The stacks grew: recycle, keep, toss, save for someone else to decide. As the sun set, she saw she’d made incredible progress, but her stomach was crying for attention. She found some leftover Chinese food in the refrigerator and took a much-needed break.
She opened a bottle of wine with dinner and tried to relax. She scanned the paper and caught up on current events while she ate. She picked up her wineglass and went back to the living room to survey the damage.
Determined to make a significant dent, she grabbed a few more boxes and switched on the television, losing herself in the sorting process.
Before she knew it, it was after midnight. The piles were massive, but most of it was trash of some sort. She stood and stretched, feeling a sense of accomplishment from all she’d done. Based on the pace she’d had through the day, she guessed that she’d finish the attic by Saturday afternoon. That was a big item to check off her list, and one she’d been putting off for a while.
Showering the grime off her body, her head hit the pillow by one thirty a.m., and she slept like the dead until her phone rang at nine.
Half asleep, she answered without looking at the display.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Are you still sleeping?”
The sound of his voice startled her into alertness. She’d managed to push all the confusion from her mind after dinner the night before, and suddenly it all came rushing back.
“No. Yes.” She rubbed her eyes. “Well, sort of.”
He laughed. “I guess you’re not a morning person.”
She shook her head. “Usually I am, but lately…I just like to sleep in. But I’m up.” She stretched and groaned at the aches in her back and shoulders. Hauling boxes and sitting hunched over them on the floor probably hadn’t been the best follow-up to a night with her arms tied over her head. “But I haven’t had my coffee, so I’m not responsible for anything I say.”
“You think so,” he said, chuckling. “When can I see you?”
“Today?”
“I told you I wanted to see you tomorrow when I said good-bye yesterday. That would mean today, last I checked the sequencing.”
He seemed to enjoy teasing her; it was as if he was still trying to figure out how hard he could push her, and this was part of it.
“So…when?”
“Very nice. Cut me some slack since I just woke up, would you? Anyway, my house looks like a bomb hit it right now. Could we get together tomorrow?” She rose and shuffled to the kitchen. Without caffeine, she felt significantly disadvantaged.
“No. Today. I’m sure your house is fine, and I’m not coming to see your house, anyway. I want to see you.” He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
He had really started to irritate her. It was her house, and she’d decide when she was going to have a visitor. Besides, she hadn’t figured out what the hell she was capable of with him and needed more time. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to handle the more that he was looking for, in which case she needed to end things, not begin them.
“It’s not a good day. I’ve got things to finish up here. Why don’t I call you tonight and we can talk.” Willing the coffeepot to hurry, she ran her fingers through her hair, which had dried in a horrid mess. “I need coffee, and I need to wake up. I’ll call you back.”
“Victoria, I’m not waiting until tomorrow to see you. I’m coming over. You’re just going to have to deal with that.”
That’s it. “Look, Michael, I said no. Maybe you are crazy stalker guy after all. Maybe you’ve been able to boss other women around, but that’s not me.” She paced the kitchen, fury rising as she processed his insistent tone. He wasn’t even listening to her. “So maybe this isn’t such a good idea at all. I’m not going to argue with you. I’ve made my decision, and you’ll have to live with it.”
His voice dropped, the tone firm and even, the volume low enough that she had to stop pacing to hear him.
“You don’t know what you want.”
“Goddammit! Don’t you dare presume to tell me what I do or don’t know! I’m done with this conversation. You can kiss my ass, Michael Collins. Thanks for helping me figure out what scares me more!” She pressed the button to end the call, thinking how totally unsatisfying hanging up on someone was in the cell phone era.
She stomped around the kitchen and downed her first cup of coffee quickly. After storming to her bedroom, she dressed quickly and channeled her energy into dealing with the living room disaster. She stuffed the trash into bags and dragged it to the empty space in the garage to wait for pickup day. She tied up the magazines for recycle and separated the things that needed to be shredded. After boxing up the keepsakes and moving to Kevin’s bedroom the things everyone else needed to peruse, she took the confidential stuff to the shredder. The mindless process of feeding documents into the machine finally calmed her, a full three hours after she’d hung up on him.
Her stomach churned. I hung up on him. The only spark she’d had in her life in months, and she’d pushed him away. Well, he was bossy and dismissive and he deserved it. He didn’t know her, and he thought he could tell her what to do and how to feel. Screw that. She finally showered, spending more time under the spray than necessary, trying to push down the dread she was feeling about what she’d done.
He’d backed her into a corner, and it had pissed her off. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about his…proposal. But if he was able to push her buttons this much this early in the relationship, it was probably for the best that she’d ended it. That didn’t ease the regret, but she clung to it regardless.
As she headed to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Probably Girl Scout cookies. The whole town might be willing to ignore her, but the Girl Scouts in the neighborhood had figured out she was an easy mark. Partly because she was addicted to Thin Mints and partly because she felt guilty about the number of people who couldn’t afford them this year, she bought five boxes from every girl that rang the bell.
When she swung open the door, she was shocked to see Michael standing on the porch, a backpack on his shoulder and a smirk on his face.
“Did you eat lunch yet?” he asked.
Her mouth dropped open. She was speechless. I never even told him where I live. What the hell is he doing here?
“Well, there’s a change. Nothing to say?” He let out a wry laugh. “Are you at least going to invite me in?” Adopting a serious look, he squeezed her shoulder gently. “Can we please talk about this?”
She stepped back from the open doorway, giving him room to enter. She wasn’t sure what to say. There was a voice in her head screaming at her to apologize, but the more rational part of her was telling her to send him on his way. Since she couldn’t figure out which one to obey, she just closed the door and continued to the kitchen, where she’d been headed before his arrival. She sat down at the table, glaring at him. He sat across from her, laying his palms flat on the table and leaning back in the chair.
“Interesting morning, huh?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked accusingly.
He rubbed his hand across his forehead and shrugged. “Well, you said not to pay attention to anything you said before you had your coffee, so I didn’t.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Actually, what I said was I’m not responsible for anything I say before I’ve had coffee.” She crossed her arms and leaned back as well, trying to create more distance between them.
He reached across the table, his long arms closing the gap she’d created, his fingers idly touching the ends of her still-damp hair. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be held responsible. Trust me.” He moved his hand to her cheek. “And you’ll love it. But that’s not why I came.” He combed his fingers through her wavy locks, revealing her face. “I scared you, and I’m sorry. That’s not at all what I wanted to do. I don’t even know how I did it, but I want to change that.”
“I haven’t had lunch. I was about to make a sandwich. Would you like one?” She rose and opened the refrige
rator, then rummaged through drawers and tossed things on the table. Her voice was strained, tense, but she held it together. Focusing on lunch was the only way she could bury the emotional turmoil she felt every time she looked at him.
Chapter Fourteen
She obviously wasn’t prepared to have the discussion he was angling toward, and she certainly wasn’t going to have it on his terms, so she had completely changed the subject. He had expected some avoidance, but he was surprised she hadn’t commented at all on any of what he’d said.
“You’re certainly an expert at ignoring difficult conversations. Given your profession, I’d have expected better than that from you.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Sorry I’ve failed to meet your expectations. Since you think you know me so well, it shouldn’t surprise you that I’m not going to let you dictate when and if we have any discussion at all. Just because you show up here, uninvited I might add, doesn’t mean you’re going to call the shots.” She slammed the refrigerator door shut and stepped directly in front of him. “And since that seems to be a requirement of yours, maybe you’ll understand why I think this”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“is probably a colossal mistake. Why I didn’t want you to come in the first place.”
Her words hurt, but the passion behind them gave him hope. He might not understand why a part of him couldn’t bear to let her go, but he was determined to avoid that consequence.
She pulled plates and glasses from the cabinet and slammed them down on the table. Her anger had morphed into frustration, and he watched her emotional transitions with interest, trying to read her real feelings through the mask of ire she’d used to disguise them.
“I’m hungry, so I’m going to eat. If you’re hungry, you can eat too. And then you can go. I’m sorry you made the trip unnecessarily. I should have told you on the phone that things weren’t going to work out.”
“What did I say that pushed you away? Because you didn’t feel this way yesterday.” And you don’t really feel this way now.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I want to change your mind,” he said simply.
She huffed and began slapping bread and cold cuts together on her plate. Smiling, he appreciated the fact that he could incite such a passionate reaction from her. He needed to refocus it, but he knew the strength of emotion she displayed was an indicator that she felt as strongly about him as he did about her.
“So you’re bossy and stubborn. And maybe deaf. Quite the combination,” she muttered sarcastically.
“Not deaf. Just tempering what I’m hearing in your words with the emotion that’s underneath it, that’s all.” Calmly he made his own sandwich and poured them both some iced tea from the pitcher she’d put on the table. “Are you planning on staying mad at me all afternoon?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Won’t matter much to you once you’re gone, will it?”
“Why don’t we call a truce for lunch? All this angst can’t be good for the digestion.”
She exhaled slowly, putting down the sandwich she’d thrown hastily together and sipping her drink. “Fine by me.”
He let the silence grow. In his experience, people who were nervous or anxious couldn’t bear it and would ultimately fill it rather than listen to whatever was going on in their own heads.
“So how did your case go yesterday?”
He was surprised she’d asked him about work, assuming it would be too personal and show too much interest in him. Taking it as a good sign, he leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Closed it, actually. Snyder did the hard part, really, getting the girlfriend to give it up. Once we knew where to look, we gathered enough evidence to bring him in. Got a confession. The ADA was pretty happy to see it wrapped up tight.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. His enthusiasm dimmed a bit as he added, “Of course, they’ll probably plead it out, but the guy will end up in a cage, which is where he belongs.”
“Congratulations. Must feel good to get it closed.” She studied her plate, her mouth turning down at the corners. “What about the girl?”
He was taken aback that she’d asked about the witness. Most people only cared about the juicy parts of a case, not the people who were more collateral damage than anything else.
“Well, she’s got an offer of witness protection on the table. But if she wants to take it, she’ll have to get clean and want to stay that way. Odds are fifty-fifty on her, I’d say.” The girl had already been through hell and back, and she was only twenty. Not even old enough to take a legal drink. She’d been a runaway at sixteen, pimped out by seventeen, and while the murdered boyfriend had gotten her away from the pimp, he’d also gotten her hooked on oxy and who knew what else. He’d also used her to move product, which was part of the reason she knew enough to help them catch her boyfriend’s killer. She’d have a tough road ahead of her to overcome all of that.
“You feel sorry for her, don’t you?”
He huffed a wry laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “Honey, in my line of work, you can’t afford to feel sorry for people.” He studied her face. “Maybe the same is true for you, huh?”
She shook her head. “If I ever stop feeling, I’ll quit. You have to compartmentalize it, keep the empathy separate from the task at hand. I like to think some of the empathy seeps over, makes me better at what I do, but in the end, I still have to do the job. The day I stop caring, I’m done.”
Nodding his head, he agreed. “I guess there are a lot of similarities between us. Sure, I feel sorry for her. Too many kids—and adults—end up in pretty bad situations because of one bad decision. Those bad situations make their paths cross mine. And sometimes I have to take advantage of their circumstances to do my job. Some cops just turn it off.” He shrugged. “I can’t. I try to keep them separate, like you said, but I won’t be able to do this job forever because of it. I thought it would be better in Major Crimes, but…” He glanced over her shoulder, his mind wandering to something else before snapping back to the present. “Anyway, it sounds like my job and yours might not be too different after all.”
She pointed at his sidearm. “Except for the weaponry. We frown on that sort of thing in my profession.” She smiled gently. “The most dangerous thing I wield is a clipboard.”
“Hey, don’t knock the clipboard. Those metal clasp things can do some damage,” he said, laughing.
She laughed as well, almost forgetting how angry she was at his intrusion. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who was interested in learning about her, with no expectations or judgments.
“Sorry about the gun, though. I’m on call this weekend. There’s always supposed to be two of us, but one of the guys scheduled for today…well, his wife is expecting and he’s at the hospital waiting to become a father again. The captain asked me to cover. So I couldn’t leave it locked up at home, in case I get a call.” He looked sheepish. “I’m not wearing it to intimidate you or anything, I swear.”
Rolling her eyes, Vicki blew out an exasperated breath. “Trust me, that won’t intimidate me. My dad was military. I learned how to shoot before I learned how to drive.” She began to clear the dishes. “I may not particularly like them, but guns don’t scare me. It’s the idiots carrying them that scare me.”
She stepped alongside him to pick up his plate, and he placed his hands on her hips, trapping her.
“You mean, like me?”
Embarrassment washed over her, followed immediately by frustration and anger. Why does he keep twisting me in knots like this?
“That’s—I didn’t mean… No, but—” She finally stopped sputtering when she stomped her foot, pushing his hands off her hips. “No, that’s not what I meant, but yes, okay? You scare me. Or I’m scared of who I am when we’re together, to be completely accurate. I’d feel the same way if all you carried was a clipboard.”
He pushed his chair back and pulled her between his legs, taking her hands in his.
�
��Finally we get down to it.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her tight.
“Look, bud, we’re not getting down to anything. You’re going home. I’m going back to my life; you’re going back to yours. End of story.” Her face softened. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I do. But I can’t do the things you want to do, and I’m done being the insufficient half of the relationship. You told me to tell you, and I’m telling you.” Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, and she brushed them away angrily. “Now I think you should go.”
He pulled her down into his lap, tucking her in and stroking her back. “But you did the things I want to do, and it sure seemed like you enjoyed them.” He finger combed her hair and allowed his hand to trace the line of her collarbone. “That’s why I wanted to talk. Are you ashamed of what we did? Or uncomfortable with the fact that you liked it?”
He waited for her to answer.
She sat up and wiped her face. She’d already suppressed the tears and was trying to act as if nothing had happened. With a false sense of calm, she stared at her lap and finally responded.
“I’ll admit it’s a little disturbing that I enjoyed it. I mean, I’m a confident, mature woman—a professional. I’ve led teams of a hundred, made decisions that impacted thousands, and I’m used to calling the shots. Why it gets me all hot and bothered to take orders from you…well, I just don’t get it.” She finally looked up, but she didn’t look at him. She stared out the window, wishing she were anywhere but where she was at that moment.
Squaring her shoulders, she pressed her palms against her thighs and almost sighed the words. “It’s the more. You said what we did was nothing, and it was damn close to all I could take.” Finally turning to him, sadness choked her voice. “Our desires may overlap a bit, but I can’t make you happy. And you’ll hurt me.” She slipped off his lap and went to the sink. Busying herself with rinsing dishes, her voice was flat. “So you should probably just go now, okay?”
Mission Statement Page 12
