“I see,” Anna said, still not understanding why he was telling her this.
“I know that sound crazy,” D’marco said, reading the confusion in her face. He rearranged himself so he wasn’t pressing so hard on her arms. “But I heard she was fuckin’ a cop—sorry, having relations with a cop. That’s what we was fightin’ about. After she run down the stairs, I told her, she should just keep running, and don’t come back without that cop, ’cause I’d peel his wig. She said she would get him, and then I’d be done. That was the last time I ever seen her. She musta gone to him, to that cop. You gotta find him, Ms. Curtis. He’s the one that killed her.”
“Who’s the cop?”
“That’s why I’m here. I want you to find out.”
“D’marco, I’m the prosecutor. Just tell your defense attorney this; I’m sure he’ll work on it.” She bit her tongue. She should be humoring him, telling him she’d do whatever he wanted.
“You think I ain’t done that already?” D’marco raised his voice in frustration. Calming himself, he continued, “My lawyer’s good—but he ain’t never had an innocent client. He don’t believe me. He’s working on this, but only ’cause I keep telling him to, and he ain’t gettin’ nowhere. His heart ain’t in it. He thinks I should just plead.” D’marco shook his head. “Even if he did believe me, no cop’s gonna talk to him. Police hate defense attorneys. But they talk to you. And you can pull MPD records and shit. I know it ain’t your job to get me off, see. But you were the only one wanted to listen to me that day after my hearing, in the cellblock, till your boss stopped it. And I know you cared ’bout Laprea. You want to find out who really killed her. Even if you hate me.”
Anna opened her mouth with the reflexive female instinct to deny that she hated him, but she never got a chance.
24
A crash from the front of her apartment startled both D’marco and Anna. She looked up to see two young men wearing sweatshirts and jeans running in and pointing guns around her house. What now? she thought. Then she saw the badges hanging around their necks. They were police officers.
The two cops yelled almost in stereo, “Police! Put your hands in the air!”
D’marco sprang off of Anna and bolted for the back door. He wasn’t going back to jail voluntarily. The officers raised their weapons and aimed at his heart. Shit, Anna thought, scooching herself into the corner. It would really suck to survive D’marco only to get shot by the cavalry come to rescue her.
The officers didn’t take the shot; she was too close. D’marco threw open the back door, ready to run into the alley behind her house. He would disappear into the city.
Except when D’marco opened the door, he found Detective McGee pointing his gun a few inches from his face.
“Not this time, Princess.” McGee smiled at D’marco. “Lie on the ground, hands behind your head.”
D’marco didn’t move.
“I know about your jail break today, Mr. Davis,” the big detective purred. “When I shoot you, I promise you’ll be too dead to escape from another ambulance. Now get the fuck down!”
D’marco lay on the kitchen floor.
Jack burst in through Anna’s front door, and his eyes flashed around the apartment, sizing up the situation. He saw that McGee had D’marco under control; he saw the two other officers lowering their weapons and going over to help McGee; he saw Anna crouched in the corner, frightened but alive. He blew out a breath and strode over to her.
“Anna, are you okay?” Jack knelt down in front of Anna and gathered her hands into his.
“I’m fine,” she said, watching the felon being handcuffed on her kitchen floor. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated, reassuring herself as much as Jack. She looked at the Homicide chief. “Will I get a Special Achievement Award for this?”
Jack laughed as he helped her to her feet and looked her over. His eyebrows knit together at something on her stomach. She looked down at herself. Her T-shirt was dotted with bloodstains; so was her kitchen floor.
“It’s his blood, not mine,” she explained.
She could feel her hair sticking out of her defunct ponytail; she could smell her own sweat from her run and the struggle. She was a mess. But she was alive.
The terror of what happened finally caught up with her. Adrenaline had propelled her when she’d thought she was going to die, but now that the danger was gone, she started to shake uncontrollably.
Jack opened his arms and she gratefully stepped into them, resting her head on his chest as the fear worked its way out of her system. She was glad that Jack didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around her while she caught her breath and slowly stopped shaking.
As she calmed down, she became conscious of Jack’s chest under her cheek. His muscular pecs rose and fell as he breathed. He felt strong and solid. Anna’s fear drained away, replaced by the desire to stay in the safe circle of his arms as long as possible. She remained pressed against him for another minute, feeling his hands gently stroking her back, the warmth of his body flush with hers. She closed her eyes and heard his heart thudding under her ear. Jack had been scared, too. She looked up at him. Perspiration beaded his forehead.
“You okay, kiddo?” he asked gently.
“Yeah.”
Their faces were closer than they’d ever been. She wondered if the butterflies in her stomach were from what had just happened with D’marco or from Jack’s nearness.
A clanking, shuffling sound made Anna look away. The two sweatshirted cops hauled D’marco to his feet and led him toward the front door. McGee was reholstering his gun and looking at Anna and Jack curiously. Anna became acutely aware that this was her usually stern boss she was pressing against. She let go of him and quickly stepped back.
“How did you get here so fast?” She tried to normalize her voice as she spoke to Jack. “Who are these officers?”
“After I heard you screaming, I started calling officers I knew lived or worked near here. These guys live around the corner. And McGee must have broken every traffic law on the books.”
“Thank you so much, Officers,” she called. “Thank you, Detective McGee.”
“Anything for a little overtime,” McGee deadpanned.
She walked toward the sink to get a drink of water, but hobbled a step, crunching over the broken dishes and surprisingly unsteady on her feet. Jack kicked a chunk of a mug to the side, steered her to the kitchen table, and made her sit down. He asked her where her cups were and filled a glass with water. “Drink up,” he instructed. She gulped down the whole thing. She felt like she could drink all of Lake Superior, she was so thirsty from her run and the struggle with D’marco. Jack refilled the glass and handed it to her again.
She was bringing the glass to her mouth when the sound of sirens pierced the air. A moment later, two uniformed police officers came running through her open front door.
“Police!” they yelled, pointing their guns around the apartment. The uniformed officers looked around in surprise at the apartment full of men. There was a tense moment, with everyone yelling that they were the police, until McGee and the two cops in sweatshirts held up their badges, and one of the uniformed officers recognized McGee. Greetings were called; guns were lowered.
“Those must be the officers that 911 dispatched,” Jack said. Then, under his breath: “Fucking 911.”
Anna rarely heard him swear. She realized Jack was more upset than she was.
25
It took a while to clear everyone out of her house. There was paperwork to be done, photos to be taken, a crime scene—surreally, her apartment—to be processed. Anna watched the strange sight of a technician lifting bloodstains from her kitchen floor. She had to give a statement to the detective who was investigating D’marco’s escape and assault. So, Anna thought wearily, this is what it feels like to be on the other side of a PD-252, the victim statement form. She was exhausted. Part of her wanted all of the officers to get out of her house so she could get some re
st; another part was dreading the moment she’d be left alone.
Finally, everyone left except Jack. She was grateful for his company as he helped her clean up her apartment. He worked quietly by her side—sweeping up the broken mugs, mopping D’marco’s blood off the floor, checking that her locks were all working—until her house was back in order. When there was nothing left to be done, she slowly walked him to the door. She didn’t want him to go.
“Thanks, Jack. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me anymore.” He put a hand lightly her shoulder. “Are you going to be okay here tonight?”
“Yeah, sure.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “Tonight’s probably the safest I’ll ever be. After the neighborhood saw all those police officers leaving my house, no one’s going to mess with me.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Good night, Anna.”
“Good night, Jack.”
He squeezed her shoulder and turned to walk out. She was sorry when his hand left her arm. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the moment she would be alone in the apartment. She would call Jody, she thought, and keep her sister on the phone as long as she could. Everything would be fine, Anna knew. There was no danger. But she was still spooked.
Maybe he saw the look on her face. Jack turned back to her.
“Look, Anna, I don’t feel right leaving you here alone like this. I have to go now—Olivia is waiting and the nanny needs to go home. But I have a guest bedroom. Would you like to stay there tonight? I think it might be better for you than being here by yourself.”
Anna paused. She wanted Jack to think she was tough and fearless; she was reluctant to admit that she was nervous. Then she glanced at the empty house behind her. The memory of D’marco pinning her to the back door was fresh and raw. She felt a vague sense of menace from the suddenly quiet apartment. Now was not the time to put on a tough-guy act. She smiled up at him.
“Actually—that’d be great.”
• • •
Jack lived in Takoma Park, a sylvan neighborhood straddling D.C.’s northeastern border with Maryland. As the cab drove Jack and Anna through the streets, she gazed at the colorful bungalows and Victorians.
“The homes are like dollhouses,” Anna murmured. She glanced at a sign. “Historic district?”
“A lot of the houses were built around the turn of the century. They were summer homes for people living downtown. Back then, this was the boondocks.” Jack pointed to a house flying a UN flag, a rainbow flag, and a peace sign flag. “This became a bit of a hippie enclave in the seventies. Some people still call it Granola Park. The city declared itself a ‘nuclear-free zone’ and has its own policy prohibiting trade with Burma.”
“I’m sure Burma’s really upset about that.”
“Yeah.” Jack laughed. “Now the activists are being replaced by yuppies like me, who just want a neighborhood near the Metro that’s safe enough to raise kids in. Some of my neighbors were suspicious when they learned I’m a prosecutor. That makes me The Man. But I joined the board of the organic food co-op. I compost. And Olivia’s just too cute for anyone to resist. Now my neighbors accept me as another local character, That Prosecutor Fella.”
“It’s a cute neighborhood. I pictured you living in the city.”
Why? Jack thought, suddenly wary. Because I’m black?
“Because you’re the Homicide chief,” she said quickly. “Not some law firm partner. I expected something less gingerbready, more gritty.”
Fair enough, Jack thought.
“I had enough of ‘gritty,’” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to raise Olivia in a neighborhood where she could play on the streets. I grew up in Anacostia. Every couple years, a kid I knew would get killed in some urban gun battle or something. I wanted something better for my daughter. Someplace like where you must have grown up, Miss Midwest Corn Princess,” he joked.
“I grew up in Flint,” Anna retorted. “We’ve been in a recession for twenty-five years. My dad worked on the line at the General Motors plant. When he got laid off, we lost our house and moved into a trailer park. So don’t bring out that tiara just yet.”
“I’m sorry. I just assumed you were a trust fund kid, coming from Harvard Law School and being so—” He stopped abruptly.
“So what?”
So beautiful, he thought.
“So smart,” he said.
Jack directed the cabdriver to a yellow Victorian house at the end of a quiet street. The home and all the trees around it were strung with multicolored Christmas lights, and a tall plastic snowman lit up the yard.
“Excited about Christmas, Jack?” she teased. “We haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet.”
“If it was up to Olivia, we’d start celebrating Christmas in June,” Jack said, handing the cabbie a twenty.
As Jack pushed open the front door of the house, Olivia came running through the foyer. She wore pink pajamas and pigtails and dragged a teddy bear behind her. “Daddy! Daddy!” She hurled herself into his arms, and he scooped her up, flinging her into the air. She shrieked with delight, then threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. “Did you get the bad guy?”
“We sure did, pumpkin.”
A plump, smiling Latina followed Olivia into the foyer. “She was excited to get to stay up late,” the nanny told Jack. She stopped when she saw Anna. Her eyes narrowed. “A lady friend! You said you had to work. An emergency, you said.”
“Luisa, thank you so much,” Jack said, walking her to the door. “I was working. This is Anna—from work. I’ll put the overtime in your next paycheck, okay?”
“Sure, Mr. Jack, no problem. Good night, cosita.” The nanny kissed Olivia as Jack opened the door. “Good night, Miss Anna From Work. Don’t work him too much later tonight.”
“Good night,” Anna called, choking back a laugh as Jack shut the door behind the nanny.
With her arms still wrapped around her father’s neck, Olivia turned to Anna. The little girl had gorgeous mocha skin and Jack’s green eyes. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Olivia.” The five-year-old stuck out her hand and shook Anna’s.
“Hello.” Anna smiled at the precocious girl. “I’m Anna.”
“This is the lady I’ve been working with,” Jack told his daughter. “Anna has nowhere to stay tonight. Do you think she could stay here?”
“Yeah. You can use my bear,” Olivia said, handing Anna the stuffed teddy. “You’re pretty, just like Daddy said.”
“Well, thank you.” Anna blushed and looked everywhere but at Jack. The living room, painted a cheerful buttery yellow, was brimming with toys. A big Christmas tree stood in a corner. Beyond the living room, Anna could glimpse the kitchen, decorated with fingerpaint drawings and noodle art.
“Okay, you,” Jack said, with embarrassed laughter. He set her on the floor. “Bedtime. Go upstairs and choose the book you want to read before bed.”
“Mm . . . how about three?” she asked, with the sweet, bossy authority of a five-year-old girl who knows she has her father wrapped around her finger.
“Two,” he conceded. It was always a negotiation. Olivia ran happily up the stairs, knowing she’d won. Anna watched the scene wistfully. Jack was the kind of father she’d always wanted.
Half an hour later—after Olivia had her books read, her bedtime prayer recited, her glass of water brought, her teddy bear reclaimed and tucked in, and several kisses—Olivia was finally in bed.
“That’s quite a bedtime ritual you’ve got there,” Anna whispered as Jack led her down the hallway.
“I know, but I can’t sleep if I forget to tuck in the teddy bear,” Jack whispered back. He turned on the light in the guest room.
Anna set her backpack on a daybed covered with a colorful quilt. A toy chest, rocking horse, and child-sized table and chairs took up one wall. This was a playroom when guests weren’t staying over.
“Jack, I need to tell you what D’marco said when he came to my house. I think we have to look into s
omething.”
“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. You should get some rest now.”
He showed her the little bathroom attached to the bedroom, and took a towel out for her. She couldn’t wait to shower off the dirt and sweat from tonight. She was glad she’d be doing it here in this friendly house, with the tough-as-nails Homicide chief down the hall, instead of in her lonely basement apartment. She knew this was a place where she would be completely safe.
Anna followed Jack back to the doorway of the bedroom. He turned, and they stood facing each other.
“Jack, thank you. For everything,” she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t wake Olivia. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to be around people tonight. Your daughter is beautiful and so is your house. Thanks for letting me come over.”
“Of course. You had a tough night. Maybe you’re fearless, but anyone else would be pretty shaken up. I’m just glad there was something I could do to help.”
He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, like a soldier at attention. Something about his formality made Anna realize they were a man and a woman standing alone together in a bedroom.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked quietly.
Anna almost laughed. He hadn’t meant a double entendre, and she felt sophomoric to have assigned a sexual meaning to his question. But it got her thinking about how his chest had felt under her cheek earlier that night, the rhythmic thump of his heart beating under her ear. Her eyes skimmed over his face, resting on his mouth. He had beautiful lips, full and sensual. Strange that she’d never noticed that before. If she stepped forward now, she wondered, would he fold her into his arms again? Or more?
She cut off the thought, bewildered by it. It was ridiculous—absurd. He was her boss. Her stern, no-nonsense, straight-arrow boss. She must be seriously overwrought—she was turning a simple, nice gesture into something it wasn’t. She shook her head no.
Law of Attraction Page 20
