This chance to get to the heart of the drug machine was more than he’d hoped for, and certainly further than the law had been able to get up to this point. It all depended on getting rid of Jen. Just when he thought he found someone intriguing, he must deny his interest.
"Dammit. What am I going to do about you, Jen? I can’t let you leave. And if you stay, it’s bound to turn dangerous." He turned off the light and pressed the wall button that slid back a clear skylight shield in the roof.
"I don’t need the complications that’ll come with knowing you." His sigh drifted toward the heavens.
His spirit brightened as he gazed at the high quarter moon. He had lucked out when the force had rented this exclusive cottage from one of the city councilors. It had all the comforts of home and more. The dwelling was filled with inspiration for romance. He sometimes wished he had a woman cuddling in his arms in front of the fireplace, or better, up here in the loft. He pictured Jen’s face again, then rapidly dismissed the image. Still, after this was over, he’d like to look into buying this place. Dollars to doughnuts it was out of his price range, but he liked it so much there might be some way he could swing it.
As his mission wound toward a new challenge, his mind filled with yearning for something more substantial in his life than involvement with the scum of the earth. Yet tonight the excitement of this big opportunity hit a chord he couldn’t ignore. Anyway, wives expected too much of their police husbands, he’d observed. They expected them not to get hurt. He recalled the faces of those spouses he’d had to notify when injury or death felled an officer. He’d never want someone he cared about to be subjected to that kind of pain.
There was no reverence in him this night when Mitch gazed at the twinkling diamonds of starlight. Exasperated, he rose from the bed and sat down at his computer.
~ * ~
Her bedside clock blazed three-thirty. Two hours in bed and she still couldn’t doze off. Each time Jen closed her eyes, her dreamland became a nightmare of smoky rooms, tattooed arms, boisterous voices, and loud music. No visions were as frightening as the gun and the shot that rang so clearly in her memory--not even the sight of blood splattered over her office carpet. She twitched uncontrollably, turned on the light and jumped out of bed to her solace.
The computer screen’s colorful display brought instant relief. The press of the mouse breathed energy into her bone-weary body. She wandered through various chat rooms searching for anyone she knew. There were no familiar code names at this ungodly hour. With a touch of disappointment she entered one last room. Her interest arose when, lo and behold, Nightspook appeared on the list of inhabitants. She typed through:
Psst!
Well, hello!
Her heart quickened at the reply. She typed back:
The same winds must stir us
Ah, yes... The winds of discontent.
She smiled. How right he was. She hadn’t been contented about anything in her life, lately. But she wasn’t going to tell Nightspook.
~ * ~
The heightened beat of his heart when Pixie appeared online, warned Mitch again that he might be getting too interested in his neighbor. The attraction had to be squashed. Even though she didn’t know it, they were bound together. She was his alibi for not hanging out with the bikers so he could make contact with his superior. Without knowing, she could help bring down the criminal element. Sworn to secrecy, he couldn’t tell her. Now he’d have to use her more than ever and somehow maintain a decent relationship for her protection and contrived death. The obvious course was to get to know her better by hitting her where she wouldn’t expect it. Her mind.
Mitch read Pixie’s words and smiled. "The same winds stir us? Jen, you have no idea." He took a deep breath and typed:
Ah, yes... The winds of discontent.
Mitch waited to see how she would respond. After a brief pause, her message came through.
Your voice whispers to me through the discontent and brings me peace.
He grinned. How far did he dare take this? This could be fun. He was practiced at leading female chatters on from long hours of entertainment online while he waited for his mission to end. He decided to chance it.
Then breathe it into you a little. Feel me. My heart can feel the heat around you like a warm wind from the core of your universe. I would like to make love to your mind. Let me touch your soul for a moment and fill you with little smiles. The discontent will disappear.
Mitch leaned back in his chair and waited to see if his bullshit hit home. His fingers drummed on the table. The screen remained still. With no reply coming forth, he furrowed his brows and sat up straight. Had he gone overboard? He’d thought a bit of passion might stir her into revealing hidden dreams--exposing herself through her thoughts.
I want to feel your hungers--the secret unfulfilled ones.
His fingers had danced nervously over the keys. She typed back:
But that takes trust.
Her reply threw him off. "Damn. She’s not taking the bait." His poised fingers hesitated, then moved.
Feel your heart, breathe in deep and inhale the sensuality; your mind will be stimulated. Let the potency of passion run through you.
She answered:
My heart pounds with a yearning. For what... is the mystery?
Show me that yearning... tip your cards to me... fill me with your honesty and I’ll hold it in a bed of trust.
Mitch felt like patting himself on the back. He was getting good at this.
I’m reluctant to do that with a stranger, even one who drifts so effortlessly into my soul.
She wasn’t giving any real details away, and yet, she was disclosing more of her private side than he wanted to know. He wasn’t asking the right questions. All he wanted was to know her plans. But a cry in the dark was coming through from a woman with trouble in her heart. And he didn’t want to be part of her torment. He only wanted to learn if she’d be moving elsewhere. Let others find out why she shot the intruder, or let it be. He had his own interests, his own responsibilities.
His heart pounded forcefully. There was the chance he might learn things that had nothing to do with her actions and everything to do with his addled outlook on life. He had to get away from her for now, so he typed his last response.
You know me well enough, for we are kindred spirits. But alas, I fear you think me insincere. Have a good evening.
Uneasy at the risk of antagonizing her, but following his instinct, he shut down his computer. When he left his chair, an odd sensation of loss struck deep.
Overshadowed by the need to develop a strong connection with her mind because of the danger she would face, he wanted Jen to have a safety valve. But right now he couldn’t take the emotional responsibility she was innocently foisting upon him. Unsure what her reaction would be to his sign-off, Mitch rushed out into his yard and sneaked through the trees. Her light was still on. Was she chatting to others? Was she upset? The squeak of her back door brought him to full alert. He tucked in close to the trunk of a pine tree.
Jen appeared on the back doorstep, her sensuous feminine curves clearly outlined by the interior’s light. She stood tall and straight and gazed up at the moon, serene in her apparent isolation. The sounds of the night amplified as he stared in fascination. In the distance the loon made its lonesome call. The mate’s echoing response pricked at Mitch’s determination to keep his emotions at bay. His feet riveted to the ground.
~ * ~
When Nightspook had switched his probe to a more sensual one, Jen considered disconnecting. But she would be alone again. She’d held on, hoping to be distracted from her tormented thoughts, if only for a little while. In the end, he deserted her, no doubt irritated at her unwillingness to play the sexual games that mushroomed in chat programs. It could have been a stimulating way to get her through her present rough spot.
Damn the chat rooms anyway. They aren’t real. She snickered to herself at the irony. That was what she’d sought--freedom from reality. When she’d
managed to get a sniff of that freedom, she’d taken flight. For a brief time she’d had the companion she sought, and he filled a desperate need. Now disillusioned at Nightspook’s rapid departure, she was more dejected than she’d been earlier. When other participants dropped her, it hadn’t mattered much; this time it bothered her.
Nightspook’s rapid switch in tactics had taken her by surprise. She’d enjoyed the fairy-like magic of earlier. To fly aloft with someone whose mind could also travel into a world of fantasy had been a balm for her depression. It appeared he had dropped the connection because she didn’t trust him enough to come forth with her real self. But she lacked the daring and experience required to visit the sexual realm he seemed to offer. Like others who trespassed into invading her personal space, she’d forced him away. She decided it was time to steer a wide berth around chat rooms.
"C’mon out, Spooky. I’ve had enough of the computer. Have a run so I don’t have to get up early and let you out." The pup hesitated at the door and gazed up at her. "I wish Nightspook hadn’t dismissed me so quickly. I would rather have been the one to close off." She clicked her tongue. "It must have annoyed the hell out of him that I didn’t go along with his prying. Too many have pried into my life lately. Scoot out there, Spooky."
Jen looked into the night from her doorstep and inhaled the intoxicating woodland scents sifting from the darkness. The loon called its partner. The immediate response churned up the emptiness that enveloped her life. She gazed at the blanket of stars that seemed almost near enough to touch. Her hand caressed her throat, then slipped lower and smoothed across the top of her chest.
"A beautiful night like this is meant for romance, Spooks. I wish you could talk. I really need someone to unload on." Her hand slowed and moved downward slowly massaging the sensitive swells of flesh. The caress felt soothing. Her thoughts leaped to the man who had forced her to accompany him tonight. Her mind’s eye perused the masculine image she’d found so distasteful at the time.
She remembered the leathery smell that filled the car on the way to the bar. Her ears heard the husky voice used to throw orders that she’d lashed against with anger rather than fear. And that was the crux of her dilemma--she hadn’t been afraid of him. She’d been disgusted by his overbearing biker presence, overwhelmed by his unhygienic invasion of her breathing space, and furious with his high-handed tactics that forced her into a lion’s den. Yet he’d been guarded and not physically hurtful in any way. The gentle touch of his fingers when he’d salved her wounds had been titillating, not painful.
She was surprised when beneath her own fingers the soft tips of her breasts hardened to firm peaks. She couldn’t understand how she could react sexually to thoughts of a brute like him. Her body seemed perfectly happy to place her in the same danger that her charges had faced. What was happening to her state of mind? To her body? She shook her head and dropped her hand. "C’mon Spooky, go over to the bushes and do your thing."
The pair ambled through the moisture-pebbled grass toward the lake. Spooky made use of his sniffing prowess and performed his duty. Jen waited with patience. The snap of a twig somewhere along the edge of the property signaled some other creature had joined them. Spooky’s eyes converged to one particular spot, and he voiced a low growl that quickly escalated to a series of excited barks.
"What’s the trouble, boy? No one’s out at this hour except us. Probably just a squirrel. I hope that biker sleeps for eternity."
Jen tried to see through the shadowy thickness. Without any background light filtering from next door, she couldn’t see much. She imagined she saw feet lurking there, but then she’d imagined ghostly figures along the road. "Are you seeing spooks too, Spooky? Is that why you’re excited?" His eyes sparkled when he looked up at her. "C’mere. I’ll carry you."
Jen sniffed the air. In one quick movement, she snatched up the dog, cuddled him close, and backed up. A chill shivered through her body. She turned and rushed into the cabin. After turning out the lights, she watched the yard from the side window, determined not to let her nerves get the best of her. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. The movement of branches as they slipped into place and stilled sent a shudder down her back. She waited a few minutes anxiously watching, trying to get a firm grip. Had it been her imagination? She didn’t think so, but nothing moved out there now. She needed rest to clear her head.
Once she climbed into bed and lay in darkness, her mind galloped recklessly. Someone had been out there. The strong odor of smoke presented the probability the someone was Mitch, still reeking from their excursion. The fact he hadn’t spoken a word unnerved her. What was his game?
Her brain fast-forwarded to her savings account and how long she could go without working if she quit her job. The new car and the down payment on the cabin had almost cleaned out her bank account. When she’d bought the cabin a few weeks ago it was a way to return to the only pleasant part of her childhood she remembered. A lot had happened since then.
The shooting incident constantly preyed on her mind to the exclusion of everything else. The police had emphasized she’d reacted in self-defense. But had she? What had possessed her not to press that button for help? In a quick turnabout, her thoughts jumped to her recent hospital visit with her victim as he lay in traction. She didn’t blame him for the hostility she encountered: she’d wrecked his life. He spoke from a place of pain. For that reason she hadn’t taken his irrational threat seriously. It seemed ridiculous at the time that a hoodlum, who had broken the law by invading the shelter, would even mention getting justice. She’d had no fear of the courts with the police on her side, but perhaps he hadn’t meant going to court. She shook her head. He hadn’t meant going to court after all; how dumb could she be? How far would he go?
Her mind ran rampant over his tough exterior, his crude language, his glazed eyes. Would he go so far as to put a price on her head? In her heart of hearts she knew he would. As quickly as it had come, her plan to stay here changed. The fear of living so close to the city where he was presently harbored took over. She knew what she should do--fix up the place, sell it and run. She’d have a better prospect for a new life away from her regrets.
Thinking about fixing the hinge was monumental. Lacking the necessary carpentry expertise, she didn’t have the hope of a fruit fly in hell to make serious repairs. There was no guarantee the cabin would sell quickly, either. She needed another out.
"Spooky, we have to come up with a plan." Her fingers scruffed the back of his neck. His cold nose nuzzled against her neck. She calmed. "Maybe we should go up north where nobody can find us. They need social workers up there. And it’s isolated." Her hand movement stopped. "Without identification papers and references, I’m screwed." Her lips tightened and she rolled her eyes. "Listen to me, Spooks, I’ve only known Mitch a short time and already I’m thinking out loud in gutter talk. Shit!" She sat up on the edge of her bed and stared out at the darkness.
Jen’s disgust carried the bleak truth of her situation. There had to be another way out she hadn’t thought of yet. She tried to prioritize her needs. Number one: since Mitch hadn’t made a move against her tonight when he’d had the chance, she felt reasonably safe for the time being. Number two: she would need a job soon. Number three: to work in the field she dearly loved, she had to have falsified documents or else anyone could trace her. The references, she could forge herself, but how did one get ID documents that would pass inspection? Who would know how to go about getting them? She didn’t know any shady characters well enough to ask.
Or did she?
Mitch popped back into her mind, sending her thoughts into overdrive. Living next door was one of the most impertinent, grubbiest escapees from the niceties of life she’d ever had the bad luck to meet. Damn. Mitch had said in meeting him... the misfortune was all mine. Maybe that’s not the case. Do I dare trust my instincts? How can I get his cooperation? Ugh!
Jen turned on the light and glanced at the stack of magazines on house repair. She had eagerl
y looked forward to transforming the small building to a summer home of which she could be proud. Now she’d run into an obstacle for which no manuals were printed. She laughed to herself when she thought of how helpful a pamphlet entitled: How To Put A Biker Out Of Commission would be.
Mitch had offered to help with the hinge. Why not proceed from that point? Was it possible she could furnish her needs via the one vehicle--Mitch Waverley? She could pick his brains while he fixed the door. Could she stand him that long? She shivered. To start afresh she would have to stand that poor excuse for a helping hand.
The clock showed six o’clock when she next peered at the fluorescent LEDs. There’d been no peace through the night, and yet, she’d arrived at a solution to her problems. She twirled her fingers along Spooky’s neck. "How can you be so contented, Spooky, when we have trouble sleeping next door? I think we might be able to make use of that trouble to get free, though." She swung her feet onto the floor allowing her toes to press into the threadbare braided rug. Her eyes surveyed the stillness of the interior, then scanned out the bedroom window.
The mist rising above the lake’s shimmering surface soothed her fragmented thoughts. She had loved the way the serenity here had given her peace that she couldn’t find in the city. Sadly that had changed. She’d visited this cabin often as a child, when it was a happier place, a place owned by friends of her foster family. It had been filled with laughing children then. She’d been able to soak up the joy and forget for a short time that the happiness didn’t extend to her own home life. She so wanted that laughter in her life now.
"By damn. I’m staying until I get this place in shape, Spooky. Just for once I want to accomplish something tangible. We can be out of here before that creep knows where I am."
With her hands at the small of her back, she stretched. "Spooky, the IDs wouldn’t be a fraud. I’ll use my real name, instead of my adoptive one. Then we’ll move on to a new life, no one the wiser." Spooky yipped and followed her to the kitchen.
Jen built a fire in the wood stove, dressed, then prepared breakfast. Placing a plate of toast and scrambled eggs on a tray, she added a mug of instant coffee and tramped down to the end of the dock. With Spooky busy in the kitchen eating from his bowl, she appreciated the sense of aloneness this time. Only her presence and that of the birds, chirping as they flitted through the trees, broke the calm scene. This was the serenity she sought.
undercovertrouble_341-1e1.htm Page 6
