Courting the Cop

by Coleen Kwan

  As Brody joined in the search, he noticed Shane had also appeared. Every available cop in the area would have hurried here. They swept the neighborhood, and someone found the third perp cowering behind a shed. Satisfied he’d done all he could, Brody returned to the scene of the crime. The wounded officer was being strapped into a gurney, and he was gripping his sergeant’s arm.

  “Sarge, will you call Lisa?” the officer asked hoarsely.

  “I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.” The officer visibly relaxed.

  “You know, Smithie, once she stops crying over you she’s going to kill you.”

  A weak smile cracked the officer’s lips. “Nope. I’m gonna get weeks of sugar outta this.”

  “Huh. Is that the only way you can get some? By getting yourself shot?”

  “She’s worth it, Sarge. She’s worth it.”

  The paramedics wheeled Officer Smith into the ambulance, and a short time later, they were off. Brody walked back to his car, frowning. He got in and pushed the key into the ignition, but after that his body seemed to halt, and he couldn’t turn that damned key. The conversation between Smithie and his sergeant played over and over in his head, faster and louder each time.

  Brody rubbed his eyes.

  If he was shot and taken to hospital in the back of an ambulance, the one person he’d want to see above all else would be Abigail. When he woke up in some hospital ward, he’d need to see her blue eyes and that soft face. He’d need to feel her hands clinging to his, smell her sweet perfume, and hear her voice even if she was telling him off.

  He’d need her because…because this pain in his chest couldn’t be ignored any longer. His heart belonged to Abigail. He ached for her. Burned for her. Wanted to conquer his fears for her.

  His lungs squeezed as panic rushed in. Yeah, fine, he could finally acknowledge to himself the truth about his feelings, but what now? What did he do with all these scary emotions buzzing inside him, making him think crazy thoughts?

  Out of his turmoil, one stark resolution crystallized.

  He had to win Abigail back.

  But how? How was he going to convince her to give him a second chance after he’d been such an ass with her? Did he even deserve a second chance? After all, he did have all that baggage about following in his father’s footsteps and being useless at relationships.

  He shook his head impatiently. He might have inherited his Y chromosomes from his no-good dad, but he was his own man, and he made his own choices, DNA be damned.

  He wasn’t going to give up Abigail so easily. He wanted her. Wanted her back in his life. Wanted to woo her with all his nonexistent wooing techniques. Wanted to make her laugh and smile. Wanted to prove himself worthy of her.

  Only problem was, how to do all that when he had no fucking clue?

  The taxi driver eyed Abigail suspiciously in the rearview mirror as she tried—unsuccessfully—to suppress another burp. Drinking too much alcohol always made her a bit gassy. She hadn’t planned on indulging so much, but it had seemed the only way to cope. When she and Gina had arrived at the dance, the noise and bright lights of the hall had hit her, making her wince and want to hang back. But she hadn’t been allowed to. Gina and others had propelled her inside, into the melee of laughter and music and dancing. She’d tried to get into the spirit of the party, but all the smiles and happy chatter around her only highlighted the growing misery inside her.

  Oh, how pathetic she’d felt, and the only way to deal with that pathetic misery was to drink. A couple of Tom Collinses later, her nerves were dulled enough that she didn’t protest when a friend pulled her onto the dance floor. They danced together for a couple of songs. But when the emcee invited everyone onto the dance floor to do the Shim Sham, she shuddered as if a hundred claws were dragging down a hundred blackboards. Muttering an excuse, she slipped away to the restroom until the song was over. When she emerged, she desperately grabbed another Tom Collins. An hour later, her toes were pinching, her head was swimming, and she was fast approaching that state where she was bound to make a fool of herself. Aware of the danger signals, she’d said her goodbyes and slipped out early.

  Now, as the taxi swayed and rattled, making her bilious stomach heave, she very much regretted those extra Tom Collinses.

  “You can drop me off here,” she gasped out as she saw they were only a few blocks away from her place.

  The taxi driver skidded to a halt, clearly relieved to be rid of her. She pushed a few bills at him and hauled herself out, glad to catch a blast of chilly air in her face. Hugging her coat closer to herself, head tucked in, she started down the street. When she got home, she would make herself a cup of tea and drink it while soaking in a warm bath. Then she would go to sleep and try to forget this entire, miserable night. In fact, the whole, miserable week, if she could—

  “Oh, ’scuse me,” she muttered as she almost bumped into a figure walking in the same direction. The woman glanced over her shoulder, and Abigail recognized her in an instant. “Mrs. O’Brien? What’re you doing out so late?”

  Katherine O’Brien started briefly. “Just, er, getting some cigarettes.”

  “Cigarettes?” Abigail peered at the other woman. For some reason her eyes were having trouble focusing. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

  The older woman shrugged, resuming her pace. “Haven’t had a cigarette for over fifteen years, but tonight”—she sighed—“tonight I need one badly.”

  Abigail blinked, wishing her head didn’t feel so woozy. She almost stumbled as she hurried to keep up with Katherine.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” Hell, those cocktails were getting to her in a bad way, and the cold winter air wasn’t clearing her head fast enough.

  “You look like you’ve had one too many.”

  “More like three or four too many,” Abigail sighed.

  “I’ll see you home.” Katherine tucked her hand into the crook of Abigail’s arm, pulling her straight as she veered toward a streetlight.

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  The night had just gotten weirder. She was drunk for the first time in forever, and timid old Katherine O’Brien was walking her home. The elderly woman was no chatterbox, but it was comforting to have her support, Abigail thought. It reminded her a bit of Aunt Edna. At that, a few tears welled up. She knew it was probably the alcohol affecting her, but she couldn’t help sniffing back the tears.

  “Oh, dear. Is anything the matter?” Katherine asked.

  Everything’s the matter, Abigail wanted to wail out. But she bit her lip. Compared to Katherine, her woes were nothing. She didn’t have a criminal son on the run driving her to take up smoking again.

  “It’s nothing,” Abigail murmured, gulping down the last of her tears. “I’m just…cold and tired, that’s all.”

  “We’ll get you home soon, and then you can make some hot cocoa and go to bed.”

  Katherine’s words were surprisingly comforting. She’d been a good mom, Abigail thought. She didn’t deserve a lowlife like Michael as a son. And when he was finally arrested, she would be devastated, even though it would be best for everyone, including her. Abigail hugged the poor woman’s arm tighter.

  They turned the corner into Hillcrest Road. The streetlights were further apart here, the shadows deeper. A figure emerged from the darkness and stepped in front of them.

  Abigail gasped as she recognized Michael O’Brien looming over them.

  “Michael—” Katherine choked out, coming to a dead halt.

  “Where the hell you been?” His sour breath gusted over the two women. He didn’t wait for an answer, jerking his head in the direction of Katherine’s house. “Get inside.” His cold eyes shifted to Abigail. “Both of you.”

  His hand was thrust into his jacket pocket, something hard pointing straight at th
em. A gun? Abigail didn’t want to find out. Next to her, Katherine was trembling as she tugged Abigail forward. She fumbled for her door key. Michael was breathing laboriously right behind them. A shudder of revulsion worked its way through Abigail.

  They stumbled into Katherine’s house, and it was almost as cold inside as out. Michael slammed the door shut, causing both women to jump in fright.

  “What-what do you want, Michael?” Katherine asked.

  “You know what I want,” he barked. “You got it?”

  “I gave you everything I had last time.” His mother wrung her hands. “I’ve given you every spare cent I have.”

  “It’s not enough! Didn’t you ask around, like I told you?”

  “I don’t have any rich friends—”

  “Jesus, Ma, don’t you understand?” Michael dragged his fingers across his shaven skull. “I need to come up with ten grand or it’s curtains for me.”

  Katherine’s voice shook. “I-I wish I could help you, son—”

  “Argh!” He gouged his head again. “You’re fucking useless! You know that?”

  Katherine gasped.

  “Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Abigail burst out, unable to contain herself.

  His head jerked toward her. Cold, enraged eyes zoomed in on her. Abigail’s heart sank.

  “I know you.” Dread gathered like a hard lump in the pit of her stomach. “You’re that interfering bitch I ran into at the library.” He moved toward her, menace in every step. “Why are you always butting your nose in when I’m talking to my mother?”

  Abigail gulped deeply and tried not to let her voice waver too much. She didn’t want to show him how terrified she was, the bastard.

  “I’m a friend of Katherine’s. I care about her. She’s given you everything she can, so why don’t you leave her in peace?”

  “Why don’t you leave her in peace?” Michael mimicked in a mocking tone. He eyed her up and down, inspecting her, and the leer that spread across his face sent a chill down her spine. “Been out on the town, have you? Let’s have a look at you.”

  Without warning he grabbed her by the lapels and ripped her coat apart. Abigail was too shocked to react.

  “Hey, you’re pretty hot.”

  Abigail felt his revolting gaze move over her like a lizard’s tongue. Fear shook her. This is not happening. But it was. This frightening nightmare was real.

  “Michael, leave Abigail alone,” Katherine protested, her face stricken, her eyes imploring.

  Michael trailed his fingers down Abigail’s cheek, and she almost vomited. He reeked of stale sweat and desperation, and desperate men did mad things.

  The phone in her purse rang, and everyone jumped as if a bomb had gone off. Abigail pulled the phone out.

  “Don’t answer it!” Michael had the gun in his hand, and it was aimed right at her.

  Abigail glanced at the screen of her phone. “It’s Brody.” Just saying his name gave her a rush of comfort. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Who the fuck is Brody?”

  “He’s her boyfriend,” Katherine answered thinly.

  Abigail nodded as a vague hope came to her. “Yes, he said he’d call around about now, to check that I was safely home. If-if I don’t answer, he’ll know something’s wrong and he might come over or-or even call the police.”

  Michael shifted his grip on the gun, plainly indecisive, as the phone continued to ring. Please please please, Brody, don’t hang up, Abigail prayed.

  “Okay.” Licking his lips, Michael motioned with his gun at Abigail. “Put him on speaker phone and tell him you’re home safe. No funny business, you got that?”

  Oh God, what was she to do? How could she warn Brody that she and Katherine were in danger? Why oh why wasn’t he on stakeout duty in her bedroom?

  With shaking fingers, she answered the call, hitting the speaker-phone button.

  “Hi, darling,” she gushed. “I’ve been waiting all night for you to call. What took you so long?”

  There was a slight pause. “Er, Abigail? Is that you?” Brody sounded completely bewildered.

  “Of course it’s me, you silly hippopotamus! Who else would be hanging on your call? Or do you have other girlfriends waiting for you?”

  Another baffled pause. “Abby, have you been drinking?”

  “Oh, just a few beers. Guinness Draught, mostly.”

  “Beers? You don’t drink beers.”

  “Yes, I do. Only this Guinness Draught is too strong, and it’s making me feel a bit sick.”

  Another brief silence, this one was broken by Brody sighing. “Okay, I get the message, you don’t want to talk to me, so instead you’re yanking my chain.” There was an edge to Brody’s voice, almost of dejection.

  Oh God, this was hopeless! Couldn’t he figure out that Guinness was as Irish as the name O’Brien? But clearly Brody wasn’t making the connection. How else could she warn him?

  “I was hoping we could talk tonight,” Brody continued, his voice oddly soft.

  Hang on. He sounded so hesitant. Why was he calling her at all? Didn’t they part ways yesterday? Surely…surely Brody wasn’t having second thoughts! Was he?

  Suddenly her lips were dry and her heart was pitterpattering all over the place.

  “Oh, Brody—” she whispered brokenly. She blinked away the blurring in her eyes only to find Michael waving the gun menacingly at her. Her lungs seized up. “Er, n-not tonight,” she stammered, her head spinning in panic. “I’m too tired—”

  She never got to finish her sentence as Michael snatched the phone from her, threw it to the ground, and smashed it beneath the heel of his boot. Grabbing her coat, he hauled her to within two inches of his ruddy, snarling face.

  “You’re too clever by half, bitch.”

  The brutality in his hold was unmistakable. She was about to pay for her clumsiness.

  “I have a car. You can take it.” Her blurted words came out of nowhere.

  Michael drew back, still holding on to her. “A car?”

  “It-it’s nothing fancy,” she stumbled on. “Just an old Toyota, but it’s reliable, and it’s right across the road, parked in my backyard. It must be worth something.”

  She could almost see the cogs clicking in his brain as he weighed up his odds. “Okay, bitch.” He spun her around, grabbed her shoulder, and hauled her back toward him until the muzzle of his gun jammed into her spine. “Show me the way.”

  “Michael, let her go, please,” Katherine pleaded.

  “Shut up, Ma.” He shouldered her out of the way and marched Abigail out of the house.

  On the sidewalk, she felt him tensing as he scanned the quiet street. No one was about. It couldn’t be more than ten p.m., yet it seemed the entire street had gone to sleep. Even if there were people, she doubted she’d be able to attract their attention, not with a gun shoved into her back.

  “It’s r-right over there.” She waved a hand across the street to her property. “We can go through the back gate.”

  With a grunt, Michael hustled her forward. The road was rough, and her feet were none too steady. She tried her best to keep pace. The last thing she needed was for them to stumble and his gun to go off accidently. He pushed her into the shadows of the alley.

  “Open it.”

  By some miracle she slotted the key into the lock on the first go. The gate screeched as she pushed it open.

  Someone moved inside the yard. Footsteps thudded. A muttered curse.

  Michael fired the gun at the figure as it darted behind the car. Abigail ducked instinctively, her eardrums smarting, her nerves shrilling. The next moment, a hand snared her by the hair, yanking and shaking her.

  “You little bitch!” Michael screamed in her ear. He slammed her into the wall of the yard. “You led me into a trap!”

 
“No,” she gasped. “I don’t know who’s in there.”

  “Come out of there,” he yelled at the shadows. “Or I’ll hurt her some more.”

  Silence throbbed in the small yard. Then, from behind the car, came a slight shuffle.

  “Don’t know the bitch, dude,” an irritated male voice spoke. “I just came for the car.”

  “What the fuck? That car’s mine!”

  “Hey, I got here first.”

  “Yeah? Well, I gotta gun, so I guess I win.”

  “How do you know I don’t have a gun?”

  Michael hesitated, then ducked his head. “Come on, bro. I need this car.”

  “So do I.”

  Abigail rubbed her sore shoulder where Michael’s manhandling had made her collide with the brick wall. Trust her luck to have two criminals arguing over who had first dibs on stealing her car. Maybe she could slip away while they were busy bickering with each other. Michael had let go of her as he concentrated on the other guy hiding in the shadows. She edged back, keeping close to the wall as she calculated how far she was from the open gate. One step, and then another. She was getting closer…

  Michael spun around. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

  He lunged for her, but she twisted away from him, desperate, instinctively acting for survival. His fingers snagged at her hair, but she ignored the pain as she fought to keep out of his grasp. His other hand grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. She choked as his fingers throttled the air out of her lungs. She scrabbled uselessly at his hand, panic clouding her vision as she struggled for breath.

  A muffled roar. The air gusted around her before the pressure lifted off her throat, and merciful air filled her lungs. Gasping, she fell to her knees as the yard exploded with yells and scuffles and commotion. Raising her dizzy head, she saw the extraordinary sight of Brody kneeling over a prone Michael, cuffing him with rough efficiency. Relief and gratefulness flooded her, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Abigail? You okay?”

  Gentle hands lifted her to her feet. Detective Shane Jackson, looking her over with obvious concern.