by Sharon Sala
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, now, if you’re going to be sleeping under my roof, you need to know one thing right now. I won’t answer to anything but Mattie. None of that ma’am stuff, you hear?”
This time, China did smile. “Yes, ma’—I mean, yes, Mattie.”
“That’s better,” she said. “Now, don’t you worry about another thing. Just get well. I’ll see you soon.”
“All right,” China said. “And thank you.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” Mattie said. “Oh… almost forgot. Do you have any allergies, or any horrible dislikes to foods?”
“No allergies, and the only thing I dislike about food is not having any.”
Mattie’s laugh tickled China’s ear, making her smile widen.
“Good,” Mattie said. “You’ve got a sense of humor. I can tell we’re going to get along just fine. Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”
China hung up the phone, the smile still on her face. Sometime during her conversation the nurse had gone, taking the tray of uneaten food with her. China glanced up at the television and the muted screen, then toward the window. The skyline looked the same, but there was an intangible difference in how she felt. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but the longer she lay there, the more restless she became. If only…
The door opened. She heard the swift intake of someone’s breath, and she turned her head.
Ben. It was Ben. Once again her promise man had come through.
“You came,” she said.
The door closed behind him as he moved toward her bed.
“I said I would.”
China almost smiled. “Yes, I know.”
They stared at each other without speaking. Ben felt as if he’d been away for a week instead of only one day. He wanted to take her in his arms and feel the warmth of her skin against his face, but he couldn’t. Whatever he was feeling for her had nothing to do with reality.
China was silent, uneasy with her feelings. She kept staring at his face and the tenderness there—remembering how safe she’d felt within the shelter of his arms.
Suddenly he moved, and she panicked. If he came any closer, she might do something stupid, like throw herself into his arms.
“Your mother called me.”
Ben stopped at the foot of her bed and then shed his coat, tossing it on a nearby chair.
“So, what did you think?”
“That she’s very nice.”
Ben breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Yeah, she’s that, all right.”
China hesitated, then added, “She told me about her miscarriage.”
Ben was surprised but didn’t show it. He managed a nod. When China gave him another speculative look, he would have bet his next month’s wages he knew what she was thinking.
“She said you were adopted.”
And he would have been right.
“Yep, when I was about a week old. I was given up for adoption when I was born. That’s about all I know.”
“Does it matter to you… not knowing?”
He shook his head. “Being a cop, I’ve seen just about every sordid aspect of life that people can bring upon themselves. I feel thankful my mother didn’t have me aborted and, if there was trouble in her life, had the good sense to give me up to shelter me from it. My adoptive parents couldn’t have been any better. I consider myself blessed.”
“My mother loved me very much,” China said. “She left my stepfather because he was mean to me. She protected me from everything bad up until the day she died.” China sighed. “That was almost five years ago, just after my twenty-first birthday, and there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of her. When I died… she was there, waiting for me,” China said, and then looked away, shocked that she’d revealed something so personal.
For a moment Ben couldn’t speak. China had spoken so casually about dying that it took him aback.
“When you died?”
China shrugged and looked away.
Ben scooted onto the edge of her bed and took both her hands in his.
“I’m not making fun of you. I just didn’t know.”
China looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. “I knew what had happened, but it didn’t seem to matter. My baby was with me. I could hear voices welcoming me, then I saw people. My mother was there, smiling and calling my name.” She took a deep breath and then shuddered. “Oh, Ben, He made me come back, said it wasn’t my time. Only He sent me back alone.” Ben groaned and then took her in his arms, cradling her gently against his chest.
“But you’re not alone anymore. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. I promise.”
Her promise man had done it again. China closed her eyes and gave herself up to him—just for a moment, just long enough to remember what being safe felt like.
They sat without moving—him testing the boundaries of his emotions while China absorbed the scent of his aftershave and the feel of his hands cupping the back of her head.
And then she moved.
Ben found himself staring at her eyes, then the slight flare of her nostrils, then the curve of her lips.
The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.
Gently.
Slowly.
Imprinting the shape and texture of her mouth onto his brain.
Then again.
Urgently.
Desperately.
Wanting more than she was ready to offer.
He was the first to break away.
“China, I—”
She put her fingers on his mouth, then shook her head.
“Don’t. Don’t say anything… please.”
He stood abruptly and shoved his hands in his pockets as he strode to the window, needing to put space between them before he made a complete fool of himself. Had he frightened her? He was almost afraid to turn around and look. Would she change her mind about staying with his mother? Ah God, not that. The killer was still out there, and he had to know she was safe.
He turned, intent on offering an apology, but she was looking away. Although he knew he’d embarrassed her, he saw something on her face that stopped him cold. He stared, trying to figure out what was different about her. And then his heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were flashing. And by God, she was almost smiling.
“You going to be all right about staying with my mother?”
She looked up. “Will you be there?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “As often as I can.”
Satisfied with his answer, China folded her hands in her lap.
“Then yes, if you’re there, I will be all right.”
Moved by the simplicity of her answer, for a moment he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Suddenly he knew if he didn’t leave now, he was going to make an even bigger fool of himself. He grabbed his coat and began putting it on.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Call if you need me.”
China nodded, her gaze following his every movement. He was almost at the door when he stopped and turned.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“After what Fairheart did to you, why do you trust me?”
“Promises,” she said.
Ben wondered if he looked as confused as he felt. “Promises?”
“You’re a smart man. You figure it out,” China said. “Would you turn out the lights when you leave?”
“What? Oh… yeah, sure,” Ben said, and flipped the switch as he opened the door. Then he looked at her again. She had rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, before his eyes adjusted to the dark, he thought he saw someone standing beside her bed. Then he blinked, and the image was gone.
“Sleep tight, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her voice reached for him from across the room.
“Do you promise?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
He was still smiling as he started down the hall. It wasn’t
until he reached the elevator that it hit him. Day by day she’d been judging him on the promises he made against the promises he kept. A shudder racked him as the thought slid through his mind. Please, God, I don’t ever want to let her down.
That night, despite the underlying, inevitable noise of a hospital, China slept—without nightmares, without fear—just like she’d slept as a child, knowing her mother was near.
She woke the next morning as a nurse barged into the room with a tray of pills and carrying a sprig of mistletoe, which she promptly pinned on China’s pillow.
“Something to dream on, honey,” she said, and then poured some water and handed China her pills to take.
“They’ll be bringing your breakfast soon,” the nurse said. “Do you need help getting up and getting to the bathroom?”
“No, I can do it,” China said.
“Fine, then,” the nurse said. “Ring if you need me.”
China made her way to the bathroom and back, ever conscious of the light-headed feeling she always had when she first stood. She hated being weak and depending on others for her care. But she was alive, which was something, and she would recover fully, Dr. Pope had promised her.
Before she got back into bed, she vaguely remembered Ben leaving one of his cards and dug through the stuff in the table drawer until she found it. Her legs were shaky, so she got back in bed before reaching for the phone, but her intent was strong. Last night, in a dream, she’d seen the woman’s face again—so clearly that she’d imagined the warmth of her breath upon her own face. She’d watched her expression change from rage to a complete disregard for human life, and there was something she had to do while the image was fresh in her mind.
She glanced at the clock. It was a little before seven. Maybe she should try the home number first. She punched in the numbers, then waited, counting the rings.
***
Ben was just getting out of the shower when the phone began to ring.
“Well damn,” he muttered, then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he made a run for the phone.
“Hello,” he said, a little breathless from the dash through the apartment.
China hesitated. He sounded out of breath and busy, and it suddenly occurred to her that his personal life might include a woman. Her mind went from that to picturing her phone call disturbing them in the act of making love.
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have called so early. I’ll call you later when you—”
“China… honey… is that you?”
“Uh, yes, but I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time and I can—”
“I was in the shower, that’s all,” he said quickly. “What’s wrong?”
Her fingers curled around the receiver as she tried to picture him wet and naked. The image came through all too quickly and clearly, and she immediately bit her lip in order to focus on the pain instead of Ben.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “But I had a dream about the woman last night, and in the dream, I saw her face so clearly. Does your department have an artist? You know, someone who can draw faces of people from a description?”
“Yes, and that’s a good idea. In fact, Red and I had discussed it before, but I didn’t think you were up to it.”
“I want to do it,” China said.
“Then it will be done. Give me a couple of hours to get everything worked out, and then we’ll come to your room.”
China began to relax. “All right. Uh… Ben?”
“What, honey?”
“Thank you.”
“No, honey. Thank you. See you later, okay?”
“Yes, later.”
She hung up and then sat quietly, contemplating what she’d just done. For the first time since the incident, she didn’t feel so much like a victim, and it felt good—damn good.
Ten
China was sitting up in a wheelchair when Ben and Red arrived. Another officer was right behind them, his arms full of computer equipment.
Ben went straight to where she was sitting. He wanted to hug her but had to settle for a smile.
“Good morning, China. This is Officer Matt Avery. Just as soon as he gets set up, we’ll start recreating the shooter’s face.”
China had expected an artist with a sketch pad, not a laptop. “You do it with a computer?” she asked.
The officer looked at China and grinned. “Just wait until you see what I can do with this thing,” he said.
Ben shed his coat and began helping Avery set up his equipment, while Red sidled toward her breakfast tray.
“Good morning, Miss Brown,” Red Fisher said, and then pointed to her tray. “You didn’t eat your toast.”
“I got full.”
“Do you mind?” he asked, and picked up the toast, as well as a packet of jelly, and gave it a liberal smear before taking a bite.
Ben rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, Red, if you could see yourself.”
Red shrugged and then took another bite.
“So, we can assume Rita still has you on that diet,” Ben muttered.
“Yeah, but the damned thing doesn’t work,” he muttered around his last bite of toast.
“I wonder why?” Ben drawled, and then looked at China. “As you can see, I can’t take him anywhere.”
China laughed and then almost immediately was flooded with guilt. How could she be laughing at a time like this? She looked down at her hands and then at a hairline crack in the comer of the room near the window, making herself focus on anything to keep from crying.
Ben moved away from Avery and then squatted down before China’s wheelchair.
“Don’t,” he said softly.
She wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t play that game with yourself. It’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Survivor’s guilt. I’ve seen it time and time again.” He turned her chair, making her face him. “What happened was not your fault. You weren’t on the streets by choice, and you didn’t pull the trigger. The fact that you didn’t also die when everyone else did is a miracle, not something of which to be ashamed.”
Her chin was quivering, her eyes blinded with unshed tears. In her mind, she knew he was right, but it was her heart that was having difficulties in letting go of the guilt.
“China?”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “Hand me some tissues, will you?”
He handed her the box from the table and then walked away, giving her time to wipe her eyes and compose herself again.
A spoon clinked against a bowl. They all turned to look at Red.
“What?” he mumbled. “It’s perfectly good oatmeal. Oatmeal is healthy. Give it a rest.”
This time, when China laughed, it was easier, and when the last echo of the sound was gone, a large measure of her guilt had gone with it.
“I’m up and running, Detective English.”
“Are you ready, China?” Ben asked.
She nodded.
“Good,” he said, then wheeled her over to the table where Avery was waiting.
“The program Officer Avery works with has literally thousands and thousands of combinations of facial features from which to draw. You tell him what you saw, and he’ll start with a face similar in structure. Between the two of you, you’ll fine-tune the features individually until you’re satisfied with the composite of the perpetrator’s face. Understand?”
“I think so,” China said.
“Anytime you get tired or want to stop for any reason, you just say so. The last thing we want to do is endanger your health.”
“Okay.”
He laid his hand on the back of her head and then allowed himself one stroke of the thick, dark length of her hair.
“Just relax, honey, and do the best you can.”
The feel of his hand on her head and then the back of her neck was distracting, but when he moved away, she felt abandoned.
“Miss Brown?�
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China turned. “Sorry,” she told Avery. “What do I do?”
Avery smiled. “Talk to me. You’ll see how this works as we go. We’re going to start with the shape of her face and an approximate age.”
China frowned, trying to remember exactly. “The street was almost deserted. There were lots of dark places and shadows, but we were standing in front of a bar, and there were so many Christmas lights that I got a pretty good look at her—twice. Once when we bumped into each other and then when she aimed the gun at—”
She stopped and shuddered.
“Take your time,” Avery said. “I know this is hard.”
“I’m fine,” China said. “As for her age, it would be a guess, but I will say she wasn’t young.”
“By that, do you mean she was middle-aged?” Avery asked.
“I mean she wasn’t a twenty-something, or, for that matter, a thirty-something, either. She was a very beautiful but mature woman. Maybe in her late forties. Her face was oval, I think, with a strong chin and a straight nose. Very regular features.”
Ben stood aside, watching the screen as a face began to take shape.
“Hey, partner, I’m going to run down to the gift shop a minute,” Red said. “I need some antacids.”
“Just don’t come back here with chocolate on your breath or I’m telling Rita.”
“Jeez, can’t a man have a simple snack without starting a revolution?”
He ambled out of the room, leaving Ben to watch over the proceedings.
Ten minutes passed. Red returned and took a silent stance beside his partner. Soon a half hour had gone by. Avery’s quiet but persistent questions were pulling things from China’s memory that she hadn’t known were there.
One eyebrow that arched slightly higher than the other.
Lips that were less than voluptuous.
By the time an hour had passed, she was pale and shaking. When she suddenly slumped forward, Ben called a halt.
“That’s enough,” he said, and started to push her wheelchair back toward her bed. But China grabbed his arm.
“No, wait,” she said. “I need to finish this, and it just isn’t right. There’s something wrong.” She stared at the screen, taking apart the woman’s face one feature at a time.