[Mark Taylor 01.0] No Good Deed

by M. P. McDonald

  “Okay.” Her brow knit and she didn’t look convinced. “After seeing those pictures, I worried even more about you. Did you tell your lawyer what they did to you? That they tortured you?”

  His leg twitched. “Listen, I was treated just fine. I wasn’t tortured.” A sheen of sweat coated his palms and he wiped them on his thighs. “Can we just stop talking about it?”

  Shock registered on her face. “I saw those pictures, Mark. Even Jim Sheridan didn’t deny it when he saw the photos.”

  “Jim Sheridan? How the hell do you know him?” This second shock threatened to send him rushing to the bathroom again.

  “He came to Chicago last summer and questioned me. I…I showed him the camera.” She bit her lip.

  “Shit.” So, for months, Jim had known and hadn’t revealed that information. No, instead he’d led at least a dozen more interrogations. The bastard.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I figured if I showed him, proved to him that you had been telling the truth all along, that they’d set you free.”

  Sincerity was written all over her face and he couldn’t be angry for her attempts on his behalf. “It’s okay.”

  “But I still think you should get a lawyer.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

  “No! I can’t talk about it. Don’t ya understand?” His breathing quickened and he fought the urge to flee the bar. “I don’t want to go back there.”

  Jessie cocked her head and reached across the table, taking one of his hands in hers. “Did they threaten you with that?”

  Mark kept his mouth closed, feeling muscles in his jaw jump. He didn’t answer but instead looked at their intertwined hands. Hers felt soft and warm and she rubbed one up his forearm. Clear nail polish coated the short neat nails. The contact felt wonderful, but, when he looked up, the pity in her eyes doused the feelings of warmth that had begun to stir.

  “Listen, Mark. They won’t lock you up again.”

  He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms. “You don’t know that. They did it once, they can do it again.”

  She shook her head. “They made a mistake.”

  “Maybe, but it was a helluva mistake and took them over a year to fix it.” Leaning forward, both hands braced on the table edge, he went on, in a low, harsh voice, “For all I know, this might all be some kind of trick. One of their sick twisted methods of control. I don’t even know who I can trust anymore.”

  Jessie sat forward, mirroring his posture, her tone low but firm, “Now you’re sounding paranoid, Mark.”

  He gave a short sarcastic chuckle and looked towards the door of the pub. Shaking his head, he tried to form a reply. In her mind, his fears probably seemed overblown. “Yeah, guess I do sound paranoid. But, I think I have a damn good reason to worry.”

  “I guess you do have good reason, but I don’t see the government letting you go just to play a cruel trick.”

  Mark shrugged, still unable to look at her, and they fell into an uneasy silence.

  “You trust me, don’t you?”

  He turned to her ready to say yes, but hesitated. Mohommad had been a friend. Someone he’d trusted. He’d trusted his country too. But this was Jessie.

  Before he could answer, she said, “Is that why you didn’t call me when you got out?” She sounded hurt.

  This time he took her hand in his. “No…no. I do trust you, Jessie. And I did call you once, but I got your voice mail. I couldn’t see leaving a message. For all I knew, you could have been married by now.”

  A soft smile dawned on her face. “Nope. Not married.”

  Even though he’d guessed she wasn’t, a feeling of lightness fill him at her confirmation.

  She looked at her watch. “I’m sorry. I have to get going. I have an early meeting scheduled in the morning.”

  Mark nodded and pulled out his wallet.

  She waved him off when he attempted to look at the check. “No, my treat. I invited you.”

  “I’ve got money.”

  “Yes, but I know times are tough for you now.”

  “Listen, I don’t need your damn charity or your pity.” He pulled some bills out of his wallet and threw them on the table. “That should cover the tab.” He rose, backing away from the booth, but stopped, unable to leave like this. Stepping up to the table, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers in the briefest of kisses. “Sorry. I just had to do that. It’s been good seeing you again, Jessie.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mark stirred the scrambled eggs, scraping the cooked portions from the bottom of the pan. The toaster popped, and he snatched the slices and buttered them before they could cool.

  The pan and the toaster had both been recent purchases at the thrift store. His kitchen was now stocked with a hodge-podge of plates, cups and silverware. Tilting the pan, he scooped the eggs onto a plate. In the brig, he had vowed to never eat scrambled eggs again, but eggs were cheap. Finances won out over aversions, and after the second or third time, they started tasting good again. As he added the toast to the plate, there was a knock on the door.

  He glanced at the clock, figuring it must be Bud. He was the only person who ever stopped by, but he wondered what had made the landlord get out of bed before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Maybe Bud had another apartment that needed painting. Mark hoped so. His wallet could sure use some extra padding. He sucked a buttery crumb off his finger as he opened the door. “Hey Bu—”

  “Hello, Mark.”

  “Jessie?” He wiped his fingers on his pants and stepped forward, pulling the door partially closed so that his body filled the threshold. “How’d you find me?”

  She smiled. “I’m a detective, remember?” She held a box, and shifted her weight, hiking the box up to get a better grip.

  “Yeah, but, I mean, why are you here?” Stunned, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. The hurt in her eyes made him cringe. “Sorry. I’m just surprised.”

  Jessie ducked her head and nodded. When she lifted it, her face had a pleasant, overly bright smile. “That’s okay. I had a couple of reasons for stopping by. May I come in?”

  The paint job and rug had helped make the room livable, but they couldn’t work miracles and he felt heat creeping into his face. “Uh, sure.” He moved back, allowing her to get past him. “Come on in.”

  Her smile warmed. “Thanks.” She crossed to the sofa and set the box on it. Flexing her fingers as she glanced around, she nodded at the wall. “Nice shade of blue. And something smells wonderful.”

  “I just made some eggs…want some? There’s plenty.” He hated the note of eagerness that had crept into his voice. It made him sound needy, but he did have plenty of eggs.

  “Oh no, I’m not hungry, but you go ahead and eat.” A suspicious gurgle sounded loud in the room, and her hand flew to her stomach as her eyes went wide.

  He grinned. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  Her face turned crimson, but she laughed. “Guilty. I lied. I’m starving and it smells great in here.”

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the table just outside the kitchen. “I’ll just stick some more bread in the toaster.” He went to the kitchen before she changed her mind. After putting the toast down, he opened the fridge, and ducked his head in to see how much juice he had left. Satisfied there was enough to offer, he turned to ask if she wanted that or milk, but found her right behind him, her mouth level with his. All it would take was for him to lean forward just a fraction, and he could kiss her. He fought the impulse. She didn’t need someone like him in her life.

  Her face flushed, but she held ground for a second. Eyes wide, they flashed to his before she averted hers and stepped towards the sink. “I...I just wanted to wash my hands first.” She spread her fingers and held them up.

  He cleared his throat. “Right. Go ahead. I was just wondering what you wanted to drink. I have O.J. or milk.”

  “Orange juice sounds good.” She dried her hands on a dishtowel, folded it, and set it
neatly on the counter.

  The toast popped while he was pouring two glasses. Before he could react, she reached over and began buttering the slices. The simple domestic act made him catch his breath. He shook it off. Long suppressed emotions bubbled inside, seeking exit, but he held on tight.

  She looked around for somewhere to set the toast, and raised her eyes to his, questioning.

  The cabinet where he kept his plates was right behind her, so he stepped close and reached over her head.

  Her arm skimmed against his chest as she turned to see what he was doing. A shiver swept through him at the contact, and he almost dropped the plate.

  She skirted around him, putting the toast on the plate as she went. “Sorry. I guess I’m in the way.”

  “No. You’re fine.”

  After brushing her hands together, she shoved them in the front pockets of her jeans. The action pulled her blouse tight and he had to drag his eyes away.

  Her quick retreat to the other side of the kitchen didn’t escape his notice. Trying to recover his composure, he took the pan off the stove and added the rest of the eggs to the new plate. “Come on, let’s go eat while it’s still hot.” His voice was gruffer than he intended.

  Nodding, she took the plate he offered. He tore a couple of paper towels off the roll to use for napkins, grabbed the glasses of juice, and followed her around the corner to the table.

  She took a bite. “This is good, Mark.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged. “It’s just eggs.” Pleasure surged through him at her compliment. It wasn’t just about the food. It was how she glanced around the apartment with interest, and not a hint of condescension, or worse, pity. She might not want to be close to him, but at least she had stayed to eat with him.

  Jessie sipped her juice. “So, to answer your earlier question, I came by with some of your stuff I told you about.”

  “My stuff?” He dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter and shot a look at the box. With all the things they had talked about that night at O’Leary’s, he’d forgotten that she had mentioned rescuing some of his things.

  “Most of it’s there. There are a couple of lenses that were cracked. Since the box was full, I left them at my place. I can bring those by another time.”

  He didn’t have money to repair cracked lenses so they could wait, but he’d grab at any excuse to get her to come by again, so he just nodded. “That would be great.”

  His leg bounced, jostling the juice and rattling his fork on the plate. It was all he could do to remain seated, so badly did he want to tear through the box right then and there. He took another bite of eggs, but he was no longer hungry. Instead, he felt like a kid on Christmas morning and couldn’t keep from sneaking peeks at the box as they continued eating.

  She laughed. “Go ahead and look. I won’t be offended to be left finishing my meal alone.” Another smile took any possible sting out of the comment.

  “I’m sorry…it’s just…well, it means a lot to me.” How to explain to her that it was more than just some photo equipment? It was like getting a part of himself back.

  Mark jumped up from the table and reached the sofa in two long strides. He lifted the box and set it on the floor as he sat on the edge of the couch. His heart raced and he had to wipe his hands on his thighs. With a deep breath, he tugged the top off. Several of his cameras lay inside. He held one. It was the camera he used most and he blew some dust off the lens. The weight of it in his hands felt wonderful. So familiar. So natural. The strap hung loose and he put it around his neck, feeling it settle into the usual spot.

  A surge of emotion swept through him, catching him off guard. His hands shook and he clutched the camera in a death grip. He heard Jessie get up and approach, but he couldn’t look beyond the camera in his hands. It was no more than a dark, watery shadow and his throat tightened. Blinking hard, he attempted to say thank you to her, but his voice failed him.

  The couch creaked as she sat on the arm of it, and a second later, he felt her hand on his back. Without uttering a word, she rubbed slow circles, her hand warm even through his t-shirt. He pretended to work at some smudges with his thumb. After a few minutes, he lifted the camera from around his neck, set it on the table, and removed another. It was an older one he hadn’t used often, but below that, wrapped in dish towels, were some of his lenses. He smiled. With them and his favorite camera, he could begin to take on a few photo jobs. It would be tough, with so many photographers switching to digital, but it was a start.

  He cleared his throat, and this time, he was able to speak. “Thanks, Jessie.” It was too soon to look at her yet. He didn’t trust his emotions that much. “This is...it’s fantastic.”

  “You’re welcome.” She squeezed his shoulder.

  There were two more towel-wrapped bundles in the box. The first was his long lens. Excitement surged through him, and he grinned. Now he was truly in business. He had all the basics. As he picked up the last bundle, Jessie’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Not a lot, but he felt her tension.

  It was the camera. He knew it. Even wrapped in the cloth, the thrum of energy seeped into his hands. His brain screamed at him to drop it, but even as that command shot into his mind, his hands tore the towel off, as if seeking to get closer to the energy. “Damn it, Jessie!”

  “Mark—”

  Anger and fear gave his voice a hard edge as he cut her off. “I said I didn’t want this one. Why the hell did you bring it?”

  Revulsion battled with an overwhelming attraction and he couldn’t let the camera go. Or wouldn’t let go. He wasn’t sure which. His fingers betrayed him and skimmed over the surface, tracing edges and flicking a speck of dirt off the steel rim around the lens.

  “What was I supposed to do with it?”

  “Get rid of it. Trash it. I don’t care.” He shrugged her hand off and stood, giving the camera a shake. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Jessie crossed her arms. “I don’t care, Mark. You can toss it in the garbage for all I care.” She straightened, standing in front of him, her eyes boring into his. “I don’t think I have the right to decide its fate.”

  “And you think I do?” He laughed, short and harsh. “You want to know about rights? I’ll tell ya about rights. If I use this damn thing again, I can kiss all my rights goodbye. Again.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t take that chance.”

  She looked from the camera to him and shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do with it. It’s just that the second you touched that thing, your whole body gave off a...a jolt of energy or something.” She held his gaze. “It didn’t do that for me.”

  Mark broke eye contact, hating that he thrilled at the rush of electricity shooting up his arm. “I feel it, but...” His body hummed, just like it had the first time he’d touched the camera. Eventually, he’d become used to the energy or had learned to control it. Overwhelmed and unsure, he sank onto the couch, and even as he cursed the camera, he cradled it against his stomach. “If I use this again, they could lock me up—just like before.”

  It surprised him to see tears on her face as she nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not.”

  “I can’t risk it.” He finally pried it out of his hand and set it in the box. “Do you know what it’s like to lose every single right you ever had?”

  She shook her head and sat beside him, her hand returning to his back. It felt good.

  “Forget about liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That was history. Even the right to life was on pretty shaky ground.” Mark gave a bitter laugh, then scrubbed his hands down his face, letting his arms drape across his knees.

  Her arm reached towards his opposite shoulder, and she pulled him close in a quick sideways hug, her head resting on his shoulder.

  He turned his face, catching the scent of her hair. Clean and fresh, the sun lit the strands. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes contrasting with her hair. When she opened them, she looked straigh
t into his eyes, not moving her head.

  Shifting, he twisted, one arm going behind her, resting on her waist. He brought his other hand up to stroke her face, looping her hair behind her ear. Her skin felt soft and warm, and he never wanted to stop touching it.

  Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and when she dropped her gaze to his mouth, he was lost. He moved his hand up to cradle her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. He lowered his mouth to hers, tasting. So sweet.

  Jessie returned the kiss, and he felt the heat of her hand on his jaw and groaned, pulling her closer. She drove him crazy as she slipped her hand under the back of his shirt. She reclined, pulling him along with her, their mouths losing contact, but he found new territory on her neck as he balanced one foot on the floor and his other leg straddled her, his knee buried behind the sofa cushions.

  She arched her back, exposing her throat, and he followed the line of her collar, kissing a path down. She moved her hand from his back to his hair, sending delicious shivers coursing through him. He needed to touch more of her. Needed her skin against his. He skimmed his fingers down her throat, just under the edge of her blouse. Her clothing barred his way, and he touched the front of her shirt, fingers poised on the first button.

  Her breath, ragged and fast, matched his own, and he stopped before undoing the button, searching her face for permission. She nodded and reached to pull him down, tugging his shirt over his head.

  He had to pause to regain control when her hands traced his chest. Nothing had ever felt so good. Leaning forward, he caught her lips again, and then moved his mouth up, trailing kisses over her cheek, to her forehead and hair, drinking in the taste and scent of her. She smelled of sunshine and oranges. She found a sensitive spot just below his ear and he shivered as her warm breath blew over the dampness left from her tongue.

  Mark swallowed hard, and pulled away, before returning to nuzzle her neck, his hand working at the buttons on her shirt. Her bra had front closure and he smiled against her skin at his good fortune as he unsnapped it. She shuddered when he moved the cups out of the way.