Stuck On You

by Christine Wenger

  Both officers looked relieved. For the life of him, Mack couldn't understand why Kate's going into the room with him would make the cops feel better. He could have given her the slip a dozen times by now. Maybe he should have.

  "Wait just a minute," Cruz ordered, holding up his index finger. He called the station on his radio, then turned to them. "Sarge, Captain Crowley said that he's glad you're out of jail and you can go right in, but Miss Kingston is to accompany you."

  "I heard," Mack said, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. Even his own commanding officer–his mentor, his friend–thought he needed a keeper and couldn't be trusted.

  He waved the air with his hand. "Whatever."

  Before his arrest, the two of them would have stepped aside and gladly opened the door for him. He was respected on the force. Now he was neither fish nor fowl. He wasn't a cop, yet he was. He wasn't a sergeant, yet he was.

  And to add insult to injury, he now had Kate Kingston sticking to him like glue and doing his speaking for him.

  What next?

  "I'll radio the inside guards and tell them that you have clearance from the captain."

  "Thanks," he muttered. Grabbing the handle of the door to the Intensive Care Unit, he slowly opened it. "Let's go," he said over his shoulder to Kate.

  He stood a minute, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The nurses' station in the center of the unit was brighter than the glassed-in rooms around the perimeter. Some of the rooms had curtains drawn. Mack quickly scanned the dark rooms, but he didn't see Tom Murray.

  A nurse walked toward him, her rubber-soled shoes squawking like crows in the quiet room.

  She was as short as she was wide, with gray hair pulled so tight from her face that it had be painful. Her white uniform was as starched and as stiff as she was.

  "I'm here to see Sergeant Murray," Mack said before she asked. "I don't see him. Where is he? Is he all right?"

  "He's doing very well...considering,” the nurse stared at him. “And who might you be?"

  He reached for his badge and ID, but it wasn't there. "I'm Sergeant John Mackowitz, Rose County Sheriff's Department. I'm his partner."

  She eyed him as if he had just crawled out of a sewer. How right she was.

  "Only immediate family is allowed to visit in Intensive Care."

  Mack took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "He's as close to me as my own brother."

  She raised an eyebrow and looked at Kate, who waited by the door.

  "She's my warden," he mumbled.

  The nurse clicked her tongue on her teeth, but didn't pursue it. "This is highly irregular. I don't think—"

  "Nurse, please." He pushed back his filthy, greasy hair. "I've been to hell and back. I was with Tom when he was shot. I need to see him."

  She studied him for a long time, sizing him up. Finally, she nodded. "Go ahead. Room One. You have five minutes. Your warden, as you call her, may stand outside the door with the guards, but she can't go in. Only one visitor at a time."

  Mack winked, and the nurse chuckled. She was a tough one, but she had a heart. He read her nametag. "Thanks, Nurse Newton."

  She pointed her finger at him. "Five minutes, handsome, and not a second more."

  He motioned for Kate to join him, and she hurried over, trying to walk on tip-toes so her heels wouldn't make a sound. That was considerate of her, Mack thought, since Nurse Newton didn't seem to care.

  "They're going to let me see him, but you have to stand outside the door with the guards."

  She nodded. Her face was pale and her lips were pursed so tight, they were white. She looked like she was ready to faint. Medical stuff and hospitals always used to do that to him, too. When he was a rookie, he lost many a meal to the bushes after arriving on the scene of a horrible car accident or viewing what was left of a person after a shotgun blast. He never got used to it, but, after a while, he learned to deal with it.

  She swayed, and he took her arm in an attempt to steady her. "You can wait at the nurse's station, if you'd like. I promise I won't disappear."

  He could see her eye the red "exit" door about ten feet from Tom's room. "Kate, I promise. Go over by the nurses."

  She swallowed. "Okay."

  "You sure?"

  She exhaled and waved him on. "Go ahead."

  He walked over to Room 1 and stared through the glass window for a while, gathering the courage to go in. The deputies guarding Tom's room nodded to him curtly, and Mack nodded back. He recognized them as recent graduates of the police academy and remembered them sitting in the front row when he was guest lecturer just last month. How ironic that he spoke about undercover drug operations and stings and how you had to watch your back and your partner's back at all times.

  "Guess I should have practiced what I preached," he mumbled, wondering if the guards were trustworthy. He didn’t know which cops he could trust anymore. Or who he could trust to guard Tom.

  As he walked into the dim room, all he could focus on was the equipment of various shapes and sizes that surrounded his partner. His eyes were closed and there were tubes in his nose. A clear bag of some kind of medicine dripped by IV into his arm. The blinking of lights and the bleeping of the machines drove home the seriousness of his partner's condition.

  He had failed Tom.

  He cursed, none too quietly, as he walked over to Tom's side.

  He thought Tom raised an eyelid for a brief moment.

  Mack took his partner's hand. It was as cold as ice. "They treating you good in here?"

  Tom didn't answer.

  "I'm sorry, Tommy. I should have seen it coming. I should have protected you," Mack blurted. Mack felt a slight squeeze on his hand, or maybe it was his imagination.

  He leaned closer, and whispered in Tom’s ear. “I'm going to get to the bottom of this, partner." Mack swallowed the lump in his throat that was choking him. Tom Murray was as close as Mack had ever come to having a real friend–other than Pete Nash. Murray was in bad shape, and maybe it was his fault.

  “Remember I told you about Kate Kingston?” He said just for something neutral to say. “She’s the one who shot the cow on the firing range when we were the instructors. She’s running a house arrest program now, and I was just released to her. Ain’t that a hoot?”

  Mack thought he heard a small noise from Tom.

  Mack tucked his friend's hand under the blanket so it would be warmer. "Tom, I got to ask you...can you remember anything important from that night? Anything that I can go by? Anything at all?"

  There was no answer from Tom, but some kind of buzzer split the quiet. In a panic, he whirled around to look at the machines. Don't die on me, Tom. Don't die!

  In two steps, he was out of the small room. He had to get the nurse...a doctor. Anyone!

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort. “What’s wrong, John?” Kate asked just as Nurse Newton appeared.

  “Buzzer. Something’s wrong,” he replied.

  The nurse waved him aside. "That’s just a signal that an IV is running low. He's okay.”

  Forcing himself to breathe normally, Mack slowly turned and saw the concern on Kate’s face. She'd called him John instead of by his nickname, and he liked it–a lot. With her gentle touch, she grounded him, calmed him. He felt–ick–warm inside and not so alone. He wished he could hold onto that warmth, but he couldn't afford to be calmed or grounded yet or he'd lose his edge. He had a job to do.

  But it still felt good.

  Funny thing, he thought. Kate Kingston.

  "Let's get out of here," he said, moving away from her while he still had the energy. "I want that shower." He turned to the two guards at Tom's door. "If anything happens to him, I'll hold you two personally responsible."

  They nodded, and one answered. "We'll watch him, Sarge."

  Mack saluted them, and it made him feel better when they saluted back.

  Looking back at Tom in the hospital bed, Mack made a silent vow. I'll get whoever did this to you,
partner. Bet on it.

  * * *

  As they walked to the hospital's parking garage, Kate resolved to strengthen her defenses against Mack. He was a tough cop, but he looked vulnerable back at Tom Murray’s hospital room. She knew that he didn't let his vulnerability show often.

  She felt bad for Mack, but she had her program to think about. All her retirement money from the county was sunk into her electronic monitoring equipment and computers, and she wanted to make it a success. There were people counting on her. People who couldn’t afford bail. People who were innocent until proven guilty.

  Oh sure, she didn’t kid herself. There were bad people in the world, even in the small town of Rose Lake, but some weren’t all that bad.

  Some were just kids who were young and stupid and reckless and following the crowd, trying to belong.

  In high school, Kate had tried to belong, but she eventually learned that she marched better to her own tune and not to what the crowd was singing. That made for some lonely times. But as an Army brat who moved from base-to-base, she’d learned not to make many alliances or like a town too much, because she wouldn’t be there long.

  They turned the corner of the street, and Kate noticed that Mack was as deep in thought as she was. He had a lot to think about.

  As they walked into the parking garage, Kate sensed that Mack switched to full alert. His eyes took in the area, no doubt scouting for any potential dangers.

  When she reached for the handle of her car door, he snapped, "Always check the back floor and the front. And how come you didn't lock your door?"

  "I guess I just forgot," she admitted.

  "Don't forget again. Make it a habit."

  "I will."

  "You can never be too safe. Your life may depend on it."

  "You're right, Sergeant,” she snapped. “It won't happen again."

  Yikes! Kate felt like she should stand in the corner with a dunce cap on her head. But she was glad that he cared about her. Then she corrected herself. No. She had nothing to do with it. He was just acting like a cop.

  They climbed into her Chevy Blazer and headed for the exit. As she handed her ticket to the attendant, Mack muttered, "Sorry. I don't have any money on me."

  "Don't worry about it," she replied.

  "Yeah, sure," he mumbled. "No money. No gun. No badge."

  "I'll take care of picking up your wallet for you." She pulled out of the garage and headed for the interstate. It wasn't like Mack to feel sorry for himself, he was just stating facts. "It'll all work out. You'll see," Kate assured him.

  "It'll work out, because I'll make it work out," he said a little louder than necessary, then looked apologetic. "I should tell you where I live." He rolled down the window and positioned his arm on the door.

  "I already know. It's on the release papers. That's quite the neighborhood you live in."

  If Rose Lake had a bad section, it was the factory area. Deserted by all but old-timers who didn't want to move and college students looking for cheap housing, the area overflowed with abandoned warehouses and rusting rail cars. Graffiti covered everything along with assorted junk, litter and broken glass.

  Mack lived on Pine, smack dab in the shadow and the perfume of the sewage treatment plant.

  "I call it home," he replied as they turned the corner to his block. "Even though I'm never there."

  "You will be now."

  "Absolutely." His response was sarcastic.

  She took a deep breath to eliminate the frustration building up inside her. "I'm going to forget that you told me that you weren't going to do my program. Let's start fresh."

  "Whatever makes you happy, Kate," he replied, sounding tired.

  Kate pulled into his driveway, or what there was of it. Knee-high weeds sprung up from cracked tar and it looked as if it were ready to cave in. Weeds were even more plentiful on the front lawn, if there was indeed a lawn. He had no porch steps leading to the front door."

  "Love your landscaping," she said, as she walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

  Mack paused in front of the garage door and smiled. "Thanks. It blends with the neighborhood. If I mowed the lawn, the neighbors would probably complain."

  Kate chuckled, juggling the voice verification box, her tool kit, the monitor and her laptop.

  "Wait. Let me help you with that stuff." Mack lifted the garage door then walked over to her.

  She handed him a couple of cases. "Thanks."

  "I'll leave the kitchen door open for you,” he said. “Do what you've got to do. I'll drop these inside then I'm headed for the shower."

  "Oh, no you don't. Wait for me." Kate shut the trunk.

  If he heard her, he didn't respond. The next time she looked up, he was gone.

  "Darn him!"

  Hurrying, she entered the garage. There was nothing in there but an old beat-up car. It was hard to identify the make or model, but it probably used to be red. Now it was mostly rusty.

  She opened the screen door and found herself in the kitchen. Surprisingly, things were pretty clean and uncluttered, but there weren't many things that actually could get dirty or cluttered anyway. There was an old table, one chair, and a stove and refrigerator. The countertop was bare except for a drip coffee maker and her two black cases on the table.

  The living room had only two green and white lawn chairs and an inverted wooden barrel with a chipped ceramic hula dancer lamp on top of it. A small portable TV sat on an identical barrel. There were no curtains on the windows, just half-opened mini-blinds.

  Kate looked for the phone and found it on an Elvis TV tray near the front door. She walked over to it and put the voice verification box down on the clean, but scratched, wooden floor.

  Mack certainly didn't believe in home furnishings.

  She heard the water running and assumed that Mack had finally gotten the shower he had so desperately wanted.

  She looked for another phone, thinking that she might want to hook up another unit for his convenience. Maybe next to his bed, so he didn't have to walk to the living room.

  One queen-sized bed was all that his bedroom contained, but it was neatly made with a southwestern-style comforter. No dresser, no pictures on the walls. Nothing.

  Hotel rooms had more atmosphere.

  Puzzled, she remembered the house in which Mack had grown up. It was a huge white Victorian with pink shutters and a wrap-around porch on Lakeshore Drive, the best address in town. His parents still lived there, as far as she knew.

  Back in high school, when she first moved here, Kate used to ride her bike on Lakeshore Drive as it meandered around Rose Lake almost every day and look at all the beautiful homes. She would wonder what it would be like to live in a real house for a long time and not in a succession of depressing Army houses. She’d dreamed about sitting on her own front porch, reading a book, and having long-term friends with whom she could share her deepest secrets. And she’d plant a garden of perennials so she could watch the flowers come up year-after-year.

  She’d received her wish to stay in one place when her father had a heart attack and died at Army headquarters about a year after they arrived in Rose Lake. If it would have brought her father back, Kate would have recanted all of her wishes.

  Kate had talked to Mack for the first time just after her father’s funeral. He found her crying, held her hand, and let her cry and ramble about how guilty she felt about wishing to stay in Rose Lake. He’d listened and that had helped her.

  She’d always be grateful for his kindness at a time when she felt so lost and alone.

  She thought that she heard a radio on, but then laughed. Mack must be enjoying his shower, he was singing. Good for him. He’d had a tough visit at the hospital and deserved some fun.

  Remembering what she had to do, Kate went back to her cases, took out her screwdriver, walked to the phone and connected it to the box for voice verification. Later, she'd have Mack say various key words into the machine. When the computer called h
im, it would cross-check the voice waves to make sure it was Mack who answered, not someone else

  The singing had stopped, but the water was still running.

  She waited for Mack's next selection, wondering if he took requests, but there was nothing but the sound of water going through the pipes.

  Kate hit a series of buttons and activated the portable monitor. She called it "the drive-by" because she could use it from her car to verify that he was still wearing the ankle bracelet and that he was home.

  She hit the test button, and the drive-by showed that the circuit had been broken.

  "Impossible," Kate muttered. "He's right here."

  She reset the machine and it still showed the same. Maybe the drive-by was broken. No matter, she had another one in the car that she could use.

  Or maybe Mack wasn't in the shower.

  "He wouldn't dare!"

  Kate charged down the hall and flung open the bathroom door. The first thing she saw was the ankle bracelet on the toilet tank. The strap had been cut. The shower window was wide open. Mack must have escaped!

  Gasping from the steam and heat, she threw the shower curtains aside, expecting to find an empty shower stall.

  But Mack was there in the shower–in all his soapy, water–sluiced, naked glory.

  She didn't know who was more surprised.

  Probably Mack.

  She yanked the handcuffs from the back of her waistband, snapped one around his wrist, and hurriedly locked the other around the hot water knob.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Shoot, Kate. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  “Keeping you from splitting. Why did you cut off the anklet?”

  “I wanted to wash under it.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Mack.”

  “Jail stink. I needed it gone–from everywhere.” Mack sputtered water as the shower rained down around him. He made no effort to cover himself with the shower curtain or the washcloth he held.

  Kate was glad that he didn't. He was definitely a wonderful sight.

  She tried to keep her eyes from straying south, but she lost the battle. Her heart was beating noticeably faster and she couldn't catch a decent breath. She finally found her voice.