"Are you planning to stay in there all night, Jen?" Mitch flipped on the light switch.
She didn’t respond.
"It’s a helluva lot more comfortable out here. C’mon, I’ve known you were in there since I came up the stairs. I was wondering how long you could stand it."
Jen shoved the door and tried to hurry out, but pain slowed her exit. With a lunge, Mitch’s half-nude frame blocked her way, forcing her to a halt. Jen yelped with the abrupt jar. She pressed her hands against the small of her back and leaned into the wall. "And you stripped anyway? You’re really gross. How did you know I was here?"
"Your crummy perfume gave you away. What’s wrong with you?"
"Stupidity."
"That’s obvious. I mean, why are you holding your back?"
"I hurt it moving your dumb couch."
His hand reached for her shoulder, but quickly withdrew when she flinched. "Care to lie down?"
"No. I’ll stand. What do you mean ‘crummy perfume?’ You didn’t complain last night."
"Last night it added to the effect I wanted. It smells like something that died three days ago." He wrinkled his nose. "I could get ice for your back. Cut the pain."
She chewed on her lip. "Okay, please."
"Be right back."
I’m not going to panic, I’m not going to panic... I... She focused on trying to straighten. When Mitch returned he had an ice pack wrapped in a dishcloth. He held onto the pad when she reached for it.
"Not so fast. Get down on your stomach. Show me where it hurts most."
Her knees buckled easily; it took stiff concentration to get her body flattened against the mattress, though. "It hurts at the small of my back."
"There?" He kneeled and lightly touched a spot.
"Little lower."
"There?"
"Ouch."
"How’d you break in here, anyway?"
"Easy. You had a key under the steps."
"I did? Jeez, I looked all over for a spare one when I moved in. I thought I checked there." He raised her shirt, laying the pack on the trouble spot.
"I found it. Ouch! That’s cold. Didn’t break in. I walked in." Instead of protesting the invasion of her person, Jen welcomed the cold relief. "Thanks. Do you know you have mice in there?"
"Most cottages have them. Yours probably has snakes."
"What?" She started to rise.
"Relax. I was teasing, trying to get a grip on my temper. You don’t make that easy."
She sighed and lowered herself but kept an eye on him.
"Care to explain why you broke in here?"
Since he had shifted to haunch on his heels it was evident he wasn’t planning on leaving.
"Wait till I think of a good enough reason."
"I don’t have an eternity. Home invasion is a crime."
"And you’d know about crime, wouldn’t you, Mr. Misfit?"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
She caught a glimpse of his sober expression before a sharp stab forced her to turn away. "You belong to the motorcycle gang I’ve heard so much about. They’re into drugs, murder, you name it."
"You’re quick to jump to conclusions, aren’t you?"
"I came here to confirm my suspicion. It’s not safe to live next door to a biker gang. I wanted to be sure before I moved."
"There’s no gang here. Have I threatened you in any way?"
"Yes."
"Okay, dumb question. I haven’t touched you though, except when you gave me permission."
She tried not to think of how gentle his touch had been. "You’re sneaky. You didn’t admit to having a computer when we talked about mine."
"Neither of those two things is against the law. You, on the other hand, have broken into my home and that is against the law."
"Then call the police."
"No."
"I didn’t think you would. Thank you for the ice. I feel better. I’m going home." She attempted to get up, but another spasm sent her plunging back down. A wave of nausea hit, and she bit her lip to stabilize her queasiness. "I have to get home before I get sick."
"You’re sick now."
"You can’t keep me here. That’s kidnapping."
"Listen, you came here of your own free will. I can make a citizen’s arrest."
She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if he was serious or toying with her. He remained calm, sober, focused on her. "Aw, nuts!" She didn’t know what he was thinking. She’d call his bluff. "Go ahead and call the police."
"Not ‘til I see what you’ve learned. I don’t take kindly to anyone poking around my stuff. What did you find out?"
"You have the gang tee shirt; you must be a member of The Misfits."
"Is that against the law, too? What did you plan on doing with that information?"
"Nothing, just moving away." Her fingers dug into the mattress.
"What else did you see?"
She paused, then looked at him.
"You go into the same chat room I do."
Mitch turned over the icepack; a moan fled her lips. "It appears to me you aren’t going anywhere with pain like that."
"A couple of aspirins would help."
"I’ll see if I have any. Just a minute." He was gone again. It didn’t make sense that someone as big as he was could travel so fast when he wanted to do so. Poof here, poof gone. She rued the moment she’d thought of coming next door. What had possessed her? If she could navigate freely, she’d be out of here in a shot. But with her back so sore, her legs were useless.
Mitch returned, a glass of water in one hand and two white pills palmed in the other. "Take these. They’ll help."
"No, don’t think so. I don’t know what they are and I’m not taking drugs from you."
"Jeez, Jen. They’re Tylenol. It’s all I’ve got."
She peered at his hand, studying the tablets closely, then grabbed them and swallowed, following with gulps of the water. When she passed the glass back, his eyes showed gratification at quelling the minor revolt. She lay back down, disgusted at her predicament. The fact that he’d cared enough to ease her pain had lessened her fright. She felt his weight as he stretched lengthwise on the mattress beside her. When she gave in and looked at him again, his head rested on his bent arm. She scanned the impressive form that was so close... and dangerous, then reeled away from the burn of his gaze.
"I don’t belong to any gang. Some members are friends I grew up with, and I ride with them at times."
"Right. And the Pope is an Orangeman? I don’t believe anything you say. Stop with the crap."
"Goddammit. What’s eating at you, Jen? Why are you so suspicious, and what difference does it make to you, what I do?"
"It makes a difference what type of person lives next door to me."
"Why? You didn’t need to have any contact with me."
"What do you know about me?" Jen turned and stared him down.
"Nothing. You moved in on me, remember?"
"You’re a member of The Misfits, like your shirt says. I think you know about me."
"Know what?"
She sighed. This was getting nowhere. She didn’t want to go into it. "If you travel with them, you’re part of their criminal activities and know damn well how I’m involved."
He groaned and thumped the bed with his free hand. She could sense his exasperation. She didn’t care. "Are you going to tell them I’m here?"
"Why shouldn’t I?"
"You might be signing my death warrant if you do."
"Supposin’ you back up your claim and tell me about it."
"Let’s call it a draw, Mitch; we each go our own way." Jen eased herself up to a sitting position. Her back, numbed by the ice, allowed her to tolerate the movement. It was Mitch’s insufferable prying she couldn’t stand now, even though she’d been the real snoop.
"No draw. I may not be what you think."
"I’m not thinking anything. I just want to go back to my cabin."
"All
right. Answer me one thing."
"What?"
"Why would the gang be interested in you?"
She fixed her eyes straight on his. "I shot a guy when he broke into the transition house that I supervised. The police said he was a biker, and I’m betting now that he had a close association with your gang. He told me he would get justice; he’d probably call on them."
"Don’t those places have ways of summoning the cops like banks do?"
"Yes, there was a buzzer under my desk."
"How far away was the police station?"
"The next block."
"Why didn’t you use the buzzer?"
She paused. "How do you know I didn’t?"
"Ah... if you had, you w-wouldn’t have had t-to shoot him." Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. He’d stumbled with his response. "The cops would have been there in a jiffy."
"I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I forgot the buzzer was there." Her eyes darted to the mattress to avoid allowing his persistence to get the better of her.
"Okay, say I believe that. How come you had a gun?"
"I always carry a small one in my purse."
"Why?"
She cleared her throat. "For safety."
He shook his head and readjusted his position to get more comfortable.
"Why for safety? Other women don’t carry them."
"Other women don’t deal with lowlifes in their profession."
"It doesn’t seem to me that Social Services would allow a gun on the premises."
"No one knew I had it. As soon as I was old enough I took lessons in marksmanship and safety; the natural progression was to have one with me. It’s registered and legal."
"You owned a gun before you became a social worker? Why did you take lessons in the first place?"
"I don’t know. Some little girls like dolls. I liked the guns little boys play with. I’ve had enough of your interrogation."
Mitch swiped his hand across his mouth. "It doesn’t make sense why you’re so cagey about your life. Did you aim to just wound him?"
"I don’t know."
"You were close enough to kill him."
"Who said it was at close range?"
"Ah... I guessed." He took a deep breath. "It was indoors, that’s close range."
She glanced at him. She didn’t like the way he was administering the third degree. "I don’t r-remember." When her voice cracked, she looked away. As an afterthought she mentioned, "I’ve won prizes for marksmanship, though."
"Maybe you purposely aimed to cause him serious damage so he’d have to live a miserable life?"
"What? That’s far-fetched, isn’t it? And cruel. Maybe I was nervous. Maybe he was lucky he wasn’t killed. Maybe I was lucky. I tell you, I don’t know."
"Shit! Let me see if I have this straight. You shot a biker and even though you’re a marksman, didn’t kill him at close range. You paralyzed him. More importantly, you don’t remember why you didn’t summon the help you needed. It doesn’t compute."
"You’re the one that doesn’t compute. I probably aimed to kill him, panicked and missed. How did you know he was paralyzed?"
"I heard the guys talking about it. You aren’t a killer."
"I have a bad temper, as you pointed out."
"That doesn’t wash with me." He looked totally perplexed.
Mitch appeared to be having trouble with his train of thought. Why all this prying? Jen wondered. She pressed imaginary wrinkles from her jeans. "You didn’t answer about the chat room you have on your desktop. Do you go there frequently?"
He sucked in his breath, and looked down at his unclad self. "I only found it the other day. I haven’t had a chance to try it out. Are there interesting contacts in there or are they all after sex?"
"Sex?" She couldn’t hold back a smile. Nightspook came to mind. "There are bound to be some that are interested in sex. I want to go home now while I’m not hurting so much. My back strains easily, but the pills will fix it quickly." She started to get up.
It was definitely time for him to stop playing cops and bad guys. He was too old to deal with this redhead’s pragmatic look at life. She had torn holes in his questioning until he thought he must be the dumbest cop alive. In his investigation of her actions, he’d almost handed the fact he was a cop to her on a silver platter. Where were his experience and interrogative skills?
When she accidentally leaned toward him, Mitch couldn’t resist touching her chin with his forefinger. Her eyes glistened with surprise. A slight quiver danced across her shoulders, but he didn’t think it was from fear. By rights, she should have flinched back in revulsion--she didn’t. He knew he’d like to touch more. Something was very wrong, and he was at a loss to know how to handle it. He needed to play for time and think this through.
"Jen, I don’t think you should leave and be home alone in a state like this. Tell you what. If you look up you can see the moon has come from behind the clouds. I’ll turn out the light and you can join me and watch it for awhile. The rest will do your back good. Dammit! I’m not the bad guy you think. You need to rest."
He saw her dithering over what she should do. To comfort her, he placed his other arm across the front of her shoulders making the decision for her. Gently, he pushed her back against the pillows and slipped his arm under her neck. Expecting a volley of arguments or a slap, he reached up and turned off the light. She didn’t protest. Just complied. It shocked the hell out of him. Using the utmost caution, like a park ranger corralling an injured animal, he pulled her closer.
Her eyes were deep shadows beneath the moon’s glow. And she was silent. Had he struck a chord that transformed her from a headstrong challenger to an opponent wallowing in defeat? No. Something else was going on.
"Mitch," she reached over and touched his arm, "I know it sounds fishy, but I’ve told you the truth. I don’t know why I didn’t use the alarm. I don’t know how I could have missed hitting his heart, either."
"How’s your back now?"
"It’s feeling better. It doesn’t hurt to lie on it."
"Try doubling your knees for a good stretch, then straighten them again. Might help."
She did as he suggested. "Hey, that does make it feel better." She repeated the action slowly.
"I aim to please." He buried his nose in her hair. The fruity scent of fresh shampoo wafted over her perfume. He was treading dangerous ground and he knew it. With no resistance, where should he go from here? His nose slid downward; his mouth grazed her ear.
This wasn’t what he’d planned when he’d sniffed her scent earlier. He’d seen red. Now he wondered if that was a reflection of anger at himself for letting her get to him.
"I didn’t really believe the guy I shot was serious about getting revenge," she said. "I thought his pain was doing the talking."
"If that’s what you’re telling yourself, you’d better get real. He wasn’t just spouting off. He has a contract out on you."
"You know that for a fact?’
"Yes."
"I see." She tensed. "I thought if I waited it out, his anger would leave once he regained his motion."
"It doesn’t look like he’ll improve much, Jen. I’m not going to rat you out, if that’s any consolation."
"You’re looking for sexual favors? If you think--"
"Stop it, Jen. I’m not looking for anything but the truth. In return, I expect you to show a bit of trust." A pang of guilt knifed into his chest. She could trust him to do the best he could for her; however, he couldn’t allow himself to trust her with his own truth. His mission was too vital, and he could be tied up with it for a long time to come. He gritted his teeth to hold back the swell of remorse. "I could have dumped you in the lake and gotten rid of you myself."
"I know." She removed her hand from his arm. "I’ve never been able to trust anyone."
"Then we have to work on that. I know a good way to start."
"Which is?"
"By feeling each other out, gradually scraping aw
ay the layers of who we really are. For instance, when I kiss your forehead, will you back away?"
"Try it, and we’ll see."
His mouth placed a light peck on each of her eyebrows, then moved fully onto her forehead. He heard a small gasp. He waited a moment and moved to kiss the tip of her nose. A tiny quiver skipped along her body, but he noted she raised her chin toward him. Mixed signals. When his lips trailed down her throat, her flesh trembled. Her quarter-turn brought her body in full alignment with his. When her arm reached around to his back, her fingertips slid across his shoulder blades. He knew she was lost in the moment. The silvery light beaming from above made her appear to have an angel’s form. And the angel was beckoning.
Her hands slipped around to his chest and threaded through the hairy thickness. Her lips kissed his shoulder but when they moved to his mouth, a deep-seated heat poured into every part of him. His only thought was to remove any reluctance she might have and fulfill her burgeoning desire.
Their tongues danced together, and, using great care, he rolled her on top of him. She had the opportunity to leave if that was what she wanted, but she smothered him with quick kisses as the pills kicked in. Her breath radiated sweetness; her honeyed-taste sent thrills crashing into every nook and cranny that his quickened heartbeat could reach. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once, to let no part of her remain unexplored. And a rapid exploration it had to be. Poised for the most vital action a man can take, his body screamed for the ultimate.
His hands made a quick run-through over her back and hips, lifting her shirt over her head. He moved to her breasts, gently pushing her up and away so he could get a good look at her. What he saw amidst his restraint was the same urgency he felt. Her eyes sparkled. Her mouth glistened. Her breasts had peaked. Although his hands had been flat and controlled, they instantly spread and cupped. The warmth issuing from her fullness begged for the contact as he tweaked the hard nibs.
When she brought her torso within his mouth’s reach, he took advantage of the nearness. His mouth closed on an unguarded point, plundering that so willingly offered. All a while he was being assaulted by moist kisses that seemed to increase in need. The salty tang and damp smoothness of her skin magnetized his attention. His fingers unsnapped her jeans and made quick work of unfastening the zipper that held the rest of her secreted.
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