Authors: Ronica Black
Ruiz glanced up at her over the file. “Have you spoken to her recently?”
“Some.” Her mind swam with the sporadic and short conversations she had with the younger woman. Erin was evasive and cold, locked in her own world of pain.
She had to reach her, some way, somehow. And she was hell-bent on doing so. Now, more than ever, Erin needed her.
“I have a recommendation here that Mac be kept on leave for at least a couple more weeks.” Ruiz sought her eyes. “A couple of weeks sounds excessive. What do you think?”
Patricia’s throat tightened at the thought of Erin returning to work, unable to let the Adams case go. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Whatever had gone on between Erin and that woman needed to be put away, kept from Erin’s mind. She had to keep Erin away from Adams, to protect and keep her from any more pain. She had to make Mac see that it was she who truly cared about her. Whatever it took.
“I would have to agree with the recommendation,” she stated with conviction.
Ruiz tossed the file on the desk and made a steeple with his hands. “Why? You know she’s requested desk duties. I really can’t see the harm in that. But then again, I haven’t spent any time with her. You, I assume, have.”
Patricia’s mind flew, but her mouth remained closed. The truth was she had seen very little of Erin since the shooting. But she had seen enough to know she shouldn’t return to work. Not yet. In fact, she should stay away from anything and everything regarding this investigation. And Patricia would make sure she did. No one knew Erin like she did. No one could see to her like she could. All she needed was time to convince her to forget about Adams.
“She’s not well.” Patricia unclenched her fists as she exaggerated Erin’s condition. She took in a deep breath, knowing that what she was doing was wrong. But she didn’t care.
“Not well enough to sit at her desk all day?” Ruiz raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
Patricia shook her head, sounding very serious. “I don’t think it’s wise. She’s not stable. She’s jumpy, irrational.”
You’re lying.
Patricia thought to herself. But still she continued. “She’s paranoid.”
The word hung in the air, but she refused to feel guilty about it. She was doing this for Erin’s best interest. And with the investigation winding down, that would leave Patricia with plenty of time and opportunity to be with her, to show her how she felt. She cleared her throat, ready to voice the final blow.
“She also seems determined to keep going after Adams. No matter what. I don’t think she would be willing to back down even if the case is closed. Not in her current state of mind. And we both know what kind of trouble that could bring.”
Even if it wasn’t true, it was something that absolutely could not be permitted to happen. No way was Patricia going to allow Erin to go near Elizabeth Adams again.
Ruiz looked appalled. No senior officer wanted to think about a loose cannon sitting in their department, just waiting to blow.
Patricia validated his fears. “No sir,” she said emphatically, but with a hint of suitable regret. “I think Mac should remain on leave until she gets things back in perspective.”
Ruiz sighed and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Okay.” He slid the glasses back on his face with a frustrated frown. “I’ll consider your concerns.”
*
The cool water did little to douse the flames that were burning hot under Erin’s skin. She straightened, met her own reflection, and watched as the water ran from her face. After turning off the faucet, she continued to stare, startled at just how much she had changed. It wasn’t just her pale, drawn face or deeply shadowed eyes. It was something else. Something deeper; something within. And now with this latest attack on the normal, stable life she was trying to lead, she was hardening even more. She placed her hands on the sink as her mind replayed the words of her superior.
“I’m sorry, Mac, but…”
The department didn’t want her. It was the shrink, it had to be. She met her reflection’s eyes once again and leaned forward, searching, wishing she could see into the recesses of her wounded mind. Just what the hell did happen that night?
A drop of liquid grew heavy in her eyelash. It fell into the sink and pooled with the remaining water around the drain. Suddenly, an image came. White-hot like lightning, flashing in her brain.
She was looking at her hands. She was on the floor in Patricia’s bedroom. She glanced up and over. Patricia lay there, limp, with Jack pawing at her motionless body. Erin cried out but got no response. Her hands were sticky with red. Blood. Somehow she knew it wasn’t her own. Her hurried gaze fell to the floor. The light-colored carpet was stained a few feet from where she sat. The lifeless eyes of a young woman stared up into nothingness. Bullet wounds gaped in her chest, leading to horrific holes in her lungs. Blood oozed from the wounds, spreading through the wet fabric of her T-shirt.
Movement from behind her startled Erin back into reality. A woman emerged from one of the stalls and washed her hands. She gave Erin a polite but nervous smile as she hurriedly dried off on a rough-sounding paper towel and then scurried from the restroom. Erin looked into the mirror, knowing somehow that this colleague knew her story. The whole department knew. She only wished she knew as much as they did. Since the night of the shooting, she had only been able to remember flashes of what actually happened. And none made any sense.
Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome was what the tiny woman in the wingback chair had called it. Erin winced. That was why she couldn’t return to work. Because she couldn’t remember. She gripped the sink in anger. How could they do this to her? She might not be able to remember, but she was fine. She studied the puffiness around her eyes. So she wasn’t sleeping well, so what? The shrink had told her that nightmares were perfectly normal. So what was the problem?
She rinsed her face again, determined to make herself look better. For whatever reason, Ruiz and the department thought she was unfit for duty. And true, she did have her problems, but they were not at a level where her work would be affected, certainly not in the desk position she had requested. With the exception of the flashbacks, she was thinking clearly. In fact, she had never been more aware and sure of her surroundings. All that had happened to her recently had been neatly processed and packed away in her mind. Her undercover assignment, the attack on Mark. Elizabeth Adams.
She sucked in a quick breath. Liz. As hard as she tried she couldn’t shake her memories of the woman or their intimate encounter from her mind.
Jesus.
The way she touched me.
She shook her head, refusing to let it overpower her. Instead, she clenched her jaw and wiped her face with a dry, stiff paper towel. She had been through a lot, but she was handling it well. Definitely well enough to return to work.
The door to the restroom opened, and Erin breathed deep and stood taller, readying herself for whoever it was. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or inferior in any way.
“Mac?”
“Patricia.” Relief flooded her. This was her chance. If anyone would see her side of things, it would be Patricia.
“How are you?” Patricia closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Erin’s shoulder.
The physical contact shook her, rattling the steady foundation she was trying so hard to project. She cleared her throat as the hand remained, squeezing her slightly. She willed her voice to be strong. “I’m fine.”
“I’ve been so worried,” Patricia whispered softly, raising her other hand so she was holding both of Erin’s shoulders.
The touch was warm and grounding, yet the close contact was stifling, and Erin felt like she couldn’t breathe. The air was too hot, mixed in with Patricia’s. She moved away quickly and pretended to wash her hands. The break in contact calmed her and enabled her to steady her breathing. She couldn’t explain it, but she just didn’t want to be touched.
Patricia slowly lowered her arms as Erin watched her in the mirror. “Mac, I know what you’re going through.”
Erin swallowed with difficulty but remained controlled.
When she didn’t respond, Patricia continued. “The shooting, what happened…I…”
Erin met her eyes, suddenly understanding. They had done it to Patricia as well. They weren’t letting her work. “You too? They’re making you go on leave?” It wasn’t right, and now Erin knew she had someone else who would fight with her.
Patricia closed her mouth and turned her head slightly, her eyes never leaving Erin’s. “No, I’m not on leave.”
“Then why am I?” Erin could hear the anger in her voice, making it heavy and strong. If Patricia was fit for duty, then she sure as hell was too. She hadn’t even been harmed. Patricia had been rendered unconscious.
“I’m sorry.” Patricia took a step toward her.
“Then help me,” Erin cut in quickly. “Help me talk to Ruiz.”
“I’ve already tried. They’ve made up their minds.”
A long breath shuddered from Erin as defeat settled in. “It isn’t fair.” Her voice lowered as her throat tightened.
“I know. But you need to make the best of it.” Patricia’s hand rubbed up and down Erin’s bicep in an attempt at comfort. “Get your life together, recover fully, rest. It’s not forever.”
Erin felt her eyes well up but she refused to cry. Her face felt hot again, just like it had when Ruiz had told her the news.
“Come on,” Patricia coaxed with a gentle smile. “I’ll help. It’ll be fun. Just think of it as a nice long vacation.”
Erin swallowed back her tears. Her body was heavy, her surroundings fuzzy. Defeat settled in around her. And all she wanted to do was melt into Patricia’s arms and let someone else deal with her pain and the situation in which she found herself.
“I…don’t even think I can handle finding my own place right now. I was counting on coming back to work, getting lost in the case.” That was how she had always functioned. By throwing herself into work.
“I understand,” Patricia said. “Stay with me.”
The words startled Erin as she tried to focus the blur of Patricia’s face. “With you?”
Again an image came. Laughter, the pop of gunfire, the smell of spent shells. Blood.
Patricia watched her closely, and seeming to sense her hesitation, explained. “I’ve had the bedroom completely renovated. You won’t have to go near it if you don’t want to.” She touched her face gently. “Things will be okay. I promise.”
Erin nodded slowly, unable to speak as the tears crawled up her throat, threatening to consume her.
“Is that a yes, then?” Patricia asked with a smile.
Erin nodded again as relief spread through her like a warm, comforting blanket. The fatigue of the numerous sleepless nights and the stress of reliving her fragmented memory weighed her down now that the fight was out of her. Her body gave in, along with her mind. She was exhausted and suddenly very willing to let someone help. She wasn’t going to be alone.
Patricia would be there.
September
Arcane, Alabama
Liz reached out to the left of the steering column, fingering for the wiper switch. Thunder ricocheted softly around her, not quite ready to reveal its full fury. Small droplets of rain fell from the blackening sky, dotting her windshield.
Alan Jackson crooned from the radio, proudly singing “Where I Come From.” The song was more than appropriate, it so closely paralleled the small town in which she was raised.
She slowed the rented SUV down to a crawl as she approached Arcane and its narrow two-way road governed by a single swinging stoplight. The light changed to green and she continued through her hometown, over the train tracks and up to the abandoned cotton mill. The vast brick warehouse stood where it always had, reminiscent of the town’s better days when the mill had been a thriving and important part of Arcane.
Her grandfather had worked his fingers to the bone there, sacrificing his lungs and eventually his life when he could no longer pull in enough air to breathe. Across the street from the mill sat a string of old buildings, most of them vacant as well. A cardboard sign in the window of the old library offered the space for rent. Similar signs adorned several other windows in the town square.
It wasn’t a surprise that the town stood beaten and defeated, its pride gone with the mill. It had been this way for at least fifteen years, the remaining residents having to travel ten miles to the closest neighboring town for groceries or a glimpse of civilization.
The Alan Jackson song faded out, giving way to a male DJ who reported that the weather was worsening and the current temperature was 88 degrees. She continued to drive and listened mindlessly as Terri Clark came through the speakers declaring that life was a Catch-22
.
With the heart of Arcane in her rearview mirror, she drove a little faster, and the small white homes streaked by, many with people occupying the front porches, sitting and rocking with the rain.
She felt their questioning stares and knew that even if she had wanted to wave hello, her greeting would not be returned. She was no longer a recognizable face in the town and strangers were seldom welcome. She turned off the radio and eased down her windows to smell the rain. If the storm was going to hit with force, it would have to catch her first. For the time being, it loomed behind her hanging above Arcane, randomly dotting her with sporadic sprinkles.