Chapter 24
Blissfully alone, after Steve had delivered her bag, Irene helped Mike get into his pajamas. Though still in a good deal of pain, he made his way to the bathroom and by the time he returned, she was in her own pajamas and sitting on the bed, leaning back the pillows piled against the headboard.
He frowned in puzzlement, a slight but warm smile playing over his lips as she opened her arms. He climbed slowly and carefully back onto the bed, lying beside her, and she pulled him gently towards her, cradling him, his head against her chest.
As she tenderly caressed his face, they both shifted slightly, settling in, getting cozy and snug, and she felt and heard him sigh. "Comfortable?" she asked quietly as she kissed the top of his head. The sight and feel of the thick gauze bandage still scared her, still made her heart freeze.
She heard him chuckle softly. "Oh, yeah," he whispered and she felt his hand begin to slide across her stomach then stop just over her navel. She felt his whole body tense and he held his breath. Slowly he pulled his head out of her embrace and, as he lifted her pajama top, she felt him kiss her belly.
She threw her head back slightly and closed her eyes, her own breath catching as she tried to stop the gasp that tore from her throat. Tears sprung to her eyes. After several long seconds, he raised his head to lie once more against her chest, his arm circling her waist, holding her tight. Keeping her eyes closed and trying to control her shaking hands, she cradled him, gently stroking his tear wet cheeks, oblivious to her own tears slowly sliding down her stricken face.
They still had a long way to go, she knew; but the healing had begun. She kissed the top of his head again and felt his arm tighten around her waist.
# # # # #
"Well, I sure hope he's feeling better in the morning. God knows what Irene'll do if they have to admit him to the hospital again," Jeannie sighed worriedly as she placed the last of the now clean dishes in the rack.
"Me too," Steve agreed as he picked up the plate to dry it. He knew Wilson would be returning early afternoon, hopefully with some good news. But Mike's health was his main priority; for him, the investigation would always take a back seat.
Wiping down the counter, Jeannie said over her shoulder, "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Long day. I'm gonna get an early night and hope and pray tomorrow is just a regular day at home."
He put the now dry plate in the cupboard and closed the door, hanging the wet dishtowel over the stove handle. "I couldn't agree more."
With one more look around the kitchen to make sure everything was clean and tidy, Jeannie took off the apron and hung it over the back of a chair. As she crossed past Steve towards the living room, she stopped to give him a brief peck on the cheek. "Don't stay up too late and I'll see you in the morning. Hopefully it'll be a good day. We deserve one, don't you think?"
Grinning warmly, he nodded. "Amen."
At the steps she turned back. "Thanks for all the help today. Made things a lot easier."
"Are you kidding? I'd do anything for Mike and Irene, you know that," he laughed quietly. "And for you too, right?"
She grinned self-consciously then nodded. "Yeah, I do know. Sleep well." She disappeared up the stairs.
He sighed heavily and turned to lean against the counter, glancing at his watch. It was just shortly after ten and, although he was beat, he knew his racing mind wouldn't let him go to sleep anytime soon. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and opened it, crossing to the sofa and sitting heavily, leaning back and putting his feet on the coffee table.
Taking a long draft, he cradled the bottle in both hands in his lap and let his head drop back against the sofa. His eyes flicked towards the staircase. What if Mike did have to go back to the hospital? What if he wasn't doing as well as it had seemed? Was there a possibility he'd never return to active duty? Were their days as partners really over? Would Irene ever return to work?
And what, hopefully, had Wilson uncovered in New York? Had his contact there actually been of any help? Were the Russian mob involved? Were Irene's attackers the same ones that had targeted prostitutes?
He sighed. He knew it would be quite awhile until he could quell the voices in his mind; he half contemplated taking a sleeping pill so he could get some rest. But he knew that was a very bad idea if either Mike or Irene needed him during the night.
He looked at the beer bottle in his hand. Better he only drink the one, he thought, resigning himself to a long night of little sleep.
# # # # #
The sounds seemed to be snaking their way to him through thick, murky water; he couldn't quite figure out what they were, but they did seem familiar. There were no words, but he could hear what sounded like metal on metal in a rhythmic cycle, and a large door being opened and closed with suction but also a surprising softness. And footsteps, going up and down stairs, suddenly nearby and then fading abruptly.
With sleep-deprived lethargy he raised one hand and pulled the blanket from his face. The lacey tendrils of a very pleasant smell assailed his nose and he blinked quickly several times, his head starting to clear. He knew he recognized the odour but couldn't quite put a name to it as yet.
Licking dry lips, he forced his heavy lids open as wide as possible, his fuzzy vision zeroing in on the light that spilled from the adjacent room, which he slowly remembered was the kitchen. As he raised a hand to palm the sleep out of his eyes, Jeannie poked her head through the opening and looked at him, her eyebrows raised.
"Oh good, you're finally up. Just in time. I need your help." Her head disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as it had appeared.
Slowly pushing the blanket away and attempting to sit up, all the questions and worries from last night came flooding back. Suddenly focused, his cop's instincts kicking in, he scrambled to his feet and quickly crossed to the kitchen. "What's going on?" he asked anxiously, clearing his throat. "Is Mike okay?"
Jeannie, who was facing the stove, turned with a smile. "Better than okay. He says he's starving. I'm making them some oatmeal and I need you to help me take it up." She turned back to the pot on the stove.
After having frozen in alarmed anticipation, Steve sagged in relief against the doorframe, chuckling. He let out a sigh loud enough for her to hear and she laughed gently as she picked up the pot and swiveled to the two bowls sitting on the counter, spooning out the steaming oatmeal. The bed tray was nearby, already set with napkins, spoons, a mug of hot milk and a bowl of brown sugar.
"I've already brought them coffee," she explained. "Here, you bring this up to them and I'll bring up coffees for you and me." She glanced up at him and grinned. "I figure you and I can eat a little later."
"Ah, sure," he agreed, laughing gently as he pushed himself away from the wall and crossed to the counter. She beamed at him as he approached and he stopped briefly to give her a warm kiss on the cheek before picking up the tray.
The atmosphere of joy and relief was almost alive in the air.
# # # # #
Steve pushed the bedroom door open with his foot. "Breakfast is served!" he announced with a flourish as he strode into the room. He heart almost leapt in his chest when his eyes, travelling from the tray to the bed, settled on its beaming occupants.
Irene and Mike, in dressing gowns over their pajamas, were still lying in the bed, sitting up against the pillows, his arm around her. "Good morning," he said brightly, his voice almost back to normal.
Approaching the bed, Steve's eyebrows rose. "Where do you want this?" he asked, nodding at the tray in his hands and the older couple, after a glance at each other, shuffled apart.
"How about right here between us?" Irene, who was furthest away, said with a smile, and Steve was struck by how calm and relaxed she sounded.
He had just put the tray down when Jeannie came through the door with two cups of coffee in hand. Glancing at Mike as he straightened, Steve asked, "How are you doing?"
With a low self-conscious chuckle, looking down briefly, the older man said quietly, "I feel great… well, as good as I felt before yesterday, that's for sure."
Steve knew that sometimes Mike was overwhelmed by others concern for him; this was one of those moments. Unable to resist, he reached out and affectionately ran his hand gently across the older man's cheek to the back of his neck, squeezing quickly and firmly. He saw Mike's eyes cloud and his smile waver, and he winked before turning to Jeannie and taking the proffered cup.
The next hour was spent in joyful, and relieved, companionship.
# # # # #
"So, first things first, how are Irene and Mike doing?"
It was mid-afternoon in an almost deserted Greek restaurant in the Marina District; it was a good place not to be noticed in the middle of the day. Bob Wilson was on his second Turkish coffee when Steve dropped anxiously into the second chair; the Robbery sergeant nodded at the waiter, who returned the nod and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Oh, ah, I just ordered you a Turkish coffee – you okay with that?"
"Ah, yeah, sure." Steve grinned, knowing immediately that Wilson did have something to tell him and was just drawing out the suspense. "And Mike and Irene are doing good. We moved Irene to Mike's place," Wilson's eyebrows shot skyward, "Mike had the stitches out yesterday and had a bad reaction to it," the eyebrows furrowed, "but he's okay today and they spent the night together last night." Steve smiled affectionately. "They both needed that. They've still got a hell of a long way to go, but I think they're on the right track. So… that's my news, what's yours?"
Wilson smiled, the relief obvious. He exhaled loudly. "God, you know, they've been on my mind this entire trip. I still can't begin to wrap my head around what both of them have been going through, you know. It almost makes our job the easy one here, you know what I mean?"
Steve nodded, no longer smiling. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." There was a brief pause, then "So? What did you get?"
The waiter approached discreetly and set the small cup and saucer and the metal coffeepot on the table in front of the younger man.
Wilson sat back, taking a sip from his own cup as Steve poured, then smiled. "Well, I have good news and bad news." Steve's anticipatory smile faded somewhat as he looked up. "So, I met with the guy I'd talked to on the phone. And he confirmed the rumors and what we'd been speculating… Look, I'll go over everything in detail with you, but I think right now you just want me to get to point, right?"
Wilson smiled with raised eyebrows and Steve glared at him from under his brow, then nodded with a gentle smirk.
"That's what I thought," Wilson laughed. "My source was… how shall I put it?... Helpful and not helpful. He confirmed what we thought – the FBI does have two or three Russian mob members out here in WP. That's as far as he knows, he told me, but he was able to confirm that one of them has a record back east of rape and sexual assault. His M.O. is using tape over mouths and eyes, an accomplice… and a propensity for prostitutes. But, because of his value to the Feds and what he has and can continue to tell them about the workings of the eastern mob, they, ah…" Wilson paused and looked down, taking a deep breath, his voice turning cold, "they haven't followed up on any of the charges against him."
Steve, who was stirring his coffee, froze. Though they knew this was common practice and a fact of life, they didn't have to like it. Especially when it hit so close to home.
Wilson inhaled deeply and let it out in a loud rush. "Anyway, uh, my contact was able to give me this guy's name, but that's not really a help because, of course, in WP he's got a whole new identity." He shrugged in frustration, shooting his new partner a facial shrug.
His brow still furrowed, Steve sat back. "Well, that's all good to know, but what help is it to us?"
Wilson slowly leaned forward. "Well, he wasn't able to give us this guy's new name, or where he's living or anything like that…but he did give me something I think we can use."
As Steve leaned forward, intrigued, Wilson reached into his inside jacket pocket. "I think this might be even better." His hand flicked quickly and something slid across the table towards the younger man. It was a 3x5 inch colour photograph. Wilson's hand moved across the table and his finger slammed down on the print. "That's our man."