by Gina Ardito
~~~~
Shane wouldn’t allow Adara to enter her apartment until he’d checked every closet and cabinet for potential danger. So she stood in her hallway, torn between aggravation and appreciation for his presence.
“Okay,” he said, waving her in. “It’s safe.” He sat down on her couch. “I’ll wait here while you pack.”
Her lips tightened as she walked past him and toward the bedroom in the back of the apartment. “I’m a little inexperienced at this. What does one pack when running away from criminals?”
“Bare necessities,” he replied without missing a beat. “Enough clothing for at least a week at a time, but no more than ten days’ worth. Sensible shoes. And keep the cosmetics to a minimum. You’ll be spending most of your time indoors anyway so excessive makeup is a waste of effort and space.”
Adara bit her tongue until it hurt. Another poke at the ultra-feminine looking woman who doesn’t have sense enough to leave her favorite purple eye shadow at home when faced with a life-threatening crisis? Did he really think she was that stupid? Well, she couldn’t just let that comment go without giving something back to him.
“I guess that means I shouldn’t pack my g-string and pasties, huh?”
A weak retort, but he practically swallowed his tongue, so she achieved some small satisfaction. Her mind was too numb for a battle of wits. With a saucy wink, she headed into her bedroom and pulled a battered suitcase out of her closet, laying it on the bed. Once she unzipped it, she flipped the lid atop the pillows and turned to her bureau. Upper drawer: bras and panties. Ten of each found their way into the case. Second drawer: socks and a few nightshirts covered the underwear. Bending into the third drawer, she surveyed its array of chinos and jeans with an eye toward comfort and convenience.
She folded two pairs of faded blue jeans and one pair of dressier black chinos over her arm and was just about to turn around to place them in the case when an arm snaked about her waist, and a sweaty hand covered her mouth.
“Don’t move,” a throaty voice growled in her ear.
Her body stiffened automatically, but with concentration, her martial arts training kicked in, and she forced her muscles to relax.
“Good girl,” the voice said, and she smelled his smoky breath rising up from her neck. “Now, we’re gonna climb out this window, down the fire escape, and into the van my pal’s got running in the alley. You make one sound that brings your cop friend in here, you’ll both die. You got me?”
She nodded, and his grip on her waist eased slightly. It was the break she needed. With lightning speed, she sent an elbow into her attacker’s ribs while simultaneously delivering a solid back kick to the middle of his shin.
He released her with an “Oomph.” In one graceful move, she spun around and crashed a fist into his face, crunching his nose with a sickening splintery sound. While his hand reached for his nose in reaction, her knee met his groin in perfect aim.
The moment he fell to the floor, she screamed, “Shane!”
Chapter Thirteen
Adara’s shriek froze the blood in Shane’s veins, but the rest of his body spurred into quick action. Practiced reflexes pulled his service revolver from his holster while he raced down the hall and into her bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He blinked, but the scene remained the same.
She stood near the bed, fists poised at the ready and her legs in a stance of looming attack. At her feet, a man clutched his knees to his chest and moaned in agony.
“He’s got an accomplice outside,” she shouted, pointing to the open bedroom window. “In a van.”
Assured she was unharmed, Shane reached for his restraints and slipped them on the writhing man’s wrists. With Adara’s safety now guaranteed by the tight white strips, he rushed to the window and leaned down in time to see a battered commercial van speed away with a screech of tires.
Turning to face the room again, he announced, “Looks like your partner decided to leave you behind.”
“Screw you!” the man spat out.
Adara still maintained her fighting posture, one foot pressed into the small of the man’s back, and Shane nodded in her direction. “At ease, soldier.”
She instantly relaxed and stepped backward, but her eyes remained locked on her attacker.
“Where’s your phone?” His question drew her attention away from the scum on the floor.
“In the kitchen.”
He handed her a business card. “Call this number, ask for Lou. Tell him what happened, and have him send a cruiser. Wait in the living room ‘til they get here.” Reaching down, he yanked on the scum’s wrists to pull him to his feet. “My new friend and I have some talking to do.”
Once Adara left the room, Shane tossed the restrained man into a chair across from the bed. “Who sent you?”
Not surprisingly, the man said nothing.
“Was it Cherry?”
Silence.
“Fine. Have it your way. You won’t remain a mystery once you get to the precinct. Something tells me once we acquire some nice clear fingerprints, we’ll have your name and a detailed record to go along with it.”
“Screw you,” the man repeated. “I’m not saying anything ‘til I get a lawyer.”
Shane shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”
The minutes ticked by while the two men glared at one another, saying nothing.
~~~~
A short while later, Lou appeared at the apartment with two uniformed officers. While the patrol cops escorted their suspect downstairs, Adara filled Lou in on the details of her tussle with her attacker.
Shane noted the glazed look in her eyes and the lack of emotion to her speech pattern as she told of breaking free of the man’s grasp and downing him with a punch and kick combination. The story came out concise, yet robotic. Like Tyler’s behavior the day his mother died.
When she finished her tale, she flopped onto the couch and remained there, saying nothing else.
Lou leaned forward and whispered low, “Get her out of here, Shane. Fast. She’s no good to anybody if she’s dead. Did Jake find a place for her yet?”
He nodded. “The Seven Knights Motel on Route 9. We just stopped here to pack.”
“Well, finish packing and vamoose.” Lou walked to the door, and in a louder voice, said, “Ms. Berros, I’ll keep Detective Griffin here informed of anything we find out. Good luck, ma’am.”
She never responded, merely remained on the couch, staring at the television against the far wall. Shane glanced at the box to see what show demanded such interest—it wasn’t on.
“Beep me when you got something,” Shane murmured, closing the door behind Lou’s retreating figure. He then returned his attention to Adara. “Hey,” he said softly as he sat down beside her. “You okay?”
She nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the black screen.
He’d seen this before with other crime victims. A kind of shocked disbelief regarding what happened combined with a fear of what to do should it ever happen again. For Adara, it was probably ten times worse because she had more reason to believe such an attack would recur.
“You did good in there.” He took her hand and stroked it, but still received no reaction. Time to bring out the big guns. “I mean it. And…I owe you an apology.”
Ta-da! Amazing what a simple, “I’m sorry” could do to a woman’s spirits. Her eyes blinked, finally focusing, and she turned to look at him with keen interest.
“You do? For what?”
“In the hospital. When you told me you could have a man writhing on the floor in fifteen seconds flat, I kinda dismissed your abilities. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
A tremulous smile made her lips quiver, and he wanted to swoop in closer and stop the trembling with his own mouth. He leaned away from her instead, giving them both a little breathing room.
“That’s okay. A lot of men have trouble with a woman who’s capable of taking care of herself.”
> Ouch. That was a little harsher than he deserved. But he chalked it up to her frazzled emotions. Besides, he genuinely wanted to talk to her about what she’d done in that bedroom.
“I assume you used some kind of karate moves on him.”
She nodded. “Combination sixteen.”
“How long have you been studying martial arts?”
“About eight years now.”
“And how long did it take you to get your black belt?”
“The first one? About five and a half years. But that’s because I took six months off toward the end of my training.”
“You did? Why?”
“My mother passed away.” The admission came out in a mournful sigh.
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand in a gesture of sympathy, and she squeezed back, communicating acceptance.
“I never should have taken that time off. When I finally went back, I realized how much the training helped me deal with her loss.”
Shane sat up a little higher on the couch. “Did it?”
“Mmm-hmm. There’s something about it—I can’t really explain it to someone who doesn’t prescribe to the martial arts mindset, though. There’s a sense of giving yourself over to a higher power, of accepting challenges on a spiritual level.” She smiled. “Besides, when you’re angry over something, what better way to deal with that anger than to punch and kick at a heavy bag, right? It’s an outlet for all the bottled-up emotions.”
“Do you think a child could get the same kind of results out of it?”
“My sensei teaches a lot of children. In many respects, they’re better than adults. They’re more flexible and a little less fearful. It would depend upon the child, of course. But, yes, I think a child could definitely find it beneficial.” Her eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “Why?”
“My nephew. He lost his mother recently also.”
“Oh. Now, I’m sorry. This was the five-year-old you told me about?” He nodded. “What happened?”
“His mother was a victim of a murder/suicide.”
Her mouth opened in a wide o of disbelief, and tears shimmered in her eyes. “Oh, my God. That poor baby. And you’re thinking he might benefit from martial arts training?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think. I know he needs some kind of help. I mean, he’s getting psychotherapy, and he’s making progress, but it’s not enough. He’s not the same kid he was before this happened. I can’t seem to reach him. And an outlet that will give him the release you describe…”
His voice trailed off as he pictured Tyler in his mind: the haunted eyes, the gaunt cheeks. Mom was right. The boy needed more than a replacement father and an appointment twice a week with a psychotherapist. Could Adara’s karate classes hold the key?
“What about the boy’s father?” she asked. “What does he say?”
“His father was the perpetrator of the murder/suicide. Tyler is my responsibility now.”
Her eyes widened for an instant, but she managed to tamp down her surprise before he could call her on it. “Oh. In that case, it might be wonderful for him.”
“Tyler’s small, though. I mean, even for his age. He only weighs about thirty-eight pounds.”
“Then he’ll probably have an advantage. I’ve watched the kids in sparring tournaments. Sometimes the smaller ones succeed because their size distracts an opponent. I’ve seen girls take on boys who are at least a foot taller and outweigh them by a good fifty or sixty pounds. The only punch they can’t throw well is the hammer.”
“The hammer?”
Rising to her feet, she quickly rotated her left arm in a circle, stopping her fist level with her shoulder blade. “It’s an overhead move, and when your opponent is taller, it’s of no use to you.” She sat down again. “But there are lots of other katas a smaller person can perform with ease. And because they’re chest-level or so with their opponent, they strike the right targets more easily.”
He watched her closely, enjoying the way her eyes lit up, like a tigress who’d found delicious prey. Every motion filled with such grace, prima ballerinas should hand over their tutus in disgust. Clearly, she loved the martial arts and found untold power and peace in the skills.
Adara Berros was unlike any woman he’d ever met before—part Xena, Warrior Princess and part Rapunzel. He found it a heady combination.
“If you’d like, I could call my sensei. Or you could just bring the boy down to the dojo for a trial class. It’s Tao Wu Karate in Riverview.”
He rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. “Maybe later. Right now, we have to get you to the safe house.”
And me as far away from you as possible before I get in over my head…
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m not staying here.”
The room at the Seven Knights Motel gave new meaning to the term, “seedy.” Heavy drapes in a dingy gold color were drawn back to allow slivers of light from the late afternoon sun to penetrate the grime-coated window. Still, the illumination did the room no justice.
In fact, it only served to enhance the large brown stains on the threadbare indoor/outdoor carpeting and the deep scars on the faux walnut furniture. Even with the door closed, traffic whizzed by on the highway outside, rattling the windows and shaking the lamps on the cockeyed nightstands. The odor of old grease, mixed with a sickening sweet bug spray, sent her stomach pitching.
This was a safe house? It might be safe, but it certainly wasn’t pretty. Nor was it very clean.
While the room’s ugliness assaulted her senses on all fronts, her brain made a quick decision. Unh-uh. No way. Not in a million years would she lay her head on that filthy pillow or slide her body between sheets she imagined were as sanitary as everything else in this place.
“If this is how you treat witnesses,” she said, stifling a shiver of disgust, “I’d hate to see the prison cells.”
Shane offered her a half-smile, confirming her suspicion that convicts had better living quarters than the county offered her. “I’m sorry, Adara. I didn’t realize—”
“Don’t apologize. Just get me out of here.”
“I can’t. It may not be the Taj Mahal, but it’s safe.”
“Yeah, well there are more important things than safety.” A dark brown insect scurried across the floor, and she stamped her foot. The collision between her sneaker and the bug elicited a squishy crackle that made her wince. “Like living without cockroaches. Forget it, Shane. I’ll find my own safe house. I’ll even pay for it, but I’m not staying here.”
A frown crossed his features as he stared at the squashed carcass near her feet. “No. You won’t pay for it.” He let out a sigh as he opened the door and drew her back outside. “I will.”
The bright sunlight momentarily blinded her after the gloom of the accommodations, and she instinctively reached for Shane’s arm to steady herself. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He smiled and released her grip. “You won’t. I’ll take you someplace else and deal with the consequences later. But I have to warn you, it can’t be a high-profile place. No four-star hotel with a huge marble lobby and dripping chandeliers. For our purposes, smaller is better.”
“Size doesn’t matter.” Heat infused her cheeks at the unintentional double entendre. “So long as it’s clean.”
He stroked his chin. “I think we can accommodate you there. Come on.”
~~~~
The Bayside Inn overlooked the Great South Bay in Harborfield. Aside from the spectacular waterviews, it had two qualities that made it perfect for their current needs. It was clean, and Shane had known the owner since childhood. He and Ron Grogan found themselves one behind the other whenever they were lined up in alphabetical order throughout twelve years of school. Such a connection made them easy friends. More importantly, all these years later, he trusted Ron to respect and maintain the secrecy needed to keep Adara safe.
“Here we are,” he announced as he stopped outside Room 26. “Your new, but temporary,
home.”
He pushed open the door and stepped aside to allow her a chance to see the place for herself. The room resembled a miniature apartment with a tiny living area, dining table for two, and a kitchenette containing a single wall of cabinets, a microwave, coffeemaker, and mini refrigerator. Wide windows let in an expanse of light as well as panoramic vistas of the bay, easily seen from the couch.
“Oh, this is more like it,” she exclaimed, wandering toward the magnificent view. “Thank you, Shane. This is almost like being on vacation at some exotic resort.”
Pride washed over him at the sound of her pleasure. For some strange reason, he enjoyed seeing her smile—the way it lit up her whole face, lending her eyes a glow that warmed his insides.
“The bedroom’s in the back here,” he said, carrying her suitcases with him down the short hall.
The same exterior view bathed the queen-sized bed in golden light. While reveling in her happiness with his choice, he placed one suitcase on the rack in the corner and the other next to it, averting his face from her in order to hide his own smile.
When he gained control of his expressions again, he turned back to face her. “You should be pretty comfortable here. I changed your name again. You’re now Lisa Whitman. The cabinets in the kitchen hold cooking utensils as well as dishes and silverware. So all you need is food, and you’ll be all set. There’s a small market about a block away from here. We can pick up some necessities right now, if you’d like.”
Her smile dimmed, and he swore the sun diminished as well. “You’ve done so much for me already. It’s nearly seven o’clock. Go home. I’ll be all right until tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay. But if you need anything—anything at all—ask Ron. He’ll be here all night. And I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning to check on you.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, studying her face for any fear or distress. Her features remained clear and unlined. Too bad. He would have liked a reason to stay.