March Into Hell (28 page)

“Sure.”

He heard her footsteps head towards the kitchen and the water turned on. Mark ran a hand through his hair and tried to push the image of Jessie lying beneath him out of his mind. Getting his body back under control should have been easy after she splashed the victim label all over him like a pail of ice water, but his mind and body had opposite ideas.

“You okay?”

Mark groaned. Why couldn’t she just leave him be? “I’m fine.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded tight. He took a few more deep breaths, then strode to the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a beer. He dared her to say anything as he shot her a look.

“Look, Mark, I didn’t mean that I think of you as
just
a victim. You know I think you’re more than that.” She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living area.

He slugged back several gulps of the beer and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Oh no? Well, what exactly do you think of me, Jessie?” Mark pushed past her and tried to ignore the sizzle he felt when his arm brushed against hers.

He didn’t expect a reply and her silence didn’t surprise him. He stood behind the couch, tipped the bottle and stared blankly at the ballgame. He felt shame at how far he had carried the kiss. This was Jessie. She'd made her feelings about him known when she'd left him.

 Even without looking, he sensed her presence behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He dreaded seeing her opinion of him scrawled all over her face. Instead, he wandered to the window.

Dusk had deepened, casting the street below in dark purple shadows. The light of a couple dozen candles bobbed and weaved as a small crowd mingled on the walk. Could they see him up in the window? The loft was dim, but the television cast a glow. Just in case, Mark raised his beer in a mocking toast. “Bottoms up!” The brew was cold and he savored the taste.

“Feel better?”

“No.” Mark didn’t look at her.

She sighed. “Look, I’m working. What if something happened while we were…you know?”

Mark tried to keep his anger flowing, but she had a point.

“If Kern comes, and I can’t get to my gun or cell phone, what good am I up here?”

Mark glanced at her. Her eyes scanned the crowd below and he knew she wasn’t seeing them as religious zealots, but as possible Kern followers. He regarded them as a nuisance, she viewed them as impending criminals. “My timing stinks.”

Jessie laughed. "Correction.
Our
timing stinks. Someday maybe we'll have a chance to discuss things when there's not some major catastrophe or crisis looming on the horizon."

Mark moved away from the window. He didn’t want to wait for someday. One thing he had learned from all he endured, is that someday might never come.

* * *

Mark and Jessie settled in for the evening. Mark ordered Chinese food and they talked about their childhoods. She laughed at his all-American upbringing in a small town. He tried to understand her city savvy, knowing that even as long as he'd lived in Chicago, he didn't have the same attitude as born city-dwellers. Mostly, he grinned so much, the curve of his mouth felt permanent. Now that the sexual tension was acknowledged, he could relax in her presence for the first time in months.

“Your turn.” Jessie sat on the chair, her legs drawn up and crossed. A big bowl of popcorn rested in her lap.

Mark shook his head. “Oh no. It was your idea to bring up our most embarrassing moments. You have to go first.”

Jessie tilted her head, gazed at the ceiling and then laughed. “Okay, I got one. I had a fancy dinner to attend at some hoity-toity restaurant. I don’t normally get invited to those kinds of things and I was so excited!” She reached into the bowl and tossed a few kernels in her mouth. “It was snowing and I didn’t want to ruin my new shoes. I had splurged and bought a pair of designer pumps and you know how hard those heels are to walk in.”

Mark had no idea but nodded to encourage her to continue.

“I grabbed my boots, and reached in my closet and snagged the shoes out, thinking about how clever I was to wear the boots in the car and then switch to the heels when I arrived.

“Uh-huh.” He didn't care a whit about the shoes, but the sparkle in her eyes as she told her tale had him hooked. “Smart thinking.”

“Well, it would have been if I hadn’t grabbed two different style pumps, both for the left foot!

Snorting with laughter, Mark leaned over and helped himself to the popcorn. He held it with his hand shelved against his belly. There would probably be a big grease stain from the ton of butter she had doused it with, but he didn’t care. “So what did you do?”

“I did what any lowly cop would do in that situation. I drove around looking for a Cheap Feet shoe store. Unfortunately, the whole town was filthy rich and didn’t have one, so I did the next best thing.” She ate some more popcorn.

“And what would that be?”

“I jammed my right foot into the left shoe. That wasn’t even the hard part.” Her eyes danced. “The hard part came when I realized that the heels were different heights.”

Mark laughed, picturing Jessie hobbling around in the shoes. He continued to snicker as he stretched back on the couch. His shoulder was beginning to ache from being unsupported all day, but he didn’t want to break the spell.

“Okay.”

“Okay…what?” He rubbed the sore joint and hoped he could distract her from what he knew she wanted.

She tossed a few kernels of popcorn at him. “You gotta tell your most embarrassing moment.”

Mark scratched his head. “I’m not sure I can narrow it down to just one.” He slanted a look at her. “Well, actually, I think my most embarrassing moment occurred just a few hours ago.”

Jessie blushed. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, someone knocked on the door. She jumped up,  popcorn flying as the bowl toppled to the floor.

Mark swung around to a sitting position, cursing his lack of sling as his arm felt like a heavy dead weight. If someone burst in, he'd be at an even greater disadvantage with his arm unsupported.

Jessie had her gun in hand as she crossed to the door. "Who is it?"

"Chicago P.D, ma'am."

She cracked the door and then holstered her weapon. She stepped halfway into the hall and said something to the cop. A minute later, she came back in and shut the door.

Disappointment washed over Mark. He could see by her look that she was leaving. There was no reason for her stay with the patrol outside his building all night.

 As though reading his mind, she turned to face him. "Guess I can get home now."

At least she sounded a little disappointed too. He nodded.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jim pushed the off button of his cell phone, feeling the pressure of Mark's scrutiny from the other side of the breakfast bar. He wished he had better news to tell him, but at least they'd located Kern's group. "That was Jessica. There's good news and bad news. Good news is, they found where the cult is staying."

Mark's eyes widened. "Where are they?"

"An apartment building on the southwest side. 5000 block of West Jackson. Not a nice neighborhood, apparently."

"So, they can arrest them and this nightmare will be over?" The hope in his voice was palpable.

Jim sighed. "I wish they could, but by your own admission, you couldn't see the faces of anyone but Judy Medea and Adrian Kern. Neither were on the premises when CPD investigated. All they were able to do was some questioning as to their whereabouts."

"You're kidding." Mark wandered out of the kitchen and over to the sofa. As if his legs had turned to water, he sank onto it.

Jim picked up his mug of coffee and moved out to the living room area. "Listen, Mark. We'll find him. Plenty of people are working on this. Not only because of what happened to you, but because of the similarities between what happened to Judy Medea and the other young woman who was killed before she could testify. He's created a pattern, and now we can get him."

"Here's the good news.  A tip came in from an informant in Mexico who says he talked to Kern, or at least a guy claiming credit for what happened to you. He reported that Kern was trying to arrange a shipping pipeline of drugs to finance his cult's activities. He thinks everything is arranged, but the informant says that his bosses want nothing to do with him. It seems that despite their violence, they are religious folks."

Mark raised an eyebrow and gave a snort of  disbelief.

Jim chuckled. "Yes, I realize the irony of that. Despite their violent ways, they go to church on Sundays."

He set his mug on the coffee table, sat on the chair, and began ticking off the rest of the information. "From Mexico, we  know he stayed with a woman in El Paso. Her name turned up in an old file. We sent a man to the house, but it turns out we just missed him.  We are getting closer, Mark. Not only that, but Medea might still be around here and just wasn't home. CPD will be keeping an eye on the apartment and if she shows up, she'll be arrested."

"And in the meantime? What if they don't show up for months? Do I live my life watching over my shoulder?"

Jim had no answer as he sat in the chair beside the couch. Kern's history had shown that he was never in a hurry to exact revenge. He'd never even been tied to any of the deaths of witnesses. It was only now that everything was being scrutinized that the grand puzzle of Kern's scheme was coming into focus. He sipped the coffee, trying to delay the worst part, that he hadn't even passed on the bad news yet. "There's more. According to the police, the cult has swelled to triple its previous size."

That got Mark's attention. His eyes snapped to Jim's. "Because of all the media?"

Jim nodded. "I'm afraid so. The publicity has flushed all the weirdos, zealots and sickos out from under the rocks they live under when they aren't acting like crazy fools."

Mark's mouth set in a hard line. He stood and  for a few seconds, he remained motionless. Finally, he turned to Jim and said, "You know what? I'm not going to spend my life hiding in here." He swept his arm in an arc to encompass the loft. "If Kern's going to get me, I might as well meet him halfway." With that he crossed to the other end of the loft and grabbed his camera off his night table. He opened the drawer and pulled out a roll of film.

Jim rose and stepped in front of Mark as the other man approached the door. It was going to be hell trying to protect a moving target, but he couldn't officially keep Mark confined to his home.  "Hold up. Where are you going?"

Mark slung the camera's strap over his neck, wincing as it settled, but the hard resolve in his eyes didn't waver. "I'm going out to take some photos. You have a problem with that?" He brushed past Jim and grabbed his jacket off the stand beside the door. With his left arm  in a sling, he had to fumble with the coat to get it over his confined arm and slide his good arm into the sleeve.

Jim watched, keeping his urge to help under tight control as Mark managed to get his left hand out far enough to hang onto the edge of the coat to hold it steady so he could zip it. "I thought that camera didn't work?"

Mark tugged on the zipper and then arranged the camera strap on the outside of his coat collar. "It works just fine." He paused and the muscle in his jaw jumped. "It just doesn't give me future photos."

"You knew that's what I meant."

Eyes narrowed, Mark glanced at him. "Yeah, but I thought you wanted confirmation. You want the truth? Here it is.  I screwed up and I lost my ability. I'm not even sure why you're still hanging out around here. What value am I to you now?"

Mark's question hit him like a brick to the face. As much as he hated to admit it, without the possibility of foretelling of a future terrorist attack, Mark Taylor had no value as an asset. "First of all, whether you get the ability back or not, no way do I believe that you screwed up. What you've already done as part of the Wrigley Field plot cements your place as an American hero-"

Mark scoffed before Jim could finish. "Cut the crap, Jim. I'm just a regular guy, which is
exactly
what I wished for." He opened the door and motioned with his chin for Jim to proceed him.

Jim shrugged and said with mild sarcasm, "Despite your amazing abilities, you were only able to change the future, Mark, not the past. You saved a bunch of people, and in my book, that's a hero. You can't change that no matter what happens from here on out."

The door clicked shut behind him and Jim measured his pace to allow Mark to keep up. Steps seemed to be harder for him to navigate than flat ground, and Jim slowed even more.

"I'm glad I'm done with it." Mark released the handrail long enough to point towards the door at the bottom of the steps. "Now if you could just tell all those folks hanging out by my door that the freak show is over, I'll be eternally grateful."

Despite Mark's attempt to act like he didn't care, Jim could hear the pain in his voice. The guy was torn and Jim suspected that Mark didn't want to stop saving people, he just wanted to do it completely anonymously.  He was at home behind the camera, not in front of the lens.  Being a hero brought the risk of too much attention and that went against Mark's natural inclination to make others look good and just record history, not make it.

Jim nodded. "I'll be glad to clear the way for you."

* * *

 Mark tried to ignore the crowd as he followed closely behind Jim, but when a woman thrust her baby at him, he reacted on instinct, cradling the baby girl with his good hand an instant before pushing her gently back into her mother's arms. "Ma'am. Please take her. I don't want her to get hurt."