Part 4: To Protect . . .
Jesse Travis peered into the deck doors of the beach house, trying to get a better look inside. The grill wasn't set up, and far as he could tell it looked like no one was even at home. He looked back at his watch. He might have been a few minutes early, but surely he hadn't misunderstood Mark's invitation to a meal the night before.
Feeling a little let down, he turned and looked out toward the beach. It was nice out, maybe Mark had decided to take a walk. Steve's truck was gone, so Jesse figured he was picking up last minute items. It was getting late in the day and the number of people strolling the beach was diminishing. None of them looked like his friend.
Maybe the two Sloans had decided to have a father and son dinner in honor of Steve's award. He didn't want to interfere with that. And he really couldn't blame Mark for forgetting him. It was a pretty big honor that Steve had won. He headed back down the deck stairs with a dejected frown.
As he circled around the house, he thought he caught the sound of Steve's truck. He immediately brightened. Maybe he hadn't been forgotten after all. With more energy in his step, he hurried around to the front drive, arriving just as Steve cut the engine.
Mark climbed out of the truck and assisted a dark-haired woman. All the while an apologetic expression lit his features. "Oh, Jesse, I'm so sorry. Something came up and I completely forgot about dinner."
Some of the spark went out of his greeting. "It's okay, Mark. I see you've got a guest, anyway. We can make it for another time." He shot a weak smile in Steve's direction and was surprised at the irritation he saw warring in his friend's expression. He was obviously hiding it, but Jesse could see the tension around his mouth and in his shoulders.
"No, I don't want to interrupt anything." The woman spoke up, recapturing Jesse's attention. He gave her a second look. Beneath a pale and utterly worn out look, he could tell that she was beautiful. "I can just go to a hotel."
"Nonsense," Mark told her. "Maeve Michaels, this is Dr. Jesse Travis. And he's practically family. Jesse, Maeve is going to be with us for a couple of days. She has had a very bad shock and I really don't think she should be alone right now."
Jesse felt himself brightening at Mark's description of their relationship, but he sobered at hearing that something awful must have happened recently to their house guest. "I'm pleased to meet you," he told her. Then turned to Mark, "I'll call later."
"Uh, Jess. Could you stay for a little while?" Mark asked.
"Sure." Jesse was happy to stick around, despite the fact that he hadn't missed the look Steve sent in his father's direction.
The whole group headed into the house. Mark immediately led Maeve off to the far guestroom. Jesse wasted no time in cornering his friend and business partner.
"So, what's going on? Who is she?"
Steve shot him a look that clearly said he wasn't interested in talking about it. He dropped a stack of files on the coffee table and headed out toward the deck.
Jesse could smell blood and wasn't letting him off the hook. "Come on, Steve. Tell me. And what happened to her? What bad shock?"
Steve steadily went about the task of setting up the grill.
Jesse was undeterred. "Maeve Michaels." He repeated the name silently in his mind. Then,
You know that name sounds really familiar for some reason. Was she one of your cases before? Maeve . . . " Suddenly Jesse gasped. "Maeve!!"
"Shh!!" Steve put a hand to his lips. "Could you at least keep it down?"
"Sorry. She's the one? The one you were smitten with. The married . . . " Jesse frowned. Mark had said that she'd received a very bad shock. Suddenly this didn't seem like so much a fun game. "Why is she here, Steve? What happened?"
"Someone murdered her husband," Steve replied.
"Whoa!" Jesse was stunned. That was the last response he'd been expecting. "And they're letting you work the case?"
"No. But since when has that stopped dad, before?"
"Good point." Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to him. "Are you a suspect?"
"No, Jess." Steve sighed and his tension seemed to increase. "She is."
"Oh." Jesse was beginning to understand. "So, do you know why Mark asked me to stay?"
Steve offered a humorless smile. "Obviously he thinks that there's safety in numbers." Having completed the task of setting up the grill, he turned and headed for the steps that led down to the beach. "Tell dad the grill is started, would you, Jess? I need some air."
~*~
Mark was putting the finishing touches on the meats when he heard Jesse come in behind him. He turned and smiled at the younger man. "Is he still upset?" he asked, feeling as though he was hiding out from his own son.
"Maybe a little," Jesse told him.
Mark made a face. "Oh. Deep down he understands why I did it. He just needs to get used to the idea." He gestured toward a cupboard with a shoulder. "Could you grab another platter for me?"
Jesse retrieved the item. "Is the cook out still on?"
"Sure. Why not?" As far as he was concerned, they all still had to eat. And since he'd gotten the burgers and steaks and chicken prepared to go over the fire, it seemed only logical that they cook them that way. There was more than enough for everyone.
A voice in the doorway caught his attention. "Mark. I don't think I can rest just yet. Do you mind if I take a walk on the beach?"
Mark turned to see Maeve standing there, wearing an old outfit of Carol's. "Of course not. Go right through those doors and the deck will lead you down."
"Thanks, Mark." Maeve smiled at him sadly and headed off.
Jesse turned widened eyes on him and muttered under his breath, "Mark, Steve's out there."
Mark chuckled softly, and responded in an equally quiet tone. "I know. And your point?"
"You're meddling!" Jesse gave him a sly look.
Mark gave the younger doctor his most innocent look. "Did I make Steve go out to take a walk along the beach?"
"No, I guess not."
"And did I encourage Maeve to go?"
"Well, no. But . . . " Jesse looked confused for a second. "At least not that I saw . . . "
Mark just smiled. "Grab a couple tomatoes out of the refrigerator, would you please?"
~*~
Steve found that he couldn't just sit in his usual spot. He had to be moving, expending energy. That translated into walking out to the water's edge, pressing at the damp, packed sand, and backing up every so often to avoid his shoes being washed over by the waves as they flowed onto the beach.
His body carried out the movements necessary on autopilot. His mind was busy elsewhere. Maeve Michaels was in his home, probably sleeping, in the guest room. This was the woman who had played him for a fool -- toying with his emotions while knowing that she wasn't available. Fidelity had meant nothing to her. And his father had invited her to stay for the weekend.
It was just too much, the wrong case and at the wrong time. Those two little girls were still in the back of his mind, nipping at his conscience. He knew that there was no way he would ever be able to spend that award check. In his heart, it just felt tainted.
And then there was Fred. The other detective's animosity was sure to escalate once he discovered that his prime suspect was staying under the Sloan roof. He shook his head and blew out a breath. His dad sure knew how to stir up a pot.
His mind flowed back to Maeve. He had to admit that he didn't think that she could maliciously kill her husband. Especially not because she thought that he might be having an affair. It just didn't fit. He firmly believed that she was incapable of killing Adam Michaels and his assistant Tessa Cohen. If Amanda was right about Fred, and he didn't doubt that she was, Maeve was going to need his and his dad's help.
He groaned inwardly. Why did his dad have to be right about this? Now he was going to have to forgive him. Maybe even apologize for the cold shoulder that he'd given him all the way home. He groaned again, this time aloud.
"Are you okay?"
He turned, mildly startled, at the sound of her voice. The crashing of the ocean had drowned out her approached. "Yeah. I'm okay." He looked back out toward the ocean as she came up beside him.
"I couldn't rest," she explained. "I just kept seeing --" Her voice began to waver, and she broke off. She swallowed and then focused out on the tumbling waters for a moment before beginning again.
"Steve, I am sorry that you were hurt. But I'm not sorry that it happened. And now I realize that I've invaded your home -- It didn't occur to me that you lived here with Mark. As soon as I've gotten myself together, I'll call a cab and . . . "
"No." Steve interrupted her. "Don't do that. I have the downstairs unit. It's basically a separate apartment. But regardless, you still don't have to leave. You're welcome here." He offered a smile that was surprisingly genuine. He didn't agree with what she had done, but he couldn't turn her away as someone who needed help. She was just as much a victim as the two who were lying in the morgue.
The genuine smile soon transformed to a look of dismay as Maeve burst into tears. What had he done wrong? He moved toward her and placed his hands on her arms, hoping to find a way to calm her.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say between sobs. "I'm just a bit of a mess today. Your being so kind and forgiving just pushed me over the edge." There was a self-deprecating smile somewhere in the tears. She sniffed and tried to pull herself together.
"It's okay." Steve smiled back at her before pulling her into his arms. "I'm just that kind of a guy, I'm told." She held on to him for a long moment and then pushed gently away.
She laughed a little. "I can't get too used to that."
Steve smiled. "Friends. Friends can hug." He wiped at her tears and gestured back toward the house. "You know, the grill is probably just about ready. My dad makes a mean hamburger. Feel like heading back?"
She nodded and turned with him toward the beach house. As she did so, she dropped one of her shoes. It tumbled down the grassy dune and a little way out toward the water. They both laughed, and Steve stayed her motion to go after it, telling her that he'd get it.
The shoe wasn't very far away, no more than a couple of yards. Steve quickly retrieved it and found that she'd followed him. He smiled and handed the white sneaker to her. As she grabbed hold of it, one of her feet seemed to sink suddenly in the uneven sand, causing her to stumble slightly toward him. He reached out reflexively to catch her. That was when he heard the crack of weapon's fire. The burning edge of something sliced along his side just as the world tilted and they both went down.
They hit the sand in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs. He immediately began to maneuver his body between hers and the properties along the waterfront, using the slightly raised mound of granulated earth to his advantage.
Screams erupted from farther along the beach as the sparse occupants ducked behind umbrellas and coolers, some pointed to a construction site a few houses over from his and his dad's home. Steve scanned the area, searching for any indication as to who the shooter was or if there would be more shots forthcoming. Moments later, the sound of squealing tires against pavement registered.
For several more heart-pounding moments, tension reigned as both he and Maeve remained frozen in position. Waiting. Then, deciding that the shooter was likely gone, he moved to bring them both cautiously to a standing position. He was surprised at how unsteady he felt, but brushed the thought aside and persevered toward full upright.
"Steve!" Maeve called his name, her tone frantic. "Steve, you . . . !"
He turned his head toward her, and the world seemed to tilt abruptly, before righting itself. He blinked, and shook his head, struggling to focus on her voice. It seemed to be coming from a very long way off. He dazedly followed her frantic gestures downward. The right side of his once gray shirt clung to him, saturated with an alarming amount of dark red. Pain receptors suddenly kicked in on overdrive, and the world began a slow spin.
Jesse Travis peered into the deck doors of the beach house, trying to get a better look inside. The grill wasn't set up, and far as he could tell it looked like no one was even at home. He looked back at his watch. He might have been a few minutes early, but surely he hadn't misunderstood Mark's invitation to a meal the night before.
Feeling a little let down, he turned and looked out toward the beach. It was nice out, maybe Mark had decided to take a walk. Steve's truck was gone, so Jesse figured he was picking up last minute items. It was getting late in the day and the number of people strolling the beach was diminishing. None of them looked like his friend.
Maybe the two Sloans had decided to have a father and son dinner in honor of Steve's award. He didn't want to interfere with that. And he really couldn't blame Mark for forgetting him. It was a pretty big honor that Steve had won. He headed back down the deck stairs with a dejected frown.
As he circled around the house, he thought he caught the sound of Steve's truck. He immediately brightened. Maybe he hadn't been forgotten after all. With more energy in his step, he hurried around to the front drive, arriving just as Steve cut the engine.
Mark climbed out of the truck and assisted a dark-haired woman. All the while an apologetic expression lit his features. "Oh, Jesse, I'm so sorry. Something came up and I completely forgot about dinner."
Some of the spark went out of his greeting. "It's okay, Mark. I see you've got a guest, anyway. We can make it for another time." He shot a weak smile in Steve's direction and was surprised at the irritation he saw warring in his friend's expression. He was obviously hiding it, but Jesse could see the tension around his mouth and in his shoulders.
"No, I don't want to interrupt anything." The woman spoke up, recapturing Jesse's attention. He gave her a second look. Beneath a pale and utterly worn out look, he could tell that she was beautiful. "I can just go to a hotel."
"Nonsense," Mark told her. "Maeve Michaels, this is Dr. Jesse Travis. And he's practically family. Jesse, Maeve is going to be with us for a couple of days. She has had a very bad shock and I really don't think she should be alone right now."
Jesse felt himself brightening at Mark's description of their relationship, but he sobered at hearing that something awful must have happened recently to their house guest. "I'm pleased to meet you," he told her. Then turned to Mark, "I'll call later."
"Uh, Jess. Could you stay for a little while?" Mark asked.
"Sure." Jesse was happy to stick around, despite the fact that he hadn't missed the look Steve sent in his father's direction.
The whole group headed into the house. Mark immediately led Maeve off to the far guestroom. Jesse wasted no time in cornering his friend and business partner.
"So, what's going on? Who is she?"
Steve shot him a look that clearly said he wasn't interested in talking about it. He dropped a stack of files on the coffee table and headed out toward the deck.
Jesse could smell blood and wasn't letting him off the hook. "Come on, Steve. Tell me. And what happened to her? What bad shock?"
Steve steadily went about the task of setting up the grill.
Jesse was undeterred. "Maeve Michaels." He repeated the name silently in his mind. Then,
You know that name sounds really familiar for some reason. Was she one of your cases before? Maeve . . . " Suddenly Jesse gasped. "Maeve!!"
"Shh!!" Steve put a hand to his lips. "Could you at least keep it down?"
"Sorry. She's the one? The one you were smitten with. The married . . . " Jesse frowned. Mark had said that she'd received a very bad shock. Suddenly this didn't seem like so much a fun game. "Why is she here, Steve? What happened?"
"Someone murdered her husband," Steve replied.
"Whoa!" Jesse was stunned. That was the last response he'd been expecting. "And they're letting you work the case?"
"No. But since when has that stopped dad, before?"
"Good point." Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to him. "Are you a suspect?"
"No, Jess." Steve sighed and his tension seemed to increase. "She is."
"Oh." Jesse was beginning to understand. "So, do you know why Mark asked me to stay?"
Steve offered a humorless smile. "Obviously he thinks that there's safety in numbers." Having completed the task of setting up the grill, he turned and headed for the steps that led down to the beach. "Tell dad the grill is started, would you, Jess? I need some air."
~*~
Mark was putting the finishing touches on the meats when he heard Jesse come in behind him. He turned and smiled at the younger man. "Is he still upset?" he asked, feeling as though he was hiding out from his own son.
"Maybe a little," Jesse told him.
Mark made a face. "Oh. Deep down he understands why I did it. He just needs to get used to the idea." He gestured toward a cupboard with a shoulder. "Could you grab another platter for me?"
Jesse retrieved the item. "Is the cook out still on?"
"Sure. Why not?" As far as he was concerned, they all still had to eat. And since he'd gotten the burgers and steaks and chicken prepared to go over the fire, it seemed only logical that they cook them that way. There was more than enough for everyone.
A voice in the doorway caught his attention. "Mark. I don't think I can rest just yet. Do you mind if I take a walk on the beach?"
Mark turned to see Maeve standing there, wearing an old outfit of Carol's. "Of course not. Go right through those doors and the deck will lead you down."
"Thanks, Mark." Maeve smiled at him sadly and headed off.
Jesse turned widened eyes on him and muttered under his breath, "Mark, Steve's out there."
Mark chuckled softly, and responded in an equally quiet tone. "I know. And your point?"
"You're meddling!" Jesse gave him a sly look.
Mark gave the younger doctor his most innocent look. "Did I make Steve go out to take a walk along the beach?"
"No, I guess not."
"And did I encourage Maeve to go?"
"Well, no. But . . . " Jesse looked confused for a second. "At least not that I saw . . . "
Mark just smiled. "Grab a couple tomatoes out of the refrigerator, would you please?"
~*~
Steve found that he couldn't just sit in his usual spot. He had to be moving, expending energy. That translated into walking out to the water's edge, pressing at the damp, packed sand, and backing up every so often to avoid his shoes being washed over by the waves as they flowed onto the beach.
His body carried out the movements necessary on autopilot. His mind was busy elsewhere. Maeve Michaels was in his home, probably sleeping, in the guest room. This was the woman who had played him for a fool -- toying with his emotions while knowing that she wasn't available. Fidelity had meant nothing to her. And his father had invited her to stay for the weekend.
It was just too much, the wrong case and at the wrong time. Those two little girls were still in the back of his mind, nipping at his conscience. He knew that there was no way he would ever be able to spend that award check. In his heart, it just felt tainted.
And then there was Fred. The other detective's animosity was sure to escalate once he discovered that his prime suspect was staying under the Sloan roof. He shook his head and blew out a breath. His dad sure knew how to stir up a pot.
His mind flowed back to Maeve. He had to admit that he didn't think that she could maliciously kill her husband. Especially not because she thought that he might be having an affair. It just didn't fit. He firmly believed that she was incapable of killing Adam Michaels and his assistant Tessa Cohen. If Amanda was right about Fred, and he didn't doubt that she was, Maeve was going to need his and his dad's help.
He groaned inwardly. Why did his dad have to be right about this? Now he was going to have to forgive him. Maybe even apologize for the cold shoulder that he'd given him all the way home. He groaned again, this time aloud.
"Are you okay?"
He turned, mildly startled, at the sound of her voice. The crashing of the ocean had drowned out her approached. "Yeah. I'm okay." He looked back out toward the ocean as she came up beside him.
"I couldn't rest," she explained. "I just kept seeing --" Her voice began to waver, and she broke off. She swallowed and then focused out on the tumbling waters for a moment before beginning again.
"Steve, I am sorry that you were hurt. But I'm not sorry that it happened. And now I realize that I've invaded your home -- It didn't occur to me that you lived here with Mark. As soon as I've gotten myself together, I'll call a cab and . . . "
"No." Steve interrupted her. "Don't do that. I have the downstairs unit. It's basically a separate apartment. But regardless, you still don't have to leave. You're welcome here." He offered a smile that was surprisingly genuine. He didn't agree with what she had done, but he couldn't turn her away as someone who needed help. She was just as much a victim as the two who were lying in the morgue.
The genuine smile soon transformed to a look of dismay as Maeve burst into tears. What had he done wrong? He moved toward her and placed his hands on her arms, hoping to find a way to calm her.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say between sobs. "I'm just a bit of a mess today. Your being so kind and forgiving just pushed me over the edge." There was a self-deprecating smile somewhere in the tears. She sniffed and tried to pull herself together.
"It's okay." Steve smiled back at her before pulling her into his arms. "I'm just that kind of a guy, I'm told." She held on to him for a long moment and then pushed gently away.
She laughed a little. "I can't get too used to that."
Steve smiled. "Friends. Friends can hug." He wiped at her tears and gestured back toward the house. "You know, the grill is probably just about ready. My dad makes a mean hamburger. Feel like heading back?"
She nodded and turned with him toward the beach house. As she did so, she dropped one of her shoes. It tumbled down the grassy dune and a little way out toward the water. They both laughed, and Steve stayed her motion to go after it, telling her that he'd get it.
The shoe wasn't very far away, no more than a couple of yards. Steve quickly retrieved it and found that she'd followed him. He smiled and handed the white sneaker to her. As she grabbed hold of it, one of her feet seemed to sink suddenly in the uneven sand, causing her to stumble slightly toward him. He reached out reflexively to catch her. That was when he heard the crack of weapon's fire. The burning edge of something sliced along his side just as the world tilted and they both went down.
They hit the sand in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs. He immediately began to maneuver his body between hers and the properties along the waterfront, using the slightly raised mound of granulated earth to his advantage.
Screams erupted from farther along the beach as the sparse occupants ducked behind umbrellas and coolers, some pointed to a construction site a few houses over from his and his dad's home. Steve scanned the area, searching for any indication as to who the shooter was or if there would be more shots forthcoming. Moments later, the sound of squealing tires against pavement registered.
For several more heart-pounding moments, tension reigned as both he and Maeve remained frozen in position. Waiting. Then, deciding that the shooter was likely gone, he moved to bring them both cautiously to a standing position. He was surprised at how unsteady he felt, but brushed the thought aside and persevered toward full upright.
"Steve!" Maeve called his name, her tone frantic. "Steve, you . . . !"
He turned his head toward her, and the world seemed to tilt abruptly, before righting itself. He blinked, and shook his head, struggling to focus on her voice. It seemed to be coming from a very long way off. He dazedly followed her frantic gestures downward. The right side of his once gray shirt clung to him, saturated with an alarming amount of dark red. Pain receptors suddenly kicked in on overdrive, and the world began a slow spin.