VI
After that moment, the detective seemed to warm up to Emma. They continued their session and Woody left her for a while, sitting in the room with her glass of water. She paced and looked into the mirror at her drawn, tired, un-cleansed face until he came back. She felt she looked like a homeless person, in clothes that were too big for her, stringy hair and a dirty face. He reentered the room as she played with her brown, chin length hair; brushing her greasy bangs out of her eyes, she took her seat.
"With the partial drawing you've made, I have some officers looking through the books. I'm afraid that the chief can't spare any other officers, but me, for protection so he's put me in charge of that," he smiled, "as long as you're in Boston, I've got your back."
Emma smiled, feeling comfort that she would no longer be alone in this foreign land. However, she feared that they would never find the man in any of their books.
"Don't you have to do your police work?" She asked, "You mentioned that you're a homicide detective, not a personal bodyguard."
"Don't worry about me," he said, looking into the depths of her eyes, "I promise you I've got the best men on the force working to catch this guy. You have nothing to worry about."
Emma smiled and for the first time since she had arrived in Boston, she felt secure. They stood and he held the door open for her.
Woody continued, "Now, we just have to do a few more things before I take you back to your hotel."
She froze, "If you wouldn't mind, I don't really want to go back to that hotel."
Woody understood and led her to another room where two police officers poured over images of random criminals matching the sketch and accompanying description that Emma had provided. "Do you recognize any of the following men?" He asked handing her a file of images.
She flipped through the pages twice, but none of the men on the pile was the man whose eyes she would never forget. None of them had the piercing blue like shocks of violence exploding from aging skin. None of their noses looked as if a rat had gotten a hold of it and would not let go. No scars or burn marks ravaged their faces, twisting lips into maniacal grins. None of the men had one gold tooth, the right lateral incisor, shining with pride at his criminal record. "No, none of these men are him," tossing the images onto the desk and looking away in disgust, "No; you won't find his picture here."
Woody stood perplexed, "What do you mean?"
"He obviously followed me, he was on my plane. He might not even be from Boston," she said.
Woody looked at her awkwardly, as if he knew she was withholding information.
"Alright, put out an APB on this man, based on the picture she drew. Go through Canadian records too. Call me when you find him," Woody told the other two officers, who did not look the slightest bit relieved to have more work on their hands. Now, they had to search through endless photos of blue eyed, gold toothed, scar faced men from two different countries.
They left Police Headquarters. It was the first time in two days that Emma had the chance to enjoy the crisp, early autumn air. She took a deep breath, smelling the city and feeling the wind flow through her hair. She had never felt more alive in her entire life. After the near death experiences forced through in the past couple of days, she was glad for the ability to walk and laugh, which she was doing plenty of with Woody.
They drove to the hotel and Woody tried to keep her mind off things by telling her cheesy jokes.
"OK, so this mushroom walked into a dance club and asked this girl to dance," Emma glanced at him silently wondering what he was up to, "And the girl replied, 'Are you kidding? You're a mushroom!' and the mushroom replied, 'Oh come on. I'm a fun guy!' Do you get it?"
"Yeah, I get it," She could not help but giggle at his attempts, and the way he made her feel sympathy for him by pouting when she thought his jokes were especially bad.
They pulled up to the front of the hotel and got out of the car. Woody made Emma walk behind him, incase her creep had returned to the scene of a crime. He prepared for an ambush as they rode the elevator up to the tenth floor, taking his gun out of his shoulder holster. Emma did not like guns and she grew tense at the silence in the corridor. She handed Woody the replacement electronic key card they had received at the front desk and he quietly opened the door, which seemed odd to Emma. She had considered him the type of person to kick down the door with his gun blazing.
He assured her, and himself, that the room was secure before allowing her to enter. The hotel cleaner had been in, the tabletops were dusted, much to Woody's distaste. He was hoping to have a preserved crime scene to lift fingerprints or genetic material. The used towel she had wiped her face with had been replaced but all of her things were where she had left them. Her captor, surprisingly, had stolen nothing.
She was still wearing the size-too-large clothes that the ME's office had given her as replacement for her pajamas, which had been removed in the place she called Red Hell and were not found.
"Do you think I could change into something more comfortable before we go?"
Woody raised his eyebrow and Emma figured he was thinking of something stupid to say so she took his smile as a yes. She went into the bathroom with her bag and returned wearing dark green cargo shorts and a black shirt with the letters BPD with a magnifying glass under the letters. Woody smiled and said, "Did you come knowing you'd have to deal with the Boston—"
She turned around and he read 'Bachelorettes Party Downtown.'
She blushed and said, "It was for my friend's Bachelorette Party, obviously. Another friend got these shirts especially for the bridesmaids."
Woody snorted, mock rolling his eyes. "Let's get out of here; I don't want to stay any longer than we have to."
Emma gathered up the rest of her belongings, stowing them away in her bags. She put on a knee-length, black trench coat and took up her purse and a folder while Woody gathered her bags and they headed for the door.
"Where would you like to stay now?" He asked her on the ride down the elevator, "I hear the Four Seasons Hotel is nice."
Emma sighed, "I don't know, my future company was paying for my stay here, in fact, I should probably do something about that."
"Well…" he seemed awkward for a moment as the elevator approached its final decent.
"What?" Emma asked.
"Nothing, we'll find you something."
Emma raised her eyebrows and gave him a serious look.
"So, what kind of business are you in?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Because you could really boss people around with that look of yours!"
Her expression softened as she replied, "If you must know, I am a senior graphic designer for a magazine in Vancouver. I came to Boston because a company here wants me to work for them instead. Now tell me what you were about to say."
The elevator doors slid open.
He became extremely flustered as he tried to cover up his mistake, "Nothing, I wasn't going to say anything! I mean… Well, what I was going to ask you isn't part of protocol and you should just ignore it." He finished through gritted teeth looking anywhere but at her.
She smiled at him, "Of course I'll stay at your place, body guard. After all, what could be safer than spending the week in a cop's apartment?"
Woody's face was purple with embarrassment, "Uh, good. Then it's settled?" He pretended to cough, hiding his face in his hands.
Confidently, she approached the front desk. Clearing her throat she said, "I would like a total refund of my room to the credit card that paid for it."
The hotel agent looked perplexed. "Your room number please?"
"1006," she replied calmly.
The agent began typing on her keyboard with swift enthusiasm, "Is there something wrong with the room, Ms. Duncan?"
"The security measures of this hotel are not up to par."
She stopped typing and looked at Emma, slightly put off, "What do you mean?"
"Two nights ago I arrived here and have not slept in that room yet. A man came into my room while I was there, and took me out through the window, I have been back once, only to retrieve my things," she gestured toward her luggage. Her expression was so serious and demanding that the agent had no choice but to question her manager.
A plump man in a black suit approached the desk and asked to speak privately to Emma in the corner, away from all of the other guests.
"Is that the gentleman who has caused you harm?" He asked, suspecting Woody of the devious crime.
"No, Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department is part of a special task force designed to give me protection from the man who as you say, 'caused me harm'. Are you refunding the total amount or not Sir?"
Emma turned and saw Woody looking anxious from the sidelines. He gave her looks of impatience.
The manager contemplated the situation for a moment then said, "Of course, a full refund will be in order." He was nervous and sweating.
"Thank you," Emma said, turned, and walked back toward Woody.
She flashed him an enormous smile and said, "My business here is done, we can go now."
AN: OK, so it's getting a little weird, and awkward for Woody, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to keep away from a potential insanity case!