Running on Empty

by Michelle Celmer

  “The way you two go on you’d think I had my brain removed.” With Mitch’s assistance, she lowered herself gingerly onto the couch. “If I didn’t think I could get up by myself, I wouldn’t try, and if I need a damned pain pill I’ll ask for one.”

  This little domestic scene was touching, and Jane couldn’t have felt more out of place. She didn’t belong here. Mitch had made that more than clear. As quietly as possible she edged backward to the door, thinking she could make a stealthy escape. She was reaching for the door handle when Mrs. Thompson said sternly, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Busted. Jane cringed, hitching a thumb over her shoulder. “Um…outside?”

  “Oh, no you’re not. I’ve never met anyone with amnesia before. Mitch, introduce me to your friend.”

  “Mom, she’s not my—”

  She stopped him mid-sentence with a look that could curdle milk. “She has a name, doesn’t she?”

  “We’re using the name Jane,” he said.

  Jane approached her with an outstretched hand, wondering if she might get it bitten off in the process. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.”

  Mitch’s mom took her hand and held it. “What happened to your head, dear?”

  Jane realized that she was still pressing the shirt to her stitches and pulled it away. “Something flew out from under the mower. I think it split my stitches.”

  “We should probably take you to the hospital and have that looked at,” Mitch said, looking desperate to leave. “I’ll get my keys.”

  Mrs. Thompson ignored him and tugged on Jane’s arm. “Sit. Let me take a look at that.”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  Her grip on Jane’s hand increased, to the point of pain. “Sit.”

  O-o-okay. Jane sat, wondering if Mitch’s mom had ever been a drill sergeant.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a nurse.” She parted the hair gently and inspected Jane’s stitches. “The stitches are intact. It stopped bleeding but the area is inflamed. Lisa, get me a cold compress and a bottle of ibuprofen. That should take down the swelling.” She turned to Mitch. “She’s staying with you?”

  Mitch nodded, head bowed, looking repentant. It suddenly dawned on Jane why he hadn’t wanted her around his mother. She’d been a cop’s wife. As such, she knew darned well he shouldn’t be letting Jane stay at his house. He didn’t want her to know, because he didn’t want her mad at him—or even worse, disappointed. Not that Jane could blame him. Mitch’s mom didn’t seem the type to take disappointment well.

  “He’s been respectful?” Mrs. Thompson asked her.

  She glanced up and saw Mitch’s eyes widen a fraction. What? Did he honestly think she would rat him out? Besides, when he’d cornered her in the kitchen that morning, and plastered her to the door in the stairwell that afternoon, she’d never once felt that he’d compromised her principles. He’d ravished her with the utmost respect.

  “Very respectful,” Jane said finally.

  “Your lieutenant knows?” Mitch’s mother asked him.

  Mitch gave her a single nod.

  “You’re in good hands, dear.” She smiled and patted Jane’s hand, then turned to Mitch. “Go finish the grass, I’ll entertain our guest while Lisa makes lunch. And Lisa, get your brother a clean shirt to wear home. Oh, and throw this one in the wash before the blood sets.”

  Lisa handed over the compress and a bottle of ibuprofen, then snatched the shirt from her mother’s hand and stomped away, mumbling under her breath.

  “You, out,” Mitch’s mother told him, pointing to the back door.

  “Mom—”

  “Shoo!” She waved him away. “Out of here. We’ll have a nice chat, won’t we, Jane?”

  Her tone was pleasant, her smile genuine, yet the hair on the back of Jane’s neck prickled with apprehension. Oh, boy, what had she gotten herself into this time? She turned to Mitch, with an expression that she hoped screamed, help me!

  He just grinned and disappeared out the door.

  “Fragile?” Jane asked from the passenger’s side of the car. “You think your mother is fragile?”

  He swallowed back a grin. “What I meant was, she’s heavily medicated. She’s not herself.”

  “She’s…tough.”

  “She was a cop’s wife. She had to be tough.”

  “And she’s unbelievably proud of you. But she wants to see you settle down. And she really wants grandchildren.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. He’d been hearing that one for years.

  “But she says you’re afraid of commitment.”

  Mitch cringed. Way to go Mom. “Oh, yeah? And how exactly would she know that?”

  “Because you never date women long enough to bring them home to meet her.”

  “You guys had a nice talk, huh?”

  “She kept asking me about my family and where I went to school. I had to remind her about twenty times that I don’t remember anything.”

  “Sorry about that. It’s probably the medication.” He pulled into his driveway, threw the car into Park and shut off the engine. “The truth is, she’s always been a bit left of center.”

  “I liked her.”

  “She has her moments.”

  “Your sister looked pretty mad when we left.” She tugged on the sleeve of the shirt Lisa had given him. “You think she’s trying to tell you something?”

  He glanced down at the phrase across his chest: I Used To Have A Handle On Life, But It Broke. “I don’t doubt that she was.”

  “I like Lisa, and your mom. If things were different…”

  “They’re not.”

  She bit her lip, a wounded look on her face, and he felt like a jerk for hurting her feelings yet again. But he couldn’t let her get attached.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He couldn’t let himself get attached. It felt too damned good having Jane around. Like coming home after being away for a really long time. It didn’t help that both his mom and Lisa had taken to her immediately. And as quirky as those two could be, they were both excellent judges of character.

  As if that made a difference.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that I hoped things were different,” she said. She sounded so lost. Dejected. “I know they can’t be. I just think it would be nice to get to know your family better. Your mom is funny and smart.” She gazed out the windshield, her eyes misting over. “I’ve missed having a mother.”

  “She passed away?” he asked before he realized what he was saying, that she didn’t know who her mother even was. It was just a natural question to her statement. He couldn’t believe it when she actually answered him.

  “I don’t see her anymore,” she said, her voice sounding distant and sad.

  She was remembering. She didn’t even realize it, but she was telling him about her past. She looked almost entranced, completely lost in thought.

  “Why don’t you see her, Jane?”

  She looked up at him, the fog that settled over her eyes clearing, “See who?”

  “Your mother. You said you don’t see her anymore.”

  She frowned. “When did I say that?”

  “Just now. You said you missed your mother. I asked if she died and you said you don’t see her anymore. When I asked why, you snapped out of it.” He swore and smacked his forehead. “I called you Jane.”

  She pressed a hand to her heart, eyes lighting with excitement. “I’m remembering things, aren’t I?”

  “I think so.”

  “Just like you said. When I stopped trying, it came to me.” The smile slipped from her face. “Uh-oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She nodded toward his window. “Arnold’s back.”

  Mitch swiveled in his seat. Darren stood on the driveway just outside Mitch’s door, and he didn’t look happy. Mitch’s first instinct was to laugh because Jane was right; Darren did look like a golf pro. He rolled down his window. “What’s up?”

  Darren looked from Mitch to Jane then back agai
n. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  What was with everyone lately? Was it bust-Mitch’s-chops week? “We just came back from my mother’s house,” Mitch said. “You checking up on me?”

  “I heard about Robby Barrett. I came by to see if you were okay.”

  “I’m okay.”

  Again Darren looked suspiciously at Jane, then back again. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Like he had a choice. No matter what he said or did, Darren would draw his own conclusion and believe whatever it was he wanted to believe. May as well get it over with.

  Mitch turned to Jane and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry about this.”

  She gave him an understanding smile that warmed him to his bones and wracked him with guilt. She didn’t deserve Darren’s antipathy. Didn’t deserve it and certainly didn’t need it, yet she took it in stride.

  “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “He’s your friend. He’s worried about you.”

  They climbed out of the car, and Darren followed them to the porch. The front windows had been replaced while they were gone and the broken glass hauled away. The only evidence of last night’s disturbance was the trampled shrubbery and the shredded curtains still dangling in the bedroom window.

  Mitch unlocked the door and they all stepped inside. For a moment everyone stood in the foyer, silent. The tension was so thick, it was like wading through wet sand.

  “I need to speak to you,” Darren said, glancing meaningfully in Jane’s direction. “Alone.”

  “If you’ll both excuse me,” Jane said, backing toward the hall.

  Mitch started toward her. “Jane—”

  “Nope, it’s okay. I’m going to take a shower. You two have a nice little chat.”

  Mitch watched as she scurried down the hall, then he heard the bathroom door shut. She knew as well as he did, a nice little chat was the last thing he and Darren would be having.

  “So?” Darren said. “Having fun, Mitch?”

  Chapter 12

  Mitch turned to Darren. “Having fun doing what?”

  “Playing house.” Darren leaned casually against the wall, hands in his pants pockets, cocky as hell. But that was typical for him. “That is what you’re doing, right?”

  “I’m not even going to justify that with a response.”

  Darren speared him with an accusing glare. “Why can’t you see what’s so obvious to everyone else? You’re losing your objectivity. After Kim, I thought you would be smarter than this.”

  That one stung. And though Mitch hated to admit it, Darren was right. What grip Mitch did have on his emotions was slipping away. When Jane had been hit in the head earlier, when he called her name and she wouldn’t answer, he’d been scared half out of his wits and teetering on the edge of total panic. In his line of work, that was unacceptable. It meant he’d lost his ability to reason, to look at Jane’s situation objectively, and that was a very bad thing. Not to mention dangerous.

  Mitch collapsed on the couch, throwing his head back against the cushions and shutting his eyes. Now, if he could just shut out his best friend’s words, or his own doubts.

  “You look like you could use a beer,” Darren said.

  It would take more than a beer to fix this mess, to numb the attraction he felt for Jane, but it couldn’t hurt. Without opening his eyes he answered, “Sure, I’ll take a beer.”

  He heard Darren walk to the kitchen, heard the fridge open, the clink of glass bottles. He could also hear the shower in the next room through the wall, and couldn’t stop himself from imagining Jane in there. Or imagining himself joining her under the spray, soaping every inch of that satiny soft skin.

  “You’re sleeping with her.”

  Mitch opened his eyes, looked up at Darren. “Is that a question?”

  He handed Mitch one of the two beers he was holding. “I don’t know, is it?”

  “If I tell you I’m not, will you believe me?”

  “No.” Darren sat on the love seat across from him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, taking a long pull on his beer, then another. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Mitch raised the bottle to his lips, took a swallow, but the cool brew tasted bitter to his overwrought senses. Compared to the sweetness of Jane’s kiss. It was that sweetness he was craving now, like an addict craves his next fix. It was more intoxicating than any liquor he’d ever consumed and as addictive as any drug.

  He set the beer down on the end table, but it slipped from his grip. Before he could right it, it toppled over and the majority of its contents sloshed onto the rug. “Damn it!”

  “I’ll get something to clean it up.” Darren dashed from the room and returned several seconds later with a roll of paper towels. He tore off a handful and dropped them on the stain, then used his foot to absorb the spill. “You are in bad shape, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sleeping with her,” Mitch said.

  Darren wadded up the wet paper towels and tossed them onto the glass-top coffee table. “Why do I sense a ‘yet’ missing from that statement?”

  “Because you’re a cynic.” Mitch leaned forward, cursing. He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Because you know me too well.”

  “What if she’s married. What if she’s into something illegal. Another fiasco like Kim and they won’t let it slide. They’ll have your badge this time.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “To make matters worse, you’ve got a dead rapist and a family out for blood. That doesn’t look real good, either. They’re convinced he was innocent.”

  “Do you think he was guilty?”

  “Yeah, I think he was guilty. Did you have any proof to the contrary?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. The burden of proof falls on us. And after interrogating the guy for twelve hours, I can’t honestly say he was capable of committing those rapes. He had the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old.”

  Darren snorted. “And the rap sheet of a career criminal.”

  “I’m not denying the guy was a sexual deviant, but indecent exposure is a hell of a stretch from brutal rape. And why did he only have one of the two items taken from each victim? How did he manage to leave behind not a shred of physical evidence. It doesn’t add up.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I think he was set up. I think whoever committed those rapes planted the evidence in his apartment. They knew Robby lived alone and usually went out at night to local bars. They knew he had a record. I think the real rapist followed him and chose his victims in places Robby had been.”

  “So what do you plan to do? If you’re right about this, how do you find the real rapist? If it hadn’t been for the anonymous tip, we’d still be scratching our heads over this one. There’s no evidence. Not to mention that the case is closed.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what you should do. Until you can prove otherwise keep your mouth shut. If your theory gets back to the family you’re screwed.” Darren pulled himself up from the couch and set his half-empty bottle down next to Mitch’s. “You don’t want to be responsible for a lawsuit that could potentially cost the city millions in damages.”

  Yeah, that would go over real well with the department. After they were through with him, he would be lucky to get a job working security at the mall.

  “This thing with your new girlfriend. Maybe she is the genuine article. That doesn’t mean that when she gets her memory back, and she’s reunited with her family, she isn’t going to drop you flat. Either way, you lose. And if she is mixed up in something illegal, or on the run, I don’t have to tell you what a mess that would be.”

  Mitch leaned back and closed his eyes again. Though he’d prefer not to hear the words coming from Darren, it was nothing he hadn’t already considered. At this point, he might not have a choice. He was already in too deep.

  He heard Darren walk across the room and let himself
out, the new panes of glass rattling in their frame as he shut the door hard behind him.

  “Tough to argue with logic like that.”

  Mitch opened his eyes. Jane stood in the living room doorway, watching him. Damp hair hung to her shoulders and was brushed back, making her eyes look wide and innocent. Nearly childlike. Which only kicked up his level of guilt. She wore Lisa’s old robe, belted loosely at the waist. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if she wore anything underneath, or remembering the way her hips curved perfectly into his palms, the swell of her breast cupped in his hand. The way they’d fit together just right as they lay on the bedroom floor.

  He shook away the memory. “Who says logic has anything to do with this. When every instinct I have tells me we’re headed for disaster, and I still can’t keep my hands off of you. That’s not logical.”

  Jane crossed the room and stood before him, wondering what would happen if she jumped down from the wall. Would he catch her? And even if he did, would it be the smart thing to do? She knew without question, despite the amnesia, she’d never wanted a man the way she wanted Mitch. This connection, this soul-wrenching gut-level need to be close to another human being couldn’t possibly happen more than once in a lifetime. And maybe it wasn’t smart, maybe it was downright foolish, but it was what they both needed. The consequences be damned.

  “What we feel for each other now isn’t going to change when I get my memory back,” she said.

  He looked up at her, eyes filled with some unreadable expression. If she didn’t know better, she would say he looked vulnerable. “You don’t know that.”

  That’s when she realized, this had a hell of a lot more to do with his fear of commitment than any conflict of interest. He was scared. He didn’t want his heart broken.

  Well, she was scared, too. She had just as much to lose.

  To hell with jumping down, this was one wall she intended to knock over permanently.

  Mitch leaned forward and grasped the ties on her robe, pulling her closer. He pressed his forehead to her stomach, wrapped his hands over her hips, digging his fingers into her flesh. Her head got that thick, swimmy feeling and heat pooled between her thighs.