One Good Man

Rules are rules. Talk to “Uncle Jimmy.” I think he’ll support me on this.

Mitch.

There was no pause this time.

“No! Don’t use my name. He’ll find me.”

“He’ll find you?” Mitch questioned aloud. He sent a brief message. “Who?”

He waited.

“Emmett Raines.”

“Who is Emmett Raines to you?” Mitch typed. “Did you think I was him?”

“Please!!!” she answered.

Mitch ran the name through his head and drew a blank. Maybe Emmett was an old boyfriend. She said he’d escaped. Maybe she saw enemies where none existed.

But the itch along his neck had him thinking otherwise. Real or not, her obvious fear dissipated the remnants of his anger. Reminding himself that it wasn’t his help she was seeking, he typed in a response.

“I’ll have one of my men look into it.”

He could almost feel her answer leap off the screen, as if he were talking to her in person and could read the expression in her eyes again.

No! Forget it! Just forget it! Don’t send anyone else to the house. Don’t come here again. And don’t call me princess!

What? The message ended abruptly, and he knew she’d signed off. Mitch stared mutely at the screen, wishing his own frustration could be transported across the modem links. He didn’t know what irritated him more, the idea that she thought she could dictate his actions and go over his head to his superior, or the discovery that she might be a little human like the rest of the world.

She didn’t like the nickname. She had gotten personal.

Their little e-mail interlude had left him as heated as last night’s face-to-face encounter. He could picture her eyes darkening along with her emotions. He could imagine that stubborn little chin pointing upward as she vented her fury on him.

He could see the fear in her posture as she stiffened her shoulders and tried not to let it show.

“Joe!” He bellowed for his lieutenant.

“Boss.”

“Sorry.” Mitch looked up guiltily, finding Joe waiting in the open doorway with his usual forgiving smile. “Emmett Raines. Check the wires. He just walked away from Jeff City. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”

“Anything in particular I should look for?” asked Joe.

“A connection to Jack or Casey Maynard. Something isn’t right.” He glanced at his computer screen. “I need to figure it out.”

Joe jotted the name on his notepad. He pointed to Mitch’s phone. “The commissioner’s on line two. I’ll get right on this.”

Mitch nodded his dismissal, punched the blinking light and picked up the receiver. “Commissioner Reed.”

A smooth, politic voice answered. “Mitch. I’ll forgo the pleasantries. We need to talk.”

“You’re damn right we need to.”

“WHO THE HELL does he think he is?” Casey muttered to herself, still stewing over her computer conversation with Mitch Taylor earlier that morning. The words on her monitor blurred together as her eyes glazed over. She removed her gold-rimmed reading glasses and rubbed at her tired eyes.

Normally, she found the content of medical articles an interesting read. But today it was simply a jumble of technical jargon that made little sense. Knowing she was ahead of her deadline, she saved the text she was editing and turned off the screen. Her clients shouldn’t be penalized for her inability to concentrate.

She slipped into her shoes and tied them, adjusting the platformed boot on her right heel before shifting onto her feet. Needing the extra support after last night’s uncustomary stress, she tightened the Velcro closures of her leg brace and walked over to the row of windows that gave a panoramic view of the backyard.

Judith’s husband, Ben, tended the pool house with efficient regularity, just as he had in her training days. But what had once been a symbol of her family’s success and personal triumphs now stood like a glass-domed testament to all she had lost.

Her dreams. Her family. Her faith.

She’d worked hard after the attack to get her body into shape. To teach herself how to walk again. Months of physical therapy in her private gym and in that pool had put her body back together as much as the shattered remnants of it would allow.

But no amount of training could restore her trust or heal her wounded heart.

Casey breathed in deeply and exhaled, fogging up the window in front of her. She rubbed the spot clear, acknowledging that her restlessness wasn’t entirely Mitch Taylor’s fault.

She missed the color that had once been part of her life. She missed the activity. She missed the demands she used to make on herself, the anticipation and reward of setting goals and achieving them.

But it could never be any other way. Especially now. She had to keep a lower profile than ever or he’d find her. Though he’d be smarter to run in the opposite direction, she knew Emmett Raines would come looking for her. She’d made a mistake once he wouldn’t allow her to make again.

The jangle of the front-gate buzzer made every muscle in her body tense until she looked over at the clock on the mantel—it was 12:10. The McDonalds were still here. She breathed again, consciously forcing herself to relax. Shoulders first. Biceps. Elbows. Wrists and hands.

Almost as soon as Casey was breathing normally again, Judith entered the library and announced, “Mr. James Reed is here to see you.”

Casey’s dread changed into a cautious smile. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Some habits die hard. Should I fix him lunch?”

The drawn look that had haunted Judith’s face eased a little with the arrival of company. For that, Casey was glad, even though she knew Jimmy’s visit would include a painful discussion on the subject of Emmett Raines. “I’ll ask. Go ahead and let him in through the kitchen.”

Minutes later, Police Commissioner James Reed, looking fit and dapper with his silver hair and charcoal suit, entered the library with a broad smile. “Cassandra.”

He met her halfway and gave her a stiff hug and a pat on the back. Holding herself on her good leg, Casey kissed his cheek and tightened her arms around his neck. “I’m glad to see you.”

He pushed away from her, holding her elbows in his palms. “I can only stay a few minutes. But I didn’t want to disappoint my favorite girl.”

He made her feel all of ten years old. She tried to match his smile but failed. “I thought you’d be here…sooner.”

From across the room, another voice answered in a dark, taunting baritone.

“We shouldn’t be here at all.”

Casey looked over Jimmy’s shoulder to the man filling the doorway. Mitch Taylor was even bigger than she remembered. The room shrank as he strode in. He stood a couple of inches taller than her Dutch uncle’s six feet, and she suspected the imposing dimensions of his chest and shoulders could be attributed more to the man than to the tailoring of his suit.

She lifted her chin to ward off the impact of his raw masculinity. Jimmy stepped aside, allowing Mitch’s whiskey-brown eyes to peruse her from head to toe. The warmth she experienced under his scrutiny left her feeling much more grown up than her uncle’s reassurances had.