Disclaimer: Janet Evanovich owns all rights to the following characters. This story is intended only as artistic exercise and I am in no way profiting financially from it.

Warning: This story contains adult themes and language. Babe story.

Intentions of the Heart

Chapter 3: A Shimmering Mirage

Previously:

Stephanie…

The next day he was gone, off on another impossible mission to save the world… Maybe being in love with a superhero wasn't all it was cracked up to be after all.

Joe's POV …

"Plink … plink plink …. Plink."

I listened to the rain splatter against the aluminum body of the car; the sound mingled with the squeaking of the windshield wipers as they brushed back and forth against the water-streaked glass. I stared at the ancient heap in contempt, fucking department cutbacks. I was sure that the TPD could have afforded something a little classier than a Cutlass for God's sake.

Granted, they never would have splurged on something sporty like a BMW, or a Lexus, or… a shiny, black Porsche…

I stiffened, posturing a little. Fucking, Manoso . I wouldn't want to drive a frilly little pussy car like that anyways. Nope, not me. I'd stick to the Cutlass, thankyouverymuch.

I mean, really, the car may not have been fast or flashy… or even had all of its original parts. And, I'll admit that it was rusting slightly… and, it may, or may not have been missing several chunks of upholstery from the back seat...

Bob… that little bastard, like the wet dog smell wasn't bad enough? He just had to chew holes in the seat cushions too? Though, in retrospect it could have been that Swedish chic... What was her name? Frida? Fredrika? Whatever, she was an absolute animal…

Either way, at least I didn't have to leave my balls at the curb and carry a purse while driving "Old Blue". No, sir, the Cutlass was a man's car. Maybe an eighty or ninety year old man with bunions and glaucoma, but a MAN nonetheless. I gave the steering wheel a thump of masculine approval and watched the leather wrapped sphere split right down the seams.

Jesus, who was I kidding?

"Piece of shit," I cursed under my breath and stared out the window into the dismal Trenton weather. The bone chilling temperature and the gray, weeping clouds were a perfection reflection of my brooding mood.

I wiped the steam from the windshield with the sleeve of my shirt, and stared up at the windows of her apartment. The lights were turned off, but the flicker of the TV. played against her living room wall; strobing the room in light. I flipped the vents closed, the heater's once warm air now blowing cold in the long idling car.

Just get it over with already. I reached for the keys in the ignition, paused before dropping my hand back into my lap. And, for the fiftieth time that night, I couldn't bring myself to get out of the car.

"Fuck," I groaned, leaning my head back against the headrest. I raked my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth the unruly chocolate wisps that curled around my ears and over the collar of my shirt. I made a mental note to get a haircut as I stared up at a tiny defect marring the roof's interior upholstery, my mind searching, as if I would find the answers to my problems woven into the flawed fabric. Of course I wasn't so lucky.

I really, really didn't want to be there... not under those circumstances at least.

I was trying to move on. In all honesty I was failing miserably at it, but I was trying all the same. Apparently, I was a glutton for punishment. Or, maybe I was just so strung out on Stephanie Plum that I'd been looking for an excuse to come back all along. But, that's what we did, right? We broke up, we made up, we fucked until dawn and then repeated the cycle.

I knew our relationship wasn't healthy, hell, it was almost toxic at times, but I just couldn't seem to resist falling back into the same old pattern with her. Fucking junky.

I should have been happy… or at least relieved that it was over, that I wouldn't have to fight for her, or share her with another man anymore; that I wouldn't have to overhear the guys at the station take bets on whether or not my girlfriend was fucking her boss behind my back anymore…but, I didn't feel relieved, and I sure as hell wasn't happy.

I missed her. Even after all of the bullshit we'd put each other through… I missed her. A lot.

Fuck, I would've gagged down another peanut butter and olive sandwich, and watched Ghostbusters for the millionth time just to spend a few more hours with her. And, believe me those were desperate measures.

I fucking hated olives. Even the thought of them made me shiver. Seriously, I would've eaten the ass end out of a skunk before voluntarily choking one of those , as if they weren't disgusting enough on their own… she added peanut butter into the mix. Good Lord… I couldn't fathom actually wanting to eat that pig slop, but what was even more baffling was that I found her strange, slightly disturbing little cork to be… endearing.

I shook my head and sighed… only, Stephanie.

I'd been with a hundred different women; beautiful, sexy, intelligent women; most of them out of my thoughts and desires before the sheets had turned cold. It was easy… they were easy. No strings, no commitment, no bullshit. And, as callous as it may have been, I preferred it that way; happy with my carefree life as an eternal bachelor…

And, then came, Stephanie Plum...

And, suddenly I was envisioning family dinners and baseball games, camping trips and dance recitals, wedding rings and bassinets. I imagined how our children would look; a combination of my honey-colored skin and her beautiful azure eyes. I had our entire future mapped out for us… it was right there… and it would have been perfect.

But, like an oasis in the desert, my dreams were merely a shimmering mirage of false hope … and, like a fool I chased after the illusion for years.

Christ, I was still chasing it… chasing her. Of all the women in the world, I just had to fall in love with one who didn't love me back.

Karma truly was a heartless bitch.

I looked over at her little piece of shit car and smiled despite my depressing thoughts. I knew she could have driven any one of Ranger's (questionably acquired) cars, but she didn't. She wanted to exert her independence, even if it meant driving around in something held together with duct tape. I was glad too. Nothing pissed me off more than seeing her driving around town in one of the Rangeman fleet. It was hard to miss her; the man always had someone tailing her. Christ, it looked like a fucking funeral procession every time she left her apartment building.

I decided right then and there that I absolutely loathed the color black.

Not as much as I loathed the man himself, of course, but close enough. Even the thought of that smug, poaching bastard made my blood boil. I'd never met another man who openly challenged me the way that he did… and I hated him for it.

I hated that I couldn't give her the things that he could. I hated that I couldn't protect her the way that he could. I hated that I couldn't make her feel the way that he could...

I hated everything about him.

I'd never been a jealous man, hell, I'd never had any reason to be. But, seeing the way that he looked at her… the way that she looked at him… well, it brought out a lesser side of myself that I hadn't known existed.

In my desperation to keep her I became possessive and controlling, giving in to my fiery Italian temper and baser male instincts. She was mine and my claim to her was being challenged. How was I supposed to react to that? Just step aside and let him take her from me without a fight? Wish them the best and then walk away?

Not likely, Manoso.

For years we fought about the dangers of her job and her association with questionable "people". I couldn't understand why an untrained, unskilled woman would willingly place herself in such dangerous situations.

I promised to take care of her, financially and otherwise, but it was never enough. I told myself that her resistance to let me provide for her was only because of her fiercely independent nature; that she had to prove herself to everyone around her. I didn't want to admit the truth to myself. Deep down I knew what… or rather who drove her to stay in such a dangerous profession.

I guess it was just easier to live in denial than to accept the fact that she couldn't commit to me, because she wouldn't severe ties with him.

A sharp "rap" on the passenger side window startled me from my musings; making me jump in my seat. I recovered quickly and leaned across the center console, cursing my relic of a car and its prehistoric manual windows.

"Can I help you?"

"You gonna sit out here all night, boy?" Mr. Walker hunched over to growl disapprovingly through the crack in the window, an umbrella clutched in his warped, arthritic hand. "This ain't no Park N' Sleep, Son. Get out or get movin'." He narrowed his eyes, daring me to challenge him; the loose skin on his pale, bony face shaking with elderly tremors as he fixed me with his death glare.

Jesus, no wonder little kids were scared shitless of old people. He looked exactly like the Reverend Kane from the Poltergeist for Hell's sake. "Yes, Sir, I was just on my way inside," I assured the decrepit old man, feeling like a scolded twelve year old who had the audacity to step foot on his perfectly manicured lawn.

Mr. Walker eyed me suspiciously from underneath his black coachman's hat, clicking his dentures with his tongue before turning to leave. "Damn kids, loiterin' around at all hours of the night," he shook his head in disapproval as he shuffled towards the building on rickety legs. "Boy looks like trouble if you ask me. Lord knows nothin' good ever happens after dark…"

I rolled up the window and folded myself out of the car as quickly as my stiff legs would allow. I didn't want to risk another run in with Mr. Walker and his trusty umbrella. He might have been way, WAY past his prime but he looked like a man who'd fight dirty.

Besides, I'd stalled long enough.

I ran for the shelter of the apartment complex, dodging as many puddles as I could along the way. Not that it mattered. My shoes were soaked and squeaked noisily against the linoleum floor as I crossed the foyer to the elevator.

All too soon I stood outside of her door, torn between my desire to see her and the urge to run like hell. Had the elevator always been that fast? I ran a hand through my hair and straightened my clothes, hoping that I looked at least somewhat presentable… hey, maybe she'd see something she liked…

A guy could dream, right?

I knocked twice, and shifted from foot to foot nervously as I waited. I started to panic slightly when she didn't answer, I at least expected a, "Go to Hell, Morelli!" if she didn't want to let me in, but I didn't hear a sound coming from the other side of the door… just silence. I pulled the keys out of my pocket, sifting through them to find her spare key still hanging on my keychain. I didn't want to think about it possibly being the last time I would ever use it.

I opened the door slowly, unsure of what I would find on the other side. The apartment looked like the aftermath of a frat party; the floor littered with a collection of empty pizza boxes and toppled beer bottles. The smell of alcohol hung heavily in the air, further evidence of her week long bender. She was bundled up on the couch asleep with her wild curls spilling out over the armrest and one leg dangling limply over the edge of the cushion.

I shook my head and made my way through the debris towards her, sitting on the edge of the couch near her feet; the cushion dipped under my weight, waking her from sleep.

"Hey," I smiled, feeling a tug on my heart strings as she opened her sleepy blue eyes. Christ, she was beautiful.

Looking at her, sitting in her little apartment, brought back so many memories. The little things that I took for granted were the ones that hurt the most to remember; the warmth of her smile, the bubbling sound of her laughter, the way her eyes would darken from crystal-clear, Caribbean pools to deep, Atlantic waters when making love. I'd been trying to avoid this, remembering, the heartache that followed was unbearable. But, I couldn't suppress the flood of memories that washed over me; every touch, every kiss, every moment, battering my senses like waves crashing into the shore, slowly eroding my defenses.

I watched as her eyes widened with hope, and then crumpled in disappointment, clearing wishing that I were someone else… "Someone," that for my own sanity I refused to name. I forced the smile to remain on my lips, hoping that the strained expression didn't reveal how much her reaction had hurt me.

But, God, it hurt.

"Oh… hey, Joe," she smiled sadly, blinking the sleep from her puffy, red eyes. I could see that she'd been crying and that knowledge filled me with a white, hot rage. During all the years that I had known Stephanie, I had seen her angry, (belligerent, screaming, Italian hand-gesturing- angry). I'd seen her defiant and stubborn, I'd seen her sulky and indifferent… but, I had never seen her cry.

And, I wanted to hurt the fucker behind those tears.

A cruel thought wormed its way to the forefront of my mind. Maybe, I had never seen her cry because she'd never cared enough about me, or our relationship to shed a single tear...

I quickly banished that repulsive notion, unwilling to acknowledge what that realization would have implied.

She wiggled her way up to a sitting position on the couch next to me, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn. The fleece blanket that was wrapped around her slipped down her chest, pooling in her lap and my eyes were immediately drawn to the Rangeman logo embroidered across the breast of her shirt; taunting me like a sea of red to a raging bull.

I clenched my jaw closed tightly, grinding my teeth together in an effort to swallow the nasty words burning the tip of my tongue. The black shirt was massive on her, the sleeves hanging below her elbows and the hem ending at mid-thigh, much too large for her small frame...

She was wearing his shirt and it took all of the strength and control that I had not to tear it from her body, shredding the evidence of his claim to her.

Fucking, Manoso, only he could torture me from thousands of miles away. I took a deep, calming breath, forcing my gaze away from the offensive garment. Yep, I fucking hated the color black… especially on her.

"So …," she pressed, obviously waiting for an explanation for my impromptu visit.

I cringed slightly, thinking that there had been a time when I didn't need a reason to be there with her. I didn't want to have to have a reason…

"I was just wondering why I wasn't invited to the party?" I teased, shaking my head in mock sadness as I gestured towards the squalor around us. "I mean, I know I'm a cop and all, and, people typically try to avoid having us at social functions… but, still, an invite would have been nice."

"Oh," she blushed, "yeah, you didn't miss out on much. Believe me…you wouldn't have wanted to be here for my one woman-pity party anyways. It was a… rough night."

"A rough night?" I repeated incredulously, "Cupcake … you haven't left your apartment in a week! Your mom asked me to stop by and check on you. She said that you haven't been over for dinner or returned her any of her calls… she's worried about you … we all are."

When Helen asked me to check in on Stephanie, I hesitated. I mean, I would have done just about anything for Stephanie, but, comforting her over him… well, that was a lot to ask of me. But, in the end, I couldn't say no. It seemed that I couldn't say "no" to anything when Stephanie was involved. I just hoped that I could keep my cool…

I'd heard about the little scene at the bar the week before. I was still furious that he would put her in that situation. I tried to protect her while he led her to slaughter; like a fucking sacrificial lamb… just for him to make a dollar. And, yet she trusted him? I just didn't get it. She was probably traumatized over the things she saw that night, and yet, where was he now when she needed him? Exactly where I knew he would be...

Gone.

Her eyes filled with tears, the salty moisture rolling pitifully down her cheeks, her lower lip trembling as she tried to gain the composure to speak. "I know, I'm sorry … I've just felt so lost. I … I love him, Joe."

Fuck. I'd waited years to hear her say those words, and when she finally did they were said in relation to another man. Digging my heart from my chest with a rusty spoon would've been less painful than that. I didn't know what to say to her… I couldn't have said anything even if I'd wanted to. It was all I could do not to burst into tears like a fucking baby.

She sucked in a shaky breath, clutching at her chest as if she might fall to pieces if she didn't hold herself together. "But, I just can't live like this anymore." She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling with each gut wrenching sob.

I always knew that it would come to this, that he would break her heart and run, and I warned her of it, time and time again.

Regardless, I hated to see her like that and I couldn't resist comforting her. She needed me. I pulled her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her curls. I never thought that I would hold her like that again, and I relished in the moment brought to me courtesy of the "man in black".

The raw, emptiness in my chest seemed to fade away with her closeness. This was the way things should have been. This was right...

As I held her, a familiar mirage loomed on the horizon and I wondered if maybe… it wasn't really over, maybe without his constant interference we'd finally get a fair shot at being together, maybe she'd see how perfect we were for each other… maybe, just maybe, I wasn't too late.

Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear your input : )

I thought it was only fair that Joe have his say about the whole sordid love triangle. This is just my perception of his character and their on again, off again relationship.

Thanks for reading and reviewing,

Jen