Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (5 page)

Choosing to ignore the chipped lime-green paint on the walls, Mitch followed Jordan, wondering where the last five years went remembering when he was the rookie.
Five years?
Today, it felt like a lifetime.

What a crook in the road it took to get me here.

He hadn’t ever planned on being a cop. In fact, he started as a Financial Planner. And hated every moment in that particular rat race. Each day agony. Then he met Luke Randall.
Officer
Luke Randall who invited him to a recruitment seminar after a particularly vicious rugby game where Luke was a starter on the opposing team.

“You’re strong, Mitch. I’ve the black eye to prove it,” he laughingly ran his fingers under the swelling eye. “Fast, agile, and likely smart, despite being a rugby player.”

Mitch shrugged, wondering what the man wanted.

“You know I’m a cop.”

When Mitch merely nodded, offering no comment but another swig of his beer, Luke continued. “I’ve accepted a transfer.”

“You’re leaving the force?”

“No.” Luke took a deep pull from his mug, his sparse reddish hair darkened with sweat. “I’m working with Recruitment. You should consider enlisting in the force yourself.”

Mitch almost choked on his beer. “Me? Ga!” He huffed. “Get out. I run red lights just for fun.”

Luke’s brows rose towards his receding hairline. “Why not?” He set his beer down with a dull thump. “It takes all kinds, Mitch. Who knows? You might like it.”

And now five years later he was head of a successful undercover op.

As though his thoughts had conjured the man himself, Luke met him in the hall on his way back to his desk. “What’s with the critter on your face?”

Mitch ran his hand over his beard. “What, you don’t like it?”

“A little outside regulation, I think.” Luke scratched the bridge of his prominent nose and laughed. “No need to let the new recruits see the flagrant disregard for rules.”

Meeting Luke was no accident.
Randomness doesn’t exist in our life
. A senior member of the department always spent time with guys returning from the field. Work forgotten for the moment, the two crossed the street for friendly catch-up and
normal
conversation.

“Been home yet?” Luke held up a hand to the waitress, signally for a round of beer.

“Yeah. It was devastating. Found the goldfish belly up.”

“A loss, I’m sure.” The older officer’s brow creased with his smile. He nodded at the waitress who set the drinks down on paper coasters. “Thanks, Sal.”

“Your family? All good, I hope.” Mitch forced himself to participate.

Luke waved a pale hand scarred with age spots. “Mack’s off to university next year. Deanne’s going into second year nursing, and all I can say is I hope she’s a fast learner ’cause I think my heart’s gonna stop with the cost of tuition.”

Mitch chuckled at all the right times, his gaze following the sway of Sally’s hips as she moved from table to table.

“You be seeing that girl–sorry, woman, again soon? Oh, her name’s on the tip of my tongue.”

Mitch pulled his focus back to his friend, tensing with the mere thought of Viola. “Then bite it off.”

“I’ll take that as a
no
then.” Luke paused, sipping his Bud Light. “Viola! Yes, Viola.”

“Yeah, a real peach.”

“Well, she definitely seemed like a handful.” Luke winked.

Mitch nodded. “Viola was too much, too soon after the last mission.”

“More suited to what you’d been working on?”

Holding up his hand to signal Sally for another round, Mitch contemplated his answer. “Yeah, I guess I never thought of it that way. For sure, more suited to biker gangs and rough living,” he said, taking another swig from his mug. “A little too rough at times.”

Luke declined the second beer but continued the banter while Mitch made appropriate responses. The last thing he wanted right now was a trip to the psychologist.

Parting company with Luke, Mitch decided to hoof it home.
Viola and Lorna. I couldn’t find two more polar opposite women if I tried
. Viola wore her passion on her sleeve. Violence ran close to the surface.
She could just as easily throw a glass at me as wrap her legs around my waist and tug me down for a fuck.
That’s all it had ever been with Viola—fucking.

The few memories of Viola drifted off like a fog over water and his mind’s eye filled with memories of Lorna. He grimaced, internally picturing the fool he had been panting after the brainiac.
Wouldn’t take no for an answer
. He shook his head, watching his feet chew up the sidewalk as he slowly made his way along the busy street. The breeze cooled his heated skin and the traffic distracted his racing thoughts.

I should have walked away the night of the grad celebrations. Convinced myself she’d walk on the other side of the tracks with me. No, I was just a fling. Got her fill and walked away.

“I’m not even good enough to have my calls returned.”

Mitch had the overpowering urge to strike something. Inflict pain. Find a release for the embarrassment that threatened to strangle him every time he thought her name.

Unlocking the door to his apartment, he glanced towards the mountain of mail on the side table, the heap of laundry beyond in the bedroom. “Lorna Tymchuk,” he mumbled, toeing off his cowboy boots, leaving them where they landed by the front door. “Every time you’re around, nothing but trouble follows.”

Receiving clearance to ‘get back to normal,’ Mitch lifted the scissors from the top drawer in the bathroom en suite. With a sigh, he tugged on the ends of his beard and pulled a face at himself in the mirror.
How’d she identify me?
“I can barely recognize me,” he mumbled to his dour reflection.

He laid the scissors on the counter and shrugged his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head. With little regard, he tossed his clothing on the floor and started with his beard. Every movement reminded him of Lorna. Flushing the remains of his beard down the toilet, he recalled how she ran her chin along his freshly shaved cheeks, ending with her nose next to his. “You smell good.”

He eyed his hair, pondering where to start. “Definitely not regulation.” Mitch grimaced at its length. Holding up a hank, he cut about four inches from his scalp. He needed to get his hair to a reasonable length before going to a barber so he didn’t have to give any great explanation. Secrecy
is
part of the job description.

Secrecy and a big question mark were always part of his memories of Lorna. What did he know of her?
Not much
. Mitch’s mind drifted back to their first meeting, at a library, of course.

Disaster.

“You do know where that is, don’t you?” sneered the female voice on the other end of the phone and all he could imagine were horned-rimmed glasses.

She proved to be something very different from his expectation. He needed a tutor to bring his marks up to retain his spot on the team. Lorna came highly recommended.

No, she wasn’t what he expected, and then again, she was. A girl trying to look much older than her years walked through the atrium doors of the library, all poise and control, until she wasn’t. Tripping despite her very sturdy shoes, down she went, briefcase flying, to land flat at his feet. Her strawberry-blonde hair, tucked away in a neat pony tied at the nape of her neck, escaped its confines, coming out in bunches to frame a lovely face. No glasses at all, horned or otherwise, just a startled expression and golden eyes that pierced him like rays of the sun
.

Despite his resentment over requiring a tutor, he liked her straight off. The fire in the depths of her amber eyes, a smolder calling him by name. Lorna mystified him, being all at once confident, insecure and awkward, poised, uptight, and timid. His friends made fun, calling her a female geek and wondered what was wrong with him for checking her out even after his grades improved.
What did they call her? Oh yeah—Lorna the CyberFem.
But when he worked with her, he would catch her watching him with that fire in full flame, and he knew—he just knew if she let him in…but she would only allow him so far. Still, like a moth mesmerized by the flame, he continued his quest until he finally got burned.

“More the fool am I,” he scorned his mirrored self, hacking off more hair. “I won’t ever go there again.”

Chapter Five

That he lived by the motto
there are no coincidences
ate away at Mitch’s resolve about burying Lorna in his past. Freshly groomed, with neat short hair and a goatee, he returned to the detachment with one thing—one woman—on his mind.

“Jordan, isn’t it?” Mitch held up his badge attached to the chain around his neck.

The younger man squinted, his gaze searched Mitch’s face trying to place him.

“Morgan,” Mitch supplied. “We met yesterday.” Mitch smiled as the rookie officer’s brow smoothed in recognition.

“Ah, yes. Sir?” Jordan’s intelligent brown eyes flashed with question.

“Luke tells me you’re a real whiz at intel. I need some assistance locating a woman from a hit and run,” Mitch said, wheeling over a chair from a nearby desk.

“A hit and run, sir?”

“Yes. Problem is the accident occurred in another city. This shouldn’t be a concern though.” He tried his best man-to-man, you-know-what-I-mean approach. “It’s important to a recent sting operation and we’re tying up the loose ends.”

“I see.” The rookie chanced a friendly grin in return. “Whatever I can do to assist, sir.”

Jordan turned to his computer and logged on. Windows started to flash by on the over-large second monitor in rapid succession, giving Mitch a dizzying sensation of flying through space in a
Star Wars
episode. When Jordan paused his keystrokes, Mitch provided Lorna’s name and watched the younger man resume tapping away on the keyboard, lost in his cyber universe.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mitch stifled a yawn and Jordan came back to earth.

“Here she is, sir. Not hard to find at all,” he said, casting Mitch a crinkle-eyed grin. “Vital statistics, name, date of birth. Is she at fault?”

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering, sir. There’s a sealed record. Typically means a juvy sheet and more times than not, trouble.”

“Juvy? A criminal record?”

“Could be. I can’t be sure, of course, unless we opened the file, and I’d need clearance.”

The Lorna of his memory—valedictorian, tutor, professor’s assistant—didn’t mesh with a juvenile record. “Tell me what you
can
access.”

“I see here she was orphaned at the age of six when her parents died in a car accident while she was at school. Her one remaining relative—looks like her father’s brother—had custody off and on until she was twelve. I’d have to access files from Social Services to see foster-care records, but seems irrelevant to what you’re after.” Jordan raised his brows in question.

Mitch’s finger’s tingled with the urge to take over the computer search and satisfy his own burning desire to know all, but was at a loss about to how to explain his interest. Instead, he shook his head, peering closely at the pixels on the screen.

“My file shows no specific details at any rate,” Jordan’s finger tapped the monitor as though reading his mind. “He’s since died out on the coast. No other known relatives. Scrolling down, I see she lived with foster parents Mariam and Brent Cobalt when she was thirteen. Yes, here it is. Mariam and Brent, one child. Natural. Named Natasha. Now deceased…”

“Natasha Cobalt?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Jordan confirmed, absently nodding, still clicking away on the keyboard.

Mitch sat back on his chair, listening to the information being relayed in a clinical, non-emotional tone of voice those used to looking at such information honed.
She had been an orphan?
He remembered her best friend and roommate, Natasha.
Easy on the eyes.
His mind flashed to a friendly smile.
One of the guys on the team dated her
.

“Funny Lorna didn’t change her name to Cobalt.”

He didn’t realize he had spoken the words out loud until Jordan replied. “No adoption listed.”

“Did you say they were all deceased?”

“No. Brent Cobalt and his daughter, Natasha. Not at the same time. Different dates are listed. No specifics on cause of death for either. Again, I could search it, but I don’t see it as valid to your purpose,” Jordan paused and cast Mitch a questioning look over his shoulder before turning back and pulling up yet another window. “Mariam Cobalt, as it turns out, shares the same address with Lorna Tymchuk.” He continued to type and read. “We’re in luck. They’re local.”

“How so?”

“She’s right here in the city. Four-twenty-five Dunfield Court.”

“Jesus.” Mitch’s fingers reached for his temples to ease the sudden pain.

“Yeah. You say the accident happened in another city, and yet she’s from here. Quite a coincidence.”

Mitch slapped the back the chair he straddled. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” He stood and patted Jordan on the shoulder, preparing to take his leave. “Okay, thanks, rookie.”

Out in the corridor, his phone, just returned to him that morning, buzzed in his pocket. Holding the phone up, the caller ID showed ‘blocked.’ Shrugging his shoulders, he answered. “Morgan here,” he said crisply as he walked down the hallway back towards his own department.

Nothing. Not even breathing relayed through the line, indicating another person. Mitch held the phone away from his face to confirm the line was open, but he could hear nothing on the other end.

“Morgan here,” he repeated.

Nothing.

Shaking his head, he pressed ‘end’ and replaced the phone in his pocket.

***

Mariam scanned the scuttling clouds drifting by the window above the kitchen sink. “Gonna be a scorcher today.”

Lorna leaned across the counter to peer through the same window. “You get all that from scanning the sky?” Lorna laughed, stepped back and moved towards the back door to gather her shoes and briefcase. Bending down, she held her arms wide to her son. “Come here, baby boy. Give mama a kiss bye.”

Mariam held up her smart phone. “No, from this handy app. It’s the six-thirty guaranteed weather application.”

“Glad to see you’re getting on to it—”

Kris banged his spoon on the table, staring up at her from his morning cereal with earnest eyes. “I not a baby no more,” he interrupted. His words contrasted the smile lighting his chubby face as he rose from his chair and rushed to her arms.

“No, not a baby anymore.” Lorna breathed in his fresh three-year old scent.
Just to me you are
. She kissed his forehead. “Mama’s sorry.”

His rosebud lips smacked a wet kiss on her cheek. “Okay. ’Ave a gud day,” he said, before turning back towards his ‘special’ table where his breakfast cereal waited. His self-assured confidence reminded Lorna of his natural mother. Her heart ached with the reminder of Natasha.

“I will ba-ah-honeybun,” Lorna stammered, turning her gaze towards Mariam. “Be good for Nana.”

Concentrating on his Cheerios and making pictures with the O’s all over his toddler table, he had tuned her out. Straightening, Lorna cast Mariam a sad smile. “Reminds me more of Natasha every day.”

The mention of Kris’s mother—Natasha—brought her best friend’s face swimming clearly into view. Natasha had been one of those rarities in the modern age. She died during childbirth, leaving Kris as much an orphan as Lorna had been.

With vivid reflection, Lorna recalled her last conversation with Natasha.

“Promise me,” Natasha panted, her words strained. Lorna nodded encouragement and held tight to her hand while Mariam mopped her brow. “Promise me if something happens to me, you’ll take care of the baby. Don’t let what happened to you happen to my baby.”

“Shush, don’t talk like that, Tasha,” Lorna whispered amongst the mayhem of the doctors and nurses fluttering around, preparing for the emergency cesarean section. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Do you want us to call the father, love? Shouldn’t he know?” Mariam prompted.

Natasha’s tired eyes fluttered before her old spark lit briefly. “Fucking junkie doesn’t remember his own name, let alone mine,” she ended on a whisper, laying her head back on the pillow, seeming to gather strength. “He’s dead to me and mine.”

“We have to move her,” the nurse said gently. She walked around the bed to pick up Natasha’s wrist, counting the pulse beats. “The OR is ready.”

Lorna blinked misty eyes at Mariam, not having heard what she said. “What was that? Sorry?”

Mariam’s words brought her back to the present as Lorna watched the older lady cross herself. “God rest her soul and thank the good Lord for sending us you when he did.”

Mariam’s words, however well intended, made Lorna uncomfortable. A childhood of unanswered prayers left her skeptical. This combined with how the older woman always made it sound as though Lorna had somehow done something good for being fostered onto them, when in fact, the Cobalts were her second chance at a family, a home and they gave her the sister of her heart, Natasha. And, of course through Natasha, Kris.

Lorna dabbed her eyes and stood. She straightened her pencil skirt and gathered up her case and purse. Her feelings of disquiet collided with the cozy kitchen and she sighed heavily. “I’ve been summoned. The meeting’s at two-thirty, but I should be home for supper.”

“Poor dear, not that June woman again.” Mariam returned to the kitchen sink to clean the already immaculate counter.

“The very same.”

“I thought you sent the proposal through the last time you were away?”

“I did. I’m hoping this meeting is for final decisions and next steps.” Lorna crossed her fingers superstitiously in the air before reaching for the doorknob. “If it’s not next steps and we’re back to square one, I swear I’ll scream.”

***

If curiosity killed that damned cat, then I’m doomed
.

With the television fixed on Sports Central, Mitch sprawled across his bed, surfing the net for information on Lorna.
This is a mistake.
But he couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. Time slipped away as though it hadn’t been five years since he last saw those amber eyes smolder. He closed his own eyes and the touch of her lips left him yearning like he never had for another woman.
I’ve tried
. “God, how I’ve tried.”

The world according to Google beckoned to him as he searched out the one woman he vowed he would never think of again.

The website
U
popped up next to her name: Lorna Tymchuk, President and Founder of
U
marketing and promotions, with the tag line, “Our business is all about
U
.”

The stylish site seemed to match the personality he remembered, nothing out of place. “Oh, Lorna, haven’t you learned how to eat, drink and be merry?”
Have sex to loosen you up
. God, how she could loosen up.

Mitch coughed and sat up straight. He didn’t want to think of making love with Lorna and he certainly didn’t want to think of her parallel with anyone else.

Skipping out of her site, he searched up newspaper articles. He learned
U
was just three years old and already claimed some high-powered companies as clients. A boutique provider to the petroleum industry, Lorna made her mark in public relations by encouraging news stories about big oil in a positive light.
So maybe we can assume she’s not driving a smart car or some electrical-powered hybrid,
he smiled, remembering the big red diesel that crashed the passenger door.

“It’s important to keep my clients top-of-mind to the public, not just for the product they supply but for the massive innovations it took for them to provide it and the positive mass implications of those technologies.” He read a recent quote from a local paper
Visionary Women
. The article went on to feature several pictures of Lorna fashionable, chic with never so much as a wrinkle in her starched suits. She moved in high-end circles with her business clients.

Pretty classy
. He paused to contemplate the fly resting in the middle of his white stucco ceiling.
Just what I would have expected from the girl
. But his mind fixated on the sealed record and orphaned beginnings. The path to Lorna wasn’t at all paved. There were definitely some graveled bits that didn’t seem to fit.

To think she’s all over this town and I never ran into her until I literally ran into her
. Albeit in another city. Mitch scrolled the photos
. She certainly doesn’t run with the same crowd I do.

Addressing the fly on the ceiling, Mitch said, “Well, I think this may be a good opportunity to run into Lorna again.”