"I'm trying to decide if I should take you back to jail as you are, or give you time to rinse off."
"Until you decide, what are you going to do?" Mack asked with teasing in his voice. "Enjoy the view?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Mack. I've seen better...um...appendages than yours." But she hadn't. Never.
Well-endowed was the first phrase that came to mind. Hard-bodied. Studly.
Closing her eyes didn't erase the memory of that strong chest, washboard stomach, muscular thighs and the very core of him. She turned away, telling herself it was the steam from the shower that had her perspiring, but she had never felt such a powerful surge of heat before.
"Rinse off, Mack, and I'll put another ankle monitor on you. Then after you pay me for damaging the first one, we'll talk."
"Aren't you going to uncuff me so I can finish my shower?" His voice was low and sexy with a touch of amusement.
"No way, Mack. I don't trust you. How do I know that you won't escape through the window?"
"My word?"
"Yeah, right." She closed the shower curtain–more to calm her senses than for his privacy. Sitting down on the toilet lid to keep her knees from buckling, she took several deep breaths.
What kind of lunatic was she? She was so obsessed with her program that she boldly walked into Mack’s shower and stared at him naked. She even carried on a conversation with him.
While he was stark naked.
As long as she lived, she'd always remember John Mackowitz naked in the shower. He was more than she imagined, and she had imagined frequently.
He had cut the circuit, and she had every right to check out his whereabouts, but she didn’t have to go charging into the shower like a horse out of the gate at Saratoga.
She had to calm down and cool off.
And knowing that John Mackowitz was right behind her, cuffed and naked, wasn't going to help her calm down or cool off in the immediate future.
Reminding herself that she had been dating the sedate, calm and even-keeled Charlie Chesterfield for the past few years, she reined in her thoughts. It was Charlie who had taught her about computers and who had gotten her started in the electronic monitoring business.
Whereas Charlie was stable, steadfast and safe, Mack was always on the edge, always in motion. Mack was mercury; Charlie was concrete. But Kate liked concrete. It was permanent and tangible.
The water in the shower stopped running.
"Yo, Kate?"
"I'm still here."
"Unless you want another eyeful, you'd best look away."
Kate didn't look as the shower curtain moved slowly open. She got up, stood in the doorway, and stared at the hall wall. She couldn’t believe that she had burst into the shower and handcuffed him. What was she thinking? Had she lost her grip on reality?
"Keep talking or keep singing, Mack, so I know you're still there."
"Damn. You sure take this stuff seriously. Care to tell me why?"
"Sing!"
To the low, sexy strains of Elvis’s “Suspicious Minds”, she retrieved another ankle bracelet from her tote bag in the living room and returned to her position at the door.
"Here are your handcuffs," he said.
He dangled them in front of her face. She didn't know how he gotten out of them, but he had. Whirling around, she saw that he had a towel tied around his waist and that the window was still open. During her brief absence, he could have tossed his clothes out the window, taken a dive into the yard, and maybe she wouldn't have found him for a while–if ever.
But he hadn't done any of that.
Ever hopeful, she figured that was a good sign. She really wanted to trust him. She really wanted him to do her program.
He stood on one leg and put his foot on the edge of the tub and pointed. "Go ahead. Put another one on or you'll just nag me to death."
Trying to ignore the fresh scents of peppermint soap and shaving cream emanating from his skin, and with his towel-clad body just inches from her own, Kate quickly locked the monitor into place around his ankle. Blushing, she made a quick escape from the bathroom and from the sound of his laughter.
#
Mack stopped laughing, but he couldn't stop grinning. Kate Kingston sure was something. She’d handcuffed him in record time, faster than any cop on the force could have done–maybe even faster than he could have done.
He told himself that she never would have cuffed him if he hadn't been so stunned. In all his years as a cop, no one had ever gotten the jump on him like that.
He had seen a lot of things in his life, but he'd never forget the shock on Kate's face when she yanked open his shower curtain. What had she expected? Of course he'd be naked.
She was just lucky that he hadn't pulled her in the shower with him the way he'd wanted to do when he saw the blush creep up her face and the interest in her eyes. That would have really shocked her. And pleased him.
Maybe he shouldn't have cut off the ankle monitor with his pocketknife. But he'd wanted to scrub every square inch of his skin. If only he could get rid of the stigma of his arrest just as easily.
Kate Kingston would never understand how much he hated being treated like a criminal. He'd spent a major portion of his life putting criminals behind bars. Kate was only concerned about her program, not his guilt or innocence. For some reason, he wanted Kate to believe that he was innocent, that he was a good cop not a dirty one, just like he’d wanted his father to believe in him.
With a sigh, Mack slipped into his jeans. They weren't as tight as before. He must have lost some weight during his five day stint in jail.
Neither his mother nor his father had come to visit him. Not that he'd expected them to. Mack knew that he would never be the son who came through, the one who lived out Dad's dreams of a better life. That was his brother Michael's job. But just once, he thought, just once it would have been nice to have someone in his corner. Someone who believed in him. But they were his parents, and that's why he had to see them and try to explain.
"Mack?" Kate yelled.
"I got plastic surgery, skipped town, and am heading to Mexico on the two o'clock plane."
"I believe you."
He heard her chuckle as he threw on a navy blue tee shirt that had seen better days, but it was broken in and comfortable. He cleaned up the bathroom and headed out to convince Kate to let him visit his folks. Sooner or later, he had to face them, and it might as well be sooner.
He found her sitting on one of the lawn chairs in the living room studying one of her machines. Kate didn't belong in this stark, crummy, dump of a house. He always thought she belonged in one of the big Victorians on Rose Lake, and he knew just the one.
"Hey, Kate?"
Jumping up, she almost dropped her laptop, but caught it before it hit the ground. He smiled. It felt surprisingly good to know that the sight of him naked in the shower had left her rattled.
"I could swear I’d put the battery pack in, but I guess I didn't. Go figure." she mumbled. "I'll have to set up the voice verification system on the VV-98 in my office."
Good. His plan was working.
"Kate, how about letting me visit my parents? I have to explain things to them."
"I can't believe you have the nerve to ask me that after what you just did." She massaged her temples. "You are on home confinement. Your home. You have to stay inside your home, not go out. What part of this don't you understand?"
"I just thought that–"
"No!"
He held his hands up. "All right. I'll call them instead."
"Excellent idea. See how easy that was?"
He bit back a retort. No sense pushing things with her right now.
"I need you to say some words into the machine,” she said. “The computer voice will guide you through it. Would you come over here?"
"You've got to be kidding."
She raised an eyebrow, and he decided to cooperate.
"The machine will prompt you." She handed him the phone.
"Speak clearly."
"Say 'orange'," a deep voice from the black box ordered.
Kate nodded to him. "Say it."
"Orange," he said. He also said, "Camera", "Philadelphia", "Ice Cream" and about twenty-five others. Boring. He was itching to get out of the house and to get started on his investigation.
"Okay. That's it," she finally said. "I'll be going now." She picked up some equipment and headed for the kitchen door. "The VV-98 will call you randomly throughout the day, and you will have to repeat the words as it prompts you. I will also be doing drive-bys and home visits, and when I'm not doing that, the VV-98 in my office will be monitoring you."
"Wonderful," he said sarcastically. "Hey, Kate, how about picking up some Chinese food around dinner time? There's nothing to eat here."
She hesitated. "Call for takeout. There's no need for us to eat together or be any more intimate than we already have been."
Her face started to turn pink as she realized what she had just said.
"Like that intimacy in the shower?" He couldn't resist kidding her. "I'm going to call Pete Nash and tell him how much I like your program already."
"Yes...well...no. No!"
She smiled slightly when she realized he was teasing her, then she shook her head and hurried out.
Mack watched her pull out of the driveway, then went to the kitchen and took out her battery pack from the cabinet where he kept some coffee mugs.
Looking around for another place to hide it, he decided on a dark corner under his kitchen sink. He'd give it back to her when this was all over.
Sorry, Kate, but I have to buy myself some time.
#
Darn him. Kate accelerated onto the interstate. How does he always manage to make me feel like I'm still in high school?
She set the cruise control exactly on the speed limit and remembered Mack's astonished expression when she charged in on his shower expecting to find John Mackowitz gone with the wind.
She chuckled. He'd been there all right. Every glorious naked inch of him.
The blast of a horn shocked her back to the present–the present that had no time for fantasies about her client. And a client he was, nothing more.
She exited near the gas station, filled her tank, and bought the late edition of the Rose Lake Gazette inside the mini-mart. Mack had made headlines again. So had her program.
"DISGRACED SERGENT JOHN MACKOWITZ RELEASED FROM ROSE COUNTY JAIL. 'YOUR HOME IS YOUR JAIL' ELECTRONIC HOME CONFINEMENT PROGRAM TO MONITOR HIM."
The article went on to say how Mack had made several major drug busts in his career and that he held the record for the most arrests which resulted in convictions.
Kate returned to her car, pulled away from the gas pump, and pulled over to the side of the parking lot to finish the article.
It quoted Mack's father as saying, "I have no comment other than to say that my son should never have been a cop in the first place."
That was odd. No proclamations that his son was innocent? That John Mackowitz would never sell drugs? No declarations that he'd make sure his son got the best lawyer that money could buy to prove his innocence?
Should never have been a cop in the first place?
The reporter who wrote the article had more positive things to say about Mack than his own father. How sad.
Now she knew why Mack had asked if he could visit his parents. But it looked as if he was too late. Dad had already made up his mind about his son's arrest.
Skimming the article, she saw that she was mentioned as being the owner-operator of Your Home is Your Jail and how this program could potentially save the taxpayers thousands of dollars in incarceration costs.
Perfect. Just what she’d wanted. Mack being on her program was already generating good publicity. But instead of being thrilled, there was this hollow feeling inside. She didn't want to make money off his misfortune, guilty or not.
Kate folded the paper and drove to her office/apartment on Tulip Street. She parked and walked around the back of Clancy Brothers Pizza Palace and Groceries. As she climbed the stairs with her equipment in hand, Kate took a deep breath of the garlic that wafted from the establishment. Those Clancys made a great pizza.
She deposited her equipment on the floor by the door and turned on her computer. Before she did another thing, she had to program Mack's name, address, account number, and phone number into the VV-98. It would have already been done on the laptop if there had been a battery pack in the thing. Funny, she could have sworn she took care of that. She didn't like the idea of a lapse in time when Mack wasn't connected.
While waiting for the VV-98 to boot up, she picked up her mail from the floor by the door, poured herself a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator in the small kitchenette and glanced at the mail.
Bills. And more bills.
She reminded herself that she needed the security and the stability that would certainly come if her program succeeded.
And it all depended on Mack.
The computer beeped. Kate shook away her money problems and began typing in the necessary data on John Mackowitz. Ten minutes later, she was finished and decided to test it. She hit the combination of keys and received the message back that there was no connection found.
Puzzled, she went over the steps in her head. Without a doubt, she had connected everything perfectly.
Kate checked the data she had just entered, but knew she hadn't made any mistakes.
The answer was obvious.
Mack had left his house!
#
The second Kate pulled out of his driveway, Mack fired up the rust bucket and drove the back roads to the Rose County Sheriff's Department. Parking where no one would notice his car, he jogged to the basement door of the station. The damn ankle monitor felt like a lead weight around his ankle, although it actually weighed nothing at all. It was just the thought of it.
He didn't dare cut this one off and endure the wrath of Kate. Besides, he already owed her for one. If things went off as he planned, he'd make it back home before Kate noticed he’d split. He already had an excuse prepared.
Hunkering down in the bushes, he picked the lock of the side door and entered.
The basement of the cop shop was like a huge rummage sale. Unclaimed bicycles were stored here, as were stereo equipment, lawn mowers, boom boxes, and jewelry. All were recorded, lettered and numbered and placed in lockers of various shapes and sizes.
Clothes and money that prisoners were arrested with were boxed and sent to the basement. His uniform, badge and gun were probably somewhere here, but as far as Mack was concerned, it all could stay behind the floor-to-ceiling, thick, chain link fence that surrounded it all. His interest lay in the computer that was on the gray metal desk outside the gate.
Mack crept in, not daring to breathe. He knew that Deputy Gilmartin would be taking a smoke break about now. He could set his watch by Gilmartin's nicotine habit, and Mack only had about ten minutes. Tops.
Sitting down on the metal folding chair, he immediately went to the main menu. That was about all he could find. Computers were not his thing.
Skimming the lengthy list, he wondered what keys he needed to punch to dig up a list of the inventory of drugs seized during drug busts.
They weren't stored here, he knew. Drugs were kept under lock and key at the Sheriff Department's Heliport located in the country on the outskirts of town. Only a few cops and administrators knew the location of the locker, and he was one of them. The drugs were scheduled for incineration twice a year. The destruction was usually witnessed by Captain Crowley and selected others, and Mack wanted to know the destruction dates and what quantities had been destroyed. More important, he needed to know what remained.
He had a handle on the drug trade in Rose Lake, and there was just too much out there. As soon as he got the town fairly cleaned up, the stuff was out there again in full force.
Lately, some of the drugs looked awfully familiar—something about the way they were p
ackaged. During one bust, he’d confiscated several light green glassine bags tied with a silver string. Those resurfaced in another part of town during another bust, and he knew that the seller was in jail.
It tweaked his mind that the drugs he and Tom Murray had confiscated throughout the past several months might be missing from the storage locker at the Heliport.
Whoever was re-selling the stuff, should have been bright enough to repackage it differently.
He might be spitting in the wind, but it was the only idea he had.
Finally, Mack found what he was looking for. He thought he hit the right combination of keys, but nothing happened. He tried it again and again, then got jammed up and nothing would move. Precious seconds ticked by while he shut the damned thing off and booted it up again. Checking his watch, he knew that he had to get the hell out of there, but he decided to try it one last time.
The basement door squeaked open, then hit the wall with a bang. Mack heard uncontrollable coughingd. Gilmartin.
Mack turned the computer off. Taking the side stairs two at a time, he raced out of the building, locked the door, and jogged to his car.
Disappointed that he'd been dead-ended on the computer, he hurried home. If he didn't get there fast, Kate and her equipment would blow sky high. Mack found himself looking forward to seeing her again.
He made it to his house just seconds before Kate arrived and pounded on the kitchen door.
He opened the door for her. "Something wrong, Kate? You just left not too long ago."
As she stormed inside, he hoped he sounded sincere and not stupid. "I didn't get any voice verification phone calls yet." At least he hoped not.
"You left the premises."
"Me? Why Kate, I–"
"Don't lie to me, Mack. I set you up on my computer in my office, and it showed that you weren't here."
He loved the fire in her green eyes. "As you can see, I am right here watching TV." Motioning toward the living room, he invited her to check for herself. It wasn't a lie. He had watched it for all of three seconds before she arrived. "Maybe something's wrong with your equipment."
"My equipment is fine." She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. "But the battery must have leaped right out of my laptop. You didn't happen to notice anything like that when you brought in those two cases for me, did you?"
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