“Shh, don’t look at his eyes. Look at the eyes of the ones you could save,” she said, cupping my cheeks with her hands. “Look at my eyes.”
My focus was blurred, the tears liquefying my vision, but I could still see her green eyes swimming with concern. I loathe being vulnerable, it usually made me very uncomfortable. But her beautiful eyes, her swollen red lips, the soft touch of her hands on my cheeks, had the reverse effect on me. It left me feeling strong and protective.
In the split second it takes to make a bad decision, I grabbed her and pressed my lips to hers. She whimpered, and for a moment, went limp in my arms. Then she pulled me closer, desperate to intensify the kiss. The sudden heat between us was very euphoric and I boldly nipped at her lower lip until she opened her mouth and let me in. My tongue eagerly explored her mouth — tasting, teasing, and stroking — until she moaned with pleasure. Then my hand found its way down to her breast, and, oblivious to the two layers of clothes she had on between my hand and that warm orb of ecstasy, I squeezed. It was then that I realized what I was doing.
“No. No. I’m so sorry,” I said, pulling back. “I can’t do this.”
She sat back and ran a finger over her lip. “Oh, sure. Get a girl all hot and bothered and then leave her hanging.”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“It’s okay, Casey. I understand. I do hope it was a premiere of things to come, though.”
“Oh, I sure hope so, too.”
“I also understand now about Scottie. You are trying to find forgiveness where none is needed.”
“Shrink voice,” I chuckled, trying to distract her.
“Yes, and you’re going to listen to it, do you understand?” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am,” I retorted with a smile. “Continue.”
“Is that why you left the police force and took a security job?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “That is why.”
“You blame yourself, your body, because the bullet didn’t stay inside of you. It didn’t kill you instead, so you mentally abuse yourself every time you see a child. When you see a child, especially a boy like Cody, you think it’s going to happen again. You think he will die because of you, don’t you?”
There was nothing I could say. I wasn’t consciously trying to think like that but the way she said it, it made since. “I ran from my life to save the next child. I guess I’m still running.”
“And you know what, that’s okay,” she said, placing her hand in mine. “You will keep running until you see it for what it is.”
“And what is that?”
Her lips parted in quiet thought. “A terrible accident that wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t know if I can ever accept that,” I whispered from my heart.
She took a stance that reminded me of her motorcycle persona — tough, gorgeous, tenacious. “What I don’t think you realize is that by trying to help Scottie fight for her son’s life, you are in fact, beginning to accept it. You’ve been here less than three days, and in that time, you saw a little boy suffering, his mother in distress, and you rushed in and did everything in your power to help save them.”
I raked my fingers through my hair and absently scratched my scalp. Is that what I was doing?
“Casey, how many people did you help as a detective? How many found justice because of your actions?”
Shaking my head, I shrugged. “I never kept count. I had hundreds of cases over the years. Some I solved, some I didn’t. But I had never lost a child before.” The tears were threatening to explode again and I was getting agitated. “Look, I need to get back to work.”
“Then let me give you something to think about. Sigmund Freud said, ‘Life, as we find it, is too hard for us; it brings us too many pains, disappointments and impossible tasks. In order to bear it, we cannot dispense with palliative measures.’”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
She smiled and put her hand on my arm. “Think about it. Your palliative measure is Cody.”
“Well, then he had better live or I give up,” I said tersely.
“My, God,” she said angrily. “You think the world revolves around you and you hold the power over life and death, don’t you?”
To say that pissed me off would be an understatement. “Enough of this bullshit. I have to go.” My emotions were fighting each other in my brain and I had to get out of there before anger won out.
“Look, I’m sorry, Casey. I really am,” she said, grabbing my arm. “But if you could hear yourself the way I hear you, I think you’d understand better what I’m getting at.”
Glaring at her, I retorted, “You hear me the way a psychiatrist would hear me. Not as a friend. You cannot be both, Celine, and I don’t need another shrink. So, you choose and let me know.” I didn’t wait for her answer. I walked out the door and down the hall to the stairwell and ran down the stairs two at a time.
Michele was shutting the door to my office as I came in. She was holding a dirty cloth and a can of bug spray in her hands and looked startled for a second when she saw me. Then a Cheshire cat smile spread across her lips.
“What’s up?” I asked curiously.
“Nothing. Just tidying up your office a bit,” she replied, nodding toward my office.
“You don’t really have to do that, you know,” I stated, opening my door. “I can certainly—” I took a step inside and it was like walking into a whole new office. The metal desk that I loathed had been replaced with a large wooden desk. The bare walls had factory paintings of landscapes, the desk had a reading lamp in one corner and my computer in the other. And Michele had actually found a wooden coat rack, which she had placed in the corner.
“It’s not real mahogany, mind you,” she explained, rubbing her hand over the desk. “It’s faux wood grain painted to look like mahogany.”
“It’s perfect, Michele. More than what I thought I would get.”
“Maintenance just brought it up from the dungeon while you were in ICU.”
“The dungeon?”
She pointed down. “Yeah, there’s a floor under the ground floor where equipment goes to die. They store extra desks, paintings, coat racks,” she waved at the coat rack, “file cabinets, stuff like that, in one part of the floor, and broken equipment in the other. Supposedly, they keep the broken equipment to fix later, but I don’t think they ever get to it. No one ever goes down there anymore. Security has the only key, so that’s why I knew where to shop.”
“Well, this is great. Thank you for my new desk.” I walked around the desk and sat down, pulling open a drawer.
“You’re very welcome, Chief,” she said, turning to leave. “Oh, and remember, the desk has been in the dungeon, so watch out for spiders,” she teased as she walked out.
Spiders were the least of my worries. Still, I cautiously peeked inside the drawer and smelled the bug spray.
***
An hour later, immersed in reports from the last five years, I was still thinking about Celine and our argument. “You think the world revolves around you and you hold the power over life and death, don’t you?” I knew she was just trying to make me face what I couldn’t, and that she was probably right, but did she have to be such a damn psychiatrist about it?
My cellphone vibrated, and I snatched it up. Just as I answered it, Becky walked in.
“Anyone home?”
“In here, Becky,” I said, and then spoke into the phone. “Chief Dennis.”
“Hello, Casey. It’s Sarah. Cody is out of surgery and in the recovery room. He did just fine and the doctors have high hopes. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful news. When will he be back in his room?” I asked, pointing Becky to the chair in front of my desk.
“In about thirty minutes,” Sarah replied.
“Very good. Thank you for letting me know. I’m sure Scottie must be relieved.”
“I’m hoping she can relax a little bit now. Anyway, I
won’t keep you, I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you again, and I’ll come visit in a little while to check on him.”
“That would be very nice, thank you. See you in a bit,” she said and disconnected.
“Good news?” Becky asked as I tossed the phone back on the desk.
“Yes, very good news. So, what’s up?”
“The case has taken a turn for the worse,” she replied apathetically.
“How so?”
“The killer’s MO has changed.” She reached over and dropped a tan, clasped envelope on my desk. The envelope was in a clear evidence bag, stamped and dated on the outside with Becky’s signature. “This was left with the desk sergeant at the front desk and has my name printed on it. The courier was an eight-year-old boy who said he was paid with candy. He didn’t see the man’s face, just that he was wearing a Chewbacca mask.”
“Chewbacca? From Star Wars?”
“The very same,” she replied.
I could see through the plastic that the envelope had been dusted for prints. “I don’t carry rubber gloves anymore. Do you have some I could use?” Even though the evidence had already been dusted, I still didn’t want to compromise it with my prints.
Becky dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of blue, paper-thin rubber gloves. “You work in a hospital, you might want to keep a box handy,” she quipped as she handed them to me.
“Yeah, who would have guessed that I’d ever need them again?” I retorted, putting the gloves on. I pulled the envelope out and examined the handwriting. “He misspelled detective.”
“I think it was probably on purpose. Another ruse to distract us.”
“Maybe so, but he doesn’t need that now, does he? He’s come out of hiding to toy with you. I’ve seen it happen before. Their plans get changed so they change their reasoning.” I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of photo paper. Becky watched as I turned it over and then jumped up, dropping it to the desk. “What the hell?”
“He’s telling us one of these women will be next,” Becky explained, pointing at the picture.
“Or all of them,” I snapped, looking down at a photograph composite of Celine, Scottie, and Michele. “Oh, my, God.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Michele Michaels
“You own a minivan?”
Lula was leaning against a minivan, her leg propped up on the door, seemingly oblivious to the other cars stopping and going in the drop off area at the front of the hospital.
“It’s my step-mother’s van,” she replied. She opened the passenger side door for me, and I tossed my purse on the floor and then climbed into the white, leather seat. As she walked around to the driver’s seat, I fastened my seatbelt and tucked my legs under the seat to look as ladylike as I could.
“All set?” she asked as she pulled her seatbelt across her shoulder and clicked it into place.
“Yes. So, where are you taking me?”
“Not far, actually,” she replied. She drove down to the stoplight and then crossed the street and pulled into the vacant lot directly across from the hospital.
The lot had an old office building on it at one time, but a couple of months ago, that was demolished to make way for a new shopping mall. My cronies at the hospital and I were pretty excited about that. Now the lot was barren except for a few trees and a huge sign with a schematic of the mall on it. Lula parked behind the sign by the trees. The sign blocked the view of the hospital.
“Okay, this is weird?” I said, completely confused as to why she had brought us here. There wasn’t a restaurant in sight.
“You said you wanted dinner and a movie, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t see either?”
She unfastened her seatbelt and swiveled her seat around. “Follow me,” she said, stooping to walk to the back of the van. I unhooked my seatbelt and swiveled around. One row of seats had been removed and Lula was seating in the second row, patting the seat and smiling at me. Oh, this is going to be fun. I awkwardly walked my way back to her and sat down. Between the seats was a dual cup holder that had two wine glasses sitting inside them. She reached under the seat and pulled out a large basket with overlaying flaps and opened it. She took out a wine bottle of chardonnay and popped the cork. Then she filled the two wine glasses and handed one to me.
As I took a sip of the dry white wine, I watched her intently. She was clearly enjoying herself and I was relishing every moment.
She laid a cloth napkin across my lap and then placed a porcelain white plate and silver fork on top of it. “Dinner tonight, Madame, will be baked brie in a puff pastry courtesy of my father’s restaurant.” She brought the food delivery bag that was sitting behind the driver’s seat over and reached inside.
“Oh, that sounds delicious,” I said, already salivating with anticipation, and not just for the dinner, either.
Using a pair of tongs, she placed a pastry on my plate and topped it with a spoonful of raspberry jam, then she added a few grapes beside it. Finally, she sliced into the pastry and scooped up a small bite with my fork. Gazing at me with uncommonly romantic eyes, she brought the fork to my lips and I opened my lips and protruded my tongue out ever so slightly. Fleetingly she glanced at it before bringing her eyes back to mine.
“I was right, it is delicious,” I said, my tongue in food ecstasy.
She smiled and handed me the fork. Then she reached behind her and hit a button on the armrest. “And our movie tonight will be An Affair to Remember, starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr.”
“Oh, how did you know? I love that movie.”
“Really? I’m so glad. There’s just something about Deborah Kerr, you know?”
“Absolutely know,” I agreed as I watched a tiny monitor descend from the ceiling. “So, this is your idea of dinner and a movie?”
“Well, yes, it is when I have to improvise because of time restraints.” She stopped and looked at me. “It was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?”
“Are you kidding? I love it. I am so impressed with your creativity.”
“Whew, I am relieved,” she sighed.
“Have you done this before with other women?” As soon as I asked the question, I felt like a jealous teenager. What did it matter if she had? It was still a fun idea that I was enjoying. Damn it, you’re blowing it. “Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” she responded. “I don’t mind the question and the answer is no, this was a spur of the moment inspiration because I was afraid you were about to back out of it.”
“Well, even if you had, it’s still a very cool idea.”
“Would that be a problem for you, if I had?”
“Not a problem, per se,” I hedged. “I mean, I certainly have no right to have a problem with it. You don’t owe me anything.”
She shook her head and said, “Oh, but I do. After last night, I owe you a chance to reciprocate.”
“You mean reciprocate like leaving you all hot and bother so that you have to take a cold shower and sit up half the night wondering what was wrong with you?” I thought I was joking but somewhere along the line the truth came out.
“I did that to you? Damn, I’m so sorry, Michele. If I had known, I certainly never would have… I didn’t mean to…” She gave up and sat back, distancing herself from me.
“I’m sorry, Lula. It wasn’t as bad as all that. You should probably know that I’m really an insecure person and I’m afraid that the older I get, the more insecure I become.”
She sat up, inquisitive interest in her eyes. “Is that because you’re lonely, Michele?”
Shit. Am I that transparent? Now she’ll pity me. “No, not at all,” I fibbed. “I told you, I have baggage I carry like an albatross around my neck.”
She shrugged. “Why do you hang on to it?”
“Why does anyone hang on to it?” I countered.
“I guess because that’s all they have until they find someone they’re actua
lly meant to be with. Then the old baggage gets filled up with new memories and two people carry it instead of just the one.”
Surprised, I looked at her in wonderment. “You are quite the philosopher for one so young.”
“You learn a lot when you travel to different cultures,” she said, a contemplative smile on her lips. “I was pretty young when my parents divorced, and I had to grow up fast. It was a pretty nasty divorce.”
I looked at her with understanding eyes. In some ways, Lula was a lot older than I was. “I’m sorry, Lula. I mean about your parents nasty divorce.”
“It’s okay. I mean we’ve found a way to forgive each other and move on. My mother remarried and she takes care of the business end of my step-father’s franchise. I love my step-father. He’s strict but loving. My father also remarried, but his wife is an asshole. He’s happy though, I guess.”
“Is that why you like to date older women, because we’re all so stable?”
She chuckled at my joke and nodded. “Maybe that’s the baggage I carry around. I’m looking for stability. For someone past the age of indecision.”
“Oh, well, I’m not at that age yet,” I quipped, picking up my wine glass. “I’m at the where-the-hell-did-my-life-go, age.” I took a sip as a thought popped into my mind. “Lula. If we continue… whatever this is, you need to know some things about dating an older woman.”
“I dated a woman in her late thirties, so I probably already know,” she interjected, taking a bite of her pastry.
Mature for her age, and yet a child in so many ways. An adorable, clever, fascinating woman-child who probably has no clue what she’s getting herself into. I don’t think this is going to work out. “I’m fifty-four, and you’re twenty-six. That’s a twenty-eight-year difference. Quite a variance from a thirty-year-old. Let me clue you in on a few things about women in their fifties. Our equipment stops working and shifts around inside. We have whiskers suddenly popping out on our upper lips, our teeth sit in a cup at night, and our color-treated hair to hide the gray won’t hold the color any longer. Our eyesight is good for about two-hundred yards, so we don’t like to drive at night, and our sex drive is non-existent because we’re too tired to stimulate it.” I took another sip of wine and studied her comprehension. “At my age, my youthful dreams are now on a bucket list that I know I won’t have time to complete.”
Better the Devil You Don't Know Page 18
