No Promises

by N. Raines

  "Maybe she's better off without me," he muttered.

  "No." Jay's eyes were slits. "That's an excuse. What you tell yourself to feel better. To give yourself permission to run. Pretending to be unselfish. She's better off. No, she's not."

  The words sucker punched him. They were true. Rick went hot with shame as he faced his flimsy rationalizations.

  Rick looked pointedly at the man seated across the table. "She needs you too, Jay. But in a different way. She needs you to be strong enough to let her go."

  The man's bushy eyebrows shot straight up. "What're you talking about? I've never asked her to—"

  "You never asked because you never had to. She was always right there the minute you needed her, afraid to leave your side. But what's it doing to her, being your caretaker, your cook and housemaid, your little buddy? Dude, she's got no life beyond this house, her job, and those stray cats of hers."

  Jay sank back in his chair. "Jesus. I never thought… Why didn't she ever say something?"

  "'Cause she thinks it's her job. That she's responsible for you." Rick delivered the one-two punch without flinching. He needed to be as forthright with Jay as the man had been with him. "She's afraid you'll die if she doesn't take care of you."

  Jay let go a sigh that seemed to empty him. "My God."

  "What are you going to do about it?" Rick asked.

  Jay blinked at him. "I don't know."

  Rick stood, deposited his empty mug in the sink, and headed for the door. "Thanks for the coffee."

  "Where you going?"

  "To find Sam." As Rick strode out the door, Jay's words echoed in his ears. "Sammy needs you."

  Maybe he needed her too.

  ****

  The cats in Shankey's lot were fed, the water bowls refilled. All the regulars were out, along with a few new ones, but still no sign of Big Boy. Where was he? Had he taken off for greener pastures? Or had he wised up to their plan and decided that even a daily helping of bacon wasn't worth the price of being captured and neutered? She wouldn't put it past the big cat to have outsmarted them.

  Anyway, she hoped that was what had happened. Big Boy was a bossy, arrogant pain in the ass, but she cared about him. Better that he was off on his own, lording it over another clutter of cats, than lying at the side of the road, mauled by a dog or hit by a car. Or sick and scared and alone.

  Snap out of it. Big Boy was all right. He'd land on his feet. And Rick would land on his feet. The two of them were exactly alike. They were loners, toughies who didn't need anyone. They'd be just fine on their own. Without her.

  She was the one who always got left behind.

  Oh, boo hoo, Sam. Since when are you such a frickin' crybaby?

  And a coward besides. Sneaking out early to avoid seeing Rick. She couldn't face him after the way she'd spilled her guts last night. And after everything he'd said to her.

  She'd tossed and turned all last night. His accusations had reverberated in her mind, stealing any hope of sleep. Because everything he'd said cut too close to the bone. She'd used Pop, and even the promise Mom had wanted her to make, as an excuse not to live her own life.

  And what good did it do, when just this morning she'd found a cigarette butt in the pocket of Pop's jacket?

  She hadn't been snooping. She wasn't that obsessed. She'd accidentally knocked his jacket off the peg when reaching for her hoodie, and the butt fell out. No telling how long it had been there, but what did it matter? Try as she might to keep Pop safe, her efforts were backfiring, forcing him to sneak smokes behind her back and God knew what else.

  Rick had been right. Which sucked, because now she couldn't even be mad at him. Not about Pop, and not about him leaving. He had never led her on. Never told her things were serious between them. Certainly not on his side. And just because she'd been dumb enough to fall in love, well, that was on her.

  He'd made her feel wanted and beautiful. They'd been spectacular in bed.

  She should have been satisfied with that, but she had to go one step further and give him something he'd never asked for. Her heart.

  And now that heart felt sore and tender, battered and bruised like a fighter who'd gone too many rounds in the boxing ring.

  Making one last sweep of the lot, Sam circled the garage. Rick had borrowed Pop's drill a few days ago and installed a padlock on the garage door to keep cats and others from wandering in. He hadn't been bothered by the fact it wasn't their property and they had no legal right to take such measures. What harm was it, since only the Alley Cat Angels cared about Shankey's?

  As Sam walked behind the garage, she heard a muffled yowl. She stopped, listening hard. It sounded like it came from inside. Had she imagined it?

  It came again. "Kitty?"

  The mewl started out piteously and ended on an angry note. Get me out of here!

  "Shit!" Someone had found their way in through a crack or broken window and was now trapped. What had seemed like a bright idea now proved to be stupid, padlocking the door and thinking that would keep anyone out, when there had to be dozens of small nooks a nosy cat could creep through.

  "Hold on, I'm coming," she muttered as though speaking to a human. She raced to the padlocked door. Shit. She had to break it with something. No, wait. What was she thinking? There were two keys to the padlock. Rick had kept one and given her the other. It was in her glove compartment.

  When she opened the glove compartment, papers and maps spilled onto the floor. God, why did she keep so much crap in here? Among the junk was her big flashlight. Once again, she'd forgotten it, left it behind. If Rick were here, he'd be shaking his head in disgust. She found the key and grabbed the flashlight.

  After unlocking the padlock, she shoved open the door and stepped into the darkness. "Kitty." She made clicking sounds with her tongue as she moved the beam of the flashlight back and forth. "Hey, cat, where are you?"

  Silence. She moved forward carefully, sweeping the debris on the floor aside with her foot, wrinkling her nose at the combined odors of oil, dust, and cat pee. "Big Boy, is that you?"

  Farther and farther she went, using the flashlight to see her way, then sweeping the beam back and forth to illuminate all the corners and hidey-holes. "Hey cat, come on! I know you're here somewhere!"

  An outraged but muffled yowl emerged. I'm right here! What're you, stupid?

  She'd reached the darkest corner of the room, but no sign of cat. The yowling sounded distant, as though it was contained in a closet or confined space. Sam moved the flashlight again and saw a door she hadn't noticed before. She turned the knob and it opened.

  Luckily she hadn't stepped inside, because the door opened to stairs leading down. A basement. The steps were steep and looked none too safe. Using the flashlight beam to guide her, she carefully picked her way down.

  Ugh. Creepy. She crinkled her nose at the dank, damp smell. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and desiccated corpses of flies dangled in spiders' webs. She shuddered, needing to escape as quickly as possible. "Kitty. Yoo-hoo."

  A scratching came from nearby, followed by another yowl. Sam directed the beam toward the sound and spotted an old-fashioned, slatted wood door, with a rusted iron barrel bolt lock. She peered through a gap in the slats and saw only darkness, but when she held up the light, a shadow moved. The yowl was loud this time. She'd found the prisoner. It scratched and mewed from the other side of the door. "It's all right, I'm here," she told the frantic animal. She tugged at the bolt, but it was stuck and wouldn't give. Sam banged it with the heel of her flashlight, then picked up a hunk of broken masonry from the concrete floor and gave it a whack. After a few tries and some pinched fingers, the bolt finally scraped clear.

  But the door wouldn't budge. It had swollen tight in the frame from the cellar's dampness. Grunting, Sam tugged the handle with all her might, and slowly the door inched forward. Impatient yowls punctuated her puffing and cursing.

  At last, with one hard yank, the door flew open. As it did, Sam lost her balance and fell
on her ass. A scraggly-coated cat broke free in a flash of fur, scrambling right over her as he made his escape. Big Boy.

  He raced up the cellar steps without a backward glance. "You're welcome," Sam grumbled as she picked herself up. She knew better than to expect any gratitude.

  Still, she smiled as she rubbed her sore butt. The mystery was solved. Big Boy had sneaked into the building somehow and found himself trapped in this closet, unable to get out the same way he got in.

  No need to worry about the little booger anymore. A couple of good meals and he'd be king of the castle again. An incident like this wouldn't keep him down for long.

  She should take a page from the big cat's book. He'd been trapped in a closet for days, but he'd shake himself off. Bounce back. Would he lie around sulking, feeling sorry for himself? Hell, no.

  Well, neither would she. Rick's mind was made up, and she couldn't change it. He'd hate working for his stepfather, but was determined to do it just the same. He was giving up, punishing himself for some reason she couldn't understand. And no matter what he said, she knew once he left, he wouldn't come back. He'd be too ashamed to face her. Because she understood how completely he'd surrendered.

  She'd miss him, though.

  Miss him? Get real, Sam.

  She'd ache for him.

  But she'd get over it. She would, damn it. She'd borrow some of Big Boy's guts.

  Sam picked up her flashlight and headed for the stairs. Big Boy sat at the top, furiously grooming himself.

  The cat stopping licking himself to glare at her, as though she were to blame for his predicament. He gave an impatient yowl, telling her to hurry. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was waiting for her.

  Yeah, right.

  Still, she answered him. "Aw, shut up. I'm coming."

  Ouch. Her butt ached, and she felt it as she climbed the steps. As she neared the top, she leaned heavily on the old wooden railing. Too heavily, because as soon as she heard the crack, the railing disappeared and her hand held on to air. Before she could even cry out, she fell.

  ****

  Her truck was parked in the usual spot, but Rick saw no sign of Sam herself. She had to be around somewhere. As soon as he saw the padlocked door was open, he cursed. Damn it, he warned her about going in there by herself. And you expected her to listen, dumbass? Riiight…

  He grabbed a flashlight from his glove box and hotfooted it to the garage, almost tripping over one greasy-coated, skinny cat slinking out the doorway just as he crossed the threshold. It took him a moment to recognize Big Boy. "Where the hell you been, cat?"

  But he had no time to dwell on it. He flicked on the flashlight. "Hey, Sam, you here?" Stupid, where else would she be? But why the hell isn't she answering?

  Irritation zipped through him, and a thread of fear he didn't want to acknowledge. Why you gotta be so damn stubborn, Sammy? "You want to fuckin' answer me?" His voice came out harsher than he intended.

  He almost dropped the flashlight when something brushed his ankle. "Yawrl." Big Boy had followed him and now circled his legs. Rick cast the beam of light back and forth through the darkness. Though nothing looked out of place, the hairs on his neck prickled and his gut clenched. Something was wrong. If Sam were here and could answer, she would, even if she was pissed as hell at him. She wasn't a vindictive bitch. She wouldn't punish him for hurting her by scaring him shitless.

  "Sam!" His voice cracked with fear. Had someone been here and jumped her? Had some perv found her alone and dragged her off, stuffed her in a van and taken her God knew where? His thoughts spun with sickening possibilities.

  Shit. He should have been with her. To protect her.

  Once again, he was useless.

  Asshole, quit feeling sorry for yourself. There's no time. Find her!

  "Rawrrl." He swung the flashlight beam toward the cat, who glared at him as if telling him to get his shit together.

  "Okay, cat. You're so friggin' smart, where is she, then?"

  Big Boy slipped out of sight into the darkness. Rick moved forward, his shoes crunching on the discarded wrappers and other garbage on the floor. As he swept the flashlight back and forth, he saw the open door on the far wall. What the hell?

  He pounded over there. The cat sat beside the door frame. Rick pointed the light at the stairs, saw the broken railing, then saw Sam lying on the floor, unmoving. As though she were dead. The contents of his stomach lurched up into his throat.

  Oh, Jesus. Not again. This can't be happening again.

  In spite of that he flew into action, on autopilot. His training and experience kicked in and propelled him down the steps. He knelt beside her prone body, and as his knees hit the hard concrete, he flashed back to another scene, another helpless person who'd needed him. Dylan.

  No time for that. He couldn't help Dylan, but Sam was here and needed him. Check her breathing.

  She was breathing fine, thank God. She had good color, no gray or blue tones to her skin or lips. He checked her pulse—it was steady. There were no visible cuts, though that didn't mean she hadn't broken something. "Sam." He spoke firmly, loudly, to penetrate her consciousness. He took her hand—it was cold—and squeezed it. "Can you hear me? Can you answer me? Sam."

  Instinct urged him to sweep her up and carry her upstairs and out of this god-awful place, but his EMS training told him not to move her. She might have hurt her neck, her back. Moving her could cause serious damage.

  "I'm here with you. You're going to be fine." He made the promise before his brain could stop him. No promises, asshole. They didn't help Dylan. Remember?

  His gut fought with his brain. I don't give a shit, it snarled. I don't care what it takes, she will be all right.

  She has to be. I can't lose her.

  If he had the right equipment, he could have done more, but now the best thing was to call 911. He fumbled for his phone, punched in the three digits. Fuck a duck, no reception down in this shitty basement.

  If only he had a blanket, something to keep her warm. It was damp and chilly down here. He tore off his jacket, lay it over her. "I'll be right back, babe." He thundered up the steps, placed the call. Woman down, unconscious. Had a fall. Breathing all right. Shankey's Garage. Address? Shit, he didn't know. Think, think. On Miller Street. Who was he? "I'm a medic. I'm her boyfriend."

  The ambulance was on its way, the 911 operator assured him. Good. Rick suddenly remembered the blanket in his Jeep and grabbed it. Back in the cellar, he tucked it carefully around her, making sure not to disturb her. "Sam. Wake up now." Shit, how long had she been out? "Sam."

  Her eyelids fluttered. He wasn't a praying man, but he sent up a silent thanks to whatever god existed. After all, he was already on his knees. "Wake up, baby. That's it. Good girl. Can you open your eyes?"

  They fluttered, and at last her gaze met his. Her lips moved, but no sound came. The confusion in her expression asked, What happened?

  "Looks like you fell. Can you talk?"

  She blinked. "Yeah." Her voice was low and slurry.

  "You took a good tumble. I called 911. The ambulance is on its way."

  She moved her head as though to shake it, then groaned. Pain contorted her features. "Don't need…"

  "Yeah, you do. Don't try to move. It's okay. I'm here with you." He blinked back stinging wetness in his eyes. "Damn, girl, you scared me shitless. What the hell were you doing down here?"

  "The cat…"

  "Big Boy? Shit, I should've known. The little bastard."

  He caught the distant whine of a siren, which grew louder and louder. Finally. But the EMTs wouldn't know she was down here. He had to go up and lead them back. He squeezed her hand and then forced himself to let go. "Hang tight, babe. I'll be right back."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rick sat in a straight chair beside Sam's bed, watching her sleep. Though she'd been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, he wanted to watch over her, make sure she was all right. It was his fault she'd been hurt.
If he hadn't started the argument with her, hadn't pissed her off so badly, she wouldn't have gone to Shankey's without him. He'd have watched out for her, kept her from getting hurt.

  She was lucky all she had was a concussion—no broken bones or internal injuries. Shit, he was lucky too. He kept flashing back to that horrible moment he'd found Sam out cold on the concrete floor. When he'd thought she was dead.

  He gave his head a little shake. Don't go there. She's going to be all right.

  He'd never been in her bedroom before. In between watching her chest rhythmically rise and fall, he scanned the room's furnishings for clues, tidbits of information about her. A quilt that looked handmade covered Sam and the bed. Was it something her mom had sewn? A ruffled curtain hung in the window. Along the windowsill, a few old toys were lined up——a floppy Raggedy Ann, a stuffed pink pig, and a small black cat. He grinned at the collection of toys she'd held on to from childhood, then startled when the cat blinked at him. Blackberry sunned herself in the window while she kept watch, too.

  A small movement from the bed caught his attention. Sam's eyelids fluttered, and he held his breath, waiting for them to open completely.

  He got out of the chair and stood over her, smiling. "Hey. How you feeling?"

  She turned her head slowly, as though to keep nausea at bay, and gave him a wobbly smile. "Hey. Pop trusted you alone in here with me?"

  Heat crept up his neck into his face. "He knows I wouldn't take advantage of a sick woman. Anyway, we're taking shifts keeping an eye on you. I told him I'd take first watch."

  She reached behind her and gingerly touched the back of her head. "Ouch. It's sore."

  "Yeah, you got a pretty good lump there. Aside from that and some bruises, though, you're lucky. No broken bones, no internal hemorrhaging."

  She huffed a small laugh. "Some luck. Queen of the klutzes, that's me."

  They'd run a bunch of tests on her at the hospital before letting him and Jay cart her home and put her straight to bed.

  "It could have been a lot worse. The doctor says you have a concussion, and it'll take a little time to get back to normal. In the meantime, what you need is rest."