Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

“Well, yeah. But why would they want to hurt me after I’ve testified? Killing me isn’t going to change whether or not Ford goes to jail.”

  “Revenge.”

  “Oh, please, Scott. I’m not going—”

  The door opened, and the bailiff stuck his head in. “Ms. Benton? It’s time.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood up. With shoulders straight, she walked toward the door. Pride swelled up in me as I followed her into the courtroom. She was so damn brave and dumb. She thought this would all be over the moment she walked out of this building. Didn’t she realize the gangs were still fighting feuds that had started decades ago? They held grudges lasting longer than the life of any one member, which actually wasn’t saying much. Not many of them lived to old age. Bryant was fond of saying if we just locked the gangs in one room, they would take care of each other within fifteen minutes. It would save the government a lot of money in court and prison costs. Abigail wasn’t going to be off the hook so easily. If her testimony put Daniels in jail, even from prison, he’d make sure she paid for it. I knew it. I knew it, and I hated it.

  Within half an hour it was over. She made a good witness. Her story was consistent and confident. She had no reason to lie or wish any ill will of Ford or his buddies. If she lived through the week, it would be a miracle.

  She refused to let me start her car while she stood across the street. She called me ridiculous. We argued for fifteen minutes about it.

  She cupped her hands and shouted, “Hello? Hello, you gang people. Here I am. Please shoot me now. Here I am. But don’t blow up my car. It’s not paid for.”

  I glared at her. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Oh, just give me the keys.”

  “No. You need to do as I tell you.”

  “Look, Scott. I’m not going to let you start my car because you think there’s a bomb. If it’s rigged with a bomb, it’s my bomb, And no one is going to get killed in my place. As sweet as you are to want to do that.” She reached up and pinched my cheek. “I just love you for wanting to take my bomb, but no.”

  I grabbed her wrist. “I’ll have you locked up.”

  “Oh, baby. I love it when you sweet talk me. Give me my keys.” She held out her other hand to me.

  Without another word, I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. I loved the judicial setup. The jail was one block over from the courthouse.

  “Scott. Scott Thomas McIntyre, you put me down!”

  Marching into the building, I stepped up to the counter as the deputy behind it looked at me with wide and wary eyes. I fished my badge from my pocket and held it reading distance from his face. “Do you have a holding cell? I need to borrow it.”

  “If you put me in jail, I’ll kill you.”

  I arched an eyebrow at the officer. He picked up an impressive key ring and motioned for me to follow him. Ahead of me, he opened a door, walked down a short hallway, and unlocked a room. “Is she dangerous?”

  “Only to herself.”

  “There’s a chair and table in here. Should I take them out?”

  “No.” I marched in the room, bent down and set her on the floor. To my surprise, she didn’t go after me, only glared.

  “Fine. Go start the stupid car. Don’t expect me to cry at your funeral. I’ll be the one dancing a jig on your grave.”

  I grinned at her. “Make sure to wear high heels, honey.”

  It turned out I didn’t have to lock her in the room. She did stay with the deputy, however, and I promised if I was still living I would drive over to the jail to get her. I didn’t sweat getting in the car and turning the ignition. A security guard had been assigned to the parking area to watch for suspicious activity. But I didn’t want to take any chances with Abigail.

  As I drove her toward Wainwright and Potter, she asked, “Shouldn’t I be the one driving you somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not taking my car and leaving me stranded at work.”

  “I’m not taking your car anywhere. I’m staying with you.”

  She responded with a long-suffering sigh. Too bad if she didn’t want me around. When I parked in the lot outside of her building she stared through the windshield.

  “Look, Scott. Nothing is going to happen at work. I’m safe here.”

  “I can’t leave you stranded.”

  “I changed my mind. Strand me. Just make sure to be back by two-thirty.” She opened the door and exited the vehicle.

  I followed. “I thought you worked until five.”

  In through the door we went. She waved to the secretary talking on the phone who returned the silent greeting. I waited until we were in her office to continue the discussion. She walked behind her desk, sat down and shoved her purse in a drawer before closing it.

  “I’m going to the center this afternoon.”

  My jaw dropped. I turned and shut her door, then faced her, ready to fight it out. “The hell you are.”

  “It’s not your decision. I’m making a difference there, and I’ll go as long as I want to go.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you almost got blown up yesterday? Abigail, they want to hurt you. It isn’t safe.”

  “I’m not going to live my life in fear. The community center needs me. I’ll be careful, and I’ll be okay.”

  “You weren’t fine when they put seventeen stitches in your head at the emergency room.”

  She slapped the desk and pulled the computer keyboard closer to her. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you know what is supposed to be private patient information. I’m not having this discussion with you. The cut on my head was an accident.”

  “There are no accidents. I saw Angel flying out of that alley ten seconds before I went in. He whacked you, and you didn’t even know he was there.”

  “That’s not true. Angel’s a wonderful kid. He would never hurt me.”

  It was my turn to sigh. I shook my head at the utter hopelessness that was working itself across her face. I suppressed the urge to take her into my arms and tell her it was all right. That Angel hadn’t tried to kill her.

  “Why?”

  “If he had killed you, his status in the Nights would have gone up.”

  “He is not in the Nights.” She defended him, but her voice lacked conviction. “He can’t be. He was in the building that night. He was helping people get out. I saw him. I saw him.”

  “He was a new recruit. He wouldn’t have known about the fire. Bryant didn’t realize those guys were going to chain the doors and torch it. Otherwise Bryant would have alerted us and we could have prevented it.”

  She brought a trembling hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “I can’t believe Angel’s in the Nights.”

  “So, do you understand now why I don’t want you there?”

  “I have to go. Don’t you see? If I don’t go, then they win.”

  “It isn’t a contest. It’s about you being safe.”

  “The gang shouldn’t be a threat any longer. With Ford, Skinny, and Marlin in prison, the gang’s leaders are gone.”

  “All bangers are dangerous. With those three gone, three more take their place the next day. We had hoped they wouldn’t be as malicious, but with the bomb….” I raised my hands and shrugged instead of finishing the sentence.

  “Then why do anything?”

  I stared at her and wrestled with a response. I finally decided helpless honesty was my best bet. “I ask myself that every day.”

  “And do you have an answer for yourself?”

  “On my good days, I say because that’s one peaceful night for the neighborhood.”

  Standing up, she rounded the desk, approached me and wrapped her arms around my waist. With her chin pressed into my chest, she turned her face upward. Her eyes sparkled prettily.

  “Guess that’s the right answer, huh?” I grinned down at her before meeting her lips with mine.

  ****

  YOUR DEAD BITCH

  Abig
ail and I stared at the ugly black paint scrawled across her front door. I pulled out my phone and called Delia. When I hung up, Abigail reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, and stepped to the door. I placed my hand on hers grasping it to prevent her from writing on the surface.

  “Hold it. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “This bothers me.” She tried to shake my hand off, but I stepped back and pulled her out of reach of the door.

  “It bothers me too. It scares the hell out of me, in fact. They know where you live.”

  “Well, yeah. There is that, but look.” She pointed with her other hand. They misspelled you’re. That’s the possessive form which we went over last month at the center. I don’t own a dead bitch. It’s despicable how these kids write.”

  “They know where you live,” I repeated.

  “They’re just blowing off steam.” Finding her keys, she began to insert them in the lock.

  “No. Leave everything. The police will want to dust for prints.”

  “This is so inconvenient. I’m hungry. I want to change clothes.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you to Schanuk’s. We’ll eat, and maybe I can convince you that the grammatical errors on your door shouldn’t be your biggest concern.”

  Grudgingly, she went with me. Madeline Daughton and a police officer named Reg Mallory took our statements at the restaurant before we all headed to the apartment. It was a big party, and nobody knew anything. How could they not? Delia warned me about my temper when I snapped at some klutz who turned over a lamp. Abigail wasn’t helping things. All happy like this was some social occasion, she brought in a pitcher of tea, set it on the table and filled glasses with ice.

  I stalked into her bedroom, opened her closet, and looked around. On the floor was a suitcase. Satisfied, I picked it up, laid it on the bed and opened it. Going through drawers, I pulled out articles of clothing and threw them inside. Stalking to her bathroom, I grabbed every girly personal item I saw and carried those back to the bedroom to pack. Lastly, I included a pair of sneakers. This should get her through a few days. And if it didn’t, we’d buy the rest.

  Walking back through the apartment, I picked her purse up, and shouldered it. “Abigail? Come on.”

  She looked over from where she was making nice talk with some sap in a uniform. “What are you doing with my suitcase?”

  “Let’s go.” I set the case by the door, grabbed her keys from their hook on the wall, marched over to her, and took her hand. I pulled.

  She resisted. “Where are we going?”

  “Out. Now.”

  She allowed me to usher her to the door. On the way to her car, I called Delia who was probably drinking tea inside, barked at her to get the door repainted, and informed her I’d call her from Tennessee. Not forgetting my promise to Weilchek, I got his number off Abigail and told him a gallon of off white exterior latex paint at Abigail’s apartment and a little luck might get him a date.

  ****

  The trip was longer than I anticipated because Abigail refused to exit the car at the airport. More arguing. Until in stony silence she sat beside me as I considered jumping on the hood and howling my frustration at the setting sun. With resignation, I drove away from the long term parking lot and headed for the highway. She kept up the silent treatment two minutes shy of two hours and a tenth of a mile over the state line.

  “You’re in big trouble now. You’ve crossed state lines.”

  “Abigail, would you stop with the kidnapping charge? I’m just taking you to a secure location until the perpetrator or perpetrators trying to kill you are in custody.”

  “I was secure enough at Darvey’s house.”

  “Weilchek has enough on his plate without worrying about you putting yourself in harm’s way.”

  “I don’t need—”

  I swerved into the welcome center exit causing her to clamp down on her comment. Pulling into a parking space, I cut the engine, turned my back to the door and watched her.

  “You don’t need what?”

  “A babysitter. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I can give you an alphabetized list of reasons of why you need a babysitter. Let’s get out and stretch our legs, go to the bathroom—maybe get something to drink.”

  Without another word, she opened the door and exited the car.

  The silent treatment continued another half hour. With only lights from the dashboard, we were mostly in the dark.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Stone Rand, Tennessee or thereabouts.”

  “Your new job.”

  “Yes.”

  “How far is it?”

  “At least four more hours.”

  “Do you even have a place to stay?”

  “There are hotels.”

  Not that I had decided I was going to take her to one. I wanted to take her to Mom’s, but did I really want to open that whole can of worms? Mom would give me no problem. Since college, I’d crashed in my old bedroom several times without a call ahead. But Abigail was an unknown. How would she react to meeting my family? At least being there would occupy her mind instead of glaring at a T.V. screen in a hotel room while I reported in with Agent Betts.

  By two in the morning, I’d lost any qualms I had about going home, or what used to be home. The car just took the Quenching Springs exit instead of continuing on the interstate to Stone Rand. Abigail had been asleep for about an hour and a half, though I knew she’d fought going to sleep. After getting over being mad, she’d nearly talked my ear off. After her third yawn, I had suggested she try to take a nap. She took me up on it.

  She stirred when I pulled into the drive way and shut off the engine. The house was dark. I should have called. When was the last time I had even talked to Mom on the phone? I couldn’t even remember.

  Could my life be any more screwed up?

  “Where are we? I thought we were going to a hotel.”

  “I changed my mind. Come on.”

  We left the car, and I grabbed our bags from the trunk. As we walked through the dark yard, the familiar smell of the black walnut tree greeted me. I led Abigail around to the back so we could enter the lower level of the house with its finished basement and my old room. Reaching over the ledge of the door, my fingers touched the cool surface of the key. I grinned. I loved the consistency of Quenching Springs.

  “Is this your house?” Abigail whispered in disbelief. “I thought you said all you had was a post office box.”

  “It isn’t exactly my house, but we can stay here.”

  I inserted the key into the lock, turned, and pushed the door inward. Another familiar scent greeted me. Home

  Though I didn’t need the light for myself, I turned it on for Abigail.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I had come in the middle of the night on my last visit and scared Mom half to death. But she hadn’t even fussed.

  I walked into what used to be my room and turned on that light as well. Years ago, Mom had redecorated it in warm tones of maroon and brown. A stuffed largemouth bass was still mounted on the wall. My dad had helped me reel him in when I was ten years old. It was one of the sweetest days of my life. I sighed, turned away, and set Abigail’s suitcase on the bed.

  “You sleep in here.”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “There’s a room next door. I’ll be there.”

  “Okay.”

  “The bathroom is across the hall.”

  “Does it have a shower? I didn’t get one this morning.”

  “Yeah.” An image of her in the shower overtook my brain. I walked from the room without another word.

  Entering what was now a sitting room, but at one time had been Sarah’s room, I turned on the light and hoped the couch was still the same one that folded out into a bed. And did Mom still keep the sheets and pillows in the closet? I opened it to see. Yep. God bless her.

  I pulled out a neatly
folded set and put them on the arm of the couch, pulled off the cushions, and noted the frame encasing a mattress. With a pull and another pull, the bed was unfolded. I wanted a shower myself, but didn’t know if I could stay awake long enough for Abigail to get finished. I haphazardly covered the mattress with the sheets, stripped off my clothes, and sat on the edge waiting for Abigail, who by this time was in the bathroom, to finish.

  In twenty minutes or so, she was done. The door opened and a sweet, clean smell wafted down the hall. The light went out, footsteps padded to my old room, and the door closed softly. I exhaled a big breath of relief and ignored any physical evidence that my brain was still thinking about Abigail in that shower.

  Walking down the hall, I entered the bathroom and shut the door. I didn’t even fool with the overhead light. Mom had kept a night light in here as long as I could remember. It was all I needed. The room was still balmy. It made me ache for Abigail. I could go in there with her and take a chance.

  But I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t even have been in this mess if I could have stayed objective, could’ve caught Ford before he set fire to the community center, seen the signs and known something was up that night.

  I turned on the shower and stepped under the cool spray. Even the water tasted different here. Better. Cleaner. Why hadn’t I been back in so long?

  After cleaning up, I found a new toothbrush under the sink and brushed using a tube of toothpaste stored in the medicine cabinet. I stood at the sink completely naked and not thinking a thing about it when a movement in the mirror caught my eye. The door was open, and Abigail’s shocked eyes met mine in the mirror. I rinsed my mouth and grabbed a towel.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot to….”

  “Knock?” I covered myself, tucking the towel in at my waist. Turning to face her, I noted the big T-shirt, the outline of nipples against it, and her bare legs below the hem. For a few seconds, we watched each other until my feet propelled me across the small space until we stood nearly toe to toe. Reaching toward her, I pinched a lock of her hair between my finger and thumb and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyes which had locked onto mine at the sink never lost contact. One step forward and her arms went around me, her fingers finding the scar on my back from where my shirt had seared into my flesh when I had fallen against the hot metal of the industrial freezer.