by JoAnn Ross
He left the office, pausing in the doorway. “Leave my wife alone.”
As he took the elevator downstairs, Mitch was smiling.
Unfortunately his feeling of goodwill was short-lived. As he left the office building, he saw Sasha, not waiting in the car as he’d instructed, but standing on the sidewalk gazing into the window of the jewelry store next door.
At that same instant, a kid with baggy shorts, a purple and orange Phoenix Suns T-shirt and high-top sneakers grabbed her purse and took off running.
8
SASHA COULDN’T BELIEVE what was happening!
One minute she was soothing her jangled nerves by drinking in the lovely sight of diamonds and rubies in the jewelry store window. Then, in less time that it took to blink, her purse—with her valuable gambling winnings inside—had been ripped from her shoulder.
She cried out in dismay.
At the same time, she saw Mitch sprinting off after the thief.
The part of her that was desperate for the money that would help her find her father was immensely relieved that Mitch had appeared on the scene. Another, stronger part, feared he could get hurt.
Refusing to let him risk his life alone, she began running.
Mitch was proud of the way he’d kept himself fit. His work, after all, depended on his being in shape. He damned his suit and dress shoes, but vowed that there was no way this punk was going to get away with the crime.
The kid ran across the street, dodging between a city bus and a delivery truck. On his heels Mitch followed, ignoring the strident angry blast of the truck horn.
An elderly woman with pewter curls came out of a coffee shop. The thief pushed her aside, almost knocking her down, and kept running. Cursing, Mitch slowed to ensure that she was all right. He picked up her red pocketbook, handed it back to her, then rushed on.
Neither of them noticed Sasha, half a block behind, struggling to keep up.
Adrenaline was racing through Mitch’s veins, pounding in his ears like the beat of a drum. He could hear his own labored breathing, feel the burning in his lungs.
The signal at the intersection said Don’t Walk. The thief ignored it, shoved aside a city maintenance crew barricade, leapt over an open manhole and raced into traffic. Brakes squealed as Mitch followed.
By the time they cut across the basketball arena’s outdoor courtyard, Mitch had gained on the thief. The kid might be younger, but as Mitch forced his legs to keep up their pistonlike motion, he reminded himself that he was a hero, dammit. Savior of women and children and kittens.
There was no way he was going to allow himself to be a failure in Sasha’s eyes.
Even if he had to take on the entire immigration service.
Even if this ridiculous race gave him a frigging heart attack.
A bicyclist shot out of an alley between them. The purse snatcher put on an extra burst of speed just as Mitch slammed headlong into the bike, sending himself and the rider sprawling into the gutter.
His knee hit the ground with a painful cracking sound, then he skidded across the pavement, picking up gravel, making his palms feel as if they were suddenly on fire.
“Hey, man,” the bicyclist complained, struggling to his feet, helmet askew, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Sorry.” Ignoring his aching knee and burning hands, Mitch pushed himself to his feet and took off running again.
Sasha, who’d waited impatiently at the red pedestrian signal was horrified when she saw Mitch crash into the bicycle. Her cry of alarm drew the attention of a passing motorcycle cop, who immediately pulled over to the curb.
“Something wrong, ma’am?”
“My husband!” She pointed toward Mitch. “He’s trying to catch the thief who stole my handbag!”
The cop took one look at the situation, hit his siren and lights, gunned the motorcycle and took off, leaving her to watch helplessly as Mitch chased the teenager across the Civic Center plaza. Just as he reached out again, the kid put on another burst of speed.
“Dammit! That’s enough!” With a low flying tackle, Mitch managed to pull the purse snatcher down.
Sasha’s heart caught in her throat as she watched Mitch become airborne. He and the thief careened into the fountain and began splashing around, throwing punches while water poured down on them as if from a cloudburst.
Seconds later, the cop caught up with them.
By the time Sasha arrived on the scene, the perpetrator had been handed over to the cop. Mitch was bent over, his hands on his knees, his breathing labored. He was also soaked to the skin.
“Mitch!” She flung herself at him, almost knocking them both over in her enthusiasm. “Are you all right?”
He caught her around the waist, steadying her as he steadied himself. “I’m...fine.” He dragged in a huge draft of air as he handed her the purse. “I saved...your money.”
“The money is not important. Not compared to you!” She’d never made a more truthful statement. “When I saw you fall...”
“It wasn’t anything.” He drew in another breath that didn’t hurt nearly as badly, making him think he might live, after all.
“You could have been hurt,” she scolded. Now that she was no longer terrified, Sasha was angry. “Such reckless, dangerous behavior should be left to the police.”
After what he’d just been through for her, Sasha’s criticism stung. “In case you didn’t notice, sweetheart, there weren’t any police around when you decided to go window shopping with every cent to your name in your purse so every gangbanger and crook in the city could steal it!”
“I was waiting for you!”
“I told you to wait in the damn car,” Mitch shouted. He dragged his hand through his wet hair in frustration and cursed the flaw that had made him chase the kid in the first place. It wasn’t his job. The cops didn’t fight fires—so why should he fight crime?
“Oh, Mitch!” Sasha’s temper deflated like air leaving a balloon as she observed the blood smear on his temple. “You have hurt yourself.” She grabbed hold of his hand and turned it over, gasping as she viewed the asphalt imbedded in his skin.
“I told you, it’s nothing. A little soap and water and I’ll be fine.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A third voice entered the conversation.
Sasha turned toward the motorcycle officer. The thief, she noticed, was now in the custody of a second policeman who’d been cruising by in his patrol car.
“I assume you and your husband want to press charges.”
“Yes,” Mitch said.
“No,” Sasha said at the same time.
“What?” Mitch stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing. “After I nearly break my neck—”
“You said it was only a little fall,” she reminded him.
“After I nearly break my neck,” he repeated from between clenched teeth, “chasing the little creep, what do you mean, you’re not going to press charges?”
“It’s not necessary,” she insisted.
“The hell it isn’t.” He turned to the cop who was looking bored, as if he’d heard all this before. “If she doesn’t want to file a complaint, I will.”
“Mitch!” Sasha frowned at him, then forced a shaky smile at the policeman. “Will you excuse us, please? I would like to speak with my husband.”
The cop shrugged as he pulled his leather gloves back on. “Make it quick. We can’t stand around here all day.”
Mitch took her arm and pulled her a few feet away. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Shoot?” She glanced nervously back at the 9 mm pistol the patrolman was wearing.
“Talk to me.”
“Oh.” Relieved, she said, “If we press charges, we’ll have to go to the police station. And sign papers, yes?”
“Sure.” It was Mitch’s turn to shrug. “So?”
“So, then I’ll have a police file. And I’ll be automatically deported.”
Comprehension flickered. “Sasha, you won’t have a
record, the kid will. Hell, he probably already does. You’ll be doing society a favor if you get him put away. Or would you rather have him steal someone else’s purse? Like that little old lady he nearly knocked down?”
She knew he was right. But still . . .
“In Russia, having the police know your name is not such a good thing,” she argued weakly.
With that single statement, she made all the news reports and magazine articles he’d read about life behind the former Iron Curtain come crashing home.
She looked so serious, so distressed, Mitch had a sudden urge to take her in his arms and kiss that worried frown off her face. Instead he reached out and touched her cheek with a roughened fingertip.
“This isn’t Russia, sweetheart. In America you’re considered a good citizen for reporting a crime.”
“I have seen such things on ‘Crime Stoppers,’” she admitted hesitantly. “And ‘America’s Most Wanted,’ but—”
“But nothing. We’ll go to the station, press charges, then take your money to the bank. Before anything else happens.”
He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she looked over at the waiting patrolman. “I suppose it is the right thing to do.”
“Of course it is.” He rewarded her with the warm smile that she knew would continue to have the power to thrill her long after this mock marriage had ended. “You’ve got to learn to trust your husband, Sasha.”
“I do.” Even though she knew he was joking, the idea was a pleasant one. It continued to comfort her during their time in the police station. And while they deposited the gambling check in her meager savings account.
“I’m so sorry about your suit,” she murmured as they drove back to the apartment.
Mitch shrugged off her concern. “I don’t have that many occasions to wear one, anyway.”
“But you looked so handsome in it. I suppose the cleaner could dry it, but I’m afraid your trousers are ruined.”
He glanced down at the long tear over his knee. “Next time, I’ll have to remember to just run the perp down with my Batmobile.”
Sasha smiled at the image. “You are talking about Batman, right? The American movie superhero.”
He smiled back. “Got it on the first try.”
Not wanting to embarrass him, Sasha refrained from adding that she considered Mitch her very personal superhero.
A comfortable silence settled over them. Mitch was the first to break it. “I think we did okay with Potter. Though I sure wasn’t expecting a pop quiz.”
“Neither was I.” Sasha’s tone turned gloomy at the memory.
“I felt like a contestant on ‘The Newlywed Game.’ With a lot more at stake than a side-by-side refrigerator. At least I could answer what side of the bed each of us sleeps on.”
“I sleep on the right side,” she said promptly. “You sleep on the left.”
“That’s what I said,” he agreed.
She exhaled a sigh of relief. “So, we got one right.”
“How about favorite movie?” Mitch asked.
“That’s easy.” Despite the seriousness of their situation, Sasha grinned.
“Honeymoon in Vegas, ” they both said together.
“Favorite song?” Mitch asked.
“‘Blue Hawaii.’” It hadn’t been. But after last night’s dreams...
“Three for three,” Mitch said as he stopped for a red light. “We’re on a roll.” It was then he made the mistake of glancing over at her. Their eyes held, each remembering the sensual dream. And their slumberous response to it. “I guess we didn’t do so badly, after all.”
“I guess not.” Her voice was soft and throaty and strummed innumerable emotional chords. “At least we managed to stall the final decision until Mr. Donald O. Potter’s home visit.”
“Won’t that just be a barrel of laughs.” Mitch would rather invite Ghengis Khan to the apartment than let Potter cross his threshold. He idly considered digging a moat and filling it with bureaucrat-eating alligators.
“I don’t suppose we could bar the doors and windows and pour boiling oil down on him?” Sasha suggested.
Mitch laughed. Pleased they were thinking along the same lines, he reached out and ruffled her hair in a casual, friendly gesture. “Sweetheart, I do like your style.”
The light turned green. But the mood had been lightened enough that Mitch regained his confidence about pulling off the marriage charade.
Working together, they could fool Potter. And any other obnoxious bureaucrats the government might send their way. But as he approached the apartment building and viewed the familiar car parked at the curb, he realized that he and Sasha were about to undergo a test far more rigid than anything the United States government could come up with.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing his muttered curse.
“better brace yourself, Sasha, darlin’,” Mitch said with a long sigh as he pulled into his parking space, “because you’re about to meet your new mother-in-law.”
The moment she saw Margaret Cudahy, Sasha knew where Mitch had gotten his good looks.
Vivid blue eyes that were twins of her son’s swept over him, from the top of his wet head down to his soaked shoes. “Mitchel Cudahy, what on earth have you gotten into now?”
“It’s a long story. And not very interesting.”
“That’s what you said while the ER nurse was pulling cactus needles out of your rear end last week,” she retorted. “Lord, if it weren’t for Lady Clairol, my hair would be as white as snow. However, you may be right. I’m probably better off not knowing.”
She shook her head with maternal chagrin, then changed the subject. “I was about to scold you for eloping without telling your mother. However—” she gave Sasha a genuine warm smile and a quick hug “—I’m so happy to have a new daughter that I can’t work up all that much irritation.”
“Mom, this is Sasha.” To Sasha’s surprise, her all-American hero began shuffling his foot in the pile of the carpet. “Sasha, this is my mother.”
“Hello, Mrs. Cudahy,” Sasha said. She began to extend her hand, but decided the gesture was too formal after that hug. “It is nice to meet you.”
“It’s a delight to meet you, Sasha.” Her warm smile seconded her words. “And please, you must call me Margaret. Or, perhaps when we become closer, you might want to call me Mom.”
It was, Sasha thought, a wonderfully American word. “I think I would like that.”
Her mother’s death had left a terrible void in her life. And although she knew that getting emotionally close to this open-hearted woman would be a huge mistake, Sasha found the idea of friendship with Mitch’s mother undeniably appealing.
“So would I.” The smile flashed again, warmer and wider, revealing a dimple high on Margaret’s tanned cheek. “Jake has told me so many wonderful things about you, dear.”
“Jake is a very nice man.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Margaret nodded. “He’s been a wonderful husband to Katie.” She smiled at Mitch. “It seems both my children have married well.”
Mitch felt as if he’d just stepped into quicksand and was in danger of getting sucked in up to his neck. “That’s probably because you and Pop set such a good example,” he said, cringing inwardly as he wondered what his mother would say when she discovered the details of his marriage to Sasha.
“Your father was a wonderful husband,” Margaret said. Her blue eyes became reminiscent. “It’s too bad you didn’t have a chance to meet him, Sasba. He would have been so happy to see his son happily married.”
“He was a fireman, yes?” Sasha remembered Jake having mentioned that.
“That’s right. We met after he was brought into the hospital for smoke inhalation.” She sighed. “Although I could barely see his face through all the soot, it was love at first sight.”
“I didn’t know you were a nurse,” Sasha said.
“I’ve worked the past thirty-three years in the emergency room at St. Joseph
’s,” Margaret revealed proudly. “These days, of course, it’s been upgraded to a trauma center.”
Sasha liked knowing that she and Margaret had something in common besides Mitch. “I was a surgical nurse. In Russia,” she revealed.
“I didn’t know that.” Mitch looked at Sasha with surprise. He’d assumed she’d waited tables in her native country.
Margaret’s intelligent eyes narrowed at her son’s unexpected comment. Sasha and Mitch both breathed a sigh of relief when she did not comment. “How are your licensing efforts coming along?” she asked Sasha.
“It’s been difficult, because I’ve been moving around so much.”
“Yes.” Margaret nodded. “Jake also told me about your father. I’m sorry you’re having such a troublesome time.”
“I won a great deal of money while we were in Laughlin. Enough to hire a new detective.”
“Well, isn’t that lucky? And what a good omen for your marriage.” She smiled at Mitch, who felt the guilty color rising from his collar.
“Meanwhile, why don’t I see what I can do about getting you enrolled in a licensing school? I belong to several professional groups. I’m sure we can facilitate getting your papers processed. In fact, classes are beginning next week, I believe.”
Mitch’s mother’s words made Sasha’s heart soar. To be doing what she loved again, to be caring for people and helping them get well, was a glorious prospect!
“That would be very nice of you. But I wouldn’t want to take advantage—”
“Nonsense, dear,” Margaret said with that same brisk, cheerful attitude that made her such an excellent charge nurse, “that’s what family’s for.”
Feeling horribly guilty about the charade they were perpetuating on this warmhearted woman, Sasha looked away. When her gaze met Mitch’s, she could tell she was not the only one experiencing more than a twinge of conscience.
“Did you stop by for a reason, Mom?” Mitch asked as silence settled over the trio.
“Well, of course I wanted to meet your bride. And to invite you both to dinner Friday night. I’d dearly love to have you sooner, but there’s been an outbreak of flu among the staff, so I’m working double shifts the next couple of days.”
