Aim For Love

by Pamela Aares

  He didn’t recognize the beat-up truck parked in her driveway. Cautious, he stepped toward the door. Then, changing his mind, he decided to have a look in the kitchen window.

  What he saw nearly stopped his heart. Stacy, half-naked, was bound to a chair. A burly man stood over her with a gun held to her head. Faint bruises showed on her face and arms. Her head was tipped down, and Kaz couldn’t see her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was conscious.

  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

  The man tightened the cord binding her hands, and she cried out. The man said something in Spanish and then knelt in front of her and flicked the gun across her nipple.

  Rage poured through Kaz, leaving him icy.

  He resisted the urge to storm in. He needed a weapon. Or he’d have to disarm the man in one stroke if he was going to protect Stacy from harm.

  The man pinched Stacy’s other nipple. She grimaced, but didn’t scream. Smart girl. To Kaz, the man looked like the sort that got off on hurting his victims. Any reaction from Stacy would just jack him up and escalate the violence.

  Kaz willed his nerves to calm as he scanned the kitchen. A broom leaning against the fridge gave him his plan.

  He eased around to the door, crouching low beneath the window. He kicked open the door and raced to the broom. The man swung toward him.

  “Kaz! He’s on meth!” Stacy screamed. “He’ll kill you!”

  Kaz clutched the broom, brandishing it like a yari, and charged the man. His blow landed precisely on the man’s elbow, and the gun flew from his hand.

  But before Kaz could react, the man pulled a knife from his boot and reached for Stacy. Kaz charged him, blocking him, and swung the broom at the man’s head. He dropped the knife to deflect the blow. The broom handle cracked as it caught him just under the jaw. He charged Kaz and kicked him in the groin, apparently feeling no pain.

  Kaz bit down his pain and nausea and used the roar of his reaction to fuel himself as he grabbed the man’s foot. The clean snap of the bone followed by an agonized scream told Kaz that he’d reached through the drug haze and hit the pain button. He twisted the man’s leg and torqued him to the floor. With a swift jerk, he pinned the man’s arm behind his back.

  Kaz slid his hand to the gun and slipped it into his belt. He kicked the knife toward the door, away from them both. With a murder rap on his slate, the last thing he needed was to kill the guy.

  “Face down, both of you!”

  Greg’s booming voice shot through the tiny kitchen.

  Stacy’s assailant broke Kaz’s hold and sprang up, lunging for Greg’s gun. Kaz tackled him and twisted him back to the floor. He locked him in a death grip.

  “One move,” Kaz said to the man in Spanish, “and you’re dead.”

  “Take these.” Greg handed Kaz his cuffs. Kaz snapped them onto the sputtering man’s wrists while Greg wired his ankles. “And for God’s sake, don’t kill him.”

  “Don’t worry, I already had that same thought,” Kaz said.

  Once the man was clearly subdued, Kaz grabbed the knife from the floor. He flashed a glance to Greg as they both stood. Sweat poured down Greg’s face and his hands shook. Kaz had never considered what Greg had to face every day just doing his job. The stress had to be unbearable.

  Kaz raced to Stacy. His hands trembled as he slashed the ropes binding her hands and feet. He closed her in his arms. He tried to calm her by stroking her hair and murmuring soothing words, yet uncontrolled sobs racked her body.

  “I see we are in time.”

  Obaa-chan’s voice was the last voice he expected to hear.

  His grandmother, Roberto and Sabrina burst into the kitchen.

  And they were the last people he expected to see. How were they together?

  Stacy burrowed closer against him, hiding her face.

  Greg put his hands to his hips and let out a whistle. “No one in this county pays attention to anything I say. No one.”

  Sabrina froze. She hadn’t known what they’d encounter at Stacy’s cabin, but she’d never imagined they’d find a half-naked Stacy sobbing in Kaz’s arms.

  Roberto knelt near a bleeding, handcuffed man lying in the center of the kitchen.

  Sabrina backed toward the door as she choked down her shock. This was worse than her most horrific nightmares and so very real. The blood was real. The bruises on Stacy’s skin were real and had not been put there with make-up. Yet at the same time her heart ached for Stacy, Sabrina’s heart screamed for love lost. She saw the way Stacy clung to Kaz, the way he rocked her and positioned her body, protecting her not only from her attacker but from them as well. Sabrina knew they’d had a history; their body posture told her they had a present and a future as well.

  She clutched at her shirt where it pressed against her heart as love was wrenched from her. The man who had shown her what love was, what it felt like, was not in love with her. Worse, Kaz had tried to warn her and she hadn’t listened. She’d thrown herself at him, carried away by her own folly and desire. Embarrassment flooded in, ramping up the spiking adrenaline jabbing through her.

  “Get back,” the sheriff barked. His name badge was askew on his shirt. Greg Midland, Sheriff, was carved across the badge in block letters. “All of you.”

  Kaz’s grandmother pulled Sabrina back against the wall, but Roberto ignored him and moved closer to the man on the floor.

  “You and your banda are the reason my sister is dead. You and your poison drugs,” Roberto said in fast Spanish that stretched the limits of Sabrina’s language skills. “If you get out on bail, you’d better tell your parole officer to send you far away from here. Far away, because you won’t be welcome—if you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t say that,” Sheriff Midland said in English as he ran a hand over his face. “At least not in front of me.”

  “I don’t have to say anything more,” Roberto spat out as he backed away from the man and whipped out the red scarf. To Sabrina's surprise, the man cowered away from Roberto. “He knows.”

  The sheriff handed Kaz a pair of handcuffs. “Put those on. One wrist will do. Protocol. Sort of.”

  Kaz stiffened. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was,” the sheriff said. “Assault is a violation of your bail terms, Kaz. It doesn’t matter why you did it, I have to take you in.” He looked down at the man on the floor in front of him. “But you can ride in the front. I wouldn’t put anyone in the back with this drug-crazed maniac. From the look of him, I think he’s on more than meth.”

  Kaz closed one of the cuffs around his left wrist but kept his right arm wrapped around the still-shaking Stacy. Then he looked from the sheriff to Sabrina.

  It was the first time he’d glanced her way, and she wished he hadn’t. His gaze was flat, emotionless. There was no nod, no shrug, no indication of any message for her. She felt reality knifing deep into her as he slid his gaze back to the sheriff. But even as her pain increased, her wish that she could help Kaz grew. She’d reconstruct the evening for the authorities, down to the last minute. Prove that she had good hearing and could have—would have—heard if he’d left the farm after he’d left her in bed. It just was not possible that he’d committed the crime he was accused of.

  For all she knew, maybe the guy in handcuffs had done it. That would make more sense than Kaz being accused.

  The sheriff crouched close to the man rolling around on the floor and read the man his Miranda rights in stilted Spanish. “You’ll get nine for your assault and battery to the lady here,” he added when he’d finished. “And fifteen years or more for assaulting an officer with intent to kill.”

  The man on the floor jackknifed into a sitting position. Sweat mingled with blood ran down his face and stained his shirt. He started to tremble. And then he started to cry.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said in a thick accent made less intelligible by his sobbing. “Ortega wanted Salerno dead,” referring to the man who had been murdered. He looked at Stacy. “
She convinced Salerno to rat. Ortega killed him with a sword. And she was next.” He nodded to Stacy. “But I couldn’t kill her. So now they’ll kill me.”

  “Best confession I’ve heard all day,” the sheriff said in Spanish as he stood. “Might even get you a plea bargain and witness protection if you cooperate,” he added in English. “We can talk when you’re sobered up. A few days in the Valley Cross jail usually gets people thinking real clear.”

  Sabrina’s heart stuttered when Obaa squeezed her hand. The man’s confession was like a bad dream being played in reverse to a good ending. For Kaz. For her, the road to a good ending was now blocked forever. At least any road she could take with him.

  Sheriff Midland handed Kaz the key to the handcuffs. “You can take those off now.” Kaz grinned his relief. “But I might need your help getting this one to the cruiser,” the sheriff added with a nod to the man on the floor.

  Kaz took off the cuff. Then without looking at Sabrina, he took off his shirt and helped Stacy into it. He wrapped his arm around her. And then he turned to Sabrina.

  “For God’s sake, this isn’t a movie, Sabrina.” The twitch in his jaw and the anger in his voice had her backing away. “What the hell are you doing here? You and Obaa could’ve been killed.”

  “I thought th—”

  “No, you sure as hell didn’t think.” He glared at his grandmother. “You too. You’re both nuts.”

  “We weren’t the ones in handcuffs, Kazi,” Obaa said, indignant.

  Sabrina wanted to explain, but the devastation ratcheting in her throat blocked all words.

  “Go home,” Sheriff Midland said. “All of you.” He looked to Roberto. “We’ll pick up Ortega; it’ll be a pleasure.” He turned to Stacy. “You can come to my place after you get checked out. Liz will be glad to see you. You’ll be safe there.”

  “She’s coming with me,” Kaz said.

  Oh God, of course she would go home with Kaz. Which meant Sabrina couldn’t. Not even to explain her dream.

  It was really over between them.

  The sheriff looked from Stacy to Kaz. Stacy nodded.

  “Have it your way. I’ll need you at the station this afternoon. But Liz wants to see you, so you come by the house later this week, you hear? She's missed you.”

  Sabrina felt a light touch on her arm.

  “Let’s go, Sabrina-san,” Obaa said in a soft tone. “I’ll make tea.”

  “No,” Sabrina said. One more minute of seeing Kaz with Stacy would do her in. She needed to get away now. But she owed Stacy an apology. Owed Kaz an apology.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her words raspy and curt. It wasn’t the smooth apology she’d hoped for, but anything more would have to wait. Kaz and Stacy both stared at her. She had to get out fast, before grief and shock leveled her and she said something she’d regret. “I’ll drop Roberto at his place on my way out of town. I’m needed in LA.”

  Kaz started to speak, but the sheriff broke in.

  “My people will need to be in touch with you tomorrow, Miss Tavonesi,” he said in an almost apologetic tone. “You’ll have to give us a deposition, but you can do it from Los Angeles. And I’ll need statements from the rest of you.”

  “Yes,” Sabrina said. Her voice sounded distant, and she could feel shock burrowing deeper into her chest. “Thank you, I will. Give the deposition in LA, I mean. The Tokugawas can give you my number.”

  She couldn’t look at Kaz again. She’d forever have the image of him holding Stacy emblazoned in her mind. She nodded to Roberto, and he followed her to her car.

  She might finally be finding her way in life, but the path clearly led out of Valley Cross. And away from Kaz.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  A horn blared. Kaz pulled himself from his thoughts and stepped on the gas. It was the third time that day he’d caught himself sinking into thoughts and images he damned well could do without. The most haunting was the look on Sabrina’s face before she’d left Stacy’s cabin.

  He’d called Sabrina. Left three messages, emailed and texted. No response. Greg had told him she’d given her deposition in LA. That was the only news he’d had of her since she’d left Stacy’s that bleak morning. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to mix up her life with a guy like him. He’d signed on to help her and in the process had exposed her to more violence.

  But he would’ve liked the opportunity to tell her the truth. He should’ve told her about his vow when he’d had the chance. And he’d tried to tell her about his qualms regarding their social inequity, but she’d cut him off. He should’ve sucked up his pride and been more direct. But it was too late now.

  Giving his own deposition and dealing with all the paperwork had made him four days late to spring training. The other pitchers had already arrived and were working out for the exhibition games that started in less than a week. Position players reported today. Management hadn’t been pleased that he’d missed those first days, but no one was more displeased than he was. Still, Greg had hauled Ortega in and found enough evidence to keep him locked up. A victory for justice, Greg had said, partly because he believed it, partly to thank Kaz and erase any shadow of ill will.

  The only ill will Kaz held was for Ortega and his gang.

  Scottsdale was buzzing with tourists and baseball fans. Kaz stopped to let a couple decked out in full baseball regalia cross the street in front of him. Flags at the stadium flapped in the breeze as he drove by. Kaz felt comfortable in Scottsdale and never tired of the view of Camelback Mountain. He hoped to spend a few weeks there every spring for years to come.

  But it wasn’t the stadium or the amped up energy of the town that had Kaz wound tight. His performance in the next few weeks would determine his future and the future of the farm.

  He had less than a month to show the manager and the front office what he had. A slice of time to make the dream he’d held onto—worked toward for as long as he could remember—come true. How long he’d be dealing with sidelong glances resulting from the now-dropped murder charge, he didn’t know. It would be easier to deal with the gossip straight up, face it and put it to rest if he could. There’d been a couple cracks about swords, cracks that probably weren’t intended for his ears, but that was all.

  He just wanted to get settled and show what he could do.

  He’d heard of people achieving their dreams and then discovering the dream wasn’t what they truly wanted after all. Or maybe it had only been the pursuit that they craved and not the realization of the dream. For him, making it to the majors wasn’t one of those dreams. If he made the team—and stayed in the majors—there wasn’t anything he could want more. At least that was what he’d told himself on the long trip to Arizona to keep thoughts of Sabrina from driving him mad.

  The hotel lobby buzzed with the good mood of the other players checking in. The heady mix of preparation and possibility—of anticipation—was like atoms colliding and making a new energy, an energy all its own. Anticipation had a physical dimension. Kaz could hear it in the voices, almost scent it in the air. It laced through motions, words and muscles.

  And yet a detectable tension simmered under the rush of anticipation and outward good moods. For Kaz and many other men waiting in the lobby for their room assignments—some he knew from the minors as well as many he didn’t recognize—for them it was make it or go home. Over half of the guys would be sent back down. Most would never get this chance again.

  To avoid that, they had to perform.

  The veterans on the team didn’t have the same pressure. There was an ease to the way they moved around the lobby. They were there to get in shape, to get ready for the season. The season, not spring training, was their proving ground. The next few weeks were just a warm-up for them.

  But for the guys in the same boat as Kaz, every game took on the importance of a playoff game. Each outing would either move him toward his dream or serve to shut it down.

  Performance.

  It was one thing he was damned g
ood at.

  Sure, he’d get compared to other players, to other pitchers, but it was up to him to make an impression. To show what he had, what he could do.

  Shunting the disturbing and distracting thoughts of Sabrina from his mind became a matter of survival.

  Sabrina tied the laces of her running shoes and grabbed a bottle of water from her kitchen counter. Maybe a run would clear her head. Three hours of sleep was a lousy way to head into the first day of shooting. She’d read the script late into the night, so it was no surprise that the nightmares returned. But at least they had changed. No longer did shadowed, ephemeral creatures and characters threaten and taunt her from the darkness. No, these nightmares took her on a journey that felt more than real, their vivid scenes playing out a montage of love and loss. It was also no surprise that the central characters were her and Kaz.

  And Stacy.

  She didn’t begrudge Stacy Kaz’s love. Deep in her heart, beyond hurt, beyond pain, she was glad for her, glad for any woman who found such a man to love, such a man to navigate life’s challenges beside her. But the gentle gladness could neither banish nor cross the gaping abyss that had opened in her heart.

  Her cellphone rang, and she glanced at the screen. She was surprised to see Jackie’s number. At least it wasn’t Kaz. Or Alex. She didn’t want to hear Kaz’s explanations about Stacy. And Alex’s concern about her health was getting on her nerves.

  “Want to go with me to see an exhibition game in Scottsdale?” Jackie asked.

  “Can’t. We’re shooting today.” Talking to Kaz was the last thing she needed.

  “Great excuse,” Jackie said with a laugh. “Now I’ll have to sit there and pay attention all by myself.” She paused. “Alex says you’ve been dodging his calls.”

  “Alex is a nosy, bossy big brother.”