Heartbeat, p.3
Heartbeat, page 3
Maya paused for a moment, put the breathing mask back on, and glared at the doctor and the plain-clothes officer, but still wouldn’t look at Officer Asshole.
“Detective Sheppard was being cautious,” the blonde detective, who identified himself as Detective Paul Cabot, said. “These roads can be dangerous to navigate even when you’re not impaired,” he added.
Detective Cabot nodded to him, and Officer Asshole rose to take the cuffs off her wrist. His size nearly blocked out the overhead lights as he released her.
His big hand was gentle as he held her wrist and brought the keys to the lock. He slowly, gently removed the cuff and ran his thumb once over the place where it had made a small indentation. It was a thoughtful, almost absent-minded gesture. Maya stared at the path his thumb took. The heat of his touch zipped up from her wrist to buzz at the base of her spine. The clink of the cuffs broke the spell, and she snatched her wrist back from him.
She looked into his eyes.
“Asshole.”
Even with the mask around her face, there was no mistaking what she said. His eyes flashed something - was it pain? Whatever it was, all business quickly replaced it. His cop’s mask.
Whatever.
“Where are my clothes?”
Dr. Kent cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sorry Maya, we cut your clothing off when you arrived in the ER.”
Maya completely snatched the mask off her face and turned her steely eyes to Officer Asshole. She had found that tee in a thrift shop somewhere in nowhere Missouri. The kid at the register didn’t know what it was worth, and she didn’t have the heart to cheat him, so she paid through the nose for it. It wasn’t mint, but it was awesome and a piece of wearable history. She washed it by hand in the sink of whatever no-tell-motel-by-the-bushes she stopped in after every wear.
“That t-shirt was amazing,” she said to him.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. We were trying to save your life,” he said quietly. “I can replace your property.”
“You can go back in time, to 82, get to the UK for the Hot Space tour and snag a genuine Queen concert tee? While you’re there, can you get it autographed by Freddie Mercury?” she asked sarcastically. “Or better yet, use that time machine and NOT arrest me in the first damn place.”
She snapped the mask back on. It hurt a little. She played it off.
The officer at the foot of the bed cleared his throat. “We’re sorry for the misunderstanding, ma’am. We’ll be going,” Detective Cabot said, as he conveyed a small sense of sympathy with his intense blue eyes. He gave Caine a nod. Maya glared at him and crossed her arms.
“Ma’am,” Officer Asshole said, nodding his head to her.
She flipped him the bird as a reply.
She heard a small chuckle come from Caine and saw maybe amusement briefly in the eyes of Officer Asshole.
“You throw a lot of sass,” Caine said.
Sass? What year is this? She figured a small town in the mountains was ten years behind the modern world, but now she wondered if it was more like fifty.
The doctor stood there, looking at Maya expectantly.
“Ms. Anderson, I’d like to discuss your condition further... privately,” she said, eyeing Caine.
Caine looked at Maya again for a long moment and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, rumbled, “I’ll be outside.” He unfolded himself from the hospital chair, tapping into his phone as he moved.
The doctor looked from him to Maya with curiosity.
“Do you know Caine well?”
“Nope. I met him and his wife on the side of the road last night. I pulled over, lost. They stopped, and so did Officer Asshole. I had a panic/asthma attack and landed here. They seem nice, even if he doesn’t say much.” She waved her hand toward the door where Caine had disappeared.
Dr. Kent searched Maya’s face. She seemed to change her mind about something.
“Ms. Anderson...”
“Maya.”
“Maya... when you came in, you were unconscious. And during our examination, we found serious recent injuries...”
Maya closed her eyes.
Shit.
No matter how far I run, he is still fucking up my life.
Maya adopted the armor and demeanor that served her well before she left Ohio. Leaning her head from left to right, she cracked her neck to release tension. She lifted the mask and spoke in a cool and low voice as she looked into Dr. Kent’s blue eyes.
“My partner and I disagreed on a key point in our relationship. I tried to leave, he tried to make me stay by using conventional little dick methods,” Maya said slowly and clearly. “As soon as it was humanly possible, I ran.”
“Did you press charges?” Dr. Kent asked quietly.
“No, though not for lack of trying,” she said, shaking her head. “He and his family are powerful, with long money. I learned quickly and brutally you don’t fight them. You get the hell away and pray they don’t come looking for you.”
Dr. Kent nodded; her eyes filled with deep concern. She sat at the foot of Maya’s, weighing her next words.
“Maya, you’re pregnant.”
Maya looked at her hands and her professional facade slipped.
“I know. That’s why we disagreed.” She shook her head. “And there is no way he will ever lay eyes or a hand on my child.”
Dr. Kent reached out and placed her hand over Maya’s. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not,” Maya said, jutting out her chin. “It wasn’t planned, of course, but the reality of my pregnancy and his reaction opened my eyes to a lot of things, including, instead of falling in love with a normal person, I was involved with a soulless monster.” Her face clouded with pain. She paused and hit Dr. Kent directly.
“And now I need to ask you something, Dr. Kent. How secure are your patient files and what will it cost to make them disappear?”
Besides promising Maya that she would have her records placed on the restricted records server, Dr. Kent also got a little more of Maya’s medical history, including info about her pregnancy, checked the medications she was currently on for her asthma, and wrote a few prescriptions for her medications and for prenatal vitamins with iron.
“These are like the drugstore brand you already have, but the iron will help with your anemia, which is pretty common in pregnancy,” she said. “Although I am concerned about you being dehydrated. You need to be careful, Maya. Take it easy and get plenty to eat and drink. Where are you staying?”
“The Rough Ridge Hotel for now, if I can ever make it there,” Maya replied ruefully. “I thought I’d start there and get my bearings, but two minutes into town, I was basically arrested. Not the welcome I hoped for.”
“It’s a wonderful town,” Dr. Kent said, laughing. “Some crazy stuff has happened over the years, but the people here are good people. Give them a chance.”
She stood and smiled. “Now let’s get you scheduled for a prenatal check-up in the next couple of weeks and get you on your way.”
MIKE
“Mike. You wanna explain?” Paul said evenly, his intense blue eyes hidden behind his mirrored aviator glasses. He was several inches shorter than Mike and leaner, but he was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the county. He didn’t fight the underground circuits anymore, for obvious reasons, but that didn’t mean he ever stopped training or adding new skills.
Mike looked over at Paul as they stood outside the hospital. He turned to watch a set of visitors walk past with balloons and flowers.
“Strike a balance, man,” Paul continued.
Mike worked the toothpick in his mouth. He was pissed - at himself. He had overreacted. Her lack of focus and bloodshot eyes had made him overly cautious. He also thought he’d detected alcohol. But it was what she said that shook him. “I heard you cops here were on the take, but damn.” After that, Mike reached straight to the rule book, including cuffing her to the bed. It was a shit move, and he knew it.
“You’re a good cop, an honest cop. As honest as they come, but you can’t be so black and white—”
“The law is black and white,” Mike bit. “When cops get to thinking there are gray areas, they lose their way.”
“The law allows for discretion and discernment,” Paul replied evenly.
Paul was right, and Mike knew it. The idea she might have risked her life or anyone else’s by driving drunk... The eyes, the sass... He was wrong. He had to right another wrong.
“I fucked up,” Mike retorted. “I’ll take care of it. Won’t happen again.”
Paul watched him closely. And Mike knew what he thought. It had almost been a year since Mike first reached out to come back to town and join the force. Everyone thought he was crazy then and still wondered about him now. If they only knew.
Mike and Paul saw Caine coming out of the hospital on his phone. He ended his call and looked directly at Mike.
“Keys.”
It wasn’t a request.
“Caine, I have to sign them over to the owner,” Mike said.
“Keys.”
Mike and Caine were on decent ground since Mike returned to Rough Ridge eleven months ago. Mike gave Caine’s family a wide berth and Caine respected Mike for it. Even so, no one interfered with Mike doing his job and he was no one’s bitch. Mike stared Caine directly in his eyes and waited.
“I’m driving her home,” Caine offered, keeping a thin grip on his patience.
“Where’s she staying?” Paul asked, hoping to disarm the two big men in their face-off.
Caine’s eyes slid to Paul’s.
Mike knew Paul worked undercover to keep Caine’s family safe while accumulating evidence on Mike’s father. Caine returned the favor, single-handedly saving Paul’s 100-year-old family home from a devastating arson attempt. The two shared a history. The jury was obviously still out on Mike despite his respectful overtures.
“Tori wants her at our house,” Caine rumbled.
“You sure?” Mike asked. “Didn’t she just meet you guys?”
Caine’s eyes zeroed back in on Mike’s.
“Keys, man.”
Paul intervened before the men became even more agitated. “It’s all right. Note it in the report.”
Mike worked the toothpick in his mouth more, reached in his pocket, and tossed the keys to Caine.
Dr. Kent, an orderly, and Maya in a wheelchair, descended the short wheelchair ramp as Mike watched.
She looks worn out... and gorgeous. Smooth brown skin that was completely flawless. High cheekbones, full lips, a dimple in her right cheek, and a cute, round nose. She also had a freakin’ ton of hair in two-strand twists.
His eyes settled on the hospital logo t-shirt and sweatpants she wore, and he felt ten times worse. Caine took off in a jog across the parking lot to retrieve Maya’s truck from a spot where a uniformed officer had parked it at Mike’s request.
Mike watched the sun settle on Maya’s hair, revealing a pretty mix of auburn and lighter brown natural highlights that sparkled and swirled throughout the twists hanging down her back. He itched to bury his hands in her hair and imagined how it would look fanned out across his pillow.
Caine brought Maya’s pickup truck around stopping in front of them and dragging Mike out of his fantasy.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maya and the hospital crew arrived next to the officers. Mike spoke first, trying to make it right.
“Ma’am, I am sorry for the trouble this caused you. Is there anything I can do?” Mike said in the low, quiet voice he seemed to prefer to use when speaking to her.
Maya considered him for a moment, then reached out her hand for him to help her out of the wheelchair. He took it instantly, and the sun caught her eyes as she stood. They morphed into a beautiful amber, reminding him of sweet tea in the summer—the kind his mother would steep in the window for hours. His eyes dropped to those luscious, damn near illegal lips as she parted them and spoke.
“You can kiss my ass,” she said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
Paul choked back a laugh while Mike was both stunned and upset, mainly because it wasn’t a genuine request.
Maya put her second hand out for Caine to help her into the passenger side of the truck.
Caine nodded to the group and walked around the front of the truck and drove off.
“Detective Cabot, may I speak with you a moment?” Dr. Kent called.
The orderly wheeled the chair back into the hospital, Dr. Kent and Paul walked out of earshot to talk and Mike stood there a long time watching until the truck drove out of sight.
3
Got Her
Eleven months earlier in Rough Ridge, Colorado...
MIKE
Mike pulled his Jeep into the lot of the precinct, cut the engine, and stared at the building. Long and single-storied, it had the pale, cement brick build most official buildings did. Fresh flowers in pots dotted the front of the building, neatly lining the manicured lawn. It was an attempt to appear friendly. The town council must have added them as a part of the rebranding effort to restore trust. Outside of a few cosmetic touches, not much had changed in the last twenty years—except his father had nearly destroyed the whole place.
His father, Stan, was dead. Getting mowed down by his own cruiser was poetic and now Mike was back to pick up the pieces.1
The darkness in the men of his family had a long reach in Rough Ridge, but that reach ended with his father’s death almost six years ago.
He never thought he’d move back, but with his father gone and his sister taking a turn for the worse, he needed to be close to her—and this town kept calling to him. Rough Ridge was a small place full of so much beauty. It had an eclectic vibe which combined a bunch of bikers, mountain people, former service members, a fair number of artists, and now, during a few months of the year, a gentle wave of tourists. Being an hour outside of Denver Metro also gave the town a special appeal. It was far enough to be “rural” without the hassle of not having a mall or airport nearby. Rough Ridge also avoided the drama of development and most of the big city crime spillover other towns experienced.
It was a decent town filled with solid folks who needed public servants they could trust. So, here he was, getting ready to join the same force his father had single-handedly ruined.
“I’m dumb as shit,” he said as he gripped the steering wheel, feeling the hard plastic and steel beneath it give a bit under his strength.
Fuck it.
He unsnapped his seatbelt and unfolded his six-foot-six-inch frame out of the dusty, battered, green Jeep. He took a deep breath and strode into the precinct.
“I’m here to see Detective Paul Cabot,” Mike said roughly to the first officer he encountered. He worked the toothpick in his mouth and observed her. The woman looked to be in her late twenties, tall, and severe. She wore her dark hair pulled tightly back into a bun with a straight side part that looked like she had meted it out with a ruler.
Instead of a traditional police uniform, she wore what seemed to be Rough Ridge’s new standard: a khaki button-down shirt with jeans. The look aimed to relax a leery public, but on her, it screamed control freak. She wore everything starched to perfection. He suspected she was former military, and right now, she stood at her desk, deep into paperwork while sipping her coffee, her travel mug emblazoned with a colorful, hand-drawn design.
She looked up, way up, took him all in, appearing slightly alarmed. Her eyes reached his wild hair, then dropped back to his holster, narrowed. He was used to it. Normally he would have flashed his badge, but he turned it in when he resigned from the Los Angeles Police Department two weeks before.
“One moment.” Her voice clipped.
She lifted the black phone to her right, smoothly maneuvering around her coffee cup where others would have knocked it over.
She tapped buttons and waited. “Cabot, there’s a—”
“Detective Sheppard.”
She stilled at full alert, body ready.
“It’s Detective Sheppard,” she clipped, “Do you...”
She listened, never taking her eyes off him or his lips, set in a grim line. Finally, she said tightly, “Go on back, second door on the right.”
Her eyes burned a hole through his back as he strode away. He’d have to get used to it. In L.A. people, women, had very specific reactions to him, something more than friendly.
Then again, he was more relaxed there, his smile usually put people at ease. It was harder to smile here, and his name would never put people at ease... but he’d made the decision and as always, he would stick with it. Mike was home and come hell or deeper hell, he was here to stay.
Paul Cabot took in the man standing before him. Mike Sheppard had returned after twenty years looking like a wild man.
Paul stood reaching out his hand, slightly apprehensive. Mike took off his mirrored glasses and grasped his hand while his face offered a small smile. Paul relaxed clapping his long-distance friend on the shoulder.
“Have a seat Mike,” he said, backing up and sitting at the table. He moved papers off to the side, clearing the space in front of him. Mike registered several large piles of paperwork in front of Paul. Enough to keep the single detective on the Rough Ridge police force more than busy.
“I’m going to level with you,” Paul started. “It’s good to see you, but are you sure about this?”
Mike sat across from Paul and simply said, “Yep.”
“The way they worked this town over,” Paul continued as he rolled up the sleeves on his blue plaid shirt, revealing bands of black tattoos on his forearms. “The stuff that happened since,”—he shook his head—“it’s not going to be easy,” he said, looking Mike in the eye. “Still, you were long gone before it got bad. Folks that can remember that far back know you weren’t anything like him.”
Paul was the one to tell Mike his father was dead. The first thing Mike said was, “I’m sorry he fucked up your life and I hope the bastard rots in hell.” Paul liked him right away. They’d kept in touch ever since, but it floored Paul when Mike called with the news he wanted to come back home and take up a post on the force.
