The Chase

by Jesse J. Thoma

  “Speed ten point four,” Holt announced, enjoying the looks of dismay that crossed the faces of three of her five competitors. If she ran fast enough, maybe she could outrun the loneliness eating at her.

  Five minute forty-five second miles weren’t ones she could maintain for more than about ten miles, but after an hour of running her opponents into the ground, she wasn’t sure anyone would be left to challenge her if she chose to slow down. She was ready.

  “Letting your emotions get the better of you?” Moose asked quietly from the side of her treadmill.

  “Trash talking, Moose? Not really your style.” When he didn’t say anything, but stared at her with his arms crossed, she rolled her eyes. He was only looking out for her. “I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

  In her business, failure to control emotions could be deadly. In her athletic pursuits, especially in the ring, the idea was the same, even if the scale of consequences was different. Too much fear made you overly cautious, too much anger made you sloppy, and too much excitement burned you out too quickly. The treadmill would keep her paced, and if she lost a few minutes to adrenaline and emotion, she didn’t care.

  After thirty minutes, Holt’s clothes were soaked through with sweat and she had eliminated two runners. For the past two miles, she had gone head-to-head with Max, who despite a jerky gait and clear fatigue, seemed to be running on sheer force of will. Holt guessed she was one who had trained for distance, not speed. She was impressed by her determination. Max was dwarfed by the treadmill but was proving her mettle. The crowd was responding to her heart and actively cheering for the underdog.

  Two miles later, Holt wasn’t sure how Max was still upright. Holt was beginning to feel some fatigue as well and was plotting her speed strategy when she heard the door to the gym open. Isabelle slipped in, looking timid and unsure. She was scanning the crowd and finally settled her gaze on Holt.

  Holt did the only thing she could do; she slammed her hand against the stop button on the treadmill and nimbly jumped off the moving belt, giving Max the victory of a lifetime.

  She was only vaguely aware of the roaring crowd as she patted Max on the shoulder, walked to the edge of the ring, ducked under the ropes, and picked her way through the crowd. She hoped Isabelle didn’t move, because once she was engulfed in the masses, she lost sight of her.

  When she popped out the other side of the celebratory group, she resisted the urge to wrap Isabelle in a hug, not sure of the reception she would get and not really wanting to anger her. Not to mention being soaked in sweat.

  “I’m sorry for the way we left things. I know I have no right to be here, but I didn’t know where else to go.” Isabelle was clearly struggling to keep her emotions in check. She was pale and thinner than she had been a month before, dark circles highlighting her eyes.

  “Of course you should have come here. I’m glad you did.” Holt didn’t let on how wonderful it was just to see Isabelle. She would tell her that later, if and when a time arose when Isabelle didn’t look like she was about to burst in to tears.

  “But the way we—”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you need me, I’m here.” Holt realized with a jolt those words would always be true. “We can figure the rest out later. You want to go somewhere a little less noisy and tell me what’s going on?”

  “Only if you tell me why Max is being carried around the gym like a conquering hero.” Isabelle looked around, as if she were truly taking in the surroundings for the first time.

  “She just raised ten thousand dollars for the fundraiser we’re putting on here today,” Holt said.

  “Money for your legal defense fund?” Isabelle asked, clearly realizing too late how that sounded.

  “Just couldn’t help that one, huh?”

  “Apparently not. Sorry.”

  Holt smiled and was rewarded when Isabelle relaxed her shoulders, letting them return to a position below her earlobes.

  “You look just like the first time we met, all sopping wet, focused, and worried. Skinnier though.”

  Holt led her to an office tucked in a tiny room just outside the entry doors to the main gym. It usually smelled at least marginally better, although with Holt currently occupying it, there were no guarantees. Isabelle sat in the offered chair. She looked close to tears.

  “You’re looking at me so kindly right now, and I’m still furious with you,” Isabelle said quickly.

  “Setting up ground rules?” Holt asked.

  “I don’t know. You’re…perplexing. I came here because you once offered me help, and I thought, as a professional, you could loan me some of your unique skills. I think I might be in trouble.”

  Holt was surprised to feel a pang of hurt at Isabelle’s impersonal description of the parameters of their relationship. She wanted to search Isabelle’s eyes for signs that she felt the same way, but now wasn’t the time. Isabelle needed her work self.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I will, but first, how did Max just win ten thousand dollars? What were you guys doing in there?”

  “We were running, and she outlasted me.”

  “Max outlasted you? Little Max? Tiny, skinny Max?” Isabelle looked incredulous. Suddenly, she seemed to understand. “You quit. I walked in and you quit. That’s why she beat you?”

  Holt hoped it wasn’t her imagination that Isabelle seemed to be leaving a lot left unspoken.

  “Like I said, it’s for charity, a good cause. There are no losers today. Now, what’s going on?”

  “Holt, I didn’t mean…” she trailed off when Holt reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  “Tell me everything, from beginning to end, even the details you think aren’t important.” Holt pulled out a notebook and pen, ready to work.

  “Four days ago, I arrived at work to find the building full of police officers. The offices of the firm I work for had been turned upside down. Computers were on the floor, file cabinets emptied and the files thrown around. Chairs were overturned, shelves and paintings pulled from the walls. It was a horrible mess.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “At first we just assumed robbery was the motive, but it was so hard to tell if anything was missing with the mess. The computers were all still there, which seemed odd to me. The other strange part was my office was untouched. It was completely pristine.”

  “Where is your office located in relation to the main door? Can you draw me a quick sketch of the layout?”

  “My office is one of three along the back wall, farthest from the main door. I have the middle office. The other two were a mess. Mine was untouched.”

  Isabelle’s eyes filled and Holt could tell she was fighting hard not to cry. Even if she needed a shoulder, Holt’s probably wasn’t the first one she would choose. Holt knew that was largely her job’s fault.

  “Who called the police? Obviously not you?”

  “I don’t know who called, but that’s the part where I think I become a suspect. A woman called nine one one, during the robbery, from my desk phone. That was the only thing in the room they touched. After she made the report, she left the phone off the hook. One of the thieves apparently yelled my name and the caller responded. I wasn’t anywhere near work. I was at home, but I don’t think they believe me. Why would I ransack my own workplace?”

  “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

  Holt edged out of the small room and headed back into the gym. She waded back into the crowd, hoping to find her cousin quickly in the throng. Luckily, he was near the perimeter. She motioned for him to follow her, and they returned to the office together.

  “Oh man, I never got to tell you how brilliant you were. I was pissed that this brute had just punched me in the head, but I really thought I was going to have to protect her from you. Wicked good acting,” he said to Isabelle when he stepped into the office.

  “Shut up,” Holt said, giving him a shove in the back.

  Isabelle looked like she had just stepped into an
alternate reality. Of course she had no idea that this guy was her cousin, or that he thought she had been in on Holt’s plan the day she got arrested. Holt hated that she needed to remind Isabelle of that day.

  “She punched you. You arrested her,” Isabelle said.

  “Of course. How else was she going to get that lady to talk to her? Did H tell you about the mean fucker she pulled off the streets because of the information she got from his sister? The show you put on, man—”

  “Shut up, Danny,” Holt said more forcefully, giving him another shove, this one verging on assaulting an officer territory.

  “But, H, I just wanted—”

  “I said shut the fuck up, Danny. It’s time for you to listen.” Holt turned back to Isabelle.

  “Isabelle, this is my overly talkative cousin Danny. He’s a Providence cop and might be able to help out. Do you mind telling him the story?”

  While Isabelle talked, Holt tried to get her anger back under control. It wasn’t Danny’s fault that he had stumbled onto a hornet’s nest. She couldn’t think about that night, when her job had come before Isabelle’s feelings and her own desire. Not right now, not when Isabelle needed her to focus.

  “What do you need from me, H?” he asked when Isabelle finished her story.

  “Do you mind doing a little digging? Don’t get in deep. I’m just curious what the police have cooking. It seems strange that they would be trying to pin this on Isabelle so quickly.”

  “Sure, no problem. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, actually, there’s a bank across the street, ATM in front, facing Isabelle’s building. Think you could get me the ATM camera footage for that morning?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good man, thank you.”

  Holt walked him back to the celebration still raging in the main room of the gym. This was a party to rival one following a winning penalty kick in the World Cup final. Holt was amazed everyone still had their shirts on. Max was going to be a hero for a long while.

  “I’m sorry for whatever I stepped in back there. You know I always got your back, right?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Danny. The problem is that she wasn’t acting. I haven’t seen her since that night.”

  “Oh fuck, I’m sorry, H. That sucks. She’s back now though. She got in deep and came to you. That’s gotta count for something.”

  Holt clapped him on the shoulder and returned to Isabelle. It was true. Isabelle was scared, in trouble, and she had come to Holt. The knot of anxiety in Holt’s stomach started to unravel.

  “So,” Holt said when she and Isabelle were alone in her office. She was completely unprepared to face Isabelle, who utterly mixed her up. One minute, she was pissed off with her for being so innocent and prudish, the next, she wanted to protect her and keep her innocent. She envied her black-and-white views of right and wrong.

  “Holt,” Isabelle said, her voice soft but laced with warning.

  “I know. There’s a lot to talk about. But not tonight. Dinner? It’s family night.”

  “I’m having dinner with my sister tonight,” Isabelle said, sounding disappointed.

  Holt took that as a good sign and carried on. “It’s family night. Bring her along. Amy will be there too. It can be a double date.”

  “Holt, my sister is married and straight. With kids. You can’t be setting her up with your—Oh. That’s not what you meant is it?”

  “No setup. It’s family dinner. There will be plenty of familiar faces. You bring your sister; I’ll bring Amy.”

  Holt felt like the volatile energy from a few moments ago was gone. Even Isabelle looked more relaxed. There was no denying they had chemistry.

  “I’m not going to meet your mother am I?”

  Holt knew she hadn’t successfully contained the Pavlovian grimace of pain that always accompanied the mention of her mother. “That’s biology. This is family. Starts at seven. Give me a call if you and your sister can make it.”

  Holt retreated with a nod and joined the revelers in the gym. She felt Isabelle’s gaze on her back. Her tattoo tingled across her shoulders as though Isabelle’s fingers were caressing the lines. As she turned the corner, she heard Isabelle on the phone.

  “Hey, sis, mind a change in dinner plans tonight? I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Chapter Eight

  Isabelle was uncharacteristically fidgety as she and her sister approached Holt’s door. Life would be simpler if Holt didn’t exist, but she did, and although she wanted to insist they keep things strictly professional, she spent the afternoon turned on and cranky after seeing Holt at the gym.

  Not unexpectedly, her sister, Ellen, had jumped to conclusions about Holt. Explaining exactly who Holt was and the bizarre circumstances around their meeting had taken fifteen minutes of storytelling and another half an hour of apologizing for not telling her sooner. She had conveniently not found the time to tell Ellen about the shooting or Holt. Isabelle wasn’t sure why she had kept it all from her, but she had ended up angering the person she trusted most in the world.

  Ellen had seen Isabelle through heartbreak, first love, family trouble, and had even been known to hold her hair while she regurgitated the spoils of a late night of partying. Isabelle should have called her sooner, a fact that Ellen was eager to point out. Despite her anger, Isabelle could tell Ellen was dying to meet Holt Lasher, Bounty Hunter. It was possible the terms Isabelle had used to describe Holt had Ellen expecting a caped superhero decked out in colorful spandex, wearing her underwear on the outside, not an ordinary, though hot as hell, woman.

  The building Holt had directed them to was in an active, but decidedly rough, neighborhood. It was a converted mill building and didn’t look like much on the outside. However, when the door was flung open and they were ushered inside, Isabelle was floored. The space was completely open, with dining room, living room, and kitchen occupying the front of the loft and also taking up the most space. Strategically placed bookcases toward the back hid what she guessed was Holt’s bedroom. The urge to run back and take a peek at Holt’s bed was strong, but she hushed her inner child and continued to look around. She took in the soft leather couch and matching armchair, the flat screen TV, and marble topped kitchen island. The loft was impeccably clean and decorated in a strong but understated style. It was Holt to a tee, and Isabelle loved it.

  “Hi. I’m glad you could make it.” She leaned in and gave Isabelle a kiss on the cheek. “You smell like lilacs. I like that.”

  Isabelle realized too late her expression likely screamed, “I want to eat you for lunch; you are the sexiest woman I have ever seen.” Holt looked like she wanted to drag her to the bedroom, but instead, she turned her attention to Ellen. Isabelle knew they looked remarkably alike. Sometimes they were mistaken for twins even though Ellen was older and, Isabelle thought, looked decidedly straighter.

  She half expected to see interest in Holt’s eyes while she took in Ellen, but there was nothing but cool evaluation and cautious welcome. Hot and smoldering seemed reserved for her alone, a fact she had to admit pleased her.

  “Holt, this is my sister, Ellen. Ellen, Holt.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ellen. Thanks for coming.”

  “Well, I simply had to meet the bounty hunter who saved my sister from a shotgun blast.”

  Holt grinned slightly. “You give me too much credit. I have to warn you, though, if you’re looking for a lot of action and excitement tonight, you might be disappointed. I’ll consider tonight a success if I don’t fall asleep before eleven and you both have a wonderful time. Shall we?” She motioned to the living area where most of the guests were. She introduced everyone, and Isabelle felt right at home amid the noise and laughter.

  Dinner was a raucous affair. Aside from Isabelle and her sister, Moose, Max, Amy, Superman, Jose, Danny, and two other members of Holt’s team from work, Tuna and Lola, filled out the table. Isabelle was largely quiet, just taking it all in, but Ellen seemed to be reveling i
n the experience.

  “So,” Ellen said, “at what point in the evening do you all get a call on the bat phone and have to run out and save Gotham City?”

  “I’m more of a Spider-Man fan myself,” Jose said. “And I’m not part of the Holt save-the-world crew, just a lowly mechanic. I stay and do the dishes while they save the world, and when they get home, I tune up the Batmobile.”

  “You do the dishes while we’re gone?”

  “Hey, Alfred was Batman’s butler. Someone has to make sure things run smoothly. How did you think all the dishes got done while you all were out running around town?”

  “Housekeeper,” Moose suggested.

  “A bored Flash?” Lola said.

  “I always assumed elves,” Holt said, nudging Jose lovingly.

  “Anyway,” Amy said, apparently knowing when to bring the teasing to an end, “I think Moose qualifies more as the Incredible Hulk.”

  “More like Incredible Hunk,” Jose whispered loudly enough for the table to hear.

  Moose turned beet red and coughed up whatever he had just attempted to swallow. The rest of the table roared with laughter.

  “Did Isabelle tell you about Holt’s latest high profile capture?” Jose asked.

  “Jose.” Holt’s tone was filled with warning, but Jose ignored her.

  “If Miss Ellen thinks you’re a superhero, I see no reason to disappoint her with boring tales of your boxing exploits,” Jose said. “May I continue?”

  “Like anyone could stop you,” Holt said. She sighed and settled in.

  “I saw you put on your big girl Captain America Underoos this evening, so you can handle a compliment. Now, where was I?”