by Jax Hunter
“Another fine fix you’ve gotten yourself into.” Nic stood at the window watching the snow come down yet again. Perfect conditions for the slopes, damn it. He glanced at his watch. 0310. He picked up the phone. Cruz would just have to get up a bit early.
Eric Cruz’s sleepy, irritated voice answered after the first ring. “Cruz.”
“Hollywood, Nic. Get your sorry butt out of bed, splash some cold water on your face. I’ll hold. I’m in deep kimchi.”
“Did you get yourself arrested or something?”
“No, dumbass, I didn’t. I’ll call you back in five.”
The second conversation went a little better than the first. Aside from the biting remarks, made when Nic told him that Julie was asleep in his bed, Cruz said what Nic expected him to say. Thank God.
“First thing in the morning, take this Julie person to the nearest police station and let the authorities handle it.”
Joey had always been the levelheaded member of the three amigos, but Cruz had his moments. Let the experts handle it, then Nic could get back to skiing.
With a sigh of relief, Nic hung up the phone. Cruz was absolutely right. Nic wasn’t a cop. And, for that matter, he was on leave. The skiing would be perfect tomorrow. She could give him that pitiful, panicked look all she wanted to. He was doing the right thing.
Pulling the phone book from the desk drawer, Nic looked up the address of the police department. On the hotel scratch pad, he scribbled P.D. along with the street address. With the plan formulated in his brain, Nic curled up again on the couch, turned off the TV, and slept.
The bright sunlight peeked around the edges of the curtains. Nic ran his fingers through his hair, stretched his legs, and looking at his watch, proceeded to swing his feet to the floor. When they came down on a lump, instead of the thick carpet of the floor, he pulled them back up and looked down. There, up against the front of the couch was Julie, her hair spread on the pillow, the blanket from the bed pulled up around her ears. She didn’t move, even though he’d almost stepped on her.
Holy mother of…was she dead? He peered at her closely. Once he verified that she was, in fact, breathing, he threw the blanket off his legs, and carefully stepped over her sleeping form. He reached for his jeans, and pulled them on as he hopped to the kitchen to put on some coffee. Again he checked his watch, having been interrupted from the information he sought. Ten after eleven.
Crap. Half the day was gone.
He flipped the switch to the coffee maker and made his way to the bathroom. When he came out, Julie was up, sitting on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket.
“Good morning,” Nic said, trying for a cheerful tone, and turned to go into the kitchen.
“Will you take me to get my car this morning?”
“And then what, Julie? Did you remember something?” Nic returned to the living room, a mug of coffee in his hand.
“No. I don’t know.” She tossed back the blanket and launched to her feet.
“Maybe we should check with the police.” If he could get her to agree, he wouldn’t feel like he was abandoning her. It was worth a try.
“No, no police.” She responded without hesitation. “Just get me to the car and I’ll figure out something.”
“C’mon, Julie. That doesn’t make sense. You don’t have your ID, or money or anything.”
Julie pulled herself up straight. “I’m fully aware of that.”
Frustration rose up in Nic’s throat. “Well, that’s about all you’re aware of.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I don’t need this from you, Nic from Boston. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” Julie stomped to the window, stood by the desk, and fingered the phone cord. She stared at the phone as if trying to think of someone to call.
“Yeah, right. You’re so independent that you came and slept on the floor beside me last night. Be sensible.”
A small squeak came from her before she turned to face him. Julie glared at Nic for an instant.
Dang, he shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t deserve the rage and bitterness that blindsided him, even now. But then, almost as quickly as it materialized, her glare melted into indifference.
“Whatever you say.”
Was that a concession? That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? “You go shower first. I’ll order us some breakfast.”
“Fine.” Julie pushed past Nic, walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
As the shower ran, Nic ordered food. The phone rang just after he hung it up. Who would be calling him here? Maybe Cruz was checking to make sure he’d followed through. Nic grabbed the phone on the second ring, looking toward the bathroom to make sure Julie was still in the shower.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Boyo.”
“Uncle Mickey, what are you doing calling me?” Nic knew the answer even before he finished the question. The last time Nic and Joey’d gone home, they’d dragged Cruz along. He’d been an instant hit with the D’Onofrio family. “Cruz called you?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Sorry he bothered you. Did he fill you in?”
“He’s convinced that you’re in danger, Boyo.”
“Me? Why?”
“Said something about a gut feeling. I thought you might want me to run those plates for you.”
“What?”
“Well,” he snorted “you surely aren’t going to do what he suggested, are you?”
“Yeah, I am. Why?”
“Because it’s BS, Nicky.”
“What?”
“What does your gut tell you is going on with this girl, Nic? You’ve always had good instincts, even if you didn’t become a cop.”
Mickey had never gotten over the fact that Nic had preferred battling fires to fighting bad guys. Then, when he and Joey had made the jump to pararescue, Mickey had again pled his case for them to come back to Boston and join the force. Nic never doubted that he’d made the right decision. Well, not until Joey died.
He forced himself back to the present. “I think she’s telling the truth. I think she really does have amnesia, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Partly. But what I’m really asking is this: what does your gut tell you to do?”
Nic was silent.
“Don’t think, Boyo, just answer.”
“She’s in trouble and she needs my help.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want that responsibility.”
“Look, Nic. You and I both know that long term isn’t in your vocabulary. A few hours, maybe twenty-four hours on the side of the mountain, okay. But you’re the master of the momentary.”
Nic winced.
“Grow up, Nic. Help this poor girl out, or you’ll regret it the rest of your life. Now, give me the license plate number and a description, and I’ll see what I can find out.”
Nic gave him the information and slammed down the receiver. Damn it all. Mickey had acted like Nic had already agreed to this crazy scheme of his, like he already knew what Nic would decide.
The shower shut off. Nic paced the length of the small living room in three steps, turning his options over in his mind. A knock on the door, announcing the arrival of their breakfast, made the decision for him. He decided to decide later. Citizen Nic was fully in control again—for the moment.
By the time Julie came out of the bathroom, wearing the only thing she had—her pajamas—Nic had the table filled with food. “Eat something. I’m going to shower.” He hadn’t intended to sound so testy but, he was testy.
Julie slumped into a chair, picked up a muffin, and took an obedient bite.
Nic shrugged and headed for the bathroom.
He was too tall to let the water pound on his head—the problem with hotel showers. Still, the warm water felt good on his chest. At least there was decent pressure. As he shampooed his hair the delayed conversation in his head started again.
Citizen Nic gave him all the common-sense answers. Take Julie to the people who solved these kinds of
things for a living. But the nagging little voice, the one heard beneath the rustle of the cape, was accusatory. You’re just avoiding a commitment here. But what you’re really afraid of is getting your heart involved. You are at a crossroad, my friend. It’s time, Nic, to let down your defenses and take on something that will take more than a few hours of your precious time.
The argument went on. Nic shut his eyes and inhaled the steam, letting the water beat on his back until it should have been cold. When he could avoid it no longer, he raised his head and stepped back, shutting off the water.
“All right, Batman, you win…again.” Nic muttered, as he pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. “You happy?” He grabbed socks and walked toward the living room.
“Damn it!”
The room was empty.
Chapter Three
