Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (15 page)

Lorna held the ribboned stick in her hands. “Should I try to finish it off?”

“No,” Kris yelled exuberantly, running up to take the stick from Lorna’s hands and handing it over to Mitch. “Let Mit-chell try.”

“Yeah, Mit-chell,” the children echoed. “Mit-chell can beat the Loki.”

Oh, this wasn’t my intention
. He felt like an intruder as he watched a spark blow out in Lorna’s eyes in momentary disappointment, until Kris took her by the hand. “Remember, Mama, how you told me policemen had to be so strong. You said Mit-chell went after bad guys all the time. He strong like Hulk. He’ll get that bad ol’ Loki.”

Her face, already pink with exertion and sun, deepened to a darker hue. Nodding her head, she refused to make eye contact with him.

Mitch stepped solemnly back into the fray. “Let me see what I can do.” He smiled at the assembly. Positioning his feet wide, he bent his knees and started to swing…then stopped. “You better stand back.” He ushered them back.

Closing his eyes tightly, he swung and missed, spinning around in a circle. “Oh, where’d he go?”

The kids laughed at his comic antics and he was compensated with a small quirk to Lorna’s lips.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him,” he said, taking his place again. Swinging, he landed a hard shot right to the middle.

“Ohhh,” they cheered collectively as a couple of pieces of candy fell.

“One more?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

Mitch exaggerated his movements to turn in a wide circle and landed another blow, solidly cracking the cover. No candy fell. “That’s four for me. Oh, I guess I can’t do it,” he said, pouting his lips. “I think it can only be finished off with a special hit from the birthday boy.”

“Me?” Kris said, stepping forward, eyes large in his reddened face.

“Of course you,” Mitch replied, lifting Kris high in the air. He liked this feeling of family—of belonging. It was a new and welcoming sensation. “Are there any other birthday boys here today?”

“No,” the children yelled back in answer.

“Take the stick and show me what you got.”

“I strong. Like you.” The green eyes looked adoringly at him, and his heartstrings grew taut.

“You’re strong like Ironman.”

“No. I Super Kris!”

Nailing the papier-mâché with just enough force to burst the seams, the candy fell like fireworks to the decking. Kris dropped the stick and turned to embrace Mitch. The thin arms clung around his neck and his small legs hugged his waist. Mitch was overwhelmed with an instant sensation of affection.

The moment gone, Kris squirmed out of his arms to join his friends in the giggles and frantic movements to claim their prize. Mitch glanced up at Lorna before she turned away, a strange light in her amber eyes.

Chapter Thirteen

Lifting her arm in farewell, the smile plastered on her lips didn’t reflect in her eyes as she said out of the corner of her mouth, “Just because you won over my son, it doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.” She and Mitch stood side by side on the porch, watching the last car leave. Mitch watched as the car rounded the bend. He turned to face her. She matched his movements, a questioning look in her eyes. “I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

Mitch longed to take her delicate hand in his and tell her how much the day had meant to him. It had given him a sense of family he hadn’t, until today, realized he had so desperately missed, working undercover these last years. But her taut features clearly told him any attempt on his part to breach her formidable wall would be seen as hostile and likely treated as such.

He released a deep breath. “I can explain. If you let me.”

In answer, she strode into the house, leaving him no choice but to follow. As they walked back together through the kitchen to the backyard, she proceeded to clear away the paper plates while he grabbed a trash bag to provide assistance.

The sense of family deepened as they worked as a unit to clear up the mess. After a bit, she paused. “I’m not sure I want to,” she said, carefully wiping off the plastic tablecloth before starting to fold it with tight corners to use again.

“It’s okay,” he replied, tying the top of the trash bag. “You’re not likely to appreciate what I have to say anyhow.”

That caused a wrinkle in her smooth brow, and she hooked a loose strand of her fair hair behind her ear. “What do you mean?” she asked, resuming the cleanup by stacking the unused character plates and cups.

Laying the trash bag along the wall close to the patio door, he followed his instinct, holding his hand out to her. “Come sit with me, Lorna.”

His heart fluttered when her hand started towards his, then plummeted when she hesitated before choosing instead to shake her head. Declining his hand, she walked into the house. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she quietly yelled up, “Ma?”

“Yeah?” came the questioned response after a couple of heartbeats.

“I’m going out for a walk. Okay?”

“Of course, dear. Take your time,” Mariam’s voice sounded closer, and he could almost picture her leaning over the balustrade. “Tell Mitchell thanks for all his help.”

“Sure,” Lorna said, turning back towards him, unsmiling.

“You’ve converted everyone now.” He smirked, striving to lighten the atmosphere between them, reaching for the same lock of hair, which had swayed back across her cheek. “I’m now Mitchell to everyone in this household.”

Even though she backed away from his touch, he could sense her attraction to him. Electricity arched between them like a live current.
It’s always been this way
. He ached to protect her from what he was about to do. The impulse to run away with her and hide from what was happening, all he had to reveal, was so strong it was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder caveman style and act on the compulsion. Instead, he watched as she scooped a sweater from the hook behind the door and led him outside to the sidewalk.

***

With raw nerves, she walked stiffly down the sidewalk, waiting for this big explanation.
Please let it be something believable so I can feel his arms around me again.
Familiar tingles had assaulted her all day, pulling at her midsection with longing. The tug on her stomach prevented her from eating with the others. Every look he had cast her way caused a pulse point to flutter. Giving in to him would be so easy if she wasn’t so afraid of being hurt again. Walking beside him, knowing he was watching her closely brought back unbidden memories of their time together. Distance was her only defense.

She crossed her arms across her chest. “Well?” she prompted when they cleared the first block.

His step faltered. Fearing he may fall, she reached out a hand to touch his arm. A clear mistake. The cop mask fell away, revealing a deep sorrow. Snatching her hand back as though burned, Lorna was filled with a profound sense of misgiving as she watched him.

“I don’t even know how to begin,” he said, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“At the beginning,” she said, attempting to keep her voice even as she would in a business meeting.

“Ah. I remember that voice from my tutor.” He smiled, but it looked forced.

Not surprisingly, just the tender note in his voice melted the ice she was trying to stake around her heart. She turned her head to look up at him. “What happened, Mitch? I get you’re a cop and perhaps a slave to your job.” She slowed her step, spotting a bench just up ahead. “But I think after…ah, after what we…er, last weekend, you could have called. Even a text.”

“You’re right, of course.” He nodded his head.

“Jesus, I hate even saying the words. It makes me feel so needy,” she sighed. “But really it’s not needy. I expect some common courtesy.”

“I know,” he agreed again.

“Stop just agreeing with me. I know the phone call and the reason you had to leave has something to do with the job you were working on in Vancouver.”

“What?” He shot her a look of disbelief. His face seemed to drain of color before he affixed his cop mask back into place, and suddenly he was off-limits again. “How’d you know?”

She chuckled without merriment, confused by the change. “I’m anything but stupid, Mitch. You got the call last week when they asked for Michael Ward. That was the name on your license. Remember?”

He released a puff of air, slamming his hands in his jeans pockets. “Yes, of course.”

“Then you get a call at a most awkward time.” Her face suffused with heat.

A boyish grin replaced his grimace, and he let his mask fall away again as he looked down at her. Her core responded to the sudden ravening look of desire that lit his face. “Ah, I was so hungry. Starved still,” his predatory voice dropped as he leaned towards her.

With a distinct force of will, she ignored the cravings of her body for his touch and hardened herself again.
I must not be swept away until I know what’s going on here
. “The beginning,” she reminded him.

“Yes,” he sighed in agreement, seeming to sense her resolve. One hand came out of his pocket to swing at his side. “I was on a job when we collided. I’m an undercover cop. I won’t go into detail about the job. Not because I don’t want to. I can’t.”

“Sure. Fine.” She agreed. They were walking a casual pace, and she wanted to lace her fingers through his. Feel the fissure of passion that always lived between them.

“When you ran into me—”

“When you ran the stop sign…”

“Did you do it on purpose?” He stopped walking. “Did you ram me?”

“What?” She stopped to face him, confused. “No. Why?” She took a couple of steps forward and stopped again. “What an odd thing to say. I don’t know about you, Mitchell, but I don’t go around crashing into people in strange cities.” Feeling the intensity of the moment and a sudden craving to avoid the forthcoming confrontation, she quirked her lips. “Now here, maybe. I ram people all the time, but certainly not in a strange city and in a rental to boot.”

Her endeavor to lighten the tone failed. He continued to look grave. They were passing the park bench she had eyed earlier, and she decided to sit, picking up his seriousness. “What are you insinuating?”

“You were driving a truck. You hit me just when a deal was going down.”

“How would I know a deal was going d—”

“You got a big wad of cash a few years ago.”

“What?”

He seemed impatient to get the words out. “Dirty money. You’ve no loans. No mortgage. A successful business.”

“A struggling business, you mean,” she said, drawing her agitated hands through her hair, removing the elastic and retying the thick locks into a bun at the base of her neck. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“And you work for Tim Fong.”

“Tim Fong? What does he have to do with anything?” She picked up on the last item on his list, unable to process the rest.

“Yes, you work for Tim Fong.”

“I don’t work
for
Tim. He’s my client. I work for myself.” Lorna was shaking her head. Her hands, clasped in her lap, began to tremble. “You think I’m involved in whatever you were working on?”

His insinuation—of her involvement in criminal activity—was too close to a nerve for her.

“Not
were
working,” he said, correcting her, sitting down next to her. “
Am
. As in a current investigation.”

“So you think I
am
involved in your investigation,” she answered in a strangled whisper. “Listen, Lorna. No matter how I shake it out, there are just too many loose ends and they all lead to you.” Mitch reached to take her hand, and she scooted away from him on the bench. She couldn’t let him touch her and accuse her of criminal gains at the same time.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice sounding shrill to her own ears. “You’re investigating me? You dug up my past? You…you slept with me. We—”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“What was it like then?” She leaped from the bench as though she had sat on a tack. “You slept with me.”
I will not cry. I will not cry.
She took a step back from the bench. “I’m part of your job?”

“No, not at first.” He reached for her hands to pull her back to the bench. “There’s just too many coincidences, and they all lead back to you.”

“Me? Why?”

“You knew me and I was undercover.” He breathed hard through his nose. “Lorna, you have to understand, when my cover gets blown, people’s lives are in danger.”

“I didn’t know it was you. Not at first. Like I told you. Only when I had your license. You gave it to me.” She spoke in a stilted whisper. “It was the eyes. I knew it was you. I didn’t know you when we crashed—”

“Then you reported the phony license…”

“I don’t even remember what was going through my head then. I thought you were in some sort of trouble and it would help if the authorities were involved.” At his look of incredulity, she shook her head. “I know. I know. Stupid. But it felt rational at the time. Like I was doing you a favor.”

“A favor,” he snorted. “The money, Lorna. Your uncle having worked for the Fongs. All that dirty money he left for you.” He was shaking his head at her now, and it seemed no matter what she said or would say, he had already pronounced her guilty. She was again the child criminal, sitting in a police detachment while waiting for placement at some god-awful foster home where her survival depended on her wits. She could fathom what her guilt was, but it didn’t matter. She had always been guilty and knew she could never outrun her past.

“You work with the Fongs, Lorna. They smuggle drugs across the border in caskets and crematorium urns. They practice in prostitution. But of course, you already know that. You were sent to stop me.”

She looked down at her hands, linking them together to calm the vibrations of anxiety coursing through her body at the mention of her uncle’s name.
How much does he know? Please God that no one knows about the closet. The records are supposed to be sealed.
Her legs would not support her. She slumped heavily down on the bench.

Breathing deeply to calm the sudden flood of blood rush to her brain, she reverted to a clinical tone. “I have had no contact with my uncle since I was removed from his house. I don’t know who—if anyone—he worked for. I was ten years old at the time.” She turned to watch his face to see if she could discern how much he knew. He closed the curtains of his emotions. His features were a locked vault. She could perceive nothing. Because he offered nothing.

“I was the sole beneficiary for my parents’ estate, you see. They had life insurance, everything,” she said, flexing her hands in an attempt to control the tremble, wondering when they had come apart as she firmly laced them together again. Sadly, she continued. “The only thing they were unable to provide me with was a guardian to take care of me.”

Lorna crossed her legs, wanting to curl into a ball to make herself as small as she could. “That money came to me on my twenty-first birthday. Yay me,” she mocked, bitterly raising her arms briefly in the air to salute before returning her hands to her lap. “The Cobalts, who fostered me from the time I was twelve—like a real family, made sure I was properly educated, encouraged me to go to university, took care of me. From the very beginning, they treated me—thought of me—as a daughter when I had been no one’s daughter for such a long time. With money, I had an opportunity to take care of them. I bought this house for them. They wouldn’t take it, of course. Bret, my foster father, Mariam’s husband, told me to drop roots of my own. When he died, I had to do a lot of arm-twisting to get Mariam to move in with me, and she wouldn’t—then we lost Natasha.”

As Mitch’s hand reached out for her shoulder, she shrunk from his touch, again a little girl who couldn’t stand sympathetic contact. She bathed him with a hard look. “How could you do this to me?” she spat. “After what we shared, how can you think I was involved? How dare you!”