Holding Out for a Hero

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

Copyright ©2010 by Resplendence Publishing, LLC First published in 2010, 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Epilogue About the Author Also Available from Resplendence Publishing Find Resplendence titles at the following retailers ****

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Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

**** Holding Out for a Hero By Jennifer Johnson Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

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Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

Resplendence Publishing, LLC?P.O. Box 992?Edgewater, Florida, 32132 Holding Out for a Hero Copyright (C) 2010, Jennifer Johnson Edited by Christine Allen-Riley Cover art by Chel Hickerty Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-139-9 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic release: April 2010 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental. ****

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To Mark my true to life hero and to our children who are super awesome And to my family, friends, and my Presbyterian brothers and sisters who have celebrated with me in becoming published. You all bless me. This is truly the life. ****

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Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

Thanks to Rick P. and cousin Joanna for the ATF and 911 information. Any inaccuracies are not because you gave me the wrong answers, but because I asked the wrong questions. Thanks also to my critique group, and to Dwight M. for helping me get inside Scott's head. ****

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Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

Chapter One **** The first time I saw the love of my life he had a mangy beard, hair well past his shoulders and hadn't had a shower in a week. He was, for all intents and purposes, homeless. I guess you could call him a diamond in the rough. But, hey, he was a step up from my last boyfriend who had a problem with illegal substances and seemed to think I wouldn't mind him stealing my keys and helping himself to four-thousand dollars in company checks from my job. Not only did I lose said job, but I got arrested, too. The creep. Anyhow, he's ancient history so I don't want to revisit that whole disaster, except to let you know how I went from being a certified accountant at Wainwright and Potter Accounting Firm to doing community service in Clavania for five hours a day, then working the graveyard shift at the freakin' Waffle Mania. On the third day I was at the community center, in, if I'm honest, what was a pretty scary part of town, my car was broken into. I even saw the punk who did it. This young man's name was Yo-Yo. I'm sure it wasn't the name his mother gave him, if she even stuck around long enough to name him, that is. If you knew half the stories of the lives of these kids, it would break your heart into at least ten pieces. It's so sad what these kids have been through. However, does 8

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

it give them the right to break the lock on my car and steal my CDs? I don't think so. I walked out the door with Mr. Harvey, the bald colossus of a man who directed the center, when we saw Yo-Yo jump away from my car and pull the I'm too cool to be doing anything I shouldn't be doing act. Mr. Harvey's lip curled, and I could have sworn I saw a small puff of smoke come from one nostril—no, he wasn't smoking at the time. We both knew Yo-Yo was doing a no-no. This could either make me or break me with the little guy and all of his buddies. "Any rule against Yo-Yo taking a drive with me while we work things out about respecting people's property?" "You can't take him off the premises." "Can I sit with him in my car for a little while?" "That's pushing it. What if you two sit in the front, and I sit in the back as a silent observer?" Mr. Harvey stared at Yo-Yo, but directed his comments to me. I liked that idea. Mr. Harvey's presence would indicate to Yo-Yo that I had the Big Man On Campus on my side. "Lovely." I fished my keys from my purse and swung them around my finger like I was slinging a gun. I marched over to where Yo-Yo was trying to sprint from my car and still act as if he had no care in the world. "Yo-Yo," I called and ran to catch up with him. He pretended like he didn't hear me. Big surprise, right? When I was walking abreast with him, I smiled so sweetly as if this kid was my best friend. I invited him to come with me, linked my arm into his, and turned us around to my poor 9

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

violated Toyota. Mr. Harvey stood at the rear door waiting for entry. At the car, I noticed that, sure enough, my CD carrier was missing. It was small so I had a pretty good idea where the kid had stashed it. "Mr. Harvey, you, and I are going to sit in my car for a bit and visit," I said. His gaze jumped from me to Mr. Harvey. I could see the wheels spinning in his brain. Did he know the jig was up, or did he think he could he fake his way out of this? "I can't. My...uh...sister is s'posed to pick me up in ten minutes. I've got to wait on the sidewalk for her." "We'll be able to see her when she gets here." I reached for his backpack which he had slung low on one arm, but he moved it to the other side. I guided him into the front passenger seat. "Won't this be nice getting to know each other?" I winked at him. Hurrying around to the other side, I sat on the driver's seat, and Mr. Harvey sat behind me. As I settled in, I noticed Yo-Yo stared straight ahead, playing it cool. My heart sped. I was nervous, but I couldn't show it. Not only did I need to prove myself to this kid but also to the man in the backseat who signed off on my service hours. "I had a CD case on the seat. Do you know what happened to it?" Silence. I glanced in the rearview mirror to Mr. Harvey. I appreciated that he still hadn't spoken. "Yo-Yo?" "I didn't do nuthin'." His fair skin had reddened all the way to his hairline. 10

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

"Would you open your backpack and let me see?" Bending forward he unzipped the backpack resting at his feet, pulled the carrier out, and slung it at me. So, did I berate him for throwing it at me or for stealing it in the first place? Both? "Don't you know better than to take other people's things?" "No, I don't," YoYo snapped. I sighed. I was the injured party here. What right did he have to be mad? "Come on, Yo-Yo. Of course, you do." "Then don't ask me stupid questions." My mouth dropped. I couldn't believe this kid. Glancing in the mirror again, I wished the silent observer would comment. How about some help here, Mr. Harvey? No such luck. Picking up the carrier, I flipped through my CDs. "What do you like?" Yo-Yo snorted. "You ain't got nothing I want to hear." "Then why'd you steal my CDs?" "Because I wanted to." Oh, now there's a brilliant answer. I bit back the sarcastic comment. Looking through my music, I thought either ABBA or Enya—something that would make Yo-Yo as miserable as possible. Enya was obviously the best choice, but could I stand it until Sister Yo-Yo arrived? Probably not. I didn't know what I had been thinking when I was going through my Enya phase. ABBA, however, was a classic. Every person ought to be exposed to and come to appreciate their music. Yo-Yo's time had come. Mr. Harvey's, too. I glanced back at my 11

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supervisor wondering how he would tolerate seventies Swedish music. He struck me more as a Miles Davis kind of guy. Just for fun, I put it on number six and hit the repeat button. I might not have been able to put up with Enya for long, but I could have listened to Dancing Queen all day. By the fourth time through the song, I was singing and doing a pretty good job too. I wouldn't have sworn it, but I thought I heard humming from the backseat. I turned down the volume. "Are you going to tell me why you broke into my car and stole CDs you didn't even want?" Yo-Yo sat stone still refusing to look at me. Fine. I cranked up the music again. Five more times through the song, and I turned down the dial. "Are you ready to talk?" Silence. "It's not okay to break into my car and take my stuff. It's not okay to do that to anybody." "Bite me, White Lady." Yo-Yo opened the door and ran at break neck speed to a red SUV idling on the street. I jumped from the car, cupped my hands, and yelled to the little jerk, "Break into any more cars, and I'll make you to listen to every minute of Carmen." The opera was over three hours long and plenty tortuous for any kid. Yo-Yo stepped in the back of what must have been his sister's vehicle. "Your music sucks." He grinned victoriously before shutting the door. 12

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

I watched the car pull away from the curb trying to control my temper. Mr. Harvey exited the backseat and stood next to me. "Can you believe what he said to me?" I screeched. "'Bite me, White Lady'." Mr. Harvey's eyebrows shot up. "You didn't know you were white?" He chuckled. I raised my hand in a helpless gesture. "He's white, too. Why would he call me that? Or tell me to bite him right in front of you? Doesn't he have any respect?" "Respect is earned around here, not given. He was after a reaction. I say he got one." Mr. Harvey shut my car door. "You know what they call me? 'De man' and they don't mean it in a good way either. 'Moon Pie' is another favorite of theirs for me. When they open their mouths and put you down, you look them right in the eyes, and you give them a reason to respect you, but you remember that whatever you say back may be the kindest thing they hear all day." Stunned, I couldn't think of any response. I couldn't do this. I wasn't cut out for this. Mr. Harvey studied me. "You need to be patient. With YoYo and yourself. Okay?" I nodded. "I never thought about using music as a punishment before. You may have hit on something here. Although I have to agree with Yo-Yo. If I hear that song ever again, it will be too soon." He glanced at his watch and strode back to the center. 13

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

I grinned and called, "How can you not like Dancing Queen?" "It's surprisingly easy." Walking around the car and shutting the door Yo-Yo had left open, I noticed a man next to the building, leaning on a broom. He was thin with a full beard, and dressed in dingy clothes. I wouldn't have called him a character, but I would have called him a person of interest. He watched me with a distant, disinterested look in his eyes. "Hi, I'm Abigail." "Eli." He paused for a moment seemingly lost in thought. "Didn't your mother ever tell you don't talk to strangers?" "No... What are you doing out here? Are you the resident sweeper?" "I like to keep the parking lot clean." I surveyed the pavement and nodded. "Nice job." I backed up to the building, bent my knee, and rested my foot on its bricks, settling myself in to get to know Eli. He intrigued me. Anybody who would volunteer to sweep dirt off a parking lot this big had to have a story. And if I spent one of my hours hearing it, that would be one less hour having to conjugate verbs with the kids. "What were you doing with Yo-Yo?" "Apparently I was abusing him with my music. Maybe that'll teach him to stay out of my car." Eli rested his chin on the broom handle. He turned his head and studied me for a moment. "You should be careful. These kids can be...nasty." "Mr. Harvey was with us. He seemed to think it was okay." 14

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"He's been here too long. Too much of an optimist. Wants to see the best in everybody." "Not a bad way to live your life," I returned. I thought it was an excellent philosophy. "But it means he's often disappointed." "He seems to handle it okay." Eli snorted. "Have you seen how many antacids the man consumes in one day?" I put my foot down, turned and looked at Eli, really looked at him. "Are you a volunteer here?" "No, I just hang out here and sometimes I sweep." "Maybe you could find a real job sweeping," I said. "Don't try to save me, Abigail. I don't want to be saved." "What are you talking about?" "I think you know," and with that, Eli picked up his broom and left. Great exit line. He put me in my place and left me intrigued. My dad used to tell me character is made, not bred, like I was some spoiled socialite. Despite his lip service, he acted as though I wasn't living up to my legacy of being a fifth generation Benton of the Georgia Bentons attending law school or, at the very least, marrying a lawyer who was a Kappa Alpha and could do secret handshakes with my dad. Ugh. Dad had been the one to arrange community service to humiliate me. I knew there was no way that the drug charges could have stuck otherwise. The District Attorney knew I had been a stupid girlfriend of a druggie who had stolen some 15

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checks from my job, and that was it. It was the judge that declared I would have to do the community service. If he really thought I was guilty, why put me around inner city kids? I would be too much of a risk. I knew this was Dad trying to give me an attitude adjustment. But Dad's approach seemed so hypocritical. What? I couldn't contribute to society by doing people's taxes? I had to join the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Junior League before I was acceptable in his eyes? Or else he'd show me how common I could be by wiping kids' noses in inner city Clavania? Honestly. All of this was such a waste of my time. But what choice did I have? I'd just have to suck up to the after school program, get my hours, and be done with it. 'It' was the community center, a converted store building at a place known as Little Five Points in Clavania. When Mr. Harvey took me into his office my first day, he sat behind his desk in his suit and tie. "Abigail Benton," he declared as he read through my arrest record or court report—I didn't know which. "Why do you want to work here?" I raised my eyebrows. "Because if I don't, they'll put me in jail." "This is a community center. Other than my paid position, we only have volunteers." He cocked his head and studied me. What? "Are they volunteers ordered by the court like me?" "No. They work here because they care about these kids." 16

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Are you kidding? People would actually choose to be here? "How...nice." "So, I ask you again, young lady, why do you want to work here?" Mr. Harvey wanted a noble answer. Saying I needed three hundred community service hours wasn't going to cut it. "Because I want to make a difference." And may lightning not strike me for this big, fat lie. "Very good." He grinned at me. "You can start making a difference with the elementary kids. Come with me." Mr. Harvey led me down the hall and into a classroom in which elementary aged kids of several races were trickling in one by one. Now this was interesting. With all of the hues of skin, it reminded me of a mini U.N. Cool. In the gated community where I'd grown up, everybody pretty much looked alike, talked alike, and voted alike. Most of mom's friends were Stepford wives, though she accused me of being rude when I said so. "Our community center is the hub of all of the neighborhoods in downtown Clavania. We've got young people from Pembroke, Sustantivo, Kenyon, and the District all coming here together. We encourage social interaction and relationship building above their own geographic location because we believe that makes for a harmonious community." No gated communities here. Curiouser and Curiouser. Mr. Harvey folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, his glance sweeping over the children settling in their places. "These kids are to do their homework. They will come to you if they need any help." 17

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

That sounded easy enough. When the chairs filled up, Mr. Harvey picked up an attendance sheet from the teacher's desk and handed it to me. "Excuse me." His booming voice echoed off the walls. "This is Miss Abigail. You are to show her the same respect you show Miss Paula." Piece of cake, and at the end of the afternoon, I could mark off five hours. Mr. Harvey left the room, and I passed the sheet to the first kid. He dutifully signed it and passed it on to the next one. Then he sat there with a blank expression on his face. Maybe he didn't have any homework that day. Every other kid did the same thing. What, didn't teachers assign homework anymore? When the last child had signed the attendance sheet, she brought it up to me and put it in my hand, and the sweet urchin skipped back to her seat. Weren't they cute? I looked at the attendance sheet and started to call the names. What odd names for children. "Achilles Punks, Ayma Moron, Stu Padasso." What? I paused and looked at them. More innocent faces I had never seen. I read the rest of the list silently. Emma Roids. Eric Shun. Oh, come on. Eve Hill. Gabe Barr. And on the names went. I shook my head wondering which name fit me best. Ah, here was one I could identify with. Hal Jalikakick. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to kick any of their disrespectful butts. 18

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

I put the paper on the desk and gazed at them wondering what my course of action should be. There wasn't a snicker or a giggle anywhere. Should I go and get Mr. Harvey, or show them that they have to do better than made up names to get me to say, 'Uncle'? All right, you miserable, little darlings, let's see what you're made of. I suggested that everyone pull out their books and start their homework. No one moved. "Don't you guys have homework?" I asked. No response. I walked over to Achilles Punks, the first kid on the list. Achilles Punks. Yes, I liked that suggestion. "Mr. Punks, what grade are you in, sir?" I asked. "Fifth." "And did you go to school today?" He grunted. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' Now, tell me, Mr. Punks, do you have any books in that monstrous backpack next to your chair?" "Yes." "Oh, good. Let's pull one out and see what we have." In response, Achilles just stared at me. "All right then, I'll open it." Well, that did it. He opened his pack and pulled out a notebook. I took it from him and leafed through the pages. I couldn't read that chicken scratch. If I couldn't read it three feet high on the side of a train car, what made me think I could read it on standard ruled paper? "Mr. Punks, do you have homework today?" "Naw," he replied. 19

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

"You may address me as 'Miss Abigail', and you may answer, 'Yes, Ma'am' or 'No, Ma'am', as I am sure your grandmother has instructed you to do." No response. I glared at him. He glared at me. My mom's best 'Comin'-to-Jesus' look was not working. I walked to the desk and searched the drawers for anything, anything I could use as leverage. What it could be, I didn't know. I just wanted to show these kids that I was tougher than they were, even if I wasn't. Harmonious community, eh? From my experience it seemed like the hub of Clavania had united in giving the new gal 'the business'. "Next time," I muttered, "I'm going to tell the judge to just throw me in jail. I'd rather be rotting in the pen than having to pummel kids within an inch of their lives." I found a ruler, pulled it out and kept searching until I noticed a unison gulp. In fear, I'd like to think, perhaps in surprise that I stood in front of them brandishing a ruler and making threats. Every eye in the room studied me with varying amounts of alarm, discomfort and maybe even respect. Ah-ha. Got you. "Mr. Punks," I murmured, "I'm waiting." Please, let this work. Please don't let him call my bluff. And there it was. He cleared his throat. "No. No Ma'am." "Excellent," I said in a creepy, mischievous way, like I was definitely up to something. I never broke eye contact with him as I said, "Does anyone else have homework that they need to work on?" Not a peep. Not a movement. Good. 20

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

"You have twenty seconds to pull out two sheets of notebook paper. Now." I barked. They did it. Oh, sweet heavens, I got 'em. I got 'em. "Since no one has any homework," I said, "I'm giving you an assignment, which you will begin immediately. Since all of you have such interesting names, I want two pages on how you got your name." Groans and disbelieving sighs were music to my ears. "Miss Abigail... Ma'am, I don't know how I got my name," I heard. I looked at the student in question then down at the roster. "Well, Miss Helen Back, this is what I suggest." I turned around and wrote on the board the questions I remembered my journalism teacher drilling into my head. Who? What? When? Where? How? "Answer these questions, and if you don't know the answers to the questions, I'm sure you can make up a good story by using your imaginations. Hurry up. I want them finished and on this desk in twenty minutes." More groans, but the mini U.N. started putting pencils to paper. I looked down at the roster and grinned. Picking up my pen, I circled the name which fit me presently. Jose Mamanow. My telephone rang as I was contemplating skipping my hours at the center. The writing project hadn't won me any fans there. The little snots were just as rude as could be, and each day was only making me hate it more. If I didn't show up, would the police come and arrest me? 21

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"Abigail," Mr. Harvey greeted me. "Bring a change of clothes when you come in. We've got something special going on." I had no idea that the 'something special' would be undergoing a lice treatment. Mr. Harvey met me at the door of the center and looked me up and down. "In my office, please," he invited and barreled down the hall in classic Mr. Harvey fashion. He pulled his key from his massive key ring on his belt, unlocked the door, and went inside. I followed him to find Eli looking a lot cleaner than I had seen him the last time. His hair was combed and his beard looked nearly manageable. His eyes met mine before settling on Mr. Harvey. "This is Eli. I've asked him to come in and help out since we're a little...shorthanded today. He'll be picking the volunteers only, not any of the children. He's been checked out, and he's free." Huh? "He's free for what? Picking us for what? What are we doing?" In response, Mr. Harvey turned on a bright study lamp on his desk and aimed it at a straight-backed chair. He indicated that I should sit on the chair. I did so dutifully though it meant my back was to both men. No problem. I didn't know Eli, but Mr. Harvey was trustworthy enough. And anyway, if they were going to pull a good cop, bad cop routine, it couldn't be any worse than what I had been through when I'd been arrested. "Lice. We have an outbreak, and everybody has to be checked out." 22

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"What?" I turned around and saw Mr. Harvey open up a packet containing a Popsicle stick and a small plastic comb. "I'd do it myself, Abigail, but I'm afraid the kids are not cooperating very well, and I need to be out there. If you check out, go to classroom A and they'll assign you some kids." "If I check out? I don't have lice." Do I? Come to think of it, I have felt kind of itchy lately. As in, the last thirty seconds. "Just to be sure. Just to be sure." Mr. Harvey smiled at me before leaving the office and closing the door behind him. Here I was in the room with Eli the sweeper. I looked back at him. He was putting on rubber gloves. The homeless guy is afraid of catching cooties. From me. I sighed in resignation. Honestly. "All right, Eli. Search away." "Can you bend over please?" "What?" "Put your head down. They tend to hang out at the neckline." "If I have head lice, I am going to scream in three octaves." No response from Eli, so I did as he asked. He stood next to me, and I studied his shoes. They had definitely seen better days—canvas that may have been, in some past year, white. Now they were brown, yucky brown, with three different holes on the left shoe and one big hole on the right one. I detected the same aroma that I had smelled that first day I had talked to him. It was like...I couldn't quite put my 23

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finger on it. It wasn't unpleasant at all—but it was something I was familiar with. Not cologne...not soap. What was it? He poked through my hair, moved my head gently to the side, then up. He looked behind my ears. Did I wash behind my ears today? Was my neck clean? What did I care? The guy was homeless. He probably slept on the curb last night. "Okay," he said. "Okay? Does that mean you're finished?" I asked turning around to face him. Ten plastic bottles sat on Mr. Harvey's desk. Eli picked one up and handed it to me. "Here. Go to the bathroom, and wash your hair with this." I looked at the label. It was lice shampoo. "Oh, yuck. I have lice!" "Just calm down now. It's a precaution. Everybody has to wash with the shampoo." "Are you serious? I don't have lice?" "Go." he pointed to the door. I picked up my bag that had my clothes in it and glanced back at Eli as I left the office. He was taking his gloves off. Why did I need to wash my hair with lice shampoo if I didn't have lice? Eww. My skin crawled. Lice. I could hardly stand it. My whole body itched as I walked to the girls' bathroom. It looked clean enough, but I just didn't think I could strip and take a shower here. Not with the possibility of lice in this building. I wanted to go home and boil myself just in case any of them might have thought about getting on me. I stuck my head in the sink under the running water and washed my head as thoroughly as I could. Why didn't I bring 24

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my own towels, I thought as I picked a neatly folded one up off of a large stack on the counter. Because I didn't know there would be lice. For heaven's sake, lice. I wrapped my head in the towel and went back to Mr. Harvey's office, closing the door behind me. Eli was there, leaning on the desk. He looked at me nonchalantly, as if lice were no big deal. I shivered just thinking about the parasites. Eli put on another pair of rubber gloves. "What are you doing?" "I need to comb your hair out." "Why? You said I don't have lice. Why are you going to wear gloves, and why do you need to comb my hair?" "It's just a precaution." He took the little comb from the bag. "If you think you're going to comb my hair out with that thing, you're crazy. I've got really thick hair. We'll be here all day." Eli gestured to the chair. I stood there uncertain and confused. "You said I didn't have lice," I insisted. Okay. This was a trust issue. I didn't know this man from Adam. I knew he kept the parking lot clean enough, but this was my hair. "Please, Ma'am. Mr. Harvey wants to make sure that we get this under control so he's taking extra care. With everybody." I sat down in the chair. Gently he began to comb. "Nothing personal, Eli, but I can do this myself." "No. You can't see the nits on your own head." "Nits?" 25

Holding Out for A Hero by Jennifer Johnson

"The lice eggs. The louse lays the egg on a strand of hair. It is attached with some sticky substance. It's very hard to see, so someone else has to pick out the nits. That's where the term 'nitpicker' comes from." I shivered from the grossness of all of it. "What makes you...I mean, why do you get to be the volunteer and staff nitpicker?" "I think, because I was available." "What? Did you give up your sweeping job?" "Actually, someone stole the broom." "Get out." "Yep." Eli tugged on a strand of hair lightly and resumed combing. Gee, this was relaxing, if I didn't think about the reason why he was grooming me. No man had ever brushed my hair. Not even my dad. I could almost pretend that Eli was a highly sought-after hair stylist. Except for his horrible shoes and the wretchedness of his own hair. Oh, well, in my stylist fantasy, I'd just determine that he was eccentric. Most of the talented ones were, right? Eli moved to the left side of me and combed the hair back behind my ear. "You'll tell me, won't you, if you see anything? I just couldn't stand it if I had lice." "Why? It doesn't mean you're not clean. Lice love clean hair." I thought about that for a minute. "Are you making this up? How do you know so much about lice?" "Public radio did a story on it a while back." "You listen to public radio," I asked in disbelief. 26

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"They play it at Harp's." Harp's was a restaurant in the downtown district. "You can get an eighty cent coffee there with refills and they let you stay as long as you want, if it doesn't get too crowded." "Oh, yeah? I'll have to remember that." "It's good to know when a person needs to get out of the rain or the cold." What a life this guy must have. Here I was pitying myself because I couldn't afford cable anymore, and this guy had to worry about a place to go to get out of the cold and rain. I spent a few minutes counting my blessings and in general feeling thankful. "Maybe I could buy you a coffee some time," I offered. "Abigail, I don't need saving. I told you that already." "Who said anything about saving you? I just offered a cup of coffee." Lord knows he deserved it as gentle and careful as he was being with my hair. He had combed through at least three knots so far. That's what happens—I guess—when someone washes her hair in a sink. No response. Eli combed and combed and combed. "How long have you been on the streets?" "A while." "How did it happen? I mean, you used to have a regular life, right?" Eli sighed. "What's a regular life?" "I don't know—a job, a family, a home. Is your life so horrible that nobody in your family would help you out? Give you a place to live?" 27

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"My life isn't as bad as you think. I get by. Most people...most people, I've learned, are prisoners. They think they're free, but they're not. They have their cell phones and hummers and high definition flat screen televisions. And the bank owns them. People think they have to own everything, but the more they have, the more their stuff owns them. Nobody owns me. Nothing owns me. I'm more free than I've ever been. The streets taught me that." Eli scooted my chair over and began to comb the other side of my head. "Are you finding anything?" "You weren't lying about your hair being thick," he responded. "You didn't answer my question." "Mr. Harvey just wants to be thorough." "So thorough he's making you do the dirty work." "Oh, I wouldn't call this dirty work. Getting to comb through a beautiful woman's hair? It's the best job I've had in quite a while." "Thanks. I'm glad to know I'm a step up from the parking lot." "More than one, I think." "Eli, you do know how to charm a girl." "I think we're done. You can go tell Mr. Harvey you're clean and ready to do some of your own nit picking." "I thought you said I didn't have any lice. I didn't, did I? I'd just die, if I did." I shivered. The very idea. Eli smiled. "There're worse things than having a few stowaways on your scalp." 28

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"Ugh, I did, I did. I have lice!" I start scratching my head because it was really itching at this point. "Would you calm down? You're free—you're clean. You don't have lice." "Do you promise, Eli? Please tell me I don't." "I already told you. You're fine." I stood up and turned around to thank him and noticed he wasn't wearing gloves anymore. When had he taken them off? I guess maybe it was a good sign—that I wasn't crawling with lice. "Thanks, Eli. Maybe you'll let me buy you a coffee some time." He glanced at me before walking to the door. "I'll let you know the next time I can't scrounge up eighty cents. How about that?" "All right." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two **** On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was my mom. I had tried my best to keep Mom and Dad from finding out about getting arrested, but the judge had gone to law school with my uncle Fletch. And, hoo boy, dear old Dad hit the roof and hadn't spoken to me since. It was bad enough that I had disgraced the family, but I had disgraced the family, and they'd found out. Uncle Fletch had a big mouth, so now everybody in the southeast knew about it, too. Mom asked about me. How could I answer without letting her know how dismal my life was? I had just gotten treated for lice. "Everything is good." Her silence told me she wasn't buying it. "Really, Mom. I just finished at the community center. We... talked about good hygiene." I was getting really good at putting a positive spin on my life for my mom. She didn't deserve to have to worry about me or put up with my dad's rants about their only daughter. "How is work?" "Great." As of yet, I had been able to keep getting fired from them. "I...I couldn't get a hold of you on your cell, so I called your office." A set up. 30

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"I haven't said anything to your father, yet." I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. I couldn't think of anything to say. "Is there any hope that you'll get your job back?" "Doubtful, Mom. Just so you know, they weren't fair about it. I didn't steal anything. And you know I've never done drugs. Not ever." "You could have told me you lost your job." "You'd just worry, and Dad's blood pressure would just go higher." "Are you working at all?" "Yeah, Mom." I didn't volunteer where, however. I hated to think that the money they spent at one of the top ten ranked private colleges was going to waste while I served people breakfast food at two in the morning. She was such a good mom. She didn't sigh or cry. See, I get my eternal optimism from her. "Legal?" "Tell me you're kidding." "Sort of." "Yes, it's legal. I'm still on probation, you know." "Do you need some money?" "I'm okay." "You're not. I'll send you some money." "No. I don't need it." I insisted because I knew Dad would find out and get all Dad about it. Can one get fired from community service? This was a question I pondered as I covered my nose and mouth with one hand and looked in horror around the boys' bathroom at 31

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the community center. It was one of the most disgusting places I'd ever been in, and I'd spent the night in the Clay County jail, so I knew disgusting. The door opened, and Mr. Harvey walked in with a bucket of cleaning supplies and a mop. He smiled at me as if this were a happy and grand occasion. Would his smile have been quite so big if I had emptied the contents of my stomach on his shoes? I was tempted, but decided it would just be more to clean up. Why make more work for myself? Was he serious? He couldn't possibly mean for me to work in here. "This is horrible. Shouldn't the person who made the mess be the one to clean it up?" "Yes. Unfortunately, I haven't caught him yet." I tried not to gag. "Make all of the kids do it then." Mr. Harvey shook his head. "That's not fair to the ones who had nothing to do with this." I rolled my eyes. "I had nothing to do with this. Don't I get 'fair'?" "You got community service, and today that's cleaning feces." "Very fitting for my life right now," I grumbled. "When you're finished with the bathrooms, why don't you wipe down the walls in the hall? There's some disinfectant and sponges in there." "Are there rubber gloves?" "Of course." "Great." I tried to sound thankful and enthused. I had told Mr. Harvey I needed a break from working with the kids. I guess this was what I got. 32

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Crap everywhere. "I will say one thing. I think we have some artists in the masses. Too bad they haven't found a better medium for expressing themselves." Mr. Harvey laughed and left. I bent over to look in the bucket as I tried not to touch anything in the bathroom. In fact, if I knew how to levitate, I sure as heck would have been doing it. These shoes were going in the dumpster in the parking lot as soon as my hours were done today. There was no way I was putting them in my car after walking into this. I put on the gloves and looked for a mask. No such luck. So, I went over to the door and propped it open. What I really needed was a hose and a high-powered sprayer. There was a drain in the floor so spraying down the walls and the floor might be just the thing for this room. I left the room with gloves still on and went to see what I could find. After I had rummaged through the outside storage room, I saw Eli as I exited and locked its door. I hoisted the hose over my shoulder and waved as I headed back toward the main building. Eli ambled over to me at the entrance to the center. His gaze moved from the hose to my face. "What are you doing with that?" "I'm about to clean out the elephant cages. Do you have a gas mask I can borrow?" I propped open the door by leaning against it. "Not on me." 33

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"Well, if you come across one in the next forty minutes or so, bring it to the boys' restroom." I crossed the threshold letting the door shut without waiting for a response. It wasn't up to Eli's standards as far as exit lines went, but it wasn't bad. And maybe he'd take the great big hint and help me. With a bit of duct tape, I attached the hose to the sink faucet and turned it up as high as it would go. A few geysers sprayed out from in between pieces of tape, but I figured more water could only help things in there. With the hose, I sprayed every surface I possibly could including the floor. I went crazy with the Bon Ami cleaner; then I sprayed some more. Before I got in trouble for jerry rigging the faucet, I unhooked the hose and took it back outside to the storage house. Eli was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was looking for that gas mask. I went back into the bathroom and tackled the stalls, sinks and toilets. I began running the mop along the wet floor and saw a dark trail where the mop had been. I thought I needed some clean water to mop. Now, the mop bucket was too big to fit in the sink, and I had taken the hose back before I realized I might need it again. So, I stood in the bathroom trying to decide how I could get water to mop with. And it came to me—the perfect solution. I went over to one of my sparkling clean toilets and dipped the mop in the bowl. When I brought the mop back up, the water was completely black. Uggh. The mop was disgusting. They wanted me to clean the floor with this? And just look 34

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what it was doing to my beautiful toilet. I flushed, went for the Bon Ami, poured some on the mop and dunked again. "Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing." I jumped a foot. "Eli, you scared the daylights out of me." "Are you cleaning the floors with toilet water?" "Clean toilet water. At least, it was until I put this filthy mop in there." "You cannot clean the floors with water from the toilet," Eli declared. His blue eyes glittered at me from under the bill of a dirty Atlanta Braves ball cap. Though his full beard hid most of his face, still I noticed that he had a nicely shaped mouth with a full lower lip that curled in a hint of a smile. Could this guy be good looking, if bathed and groomed? It was an intriguing thought. I left the thought there and got back to the business at hand. "Why not? The toilet is clean. In fact, you could drink from it." "I could. Could you?" Eli challenged me. "Theoretically I could." Over the smell of Bon Ami, I detected the aroma I had smelled before on Eli, burnt caramel. The guy smelled like burnt caramel. I wondered what the story was behind that. Turning back around, I dunked the mop, poured more Bon Ami, flushed, and studied the water. It was a little cleaner. Perhaps I had invented a new way to clean mops. "You wouldn't mop with toilet water at home, would you?" He questioned. 35

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I didn't answer immediately because I was still working on getting the mop clean. When I determined it was passable, I took it from the bowl, wiped it around on the floor in the stall and backed up, I moved to the next stall. "This isn't my home. Why should I care about the floor if the hooligan who did this doesn't?" "Because you are an adult, and you know better." I stopped and stared at him. Darn it. I did know better. My mom would be horrified if she knew I was mopping with toilet water. "I just want to be done with this." This bathroom. This community service. This entire episode of my life. "Will you give me five minutes to find a clean mop so you can be done with it?" I shrugged and handed him the mop. "Sure. It'll give me a chance to get some fresh air." We walked out together, and I waited in the hall while he took the mop outside. In a few minutes, he came from the kitchen with a new mop, its head still wrapped in cellophane, and a big plastic bucket full of steamy water. I clapped my hands and laughed. I couldn't believe it. Yes. Abigail Benton's life, ladies and gentlemen. A new mop makes me happy. Eli grinned as he passed me, and we entered the bathroom. Once inside I unwrapped the mop and got to work. "Here. You're doing it wrong," Eli said as he came over and tried to take the mop from me. I held on. "Thanks, Eli. But I think I know how to mop." "Look down. You're missing spots." 36

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He pulled on the mop. I pulled on the mop. What was I, crazy? He was trying to mop, and I wouldn't let him. "It's mopping. I don't need lessons." I continued working. "All right, you stubborn woman," Eli said. "Then let's do this." He moved to my side and held the mop with me. We're practically touching, we're so close. What I hadn't realized before then was that my shirt was wet from the cleaning— both from sprayed water and sweat. And it wasn't much of a barrier from the heat of Eli's body. We're touching. Shoulders. Hips. "Side to side, see? Over here. Side to side." Eli guided us backward as he moved the mop gracefully from side to side in front of us. I watched his hands so close to mine on the mop handle. Eli had nice hands—big manly hands with veins sticking out. I didn't know why, but watching his hands next to mine seemed very intimate. His skin was a shade or two darker than mine though I could only see his hands and wrists because he wore a long-sleeved shirt. I wondered what his arms looked like. Were they muscular? My eyes feasted on his fingers wrapped around the handle, and I wondered what other talents they might have other than holding mops and brooms. I felt like a Victorian man who got turned on by the glimpse of a woman's ankles because he fantasized about the covered parts above those delicate ankles. My heart thumped rapidly. I was having trouble breathing. Eli talked in low soft tones close to my ear, and I was surprised to realize I was getting turned on. 37

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For heaven's sake he's turning me on. "Side to side. Over here. Walk back. Side to side. Over here. Walk back. It's almost like a dance." He talked and moved rhythmically. It was like a dance. Oh. Somebody help me. I was mop dancing with a homeless guy. No doubt about it. I needed to get out more. I let go of the mop and stepped away from him. "Thanks. I get it now. But please. Go on and mop, if you want." Eli stopped, his expression shuttered. "No. You need the practice. Otherwise, you'll forget." "As if," I retorted. As if I ever could forget having the hots for a street person in the wretched bathroom. My life was a mess. I was obviously so lonely that any human contact was sending my hormones into orbit. Eli didn't say another word. He just propped the mop up on the wall next to the sink and left. No great exit line this time. But he sure did give me something to think about. I didn't know if I was causing too much trouble at the community center or if the homeless men's shelter was really in desperate need of help. Whatever the reason, Mr. Harvey sent me over there to assist with supper. I was a little unnerved the first night— okay, scared stiff, but the men seemed either distant or polite. Kaylon Smith was at least three hundred pounds if he was an ounce and was just the biggest teddy bear I ever met. I liked him instantly. I figured that if anybody threatened me, I'd just go hide behind Kaylon. Anyway, he was happy for 38

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some help and put me to work making instant mashed potatoes. No problem. I followed the directions on the box, added the government issued butter, some milk from the fridge, and had the perfect side dish. Then after the dinner bell rang, I took my stand in the serving line and put green beans and mashed potatoes on every plate. After all of the men came through, I took up the tea pitcher and threaded my way through the tables refilling cups. It's what I did at the Waffle Mania every night, so I figured people eating, people drinking—hey, I know what I was supposed to be doing. Well, apparently nobody had ever done this before. That made me sad. I mean, don't these guys—homeless, though they were—deserve to be served, to be waited on? I spotted Eli. I didn't remember seeing him come through the line, and he didn't have a plate in front of him, but he was sitting at a table with a group of men. I made my way over there, filling up cups on the way. When I reached the table, I spoke to Eli. "Hi Eli, so this is where you disappear to after you're finished at the community center." There was no response. "I'm Abigail. You guys want any tea?" Four glasses appeared under the direct vicinity of the tea pitcher. Four pairs of eyes of the owners of the cups looked at me expectantly. Eli, the only one not wanting more tea, sighed. He aimed one of those distant looks at me. Eli didn't quite fit in with the other men here. I wished I knew his story. He was probably well educated, but then how did he get to be homeless? Was it drugs? And if he wanted to stay busy by sweeping half of Clavania, why didn't he get a 39

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job that paid something so he could get off the street? I filled up the tea and went on to the next table. At the end of the meal as the men were shuffling out, many of them called me by name and thanked me for coming. They seemed so polite. Why wasn't there a place for them in society? Kaylon's eyes sparkled behind his tiny glasses. His glasses actually seemed to be part of his face because they sat back behind his fleshy cheeks and eyebrows. I smiled at him and asked him how he came to be serving meals at the homeless men's shelter. He handed me a large pan which had had the chicken in it from supper. "Here, part of the job's cleaning up," he said. "Does that mean I don't get to hear your life story?" "Yeah, that's what it means. Get to scrubbing so I can close up the kitchen, and you can go home." "I didn't mean to pry. I was just being friendly." Kaylon made this affirmative sound which sounded like he didn't believe me. "I saw how friendly you was being with our tea. This ain't no restaurant, Abigail. You start filling up tea glasses, we'll be short of tea before the end of the month." "Well, I think people ought to drink as much as they want. Otherwise, they could get dehydrated." "You give them seconds on tea, and there's twice as much pee on the sidewalk in the morning." "Oh, for heaven's sake." Kaylon seemed to care less about the health of the homeless men and more about having to spray down the walkway. I took out my frustrations on the dirty pots and pans. I was so mad that I nearly scrubbed holes in the metal. 40

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Apparently, I got quite the reputation of buddying up to what I called our 'customers' because Mr. Harvey stopped me in the hall on my way to help the hoodlums with their homework. You had to admire a guy who dressed in a suit trying to set a good example to a bunch of kids whose pants rode as low as their knees. "How are things going at the men's shelter?" "Fine." No need in volunteering why there was more pee outside than usual. "Do you like working suppers over there?" "Sure. Nice group of guys. I've made several new friends." I grinned at Mr. Harvey and winked. He laughed in response, crossed his arms and studied me for a moment. "Abigail, I appreciate your kindness with the men. The last thing I want to do is scare you, but your friendliness might very well be misinterpreted. A lot of those guys lead lonely lives." I returned his look. "Mr. Harvey, if they lead lonely lives, then that's even more reason to be nice to them." "It might not be an issue if you weren't an attractive young woman, but you are." "Gee thanks, Mr. Harvey. You're not asking me out on a date, are you?" In response, he laughed again. Paula, a no-nonsense volunteer who had been walking by, stopped in her tracks. I guess she wanted to find out whether Mr. Harvey was asking me out. That would definitely be newsworthy as he's married.

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"Why don't you go help Paula today," he said without even looking at her, turned around and walked purposely back to his office. "Girl, you've got to tell me what that was about," Paula said coming back to life. She and I went into the kitchen. She was usually in charge of snacks. "I've been helping out with supper at the homeless men's shelter, and Mr. Harvey was warning me about getting too friendly with the clients." I followed her into a closet which had been converted into a pantry. She studied the menu posted inside the door and began pulling things off the shelves and handing them to me. "He's right. You don't watch out, you're going to find yourself cornered by a Smelly Sam trying to make time with you." "For heaven's sake, Paula. Those guys are harmless. They're just as nice and respectful as I've seen. In fact, they're better mannered than some guys I used to work with." I set the various cans and boxes on the Formica island in the middle of the kitchen. Paula went over to a cabinet and pulled out two large plastic pitchers and filled them up with water to mix with some powdered drink. "I don't care how respectful they act. Whether they're at the homeless shelter on 21st Street or in the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue, men only care about two things: food and sex." "Oh, come on. How can you say that?" 42

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"Because I know. Now, those guys may act nice and respectful, but they get their bellies full and you sweet thing bring them tea and sit down smiling so pretty at 'em and they going to go after the only other thing they care about." "How do you know about me bringing them tea?" I asked astonished. She planted her hands on her hips. "Honey, word is out. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's about thirty more men coming to eat every night you're there than there is regular. Maybe they're comin' for the tea, but my guess is they comin' for you." "I don't believe it." "You better believe it. Mash said a fight broke out last night after you left because one man sat in a chair they was savin' for you." I leaned back on the island in utter shock. Mash drove a van around town picking up any guys who looked like they might need a hot meal and a warm bed to sleep in, and took them to the men's shelter. Apparently, he not only drove the van, but kept up on all the news and passed it along to the community center. Gee whiz. I had no idea I was causing such trouble. Well, darn it. What was I supposed to do now? Just stay hidden in the kitchen the entire time? How embarrassing. I mean, I am passably attractive, but certainly no beauty queen. And just to let you know, I am frumpy incarnate. I don't wear low cut shirts. I don't wear short skirts. I wear formless, baggy everything—mostly because that's what's comfortable and there's not a dress code at the community center. I honestly 43

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cannot imagine anybody fighting because they didn't get to sit next to me. That night, I went to the men's shelter deciding to be just a little bit more standoffish. I did take tea around, but went back to the kitchen after the pitcher was empty and washed up pots and pans. Kaylon didn't say anything about my change in routine. Though he also sat down with the men after everyone had gone through the line, he didn't complain that I didn't this time. Perhaps his feelings were hurt because no one had ever saved him a seat. Anyway, he was glad to get out of there a little early. After the third night of hiding out in the kitchen, I was about to get into my car after cleaning up when one of the customers named Harold appeared. I knew his name because he wore this long wool coat all the time. Permanently affixed to the lapel of the coat was a 'Hello, My name is' sticker with the name 'Harold' on it. Harold needed a ride, and wanted me to give him one. His eyes pierced mine appealingly. I didn't want to give him a ride, but I couldn't think of a good excuse other than he reeked of cigarette smoke, as a lot of these guys did. Maybe I could plead allergies. "I really need that ride. It's not out of your way, Abigail." As if he knew what was and what wasn't out of my way. "All right, Harold, get in." He jumped in the car, and I grudgingly got in myself. Just as I was about to pull away from the curb, the back door opened. When I looked back, I saw Eli getting in and putting on his seatbelt. 44

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"Hi, Eli." I met his eyes in the rear view mirror. "Do you need a ride somewhere, too?" "Yeah, thanks." "All right, boys. Where to?" Nobody said anything. I decided Harold was going to be the first to go as I'd rather smell Eli's caramel than Harold's smoke. I glanced at him. "Harold, where to?" Harold glared out the windshield. "Wilkshire," he snapped. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Eli's presence was really ticking off Harold. "Wilkshire?" It was a public hospital. I guess Harold had need of medical attention. I hoped whatever he had wasn't contagious. I drove there in less than fifteen minutes and dropped him off. He got out of the car without a thank you or a how-de-do. I guess a 'Hello, my name is' tag doesn't take the place of good manners, now does it? I waited to pull out from the curb until I could find out where we were going next. I looked in the rearview mirror at Eli as he watched Harold stalk away. "Where can I take you, Eli?" I asked. "Just drive a couple of blocks, then you can let me out." What? "Don't you ever, ever give anybody a ride again. Do you hear me? Nobody." The vehemence in Eli's voice took me by surprise. I looked in the mirror again, but he was still staring out the window. "Who I give a ride to is my business."

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"You just put yourself in a car with a convicted rapist who has been out of prison exactly six weeks. Now, please promise me you'll never do that again." You know how you have what the airlines call a 'near miss' which is actually a 'near hit' to my way of thinking? In my experience, it is narrowly missing crashing into another car. After it is over, you have an adrenaline hot flash—your blood pressure shoots up, your heart beats ninety to nothing, you might burst into tears or laugh hysterically. I started crying, and I couldn't get a hold of myself. Eli sat silently in the backseat. After a few minutes, I calmed down enough to drive. I went to a fast food restaurant and pulled in the parking lot. "How about that cup of coffee?" He sighed and nodded, so we went inside. I actually bought him coffee and a whole meal. He hadn't eaten at the shelter, so I figured he might be hungry. Though why he rarely ate there was a mystery. We sat across from each other, and I set his food in front of him. He thanked me and tore into the food. I drank my own coffee and tried to wipe any trace of runny mascara from under my eyes. "I'm sorry about the crying. It's just that when you said that, it scared—" "Good," Eli said putting down his hamburger. "You should be scared." He paused, scanned the restaurant, and hooked me with his eyes. "Maybe Harold only needed a ride to Wilkshire, or maybe he didn't. The point is, you don't let anybody in your car. Don't trust anybody." 46

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"I trust you." "You shouldn't. Not me. Not anybody." He turned his head. One thing I've noticed about Eli. He doesn't make eye contact very often. I think the reason is because the few times he has, his eyes gathered me in and held me there. "People who are on the streets don't have much. Some people don't have anything, and they're the ones who are dangerous because they don't have anything to lose. They don't care who they hurt. They don't care if they get thrown in prison or shot through the head. They don't care about anything because they're empty inside. There's nothing there." "That's so sad." "No, it isn't sad. It's terrifying. And, you should act accordingly." I thought about that for a little while and decided a change of subject was in order. "Why don't you eat at the shelter?" Eli shrugged his shoulders. "You're obviously hungry. Don't you trust Kaylon's cooking?" "Somebody might be hungrier than I am," he said, taking another bite of burger. "From where I'm sitting, I find that hard to believe." "Let me ask you something, Abigail. What do you do with the leftovers at the shelter?" I thought about it. "It's rare that we ever have leftovers." "Exactly." 47

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"But nobody's ever turned away. If we've ever run out of food, we just fix peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or hot dogs or something." "I make do, so don't worry about me." "Then why come to the meal, if you don't ever eat?" I pressed. Why it mattered, I didn't know. Eli just seemed so...nice. Why couldn't he have a normal life? "Thanks for supper," Eli said as he gathered up his food wrappers and piled them on the tray. He stood up and took the tray over to the trash to empty it. "I'll see you around." He didn't look back. He didn't wait for me to follow him out. By the time I got to the door, he was gone. But at least he'd said, "Thanks." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three **** The first time I learned about the Nights was when I was helping Paula in the kitchen at the community center. I had helped at the shelter then had come back to the center to help with the late-stayers. Those were kids whose parents worked second shift and were too little to be at home alone. Paula was in charge of the kitchen for the late-stayer snack. When she worked around food, she took the health department's regulations to heart. Everyone wore a hair net including me much to my dismay. She passed one to me and proceeded to stuff her bleached hair under hers. "I hate these things. I have too much hair to fit it all in," I complained. "Quit bragging," she said as she patted her head making sure no stray hair had escaped. "The city ain't going to shut us down just because you don't want to follow the rules." "I don't see why we have to wear them for cleaning up. We've already served the food." "And now we're putting it away. I don't want of your curly hairs in the peanut butter." I made no comment as I heaved a bag of garbage through the kitchen door to the dumpster out back. A young man dressed in black jeans and a ripped jacket stood in the alley between the center and the house next door. With his back leaning against the bricked building 49

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across the way, he glared at me and spit on the ground. I'm not usually a coward, but the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I hurried back inside. "Paula, there's a guy out there." Paula huffed, marched straight to the door, opened it and went out to the young man. I stood inside the door to see what would happen. Now, Paula wasn't a big woman, but her demeanor made me hope I never got on her bad side. I had no doubt she could whip my butt with one hand tied behind her back. I couldn't hear what she said, but saw that guy glare at her and spit on the ground near where she stood. Instead of backing up, Paula got closer to him. Could the teen be her son? Yes, he was African American, but I knew she'd raised several foster children. He was getting a dressing-down, no doubt about it. Now, she pointed emphatically toward the street. As if it had been his plan all along, the young man pushed off from the building and strolled away in the direction that Paula had pointed. She watched him leave until he was out of sight. Then, with ramrod straight back, she walked back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door behind her. Back in the kitchen, she slammed a bowl into the sink. "Standing there looking at me like that. I work for a living— two jobs, plus this one." "Umm, Paula?" She scrubbed the bowl and threw it into the drying rack. "I don't live off the filth of the earth...and don't you think I'm going to put up with your stink comin' 'round here." She 50

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picked up a pan, knocked it down in the sink, and turned on the faucet. "Paula?" "I'll knock you three times around this building and not think twice about it... Looking at me like you have any, any business around here, except devilment." "I'll just go get Mr. Harvey." I made for the door before she worked herself up into a full frenzy. I could still hear her as I walked down the hall. "Spit on my shoe. I'll chew you up and spit you out like day old snuff." Mr. Harvey sat at his desk bent over a thick sheaf of papers. I knocked on his open door, and he looked up. "I think you better come in the kitchen. Paula had a...conversation with a guy in the alley, and she's pretty worked up about it." Mr. Harvey nodded and went full steam ahead toward the kitchen. I sprinted to keep up with him. By the time we arrived in the room, Paula had finished with the dishes and was attacking the counter tops with a sponge, her entire body vibrated with the movement of her cleaning. "Paula." Mr. Harvey barked. "What's got into you?" "A Night lounging outside like he owns the place." "A knight?" I questioned. "A gang banger," Mr. Harvey supplied. "The rival gangs around here are the Nights and Morte." Paula tossed the sponge into the sink and leaned against the counter facing us. "And they stir things up between the 51

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races. They're nothing but pure filth. What's that piece of trash doing here?" "Recruiting maybe, or selling drugs. Was he alone?" "Yeah." Mr. Harvey reached in his pocket, pulled out a packet of antacids and popped a couple in his mouth. "Did you know him?" "No. I've never seen him." The fear in Paula's eyes scared me. She was one of the toughest women I'd ever met. Most of the kids sat up straight and faced forward when she walked in the room. "What do we do?" I glanced back and forth between them. "Can't we call the police or something?" "The police can't do anything until..." Mr. Harvey finished his sentence with a hefty sigh. "Until it's too late." Paula supplied. Days passed, and the Shoe Spitter didn't make another appearance. I guessed Paula had scared him away. I hadn't seen Eli either. Mr. Harvey asked me to let him know the next time Eli showed up. Although he seemed to spend most of his time pushing the broom along the pavement, Eli provided a little security to the center which Mr. Harvey seemed to appreciate. I thought this was because amidst all of the female volunteers, Eli was the only other male adult around on most days. And who knew when you needed a guy around to break up a fight, nitpick convicts, or tell a blonde joke to? Leaving the community center I spotted Eli going into a house over on Fourteenth. The sun was setting as I circled 52

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the block and parked on the curb thinking I'd pass on the message that Mr. Harvey was looking for him. For a moment, I studied the dilapidated house. Good grief was this where Eli lived? The droopy roof crowning the bricked structure and several broken windows testified to its neglect. How sad. How very, very sad. I pocketed my keys and clutched my pepper spray. Ever since Eli had told me about Harold, I'd started carrying it with me. I'd forgotten it when I'd met the Shoe Spitter in the alley. Lesson learned. If any rapists or gang bangers threatened me, they'd be crying habanero tears. At the front porch of the house, I knocked, and the door creaked open. Huh. I thought I had seen a movie like this once. As I recall, it didn't turn out too well for the heroine. I peeked in the cluttered room. "Eli?" I knew I had seen him come in here. "Eli, it's Abigail. Abigail Benton." Did he know my last name? I stepped inside wrinkling my nose at the disgusting mess. What was this about? He swept every speck of dirt outside of the center, but lived in a garbage can? A bare mattress leaned against the wall, broken bottles and pop cans littered the floor. I pushed the door open as far as the hinges would let me. From somewhere inside the building, I heard the pulsing of music. He was here and obviously a fan of very loud rap music. I crossed the floor to the dining room clucking my 53

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tongue at the burnt wood in the middle of the floor and wooden crates decorated with fast food bags. Still no Eli. "Eli, it's Abigail, your mop buddy." Saved-me-from-a-rapist buddy. Combed-through-my-hair buddy. The music stopped. I continued forward to an archway leading to a hall. The kitchen was to the right and the other way ended with a set of narrow stairs. Very dark up there. "Eli?" I called up the passage. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Okay. Time to go. This place was creepy, and Mr. Harvey could just come down here himself if he needed to see Eli. I turned to leave. "What are you doing here?" Eli asked from the stairs. I jumped a foot. He was only a shadow, but there was enough light that I could see him. I knew he hadn't been there a second ago. "Would you stop sneaking up on me like that? You scared the life out of me." "You better get out of here. Now." He descended one stair then another. "I just wanted to tell you Mr. Harvey's looking for you." "You walk right out of here, and don't you ever come back." "I'm...sorry. I'm really sorry, Eli." I turned to the door. A shout echoed from somewhere else in the house, and I heard the thunder of Eli's shoes pounding down the stairs. I had to get out of here. I ran but only got as far as the archway when I stumbled. I sensed and heard something like the wind behind me. Eli's 54

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arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me off the floor, his other arm snaked around my shoulder with a hand pressed firmly over my mouth before I could scream or even bite. Eli, what are you doing? You're supposed to be a good guy, aren't you? No, no! He ran with me into the kitchen straight to a door which I could see was boarded up. Holding me to the side, Eli kicked hard, but the wood wouldn't budge. He kicked again, but it was ineffective. I twisted attempting to escape, but he held me too tightly Another door was open, the pantry. His arm loosened, and my feet touched the floor again. Shoved into the small space, Eli crowded in behind me, and with a slam we were in complete, confined darkness. So, this was where it was going to happen. But not if I could help it. I filled my lungs with as much breath as I could from my nostrils. Eli still had his hand closed over my mouth. But I could make some noise, couldn't I? I screamed. His hand tightened. "I swear I won't hurt you, but you've got to be quiet. In about ten seconds, we're going to have some gang bangers in the house. If they find us, it won't be good." He removed his hand from my face. "You're lying," I whispered. "If I wanted to assault you, wouldn't I already be doing it?" I rotated my shoulders and pushed against him trying to reach the door. Enfolding my arms in one of his, Eli's other hand circled my hip and brought me back flush against him. His hold was so tight I could hardly breathe. 55

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"Let go of me." "I will, but not until we're safe." I lunged against him until noises from outside stilled my struggles. Shouts. Loud male voices. The door slammed. He was telling the truth. A gang was in the house. I must have said his name, because his mouth so close to my ear that the hair from his beard tickled my neck, murmured to me. "Not a word, sweetheart." He loosened his hold. "Don't talk. Don't move, and we may get out of here alive." I hadn't moved since I'd heard them in the house. I squeezed shut my eyes. Were they open or closed? It was so dark I couldn't tell. My knees buckled, and Eli held me so I wouldn't fall and give away our hiding place, get us killed. "Breathe, breathe. Only breathe," his lips moved against my ear. I realized I had been holding my breath. I sucked in some air. What Eli did was to save us both. I realized this. I did. But when he wrapped his other arm around me, and I felt all of the contours of his hard body against mine. Well, all I could think was those loose, dirty clothes of his must have been hiding quite a specimen. I moved my hand to his thigh and squeezed. He had had my arms pinned to my side earlier, and within the space, it was the closest body contact I could give him. He inhaled sharply, and his arm loosened on my midriff a fraction. "Don't," he whispered. 56

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I responded by relaxing into his body. He responded by stiffening his. I nuzzled my cheek against his, and rubbed my backside against him. What was I doing here? Why was I doing this? It was crazy, I knew. I must have had a huge dose of adrenaline in my body thinking I was about to be killed, and I found out that I was in the closet with a man who had probably just saved my life. Can you blame me for getting a little turned on here? Muffled sounds came from outside the closet. Footsteps, voices, laughter. Men were in the room. "What the hell is this?" someone asked. "Pepper spray? Yo, Loose, this yours?" I gasped. I must have dropped it when Eli grabbed me. "Bite me, man, I want to hurt somebody, I use this." "On your food." Someone guffawed. "Naw, man. Anywhere I please." Eli pressed my head back against him, wrapping himself around me. I was surrounded by his arms, his warmth. His lips touched the shell of my ear. "No sound if they shoot," he breathed. I nodded my head, barely a movement, but he got the message. The way he was holding me made me feel safe, protected. I closed my eyes anticipating the sound, and it happened, a quick sharp pop, and wood splintering. I didn't scream, didn't even flinch, but I tasted blood where I had bitten down on my lip. Eli was tense, waiting. A string of profanities reached our ears, then, "Put yo' piece up. Do it again, I'm shooting you with it." 57

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Silence. Oh, please don't let someone get killed. Footsteps and movement. "Where you been?" "Nowhere, man. I'm starving. Y'all want to get something to eat?" "We just got here." "I'm in. Loose?" "Sure." "Giddyap, y'all." Feet shuffled, the sound growing softer as they left. But were they all leaving, or were some staying behind? How would we know when it was safe? "Eli?" I whispered. "Not yet," he whispered back, his breath in my ear sending tingles all the way to my toe nails. I waited. It seemed like hours. How long had it been? And, of course, I had to go to the bathroom. That's why I had always lost at Hide-and-Seek when I was a kid. Even if I had a good hiding spot, I had to pee once I got there. I never could wait to be found to go, so I had to come out and get caught. I heard and felt something move against my backside, like a cell phone vibrating. Eli opened the door and stepped away from me. "Is it safe? Was that a cell phone I felt?" "Come on. We need to get out of here." He pulled my arm. "But what if they're still here?" "They're gone." "How do you know?" I wrung my hands, still scared out of my mind. A guy had just shot his gun for no good reason. 58

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"You want to wait around to see?" Eli's hooded eyes glanced at me before he stalked from the room. "They'll come back here to sleep, most likely. I, for one, do not plan on being here." I ran to catch up with him, and stumbled again. Trying not to fall, I plowed into his back. He reached toward me and grasped my hand. "Who are they? The Nights? Morte?" He didn't answer me, just went for the door. Before he exited, he pulled it back a fraction, peered out, moving his head to the left and to the right. Satisfied the men were gone, he pulled me by the elbow from the house. I ran to keep up with him as he made a beeline for my car. Without hesitation, he opened the passenger door and stepped aside for me to enter. What? "I'll drive. Get in." "Do you have a license?" I stood there waiting. My insurance would go through the roof if I let somebody with no license drive my car. "I have a license. Get in." I entered the car, pondering this bit of news. What does his license say where his address is supposed to go? And, really, why does he need a license when he doesn't even have a car he can live in? He slammed my door and walked over to the other side of the car. Getting in, he glared out the windshield. "Keys." When I didn't move, he held out his hand, palm up to me. I took a shuttering breath, feeling like I was in a bubble. He 59

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saved my life, but did I want him driving my car? Why did it matter? I could be dead by now. I put the keys on his leg. I waited for my heart to slow down to a normal pace as Eli drove. Under lowered lashes I studied him. He drove like a pro. Perhaps he could get a job as a cab or bus driver? Being city employees, I bet bus drivers have great benefits. And it would get Eli off the street. I could help him get a job. I owed him that, at least. The sensation of him against my back lingered. What if we had been facing each in the closet? I think I would have kissed him. Would he have kissed me back? Then what? What was wrong with me? Was I lonely enough that I was willing to fall for anything with, how shall I phrase it, the right equipment? Did I not learn anything from my ex? My dad's voice echoed in my head. Why are you attracted to any bum which crosses your path? I swear you must be part raccoon the way you go after trash. I contemplated all of these things as Eli drove. When he stopped the car, I snapped out of my reverie, and realized we were at my apartment. The engine cut off, and Eli deposited my keys on my lap. Without a word, he opened the car and stepped out. I opened my door and stood watching him trudging toward the road. "Eli, wait." I hurried after him. "Please, come inside for a little while," I said when I caught up to him. "No." "Yes. You have to. You saved my life. At least, let me fix you something to eat." I took Eli's elbow and tried to guide 60

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him back to my apartment building. He stood stock still, his face set. I pulled. "Why? Why were you in that house?" he groused. "I told you. Mr. Harvey's been looking for you. What were you doing there? Didn't you know those men would come back?" I returned. "You had no business there." His expression was blank, not matching the intensity of his words. "And you did have business there? What kind?" I pressed. What was he into? Surely, he didn't rub elbows with those criminals. And, if so, why would he care that they would find me? He didn't answer me. Of course he didn't. I ran my fingers along the crook of his arm and felt him stiffen. "Just for a few minutes," I murmured. "I'm sure you're hungry. I know you weren't at the kitchen tonight." I had started to notice when he was and wasn't at the shelter or in the parking lot at the community center. I was developing a crush. If I hadn't known it before rubbing against him in the closet, I sure knew it now. I wanted him in my apartment. I wasn't going to jump his bones or anything, but I did want to get some food in him. I owed him that much. I probably owed him the jumping the bones part, too, but I was trying really hard not to get into another stupid, bad-for-me relationship. I tugged again. He relented. Without a sound, he allowed me to turn us around and walk us to my abode. When he stepped inside the threshold, I invited him to sit down while I bustled into the kitchenette. In 61

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record time, I made him two whopping ham sandwiches and set them on a plate at the table. I had snitched the ham from work. They were going to toss it anyway. When I peeked in the living room, he was still standing up, staring at my blank wall. What? Weren't my framed photos on the other wall worth looking at? What was wrong with him that he'd rather glare at nothing, than admire me and my girlfriends in our prom dresses? "Eli?" I called. He turned his head aside, waiting for what I would say next. "I fixed you a couple of sandwiches. Come over here and sit down." Obediently, he did. Picking up a sandwich, he bit into it, and picked up the glass of water I'd set next to the plate. I sat across from him and studied him. I'm sure he was hungry, but he didn't scarf down his food. Leisurely, he chewed. He drank the water as if it were a fine wine to be savored. "How did you know those men were gang members?" I studied him looking for some hint as to what he was doing in that house. He shrugged. "Do you live there? Somebody shouted and warned you they were coming in. Who was there with you?" "Mind your own business, and stay out of the neighborhoods. All of them." "I want to help you, if I can."

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"You just don't get it, do you?" Eli's eyes had been roving all over the room. His question surprised me because I wasn't even sure he had been listening to what I was saying. "I don't get what?" "That this isn't Kansas, Abigail. And you don't have any ruby slippers to protect you. Those men will cut you. They'll do things to you I don't even want to think about. If you have to go to the center, fine. If you have to work at the shelter, do it. But don't stop anywhere on the way and don't linger in your duties, or you could end up in a bad way. A very bad way." Eli had yet to make eye contact with me. He finished off the first sandwich, took the napkin from the table and wrapped it around the second one. "I'm scared enough without your lecture. I do get it, okay?" A smile quirked his lips. Raising his face, he studied my ceiling for a few seconds. Then his eyes finally settled on me. Hunger swirled in their dark depths, and not for food, for me. My breath caught in my throat. The intense stare from his eyes struck me like lightning, and I felt tingling throughout my whole body. In a swift movement, he stood and the chair turned over. I stood as well. Stalking over to me, he stopped just shy of touching me. His breath warmed my cheek, the heat of his body radiated outward. Was he going to kiss me? He moved so that his mouth was near my ear. The hair of his beard brushed my cheek. What was he waiting for? What was he going to do? What should I do? Little stars danced before my eyes, and I realized I was holding my breath. I willed myself to suck in some air, and 63

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when I did, my breasts touched his chest. There were barriers of clothing, but in that moment it didn't matter. I knew the second he felt me, because his breath hissed. His hands reached up and gripped my elbows, his knee pushed itself in between my legs. "Good. I want you to be scared. I want you to get it. But I don't think you do. The men at the shelter talk about you. They wonder what you taste like." His low voice reverberated through me. He paused and let that bit of information sink in. My heart skipped a few beats. "You should stop making yourself so available," he whispered before stepping away, picking up the paper wrapped food, shoving it in his pocket, and letting himself out of my apartment. As the door clicked shut, I collapsed on the chair and let out a shuttering breath. My hand shook as I reached up to touch my cheek, feeling the slight scratchiness of his beard as if he were still here with me. Oh, wow, did he know how to leave an impression. I ran to the bathroom, stripped my clothes off, stood in the shower, and turned the tap on as hot as I could stand it. Did the guys at the shelter really say such things about me? Or was Eli just trying to get me to be more careful? As I soaped up, I gasped as a sudden realization hit me. I hadn't given Eli directions to my apartment. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four **** On my way to do my mandated hours, I saw Yo-Yo about two blocks before the center. He stood next to two other people who, I was pretty sure, he had no business with, older teenagers. Dressed in the requisite pants around the knees, the two older boys wore baseball hats tilted to the left. I had learned the lopsided hat was a gang style. You know what too low pants and wrongly worn hats said to me? No fashion sense. They were smoking cigarettes. Mindful of Eli's words about not making any pit stops. I nevertheless slowed my car down at the curb. I probably wouldn't have stopped except for one of those boys was Paula's shoe spitter. I knew he was bad news. And even though Yo-Yo had yet to come on board with my taste in music, I still had some affection for the child. He hadn't killed me when I tortured him with seventies music, so he had to have some good in him. I knew I needed to extricate Yo-Yo from these guys, but how? I wasn't tough enough to scare them. Would appealing to them as adults work? Well, it was all I could think of. I stepped from the car and unknowingly shut the door on my broomstick skirt. I took a determined step toward the hoodlums, lost my balance, and fell. Of course, I tried to 65

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catch myself as I was going down, and one of my hands landed on a broken beer bottle. When the amber glass stuck into my flesh, I let out a screech that would have put any B-movie horror queen to shame. Managing to open the door and free my skirt, I realized my hand was bleeding in three different places. Immediately, I visualized dollar signs floating through the air because I had no insurance, and I knew I'd need stitches. Blood ran down onto my sleeve, and my motions had droplets flying everywhere, including my face. I wasn't as drenched as Carrie was in her pig-bloodied prom dress, but the effect was similar. "Would you look at this?" I picked the broken piece out and gripped it. One of the boys—not Shoe Spitter or Yo-Yo, the third one, blew cigarette smoke in my face. I centered in on him. Reaching up with my Carrie hand, I pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and stubbed it on the utility pole behind me, then flicked it back at him. "I would appreciate you not poisoning me with your secondhand smoke." He glared at me in response. My hand throbbed, and a sob escaped my lips. I turned toward the Shoe Spitter. Remembering how he had treated Paula in the alley, I cleared my throat and hocked a bit of phlegm in the vicinity of his shoe. It landed on his pants leg and brought forth a stream of obscenities from his mouth. I didn't care. John had called me worse than that when I'd testified against him. 66

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Shoe Spitter thumped the other boy on the arm and nodded his head. They backed up a foot and started down the street. Yo-Yo and I watched them until they disappeared behind a building. I sucked in a couple of breaths to get a hold of myself. "I need to get to the community center." "I ain't old enough to drive you." His shoulders slumped. "I'll drive, but will you help me?" A long-suffering sigh escaped him. He trudged over to my car, opened the door, and collapsed on the seat. With my uninjured hand, I opened the door. I hated to get blood all in my car, so I pulled the hem from the bottom of my skirt and wrapped it around my hand. "Here." I handed the keys to Yo-Yo as I entered the car. "Would you start the car?" Leaning away from me, Yo-Yo moved his arm as far as it would reach and inserted the key in the ignition and cranked the car. I got it. He wanted to be as far away from me as possible. "Put it in drive," I commanded. And we were on our way. Somehow, I didn't bleed to death by the time we got to the center. I opened my car door and, with my injured hand tucked in my skirt, I marched into the building. When I arrived at the center the next day, Paula was in the parking lot painting the side of the building. I saw Eli loitering near the entrance, but ignored him. I was determined to find out how he knew where I lived, but I had 67

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to be smart about it. The man didn't volunteer information readily. With the hand incident, I hadn't had a chance to work out a plan. I stepped from the car and approached Paula. "Grab a paintbrush, sister," She greeted me. I looked at a rather impressive display of graffiti in front of me. I turned my head to the side trying to read. I knew it was writing, but the letters were inside each other and crowded together. Using my left hand, I picked up a paintbrush and began to paint. "I can't read this. What's it say?" "It says 'trouble,'" Paula declared. She pointed with her brush. "See that?" XIII It looked like Roman numerals. I said as much to Paula. "You're right." "That's impressive. They know Roman numerals." "Thirteen stands for the thirteenth letter of the alphabet— M for Morte." The Hispanic gang. "The mangy dogs are marking their territory, but instead of peeing, they paint." Paula pointed to a symbol. "That's their RIP sign. And this and this are initials—are members of their gang who have been killed, probably in a fight." Paula dipped her brush in the bucket of paint and covered the letters. The white didn't quite cover it, but it didn't deter Paula. "When did they paint this? Last night?" "No. It was some time after lunch." 68

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It was only three in the afternoon. "Wow. You guys really care about this building, don't you?" "Yes, we do. And ain't no bangers going to claim it or use it as a billboard. If any mess like this shows up, we stop everything and paint over it." "Why the urgency?" "It's a way the gangs pass messages, so we want to discourage any gang activity whatsoever. Also, if we leave it up, then there will be more graffiti. If we paint over it immediately, they'll give up after a few tries. Some of the signs are threats that get people riled up, and then there're fights and drive-bys. Mr. Harvey had a threat painted on his car by the Nights, too. That's why he's gone. He took the car to the shop so they can repaint it. Two signs by rival gangs in the same afternoon." "They wrote on his car?" I asked in disbelief. Paula made an affirmative sound. "Why would they do that? Write on somebody's car? That's awful." "It's a bad sign. A new recruit, one of our kids probably." "Oh, no, Paula." "Yep. Mr. Harvey's going by the school to see who was out today. That'll narrow down the suspects." "What will he do, suspend the kid from the center?" "Oh, no. We do that, we'll lose him for sure. No, we'll surround that kid until he thinks he's a wiener in a corndog." "Was the threat against Mr. Harvey?" Paula didn't answer. "Do you know?" 69

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Paula glanced toward me and my bandaged hand. She jabbed her brush over a busy section of writing. "There wasn't a name. At least not a proper one," she finally replied. Hmm. I was sorry to know I had missed seeing Mr. Harvey's car. I wanted to know what 'Crazy Bitch' looked like in gang-script. Mr. Harvey confirmed my suspicions when he came to the center an hour later in an unfamiliar car. Feeling like a student sent to the principal's office, I sat in front of Mr. Harvey's desk while he studied me. "Feeling better?" Though he hadn't been here yesterday when I came in, he had heard about my injury. "Yes." "What happened?" "I fell, cut my hand, and Yo-Yo helped me get here." "Huh." The way he said it told me he knew there was more to the story, and he wanted to hear it. I squirmed. "I may have offended some of the Nights in the process." Mr. Harvey leaned back in his chair. "Abigail—" "I know what you're going to say, but I saw those boys with Yo-Yo, and I knew I needed to get him away from them." Cocking his head, he studied me. "When you serve your hours in Clavania, you leave and go back to your side of town. Yo-Yo is still here when you're sleeping in your nice, quiet neighborhood. He doesn't need you to make a scene on the street with him. How else could you have handled the situation?" 70

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"Not falling on my butt and stubbing out one of their cigarettes on a light pole?" Mr. Harvey shook his head in a way similar to my dad. "Next time, don't intervene. Come here and tell me what you saw. Let me handle it." Despite the writing on the wall, and on Mr. Harvey's car, no one had tried to kill me in the three days since the graffiti had appeared. I figured it was just Shoe Spitter or his colleague blowing off steam and got on with my work. My assignment at the center was to help the kids with the talent show they'd been preparing for. All of the acts had to be approved by the talent show committee consisting of Lola and me. Lola was another volunteer at the center who worked three afternoons a week. She isn't quite five feet tall with laughing brown eyes and a sense of humor to match. We had nixed the latest lyrics from Rub 'em Raw, a band of four twelve year old boys who slinked away to do some rewrites, when I spotted Eli through the window. "I'll be right back." I stood up and walked toward the door. "Okay, little one." I shook my head at her endearment. I towered over her by almost a foot. I think her nickname for me was her way of establishing dominance. That was fine with me. I didn't want to be in charge. There was a lot less stress that way. Walking down the hall and out the door, I turned the corner of the building to find Eli in his usual loitering spot in the parking lot leaning on the broom I had given him after his last one had been stolen. I walked with purposeful steps. Time to find out how my closeted knight knew my address. 71

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"Hi, Eli." I gave him my best bedroom gaze. He shifted his eyes away from me and toward the street. Coward. I sidled up to him. "Have I thanked you for saving my life the other night?" "I think you tried in the pantry." I laughed. Yeah, I got it. I got him. My little rubbing routine hadn't been forgotten. "I've got a proposition for you." Not the kind he thought I had in mind, though. He cleared his throat, picked up his broom and swept. "I saw an ad for a bus boy at Gatsby's. It's minimum wage, but in two months they up the pay." "Not interested." He had a rhythm with the broom. The brush of the straw against the pavement gave me tingles. I couldn't help it. My eyes focused on his hands grasping the wooden handle. Veins stood out against his skin. "Why not? You can do there just what you do here and actually get paid for it, Eli. How can you beat that? If transportation is a problem, I bet between me and some of the volunteers at the center, we could get you there whenever you needed." Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. "I don't want a job, Abigail." "Just try it. What would it hurt?" "Mind your own business." He moved away from me leaving a clean trail. This was so ridiculous. Who cared how clean the parking lot was? Where 72

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was he when Michelangelo had been here a few days ago and sullied our lovely building? I marched over to him. "How did you know where I lived?" The broom paused for a half a second, then continued. Sweep. Sweep. I stood in front of him and grabbed the broom. He didn't try to prevent me from taking it from him. "How did you know?" He looked down at the ground. "I found out." "Why?" No answer. "Are you stalking me?" "Define stalking." "Following me. Spying on me." How could he do any of those things? He didn't have access to a car. The only thing he seemed to have was a broom. I never even saw him with a duffel or a shopping cart. "If I say yes, are you going to report me?" "Eli, you don't have to sneak around. You could have stayed at my apartment the other night. If you want to see me, knock on the door." He cursed and spit. "Don't invite me to your house. How have you survived to twenty-four? How?" "How do you know how old I am?" Eli shook his head. He turned on his heel and began to walk away. "If you want to know something about me, just ask. Don't sneak around and don't Google me. I hate that," I yelled to his departing back. 73

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I marched to the entrance of the center and left Eli's broom next to the door as I entered. Oh, that man infuriated me. I knew what he had done. He had gone to the library and used one of their computers to find out more about me. I had been in the library more than once when a homeless guy had come in to surf the net. I'm not sure how they get the privilege as I had to provide my home address to get my library card, and I have to put my card number in the computer before it will let me have Internet access. Could you have 'Under the 13th Street Bridge' as your home address? I wondered. I must have had steam coming out my ears because when I walked in the room, Lola studied me. "What did he say to you?" "Who?" Lola's eyes crinkled at the corners, and she gave me a toothy grin. "You know who. Eli. I saw you out there. Sparks were flying off you two like a tire rim going eighty." "I think he Googled me." "So what? I Googled you, too. Want to get in my face and heave those breasts at me?" "I wasn't heaving anything, only raising my voice a little." Okay. A lot, but I wasn't going to admit it. She harrumphed me. "Chica, you never going to get a man by yelling at him." "He's homeless, Lola. I want to help him." "Maybe he doesn't want your help." "That's what he said." "Maybe what he says is true." 74

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I sighed. I didn't understand why anyone would want to live that kind of life. "He could be so much more." Her kind eyes soothed me. She patted the chair next to her that I had vacated earlier, and I sat down. "They all can be so much more. Don't give up. Maybe you haven't offered the help he needs." I wondered if what I'd offered him in the closet would count as a need. I was a little ashamed of myself for thinking about sex with Eli. It seemed to me your basic necessities were air, water, food, and shelter in that order. Sex seemed to be no higher than five. If I decided to get it on with the broom guy, it stood to reason I needed to address the basic necessities first. Air, no problem. Drink and food I had taken care of on more than one occasion. The shelter thing was more complicated, though I had just told him he was welcome at my home. If I wanted for Eli to have a permanent home, then I needed to secure him a job. And he had just told me in no uncertain terms he didn't want one. Paula walked in laden with bags. "I've got the stuff to decorate." Eli followed her in carrying more bags. He set them on the table and left without a backward glance. I guess he was afraid I'd harass him some more about...everything. Lola walked toward the door, her high-heeled sandals clicking on the cement floor. "If you'll sort the paint and brushes, I'll get the kids to start on the backdrop." Paula and I walked over to the large appliance boxes a furniture store had donated. Our plan was to let the kids paint them bright colors and stack them to use as our backdrop. It 75

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was cheap, and with the talent these kids had—if the artwork on their notebooks and the bathroom walls were any indication—we'd have some great scenery. One kid named Angel had incredible talent. When he painted something, you could walk right into it. He had done a mural of the beach on classroom B's wall. It was so real, I swore I smelled salt water and heard sea gulls every time I entered the room. The boxes were arranged in their order so that the drawn lines on them created an urban skyline with funky slanted buildings. Angel had written numbers in and around the lines and had assigned colors to the numbers. This way, the rest of the children and youth could help with the painting in a big color by number project. In an hour the scene was finished except for the shading which Angel would finish up. We cleaned ourselves up, and I took a group of twelve girls to a corner of the room to watch the dance routine they had made up for the talent show. On the CD player in the cabinet, a deep bass and drum boom, boom, boomed. With exact precision, twelve, eight to fourteen year olds began to thrust their pelvises provocatively. Read my sarcasm here. Oh, joy. I hit the stop button on the player and sighed. Twelve pairs of eyes stared at me. "No, girls." There was a collective groan. "Do you realize we are inviting the community in to see this? The mayor is going to be here. We want you all to shine, 76

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show how gifted and talented you are. This bump and grind is demeaning." "That's how we dance." "Yes. You can dance that way, but when you do, it doesn't demonstrate how graceful you can be. This." I did a few thrusts. "Does not show your talent. Any bonehead can do that." "Now let me see here." I had brought my CDs in case the kids wanted something other than rap for dancing to. I flipped through them. Now I remember why I had Enya. The music was perfect for my contemporary dance class I took my senior year in college. I cued it up. Tranquil music filled the room. I danced my senior exam routine for them. It had earned me an A, so I knew it had some merit. The music floated around me, and I flowed with it. Tension I didn't realize I held, fell from me in gentle waves. By the end of the piece, I was so serene, I could have been Enya. The girls had watched the performance. After I posed and held it for the last movement, they continued their attentiveness. I studied their expressions. It wasn't exactly boredom, but there weren't tears of deep emotion either. Hands on my hips, I snapped. "Well?" After several seconds, Erica spoke. "It was all right, Miss Abigail." "All right? All right?" I shook my head. I had taken dance from age two until I turned sixteen. Then in college I took more classes to keep that freshman fifteen at bay. I knew the difference between a plie, a jete, and a releve. I loved to dance. These girls could do so much more than vulgar. 77

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Was there any way I could get them to meet me at least half way? Ah, yes. "Okay, girls, I'll make you a deal. If you'll learn my routine and perform it in the show, then I'll let you do yours, too minus any hip grinding." They reacted by blinking at me. That was it. I stared at them. Nothing. Geez, these kids were tough. I turned back to Enya, put on track twelve, and cranked up the volume. Thunder crackled through the building. A couple of them jumped. Then melodic harmonies echoed. Lastly, drum beats railed with the thunder. It was a gorgeous piece. "I think you can do a lot with this. In good taste. You know what it's called? Do you?" I looked at each person in my audience. "Storms in Africa." Still no response. Crud. I could lead these fillies to water, but I sure couldn't make them drink. And, let's face it. I've even admitted I have to be in a certain mood to tolerate Enya. Why should I expect them to like that kind of music? And maybe it wasn't fair for me to want them to. I was repulsed by their music, why shouldn't they be repulsed by mine? Without another word, I left the room. Man, I was an idiot thinking I had something worth teaching them. Contemporary dance and music were as out of place here as I was. But wasn't there an alternative to their suggestive postures? Was I wrong? I didn't know. I looked at my watch. Two hours to go. Would Mr. Harvey let me go home early? All of the sudden, I was ready to be out of this place. Two pairs of flip flops holding dainty chocolate brown feet and peachy cream feet stood in front of me. Two girls from 78

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the dance troupe. I was reminded again of my first impression of the different races all in one room when I started my work here, the mini U.N. Here were two delegates to set me straight. YoYo's words echoed in my head. Your music sucks. Yeah. Maybe it did. "Hi, ladies." "Miss Abigail," Katrina deadpanned. "Would you come in and do your dance for us again?" I furrowed my eyebrows not believing them. The other girl, Wanda, nodded. "Are you guys kidding?" They shook their heads. "Okay." I didn't quite believe them, but I liked the dance, so why not? With as much dignity as I could muster, I walked back in the room. Studying the faces before me, I lifted one arm, arranged my feet in first position, and waited for the music to start. Erica, who was standing next to the cabinet housing the CD player, pushed the play button, then folded her arms with an intense expression on her face. Maybe they didn't hate it as much as I thought, although several of them wrote notes while I danced. Whatever. I liked the dance and hadn't done it in years until today. I wasn't quite as limber as I should be and had been, but I did a pretty awesome job. At the end of the song this time, loud claps came from the doorway. I turned to see all of the staff 79

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whooping it up for me. I bowed. Even if those tweens didn't appreciate me, the adults seemed to. Enya was discarded and the boom, boom started up. Adult repellent. Mr. Harvey and the rest disappeared from the doorway. I started after them, but Erica grabbed my arm. "Uh huh, Miss Abigail, if you won't let us do our thrusts, you have to help us redo the routine." I studied the fourteen year old before me. She looked so serious. "Erica, you don't need my help. You girls know a thousand moves. I've seen you." "If you don't want us doing the thrusts, you've got to stay and help us." She was adamant. "I don't think my ears can take that long enough to work out a dance," I grumbled. Erica turned and nodded to some of the other girls who had stood up and were forming their lines. I walked over to the other side of the room where Angel was painting, tore off part of a paper towel, and stuffed bits in my ears. Now I was ready. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five **** Time passed as we worked and danced out a routine we all could agree on. I knew I was going to be sore tonight as I called for a group hug and told the girls how proud I was of what we'd done. I noticed Angel gathering up his supplies. I offered to help him clean up before I left for the day. I carried the brushes in a recycled coffee can through the kitchen to the alley and stuck a wooden block in the jamb to keep from getting locked out. Using the outside faucet, I knelt down and ran my fingers through the brushes as the water poured through their bristles. Intent on my task, I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me. Not a smart thing to do in Clavania. A shadow moved, then a sharp pain. The force of the blow knocked me to the ground, and I heard a metallic clank of something falling on the cement near me. I lay there for a few seconds or a few minutes dazed and in pain and realizing my clothes were soaked. Why was I getting wet? I gazed up at the late afternoon sky. There wasn't a cloud anywhere. I contemplated that for a while. Touching my scalp, I stared at my red dripping fingers. Had there been that much red paint on the brushes? I hadn't thought so. My head throbbed. It had been a long time since I had had a headache this bad. I think it was when my best friend Carrie had fixed daiquiris in her blender in celebration of me not going to jail. 81

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We had gone through maybe three pitchers, and boy, had I paid for it the next day. Hmm. A daiquiri sure would taste good right now. I licked my dry lips. What was that sound? Was there a waterfall nearby? I laughed. Here in this cement jungle? Hardly. A bearded man with unkempt hair filled my vision. I detected caramel over the strong copper aroma around me. "Abigail!" Eli's fingers pressed against the side of my neck, checking for a pulse. I grasped his wrist. "I'm alive, you know." I tried to sit up, but as soon as I raised my head, my stomach rolled. Hands roved up and down my body. A pitiful moan filled my ears. Geez, somebody was in bad shape. Oh. That was me. "Can you move your legs." Was that a statement or a question? Eli was taking liberties with my body. If a guy is going to cop a feel, I expect him to at least buy me dinner first. Teeth appeared through all the facial hair. Good grief. A smile? I must have said the cop-a-feel comment out loud. "I'd buy you dinner if I had more than lint in my pocket. Can you move your legs?" I raised my knees up and did a few awkward chorus line kicks. Gosh, my head hurt. Eli stood up and left. Hinges screeched. I turned my head. Eli stood at the now open kitchen door. "Hey, somebody get out here!" 82

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He was back at my side within seconds with paper towels. Pulling off about half the roll, he folded them into a tight square, and pressed it to my head. "Oww." "What happened?" Lola hurried out the door, and knelt next to me, her dark, troubled eyes peering at me. Turning her head toward the building, she straightened, walked to the faucet still pouring water and shut it off. Eli shook his head. "Don't know. I heard something, walked over here, and she was lying on the ground...like this." I pushed Eli's hand away, and he pushed my hand away. "Stop." "You stop." Eli held the towel to the throbbing spot on my head. "You're hurting me." I realized then what I thought was paint was actually my blood. I sat up, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain. I gazed at my scarlet hands. "Lola, where's the super glue?" Lola's concerned eyes met mine. "Sorry, poquita. I think you're going to need a professional for this." "I agree. Lola, go call 911." "No. I can't afford an ambulance or a hospital. Are you nuts?" I slapped Eli's hand away and held the compress to my head. Pushing myself to my feet, I gripped Lola when my knees buckled. "I'm fine. Fine." I looked down at the pool of blood and speckles appeared before my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I took a step toward the parking lot. The ground 83

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shifted under me, but I put the other foot forward. I could do this. I put one hand on the wall because my feet didn't seem to want to cooperate. Another step. I was almost to the corner now. Then I was in the air and being carried by Eli. I grabbed his shoulder to keep from falling. Lola hurried next to us. My stomach threatened to send back up the peanut butter crackers we had had for snack. I swallowed a few times. Throwing up would add to this already humiliating moment. At my car, Eli set me down on the ground like I was a delicate glass object. I didn't let go of him. My legs were about as useful as boiled spaghetti at this point. How much blood had I lost? I resisted the urge to take the compress off my head to see. Eli ran his hands around my pants. Holding my hip with one hand, he stuck his fingers in my pocket with the other. Oh, yeah, baby, but this was not really the time. A few pets and his fingers withdrew. "Lola, can you get her keys out of her pocket? My hand's too big." Oh, right. Keys. "I'll try." Lola's dainty hand reached in and had no problem digging my keys out. "Can you drive her?" "I don't have a license, Eli." "Neither does he," I informed her. Lola unlocked the door, and Eli helped me into the passenger seat. What I wouldn't give for some Tylenol right now. I leaned my head forward into my hands. 84

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The door opened as mine shut. The car shifted. The engine started, and Eli drove us out of the parking lot. Once again, an unlicensed driver was operating my car. "You're taking me home, right?" "No, I'm taking you to the hospital." "No way. Take me home." "You need stitches, probably a tetanus shot, too." "I've already had all my shots, and I don't need stitches." At least, I hoped I didn't need stitches. I didn't have medical insurance. There was no way I was walking into the emergency room. They'd charge me five hundred dollars just for looking at me. I'd rather spend five hundred bucks on rent and food, thank you very much. Silence. I hoped that meant he agreed with me. But across the bridge we went, and I saw the hospital sign. When he pulled up to the door, I refused to get out, so man that he was, he picked me up, and carried me as far as the wheelchair at the entrance. I decided I'd just refuse treatment when I got inside, and he and I could fight about it some more, but I was cold, wet, and in pain. A woman laid a heated blanket over me, and the warmth comforted my chilled flesh and soul. My determination to leave vaporized, and I acquiesced. Oh, well. I'm sure they'd set up a payment plan for me. At my present salary, I should be able to pay off one emergency room visit by the year 2100. But, I'd have to give up my lipstick. Eli did not follow me in. I concluded he was parking my car. Later, I sent the nurse to go get him, but he wasn't in the 85

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waiting room. The nurse did bring my keys and purse to me however. I checked my wallet. Nothing missing, of course. My stitches and I went home, and I grabbed an hour nap before I had to be at work at Waffle Mania. At two a.m. I had just finished my break in the back room and stumbled to the counter to see if I had any customers. Neely, the other waitress, or server, as we are supposed to call ourselves, had been covering for me while I was gulping down pain killers and coffee, trying not to fall asleep on my fifteen minute break. I peeked over the divider which shielded the patrons from the horrors of the kitchen, and I couldn't believe what I saw. Eli sat with two men in pressed button downs and ties. I stared hard trying to figure out why Eli would be here and who those men were with him. As they ate, one of the men said something to Eli, and Eli threw his fork down in anger. He said something back jabbing his finger in the air at the man and pounding his open hand on the table, the motion jingling the dishes and silverware. I picked up the carafe and made my way to the table watching him the entire time, almost afraid he would turn out to be a figment of my imagination. I was, after all, still recovering from the gash on my head. I knew the instant he spotted me because his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders hunched, his chin dropped, and the hazy look was back. Gone was the intense stranger making threats to his eating buddies. Here was Eli the Homeless. "Hi folks," I said, "I'm Abigail, your server. Everything all right?" "Just fine," one tie said. 86

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"Hi, Eli, what you doing out in this part of town?" "What are you doing out of the hospital?" He didn't even bother to look at me. "Are you kidding? They kept me long enough to sew me up, then they sent me home. You know how they treat people without health insurance." If I didn't know better, I could have sworn he blushed. Embarrassed? Angry? I couldn't be sure. "I appreciate you driving me there." Eli muttered something, but I didn't catch it. He grabbed a napkin, shoved what was left on his plate into it, pushed his way out of the booth, and walked out sticking his wrapped food in his jacket pocket as he went. I stood and watched him go and turned to the two men. "I hope you weren't expecting him to get the bill." One man laughed. "No. I'll take care of it." "Are you friends with Eli?" I poured more coffee. "No. We picked him up on the road. He looked hungry, so we thought we'd buy him dinner or breakfast or whatever it is you eat at two in the morning." "That's mighty nice of you. What are you, Jehovah's witnesses?" The non-laughing man choked on the coffee he had just sipped. He coughed while the other guy answered my question. "No, we're salesmen." "Oh, yeah? What do you sell? "Insurance." "What kind? I might be in the market, if the price is right." As if. I could no more afford insurance than the man on the moon, but I didn't quite buy the lines they were feeding me. 87

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Eli knew these men, and they knew him. Of that, I had no doubt. "Life insurance, but right now we're off duty." The phone rang. I groped for the receiver as I was still in the bed. Do people have no respect for those of us who work nights? "Abigail, it's Heather Birch." My attorney. "I've got great news. I just talked to the judge, and he reopened your case, dismissed the charges and rescinded your community service." "What?" I sat up. I couldn't believe it. After all these months, the judge decides I'm innocent? "Why?" "I don't know. But I got the call this morning. Isn't that wonderful?" "Yeah. That's great." "There's a good chance you could get your job back, too." More than a good chance. Dale Potter, my former boss, called me within the hour and told me they wanted me back. Wow. I couldn't believe how fast my luck had changed. When I went into Clavania later that day, Mr. Harvey studied me with narrowed eyes from his spot in the hall. "Hi, Mr. Harvey." "Abigail, what are you doing here?" "I think I'm working with the dance team today." He shook his head. "No. I mean, you've been excused from your duties. I didn't expect to see you." 88

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"Ever again? You wound me, Mr. Harvey. Do you think I'm the kind of person to leave without saying goodbye to my friends? Or to let those girls bump and grind their way through the talent show? I can't have that kind of nastiness happen on stage." "What are you saying? You're going to keep working here?" "Am I allowed?" "Of course, you are. We need you." I smiled. I could have kissed him, except I've met his wife. She seemed to be the jealous type. The jealous, tough type. Later that day, I served up a meatloaf-type substance and peas. My good friend Kaylon stood next to me doing the potatoes and rolls. The line of men came through. I had come to know many of them by name and greeted them. I chose not to believe that they wondered at my palatability. However, I was careful when I left the building and got into my car. Serving at the homeless shelter wasn't too different than serving at Waffle Mania. I watched my back then, too. Honestly, I hadn't thought about looking in the sky for falling objects, but one never knows the cause of one's demise, does one? After the threat written on Mr. Harvey's car, I thought any harm to me would come from a gang member, not a piece of gutter from the building. Lying in cold water and my own blood and having my head sewn up demonstrated to me that I might as well have the best freakin' day I could because it might be my last. And I started to care just a little bit less about the bullshit of a lot of my life, which is why 89

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when Dale Potter offered me my job back, I didn't say yes right away. I told him I would have to think about it. If I went back, I wouldn't be able to go to the community center anymore and help with the after school program. What could I say? The hoodlums had grown on me. In two hours, Dale had called me back offering a raise. When I didn't accept that offer, he added in an executive parking space. Something was definitely rotten in Denmark. All I could figure out was he worried I might sue the company for wrongful termination. I decided to let him sweat a few more days. After all, Waffle Mania had given me a job when I needed one, and I did owe them two weeks' notice. I scraped the last of the meatloaf from the stainless steel pan and placed it on Jesus' plate. One thing interesting about the men I had met at the shelter. Jesus was quite a popular name, both the Hebrew and the Hispanic pronunciation. However, the Hispanic Jesuses didn't claim to be the son of God. The other two Jesuses, who didn't look Jewish to me, were glad to tell any and every one that they were The Messiah. I thought it was better to keep them separated. When I suggested this to Kaylon, he looked at me like I was nuts. Like I was nuts. Ironic, wasn't it? Jesus got the last of the meatloaf. He was almost to the end of the line. I hurried back to the kitchen to get the backup protein, pizza from Tuesday night. It never tasted great the second time, but no one complained. That no one included Eli. He did sometimes come through the food line, 90

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but always, always at the end. I recognized the vague look from some of our encounters. What had he been talking to those insurance men about? I was dying to ask him. Eli didn't speak to me as I placed pizza on his plate. He made no eye contact. I didn't speak to him either. I wished I knew what held him back. Why couldn't he have the good life I knew he was capable of? I meditated on that thought as I washed up the dishes. Two men swept and mopped the dining room. Kaylon assigned men to the tasks. He joked that on the nights I served, there was no shortage of volunteers to help. There had been times Eli had K.P. I had attempted to visit with him then, but he was the least approachable at the shelter. It seemed he didn't want any of the other homeless men to know we had a—what did we have? Not a relationship really. Not a friendship either. It was more of an affiliation. Kaylon and I walked out together. He started down the street on foot, his massive frame swaying side to side as he walked. "Kaylon," I yelled to his departing figure. "Come on. I'll give you a ride." He turned in shifts and faced me, his ebony face breaking into a smile. His glasses caught the street light and sparkled. "You don't know where I'm going." "Home. I'm assuming." Snorting, he shook his head. "You think I can fit in that?" His hand flicked in the direction of my car. "Only one way to find out." Jingling my keys as an invitation, I twirled them in my hand and unlocked the door. 91

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After I sat on the driver's seat, I reached over and pulled the handle thereby opening the passenger side. He fit, but barely. I could have sworn I heard my car groan at the excess weight. He directed me to go west. About two blocks from the shelter, I saw Eli and an African American man in black denim getting into the passenger side of a black polished SUV. What? Kaylon made a regretful sound. "What?" "Bad news. Don't slow down, Abigail." I did as he suggested. "I saw Eli." "Yeah. He and Ford was getting into a Night's car. Turn here." My head was spinning with questions. "Who's Ford?" "A Night. A punk Night." "Why would Eli be with him? Why would Eli be getting in a Night's car? He's not in their gang." At least, I wouldn't think he was in their gang. Wasn't it a black only gang? "Naw. He ain't in their gang. He's buying drugs. Or supplying." Pin prickles flew all over my skin. It couldn't be. Not Eli. "I don't think so." Kaylon huffed. "What other bid-ness would he have? They have two dealings with crackers, muggin' 'em and druggin' 'em. There's my house, three blocks up. It's the yard with the fence." My chest ached. How could he? This man who had saved my life twice now. I knew it wasn't a personal offense against 92

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me, but it felt like it. No. He was one of the good guys. But how could he be when he's dealing drugs, or at the very least buying them from one of the most notorious gangs in this part of the state? Eli was into drugs. I swallowed the lump in my throat. It explained a lot. I pulled up in front of a small brick house surrounded by a chain link fence. Kaylon opened the door and stepped out, allowing my car to rise about five inches. He locked the door. "Don't turn around. Go up here, turn left on Gary Street until it ends, then go left on Fitzgerald. It'll take you to the Interstate." "Thanks, Kaylon." "You ain't going to turn around, are you? You don't want to mess with the Nights even if your boyfriend is in the car with them." "Boyfriend." I sighed. "I wouldn't call him that." "Good. Don't call him nothing. Those drugs are bad news." "Yes, Kaylon. I agree." "See you Thursday?" "Yeah, I'll see you." Crap. Walking in the door to my apartment, my phone played the notes to Dancing Queen. Someone was calling me. Opening the phone, I looked at the screen. A number, but no name. Hmm. I answered anyway. "I thought I told you to go straight home after you leave the shelter." 93

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Eli. Just the person I wanted to talk to. I wasn't surprised Mr. Drug-Dealer-Google-Surfer had my phone number. "Are you using or selling?" I had to know. "Stay out of the neighborhood." "Make me." Click. The jerk hung up on me. For the next several days, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Maybe it was because Eli had demonstrated with his knowledge of my address, cell phone number, and age that he had somehow delved into my private life. Could I file a complaint against him for stalking me even though I didn't have physical proof that he was doing so? I wasn't sure. I could call my lawyer, but she charged me every time she talked to me. Maybe I was concerned because the Nights had yet to make serious on their threat to kill me. And even though I had a head injury from being at the center, it had just been from a loose rain gutter. One day, I caught sight of a blue Ford Taurus in my rear view mirror. I wouldn't have thought about it too much, except I had seen it parked at the dollar store when I had gone to get some more empty boxes they were donating for the talent show. Just for kicks, I took an unexpected right and whipped into the parking lot of a dry cleaners. And wouldn't you know it, the Ford Taurus followed. I admit it. I was scared. I never expected that the Nights would come after me outside of their turf. Stupid me. I thought I was relatively safe until I crossed the bridge into the city. 94

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I waited for them to turn in the parking lot, but they didn't. They glided by and pulled over a block up. Digging into my purse, I found my cell phone. "911. What's your emergency?" "I'm in my car, and there's somebody following me. I wouldn't think anything about it, except a gang in inner city Clavania wrote a death threat against me." I gave the operator my name and number. Exiting the parking lot, I headed toward the police station. Let them come after me there. On my way, I told my location and described my car and the Taurus behind me. I parked on the street one block from the station. The car hung back about a hundred feet and turned into a bank parking lot. They idled close to the street still keeping me in view. Within two minutes the police car arrived and turned on its lights as it pulled in front of the car. A policeman jumped out with his hand on his gun and stalked to the vehicle. I couldn't keep a satisfied grin from my mouth. Eli didn't show his sorry face at the community center for a week. The next time I did see him, I was going to have a talk with him. How dare that druggie loiter around the community center trying to sell the children drugs, or at the very least set a bad example for them. When I drove into the parking lot the following Monday afternoon, he was leaning on his broom. I marched over to him. "What are you doing here?" "Sweeping." "You take your broom, and you get off this property." 95

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Eli stared at some distant point and said nothing. "And why don't you look at a person when she's talking to you?" He turned his eyes to me then. "How's this?" "You will not bring drugs to this community center or expose these children in any way." "Do I look like I sell drugs, Abigail?" "I saw you getting into a gang member's car, and the only business you could have with them is drugs." "So I'm guilty by association. Is that right? Is that fair?" I flinched. I couldn't help it. I wouldn't have been standing there if the police and the judge hadn't judged me as being guilty by my association with John. "What were you doing with the Nights?" "None of your business." "It is my business if you're bringing drugs on this property or trying to lure these kids into a gang. If Mr. Harvey knew, he wouldn't have you here." "Then maybe you should tell him." "Maybe I will. I'm watching you. I better not see you within ten feet of any of these kids. I mean it." "I think you do, Abigail. I think you do." It was finally here. The talent show. Not only did we have the mayor and her husband coming, but we had two city commissioners. The room filled up with families and friends. Laughter and hugs demonstrated the celebratory atmosphere. The kids didn't seem nervous at all. I was another story. Two of my fingernails had been bitten to the quick. I'd run to my car to get some safety pins to fix one of the girl's costumes 96

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when I'd had a run in with Ford, a mean-eyed gang member who towered over me by at least a foot. Feeling a little like David gazing at Goliath, I imagined pelting him right between the eyes with a rock. However, I wasn't near as brave as little David. "You coming to the talent show?" He didn't say a word, just glared at me. I placed my hand on my hip and thought I'd try the Paula head move. "Here are your choices. You either come inside, sit with me, and have an enjoyable evening. Or get off this property, and go back where you came from." I held my breath as he pulled his hand out of his jacket and shot me the bird with the longest finger I'd ever seen. I guess I had my answer. With my own finger, I pointed him off the property. To my surprise, he began walking toward the street. I turned and hurried back into the building. I saved Katrina's dress and was taking my seat when the overhead lights blinked signaling the beginning of the show. Mr. Harvey welcomed everyone and took his seat alongside the dignitaries on the front row. The Master of Ceremonies was a likable fourteen year old named Gypsy. His clownish disposition lent to the job. When the dance troupe was about to come on stage, Erica pulled my arm. I resisted. "What are you doing?" "You're doing it with us," she informed me. When I didn't move from my seat, she continued. "Come on, Miss Abigail. Otherwise, we might have to do some improvising. I know you don't want that." 97

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I glared at the girl. "You wouldn't dare." Her eyes sparkled, and she nodded. They would dare, the little hoodlums. They lined up, and I made sure I was in the back. We had practiced the changed routine for weeks. When the bass tone began, we moved in perfect sync. I loved it. I loved them for wanting me to be a part of it. Panting from exertion, I came back out to the audience and sat on the aisle seat on the second row. Lola patted my arm and nodded to me. "You looked good up there, chica." "Thanks." With each act, my chest swelled. You'd think I had given birth to these children with the parental pride I felt. When the finale was announced, I sat up in my chair. The children had been secretive about the final act, absolutely refusing to give me any information about it or letting me approve the content. When I complained to Mr. Harvey about it, he assured me he had seen the act, and it was fine. How come he got to see it beforehand, and I didn't? Several kids came out with various percussion instruments. Particularly intriguing were the various sizes of sheet metal hanging from metal clothes racks. All of the children and teens came out positioning themselves on stage and along the outer aisles in the audience. The percussionists' arms moved quickly and thunder echoed throughout the room. Chill bumps rose on my skin. A familiar tune sounded from the speakers. Enya's Storms in Africa. Oh, my precious babies. 98

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The drums kept beat with the tune while the dancers performed a close approximation to my senior dance exam. I say a close approximation because the routine was similar, but it was better to the nth degree. Whereas I had done a back bend at one point, four of the girls somersaulted across the stage. Whereas I had stepped and kicked, they added synchronized head and hand motions. The performers had a specific movement such as clapping, snapping, and patting which resulted in a cacophony of sound mimicking quite realistically a rain storm. This transformed into the dancers linking together and doing the wave all around the room. In the closing seconds, the wave collapsed like dominoes. Before the last drum beats died away, the audience erupted in a standing ovation. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life. A slight acrid odor wafted around me. When the applause subsided, a staccato of popping and a siren from somewhere in the building reached my ears. What was that? Was something wrong with the sound system? And that smell, was someone smoking? "The doors are jammed." a man's voice yelled over the noise of conversation and movement. Mr. Harvey moved to the rear of the room. I began to follow him, but stopped. It wasn't cigarette smoke I was smelling. And it wasn't the sound system I was hearing. The building was burning. And the smoke detectors were sounding their alarms. "Fire!" someone shouted. 99

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Way to panic a room, I thought as people screamed and ran toward the exits. Mr. Harvey commanded everyone to calm down. A throng of people pressed toward the rear doors. Someone beat on the door from the outside. It was no use. We couldn't open it. What was blocking the door? People scattered trying to find another way out. Several of the teenagers smashed a window. Angel pushed the rest of broken glass out of the frame with his shoe, jumped off the chair he was standing on, and started handing people through the window. Remind me to kiss that boy. Black smoke poured in from the south side of the building. That meant we couldn't go out through there. Could we get out through the side exit? I turned to go that way and caught a glimpse of three of the girls holding tightly to each other and running into the hall. No! "Dancing Queen" played on my cell phone, I opened it as I ran after the girls and held it to my ear prepared to tell the caller to call 911. Eli yelled in my ear. "Get everybody away from the door. I'm going to ram it." "Okay." I'd have to go back for the girls later. I pushed my way through the crowd shouting for everyone to get back. To Mr. Harvey I yelled that somebody was going to ram the door from outside. About that time, a car horn blared long and loud. Seconds later the entire building shook as a vehicle hit the doors. It dinted them inward and had 100

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people scrambling away from the entrance. Tires screeched as the car backed up, revved, then rammed the doors again. This time, the doors opened with the impact of what looked like the mayor's SUV. The vehicle quickly reversed taking one of the doors with it. People exited the building in a hurried, but orderly manner. Like a mother hen, I counted my chicks. The girls I had seen weren't accounted for. I ran toward the hall. "Hey, girls, we got the door open. Come on!" I choked on smoke and hacked my way into the hallway. "What the hell are you doing?" Eli came up beside me, grabbed my arm, and swung me around. "You're going the wrong way." I shook off his hand and squinted at him. A line of blood ran down from his shaggy hair onto his forehead. "We're missing some of the girls. I have to check the building." "You go. I'll check the building." I ignored Sir Galahad and ran down the hall trying to keep my head low and yelling that the rear door was open. Smoke lingered in the passage making everything hazy. I turned the knob and found Mr. Harvey's office was locked. Good. One less place for kids to hide. I opened the door to classroom A. "Anybody in here? Come on. We gotta get out." Eli and I ran in, did a quick sweep of the room, found it empty of people, and left. I moved toward the kitchen where smoke bellowed from the doorway and into the hall. Eli grasped my hand, linking his fingers with mine and began pulling me away. I pulled his hand back. 101

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"What about the kitchen?" I yelled to Eli over the wail of smoke detectors. "You can't go in there." "But the kids. Erica, Katrina, and Sonya are back here somewhere. Maybe they went out the side door instead?" "No. All the doors are chained from the outside. Check classrooms B and C." "But what if they went in the kitchen?" "If they're in the kitchen, I'll get them out." "But, Eli..." "Go, dammit! And get out of here." He pushed me down the hall. As I ran toward classroom B, I looked back to see him strip his jacket off, tie it around his mouth and nose, drop on his hands and knees and crawl into the inflamed kitchen doorway. It would be the last time I saw the bearded hero. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Six **** To my dismay, I did not find the children in the classrooms. When I came back into the hall from the second room, the entire side of the building housing the kitchen was a wall of flame. I wanted to check and see if Eli and the girls had made it out, but I encountered an inferno. They got out. They had to have. By the time I entered the great room, I was on my hands and knees coughing and trying to peer through the smoke but my stinging eyes watered so badly, that I couldn't see. But I had been in and out of this building enough to know where I was going. The smoke detectors still wailed and along with other eerie sounds—cracking and popping—the sound of fire eating up wood, furniture, curtains and plastic, but not people. Please don't let anybody die. I kept crawling until heavy boots and legs blocked me. Gloved hands placed an air mask over my face. I gasped in the oxygen not realizing how starved I was for it. Strong arms picked me up and carried me outside. I didn't know who saved me. My lids were shut against the acidic sensation scratching at my eyes. Voices surrounded me as I sucked in that clean air amidst my coughs. Finally, I understood what was being said. "Is there anybody else in there?" 103

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"Yes. Three girls and a man." That's what I meant to say. As soon as I tried to speak, my throat mutinied. I hacked so violently, I started retching. The big mask was taken off, and replaced with a lighter one. I attempted to breathe in the good air, but I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I had to let them know more people were in the center. I did the only thing I knew to do. I held up four fingers. "Four people?" A male voice asked. I nodded for all I was worth. Footsteps pounded on the pavement. Someone rolled me on my side and pushed me back on something soft strapping a belt over my abdomen. I tried to open my eyes, but it felt as if someone had poured acid on me. Not just my eyes. My whole face. Eli! I really was dying. I needed to tell Eli I was sorry for making him come after me and the girls. I worked at getting the belt loose. Someone pinched my arm, and I started to float. I was an iridescent green dragon breathing fire on a knight with tarnished armor. He ran from me and as he looked back, he raised his face guard. Eli. His expression wasn't fear—it was grim determination. I called out to him, but instead of his name, a line of fire shot out and engulfed the knight. I awoke gasping and clutching my throat. I was in the hospital. I turned my head and saw Erica. She lay in the other bed in the room. Sonya was curled up next to her on top of the sheet. A woman sat on the chair near the foot of the bed. Her resemblance to Erica was apparent. This had to be her mother. But what about Katrina? 104

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I must have croaked the question because the woman stood up and looked down at me. "She's okay. They all got out." "Eli?" "Maybe you shouldn't try to talk." I knew I sounded like someone who had had their throat severed, and actually I felt like that, too, but I had to know if he got out okay. "Is Eli okay?" "Who?" "The homeless man, mama," Erica supplied as she raised up. "He was the one who threw us out that window." "Did he get out?" "I don't know. We were just trying to get away from the fire." I closed my eyes. He did get out, didn't he? He must have crawled through that window, too. Of course, he did. I sat up fighting the nausea and dizziness which stomped all over my head and stomach. "What are you doing?" Erica's mom snapped. "You better stay in that bed." She pressed the nurse button. Immediately, a voice responded. With an accurate picture of my immanent escape, two nurses charged in the room. "Ms. Benton...Abigail, you can't get up yet." "Right," I growled. Just wait until they find out I'm uninsured. They'd be escorting me out of the bed post haste. "Where are you going?" "Eli. I have to see if he's okay." "Was he in the fire?" 105

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"Yes." Geez, these ladies were strong. They put me back on the bed and pulled up the guard rails. "We will find out. But you can't get out of this bed. Please." The other nurse spoke. "What's Eli's last name?" "Don't know. He's Eli. Just Eli." Two pairs of troubled eyes stared at me. "We'll look for him. Will you stay in the bed?" "Okay." I was exhausted anyway. And my throat felt like I had been eating razor blades. I tried to suppress a cough, but couldn't. That just made it worse. When they left, Erica's mom pressed a cool wash cloth to my cheeks and forehead. When she drew back, the cloth was black. I smelled like I had been sleeping in an ashtray. My stomach rolled. I lay on my side in a miserable, disgusting, painful, smelly ball. I wished somebody would just kill me and put me out of my misery. Eli had disappeared. The nurses checked all the patient records. There was no one named Eli. They even checked the morgue. What about John Smith? He easily could be a John Smith. No John Smiths had been brought in that night. Could he still be in the community center? The possibility another person was in the building made the nurses move fast. But, no, the firemen had checked thoroughly, and no one was in the building. Had he gotten out and gone somewhere to die? The next morning Paula came to pick me up. I asked her to drive me to the police station. Maybe if Eli wasn't in the hospital, he was in jail. Erica's mother told me the cops had taken about forty people in for questioning. 106

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"Abigail, I think you better go home and go to bed." I knew I looked as bad as I felt. But at least, they'd let me get a shower. I wasn't feeling so homey in the borrowed scrubs though. The police station was as much fun as I remembered it being when they'd had brought me there for possession and embezzlement. Even though I knew I wasn't in trouble this time, sweat poured off me. Paula placed her hand on my arm. "Let's just go." "I'm worried about Eli." "He's a grown man. He can take care of himself." "If he's here, I'll be satisfied. But if he's not, he may need help. I got out of that building before he did. I know he's worse off than I am." Paula's brown eyes assessed me. "I ain't so sure about that." Snippy woman. We waited for close to an hour before we were escorted into an interview room. Sweat tricked between my boobs tickling me. I tried to discretely absorb it with my shirt and caught Paula rolling her eyes. A young guy in a uniform sat down at a table with us and poised a pen over a form. He asked my name, address, phone number, blood type, favorite color, and every other question known in the universe. Finally in exasperation, I slapped my hands on the table. "Look, Officer Woodchuck..." "That's Weilchek."

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"Weilchek. Sorry. I just want to know if you're holding a homeless person named Eli here for questioning. He was in the building last night, and he didn't make it to the hospital." "What was he doing in the building?" He stared at me with unblinking eyes. Do they teach that at the police academy? "Saving lives, what do you think?" I groused. Why was I wasting my time with this guy? Paula made a tutting noise which I tried to ignore. "I think that someone set fire to the community center then chained all the doors closed with two hundred people inside. We are going to find out who it is." "I hope you do. I want to be the first in line to kick his tail." "You will let the authorities..." "Is Eli here or not? Can't you just go see?" "I'd like to talk to this Eli. However, we haven't had anyone brought in by that name." "John Doe? John Smith?" "No. We have had several Kiss my Asses though. One F.U. Those are just initials, by the way. And a Jesus Christ. Could one of them be your guy?" I sighed. "I doubt it." Officer Weilchek's eyes glimmered, softened. "Tell you what. Give me a description of the guy, and I'll keep my eyes open." "He's white with a long beard and bushy hair." "Hair color?" He wrote down my description on his paper. "Dark. Brown." "Eye color." 108

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When I didn't answer right away, he asked. "Do you know?" Yes. I knew. I decided not to wax poetically about them. "Blue." "Do you remember what he was wearing last night?" "I think it was a blue windbreaker." "He was wearing a windbreaker? In this heat?" "He always wears long sleeves. I did see him take it off when he went into the kitchen looking for three girls I had seen run into the back. He took the jacket off and tied it around his face." "He was trying not to breathe in the smoke," the policeman surmised. "Or keep his beard from catching on fire," Paula supplied. "Can you remember the color of his shirt?" I searched my memory. I couldn't say for sure. I shook my head. "Anything else?" "He," I hesitated here not quite sure what to say. "He smells." "Well," the officer clicked the pen a few times. "If he is homeless, as you say, that's no surprise." "No. He doesn't stink. He smells like...caramel." "Huh." He studied me for a few seconds then wrote on his pad. I looked to make sure he wasn't writing, 'Woman is nuts.' Nope. He wrote what I said. "Smells like caramel."

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"Okay. I'll look for a guy with a lot of hair and smells like candy." Officer Weilchek stood up. I took that as a sign we were done and stood up, too. "We'll call you if he turns up." I probably should tell you that I accepted my old job at Wainwright and Potter. In some glitch I have yet to figure out, the company insurance picked up my hospital bills and sent me a pay check. Was I torn. I knew the right thing to do was call them and tell them their mistake, but my stay at the hospital overnight was like a zillion dollars—only a slight exaggeration here. When I had to have some work done on my car, I went in to give the check back before I was tempted to cash it to pay the mechanic. When I entered the lobby, Hannah, the receptionist, ushered me to my old office asking me how my vacation was. "It didn't feel much like a vacation," I admitted as I surveyed my former desk. My name plate claimed the desk was still mine. The inbox was full. "Looks like you have a lot of work to catch up on." I turned to her. "I don't think I work here anymore. They fired me. You knew that, right?" Her eyes grew round matching her open mouth. "Well, yeah, but then they worked it out with you. Extended leave with full benefits until you came back and then a two percent raise and a reserved parking space." They worked it out with me? When? And why don't I remember working it out with them? "Is Dale available?" I didn't bother to ask if he was here. He was always here. When you're partner, you have to work ridiculous hours then 110

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go home and work some more. Hannah took me to Dale's office, knocked then slipped inside at his answer. She closed the door behind her, and I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited in the hall. When the door opened again, Dale stood there grinning in delight. "Abigail, so good to see you. Come in. Come in." I did, and Hannah left. The door stayed open. This was a good sign. When Dale had you in his office and he closed the door, it usually meant someone was in big trouble. I knew this from past experience. As a matter of fact, the last time I was in this office the door was closed, and I was being terminated. He gestured to his couch, and I sat on its edge while he took a seat on the matching chair. This was something new. I had never been invited into the conference area of his office. "So, how have you been?" Dale asked. I studied him for a bit. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Anxiety. Interesting. "I'm wondering if I should ask to be made partner." Dale narrowed his eyes. After a few seconds, he leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. "Abigail, I think we've been very generous in...this situation." "What changed your mind?" I could tell he was choosing his words carefully so as not to convey in any way that they'd screwed up. "We reconsidered after reviewing your work record. We realized you were most likely an unfortunate player in the events which led to your arrest." 111

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"Unfortunate player? Would you venture to say 'Innocent unfortunate player'? "I will venture to say that we acted in accord with the judge dismissing the charges." "It's very generous of you to pay my salary even before I agreed to come back. What makes you so sure I even want to work here?" "Don't tell me you'd rather keep waitressing at Waffle Mania. Let's be realistic here, Abigail." He had me there. Wainwright and Potter had a much better benefit and retirement package than the WM which had benefits consisting of a free meal for every six hours on the clock. Woman can live on waffles alone, but a 401 K was hard to beat. And let's not even talk about salary. Or aching feet. Or the aura of grease which surrounded me after every shift. "How long were you willing to pay my extended leave?" Dale smiled in response. "I knew you'd come back when you got that paycheck in the mail. You may make poor choices in your relationships, but you have some integrity." I wrinkled my nose trying to decide how to respond. Though the urge was strong to mention his failed relationships, I resisted. Who was I to say who made poor choices? Dale or his two ex-wives? "As far as I'm concerned it's water under the bridge. I'm glad you're back." "Glad enough to let me work flex time?" He raised his eyebrows as if he couldn't quite believe my gall. 112

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"I've been working at an after school program, and I want to keep doing it if at all possible." "Submit a proposal, and I'll take a look at it." I stood up and offered my hand in a handshake pose. Negotiations were over, and I had pushed it as far as I dared. Dale grasped my hand and releasing me, walked me to the door. Would I ever find out his motivation to hire me back? Or how little old me could engender anxiety in a man whose favorite part of his job was auditing multi-million dollar corporations? After my third trip to the police station to see if Eli had been found, Officer Weilchek introduced himself as Darvis. Darvis Weilchek. Can you believe it? I guess his parents wanted to make sure he got a good butt kicking every time he went out to the playground. Darvis, who preferred to be called Darvey suggested we go to some of Eli's hangouts after my time at the center. Even though the community center building was not presently usable, a team of construction workers had already come in to renovate. A double-wide trailer housed us until such time as we could get back into the building. Having the mayor and city commissioners appreciate the awesome talents of urban Clavanian youth, not to mention being chained inside a burning building with those youth, had apparently made us high priority in getting our building back. We played with a nylon recreation parachute in the north corner of the parking lot. A souped up F150 truck entered the campus and parked. Darvey stepped out in jeans and a knit shirt. One of the older girls let out an appreciative whistle. Or 113

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it could have been Lola. I considered the compliment and agreed. The policeman did look pretty good out of uniform. As he approached, I detected cologne. I took a good whiff. Nice. I introduced him, and the interest turned to suspicion. Twenty pairs of eyes sized Officer Weilchek up and down. He ceased to be a handsome young guy in tight jeans and transformed into a trespassing bully with the law on his side. I placed my hand on Darvey's arm, and smiled genially at the children. "Mr. Weilchek is helping me find Eli." The suspicion faded from some of the expressions. Lola tutted. She had been in on my 'intervention' in which several of the staff had sat me down in Mr. Harvey's office and told me I needed to forget about Eli. "He's just a homeless guy, Abigail. He probably moved on when the police were combing the neighborhoods after the fire." "He is not just a homeless guy," I defended. "If it hadn't been for him, we'd be going to funerals of three little girls." "You're probably right about that." Mr. Harvey leaned back in his chair. "However, if he wanted to be found, he would have shown up by now." "Unless he's dead," Paula supplied. I ignored the lump in my throat. "If he's dead, he deserves better than rotting in an abandoned house somewhere." To my relief, they agreed with me. But I knew they had a point. I had been obsessing about this. Maybe it was time to let it go. But why waste the opportunity Darvey had presented me with? 114

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Darvey and I went to the men's shelter and talked to several of the regulars. I was impressed with his efficiency and professionalism. He was to the point, and treated each man with respect. Unfortunately, no one had seen Eli after the fire. We went to several empty houses in the neighborhood, including the one where Eli and I had shared the pantry. We found nothing. "How can he just disappear like that?" Darvey's kind eyes met mine and held. "Easy to do when you're homeless. You have no ties keeping you anywhere." I guessed so. I thought Eli and I had reached a point where he might have come to me if he needed something. How could he have gotten out of the building unharmed and without being seen? "Come on." Darvey clasped my hand and pulled me toward the door. "Let's go get something to eat." I resisted and took my hand back. "Is this a date?" "It will be officially if you let me buy you dinner." "I thought you were helping me, you know, as a policeman." "I am helping you, but I'm off the clock. See? No uniform. And I think you're very pretty, even if you are in love with some homeless guy." Well, how do you like that. Officier Weilchek had laid his proverbial cards on the table. I walked ahead of him and opened the door of the house to enter the late afternoon sunlit yard and climbed onto the seat of his truck. "Would it help if I wore a candy necklace or something?" Huh? I turned to Darvey and found him grinning at me. 115

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"Stuck some candy kisses in my pocket? Was it the candy smell that attracted you, or do you just like hopeless cases?" "Hopeless cases, I think. My last boyfriend was a druggie and a thief." "Unlucky in love, huh?" "Stupid in love is more like it." "So what about dinner? Want to see how stupid you can get with me?" I chuckled. "I'll agree to dinner, but I'm trying to give up stupidity." As we headed toward the bridge, I saw a familiar figure meandering on the sidewalk with two guys I didn't recognize. Darvey noticed as I turned to look behind me. "Who's that?" "One guy's named Ford. I saw him the night of the fire just before the talent show started." "What was he doing?" "Oh, just hanging out, but I'm pretty sure he's in the Nights. They wear that chain with the red symbol on it. I told him he needed to either leave or come inside with me." "You're a brave chick, you know that?" I watched my hands twist in my lap. "Eli thought I took unnecessary risks." "Did you?" I looked out the window and saw nothing but regret. "He followed me in the building. I was going after some girls I had seen run in the hall. He saw me and came after me." "It was his decision." 116

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"He wouldn't have made it if he hadn't seen me." "You don't know that." But I did know it. We ended up at Marcelli's, a trendy Italian restaurant complete with the red table cloths and the woven wine bottle candle holders. Darvey was charming, but I could tell stupidity wasn't going to be an issue. Not enough chemistry. I hated that because he was a decent guy. After dinner, he drove me back to the center to retrieve my car, then insisted on following me home. To my surprise, he didn't come inside my apartment, though he did walk me to the porch. When I turned the key and opened the door, he wished me a good night, walked to the curb, and waited until I closed the door. I turned the lock and shortly thereafter heard his truck start and drive away. As the weeks stretched on and the community center began to take shape again, I all but lost hope that Eli was alive. I had taken his story of heroism to the local TV stations and newspapers hoping someone who saw the stories would bring new information about Eli. Darvey was great about this, even appearing with me on the six o'clock news. The next day he called and asked if we could have dinner. He and I had gone out a few times, but we were keeping things friendly and nonsexual which suited me well enough. I think he had been right that I had fallen a little in love with Eli and was heartbroken for his life and likely death. I ignored what could have been because I had done all I could to help Eli. It was true that he had followed me into the building, but if he hadn't I probably would have died and so 117

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would the girls. Maybe my life wasn't worth his death, but the girls' lives were. I knew it. I think he would have agreed with me. Darvey and I ended up at a sports bar with mugs of beer and hot wings. Some ballgame was on, so he had one eye on a nearby TV as he sucked hot sauce from his fingers. "So, I got called into the captain's office today. He told me to cool it with the missing person's case on Eli." "Why?" "Don't know. You sure he was just some homeless guy?" "Yes. You think he was something else?" "There's a rumor that the ATF has been sniffing around, but I haven't been able to find out why. We've been getting complaints about wrongful arrests and the thing is, we didn't have enough evidence to hold anybody. We had two guys we released, but later wanted to question again, and we can't find them." "Maybe Eli is with them." "They're Nights. It doesn't fit their M.O." "Their what?" "Modus Operandi. It means how the Nights act—their habits. They wouldn't have had a homeless guy in their gang. And if he was in his thirties, he'd have been way too old for them to recruit anyway." I took a long swig of beer. He was talking about Eli in the past tense. And there was my suspicion that Eli had drug dealings with the gang. "What?" I met Darvey's all too perceptive eyes. 118

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"You know something," he informed me. "Could he have been selling drugs to the Nights? Or buying from them?" "Why do you think so?" "I saw him after being at the shelter one evening. He got into a Night's car." "Are you sure?" I shrugged. "I was with Kaylon who works with me at the shelter. He recognized the car and told me it belonged to the Nights." "Huh." Darvey squinted his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table. I could tell he was trying to figure out what Eli's link was to the Nights. "Kaylon said the only business Eli might have with them was drugs." Darvey leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "It is possible, isn't it, that Eli could have been an accomplice in the fire?" "No." He leaned back, his expression grim. "He cared about those kids. I know he did. He wouldn't. No." Now I was talking in past tense. Darvey sighed. He didn't believe me anyway. "If he chained the doors and started the fire, why would he ram the doors open and come inside to rescue people?" "Maybe he wanted to be a hero." "But he didn't stick around to be praised." "Maybe he meant to, but he..." 119

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Darvey didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. He thought Eli was dead. "Then where's the body? If he was still in the building, they would have found him by now. I've checked all the John Does at the morgue. Eli isn't there. Where is the body?" "We are mystified. We suspect foul play." My jaw dropped. Mr. Beer-Ball-And-Wings-Cop had just sung a line from Phantom of the Opera. The chagrined look on his face told me he knew I knew. "I played Andre when I was in college. Don't tell anybody, all right?" Okay. I perked up like a dog who had just spotted a tasty bone. Maybe there was some chemistry here now that I knew Darvey could sing Phantom. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven **** The next morning I looked in the phone book for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and called the listing in Clavania, but there was only a recording. The address was two blocks from work, so I decided to pay a visit during my lunch break. As I approached the building, a man in sunglasses and a gray suit came from around the corner and walked toward me. We met at the door which he held open. I thanked him as I walked into a small, bland room with two chairs pushed against the beige wall. The man stepped inside, but didn't move from the door and didn't take off his glasses. Just above his eyebrow was a recent scar about an inch long and pink against his darker skin. I shivered. Was he an agent? Supervisor? Did he have a gun? "Do you work here?" "Yes." "I need to speak to someone about a person of interest." For a few seconds he didn't move. He reminded me of that movie Men in Black. I waited for him to pull out a little gadget, flash it at me, and make me lose my memory, but nothing happened. At least, I didn't remember anything happening—ha, ha. On the verge of getting nervous because this Man in Black—who was actually in gray—was blocking the exit and looking all official, I turned away from him and 121

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inspected the blank wall. What? Didn't the ATF have money in their budget for a picture or two? Geez. He moved from the door and brushed past me to another door. "This way." I obeyed his abrupt command, not missing the broadness of his shoulders, the lines of this well proportioned man in a well cut suit. He had an aura about him. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he seemed...okay. Maybe it was because he had held the door for me. Not a lot of chivalry these days, so when it happens I notice. I was looking forward to meeting him and asking him about Eli. He opened another door and gestured for me to go in. To my surprise, he didn't come in the room, just closed the door leaving me alone. Obviously, this was an interrogation room with its requisite table, two chairs, and two way mirror. Same beige walls and no pictures. Not even a magazine to look at. I paced the room for a few minutes, and had my hand on the doorknob ready to leave when it turned. I stepped back missing getting hit by the door by an inch. A smartly dressed woman in her fifties entered the room. "You are?" "Abigail Benton." "I'm Special Agent Madeline Daughton. Sit down." Okay, then. I was pretty sure Special Agent Madeline Daughton could put a sleeper hold on me even though she was old enough to be my mom. I sat down, and she sat down across from me folding her hands on the table. "What can I do for you?" "I thought that other guy was going to talk to me." 122

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"No. Do you have some information for the ATF?" "Actually, I was hoping you could give me some information. I'm trying to track down a homeless person who disappeared in the fire at the community center in Clavania." "Why would we know anything about that?" "I've heard you, that is the ATF, is involved." Special Agent Madeline Daughton tapped her index finger on the table several times otherwise she was motionless. "Who told you that?" As if I would reveal my source. I shrugged my shoulders. "Just whispers around the neighborhood." "Ms. Benton, The ATF isn't int..." The woman paused and sat back. She cut her eyes to the mirror and back at me. "Who told you we were involved?" "So, you are involved?" The corner of her mouth curled up in an Elvis sneer. "Where were you when the fire at the center started?" "I was in the building trapped with about two hundred other people. Do you know anything about this guy? His name is Eli. He's got dark hair and a full beard." Special Agent Daughton stood up keeping eye contact with me. "Your efforts to find this man are inhibiting any ongoing investigation and most likely putting lives at risk. Unless you want to find yourself an accessory, I suggest you quit playing Nancy Drew." "I have to find him." "You won't find him. He's gone." "What do you mean gone?" 123

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"The homeless man you knew as Eli was brought in as a John Doe at a hospital and didn't make it out. I want your assurance that you will drop this quest you have to find him so that the investigators can find out who did set that fire. Eli is dead." She emphasized the last three words with jabs on the table with her finger. I blinked back tears. "Where is he? Where's his body?" She snorted. "He was homeless. He's probably a cadaver at the U. of A. by now." "Oh, God." "Go home, Ms. Benton, and stop interfering with police business." So that was it—the end of my quest to find Eli. After crying to Mr. Harvey about it, I asked if we could do something in Eli's memory since he had saved all our lives that night. Even though the city officials didn't want to acknowledge Eli's sacrifice, we at the center felt it was the right thing to do. On a cool afternoon in May we attached a tasteful plaque with a broom etched in it on the new door of the community center the day it was dedicated. I was in the courthouse again. I sat in the massive lobby staring at the marble floors and wishing I had brought a book to read. Boy, things sure weren't like they were on T.V. I'd seen enough Law and Order reruns to stupidly think the witnesses got to hear all the interesting things going on in the courtroom. Wrong. Witnesses aren't allowed in until after our testimony.

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I sat on the hard bench and waited with Paula. I watched people come and go. One particular guy caught my eye. Dressed in a suit, he walked up the four stairs to where I sat. Blue eyes caught mine and held me. Something about them...I paused. No. He hesitated, slowed, but continued walking to the closed door. I fell back against the wall as if someone had punched me. Oh...it couldn't be... I gasped. Those eyes. Eli's eyes stared at me from the stranger's face. His dark hair was cut short, short enough that it stood up at the top. The man was clean shaven, a strong chin, and full lips. Oh, yes. The lips I recognized because they hadn't been hidden by the mustache and beard. The chin though, I had never seen before. This stranger with some of Eli's features wore a brown suit complete with red tie. The overall picture shouted professional. There's no way he could be Eli. Eli was homeless. He had no higher aspirations than sweeping leaves and trash back and forth outside of the community center in Clavania. Who was this guy? He had to be related. Maybe he was a brother who had come to the trial to try to find Eli. My feet propelled me forward, to the courtroom, to him. "Abigail?" Paula called to me. "You're not allowed to go in there." I knew I wasn't allowed, but I didn't care. I opened the door and peeked in. Scanning the crowd, I spotted him. He sat with two other men in suits. The Eli look-a-like sat near the middle of the long wooden seat in the very back of the courtroom. I excused my way in front of two people sitting on the end and side stepped toward him. What would I say? I 125

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had to step over the big Oxfords of the two men, then in front of him. Another pair of shoes. I inched my way past, then sat down on the space next to him. Blood rushed in my ears. My face heated. I clenched my shaking hands in my pockets. Clearing my constricted throat, I glanced over at him. Well, it started as a glance. Then it turned into a stare. His tanned skin at his throat contrasted to the jacket. His strong jaw was smooth, as if he had just shaved. I judged him to be a few years older than I was. The hair color was the same as Eli's. I leaned toward him and inhaled trying to detect caramel, burnt or otherwise. No sweet aroma. There was, however, tanginess—a citrus scent. As I sniffed, I saw him stiffen, and a muscle twitched at his jaw. Oh, darn it. Now with all my smelling, I had made him uncomfortable. I scooted away, giving him his space back. "I'm Abigail Benton." He leaned back, his eyes met mine. "Hello. Scott McIntyre." Oh. He wasn't Eli. My throat constricted again. I knew it was stupid and crazy, but I wanted him to be Eli. His eyes were so much like Eli's. My own eyes teared up. I didn't want to cry. A tear spilled over and ran down my cheek. I brushed it away, but not before he noticed. His face, which had held a casual, but friendly, expression became shuttered. He met my gaze. "Are you supposed to be in here?" "This might sound crazy." I glanced toward the front of the courtroom, and he did the same. I kept my voice low, not 126

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wanting to disturb the courtroom proceedings. "Are you...that is, do you have a brother named Eli?" "No, I don't." Even his voice was familiar. Another tear. I hated that I was crying, but I had looked for Eli for months and had found nothing but a dead end. Literally. "Have you ever heard of him? Or seen him? He was a homeless person who hung out in Clavania at the community center." The man stared at me for about ten seconds. Ten long seconds. "Why are you looking for him? Is he something to you?" "Yes. He's something to me. I haven't seen him since the fire. You...remind me of him." I inhaled, trying to catch Eli's scent. No known scent. I looked down. Not all the way down, just as far as his hands resting on his legs. I remembered Eli's hands next to mine on the mop, grasping my arms in my apartment, holding the broom in the parking lot, checking for injuries in the alley. I had watched Eli's hands. I watched them now. I didn't know how he could be sitting next to me in a suit, but he was. Those hands. They had saved my life more than once. I had imagined them on me hundreds of times. "Oh, Eli. I thought you were dead." I reached over and took a precious hand in mine. I had to feel him, know he was here next to me. In response, he shot up, returned my clasp, and pulled me from the courtroom. He charged through the lobby full steam 127

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to a room lined with shelves filled with law books. Pulling me into the room, he slammed and locked the door. In a second, I was in his arms. I'm not quite sure who moved first. All I knew was that I was kissing Eli, and he was kissing me back. His hands—those wonderful hands—pressed hard into my back and gripped my hair molding me to him. It was Eli. It had to be him, and yet it wasn't him. I pulled back and took a shuttering breath. "I don't understand. Why are you here? Why are you dressed like that? Where have you been? Where's your beard?" "I'm here because I'm involved with the case." "Involved how, Eli?" "The name's Scott." "You told me your name was Eli." "I'm telling you now that my name is Scott McIntyre." "Is that your real name?" "Yes." "You're not homeless? Since when?" "Look, Abigail. I know you're confused, but I can't really discuss what happened. Thank you for being concerned about me. As you can see, I'm okay." "Did you...find a job somewhere?" I couldn't believe it. Eli was alive. And he'd cleaned up pretty darned good. And, oh my heavens, could the man kiss. He sighed, and pulled me to him. "Yes. I found a job. A good one."

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I sniffed and sniffed again. With my face pressed up against his shirt, I realized I was weeping. "Eli...Scott, that's wonderful. Does it have benefits?" He laughed, and his arms tightened around me. "None better than this moment." I leaned my head back and watched him, trying to wrap my mind around this familiar stranger. I examined each of his features. He returned my look, as if he were making sure I was who I was. Had he missed me in these months? His eyes settled on my mouth. Oh, goody. We were going to kiss again. Moments passed as we engaged. Someone knocked on the door. We both ignored it. I had my hands inside his jacket, feeling him, running my hands around that taut torso. I think Eli had gained weight since he had been off the street. That was a good thing. I had worried because of how thin he was. Another knock and a voice. Eli must have recognized it because he broke off the kiss, pulled my arms away from him, and held me behind the door as he opened it. "What?" A young African American man stepped into the room. He was one of the suited guys Eli had been sitting with. "Time's up, Joe. They've recessed for the day. We need to get back." "Joe?" I snorted. Both men ignored me. "Five minutes," Eli-Scott-Joe said. The man flicked his eyes at me. "One." He left without another word. 129

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I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Goose bumps had prickled up on my skin. I didn't like that guy who had interrupted us. My bad news radar was up. He was trouble. And I still wanted to sort out this mess with whoever this man was that I had been tongue sparing with. "So you're Joe now?" "Bryant calls everybody that." "Oh, please." "Look, I have to go. I'll call you." "Oh, no you don't. You disappear for months. I happen to spot you in the courtroom, we make out in the freakin' law library, and you say you'll call me? How stupid do I look? You are not walking out on me. I bet you don't even have my cell number." Eli reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a blackberry, punched in a number, and stared at me. My phone rang. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Unknown name. Unknown number. I saw the words through an angry red haze. He'd had my phone number the whole freakin' time? I punched him in the gut. He didn't even flinch. "Why haven't you called me? I've been out of my mind. I thought you were dead. I blamed myself." Eli Scott leaned forward and kissed me one more time. A hard kiss as if he were imprinting himself on my lips. "I'll talk to you within twenty-four hours. I swear it." "Yeah?" Tears welled up in my eyes. Bitterness seared through my words. "I won't hold my breath." "You won't have to." 130

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And he was gone. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eight **** I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror on the back of the hotel door. A man in khaki slacks and a knit shirt stared back at me. Not the ATF officer in the requisite dark suit. Not the undercover agent pretending to be homeless. Nope. Just a dumb hillbilly with close-cropped dark hair and a new scar on my forehead where I'd whacked myself ramming the mayor's car through chained doors of the community center. Before today, I hadn't talked to Abigail in months, but I had seen her pretty face on every news show in the state telling Eli's story. I had read all of the articles various newspapers had written at her urging. The guys at work had dubbed Abigail 'Joan of Arc' because of her dogged determination. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring. "This is Scott." "Scott who?" "McIntyre." "I'll need to see some proof of that." "I can bring you my driver's license." "Right. Like those things can't be forged." "Birth certificate?" "Lame," Abigail sang. I sighed. She wasn't making this easy. "What will it take to see you tonight?" 132

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"The truth." Great. Forging documents would have been a lot easier. "I'll do my best." "Fine. You can pick me up at seven. You know the way." She hung up on me. Thus began what I call phase two of my relationship with Abigail Benton. I was at her door at seven. In fact, I'd waited in the parking lot fifteen minutes so I could be prompt instead of early. She opened the door with a line between her brows and pinched lips. Though she glared at me, she opened the door wider. I walked in, and she closed the door leaning against it. Extending her arm toward me, she held a pair of sunglasses in her hand. "Put these on." I noticed when I reached forward, she dropped the glasses in my hand rather than risk touching me. Turning them around in my hand, I examined them before putting them on. What was this about? "You opened the door for me when I went to the ATF office," Abigail accused, her arms crossed. My question had been answered. I took the glasses off and held them back to her, but she didn't move so I walked over to the minuscule dining room and set them on the table. "Yes." "Did you tell them to say you were dead? Or was that Special Agent Mad Dog Daughton's idea?" Oh, cripes. I didn't feel like a grilling tonight. Walking over to the couch, I asked, "Can I sit down, please?" 133

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"Sure. Go ahead, because I have a lot of questions." "I'll bet you do," I muttered. Why was I here? What did I think was going to happen? That'd she'd overlook every single lie Eli had fed her? That she'd fall into bed with me after that make out session in the courthouse? Right. "Well?" "Yes. I told her to say that." "That was just mean." She stalked over to a rocking chair and stood behind it as if it was a shield. "You had the perfect opportunity to tell me when you saw me. But, no, let's torture poor, stupid Abigail some more. Let's tell her Eli's dead, and some freakin' college student is cutting up his corpse." "For all intents and purposes, Eli did die that night." "Then whose tongue was down my throat this afternoon?" Her eyes shot daggers at me even as she reminded me of those sweet moments. Man, I could eat her up. "Mine. Scott McIntyre. There is no Eli. Eli was a fictitious person used to support an undercover operation of the ATF." "Why couldn't you have told me? When I think of all the tears I cried, how worried I was about you." Abigail gave up her stance behind the chair and paced the room. I watched her go back and forth. "I blamed myself for you dying. Oh, how could I have been so stupid? We even had a memorial service for you. What a liar you are." She had me there. I had made my living by lying for about six years, now. I barely knew who I was anymore. "I couldn't jeopardize the operation anymore than I already had saving your butt from every idiotic thing you did while I was there." 134

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Abigail stopped pacing and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, who asked you to ride in on your white horse and save me? I've done pretty well on my own." I jumped off the couch and stalked toward her until we were almost nose to nose. "Oh, right. That's why you were doing community service because you did so well with John Bowman." Abigail's mouth dropped open. "How do you know about him?" "I'm an ATF agent. One of my jobs was to make sure you weren't dealing to the kids." "Are you kidding me? What else do you know?" "Does it matter?" "Yes, it matters." Her eyes widened. "That was you following me in the car. It wasn't a Night I called the cops on. It was you." "It wasn't me. It was a fellow special agent." "What else?" I shrugged. "Did you bug my phone?" "No." "Tail me in the neighborhood?" "No, you were tailing me and nearly got us both killed doing it." Abigail slumped. "If you had given me the tiniest clue, I could have—" "Could have what?" "Stopped worrying about you. Stopped trying to help you." 135

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"Okay. Well, see the thing is I was undercover which means I'm not supposed to tell people that I'm trying to bust up malicious gangs with connections to Afghan opium dealers and Venezuelan gun runners. I'm sure sharing that with you would have gotten you to stop worrying about me. Wouldn't it?" "Okay." She swiped at her eyes, first one then the other. "I get it." I cupped her shoulders, ran my hands down her arms and back up. She was so soft and beautiful. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to her bed. I knew where her bedroom was. I had acquired a layout of the apartment after the death threat in case anybody came over here to hurt her. "You do, huh?" I couldn't keep the stupid grin off my face. "It's over though, right?" She looked up at me with those brown eyes and tears sparkling on her lashes. "What's over?" "Your undercover work." "On this case, yes." At least, I thought there would be a next case. I hadn't maintained distance as I should have, and even though Delia Travers, the Resident Agent in Charge hadn't called me on it, I knew it was a problem. They had lost me because of the fire. Yes, I had saved lives, but I had jeopardized the case because I had taken a stupid risk and had gotten hurt. I wrapped my arms around Abigail. Her hands met at the back of my waist. "But you shouldn't tell anyone about Eli. He's dead. He needs to stay that way." "Why?" 136

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"Because we don't want the lawyers to claim entrapment and get a mistrial. Those f...bangers need to go to jail and stay there." "Okay." She paused and pressed her face in my shirt. "Can I ask you something?" Was I married? How long was I going to be here? Do I love her? I expected any of those. "When you were Eli, why did you smell like caramel?" "It wasn't caramel. It was adhesive I used for a wire. It's supposed to wash off with water, but it must have gotten on my clothes." A shiver ran over me. One night, when I had holed up behind a church's air conditioner unit, I'd woken up with ants all over me going after the adhesive. I had crawled into a fountain and spent the rest of the night wet and miserable and slapping at imaginary ants. "Eli, you okay?" I came back to the present. Abigail stared at me, concern filling her eyes. "Scott," I corrected. "Scott, what's wrong?" "Nothing. I'm okay." I stepped back breaking contact. "Where do you want to eat?" We settled on a Mexican restaurant in Feda Ray, the opposite direction of the bridge and inner city Clavania. I never wanted to see that place again. The food was good— the conversation tense. Abigail gave up after the third try of asking me questions about the case or Eli which I refused to answer. She sighed and looked around as if she were ready to sulk through the rest of the meal. Then she said, "I'm going 137

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on a picnic and I'm taking with me an apple. Do you want to go with me?" Huh? "Well, do you want to go?" She blinked her eyes at me waiting. "When?" "Whenever. What do you want to bring to the picnic?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Come on, Mr. Big Shot ATF guy, take something to the picnic." "Some sandwiches." "No, you can't take sandwiches. Come on. I'm taking an apple. What are you taking?" I put my hand up in a helpless gesture and slapped it on the table. What was the problem? What's wrong with sandwiches at a picnic? "A banana?" "Yes, you can take a banana. I'm going to take a candle. What else are you taking?" A little smile played across her face. "What do you need a candle for on a picnic?" "Maybe it's a moonlit picnic. I might also take some dope. Want to bust me, Secret Agent Man?" "That's not funny." "Oh, really? I think it's hilarious. I'm taking explosives and some firearms, too. Want to arrest me? I'm going to have a gun right here in my purse with no license to carry it. What are you going to take to bust me with? Huh?" The little spitfire. "Maybe I'll take some handcuffs. That'll fix you up." 138

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"Oh, yes. That will definitely fix me up. You can bring your handcuffs." She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I laughed and shook my head. "I'll bring some ice, too. You know what I can do with ice?" "I can't wait to find out." It took me a while, but I caught on. The tension was gone. We ate and laughed and played her silly word game throughout the rest of the meal. After dinner, I drove us to the park at Feda Ray which backed up to a lake. "What do you do when you're not undercover?" she asked as I cut the engine. "I'm always undercover." We exited the car and walked across the parking lot. "You haven't been since the fire." "Not downtown, no, and not long term cases like in Clavania. But I'm still undercover. Our jurisdiction encompasses the entire northern part of the state, and there are issues right now in some of our rural areas." "Do you...get to see your family much?" I didn't answer her because I didn't want to talk about what a terrible son I was or how I'd never even met my niece who was almost a year old. We meandered out to the shore, and I picked up a rock flinging it into the water lit by a security light. The rock skimmed the surface three times creating shimmering circles moving into each other.

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"How do you do that?" Abigail knelt down and grabbed two rocks. She mimicked my throw and her rock plopped in the water. "What's the secret?" I grasped her hand and turned it over in mine. "Let me see your rock." She opened her fist. "Your rock is too round. You need a flat rock." I couldn't help it. I ran my thumb along the skin of her inner wrist. It was like silk. She was like silk. Her pulse jumped under my skin. I moved behind her and slipped a rock in between her fingers causing her to drop the one she had. My hand slid up her arm moving it as she would if she were going to skip the rock. Dipping my head, I inhaled her hair which smelled all girly and nice. She probably bought her shampoo based on the pretty scent. "Like this." I moved her arm again, but she held the rock. "Let it go like you're throwing a Frisbee." I thought back to the day we were in the bathroom mopping. I had stood this close to her and gawked at her wet shirt sticking to her. My mouth went dry at the memory. The rock flew over the water and dropped below the surface. "Shoot. I can't do it." She glanced at me, though in the dark it was hard to read her expression. "If you practice, you'll get the hang of it. Come on. We should get back." I linked my fingers though hers pulling her with me toward the car. "What are their names?"

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"Who?" More questions about the case more likely. Man, I was sick of it. If we were lucky, it would wrap up and the jury would return a verdict before the weekend. "Your kids." Abigail opened the door, but didn't get in the car. I stared down at her trying to figure out what she was talking about. "My kids? What kids?" "The ones you have with your wife in Indiana. You know, the little wife? She cashes your paychecks? You put yourself in danger so that the world will be safer for her and all of your kids. How many do you have? Two? Three?" "If you want to know I'm married, just ask me." I stalked around the car and got in. By the time I closed my door, she was sitting next to me putting on her seatbelt. "Well?" She sat there in silence with her arms folded and staring holes through the windshield. I turned toward her wishing she'd look at me, acknowledge that I was even in the car. "You know? I don't get you. You'll strike up a conversation with f...Harold Wiggs, and you won't even ask me a simple question." With some effort I unclenched my hands from the steering wheel and started the car. "Who?" "The convicted rapist you were chauffeuring all over town, Abigail." "I did not start any conversation with him. Just so you know." "Well, he was the only one in the shelter you didn't buddy up with. Ask me." 141

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Silence. "Why not ask me?" "I've been asking you questions all night, and you won't answer them." "Every question you've asked has been about the fire or my work. I've told you I can't talk about all that." More silence. Why was I doing this to myself? She was just some woman who had caught my eye. I'd had it bad. But I didn't want to play games. I said as much. "Eli, that has got to be the funniest thing I've ever heard." She didn't sound amused. "Scott." I supplied. I wished she'd quit calling me by the wrong name. It was really starting to bug me. "You lie to me about everything while you pretend to be homeless, then you tell me you don't want to play games? Your whole life is a game." Now it was my turn to be silent. And pissed. I turned on Washington Avenue toward her neighborhood. As a date, it had been a disaster. It was time to cut our losses, shake hands, and part ways. I couldn't say it hadn't been interesting. She had nearly gotten me killed more than once. Anything after this was bound to be a letdown. As soon as I parked in front of her apartment building, she bolted. Maybe I've been in law enforcement too long, but I reacted without even thinking. Somebody runs—you give chase. That's just how it is. Never mind that I had just lectured myself that seeing the back of her would be good riddance. Who was I kidding? 142

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I caught up with her about ten feet from her door. The yard was dark. I made a mental note to call the apartment manager tomorrow and report the blown light on the pole next to the walk. I sprinted in front of her and blocked her path. "I'm not married, and I don't have kids." She lifted her chin and marched onto the grass to go around me. I moved in front of her again. She faked a left, then went right. I had studied that move in high school when I played football. I loved contact sports. "Let go of me, you jerk." she demanded when I grabbed her around the waist. "Will you let me come in?" "No." Abigail leaned forward and bit my shoulder. In shock, I dropped my hands and grabbed my shoulder. Pulling my shirt aside I tried to see if she'd left teeth marks. She smirked and stepped onto her front porch. "Still want to come in?" She pulled her keys from her purse and inserted one in the lock. I sidled up behind her pressing my crotch into her and pulling her back against me. She sucked in a breath, but otherwise was completely still. "How about a do over of the pantry? I promise I'll play this time," I murmured in her ear. She turned breaking contact, her expression serious now. Her brown eyes appealed to me for an honest answer. "But there is someone you're involved with. A girlfriend at least?" "There's nobody. I don't have time to date, to have a family. There's me. Only me." I placed my hands on her shoulders and glided them down her arms until we linked 143

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fingers. "I'm either homeless, dealing drugs or running guns. Nobody can love someone like that." She stepped forward into my arms and kissed me. I wasn't expecting that or how quickly I lost my mind tasting her. Lifting her, I backed her up against the door and returned the kiss. I swear, she wrapped her legs around me. She kneaded the skin of my back under my shirt while I ground my hips against hers. Man, we could get arrested doing this. With one arm I held her, and with the other, I turned the lock and the door banged open with our weight. I was ready though, bracing us against the loss of support. With a little difficulty, I pulled the key from the lock, dropped the key ring, kicked it across the floor, and slammed the door behind us. With a flick of my wrist, the door locked. Though it was dark inside, I had no trouble walking the few steps to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. I took her there, took us there. She unwound her legs, and I set her on the counter's surface. Our breaths mingled before our mouths fused again. Inside her shirt, the calluses on my fingers couldn't quite absorb the softness of her skin so I explored her with my lips, moved her bra aside and heard with satisfaction when she gasped and arched her back to me. Ah, yes. In the eight months that I had been on the street, I could count on one hand how many people had willingly touched Eli without malicious intent. I could count on one finger. Abigail. Only Abigail. In eight months, she had been the only person. In ATF business, Bryant had handed me information disks. Occasionally Special Agents Mason and Conley had 144

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inadvertently touched me when I checked in with them. But that had been it. I lived and relived every single moment she had touched me. The bathroom. The pantry. The parking lot. Then there were the times I had touched her as I pulled nits from her hair and when I had stood here in this apartment trying to scare her from being little Miss Social Butterfly with the homeless men or when I had grabbed her the time she had followed Bryant and me into one of the Night's drug holes. Man, what she had done to me in that pantry. I had her pants unbuttoned and was working on pulling them past her hips when she broke our kiss. Her breathy voice reached me in the dark. "Hey, what are you doing?" I had thought it was obvious. Bending down, I licked her navel and sucked the flesh into my mouth. I edged the waistband down another inch and ran my finger inside her panties. "Would you get up here and leave my panties alone? No matter what you think you know about me, I'm not easy." I chuckled at the irony of her comment. No, nothing about Abigail was easy. I pulled her to the very edge of the surface before settling myself between her legs in case she didn't know how ready I was to finish what we had started. She shivered again. I couldn't read her expression in the darkness, but I think she got the message. "How long will you be in Clavania?" "At least as long as the trial. And I have a month of leave after that." I moved to kiss her, but she moved her head to the side. That was fine. Her neck was worth spending a few 145

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minutes on. Or hours. I had all night. Man, I hoped she let me stay. "Where do you live?" "I'm staying at the Days Inn on the east side." I licked a line from her collar bone to just below her ear. "Home. Where's home?" "Originally, I'm from Tennessee. My mom still lives there." I tested the weight of one of her breasts in my palm. So soft. Moving my thumb over her nipple, I waited for a cease and desist, but didn't get one. "But where do you live when you're not on assignment?" "Wherever." I trailed a finger to the other breast. "No. I mean your permanent address." "I move where ever my next assignment is." Why did we have to talk? There were lots better things to do. "Where's all your stuff?" I moved to taste her mouth again. She reached for the snap of my pants. Oh, mercy. I felt and heard the snap, but then her hands climbed up under my shirt, her fingers kneading the muscles of my back. Now, if we could lose the clothes. "What stuff?" "Your furniture, your high school yearbook, your computer, your books. Don't you have a place where your stuff is?" She whispered against my mouth. I shrugged and moved my hand into her pants and under her panties. Mercy, but she had a nice ass. "You don't have any stuff?" she persisted.

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"Not much." I squeezed and thrust against her. Her breath hitched. Her nails grabbed the skin on my shoulders. Oh, man, we were close. "On your checks, what does the address say?" "It says, 'P.O. Box 433, Wittenberg, Virginia.' You want to write me a letter?" Her hands stilled. "That's all you have? A post office box? Oh, Eli." Her voice broke and she tucked her face into my neck so that I felt her next words against my skin. "You really are homeless." That was equivalent to a bucket of cold water thrown on me. I don't know what was more offensive. That she couldn't get my damn name right or that she was accusing me of being destitute. I stepped back and nudged her further back on the counter. Adjusting my pants and buttoning up, I glared at her through the darkness. "I'm not homeless. I've got a healthy IRA and a balanced portfolio. I can go out tomorrow and pay cash for a house. I'm not destitute, and I don't want your pity." Stalking to the door, I opened it and looked back at her. "And stop calling me Eli. My name is Scott. Scott Thomas McIntyre." I engaged the lock before walking out closing the door behind me and testing the knob to make sure it was secure. Women. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nine **** Delia my supervisor, Bryant who had worked undercover with me, and I watched security footage from a convenience store in Athens County. A kid resembling Ford Daniels waved a gun in some poor register jockey's face. The camera time read seven twenty-two, roughly the same time Ford was supposed to be chaining up the doors at the community center and setting fire to it fifty miles away. I looked at Bryant while the technician rewound the footage. "It isn't him. He was at the fire," Bryant growled. "It looks like him." "It does look remarkably like him," Delia agreed with me. "Well, it isn't." Where the defense attorney found this tape, and why it was just now surfacing was a big pain-in-the-ass mystery. Special Agent Conley Arrington walked into the room whistling off key. He was coming back from the court house after meeting with somebody from the DA's office. All of us looked at him and waited. He smiled. "They think they have an eyewitness who can verify Bryant's story that Ford was there." "Who?" Deila asked.

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Conley's smile widened. "Joan of Arc. And here's an interesting tidbit, she's dating somebody on the force. That's how he knew about it. Pillow talk." Conley winked at me. My hand curled into a fist. "Easy, Joe," Bryant murmured. "They're bringing her in right now." I stood up so fast the chair turned over. Bryant was with me. No need for us to say where we were going. Delia called for me to keep my head. I hoped I could follow orders. We got there before Abigail did and were sitting in the law library where she and I had been yesterday after she recognized me. The DA wanted to talk to her, and didn't want to inconvenience himself by having to go to the station. I couldn't believe this. I tried to exorcise the images of us against the wall over there. Sweat glued my shirt to my back. She walked in followed by some snot cop I hadn't met before. But I knew who he was. Darvis Weilchek. I knew he had been helping her find Eli all those months ago. Geez, they were dating? Was she sleeping with him? Bryant ground his shoe on mine. When I looked at him, he moved his head in a brief shake. I must have been glaring. Weilchek better not touch her again. That's all I had to say. Weilchek cupped her shoulder as he led her to one of the empty chairs at the table. She smiled her thanks at him, then she realized I was there. I had to give her credit. After the initial eye contact, she didn't look my way again. The DA made the introductions. Another cop turned on a recorder. 149

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"Darvey said I wasn't under arrest. I don't have to answer any questions, do I?" "No, Miss Benton, but I hope you will. This has to do with something you saw the night of the fire." "Maybe I should call my lawyer. I know how this works, you know." Oh, did she? I almost snorted. Weilchek patted her arm and squeezed it. The prick. "Abigail, some new evidence has come up that might clear one of the suspects. I remembered you telling me about something that night which I believe will help the case. No one is accusing you. We know you're innocent." He'd better get his hand off her if he knew what was good for him. Bryant ground his shoe into mine again. I moved my foot out of his reach. "Miss Benton, can you tell us about the night the Clavania Community Center caught fire?" Her eyes widened when she looked at Bryant, then she narrowed them to slits. "Why do you need to be here?" She snapped. Bryant's youthful face lit up with his most charming smile. "I'm with the Bureau of—" "What do you care what I say? What's your role here?" She didn't like Bryant. Had she figured out who he was? Bryant did his 'Aww, shucks, Ma'am' routine. She didn't buy it, sitting there with her suspicious eyes, back straight, and her arms crossed over her breasts. My mind jumped back to last night and her on the counter. I remembered how 150

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sweet her skin smelled and tasted. Oh, mercy, I was in trouble. She bore holes into Bryant. "Want to have a spitting contest, Special Agent?" Bryant's dopey smile morphed into a look of admiration. Bowing his head to her in respect, he never lost eye contact. No one spoke for ten seconds. Finally, Weilchek laid his hand on her arm. Was it a gesture of protection, or was he claiming his property? I bet he didn't know I'd almost claimed her last night. "What is this about?" Abigail didn't take her eyes away from Bryant. They were having some sort of staring contest. "The ATF likes to play dress up, Darvey. Special Agent Bryant Smith here was undercover in the Nights." The DA spoke, "Then you know that he's on our side. He's put his life on the line in the interest of justice. We want these men who burned the building and put two hundred and twenty lives at stake to go to jail. We think you can help us do that, Miss Benton. Will you tell us what happened that night?" Finally, taking her eyes off Bryant, she rested her arms on the table and stared at her clasped fingers. Heaving a big sigh, she described every detail ending with when the fire fighter carried her from the building. She almost hadn't made it. Geez, she had almost died there. They put five photographs on the table in front of her. She picked out Ford Daniel's photo. 151

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Weilchek spoke. "Are you sure, Abigail? Are you sure that's who you saw that night?" "I know who he is. Yes, that's him." The DA clapped his hands together. "We'll need you to testify." "You already subpoenaed me." "Of course." "I hope you guys know I have to make up the work time I'm losing by being here and at court." I wanted to laugh at that. We had Dale Potter so scared, he wouldn't dare go to the bathroom without checking with us. Special Agent Delia Travers had intimidated the man into giving Abigail her job back with a raise. It was nice when people bowed to authority. Unlike Miss Priss here. "You wasted my whole day here yesterday," she continued. "I wouldn't say it was a waste." I said it before I realized what I was doing. Her eyes met mine and held. "And what's your role here, Scott?" She emphasized my name. "I want to hear the truth." Abigail scoffed. "You and Special Agent Smith are professional liars. You wouldn't recognize the truth if it smacked you in the face." I rose from my seat, gripping the table to keep from climbing over it to where she sat. "Trust me. You will cooperate fully. You will testify willingly, or we'll run you in for obstruction of justice. You want to spend tonight in jail?" 152

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Her eyes glittered at me, but she kept her seat. Reaching her hand up, she traced a finger from below her ear to her collar bone and back again. Oh, mercy. I had forged that trail with my tongue last night. I couldn't help it. Entranced, I watched that finger as if my life depended on it. "Hit me with your best shot, Special Agent Scott Thomas McIntyre." "Now. Now." The DA cleared his throat. "Special Agent McIntyre, let's all settle down here. Miss Benton has been very helpful. She's what we need." The irony of his last sentence was not lost on me. Prying my fingers off the table, I glanced to make sure I hadn't left dents. I walked to the door on stiff legs. "I'll be outside," I muttered. Bryant followed me. As we walked outside, he chuckled. "Dumb ass." I told him what he could do with his comment. Abigail called me two hours later. "Special Agent Scott Thomas McIntyre," she greeted me. I waited. I had no idea what to say. "Why don't you come over tonight? I'll fix us dinner." 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 153

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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 154

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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?" 155

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"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. 156

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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?" 157

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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." 158

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"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. "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 me 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 159

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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 160

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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." 161

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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. [Back to Table of Contents]

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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?" 163

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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 164

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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, palmed my cards, and strode away. I sprinted the few steps to catch up with her. 165

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"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. 166

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"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. "Special Agent McIntyre." He yawned. "Come in." He stepped back as he opened the door wider. I entered and saw Abigail in a matching outfit. Why hadn't she stopped me from interrupting this cozy scene? Why hadn't Delia warned me? Why hadn't that damn plane gone down and saved me from standing here like the idiot that I was? In the act of shutting the door, he paused and stuck his head outside. "Is that Special Agent Delia Travers I see backing out of my driveway?" "Yeah." 167

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Abigail snickered. Her hair fell to her shoulders, all mussed and sexy like she too had just gotten out of bed. What did I expect getting here in the middle of the night? Was she sleeping with him? Would she do that after she had been so hot with me just three days ago? "Huh." Weilchek shut the door, locked it, and flicked the light switch next to the door. "Want a bed or the couch?" I shrugged. Weilchek continued. "Can you guys work it out? I'm beat." "All right, Darvey." I hated the way she said his name, like a caress. I tasted bile in my throat. Weilchek bid us goodnight and disappeared down the hall. The click of the door shutting echoed in the house. I watched Abigail, and she returned my look. We met halfway. I dropped my bags to hold her. "Thank you. Thank you for coming back." I stroked her hair and stuck my nose close to suck in that girly shampoo scent. My body relaxed against her softness, and I swear my knees started shaking. She must have noticed because she dropped one arm and walked me to the couch. When I sat, she moved over to the other end, tucked her legs under her, and leaned against the arm. I hadn't been ready to put any space between us yet. Obviously, she was. What had I interrupted? "What happened?" "Well, there was a bomb threat at the court house, and they postponed the case until tomorrow. I stayed at work and when I got home there was a box on my doorstep. I started 168

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to pick it up, but there wasn't a postmark on it, and there wasn't a return address, and I remembered about the bomb threat so I called Darvey and asked him if he could come over. I tried to call you, but I just got your voice mail." "I was on the plane." "I didn't go in my apartment. I was afraid to. I drove to Schanuk Burgers and waited for Darvey to meet me. We went back to the apartment, and he thought it was suspicious, too, so he called the ATF. They evacuated the entire apartment building and the one next to it. Darvey brought me to his house, and afterwards Madeline Daughton and some other guy came over here, questioned me, and told me it had been a pipe bomb. Crude, but it could have...well, they said it could have been bad." Air whooshed from my lungs. Yes, it could have been very bad. I stared at the powder blue carpet trying to exorcise images of Abigail opening the package from my head. It had been close. It had been so close. She had been smart today, but could we get the bastard before he tried again and got luckier next time? It had to be somebody in the gang, somebody who didn't want her to testify against Ford. The problem was we thought we had gotten the most charismatic of the gangsters behind bars. We had hoped the Nights would fall to the wayside without them. Who had we missed? A small sound alerted me. I looked across the couch and saw Abigail wiping her eyes with a tissue. I slid over and cupped her face so she had no choice but to meet my gaze. 169

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"You're okay. You used your brain. Do you mind me saying I'm proud of you?" "Why? 'Cause I didn't get blown to smithereens?" "Yeah. You used good judgment, and it saved your life." "What if..." "Don't. Don't play that game, Abigail. It'll drive you nuts. What's important is that no one was hurt. No one was killed. You'll testify. We'll find the perpetrator, and you can go back to life as normal...well, as normal as your life gets, anyway." She laughed self-deprecatingly, and I moved my hand to cradle her head, her hair soft against my skin. "Go on to bed. I'll stay out here on the couch, and in the morning we'll see about going back and getting some of your stuff." "I can't sleep. Poor Darvey kept dozing off in the chair before you got here. I don't think he's much of a night owl." "Get in the bed and try." I slid my hand down her neck, feeling how tight her muscles were. She shook her head moving away from my touch. "You take the bed. I'll stay here and read. Darvey has a huge stack of Guns and Ammo. When you got here, I was just about to take a quiz to see which gun I should buy before dove season starts." I had dropped my hand and leaned back against the couch watching her, listening to her, wishing we weren't negotiating sleeping in separate spaces. "Somehow the magazines don't fit the old lady style of the room." I took in the brocade curtains which matched the couch where we sat. Whoever decided on the blue color must have been a fan of cotton candy. White antique lamps with 170

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delicate blue flowers painted on the glass sat on both end tables, and I raised my eyebrows when I spotted a doily. "Is he gay?" "No. This is his grandmother's house. He's been living here for about a year helping take care of her until she just couldn't stay here by herself when he was at work. She went into the nursing home a few months ago." How could I measure up to that? I had seen my family once in three years. I hadn't spent Thanksgiving or Christmas with them since I started with the agency. My mom never even asked me anymore about holidays. Abigail raised her hand and covered a yawn. "Abigail, you may have to testify tomorrow. You've had a hard day. Won't you just try to go lie down?" "You know, Scott. I appreciate the chivalrous gesture, but I know you won't be comfortable on this couch." "I didn't come here to sleep. I came here to protect you. Now, I'm not about to go to bed and leave you vulnerable in the front room." Abigail sighed. "All right, Special Agent McIntyre." She stood up. "I understand. If something happens to me, you wouldn't have as strong a case against Ford Daniels." "You're right about that." Not that I gave flying fig about any of it at this point. I didn't even want her to testify, but I couldn't let my feelings screw up almost two years worth of work. Abigail needed to testify. I needed to keep her safe. And too damn bad if it took more than three days to do it. "That's it then. Good night." 171

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Without waiting for my reply, she marched from the room. A door from down the hall opened and clicked shut. I tried not to dwell on whether or not it was Weilchek's bedroom she had just entered. I woke up to darkness. Reaching under the edge of the couch, I grasped my Glock and moved toward the sound which had awoken me. A streetlight from the front shone through the windows enough to maneuver through the room. I slipped through a door into the den. A small table lamp in the corner created more shadows than illumination. Across the way was the kitchen. With caution, I approached the room and stopped short when I saw the rear door standing open. Damn. Someone had gotten in the house. I jumped into a dark corner and scanned the room. Nobody that I could tell. Which room was Abigail in? Geez, I should have gone with her when I had sent her to bed, except I hadn't wanted to make an ass out of myself if she had gone in with Weilchek. Delia was right. If I had been covering anybody but Abigail, I would have gone with the person to make sure no one was waiting to hurt them. But I hadn't trusted myself to go with her in a room with a bed. I certainly hadn't trusted myself to go in that room, if Weilchek had been in there with their matching outfits. It would have been a toss-up between beating Dudley Do Right to a pulp on his granny's cotton candy carpet or banging my head against the flower papered wall until I knocked myself out. Squeeeeeak. Thank you, Weilchek, for not oiling your granny's back door hinges. 172

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The door shut. I tensed, moving the safety and aiming at the door. I figured three seconds. Two. One. "Abigail, what the hell are you doing?" She jumped and clutched her chest. "Is that a gun?" She charged from the kitchen into the den where I stood. "Yes, it's a gun. I thought you were an intruder. Were you outside? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" I secured the gun and cupped her shoulders. She shoved my hands away. "Yeah, by you." "I was protecting you. Why aren't you in bed?" "I told you I can't sleep." "Don't go outside by yourself. Why didn't you get me or Weilchek? Have you forgotten somebody tried to kill you earlier today?" "I didn't go outside. I was watching TV. There's an enclosed porch off the kitchen." "On the other side of the house from me? What if someone had tried to get in the back door?" "Would you keep your voice down? You're going to wake Darvey." "Well, maybe he needs to get his ass out of bed and see where his girlfriend is traipsing off to." Her foot stomped down hard on mine. Man, I wished I'd kept my shoes on when I'd laid down on the couch. She did an about face and was marching from the room when I strode after her and caught my foot on the leg of an end table toppling it, losing my balance and falling into 173

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Abigail. I tried to catch us both, but klutz that I was, we fell to the floor, me on top of her. I rolled off and turned her on her back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?' Silence. "Abigail?" I put my face close to hers, placed my fingers on her neck to feel a pulse. Her fingers gripped my wrist. "I'm okay." "Geez, I didn't mean to hurt you." "You didn't. Just knocked the breath out of me was all." She was so close to me now, I could feel her breath, warm and sweet, on my face. The darkness hid her expression, but I didn't need to see her. I had memorized every angle, every soft inch of skin, the color of her eyes. I remembered how she had tasted, too. I moved closer. I had to... Click. Shit. I knew that sound. Either the killer had come after Abigail or we had woken lover boy up. I put my hand on my holster, pulled the strap free, and breathed words into Abigail's ear. In case, the perp shot, I covered her body with mine, but supported my weight with the hand not on my Glock so I could keep my mind on whoever may be pointing a gun at us and not on Abigail's body underneath me. "Call for Weilchek." "What?" She whispered. "Say, 'Darvey, is that you?'" "Darvey." "Louder." "Darvey? Is that you?" 174

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A heartbeat. Two. I couldn't tell if it was my heart or hers I was hearing. Feeling. "Yeah, babe. Everything okay? Why aren't you in bed?" Weilchek's voice reached us through the dark. I nudged her to answer. "I couldn't sleep. I was watching TV." Another sound which could have been him disengaging his gun. "You sure you're okay?" "Yes. Goodnight, Darvey." A shiver went through her. "I'll see you in the morning." Soft footsteps on carpet. His door shut. I blew out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Still I waited to be sure. No sound but the two of us breathing. I snapped the holster strap, rolled to the side and got to my feet. I held my hand down to her. She took it and stood up as well. "You're not sleeping with him, are you?" "Please tell me you're joking." I grinned relief running through me. "Does he know you think sleeping with him's a joke?" She tugged at my hand, but I wouldn't let go. "We're friends. He's been very good to me." Yeah. Right. Darvy wanted to be friends with her. I led her into the front room to one corner of the couch, threw an afghan at her, and took the other side. "The bed's more comfy," she murmured. I snorted. "I can't trust you in the bedroom by yourself. And I sure as hell can't trust myself in bed with you. So, kindly be quiet and go to sleep." 175

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"I can't sleep here." "That makes two of us." She threw the blanket aside and stood. "Where are you going?" "The bathroom. Hopefully, I won't get shot by you or Darvey before I return to the couch." "We're not the bad guys, Abigail." "No, but there's enough testosterone in this house to run the watercolor prints on Mrs. Weilchek's walls. The waving guns make me uneasy." With that parting shot, she padded out of the room. While she was gone, I slid the Glock under the couch, grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under my head. In moments, she returned to the room and to the recliner. I pulled my legs up and stretched across the couch cushions. "Promise me you won't leave the room without telling me." "Won't you know?" "Just in case I fall asleep. Please, will you promise?" "Okay, Scott." I loved hearing my name on her lips. It was a nice sound to fall asleep to. Sometime after that, she moved from the recliner and sidled up against me. I threw the back cushions off, pulled her to the inside of the couch, spooned her to me, and to my great surprise fell asleep again, breathing in that clean girly shampoo. I must have been in a deep sleep because the next thing I knew Weilchek was shaking my shoulder and gesturing for me to follow him. I stuck my head into Abigail's neck, took one last whiff, and got up. In a kitchen that would put 176

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Norman Rockwell to shame, I sat down at a quaint table while Weilchek poured coffee in a cup placed before me. He sat across the table, picked up his own cup, and slurped. I expected this to be when he explained in civilized terms that Abigail is his and if he caught me and her on the couch again, he'd castrate me. At the very least I wondered if he'd laced my coffee with some diuretic. He stared at me until I worked not to squirm. "I'm supposed to work today. Since you're here, I won't have to worry about Abigail. She needs to be at the courthouse by nine unless we hear differently." "Okay." So, what? He trusted me with Abigail? Was he, or was he not, in love with her? Weilchek didn't respond. I waited. Still nothing. "Do you know anything about who put the bomb on her porch?" "No. Special Agent Travers said she would call me if they found anything definite." I sighed. We thought we had the worst of the gang. How could we have missed a bomb builder? I looked at Weilchek, really looked at him. He had a cut next to his eye and the flesh around it was black. "What happened to your eye?" "She kicked my ass, man." "Who?" "Special Agent Travers. When I thought it was a bomb, I called the ATF, and they came swarming out there. I had walked around the back of the building, and when I stepped around a corner, I saw this woman's high heeled shoe coming right at me. She kicked me so hard, I fell back and she 177

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pounced. She had me on my face and in cuffs within twenty seconds." Poor guy. "Yeah, she took me down last night at the airport." "I'm thinking about asking her out if she's not involved with anybody. Do you know?" His self-deprecating smile morphed into a leer. "She's pretty hot." "What about you and Abigail?" "You ask me that after you've slept with her on the couch?" He shook his head and laughed. I smiled in response. Maybe Weilchek wasn't so bad after all. "There's sleeping, and there's sleeping." "Yeah, I hear that. No, man. Early on, I knew it wasn't going to happen with us. She was too intent on finding Eli. Who can compete with a guy who runs into a burning building to save kids?" "Maybe some guy who takes care of his granny and rescues a woman from getting blown to bits on her front porch." He broke eye contact and examined the porcelain salt shaker in the center of the table. I sat in a comfortable silence and decided my compliment had embarrassed him. "Delia Travers is divorced. I don't think she's seeing anybody right now. I'm supposed to have a daily check with her. Want me to see if I can get her out here tonight for it?" He gestured to the dainty shaker in his hand and to the room. "I don't think my house is going to make her want to drop her panties." 178

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"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. You put those gun and ammo magazines in just the right places, and you might be surprised." Darvey grinned. "I've never had a woman knock me flat like that. I can't quit thinking about her." I laughed so hard tears spurted from my eyes as I thought about hard ass Delia Travers getting all cozy with Darvis Weilchek. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eleven **** "Nervous?" I asked. "Not really. You?" "Why should I be nervous? I don't have to get on the witness stand." She sat at the table in the law library room that we'd visited already. The first time when I had kissed her against the wall, the second time when she had roughed me up so bad mentally Delia had reassigned me. We were stuck here until the bailiff came to get her. "You're acting nervous," she commented as I paced the length of the room. "I'm not." "You are. I'll be okay. As soon as I testify, everything will be okay." Confidence filled her tone. I perched on the edge of the table and studied her. "What makes you say that?" "Well," she shrugged. "I will have said what I know, put Ford Daniels at the scene. He goes to jail, and I'll be safe." I shook my head at her naivety. "Except you're forgetting one thing. Ford Daniels isn't the one who put the bomb on your porch. He's been in jail all this time." "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." 180

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"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 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." 181

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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?" 182

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"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 183

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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?" 184

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"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." 185

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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 **** Abigail 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." 186

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"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. 187

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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?" 188

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"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 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 189

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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. 190

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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. 191

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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 192

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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. "Did this happen in the fire?" She whispered. "Yes." "Oh, Scott, how did you possibly make it out alive?" "Dumb luck." Her fingers moved southward and her arms tightened around my waist. "I'm so glad. I'm so glad to know you, Scott Thomas McIntyre." "I'm nothing special." "Everything about you is special." She tugged at the towel, and it fell. Not that I wanted it to. I didn't want her pity or her compassion or her damned admiration. I didn't want making love to her to be about what I had done in the line of duty. I didn't want it to be about anything, but because she wanted me as a woman wants a man, because she cared about this guy who was standing in front of her now, because she felt a small piece of what I felt for her. I gripped her arms to move her away from me so I could tell her all of those things, but the words stuck like a big 193

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cotton ball in my throat. Her eyes stared into me, and it wasn't admiration or pity I saw. It was a feeling I recognized. Hunger. Yes. Instead of pushing her away, I pulled her closer, my mouth closing around hers and tasting that sweetness. I picked her up and carried her into my room. Setting her on the bed, I lay down next to her, tugged at her shirt, and lifted it over her head. The hall light came on. We froze. "Who's here?" she whispered, gripping my arm. I growled and pulled the covers over us. Footsteps. "Who's here?" my mom's voice called down the hall. Abigail's eyes met mine, and she bit her lip stifling a giggle I'm sure. "It's me, Mom," I called back still watching Abigail in the light coming in from the hall. She covered her mouth with her hands, but not before one of those giggles escaped. The footsteps came closer. "Scotty?" "Yes, Mom." She appeared in the doorway. "Hi, son." She spotted Abigail. "Oh. Hello." "Hi." Abigail waved. She sat up, but held the covers to her. "I'm Abigail. Sorry if we woke you." I sat up. Man. I was reliving a scene from the eleventh grade. Different girl. Same bed. Same predicament. Hopefully, Mom had mellowed since then. Fourteen years ago she had called my girlfriend's mom and dad. 194

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"That's okay, dear. Do you all need anything?" "No." Privacy. That would be nice. "Okay. See you in the morning. Glad to have you home." "It's good to be home." I surprised myself by realizing I meant it. Mom walked back toward the stairs leading to the main floor. I listened as her feet climbed the stairs, the light went out, and the door closed. I lay back and sighed. Abigail laughed. I waited for the laughter to subside. It didn't. "It's not that funny." She lay down and sidled up to me. "Oh, yes it is, Scotty." Her foot stroked my calf. One hand moved over my chest, finger tips tracing patterns in the hair. I captured her hand and held it against my heart. She moved closer so that her chin was resting on me, close to my face. "When's the last time you were home?" "It's been a long time. Maybe three years." "Why?" I didn't answer because I didn't really know. I got along with everyone. Mom always made me feel like I still had a place here. I enjoyed seeing Mary Elizabeth, my other sister, and her kids. They lived next door, if you can believe it. I was the problem. Not any of them. "Don't you like your family?" Her fingers intertwined with mine. "Of course, I do. I'm the one who's screwed up." "Everybody's screwed up. Everybody has problems. Look at me. I'm like Calamity Jane." 195

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As dark as it was in the room, we couldn't see each other. I reached forward with my other hand and stroked her hair. "Why did you bring me here?" "Because I knew you'd be safe, and I could be close by." "Always riding to the rescue to save the world." "No. This isn't about my job or being the hero." "What is it about?" I sighed deeply. "Instinct. Something about you makes me act on instinct. I don't know why." "Maybe you like me." "Maybe." "Maybe we should get some sleep. Let you figure it out." I must be nuts. I was naked with a nearly naked woman, and the idea of sleep sounded great. "You're tired. I know you are. Why don't I go in the other room and let you sleep in here?" "No. Please. Will you stay here with me?" "Okay, but I'm putting my shirt back on." She sat up, felt around on the bed, and found it. "I don't sleep well without clothes." The rustling told me she had pulled on the shirt. I wasn't concerned. I took it off once. It would be no problem to get it off again. "Turn on your side." Obediently, I did so, liking this arrangement already. "No, other side." Away from her? "Why?" "Because you're naked, and we're going to sleep." "You're the one who pulled the towel off, babe." I turned and faced the wall. I hadn't slept longer than an hour and a 196

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half stretch in two years. I'd take a short nap then do what I'd been fantasizing about since we had been closed up in the pantry. "I'll give you an hour to rest. Then get ready to finish what we started in the bathroom." I yawned which probably took the punch out of my promise. Abigail yawned in response. "I'll hold you to it, big boy." Her sarcastic tone belied her words but she patted my arm to soften the comment. I closed my eyes and grinned. I liked sleeping with Abigail even when it was just sleeping. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twelve **** I woke up alone. Light from the window slanted high along the wall. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked at my watch. Two o'clock? Two o'clock. My stomach rumbled. No wonder. I hadn't eaten since supper last night. I dressed and went upstairs wondering how Abigail was getting along with Mom. When I entered the great room, Mom, Mary Elizabeth who we all called MeMe, her daughter Amanda, and Abigail were gathered in the sitting area chattering and laughing. When they noticed me, the conversation ceased. "Well, look who decided to wake up." MeMe crossed the room and hugged me. "Hi, Sis." Mom was right behind her. She hugged both of us. "I am so glad to see you." "Mom. Good to see you, although it's not a good idea for you to come investigate noises in the basement by yourself. What if we had been a burglar?" "See? What did I tell you? A lecture about security." Mom wrinkled her nose at me and pinched my arm. "Come on. I'll bet you're hungry. You missed breakfast and lunch." "Why didn't you wake me up?" I watched Abigail. Her feet were tucked underneath her in a comfortable pose. 198

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"Abigail said you drove most of the night. We thought you should sleep." A screech came from Amanda. I'd never met her, only seen pictures on MeMe's face book. Amanda sat on the floor eyeing me. MeMe strode over and picked her up. "This is your Uncle Scotty, baby. Can you say, 'Hello'?" She brought her over. Amanda turned her face away from me. "Oh, Amanda. Don't be shy. Uncle Scotty is my big brother, just like Daniel is your big brother." "Give her a break. She doesn't know who I am." "Maybe she will, though." I looked from daughter to mother who gazed at me with hopeful eyes. "What do you know?" I groused. "I know I can get to Stone Rand in twenty minutes." Abigail grinned from her place on the couch. What else did she tell? "Scotty? Come on," Mom called from the kitchen. "I've got you a plate on the table." Being back at Mom's was surreal. It was homey and comfortable, but unease settled on my spine. I used my nervous energy changing light bulbs and cleaning out the rain gutters on the roof. Tank, MeMe's husband, and their older kid Daniel came over that evening and ate supper. So much family togetherness began to stifle me, so I went outside and walked the property line. Abigail found me in the backyard. A street light on a pole in MeMe and Tank's yard provided enough light 199

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to see. Under the big oak tree, she paused at the swing hanging from one of its branches. Sitting down, she commanded, "Push me." "You're going to swing?" I asked in disbelief. "Yeah. It's fun. Come on." I did, and soon she was moving higher than my head. I watched her, loving her zest for life, her ability to see the lighter side of any situation. She stopped pumping her legs and put her feet down to stop her motion. Standing up, she held the chain. "Now you." "No way." "Why not?" "I'm too old. I'm too big." "Oh, you are not. The branch didn't even move when I sat on it." "Yeah, well, I probably weigh a good hundred pounds more than you." "You're not chicken, are you?" "No. I'm not chicken. I just don't want to do it." "Who doesn't love to swing? I bet you loved it when you were a kid." "Sure, I did. I spent hours out here. But I'm a grown up now." "Sit down. Let's see if the branch creaks." "I'm not doing it." "If you do it, I'll do whatever you want." "Like what?" "Name it, Scott Thomas," she purred. 200

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"Your bra. Take it off, and give it to me. I'll sit in the swing." She grinned this beautifully wicked smile and reached her arms behind her back. The movement thrust her breasts forward. There was a soft snap and she reached into one sleeve, took off one strap, then reached into the other sleeve, and pulled the bra out. Impressive. She threw the garment at me, and I caught it with one hand. Grasping it in my fist, I sat down and moved slightly with my heels. No creaks. She folded her arms across her chest inhibiting my view of her breasts against the shirt. "Okay. Now, swing." "You said sit. That's all I agreed to." I rubbed my fingers back and forth over the material. It was still warm from being next to her skin. Her eyes flicked to my hand on her bra. "Fine. What else do you want?" "Shirt." "No way! Your mom could see us if she looked out the back window." "You'll be in the shade of the tree. No one can see you. Except me. You're not chicken, are you?" "I'm not chicken, but it's kind of chilly out here." "Panties, then." She made a sound of disbelief. "How am I going to get my panties off? I'm wearing pants." "Oh, I bet you can do it. That bra trick was incredible." 201

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Abigail looked around trying to decide how exposed she would be. The lot was a large one, two acres with woods on the back part of it. She moved behind the massive oak, and I had a brief flash of a bent knee. I jumped up and stepped around the tree in enough time to see the ivory skin of a nicely rounded ass. "You're supposed to stay in the swing," she hissed as she shoved one leg into her pants, then the other. "I don't remember agreeing to that." Too quickly the pants were back on. And I'd only had the one glimpse. Damn her long shirt. She held the panties up. "See? Now do it." "In my hand." I held it out to her. "Geez. What I have to do to get you to loosen up." She tossed me the panties. Without ever breaking eye contact with her, I caught them. With deliberate slowness, I brought them to my face, and inhaled her scent watching her as I did so. Her eyes widened. I think it's the first time I've ever seen her shocked. I smiled, turned on my heel, and sat on the swing. I leaned back and straightened my legs out, pumping back and forth, and listening to any creaking signs that the branch wouldn't hold my weight. Sturdy. Good. Yes. I liked what she had to do to get me to loosen up. I liked it very much. We came back inside a little while later. Abigail was still without underwear. When she had asked for it back, I had 202

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thrown it into the branches of the oak tree where it hung beyond reach. I thought it a good indicator that I was getting loosened up. Mom had gone next door so we were alone in the house. "Is this your sister, Sarah?" Abigail asked looking at a framed photograph of us as toddlers. I stiffened. "What do you know about her?" "Your mom told me you had a twin sister and that she died your senior year in high school." I didn't reply. "It must have been very hard on the whole family. Especially you." "Harder on my parents." "You shared a womb with her. You had to be close." I strode to the stairs leading to the basement. I heard her set the picture down and follow me. Ignoring her, I went into the room where my suitcase was and looked around for anything to pack. "What are you doing?" "Getting my stuff together. Tomorrow I'm going to work and finding a place to stay." "That makes no sense. You have a place to stay here." "I'll be working in Stone Rand." "Which is, what, twenty minutes away?" I zipped up my bag. "Do you mind if I take your car tomorrow?" "Why do you hate it here so much? Is it because of what happened to Sarah?" "What did Mom tell you?" 203

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"She said you took Sarah's death very hard. Blamed yourself. Why?" I picked up my bag and left the room. I set it next to the back door so it would be ready to go tomorrow. Abigail's arms reached around me and closed around my waist, her body warm against my back. "Tell me about it, Scott. I want to know. I want to help." A wave of regret and shame hoisted a deep-lung sigh from me. "You can't help. It happened too long ago. Sarah got in with the wrong crowd. She killed herself while driving under the influence a week before graduation." "How was that your fault?" "I had told her she needed to choose between her family and her druggie friends. It was the last thing I said to her." Abigail's arms tightened. "My dad died of a heart attack that summer. It was a terrible year for all of us." Her hands tugged at my shirt, untucking it, and moving underneath. "It wasn't your fault. Sarah made some really dumb decisions. You're not to blame." I knew that, but I didn't believe it. Abigail removed her arms and tugged me away from the door and into my old room. "Sit." I sat on the edge of the bed and gazed up at her standing in front of me. "You need to let go of Sarah and what happened. You've still got family here. Not everyone died that year. You're missing out, Scott. Don't you see?" 204

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"It isn't that easy," I admitted. "Of course it isn't. But working in Stone Rand is an opportunity to rebuild a relationship with your family. It'll take some time, but you've got to try. Staying at a hotel isn't the way to do that." I reached forward, pulled her to me, and buried my face into her shirt. "You know what they called you at the ATF office?" "What?" "Joan of Arc. You grab a hold of a cause, and you never let it go." She snickered. "Joan of Arc. I like that." "How far is Joan willing to go to save the day?" I moved one hand under her shirt and gazed up at her. She smirked down at me. "You got me all wrong, Scott Thomas. You're not one of my causes." She slid one knee across my leg propping herself on my lap. "What am I?" I pulled until she straddled me. Oh, yes. I liked this, and yet I waited for her answer. "You're someone who has saved my life more than once. You're someone who came back when you knew I needed you." I pushed her off me and onto the bed. "Why does that bother you for me to say that?" "Because I don't want your gratitude." "What do you want?" I sighed because I couldn't express it. Abigail leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Without another word, she patted my shoulder, stood up and left the room. I heard 205

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her go in the bathroom. Water ran in the sink for a few minutes and the shower turned on. I stood up and poked my head out of the room. The door was open. Hmm. Was it an invitation? The door upstairs opened. "Scotty?" Shit. "Yeah, mom?" "You all aren't in bed yet, are you?" "No, Mom." "I need a hand up here. Want to come upstairs?" No, Mom. But of course I would. Dammit. I could have showered with Abigail. I bounded up the stairs before I could change my mind. Mom stood on the landing going up to the second floor. "Can I get you to go up in the attic for me? There's a box I've been meaning to get up there." I walked up the next flight of stairs and pulled on the cord hanging from the ceiling which let the attic ladder down. Unfolding it, I asked her what the box looked like, and she described it and its location. With no problem I found the box and brought it down for her, setting it on the floor in the hall. "Where do you want it?" "There is fine. I'll do something with it later. Is Abigail asleep?" "No. She's taking a shower." "Oh. Let me fix you some coffee." "No, Mom. I think I'm about ready to—" 206

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"You used to love half coffee and half milk before bed. You said it helped you sleep hard and wake up refreshed. You don't like coffee anymore?" She watched me with a wary expression. I remembered what Abigail had said about building relationships. Didn't this woman deserve more than what I was giving her? "Sure, Mom. Coffee sounds good." A smile broadened her face. She held the rail and walked with careful steps down the stairs. I noticed she favored one side. "Did you hurt your leg?" "I had a knee replacement a few months ago." Guilt blanketed me. I tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. Man. She deserved so much better. "I'm doing a lot better now." We entered the kitchen, and she commanded me to sit at the table. I watched her pour water in the coffee maker and take two cups from the cabinet. "Mom?" "Yes?" "I'm sorry I'm such a terrible son. I guess you lost me the same year you lost Sarah and Dad." Mom went to the refrigerator and took out the milk which she poured into the cups. "I didn't really lose you. Maybe just misplaced you for a while." She smiled as she said it. "I've not really been back since I went to college." "Do you think the position in Stone Rand is a permanent one?" 207

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"I don't know. It's not undercover. I think I'm done with that. This last assignment was hard." "I guess that's where you met Abigail." "Yes." "Nice girl. Very outgoing." "To her detriment, I think." Mom laughed. "She's welcome as long as she wants to stay. Of course, you are, too. You know that, I hope." "You hadn't moved the key on me. Still, it makes me uneasy that anyone could come in on you. The ledge is the first place someone would look for a key." "I'd think they'd look under a rock. Isn't that where people usually hide a key?" "There are no rocks by the back door." "You think I should put a few back there to confuse the burglar?" She placed the cup of coffee in front of me. When I looked up at her, she winked. I laughed, glad to be with my mom again. She asked about my last case, and I told her as much as I could without scaring her as to how close I had come to dying in the fire, getting shot inside a banger's hang out, or getting the crap beat out of me by bored teenagers while sleeping under a bridge. I asked her about her knee surgery and how the rest of the family was doing—my older brother and his family in Mississippi, my grandpa, and aunts, uncles, and cousins Mom still kept up with. It was close to midnight when I went downstairs. I got ready for bed noting Abigail's door was ajar. I turned off the hall light and stood for a moment wondering if I should go in 208

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my old room to Abigail. What was the worst that could happen? She'd kick me out. What was the best that could happen? She wouldn't kick me out. I took a deep breath and went in, closing the door behind me. In the darkness, I could barely make out her form on the bed. I hesitated thinking how stupid it was to be afraid of having her reject me when I had stared down criminals ready to fight to the death if I had to. Abigail I wanted. My heart thumped so hard I heard it. "What'cha waiting on?" Her voice was soft, lilting, affectionate. I knelt on the bed. She sat up and wrapped her arms around me. When our lips met, it was different from every other time we had kissed. In the courthouse and her apartment, we had been fervent, nearly out of control—hyped on surprise or anger or grabbing the moment that maybe wasn't going to happen again. This kiss was unhurried, gentle, basking in each other. I know it's a cliche to say it, but it had never been like this for me before. I didn't want to hurry. I didn't want it to be just about getting off. I wanted it to mean something to her because it meant something to me. I ran my fingers along her skin, reveling in how soft she was, the satin smooth texture of her body. I broke our kiss and moved to her neck realizing as my hand grazed her thigh she still had on no panties, just the T-shirt. I pulled it up and off of her. I liked her like this—naked and against me. I held her and kissed her again, tasting her sweetness. With almost no sight, we explored each other in touch and taste. Even her 209

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foot rubbed invitingly on my calf. I brought her leg up, touched the flesh at the bend under her knee with my thumb making her shiver. See, the thing about being celibate for so many years was I imagined all the parts of a woman, all the places that might be soft to the touch and may need extra care. A lot of guys go for the breasts, the vagina, and the ass and that's it. What they don't realize is how sensitive a woman's ear lobe is, for example. Or, the skin on the side of her ankle. Or the flesh inside the upper arm between the elbow and the arm pit. I loved every one of those parts of Abigail with fingers and tongue. I worshiped her as a man who had seen her for months, who had only very rarely been able to be close enough to touch her. I cherished her as though we had our entire lives to spend making love and as though the world was going to end tomorrow. I gave it all to her. I sucked the tender flesh of one inner thigh and the other until she grabbed my head and guided me into her. I tasted her, holding her until her whole body shook and she laughed out loud. There was nothing better than Abigail's soft chuckle and her accompanying sigh when I made love to her. With a self-congratulatory grin as her sigh rang in my ears, I took a leisurely path to thigh, hip, across her rib cage, to her back then pulled her to me and spooned her. Her body was as limp as a bath cloth after a thirty minute shower, another sign I had done right by her. It felt good. Maybe it was moments later or hours, I didn't know, she turned, reached for me, and we came together for real this 210

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time. I fell asleep with her sprawled across me like a warm and comfortable, but very sexy blanket. "Do you have to go?" "Yes. I talked to the ASAC, that's the Area Special Agent in Charge. He wants to meet me today." She didn't respond. I glanced back at her. She lay in the bed, the sheet covering most of her, but one leg, bent at the knee was bare. My mouth went dry. I almost jerked off the tie I had just put on and even took a step toward the bed to crawl next to her and love her again. Down, boy. Unaware of what a tempting sight she was to me, Abigail stared at the ceiling. "I'll try to be back by one. We can eat a late lunch." "Food wasn't what I had in mind," she grumbled. "Me neither." She met my eyes and grinned. She raised up on her elbows. The sheet slipped an inch revealing the pale skin below her collar bone, the beginnings of her breasts. "Sure you can't be a little late?" I swallowed hard and walked from the room. "I'll get back as soon as I can," I called from the hall trying to sound like it was no problem to leave her, trying to act like she hadn't tilted the axis of my world in a most amazing way. At the ATF headquarters, I met Dixon Betts, a guy in his early forties with a receding hair line and squinty brown eyes. He shook my hand firmly and invited me into his office.

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"So." He sat back with hands clasped behind his head. "You come with a glowing recommendation from Delia Travers. I was at the academy with her." "Yeah?" I wondered if she had ever kicked his ass. "She broke my arm." I smirked. I guess I had my answer. "Good agent, though. Hear you all did some fine work with the gangs down there. Has the jury come back on the case?" "Not yet." I had called Bryant this morning on the way to the office. Closing arguments were yesterday with instructions from the judge to the jury and deliberations. They hadn't been sequestered so deliberations would continue Monday. "Well, let's get to it then. I'd rather not be here all day on a Saturday." He sat forward and stood up. "But I can show you a few things. Give you a taste of how it is around here." I couldn't wait to get back to Abigail. Most of the miles back had been spent trying to figure out how to hole up with her in the basement for the rest of the weekend without having Mom interrupt us. The best idea I had was taking Abigail to a hotel in Stone Rand. Before I even opened the door, I could hear Amanda screaming. I walked inside and saw every toy ever made in China covering the floor. Abigail entered the room from the kitchen with a crying and red faced Amanda on her hip. I strode toward them. "What happened? Where's MeMe? Where's Mom?" "They went to Daniel's soccer game." "What? And left you with Amanda?" I couldn't believe it. 212

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"Oh, I offered. Like an idiot. I don't know what I was thinking." "What's wrong with her?" "I don't know. She's been doing this for about forty-five minutes now. I've tried to feed her, change her, play with her. She hates me." "She's a baby. What's she know about hate?" I eyed Amanda critically. She turned away from me and stiffened her little body. She took a deep breath and let out another bellow. "Here. You take her." I stepped back. "I don't know anything about babies." "What? And you think I do?" "Why did you agree to babysit?" "Well, she was so happy before. A great little kid, and I thought, 'How much trouble could she be?' Boy, was I wrong." "Did you call MeMe?" "I can't call her. She'll think I'm an idiot." I snorted. "I'll vouch for you. Where's her number?" I pulled out my cell phone while Abigail went to get the number. I called, and MeMe answered on the first ring. "MeMe, get back here and do something with your kid. She's screaming her head off." "Oh, hi, Scotty. Can you guys wait about fifteen minutes? The game is almost over." "No, we can't wait. I think she's going to hyperventilate or something. You need to come back now." "I'm sure she's fine. Have you checked her diaper?" 213

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I growled. "Well? Have you?" I hung up and pocketed the phone. "Come on. They're at the school. We'll take her to her mom." We walked out the door to Abigail's car. Her eyes met mine over the top of the car. "What about a car seat?" "Let's just belt her in the backseat." "I don't think it's safe." Amanda howled. Something had to be wrong to make a kid bellow like that. I snapped my fingers. "Mom's car. She's got car seats." I ran inside, retrieved the keys, and was at her vehicle in less than a minute. Abigail and Amanda disappeared inside the back. "Do you know how this car seat works?" Abigail's voice reached me over Amanda's wails. I opened the other door and leaned in. The baby's face was red, her hair wet with sweat. Should we just take her to the hospital? Call an ambulance? My hands shook as I pulled the little belt from her back and over her shoulders. Shit. I couldn't believe a baby was scaring the hell out of me. What was wrong with her? The buckle snapped in the front and between her legs securing the car seat. Damn thing was tighter than Fort Knox. When I climbed into the front and started the car, I rolled down the windows hoping some of the sound would escape. How had Abigail stood this for forty-five minutes? How had MeMe stood it for twelve months? Gravel shot out from under the tires as I stomped the gas. 214

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"Uncle Scotty, slow down. You hurt one hair on this baby's head, and MeMe will kill both of us." I ignored the threat and drove the ten blocks to my Alma Mater, Finch Elementary School. From the backseat, Abigail crooned, and Amanda stopped screaming for the first time since I had gotten to the house. She took a shuttering breath, made some horrible disgusting sound, and was quiet. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure she wasn't dead. The baby was slumped over the side of the car seat. Abigail's surprised expression met mine. I turned back to the road before I wrecked. "Is she okay?" "She's still breathing." I pulled into the parking lot of the school, parked, and turned back around with the engine idling. Abigail wore an expression of relief. "I think she's asleep." "Let's take her to her mom." "No way. I'm not moving this kid and risk waking her up. Why don't you go tell MeMe we're here and to come get Amanda when they get ready to leave?" "Okay." Thankful to have a plan which involved letting sleeping children lie, I strode toward the field looking for familiar faces. "Scott? Scott McIntyre? It is you." An older Tamara Simpson approached me. I smiled back. Tamara had been the gal mom had caught me in bed with in eleventh grade. "Tamara Simpson. I was just thinking about you." 215

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She laughed. "It's Tamara Fisher now. I married Donnie." Donnie Fisher? He had been one of my best friends in high school. "I didn't know he had a thing for you." She caught my arm and began pulling me toward a throng of people. "He's here. Come say, 'hello.' Donnie? Hey, look who I found." A rotund guy grinned at us. "Well. Scotty McIntyre. Look at you in a suit. Ha! You haven't changed a bit." "You have." Donnie laughed and patted his large stomach. "Tammy's fattened me up. Haven't you, honey?" "You guys have kids on the soccer team?" "Yeah. Eleanor and Daniel are on the same team. This," Tamara indicated a girl about ten years old. "is Gerri. And the three year old running across the field is Ashton. I better go get her before she disrupts the game." I watched Tamara go after the little carbon copy of herself. "Hey, man. You didn't make it to the ten year reunion." "No. I think I was in New Mexico at the time." "MeMe said you were in the ATF. Pretty impressive." "What do you do?" "U.P.S. Tammy teaches at the high school." Geez. I couldn't believe it. Tamara and Donnie. And they had kids. I spotted MeMe, Tank, and Mom. "Hey, good to see you, Donnie." "Yeah. How long you in town? Maybe we can go out for a beer or something?" "I'd like that." Donnie reached into his pocket. "What's your number?" 216

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I recited it, and he punched in numbers. My cell phone rang. "Okay, man. You got my number. Call me when you're free." He closed his phone, then reached forward to shake my hand. "I'm glad we ran into you. It's been too long." Yeah, it had been. The game was over. The family walked toward me. Mom reached me first. "Where are Abby and Amanda?" I noted the nickname and wondered if Abigail would mind. "In the car." MeMe caught up. "It was her diaper, wasn't it?" In a big group, we made our way back to the parking area. "No, it wasn't her diaper. Abigail had already checked it. She let out this monstrous burp in the car and fell asleep." "Who, Abigail?" Tank asked slapping me on the back. Tank and MeMe had known each other since grade school. The little runt had practically grown up in our house. Along about middle school MeMe declared she was going to marry Tank, so none of us was surprised when it happened. I returned his look. "No, smart ass. Your daughter." "Scotty," Mom warned casting a glance at Daniel who grinned up at me. "Sorry," I said to Mom then to my sister, "MeMe, I think you need to take Amanda to the doctor. Something's wrong with that kid." "Nothing's wrong with her. She just had some gas on her tummy. Sometimes she's gassy," MeMe informed me. "Takes after her old man," Tank grinned. 217

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"Tank, that burp even put you to shame. I swear it shook the car." He sighed contentedly. "That little girl makes me so proud. Burpzilla. That's what I wanted to name her, but MeMe insisted on Amanda." I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Can we quit talking about burps and go get pizza? I'm starving," the little boy declared. "Me, too," I agreed with my nephew. I spotted Abigail still in the backseat of the car. She reached her hand out the window and waved at us. "Hi," I greeted her. She smiled up at me, Amanda asleep next to her. I opened the door and crouched in to retrieve her. The baby's complexion was back to normal, her mouth gaping with a line of drool to the belt. Maybe I shouldn't pick her up. She might start crying again. I'd rather avoid that scenario. Still. Abigail's face was close to mine. I thought about kissing her since I was here anyway. And she did have a damn beautiful mouth. She shifted a bit. "Here." She unbuckled the car seat and moved the belts away from Amanda. Picking her up, Abigail leaned forward to give her to me. Feeling all thumbs as I believe this was the first time I'd ever held a baby, I tucked her close to me like a football, backed out of the car, and was ready to hand her off to MeMe before Amanda stirred and got a good scream going. I sighed 218

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in relief when MeMe had her, still asleep, and brought her against her shoulder. Abigail exited the car and stood next to me. "Pizza. Pizza. Pizza." Daniel jumped up and down. I turned to look at Abigail and realized to my surprise, I had my arm around her waist, my hand cupping her hip. "You want to go eat pizza?" Her eyes sparkled at me, and I was reminded of the conversation from this morning. "I'd love to," she murmured, though with that look she was giving me I had a pretty good idea what she'd love to do, and it wasn't eating pizza. I concurred. "So, we'll meet you at the pizza place on Westcott Avenue?" Tank called to me as they started walking to their minivan. Nope. In the car by ourselves, I approached the subject with about as much tact as a herd of stampeding elephants. "If we go straight back to the house, I figure we have about an hour of uninterrupted sex before they get back." Abigail laughed. I stared at her in disbelief. Had I imagined that hot 'take me now' look just a minute ago? "What's so funny?" "Just drive on to the pizza parlor because we're not blowing off your family." "We'll just tell them we changed our minds." 219

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"Your nephew spotted my underwear in the tree, and he and Tank spent nearly an hour retrieving it this morning. If we don't show up they are going to know exactly why, so, no, we're not going back for an hour of uninterrupted sex in your Mama's basement." "I guess it's my fault for throwing them into the tree." "Yes, it is." I was sorry we weren't going back to the house, but I wasn't sorry for losing her underwear. I hadn't packed any bras for her, so I knew the one she was wearing was the only one she had. Studying her shirt and contained breasts beneath it, I wished Daniel hadn't had such keen eyesight. I tried again, dropping my voice. "How about us going to Sachel Lake? I hear they have a very nice bed and breakfast. We can hole up there for the rest of the weekend." "Pizza parlor, Scott Thomas, and step on it. I'm hungry for food." I started the car and headed toward Westcott Avenue, but I wasn't giving up. We beat the family there, and the waitress showed us to a large corner booth. Abigail slid onto the bench, and I followed. She gave me a curious glance when I scooted next to her, our thighs touching. I wasted no time, moving my hand to her leg and up her thigh. My thumb found the seam of her pants, and I stroked up and down that seam. Leaning into her, I brought my lips to her ear. "Go with me to Sachel Lake after lunch." "Don't tempt me." 220

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Abigail took my hand, slid away several inches, and clasped my hand in between us. She didn't want me playing with her lap? No problem. I didn't mind her playing with mine. I turned her hand over in mine and placed it on my crotch, giving her no doubt about who was tempting whom. I heard commotion and watched the ill timed arrival of my family, Mom holding Burpzilla, Daniel running full force, Tank and MeMe bringing up the rear. Abigail snatched her hand away. Reaching us first, Daniel dove toward the bench, knocked the table, and turned over my drink. As ice water soaked my pants, I sucked in a breath. Yep, that helped. Later at the house, we gathered on Mom's big front porch. I hadn't brought up Sachel Lake again because even with wet pants, lunch had been fun. I liked my family. I enjoyed watching the kids and the ease of sitting and eating with people who cared about me. After the meal it seemed so natural to gather at Mom's. Daniel challenged me to a game of checkers, and being only seven, the kid was pretty good. It was one of those lazy days that for a while fools you into thinking how incredibly good and at peace the world is. And Abigail was right there with me. She and Amanda had made friends again, and the toddler had one of Abigail's fingers in each of her fists trying her hardest to walk toward MeMe. Tank was showing Mom how to use the laptop they had bought her for her birthday as he fussed at her for not even turning it on in the month she had had it.

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"I don't know why you bought me one anyway. What do I need a laptop for?" Mom asked as Tank showed her again how the touchpad worked. "For times just like these. You want to check email, but you don't want to go inside to do it," he returned. "I'll have to go inside to get the laptop, won't I? I certainly can't keep it out here." "No, you shouldn't keep it on the porch. However, you can work on the computer without being tied to the desk. Say, you're watching Amanda, and you want to check the weather or something." "I can't play on the computer while I'm watching Amanda." "Sure, you can, because you'll have the laptop." I looked over at my sister. "Do you leave this guy alone with your kids?" "Yeah, but I take his laptop with me, or else I'm liable to find them in the road while he's playing Fantasy Football." "Okay, Uncle Scotty," Daniel declared, "Crown me." Those were the sweetest moments. I cradled Abigail at my side the next morning while we lay in bed. I knew the second she awoke because her breathing changed, a deep breath, a yawn, and a body stretch. We hadn't spoken yet, just a sleepy smile as she gazed at me. Under the covers, her arm tightened around my chest, and her fingers trailed to my stomach. "Scotty? Abby? Breakfast." Mom called from down the stairs. Abigail snickered. 222

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"Will she come get us if we don't go up there?" Abigail's hand dipped lower. "Yes." "We should get up then." She removed her hand and sat up stretching again. I sat up, too, and pulled her back against me brushing aside her hair and kissing the nape of her neck. "Let's go to Sachel Lake after breakfast. We could stay in bed until breakfast tomorrow." She held my hands which at that moment were covering her breasts, removed them, and turned to face me. "I need to talk to you about something." In the dim room, I considered this woman before me. I knew myself well enough to realize I couldn't have a rational conversation with her—and me—naked. Why waste the opportunity? "Let's talk later. We've got about five minutes before we get the second warning and another three before she comes down here." I reached for her, but she caught my hand in hers. "I'll go with you to Satchel Lake today, but after that, I'm going to Clavania in the morning." I pulled my hand away, pushed the covers back, and slid from the bed. "No." Going to my suitcase, I pulled out underwear and a pair of jeans. "I can't keep missing work. They're going to fire me for good this time." I slipped on the clothes. I walked in the bathroom briefly and came back into the bedroom to open a dresser drawer. I pulled out a T-shirt Mom kept there from when I was in high 223

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school. By this time, Abigail had gotten out of bed as well and covered herself with a towel. "Your job is secure." From the mirror, her eyes narrowed at me. Her spine straightened, her shoulders back, and one hand held that towel to her chest. "What did you do? Send Special Agent Travers in to beat up poor Dale Potter? No wonder that man was willing to give me a freakin' executive parking space." I turned to face her, struggling to keep my voice even, calm. "Nobody beat him up. We just encouraged him to...reconsider your termination." She hit her forehead and made a frustrated sound. "Strong arm tactics. Shame on you." "No duress. Nothing like that. Dale Potter knows you're a good employee." "A good employee who knows she needs to get back to work. I have bills to pay, plants to water. I need to get back to my life." "They haven't caught whoever threatened you. You're not leaving until they at least have a lead." "Which may be never, Scott." She was adamant. "With the ATF and police working together? They'll find the perp, and you can go then." "I can't wait for something that may not happen. I can't keep letting those bullies run my life. I'm going home." She walked toward the bathroom, but I blocked her. "No. You're not." Absolutely not. "I am." She refused to meet my eyes, her chin stubbornly set. 224

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"You're not leaving." "I am, and you can't stop me." If she had been yelling at me, I could have taken it, but she was composed. She had made up her mind, her stubborn, idiotic mind that was going to get herself killed. "I can't lose you. I love you!" Who was more shocked by my admission? Abigail's surprised expression mirrored my own astonishment. "Dammit," I ground out. Turning on my heel, I grabbed her key off the dresser and stalked out the door. Let's see how far she gets without her car. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Thirteen **** He loves me. I sat down on the bed, still clutching the towel to me and hearing Scott slam the back door as he left with my car key. He loves me, and he isn't happy about it. What was I supposed to do? I needed to get back home. I couldn't leave my life in limbo in Clavania while I shacked up with Scott in his mom's basement. I stood back up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. I did love him. Of course, I did. I owed him my life. I owed him everything. Without a doubt, he had my heart, too. I had spent too much time and energy searching for him not to love him when I found him. And especially when I found out how much of a hero he was, noble and brave and selfless. But things weren't settled. Lola had told me months ago I should offer him the kind of help he needed. I still thought that help was a home. I was too much of a distraction for him to get to know his family again and make a home for himself, and I knew it. I didn't care so much about going back to work, but I did have a life in Clavania. And, until Scott worked things out with his family, that's where I was going to stay. I finished getting ready trying to figure out what to do about Scott. When was he coming back? What should I say to him when he did? 226

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Slow footsteps on the stairs alerted me that Mrs. McIntyre was coming to see why we hadn't made it up for breakfast. She stood at the door as I closed my suitcase. "Are you leaving today?" "Well," I sighed and looked at her. "It depends on whether Scott brings my car back or not." "Yes. I saw him tear out of here. I thought you might have been with him." "Now, that would have been rude. Leaving without saying goodbye." "Your mama raised you better than that, huh? Obviously, Scott's mother didn't." I laughed, put my arm around her, and we walked back upstairs. "I'm sure you did your best. Is the offer for breakfast still open?" "Of course." We sat across from each other and ate scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. "Scott doesn't want me to leave, but I think it's time." "You have to get back to work?" "Yes." "You two didn't talk about how long you'd be here?" I contemplated how to tell Mrs. McIntyre that her son had, for all intents and purposes, kidnapped me to keep me safe. Neither one of us had disclosed why Scott had brought me here. Because of our sleeping arrangements, they had assumed I was his girlfriend. I guess I was his girlfriend. I smiled liking the sound of that. 227

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He loves me. "I appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. McIntyre—" "Please call me Emily," she interrupted. "Emily," I continued. "But it isn't really...er...respectable. This arrangement, I mean. I know Scott has been away a long time, and, well, I think I need to get out of the picture and let him find his place here again." "Is your place not in the picture?" Her kind eyes met mine. I looked down at my empty plate. "Do you know that cliche about if you love something set it free?" "Is that the one where you let it go, and if it comes back then it belongs to you? Or is it the one where if it doesn't come back, you hunt it down and kill it? I've heard both." Wow. I really loved this woman's sense of humor. I returned her smile that she was giving me. "The first one, though the second one has some merit, too, but not in this case." "Okay." "I looked for Scott a long time. He's so duty-bound, that he's kept me close to him to protect me, but I want to be a big girl here and let him go. I think leaving today is the right thing to do." "It's hard to do that when he's got your car." "Yeah. I think that's what he's counting on." Emily stood up and collected our plates. I picked up the glasses, and we carried them to the sink. She ran water over them and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "Come here. I want to show you something." 228

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I followed her into the living room. She reached under the coffee table and pulled a box from underneath toward her. Opening it, she pulled out two red trophy ribbons and handed them to me. Both badges in the middle read, 'Honorable mention.' "Look on the back," Emily suggested. I did so. One had Sarah McIntyre's name on it, with the statement 'For finishing the race.' The other had Scott's name on it, with the statement, 'For finishing her race.' What did it mean? I looked at Emily and waited. "The summer before Sarah and Scott's senior year, Sarah was in the state finals for track. The coach had said she was headed to the Olympics. We were all there that day, so proud of her. On the last lap she tripped and fell. She struggled to get up, but she had broken her ankle. To this day, I don't know how she could have done it. It was a really bad break, but she was determined. She started crawling to the finish line. My heavens, I could hardly stand to watch it. But then there was Scott. He picked her up, both of them with tears streaming down their faces, and he walked her to the finish line. It was almost half of the track, close to two hundred meters. He kept telling her, 'We're going to finish this race.' Even from where we were sitting I could hear him. It was one of those terrible and terrific moments. At the school assembly that year, Sarah's track team presented her and Scotty with the ribbons." "Sarah was never the same after that. It took several operations to repair the damage to her foot. She couldn't run any more. And even though Scotty did the best brotherly 229

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thing that day, the most loving thing, it wasn't enough. She started going out with the wrong crowd, and by the following June she was gone. My husband died in July." "Scott said it was a bad year for your family." "Yes, it was. But I still had Scott and MeMe. My older son Andy and his wife had their little boy, my first grandchild Andrew, so that helped. It reminded me that life goes on. Andrew has his grandpa's eyes, as well as having his name. That was a gift in those difficult months." She was quiet for a few moments. I wasn't quite sure what to say. I stared at the ribbons in my hands. Honorable Mention. I'd say so. "I agree that Scotty is duty-bound, but don't sell yourself short. I think you're more than a responsibility to him." I hoped so, but how could I know? The dummy walked out on me. Correction. The dummy stalked out on me. "I'm telling you all this because Scott, in a lot of ways, is still trying to make things okay by what he does in his work. He's never been able to accept that sometimes no matter what we do, we can't save the other person." She had hit the nail on the head, and she didn't even know that he had been in that fire in Clavania. "I think I'll try to call him." And say what? I didn't know. I went downstairs to get my cell phone and left a message on his voice mail. "Scott Thomas, you have one minute to call me back, or I'm calling the cops and reporting my car stolen." 230

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He didn't call me back in the allotted time frame. Man. I hated it when people called my bluff. Maybe I'd give him a few more minutes and report it borrowed with a possible miscommunication. How could he just drop that bomb of loving me and leave like that? Scott still hadn't shown up after an hour. I called him two more times but only got his voice mail. If Emily wasn't so sweet, I would have called the cops on her son, but I knew she'd probably be the one who would have to bail him out. I sat in her kitchen with her, and we drank coffee while I ruminated on him loving me and stealing my car. "I tell you what." Emily stood up, walked to the counter, and brought her purse to the table. "It's time for me to get to church. You drop me off and take my car back to Clavania." I watched her pull her key off her key ring. "I can't take your car." "Yes. Take it. When you're ready to swap, I'll send Scott down for it. How does that sound?" "I can't take your car." "Nonsense. I'll just borrow yours, and you'll borrow mine. And Scott will have to get his own." She smiled at me while she shouldered her purse. "Come on, then. Give me a hug and go get your stuff. If I don't get there by nine, I miss the news in town." I took Emily's car, a Fusion, still wondering about the wisdom of it. What would Scott do when he found out I had gone anyway and in his Mom's car? I was nearly to the Georgia line when blue lights flashed in the rear view mirror. I 231

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looked at the dashboard to check my speed. No. So what was the problem? I slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the road thinking maybe the guy just wanted to get by. No such luck. He parked behind me. I reached into my purse and pulled out my license. Emily had shown me in the church parking lot where in the glove box she kept her insurance card and her car registration. I pulled those out in case I needed them. Rolling down the window, I waited for the state trooper to approach. He did so. "Is there a problem?" I tried to give him my best 'I'm so innocent' look. "We'll see. Is this your vehicle?" "No. I borrowed it from a friend." "Hmm." He looked at my license. Oh, boy. That didn't sound good. "Here." I handed him the papers. "She showed me where the insurance and registration is. Do you need these?" Should I pop the trunk so he'd know I hadn't stuffed Emily back there? "Ms. Benton, stay where you are." He strode back to his car. If Scott McIntyre has reported his mother's car stolen, I'd kill him. I watched the dashboard clock and the man in the police car behind me. How long did it take to contact the DMV to make sure I wasn't an escaped convict? After twenty minutes, I walked back to the police cruiser hoping the cars doing eighty on the interstate wouldn't veer over too far and squash me. 232

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The trooper stepped out of his car as I approached. "Ms Benton, it will be safer for you to stay in your vehicle." Wind from the passing cars blew my hair in my face. Geez. He pulls the only person on the road who was actually doing the speed limit. "Is there a problem? I've got a long way to go before I get home." The Trooper's face broke in a big grin. "There's a rest area about three miles up the Interstate. I'll follow you there, and hopefully, we can wrap this up without having a fatality on the side of the road." "What's the hold up?" "Things are always a little slow on Sunday." I sighed, got in my car, and waited for an opening on the Talledega Speedway. An hour later I was still waiting. An hour. The State Trooper had escorted me into the office where the rest area workers eat their lunch. He excused himself to wait for the DMV to okay me. I could see him sitting in his car from the window. This was ridiculous. To my surprise, I watched my car pull up beside the Trooper's car. Scott got out and walked over to have a brief conversation with him before the Trooper backed out of the parking space, and drove away. A set up. Through a red haze, I watched him approach the building, his face shuttered, the same clothes he had thrown on this morning. My legs shook, so I sat down at the table and waited for him to enter the room. When the door opened and 233

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he walked in, I took a deep breath. How could he have done this to me? "This is police harassment. I'm going to report you and that State Trooper." My voice was calm, controlled. Good. His eyes burned into me. Intense, but not anger and not passion. Something else. He reached into his pocket, walked over to the table, and set something on it. My cell phone. "You stole my car and my cell phone?" "No. You left your cell phone at Mom's." "You had a State Trooper take me into custody so you could give me back my cell phone?" My heart thumped hard in my chest. I wanted to scream and hit him for putting me through all this. "I thought you'd need it." He set my car key beside it. "Here's your key. I'll take Mom's car back to her." My anger deflated, and I slumped. This was it then. No need to meet back up in Clavania at a later date. But you love me. His eyes, those gorgeous eyes, seared into me. "You be careful." He turned to the door, opened it, and walked out. In shock, I couldn't move for about five seconds. Oh, no. He was not going to get the last word this time. I started to run after him, but remembered I still had Emily's key. I watched from the window hoping he didn't have a spare. 234

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He didn't. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. I smirked when he pounded the top of the car with his fist. He stared at the building. I waited. He stood out there a few minutes before striding back. I took the key from my pants pocket and stuffed it in my bra and moved to the back of the room. He walked in with his face hard. Didn't it suck when you had to come back after giving such a great exit line? "I need the car key." I strolled toward him. No, I meandered toward him. I pushed the door closed and locked it. He stepped out of the way before it hit him. "What car key?" I purred. "No games, Abigail. Give me the key, and you can be on your way." "No games? You steal my car so I can't leave. Then you call in a state trooper to detain me. And I'm playing games?" Scott ran his fingers over his scalp and gripped his hair. Then throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender, he exclaimed. "Fine. It was stupid. I was wrong. I wasn't ready for you to go, then you left your damn cell phone, and I knew you'd go on to the community center without it. You need your phone in case something happens. I needed you to have it." His agonized gaze met mine. "For my peace of mind." My heart thawed, my anger dissipated. Oh, my gosh. He's worried about me. I wanted to kiss him. "Thank you. Thank you for bringing it to me." 235

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He shrugged and looked away. "So, if you'll just give me Mom's car key, I'll leave you alone." "You'll have to find it." I stood in front of him and put my arms around his waist. "Here's a hint. It is somewhere on my person." The dam broke. Well, that's the best way I can describe it. His arms went around me, and he picked me up bringing me up against him. Our mouths came together with fury or passion or both. My fingers pulled up the back of his shirt, and I found the edge of the scar and the new soft skin that I suspected was a graft, reminders about how close he came to not being here with me. I wrapped my legs around him and hooked my feet, hearing my shoes hit the floor. Excitement zipped through me when I felt him hard against my body. He growled in satisfaction when his fingers came into contact with the key. With one last hard kiss, he set me on the floor. Breathing hard, he ran his hands up and down my back. "I wish," I said trying to catch my breath. "you would stop walking out on me." "I wish you wouldn't go back to Clavania." "But you know I need to, right? You know I have to." He did know. I saw it in his eyes. Resignation. Acceptance. "I..." He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he gave me a look that curled my toes. "I don't want this to be it, and, I don't want a call from Bryant in a week telling me that some banger has gunned you down." He was afraid. 236

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"What do you want me to do, Scott? I can't hide in your mom's basement forever. I need to get back to my life. And you need to get back to yours." "I thought I was." "Without me. Otherwise you and I spend all of your spare time at Satchel Lake. I have responsibilities in Clavania. I can't just walk away from them." He let go of me and stepped away. Turning to the door, he put his hand on the knob. "If you don't mind, I'll call Bryant and ask him to keep an eye on you." I wouldn't mind it. I'd never admit it to Scott, but I had some trepidation about going back. I didn't want to be gunned down either. "I don't mind." Turning he studied me for a moment, opened the door, and left. Scott had done it again. He had walked out on me. We're really going to have to work on that. I arrived at my apartment with its newly painted door before midnight. Everything was pretty much as I had left it. There was some comfort in knowing that whoever had left the bomb hadn't come back to burn down the building. The next morning, I went into work and tackled the massive pile that was my inbox. I called Mr. Harvey and invited him out to lunch. He accepted. At a little Italian place a few blocks from my work, we sat at a table and enjoyed the breadsticks while we waited on the food we'd ordered. I asked and he told me what had been 237

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happening at the center while I had been gone. I noticed he didn't ask when I was coming back. "I guess you think I shouldn't volunteer there anymore." His wise smile cushioned his words. "I think it would be best for you to wait until the police catch whoever tried to bomb your apartment." "You don't think Angel could be involved, do you? A friend of mine believes it was Angel who hit me in the alley when I had to go to the hospital to get my head stitched up." Mr. Harvey studied me. "They found some spray cans, but there were no fingerprints on file." "Does Angel have a record?" "Not that I know of. He's a minor so any record he does have would be sealed. However, if his fingerprints were on file, and they were on that paint can, the police would have questioned him. I would have heard about it." The waitress brought our food. I smiled my appreciation at her. Since working at Waffle Mania, I had a greater appreciation of those in the restaurant industry. Mr. Harvey and I ate for a few minutes in silence. With half of my shrimp primavera gone, I pushed the rest of the pasta around in the white sauce with my fork. "I believe in the community center. I want to keep working there." "Give it a little time. There's more you can do than being with the kids. You're a CPA. Why don't you help me with the books? That would be a big help." "Sure. I could do that." 238

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Mr. Harvey wiped his mouth and placed his napkin next to his empty plate. He signaled the waitress for the check. When she brought it to the table, he moved it out of my reach. "My treat, Abigail." "But I invited you." "Sorry, young lady. Call me a chauvinist, but when I take a woman out to lunch, I buy." "It's not a date." "No, but we discussed business so I can write it off on my taxes. Would you say so, Ms. CPA?" I laughed. "Yes. It's a legitimate expense." "Good." I studied this dear man sitting across from me. "Do you remember telling me that the kids call you 'Moon Pie'?" The smile faded from his face. He nodded. "It's not an insult, you know. Not like you think. They call you that because you have a hard shell on the outside, but on the inside you're all soft and mushy like a marshmallow." Mr. Harvey's eyebrows rose, his expression shocked. "They think I'm a pushover?" "No. They think you're a moon pie, the perfect blend of crust and marshmallow, hard and soft, respect and love." A big grin creased his face. "Moon Pie. That'd look good on a vanity plate, wouldn't it?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fourteen **** The irony of being home was that my life was still in a holding pattern thanks to Scott. He was obviously not a phone person as I had yet to reach him on his cell. I left messages on his voice mail, but he never called me back. His mom and I had struck up a pretty neat friendship via email. She was one of those kinds of people who forwarded jokes and cute stories. Every once in a while she'd send me a 'real' E-mail about her son. Here were some memorable ones. I went into Stone Rand, and Scotty took me to lunch. He seems to like his work. The waitress left her phone number on the receipt, but I threw it away. My dryer went out, and Scotty brought the new one out to the house and hooked it up for me. Scotty bought a house in Stone Rand yesterday. The last one raised my eyebrows. Two weeks had gone by, and I hadn't heard a thing from him. Had he decided he didn't love me after all? Were those nights in his mother's basement just sex? I hadn't thought so, but goodness knows I had been dumb about relationships before. I decided to call the ATF office in Stone Rand. I closed my office door before looking up the number from the Internet and dialing it on my cell. I told the man who picked up the telephone I was Delia Travers just in case Scott decided he didn't want to talk to me. 240

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"McIntyre" was his greeting. Hearing his voice gave me chills. I missed him. I wanted to see him. I wanted to kiss him. "I want to wrap my legs around your naked body," I purred. "Vivian?" "Who's Vivian?" I snapped. He laughed. "Who is this? Because I know it isn't Delia Travers." He didn't know? A lump rose in my throat. I hung up. I sat at my desk and stared at my cell phone. I was an idiot. It rang. I looked at the screen and saw it was him. I thought about not answering it, but I had to know he knew it was me. I hit the button, but I couldn't even say 'Hello.' "What? Abigail Benton can't take a joke? I don't believe it." I swallowed hard. "Why haven't you returned my calls?" "I've been busy." "Right. With some tart named Vivian?" "You sound jealous." "I'm flying into Stone Rand Friday night. You be at the airport to pick me up." I disconnected. Let him see how he liked someone else getting the last word in. He called me back, but I let my voice mail get it. I needed to book a flight to Stone Rand. I hoped they had an airport. I hoped I wasn't about to make a bigger idiot of myself. Anyway, if he wanted to break up with me, he sure as heck was going to do it to my face. Not like we had actually agreed in words that we were a couple. I thought making love implied it. I thought him telling me he loved me cemented it. 241

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Maybe I had been wrong about Scott. Well, I was about to put several hundred dollars on my credit card and spend my weekend in Stone Rand finding out. The great thing about living in Clavania was it was the hub for Sentry Airlines, so I was able to get a direct flight on a puddle jumper airplane which landed in Stone Rand at a quarter to eight Central Standard Time. I ignored the butterflies flitting in my stomach and tried to think positive thoughts. Scott would be here to meet me. I walked across the tarmac toward the low building, the Stone Rand airport. Entering the door, I walked up a flight of stairs with eleven other passengers. A woman in a Sentry suit directed us to baggage claim. I hadn't checked my bag, but I figured if Scott were here, baggage claim would be where he'd meet me. I walked through a door in a glass wall which separated the gates from the rest of the airport and saw Scott. My heart lurched. Oh, my gosh, he was hot. Dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt with a black leather jacket, he looked like a biker, a very sexy biker. His dark, almost black, hair was shorter than I remember, cut close to his head, sticking up on top. His legs were shoulder width apart, his arms folded across his chest, and his chin was tucked, but the electric look he sent my way had my feet picking up the pace to close the distance between us. He wanted me. This had to be a good sign. Only his eyes moved, tracking me as I approached. 242

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"Hi." I stopped in front of him, not sure what to do. "Thanks for meeting me." "You're welcome. Can I take your bag?" I handed it to him, brushing his fingers as I did so. The contact zinged through me. My boobs tingled. Wow. We walked side by side toward the exit. Should I make small talk? How's the weather been? Any rain? Could I be any more lame? My tongue, thankfully, stuck to the roof of my mouth. In the parking lot, he opened the door to his mother's car. "You don't have a car, yet?" I asked as I sat on the front passenger seat. "A motorcycle." He shut the door and walked around the front of the car. Oh, he looked good in those jeans. Was it hot in here? He slid my carry-on over the driver's seat, took off his jacket, threw it in the backseat as well, and sat down beside me. His exposed arms were muscular. I'd only seen his arms a few times, only once with clothes on as he had always worn long sleeves as Eli and suits as an agent. The one and only time I had seen him in a T-shirt with exposed arms had been at the visitor's center the last time I'd seen him, kissed him. Take me now. He reached for his seat belt. I jumped him. Our mouths moved against each other, the kiss deepening. I slid one hand up his arm and under his sleeve, recognizing the feel of his skin over firm muscle. His fingers caressed under my shirt, too. I giggled and squirmed when his touch tickled my ribs. 243

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The horn blared and I pulled back. In the darkened interior we stared at each other. "Want to get something to eat?" "Can we get a pizza to go?" He grinned. In a few minutes, he'd pulled up to a pizza place which advertised five dollar single topping pizzas—hot and ready. Hot and ready. Yeah, I could relate. With the aroma of the pizzas filling the car, Scott drove through the city into an upscale neighborhood. "Are we going to your house?" "How do you know about that?" "Your mom has been emailing me." Scott didn't reply. "Is there a reason why I haven't heard from you? I mean, I know there's a reason, I'm just wondering what it is." "You wanted to get back to Clavania so bad. I figured you really didn't want to hear from me." "I called you, didn't I?" He shrugged. "I told you I was screwed up. I don't blame you for running the first chance you got." "Well, now I'm running back because I've missed you." I swallowed hard and pushed him a little more on why he'd ignored me these past weeks. "Have you...have you missed me at all?" Scott slowed and turned a corner. I watched him to see his reaction but his expression was hard to read. "Yes." "A little? A lot?" 244

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"A hell of a lot. Talking to you would have only made it worse." A little of the tension which had knotted my stomach since I boarded the plane eased. I had taken a huge risk by flying up here. Maybe it had been worth it. We drove through an open gate onto a tree lined road. "Do you live in the woods?" "Close. Each lot is at least an acre. Mine is three." Pride filled his tone. "How's that feel? Being a home owner?" "Scary." "Eli wouldn't go for it, would he?" "No. He would say when you own possessions, they own you." "So, how does buying a house fit in with Eli's philosophy? Was that an act, or do you really feel that way?" "I don't know. There's a lot of freedom in not being tied down to anything but a job which sends you from one place to the next. But it's lonely, and it's a harsh way to live." I watched Scott's profile as he maneuvered the road without benefit of streetlights. He drove another mile and turned onto a gravel driveway weaving through more trees. We approached a two-story log cabin, the porch light illuminating its front. Scott parked the car, exited, and retrieved my suitcase from the backseat. I carried the pizza boxes as, in silence, we walked to the house. Scott unlocked and opened the door in with a quick flick of his hand. He reached in, turned on the interior light, and motioned for me to precede him. 245

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The door opened into a great room with a massive fireplace covering most of one wall. Stairs led to a loft. What caught and held my attention, however, was the king sized bed, neatly made with a forest green comforter, dominating the back wall. Near the fireplace sat a recliner with a low stack of books next to it. The bed drew my eyes again. My heart flipped. Oh, my. I stood there trying not to look at the bed, but I couldn't help it. It was so...there and big...and there. What? This house didn't have a bedroom? Scott cleared his throat and walked past me. "The kitchen is over here." I followed, trying to get images of him and me in that bed out of my brain. The kitchen was separated from the great room by a granite-topped counter and the open staircase. A gleaming refrigerator and gas stove matched the black sink. With the sparseness, the lack of dividing walls, and a massive window opposite of the loft, the house conveyed openness and space. It could have been a picture in Southern Living. The only thing missing was a fire in the fireplace. And a table. And some chairs. And every other piece of furniture you would expect in a house, except the recliner and that bed. "Very lovely," I commented purposely not looking at the you-know-what. "I don't really have any place for us to eat." "Where do you usually eat?" 246

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"Either at the counter or on the recliner or out. I've only been here a week." I didn't respond, and we watched each other until I swear I heard sparks crackle. Breaking eye contact, Scott walked to the fridge. "Want some wine?" "I thought you didn't drink," I said as he pulled a bottle out, opened a drawer, picked up a bottle opener, and proceeded to open it. "I don't, but you do. At least, you did." "I do. Sure, I'll take a glass." If he even had one. I didn't think it would be very lady-like to turn up the bottle for a drink. "You're not trying to get me drunk, are you?" He smirked as he pulled a drinking glass from a cabinet. "No, I'm not trying to get you drunk." Pouring the red wine, he set the glass on the counter in front of me. He picked up the bottle which I recognized as what I had been drinking the night Scott had eaten dinner at my apartment, placed it back in the nearly empty refrigerator and picked up a bottle of water for himself. I took a sip, loving its sweetness. "Why don't you drink?" When he opened another cabinet, I noted there was a stack of four plates. He placed two next to the boxes of pizza. "I saw Sarah get drunk quite a few times in high school. I think it took the attraction out of it." "You can drink without getting drunk." "Then what's the point?" "It tastes good, and one glass is very relaxing. You've never drunk alcohol?" "No." 247

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"Why don't you try a glass with me?" "Are you trying to get me drunk?" I opened a box and set a slice on each of the plates. The pizza wasn't as hot and ready as it had been. "No. But it would be neat to be your first time." "My first time, huh?" He gave me one of those heated looks that made my toes curl in my shoes. I slid the plate and my glass toward him. He picked the wine up and drank. He grimaced. "It's a little too sweet. It goes down warm, though." "Yeah, that's the feeling I like." I bit into the pizza. We leaned against the counter while we ate. Scott told me about how he was settling in at the ATF office and finding it a lot less stressful than undercover work. When we finished eating, Scott put the leftovers away. He took another swig of my wine and set the glass on the counter top. So, now what? Passionate love making in the great room? "What do you want to do now?" "Watch T.V.?" "We'd have to go to Mom's." I gave him my best come hither look. "I did have an idea. It involves that bed in there and something I bought at the airport while I was waiting on my flight." Scott didn't reply. I saw the pulse beating in his neck. He was so much fun to mess with. And I did owe him for that Vivian comment. 248

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"Why don't you build a fire in the fireplace? Afterward, I'll pull out my little...present." Without another word, he walked into the great room toward the fireplace. I toed off my shoes and sat on the bed with my purse beside me. The wood was already placed for the fire. Scott knelt on the hearth to light it allowing me to study his broad shoulders and the nape of his neck exposed by his shortened hair. I loved him. I absolutely loved that man. Where were we going with this? Weekends here and in Clavania? Could I live with that? Could he? The fire caught and crackled. Scott threw the match into the new flame, straightened and turned to me. I crawled on his bed and leaned back on my elbows. "Wanna play?" Not moving from the hearth, he studied me. The brightening light behind him created quite an effect. I crooked my finger at him. Come here, big boy. Instead of approaching me, he turned a knob on the wall, dimming the light. With measured steps, he walked to me and the bed. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small box. Reaching down, he pulled off his boots and joined me. When he saw the cards, he arched an eyebrow at me. "I'm in, babe. But I have to tell you, when I wasn't sweeping the parking lot at the center, I was playing cards with the homeless guys at the shelter. I'll beat the pants off of you." Sitting up, I pulled the deck of cards from the box and shuffled. 249

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"That's what you're hoping will happen." He grinned. "What do you think I bought the bed for?" "Nuh-uh. Where were you sleeping before?" He shrugged. "With some bimbo named Vivian?" "Deal the cards, Abigail." I ignored the fact that he didn't deny it. "You know how to play 'War'?" He nodded. "I hope you're not a sore loser." He stretched his legs out. Even his socks were black. "I hope you're not because I'm going to beat you so bad, you'll be begging for mercy." I shuffled the cards again and dealt. I loved this game because you had to sit close to play it. As foreplay, I figured it would go pretty well. From war we moved to poker. In a lightning quick motion, Scott had me flat on my back pinning me to the bed. In a mock serious expression, he held up the Ace of Spades that I had been hiding under my thigh. "What is this?" I glanced at it. "I was only going to use it if I needed it." "That's cheating." I grinned. "Your point?" He flicked the card in the air. It landed somewhere on the floor. "Ready for bed?" I shook my head. "I want some answers." He arched an eyebrow, shifted and rested his elbow next to me cradling my body. "Where have you been sleeping?"

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"Back porch. Want to see?" He slid off of me and the bed. "Come on," he motioned with his head for me to follow him. I did so. He opened the back door and invited me to precede him. I walked out onto a screened in porch with a small pallet suspended from corded ropes attached to the ceiling. A rolled up sleeping bag rested on one end. He had been sleeping out here? I looked back at him for confirmation, and he nodded. I stepped to the screened wall and gazed out at the darkness. Only twenty feet of new grass separated us and a dense tree line. In the brisk October night, the wind hummed through the trees, rustling leaves to the ground. Walking over to the cot, I tested the weight with my hand and sat on it. It barely moved. "How much can this hold?" "A grown man, at least." Scott came over and sat beside me. "A grown woman, too, it seems." I watched him, but couldn't see much from the dim light spilling from the house. I bounced, but the pallet absorbed my movement. "Why doesn't it move?" "It's secured from the top and bottom." "Did you do this?" "No. I have to admit, though, it was a selling point of the house. I couldn't really imagine myself living in there, but I could see myself living on the porch." A lump rose in my throat. "Because you haven't lived in a real house in so long?"

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His arm was warm against my back. "I guess so. I've either been on the street or in a hotel room. All the space of a house feels..." He shook his head. "Overwhelming?" "Yeah." "Is that why you put the bed in the living room?" He shrugged. "I need to spread out in degrees, if that makes sense. Right now keeping everything confined to the great room is tolerable. Sleeping on the porch is comfortable." "You haven't slept in your bed yet?" "You can be my first time." He grinned and closed his hand around my waist, bringing me flush against him. "How would that be?" "I'd like to be your first time. What about Vivian?" Scott stood up and pulled my hand until I stood up, too. "I don't want anyone's legs wrapped around my naked body but yours." He led me back inside and shut the door. "Just to be clear here," I said. "There is no Vivian, right? You were just messing with me." Scott led me to the bed and lifted me to sit on the edge. He walked over to the fire, and placed another log on it. Straightening, he came to stand in front of me with a crooked grin on his face. "An agent from the Clavanian office had come to visit me the day you called. Delia is his supervisor. I asked him to grab the phone because he was closer. When he did, he knew the woman who identified herself was not Delia. He recognized your voice." 252

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"Who was it? Bryant?" "No. Conley. He was one of the guys who was with me at Waffle Mania the night I took you to the E.R." Scott had known. I was almost proud of him except I had been the butt of the joke. My dad had this saying which came to my mind. If you can't take it, don't dish it out. So, this was an exercise in taking it. I decided to do so graciously. I reached forward, grasped his hands, and pulled him to me. Reaching my arms around him, I kneaded his cute butt and gave him my best come-hither look. Putting one knee on the bed, he sat beside me and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. In silence, he studied me taking in each of my features as if he were trying to memorize them. "You gave me quite a scare that day," he murmured. I took his hand, turned it up, and kissed his palm. "I'm sorry." I scooted closer, kissed the corner of his mouth, then kissed him fully on the lips. With his arm around my body, he pulled me with him as he lay down. At my leisure, I tasted his mouth, neck and after dispensing with his shirt, his shoulders. Content to let me explore, he lay still, and I straddled him watching him watch me as I unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his pants. I ran one finger inside the edge of his briefs and traced an invisible line up toward his belly button, an inny, in case you were wondering. And just as cute and hot as a guy's belly button could be. Leaning over him, I licked his nipple making him shudder. Sitting up, I pulled my shirt over my head. I had this scenario in mind when I had put on this maroon bra with the tea lace edging. Being one of those 'make your 253

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boobs look bigger' bras, it had padding underneath so I knew my boobs were looking plump. I didn't feel too guilty about misrepresenting myself. Scott and my boobs had already been acquainted. I scooted off and settled my full length beside him. His mouth connected with mine, gentle and warm. One large hand cupped my shoulder and smoothed my back coming to rest on my backside. Is there anything better than touching and being touched in a safe and comfortable space with someone you love? I slid off my pants without breaking our kiss. His went next. In the few nights that we had spent together, I had learned that Scott had this way of slow and deliberate love-making. He cherished my body in sections. He tickled the skin behind my knee. I had no idea it was a hot spot until he'd discovered it. While his fingers touched the back of my knee, he kissed my knee cap. As if he had all the time in the world, he leisurely continued up my legs bypassing ground zero—much to my frustration—and spent a few minutes tracing my hip bone with his tongue. Northward he continued, learning the curve of my waist until nearly out of my mind, I grabbed his head and directed him to my neglected breasts. Yes, I was all for finding erogenous zones, but the ones I definitely knew about wanted some attention, too. Was it enough to just kiss and suck? Not for my guy. He laved and blew. When I realized the panting I heard was coming from me, I flipped the man on his back, made use of the condom he'd pulled out of his discarded pants pocket, and guided him home. 254

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When I awoke the next morning, I met Scott's eyes. He lay on his side with his head propped on his arm watching me. "Hi." I smiled and ran my fingers over his stubbled chin. "How long have you been awake?" "A while." He scooted closer, reached and pulled me flush against him. Oh, yes. He'd been waiting for me to wake up so he could love me some more. How sweet. Moving my leg, I wrapped it around his and snuggled closer. His cell phone rang from the vicinity of his pants at the foot of the bed. He ignored it and kissed me. "Should you get that?" I asked against his lips. "No." His hand pushed my backside into him and he rocked his hips against mine making me catch my breath. "It might be important." He growled. Holding me to him with one arm, he sat up and reached for his pants. Fumbling in the pocket, he pulled the phone out, and we lay back down. Holding it in front of his face, he glared at the screen and snorted. The phone continued to ring. "Who is it?" "It's Mom." "Well, answer it." With a scowl, he did. "McIntyre," he snapped. I swatted him. He met my gaze, but his tone didn't improve. "Hi, Mom... Yeah, she's here...no. We're not coming for breakfast." I snatched the phone away from him. "Hi, Emily, how are you?" 255

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"Abby. I'm fine." I could hear the smile in her voice. "We'd love to come for breakfast." Scott threw the covers back and got out of the bed. "No, we wouldn't," he grumbled striding across the floor. I watched that gorgeous, naked bod head for the stairs. Promising to be sitting at Emily's breakfast table within fortyfive minutes, I ended the call and went to find Scott. He was in the shower in a bathroom the size of my bedroom at home. I stepped in and spooned his back hugging his waist. "I told her we'd be there in forty-five minutes," I said over the shower spray. "It'll take us at least twenty to get there." Wrapping my arms around him, I placed my hands low on his abdomen. I gently kissed his skin graft. "Can you feel me kissing you?" "Not really." The feeling hadn't come back where he had been burnt. I wondered if it ever would. He turned around and lifted me up against him. Backing me up against the wall, he glowered at me. "I don't want to share you with my family. I want to stay here and make love to you all day." "Look. I'm sure your mom needs her car back. We'll go out there, eat breakfast and come back." I wiggled my hips against him. "We've got twenty-five minutes to get ready. Wonder what we could do in twenty-five minutes." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fifteen **** We were late, but only by ten minutes. It was a wonder we'd made it out of the shower at all. Scott's house had one of those perpetual water heaters so that the shower never got cold. We were waterlogged but sated and clean when I finally announced my intention to get out and get dressed. He didn't complain. In fact, his mood had noticeably improved. That's what shower sex will do for you. Emily set before us plates laden with pancakes. A platter piled high with bacon sat in the center of the table. A squeal and running feet announced Amanda and Daniel as MeMe and Tuck also joined us. MeMe settled the baby in the high chair. I loved a family meal. Beside me, Scott slid the syrup toward his nephew who had claimed the chair next to him. "How about it, Daniel? Want some syrup?" he asked the boy. "Yeah!" Daniel grabbed the bottle and was ready to empty its contents on the plate Emily had placed before him, when Scott took hold of the bottle. "Let me help before your mom starts hollering at us." With each of them holding the bottle, they poured a generous amount on the pancake. "Is that enough?" "I think two more drops." 257

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The bottle dipped again with the small and large hand guiding it. Daniel declared it, 'Just right.' When breakfast was over, Scott seemed in no hurry to leave, so we stayed a while longer and visited. He was different with these people than he had been two weeks ago—warmer, at ease. It was a good change. When the mantle clock chimed eleven, Scott declared it was time to leave. He stood, grasped my hand and pulled me off the couch. We said our goodbyes, and he opened a door in the entrance foyer. Reaching in, he pulled out two helmets. One he handed to me. Oh, boy! The only time I'd ridden on a motorcycle had been when James Woodrow, a boy in my church youth group had taken me for a ride around the parking lot. At fifteen, I had thrilled at the potential of danger of being on the bike and with a seventeen year old—an older man. We walked outside to the carport where the motorcycle was parked. Trying to hide my excitement, I followed Scott's example by putting on the helmet and securing the strap under my chin. Scott raised the mirrored visor and asked me if I was ready. At my nod, he mounted and started the motor. The engine revved right along with my libido. Let's be honest. Isn't there something about a man on a motorcycle that's so sexy? "Can you mount?" My gaze shot to his goofy grin which I returned. "Smart aleck," I said as I grabbed his arm for support and I lifted my leg and slid it over the seat. This was going to be so much fun. He turned his head toward me. "Hold on." 258

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I scooted forward and wrapped my arms around him. Could it get any better than this? I realized it could when we rode down the drive way and onto the road. With the cold wind whipping by us, I was thankful for my jacket and the visor of the helmet. He turned off before the interstate, and I decided he must be taking us a back way. The houses thinned out until we were on a country lane. Up ahead a covered bridge came into view. Scott slowed as we approached. Stopping, he held up the bike with one leg and turned back to me. "What do you think?" "It's gorgeous." He drove us over the bridge, the wooden planks plunking beneath the wheels. On the other side the road widened. We crested a hill and followed the road as it wound around finally straightening on a paved surface and into a more populated area. I saw a sign for Stone Rand, and Scott leaned into a sharp turn. He pulled into a parking lot of a grocery store, and we went in and bought enough food to get us through the next several meals. He asked for a box to put the groceries in and secured it to the back of the motorcycle with two elastic cords. Testing the cords around the box, he then put on his helmet. I did the same and climbed on. After a few miles, we'd passed through the familiar gate and were in front of his house. I dismounted and rubbed my hands up and down my thighs. Something about the vibration of the motorcycle made them itch. On rubbery legs, I followed Scott into the house as I took off the helmet and handed it to 259

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him. He set them on the floor inside the door and made his way to the fireplace. Despite what he'd said in the shower, we didn't spend the rest of the day making use of his huge bed. After he built a fire and we warmed each other in front of it on the comforter, we dressed and held hands as we explored the woods behind his house. We played cards when we came back inside and took turns reading to each other as I sat on his lap on the recliner. It was a lazy and wonderful day. I almost offered to go with him to buy some more furniture for his house, but I didn't want him to think I thought I should have a say in what kind of furniture he bought, or even that he should buy anything else. How did I fit in with his present content and settled existence? I didn't know. I wanted to ask but couldn't quite figure out how to do without just saying, "Hey, what's the deal, Scott? You said you loved me. Where are we going with this?" I didn't want to hear that he didn't mean it when he said he loved me. At the time he'd sure acted as if he were sorry he'd said it. But now? I wish I didn't suck at relationships. My plane left early the next morning. At the check-in counter, he pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. "Are you going to come see me?" I asked with my head tucked against his chest. "When?" "Whenever you want." Did he want to come see me? When he didn't respond, I looked up into his face. A shadow passed over his expression. "We'll see." 260

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A lump wedged itself in my throat. I knew what that meant. My mom had said it any time the answer was no, but she didn't want to argue with me about it. I hadn't forgotten that I had invited myself here for the weekend. No declarations had been made about anything concerning a relationship. The air hadn't been cleared about who loved whom or where we went from here. Scott's unwillingness to come for a visit spoke volumes. He was building a good life here. This was what I wanted—for him to have a good life, a home. Every time I had wished and worked for Eli to have a better life, I had never envisioned me having that better life with him. Why was I so disappointed? Why did my heart feel like it had just blown up? Did I want and love him now that I knew he had only been homeless as an undercover agent? I stepped back and picked up my bag. Without another word, I walked to the metal detector and X-ray machine. I stared at my reflection in the glass wall as I waited my turn to walk through. Get thee to a nunnery, you idiot, before you end up face down in somebody's pool. I told that inner voice to shut up with the dramatics. Fine, so I loved Scott, and if he was so sorry he loved me back, well, either he could get over it, or I would. I'd toss the proverbial ball in his court and let him throw it back or leave it there on the ground. But I absolutely was not going to call him or come back up here without an invitation, at least and preferably, some groveling. We'll see. I snorted. 261

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Yes, we would It wasn't quite a nunnery, but more and more lately, I did feel like praying for mercy or that a big anvil to drop from the sky onto Dale Potter's head. He sat behind his desk while I sat on a small chair in his office listening to him tell me why flex time was just not going to work. Funny how he was so ready to kowtow to my demands when he had the ATF breathing down his neck. I thought about calling Delia Travers to ask her to come and kick Dale in the face so I could go to the community center three afternoons a week. "When you're in the office, I don't have a problem with you coming in the evenings to work, but when you're auditing a business, you have to be there on their schedule." "The center needs me, Dale." "They can get someone else. You have a job that requires you to work until five." Except there was no one else. Paula had called me this morning and told me several of the volunteers were out because of the stomach flu, and she and Mr. Harvey were it for today. Since I'd gotten back, I'd thought about going back and had asked Dale about the flex time, but he hadn't been responsive. Now they really needed me. "I'm not even auditing this week," I argued. "You will be next week." "Then you won't have a problem with me leaving now and coming back tonight at seven." I stood up and walked out hoping I could get the last word in. 262

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Hurrying to my office, I gathered up my purse and coat before Dale could call me back. Within forty minutes I was walking into the community center. A blanket of happiness settled around me. I'd really missed the people here. Poking my head in the auditorium, I saw Paula and Mr. Harvey standing beside the stage talking. "Hi." I waved as I approached them. Paula's face broke into a big smile. Mr. Harvey's eyes narrowed. "Abigail, what are you doing here?" "I called her," Paula responded to Mr. Harvey's question. "Good to see you." Mr. Harvey declared. It was good to be seen. Mr. Harvey's words were genuine. Either they were as desperate for help as Paula said they were or he wasn't as worried about my life as he had been a month ago. No one had been caught yet for putting the pipe bomb on my porch, but maybe enough time had passed that the Nights had other things to worry about. Darvey had told me the police were keeping close tabs on any gang activity hoping to keep the gang members separated or busy so that they would no longer be a threat in the community. This was why I knew I needed to be here to help out. The community center played a vital role in keeping the kids off the streets and away from recruiters. Among the three of us, we had nearly a hundred children and youth. Apparently, the stomach bug had only affected the adults in inner city Clavania. After all the kids had been picked up or taken home, I went back to work to finish my 263

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day. At nearly ten p.m. my cell phone rang. My heart jumped when I saw Scott's name. "Hello?" "What the hell are you doing?" As greetings went, he could have done a lot better. "Sitting at my desk working." "No. Going to the center." "They needed some help. I'm fine. Nothing happened." "Nothing has happened yet. Why aren't you at home?" I huffed. "I really don't like this spying on me." "I'm trying to keep you safe. As best as I can from five hundred miles away." "I'm okay." "For how long? You start going back out there and stirring things up, they'll come after you." "What's it to you?" Silence. Oh, but it was a very loud and telling silence. "You don't own me. You don't get to say what I do and don't do." After about ten seconds, he spoke. "You matter to me." A simple and direct statement, but still vague. "I know. I got that the day you stole my car. I also got that you wish I didn't matter to you." He didn't reply, but his sigh was audible. "Where are we going with this? Me flying up there weekends for sex? You having Bryant follow me around so you can keep me on the right side of the Clavanian bridge? 264

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Love me and claim me, babe, but until then, you don't get a say in how I live my life." More seconds passed. "Anything else you want to say to me?" I asked. "I don't like ultimatums." "Join the club." I clicked the end button. I got the last word in, but the bitter taste it left in my mouth wasn't very satisfying. I decided going home to Mom and Dad's would be a good way to get my mind off Scott. I hadn't been back in months. The irony was I had been so determined to get Scott to be a part of his family again, but I had withdrawn from mine big time. Of course, my dad made it easy to do. I wondered if he regretted naming me after his mom? Anyone with a name like Abigail Benton ought to at least want to try being a southern lady with a genteel accent. Saturday morning I got up before the sun did and was walking in their door before ten a.m. Dad would be playing golf, but he always got the early tee time, so he would be back before noon. Mom was thrilled to pieces to have me there, and we sat out on the back porch and drank tea like the good southern women we were. I hadn't told her much about Scott—just that I had met someone, and he had moved to Tennessee. She'd known that I'd searched for months for a homeless man who'd saved the three girls in the fire and had disappeared. But of course, she hadn't considered that Scott and Eli could be the same guy. "Go ahead and tell me, honey." 265

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I had been staring at the cheery platter on the coffee table. Mom's question caught me off guard. "Tell you what?" "About Scott. I recognize the wistful look, you know." She gazed at me warmly. "How serious is it?" Tears collected in my eyes, and I wiped them away. Stupid weepiness. "That serious. You didn't even cry over John, and you spent a night in jail over him." "I was too mad at John to cry over him." "You're in love. Is he?" "Yes, but I think he wishes he wasn't." "Ah, Abigail. We women get all fluttery inside when we think about love. But men? It scares them to death. They think they're all brave because they can hunt and tackle each other over a football. But when they fall in love, they see they've been caught, and, well, it just takes them by surprise because they realize they were the prey, not the hunter." "Mom, I haven't hunted any man down." "You searched high and low for that homeless man. Eli." My mouth dropped. I met Mom's wise eyes. She nodded in acknowledgment. She was right. I had hunted Eli down. I'd recognized him in the courtroom. Oh, my gosh. I was the hunter. "Mom, I didn't want to be the hunter." "Sweetheart, you couldn't help it. It's just how we are." I shook my head in denial. We were in the twenty-first century. I thought we were beyond marriage as our highest ideal. I thought relationships were supposed to be by mutual consent. "I didn't trick Scott into anything. I didn't manipulate him into loving me." 266

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"Oh, don't get all feminist on me, dear. It's so unbecoming. Love can lead to marriage which is good for a man. Married men live longer. They're happier, and they eat better. Not to mention that you're providing him with a means to spread his seed and reproduce." I grimaced. "Mom, I can't tell you how disturbing that is." She grinned and leaned forward to kiss the top of my head. When she sat back, she chuckled. "I'm going to call your father and tell him we'll meet him at the country club for lunch." Later that afternoon, I was in my room looking at my college yearbooks. I had kept up with several of my girlfriends from school and even had been bridesmaid at Sharla Winston's wedding last year. She and I had roomed together for three years. Had my involvement with John subconsciously been about me wanting to settle down? Had my search for Eli been about the same thing? I went over to my bookshelf, pulled out a book from an art history class I had taken. Flipping through the pages, I found what I was looking for—a painting of Ophelia floating face down in the water. Oh, Ophelia. You were trying to save Hamlet, weren't you? You were offering him a good and happy life with you. Why did you give up? Someone knocked on my bedroom door, and it opened. My dad stood there. "Hey." I closed the book and pushed it aside. My dad hadn't had a civil conversation with me since my arrest. The few times we had been in the same room had ended with him 267

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yelling at me about stupid decisions and with me rolling my eyes until I could practically see my brain. "Your mom ran to the store." I stared up at him not sure why he needed to tell me this. He walked into the room, and to my surprise, lowered himself on the floor across from me. My stomach clenched. Oh, please, what was this about? I had come here for some peace away from the drama of Scott. "Tony was telling me he forgave your community service, but you're still going there to help out." Tony was the judge that had gone to school with my Uncle Fletch. Apparently, he and Dad were buddies. "They're always short of help." "It's so dangerous. He told me about the bomb. I haven't said anything to your mother. She'd worry herself sick." "What about you?" "I haven't slept well since he told me. Abigail, you know I asked him to give you some brunt work to get your head out of the sand, but I meant for him to make you do taxes for old people or volunteer in your own neighborhood. I didn't want you in a powder keg like the city. I never wanted you in a place like that." "Dad." I sighed. "My whole life I've been so protected. You and Mom made sure I had whatever I wanted or needed. Those kids. They don't have anything. Every day is a struggle for them. I can help make their lives a little better. They deserve me caring about them." "But not at your life's risk." His eyes, full of pain, appealed to me. 268

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"Granny Abigail has her name on sorority houses. That's her legacy. I respect that, but every girl that pledges there has had her life handed to her on a silver platter. I want my legacy to be my girls from the community center to go to college, get an education, and make a good life for themselves without getting pregnant at fourteen or being shot at in a drive-by, or to be strung out on drugs and be in a morgue by the time they're twenty." Dad cracked a smile. "Your girls, huh? Your legacy. Lord, I should have known better than to marry your mother. My genes couldn't compete with her pie in the sky optimism for helping every bleeding heart she meets on the street. You get that from her." "Yeah? Well, she wasn't the one who put it in the judge's ear for me to do community service." "No. If it had been up to her, she would have invited John Bowman to live with us." "He wasn't a bleeding heart. His dad is head of anesthesiology at Brown University Hospital in Clinton." "And a Democrat, too. I'd bet my life on it. They hand out money like it grows on trees when their own houses are falling down around them." Instead of rolling my eyes, I grinned, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Dad, in spite of your political beliefs." I went back home and after about a week settled into a routine. It was nearly midnight, and I was coming home from work. I had been auditing a candle company in Hilliard, a town on the other side of Clavania. Though Dale didn't know 269

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it, I was taking the afternoons off and volunteering at the center. When the kids went home, I'd go back to the audit. The candle people had gladly given me a key when I had explained I wanted to work evenings so I wouldn't be in their way. Companies hate being audited so I'd heard no complaints when I left at two every afternoon and came back after everybody was gone. Angel hadn't been at the center since I'd come back. This was worrisome to me, so I had gone to his house. He lived with his great grandmother, and she told me he sometimes didn't come home at night. She'd been called to the school several times, but she didn't drive, so she couldn't get up there. I offered to drive her, but I didn't know if she'd let me. I'd wait on her call and see. A creepy feeling crawled up my spine, like somebody was watching me. From the corner of my eye I caught a shadow. I jammed the key in my lock, opened the door, and slammed it shut within a second. My heart raced in my ears. Calm down. You're safe. You're home, I told myself. I went to the bedroom, undressed, and took a shower. Even under the hot spray I lost my breath when I heard glass shattering. I jumped from the tub and grabbed my robe on the back of the door. No way was someone going to catch me naked. I had closed and locked the door when I came in the bathroom. Did I wait until Jack Nicholson hacked through the door and announced "Here's Johnny"? Crap. I had nothing more than a razor and a fingernail file as weapons. Pressing my head against the door, I strained to hear any sound outside. Nothing. How long did I wait? I 270

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thought about every slasher flick I had ever seen in which the soon-to-be-dead dummy would go investigate the suspicious noises. That cinched it for me. I was no dummy. I was staying put. I had a toilet and access to drinking water. I could stay for several days if I had to. I pulled all of my towels from the cabinet under the sink, fixed myself a pallet on the floor, and turned off the light. With the fingernail file clenched in my fist, I settled myself on the floor and waited. And waited. And waited. I thought about my purse sitting on the table with my wallet and cell phone in it. Whoever was in my apartment was probably at the liquor store by now, charging up a bunch of booze on my credit card. Wouldn't the killer have busted through the door already? I'm sure he wasn't sitting on the couch waiting on me to come out. Would he? Ding dong. Or would the killer ring the doorbell in a ruse to get me out of the bathroom? Bang. Bang. Bang. Or bang on the door? I unlocked the door and wrenched it open, holding the file out ready to poke somebody in the eye if I had to. Bang. Bang. Bang. "Abigail, Abigail!" Darvey. I ran to the door, undid the chain and lock, and opened it. There stood Darvey, Delia Travers and a police officer. 271

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Darvey stepped toward me and grabbed my shoulders. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. I was in the shower. I heard glass breaking and locked myself in the bathroom." Delia and the policeman eased passed us and searched the apartment. The officer had his hand on his gun. I held onto Darvey when I realized my legs were shaking. "Come here." Darvey walked me over to the couch. "Come sit down." "What are you doing here?" I sat down and adjusted my robe so I didn't flash anybody. "Delia and I heard it on the police scanner. I recognized your address so we came over." "Who called the police?" "Your neighbor, I think." "Everything's clear," the uniformed man declared as he came back in the room. Delia followed. "Somebody threw a brick through the bedroom window." A second police officer stepped through the front door. "Nothing outside." "You got an evidence bag?" the guy who had searched the house asked. "In the car. I'll go get it." Later Delia and I cleaned up glass in my bedroom. She had asked Darvey to find some cardboard to cover up the window. "We'll stay here tonight in case they come back," she said as she emptied the dust pan into the trash can. Glass settled at the bottom. The concern was whoever had thrown the 272

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brick had been standing at my window. As heavy as the brick was, there was no way it could have gone through the glass like it did otherwise. In fact, Delia had surmised whoever had done it had actually pounded on the glass. "Delia," I began. "Look, I'd rather Scott not know about this." "How would he know unless you told him?" "Bryant's been keeping an eye on me. I appreciate the care, but," I shrugged. "Scott gets all overprotective, and I think the police here can make sure I'm okay." Delia's eyes narrowed. She tapped her finger against her chin in thought. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, but I also don't want Agent McIntyre so worried about you that he can't do his job in Tennessee. Let me see what I can do." "Thanks. Do you guys want to use my bed? I can sleep on the couch." This was my way of finding out how involved Delia and Darvey were. "Nah. We'll take the couch." I looked up from a piece of glass I had just pinched between my finger and thumb. "He lets me sleep on top, so no worries there." Her left eyelid lowered in a subtle wink. I burst out laughing as Darvey walked into the bedroom with a square piece of cardboard and a roll of masking tape in his hand. "Hey," he greeted us as I laughed harder. "What?"

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"Nothing. You want some help?" Delia, who had been kneeling on the floor, straightened and waggled her eyebrows at me before she walked over to the window. I picked up the trashcan, pan, and broom as I stifled a yawn. From the other room, my cell phone rang. Who would be calling in the middle of the night? I read caller I.D. on the screen. Scott. "Hey." "Hey," he responded back. "You okay?" Had Bryant already spilled the beans? "Yeah." "Were you asleep?" "No." I waited for him to get to it. How would he approach the subject? 'Bryant told me someone broke your window tonight' or maybe 'You see what happens when you volunteer at that center? Somebody tried to kill you tonight.' "I miss you." The warmth of his voice reverberated in my ear, and my breath caught. I wasn't expecting that. "What are you wearing right now?" My mouth fell open. "Abigail?" "Yes?" "You sure you're okay?" I made an affirmative sound. "I'm sorry if I woke you up. You're in bed, aren't you?" I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms. "Err. No. I got in late from work." 274

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His velvet voice morphed into annoyance. "Don't tell me you were out by yourself at one o'clock in the morning." "I'm fine, Scott. Really." "Abigail, I don't like you to take chances like you do." "I'm sorry, Scott. I'll try to do better. I really will." Silence. "Did something happen?" "No. Everything is fine. I'm safe. I'm fine." I was such a lousy liar. I hoped Delia would do what she said she would and not let Bryant say anything about tonight. "Are you coming to see me?" I tried to keep the desperation from my voice. I didn't want him to know what happened, but I wanted him here anyway. I missed his arms around me. "No, Abigail." His tone was heavy, tired. "I miss you," I confessed. "I...can't go back there. To Clavania." "What do you mean you can't come back here?" "Abigail," Scott breathed a lungful of air through the phone. "That place. It's like poison to me. I can't go back there. Not yet." I blinked my eyes several times against the stinging. "Sweetheart, I know you can't appreciate what it was like for me there." I tried to. I considered how terrible it must have been to sleep outside and to be in danger. To be cold and homeless and always waiting for someone to kill you. Still. I was scared. Someone had thrown a brick through my window. Someone may have even watched me undress in my bedroom. I shivered. 275

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"I understand, Scott. I do." But I didn't. I wanted to, but I couldn't. "I have to go. It's late." "I'll call you. Tomorrow." "Okay." By mid-afternoon the next day, I stood in front of the eleven to fourteen year old crowd in negotiations. They were doing their 'I'm too cool for school' routine. I noted that Angel was among the crowd. "Look, guys, if you just get your homework done, I'll let you go to the gym and shoot some b-ball." The eyes didn't quite roll, but close. What? B-ball wasn't the cool term anymore? Geez, trying to keep up with the lingo of the hood was harder than passing my CPA exam. When bribery didn't work, my next course of action was bitchery. I closed my eyes to slits and sneered at them. "You either get to your homework, or I'll assign you the next two chapters as well. And you can just stay in here and stare at your open books until your mamas come pick you up at five." Sighs of resignation echoed off the walls. Books opened and pens scribbled. Sweet. They earned their playtime after I chose four students at random and approved their work. As the teens and tweens filed from the room, I called to Angel. He didn't stop, so I caught up with him, and steered him back to empty room B. Under my hand, his shoulders were stiff. "So, Angel, I had a visit with your grandma." I patted him on the back, gently pushing him into the room, and leaned against the door jamb. 276

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"She told me." "She thinks you're getting into some trouble." No response. "Where do you go on the nights you're not at home?" His dark eyes snapped at me. "None of yo' business, white lady." I returned his stare determined I was not going to be the first to look away. "I took one of your pictures to a friend of mine who works in a gallery. She thinks you've got some talent." "I don't do that shit no more." My fingers itched to grab some soap and stick it in his mouth. "Why not?" He puffed up his chest. "'Cause that's what fags do. I ain't no fag. I'm a man." His man/boy pride was so strong, I thought about reaching out to touch it. Instead, I stepped toward him. "What makes you a man, Angel? Hurting people? Throwing bricks through windows?" "I didn't do nothing." "You know what Shakespeare says about a man? 'How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel.'" The young man pushed past me. I watched as he strode down the hall and entered the door of the gym. Later I cornered him in the equipment closet as he was putting away the basketballs. I folded my arms and blocked the door. He glared at me snorting like a bull ready to charge. 277

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"You've got talent. I believe in you. I think you could be the next Picasso." "Why do you care?" "Because I want to see you beat the odds and make it for your granny. Man, she loves you, and she wants a life for you that won't end up in prison or doped up at the bottom of a garbage can. You've got a chance, here. Please let me take a couple more of your pictures to the museum. My friend Minnie who works there really likes the abstracts I took her." His eyes narrowed. Should he trust me? That's what he was thinking. I knew it. I reached forward and grabbed his hand. "Please, Angel. I won't do this unless you say okay." He flicked my hand away. "Okay," he groused. "But don't tell nobody. And I don't want no stocking sniffing around Granny's house neither." That was his way of saying he did not want Minnie coming into the hood. "Okay. But I can come by and get a couple more prints, right?" His nostrils flared. "I've gotta go." I smiled, gripped the knob behind me, and backed open the door. I had pushed as much as I thought I could get away with. As had been my routine, I went to the candle company, worked a few hours, and was pulling in front of my apartment building late. Darvey had arranged for a police car to cruise the complex around eleven each night so I had timed my arrival to coincide with that event. I sent good thoughts to Darvey when I passed the cruiser and parked in my usual 278

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spot. Glancing back, my feet stumbled as I caught sight of a formidable and familiar figure in black leather leaning against his motorcycle. Scott. What was he doing here? How could he possibly be here? I turned and ran toward him. His face breaking into a wide grin, he shouldered a duffel and opened his arms as he met me. "I can't believe it." I squeezed him in my enthusiasm and lifted my head to kiss him. "What are you doing here?" I asked against his lips. "Come on. Let's get inside. I just drove, like, fourteen hours and parts of me are in agony." I laughed. Scott was here. He had actually come to Clavania. I couldn't believe it. Arm in arm we walked toward my apartment. Inside, I turned on the light and took his bag. "This is wonderful. Do you want to sit down?" "Actually, what I'd really like is a shower." He rubbed his backside and grimaced. "Do you mind?" Not a bit. A shower sounded great. The next morning when I awoke, a heavy arm pinned me against the mattress. Lifting it, I slipped from the bed. We hadn't gotten around to discussing why he was here. But he was here. Had Bryant told him about the brick? I glanced at the cardboard-covered window. I really wished the maintenance guy had gotten to that yesterday. If Scott noticed it, I'd have a hard time not telling him what happened. Quietly I entered the bathroom and shut the door. By the time I got out of the shower, Scott was wearing a pair 279

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of sweat pants and leaning against my counter as coffee brewed. "Hey." "Hey yourself. Want a cup of coffee?" I liked this set-up. Gorgeous and sweet guy with no shirt waiting on me. "Sure. How are your parts this morning?" "Still sore." I reached into my purse lying on the table and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. "Here. This will help." I handed it to him. "Thanks." He set the bottle down without opening it. Pouring coffee in a cup, he handed it to me. I sipped. Oh, I loved this man. He had already added milk and Splenda. I loved how observant he was. "What happened to your bedroom window?" Or not. "Just a little accident. The maintenance guy is supposed to fix it in the next day or two." He watched me. I sipped from my cup and opened the fridge. I wasn't a big breakfast eater, but I needed a diversion. No. I needed for Scott to have a diversion. "Can I scramble you some eggs? Or fried? I can even do sunny side up. I learned that at Waffle Mania." Scott tilted his head, crossed his arms and ankles. Oh, crud. I was about to be interrogated. He didn't ask me any questions. He didn't say anything. Just studied me like I was a piece of leftover cake he had just found in my fridge. Should he eat me or throw me out? "Stop that." "Stop what?" 280

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"Staring at me." "I'm waiting on you to tell me about the window." "Well, I'm not going to. It happened. I'm getting it fixed. End of story." With a pan on the heated stove, I cracked two eggs and dropped them in the skillet. "I'm going for a run," he said walking from the kitchen. "What about your eggs?" "Save them for me. I'll be back in forty minutes." Later that morning Scott called my cell phone and asked me out to lunch. I hedged because I had been working through lunch so I could get to community center sooner. "I'm on east side of the city. It's not convenient." "You're still at the candle makers, right? I can meet you there." I sighed not wanting to hear a lecture about where I'd been spending my flex time. "I'm not taking lunch today. I leave at two to go to the center. You can meet me there for a late lunch." "You get there about two-thirty?" "Yes." "See you then." I pressed the end button after he hung up. Hmm. What was going on with Scott McIntyre? Had he just been telling me this town was poison to him? What had changed? When I arrived at the center, Scott was already there in the middle of a basketball game between the middle and high school kids. With a whistle in his mouth, he interrupted the game and made the sign for traveling against the red team. Warmth spread through me. He looked so natural on the 281

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court, like he had been reffing b-ball games here for years. I leaned against the jamb and watched. "Where'd you find him?" I glanced back at Paula. She followed his movement among the young players. "In court. The courthouse kind of court." She made this throaty sound of appreciation. "Honey, if I could find something like that in the courthouse kind of court, I might just go get myself arrested." I heard myself give a girly sigh. "Yeah." "He brought you some lunch. It's in Mr. Harvey's office. Come on." With a last look at Scott, I allowed Paula to drag me down the hall. In a few moments, I was sitting in front of Mr. Harvey's desk biting into a turkey club sandwich and listening to Paula and Lola talk about how good-looking Scott was. I smiled. They had been kind to Eli, had asked his help in small jobs here and there, but they had never commented on his looks. Clean the boy up and listen to them go on about him. I shoved the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and picked up the cup of iced tea Scott had brought along with my food. They seemed in no hurry, but I knew if they were in the office, there were unsupervised children in the building. Never a good thing. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Sixteen **** I worked with the girls that afternoon helping them balance made up checkbooks. Mr. Harvey thought my being a CPA lent itself well to teaching this life skill. I didn't talk to Scott until five when my duties were finished, but a few times I'd seen him stick his head in the door and wave at me. I didn't know if he was checking up on me or just greeting me as he went from one place to the next. He appeared as I walked down the hall to find him. "Hey." He fell into step beside me with his jacket flung across one shoulder. I glanced at his exposed arms. I never tired of seeing them. I had gotten so used to seeing him in long sleeves that to see him in a T-shirt was a turn-on. "Ready to go?" My eyes traveled from arms to face. He was different, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "Where's your motorcycle?" "In your living room. I hope you don't mind. I put towels on the floor." "How'd you get here?" "Cab." He nudged my shoulder with his. "Can I have a ride home?" "I'm not going home. I have to go back to the candle company and make up my time tonight." 283

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We walked onto the parking lot lit by street lights and the glow of the setting sun. I grabbed his hand. "Come here. I want to show you something." Guiding him to the metal plaque next to the door which commemorated the heroic acts of Eli the night of the fire, I turned to him in expectation. "What do you think?" He turned on his heel and headed to my car. I caught up with him and unlocked the doors. His eyes were lowered, his shoulders tense as he stood on the other side of the car. When we were sitting inside, I asked him again. "I think it needs to be removed." "How can you say that?" "Because Eli didn't give his life. It's a lie, and it's an embarrassment." "It does not negate the courageous act." "The courageous act doesn't need a plaque. Every kid in this neighborhood acts courageously by going to school, taking care of their families, taking the long way home to avoid the bangers, not giving up. I chose to be in a temporary situation. They don't have a choice." "You chose to save people in a burning building. You had a choice." "Look. It's over. Can we forget about it?" I let it drop and drove toward the entrance ramp of the interstate. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the candle company, Scott had relaxed. The office was usually deserted after five, so I was glad to have him there for 284

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company. He surfed the web on one of the office computers while I ran numbers on my laptop. By ten that night, I was stepping around his motorcycle in the middle of my living room and setting Chinese take-out on the table. When we sat down across from each other, it hit me. "Your eyes are brown." He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah." "Since when?" "Since I put contacts in today. I didn't want to take a chance with anybody recognizing me at the community center." "Nobody would recognize you with your blue eyes." "You did." I snorted. "Yeah, but I was in" love with you. I stopped myself in time. Looking away from his brown probing eyes, I grabbed a white carton and opened it. General Tzo Chicken. I tilted the box and shook some out on my plate. "You were in what?" I shrugged. What could I tell him I was in other than love? I was in shock? I was in heat? I was in hot water? With his chop sticks, he reached and grabbed a piece of chicken off my plate. "I wish you wouldn't keep secrets from me, Abigail. You can talk to me." "And you can talk to me, but you don't. You go all caveman on me." "What's that mean? Go all cave man?"

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"Not talking to me, showing up when you think something is wrong, grabbing me by the hair and pulling me back to your cave." "I haven't grabbed or pulled." "You know what I mean." He heaved that big sigh of his. "It isn't easy for me to be back here," he confessed. "Well, who asked you to come riding in here on your big Harley and save the day?" "You did after somebody threw a brick through your window." So he did know. I stood up and glared at him. "Not to save me, Scott. I can take care of myself. I wanted you to hold me, to be with me, to love me and be happy about it." "Happy about it? Come on. I can't sleep at night worrying about you roaming the streets of inner city Clavania and staring down gang members. You are not invincible." "I am not Sarah." His shoulders stooped. "Don't bring her into this." "She's already in it, babe. Your whole life has been about saving Sarah. She's dead, Scott. She's been dead a long time. You can love me without trying to finish all my races for me. I'm a big girl. If I need protection, I will tell you. I swear it." He pushed back from the table and stood. Turning he walked into the living room. "I'm beat. I'll go to a hotel if you want." "Of course I don't want you to go to a hotel." "Okay. I'll take the couch then." "Don't be like this." 286

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He did look at me then, the deep pain mirrored even with the colored lenses. "I'm trying, Abigail. I really am." My heart turned over. I closed the few feet separating us. "I know. I'm sorry." I raised my hand to touch him, but lowered it again. I didn't know if he'd want me touching him. "I wish you'd come to bed with me. I like it when you hold me. I promise I won't try to infiltrate any banger's hideout ever again. I have been smarter. I'm trying, too." In bed, Scott kept to his side and turned his back to me. This was a first. I felt like an old married couple—sharing space, and that was it. Resisting the urge to spoon him, I slid my foot over and touched his leg. He was still here. That was enough for me tonight. I fell asleep thinking we could get through this. Sometime later, a guttural howl woke me up. I gasped at the agony of it, opened my eyes, and saw Scott sitting up holding his head. "Scott? Was that you?" "Yeah. I'm sorry." "Did you scream? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" I scooted over placing my arm around him. His back was wet with perspiration. "I'm okay." He sucked in air as if he were having trouble breathing. "No, you're not." I placed my fingers on his neck to feel his pulse racing. I reached to get the telephone on the nightstand. "I'm calling 9-1-1." "No." He sucked in more air. "I'm fine. This happens sometimes. It's an anxiety attack or a nightmare. Maybe both. It'll pass." 287

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I placed the phone back on the charger, though I was not sure if I should believe him. "Really. Just give me a few minutes." I slid off the bed and turned on the light. Crossing my arms, I studied him. He still had his face buried in his hands. I sat next to him and pulled at his arm. "Look at me." He did. His eyes were red and haunted. "Tell me what makes you cry out like that." He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn't want to tell me. "Please." I needed to know. He rubbed his neck, his shoulders stiff. I moved behind him and kneaded the tense muscles. "Is it a bad dream?" "Yes, but it really happened." He was silent for a moment, and I thought I was going to have prod him to tell me more. "It was before you came to work at the center. Just a few days, actually. I had been undercover for maybe six months. One night I remember being really hungry. I had..." He stopped. "I can't tell you this." "You can. You can tell me." I moved my legs hugging them around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. "I won't judge you. I want to know." "Okay." He sighed. "I had gone behind Bernie's Restaurant. They throw their food out in foil so it keeps longer. I thought I'd see if anything was back there." I bit my lip. Oh, my heavens. Scott had been so hungry he had eaten out of garbage cans. 288

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"Somebody else was back there. A prostitute was getting the shit beat out of her by her john. She was crying for help." I squeezed my arms. "So, you tried to help her?" "No, I didn't. I just looked through the garbage, took what I wanted and left." Oh, the poor woman. Scott turned his head to stare at me. "It didn't even cross my mind to help her. I remember thinking if she died, that was one less miserable person in this cesspool." "Oh, Scott." "So, you see what kind of man I am." "Yeah. One burned out, tired, and hungry one. They should have pulled you off the case then so you could get some rest." "Maybe they should have, because I realized I didn't care anymore. I didn't care about anybody or anything except trying to survive. It was disgusting." "You still worked the case, didn't you?" "Oh, I was on automatic pilot by then. Exchange the info disks, report any gang or drug activity, watch Bryant's back. And when you showed up, make sure you weren't dealing." I tightened my arms around him. "I didn't like what I had become. Being Eli was like not even being a person. I didn't give a shit about anybody, and nobody gave a shit about me." "But you know that wasn't true. Your mom, your family. They love you. Even Bryant. I know he considers you a good friend." 289

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"When I was on the streets, it was different. I don't ever want to be that again." "You won't. You said you weren't doing long-term, undercover work." "Don't you see? I could be that way again given the right circumstances. I hate that part of me. In the dream...in my dream I'm the john beating her up." I moved around so that I was now in his lap. Kissing him briefly, I drew back. "You're too hard on yourself. The dream is just a dream. That day you were in a really tough situation. Of course, you were going to be hardened. But when I knew you, when you were still Eli, I saw how you cared." "I didn't care about that prostitute." "You did and you do or it wouldn't be bothering you. Maybe you can still find her." "I did." "Was she dead?" "No. I tried to help her. She cussed me out, and that was it." "Well, see? You did try to help her." "Maybe she would have let me the night she cried out for help." "Scott." I shook my head. "Honey, you've got to stop this. You can't save every person." "Neither can you, Joan of Arc." "All right. I get it. Me Pot. You Kettle." "Look at our pretty ebony shade." Scott grinned for the first time. I grinned back. 290

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Scott had told me he would stay through Saturday and help with the fieldtrip. The staff of the community center were taking the kids to a pumpkin farm an hour and a half out of town for a cookout and hayride. Scott and I fell into a pattern of me going to work and him helping at the center in the afternoons and going with me on audits in the evenings. He never told me what he did while I was at work in the mornings. However, I did notice I had a new window in the bedroom, a motion detector light installed outside of the apartment, and a phone jack complete with phone in my bathroom. Lovely. I could talk on the phone while I peed. I hadn't made any headway with Angel. While Scott had been in another part of the building with the elementary kids, I had gone to see Angel's grandmother again. My friend Minnie, at the museum, had asked for one or two more pieces of Angel's work which she had offered to try to sell in the amateur exhibition the museum was hosting in November. I thought if Angel saw his work was good enough to sell in an art museum, he might realize it was worth his time and manly effort. On Thursday I drove us to Minnie's instead of back to the Candle Factory. Once again, Scott didn't agree with my plan to help Angel. He sat beside me in a tense silence. "Look. Angel's artistic skill is the key to getting him out of the Nights." "You can't win this. It's too late for him." I didn't reply because I didn't want to argue. But it wasn't too late. Angel had to see how good he was. Minnie had raved over his abstracts. 291

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When we arrived at the museum, I pulled the prints from the backseat. Scott followed me inside without comment. I'd met Minnie Winthrow two years ago when I was assisting with an audit of the museum. I'd just passed my CPA exam, and Minnie insisted to Dale that I should do the audit solo. Because Minnie's husband was one of the wealthiest businessmen in the state, and a client of Wainwright and Potter, Minnie got her way. I'd been in awe of her ever since. Not only did she have a Steel Magnolia personality, but she had this gorgeous coffee cream complexion I'd kill for. Even at seventy-three she had very few wrinkles. And that wasn't because of plastic surgery either. It was good genetics. She'd told me so herself. In Minnie's, office I stood anxiously like a mother hen as Minnie held up a painting of a wino laid out on a park bench. The background included dark streaks running across the canvas. In the foreground several pigeons preened and strutted perhaps waiting for a morsel of bread. One pigeon off to the left side was sprawled on the ground as if it had been stepped on. The scene was disturbing and powerful. "I don't like this," she declared. I clutched my hands. What? I thought it was incredible. "But," she continued, "I want it. I think I could get eight for it." Since I'd never seen anything under fifty dollars even at the amateur exhibits, I knew Minnie was talking eight hundred dollars. I glanced at Scott. He approached Minnie standing behind her and studied the painting. 292

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"Who would want that hanging on their wall? It's depressing." Minnie looked over her shoulder and her glasses at Scott."Pain makes a statement." "It's not a statement I'd want in my house." "Perhaps, sir, I could interest you in the bowls of fruit the kindergarteners drew during their visit last week. I believe one has that Montana girl reaching for a pear." I covered my giggle with a cough. Not very convincingly, if Scott's glare at me was any indication. Minnie placed the canvas on her desk. "I'll have to have it matted and framed. Do you think Angel would mind? I'd take the cost out of his commission." "I think it's fine." "Good." She picked up the telephone on her desk and told someone named Jordyn to come get the paintings and take them to Pendleton Framers. In a moment, a tall slim woman with wire framed glasses entered the office. "Here they are, Jordyn." Minnie handed her the canvases. "Tell him I need them by the fourteenth." "Yes, Minnie." She accepted the paintings and hurried out. "I want to meet this child. Can you get him here?" "Yes." "No." You can probably guess between Scott and me which of us said what. "Minnie, I'll call you." I took Scott's hand and pulled him from the office. After we were settled in the car, Scott began. 293

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"How can you even think of doing this? Need I remind you Angel Carlisle has already put you in the hospital once?" "That was circumstantial, Scott." "Come on." "I won't do it by myself. I'll get Darvey to go with me." "Darvey, hah." I shook my head but said nothing. I didn't know what Scott had against Darvey. He had done so much to help me when I'd been searching for Eli, and he'd let me stay at his house to protect me. Scott should be grateful to him instead of treating him like a rival. A rival. I took my eyes off the road for a moment and gave an astonished look to Scott. "You're jealous." "Jealous?" He snorted. "You shouldn't be. He and Delia are dating." "Don't change the subject. I want you to stay away from Angel, his paintings, his grandmother, and anything else to do with him. I mean it." "You're wrong about him." "What if I'm not?" I didn't have an answer for that question. I waited for more demands, more orders, more predicted doom if I didn't stay away from Angel. None came. Scott suggested we go out for dinner at a cozy restaurant nestled on the side of a mountain. We sat next to a wall of glass overlooking the many twinkling lights of the city. "How did you find this place?" I asked as I watched the line of white and red lit movement on Interstate seventy-five below us. 294

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"I asked Conley where I could take someone to make her fall in love with me." What? Was this the same Scott who had cursed and run when he had unintentionally declared his love for me? What was he doing? What was he up to? My eyes flew to his heated gaze. I squirmed in my seat feeling the temperature go up about ten degrees. He tilted his head still gazing at me sending me signals of what he'd like to be doing right now with me instead of sitting on the other side of the table "Yeah?" I quipped. "How many times has it worked?" "You can be my first time. How would that be?" I recognized his words from the first night I had been at his house, slept in his bed, the first time he had slept in his bed. Gulp. I shook my head. I had no idea what to say. "When I get you back to your apartment, I'm going to love every inch of you." My hand knocked over the long-stemmed glass of water. A waiter hurried over and mopped up the water with a large snowy white napkin apologizing as if he'd something to do with it. I realized Scott had changed tactics on me. Later that evening, he nibbled my neck as I tried for the third time to get the key in the lock of my front door. His hands gripped the door frame, and he pressed me up against the door. "Would you wait? I can't get the door open." 295

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Sliding one hand down, he steadied my hand, the key entered, and the knob turned opening the door. He held back as I deposited the keys in my purse and set it on the counter. I bypassed the motorcycle and faced him. Now what? Right here on the floor next to his Harley? Scott sauntered in, closed the door behind him and locked it. "I want to make a deal with you tonight," he declared as he came to stand in front of me and cradled my head in his hands. "I want your promise that you'll give up on Angel." His hands had moved to my shoulders where his fingers kneaded the muscles. "What kind of deal is that?" I tried to sound stern but failed. "I promise I will do anything you want, give you anything you want tonight." "Sexually?" "Anything." "Cheesecake from Bonhoeffer's?" His hands stilled. "If that's what you want." "You'll take a bath with me?" I knew he hated taking baths. He was a shower man from way back. "Yes." "Hmm." I was really liking this, but I didn't want to give up on Angel. I knew I could help him. I knew it. "I can take your Harley out for a ride by myself?" A slight hesitation. "Do you know how to drive a motorcycle? I could teach you, and you could...take it out."

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I almost had him. I could tell by the look on his face the offer was painful. Scott treasured that Harley like it was a baby. He didn't even like leaving it in the parking lot. "Paint your fingernails red?" "If that's what it takes." "I care about Angel. He's a good artist. He could get out of this." Scott lowered his head and kissed me. "Please," he whispered against my lips. He rained tiny kisses along my cheek to my ear. "Please," he repeated. His fingertips traced my spine under my shirt. "Please." He was still pleading with me an hour later in my bedroom. He had asked me what he could do to pleasure me. And he said it with a straight face, so he got points for that. Plus for not scowling when I laughed. What could he do to pleasure me? Presently, he was giving me a pedicure. So intent on his task with his head bent, he peered at my freshly lotioned toes which he was now carefully filing. I considered loopholes to 'the deal.' "Can I give Minnie Angel's granny's number?" "That's not giving up on him." "I told Minnie I'd get Angel over there to meet her." Scott set the file down on the bed. "I see you need more convincing." He crawled up toward the head board against which I was leaning, sat, and pulled me onto his lap. "Name your pleasure." He breathed in my ear and kissed my neck. I sighed. "Scott, this is selfish on my part. I'm not giving up on him just so you can...pleasure me all night." 297

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"Please." A kiss to my shoulder. "Please, pretty please." He lifted my arm and kissed the sensitive flesh inside my bicep. Lower still to the crook of my arm. Another kiss. "I can't stand to think of something bad happening to you. It kills me." A kiss inside my wrist and my palm. Each finger tip he punctuated with a kiss and a word. "I do love you, Abigail." That did it. "Okay." Saturday morning dawned crisp and sunny, a perfect day to trounce through pumpkin patches and paint gourds. Lola, Scott and I, along with two other chaperons, rode on a school bus with the elementary kids while Mr. Harvey and Paula, and another volunteer rode in the other bus with the older kids. It was a big group, the largest turnout we'd had since the fire. I think it was because funds had been cut at the school, so there hadn't been any fieldtrips. The kids and their families knew this might be it for the year. How sad. I sat in the back of the bus thinking about Angel. I had kept my word since the Thursday night deal, but Minnie, bless her heart, had bypassed me and had called Mr. Harvey the next day to set up an appointment with Angel and his great grandmother. I figured Minnie had done so because of how Scott had acted in her office. I was relieved to know Minnie was taking things into her own hands, and now Angel was likely to get a mentor and firm hand in Minnie. But I was disappointed in myself. Had I caved because Scott had said the magic L word? Was that how much my integrity was worth, a declaration of love? How pathetic was I? 298

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Creating dust clouds along a dirt road, the buses turned single file onto an open steel gate, tires rumbling over metal grates. After exiting the buses we met Henry and Lisa Fowler, owners of the pumpkin farm. They led us on a tour of the farm including a barn and a silo. In the field was a maize maze. It was the coolest thing. The Fowlers organized the day very well. Mr. Harvey had told me they supplemented their farming income by hosting school and church groups. Apparently, a farmer could make more by plowing trails in his corn than by harvesting it and selling it at the grocery store. Amazing. Long tables stood in the yard with paint and brushes to decorate gourds. While one group decorated the gourds, another group went on the hay ride and yet another went through the maze. I was just settling onto the trailer among the hay for my ride when Yo-Yo did his head motion thing to me which meant 'Come here. I want to talk to you, but I'm too cool to call your name.' When I hopped off to approach him, he disappeared behind a pick-up truck. I stepped around the bumper and found him waiting for me. "Hey." His eyes shifted, his hands fidgeted. "Hey. What's up?" Because I knew it was something. I had never seen Yo-Yo so nervous. "Your boyfriend, Mr. Mac." "Yeah?" "You like him?" "I love him." 299

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Yo-Yo shook his head in sorrow. "Miss Abigail, he's playing you. Big time." My heart stopped. What? "What are you talking about, YoYo?" "Mr. Mac is a cop. He's Eli." I shook my head—not really in denial, but in shock. How could they know? "How do you know that?" "Angel figured it out. He drew Eli one time in his notebook, and yesterday he erased the hair, and there was Mr. Mac. We think he's jes' getting close to you to spy on us, trying to get us in trouble. But, he's bad news, Miss Abigail. He's using you." "Yo-Yo, you are so sweet to tell me this. I'll talk to him." "Oh, you don't need to do that. Angel, Julio, and Rodney are going to take care of it." Yo-Yo nodded earnestly at me. "What do you mean 'take care of it'?" I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. "Yo-Yo, tell me what they're going to do?" "They're going to get them a filch, and make him sorry he ever got near you." "Yo-Yo, they can't. He's not a filch. He's a good guy. I knew about Eli. He's here for me. Only me." I grabbed YoYo's shoulders and shook them. "You tell me right now what they're doing." "They got him in the barn. They sent Dee-Ann to tell him you needed him. Angel's sliding silver. I don't think he's gonna use it though, just in case the cop is packin'. For protection." 300

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I didn't understand a lot of the lingo, but I did know sliding silver meant Angel had a gun. Angel had a gun. Oh, Lord, don't let me be too late. I took off running for the barn. I never saw it coming. Some little kid had told me Abigail was in the barn and needed help, so I went. I never suspected that it was an ambush. When I walked in, I looked at the shadowed interior stacked here and there with bales of hay. "Abigail?" Whack. The back of my head exploded in pain. The force of whatever it was that had hit me propelled me forward, face down onto the floor. I tried to turn over to defend myself, but I wasn't quick enough. Weight pressed on me, hands grabbed my head and beat it against the concrete floor. At the same time, someone kicked me repeatedly in the ribs. I snaked my arm out, grabbed the foot, and tripped the guy. I bucked whoever was on top of me, but he was too heavy. "Stop that. You stop that, and get off him right now." Abigail snarled. All movement ceased. The weight disappeared. I tried to breathe but was finding it difficult. With one hand, I pushed myself over but almost passed out from the pain it caused in my chest. "What do you mean ganging up on somebody? Mr. Mac is my guest and my boyfriend." 301

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I opened my eyes focusing on Abigail who stood wagging her finger in the faces of three teenage boys towering over her. "Miss Abigail, he's a liar, and he's a cop." "You don't beat up a cop. You don't beat up anybody. Geez, I thought you guys were smarter than that." "I thought you was smarter than letting some guy hook up with you just so he could get to us." "You don't use violence to solve your problems. When are you going to realize that?" "We don't want no narcs around here." "Well, too bad," Abigial snapped. "Because if you'd keep your snotty noses clean and start using your brains for something else other than getting into trouble, you wouldn't have to worry about narcs." One of them mumbled something. "What was that?" Silence. Abigail held out her hand. "Give me the gun." A gun! I tried to sit up, but moaned instead. Abigail glanced back at me. "Just lie still, honey," she cooed at me. She turned back to the boys, all three of them at least a foot taller than she was. She glared at them until their gazes dropped to the floor. If I could have moved, I would have kissed her. "Give me the gun now." she spat. Angel sighed, reached behind him, pulled the gun from his waistband and handed it to her. I must have sucked in a breath too quickly because I began coughing. 302

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"Any more weapons?" No sound or movement. "In my hand right now, gentlemen," she commanded. The other two placed objects in her hand, but from where I was lying I couldn't tell what they were. "Now you get over there, apologize and help him." They stood there staring at the ground. "Move it." And they did. Coming over and issuing apologies, Angel and another kid I didn't know picked me up by my arms and set me on my feet. I swayed a bit, and Angel wrapped his arm around me for support. "See what you did? Shame on you." Angel spoke in a low tone in my ear. "You pull any shit with Miss Abigail, we gonna finish what we started, and next time she may not be around to save your cop ass. That's all I got to say." He squeezed around my rib cage to emphasize his point. I would have laughed if it hadn't hurt so bad. The next morning, I opened bleary eyes to find Abigail sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed and sniffling in a tissue. After a visit to the emergency room, we'd gotten back to her apartment about four o'clock in the morning. She'd settled me in the bed and had gone back out to fill my prescriptions at an all night pharmacy over my protests. I'd fallen asleep before she had gotten back. "What's wrong?" I rasped. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I can't quit crying." I raised my hand to her. "Come here." 303

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"No. I'm afraid I'll jar you or the bed." Though I didn't have any broken bones, I did have some bruised ribs, and my face was all banged up. There was also a goose egg on the back of my head. "Please. Pretty please?" I crooked my fingers back and forth toward me. Come here. She laughed as she wiped her eyes but came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I love you, Abigail. I've never seen anyone so brave. How you handled those boys... I have to tell you, honey, you amaze me." More tears. "Are you like that with them all the time?" "When I need to be. They were messing with my man." I shook my head at the wonder of her. My head protested the motion. I closed my eyes against the pain. She wiped the side of my face. "How about a pill?" What she said registered through the throbbing in my head. "I'm your man?" "You most definitely are." "Because you love me?" "Yes. I do. I love you. I've loved you since you pulled me in that closet at the gang's house." "That was Eli." "That was Scott posing as Eli." "I don't think I need to worry about you anymore. You know how to handle those kids." "I took some pointers from Paula." 304

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"And if somebody messes with you, I believe Angel and his homeys will take care of them." "Isn't it wonderful? Angel and Julio are rivals, from difference races, maybe even different gangs, and they united to beat you up." "Because of you. Because they think so much of you." As the boys had helped me toward the door of the barn, Abigail had threatened them against breathing a word of what had happened. She went on ahead of us to ask the Fowlers to bring their truck around to the back side of the barn so none of the other kids could see my condition. With serious, almost sad eyes, Mr. Harvey had arrived in the truck with Mr. Fowler. Abigail explained what had happened and asked that the police not get involved. In spite of my weakened state, I protested. They had broken the law. They had attacked me. Of course, the police needed to be involved. In response, Abigail pulled her cell phone from her purse, opened it, and aimed it at me, taking several pictures. "I think," she said as she took several shots, "this is enough evidence to have these young men do some community service at the museum. What do you think, Mr. Harvey?" Mr. Harvey shook his head. "Abigail, I agree with Scott." Abigail gazed at the large man, blinked her eyes like I had seen her do before. "If we call the police, they'll take them to the juvenile detention center, maybe even to prison. Their families don't have enough money to bail them out. They'll stay in there and rot. I happen to know the museum is strapped for volunteers. I think Minnie Winthrow would love 305

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to have some strong young men helping her clean out the exhibit rooms at the museum." She turned her eyes to Angel. "If you don't cooperate, Scott will fill out a warrant against you, and you'll go to jail. Is that what you want?" "No." "No, what?" He sighed. "No Ma'am." "That's right. You be as gentle as you can, and put Scott in the truck. Oh." She reached into her purse again and pulled out the gun by the barrel with thumb and forefinger. "Mr. Harvey, keep this for me, will you? It's my insurance policy that these young men will put in their twelve months in at the museum." "Twelve months!" Julio spit. Abigail crossed the couple of feet and stood toe to toe to him. "You got something to say about it?" "No. No, Ma'am." "Good." Mr. Fowler drove us to the hospital, and during those twelve hours she had convinced me to let the Abigail Benton juvenile rehabilitation system have first shot at knocking those boys into shape. I squeezed her hand and pulled her closer to me on the bed. I loved her. How could I love her this much? Tears welled up in her eyes again. One fell and trailed down her cheek. "You are doing good here. You're good for the center and those kids. I won't ask you to give it up again." "Okay." 306

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"What would you think about me moving down here, seeing if I could get a transfer, getting married?" She shook her head. My gut wrenched. How could I convince her? I didn't want to let her go. I couldn't. "We should live in Stone Rand close to your family. I bet I could find some at-risk kids to whip into shape. I really like doing that. You think there are any programs like the community center up there?" I sat up and put my arms around her and kissed her. Drawing back, I searched her face. "You mean it? You'll marry me?" She smiled prettily. "Yes, I mean it. Do you mean it?" "Yesterday, I thought if I ever got up off that floor I wasn't going to let you go." "How's it feel to let somebody finish your race?" "Babe, the way you were wiping the floors with those teenagers, you can finish my race anytime." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Epilogue **** In a completely unexpected turn of events, Abigail insisted I go ask her dad for her hand in marriage. Her hand in marriage. I couldn't believe it. This woman who had stared down gang members and had balked at any little gesture of mine to protect her had now decided to be Victorian? I didn't get it. When we'd arrived at her parents' house, we'd sat in the parlor to get acquainted. Larry Benton had studied me like I was a bull on the auction block. I didn't think I'd had made the cut. When Abigail's mother had shown us to our separate bedrooms, Abigail had protested. "Mom, you've got to be kidding me." "Humor us, dear. Your father declared in no uncertain terms that there would be no shacking up under his roof." "Yeah. How terrible to think someone might actually have sex here," she grumbled. The older woman swatted her daughter on the butt. "I raised you better than that." I excused myself from this exchange between mother and daughter by hanging back in the hallway. They went into what was obviously Abigail's room, talking in low tones, and Stella came back into the hall and shut the door behind her. She led me to the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. 308

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"Here's your bedroom, Scott." The older woman stood aside and motioned for me to enter. I did so, noting the antique furnishings. "Do you need anything else?" "No Ma'am." "We'll see you downstairs, then." She smiled at me and closed the door leaving me alone. I paced the floor in the guest bedroom trying to screw up my courage to go downstairs. A soft knock sounded on the door, and I turned to see Abigail slip inside. She grinned at me as she sprinted across the room and grabbed me around the waist. She lifted her head and kissed me on the lips. "I love you. You know that, right?" "Yes." "This is just a formality. I'm still going to marry you whether they agree or not." I sighed. If it was just a formality, then what were we doing here? "You shouldn't be in here. Your dad is just looking for an excuse to castrate me. I know it." "Appearances matter to my parents. That's why the separate bedrooms. For appearances. They like you though. I can tell." Her hands moved down to my butt and squeezed. She pressed her body into mine and gyrated her hips. "I can come in here tonight after everybody settles down." I snorted. I had sat down on the bed when I first came in here. The springs had to be a hundred years old and in dire need of some WD 40. Any action on that bed would alert the whole neighborhood.

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"You should stay in your own room. I wouldn't want to insult your dad by hooking up with his daughter under his own roof. At least, not until after I've married her." She patted me and drew away, but took my hand in hers. "Well, come on then. Let's go do it." By it she meant asking their permission for me to marry her. As she led me downstairs, my chest tightened. Whew. I was glad I only had to do this once in my life. We found them on the back porch. Stella was pouring tea in two glasses as we joined them. Larry stood next to the rail, his face unreadable. Without a word, Stella handed us the tea and invited us to sit down. When I sat on the wicker loveseat, Abigail settled close to me and tucked her hand in mine. Her dad's eyes narrowed. I moved away from her a couple of safe inches, and she followed. When I glared at her, she glanced at her dad then back to me. Do it. That was her message. I cleared my throat. "Mr. Benton—" "Larry," he barked. "Larry..." I turned back to her in desperation. She squeezed my hand and nodded. Yes, you can do it. "Larry." I couldn't tear my eyes away from Abigail. "I love your daughter, and I've asked her to marry me." She broke eye contact, and I followed her lead finally turning to Larry. "We'd like your blessing. Yours and Stella's." The man's eyes rounded. "You'd like...?" 310

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"This seems so sudden. Didn't you two just meet last month?" Stella's hand fluttered at her throat. "No, Mom. We've known each other since I started working at the center in Clavania. Scott was on a case there." "How dangerous is your work with the ATF?" Larry wanted to know. "Not terribly so. I worked eight years undercover, but now I do routine licensing and monitoring." "Very boring," Abigail added. I raised my eyebrows at her. This was helping? "How soon are you two wanting to get married? Have you set a date?" Larry shifted on his feet and leaned back on the rail. Abigail and I looked at each other. How long did it take to get married? "Christmas?" she suggested. "Where?" I asked her. "Can we get married at the community center in Clavania?" "You're kidding," her dad and I said in unison. "It'll be so much easier for me to plan the wedding close by, and having it at the community center can be sort of a goodbye celebration for when we get married and I move to Tennessee with you." "Abigail, come on," I continued. "That is a recipe for disaster. Haven't you had enough of the insanity of that place? Let's have a regular wedding at a church somewhere." "If it wasn't for the insanity of that place, we wouldn't have met. They should be part of the celebration." 311

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I ran my fingers over my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is our wedding we're talking about. Can't we get married in a place where we don't have to worry about someone carrying a concealed weapon and shooting somebody?" "Sweetie, we've never had an incident where the kids brought in weapons. They know better." "If we bring your parents' ritzy friends—no offense, Larry— into Little Five Points, that might be too much of a temptation for the gangs not to act. Look what happened when we brought the mayor and the commissioners in." Abigail shook her head. "You think decent folks don't have guns? I bet there are more weapons in this neighborhood than in fourteen blocks of Clavania." I took a deep breath and fought to keep my voice calm. "Yes, and I'm sure every person in this neighborhood has the proper registration to carry said weapons." "We could hire a few security guards for the parking lot. I bet Darvey could get several guys to do that for us." "Someone could still slip inside the community center." She stared at the tea pitcher, her brow creasing. Slapping her knee, she grinned. "I've got it. We get a metal detector installed at the door. They've been wanting to get one, but the grant to buy it fell through. It'll be our wedding present to the center." I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay. I guess if you're that determined, we'll make it work." She reached over and hugged me. "Thanks. It'll be wonderful. You'll see." 312

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"Scott, my boy," Larry smiled for the first time since I'd met him. His eyes twinkled. "You have my blessing and my sympathies." **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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About the Author I have aspirations to be Wonder Woman, but find highheeled boots uncomfortable. However, I appreciate that she values truth and that she doesn't know a bad hair day. I have the heart of a writer and am blessed to be able to write both professionally and recreationally. I reside in Kentucky with my awesome family. They're okay with me not being Wonder Woman, as long as I take a break from the fictitious worlds I create and join them for supper. Jennifer loves to talk to her readers and can be found at booksbyjenniferjohnson.com. **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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Also Available from Resplendence Publishing **** Dictated by Fate by Fran Lee Chris has been through hell, is about to be homeless, and her situation is showing no signs of improvement. She knows there is no such thing as a knight in shining armor—she learned that the hard way. Now she's on the brink of total disaster with no champion to save her. Tonio is being shoved toward an unwelcome, unwanted marriage, and is quickly running out of options. It boils down to a choice between getting hogtied to a woman he can't stand, or quickly finding an attractive substitute who can be the band-aid he needs, without becoming a full-body cast. When Chris and Tonio meet, fate intervenes with a vengeance. They each make assumptions about the other's lifestyle choices, and assume that a no-strings attached relationship between them is the perfect solution. But you know what they say happens when you assume... The Greek Rule by Aleka Nakis Ambitious and beautiful Athena Lakis has one simple rule... No romance with a Greek. In theory, this tenet should be easy to keep. After all, reaching for her lifelong dream to own and operate a prestigious hotel on prime seaside property in Greece, she has her hands full. The major hurdle being her drop-dead gorgeous competition: Greek tycoon Alexandros Strintzaris. 315

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Alexandros has his sights set on more than just a real estate deal. He wants Athena, and he always gets what he wants. When he discovers she is the one outbidding him on the resort, will he feel the same? From a Naples ballroom to the exotic island of Santorini, Alexandros and Athena learn when it comes to affairs of the heart, there are always exceptions to the rule. Trouble With the Law by Tatiana March Arrested for soliciting during a wedding in rural Pennsylvania, Justine Whitmore spends a steamy night with the local sheriff who clears up the misunderstanding and releases her. She never expects to see him again, but when an interfering busybody makes a complaint, Justine agrees to pretend a whirlwind romance in order to protect her reputation and the sheriff's job. Embittered by a divorce from a scheming city woman, Sheriff Mark Taylor has sworn to avoid her kind. No amount of cursing will change the fact that he fell for the wedding guest hauled into his office dressed in nothing but expensive underwear. A country hick and a high maintenance PR executive—can they tolerate each other long enough to make it look real? But sometimes people are not what you believe them to be... The Summer Deal by Aleka Nakis Samantha Mallone is a smart, beautiful redhead who is oblivious of the magnetic affect she has on her charismatic boss.

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International billionaires don't lie to get a woman, but Demosthenis Lakis does just that to lure his assistant to Greece. Unaware of her employer's true motivations, Samantha eagerly prepares for a summer in the Mediterranean when her psychotic-ex calls and threatens her, prompting Mr. Lakis to arrange for her to leave New York immediately. Abroad, Mr. Lakis changes the ground rules: they're in Greece where formalities are foreign. Samantha becomes Sammy, and Mr. Lakis becomes Demo. Sexual tension burns as the big-eyed Sammy tours the ancient ruins on Demo's arm and discovers his intent to show her there is more to their relationship than business. Proving to be unlike other men from Sammy's past, Demo puts their passionate summer deal to the test of a lifetime... The Fine Art of Kissing by Catherine Chernow What happens when the King of Truth, America's top, no-spin journalist and popular talk-show host meets the Love Doctor—everyone's favorite relationship guru and kissing expert? Julie Wilson is America's favorite relationship guru. She writes a book about kissing, creating a media sensation. Brad O'Malley, popular talk-show host, wants to interview Julie. She refuses, knowing Brad O'Malley places his guests in the 'hot seat.' In retaliation, he steals a kiss from Julie at her book signing. The kiss ignites Julie's senses—and her popularity. She agrees to appear on 'O'Malley's Corner' and boldly announces that she's kissed a hundred men to research her book. 317

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Brad's ratings soar, but Julie will soon regret her 'hundred men' lie when he offers her a regular spot on his show...and a hefty salary. Julie accepts, knowing the generous offer will help the local women's shelter she volunteers at, but will she be able endure the arrogant Brad O'Malley...and her growing attraction to him? Sealing the bargain with another mindblowing kiss, sparks fly as Julie and Brad go head-to-head, and delve into... the fine art of kissing. More than Words by Kelly Kirch Kylie Dobson is a romance author with a problem. As a seat-of-the-pants writer, she depends on the strength of the characters to drive her plot. But when her hero, Milo, Lord Gafton refuses to chase after the prescribed heroine, everything goes wonky. Kylie is inexplicably sucked into her work of fiction, transported from a contemporary venue to a fictional Regency setting. What's worse is, nothing she does is affecting the plot and she can't get out. Set into motion by her own creative process is a winter storm which seals the Regency party goers in on a country estate. If that wasn't bad enough, a murderer is on the loose and he's picking off one guest at a time. The more time she spends with Milo the more she comes to depend on him. She's convinced that his character sketch will kick in at any moment and he'll fall for her heroine. But will it happen before she loses her heart to him? And what happens when the plot draws to the end? Will the killer have his way and will Kylie solve the case only to be returned to her reality without the man she's fallen for? Project Seduction by Tatiana March: 318

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Project Manager: Georgina Coleman, VP at Pacific Bank, 28 years old. Brilliant and determined, but lacking in social skills. Project background: Transfer from London to San Diego allows Georgina to shed her dowdy image and get a life. Project objective: Seduce a man and lose her virginity. Timeline: Seven weeks, starting from the completion of Project Flowchart. Target: Georgina's downstairs neighbor, a surly cop named Rick Matisse. Complication: Rick's 12-year-old daughter Angelina, who thinks Georgina would be the perfect girlfriend to keep Dad on his toes. Distraction: Money laundering investigation which requires Georgina to mingle with a bunch of Colombian thugs who believe that every woman should be owned by a man. Project evaluation: A project can go wrong despite successful completion, if Project Manager fails to plan for how to deal with the Target after project closure. **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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Find Resplendence titles at the following retailers **** Resplendence Publishing www.ResplendencePublishing.com Amazon www.Amazon.com Barnes and Noble www.BarnesandNoble.com Target www.Target.com Fictionwise www.Fictionwise.com All Romance E-Books www.AllRomanceEBooks.com Mobipocket www.Mobipocket.com ****

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