The Chase

by Jesse J. Thoma

  “The beginning,” everyone said, rolling their eyes.

  “Oh, right. Okay, so there’s this really bad dude, arrested for not nice crimes against kids. He jumped bond, and because everyone knows Holt’s outfit is the only one worth its salt in this city, she got to chase him. He’s a douche bag and a pretty good ghost, so it took our fearless leader a couple weeks to get a bead on him. The only one he’s ever been close to is his sister.” Jose paused for a breath and Danny jumped in.

  “His sister used to be a pretty bad girl herself, stolen cars, a few fights, but she’s been clean the last few years except for court fines. Those she just can’t seem to pay off. So every couple months, she gets tossed in the can for a couple nights to pay off her debt to society, or some such crap. I was arresting her on a warrant when Holt spotted us. It was the night she was out with Isabelle, eating those hot wieners that are going to kill her some day.”

  “Hey, lay off the hot wieners,” Holt said, looking like she was warming to the story. Isabelle liked the sparkle in her eye as they relived the chase.

  “Anyway,” Jose picked up the story again, “Holt clocked Danny boy here, and of course, what is a good cop to do when assaulted, but arrest the punk who punched him?”

  “I barely hit him,” Holt said. “You make it sound like I knocked him cold.”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t have woken up for a week if you had really hit me,” Danny conceded.

  “Didn’t stop you from hitting her pretty hard,” Isabelle said, surprised by the anger in her voice. Why she was defending Holt was almost beyond her comprehension.

  “Don’t worry,” Danny said, seemingly oblivious to Isabelle’s anger. “She’s got a hard head.”

  “Can I get back to my story?” Jose asked. When no one answered, he continued anyway. “So rumor has it, something transpired that made it appear as though Holt had a girlfriend, who thought she was cheating on her with our bad dude’s sister. This rumor perhaps had to do with a certain blond guest of ours being a little upset that she had just been forced to eat hot wieners, and to top off the night, Holt was going to ask her for bail money. H, was the plan all along to pretend you were this woman’s super secret lady love? Anyway, see, this sister has a new squeeze, and is cleaning up her act for this chick. Rumors about cheating can kill a relationship. During their time in the clink, Holt was able to talk some sense into the sister, and when Danny, our hero, decided not to press charges, Holt got out and arrested the douche bag.”

  “You got arrested for your job? That’s dedication,” Ellen said. “Are you that dedicated to everything you do?”

  Isabelle elbowed her, not amused with the implication behind the question.

  “Like a Boy Scout,” Moose said. He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, clearly understanding where Ellen was headed with her question.

  “What happened to the sister and her girlfriend?” Isabelle asked, worried that she had torpedoed a stranger’s chance at happiness while wrapped up in her own emotional turmoil.

  “Oh, this is where it gets good,” Max said, still looking freshly victorious after her big win at the gym.

  “Hey, pipsqueak, one victory at the gym and you think you can roast me too?” Holt asked.

  “Oh shit, sorry, ma’am.” Max looked ready to jump out of her chair to stand at attention.

  “Holt,” Amy said, “quit scaring the poor child. Max, look at the big lump. She’s teasing you. You kicked her ass fair and square today. Strut a little.”

  “Well, technically—” Isabelle said.

  “Max beat me, like Amy said. Revel, Max. You earned it.”

  “Finish up the story, dragon slayer,” Jose said.

  “When Holt got out, she found the lady’s girlfriend and told her the rumor was bull. And I hear she paid off the court fines too, so the two could start over fresh. No more arrests. Not that Holt has confirmed any of that.”

  “One of the problems of working with the best talent in Rhode Island is that you never have any secrets,” Holt said, shrugging.

  “A superhero indeed,” Ellen said, clearly impressed.

  Isabelle was stunned. Her imagining of that night was so different from the reality as recounted by Holt’s friends. Holt hadn’t been reckless or impulsive or stupid. Isabelle still didn’t like the methods she employed to get the information, but some of the fury over getting ditched in the middle of a date dissipated. It almost sounded like Holt had done the right thing. No wonder she felt like she was always a step behind all the time around Holt. None of her friends had girlfriends who got arrested because it was the right thing to do.

  “Like I said, a Boy Scout.”

  Across the table, Holt’s eyes held questions Isabelle didn’t have answers to. Holt still looked scruffy and outrageously hot, but the air of vulnerability she showed around her loved ones was just as alluring.

  Was Isabelle ready to accept this kind of danger and intrigue into her calm, ordered life? Or at least into a third date? Before dinner this evening, the answer had been a firm no. She could still feel the hurt and betrayal as Holt put her job first and was arrested. How could she ever explain to her colleagues why her girlfriend wasn’t at the annual firm picnic? After hearing the tale of bravery and self-sacrifice, she was less sure of her answer. Holt was still the bad girl, and Isabelle still wasn’t. That complicated matters, as did the attraction Isabelle was unable to quash. Bravery and attraction still didn’t solve the firm picnic problem. Perhaps they could at least be friends. Until the mess at her office was figured out, she anticipated seeing much more of Holt.

  During dessert, Max’s cell phone rang. The office phone had been forwarded to Max, and the call was for Holt. Isabelle saw the professional mask cloud Holt’s features as she listened to the caller. She did most of the listening, with minimal inquiries for information. The table that had moments earlier been light-hearted and loud, was now quiet and tense. All eyes were on the boss.

  “Is that the bat phone?” Ellen whispered. Isabelle shrugged.

  “C.B. Sixty,” Holt said and ended the phone call.

  When Holt turned and looked at Isabelle, her eyes were filled with unease. “Is it your birthday? Anniversary? Special holiday?” Holt asked.

  “No, my birthday is in January. What’s going on?”

  “Someone delivered flowers to your door about fifteen minutes ago. Normally, that’s not something I would care about, but events surrounding you haven’t been particularly normal lately. And the deliveryman said the flowers were from Parker Caldwell. Do you know him?”

  Isabelle shook her head. She didn’t know the state representative. She felt a little queasy.

  “How did you know they were at her house?” Ellen asked.

  “I’ve had someone keeping an eye on the house since, we, um, since the unique circumstances that caused our meeting.”

  “You’re still having me watched?” Isabelle asked. The thought of someone invading her cherished privacy, particularly without her knowing, made her stomach turn.

  “What? No, I promised to keep you safe.” Holt looked shocked at the accusation and everyone else at the table looked uncomfortable. “They drive by a couple times a night. No one is sitting on your trash can with binoculars. But I can’t keep you safe if I can’t see who might be hanging around your house.”

  Holt held out her hand as the phone rang again. It was exactly sixty seconds since the first phone call had ended. “Do you mind if the flowers are delivered here?” Holt asked Isabelle before she answered the phone.

  Again, Isabelle shook her head. Why not? She clearly had no control over her surroundings anymore. Holt hung up again and sighed.

  “Well, next time the superhero phone rings, I would prefer it not be about my sister,” Ellen said, staring intently at Holt.

  “As would I,” Holt said, holding Ellen’s stare.

  “Are you sure you don’t know Caldwell? Never met him at a function, lunch meeting, coffee shop, the post office? Rhode Island is small; it
could have been anywhere.”

  Isabelle shook her head. She knew she had never met the man.

  “Okay, what about your clients? Do any of them deal with him that you know of? Have you done business with his office or anyone related to him on their behalf? Do you think anyone may know him?”

  “Holt, I have no idea if anyone knows him. Like you said, Rhode Island is tiny. I don’t ask for a list of everyone my clients have ever met when they hire me. I can only tell you I have never met him, and I have not done business with him, his office, or as far as I know, anyone connected to him, either on my own or anyone else’s behalf.”

  Isabelle didn’t like being grilled. She didn’t like being made to feel as though she were hiding something or had something to feel guilty about. She was sure this wasn’t her fault.

  “Honey,” Ellen said, rubbing Isabelle’s hair just like she had done since they were little, “this isn’t the same as back home. Holt’s just doing her job. No one thinks you did anything wrong.”

  She knew all that, of course, but it felt the same as it always had, like being interrogated. She slumped into a dining chair and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, Holt. I just can’t think of any connection. I’ll keep trying.” If all of this was happening because of something she had done, or someone she knew, that was terrifying.

  Five awkward and tense minutes later, there was a knock at Holt’s door and the flowers were brought in and deposited in the middle of the table. Everyone gaped at the lavish display of lilies, orchids, and three kinds of roses. Whoever sent them spent a fortune. There wasn’t a carnation or overabundance of greenery to be found.

  “There’s a note here,” Isabelle said, reaching for the bright red envelope.

  The sight of the note seemed to anger Holt. Her shoulders bunched, and she looked ready to do someone physical damage. That alone increased Isabelle’s apprehension. She was glad she had seen Holt angry before and had an idea of how she would react.

  She opened the envelope, addressed to her. As she read the note, it felt as though someone had injected ice water in her veins.

  You aren’t safe. I’m coming soon. We need to talk.

  The ten seconds it took to read those words was all the time Isabelle needed for her world to come crashing down around her. There was no denying the shooting at her house was directed at her, the ransacking of her office building wasn’t a random crime. Now she had an on the lam drug addict coming for a chat. It wasn’t exactly a visit to look forward to.

  In the moment of realization, she reacted on emotion and sought comfort from the only person in the room who seemed stronger than the demons scratching at the door. She flung herself into Holt’s ready embrace and buried her face against her strong, secure body. Tears squeezed their way from her tightly closed eyes and fell onto Holt’s shirt.

  After ordering all but Ellen and Moose from the room, the only words Holt spoke were ones of gentle reassurance. Isabelle knew they were just words, and the promises Holt was making couldn’t be guarantees, but she felt safety and gratitude in equal measure as Holt whispered into her hair.

  “How do we keep her safe?” Ellen asked, clearly worried.

  “I would prefer she stay here, or at a hotel, but—” Holt didn’t have time to finish before Isabelle made a sound of protest. “I’m guessing she won’t agree to either of those conditions.”

  Isabelle shook her head. She wasn’t going to be forced out of her home. She had stayed after the buckshot had ruined her back siding, and she was going to sleep in her own bed tonight. Granted, it was significantly more scary thinking a wanted criminal might come barging in to shoot the breeze at any time, but she wasn’t going to give in to her fear. The tears were gone. Holt still had her arm protectively around her shoulders, and Isabelle was still leaning into the embrace, but she knew she needed to stand tall alongside Holt, not hide behind her if she wanted her world to right itself. She refused to be a damsel in distress, waiting for rescue.

  “In that case, with your permission, Isabelle, I’d like to set up a security patrol and develop an escape plan.”

  “A security patrol? Like guys with guns pacing in front of my house? My neighbors are nosy as hell. Remember the woman with the rosary beads I told you about? Do you know how fast the cops would be at my house?”

  Holt shrugged. “My guys, the cops, either way, Caldwell won’t come near you with us around.”

  Isabelle looked at Holt thoughtfully. “You need to catch him don’t you? Why not wait for him to come to me and then get him?” Lying in wait, helping to catch a bond jumper would give her some semblance of control of an out of control situation. It sounded crazy coming out of her mouth, but it also seemed crazy that someone had shot at her and that Caldwell wanted to meet her. Maybe she should embrace it.

  “No,” both Holt and Ellen said forcefully and in unison.

  “Why not? It makes perfect sense.”

  “I absolutely will not, ever, use you as bait. I know you think I’d do anything for my job. When it’s me on the line, perhaps I’m more reckless, a little looser about crossing the line, but not with you.”

  “There are other ways of protecting you, without using you as bait,” Moose said. “Let’s set up the escape plan first, just in case. We like to over prepare, so humor us.”

  The rest of the group was recalled and Max pulled out her iPhone. She pulled up a perfect blueprint of Isabelle’s home and Holt and Moose began arguing the virtues of different points of exit.

  “Where did you get the house blueprint?” Isabelle asked.

  “I’m working on an app. It pulls information from the tax assessor website, aerial views of the building, building permits, and any other information about the property from public records and comes up with a reasonable guess as to the blueprint,” Max said. “I’m still working out the kinks, but recent testing has found it to be pretty accurate, especially for the newer buildings.”

  “Okay,” Holt said, “the guest bedroom closet is your hiding place. It gives you equal access to two windows and the back sliding doors if an exit is possible. We also know where to look for you if you’re not able to get out of the house.” No one in the room looked all that excited about the idea of Isabelle needing an escape plan, and although they were all on the same page, it made Isabelle want to puke.

  “Fine, I’ll go back in the closet if I have to, but no guys with assault rifles roaming the neighborhood.”

  After a bit of arguing between Holt, Ellen, and Isabelle, they compromised on Holt setting up camp inside the house. A security detail would do twice-hourly drive-bys, but the bulk of the protection was left to Holt. Lola, Moose, and Max had offered to take the point duty, but Holt refused them all. Isabelle felt safer knowing Caldwell would have to get through Holt if he wanted to talk. She had no idea when she had gotten so damned popular.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’ve known all along the gunshot on the day we met was meant for me, haven’t you?” Isabelle padded into the kitchen and shuffled to the coffee maker. It was four a.m., but she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any more. She hadn’t slept past four in the morning for the week Holt had been staying at her house. During the day, Holt’s employee, Lola, stayed in the house with her, followed her to the grocery store, the post office, or anywhere else, and Holt left, only to return looking a bit more exhausted every evening for another sleepless night on duty. Isabelle sat next to Holt on the couch and hugged her coffee cup to her chest.

  “Yes,” Holt said, her eyes laser focused but weighed down with deep circles and heavy bags.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Isabelle had lost the anger she had once felt toward Holt since she had been protecting her. It was harder for her to see what Holt did as just a job when her dedication, focus, and ferocity were for her benefit. Every night as Isabelle walked down the hall for bed, she looked back to her kitchen and was treated to the sight of strength and solid protection in the form of a scruffy haircut and well-def
ined muscles sitting at her kitchen table. While they had plenty of meaningless conversations at random hours when Isabelle couldn’t sleep, they had yet to regain some of the closeness they had developed, and Isabelle missed it desperately. She had learned about Holt’s predilection for comic books and spicy food, and shared her own interest in trashy pop music, but so far, they hadn’t breached the walls they had both so carefully cultivated. It made Isabelle feel more alone with Holt in the house than she had felt without her there before her world turned upside down.

  “In case I was wrong. I didn’t want to scare you.” Holt’s voice was weary, her posture more slumped than usual.

  “Are you wrong often?” Isabelle knew the answer. Holt’s job was to be right, and every indication pointed to her being very good at her job.

  “Why are you up? Can I get you anything?”

  “Holt,” Isabelle scolded her affectionately, “you’re in my house. No waiting on me, or I’m going to dress you in a butler’s uniform.”

  “I do look pretty good in a morning suit.” Holt sat up straighter, puffed out her chest, and looked at Isabelle with the playful glint that had been missing since their aborted date.

  It was the first time the flirtation was back in Holt’s eyes, and Isabelle could have wept at the sight. She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed the fun in their exchanges.

  “Is that similar to a birthday suit?” Isabelle asked.

  “Don’t you just wish you could see me in my birthday suit?” Holt said, standing and stretching provocatively.

  It was clear from the grimace as she unkinked the knots that seduction wasn’t her intention. Isabelle’s body didn’t care what Holt’s purpose had been; seeing the white T-shirt stretched tight across Holt’s chest and the sleeves pulling taut to reveal another delicious inch of tattooed skin was all she needed to remember exactly why Holt had been so alluring the first time she laid eyes on her.

  “Please don’t look at me like that,” Holt whispered, letting her arms drop to her sides.