The Heart of a Man: 17

Peter gingerly shrugged into his jacket, careful not to aggravate his healing body. In the jacket's pocket rested his father's latest contribution to quick healing and pain relief. But as the stuff was bad smelling and bad tasting, Peter opted to not mind the pain for a while.

Jacket mission complete, his next task was to find his keys. Where had Paul said he'd left them? Then he remembered -- on the hook in the kitchen, where they belonged. Peter turned away from the closet and looked up the short flight of steps that led to his kitchenette. He'd made the journey the night before, after threatening to run away to the circus if both his fathers didn't stop hovering. He wasn't keen on making it again.

Deciding that he could not mind a little more pain if it meant he didn't have to spend another day cooped up in his apartment, he set a stiff pace for the steps.

Halfway there, a knock sounded.

Peter looked longingly from the keys to the door. If it was either of his fathers, or Annie, he'd never get out of there. On the other hand, if he didn't answer soon and it was one of his fathers or Annie, they would simply let themselves in. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. He changed direction and headed for the door. He opened it at the start of the third knock, and immediately took a stunned -- and ill-advised -- step back. A shaft of pain shot through his midsection and up across his back.

"Jenine?" he managed after breathing through the wave that he decided he indeed did mind.

Jenine stepped into the apartment and reached out toward him. "Are you okay?"

Peter covered with his best grin, sensing a little of the old attraction as her hands lingered a moment longer. "Fine. Just. . . surprised to see you. Come on in." He stepped around her to close the door. Turning, he glanced past her toward the kitchen steps. "You wouldn't happen to want a drink would you?"

"Oh. No. Thank you." Jenine shook her head and reached into the large purse that was swung over her shoulder. "I came by to bring you this, and to say thank you. . . for everything." She handed him a small, elegantly wrapped parcel.

Peter accepted it with a smile. "From you and Jo?"

"Actually from Thomas," Jenine corrected. "He had to go to Washington for some meetings. He asked me to deliver it. Said he preferred the personal touch after all your help."

Peter sobered. "Are his defense contracts going to suffer because of what Troung was doing?"

Jenine shook her head with a wry grin. "I doubt it. Thomas didn't know anything about Terrance's operation, didn't even know what was on the compact disk. Besides, he's well connected; has lots of friends in high places."

Peter nodded, suddenly understanding why Crawford had never so much as touched the CD or offered to allow Peter to try to view it in his home. Peter raised the gift wrapped package.

"What is it?"

Jenine shrugged. "I don't know. Thomas had it made. Why don't you go ahead and open it?"

Peter tore into the elegant paper with a grin. "Speaking of gifts, how's Johanna? I was planning to come by -- actually today -- to thank her for the shirt and see how you both were doing."

"That really isn't necessary," Jenine said. "You've done a remarkable job straightening out the messes in my life. I'm all clear now."

Peter paused over a particularly tough piece of tape. "It's no problem, really." He grinned at her, and confided conspiratorially before returning to the tape, "Kids like me."

"No, Peter. Really," Jenine's voice chilled slightly. "It's not necessary."

"Be careful or I'm going to think you don't want me coming by," Peter chuckled as the tape came free to reveal a white box emblazoned with the symbol of Crawford's Jewelers. He removed the lid and found a smooth black velvet box within. His hand hovered over the velvet lid as the silence stretched. His eyes rose to meet Jenine's.

"You don't want me coming by, do you?" he asked with pained realization.

Jenine stared back at him. "No, Peter. I don't."

The velvet box dropped to Peter's side, forgotten. "Too much pain from a past that you want to forget?" he asked, hurt because that would mean she wanted to forget him.

Jenine opened her mouth, and then closed it.

"Well, I can understand that," Peter said. "My father would say that we must learn to accept the past, that it leads to the present and is the key to the future, to healing."

Still, Jenine did not speak.

"But I don't think that means forgetting the people in your past. It just means realizing who and what is important, not cutting people out like a bad spot on an apple."

"Peter, our time together was . . . incredible. And I owe you a debt of gratitude that I could probably never repay. I'm sorry that I hurt you in the past. And I'm sorry that what I'm going to say now might hurt you. But it's the truth, and I think I owe you that."

Peter steeled himself as she paused a beat and looked him in the eyes.

"I don't want you anywhere near my daughter. I don't want her being curious about you. I don't want a relationship developing between the two of you. As far as she's concerned, you're just some random policeman who saved her life. Johanna lives a sheltered life, a privileged life. I don't want her subjected to any influences contrary to that."

Peter felt as if the very molecules in the room came to a stop. "What? After everything that's happened? After all we've gone through? After my father found her, carried her in his arms from that warehouse and delivered her home to her grandfather, I'm not allowed to even see her or say thank you?"

"I've made my decision," Jenine said coolly. "And it is my decision to make."

"Well then why don't you just say what you really mean? I'm not rich enough. I don't dance in the vaunted circles of the super wealthy. I'm just a lowly damn cop! Good enough to risk his life, but make sure he leaves through the servant's entrance. Wouldn't want him to forget his place."

"You're overreacting. Besides, she's not your daughter. Why do you even care?"

"Because she's your daughter!" Peter shot back, then shook his head. "No, more than that. Because she's human and she breathes, and she's just gone through a traumatic experience. Because she needs to know that there are people out there who will try to protect her from the bad guys."

"She will be protected from now on. I'm making sure of that. So she won't need any reassurances from you."

"I'm not talking about some nameless bodyguard looking to collect a paycheck. And frankly I find this newfound snobbishness very unbecoming. It's no way to raise a child."

"You have no right to tell me how to raise my daughter. I'm her mother, and I have to do what I think is best for her!"

"This is best?" Peter demanded. "This is really the best you can do? Teaching her that everyone outside of her perfect little rich-girl world is beneath contempt and unworthy of her notice? Excellent job, Jenine. I didn't know you had it in you!"

Jenine's hands clenched at her sides and Peter felt sure that she would throw something at him. Instead, she turned and headed for the door.

"Oh, no. Not so fast." Peter got around her, blocked the door. The abrupt movement sent spasms of pain through him, weakening his voice. "You can't think this is right, Jenine. You just can't."

Jenine shook her head and said softly, "I shouldn't have come. I should have known that you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand all right," Peter said, struggling to reign in his anger. "I understand that after everything, you're still afraid of losing the money, your position in society."

"Look, I don't want to argue with you anymore about this. You're a wonderful guy, Peter. And I mean that. I'll remember you forever, and I'll always be grateful. But there is no future for you and Johanna, for you and me. I want our lives to go back to the way they were."

"You can never go back," Peter countered softly. "Things can never be the way they were."

"I won't let you change my mind," Jenine said. "This is the way it has to be. My decision is final. Goodbye." She moved around him and walked out the door. Peter didn't turn, made no move to stop her this time.

"Good riddance," he said to the empty room. He blew out a breath as he moved farther into the apartment. He was surprised to find Crawford's gift still clutched in his hand.

After several moments of staring at the velvet box, he reached up and lifted the lid. A pair of gold cuff links and a small, expensive looking leather pouch, both engraved with the images of the tiger and the dragon, were nestled inside. A white card bearing a calligraphic message lay alongside.


To men of heart, worthy of honor, whom I'd gladly call my friends.
Please accept this token of my deepest gratitude.
-- Thomas Crawford

Peter contemplated the irony of the situation. The woman with whom he'd shared so much didn't think he was worthy, or good enough, to occupy even a small portion of her life. Yet, a man he barely knew existed four days prior, found him worthy of honor and friendship. She could learn a lot from you. If she ever gets over her fears.

He snapped the box shut and slid it into his jacket pocket. Her loss. Turning, he headed up the kitchen steps for his keys. He wanted to stop by Chinatown to give his father his half of Crawford's gift. He also had a certain silk shirt that he felt sure his father could find a needy owner for. Then, he decided, the ritual of letting go would be complete.