Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

by James, Maddie

  Holding the phone to my ear, I stared at Delia and the police officer who had worked the convenience store robbery. Delia looked back at me with eyebrows raised. She had asked how the interview with Abigail had gone. Bryant had not given details, just a sentence.

  “He’s whupped.”

  I didn’t appreciate the observation even if I couldn’t argue the truth of it. I shouldn’t go see Abigail. I needed to stay away from her. She was a key witness to the case now. And if the police didn’t come up with another suspect for the convenience store robbery in a hurry, the case against Ford was going to hang on Abigail’s testimony. I opened my mouth to tell her I would not be seeing her tonight.

  “Affirmative.”

  “One more thing, Special Agent McIntyre.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you ever threaten me again. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Six o’clock. See you tonight.”

  ****

  I was prompt again when I knocked on her door. Abigail answered wearing a lacy shirt that crossed her breasts in a snug fit. She also wore jeans and no shoes. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she smelled damned good. My hands itched to touch her.

  “Supper’s almost ready. You like chicken?” she called from over her shoulder as she walked back into the kitchen.

  “I like anything.” I stood in her living room wondering what to do.

  “I guess when you live on the street, you get used to eating whatever you can get.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You’ve gained weight since the fire.”

  She was right, though I didn’t confirm or deny her observation. She walked from the kitchen holding two salad bowls and a larger dish balanced on her arm. I approached her to help, but by the time I entered her little dining room, she’d set everything on the table. Turning back toward the kitchen, she picked up a platter of chicken on a bed of rice from the stove. After placing it on the table, she lifted a bottle of Merlot.

  “Wine?” she looked at me as she began to pour.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Really?” Her eyes met mine over the bottle and glass. She poured it anyway.

  “Yes. Really.”

  “Not ever?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got water and milk. It’s skim though.”

  “Water’s fine.”

  She brought two glasses to the table. With her hand, she indicated I should sit, so I did.

  Spooning food onto my plate, she continued her conversational tone. “Where’d you go after the fire?”

  “For a few days I was in the hospital, then I went to a facility for people like me.”

  She had sat down and was serving herself, but she stopped. “People like you?”

  “Yes. People who work undercover. We debrief, and they try to socialize us so we can function like regular people. I’ve been through it four times now.”

  Abigail took a deep breath, blew it out, then picked up her wine glass and took a long sip.

  “What do you do there?”

  “Therapy and table manners for the most part. Oh, and there’s a cuss jar. I usually lose about a couple a hundred dollars before I clean up my act.”

  “How much for each infraction?”

  “A dollar.”

  She smiled, and I found I wanted to make her smile again.

  Dinner concluded, and she invited me to the living room. To my disappointment, she sat in the rocking chair.

  “Scott, I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to…you know…make love tonight…with you. I mean, I don’t know if you were expecting it. We’ve been moving pretty fast, but I…what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know where this is going, but I like you, and I think we should figure out if we have any common ground before we commence with the physical aspect.”

  Great. The hottest woman I’d had contact with in years, and she has scruples.

  Just my luck.

  ****

  The next morning Delia Travers met me in the lobby of the hotel where I was staying. Over a cup of coffee she made small talk until she got around to what she really had come here for. Business.

  “When’s the last time you saw Abigail Benton?”

  I wondered if I should lie or dodge the question. I decided on the latter. “Why?”

  Delia ignored my question. “Are you sleeping with her?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever slept with her?”

  “No, Delia.”

  “You’re involved though.”

  I sighed and studied my coffee. “I think so.”

  “I’ve got an assignment for you.” She slid a folder across the table toward me.

  Perplexed, I stared at her then looked down at the folder. What? What about the trial? What about Abigail?

  I opened the folder. Inside was a job profile for a Resident Agent in Charge for Stone Rand, Tennessee and a ticket for a plane leaving in three hours. Today? When I looked up at Delia, she nodded.

  “I’m an undercover agent.”

  “Try this.”

  “I have a month leave.”

  “Try the job for a month then take your leave.”

  I sat back. It was a promotion, but it didn’t feel like one. “Is it because I screwed up? I swear I didn’t do anything inappropriate with Abigail while I was undercover. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Scott, you’ve been working undercover for a long time. Maybe it’s time to do something different. I know the Area Special Agent in Charge over there. Dixon Betts. You’ll like him.”

  “Can’t it wait until the trial’s over?”

  “Dixon wants you there today.”

  “What’s the rush?” I persisted.

  “You’re done here, Scott. Go to Stone Rand and see how you like being a regular guy.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I tried to read Delia, a nearly impossible task. My gut screamed foul.

  “If you decide you like it, maybe you can invite Abigail Benton for a visit. We’ll watch over her until you get settled.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out.

  “Don’t you have family close to there?”

  So, here it was. My future in black and white in front of me. Delia had decided I was ready to play house with Abigail twenty-five minutes from my childhood home. How freakin’ quaint.

  I closed the folder, stood up, and tucked it under my arm. Extending my hand to Delia in a handshake, I thanked her then went to pack my bag. I went to the courthouse and found they had recessed until after lunch. A half hour later, I stood in front of the receptionist’s desk at Wainwright and Potter and watched Abigail as she walked toward me with a smile on her face and warmth in her eyes.

  “Hi, Scott.” She took my hand in hers and pulled. “Come on back. We can talk in my office.”

  Once there, she closed the door behind us, picked up a tall stack of papers from a chair and set it on the floor next to the wall.

  “Here. Sit down.” She pulled her chair from behind her desk and rolled it toward the one I had just occupied. Crossing her legs brought my attention to them. She was wearing a khaki skirt and mules. No stockings. “Is this business or pleasure?”

  Neither. I turned my attention to her face to note that her eyes sparkled. Yes. She knew I had been checking her out. With regret, I shook my head. “I came to tell you I’m leaving. There’s a job in Tennessee waiting on me. I just found out.”

  “Oh.” She paused, turned her head to the side, then back to me. “When are you going?”

  “I’m on my way to the airport.”

  “Are you serious? It’s so sudden.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I muttered wishing I hadn’t come here, and yet I couldn’t quit looking at her. She’d twisted her hair up behind her head and the way she sat exposed a sliver of thigh. Her shoe dangled off her foot only inches away from me. I resisted the urge to reach out and nudge it from her toes and rub my fingers on the arch of her foot.

&
nbsp; “So, you came to tell me goodbye.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Oh, Scott, that is so sweet.” She reached forward and clasped my hand. “Thank you. Thank you for every single thing you’ve done for me, for saving my life and—”

  Shaking her hand off, I stood up and so did she. “I didn’t come here so you could thank me. I just wanted to….” What? What did I come here for? Cripes, I was an idiot. Walking to the door, I put my hand on the knob. “Stay out of trouble.” That was a good line. I opened the door, but in a surprise move, she pushed it back shut and wrapped her arms around my waist, tucking her face into my chest.

  The term “hug” was too inane, too inadequate. When Abigail put her arms around me, my heart thumped hard, and the room shifted a bit. I returned her embrace, inhaling her scent hoping I could remember it for the rest of my life and rubbing my fingers up and down her back wanting to know the sensation of her, this woman who had accepted me when I had been nothing.

  She tilted her head up, tears collecting in her eyes. One trailed down her cheek, and yet she smiled at me. It was one of those ‘yeah, this sucks. But let’s not make it worse by gnashing our teeth’ kind of moments. “It’s been a pleasure to know you, Scott Thomas.” Her arms tightened. She must have known how hard this was for me. Damn Delia Travers. Why hadn’t I refused the transfer? But I hadn’t. It was done. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was—

  “Okay.” I fought the urge to kiss that smile. This had to end. Now.

  I disengaged her arms, opened the door, and closed it behind me before I changed my mind about not kissing her, not holding her, not sinking to my knees and grabbing onto her forever. Striding from that place, I got in the car, gunned the engine, and heard with bitter satisfaction as gravel flew out from under the car wheels as I pulled from the parking lot.

  At the airport, I checked my hanging bag. My other bag was small enough to be a carry on. The irony of my whole life packed in two bags did not escape me as I heard Abigail’s voice echo in my head.

  Oh, Eli, you really are homeless.

  ****

  The plane ride was uneventful. I almost wished for something bad to happen so I could get rid of this mire of resentment by pounding my fist into the face of a hijacker forty or fifty times or ending my miserable, pathetic existence in a fiery crash.

  I sighed and shifted in the seat wishing this day was over already. I still had to rent a car and check in at the office before I could even find a place to sleep tonight. Once I was back in the airport, I pulled my phone out and turned it on realizing I had two missed calls. I moved out of the throng of people coming through the concourse and looked to see who had called me.

  Abigail. Why?

  I pushed the screen twice. Two voicemails. Both from her. Another push and I held the phone to my ear. The first one was a second of silence, then a hang up. The second one she didn’t hang up.

  “Scott, this is Abigail.” She took a shuddering breath, and I detected something in her voice. Something like…

  Fear.

  My heart stopped in my chest.

  “I just wanted you…I wanted you to know that I…I know you didn’t want me to thank you, but I do appreciate what you did for me and everybody else while you were here. And I wish that we could have been more to each other.”

  That was the whole message.

  I called her, but only got her voicemail. I left her a message to call me back. Then I called Bryant.

  He picked up on the first ring.

  “Did something happen?”

  He didn’t answer right away, then, “She’s okay.”

  “What?”

  “Abigail. She’s fine. They have her at a safe house until she testifies.”

  “What happened?”

  “A pipe bomb was placed on her front porch, but she was smart. She didn’t open the package. She called Darvis Weilchek. He went out there and called us.”

  I hung up the phone and broke into a run toward the closest desk I saw. Stone Rand, Tennessee could go straight to hell. And Delia Travers could go with it.

  Chapter Ten

  By midnight I was back in Clavania glaring at Delia who stood next to the baggage claim.

  “You knew she was in danger, and you sent me away anyway.”

  “You were involved. You admitted it, Scott. You’re too close. You can’t be any help to her.”

  “With all due respect, Delia, that’s bullshit.” I picked up my bag from the carousel and stalked toward the car rental section.

  “You’re off the case,” She called to me.

  “Fine.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and speed dialed Abigail. She answered this time. “It’s Scott. Tell me where you are. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.”

  Her acquiescence told me she was still scared. Giving me the address, I noted it was in Framing, a quiet older district that Clavania had swallowed as it expanded. I ended the call by promising to see her within the hour and walked up to the rental counter. I slapped my license and credit card on the counter and Delia’s hand covered them.

  “Am I to understand that you are requesting your leave?”

  I sighed wanting to be on my way already. “Look. I’ll go to Tennessee, but not until I know she’s safe. Is there even a job there?”

  Delia cocked her head at me. “Sure, there is. I wouldn’t send you on a wild goose chase.”

  “Yes, but you did send me out of town because you knew something was about to go down.”

  “Love doesn’t make you a better agent, Scott. It’s a conflict of interest. You’ve lost your objectivity where Abigail Benton is concerned.”

  I huffed wishing I could punch her, but she was my supervisor…and a woman.

  “You want to?” She read my mind. “You think you can take me?”

  Quick as a lightning strike, she grabbed my thumb and wrenched my elbow back into an unlikely angle. Pain arced up my arm, but I refused to yell out my discomfort. She bent my arm back another few inches, and I heard the rental agent call security. When I turned to grab her with my other arm, she heel-kicked the back of my shin and twisted my arm further. Falling to my knees, I closed my eyes against the humiliation of being beaten by a woman in public. Stoic to the last, I kept my mouth shut. Not even a grunt. Delia would have to do worse than break my arm before she’d get me to say uncle.

  Man, I hated it when she used that martial arts crap on one of us. I guess when you’re a foot shorter than most of your lackeys, you had to assert your authority in memorable ways.

  Shoes pounded on the floor. Airport security was coming to save me. Delia let go, identified herself as an agent and proclaimed her intention to pull out her badge. With measured movements, she opened her jacket, withdrew her ID holder and handed it to a man with his hand on his holstered gun.

  I pushed on one knee as I stood up on one leg then the other and resisted the urge to rub my arm.

  “Can we assist you, Special Agent Travers?” Respect filled the guy’s tone.

  “No, thank you.” She took her wallet back, pocketed it, and held her hand out to me inviting me to step away from our audience.

  “Have I made my point?”

  With reluctance, I met her gaze.

  “I shouldn’t have been able to take you down that easily. She’s got you distracted.”

  “Oh, right! Like I’m going to hit the Resident Agent in Charge.”

  She shook her head in regret. “It isn’t about me being a RAC. It’s about you thinking of that woman and how much you’ve got to lose.”

  “I don’t have anything to lose. I don’t have anything.”

  Delia’s eyes pierced mine. “You realize what you could have, and it’s scaring the shit out of you.” She looked at her watch. “You can have three of your leave days without any paperwork. I’ll make your excuses to Dixon in Tennessee, but after that you report to him. Got it?”

  Without waiting for my answer, she walked back over to the counter, pa
lmed my cards, and strode away. I sprinted the few steps to catch up with her.

  “I’ll give you a lift,” she commented ignoring my outstretched hand.

  “I do not want to get out there and get stranded.” I opened and closed my fingers in front of her hoping she’d give me my license and credit card.

  She slapped the two cards in my hand. “Think about it, McIntyre. You get out there and don’t have a car. Anticipate what Abigail Benton will do.”

  What would she do?

  She’d do for me what she had done for Kaylon Smith and Harold Wiggs and any other poor sap she’d ever come into contact with who didn’t have a car. She’d give me a ride. I settled my bag on my shoulder and grinned. I’d be with her and could keep her safe. Perfect.

  We exited the airport, walking into the night. Delia said nothing else as she strode toward the parking garage. Even though it was the middle of the night, she had her dark business suit on, always the professional. I couldn’t help but admire her. Even though she was only two years older than I was and at least fifty pounds lighter, she had taken me down. I’d only been beaten twice in a one on one confrontation. Once was in junior high then tonight. Maybe while I was in town, I could pick a fight with Weilchek to make sure I wasn’t getting too soft.

  ****

  The neighborhood couldn’t have been quieter, like some place your grandmother would live. Delia pulled into the driveway, leaving the car idling as I retrieved my bags from the backseat. I leaned in and met her gaze with help from the interior light.

  “Thanks, Delia.”

  “I want a daily check-in until you fly out of here on day four.”

  “Yes Ma’am.” I shut the door and, noting the porch light was on, I walked up to the front door. Pulling my cell phone out as I went, I dialed Abigail.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, I’m here.”

  “Okay.”

  I looked back at Delia’s car idling in the drive. When the door to the house opened, a stream of cuss words streaked across my brain. But my mouth could only utter one thing.

  “Weilchek!”

  He’d recently been in a fight as his left eye was swollen with a cut next to it. Blinking at me, Weilchek looked like a cat who had just woken from a nap. Wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed.