A Good Man

by Rosanna Leo

  Upon seeing the scene for the first time, he’d realized there was no helping Jane. She’d been shot point blank in the chest and had slumped against the far wall. The light had already disappeared from her eyes. Her vacant orbs had pinned him to his spot. Already they’d accused him for not coming to her rescue, for not knowing.

  It had been Henry Ashton’s wail that had roused Michael from his momentary stupor.

  ‘No!’ Henry had tugged at his hair with his free hand, clutching the weapon in the other. He’d remained oblivious to Michael’s presence. ‘What have I done?’

  Mumbling and trembling, the man had aimed at the children.

  Michael hadn’t thought. He’d just pounced on Henry from behind. He wasn’t quite sure how, but he’d managed to wrestle the gun away from the man and slide it into the corner farthest from the kids.

  Even now, all he remembered was having hit him over and over again so Henry couldn’t retaliate. Michael had known he had to knock him senseless if he had any hope of getting the kids out of the daycare.

  He couldn’t remember rallying the children, but he must have gotten them out of there. Others must have heard the screams and the shot, because within minutes Michael had detected the distant wail of a siren. Lights had flashed as a police car approached. Michael remembered swaying, trying so hard to impart his message before he’d passed out.

  ‘She’d dead. Husband shot her. She’s dead.’

  The police officer had helped him to the sidewalk and everything had gone black for a few seconds.

  ‘He’s in shock,’ someone had said, rousing him out of his daze, before throwing one of those silver blankets around his shoulders. He didn’t know about shock, but he’d been cold, so cold his teeth had chattered. When the paramedic had asked his name, Michael had laughed because the man resembled Ben Stiller.

  The newspapers had called him a hero, a savior for helping children in need. One of the police officers on the scene had called him ‘gutsy and noble’.

  And yet Jane had died. No, she hadn’t just died. Her life had been ripped from her in a violent explosion of blood and gore.

  When Michael sipped his coffee to steel himself, he realized his hands were shaking. “Fuck. Calm down.”

  He tried those deep breathing techniques Dr. Moore had taught him. They made him feel like a pregnant lady in a prenatal class, but sometimes they actually helped him refocus his thoughts. They were about the only worthwhile coping mechanism the shrink had suggested. All the doctor seemed to want to do was rehash the ordeal over and over.

  Since the experience at Jane’s house, he knew one thing for sure. He could trust his instincts, and his instincts were telling him loud and clear that Trent Andrews was not to be trusted. Michael saw through him. He recognized him for what he was.

  Trouble.

  Michael had vowed he would never let trouble into his world again.

  Eight hours later, Michael realized he had to hand it to Emily. After having her personal world crumble, she’d spent a long day on set with the rest of the contracting crew, even though she could have gone home. She didn’t even complain when Lacey insisted on getting a couple of shots of her painting a wall, including some cute close-ups of her paint-smudged face. However, as on many reality home improvement shows, much of the work was done behind the scenes. Michael and his crew would spend a long day on site, but Emily didn’t have to stick around. She did anyway, eager to help, and he liked that about her. The woman was a trooper.

  Way after the dinner hour, she was still puttering next to Nick in the backyard. The decking crew had removed Nonna Olivia’s crooked paving stones and Nick was showing Emily the plan for transforming the tiny yard into a party-worthy deck. When Michael came upon them, not only were Emily’s clothes covered in paint splotches, she now had mud on her pants from assisting Nick’s people.

  He had seen women in various states of dress and undress over the years. Lacey had used to wear French lingerie and had taught him the differences between corsets and baby-dolls. Other partners had worn silky things for him too.

  As much as he appreciated lingerie, nothing rivaled the enticing vision before him—Emily in her jeans, with paint on her nose and mud on her ass.

  Nick’s team had discovered a usable concrete footing and had spent part of the day installing wood post legs on metal fittings. These would be affixed to the blocks that would support the new deck. Even though they’d only set up the framework, Michael could already envision the final product.

  Emily called Michael over. “It’s going to be amazing, isn’t it?”

  “You bet.”

  “Em’s been a big help today. You should have seen her.”

  “I swear to God, Nick, if you tell me you had Em lugging heavy patio stones with her injured hand, I will throttle you.”

  “What do I look like?” demanded Nick. “Don’t answer that. Emily only did what she could handle, but she stayed busy. I think we still managed to give her a workout. Show Michael your biceps, Em.”

  Emily lifted up her short sleeves so her upper arms were visible and struck a body builder pose. “Behold the guns.”

  Michael feigned shock and touched a finger to one of her dainty biceps. “Woman, you’d better put those things away. You’re going to give me a complex.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in the guns department.”

  “Oh, yeah? Want to see mine?”

  Nick’s mouth contorted in disgust. “Pardon me while I find something else, anything else, to do.” He called to a nearby crew member and they vacated the backyard.

  Left alone with Emily, Michael continued to flirt. It was about the only thing that distracted him from the turmoil in his head. “I’ve been thinking. I know what you need.”

  “You do? This should be interesting. By all means, tell me what I need, Michael.”

  She might have meant to keep the seductive lilt out of her voice, but she failed. Besides, even if she’d succeeded in removing any trace of huskiness from her voice, the curl to her lips was a dead giveaway. Coy thing.

  As she grinned, his gaze slipped to the interesting chain of freckles dotting the corner of her mouth. If only he could kiss those freckles, and lick a path between them. That was just for starters on the list of things he wanted to do to her. “You need a proper night out. A couple of beers. Some entertainment. Good company.”

  “It sounds wonderful, but I don’t know. I’m not into the nightclub scene.”

  He motioned at his stained T-shirt. “Does it look like I’m used to ordering table service at swanky clubs?”

  “No offense, but no.”

  “None taken, believe me. My brothers and I are going out Friday night. Come with us.”

  “Michael, you don’t need to babysit me.”

  “I don’t see any babies here.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m here with you, day in and day out. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  “Em, if I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t ask. Look, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but my brothers and I have a band.”

  “For real?”

  “We play for fun. If I called our group a ‘garage band’ I’d be overestimating our talents. Still, people know who we are, so we get the odd crowd. We have a late gig at the Bamboo Gigolo on Friday. Come. Watch us make fools of ourselves. Have a laugh.”

  “I’m sure you don’t look like fools.”

  “You haven’t heard us yet.”

  “I don’t know, Michael. I had fun when we all went to the Arcade Bar, but that was before I knew about Trent cheating. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “I see. So we haven’t completed the official period of mourning yet?”

  “I’m not mourning him, but I might be mourning the old me.”

  Michael grasped her hand. “From what I can see, you’re still here. It’s just one night, Em. It won’t kill you. It might even be good for you.”

/>   She looked at their clasped hands and he did the same. He’d never considered how his hand looked next to a woman’s, but something about Emily’s hand in his seemed right. They looked good together, as if their fingers were always meant to touch. They were both covered in grit, but when he stroked her skin, it still felt soft and warm. His heart beating, he turned her hand over and played with it some more.

  “The thing is, I already have plans to meet my brother Friday night. We used to do a regular movie night, and we’re trying to catch up.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet. It’s also a little sad.”

  She swatted him.

  “Bring your brother. I’d like to meet the poet.”

  “The Bamboo Gigolo, huh?”

  “Yep.” When she smiled, Michael had to resist the urge to claim her lips. “And because you’re with the band, you’ll get free drinks.”

  “In that case, how can I possibly refuse?”

  “Good. I’ll text you the details.” He released her hand, letting his fingers glide against hers. He grabbed his cell and sent her the information with a couple of clicks.

  “You can be persuasive when you want to be.”

  “I don’t know. That didn’t take much persuasion.”

  “Michael Zorn…”

  “Have I told you how much I like it when you pretend to be angry at me? It’s hot.”

  She shook her head. “You have a dirty mind.”

  “Yep.” He chuckled. “By the way, before you come out with us on Friday, make sure you tidy yourself up. You should see the dirt on your face.” He waved at her with a dramatic flourish. “Because we only play high-class gigs and this just isn’t working for me.”

  When her amusement escaped in a throaty laugh, he realized it was actually working for him a little too much.

  As she headed back into the house, Michael cursed himself for sounding eager. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed her or toyed with her soft fingers. He couldn’t help it. Emily did things to him, weird and wonderful things. She made him curious, and in a short space of time, she’d caused him to worry.

  If he possessed an iota of intelligence and sensibility, he’d act cool. If he wanted any sort of chance with her, he wouldn’t push her right now. She needed time to get over Trent. She’d only just tumbled out of his bed and wasn’t likely to leap straight into Michael’s. He saw the reticence in her gaze, but he also spied a curiosity that matched his own. If he played his cards right, he’d convince the pretty kitten she didn’t need to hide in her carrier. He needed to be patient.

  Unfortunately, patience had never been his strong point.

  * * * *

  “Michael,” called Lacey as he loaded up his pickup truck with his tools on Friday evening. “Hang on a second.”

  He tossed his backpack onto the passenger seat and gritted his teeth. Private conversations with Lacey always set him on edge, especially now that she insisted on flaunting her new boy toy Jacob.

  Perhaps Lacey felt something for Jacob, but Michael couldn’t shake the sensation that the love affair had been fabricated to make him jealous. It wasn’t working. If anything, he hated the fact that the director thought nothing of exploiting the intern.

  “What can I do for you, Lacey?”

  Now that she wasn’t playing the starry-eyed ingénue, she seemed unwilling to speak. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. “I, um…”

  “If this can wait, that would be awesome. We’re playing the Bamboo Gigolo tonight and I still have to tackle traffic.”

  “Ah, right. The Zorn Brothers Band. I used to love watching you guys play.”

  “No, you didn’t. You were bored out of your skull every time you attended one of our gigs.”

  “What can I say? I’m more a lover of modern music, rather than…”

  “I believe you called it ‘covers of old fogeys’.”

  Her lips compressed into a tight grin. “Just not my cup of tea, I guess. Listen, I’ve had some news from Inspiration and I wanted to tell you about it first.”

  “Why me?”

  She hesitated.

  “Just spit it out, Lacey. I’m a big boy. Have they canned me? Have they finally decided we’re not sexy enough?”

  “No, of course not. They love you. They also love your story.”

  “I don’t have a story.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her blue eyes darkened. “They’ve been in contact with some of the parents whose children attended Jane Ashton’s daycare. They want to involve those families in an upcoming show.”

  “Say that again. I think I heard you wrong.”

  “You didn’t. The Inspiration Network would like to focus on your shared experience with these families.”

  “Our shared experience has nothing to do with home renovation.”

  “Consider it a departure from our regular format. A special episode, if you will, dedicated to you and the children you saved.”

  “What the hell?” The throb at the back of Michael’s head exploded into shards of fresh pain. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “Why?”

  “Why not? Michael, you rescued those children. The producers want you to share your side of the story, you know, leaving out the gory bits, of course.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

  “You had to know it would come up at some point. Don’t be naïve.”

  If Michael gaped at her any longer, someone would walk by and shut his mouth for him. “You don’t get it. Jane’s dead. I couldn’t save her.”

  “And it’s time you stopped beating yourself up.” Lacey sighed. “That man would have killed her anyway, Michael. If he hadn’t done it there, he would have done it somewhere else. At the mall, at the library, even on a city bus. In a weird way, you were still her champion. You protected the children she loved.”

  Laughter bubbled out from the back of his throat. It tasted like bile. “Champion. That’s a good one.”

  “This is a great opportunity. I need to know you’re on board.”

  “I’m not.”

  “That’s…disappointing.”

  “You know what, Lacey? I’ve never been more disappointed in you. You’re asking me to dredge up horrible memories for some fucking ratings? Let me guess. The network wants to rename the show too. Maybe they could call it Handymen Heroes Save the Day.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too wordy. I do like Handymen Heroes. It’s punchy.”

  Michael put up his hands and backed toward his truck. “Unbelievable. In retrospect, maybe the tank tops weren’t such a bad idea.”

  “Don’t lose your temper over this.”

  “I’m way past losing my temper. I’m disgusted at the sensationalism.” His hands shook, so he tucked them behind his back. He squeezed them into tight fists and relaxed them once more. He piled into his truck and shut the door.

  Lacey leaned in and rested her hands on the open window. “Michael, when are you going to get it? Sensationalism sells. Look, I don’t want to put you on the spot, but the producers love this angle. If you don’t jump on the bandwagon, your job could end up on the line.”

  “Take your hands off my truck.”

  Lacey did, but she kept talking as Michael put the car into reverse. “You’re hot now, but this could make you a huge star. The big networks won’t be able to resist you.”

  “The big networks can kiss my ass.”

  “Let’s talk this through.”

  “You don’t get it. You never did.”

  He backed out of his parking spot and tore toward the end of the street, narrowly missing a squirrel that darted in front of the vehicle at the last minute.

  Slamming on the brakes, he pounded the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “Goddamned rodent.”

  He took a deep breath, put his foot back on the gas pedal and drove around the corner of Beatrice onto College Street. As he drove, he tried his hardest to ignore the voices in his head. However, he knew that no matter how far he
drove or how quickly he moved, he’d never stop hearing Jane Ashton’s screams as they echoed in his memory.

  By the time he got home, intending to quickly shower and change before the gig, he’d almost managed to steady his pulse once again. It was amazing he’d gotten home in one piece.

  He parked and headed up the front walkway to his house. He unlocked the door and noticed a white envelope sticking out of his mailbox. As he headed inside, he slipped the envelope from the box.

  It was addressed by hand in a fancy script, on good stationery, the type they used in wedding invitations. The return address said Toronto Police Service.

  Michael tore into the envelope and read the letter.

  You are cordially invited to an award presentation hosted by the Toronto Police Service in recognition of admirable contributions by members of the community. On Sunday, September 18 at 1 p.m., in the lobby at headquarters, 40 College Street, 48 members of the community will be recognized for unselfish acts of bravery, courage and assistance to the Toronto Police Service…

  Michael read on down and saw his name on the list of those being honored.

  A woman was dead. A young woman was left without a mother and father. Ten children had to deal with the fright of their lives.

  And they wanted to give him a medal.

  His heart began to pound. His shoulders shook. Michael tried to breathe but his breath stuck in his throat. Biting back his anguish, he held the invitation between his fingers and tore it in half. As his head started to hurt again, he left it on his foyer table and trudged upstairs to his bedroom.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What a dive,” said Chris as he and Emily entered the bar. “I love it.”

  Emily smiled and said nothing as her brother steered her through the crowd, but she agreed. She’d expected a place called the Bamboo Gigolo to have a tropical theme, or maybe even some of those drinks with the umbrellas in them. As far as she could see, everyone was drinking beer and there wasn’t a fake palm tree in sight. Instead, the club boasted some framed sports jerseys on the walls, a couple of tacky Elvis Presley busts and well-worn wooden floors. In a place like this, she felt much more comfortable than in the highbrow restaurants Trent used to frequent.