It Takes Two

by Sheridon Smythe

  A few moments later, more stunned than ever, Justine hung up the phone. According to Mac, Zack had been caught trying to break into someone's apartment. His bond was set at ten thousand dollars.

  He would need bail money.

  Justine slowly removed her coat, forcing herself to think rational thoughts. Her brother was a lawyer, so she knew a little more than some about what to do. She snapped her fingers, her small victory cry echoing in the quiet apartment. A bondsman! Zack would need a bondsman.

  Clay would know who she should contact.

  A quick glance at the kitchen clock told her it was past eight. Clay should be home, and if he wasn't, she would try his office.

  Bea answered on the second ring. The sound of her voice momentarily froze Justine's vocal cords. Would her best friend and sister-in-law understand why she had to help Zack, the man responsible for her teenager's current depression?

  Did she understand? No, she didn't, especially in light of what she'd learned tonight. But there wasn't time to consider her motives right now.

  "Bea, I need to speak with Clay."

  "Everything all right? You sound anxious."

  Mildly put. “I'll explain later, I promise. Right now it's urgent that I talk to Clay.” She crossed her fingers as Bea hesitated, suspecting her sister-in-law was debating whether she would let it go for now, or pester her for more information.

  "Okay. Hold on a moment."

  Justine sagged against the wall. When she heard Clay's voice, she straightened again. Her mouth went dry at the thought of asking Clay to help the coach who had taken Jordan from the team. This was ridiculous! Zack possessed his faults, but he didn't deserve to be in jail. “Clay, I need a bondsman,” she blurted out. Maybe he wouldn't ask—

  "Are you in trouble?” he demanded.

  Of course he would; he was her big brother. Idiot. “Not me. A friend."

  "A friend.” A telling silence followed.

  He was waiting, Justine realized with a groan. Might as well come clean. “It's Zachary Wayne. He's—he's in jail."

  This time the silence lasted a long time. Just when she thought he'd hung up, he spoke again.

  "It might be difficult to get in touch with one tonight. Tomorro—"

  "I want him out tonight.” Was that low, tense voice her own? Justine licked her lips, glad Clay couldn't see her fiery face. She refused to dwell on what he must be thinking. “It's—it's important to me."

  "Don't you mean he's important to you?” Clay returned swiftly, putting on his lawyer's voice.

  Justine swallowed a sharp retort. The last thing she wanted to do was get Clay riled. “Would that be so terrible?"

  Clay lowered his voice. “Bea told me what happened between the two of you. I'm concerned for my sister, that's all."

  "I can take care of myself.” Justine closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she finished, she managed to hide her irritation. “Are you going to help me?"

  "Let me make a few calls, see who I can find. I'll call you back."

  "Thanks, Clay."

  Justine returned the phone to the cradle. She was shaking, she realized, staring at her trembling hands. How could she care? How in the hell could she still care about Zack after all he'd done? Would she always care?

  The possibility terrified her. Would she truly live out her entire life yearning for the one man she couldn't have? And she couldn't have him, she knew, painfully, definitely. Zack played cruel games, and men who played games generally weren't thinking about white picket fences and bright-eyed children.

  Maybe if she continued to sleep with him, the affair would last longer, but in the end Zack would leave Cannon Bay and she'd be back to nursing a broken heart. She respected herself too much to go into a no-win situation like she described.

  Knowing all of this didn't stop her from loving him from the depths of her very soul.

  "Okay.” Justine steadied her shaky legs and forced herself to walk to the counter to make coffee. “You've admitted it. What are you going to do about it?"

  Rogue leaped onto the counter to investigate, but Justine absently shooed him away. She measured coffee into a filter and thrust the pot under the water faucet. “Nothing. You're going to do nothing about it.” Her voice trailed into a miserable whisper. “Because you know Zack doesn't know the meaning of the word love."

  The ringing phone startled her. With a gasp, she dived for it. It was Clay, and he'd found a bondsman willing to meet with her. She grabbed a used envelope from the island bar and found a pencil in the silverware drawer to write down his name and address. Clay not only sounded worried, but disapproving.

  No more than she had expected.

  "Do you need some money?” he asked abruptly.

  Justine blessed him for asking, considering how he must feel about Zack. She calculated quickly in her head. She'd made a deposit into her checking account yesterday, but not enough to cover the ten percent she knew most bail bond agent's required. Writing a check tonight and transferring the amount from her savings first thing in the morning was her only option. With a little luck and prayer, the check wouldn't bounce.

  "No, but thanks. Thanks a lot,” she added gratefully. “Tell Bea I'll call her tomorrow."

  "Will do."

  The holding pen at Cannon Bay's jailhouse reminded Zack of a very large cage. There was a small wooden bench, scarred and pitted, and a tiny window cut into the wire. A ledge protruded from the window. Officers milled about, shouting to one another and telling the occasional corny joke. They all ignored him as he sat on the bench and waited.

  He was still having a difficult time believing that he had been arrested. Arrested and handcuffed. A few minutes earlier, a female officer had ordered him to remove his socks and shoes, his jewelry, and empty his pockets. He'd placed these items on the ledge, wondering most of all why he'd had to take off his socks. The bare concrete floor was cold as ice.

  She had written a description of the items on a form, then instructed him to sign his name.

  It felt like a dream—a very bad dream.

  "Zachary Wayne?"

  Zack jerked his head up. It was different officer, a short stocky man who looked literally crammed into his uniform. The name tag on his shoulder read Officer Woody Eller. There was nothing cold or informal about this officer; his blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and a touch of awe.

  "The Zachary Wayne from the Miami Gators?” Officer Eller questioned.

  Relief flooded Zachary. Finally, someone who recognized him and realized that he wasn't the criminal type. Now all that he had to do was explain to Officer Eller what happened. They would have a good laugh together and then they'd let him go.

  "Can I get your autograph when we finish getting your fingerprints? It's for my son. He's a big fan of yours. Or was.” Officer Eller actually blushed. “Tough break, huh?"

  But Zack wasn't paying much attention. He was still hooked on fingerprints. “Look, this has all been a mistake,” he said, adding a rueful laugh for good measure. “You see, I was just trying to get my house key from Mr. Potter's apartment."

  "Right."

  Officer Eller nodded his head vigorously, but Zack had the sinking feeling he wasn't listening. Just when he thought he'd found an ally...

  The cage door swung open. Officer Eller beamed at him and waved his arm in a flourish. “If you'll come with me, we'll get those fingerprints."

  As if I have a choice. Zack glared at the man's back as he padded barefoot after him. At least they had removed the handcuffs before putting him in the holding pen. Thank God for small favors, because it would be mighty hard to sign his name for Eller's kid with handcuffs.

  When Officer Eller finished smearing his hands with ink, then cheerfully instructed him to sign his autograph on a blank ticket form, he led Zack to an empty jail cell.

  Zack looked around at his new home, desperately seeking a glimmer of humor in his situation. But there was nothing humorous about the hard cot, the stained toilet, or the bars loc
king him inside.

  Not a damned thing.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Are you sure you want to do this?” Reuben asked Mini for the fourth time. They were perched on Justine's desk by the phone with the office shades drawn tight.

  "Yes, I'm sure. It's our fault Zack is in this mess, so it's only fair that we help him out of it."

  Reuben bristled at her testy tone. “If I remember correctly, when I placed that spell on the monkey you called me a—” He pressed his wingtip against his lips and pretended to ponder. “—genius, wasn't it? Yes, a genius. I'm sure of it. Now you've changed your mind."

  "I haven't changed my mind,” Mini snapped. She waved her wing over the phone. The receiver rose in the air and dropped with a clatter on top of the desk. “We don't have time to fight. Call Jordan, quickly!"

  Stabbing at the buttons with one of his four toes, Reuben dialed the number. He cleared his throat as it began to ring.

  Bea answered. “Justine?"

  Blasted caller ID, Reuben mouthed silently to his wife. “No, this is Chris Nolen, her assistant.” He was pleased to note that he sounded exactly like Chris. Zack's voice hadn't been so easy to mimic.

  "Oh, Chris! I thought you were house-sitting for your folks this week. Is something wrong?"

  Reuben silently cursed the woman's infernal curiosity. “No, nothing's wrong. I was wondering if I might speak to Jordan."

  "Jordan?"

  "Yes. I stopped by the store to pick something up and now my car won't start. Justine's not home, so I thought Jordan might give me a ride."

  "Oh, of course. I'll get him."

  Reuben covered the receiver with his wing. “Woman's got a memory like an elephant!” he whispered.

  "Shh! Jordan's on the phone."

  "Chris?"

  "No,” Reuben said, dropping the mimic. “This is Reuben. We need your help."

  There followed a moment of shocked silence. Mini smiled, easily imagining Jordan's expression.

  "Reuben... Is this some kind of joke?"

  "You know it's not. You heard us talking yesterday. Mini's a witch and I'm a warlock."

  Another long pause. Finally, Jordan spoke, his voice trembling with either fear or excitement—Reuben couldn't tell. Maybe both. A little fear might be useful.

  "What do you want?"

  "I thought you'd never ask.” Reuben shaped his wing feathers into a victory sign for Mini. “We need a car...and a driver."

  "You're nuts,” Jordan whispered. “And if you're really who you say you are, then you'd know that I'm grounded."

  "Oh, I am who I say I am, and I think your mother would allow you to help a friend. She thinks I'm Chris, and that I need a ride so don't blow it. We'll be watching for you at the door."

  Mini quickly waved her wing, replacing the phone in the middle of Jordan's squeaky protest. “Do you think he'll come?"

  With a confident smile, Reuben nodded. “The young mortal takes after his mother. Curiosity will bring him to us."

  "He's also very stubborn,” Mini reminded him. “When he finds out where we want him to take us, he might refuse to help."

  "Then we'll just have to persuade him."

  She frowned, displeased with the idea of forcing Jordan. “Promise me that you'll only use witchcraft on Jordan as a last resort."

  "I promise,” Reuben grumbled reluctantly.

  Exactly ten minutes later as they watched through the glass door, a mint green older model Fairlane rumbled to a stop at the curb. A glance in Mini's crystal ball confirmed Jordan behind the wheel. Mini quickly unlocked the door and she and Reuben waddled through the slight opening onto the sidewalk. With an absent wave of her wing, she shut the door and twitched the lock into place.

  She should have thought to dim the street light before they exited, she fretted, shivering as the cold penetrated her feathers. If Mac happened by she was determined he would have no reason to become suspicious.

  As they approached the car, the door swung open on the passenger's side. Mini nimbly hopped into the passenger seat. Reuben flapped his wings and joined her, gazing around him with appreciative male interest.

  Jordan gawked at them, his eyes glazing over. Mini groaned. The poor mortal was in danger of going into shock. Perhaps he wasn't as strong as she believed.

  "Killer car,” Reuben praised, unaware of Jordan's reaction. He cocked his head and listened to the powerful rumble of the engine, finally letting go with an admiring whistle. “What have you got beneath the hood, anyway? A three-fifty?"

  "Uh huh.” Jordan gulped. His Adam's apple did a crazy jig. He couldn't seem to drag his gaze away. “It's—it's my mom's car."

  "I'll bet this baby can fly like a witch with her broom on fire."

  Offended by his analogy, Mini poked him sharply.

  He grunted. “Sorry, my dear."

  "We really need to hurry, Jordan,” Mini urged gently. “I know it's hard to believe that we're real, but the sooner you accept it, the quicker we can get going."

  A tiny drop of drool slipped from the corner of Jordan's mouth. The hand he used to wipe it away shook noticeably. “Where are—are—"

  "—we going?” Mini finished with a sympathetic cluck of her tongue. She took a deep breath, exchanging a here-we-go glance with her husband. “We're going to Zack's apartment."

  "C-coach Wayne?"

  "I believe Zack and Coach Wayne are one and the same,” Reuben observed dryly.

  "No need to get smart.” Mini glared at her husband before turning to Jordan again. His pale, shaken expression worried her. They should have given him more time to get used to the idea.

  Only there hadn't been time.

  "Jordan, are you okay to drive?"

  "Of course he's—"

  "Did I ask you?” Mini rounded on her husband. “He's clearly upset and possibly in shock."

  "I'm telling you, he's fine!"

  "He isn't. Look at him—he's as white as a ghost!"

  "I'm not...in shock."

  Startled, Mini and Reuben stared at Jordan.

  "It's just that I'm—I'm finding this all hard to believe.” He swallowed hard again. “You're birds."

  Mini shook her head. “But you see, we're not really birds."

  "At least I wasn't until she turned me into one,” Reuben added, his tone peevish.

  With an outraged squawk, Mini flapped her wings. “You deserved it! Without consulting me, you invited that mealy-mouthed, obnoxious, prank-pulling warlock friend of yours to stay with us. You knew how I felt about him!"

  "Jestark is an old friend of mine. What was I supposed to do? Tell him that my shrew of a wife can't stand the sight of him?"

  "Yes, you—what did you call me?"

  "Nothing."

  "Yes you did!” Mini faced Jordan. “Did you hear what he said?” she demanded, so furious Jordan's silly grin hardly registered. “Now you know why I turned him into a bird. Although now I wish I had turned him into the toad that he resembles!"

  "Well, you don't see me being rude to your friends,” Reuben declared, ignoring her insult. “Take Xonia, for instance. She's so ugly I lose my appetite when I look at her, but do I mention it? No, I do not. And why? Because I am a gentlemen."

  "Xonia can't help being ugly! Jestark chooses to be insufferable."

  "He's a warlock,” Reuben informed her with a sarcastic tilt of his head. “That's his job."

  "He can just perform his job elsewhere.” Mini sniffed. “I won't have him in my house."

  Reuben drew himself up, chest out, beak high. “Well, then, I refuse to eat another meal with Xonia."

  "Fine. She says you have the table manners of a warthog anyway."

  "Ha! At least I don't have to move my nose out of the way when I take a drink."

  "Guys."

  They ignored Jordan.

  "She also says she doesn't understand why I put up with you."

  "Is that so?"

  "Guys! We're here. Why
are we here, by the way?"

  Again Jordan was ignored.

  "Yes,” Mini confirmed. “Sometimes I wonder myself.” She blinked, determined not to start that silly crying again. If she cried, Reuben would gloat. What in the stars above was wrong with her?

  "I thought this was an emergency!” Jordan shouted.

  A stunned silence followed his outburst. Mini swiveled around to stare at him. “You mean, we're at Zack's?” She hadn't even realized the car was moving.

  "We're at Coach Wayne's apartment, and I'm not going in."

  Well, he certainly had recovered from his initial shock, Mini noted wryly. “We need your help, Jordan. Our powers are diminished because of our size, and we can't do it alone. It's a terrible mess."

  Jordan turned off the engine and slid his arm along the seat, staring down at them as if he still wasn't quite convinced it wasn't a dream. “What happened?"

  Briefly, Mini explained about Barry, the monkey, and the arrest.

  "So you see,” Reuben finished. “We've got to put things back the way they were before Zack's landlord sees it."

  A sulky look came over Jordan's face. “Why should I help him?"

  "Because Zack didn't tell your parents what happened?” Mini suggested slyly. She felt a pang of remorse when Jordan's face turned red.

  "How do you know about that?"

  Reuben answered with his usual arrogance. “We know everything. Now, if you'll get out of the car, Mini and I will ride on your shoulder into the apartment."

  Jordan hesitated, then finally opened the car door and stepped out. “Okay, I'll help, but I'm doing this for you guys, not for him."

  As the unlikely trio entered the foyer, Mini leaned close and whispered in her husband's ear. “What if we run into Barry?"

  Reuben's eyes narrowed to threatening slits. “That would be Barry's extreme misfortune."

  For the mortal's sake, Mini hoped he stayed out of Reuben's way.

  Too much time to think wasn't always a good thing, Zack decided after an hour of staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling of his temporary housing. The cot had lived up to its image: hard, lumpy, and cold.

  The first half hour he'd spent thinking about his dilemma, but he'd quickly grown tired of asking himself questions he couldn't answer. Either Mr. Potter believed his story or he didn't, and either Fowler would make a big fuss over the bump on his head, or he wouldn't.