Don't Call Me Hero (35 page)

“I need to get back on the road.”

“But you just got here!” she protested. “I thought you’d at least stay the night.”

I stared at my father. “I thought I’d stay longer, too,” I regretfully admitted.

“Pat, say something to your daughter,” my mother urged.

My father remained silent and unmoved. He continued to eat his dinner.

I bent to kiss the top of my mom’s head. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was wonderful. I’ll send for my things in the morning.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Finding a new apartment in Minneapolis had been relatively easy; there was a vacancy in my old apartment complex. It wasn’t the exact same apartment I had been living in before Embarrass, but I liked the familiarity of the building and the neighborhood. Convincing the property manager to rent to me without having been reinstated yet with the city police was harder. But, I’d been a good tenant before, so they took a good faith chance on me, plus two month’s rent upfront.

In the wake of my brief visit with my parents, I had my boxes shipped to Rich’s apartment, and shortly thereafter, I moved into my new place. It was larger than my studio apartment in Embarrass and even after I’d unpacked my boxes, the space still felt empty. I’d come back from Embarrass without only one new possession—Julia’s dream catcher. I hung it over the headboard of the bed in the partially furnished apartment.

My phone rang nearly the moment I hung up the ornament. My heart seized, thinking it might be
her
calling, but the organ unclenched when I saw Rich’s idiot face flash on the screen. I hadn’t heard from Julia since I’d left: not a phone call, not an e-mail, not even a text message. I still thought about her plenty though.

“What do you want?” I said in lieu of greeting.

“You’re a real panty dropper, Rookie,” Rich shot back.

“Hello,
Richard
,” I tried again. “Miss me already? I only moved out today.”

“Yeah. You got me there. You totally classed up the place,” he snorted. “Your beer pyramids were a nice interior decorating choice.”

“What’s up?”

“We’re going out tonight.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I just moved into my new place today,” I sighed, dropping down to sit on the end of my bed. “The last thing I want to do is go out.”

“It’s been almost a month, Miller. You can’t keep hiding out with your frozen pizza rolls and cheap beer.”

“Why not?” I bristled.

He ignored my question. “Clean your ass and comb your hair or whatever it is that you do to make yourself presentable. We’re going out and finding you some tail.”

“Some tail?” I echoed. Oh, lord.

“Yup. And you’re in luck, Rookie. I’m gonna be your Wingman.”

+ + +

The club was busy for the middle of the week, especially considering classes hadn’t started up at the university for fall semester yet. But at least I could relax somewhat. Going out during the school year kept me on edge, knowing that a good percentage of co-eds in the bars I went to were probably underage and using fake IDs to get served. It was hard to turn that mindset off and not be a cop unless I was blind drunk myself.

I stood at the bar nursing a beer and shredding the label out of boredom while Rich was in the bathroom. It didn’t escape my notice that he’d brought me to the club where I’d first met Julia. It hadn’t been our usual hangout when I’d lived in Minneapolis the first time, but now I was back—to what end, I didn’t know. Maybe Rich thought it would give me closure to that chapter of my life. Maybe he thought since I couldn’t face Julia directly, this club would pass as a surrogate. Or maybe he just remembered the high volume of attractive young women who frequented this place. I could practically picture his wide, innocent grin and hear his words: “Just taking one for the team, Rookie.”

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” a low, husky voice announced behind me.

I turned and couldn’t contain my grin. “Angie.”

I gave my friend a tight hug. She was significantly shorter than me, so the hug turned more into me assaulting her with my armpits. We had talked on the phone when I’d first moved back to the city, but our paths hadn’t physically crossed until now.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, holding her at arm’s length.

“Rich told me he was dragging you here tonight,” she supplied with a sly grin. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with him on your own.”

I pulled her back in for another hug. “Thanks. He’s a little much to take sometimes.”

“Agreed.” Angie scanned the club when I finally released her from the hug. “So we’re finding you someone to take home tonight, right?”

“Jesus, Ang. Not you, too.”

Her mischievous grin was wide. “C’mon, Cass. I’m sure you had fun playing house up there, but the chicks in the Twin Cities have got to be better than whatever they had up in bumfucknowhere.”

I made a noncommittal noise. I’d told my closest friends just a glimmer of what had happened in Embarrass and why I’d returned to Minneapolis. They hadn’t pried beyond the surface, however, knowing me to be a private person. They were just happy to have me back.

“To be honest, I never thought you’d stick it out up there forever; I knew you’d be back.”

I couldn’t agree with her. When I’d taken the job in Embarrass, I hadn’t thought much about how long I’d be there—not ten years, not ten weeks. I knew too well how unpredictable the future could be. All I’d cared about was getting to stay an active-duty cop.

About an hour and two beers later, I was talking to a cute blonde and starting to feel a little more like myself. She was about my height, and I found it encouraging that she touched my forearm a lot when she talked. She’d told me her name once, but her voice had gotten lost among the pounding bass pouring from the dance floor, and I wasn’t eager to embarrass myself by interrupting her soliloquy about if Taylor Swift was a feminist or not to ask her name again.

My eyes wandered, not completely out of boredom, just habit, and I caught Rich’s attention across the room. Even though he’d been the one to drag me to the club, we hadn’t actually spent much time together. He’d abandoned me nearly the moment we arrived, but I’d managed to entertain myself in the interim. He raised his beer bottle in salute to me. I could practically hear his voice in my head: “Finish her!”

I was about to suggest to the girl that we go someplace more conducive to conversation—like an all-night coffee shop or my new apartment—when I saw a hand slide a slip of paper across our cocktail table. I looked up and met brown eyes. The woman had dark, close-cropped hair, reminding me a little of Grace Kelly Donovan. I didn’t know who she was, but she looked at me like I should have.

“I’m supposed to give you this,” the mystery woman said.

“Getting numbers and you don’t even have to try,” the Taylor Swift fan frowned.

I opened up the slight slip of paper. There were numbers written on the inside, but it wasn’t a phone number. It was a bill.

“She said you’d know what it was about,” the stranger lingered a moment longer.

“Where is she?” I demanded. I licked feverishly at lips that had suddenly gone dry.

The messenger nodded in the direction of the main bar, and my eyes connected with warm caramel. She stood, leaning against the bar top, looking unapproachable and untouchable in a little black dress.

I grabbed the paper off the table and, leaving my drink and the two women behind, I crossed the length of the club until I was standing in front of her.

I shook the piece of paper in her face. “What is this about?”

She took a careful sip from her funnel-shaped glass. “I thought that much was obvious.”

“A dry cleaning bill?
Really,
Julia?”

Her tongue flicked out and touched the small scar at the top of her lip. It was an involuntary movement, but I couldn’t help being drawn to her one visible flaw.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I moved here.”

I blinked. “Minneapolis?”

“St. Paul,” she said, looking bored. “I think it’s more quaint.”

“Wh-when?”

“Not too long after you left.”

“Why didn’t … I mean, how am I just hearing about this now?”

Julia shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think I was doing it for you.”

“Oh.”

“Let me be frank. You were
a
reason for the move,” she admitted. “But I did it for me. I realized I couldn’t stay in Embarrass forever.”

“What about your family? Your mom?”

Julia chewed on the inside of her lip. “I’m fighting my father for custody. I’m trying to become her legal guardian so I can have her moved to a home in the city. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“Because he’s a criminal?” I retorted, my anger getting the best of me.

Julia’s temper was slower than mine to appear. I hated the control she had over her emotions.

“After you left town, I did some digging on my own.” She pushed out a deep breath. “My father was having an affair with Wendy Clark, the city clerk. That’s why no one realized that grant money was being deposited into my father’s private accounts until you and David came along.”

I didn’t know what to say. Embezzlement
and
he was cheating on his wife?

Julia toyed with the stem of her martini glass. “After the trial I advised him it would be in everyone’s interest if he resigned as mayor.”

“And he actually listened?” I snorted in disbelief.

“
Not at first,” she said. “But then I reminded him that while he had survived the criminal trial on a technicality, there was nothing stopping a civil court from trying him. I told him if that happened and he was still mayor, he’d have to find a new lawyer.”

“But he still has all that money.” I didn’t bother hiding my bitterness.

“I told him to give it back,” she said with a small shrug. “If he returned it all, we’ll probably never know. But at least the neighboring towns got their money back as did the Community Foundation. I suggested to Meg Peterson at the library that she meet with Peter Lacroix to discuss which city improvement projects might benefit from the new funds.”

I thought about the city architect’s little girl, Amelia, and smiled. Maybe she’d finally get her lighthouse.

“My father is a proud man,” Julia continued. “Better he live out the rest of his days reviled and disgraced in Embarrass than in some white-collar crime resort prison.”

“You really think he’ll stay in town?”

“I do. He’s never lived anywhere else; Embarrass is his home. And he’s stubborn and arrogant enough to believe he can win back people’s esteem now that he’s done ‘the right thing.’”

“And all is forgiven?” My skepticism was palpable. I couldn’t imagine the people of Embarrass going back to business as usual after this betrayal. Yet, here
I
was, having an amicable conversation with Julia after what she’d done in order to win her father’s trial.

“Cassidy,” Julia started. I hated the way my traitor knees buckled when she said my given name. “I know you must still be angry with me.”

“Anger is the least complicated thing I feel for you,” I cut in. Anger was easy; I could be mad. I knew how to handle that emotion. It was everything else in combination that had me twisted in knots.

She frowned and cast her gaze to the bar top. I could tell that my tone had hurt her, and I hated the resulting guilt. How could I still be so attracted and so invested in her wellbeing after everything that had happened? I must truly be a masochist.

“How have you been?” she asked. Her voice was so quiet, it almost got lost in the din of the busy bar. “I thought I’d hear from you after you left … but then nothing.”

“I know. I’ve been really busy,” I excused myself. “A lot of getting myself right again.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to therapy again—group and individual—for my PTSD. With a little re-wiring of my brain, I’m hopeful I’ll be back to my regular beat soon. I’ve come to accept that I won’t ever be
cured
, but I don’t have to be a prisoner to my nightmares and flashbacks anymore.”

“That’s really great, Cass,” she said softly. “I mean it.”

“How about you?” I asked, turning the question on her. “What have you been up to?”

She wrung her hands. “It took a little while to find something suitable, but I found work at a nonprofit legal defense fund.”

“That’s really great, Julia,” I said in earnest. “I’m happy for you.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It feels nice to be doing good. And it’s a challenge, too. ”