by Jayne Blue
“Good as new,” Old Phil shouted. “You’ve got a couple of old valves I’d like to switch out, but nothing that can’t keep. Next time I’m down to the hardware store, I’ll grab what you need.”
“Thank you!” The doorbell rang. The scent of warm, fried chicken hit the Phils’ noses at right about the same time. One of their stomachs growled and I laughed, grateful that I’d ordered just the thing.
We sat around my small kitchen table. Young Phil took me up on the beer I offered, Old Phil wisely stuck with iced tea. They spent most of the meal recapping the work they’d just done on the sink. Then they tried to one up each other on other plumbing disasters they’d each fixed. I realized halfway through the conversation that Young Phil finally decided to let his father just have it. He shot me a conspiratorial wink across the table as I sank my teeth into a succulent drumstick.
“How’s the job search coming?” Old Phil asked.
“It’s going,” I said quickly. It was the same non-answer I gave my parents when they’d called last night. I still had a few side freelance jobs, but as I feared, Judy Smith didn’t want me around anymore. She’d spread the word and I lost two other clients because of it. My lawyer, Tony, said he made some minimal progress with the State Police in New Mexico and Nevada, but that it would likely be a while before he’d make real ground clearing my name. My preliminary examination on the warrant up here was set for three weeks from now.
“You know,” Old Phil said, “my ex-wife’s sister’s kid works at Collingwood Elementary.”
I stopped mid-bite into my drumstick and tried to plaster a smile on my face. Young Phil wiped his hands on a napkin and raised a brow at his father. He didn’t know where his old man was going with this and I could tell that bothered him as much as it did me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a slow sip of iced tea. “I’m pursuing an opening there already.”
Old Phil nodded as he reached over and picked up another wing from the bucket. “Okay. So are we just gonna sit here and pretend there’s no other part of that story?”
“Dad.” Young Phil put a hand on his father’s arm. A look passed between them making it obvious they were both in on whatever grapevine intel Old Phil thought he had.
“There’s been a mix-up,” I said. “I’m working on getting it cleared. It seems there’s another person with my same name who, let’s just say, has a few more creative ideas about how to earn a buck. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to fix everything before Collingwood’s deadline for hiring, but I’m going to try.”
Old Phil shook his head as he sank his teeth into his chicken wing. “I told her the same thing,” he said, waving the wing in the air.
“Old bitch should have kept her mouth shut anyway,” Young Phil said. “And sorry about my dad’s inelegance in bringing it up. What he’s trying to say is that we’ve got your back, Stella. We knew your family. We know you. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”
If it was possible for my heart to sink and soar at the same time, it did just then. “So I guess my hopes of keeping this whole mess under wraps were naïve.”
“You got that right,” Old Phil said, throwing his napkin on his plate and patting his stomach. “Like it or not, you’re news around here. Lot of people still remember you from Officer Macavoy’s funeral. And I gotta tell you, most of the good folks don’t believe the rumors. Or they’ve already figured out it’s a mistake.”
“Right. But there are enough who don’t. Like the people at Collingwood. Or some of my clients.”
“Fuck ’em,” Old Phil said and it surprised me. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him drop an F-bomb. Young Phil, however, loved the word. “I mean it. You just keep doing what you’re doing. You got a good lawyer?”
“I think so.”
“Who?” The Phils asked in unison.
I told them. They also smiled in unison. “Good,” Old Phil said. “We know the Gorrell family too. Tony’s old man used to be the prosecutor way back when. His mother left him to join a convent. So there’s some story there, but they’re good people. Just do me a favor and let me know what’s going on. You’re Northpointe, but you’re not Old Northpointe like we are. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”
I reached across the table and squeezed Old Phil’s hand. I couldn’t help the tears that formed. Old Phil smiled and gave me a silent nod. When we’d picked the bones clean, I cleared the table and thanked them both again for their plumbing rescue and for all the rest of it. For the first time in a long time, my heart felt light. And I stopped questioning my decision to come back here.
“Anytime, honey. On the home repairs, I mean, plus the rest of it,” Old Phil said, again. He got to his feet, his back creaking with the effort. “Call me first. Call him only if I’m dead.”
“Come on, old man,” Philly said. “Stella’s had about enough out of you. Probably out of the both of us.”
“You’re a godsend. Both of you. I mean it. Sorry to have to keep needing it.”
I walked them both out to the front room. I gave Old Phil a hug and turned to do the same for Young Phil. Old Phil promised he’d get the new parts I needed even though I told him not to worry about it. We stood like that, the three of us. Talking about mundane things. The roses on the side of my house were finally starting to bloom. Old Phil told me when they were planted. Young Phil ribbed him for boring me. It was normal. It was good.
Then everything changed.
Young Phil went rigid beside me. His eyes locked on his father’s. I cocked my head, confused by his expression. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. But maybe that’s just the way I remembered it after the fact. A red dot bounced on Old Phil’s chest. He didn’t see it, but his son did. He reacted faster than me. And that made sense. One of their favorite arguments was about the war. Old Phil fought in the final years of the good one, lying about his age. Young Phil went to Vietnam. But in that brief span of time, both of them became combatants again.
“Dad?” Young Phil’s voice would pierce through my dreams.
The red dot slid up Old Phil’s chest. Young Phil moved. He got two hands on my shoulders and threw me to the ground. The potted plant behind me exploded, spraying dirt everywhere. Old Phil took a step back, but he wasn’t quick enough. Young Phil didn’t get to him in time. A small black hole opened up in Old Phil’s chest. He stayed upright for a fraction of a second, before Young Phil dove across the room and tackled him to the floor.
I was still falling when the third shot burst through my shattered front window. Then everything went black except for Young Phil’s screams.
Chapter Eleven
Mitch
I got the radio call halfway to Stella’s house. Shots fired. Ambulance en route. God. Memories slammed into my brain, choking me. It had been the same. Just the same. I’d heard those words on patrol all those years ago. I knew in my heart it had been Brian, even though the dispatcher couldn’t say it over the air. Too many ears. I’d raced across town going lights and sirens, knowing it was already too late. But I hadn’t believed it. I’d hoped against hope Brian was still hanging on. That I could get there and hold his hand before he took his last breath. So he would know. So I could tell him I was sorry. So he wouldn’t have to do it alone. There were others there with him that night. His partner. The EMTs who’d gone in before the scene had been secured. But I hadn’t gotten there in time. I’d failed him, no matter what psych bullshit Ken Bardwell wanted me to swallow. And now, if Stella was …
I arrived just after the uniformed guys. The ambulance was already in the driveway, its great big diesel engine chugging at idle. I parked at an angle down the street and ran. It felt like I’d run that half a block for the rest of my life. If she was dead. If I lost her too. I choked past the bile rising in my throat, nearly staggering to my knees as I got to her yard. Two of the uniformed guys turned and tried to stop me. Luckily, one of them recognized me just in time. If he hadn’t, I might have decked him to get past him.
Stella’s front screen door opened and the EMTs came out pulling a stretcher. Stella ran next to it, trailing behind an older guy with his hand on the shoulder of the victim on the stretcher. She was sobbing. Her face bloodless. She looked small and scared and my heart twisted at the same time my own blood started pumping again.
Stella. Thank God. She was walking. She was crying. She was okay. I ran to her as they slammed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.
“Phil?” she cried, looking up at the guy holding her hand. He was older, sixties, with balding brown hair, deep-set eyes, and a hooked nose. But he carried himself straight and tall. Military posture. He must have sensed me approaching. He looked up and met my eyes.
“You’re for her?” he said, his voice ragged with emotion.
I gave him a quick nod and put a hand on Stella’s shoulder. She looked from me to him and back again.
“We need to move, sir,” one of the EMTs shouted. “You riding with?”
The guy nodded and moved past us, climbing into the passenger seat of the rig. I had my arm around Stella and pulled her out of the way. I held her close, pressed my lips against her temple.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head and sobbed. “Not even close. God. Mitch. They shot him. Right in front of us. It came through my front window.”
My heart turned to stone. Two more patrol cars pulled up, parking at right angles on either side of Stella’s street. They made quick work of blocking the area off. One of our unmarked cars pulled in behind him and Detectives Chapman and Linley stepped out. Good guys, both of them. Baby boomers still hanging on because the economy was so bad. But they were decent, old-school cops who didn’t cut corners.
“These guys are going to need some information from you,” I said to her. Stella was strong. She stood with her back rigid, but I felt her hummingbird pulse beneath my fingertips where I held her hand. “You up for it?”
She nodded. “He’s still out there. Whoever took a shot at my window. I didn’t see anything. Just the laser light. A little red dot. It was on my shirt. Young Phil saw it. I didn’t. He grabbed me. I didn’t get why. Then I saw that light on Old Phil. Then his chest …”
She dissolved into a hiccupping sob as I waved the detectives over. She’d have to give them what she could as quickly as she could, but I wanted her out of here. Even with the police presence, she was exposed here. Whoever was looking for her would figure out pretty quick they’d missed their target. My stomach dropped to the ground. It took everything in me not to throw her over my shoulder caveman style and get her the hell out of here.
“Hang tight,” I said. “Let me talk to these guys for a second. You stay here with the uniformed officers. You got me? You don’t leave their sides. I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll stay with me tonight. You understand?”
Stella nodded. If I expected a protest, she was too damn scared to voice it. My heart cracked into a thousand pieces. This could have gone so much worse. Oh God.
Chapman and Linley listened and took notes when I gave them the broad strokes of Stella’s situation. They’d need to check with Caulkins about how public they wanted this investigation to go. If we had a rat with the State Police, the fewer details made it out, the better. We couldn’t be sure someone at Northpointe might tip them off. Stella told them what she could. They needed to follow up with the victim’s son. Stella explained who he was. She said he was ex-military and seemed to sense the danger before she did. It also meant he might have seen more. I prayed his old man pulled through. He’d taken a round straight in the chest from something high-powered. It didn’t look good from what I saw, but if he was stubborn and lucky enough, he might have a shot.
“I want to go to the hospital,” she said after she’d given her statement.
“No,” I said, the word coming out harsher than I meant. “No. Stella, whoever did this, they’re going to find out pretty quick they didn’t succeed. If you were the target, I mean. The hospital isn’t a safe place for you. We’ll send some uniform guys over there to keep an eye on your neighbors. But I want you someplace safe. I want you with me. And we need to get you out of here and out of sight like now. Can you pack a bag in a minute? We need to leave.”
Sniffling, Stella nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”
I waited at her back door while Stella went in to pack a suitcase. The crime scene unit arrived and were busy doing forensics. My whole body vibrated with rage. In the back of my mind, I thought Ken Bardwell might think this was progress. I wanted to bust some shit up. Instead, I stood stone still with my hands clenched to my sides. Waiting. It took everything in me not to run through that house and tear her away from it.
Stella finally came down. She tucked a hair behind her ear and looked up at me, slinging a backpack over her shoulder.
“You pack light,” I said, trying to smile.
“I couldn’t think straight. I must have walked in a dozen circles around my bedroom trying to figure out what to take. I settled on two changes of clothes and a toothbrush.”
“Perfect. Let’s get you the hell out of here.”
She came quietly, leaning against me as I slid an arm around her waist and walked her to my car. I gave a quick nod to the detectives as they interviewed some of Stella’s neighbors. Chapman lifted his chin when he saw me and gave me a tight-lipped smile. He knew where to find Stella if he needed to talk to her again. He also knew I’d want them to give her the night.
She was quiet as we drove across town, hugging her arms around her body as she pressed her forehead against the window. When I pulled into my driveway on the other side of town, she just sat there, staring straight ahead. I grabbed her bag from the backseat and came around to get her.
She shifted her weight when I opened the car door and I squatted down to meet her at eye level. “Stella? Are you okay?”
She looked up at me, unblinking. “Don’t ask me that anymore. Since Brian died, it’s all you ever ask me.”
I reared back, ready to deny it. But I couldn’t. She was right. I reached across her and unsnapped her seat belt. “Come on.” I rose to stand and held out a hand to her. She smiled and took it. Her skin was warm and smooth. A tiny pulse near her wrist fluttered and seemed to send a spark straight through me. I wanted more. I wanted to pull her close and never let her go. She seemed fragile, but I knew better. When everyone around her fell apart, Stella had always been the strong one. She knew I knew that better than anyone. So she was right. It was time for me to stop asking.
“I can’t believe you still live here,” she said as we walked up the sidewalk. It was my parents’ house. After my dad died, I’d bought my sister’s half out. She went to live in Denver with her husband and kids. I lived in the place where Northpointe got its name, along the banks of the Detroit River. A two-story brick house built right after World War I. The place was bigger than I needed. A long time ago, my mother wanted me to have it so I could raise a family here. About a dozen times over the last ten years, developers had tried to get me to sell. They’d offered me twice what the place was worth, but I’d turned them down every time. This was home to me and probably always would be. Even if I never shared it with anyone but the other cops during our monthly poker games.
“Where else would I go?” I said as I opened the front door.
Stella walked in. She loved the stucco walls. The wood floors. She said something about how hard it was for her to refinish the ones in her new place. We both lamented the travesty of putting carpeting over them. She was tired. She talked a mile a minute, her brain still processing the trauma of what she’d been through. I let her. I sat with her in the kitchen. Made her tea. I drank in the tiniest details. The fine bones of her long fingers as she gestured with them. Her skin, pale and white, almost translucent. She pulled her hair back into a loose knot and wispy strands pulled free at her temples. She pushed them behind her ears. Her eyelids fluttered. She had long, dark lashes that I knew most women would kill for. Her
eyes, gun-metal gray, penetrated me as I told her time and again that I’d keep her safe.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the task force and my fears about the continued threat to her life. Whoever had swapped identities with her had obviously tangled with someone dangerous. Whoever they were wouldn’t give up. They’d keep coming until they finished the job. It made it all the more urgent for me to help crack this case and find them. As much as I wanted to be with her, I was also itching to talk to Caulkins and the others to see where we stood.
“Mitch,” she said, her voice raspy from talking so long. I liked the sound of it. It skittered over my skin and warmed me.
“Keep talking,” I said. “It will help.”
She set her cup down and reached over to take my hand in hers. “You have to let me go to the hospital. The Phils were at my house in the first place because of my stupid leaky faucet. I have to know. God. Mitch. If Old Phil dies.”
She couldn’t finish the thought. She let out a gurgled sob and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her expression gutted me. I’d seen it before. Her grief. Her pain. I wanted to take it into myself and keep her from feeling it. I wanted to strike down anything and anyone who ever made her feel that way again.
“Baby, I know.” I shouldn’t have said it. I felt it. I’d always felt it. I wanted her to be mine. The need for it fierce, unyielding. But she wasn’t mine. I took a breath and started again. “It’s not safe. There are some things I’m going to have to try and explain to you. Some of it is going to be hard to hear. Some of it won’t make sense. But Stella, I will make you a promise. We will figure this all out.”
