The Heart of a Man: 7b
~The heart of a man is susceptible to pain,
Can be wounded and broken in endless refrain
The heart of a man is desperate. . . ~
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Peter squinted against the light coming through his windshield as he parked on the street near his father's apartment. He had taken four aspirin after dropping Jody at her car, having barely managed to convince her to wait until morning before filing the official report concerning their findings. He wondered if the mostly-authentic pitiful and in pain look he had given her had been the final straw in bringing her to his side of the argument, if only for a few hours. Whatever the case, three hours of fruitless searching had pushed his headache into migraine territory, adding nausea to the mix. The solution that had been recommended early in his recovery was to lay quietly and calmly in a darkened room. Unfortunately, there was no time for lying quietly, and calm was out of the question. He had to find Jenine. But first, he hoped that his father didn't mind his showing up for a little Shaolin pain relief at 4 o' clock in the morning.
He barely made it to the door when his father appeared, fully dressed, with a concerned frown on his face.
"Come lie down." Caine immediately went into action, taking Peter's arm and leading him to the raised platform beneath the windows.
"Thanks, Pop," Peter said with a soft sigh as he stretched out gratefully, giving himself over to his father's ministrations. From the first touch of Caine's fingers at his temples, the pain began to ease.
"You know, you could make a fortune if you opened some Shaolin headache spa. You could call it Kwai Chang's Magic Fingers. I know--"
"You need to rest." Caine interrupted his ramblings, and deftly readjusted his fingers.
"No." Peter reached up, suddenly serious. "I can't go to sleep right now." He pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I've got too much to do. Can't you just give me something?" He frowned, even as the words left his lips.
"What is it that you have to do that cannot wait until you rest?"
Peter gazed at his father for several moments, wondering if he should involve him. Suddenly feeling very tired, he decided that it would feel good to tell someone. If he could trust anyone with the damaging information, he could trust his father. "A man was killed last night, and somehow Jenine is mixed up in it. I've gotta find her."
Caine nodded. "She is here."
"She is here?" Peter repeated the words, at first not comprehending what his father said. Then, as realization dawned, he shot to his feet. "What?! Where?" He headed toward his father's guest room. A touch of Caine's hand halted him.
"She is resting, my son."
"I have to talk to her." Peter pulled away.
"She collapsed in the street. I brought her here. You were otherwise occupied."
"Is she okay?" A new kind of worry washed through him as he waited for his father's answer. "And was a little girl with her?"
"She was alone," Caine replied. "She has suffered a shock, and I believe that given rest," he said pointedly, "she will be fine."
Peter couldn't back down. Too much was at stake. "I've still got to talk to her. Along with everything else, she and her daughter have been officially reported missing."
"Her daughter?" Caine frowned. He looked knowingly into Peter's features. "And there is more?"
"Oh yes, there is more," Peter told him. "Now, can I talk to her or not?"
Caine gestured him toward the room.
Peter walked into the dimly lit room and saw Jenine's form outlined beneath a light covering. For a moment the memories of watching her sleep, being with her, smelling her scent on himself afterward overwhelmed him. But then the realities of the present returned, pushing those thoughts away. He moved to her side and hesitantly touched her arm.
"Jenine," he called to her. It felt strange to be waking her as if she were a stranger. She stirred slightly at his touch and then opened her eyes and looked confusedly up at him.
"Peter? What are you. . . ? What. . . ?" And then looking around the sparsely furnished room. "Where. . .?"
"You're at my father's place." He watched as memory returned. She closed her eyes as if fighting off some horrible realization. When she opened them, her mouth clamped shut and she moved from beneath the light blanket and went in search of her shoes.
"Leaving?" Peter asked.
"Yes."
"Mind if we talk a minute before you go?"
"About what?" Jenine asked, not looking in his direction as she straightened her hair.
"About Steph." Peter eyed her carefully.
Jenine stiffened, and then went back to working on her hair. "What about Steph?" she asked, turning away.
Peter moved to where he could observe her expression. "You two still keep in touch?"
"Some," she responded, avoiding his eyes.
"He's dead, Jenine." Peter said the words and then waited for her reaction. A brief hesitation in the fingers that attempted to tidy her long hair was the only sign that she had heard. Peter grasped her arm, halting the motion. "You already knew that, didn't you?" he asked.
Jenine snatched her arm away from him and began to search for something within the folds of the blanket that she had been using.
Peter paced in a small circle, fighting the fear and anger that were growing within himself, hating the question that he knew he had to ask next. "Did you do it?"
Jenine jumped to her feet, fire in her eyes, and slapped him soundly across his left cheek. "How dare you ask me that question?! Steph was my friend! He was there for me!"
"Oh, right. And I wasn't?" Peter shot back. "I seem to remember that was the way you wanted it. But let's not get sidetracked, here. Where were you last night from 7:30 until 9:00 p.m.?"
Peter saw the look of disbelief come into her eyes. "What are you here for, Peter? Did you come to arrest me?"
"If not me, then someone else," Peter replied. "Let's examine the evidence, shall we? There are broken vases that bear a ~striking~ resemblance to those stolen from the Crawford collection all over the floor. Vases that just happened to have been conveniently stolen yesterday morning. You were present during the robbery --"
"It was my job to be present!" Jenine cut in hotly.
Peter continued as if she hadn't spoken. "~You~ misled the investigating detectives as to your identity."
"I didn't mislead them, I just didn't give my full name. This is a bunch of. . . "
Peter continued, speaking more loudly over her interruption. "~You~ were the one who convinced your father-in-law to exhibit them. A witness saw a woman with ~your~ general description leaving the building. And ~you~ are the last person Steph called before he died. So the way I, and I'm sure a few other law enforcement officers in the city, see it, you've got a lot of questions to answer. At least with me you have someone who is willing to talk before I slam the handcuffs on. Your choice! Now where were you? Or don't you have an alibi?"
Jenine stared up at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily. Then it all crumbled and her eyes filled. "Damnit." She angrily blinked the tears away. "I'm in trouble, Peter," she said softly, reaching a hand toward him. "I was there, but I didn't kill him."
Peter's insides twisted. Her plea brought all of his protective instincts rushing to the fore. He fought them for several moments, before reaching out in return. "Come on," his voice softened. "Let's sit down."
Jenine nodded and settled beside him.
"Listen, Jen. Just tell me what happened. I'll do whatever I can to help you."
Jenine took a deep breath and sniffed, leaning ever so slightly against his shoulder. It might have been mistaken for her having simply brushed against him had the move not been so reminiscent of others between them. Past actions and past emotions. "Your father called you?" she asked.
"No." Peter shook his head as he placed an arm around her. "No phone. I. . . came by for something else. I've been looking for you and Johanna all night."
He felt Jenine stiffen. "Johanna? Why have you been looking for Jo?"
"Where is she?" Peter asked, an unspoken fear beginning in his gut.
"Home?" Jenine's voice was hopeful, but her eyes told another story. "Tell me you didn't check there, Peter."
Peter nodded his head, confirming what appeared to be her worst fears. "Someone hit Ms. Lewelyn over the head. We searched everywhere, we even checked at your father-in-law's. We couldn't find her anywhere."
Jenine shook her head in disbelief, then pushed away from Peter, and to her feet. "I've gotta go find her," she said, moving frantically for the door.
"Jenine, wait!" Peter grabbed for her. "You can't just go running around out there in the middle of the night. . . morning. . . whatever. I'm not the only one looking for you."
"I have to find her, Peter!" Jenine cried, struggling to break away. "I won't lose her. I can't!"
"Let me find her," Peter urged, willing her to listen.
"I will help." Caine spoke from slightly behind him.
Jenine looked between the two men, then nodded. "Okay."
Peter relaxed slightly. "Do you have any idea where she might be? Could she have wandered off? Would anyone take her?"
Jenine looked up at him wide-eyed. "I'm not sure. I . . . ." She shook her head helplessly. "I don't know."
Caine rested a calming hand on Peter's shoulder and the other on Jenine's. "Do you have something that belongs to her?"
"What good is that going to--"
"It'll help," Peter assured her. "Trust him. He's pretty amazing." He offered his father a small smile.
"In my car," Jenine said. "I. . . she. . . I should have something there."
"Where is your car?" Peter asked.
"I hid it near Steph's. I'll show you."
