by Nina Bruhns
She smiled a toothless smile that broke Wendy’s heart, then popped her teeth back in. “Sorry for the ick factor. Anyway, that’s my story. If you’re interested in it because you want to work with abused women, great. If your story is like my story, I want you to know that you’re not alone. One out of four women here in the diner right now will have violence committed against them by a man in their lifetime. That’s the statistics. I know for a fact that it already happened to three, in addition to me.” She smoothed down the place mat. “It’s a small town. People know each other.”
Wendy could only stare at her. Eileen was a successful business owner, so beautiful, so self-assured. She glanced around, scanned the other women at the tables. Everybody looked so normal and happy.
Eileen stood. “And now I’m off to wash my hands. If you ever have any questions or want to talk, I’m here.” With one last smile, she walked away.
Wendy blinked. Eileen. And at least three other women. Right here, right now. Something caught inside her chest.
She’d been feeling all alone for so long now. Alone and stupid. A big part of the reason why she hadn’t reached out for help had been that she’d been scared of Keith finding out. But also because she’d been so ashamed. Who would even understand her?
Except maybe Eileen did, and three other women right here.
That terrible sense of loneliness dissipated a little as she looked around. She swallowed hard. Lifted her glass to her mouth to drink as Joe and Justin came back.
“Shoofly pie. Hope you like it.” Joe helped Justin up to his seat, then put a mini pie in the middle of the table.
Since Wendy didn’t trust herself to speak yet, she simply nodded.
Joe didn’t ask about her talk with Eileen. He went on goofing around with Justin, playing Freeze & Wiggle, until their food was delivered.
When they were leaving, Eileen rushed after them to the front door to give Justin another sheet of animal stickers.
She put a hand on Joe’s sleeve. “I forgot to ask. Can I put you down for the Mushroom Festival kissing booth again this year?”
“Can I be inside the booth?”
Eileen grinned. “Scared of the gropers?”
Joe gave a good-natured shrug. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m wearing Kevlar.”
Eileen laughed as she turned to Wendy with a good-bye wave. But Wendy stepped in and hugged the older woman. “Thank you.”
Eileen hugged her back, strong and sure, a true motherly hug. “You’re more welcome than words can say,” she whispered back, adding as they pulled away, “I’m always here. I’d love it if you came in to chat. Best pies in town. Guaranteed.”
Wendy thanked Joe too on the way home.
He glanced over. “I wasn’t sure if you would be mad. I should have asked you first.”
“I would have said no,” she told him the truth. “But I’m really glad that Eileen talked to me.”
He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it briefly.
At home he went back to work on his boxes of paperwork while she put Justin down for his nap. While her son slept, Wendy wrote up some ads and posted them on local online bulletin boards, advertising her on-location photography services. She also called Cecilia from Cecilia’s Broslin Boutique and set up an appointment for the following week.
All too soon, Justin was up from his nap and it was time for her doctor’s appointment. She was pouring her son some juice when Joe came downstairs.
He leaned against the doorway in the kitchen, all tall, sexy male. “Are you ready to go?”
“In a few minutes.” Then she bit her lip when something occurred to her. “What if Keith shows up?”
He had no way of knowing she had an appointment this afternoon. But he did know she was pregnant, and she was using the same doctor she’d used with her first pregnancy. So Keith would know that she was bound to show up there sooner or later. Was he obsessed enough to watch the doctor’s office? She wanted to think he wasn’t, but she couldn’t be 100 percent certain.
Joe didn’t look worried. “If he shows, I’ll take care of it.”
“We’ll take care of him.”
Instead of getting annoyed at being corrected, he smiled. “Yes, we will.”
She smiled back at him as she grabbed Justin’s little red boots and coat from the hallway, but her phone rang before she could dress her son, so she picked up the call, and Joe took over the dressing.
The man on the other end of the line introduced himself as Officer Perkins from Wilmington PD. “I’m calling to let you know that your car has been released. You’ll need to pick it up within the next day or two.” He rattled off the address of the police holding lot.
Wendy wrote it on the nearest piece of paper she could find—a chunk of paper towel. “Thank you. Can I ask something? Were you able to obtain any fingerprints from the brake lines?”
“Nothing beyond yours, Officer Kessler’s, and the rescue teams’. I’m sorry.”
Joe had Justin dressed and ready to go by the time she hung up.
“That was about my car,” she told him. “I have to have it removed from the police lot. They’re done with their inspection. No fingerprints.” She blew the air out of her lungs. “It can’t go to my apartment building. The on-street parking spots are provisional. The cars have to be operational.” The apartment building didn’t want busted-up junkers surrounding it. “Do you know a tow-truck service in town?”
“I’ll send Artie over for a pickup.” Joe magically produced a piece of candy from behind Justin’s ear.
As Justin giggled, Joe said, “Artie can tow it straight to his garage. Then I can look at it there. He’s all right. Has the best rates in town.” He pulled his cell phone and made the call right away.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said as he held her coat out for her, her mind returning to the thought of partnership again, how nice it was to have someone on her team.
Dare she trust that life could actually be like this?
* * *
The white walls of the examination room were decorated with bright posters featuring tiny, sleeping children inside giant flowers. Alien-sounding swooshing filled the air as Joe stood by the examining table, his eyes glued to the monitor.
Watching the blob on the black-and-white screen had the same impact as when that tree stump in the river had hit him in the face. There was a sensation of shock, and the feeling of drowning.
Joe stared at the ultrasound screen while the doctor slid a white wand in the blue jelly that covered Wendy’s barely noticeable bump.
Wendy smiled at him, probably amused by the shock on his face. “Surreal, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He was going to be a father. For real this time.
He didn’t know at what point he’d decided to let himself believe it. But the more time he spent with Wendy, the more he knew that she was neither a liar nor a drama queen. She had quiet strength that she wasn’t even aware of, strength to face the hardships that came her way and fight her way through them.
He thought of Erika and the trap she’d set for him. Wendy was nothing like his scheming ex-fiancée. And he was nothing like the young idiot he’d been back then either. He’d better not be. He was going to be a father. He grinned at Wendy, then at Justin, picturing another little boy like him.
Justin was busy coloring on the floor. The blob on the monitor didn’t interest him nearly as much as an entire coloring book of dinosaurs driving pickup trucks.
The doctor finished the ultrasound. “Everything looks perfect. You can have a printout, or for a fee, some 3D pictures or a DVD of the video.”
Wendy hesitated.
“We’ll take all of it,” Joe said, then scooped up Justin. “How about we play some more with those trucks in the waiting room?”
He walked out with the kid on his shoulder, in case Wendy wanted to have a private discussion with her doctor.
Fifteen minutes passed before she was done, shrugging into her coat as she wal
ked out of the examining room.
Joe helped with the coat. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect.”
He pulled her in close, snug against his chest, brushed a kiss against her lips. “We made a pretty cute kid. Football player.”
“We don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
“I don’t care either way. As long as he grows up to be a wide receiver.”
She laughed as she shook her head at him.
After the appointment, he took them out to dinner at Finnegan’s, introduced Wendy and Justin to Rose and Sean. Rose kept shooting giant smiles at their table. Here we go, Joe thought. Town gossips would have them married by morning. But the thought didn’t bother him.
By the time he got Wendy and Justin home, it was close to seven. He changed upstairs in his room, then called the captain. “I’m heading out. I’d appreciate if you could send someone out to watch the house.”
“Mike is on his way. You stay safe tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Justin was watching cartoons in the living room with Wendy and the cat when Joe went downstairs. She left her son with Pirate Prince and came out to the kitchen.
“I might not be home tonight,” he told her. Taking down two gangs the same night was going to take some work, then processing everyone, then all the debriefings and paperwork. “Officer Mike McMorris will be outside until I get back. If you need anything, you let him know.”
She looked him over, noted the clothes—dark pants, dark hoodie. Her gaze settled on the bulge of his weapon tucked into his waistband.
“It’s something dangerous, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Part of the job.”
She held his gaze. “Please come home to us safely.”
“That’s the plan.” He smiled so she wouldn’t worry. But she didn’t look convinced, so he leaned in. “Good luck kiss?”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Do you ever pass up a chance to hit on a woman?”
He pulled back and acted offended. “What? What kind of a chump do you take me for? Winners grab the ball. Losers pass up opportunities.”
“Is that a football thing?”
He wiggled an eyebrow. “Would it turn you on if it was? I think you’re secretly into jocks. You had me marked from the beginning. Admit it.”
She did smile then, fully, and seeing that smile relaxed some of the tension in his chest. He leaned in again, slowly, gently, and kissed her, waited until she stepped into his arms and let go. The feel of her buzzed along his nerve endings.
Somehow the kiss made him feel invincible, activating some primal male part of him: the warrior going off to battle, kissing his woman good-bye. His lips on hers felt good and right. Predictably, he wanted more.
Her lips parted beneath his. He ran his hands around her waist to the back, his entire body hardening. This was why, millennia after millennia, women kissed their men before battle. To remind the befuddled bastards what would be waiting for them at home when they returned triumphant.
Egyptian pharaohs and Napoleon, all the generals of all the armies—they conquered for this.
His hands slipped lower and cupped her against him. “That’s one fine ass,” he murmured against her lips.
A burst of a laugh escaped her. Then her hands went around him, mirroring his movements. The breath caught in his throat. He went in a little wilder and deepened the kiss.
She tasted sweet and hot. He wanted her now, on the kitchen island, her long legs wrapped around his waist.
A car horn beeped outside, interrupting that very satisfying fantasy.
He hated to pull away, but he did. “Mike is here.”
Her eyes were glazed with passion, her face flushed, her hair disheveled.
Oh hell. How on earth was he supposed to walk away from her? He couldn’t, so she had to be the one to step away first.
“Stay safe,” she whispered.
“I’m coming home. Count on it.”
He brushed one last kiss over her lips, then he turned and walked out, for the first time leaving a home behind when he went off to work, instead of an empty house.
He strode up to Mike, thanked him for coming, then hopped into his Camaro and headed into Philly to meet up with Ramos and crew to do some damage.
Ramos was waiting for him out front, standing next to Paco’s tricked-out Buick. Music blared out the windows, Rusty Cent again. Joe went over, bumped fists. Three guys went with Paco. They got into his car wordlessly, the one in the front on the passenger side grabbing a CD case and tossing it up to the dash before he sat down.
From the corner of his eyes, Joe caught a glimpse of a green CD case with half a pink piggy sticker on the corner, then Paco pulled out and drove away.
Ramos glanced at Joe. “No guns?”
“Sorry, man. I can’t get them out here until tomorrow. They’re in my cousin’s garage, and the cops have eyes on him. They know he’s connected.” He looked around. “Where is Rashard?”
“Gone with Chuck, Andre, and Will. He’s taking the long way to make sure ain’t nobody sees them.” Ramos grabbed a semiautomatic from the porch, then strode to the Camaro. “I’m driving.”
Joe hopped in on the passenger side. Now was not the time to challenge alpha status.
Ramos tossed the semiautomatic onto his lap. “That’s a loaner. Someone else came through this morning.”
“Thanks, bro.”
The Camaro’s motor purred as Ramos pulled away from the curb.
“Got a fine sound,” he said, his shoulders relaxed, a man without a care in the world.
But there was some bad vibe in the car that had Joe’s cop instincts prickling. For starters, why was it just the two of them? The other vehicles went out with a full crew.
And then it hit him.
The Rusty Cent CD on Paco’s dashboard.
Wendy had one of those in her car. And Justin had put animal stickers all over it. Exactly like that pink piggy.
Oh shit.
He put his hand on his gun.
If Paco had Wendy’s CD, that meant he’d been in Wendy’s car. That meant he’d been the one who cut her brakes. Why? Because he’d followed Joe at one point, saw Wendy, and thought she belonged to him.
Joe glanced over to Ramos, but he was looking straight ahead, his jaw set at a determined angle, a cold gleam in his eyes.
Nobody in the gang did anything without Ramos’s approval. Ramos had to have sent Paco. Even as Joe figured that out, another puzzle piece fell into place. Oh fuck.
When he’d been shouting, “I’m an undercover officer,” in the back of the sinking police cruiser, Officer Tropper had heard him. He’d just acted as if he hadn’t. Tropper had left him to drown on purpose so Joe couldn’t finger him as the dirty cop. Lil’ Gomez had been collateral damage. Then Tropper reported back to Ramos.
And Ramos had put a payback plan together.
Joe reached over with his left hand to slap some music on while, at the same time, he took the safety off his gun with his right. Ramos could turn and blow his head off at any second. Joe stood ready, watching from the corner of his eye for the smallest movement.
Ramos drove out of the neighborhood without a word, but when they reached the boulevard, he didn’t turn to the left, toward the neighborhood where most of J.T.’s crew lived.
The chief had the SWAT team nearby, ready to shut it all down as soon as the first car pulled up. But it didn’t look like Ramos planned on being part of that hit.
Joe did his best to relax his posture. “Where are we going?”
“Got a little surprise up my sleeve.” He kept looking straight forward. “You and me will be doin’ a special op today.”
He drove maybe a quarter of a mile, then turned off to a side street of graffiti-tagged row houses, then down another side street that led them to an industrial area with rusty fences and abandoned factories.
Ramos bobbed his head to the music, a cold smile on his lips. “Rashard and Pac
o are hitting J.T.’s house. You and me are gonna take out the motherfucker’s business.” Ramos reached to the dashboard and pumped up the volume until the car was rocking. “This is where J.T.’s crew cuts their cocaine,” he shouted over the music.
Joe reached into his pocket and pushed the button that would automatically dial Chief Gleason to let him know that Joe needed immediate assistance. They were tracking his cell phone signals tonight, so the chief would know where he was.
Among the abandoned buildings, a beat-up shoe warehouse sat maybe three hundred feet ahead, lights on inside, a familiar yellow Hummer sitting in front of it.
Okay. This is it. Things weren’t supposed to get this far, but they had.
Survival mode.
Joe rolled down his window all the way. He had his own weapon in hand, but switched it for the semiautomatic, then leaned back in his seat so Ramos could shoot by him.
And then they were lined up with the warehouse, one of the giant corrugated metal doors open, three guys working on a gleaming GTO inside, another three watching. They all looked up at the music that blared from the Camaro.
Ramos stepped on the brake and opened fire, knocked one guy to the ground with the first bullet.
Joe was firing too, aiming at hands and weapons. He was hoping the enemy would run. But, of course, they didn’t. They dove for cover, then shot back.
Ramos was squeezing the trigger nonstop. Bullets ricocheted off the freaking pavement.
“Go, go, go!” Joe shouted at him as more guys rushed from the back, spraying the Camaro with bullets.
He didn’t have time to worry about his car. His semiautomatic jammed. He threw it out the window and grabbed his own gun. The fifteen bullets in the magazine weren’t going to get him far. Ramos was squeezing off more per minute.
“For fuck’s sake, get out of here!” He was shooting back for real now, took out one guy, aimed for the next. “Go!”
But Ramos had his foot on the brake, open hate on his face as he switched his gaze to Joe for a second.
He wants me dead, right now, right here. Of course he did. If one of J.T.’s guys shot Joe, Ramos would be off scot-free; he wouldn’t be the cop killer going to federal prison.
