BENCHED (12 page)

“No. Why would it?”

She pushes a slice of pancake around her plate with her fork. “Okay. Bring your stuff over.”

I lean over and kiss her cheek.

“There’s practice tonight. I have to be there.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably come too. Carrie is going.”

“I don’t want her running around on that foot.”

“Just let her put the uniform on. She likes it.”

I nod. “I know.”

“Okay. I’m taking her to school. I’ll see you at practice?”

“Yeah.”

I walk them to the door and watch Phoebe lift Carrie into her lumbering Tahoe and drive off. I frown as I watch them leave. Something is really off, I just can’t put my finger on it specifically.

I step down to the front yard and pull the door shut. I lock it with Phoebe’s spare key, head to my house, and start packing. I don’t have much, just some clothes. Once it’s all in a duffel, I haul it back to her place. It’s a short trip.

As I step out the door of the rental house, I hear a cough and a sputter like something big trying to hack up a hairball.

Turning, I set my eyes on an orange Volkswagen puttering down the road. Blinking a few times, I frown. Was that the same car as last night?

Standing on the side yard between the houses, I crane my neck to look through the neighbor’s backyards. The same car is headed slowly up the street behind ours.

Once in Phoebe’s house, I drop my duffle on her living room floor and stand by the edge of her window, gingerly holding the drapes open with my two fingers, watching.

The same car rolls down the block.

I burst through the door at full tilt, leap from the porch to the front walk, and sprint across the yard. The driver in the orange hatchback jams on the brakes as I run out in front of her.

I freeze right in front of her car as she comes to a screeching stop.

It’s her. She throws her door open and steps out, running towards me.

“Alex!” she yells.

“Stay back,” I snarl. “I had enough of you the last time, you crazy bitch. What do you want?”

“I had to make sure you were okay after that awful woman hurt you. Why are you in her house? Do you need my help?”

“Your help? Lady, you’re insane. I don’t know you. We’re not friends.”

This woman stands in the street with her matted hair, grimy clothes, and sick, weird look in her eyes. I feel bad for her in a way, but I’m wary, too. I wanted to get a restraining order, but Lou said it would be terrible for my image or some shit like that.

“Sarah, get back in your car and leave. I don’t want you here.”

“You’re just saying that. Why are you saying crazy things?”

She edges closer, a wild look in her eyes.

“I told you the last time, if you started following me again I would call the police.”

She grins, her eyes unfocused and dreamy.

“Alex, it’s okay. I can cut that thing off your leg and get you out of here. You’re not safe.”

This isn’t going well.

I try to calm her. Talk to her like I would a snarling dog I chance to meet on the street.

“It’s okay,” I say, holding out my hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m fine, everything’s fine. You can go home now, Sarah.”

“Why don’t you just come with me right now?”

“I can’t do that. I’m staying here and you’re going to leave. Get in your car.”

She edges closer, forcing me to back up in the middle of the street. I can’t put my hands on a woman, so what am I going to do if she won’t leave?

I pull out my phone and dial Phoebe.

It rings a few times, and she answers.

“What is it?”

“Orange hatchback.”

She goes quiet on the other end. “I’m on my way.”

“Who was that?” Sarah says, fidgeting and plucking at her oversized cardigan. “Who did you call?”

“I called the police, Sarah. You can’t be here.”

“Did you call
her?
Why would you?”

“Just stay calm. I called for help, that’s all. We just need to stay calm.”

Phoebe must have gone tear-assing through town to get here. Her Tahoe comes screeching up short behind Sarah’s car and she leaps out, leaving the door open behind her.

“What’s going on here?”

“Go away,” Sarah moans at her. “It’s your fault he’s stuck here! Go away!”

She sounds crazier with every syllable. Her hand sinks into her pocket.

“Hands up,” Phoebe snaps. She’s fast. Her gun appears in her hands in a blink, held low but ready to be raised.

“I said put your hands up over your head and keep them where I can see them. You’re under arrest.”

“For
what?”
Sarah yells, walking toward her. “What? What are you arresting me for, you bitch?”

Sarah’s hand flicks out of her sweater and a long, thin knife snaps open in her hand. I move before I can even think, crossing the distance to lock my arms around her before she reaches Phoebe.

I grab at her wrist, but Sarah is slippery and quick, and the blade rakes over my forearm.

“Holy shit!” I yelp, as my arm goes slick with blood from hand to elbow.

“Alex!” Phoebe screams.

Sarah turns back to her.

Ignoring the pain, I wrench the knife out of her hand and push her against the car. Phoebe holsters her gun and grabs Sarah’s wrists, twisting them roughly behind her back to snap handcuffs on her.

“Pressure,” she yells at me, her voice cracking. “Get your shirt off, wrap it around your arm, and put pressure on the wound.”

I stare at her blankly and blink, then at my wounded arm. There’s a gash at least six inches long running down the back of my forearm, gushing blood. It’s dripping on my shoes.

“Fucking do it!” Phoebe screams.

I snap myself out of it, yank my shirt over my head, and wrap it tightly around my arm. I grit my teeth from the pain as I clamp down on the cut with my hand. It hurts like a motherfucker. I didn’t even feel it until a moment ago. Must have been the adrenaline.

Sarah has six inches and maybe twenty pounds on Phoebe, but she screams like a wounded animal as Phoebe roughly wrestles her into the back of the Tahoe and locks her inside, then grabs her radio and runs over to me, barking orders at someone.

“Sit down,” she tells me.

“Phoebe, it’s just a cut. I’ve had worse.”

“I said
sit down!”
she screeches, and I sink into a crouch and then plant my butt on the asphalt. She runs to the Tahoe and then back to me with a first aid kit, pulls the blood soaked T-shirt off my arm, and starts wiping it down. The disinfectant stings like hell.

“It’s not even a deep cut, Phoebe.”

“It could get infected. I called paramedics. Called for backup.”

Within ten minutes, I’m surrounded by more cops and paramedics working on my arm. A heavyset EMT looks over my wound.

“You’ll need stitches. I can handle it here.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

I don’t watch as he runs the hooked needle through my arm and closes up the wound. A clean bandage wraps around it, and I finally stand.

“It looked worse than it is,” I tell Phoebe. “I’ll get a wicked scar. Chicks dig scars, right?”

She glares at me while Sarah furiously pounds the metal grating over the Tahoe’s back window with her grimy sock-clad feet.

“She’s going to be charged with aggravated assault. I’m going to need you to give a statement,” Phoebe says.

“Sure, hon.”

She leans in close. “Not now. I’m on the job. Please treat me like I’m a cop, damn it.”

I sigh and nod. “Yes, Officer.”

“Jim is going to take you to the station. I’ll be down after they finish taking my statement, to pick you up.”

“Your chariot awaits,” Jim announces.

I snort, and get in the back of his car. It’s a short ride to the station, a squat single-story brick building that looks like a post office. I step into an office with an older guy with a more elaborate uniform, sit, and answer a bunch of questions while he writes it all down.

“Should I call a lawyer?”

He looks up from his paperwork and snorts.

“You’re not exactly in trouble, champ. Sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

Phoebe arrives maybe half an hour later, and runs into me while two others lead Sarah into a holding cell and slam the door.

“She hurt my arms!” Sarah screams.

Phoebe ignores her.

She stops herself just short of throwing her arms around me, skidding to a stop instead. My blood has soaked into her uniform on the sleeves and chest.

“Maguire,” her boss says, stepping out of the office. “Paperwork can wait. Change out of that uniform, put it in an evidence bag, and go home. You’re on paid leave for the rest of the day.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

She glances at me. “Wait here.”

Phoebe locks herself in the locker room and emerges a few minutes later in regular clothes, carrying her uniform in a big plastic bag. She tosses it in a bin and gestures for me to follow her.

Once we’re outside by her car, she hands over her keys. Her hand is shaking like a leaf.

“I really need you to drive.”

I nod. “Okay.”

She doesn’t say a word the whole way home, not even in the driveway.

Once we’re inside, she slowly walks to the kitchen table, drops her gun and belt and badge on it, sits down in the chair, and starts sobbing.

I freeze. What the fuck do I do?

“Phoebe?”

I pull up a chair next to her and put my hand on her trembling back. She shakes her head and twists her fingers in her hair.

“Hey. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” she says, her voice strained. “I can’t break down like this. I can’t.”

“It’s okay. Just let it out.”

“I
can’t,”
she moans, but she only cries harder.

I put my arms around her and pull her to my chest. She buries her face in my shoulder and sobs.

“I’m trying to stop.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have let her cut you. That was my fault. I should have done something.”

“You did everything you could. I’m the one who jumped in and grabbed her while she had a knife.”

“Why did you do that?”

She sits up, and looks at me with pained, reddened eyes.

“I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“I don’t need a protector.”

I rest my hands on her arms and rub her skin lightly, but she pulls away, grabs her stuff, and darts up the stairs. I sit there for a moment and huff, then follow her.

When I reach the bedroom, she’s unloading her gun. She sticks it in the safe with her other stuff and slams the door, then leans on it, her whole body shaking with the effort of holding back tears.

I lock my arm around her waist and drag her onto the bed with me. She curls up in a ball.

“I froze,” she says.

“Didn’t look like it to me.”

“I didn’t know what to do. She had a weapon.”

“You did fine.”

“What do you know about it?” she snaps.

I pull her to me and run my fingers through her hair. I press her body tightly against mine and hold her until she stops shaking.

When she starts to sit up, I let go, but rest my hand on her hip and keep her against my side.

She hugs her legs to her chest.

“I’m sorry. I just needed…” she stares at her shaking hand and makes a fist.

I sit up next to her.

“You’re not a robot. That was intense. I’m sure you weren’t planning to confront a knife wielding lunatic when you woke up this morning, honey.”

She flinches when I call her by a pet name and gives me a dreamy look, half-smiling before she frowns softly again and rests her head on my shoulder.

“Who was that woman? I know her name, but who is she?”

“She’s obsessed with me. Has been for years, since I was traded to the Corsairs. She used to try to follow me to my place when I was in Ohio. I thought she’d lost interest in me after I moved, then here she shows up again.”

“You have a stalker,” Phoebe says. “Why don’t you have a restraining order?”

“My agent shot me down when I wanted to get one. Said it wasn’t alpha.”

“Alpha?
Alpha?
What if she shows up with a gun next time? Are you going to alpha your way out of that?”

“She’s not going to show up again, right? She pulled a knife on a cop. She has to go to prison for that. Won’t she?”

Phoebe nods, and bites her lip. She rubs her arms, and suddenly she looks small and vulnerable, her fire muted.

I fucking hate that woman for doing this to her.

“You’re strong. You’ll be back from this.”

“Yeah. She’s not why I’m worrying. I lied to you, Alex.”

My stomach twist into a cold ball. “Why? About what?”

“I lied to everyone, including Carrie.”

She picks up her wedding band from the nightstand. I didn’t even notice she’d taken it off. She turns the band of gold in her fingers, examining it.

“I decide to tell Carrie her father was dead. I made something up to make him sound innocent. I didn’t want her to know what kind of a piece of shit her father was and what he did to me.”

I rise from the bed. “Wait. You told her he’s dead. That’s part of the lie?”

She nods, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks.

“Yes. Her father is alive.”

I rock back on my heels like I’ve been hit. “You… you divorced him right?”

She fingers the wedding band.

“We were never married, just told people we were. I… I had a rough time when I was in my late teens, until Carrie was born and I moved back into the house. I don’t like to talk about it. If the others knew, I mean the other cops…”

She hugs herself harder and starts shaking.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t. Please. I don’t want to. I just want all that to go away. He’s gone and it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll never see him again and…”

She’s breathing so fast she can barely get the words out. I wrap my arms around her and rest my chin on her head, sheltering her.

“I ran away a lot when I was a teenager. I was acting out. I was so jealous that Hailey got all the attention, and Mom was dying. I would be gone for weeks, months at a time. I met David at a party. He was the source.”

“Source?”

“Drugs,” she hisses. “I started off with pot, but he got me hooked on pills, had me following him around like a puppy dog.”