Played by Him

by M. S. Parker

I’d gone another three blocks when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw that it was Dave.

  “Hello?”

  “She came home!” In the background, I could hear a dog barking, and I smiled. “I was walking around my yard, calling for her and telling her that I wasn’t going to be mad if she just came home. Then there she was, running toward me. Thank you so much for helping me!”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s home,” I said, genuinely happy and relieved for them both, “but I didn’t really do anything.”

  “Yes, you did,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t have gone home if you hadn’t taken my case, and she would’ve come back and seen I wasn’t there. She would’ve run away again.”

  I wasn’t sure that’s how things would’ve gone, but if he wanted to thank me, that was fine. I’d only been out here a couple hours, so I wouldn’t even bother sending him a bill. I was sure he was the sort of guy who’d talk about what’d happened, and good press was worth a few hours of cold.

  “I’m glad she’s home,” I repeated. “Go take care of her and have a nice rest of your day.”

  He said goodbye, and I put my phone back in my pocket. Good. I was done. I could head back to my car and go home. I had some leftovers and a nice warm couch calling my name.

  I started to turn when it happened again. The feel of someone watching me.

  And then pain, sharp and explosive across the back of my skull. Pain in my knees as I dropped to the ground.

  Then…nothing.

  Twenty-Nine

  Ouch.

  My knees hurt. My head hurt. My shoulder and the palms of my hands hurt.

  I’d only blacked out for a few seconds, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d passed out or just closed my eyes and was disoriented.

  I remembered landing on my knees, and then I was on the sidewalk, without anything in between. Someone pulled on my purse – hard – jerking my left shoulder painfully. My left palm scraped against concrete and ice, leaving a road-rash like scrape that felt like it matched the one already burning my right palm. My wrist ached too, and I wondered if I’d sprained it when I landed. It didn’t hurt bad enough for it to be broken, or at least that’s what I was hoping.

  Time slipped again, and I was vaguely aware that someone was talking to me, helping me to my feet. I heard my voice telling them that I was okay, that I didn’t need an ambulance, but the words seemed to come from far away. Then I looked down at the woman who was holding onto my arm, and she reminded me so much of my mother that I burst into tears.

  She put her arms around me, and the gesture completely undid me. I clung to her for what seemed like hours, and she never told me that she had to go or that I shouldn’t be crying. Instead, she told me that it was going to be okay and offered me a tissue. When I finally released her and took a step back, embarrassment hit me, but she simply smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” she said, her dark eyes warm.

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re bleeding, and you should get some x-rays and probably a CT scan.” The stern look she gave me made me think she either had kids or was a teacher, possibly both. “You don’t want to take risks with your health.”

  The concern in her voice almost set me off again. “I’m not parked that far away,” I began, then stopped when I realized that my purse was gone.

  I’d just been mugged.

  I wasn’t sure why it surprised me, but it did.

  “I don’t have my keys.”

  “I live right here,” the stranger said. “Let me drive you, and then we can see about calling someone for you.”

  I followed her but didn’t tell her that I didn’t have anyone to call. No family. No parents or siblings or spouse. I doubted I even had a boyfriend anymore. Clay was a possibility, I supposed, but I didn’t want to ask him to drive in from Denver because I didn’t have car keys. Okay, it wasn’t as if I’d lost my keys or something simple like that, but I couldn’t keep calling Clay about my problems. He was my friend, but if I kept going to him about things like this, I was afraid the line would get blurred, and I’d end up losing him too.

  “My name’s Patty McBride,” she said as she got behind the wheel of a surprisingly flashy sports car.

  “Rona Quick,” I said, running my fingers over the lock and window buttons in an attempt to distract myself from the way my palms were stinging. “I’m getting blood on your car.”

  She laughed, and I turned to look at her. The look she gave me was pure mischief. “It’s not my car.”

  I stared at her, not entirely sure what she meant by that.

  “This thing is my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s baby. I used to say that he cared more about it than he did about me, and he never argued the point.” She turned down the street where my car was, but I didn’t mention it, too curious now to interrupt her. “Three days ago, he took the tickets for our Caribbean cruise and left me a note saying that his twenty-year-old yoga instructor looked better in a bikini than I did.”

  “Bastard.”

  “And then some,” she said with a tight smile. “He’s always underestimated me. The minute I found his note, I vowed that he’d done it a last time. While he’s on that ship, I’m taking care of business here. I called up an old friend from high school who’s a divorce attorney, and we’re going to make sure Carl’s left with nothing but those tickets and his new girlfriend.”

  I wasn’t sure if she’d decided to tell me all that so I didn’t feel bad about bleeding on the upholstery, or if she needed to tell someone who didn’t have a previous stake in the relationship. Either way, her story distracted me enough that I was able to regain my composure by the time we arrived at the hospital.

  Despite my protests that I could manage from there, she followed me inside and sat with me until I was called back to see a doctor. As I told her goodbye, I knew I’d never be able to fully explain to her how much it meant to have had her caring for me the way she did, but I promised myself that I’d contact her soon with an offer of my services free of charge. I’d make sure that her lawyer had all the ammunition needed to take her lousy ex to the cleaners.

  With that cheery thought in my mind, I followed the nurse back to a curtained-off area where I’d be taken care of.

  “When did you first notice someone following you?” The detective taking my statement barely looked old enough to shave, but it was the nervous way he kept looking at his older, grizzled partner that made me think this was his first case, or at least the first one he was taking lead on.

  “I didn’t.” My tone was patient, even if nothing else about me was. I understood that someone had to be the kid’s first, and I was trying to remember that as he fumbled his way through questions, but I really wanted to go home and take a nice, hot bath, then crawl into my bed. Then again, I supposed it was better to have him starting out on a mugging rather than a sexual assault or a murder or something like that.

  “I thought you said…” He flipped back through his notes.

  “I said that I felt like someone was watching me,” I corrected. “But when I looked, I couldn’t see anyone specific. There were other people on the sidewalk, but no one looked suspicious.”

  “Would you be willing to work with a sketch artist?” The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I mean, if you think that would help you remember.”

  I gave him a tight smile. “I was hit from behind, then fell forward. I didn’t see anyone until Patty helped me up. A sketch artist won’t be able to do any good with that.”

  “Miss Quick, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?” The other detective broke in, giving his partner a sharp look. “As a private investigator, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of unhappy clients.”

  Evan Lee’s face flashed into my mind. “A couple,” I admitted, “but no one’s threatened me. They’ve called me incompetent, that sort of thing, but no one said they were going to hurt me.”

 
“No unhappy ex-boyfriends?” the kid asked. His cheeks suddenly flushed. “Or ex-girlfriends?”

  “No.” Jalen didn’t count. He might’ve been pissed when he left after our fight, but he wouldn’t have come after me like that. He wasn’t that sort of man.

  A little voice in my head whispered that I never would’ve thought my father was that sort of man either, but I ignored it. Even if I’d misjudged Jalen’s character when it came to his willingness to commit violence, I couldn’t see any scenario – even revenge – where he’d follow me, hit me over the head, then steal my purse. It would’ve been…pointless.

  “Is there any reason why you think this wasn’t some random mugging?” I asked. “My purse was taken off of me on the street. I wasn’t assaulted. I mean, no more than what was needed to knock me down. It didn’t happen at work or at home or even someplace like a bar or restaurant where I might’ve been followed. I was looking for a lost dog, and I’d only been hired an hour or so before.”

  The two men exchanged the sort of look that made me want to snap at them to stop treating me like a child, but I knew that what usually happened when a young woman told two adult men that she didn’t want to be treated like a child, they did just that, even if they didn’t seem to mean it.

  Fortunately, I was saved from needing to find a way to get them to tell me what was going on when the door to the tiny room opened, and two more people walked in.

  Clay was with a dark-haired man in his early fifties, a man I assumed was Agent Raymond Matthews. Considering that I’d never met the man before, the fact that he was here with Clay now told me that they were here on official business. I just didn’t understand why.

  “Since when are muggings under the FBI’s jurisdiction?” I picked at the tape holding the medical gauze onto my palm.

  “Detectives, thank you for getting Miss Quick’s statement,” Agent Matthews said gruffly. “Unless we find evidence to support a connection, we won’t be interfering in your investigation, but you’re welcome to ask for our assistance.”

  A connection? What the hell did that mean?

  “We’ll be in touch, Miss Quick,” the older detective said, “if any of your property is found or if we need your help with identification.”

  I doubted either of those scenarios was likely, but I nodded anyway. As soon as the door closed behind the younger detective, I turned back to Clay and Agent Matthews.

  “All right, what are you two doing here?” I pointed at Clay. “And don’t give me some bullshit about wanting to make sure I was okay. Checking in on me doesn’t require your partner to come with you, no matter how much you’d argue to the contrary.”

  Agent Matthews cracked a smile. “She knows you well.”

  “You’re right,” Clay said to me, his expression still somber. “I’m not here as a friend. Or, at least, not only as a friend. It’s business, and not anything to do with getting mugged. Probably.”

  My insides squirmed. “What’s going on? Stop beating around the bush and just tell me.”

  Clay looked at his partner who nodded. “There’s no easy way to say this, Rona, so I’m just going to come out with it.”

  I braced myself, but nothing could have truly prepared me for what came out of his mouth next.

  “Your father’s escaped.”

  Thirty

  I had to have misheard what Clay said because there was no way my father had escaped from prison only a month after he’d been found guilty of murder for a second time. They couldn’t have been stupid enough to give a man like him the opportunity to escape. It had to be a mistake. A joke. A very unfunny joke.

  I blinked slowly, wondering if maybe I was hearing things. I had gotten hit hard on the head today. That was a good possibility. I was going to go with the concussion as the reason I’d heard that absolute insanity.

  “Rona, did you hear me?” Clay crossed over to where I was standing. He reached out as if he wanted to touch me, but then dropped his hand when he remembered that his partner was standing next to him.

  I nodded. “I heard you, but I don’t see how that’s possible.” I was surprised at how calm I sounded.

  It was Agent Matthews who explained things. More or less. “A little under two hours ago, we received a call from Indiana State Prison saying that your father escaped their custody.”

  Okay, that was definitely less rather than more.

  As my head cleared, I knew I had to accept that what they were saying was true, but I wasn’t going to be satisfied with such a simple explanation. “Again, I don’t see how that’s possible.” I crossed my arms, winced, then scowled. “What happened?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” Agent Matthews said. “Especially since there are multiple agencies involved.”

  “Like hell you can’t,” I snapped. “My father broke out of prison. The same convicted murderer I had to testify against for the second time. The same man who tried to kill me. Who almost killed me.” A thought suddenly hit me, and I slid off the bed, needing to stand even if my legs gave out on me. “For all I know, he tried to kill me again tonight.”

  “That’s not possible,” Agent Matthews said. “Trust us, Willis Jacobe couldn’t have been responsible for your mugging, even if that would’ve been something in his MO.”

  “His MO?” I snapped at the agent. “His MO is to butcher people with the sharpest object he can find, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have minded using a rock if he thought it’d get the job done. I’m going to need something more than that as a reason to believe he didn’t come after me again today.”

  Clay looked at Agent Matthews, who shook his head, and then he turned back to me, a familiar stubborn set to his jaw.

  “About an hour before you were mugged, Willis Jacobe was attacked by another inmate and both were taken to the infirmary. The prison doctor examined both inmates and sent the attacker back to his cell after bandaging up a few shallow cuts. Jacobe was admitted with multiple contusions and lacerations.” Clay sounded like he’d swallowed a medical dictionary, but I was following what he was saying so I didn’t protest. “The doctor was concerned about a blow to his head as he showed signs of being confused and disoriented, and with his history…”

  I nodded, not needing him to finish that sentence. With my father’s previous head injury, they’d want to be careful, especially since the prior injury had caused his personality changes. The last thing they’d want would be him becoming someone else…again.

  “So they kept him in the infirmary, and he got out from there?” I prompted.

  “Basically,” Clay said. “He’d been in there for about forty minutes when he started complaining of chest pain. When the doctor went over to administer a shot, Jacobe grabbed him and used the needle to get the keys to his cuffs.”

  “Brilliant. He didn’t even pull some Shawshank sneaky escape. You guys let him get out right there in broad daylight.” I had to admit, being pissed was infinitely better than worrying about who’d come after me, or what my father might do, or thinking about how much more I was going to hurt tomorrow.

  “You do realize that the FBI doesn’t have anything to do with the Indiana state penitentiary system, right?” Agent Matthews asked.

  I glared at him. “I think Willis Jacobe is a dangerous murderer that the FBI, the state police – hell, every person whose job it is to serve and protect…” I blew out a long breath, then inhaled deeply, trying to slow my pounding pulse. “I made sure he got put away, but apparently, I was the only one doing whatever it took to keep people safe from him.”

  Despite his partner’s presence, Clay did reach out this time and put his hand on my arm. “Jacobe kept the doctor hostage until he was able to grab a badge and use it to get out of prison. As near as anyone can figure, he snuck onto a laundry truck and vanished.”

  “But it wasn’t early enough for him to have found me and hurt me.” I went back to the original point.

  “Correct,” Agent Matthews said. “The l
ocal police are going to work on your mugging case, but Clay and I are here to make sure you’re safe from your father.”

  “You two are going to keep me safe?” I gestured around me. “You do realize I’m in the hospital?”

  “Because you were mugged,” Clay said, “not because of your father.”

  I raised an eyebrow and ignored the pain as it stretched the cut on my forehead. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

  He gave me a half-smiled to go with a half-shrug. “We told the US Marshals that we’d come talk to you about protective custody. That’s all I want for you. To keep you safe.” His expression sobered, and he reached out to squeeze my hand. “If not for you, let me do it for Anton.”

  I knew Clay meant well, but mentioning my uncle brought a memory rushing forward fast enough to make me stagger.

  “How long have you been getting these threats?” I demanded as I tossed the envelope and letter onto the worn sofa.

  My uncle glanced down for a moment before returning his attention to the salad he was making. “I don’t always make friends in my profession, Rona.”

  His tone was mild, and he sounded so much like my mother that it sent a stab of pain through me. I usually tried to ignore how much he looked like her, but times like now made it hard, though not as much as when people commented on how much he and I looked alike since that reminded both of us of who we’d lost.

  “I’m not a child, Uncle Anton,” I said, glaring at him. “You should have told me that you were getting death threats.”

  He turned toward me and pushed his sleeves up higher on his arms. Most of my female classmates growing up – and a few of the guys – had swooned over my uncle’s forearms and I’d often wondered if that was how things would’ve been if I’d had a brother.

  “I have an entire filing cabinet full of letters like that,” he said calmly. “I get them at least once or twice a week, though they usually come to the office and not here.”