The Heart of a Man: 7a
"Thank you, Mrs. Woo." Caine bowed slightly to the elderly Oriental woman who handed him a small wrapped parcel containing dried herbs. The woman smiled in return before closing the door to her shop.
Placing the package in his satchel, Caine smiled inwardly as the image of the most likely recipient of the herb flitted through his mind. His son's path did indeed appear to require that Caine stock pain reducing mixtures in larger quantities. Perhaps, Caine thought, the addition of a few more seedlings of the major ingredients is in order. Perhaps, it is time Peter learns to plant them.
As he continued to focus on his son, a powerful sense of foreboding washed over him, causing him to come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Concentrating his thoughts more fully on his son, he sensed the shock, guilt and turmoil that told clearly that his son was disturbed, and not resting as he had been instructed. But, despite his emotional state, Peter was not in physical danger. Redirecting his attention closer at hand, Caine turned to face a darkened alley directly across the street.
Adjusting his satchel, he stepped off the sidewalk and crossed toward the darkened corridor. The unmistakable feeling that this was the correct path caused him to move more confidently, as well as more cautiously into the darkness. By the time he heard the soft whimper, he already knew its owner. When the owner raised the hastily retrieved weapon to attack, he was halfway through deflecting the blow. And when his fingers found the pressure points and his attacker's body began to collapse, he was there to catch her before she fell.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Jody spent most of the trip to Jenine Crawford's residence watching her partner trying to hold it all in, while she simply tried to hold on. She knew that Peter's moods were often reflected in his driving, and judging by the current example, she had no doubt that Jenine Crawford, coupled with a healthy dose of misdirected guilt over the death of Nicholai Stephanos had Peter Caine turned upside down and inside out. She didn't even know where to begin to do damage control. Peter's strong, silent, and reckless act wasn't helping.
"You were in love with her, weren't you?" she finally dared to ask when he pulled the Stealth onto a street lined with turn-of-the-century homes.
Peter jerked the car into a driveway and brought the vehicle to a rough halt, never bothering to look in her direction. "We're here."
"I'll take that as a yes," Jody murmured to herself, watching him through the windshield as he moved toward the darkened porch and disappeared into the shadows.
"Peter, wait!" She hurriedly pushed her door open and climbed out. This was no time for him to try going off on his own. No matter what Peter thought about this woman, Jody wasn't taking any chances. She reached the porch and made out his dim outline within moments. Her heart thudded into high gear when she realized that his gun was drawn. Pulling her own was a reflexive reaction as she moved up beside him.
He inclined his head silently toward the door that stood slightly ajar. Jody nodded her understanding and deftly took up the position on the opposite side of the door, her gun up and ready. She counted mentally to three, and then Peter pushed the door open. It flew back on silent hinges, impacting with a muffled thump into the door stop.
When no other sounds followed, they moved carefully into the darkened interior, covering both sides of the entry corridor. All personal differences were aside as they responded and moved as a team covering one another. Both reacted to the low moan that came from farther back in the house.
Quick steps led them into a dining area. Peter was the first to spot the feet poking from the next doorway. Holstering his weapon, he hurried forward and kneeled near the stout older woman dressed in a starched utilitarian dress and apron.
"I'm Detective Peter Caine, 101st Precinct." Peter quickly identified himself. "And this is my partner, Jody Powell. Are you all right? What happened here?"
The woman blinked up at them, then winced. "I - I think I'm okay. Somebody. . . hit me."
"Can you tell us your name?" Jody asked over Peter's shoulder.
"My name is Agnes. Agnes Lewelyn. I'm the housekeeper. I-- Oh, dear Lord! Johanna! Where's Johanna? She was here with me! Is she all right?" The woman frantically tried to move into a sitting position. "I have to make sure. . . "
Jody watched as Peter grasped the woman's hand. "Where is she supposed to be Agnes? I'll go find her." His tone was confident, reassuring. Jody was sure that only she had seen the way that he flinched at the mention of the little girl's name.
"She's. . . She should be in bed. Third door from the right at the top of the stairs. I thought I heard Ms. Crawford come in. Johanna usually comes down to see her. But then. . . someone. . . " The woman's voice again began to rise toward hysterics, but Peter intervened.
"It's all right. Detective Powell is going to stay with you, Agnes." He handed the woman's clammy hand into Jody's. "I'm going to go check out the house. I'll be right back."
Jody scooted closer to the woman as she watched her partner move off into the house. Then offering her best reassuring smile, she tried to convince the older woman to tell her everything she could about what had happened.
Five minutes later, Peter returned with a resigned look on his face. Both Jenine and Johanna Crawford were gone.
