Death Stretch

by Ashantay Peters

  Dirk cleared his throat. “I worked in Charlotte before moving here. My familiarity with big city crime made me attractive to the chief.” He tapped his fingers against his lips. “That same experience was my reason for moving here.”

  Raw pain flashed across his face in a quick spasm. Warm gestures are not my thing, but I moved to put my hand over his. He grasped it like a safety line.

  “You look a little like her, my last partner in Charlotte.” Our gazes met. “Amy Porter. Not long out of the Academy, and paired with me when my former partner retired.”

  “We had what we thought was a routine call. Domestic disturbance, but everyone knows those can get ugly.” He interlaced his fingers with mine.

  “Took a little while, but we got the husband and wife separated, relieved their weapons and talked until they cooled down.” He contemplated our intertwined fingers then sipped at his beer. I committed to giving him all the time he needed, but he continued almost at once.

  “Amy was perfect. Her defusing technique was awesome to watch, especially impressive in a rookie.”

  His hand trembled. I squeezed his fingers and he gave me a faint smile. Dirk sipped beer then pushed the half-empty bottle to the side.

  “It all fell apart. The husband came charging back into the kitchen, grabbed Amy by the hair and pulled a knife from the counter, all before I could make a move.”

  My throat closed and my eyes were sandy. I felt out of control, like watching a car accident.

  Dirk swallowed. “I thought I'd confined him, but the damn lock didn't work.”

  His grip tightened. My physical discomfort couldn't match his emotional hurt.

  He rubbed his crooked nose with his free hand. “Amy didn't make it. Our backup unit pulled me off the guy before I killed him, but it was a near thing. I took a leave, and then I left.”

  We sat quietly, or at least I did. No telling what roiled through Dirk. I hoped I helped by being with him. I couldn't ever understand his experience, but when he told me to lock my damn door, I would. A little part of me questioned whether he was attracted to me because I reminded him of Amy. I didn't want to examine that idea.

  He took a quick sip of his beer and set it aside. “I didn't mean to tell you all that.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice, but that seemed to suffice.

  “Your turn. You're gorgeous. You had a polite divorce. Why do you store your fancy wine glasses?”

  My eye roll and snort didn't seem to count as an answer he'd accept. Too bad, because I wasn't ready to say more. Trust people? Not hardly.

  “Okay, fine if you don't want to tell me.”

  His hurt tone put me over the edge. “I'm an orphan.” I kept my head down. Crap. I was telling a story I didn’t discuss with many people. My curiosity got the best of me and I peeked at his expression.

  His steady gaze held not a hint of pity and that helped me continue. “I bounced between relatives until Aunt Myrtle accepted guardianship.” I gulped. “Took me awhile to figure out she wanted the insurance money my folks left.”

  Dirk's quiet presence and his total concentration on me made me realize I could get through the telling. “She moved into our house here in town and took over everything.” I pushed my familiar anger down. “Myrtle could have been the prototype for Jabba the Hut. She sat her fat butt in my mother's favorite chair like a malignant spider. If I got too close, she'd smack me upside the head or pinch me.”

  I felt like a babbler, like a jackhammer punched my heart and all the anger and pain surged out. I caught his gaze and level regard. Good thing he didn't show sympathy. I'd have crawled in a hole for the next twenty years.

  My throat closed and I cleared it. “She was clever, my aunt. Told me if I reported her hitting me no one would believe a kid over an adult. She knew how to hit and pinch so the marks didn't show. I learned to keep my distance, but that only infuriated her.” I tried for humor. “Did you know I have eyes in the back of my head?”

  His lips quirked, but he didn't smile.

  “I ran away, but the cops brought me back.” More than once, which is why I never warmed to the men in blue. Not to mention they’d been the ones to take me to Protective Services the night my parents died.

  “How old were you when you ran the first time?”

  Smart man. Not only did he figure I ran, he knew it had to be more than once. “Fifteen.” I paused to swallow a lump. “Ginger was my friend before my parents died, and she knew what was going on. She's always known everything about me. She got her mom on my side, but you know how it was. Years ago, kids didn't have the protection they do now. And Myrtle knew how to suck up to people in power.”

  Dirk's growl surprised me. “Is your aunt still alive?”

  “No, she spent all the insurance money, died and went to hell, I hope.” My energy faded and I sagged against the back of my chair. I felt lighter, even though I didn’t admit to all the hurt Myrtle had inflicted. That'd be too much.

  He ran the back of his hand across my cheek. “We're carrying around a lot of baggage, aren't we?”

  Boy Howdie. He didn’t whistle Dixie.

  He reached for his ringing cell phone. A quick number check and he walked away, flipping open his phone. I couldn't hear words, but knew from the tone the call had to be business.

  “Look, I'm sorry, but I gotta go.” He pulled me close, grasped the back of my neck and kissed me like he really was sorry about leaving. As if the message wasn't clear, he nibbled at my bottom lip before pulling away at snail speed.

  “Save me some dessert, will ya? If it's not too late, I'd like to come back after I finish up at the office.” His tongue in my mouth told me didn't lie.

  He lifted his mouth to change the angle of his kiss and I took the opportunity to answer his question. “Like I said, the Cherry Garcia is all yours. If you're good, you can have the Cinnamon Buns too.”

  “Is that all you're willing to give?”

  Dirk's talented digits moved south. Under his fingers, my ass didn't feel too big at all. I wasn't ready to answer his question, so I let my hands do a little roaming of their own.

  We were both breathing hard and broke apart to inhale.

  “So you're strictly a chocolate loving woman?”

  “In some things, yes.”

  With that out of the way, we got back to swapping saliva.

  He brushed my hair back, leaving his palms cradling my face. “I shouldn't be here, but I can't leave.”

  “It's not a good idea to kiss a witness in an open case, is it? Or am I a person of interest?”

  “Some things are worth breaking the rules.”

  I ignored my hormones, and his non-answer. I did the smart thing and stepped out of his embrace. Damn it. “Go answer your call. We've got time.”

  Dirk's disappointed look inflamed my ego. “Yeah, you're right.” He walked to the door, me following every delicious move of his tush. He struck a pose and with a bad Schwarzenegger imitation said, “I’ll be back.” He winked and sauntered out the door then stuck his head back inside. “And lock the damn door so I can hear it happen.”

  Be still my rampaging heart.

  ****

  “You sound out of breath. Did you run for the phone expecting a call from Dirk, or did you drag out your kickboxing DVD again?”

  Ginger's tone sounded almost normal; a welcome change from her silent cookie-eating meltdown. I turned off the muted TV and slid the exercise video out of the DVD player. “Damn, you interrupted us.”

  “Really? Sorry, I'll call back.”

  “Don't hang up. I'm kidding and ready for a break.” That was no lie. It had been impossible to relax after Dirk left; too many crazed hormones flying around. It was either find a skank bar and hope for a random pick-up or exercise until my lust simmered down and—I hoped—Dirk returned. If I'd gone to Johnny's Bar, the sweat trickling down my back would be from a much different cause, and fighting my way to the bar for a drink would be the only reason to be breathless. Not that I�
��d willingly go to Johnny’s in this lifetime.

  “So was I right?”

  “You're usually right. What about this time?”

  “A little bird told me Dirk visited your house earlier.”

  A snort escaped my mouth before I could suppress it. “Little bird, hell. Why didn't you just park and come in?”

  My friend's voice lost its cheery flavor. “I didn't want to interrupt.”

  “Ginger, what's wrong? Did you and Rob fight?”

  “No fight. He's gone.”

  My ears seemed plugged. Had she said Rob was gone? “You mean he's not home from work yet?”

  Her tone sounded dead. “No, I mean gone.”

  “I'll be right over.” No way I wanted Ginger sitting alone in that big old house.

  Should I leave a note for Dirk in case he returned? Did that count as presumptuous, wishful thinking, or smart? Phoning him at work wouldn't happen. He got called in and didn't need me giving him detailed movement information. I mean, where would it stop? When I went to the bathroom? Gross.

  I settled for a note inside a sealed envelope addressed to him and tacked to the front door. The short distance to my friend’s house seemed like a trip across country. She opened the door right after my car pulled into her driveway and walked out to greet me.

  We hugged. “Hey, sweetie. I brought Chunky Monkey and Thin Mints.”

  “Dirk has you figured out, hasn't he?”

  My back went up. “Whadda mean by that?”

  She put her arm through mine and pulled me toward her front door. “You don't buy Chunky Monkey for yourself unless you're PMSing, and I know your cycle because it's the same as mine. That means someone gave you the ice cream unless you stopped on the way, and you got here too fast for a grocery trip. Sooo, I'm voting Dirk.”

  “B&J could have been on sale and I stocked up.”

  “No sale and it wasn't in your freezer when you gave me cookies the other day.”

  My arm dropped from hers. “Damn, you are one scary woman.”

  She closed the door behind us and leaned against it. “So am I right?”

  “Yes, doggone you.”

  She gave me a small smile. “Well, at least something's going right for one of us.”

  I searched her expression, but didn't find any answers there. “Tell me.”

  We walked to the kitchen. Ginger had tea steeping. She grabbed two mugs and we settled at the table. There'd be no standing on ceremony tonight, not that we ever did.

  She hogged the Chunky Monkey in a way that told me she wasn't ready to talk. Halfway through the pint, she put down her spoon. “I think Rob's gone for good.”

  Her hand laid palm up on the table so I covered it with mine. “What makes you say that? Did you see him go?”

  She muttered a “no.”

  “Did he leave a note? Call?”

  “No. He said nothing.” She answered my unvoiced question. “His toiletries are gone and so are some of his favorite clothes.”

  My chest relaxed. “He probably had to take a quick business trip. I bet he'll call you later tonight.” The idea sounded weak. I wished I knew how to make Ginger’s pain disappear.

  Her eyes focused on a point over my shoulder. “You know, I'm not so sure I care if he calls or not.”

  “Why not?”

  She turned her full attention on me. “I love Rob. It's just that I don't know if I can stay married to him.”

  The words echoed through my brain. I’d said almost the same thing to Ginger when my own marriage fell apart. Remembered hurt combined with fresh pain to fill the room. I ripped open the cookie package. Forget aspirin. Emotional relief is best handled with large doses of chocolate.

  “If he did leave—”

  “He's gone.”

  Her monotone indicated she’d stopped trying to improve a sucky situation. “Where do you think he went? He wouldn't bunk with the And Howes, would he?”

  Rob's mother always abbreviated her husband Andrew's name to And. when she wrote return addresses. When I originally saw her notation on Ginger and Rob's rehearsal dinner invitation, I showed Ginger and her in-laws had been the And Howes ever since.

  “Mrs. H would add a suite to the house if it meant she had her ‘Precious’ back in her nest.”

  I steered Ginger away from the landmine that was the And Howes. “So he took some clothes, toiletries, and his car. Anything else missing that could be a clue?”

  The color her cheeks had gained with judicious application of excess sugar, paled. She jumped from her chair and ran to Rob's study, me in her wake. Her shaking hands caused a loud clatter as she rifled through a desk drawer.

  “Where's the damn key?

  “Let me help. What kind of key is it?”

  “The one for the gun safe.”

  My hands turned into ice cubes. “I didn't know you had a gun in the house.”

  “I didn't. Rob did.”

  So few words, such a big gulf to jump.

  “Got it.” She held up a small silver color key. Moving to the bookcase, she tossed a framed wedding photo on the floor without looking at it. Ginger and Rob’s happy expressions, frozen in time, looked out from behind cracked glass. I turned my attention back to Ginger. My already upset stomach clenched.

  She had the door to the small gun safe open. It was empty.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I didn't think the night could get worse. Silly me. I needed to stop taunting the universe. Ginger refused to talk about Rob or the missing gun. She ignored my pleading and refused to report his disappearance to the police. When I pushed, she kicked me out. We'd never had such an unreasonable fight. The unreality of the evening’s events left me stunned.

  Returning home alone thirty minutes later, I saw a suspicious shape in my drive. A dark-colored car parked so close to my neighbor's hedge, I almost didn't notice the vehicle. I slowed but didn't pull in the drive. A mini-panic attack rolled over me until Dirk stepped away from the shrubbery.

  He opened the passenger side door and slid in. “I told you to lock your doors and take precautions. Do I have to spell out every move for you? And why the hell did you leave a note giving your location? Do you want the killer to come after you? Or me?”

  My unsettled nerves chose anger as a vehicle for a release. “Get over yourself, Johnson.” I showed him the can of pepper spray I held. “I'm prepared. I don't need a babysitter.”

  He disarmed me with a quick move and held the nozzle toward me, his finger on the triggering mechanism. “This thing could be used against you that easily. Stop taking risks, Katie.”

  Dirk tossed the canister into my lap. “I'll wait while you park the car.” He exited, slamming the car door behind him.

  My throat didn't want to swallow the crow I’d just eaten, but I forced down the feathers and pulled next to his vehicle. I locked the car and stalked to my front door. Silly me. Instead of feeling relieved Dirk watched over me, I was peeved. It felt kind of like having my parents back, but different. My thoughts were all messed up, and it was easier to blame Dirk for the confusion than to figure it out.

  He moved to my side, waited until I unlocked the door then pushed past me to enter first. I entertained snarky comments about Mr. Manners when he pulled his gun.

  “Something doesn't smell right. Wait by the door and be ready to run.”

  No way. If someone got past Dirk, they'd be on me like sticky tarpaper coated a new roof. I crept behind him as he moved through the rooms, checking human-sized hiding places.

  I noticed obvious signs of an intruder before we even reached the kitchen. The sight of my favorite room almost made my heart stop. All the dishes in my glass-door cabinets littered the heart pine floor in shards. Every piece of glassware was smashed except a few items of Fiesta Ware and a Manhattan Glass serving plate. My back door stood wide open, and a variety of bugs flew around the room. Moths batted against the ceiling light. Some field mice probably snuck in to join the party too.

  A message waite
d for me, written in what looked like bright red lipstick and centered on my fridge's freezer door.

  You’re next.

  Damn it. I'd just bought that fridge. It'd take me elbow grease I didn't want to burn to wipe that crap off. Plus I had a stomach full of knots. What exactly did the nut job mean? Because the mess I looked at almost made me cry. And that said a lot.

  Picking up an iron fry pan, I held my pepper spray ready and crunched to the door. Dirk got there before me, shutting it quietly. He put a finger to his lips. I hadn't heard him coming. Talk about too little, too late.

  Dirk pulled me behind him with a stern look and we continued the room-by-room search. By accident or unconscious design, we were standing in my bedroom when he holstered his gun.

  My arms crossed over my chest in a comforting self-hug. “Weren't you supposed to call for back up?”

  Dirk looked around the room. “Yeah, but I was hoping to catch the shithead so I could push his face in the floor first.” He put his attention on me and waited.

  “Look, I don't want you taking risks for me.”

  Dirk gave me a look I couldn't read before he shrugged.

  Not satisfied, I pushed. “Why'd you come back tonight?”

  He sauntered closer and ran his hand over my hair. “We have unfinished business.”

  “More interrogation?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  His lips moved over mine and his form of questioning could send the female half of the world into a crime spree. Including happily married women, honest.

  The bubble burst when he spoke. “Throw some stuff in a bag. You've got to get out of here tonight.”

  My head still reeled from the kiss, so I didn’t understand what I’d heard. “Excuse me?”

  “Look, this guy is telling you he can get at you any time. You can't stay here.”

  I pulled out of his embrace with a jerk. “What are you, the Lone Ranger? This is my home. Sure, it's a mess, but it's mine.” I planted my fists on my hips. “What can this guy do that he hasn't already tried or done?”

  “Succeed.”

  That one word stymied all my thoughts. I pushed my way through the paralysis and came up with some words. “If that lipstick is a clue, the intruder was a crazy woman. I vote for Flash.”