I'LL REMEMBER YOU

by Barbara Ankrum

  Tess stood in frozen horror, her hands over her mouth. "Ohmigod, ohmigod."

  Jack rushed over to her and pulled her against him, moving her away from the body at her feet. "It's okay now, shh, it's over."

  "You k-killed him," she said, and he nodded. "Right next to me. You killed him."

  He nodded again, knowing what she was thinking. If he'd missed… But that possibility had never even occurred to him. He'd simply trusted the skill he'd spent a lifetime honing.

  She pulled back and looked at him. "Oh, Jack, your face!"

  His lip felt busted and he could feel the dampness of blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. But it was a small price to pay to have Tess in his arms. Alive. "It's nothing. Are you hurt?"

  She looked down at her shaking hands. "No. Just bruised, I think. He was going to take me, Jack. Where was he going to take me?"

  "I don't know." He let go of her and walked over to the dead man. Lifting the edge of his coat, he rifled his pockets for ID. He opened a wallet. "Toiler Cruz," Jack said aloud. "Civilian ID. Could be fake, though." He rifled a little more until his hand hit something hard-edged in his inside pocket. He pulled it out, swore and looked up at Tess. "Recognize this?"

  Tess went pale as he handed her the photograph of her and Adam, Cam and some other man standing in front of this very cabin. A sick expression crept to her face. "They found us from this picture?"

  "Probably a scouting party," Jack said. "You know? Like a beehive? The queen sends her worker bees out to scout for flowers? Well, these two struck gold. They're probably looking at all the mountain communities within a certain radius of L.A. And we've gotta get out of here before they're missed."

  "But what about…?" She sent a horrified look at the man on the floor.

  "We'll call your friend Dan from the road and tell him what happened. I'll tie up the other one and leave him for Dan to deal with."

  Tess blinked hard, trying to get her mind around what had just happened. She watched Jack wipe blood off his battered cheek with his fist and head back to the kitchen. The sickening sound of that bullet striking bone still echoed in her ears. She'd watched men die before, even in her hands. But never a man who wanted her dead as well. She couldn't stop shaking. Outside, in the distance, she heard an engine roar to life and the grinding sound of tires against gravel.

  "Goddammit!" Jack roared from the other room. A string of unrepeatable expletives followed and Jack appeared at the doorway. "He's gone! The son of a bitch got away!"

  Tess could only stare at him as the implications dawned on her.

  "I hit him hard. Dammit! I should have shot him!" Jack punched the air in frustration, then scowled at her. "Get your things. We're outta here." When she didn't move, he barked, "Now!"

  * * *

  The Travelin' Style Motel, a desert oasis of fifties-era bungalows tied loosely together by a meandering. Astro Turf putting green and a lozenge-shaped pool, sat tucked beneath a shady canopy of date palms off I-10. There were sixty-seven date palms swaying in the hot August breeze. Sixty-eight if you counted the dead one standing frondless and naked over the seventeenth' hole. Tess had counted them twice since Jack had gone into the office to rent a room five minutes ago.

  She stared now at the unripe fruit hanging in heavy clumps from the thickets of green that graced the tops of the forty-foot trees. The roadside date stands would soon be brimming with the dried fruit, she mused absently. The children splashing in the pool would be going back to school. And their mothers would heave a sigh of relief. The sun would set and the moon would rise, she thought. The world would go on, but it would never be quite the same after this morning.

  Tess glanced up past the palms at the sky – a cloudless, cerulean blue, the perfect counterpoint to a perfectly awful day.

  Forget the fact that she'd left a dead body back at Cara's cabin. Dismiss the disillusionment in Dan Kelso's voice when she'd called him from the road to tell him she'd left a dead body behind and that she'd lied to him about her reasons for being there – to which he'd kindly reminded her that leaving the scene of a crime, self-defense or no, was in fact a crime. Even overlook the very real possibility that by the end of this day, they'd find her and kill her, effectively ending any speculation on the irreparable damage she'd done to her career.

  No, the worst part of the day was watching that office door, waiting for Jack to walk through it. Because once he did, once he had that key in his hand, he would tuck her in one of these awful bungalows and leave her, she knew. And she would likely never see him again.

  The office door opened and Jack walked out, all loose-limbed grace and determination, looking like he'd stepped off the set of a road warrior movie. Tess's gaze fell to his hand and the shiny piece of metal catching the glint of the sun. Something twisted painfully in her chest.

  Jack slid into the car beside her and sighed heavily. "All set."

  "Wait, don't tell me," she said dryly, staring out at the putting green. "I have a fairway-view room."

  He grinned. "Only the best for you, Doc."

  He turned the key and they drove around to a small bungalow with the lofty name Augusta, for the famous Georgia golf course. All the other rooms had similar appellations:

  Pebble Beach, Saint Andrews and Riviera, lettered on cutout wood flags.

  Inside, the room, while clean, didn't disappoint. The cheesy decor, complete with rust-colored carpeting and plaid-upholstered furniture, looked as if it hadn't been redecorated since the seventies.

  "Nice," Tess murmured, flopping down on the bed and testing the boardlike mattress. "Really nice."

  "It's safe. That's the important thing right now," Jack said. "No one will look here."

  "Did I mention that I despise golf?"

  A smile eased the tension on Jack's lips. "No."

  "Ah, well. One more thing you didn't know about me and wish you still didn't." She smoothed her hand across the putting-green-colored bedspread. "I mean, here's a game where otherwise intelligent people spend a whole day chasing after a small white ball that they've just knocked to kingdom come for the purpose of sinking it into a hole strategically placed to resist their every attempt."

  "Ooh, stop," he said, sitting on the bed beside her. "You're getting me all hot just talking about it."

  Tess laughed. "Am I?" She rose up and pressed her mouth lightly against his, teasing his lips with a flick of her tongue.

  "Mmm…" He sighed against her mouth. "I think you're trying to distract me."

  "That would be correct."

  He kissed her deeply, with the slow thoroughness of a man at peace with who he was, a man who had nothing to prove. She savored the taste of him, the feel of his weight against her hips and her breasts, and tried to memorize the sensations. Because also in his kiss, so tender and so resolute, was the taste of goodbye.

  Indeed, it was he who broke the contact first, pressing small kisses across her face. Finally he just held her – tightly, as if he didn't want to let her go. Oh! How she wished he wouldn't!

  Tears gathered behind her eyes. She could feel the steady thump of his heart against her breast and her own answering in kid. What had happened to her that she couldn't imagine never feeling this amazing sensation again? What had happened to the girl who'd settled for dinner alone in commissaries and reading the Sunday paper from cover to cover on her solitary patio? Where had the notion of never falling in love again gone? She'd fallen madly, helplessly, disastrously in love with Jack. And now he was leaving. She curled her arms tighter around him.

  "We have to talk, Tess."

  "I don't want to talk."

  He kissed her cheek with tenderness. "I know. But I have to go. You know I do."

  "No, you said that, I didn't. I say you call it in. Let them handle this."

  He untangled himself from her and sat up. "It's personal, Tess. I can't do that."

  She sat up beside him. "Personal? I'll tell you what's personal. This is personal. You and me is personal. That? That's revenge.
Pure and unvarnished."

  "Maybe. But I won't risk leaving this thing to someone else to finish. They killed my brother and almost killed me. My brother's reputation hangs on what I do here. My sister-in-law's future hangs there, too. I won't leave it alone. I can't."

  "Is it your macho Navy SEAL image that makes you believe you're superhuman. Jack? Is it worth dying over? Because this time they may just succeed in killing you." She shoved herself to her feet and stalked over to the venetian-blind-covered windows

  He followed and put his hands on her upper arms from behind. "Listen to me, Tess. I'm not naive. I know the odds here. I have no choice. Not as I see it.

  "What we've had," he continued, tucking his arms around her, "has been, well – amazing. I never imagined I'd…" He stopped, pulling her hard against his chest. "But I'm gonna say this for your own good and I want you to listen to me. You deserve better than I can ever give you. When this is over, I want you to forget me, Tess."

  "What?" She blinked up at him in hollow shock. "What?"

  "I mean it. No matter what the outcome. Let it go."

  "Let it go?" she echoed incredulously. "Which part of it do I let go of, exactly? The fact that I love you? The fact that you make me feel whole again, like a piece of me has been missing all these years and now it's not? Should I let that go? Or maybe I should pretend that none of this ever happened. That some proud, stubborn stranger didn't find me on a lonely road one night and change the way I looked at my life. Or maybe that when that stranger held me in his arms, made love to me, he made me believe that he cared about me. Which part should I forget, Jack?"

  He released her and walked to the bed, where he'd left the keys to her car. They jangled like broken pieces of glass as he picked them up. "I called a friend of mine last night, Seth Tanner, to come and watch over you until this is finished. He's flying into Ontario Airport from D.C. and should be here by two."

  "Jack—?"

  "I don't want you to leave this room. Understand? Not until Seth comes. Don't open this door to anyone else. He'll take care of whatever you need. Money. Food…"

  "Jack! Please let me come with you."

  "Don't use the phone and don't use your credit cards. They can be traced in a matter of minutes." He moved toward the door and stopped with his hand on the handle. "I know you think I'm what you want right now, Tess, but when you get a little distance, you'll see I'm right. You deserve so much more than I can give you. You deserve the best. Don't settle for less than that."

  He opened the door and Tess felt a desperate fist clench her throat. "Was it just about sex then?" Her voice was hollow and shaking. "Is that all it was for you, Jack?"

  His head jerked as if she'd struck him. Then, without so much as a goodbye, he walked out the door and shut it firmly behind him.

  * * *

  Curled in the plaid chair near the Formica-veneered table, Tess rocked numbly back and forth, listening to the tick of the bedside clock. She lifted the overused tissue to her nose and dabbed it, trying desperately to stop crying. She couldn't do this, she told herself. This wasn't like her. She handled crises. She'd been trained to rise above them.

  Tears flowed again and she dropped her face into her palms. But this wasn't just mother crisis. This was Jack. And despite every hurtful thing he'd said, she knew he was wrong. He wouldn't be able to forget her any more than she would him.

  Nonetheless, she decided rationally, this wasn't about them or whether they had a future together. It was about whether Jack would have one at all. And here she was, catatonic with self-pity as he drove directly into the mouth of the storm.

  Tess sat up straighter.

  There was only one way she could help him. Gil. Maybe he could provide some kind of backup for Jack, or even talk him out of doing whatever he was planning. Naturally, Jack would hate her for interfering, but that was a small detail compared to the possibility that he would die tonight.

  She stood up and reached for the cell phone in her purse. Flipping it open, she punched the speed dial button for Gil's number at work.

  "This is Ben. You've reached my machine," said a voice that definitely wasn't Gil's. "Please leave a message and I'll get back to you." A long beep buzzed in her ear and she held the phone out, staring at it. Ben?

  Frowning, she pushed End and redialed Gil's number manually.

  "This is Ben," the machine said again. "You've reached my machine—"

  Tess stabbed at the end button again, blinking in confusion. Who the hell is Ben? And why isn't Gil's number working? Uneasiness spread through her. She dialed Gil's home number. A series of clicks, the same ones she'd heard yesterday, ended with the same voice. "This is Ben. You've reached my machine…"

  Tess punched Off and threw the phone down on the bed, staring at it in disbelief. Then she picked it up again and dialed the precinct.

  "LAPD, Westside Division. How may I help you?" the dispatcher's voice asked.

  "I'm trying to reach Detective Gil Castillano. I can't seem to reach his machine."

  "Who's calling please?"

  Tess hesitated. "Um … I'm … a friend."

  "One moment please."

  Tess frowned and waited. The line clicked and she heard someone pick up. "Gil?" she blurted.

  "This is Captain Sullivan," a voice at the other end said. Disappointment flagged through her. Tess bit her lip, uncertain whether to reply or not.

  "Is that you, Tess?" Sullivan asked.

  Bill Sullivan had been Adam's commanding officer and was still, Gil's. He'd handed her the folded flag at Adam's funeral and come by her house several times in the weeks that followed. She knew Bill Sullivan well, but the fact that he'd picked up the phone sent a chill of dread through her.

  "Yes," she said quietly.

  She could hear him shutting his office door. "You're looking for Gil."

  "What's going on? Has – has something happened?"

  "We couldn't get in touch with you, though I knew you'd want to know. There was an accident yesterday—"

  "Oh, God."

  "He's alive, Tess, but he's pretty banged up. He's in the hospital. It was a hit-and-run. They mowed him down right outside the damned precinct."

  She went numb. This was her fault. All of it, her fault! "Which hospital?"

  "University. It was touch and go for a while, but he's improved some today. I was just there. He's got some broken ribs, a busted arm…" He seemed worried about you. He keeps asking for you.

  Oh, God … oh, God… She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she destined to lose every man she ever cared about? "Bill, I'm out of town, but will you tell Gil I'm coming? Will you do that?"

  "I'll have one of the nurses tell him, Tess. I'll call right now."

  "Thanks, Bill. Thank you. I'll, uh – thank you."

  She stabbed at the end button on the phone and practically yanked out the drawer of the night stand to get at the phone book. She flipped frantically through half a dozen pages, then found what she was looking for. With a shaking hand, she punched in the numbers.

  "Avco, we try hardest, how may I help you?" said the woman on the other end.

  "Yes," Tess said. "I'd like to rent a car. Do you deliver?"

  * * *

  The name emblazoned on the ship's bow docked at Pier 49 read Neo-Benedictus. Eight days ago, Jack had learned that it was registered out of Colombia, and was part of a freighting fleet owned by a corporation called Hilo de Arana – in English, Gossamer. That corporation, in turn, was owned by a number of dummy corporations that ultimately and circuitously led back to a man named Carlos de la Arroya – one of Colombia's largest dealers in the heroin trade.

  Jack took a sip of lukewarm coffee from the plastic cup he'd left balancing on the park bench beside him. All afternoon, unmarked semis had been off-loading wooden shipping crates full of cargo onto the pier. These had been systematically lifted onto the huge freighter by the towering crane poised over the pier, and had disappeared into the hold. Twice he'd caught glimpses of a man named Co
rdova, Saldovar's lieutenant and right-hand man. It struck Jack that Cordova must have been the one to betray his boss to the crime family. Jack had yet to see either Rodriguez or MacAvoy, and he wondered if Saldovar's sudden demise had thrown a kink in the plans for tonight. Jack had it on good authority that everyone would be here, including the top man.

  Now, as dusk settled over the pier and evening fog was rolling in, he knew he was going to have to make something happen or risk losing it all.

  A longshoreman carrying a large carton on his shoulder moved toward him, and Jack reopened the newspaper he'd been hiding behind all afternoon. He turned the page, pretending to read, until a certain picture pulled his focus away from the shipyard. The caption beneath a police portrait read "Westside Division homicide detective, victim of hit-and-run, hospitalized." Jack scanned down the page to the first few lines.

  "In a bizarre and troubling incident, the Westside Division of the LAPD found itself the site of a crime scene Sunday morning, when fifteen-year LAPD homicide detective Gil Castillano became the victim of a hit-and-run driver near the building's entrance."

  Jack swore out loud and kept reading.

  "Police have declined comment on the detective's condition, other than to say he's hospitalized at the University Medical Center. Witnesses to the incident alleged that the unidentified late-model red hatchback seemed to swerve in to hit Castillano, who was opening the door of his own car at the time of the accident. According to sources close to the investigation, the driver made no attempt to brake or stop after Castillano was struck. Though police have no suspects in custody, a spokesperson for the Westside Division said today that they are following a number of leads."

  Jack stopped reading and shoved the paper into the wire basket beside him. It shouldn't have surprised him that they'd go for Gil. His friendship with Tess was common knowledge. But the bald arrogance of the move shocked the hell out of him. If they were desperate enough to take out one of their own right in front of the precinct, what else would they do? And what did Gil know that had made them rash enough to try it?