling sadly, she nodded and he pushed through into the utter chaos. She walked into what used to be her home, unable to even recognize it anymore. Every picture frame, every memento, was either knocked over or lying on the floor, broken. Her furniture wasn’t just overturned but splintered. They had gone so far as to shred the cushions and pillows. Her cabinets were all opened and their contents had been swept free, littering the floor as broken shards. She stood taking in the horrific violation of her sanctuary as Matt moved into the bedroom to see what the newest intrusion had left behind.

  She could barely swallow in the shattered remnants of her home. Every where she turned, she came face to face with one of her precious memories that had been thrown away, as if it meant nothing. Perhaps it didn’t, not to those men. She was shuffling the glass shards and wood splinters under her toes when she found a picture of her and Alex on their graduation day. Bending down, she picked up the picture and held it. For a moment she was lost in the memory of that day. How nervous she had been at the thought of giving the valedictorian speech at just barely seventeen, how excited Alex had been to milk their photo-ops, hanging on every boy that graduated with them. After all, as Alex put it, it was her last chance before they took off and forgot all about her. She couldn’t help the faint smile the memory stirred in her.

  As she felt Matt’s arms slide around her waist, and his chin prop on the top of her head, she sighed and leaned back into him. “We were so happy that night, well, at least Alex was, I was terrified.” They chuckled together, for a moment before he spoke.

  “You don’t look terrified. If you weren’t a minor in that photo I say you looked beautiful, but, as it might be a little weird, I’ll just say you look adorable. Come on,” he said as he squeezed and then released her, “lets gather up your memories. They don’t deserve to be on the floor like this.” He squatted down, pulling the loose pictures from the shards that remained of their frames. She smiled as she watched the gentle way he handled her mementos. Sighing lightly, thoroughly in love with him all over again, she moved to the case she had left just outside the door and retrieved an evidence envelope for them. After returning with it for him to fill, she stood taking in the whole scene again. Everything was utterly in shambles, The DVDs were knocked loose on the shelves and the little pieces of art that had sat atop the bluray player were destroyed and scattered. There was a deep scratch across the screen of her TV, but it was all there. Not a single piece of equipment or movie, at least that she could tell, was missing.

  “Matt, what were they looking for?” He spun on his toes to look back at her questioning face, but she had turned and was making for her bedroom. She had just pushed the door ajar when his hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Liz, I don’t think…,” but his voice left him on her gasp. She had not expected this. Her room had been her pride and joy. As fierce as she was on the outside, all her femininity and softness had been poured into the plush, down filled, lavender of this room. She had slaved over every decision, from the warm honey oak suite to the milk chocolate paint. To see all her hard work, her beloved things, her world for the last four and a half years, so completely vanquished nearly tore her heart out. If not for Matt’s hand on her shoulder for support, she might have fainted. Instead, she set about trying to scan the room for her jewelry box. She found it knocked to the floor, its sparkling cargo scattered about it, next to the dresser whose drawers were pulled lose and broken, their contents thrown asunder. Bending over the mass of tangled bracelets and necklaces, she growled in her chest.

  “Matt, Mark and Aggie are very generous people. They have been buying me expensive jewelry for every event worth celebrating in my life since, well, since I was born. All of these pieces are real and worth a small fortune. He definitely wasn’t here to rob me, and this proves it. We need to figure it out, find out what it was.” Her sour expression deepened as she tried to gather up all the pieces flung around on the floor.

  “My guess is that what ever he wanted, he didn’t find it. Usually when you find what you’re looking for, you stop looking. There isn’t a corner of your apartment that he hasn’t gone over at least once.” She finished gathering her pieces and putting them back into the jewelry box. When she turned back to face him, Matt was gathering the far flung articles of her clothing and trying, in vain, to fold them neatly. She smiled and set the box next to the stack he had started on the bed.

  “There’s no point, Matt, I’ve got no where to take them.” She placed her hand on his as he placed another, small, hastily folded, t-shirt onto the pile.

  He smiled at her, sweetly, and started to speak, “Actually you do, Liz…” But he didn’t get a chance to finish the sentiment that she was suddenly so interested in hearing. His phone began to chime loudly on his hip. “I swear this stupid thing knows exactly when to ring to screw up every moment I want to have.” Sighing rather melodramatically, he answered the phone.

  “Barrow.” Matt answered the line and found a voice he did not know on the other end. The voice began some strange monologue about subdural hematoma recession before Matt was able to but in with, “Excuse me, but who is this, exactly?” The voice became much calmer and began detailing to him, in language he could only assume was hospital technical speak, how the fourth assailant’s head injury, and its subsequent swelling, had settled in the night. While the news that he was being invited to come and speak with their one and only whiteness and suspect was exciting him immensely, he couldn’t take a breath to tell Liz. The way she stared, inquiringly, at him while he could do little more than nod idiotically and smile was infuriating. When the caller simply said goodbye and hung up on him, he blinked in confusion as he closed his phone, still lost to the dizzyingly rapid and overly detailed call. All he could do was stare at her as his brain tried to organize the information that had just poured into him like a flood.

  “Matt, if I were a psychic, my apartment wouldn’t look like this. What was that all about?” Her slight smile made him laugh.

  “We need to finish up here, we have a suspect to interview.” She nearly jumped out of her skin. Grabbing up the stack of folded clothes and the jewelry box, she all but ran for the door. Snagging up a few more pieces of her clothing from the floor, he took off after her. He managed to catch her at the elevator, only to find that she was practically vibrating with anticipation. As enthralling as seeing her that excited was to him, a tinge of concern started to build in the back of his mind. Clearing his throat, he started, cautiously, “Liz, maybe it would be best if you didn’t go into the room with me. I mean the guy did attack you.”

  “Why? Afraid I’ll be too frightened or intimidated to handle myself?” Her tone was light and her smile was warm. He knew she was kidding with him, but for a second he was afraid of her reaction. Leaning against her shoulder, both of them had their arms too full at the moment for him to hold her, he sighed.

  “Of course not, I’m afraid seeing you again might just scare him to death.” His serious expression melted as she started laughing. When the elevator doors opened a few minutes later they were both nearly in tears.

  A short while later they were making their way to Mercy hospital. Matt, having noticed the dash clock, asked, “Are you hungry? I’m starved. It’s only nine thirty. We could swing by the cafe and grab something to go on the way to the hospital, if you want?” He looked over to see her beaming at him and rubbing her belly. Le
aning into him, she kissed him firmly on the cheek and he resisted the urge to pull the car over. She was so playful and comfortable with him now that in that moment it felt as if they had been together for years, and he loved it. While he steered the car slightly off course toward their usual cafe, he thought about her, and how wonderfully domestic it was beginning to feel. That thought brought him back around to the question he had almost been able to ask in her apartment before his blasted phone had sliced the moment. Deciding that he wanted everything to be perfect when he tried again, he pulled up to the cafe and stopped her from getting out on her own. With some difficulty, he convinced her to call the station and find out what, if anything, they had learned about the man they were about to interview. He needed her to stay in the car, as breakfast was not the only thing he planned to take care of in the cafe.

  While Elizabeth did seem a bit disappointed, she picked up her phone and called the station. Matt flew into the restaurant and ordered quickly, paying no mind to the pouting expression of the blond waitress. As soon as she turned and headed to put in the ticket, he pulled out his phone and put in a call to Le Chailise. Tonight he would do right by her and find the perfect moment.

  When the order came back he joined her in the car. She filled him in on the suspects name, Terry Blanchard, his rather lengthy rap-sheet, and how he now resided somewhere in the park, judging from his latest string of arrests for vagrancy. Passing her the bag and getting back on the road, he buzzed inside with the thoughts and expectations growing in his mind for the coming evening. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she fixed his bagel the way he liked it, and then her own, as he drove through mid-morning Manhattan traffic. They had just finished eating in that blissfully familiar quiet when they pulled up in front of the hospital. As professional as could be, he walked with Elizabeth through the doors and down the corridors toward the room of the surviving suspect. There, they were met at the door by his attending physician and the guard on duty.