The One That Got Away (3 page)

“I’m not trying to spar. I’m just not up for talking today.”

He tapped his left temple, then pointed to hers. “Anything to do with that?”

Reflexively, her hand went to her temple, where she ran a finger over a large bruise. “No. That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“How did you pick it up?”

“At the mall. I was handing a shoplifter over to the cops. She swung an arm, and I caught an elbow.”

Jarocki winced. “Nasty.”

“All in a day’s work for a mall cop.”

She injected some levity into her response and received a polite smile for her effort.

Jarocki flicked through his notes. “Speaking of careers, today is a special day.”

“It is?”

“Yes. A year ago, you dropped out of your PhD program. You said you wanted to give yourself time to heal, which was a decision I fully supported. We agreed on a year. Well, it’s been a year. Ready to go back?”

“No. I don’t think I’m up for that.” She hoped her answer was concise and delivered with a sense of finality that would cause Jarocki to move on to a fresh tack. He didn’t.

“The mall-security job was supposed to be a stopgap job—your words—while you got yourself back on your feet, before finishing your environmental-policy degree.”

She felt Jarocki inching under her skin—worming his way into her thoughts so he could question her every decision.

“And it is. A year sounds like a stopgap to me.”

“It sounds like a symptom of your trauma. Working as a security guard puts you in a potentially dangerous situation again.”

“Being a mall cop is nothing like what happened to me.” She hated the shrill tone that had entered her voice. It proved that Jarocki was getting to her.

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“I think we both know that isn’t true. You were a victim of violence, and now you’re in a job where you can be a victim of violence again and again.”

“It’s not the same.”

He pointed to her bruised temple again. “Then what’s that?”

“It’s a bruise. It’s hardly the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, not remotely. Fifteen months ago, I was a victim. Now I’m a warrior and a protector. I stop people from being victimized.”

Silence filled the air between them. She felt the pressure change in the room. It had intensified while they argued, but she felt it bleed off now and return to normal.

“I would dispute that, Zoë. Why did you go for a security job at the Golden Gate Mall?”

“They were hiring.”

“It has nothing to do with it being the mall with the highest crime rate in the Bay Area?”

She said nothing.

“I understand your need not to be viewed as a victim. I understand your desire to stop crime and do good, but mall security isn’t the answer. You’re putting yourself at unnecessary risk. A mall-security officer is unarmed and undertrained. If you wish to fight crime and protect people, then why not apply to be a police officer? At least that way, you’d have proper training and an infrastructure that supports you. With your science background, you’d be a good candidate for a forensic role.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“But you’re ready to be a security guard where there’s a good chance the bad guy will be better armed than you.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“You’re still putting yourself in the firing line, Zoë. Where the rest of world avoids the crosshairs of danger, you step in front of them.”

She shook her head. “Not true.”

“It is and for a very good reason—he’s still out there, living a guilt-free existence.”

For all of Jarocki’s desire to help her, he really knew how to pick at an old wound. She wiped away a tear before it had a chance to streak her face and embarrass her. “Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to help you. Post-traumatic stress is a powerful force with the ability to change us. Even the strongest of us. It’s a tidal wave that can’t be avoided. It will hit you and hit you hard. I outlined how it would affect you when you first came to me. We’ve worked together to recognize the signs and how to combat them.”

“I can’t just flip a switch and get over this.”

He smiled. “That’s right, you can’t, but the Zoë who walked into this office last year wouldn’t have known that, so you’ve made progress. There’s no way to just circumvent PTSD. You have to work through it, and some do that more easily than others. No two people will experience the same thing the same way and for the same length of time. All I can do is support you and guide you through the issues as they present themselves. PTSD is like a serious wound. It’ll take time to heal. That said, I think you’re hindering the healing process.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you came to me, you were close to completing your PhD, with a view to working for the EPA. You were on the verge of graduating.”

“Still am.”

“Great. What have you done about that?”

“You might have noticed that we’re in the middle of a global recession. Environmental-policy positions aren’t exactly falling from the skies.”

“But you’ve been looking? Have you been keeping up with your schooling?”

She thought about her dissertation, sitting on her computer, collecting cyberdust. She’d opened the file once since Vegas and never looked at it again. Had environmentalism really been her life’s goal? What an uninspiring future she’d had in mind for herself. She’d dropped out of school, and her books now had dust on them. She’d also walked out on her internship at the Bay Area Clean Water Agencies. She hadn’t lasted a day after her sick leave ended. She couldn’t deal with the stares, the questions, and the assumptions her coworkers made. She could barely look herself in the mirror. How could she face them?

“No, I haven’t been looking.”

“If you need help with a job search, I can put you in touch with someone.”

She raised a hand. “I’m not sure about environmentalism anymore. I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Then what is?”

That was a really good question. One she didn’t have an answer for.

“Maybe you should brainstorm about what you’d like to do. Don’t limit yourself. Think about a career that would give you pleasure or bring you satisfaction.”

She frowned.

“Seriously think about it and we’ll discuss it next time. I don’t think you want to be a security guard at a mall for the rest of your life. You have a lot of potential. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

God, the idea sounded like an exercise a high school career counselor would ask you to do. But it was something she needed to do. Environmentalist wasn’t her, but neither was mall cop. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

They both got to their feet and he saw her to the door.

“See you next week, and don’t be reckless.”

Recklessness was Jarocki’s little joke. Money was the root of all evil and recklessness was the root of all PTSD.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, “but no promises.”

CHAPTER THREE

Kristi Thomas popped her head through Marshall Beck’s door. “The fighting dogs are here, Marshall.”

Kristi was the founder of Urban Paws Animal Rescue, and the rescued fighting dogs were a big deal to the center. The Fremont Police had busted a professional dog-fighting operation, and the injured dogs had been destroyed. The same fate had awaited the uninjured dogs, but Urban Paws had appealed the kill order and had volunteered to take them in an attempt to rehabilitate them. The judge granted the charity their shot, but if any dog couldn’t be turned around, it would be destroyed. Urban Paws wasn’t the ASPCA, but they had a solid reputation for saving lost causes. The publicity behind the court decision had brought in a flood of donations.

Beck got up from his desk and followed her into the hallway. Rescue-center staff and cops were bundling eighteen caged pit bulls and pit-bull mixes onto dollies and then rolling them down the corridor toward the Assessment Annex. All surrendered animals went for assessment before being made available for adoption. All the preexisting animals in the annex had been fast-tracked through in order to make room for the fighting dogs, and only the fighting dogs.

He watched the animals as they rolled past him. Some fought their steel confines, scratching at the frame or biting it. Others lay still, defeated and accepting of their fate. It was a sorry state of affairs, and another example of man’s inhumanity to anything and everything around him. It would be a different case in a couple of months. With the love and support of the behavioral trainers here, most of these dogs, if not all, would be rehabilitated. It always astounded him that animals possessed the ability to forgive and forget after all they’d endured, but he’d seen it again and again in the eight months since he’d joined the charity. He knew he didn’t share that ability.

On his way out, one of the cops said, “You’re doing a good thing here.”

Not me
, he thought. He didn’t work with the animals. He managed the money. He did payroll, banked the donations, wrote the grant proposals, found the tax breaks, and negotiated the contracts and discounts. The problem with charities was they were founded and run by people who operated on high emotion. That garnered donations, but passion was useless when it came to dealing with the IRS and other government agencies. That was where he came in. He spoke pure bureaucrat. His fact-and-figure sensibilities ensured these guys could keep their quest alive.

He stopped Kristi on her way by, after seeing the cops out. “How many of these dogs will you be able to save?”

“I want to say we’ll save them all. I like to be positive,” she said with a smile, then chased after a couple of trainers.

“Glass always half full?” he called to her retreating form.

“I like to think of it as completely full.”

He returned to his office, a large room that he had to himself and that gave him a bird’s-eye view of the street corner below. The four-way intersection of Fillmore and Washington gave him insight into how the world was changing. Pedestrians jaywalked, forcing drivers to jump on their brakes. Those who did wait for the crosswalk pushed others aside so they could be at the front. Drivers ran red lights because their lives were in such high gear, they didn’t have time to stop. Bums panhandled instead of getting a job. People dropped their trash on the sidewalk or tossed it from their car windows. All these actions said the same thing: my shit is more important than yours. The world was a self-centered place and he hated it for it.

This attitude was the main reason the cats and dogs here at the shelter amazed him so much. They could be subjected to the worst of circumstances and yet give their love to the first person who showed it back. If people could learn that simple aspect, there might be a chance of saving this world.

His heart rate was climbing, and he felt his blood pressure rising. He didn’t need to be angry right now. He exhaled and let the stress of the moment bleed out of him.

He cut himself off from the shelter’s day-to-day operations by closing his door and zeroing in on his work. If he was honest, the charity’s success and failure didn’t interest him. He’d taken the Urban Paws job for the autonomy it afforded him. Kristi and her staff left him alone to take care of the money side of things, which gave him the freedom to do what he had to do.

Unfortunately, an hour later, as he came out of the break room with a cup of coffee, his peace was broken by a moan of “Christ, she’s back again.”

He didn’t have to ask who. He knew it was Laurie Hernandez without leaving his desk. He got up and went into the hall just in time to see her disappear into the cat enclosure.

Kristi blew by him on a collision course.

He hooked her arm. “I’ve got this. You’ve got those dogs to attend to.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

“If she touches one of those animals . . .”

“. . . then I’ll kick her out.”

“Thanks, Marshall.”

He waited for Kristi to return to the Assessment Annex before moving in on Ms. Hernandez. He kept his distance from her. The shelter’s layout afforded him that luxury. The building had been divided up into annexes. Two for cats, one for small dogs, one for large dogs, and one for rabbits, chickens, and more exotic animals. Each annex was closed off to keep the sound down but glass-fronted to keep it bright, which also made observation easy. Animal theft was an issue. He leaned against the wall of the large-dog annex and observed Laurie Hernandez at play.

Beck guessed Laurie Hernandez was in her late twenties. She was fairly attractive, although a little rough around the edges. The dark rings circling her eyes and her sickly pallor added years to her age.

She’d gone into Cat Annex Two and seemed oblivious to anyone watching her. Not that Beck guessed she cared. This wasn’t her initial visit here. It was her fourth in the past two months. At first glance, she’d seemed like every other prospective pet adopter. She’d ooh and aah at the animals and put her fingers through the cages so that the animal would sniff or lick them. But then she’d switch from pet lover to pet tormentor with no warning. Once she’d gained the animal’s trust, she’d flick it with her finger, poke it with something, or squirt it with a water pistol. She carried out her offenses without any concern of being seen. Beck got the feeling she wanted to be caught. It was part of the fun for her.

Laurie Hernandez dropped to her haunches in front of a cat and urged it to come over to her. The animal edged forward from the recesses of its cage as she reached into her pocket. She produced a toothpick and jabbed it at the cat just as it got within poking range.

Beck opened the door to the annex. “I think it’s time for you to leave—again.”

Laurie Hernandez grinned. “I have a right to be here.”

“Not with that toothpick, you don’t.”

“What if I said I wanted to adopt this cat?”

“I doubt that would happen. We’re trying to prevent animal cruelty, not encourage it.”

“OK, I’ll go.” She stood, but not before flicking the toothpick at the cat. Luckily, it bounced off the cage. “You people are no fun.”

He walked her out, then grabbed his coat and followed her. Only he knew her name was Laurie Hernandez. She always ran off before anyone could get a cop. He’d learned her name by trailing her.