Cassie Miles - Undercover Protector

Though Bridgeport lay only fifteen miles from the coast on the Yaquina River, it was nothing like the bustling touristy seaside towns. Instead, the profound stillness—so different from the city—gave an illusion of security, as if they were sheltered by the old-growth forests that Bridgeport, being a logging town, had done its best to destroy.

The screech of brakes interrupted her reverie, and she watched a dusty beat-up black pickup park at the curb. The guy who climbed out from behind the steering wheel stared directly at her. Was he somebody she knew? Or was he a threat?

Warily Annie halted as he came toward her. He wore work boots, worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off and frayed—a typical logger outfit. He was solidly built, probably six feet tall and two hundred pounds. “You’re Annie.”

“That’s right.” She couldn’t place him, and hoped this was an innocent encounter. Forcing a smile, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

“On account of we never met.” Up close there was no other word for him but ugly. Limp strands of yellow hair dangled across his narrow forehead. His mouth twitched. The scent of fruit-flavored chewing gum mingled with the acrid smell of his sweat. “Ain’t this a pretty sunset. I always missed the sunsets when I was in prison.”

Prison? A shudder went through her. This meeting felt horribly familiar to the one in the parking lot. He’d come out of nowhere. She was carrying groceries. “Wh-who are you?”

“You’re a cop, right?”

She nodded, not wanting to speak because he’d hear the tremble in her voice. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t usually so easily spooked.

“Some ex-cons don’t cotton to lady cops. But me?” He thumped his chest and chewed his gum faster. “I like a woman in uniform.”

Was he the assailant? Had he followed her to Bridgeport? She tried to picture him in a black poncho and baseball cap. Her mind flashed back to that chilly rainy night. She saw the baseball bat. Her arm twitched with remembered agony. Icy fear crept up and ambushed her.

Her ears drummed with the remembered sounds of pelting rain and thunder. Darkness danced behind her eyelids. She wanted to run. Her grandpa’s house was less than fifty yards away. But her muscles froze, and she was unable to move.

“The name is Drew Bateman,” he said.

She blurted, “What do you want?”

“I’m just hanging around.” He stared so hard that his head came forward like a snake. “But I ain’t going away. Every time you look around, I’ll be there. Tell your grandpa.”

Was he threatening her grandpa? Oh, God. She had to pull herself together. For Lionel’s sake, she had to be strong.

Bateman continued, “Me and Lionel go way back. Every time I came up for parole, they checked with Lionel Callahan, the municipal judge. He never once spoke up for me.”

Her eyes darted. There was no one else on the street. It was dinner hour. Everyone must be inside around the table, saying grace, unaware of the danger. If she screamed—

“Your grandpa kept me in jail.”

He took a step toward her. She’d been caught unprepared. Again. Helpless. Again. “Stay away from me.”

“I won’t touch you. I’m no fool. I won’t get busted for assault and go back to jail like your grandpa wants.”

“Leave him out of this!”

She heard the door slam and glanced toward the sound. From her grandpa’s house, a dark handsome man emerged. Even before he was near enough for her to clearly see his features, she recognized his stride. She would never forget the way he moved.

His thick black hair glistened in the last glow of sunlight. His dark tan contrasted the white of his button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

“Michael.” His name choked in her throat. She was blinded by a brilliant flash of memory. He was her first love, her deepest love. Michael. She never thought she’d see him again. Against her will, a smile cut through her fear. He was still strong and unbelievably handsome. Michael Slade. Eleven years ago he had broken her heart.

He approached quickly. His jaw was set, hard as stone. His dark eyes stared past her at Bateman. Hatred simmered between the two men. A harsh tension charged the atmosphere with the impending danger of a lit fuse.

Michael said, “Move along, Bateman.”

“I got a right to be here. It’s a public sidewalk. I’m not breaking any laws.”

“You’re loitering.”

Michael hadn’t even looked at Annie, hadn’t acknowledged her presence in any way. His behavior seemed rude. He could’ve patted her shoulder or at least given her a nod. It was as if she didn’t even exist. Anger cut sharply through Annie’s fear. Damn you, Michael Slade.

“Loitering is bull,” Bateman said, snapping his chewing gum. “You ain’t got nothing on me.”

“You were harassing this lady.”

This lady? Was that her only significance to him? After all these years, after the way he’d left her without a word, she deserved name recognition at the very least. “This lady can take care of herself.”

“I’m not talking to you, Annie.”

“Obviously.”

“I’ll handle this.”

A moment ago she’d been frightened, ready to scream and run away. Now, Michael, whom she hadn’t seen or heard from in years, had come to her rescue and she was absolutely furious. Irrational? Maybe, but Annie didn’t care. Stiffly she said, “When I need your help, Michael Slade, I’ll ask for it.”

Bateman hooted. “She doesn’t like you.”

“You shut up,” Michael snarled.

“Make me. If you throw the first punch, I can fight back. It’s self-defense. Annie is a witness.”

“Not for long,” she said. “Much as I’d love to stick around and watch this spitting contest, I’ve got things to do.”

She pushed past Michael and proceeded down the sidewalk toward her grandpa’s house. Though she wasn’t scared anymore, this emotional roller-coaster ride unnerved her. Slightly disoriented and dizzy, she had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other.

At the wide veranda that wrapped around her grandpa’s two-story wood-frame house, she climbed the three steps, went inside and slammed the screen door behind her. Why was Michael here? Her grandpa must have invited him.

But Michael had vanished without a trace. If her grandpa had known how to contact Michael, why hadn’t he told Annie? She didn’t like secrets, and she hated lies.

“Lionel,” she yelled as she passed the old oak staircase leading up to her grandpa’s bedroom, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Down the hall in the kitchen she dropped the canvas pouch on the table. Bracing herself against the countertop, she exhaled in a whoosh. The terrifying flashback had been erased from her mind, but she was still trembling. The pent-up fury of eleven years shivered through her. How could Michael ignore her? How could he be so indifferent?

He was the first man she’d ever loved and the last person she ever wanted to see again. Raising her left palm to her face, she felt the hot flush of her cheek.

Even after all these years, he had the power to spark her emotions. He had faded safely into her past, an unsolved mystery who she would never see again except in dreams. Now, he was here in the flesh. His unexpected return was nearly as puzzling as his disappearance. Eleven long years ago, she’d trusted him with her first fragile love, and he’d betrayed her. Oh, Michael, why did you leave me?

She glanced toward the hallway leading to the front door, pulling herself back to the present. Why hadn’t he yet returned to the house? Her policewoman’s instincts kicked in. She really hoped he hadn’t been fool enough to get into a fistfight with Bateman. Though she didn’t want to care about Michael, she’d hate herself if he got hurt and she did nothing to stop it.