Phish NET Stalkings

by Denise Robbins

  Cooper glanced down. “Shit!”

  He started toward her and she scrambled to her feet.

  “Jane, wait.”

  “Stay away from me,” she warned as the blood rushed to her head making her dizzy. Where were her panties? She glanced around, desperate to get them and get gone.

  He didn’t heed her warning, he took a step in her direction. His feet tripped over the pants wrapped around his ankles, took a nosedive, and face-planted himself against the floor.

  Forget the panties. Now was her chance. She had to get out of there. Jane spun and bolted for the stairs. She slipped a few steps down and caught the handrail as she landed on her ass, knocking the wind out of her. “Damn stockings.” Jane gave a quick glance over her shoulder and continued her escape.

  “Jane, wait!”

  She never even considered stopping when the deep voice yelled for her to wait. She kept running. On the stair landing, she snatched up her purse and kept going. When she reached the front door, she shoved her feet into her boots without bothering to zip them, fumbled with the damn locks and jerked the door open.

  “Stop, police!”

  It wasn’t the words so much as the command in his voice that had her halting on the threshold. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the big man in pink lace panties stood there holding what appeared to be a police badge. She gulped and started to laugh. Then he moved, coming toward her.

  “No flippin’ way.” Jane turned and bolted out the door and down the front porch. Let him chase after her in public in those barely-there undies. Purse clutched to her chest, she clomped across the walkway in her flopping boots.

  What the heck had she been thinking? Going home with a complete stranger, a man she just met. At the time, it didn’t seem risky. It wasn’t every day she went back to the house of a man she barely knew. Hell, she never did anything like that.

  It was all her best friend’s fault. She had listened to Amy and look where that had gotten her. Almost in bed with a man who wore ladies’ pink underwear. Jane shook her head. “Some best friend Amy is.” She had let her leave with the man and look what happened.

  “Never again.” Never again would she listen to her best friend. She stomped her foot against the cement. Her ankle twisted when the booted high-heel stuck in the crack of the sidewalk. “Ow!”

  “Not now, damn it,” she cursed her shoe and her dumb luck. Glancing over her shoulder, she kept an eye out for pink undie man as she worked the shoe loose. “Come on,” she prayed, tears streaming down her face. Tears of pain, frustration, and stupidity. She sighed with relief as it came loose. She zipped the boots and took off again.

  “The guy appeared so normal in the bar.” With those gorgeous pale blue-gray eyes, who would have thought he was a total freak! Jane stopped and palm slapped her forehead. She remembered the fingernail. He tried to brush it off as something silly, but he had definitely worn a fake fingernail. “That should have been a sign.”

  The ache in her ankle caused her to limp and her pace to slow. Raking her fingers through her hair, she trudged down the cement steps and back toward the damn bar where she had stupidly left her car behind.

  “How could I have been so dim-witted?” Jane tugged her jacket tighter around her middle. The night temperature had dropped and a chill ran through her.

  She heard something, shouting. She looked left and right and came up empty. The sound came again. Jane glanced over her shoulder and saw the pink underwear man gaining on her.

  “Oh, no!”

  Forgetting the cold, she dropped her hands to her sides, looked for a place to hide and took off. Sharp needles of pain shot through her ankle and straight up her leg. She gritted her teeth and speeded up her limp run.

  “Jane!”

  Why was he after her? What the heck was this guy’s problem? What did she care? She only wanted out of there!

  She took a dark alley that she knew would lead her to the backside of the bar. On a normal day, she wouldn’t dream of going down a place like this by herself, but this was not a normal day. Nothing about today had been normal. One thing was for certain, she would never, ever, go home with a stranger again! Damn! She couldn’t believe she had done that. Now look where she was, loping away from some freakishly handsome guy who wore ladies’ panties. Who claimed he was a cop. Ha! Like she believed that crap.

  If he had been a real cop there is no way in hell, H–E–double hockey sticks, she would have gone home with him. She despised police, did not trust them, and in no way would ever want to sleep with one. She shivered as the thought made her skin crawl.

  Jane risked a peek over her shoulder again. The guy was no longer behind her. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she pivoted back around and halted in her tracks. The air she had been about to blow out now stuck in her throat.

  A man stumbled in front of her, bumped her and then grabbed onto her arm. “Give me your purse,” he slurred.

  She reeled back when she got a good whiff of his alcoholic breath and his grip tightened on her arm, holding her in place. Under the weak moonlight, she saw his disheveled hair and sloppy appearance. His untucked shirttail hung out the back of his wrinkled sport coat.

  Great! Just what she needed. As if pink undie man wasn’t enough, now a drunken mugger. Jane shook her head in disbelief. This day could not get any worse.

  Jane shifted, dropped her arm. The man staggered back then straightened. He reached into his pocket, fought with the material then thrust his arm out in her direction.

  The man stepped closer. Her heart jumped in her chest when she saw a glint of black metal. Gun!

  He slashed the weapon in a left to right motion, waved it at her and shouted, “Give me the damn purse, lady. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  He wobbled and belched.

  Burped? Jane narrowed her gaze at the man who now grinned and appeared sheepish, his eyes cast downward beneath dark bangs that hung in his face. She wasn’t certain she heard correctly, but she would have sworn the man said, “Excuse me.” What kind of robber was this guy?

  “Give me your damn bag.”

  He gestured with his weapon again, flicking his wrist toward her. A flash of light reflected in her eyes. Jane narrowed her gaze, focused on his hand, all while reaching into her purse and locating her pistol.

  “Give me your damn bag, now.” He lunged for her.

  Before the man took two steps, he was flat on his face, writhing, and screaming. “Get off me!”

  “Police. You’re under arrest.”

  “Stop. Stop. You’re killing me.”

  “Cooper, get off him. You’re hurting the man.” Jane stomped her foot for emphasis.

  Cooper paused, his hands holding the man’s arms behind his back and gaped at her. She couldn’t see his eyes but she felt the cold from his steely gaze run icy fingers along her back. Her shoulders shook as a shiver trickled up her spine. “He could have killed you,” he growled.

  “No, he couldn’t have,” she answered him in a calm, cool tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  She walked around to the other side of the two men, keeping her distance as she moved. She bent to pick up the weapon.

  “Don’t touch that,” he ordered.

  Jane ignored his command. She hefted the weapon up, aimed it in Cooper’s direction, and flipped a switch.

  Cooper squinted and jerked an arm up, shielding his eyes from the beam of light she aimed at his face. “Turn that damn thing off.”

  With a flick of her thumb, Jane did as requested. “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly. What kind of fool woman walks down a dark alley in the middle of the night? Don’t you know there are all kinds of freaks and assholes roaming the streets just looking for some innocent to mug, rape, or kill?”

  His sharp tone had her taking a step in retreat before she stopped and stiffened. Who was he to lecture her?

  “Not all the freaks are roaming the streets.” She narrowed her gaze, pinnin
g him in her sights, daring him to respond.

  “Let me up,” the man restrained beneath Cooper complained. “You’re seriously heavy and I can’t breathe.” The last part of the sentence came out in a wheeze.

  Jane had all but forgotten about the would-be mugger in her standoff with Cooper.

  “Shut up. You’re under arrest.”

  Clouds shifted and the moon showed larger, brighter. Moonlight glinted off the flash of silver, mesmerized her even as the snick of the cuffs snapped on the man’s wrists behind his back. Her breath stuck in her chest and her heart hammered as she felt all color drain from her face. Unable to speak, she stared blankly as Cooper drew the man to his knees and then his feet. Blood rushed and pounded in her ears, muffling the sound of Cooper reading the mugger his rights.

  He really is a cop, Jane realized in horror, reaching to rub at the hives that had formed on her neck and chest, wishing she could scratch at the heat and itch. Nausea whirled in her stomach at the thought of a cop touching her, kissing her. Oh–my–gosh! She slapped a hand over her mouth trying to hold back the bile that burned the back of her throat. She had gone home with him. They were going to… She had almost. Jane shook her head. She didn’t want to think about what they were going to do, had been about to do. B-but he wore ladies’ pink underwear.

  “Are you alright?”

  His question broke the spell, had her stepping back when she realized he had moved closer, holding the mugger on his other side away from her. “I-I’m fine,” she lied, but put some steel in her spine and voice. “What are you doing?” she demanded in an attempt to take focus off herself.

  “Arresting your mugger,” he answered in a tone that told her she had asked a stupid question.

  “I’m not pressing charges,” she blurted out, gathered her senses as she breathed in and out in slow, deep breaths through her nose and forced the anxiety attack to retreat.

  “It doesn’t matter. I witnessed the criminal act.”

  “Typical cop speak,” Jane muttered and glanced around. She had to get out of there.

  “Don’t you have to identify yourself as a police officer before arresting someone?” Did he, she wondered?

  “I did.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I did,” he said in a low tone that told her he did not expect any argument and that his word was the last word on the subject.

  In the dark alley, lit only by the glow of the moon and a yellow light that hung above the bar’s kitchen entrance, Jane watched the muscles in Cooper’s jaw clench and his steely gaze narrow. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. He grinned, and winked at her. In a flash, her heart did a leap and she remembered the passion of his kiss and the way his tongue did this twirling thing with hers and caused a unique, fuzzy, tingling sensation glide all the way from her head to her toes then back up to stop in a pool of heat between her legs.

  “Feel better now?” he whispered so only she could hear. “I didn’t lie. I am a cop, here to protect and serve.”

  Feel better? Was he kidding? He was a cop. She hated cops. No matter how well they kissed.

  With a solid grip on the mugger’s arm, Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I’ll call in a black and white to pick up this scum and then we can talk.”

  Unconscious of the movement, Jane shook her head no. She stepped away from Cooper as he put the phone to his ear and identified himself as Chief Chance. Oh, holy crap! Not only had she almost slept with a cop, but the cop she’d almost slept with was none other than the chief of police. She felt fingers wrap around her heart and squeeze. Her lungs constricted, and she had a hard time getting enough air. She had to get out of there, get away from him.

  Without waiting for him to hang up, and offering no apology, Jane spun on her booted heels and took off, not stopping until she reached her car. Hands shaking, she managed to jerk her keys from the pocket of her purse and push the lock release. The familiar beep sounded in her ears and offered her some semblance of normalcy, which was quickly squashed when the resounding boom of Cooper’s voice carried down the alley and across the parking lot.

  “That’s twice, Jane. You don’t get a third time,” he yelled.

  A chill of dread or maybe anticipation skittered across her spine and shook her shoulders. “No third time,” she muttered as she jerked open the car door and slid in behind the wheel. “No, Cooper Chance, there will be no third time.”

  Shoving the key into the ignition, she turned it and the grinding noise that met her attempt to start the car told her she had forgotten to put her foot on the brake. No wonder, her mind was flustered. She mashed her foot against the brake and twisted the key. This time the engine flipped over and roared to life. Jane shoved the gear shift into drive, slammed her foot on the gas, and with the car lurching forward in a teeth-clattering movement, she took off out of the parking lot, tires squealing as she left the lot and entered the street. It wasn’t until she reached the stoplight a mile away that she heard the sirens and blew out a gust of air as she realized she had been holding her breath.

  * * * *

  Cooper considered going back into Billy’s Sports Bar for another drink after handing over the mugger to Officer Hill then changed his mind and decided to walk home. He needed the cold air to clear his mind and cool his temper. Raking fingers through his thick hair, Coop wondered what the hell was Jane’s problem. Okay, yeah, he could accept her freaking out when she saw him wearing the damn pink underwear. She could have at least given him a chance to explain. And he could explain it. She didn’t have to run out on him. He could have justified his attire. They could have had a good laugh together, and then they could have picked up right where they left off.

  The image of the cream-colored garter lying against Jane’s silky white thighs and the practically see-through panties nestled against her intimate curls flooded his mind and made him instantly hard. He paused, adjusted himself, and then started hoofing it again. Lifting the collar on his jacket, Cooper attempted to block some of the cold breeze that blew against his back. Another picture flashed in his head, the vision of Jane standing defenseless in a dark alley as an armed stranger accosted her. It didn’t matter that the man’s weapon had been a flashlight. Jane hadn’t known that. Yet she had stood her ground not appearing to even flinch. But when he showed up, slapped the cuffs on the mugger, and flashed his badge, he would have sworn he saw fear, panic, and something akin to desire all flash in her Kahlua eyes. Even the rhythm of her breathing had changed. It became tighter, labored.

  “Why?” he wondered aloud as he turned the corner to his street. He would have to find out the next time he saw Jane. Yes, he would see Jane again. Sooner than she thought. She may have run away from him twice in one evening, but he was a cop, and he was more observant than your average police officer. Not because police were oblivious, but because his previous job as a lead of a FBI Cybercrime Action Team or CAT. CAT required him to look for and recognize patterns most people could not see, as well as think like a criminal and communicate with them through cyberspace. If not for those abilities, Operation Joint Hammer would never have occurred and the seven major global child pornography rings that operated in twenty-eight countries would not have been dismantled with one hundred and seventy arrests, and fourteen sexually abused children found and saved. Coop shook his head in disgust. They should have saved more.

  That two-year case changed the course of his life. That case had been the worst one he ever worked. The worst case he ever wanted to work. For twenty-four months, he posed as an undercover pervert, traveled to some hellholes on earth, and seen things that not even his worst nightmares could have conjured up. Even now, the thought of seeing those vulnerable children displayed for the entire world to gawk at and touch for a fee and the idea of portraying one of the miscreants in a chat room to lure the real criminals out made his gut clench and a shudder of revulsion rack his shoulders.

  How a man, a supposed father, could treat his l
ittle girl like a whore to be bought and sold, used at his whim, was unfathomable. He wasn’t naïve, nor was he adept at seeing the tortured look in a little six-year-old’s eyes when he picked up her naked body and covered her with a blanket, securing her from the fifty-something man who had been about to…

  The memory had him stopping on the street, bending over with his hands on his knees. The need to vomit like he did that day he rescued Elana engulfed him. He sucked in air in shallow inhalations through his nose, blew it out through his mouth. When the overwhelming feeling that he had to retch subsided, Cooper stood and wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth, and continued walking at a brisk pace. He knew Elana and the thirteen other children he and his team had rescued would never have a normal life and would live with nightmares probably for a long time. Just as they plagued him for the six months since the case ended.

  If not for that case, he might not be single and standing on a porch in a small New Hampshire town, wondering why a woman named Jane was afraid of him.

  SEVEN

  Jane shoved open the door to her house and quickly disarmed the alarm. A few seconds later, she locked the door and re-armed the security system. “Thank goodness,” she uttered, leaning the back of her head against the door and dropping her bag to the floor. Finally, she felt safe, secure from the freaks and the cops of the world.

  Walking down the hall, she shed her jacket letting it drop to the floor, and continued down a short set of stairs into her soon-to-be workout room. Soon-to-be because the walls still had to be taped, mudded, sanded, and painted. After that, she would put down carpet.

  “Might as well get started.”

  Still clothed in her cashmere sweater dress, Jane pushed her sleeves up past her elbows, picked up the spool of drywall tape, rolled it out, stretching it against the seams of the wallboard, and began melding them together. As she applied joint compound with a twelve-inch putty knife over the tape, thoughts of her long-dead mother flooded her mind. The image of her mother standing at the sink, her brilliant smile shining at her as she peeled potatoes, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold in the late day sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window. How she missed her mother, she thought as Van Morrison crooned Into the Mystic. Pain constricted her throat on an unspoken cry when the image of her mother singing off key into her unpeeled carrot microphone flashed in her mind.