It Should Happen to You

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  The song changed to something faster, peppier, but he ignored it, letting everyone else dance around them.

  Screw 'em all.

  Dominic pulled her closer, listening to the soft humming sound that was coming from low in her throat, memorizing her perfume and wondering what it was. It was spicy, almost masculine in its scent. On her skin, it was like bottled sex. When he fell asleep tonight, he was going to remember that scentif he fell asleep.

  In the corner, a collection of men huddled around the bar, Vinny the Boss in the middle. Dom knew this was his chance. His opportunity to just slip right in and become one of the guys. Trusted.

  He knew how it worked. He'd been in the center once before, and it was a mistake he was still paying for.

  The smell of cigars was stifling, and the complete, unsuspicious warmth of Michelle was seducing him away from all sense of duty. For once, couldn't he just pretend to be the good guy?

  The voices were buzzing around the room like flies in August, and he wished he could tell them to just get the hell away from both of them. When he was a kid and he'd gotten angry, he'd punch the wall, or his brothers, or whatever else seemed to be in his path. Unfortunately you just couldn't punch the whole world.

  Instead, he saw the exit sign beckoning across the floor, signaling an escape. Dom maneuvered them around the floor, closer and closer to that blessed door.

  The song ended just as they found themselves outside. It was an alley, backed up to an abandoned ball field, not the most romantic place in the world, but Dom had never wanted to be anywhere more.

  Here was away, a safe haven, where for half an hour, two hours, a whole damned lifetime, Dominic Cordano walked a straight line. His alter identity, Dominic Corlucci, he was the man whose walk was a little bent.

  They strolled over to the ballpark, and she leaned against a long-forgotten bleacher where SO loved JH 4ever.

  "I hope you don't mind," he said, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to her. "Smoke bothers me."

  She looked up at him, wide eyes staring behind her glasses, trusting and thoughtful. For a woman with fake hair, she wasn't any good at hiding her emotions, and for that he considered himself lucky. Then she smiled up at him, nervous and unsure of herself, and he felt himself transported to another world where they were alone.

  There was one last thing he needed to make sure of. One more question he needed to ask. "Why did you come to me? Who told you?"

  She blinked, once, twice, thinking of what she was going to say. Finally, she must have figured it out. "A friend of mine works there. She's scared of you. She figured if she was, then Monihan would be, as well. She's a good friend."

  So the explanation was as simple as that. She wasn't a plant, just a woman who needed rescuing.

  "Thanks for escaping out here with me," he said.

  "I like being outside. Just looking at the sky," she answered, her wistful voice soothing away the last remnants of his anger. She stared up, beyond the street lamps into the night sky where the crescent moon hung overhead.

  "It's big," he said, and winced at the stupid remark.

  "Over a hundred-billion stars," she answered and he blinked.

  "Wow, I never would have guessed that."

  She lifted an arm and pointed up, to a spot far away from every wise guy in Chicago. "There's Venus and the moon, just lined up. See?"

  He moved in close behind her, his gaze tracking the length of her arm, until he could see the single bright light that was sitting just on the left hand of the moon.

  When she lowered her arm, he stayed where he was, fascinated by her, by her absolute absorption in the stars. "You like your astronomy," he said.

  She took a step back, so near to him that he could simply breathe and his chest would brush against her back. "It keeps things in perspective."

  Oh, yeah, he knew where this was going. "The 'you're just a grain of sand on the beach of humanity' theory?"

  She shook her head, and he wanted to know what color hair lay underneath her wig. "No," she answered. "There are constants and there are subtle shifts that are always evolving. The universe expands, time slows or increases, but it doesn't matter what the changes are. The rotation about the sun, the orbit of the moon, those don't change. It's a great fusion of dynamic and static forces all working together in concert."

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but he could listen to her voice for hours. It wasn't drugs or penny-ante larceny, or even who was winning at the races. Her words were a little bent, but this was the closest thing to a normal conversation he'd had in two years and he realized how much he missed it. "A philosopher, as well as an astronomer," he murmured.

  "That's not philosophy, that's physics."

  "Who are you?" he asked and she turned.

  "Someone you wouldn't want to know," she answered, brushing a piece of fake hair out of her eyes.

  "What if I do?"

  At his considering stare, she turned and looked back up at the sky, as if all the answers could be found there. "This isn't my world, you know," she said, like she was from another place or another time.

  It wasn't her world, but she thought it was his. Dom swore under his breath. He ached to tell her that this wasn't his world, either. Unfortunately, if he were to be honest with himself, this was his world. It had always been his world, and no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't escape it. He shook off his past and pulled out his knife and carefully carved her name in the grayed wood. Very precisely he worked, one letter at a time. An age-old practice of letting the world know that you cared.

  She watched him work with fascination. "That's me, isn't it?" she breathed quietly.

  Dominic lifted his shoulders. Maybe he shouldn't have done it. Maybe it seemed high school to her. But he wanted to have some of his innocence back, and she was giving him that, whether she realized it or not.

  When he was done, he hesitated, wanting to put his name under her own, Unking them together. Unfortunately, those sorts of gesturespermanent and way too visiblecould be dangerous for her. That was a risk he wasn't willing to take, but there was another way.

  "Michelle?" he asked, a wealth of meaning in simply saying her name. He wasn't asking for much, merely one taste, one sip from a cup that he shouldn't have.

  She sighed and he found himself holding his breath, waiting desperately for her answer.

  "Please," he said, his heart pumping inside him. She didn't realize how important this was, how much he needed to rediscover that piece of ordinary life inside him. He'd been living a lie for so long, it was taking over him, slowly and surely.

  Only one kiss . That's all he needed from her. One kiss, one meeting of lips, just to feel clean. Just to remember.

  Whether it was the pleading in his voice, or the stars, or the damnable forces that were working between them, he didn't know, and he didn't care. All that mattered was that she turned to him and lifted her head, and he didn't wait to think about it anymore.

  He knew what she tasted like, had remembered that one kiss from the coffee shop, but that was pretend. This was real.

  Her face felt so small in his hands, and his mouth took hers quickly before she changed her mind. Whatever magic this night possessed, he could taste it on her, drink from it, and he did. Her arms curled around his neck, and her body curved into his, fitting them together more strongly than he had ever imagined.

  Far away a lone siren blared above the low strains of the music, but Dom ignored it. While the irredeemable world carried on, he found himself fascinated by the warm caverns of her mouth, reveling in the absolute redemption of a single kiss.

  She was beyond seductive, no pretense or coy games, just her. His body wanted her so badly, a touch, a possession and release, but Dom was too afraid to move, too afraid that with one small misstep, the illusion would return, and he'd lose himself once more.

  Time slowed, just as she had said, and he did nothing but kiss her. She didn't ask or complicate things, she understood, and for that h
e loved her. For once he didn't have to pretend, or be someone else, he could simply be.

  With each passing second, he felt himself returning. He remembered feelings that he had forgotten, and found himself reveling in something that was actually good. Something that was honest and true. The freedom, the escape was just as seductive as her.

  Wham.

  The door slammed open against the brick wall, and angry voices emerged, a dunking of cold water on a warm summer night. A reminder of who he was and who he wasn't.

  Dom pulled back and his fleeting glimpse of another life slipped through his fingers. He pasted the emotionless look of calculation back on his face. His soul-sucking world had swallowed him whole.

  Michelle stared up at him, her lips swollen and parted, and from the corner of her forehead, a lock of dark hair had emerged. A forcible reminder that no one was who they seemed. That gritty truth put a particularly bitter taste in his mouth.

  Two shadows danced in the doorway. Another woman and another man.

  "You asshole! If you ever, ever, come dragging your lousy, two-timing, conniving, 'oh, baby, come on' butt back home again"

  Crraack.

  It was a fist coming in close contact with flesh, probably a nose. Dominic's hands bunched in automatic response, and he felt the familiar surge of adrenaline rush through his body, heating his blood. One, two, three he concentrated on the count, forcing his anger to cool.

  Dom knew that sound well, and listened as the woman's fury turned into tears.

  That was the crappy thing about the bad guysthey didn't rush to rescue anybody. Only fools rushed in.

  Mickey stirred, ready to rush in, but Dom held her back. This was his job. His world. Just another day at the office, honey. When you were looking to nail Vinny Amarante for racketeering, you just couldn't go up and punch him in the face, no matter how much you wanted to.

  Vinny's wife, Amber, emerged from the shadowy doorway first. Against her face was a red-soaked tissue, and her shoulders were shaking from her sobs. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Amber alone in the night. Apparently Vinny believed that his wife had received his message loud and clear. Michelle walked over to her, pulling a tissue package from her purse and silently handing it to the woman.

  Not knowing what else to do, Dom positioned himself at the door. He wasn't any good at comforting females, didn't understand tears or mush, but he did know how to watch somebody's back. For tonight, that somebody was Michelle.

  Mickey had never in her life seen so much blood. Well, once, when Davey Ward had gotten bit by a neighborhood stray in second grade, but that was it.

  She put an arm around the hysterical woman and tried her best to calm her.

  "What's your name?" she asked, hoping conversation might stop the tears.

  "Amber."

  "Oh, that's a pretty name. Was that your boyfriend who did this to you, Amber?"

  Amber sniffed. "My husband. The son of a bitch. You know, you think he'd have the decency to carry on his affairs in private. Someplace where I'm not, but noooo"

  Husband wasn't good. That meant they lived together. Although nowadays, divorce was easyMickey shook her head. "You can't go back home with him. Let's take you to a hospital."

  "I don't need no stinkin' hospitals. It's not broken. Just bleeding like a mother." Amber sopped at her face with the tissue.

  "Well, you can't go home," Mickey pointed out patiently.

  "I'm doing what I always do. Get a room at the Hilton and let Vinny go out of his freaking mind with worry."

  It all sounded so routine, so normal, so wrong. "You're not going back to him, are you?" she asked, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice.

  Amber didn't even think before she answered. "I don't have another home. I loved him at one time. That's got to be enough."

  Mickey tried to think of words, but failed. Boyfriend problems she could handle; employment woes, she could help you out. But this? This was a whole new galaxy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No, I can't," Amber said, starting back inside.

  "Don't go back. Stay and talk. We're not going anywhere, are we?" She flashed Dominic a bright smile and he nodded. "See?"

  "It's an ugly story," Amber said, but she was inching farther away from the door. Some progress.

  "If it involves a man, it's always ugly."

  "Oh, that is so true." And there, pressed against the ragged brick wall, Amber started to talk.

  Sometimes she burst into tears. Sometimes she rambled, and lots of times she cried. Mickey patted her arm and nodded in all the right spots, but she really didn't know what else to do. So she listened. Eventually Amber's tears dried up, and her voice calmed.

  Then she picked up her purse and looked ready to go back inside, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Quickly Mickey intervened. "Uh, don't you think you need to get away for tonight?"

  Amber looked at her and smiled. "You're a sweet girl to be so concerned for a stranger. Especially listening to me whine about my life. Unfortunately, this is all I have." She wiped her eyes with her hands and turned to Dominic. "You treat her nice, you understand?"

  Dominic nodded and took change. He made a quick phone call and then took out some bills from his wallet and handed them to Amber. "Go get cleaned up, take a hot shower and maybe some whiskey for dessert. Cab should be here in a minute."

  "Amber, they have places you can go," Mickey said, lapsing into stereotypical schmaltz, but she didn't do sensitivity well.

  "Uh, no, Missy. But thank you for caring. That seems so rare these days and all."

  Mickey wished that Dom would back her up on this, but the man she had kissed earlier was long gone. Standing in front of her was a cleanup man, a man used to mopping up everybody else's messes. Silently they walked over to the corner just as the cab arrived. Dom bundled Amber into the cab, packing up all the crises in the world and then shutting the door. Why couldn't he care more?

  Mickey watched the taillights from the yellow cab pull away and turned to Dom. "Why didn't you try to convince her? She should leave him, go into a shelter."

  His mouth twisted into a hard line and he jammed his hands into his pockets. "This is Chicago, Dorothy, not Kansas. God knows I can't stop people from making stupid choices. I can only make them more comfortable while they're doing it."

  It seemed such a defeatist attitude. He'd just given up. She felt like whacking him one herself. "I can't believe you're going to let her go back to that bastard."

  One lonely streetlight shone down on him, and even dressed up in suit and jacket, he fit in with the surroundings. It was his casual acceptance that hurt her most of all.

  Stupid, Mickey, very stupid. She wheeled around and walked away from him. Right now she needed to be far away. Why had she thought she could pull this off? Because he kissed her? Because every now and then he looked at her with those deep, soulful eyes?

  No.

  When he looked at her, she felt desired and feminine and needed. When she looked in his eyes, she saw a vision of herself reflected back. A woman she'd never known before.

  As they had walked down the street, he had deliberately switched places, so that he was walking on the outside. On the dance floor, he had been so protective, ensuring that no one bumped into her.

  In her whole entire life, no one had ever considered that Mickey Coleman might want someone to take care of her. Just once.

  For just a few hoursa few measly hours, how pathetic was that?she'd been the most fragile woman in the world.

  Unfortunately, reality was starting to intrude.

  He caught her with a hand to the arm. "Michelle, don't."

  "You're a coward," she snapped, angry with Vinny for being an ass, angry with Amber for being so stupid and angry with Dominic most of all, because he should have been better than this.

  He should have been noble and courageous and more rescuecentric. Instead, he was acting likea wise guy.

  Hell-o! Wake-up call to Michelle Cus
hing Coleman.

  And no one ever said that Mickey Coleman was stupid. Ever. She spotted a cab and flagged it down, and then, thank God, the taxi pulled next to the curb. She didn't dare look at Dominic, because she'd lose her nerve, let him flash those deep pools of brown in her direction.

  She concentrated on opening the darn door, but the stupid thing wouldn't cooperate. Finally, she ripped it open, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process.

  "Good night, Dominic. No, make that goodbye."

  For all intents and purposes, Dom should have let her go. Let her disappear back to where she came from. He didn't need the additional pressure. Frankly he didn't need the guilt, either. He hated the guilt, because it was slowly eating him alive.

  It would be the smart thing to just stand here, or maybe put his fist in a wall, but the old tried-and-true Cordano methods weren't enough. She'd stirred something inside him, something more than his jones. He couldn't let her walk away. Not now.

  When he was with her, when he kissed her, he felt like an honest man. He could remember that he was a copa good cop. It all felt right. It was the way he was supposed to feel.

  No way in hell he was letting her get away.

  He opened the door and climbed in beside her.

  The cabbie shrugged. "Where to, Mac?"

  Michelle glared at Dominic over those thick-framed glasses, and he couldn't help but smile. "Leave me alone," she said through gritted teeth.

  Damn, he loved it when she tried to take charge. "We're not done."

  "We're done," she said, giving him a regal stare-down. He was starting to recognize that look. She could teach a few professional killers the art of being cold.

  The driver, obviously sympathizing with the usual male sufferings, turned up the radio.

  "I think we need to clarify a few things" he started.

  "I'm not having this conversation in a cab."