by Oliver, Tess
I stare at him, hoping he steps forward to pull me into his arms and apologize and beg me to not give up on us. That's what I'm wishing for but that scenario never plays out.
The hurt in his face pushes a lump the size of an orange into my throat. His Adam's apple moves up and down with a deep swallow. "You can use the house for as long as you like. But watch yourself. If they see Freestone entering this house on his own free will—"
I groan. "You're obsessed. He's not coming back. He came to make sure I was all right."
"Just like I did, you mean? This morning when I drove like my ass was on fire because you didn't answer my texts."
My reaction is the absolute wrong reaction. "It's not a competition, Maddox," I say with a laugh.
His jaw tightens. "Fuck you, Tennyson."
"No, Maddox, I'm just joking. You know how I always resort to humor when I'm upset," I'm talking fast trying to get it all in before he walks out and slams the door shut behind him.
I turn and lean against the door. Tears flow like waterfalls as I scoot down to my bottom. I hug my knees to my chest. It seems I'm fucking crying again. And this time it feels like the tears are never going to stop.
21
Maddox
Three months later
Silvana drains the last of his water bottle and tosses it into the backseat with the other empty bottles and the food wrappers from breakfast. "I thought we were heading toward the fall equinox, further from the sun. Or at least that's what they taught me in elementary school. It's so damn hot we might as well be sitting on the sun."
There's a flicker of movement on the next block. I lean my head down below the visor to check it out. It's a kid on a bicycle. I relax back but realize the seat is too hot. "You know we don't get our first cool day until Halloween."
"Yeah." Silvana pulls a stick of gum out of his pocket. "I can still remember begging my mom not to make me wear a fucking coat over my Spiderman costume. I mean how many times has anyone spotted Spidey climbing the side of a building in a puffy winter coat?"
"I think the real question is why the hell did you need a puffy winter coat in Southern California?"
"We get the occasional winter day. I liked to be prepared for anything." He sits up. "There's someone pulling up in front of the house."
"Yeah, I think that's the guy who lives in the back house."
Silvana slumps back down. We were both feeling much more energetic at six in the morning when we started the stakeout. But the day heated up fast. "Guess this is how those frozen burritos I nuke in the microwave feel. By the way, Clark has cornered me a dozen fucking times about this investigation. Guess he's using me as an intermediary because he doesn't want to tell you face to face."
"Coward. Yeah, we've been doing a bang up job of avoiding each other for the past few months. Is he still gnawing on the same bone? Telling you how these guys in the X-crew are expecting us to tiptoe around them because they've been cooperating on and off for years?"
"Yeah that and the whole bit about how militant they are when it comes to protecting each other. And the whole retaliation lecture too. He thinks you're—"
I look at him. "I'm what?"
"Nothing," Silvana says.
"Bullshit. He thinks I'm still not thinking straight because of Ten. I've made more busts in the last two months than in an entire year. Seems like I'm thinking straight just fine."
"Yep, you've been like a bulldozer, Maddox. Just remember these guys are different. They expect to be treated with kid's gloves."
"This time Junior, the leader's asshole son, sent a fifteen-year-old girl to the hospital. The snitch said there is a group of underage girls hanging out in that abandoned house. Junior has been stopping by to get his kicks in exchange for drugs. He needs to spend some reflection time in a jail cell."
"I guess that's why Clark thinks this is a sticky one. Because it's Junior."
"If he even shows up today. I'm just about melted to this seat."
Silvana's phone beeps and he pulls it out. He smiles at the text and sends something back.
"Uh oh, you've got that starry-eyed look. Must be Sheila."
"She's at work and she missed me so she decided to send me a text."
"She misses you only cuz she can't smell you through that phone."
"You aren't exactly fresh as a daisy yourself, Maddox." He goes to put the phone away and it beeps again. No smile this time. He lifts it so I can't see the screen.
"Well, that's fucking obvious," I say. "How is she doing?"
"About the same as the last time you asked me. It was yesterday, I believe. She says she's not hating the therapy sessions as much. I'm worried about her though. She's really thin and there's just no spunk in those brown eyes. And frankly, I'm blaming that all on you."
"Nah, it's not because of me. She's got a lot more on her mind than me." If only I could say the same, I think but don't say aloud.
"Sure keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."
I turn to look at him. "You know, having a girlfriend has made you pretty fucking cocky."
Silvana's cheeks round from his attempt to hold back a grin. "Guess love makes me more confident. You should try some. What happened with that girl who typed her number into your phone at Charlie's Grill the other night? Boy, she was something else."
"Yeah. She's not really my type."
"Yep, we all know who is your type. But I guess you can just keep denying yourself." The car wobbles as he sits up quickly. "Didn't you say Junior had a red car?"
"Yeah but that's not it." A small red sedan parks in front of the abandoned house. Three girls who look no older than sixteen climb out. They are giggling and talking as they walk quickly into the house. "Guess that house has become the main meeting spot. I'll call the city and make sure they get it boarded up this week."
I relax back. "So has she asked about me?" I know I sound like a fucking chump but I can't help myself. And it's Silvana. He's already seen me in full chump mode.
He rests his arm along the window ledge and drums his fingers on the hot metal. "Hmm has she asked about you? Let me see? There was that one question," he says. "No, wait that was about Clark. Oh, but she did ask about—No, that wasn't about you either."
My fist circles across and thumps him hard on the arm.
"Ouch, fuck. I didn't deserve that," he whines.
"Yeah, yeah you did. And just forget it. I don't want to know. It's better that way."
"Oh, all right. Then I won't mention that—like you—she asks about you every time we talk. If I'm visiting her at her apartment, she asks before the door even shuts behind me. Frankly, it's getting pretty damn insulting. Sometimes I don't even get a hello just a how is he? She doesn't even say Maddox. Just uses the pronoun because she knows that I know exactly who the hell she's asking about because she's always fucking asking."
I turn my face to look out the window and hide the sliver of a smile I can't stop.
"Hey, since we're on the subject," Silvana starts. "The team working on the Freestone case thought they had him. He was spotted on the security camera at some nice hotel up north. I guess the guard noticed. But he had already checked out by the time anyone identified him as Freestone. Paid in cash apparently and signed in with a false name. He's always one step ahead. Can't believe he never tried to make contact with Ten once she left Lace Underground."
I nod and keep my mouth shut. I never told anyone, not even Silvana, that Freestone showed up at the beach house. Ten would have lost her position for sure. I'm only sorry that I wasn't there that night. I would have loved to confront the asshole face to face.
A red car comes from the opposite direction and pulls up a few houses down from the abandoned house. We both sit up straight. "This is it," I say. "Let's let him get inside first."
A rush of adrenaline has revived us after hours in the hot car. Junior is squat with a thick trunk and tattoos on his neck that climb up the side of his face. His dark hair is pushed under a
green beanie. He walks up to the house.
"Look at that," Silvana says. "So fucking confident that no lawman is going to harass him, he doesn't even look around for cops."
"Yeah, that's the best kind of bust. The 'surprise we got cha, fucker' arrest."
Several minutes seem to take hours as our focus stays glued to the house. We need the suspect to be caught red-handed and not just standing in a house filled with underage girls.
I open the door. "Let's go."
Silvana has to half run to keep up with my long strides. I motion for him to cover me from behind as I walk lightly up the decaying front steps. I can hear music and feminine laughter inside.
I draw the gun from my shoulder holster, turn the knob and push the door open. Three girls are sitting on broken down furniture that's lost most of its upholstery and stuffing. The music is just loud enough to mute their stunned gasps. Their movement and reactions are slowed by the drugs. But six wide eyes are staring at me. I put my finger to my mouth to signal them to be quiet. I motion to Silvana to get them rounded up on one side of the room, preferably out of the way in case Junior pops out with a gun. I can hear grunting and a muffled sob behind a bedroom door. I point my weapon and kick the door open.
Junior's pants are around his ankles. He's holding a girl down on the bed in front of him.
"Get out or you're next," Junior yells without turning around.
"Yeah, you're not really my type."
He spins around at the sound of my voice but struggles to reach the gun he has placed on the floor next to the bed. I kick his chin hard, sending him backward on top of the terrified girl. I grab his shirt and yank him off the girl. "Get out of here now," I yell to the her.
She scurries out with her shorts around her ankles.
Junior lunges at me with a knife. Not wanting to send Clark into a fucking stroke, I don't shoot the guy between the eyes. But I have a damn good shot at it. The tip of the blade grazes my arm as I grab his wrist and wrench his arm back behind him hard. Bones crack and he yells out in agony.
"You fucking pig, do you know who I am?" He groans as I force him to his knees.
"Yeah, you're the dick I just saw molesting a kid. And the last girl you attacked wound up in the hospital, Junior," I say his name between clenched teeth.
"You'll be so fucking sorry you did this, pig. We have a deal and you just crossed a line."
"Fuck you. No part of the deal said you can get away with giving drugs and raping minors. You're the one that crossed the line and now you're going away." He screams in agony as I pull his broken arm around and cuff his hands behind his back.
"You—broke my arm—you fucker," he grunts between breaths.
"Guess you'll have to use the other one to jack-off with in prison."
Silvana leans into the room. "I called for backup and some female officers to deal with the party girls out here. Everything all right?"
"Peachy. Looks like we're down one slime ball. All in all, a successful day."
22
Angie
Dr. Hoffman sits in her usual spot on the couch. I prefer the soft leather chair, the seat I staked out for myself on the first session. That was eight weeks ago but it feels like an eternity. Our first meeting was strained, to say the least. Kane's unexpected visit started a sort of domino effect. Maddox decided to give up on us and walked out. I defied Clark and moved out of the beach house and back into my crummy little apartment. For the next month, when I wasn't sitting in a miserable room with the miserable Mr. Winter and Dr. Renfrew, I was wallowing in self-pity in my hot little apartment. I dropped the weight I'd gained back and then some. I drifted in and out of seemingly bottomless depression. The debriefing made me feel dirty and guilty for everything that happened. While some of the gritty details of drugs and sex helped them build a case against Freestone, it didn't bring them any closer to finding him. He turned out to be more elusive than most wanted criminals. But then most criminals didn't have an IQ to rival Einstein's. I spent most of my free time avoiding phone calls and visitors while I grappled with my dark turn into Freestone's world. The thing that picked at my conscience the most was that I knew it had been a dark turn. Only, what I did in Lace Underground didn't feel wrong. It felt more like an awakening. That's the delightful semi-depressed, horribly conflicted Angie Tennyson that Dr. Hoffman met on the first day of therapy. I knew she was the one person standing between me and my badge but I just couldn't put on a show.
Eight weeks later, I have to give the woman credit. And maybe myself a little credit too. It seems I've emerged from the funk I was drowning in. I am learning to face everything that happened.
"It looks like you got some color." Dr. Hoffman points to her own cheeks.
"I was sitting out on the stoop of my apartment reading a book. I didn't realize the sun was pointing its UV rays directly at me."
"What book?" she asks.
"An old copy of Jane Eyre my mom gave me long ago. I'd never actually read it but I'm enjoying it."
"It's good. A little depressing but you can't help but love that Mr. Rochester character, brooding, rich man that he is."
Her description makes me smile when I think of another brooding, rich man. Hoffman catches the subtle change in my expression. "What's the grin for?" she asks.
"I was just thinking about all the brooding men I know. Rich and poor."
She laughs lightly. She never guffaws, although I have gotten her close to it. I'm fairly certain guffaws are not in the psychiatry handbook. "Men are unusual animals, aren't they? Sometimes it feels like they are an entirely different species than women."
I laugh. "Well put, Dr. Hoffman. And brilliant theorizing if you ask me."
"Thank you."
As hard headed and defensive as I was when I started the sessions, I've genuinely grown to like Dr. Hoffman. She has a tough job but she never shows it.
She writes something on her notepad. "Speaking of your mom, how have the weekly phone conversations been going?"
The soft leather crinkles beneath my bottom as I adjust my seat. The supple leather no longer reminds me of the leather cuffs and anklets Kane made me wear. It seems the further I get from that time period, the more I'm able to put it behind me. "We've spent a lot of time talking about the way my dad always expected me to be like my brothers. I admitted to her that I always felt like the ugly stepchild for the sole reason that I was a girl and not one of his big, strapping athletic sons. That actually made her cry. She confessed that they had more than one argument about it. She told him he was way too hard on me but she also said that was just his way of parenting. It was the way his dad parented too."
"And have you come to grips with that?"
I mull the question. "I suppose, but that's probably more because I lost him at a young age. His way of parenting ended abruptly. It left a hole in our lives but it also made my life a little easier. I think realizing that made me feel even more guilty than my terrible last words to him. I felt a little freer without him and I felt awful about that."
"Everyone experiences latent guilt throughout their lifetime. It's just something you have to grapple with. There are always many ways to look at it. Journaling can help you with that. Did you do a free-write on the topic I assigned you? The topic of your feelings about your undercover assignment."
"Uh, the dog ate my homework?"
Her perfectly drawn brow lifts a bit. "Well then, let's just talk about it." She flips back to previous notes. "We've talked about how finding out Detective Maddox had asked for a new partner and also that he had gotten engaged on the same day were a few of the triggers that made you decide to ask for the assignment." Her lips purse a second. "And we've gone over some of what happened to you when you were in the Lace Underground. Now that it's over, do you think you'd do the assignment again?"
"Knowing what I know about it?" I ask to clarify.
She nods.
I sit back and rub my chin in thought. "I don't think so. I know I made the decision ras
hly because I was heartbroken. And I wanted to see if I could handle it, handle a big job without the support of my partner and my captain. But I don't think I was ready. It was my first real undercover assignment. I'd done a few stints as a junkie and a prostitute, but I'd never done an assignment where I had no support systems in place. I had no idea how emotionally draining it would be to become someone entirely different and leave behind all the familiar faces of my real life. I got lost in my undercover persona. Of course, the drugs sort of helped that along, but I found I liked being Tawny. I liked leaving behind Angie for awhile."
She finishes writing some notes and peers up over her glasses. "Why is that?"
"Hmm." I tap the arm of the chair. "Tawny was vulnerable, dependent, cared for, pampered, even. It was a nice change."
"How do you feel about Tawny now? Or have you left her completely behind?"
"I'm glad to regain my independence. That came slow too, even after I left Lace Underground. But I think Tawny is still there, lingering occasionally. And I'm glad."
"I know you've had a wide range of emotions and feelings when it comes to Kane Freestone. What are your thoughts on him at this stage of acceptance?"
"Learning about his severe childhood, one that was so exceptionally terrible, helped me see more sides of the man. I think, as smart as he is, he's lost in this world. Just as I'm sure he was growing up. He had a terrible secret to hide, all while pretending to be a normal kid in a normal life. I respect that he tried to help people to make up for it. I just think his altruistic view got twisted somewhere along the way. As a mental health professional, I'm certain you can see how his childhood would have left him internally scarred for good. I miss seeing him but I'm glad that the whole experience is being put behind me."
Dr. Hoffman uncrosses her legs and repositions her notepad on her thighs. She's wearing a summery yellow pantsuit today, a lighter, more fun version, of her usual outfit. She's even pinned a sun shaped rhinestone brooch to her lapel. She hesitates before her next question, which makes it easy to predict.
