He was warning her. He was going to split again.
Her heart went out to him. He was in a terrible jam. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever believe that she’d feel sorry for him —not John Mackowitz. He had it all.
She tossed and turned all night, waiting for the alarm to go off on the VV-98. He even invaded her dreams.
They were in her Victorian dream house together on the bluff above Rose Lake, making love in the garden. They were taking a morning swim together, watching the sunrise. They watched the stars glitter over the lake. They were lulled to sleep by the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.
But then she felt an evil presence as if someone was in the shadows watching them...watching Mack.
And then Mack stood by the front door of the house blocking her way inside. Puzzled, she tried to get in, but he stood there smiling as if he knew a secret he wouldn't share.
The buzzer sounded from the VV-98 and Kate awoke with a start, her heart racing.
"Damn him!" She looked at the time blinking on her computer. Quarter of six o'clock in the morning. "Why won't he just do what he's supposed to?"
Yanking a coat on over her nightgown, she grabbed her purse and raced out the door.
#
Mack had it all timed perfectly. He would run down to the station, try the computer again, and get back before Kate could catch him out of his house. He'd be fine as long as she took the interstate. The road repair that was scheduled to begin today would slow her down, giving him extra time.
Jogging at a brisk gait through his back yard, he took a shortcut through old Mrs. Tucker's back yard onto Second Ave.
Mack picked up the pace as he turned down Commercial Street. God it felt good to run again! He loved the summer breeze in his face and the light misty rain. The scent of pine and flowers drifted on the air, and he took a deep breath, purging some of the tension from his body.
He had missed his runs and the smell of the outdoors while he was in jail. He had even missed his home. Correction—his house. There was nothing personal in it. Nothing of value. Nothing that would make it a home. It was just a place he existed in between shifts.
But when Kate was in it, it almost felt like a home.
He ran on Commercial Drive, which ran slightly below, but parallel to the Interstate. He noticed that the road crews were in place up there. Good. Water was pumping at a fast and furious pace from somewhere and traffic was backed up on the northbound and southbound lanes as far as he could see. Cops milled around directing traffic.
"Perfect! A water main break," he said, pulling his black wool cap down farther on his face so none of the cops would recognize him. The traffic would slow Kate up even more.
He jogged past the ancient row houses that had been built for the employees of the shoe factory. Currently, the abandoned shoe factory was just a shell of its former self and served as the nocturnal residence for bats, four legged rodents, and two legged criminals looking for action.
He and his partner, Tom Murray, had cleaned it out before, but it was time to do it again.
A sharp pain cut through him when he remembered seeing Tom in the hospital. He knew in his gut that the bullet Tom took in the middle of a bust gone bad was meant for him, and the shooter most likely was a cop, but no one had believed him.
Mack renewed his promise to Tom and to himself that he'd find out what was going on, and bring the criminals to justice.
A movement in the shadows of the factory drew his attention back to the moment. He saw a familiar figure lean against the old guard shack and light up either a cigarette or some weed. Drawing closer, he recognized his best informant, Plato Corlett. It was definitely weed.
Plato must have spotted him. He squatted down and picked up a stone from the driveway. Flicking his wrist, he threw it like a fastball at an old rusty rail car. Bang. The noise was loud, solid.
It was their signal. Plato had something to tell him.
Damn. Not now, Plato. I have to get to the station and back before sunrise. Before Kate gets off the highway.
Mack raced even faster.
Bang!
With an inner groan, Mack turned the corner. Dammit, Corlett. This better be good.
They met at their usual location—off the street near the crumbling loading dock.
Mack jogged in place, waiting. Plato meandered over as if he had all the time in the world. The teenager might, but Mack did not. The sweet smell of marijuana drifted on the damp air, but when Plato finally reached him, the joint was gone.
"Whatcha got for me?" Mack said still jogging in place so he wouldn't cool down.
Plato slowly smiled. "I hear you been cribbin' at the jail. And you weren't in there on no official business either." He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times. "And they say you're dirty."
"Good news travels fast." Mack swiped his arm across his face, wet from the mix of sweat and rain. He made a mental note to hide his rain-dampened clothes when he got back, just in case Kate decided to snoop. "I'd like to continue this tea party with you, but I'm in a hurry. What's up?"
"We gotta talk."
"We are talking."
"This one's going to cost you, Sergeant," Plato drawled.
"Yeah? Depends on what it is."
"Seems like you might have been set up."
Mack's heart skipped a beat. Plato had some information. "So tell me something I don't know. Like who...and why?"
"You're the cop. You find out."
"You don't know shit, Plato." He turned to leave, but Plato grabbed his arm. With a stare-down from Mack, he quickly released it.
"Not yet I don't. But I will." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans and looked smug. "My team will be getting back to me soon. And it’ll cost you."
Mack didn't doubt that at all. Plato's team consisted of a baker's dozen of petty criminals. They were one of the more fascinating gangs in the area because they all aspired to be felons, but were too scared to commit the bigger crimes to earn that honor. They called themselves The Greeks, in honor of Plato being their leader, although there wasn't a Greek in the bunch, and the only Greek any of them knew was Trojan.
The Rose Lake Sheriff's Department tolerated them because they were a wealth of information on some of the bigger happenings in town, and because they were pretty much harmless on the whole.
"Turn up something, and I'll be good to you," Mack said, bending over to stretch his legs and back.
"How about a down payment? I gotta give my lady some support money." Plato looked down at the caved-in sidewalk and shifted from foot-to-foot.
Mack dipped into the pocket of his sweats and came up empty. "Sorry, man. I didn't grab any money."
Plato shrugged his shoulders, but Mack knew that whatever Plato would find out would be important.
"When's your team going to have that information?"
"Maybe tomorrow."
"We'll meet here. Same time. I'll come prepared then and we'll deal."
Plato nodded, looking happier. "See ya' then, Sarge."
Mack took off at full throttle, knowing that he had a lot of time to make up. Then he remembered that he had a twenty in the side pocket of his jogging shoes. He hesitated, deciding to hurry to the police station. Oh, what the hell.
"Yo!" Mack yelled.
Plato looked up, as Mack hurried back. He bent down, took the money from his shoe, and handed it to Plato. "I forgot about this. Consider it a down payment."
Plato nodded as Mack stuffed the bill into his hand.
It was at that exact moment that Mack saw Kate Kingston turn the corner in her Blazer.
#
Kate stopped at a red light and checked her rear view mirror. Either she needed new contact lenses, or she had just seen a man in black jogging sweats and wool cap press something into Plato Corlett's hand. Money, no doubt. It was subtle, but the signs of a deal going down were all there: furtive glances, the faster-than-a-handshake pressing of palms, and the slipping
of money or drugs into pockets. Then both parties scurried away like rats into a sewer.
She sighed. When she was a probation officer, Plato used to be on her caseload for possession and sale of marijuana. Plato was likable enough and she had tried her best to get him to finish school and get a job, but he seemed content to just run the streets and lead The Greeks.
Kate shook her head. Although she had loved her job as a probation officer, it was near impossible to rehabilitate someone who didn't want to be. Looked like she failed yet another probationer. Plato—and probably the jogger in black—would soon be headed for a trip through Rose Lake’s criminal justice system.
Kate reined in her thoughts about Plato and focused on her current client.
Mack. He’d better be home.
She was beginning to see a couple of dents in his armor, some tiny holes in his bravado, a sadness in his eyes. It all had to be getting to him—the publicity, the embarrassment—and even his fellow cops were doubting his innocence. Mack’s own father was quoted as saying that Mack should have never have become a cop.
Kate reminded herself that her primary concern was to monitor Mack’s house arrest and guarantee Mack’s subsequent appearances in court. She shouldn’t get involved in his personal affairs.
But she had a nagging suspicion, that she was already involved.
Kate made turn-after-turn, maneuvering up and down the maze of narrow city streets and dodging parked cars, hoping that she was heading in the general direction of Mack's house.
Figures that there'd be a water main break when she was in a hurry. Finally, she saw Pine Street and pulled into his driveway.
Thinking about her next course of action if Mack wasn't there, and hoping she wouldn't have to surrender him, she entered the garage and knocked on the door which led to his kitchen.
"Hang on," was the response from within.
At least he was home.
Kate waited, listening to quick footsteps and the sound of cupboards opening and shutting. Not able to resist, she felt the hood of his car. It was cool.
She paced. What was taking him so long? She stopped to look out the window on the back door and noticed that the tall wet grass was matted in places, particularly by the metal trash cans on the side of a rusty metal storage shed.
"C'mon, Mack. I need to talk to you," she yelled.
She opened the back door, leaned against the frame and watched a black and white cat playing with a string that was hanging from the garbage can. The cat, looking more than a little soggy and cold, then jumped on top of the can in one easy leap, and swatted at the string again.
"Molly, where are you sweetheart?"
A fragile-looking woman with cotton candy white hair and a walker appeared in the yard behind Mack's. She was dressed from head to toe in a bright yellow raincoat and hat, like a big canary.
"Molly, you darn cat. You're going to be the death of me yet. Where are you sweetie?"
Kate eyed the cat perched on the garbage can. "Is Molly black and white?" she yelled.
"Yes." The woman nodded. "Have you seen her?"
Kate pointed. "She's right here, playing with a string. I'll bring her to you if you think she'll come to me."
"She will. And thank you."
Kate tentatively approached the cat. "C'mon Molly. Time to go home."
The cat looked up briefly, then returned to batting the string. Kate scooped her up. "If you want to play with that, I'll get it for you, kitty." As she reached for it, she saw that it was a shoelace. As she tugged, the lid of the can fell off and she found herself holding on to a muddy, wet running shoe. "Sorry, Molly," she said, tossing it back into the can. "You don't want this."
She walked through the soggy grass toward the woman.
"I'm Sarah Tucker, dear. Thank you for bringing my girl back."
"It was no trouble. She's a good cat." Sarah scratched Molly behind her ears, and the cat purred contentedly. "I'm Kate Kingston."
"Very nice to meet you." Mrs. Tucker smiled, then focused back on Molly. "She just keeps scooting out on me. Would you mind putting her in the kitchen?" Sarah turned and started toward the door, her walker creaking with each step.
Kate followed behind Sarah and opened the door for her. Sarah manipulated her walker up the single concrete step, and Kate gently let Molly down on the yellow linoleum floor. The cat disappeared inside.
"Would you like some tea, Kate?"
"Some other time perhaps. Mrs. Tucker." Kate smiled at the woman. "I have some things I need to take care of right now."
Sarah's eyes twinkled. "Are you a friend of Johnny's?"
Kate thought. "Oh...John Mackowitz. Well, I'm not exactly a friend."
"A girlfriend then?"
"No. Absolutely not."
Sarah smiled, her disbelief showing on her face. "Of course you're not, dear. But do tell Johnny that I'll be baking sugar cookies tomorrow. He does love them. I'll ring him and tell him when they're ready and he can pick them up."
It was right on the tip of Kate's tongue to tell her that Mack has to stay within twenty feet of his house, but decided not to get into it.
"And tell him that I don't believe what they say in the paper about him." She shook her head. "Johnny's a nice boy."
Kate wanted to agree with her, desperately, but about now she just didn't know. She had a gut feeling that he'd snuck out again this morning. The VV-98 couldn't be wrong.
Mrs. Tucker winked. "Actually, I think Johnny's a stud muffin. Don't you, dear?"
Kate laughed. "Yes, Mrs. Tucker. I'd have to agree with you on that."
"If I were only fifty years younger, or if he were fifty years older..."
Chuckling, Kate headed back through Mack's yard and saw the lid to his garbage can on the grass. She must not have replaced it securely. She picked the lid up and was just about to put it back when she noticed a black wool cap and a black sweatshirt. The other shoe was in there as well. Underneath was a pair of black sweatpants.
Kate's stomach churned as she dropped the wet items back into the can as if they carried a communicable disease. Slamming the lid back on, she wished she had never snooped.
Mack was the man she'd just seen with Plato.
Mack's was...is...a drug dealer. Why else would he be meeting Plato Corlett?
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stormed back into the garage, and pounded on the door leading to the kitchen. "Mack, open the door!"
Faster footsteps—more doors banging.
"Mack!" she shouted.
The door swung open and he stood to the side waiting for her to enter. He was shirtless and shoeless, clad only in a pair of faded jeans. His hair was tousled and damp around his face.
Walking into the kitchen, she tried to gather her thoughts and chart her course of action. "Did you just get out of the shower?" she said, eyeing his hair.
He shook his head. "No. I was just doing some sit-ups and push-ups. I work out every morning —to keep fit." Smiling, he held his fist up and flexed his biceps. "I could still play football for the Roosters, huh?"
In spite of his sparkling eyes and his grin, he was lying. At any other time, she would have enjoyed his flexing demo and would have bantered with him, but not now. Not when her head was splitting, her stomach was churning, and her heart was breaking.
"Do you still jog like you used to? I remember that you always used to run at the high school track," she asked.
His eyes narrowed, but they met hers right on. "I still run."
"In the morning?"
"Yeah. Usually."
Kate leaned against the counter. "Did you run this morning? In the rain?"
He raised an eyebrow. He was cool, so cool. "What's this? An interrogation? Should I call a lawyer?"
"You mean you haven't called one already?" Kate asked.
He picked up a coffee mug and took a sip. "If you have something to say, Kate, just spit it out."
"Okay. I believe you left the house this morning and met with Plato Corlett.
At first I hastily thought you bought drugs from him, but I’ve since ruled that out. Plato was on my caseload, and I know he’s a Greek and an informant.”
He set the mug down so hard that coffee sloshed out and dripped down the counter onto the floor. "I’m touched by your confidence in me. That you, along with everyone else, think that I’m selling drugs.” His eyes narrowed, and his words were clipped. “But in the future, should you be inclined to think so bad of me, remember that I spit on drugs, Kate. Remember that. They’ve ruined a lot of lives and will continue to do so. I’ve spent my career trying to keep them out of Rose Lake.”
"I believe you. I do. I told you that I changed my mind. But you still left your house."
"Then there's no sense in me denying it."
"None."
“Then I won’t insult your intelligence.”
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER 5
Kate wasn’t going to quit nagging him until he told her more, but he didn’t want to tell her more. He wasn’t sure what was going on himself.
"I didn't know that it was you at the time,” she said, “but I know now, because I found the clothes you were wearing in your trash."
She must have been a terrific Probation Officer and probably would have made a good cop. "You went through my trash cans?"
"Well, the lady in the back, Mrs. Tucker, was calling for her cat and the cat was on your trash can, and–"
Mack smiled, but Kate wasn’t amused.
She put her hands in the air. "I give up. I can’t do this anymore. I’m surrendering you to Judge Nash."
Mack ran his fingers through his wet hair, wishing he knew the best way to handle Kate. She was always intense, studious, and maybe a little too serious for her own good, but he’d heard that she did have a lot riding on this program of hers, so he couldn't blame her. He decided to change tactics and appeal to her with reason. "Would you care to have a cup of coffee with me and discuss this civilly?"
"Will you tell me the truth as to what’s going on and what happened the day of the drug bust?"
"I'll try," he finally said. It was difficult to sort out fact from fiction lately. "Let me take your coat."
Stuck On You Page 6
