Geri Krotow - Reunion Under Fire

“Oh.” Kit nodded, looking anywhere but at Annie. “This new yarn is beautiful!” She grabbed a hank of alpaca variegated and squeezed it, the universal sign of a rabid fiber freak. Annie smiled at the gesture, then froze as she noticed muted purple spots on Kit’s upper neck and jaw. Bruises covered with the carefully applied makeup she’d noticed earlier. Her stomach clenched, and she consciously forced herself to remain calm and not reveal what she’d seen. It’d be too easy to scare Kit away, and she’d never be able to help her. Annie couldn’t let another person who needed help get away.

It’s not all about what happened in New York with Rick . Although after losing her dear colleague to suicide, after he murdered his wife, would it ever not be about New York?

Letting out a slow breath, she leaned against the counter. “Yes, that’s a lovely blend, isn’t it? I have to say that my grandmother only picks the best for her customers. I happen to knit, too, and even if this wasn’t my grandmother’s shop, it’d still be my favorite shop in town. It’s better than any I’ve ever found in the city.” There were one or two yarn shops in New York City that she frequented, but none gave her the sense of being at home and safe as Grandma Ezzie’s.

Kit looked around. “Yes, I’d like to make a new shawl. Ezzie said some new alpaca linen blend was shipping in, too. Is it here?”

“Absolutely. It’s been our best seller this week.” Annie led her to the antique washstand that had the new hanks splayed out in a rainbow of colors. “With the heat, everyone wants to knit lace.”

Kit ran her fingertips lightly over the fiber, then picked up a hank and clasped it before rubbing it between her fingers. Annie realized that she missed being around other knitters like this. Even though she hadn’t pursued Ezzie’s passion for fiber as a career, she still relied on knitting to keep her grounded at the end of long, hard days working at NYPD. Days she cherished, but needed space from, for the time being. Work she’d taken a three-month sabbatical from in order to help Grandma Ezzie. And to escape the media surrounding the murder-suicide of one of NYPD’s finest, an officer who’d come to the end of his coping skills while dealing with his opioid addiction. Rick had been Annie’s friend and client, and she’d failed to save him or the young wife he’d taken along with him. She wondered if the raw wound in her heart would ever heal.

“You are a good granddaughter to come here and help Ezzie out.” Kit wore a frown, but Annie knew the sad look was for Ezzie’s predicament, and saw the warmth in Kit’s eyes that conveyed her admiration for Annie’s choice. Annie wanted to ask, to know, where and how exactly this young woman had come to the States but again, the fear of scaring Kit off stopped her.

“Are you staying in her apartment upstairs?” Kit’s question seemed casual, but Annie knew better. This might be the olive branch that Kit sought.

“Yes. It’s the easiest solution as it keeps the place occupied, and I’m used to a smaller place in New York, so it’s like a real vacation for me.” Minus the emotional baggage.

“I’ll take three of these.” Kit picked out three tonal shades of blue. Annie thought the hue matched Kit’s countenance. The woman was struggling with despair, if her training was putting the cues together correctly. But something else about Kit seemed to be triggering a memory in Annie.

Why else was Kit sending alarm bells through her?

Kit held a sky-colored hank to her cheek, sighing dreamily. And leaned a little over to the left, exposing a sliver of her neck above the mock turtleneck she wore. On a blistering summer day the top was out of place, but not for a woman like Kit. All at once Annie knew why Kit had set her police psychologist sirens wailing, beyond the bruises. She reminded her of a witness the DA had asked her to vet. Another woman with a Russian accent whose husband had a penchant for harming her. Her testimony had helped put the abuser behind bars.

Annie made out another mark, this one a definite deep reddish-purple bruise that peeked above Kit’s collar. It looked as if it had a fuzzy filter over it, and the beige-toned stain on the turtleneck’s fabric confirmed it was concealer. If Kit were a teenager, it’d be easy to think the mark was a hickey. But combined with the other bruises, how Kit was dressed, her skittish behavior and the fact that she had wanted to talk to Ezzie, Annie knew that she was dealing with an abused woman. Ezzie was known for helping women out of tight spots and had in fact made it her life’s purpose since she’d fled her first husband after being battered by him in a drunken rage. Ezzie had been lucky—she’d met Annie’s grandfather after that and enjoyed a long, happy marriage. But Ezzie never forgot her ordeal.

“So you and my grandmother are friends?” She kept her demeanor purposefully chipper, casual. Annie made a show of reaching into the drawer of the antique table and pulling out skeins to replace the yarn Kit was purchasing, displaying them in perfect symmetry.

“Yes. She is my friend.” Quietly, with certainty.

“I’ll see you ladies later. Don’t you dare miss tonight, Kit!” Ginny gave them a wave as she gathered up her bags and walked out of the shop, the large front door opening and closing with the familiar sound of the squeaky wood that surrounded the stained-glass window.

“That doorjamb needs to be trimmed. It’s swelled every summer since I can remember.” Annie looked at Kit, who’d taken her skeins to the counter and still looked like a rabbit ready to bolt into the nearest bush.

“I love the old feel of this place.” Kit’s words were softly spoken, wishful.

“You strike me as the contemporary type. Your sense of style is beautiful.” Annie referenced Kit’s chic urban style, from her sleeveless silky turtleneck, long linen cardigan and flared crops. Her stacked sandals revealed perfectly manicured toes, and her designer bag cost more than Annie’s New York City rent.

“Thank you. I do like modern things, but there’s nothing like the comfort of the familiar.” Kit gazed at the balustrade that followed the stairs behind the counter up to a peekaboo corridor above the built-in bookcases that led to Ezzie’s apartment.

“You know, Kit, if you ever need anything, you can stop in, or call me. I’m not my grandmother, and you don’t know me yet, but you can trust me.” Annie rang up Kit’s order and added her personal cell phone number to the back of the shop’s frequent-buyer card that she handed to the woman. It was far less incriminating than if she gave Kit her NYPD business card and her abuser found it. “My number’s on the back. You’re one skein away from a free one.”

“I don’t keep these cards.” Kit frowned at the punch card. Silver Valley was like any other American town in that the local business owners did everything financially possible to reward repeat customers. Annie wasn’t surprised that Kit didn’t save them. Abused women learned to leave no trace of where they’d been, what they’d done. It made fewer waves at home from a prying husband who wanted to control their every move.

“Oh, well, I didn’t know. I’m still getting to know all of the regular customers.” Ezzie would have known, and she’d know why Kit didn’t keep the cards. It was probably because she didn’t want her husband to know where she shopped, in case he went through her wallet. Annie had heard every breach of personal boundaries in her career with NYPD.

“No, you didn’t. But I feel you do. Know.” Kit’s eyes dropped all previous defenses, and for a long moment she stood at the counter, emotionally naked to Annie, who saw fear, trepidation and an unexpected emotion. Determination. Kit was going to fight whoever was hurting her.