Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  “How did you meet?” I said, wondering where the creep hung out to pick up young girls. Maybe we should be going after him along with the abortion provider.

  Melinda smiled and her eyes turned heavenwards. “We met here. Me and some of my girlfriends were playing volleyball over there.” She gazed lovingly at the patch of orange sand and the drooping net of the volleyball court. “He was watching us play...”

  Pervert. Of course he was. How much older than her was he? Why did girls fall for that? Maybe he was handsome. He must’ve been smooth.

  Melinda’s eyes sparkled. She batted her long lashes and twisted her arms together as she spoke.

  The poor girl. Melinda thought she was in love, but it wasn’t real, and she would find out the hard way. She said they were taking a break from their relationship. Whose idea was that? Maybe Tony moved on to another underage girl. If only I could help young girls before they fell into these life-altering, destructive traps. I wanted to help. In fact, I felt called. I needed to help young girls.

  A strong determination coursed through me. Yes, I would reschedule my appointment with the abortion clinic. Maybe I could—

  Sean kicked my leg again.

  “Ow.” I rubbed my leg. I hadn’t said anything, only thought it. What was his problem?

  “Melinda asked you a question,” he said. Then his head turned at the rumble of a truck pulling into the parking lot.

  A charcoal Dodge Ram similar to Jarret’s parked next to my Honda Accord. Sean jumped up from the picnic table and scooted to a tree ten feet away.

  “What are you doing?” I glared at him. Had he lost his mind?

  “Who’s that?” Melinda said.

  I turned.

  Jarret strutted across the lawn, his gaze fixed on Sean. He wore dark work pants and a short-sleeved, slate shirt that hung loose and emphasized his muscular physique.

  With emotions wavering between irritation and concern, I got up and approached him. I would not let him blow this interview.

  As soon as we got within four feet of each other, he turned his scowling gaze on me.

  “Jarret.” I smiled as sincerely as I could in an attempt to calm his obviously cross mood. “What’re you doing here? How’d you find me?”

  His scowl faded as I stepped closer, a vulnerable boyish look replacing it. “I’m working right over there.” He pointed toward the tennis court.

  “You are?” I squinted to see past the tennis court, making out a distant road and, beyond that, a few scattered houses and a wide, rolling field. The grassy, nearly treeless field went on for miles. Something blue, maybe a tent, stood back there.

  “I saw your car when I was driving by, going to lunch.” His gaze flitted to the picnic table and then to Sean.

  “Hey, Jarret.” Sean stood with his back glued to the tree.

  “Sean,” Jarret said through gritted teeth. Then he faced me, the boyish look returning. “So, whatcha doing here?” He gave Melinda a cursory glance.

  I moved closer to avoid being heard by the others. “I’m working,” I whispered, touching his arm. His eyelids flickered at my touch. “I’m with a, oh, I guess, a witness or an informant or whatever. So, if you don’t mind...” I turned him around, linked my arm in his, and walked him halfway back to his truck.

  “So where’s Roland?”

  “He’s at the office.” I let go of his arm.

  He stopped walking. “He should be with you at all times.”

  “Is he in trouble now?” My voice came out ugly, my pleasant expression gone. I forced the kindness back into my tone and my eyes. “He’s going over something with Mitch.”

  “Yeah, so, what’s he doing here?” He shot a glance at Sean.

  I huffed. “I work with him.”

  He stared, the answer apparently not satisfying him.

  Folding my arms, I huffed again. Sean had said he thought Jarret was jealous of him, so I should probably give a better answer. “Please, Jarret, just go. Candice didn’t want me interviewing anyone alone, what with my memory all messed up. And everyone else was busy.” I glanced over my shoulder. Sean stood with his back to us now, probably his attempt to show his disinterest in our conversation. I looked at Jarret again. “Why do you think he’s here?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think.” His lip curled up.

  Unwilling to linger long on his hard eyes, I let my gaze travel down his long nose to the curl of his lip, to his rough jaw, to his clean neck, and... there. The throbbing at the base of his neck. I had to see it, the proof that he was more than the image I had created of him in my own mind. He was a real man. A man with blood coursing through arteries and veins. He had a heart. And the distance between us pained him.

  “I think...” Mouth hanging open, he seemed unable to say more.

  I met his gaze.

  His eyes spoke words I didn’t understand, words of pain and doubt and fear. He pressed his lips together, gave Sean a hard stare, and stormed away.

  When his truck disappeared from view, Sean detached himself from the tree and returned to the bench.

  I remained standing in the strip of grass, staring at the road and wondering. What was up with Jarret and Sean? Did Jarret have a reason to despise him? Still contemplating, I shuffled back to the picnic table.

  “Who was that?” Melinda said, a lilt in her voice.

  “That was Caitlyn’s husband,” Sean said, a bit cold and with his gaze sliding to me.

  “He’s cute,” Melinda said.

  CHAPTER 19

  WITH ANOTHER BAG of sub sandwiches, this one to appease hungry coworkers, Sean and I returned to the office. Sean held the door and studied me as I walked into the building, as if he suspected I had something on my mind. He was right. On the drive back, I’d wanted to ask him about his rocky relationship with Jarret. But the words wouldn’t come. So, as we stepped into the dimly lit reception room of Wright Investigators, I forced myself to speak.

  “Sean?” I stopped next to the Sherlock Holmes statue that propped open the door.

  Sean walked ahead a few feet but stopped. As he turned to face me, his blue eyes glistened in the light from a window, a look of hesitancy in them. And something else I couldn’t identify. He glanced over his shoulder toward the open door to the office. No one saw us.

  “I need to talk to you before we go in.”

  “Talk to me?” A dazed, surfer-boy expression passed over his face.

  I sat in one of the red-cushioned metal chairs and patted the one next to me.

  After a few more furtive glances, he combed a hand through his windblown blond hair and sat. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about Jarret. When I asked you about him yesterday, I got the feeling you held something back.”

  He stared blankly for a moment then lowered his head. “Nah. There’s nothing to say.”

  “Well, I saw the look he gave you. And you clinging to the tree. There’s obviously tension between you two. What’s it about?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you, he’s jealous over you. A girl as pretty as you...” He gave me flirty smile. “...that’s reason enough.”

  “Sean, please.” I straightened in the chair, leaning toward him a bit, trying to convey how important this was to me. “I know it’s like we just met, but you’re so easy to read.”

  His cheeks flushed. He slouched back, rubbed his hair, inhaled, exhaled, and finally made eye contact. “Well, what do you want to know?”

  “Have you ever had a confrontation with him?”

  He stared out of the top of his eyes, the way a child might do when considering the safest way to answer. “Yeah, you know, we had a company picnic end of last summer, Wright Investigators and the Investors, since we’re all in the same building, and we see each other all the time, it just seemed like a good idea—”

  “Okay.” I interrupted to get him back on track.

  He inhaled and sighed. “I reckon I said something to you that maybe I shouldn’t have, and Jarret was
right behind me, but I didn’t know it. It pissed him off. He shot me a dirty look. Then when we were playing football, you know, touch football, he tackled the crap out of me, even though we were on the same team. I had bruises for a week.”

  I suppressed a giggle and tried to offer a show of sympathy. “Okay. So, you said something inappropriate. What about last Friday? You said you saw us together at lunchtime. Were we getting along?”

  “I don’t know. I noticed you in his truck, that’s all.”

  “Well, is there something else, something you know about him that I don’t know?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. Is there something you know about me that he doesn’t know? Did I have any secrets from him?” I wanted to know but felt reluctant to hear the answer. I hated the idea that I would keep something from my husband, even if it was Jarret.

  He nodded, staring at the floor. “Maybe.”

  “What?” Would I have to pry it from him? “Tell me.”

  “Caitlyn, naw, don’t make me say more.” He shifted, fidgeting with his shirt and shaking his head, squirming under my gaze. “I can’t see that it has anything to do with—well, you’re trying to find out what happened Friday night, right? I’ll help you with that, and I’ll help you with cases. But... why are you asking all this? What’s it got to do—”

  I touched his arm and squeezed it. “Please.”

  Eyes glazing over, he stroked my hand, then pulled away and folded his arms. “Ohhhh-kay.” He shifted in the seat, licked his lips, rubbed his chin, and finally spoke. “Something happened, you know, about a month ago, maybe not that long, maybe more like two weeks and five days. It was a Saturday. You and I were undercover on assignment, attending a party at a suspect’s house, posing as a couple.”

  He paused as if I needed a moment to understand what he’d said so far. “We were trying to find some stolen goods, a shipment of electronics. So we sneaked around, searched the house downstairs and then...” He leaned forward and rubbed his arm. “While searching upstairs, I heard someone coming and...” He gulped. “Well, we couldn’t blow our cover. We weren’t supposed to be upstairs. You know, the party was downstairs.” A guilty look flashed in his eyes. “I—I kissed you.”

  “What?” I jerked back, a breath escaping. Even with all the lead-up, what he said shocked me.

  “I was trying to protect our cover.” He rushed his words. “What else would a couple be doing upstairs in someone else’s house during a party?” His face flushed red again.

  “I—I let you kiss me?” My brain couldn’t accept the thought. I would not have allowed it...would I?

  He shook his head. “Not really. You pushed me away and backed up. But the bed was behind you, and you ended up stumbling and falling onto it. You asked what I thought I was doing. But then you heard them, too. They were right outside the door. They were coming. So, I made a move to kiss you again. You sort of let me, at first, then you slapped me. They found us sitting on the bed, you angry with me. I thought they’d tell us to leave or go back downstairs, but they didn’t. They acted like it was no big deal, maybe didn’t want involved in a lover’s spat. When they left, we found what we were looking for. Later we got a, you know, a search warrant. Case closed.”

  “Oh.” I turned away and wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling slimy and ashamed, feeling worse than when I first realized I’d lost my virginity to Jarret. That made sense to me now, being a married woman. But here I was a married woman, a pregnant married woman, kissing another man. I felt like I’d cheated on...my husband...and even my baby.

  “If it makes you feel better...” He hunched forward, a sheepish look on his face. “I know you didn’t want me to do it. You gave me a good talking to in the car. You were really mad.”

  “Does Jarret know?” It would certainly explain his behavior toward Sean.

  He shrugged. “I hope not. I begged you not to tell him. But you saw how he looked at me today. Maybe he knows. You think he’d just give me a dirty look if he knew?” Sean’s eyes narrowed as he considered it. “I kinda think he’d beat the tar outta me.”

  “Maybe I told him not to.” Did I have that kind of sway over him? Enough to keep him from pummeling someone who’d kissed me, his wife?

  The surfer-boy look returned to his blue eyes. “Hm. Maybe.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I HAD AWOKEN to the sound of the shower, water blasting for what seemed like an hour. Then I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I heard came through the closed bedroom door: Jarret complaining to Roland. “Now I’m losing my job and my wife. Ain’t it ironic that here I am an archaeologist and my entire life is in ruins.”

  Was his job really in jeopardy? Did he really think he was losing me? Had he ever really had me in the first place?

  Roland replied in a soothing tone, his quiet words indistinct through the bedroom door, probably offering hope and encouragement and advice that would be lost on Jarret.

  When I awoke the third time, I thought I’d heard the front door close. It was earlier than Jarret usually left for work, but he probably needed to make up for lost time.

  Despite my body’s protests, I crawled out of bed and dragged myself to the shower. I needed the early start to prepare for the appointment at A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic. After a quick but comforting shower under hot, blasting water, I dried off, put on my robe, and took the blow dryer to my hair. I found a flat iron in a vanity drawer and decided to straighten my hair and part it low on one side. Then I searched for make-up.

  I hated wearing make-up. It clogged my pores, looked unnatural, and took too much time to apply. Not to mention, I lacked the skill. But if I wanted to look the part—a fifteen-year-old, promiscuous girl—I’d better make an attempt. The girls pictured in my files all wore heavy make-up. I’d give it a try.

  Half an hour later, I stood in the closet, flipping through dresses and sighing. My clothing was way too modest. But wait! There in the corner lay the denim jumper I’d ruined Saturday. I could work with that.

  With the help of scissors and a white undershirt, one that I would’ve worn only under a full dress, I completed the image and stood gazing at myself in the dresser mirror.

  Sleek and straight, my red hair cascaded over my shoulders and one eye, the way the girl in the Piggly Wiggly had worn hers. My eyes screamed for attention with ridiculously thick black lashes and shimmering brown eyeshadow. A touch of pink blush on my cheeks and shiny lip-gloss completed the facade.

  I hadn’t always appreciated my thin, shapeless figure, but my stork-legs sticking out of the “new” denim mini-jumper and my flatter-than-average chest did make me appear young. I could pass for fifteen.

  Now to get Roland’s first impression. I stuffed my feet into clogs and yanked open the bedroom door.

  “I gotta run.” Jarret strode from the kitchen.

  Stomach dropping to the floor, I shrunk back. But too late.

  As Jarret neared the loveseat, he glanced. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and did a double take. “What the hell?”

  Mustering courage and gathering my resolve, I flashed a friendly smile and marched into the living room. “So, how old do I look?” I turned in a circle.

  Jarret gave me a few fleeting glances, seeming reluctant to look at me. “You look like a... a ho.”

  “How old of a ho?” I meant to be funny, but his glare only darkened.

  As Roland stepped around the corner, his mouth fell open and he made a few rapid blinks. Then he shook his head as if to pull himself together. “She’s dressed like that for work. She’s pretending to be an underage girl who, uh, uh...”

  “I rescheduled the appointment with the abortion clinic. I need to look fifteen, because of statutory rape laws in North Carolina. And my boyfriend will have to be, well, much older. We need to see what they will—”

  “Who’s your boyfriend?” Jarret’s jaw and one hand twitched.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll make someone up
.”

  “Are you going alone?”

  Another shrug. “Whatever Candice wants. She doesn’t know I rescheduled. I don’t know what the plan was before. Do you?”

  “I—I don’t like you doing this. It’s dishonest.”

  I huffed, offended. “What they do is dishonest. What they do destroys and kills, and some of it’s illegal. We’re trying to bring light to that.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right. The Church teaches that.”

  “What?” I almost contradicted him, but I knew what he meant. The end does not justify the means. St. Thomas Aquinas had written something like that. But this wasn’t the same. I wasn’t doing something seriously wrong, was I? What about Pope Pius XII when he forged documents and hid thousands of Jews during Hitler’s reign of terror? What about the Catholic “Just War” doctrine? No, I didn’t have to feel guilty about this.

  “Well, I don’t like it. I don’t like you walking into an abortion clinic for any reason. I don’t care if this getup...” He gestured to my home-styled minidress, his narrowed eyes flicking over my straightened hair and made-up face. “I don't care if it is a cover.”

  “I don’t like it either but I have to do this, Jarret. I have to find answers.”

  “Right.” His tone conveyed doubt and irritation. “Well, do what you gotta do, and get that stuff off as soon as you can.”

  “You.” He turned and pointed at Roland, who had gone to the table as if doing his best to stay out of it. “Call me.” Jarret gave me one last look and stormed from the house.

  CHAPTER 21

  “SORRY, CAITLYN. Would if I could, but I got things to do.” Sean hadn’t stopped soaking me in with his eyes since I’d stepped into the office.

  Annoyed at his weakness, I folded my arms across my chest and huffed. How did girls who dressed like this tolerate the leering?

  “Sean, look at my eyes. I’m talking to you.”

  He lifted his gaze to mine and gave a little headshake. “As much as I’d luuuv to, I absolutely cannot go with you to the abortion clinic.”