Blind, Thick-Headed and Handsome – 56

CJ smiled as she looked up from her desk and glanced at the clock. Five minutes to four. Matt would be here any moment and they'd be off on their date, or actually adventure. She knew it wouldn't be a boring night whatever the plan. With her new attitude of letting whatever happens happen without looking into hidden meanings, she felt happier than she had in months. The long busy work week left her feeling fulfilled and maybe even a little drained, but content nonetheless. Now she could spend time with her favorite person in the whole world and enjoy her personal time for once. It had been years since she had this much balance in her life.

She was just about finished at her desk when she felt the presence of someone standing in her doorway. He cleared his throat and she lifted her head, prepared to see his handsome face smiling at her.

"So… doing a little work on a Friday, huh? Awfully ambitious of you, Ms. Matthews, or is it Mrs. Houston?"

Shocked, she stared back at the man standing there, grinning at her, a man who she felt uneasy about since day one. Was it his transparent charm and his over-the-top detail to his hair and wardrobe? Or maybe the dozens of rumors regarding his strange absence over the past week? She wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. He was a creep, plain and simple.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Gorman."

"Oh, sure you don't," he said with a grin, locking the door behind him.

With all her years in the crime-solving business, she sensed bad intentions on his part and quickly surveyed her desktop for some defense options: a ruler, a stapler, a letter opener… just in case.

"No, seriously, I don't. Just like I don't know what you're doing here when you were supposed to have had the week off."

He inched suspiciously and slowly towards her, angling his eyes at her cleavage.

"What are you doing, Mr. Gorman?" she nervously asked.

"I'm just getting closer so I can have a better look."

She reactively grabbed at her shirt collar.

"Well, Mr. Gorman, you certainly are living up to your reputation. Too bad I'm a married woman," she said lightly as she stood and busied herself with organizing her things. "In fact, my husband will be here any minute."

But that didn't deter him.

"Well, we can't waste any time then," he said as he rounded her desk and inched towards her, intimidating her until he had her in a corner … literally.

Glancing over at the door several times, she knew that at any moment Matt would just burst through it, sensing she was in trouble. She could picture him taking one look at the situation, flexing his muscles and teaching Mr. Gorman a thing or two about messing with his wife.

"How about you leave right now and I'll forget you were even here."

"No, no, no. It's not a question or an option. Either you and me have a little fun or I'll leak a story about your identity to not just everybody at NYU, but to the NYC media as well," he threatened.

Certifiably scared, she stood strong, stalling him with one of her defense strategies – her words. "Mr. Gorman, you do realize that what you're suggesting is illegal."

"So is faking your identity," he shot back.

"What I'm doing is a means of survival," she said, trying to intimidate him."I've dealt with some very dangerous people in my former line of work: kidnappers, assassins, serial killers. They're not the kind of people to take risks with, just like you shouldn't be taking a risk right now."

He arched his eyebrow at her. " A risk?"

"Yes, you, Mr. Gorman, are at risk of violating of a statewide sexual harassment code that specifically forbids professionals like yourself from intimidating or making demands on fellow colleagues. With one phone call I can file charges against you, ending the little games you like to play with women, students...colleagues."

"Why you …"

"Watch it, Mr. Gorman. As a lawyer may I advise you to choose your next words very carefully."

He retreated, but it was only temporary. He closed what little space was between them and pressed his body against hers so he could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath.

"You make that call and I'll alert the media faster than you can say Habeas Corpus," he said, standing an inch from her face.

Her blood started to boil and she plotted using a talent she hadn't used in a while: kicking a man in the groin. She aimed high and fast, using her sometimes problematic new heels as a crippling weapon.

"Argh! Why you!" he exclaimed as he doubled over and grabbed his crotch.

She raced towards the door, grabbing the letter opener along the way and fumbled with the lock on the door. But he caught up with her, grabbed her by the arm and shook the letter opener loose from her grip by smashing her hand against the wall. The scuffle and her reactive scream made enough noise to quicken the steps of a certain someone nearing the office.

"CJ..." Matt thought aloud, recognizing her voice immediately.

"C'mon, Carolyn, or whatever your name is. Use your mouth for more productive things," Greg commanded in a surly voice, thrusting his lower body against her tush while he wrapped his other hand around her, reaching for her chest.

She fought back, trying her hardest to prevent the unthinkable when the door kicked open and a familiar voice said,

"What the hell is going on here?"

Greg turned in his direction and she used the distraction to elbow him in the gut and thrust her heel into his foot. He reacted by releasing his hands from her and letting out a scream.

"OW! You bitch!"

Bitch? Didn't this dude get the memo? No one calls Matt Houston's wife a bitch!

Matt grabbed Greg by the shirt collar. "Get your crummy hands off … " he exclaimed, pulling him away. "What'd he do to you, CJ?"

She caught her breath and swallowed.

"He attacked me. Threatened to expose my identity if I didn't cooperate."

"Why you!" Matt growled with gritted teeth, releasing Greg only to clock him in the jaw with his fist, sending him onto the floor in one swift motion.

"CJ, call the police and tell them to come and arrest this jerk!"

She was already dialing. "Be my pleasure."

Greg laid in a lump on the floor, nursing his face and other various body parts, still hardened from the excitement.

"You two were behind that little trick last Friday, weren't you?"

"My wife had nothing to do with it. My instincts sensed something rotten about you and I was right. You should be glad I didn't use you to mop the floors last week, although I guess it might have prevented whatever you did to get arrested. What's a matter, are you that incompetent of a man that you have rape women in order to get them to go to bed with you?"

Greg retreated to his feet and swung at Matt. "Why you!"

Matt ducked and watched Greg propel into the desk just as a security guard entered the room having heard the commotion.

"What's going on here?"

"I'm a private detective from Los Angeles," Matt said, still breathing hard. "This 'man' was attacking my wife. I need a pair of handcuffs until the police arrive."

The security guard took a look at the scene in front of him and obeyed Matt's request without question.


Within minutes, the police arrived, anxious to get their hands on a man they just arrested a week prior for attempted rape. At least with Matt and CJ's expert eyewitness account, they'd have more evidence to hold him without bail this time. But as soon Matt heard those words "attempted rape" verbalized, a shiver went through him, realizing that his wife, his CJ, could have been a victim if he hadn't arrived when he did. Fleeing to New York, trying to escape her former career and living incognito could not have kept her safe from cads like Greg Gorman. He turned towards CJ, took her by the hands and met eyes with her.

"Are you okay?" he asked for the fifth time.

She nodded for the fifth time as images of what could have been danced around in her head.

"Uh, we'll need you both to come to the precinct and make a statement," interrupted an officer.

Matt studied her eyes and asked,"You up to it, CJ?"

She managed a smile.

"Yeah."

Oh, yes, this was a fun date.


After the usual file-a-report, make-a-statement song and dance at the police station, plus grabbing a bite at one of those informal yet fabulous delicatessens that New York City was famous for, he drove her home, intending on securing her house and being on his way. But, truth be told, he didn't want to leave. Coincidentally, she didn't want him to either. The adrenaline rush of fending off her attacker had subsided and now she was faced with the after effects. She hadn't felt this way in awhile. Shaky, insecure... exhausted. She wished he'd stay so she could rebound as pleasantly as possible from the experience. She knew if she had a good night's sleep, she'd feel better in the morning - almost as if it never happened.

"You know, you really ought to get a security system of some sort," he said as went about checking windows and doors.

She rubbed her hands along her arms and nodded. "I can call the owner, Abe Farleigh, in the morning and ask."

"You still have your gun? You still keep it in by your bed?"

She nodded.

"When's the last time you fired it?"

"It's been awhile."

"You should get to a shooting range, fire a few rounds, practice."

She agreed, knowing his suggestions were practical and supposed to make her feel more secure, but they had the opposite result. A security system, a dog and a gun weren't as effective as having a Matt Houston around. Maybe this living alone thing wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Matt, could you …" she hesitated, knowing that what she about to ask might be interpreted the wrong way. But she wanted to feel safe and protected, not scared and exposed. For the past few months – ever since they left their detective lifestyle behind in California - she was able to do just that. One "adventure" with an attempted rapist sent her right back to that place – that place of uncertainty and vulnerability. That place where life could change for the worse in a heartbeat. She hated that place.

He arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for her next words.

"Yes?"

"Could you … stay… awhile?"

Those words were music to his ears.