Stuck On You (16 page)

Kate sighed. Mack could care less about permanence, about settling in. His house on Pine Street surely reflected that. Actually, it reflected nothing, and now it was gone.

"So that’s your dream house, huh? I think I know exactly the one you’re talking about," Mack said. “The one where the driveway curves to a brick gatehouse? It has a basketball hoop on it?”

“Yes. That’s it.” She nodded. "I've checked with the town clerk to see who owned the place and it belongs to a company, the JFM Rooster Company. I was going to write the owner a letter to see if they'd like to sell it, but there's no sense now."

“Because you bought computer equipment for your program instead?"

"Correct."

"And that's why this program is so important to you?"

"It’s not the only reason. It’ll help the poor get out of jail. It’ll save the taxpayers money in incarceration costs. All of that. But I hope to make a living out of it, too. And buy my house someday."

"And I've made it really difficult for you." He rubbed his forehead. "And I am the test case that's supposed to–"

"Prove that it’s a good program.”

It'll happen, Kate–maybe not with me–but you’ll make it happen. Maybe the JFM Rooster Company will sell some day."

He grinned. He was grinning a lot lately, and Kate was glad for that. It erased the fatigue from his face, the worry from his brow.

Still holding her hand, he leaned against the head rest and looked relaxed. He glanced her way from time-to-time, as they continued to make small talk. It felt so peaceful being with him, so natural.

As much as she enjoyed bantering with him, she felt very content just enjoying his company. And it looked like he was feeling the same.

"So, what's your dream, Mack?" Kate asked.

"My dream is what everyone else's dream is: to be happy."

"Are you happy now?"

"At this instant I am. Hanging around the Heliport with a pretty partner is a treat for me."

"How about before this?"

"Before my house blew up? Before I was arrested? Before my partner was shot? Before I almost got you killed at the cabin?" He paused, thinking. "Yeah, I guess I was happy enough.”

"Good for you. Although I think it's a scary profession."

He shrugged. "So's being a probation officer."

"And what about your house blowing up? I keep wondering why that didn't seem to bother you all that much."

"You remember that house, Kate. It wasn't exactly great, and I wasn't attached to it."

"But it was all you had!"

Before he replied, the last car drove out of the parking lot of the Heliport.

Kate could see Mack shift from being relaxed one second and then alert and ready for action the next.

"According to my calculations, that should be the last car. It’s show time. I'll cut through here. You back out and drive in from the main road." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Good luck. And remember, if things go bad, you just get the hell away. I can take care of myself. Promise?"

Kate nodded. "Check. Get the hell away. Ten-four."

"I love it when you talk cop-talk. But promise me, Kate" he said. "If things get ugly, you
will
get out."

"I promise. Now go. And quit worrying."

He swore again, and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She moaned as his tongue found hers. Abruptly, he let her go. Studying her face, he winked.

"You're the prettiest partner I ever had, not to mention the first one I’ve ever kissed," he said, and then he was gone.

She tasted him on her lips and felt like she never knew what it meant to be really kissed until Mack.

And he called her his partner? Who was he kidding? Kate was surprised that he'd even let her come along with him.

This was an important part of his investigation, and as far as she could tell, she was the key player. If she wasn't successful in convincing the cops that she was lost and looking for directions, Mack would never be able to get in.

But then again, Mack should be under house arrest and she shouldn't be chauffeuring him all over the state.

But he didn't have a house, and her apartment wouldn't do. And now her father's cabin was out.

A hotel room. They'd have to share a hotel room.

Kate couldn't think of another place that she'd rather be than in a hotel room with John Mackowitz.

She pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and took a deep breath. As Mack said, it was show time, and she wasn't going to let him down.

CHAPTER 9

Kate knocked on the brown metal door and mentally rehearsed what she was going to say.

The door squeaked open. "Yeah?" said a uniformed cop.

"Officer, can I bother you for directions? I'm lost."

"What are you tryin' to find, ma'am?"

"Um...uh...the Helicopter Restaurant. I'm supposed to attend a bridal shower there."

"This here's the Heliport, but I never heard of a Helicopter Restaurant. What’s it near?"

She saw Mack out of the corner of her eye. He was behind a bush at the end of the metal building, motioning for her to get the cop away from the door.

"I'm pretty sure it's near here." She took his arm. "Would you mind coming over to my car? I have a map. Maybe you can make some sense out of it."

She smiled at him. Actually, it was more of a nervous twitch. Then she prayed that she had a map in her car.

 Taking her time in looking for a map, she made small talk with the officer.

"Here it is!" She spread the map out on the hood of her car, and looked at it under the pole light that was illuminating the parking lot.

"I think it's on Stone Creek Lane, or something like that. They said I couldn't miss it."

"I've never heard of it, ma'am. If you'd like, you could use the phone inside," he turned and began walking away.

"Officer Tompkins, wait!"

He raised an eyebrow. This won't do. She was blowing it and he was getting suspicious.

"I'm sorry, but I thought I saw an animal or something."

He looked around. "I don't see anything."

"Oh, sorry. It must be my imagination. But will you wait for me just in case?"

He waited patiently as she fussed over folding up the map, shutting her car door and locking it. Then she checked the lock again.

They walked toward the entrance of the Heliport, the crunching of the stones under their feet competing with the trill of the crickets. Luckily, the noise blanketed the pounding of her heart and the rattling of her knees.

Opening the squeaky door, the officer pointed to a dark corner. "The phone's over there on the desk," he said. "Go ahead."

"Thanks so much. I really appreciate this."

Kate stalled by looking through her purse. "I know I have the number somewhere." She didn't see another cop. "Are you all alone here in this creepy building?" she asked.

Looking at her suspiciously, he didn't answer.

"I just thought they'd give you some company. Someone you could talk to."

"Freeman called in sick, but Killer keeps me company."

It was then that Kate noticed a mass of fur in the corner. It stuck its head up when it heard its name. It was a dog. A ferocious, highly-trained, K-9 dog.

She was going to die.

But why didn't it react to Mack?

"Um...uh...Does the dog live up to its name?"

"Naw, it flunked out of K-9 school."

The officer sat down and began watching a basketball game on TV as Killer dozed and Kate scanned the area for Mack.

#

The locker was half-full of confiscated drugs. Mack recognized his own writing on most of the evidence tags. Only half of the crack was there from the Bennett raid. Only a quarter of the marijuana from the Potter bust. Some bad coke, stepped on a million times, covered the bottom shelf, but not nearly all that he remembered tagging.

If the destruction was made on schedule, two weeks ago, the locker would be just about empty, except a pound or so of loose weed he and Tom got from a locker at the bus terminal about a week ago after a tip.”

The drugs he had confiscated weren't destroyed, but were being sold back on the street.

And it absolutely had to be an inside job.

Mack grunted at the futility of his undercover work. He'd bring in the drugs and the cops would re-sell them instead of destroying them.

Now that's what he called job security!

He closed the door behind him, locked all the locks, and with his back to the wall, he waited in the hallway. When he caught Kate's eye, he motioned that he was finished and for her to distract the cop so he could scoot out the door.

Kate was doing one hell of a job. He could tell she was as nervous as hell, but he couldn't have gotten in there without her.

As he waited in the darkened hallway, he wondered what Kate's next move was going to be.

Kate made eye contact with him. She nodded slightly, opened her mouth and started screaming like the hounds of hell were after her.

The cop jumped up and reached for his gun.

"A mouse! A mouse!" she screamed, running around the room. She bumped into the cop. They fell to the floor with Kate on top of him. The dog yawned, sniffed Kate's ankle, then sat down in front of the TV.

Trying not to laugh, Mack snuck out the door past them and hit the ground running.

He waited behind the dumpster at the gas station for only fifteen minutes before he heard her car. Kate pulled over, and he got in.

"That was an Oscar winning performance, Kate." He got in the car and she drove away. "Eek! A mouse! A mouse!"

Kate laughed. "Well, it worked."

"You were great."

"Thanks!" she said. "I
was
good, wasn't I?"

"Absolutely."

"And what did you find out?"

"Just as I thought. The drugs are there, but not a full load. I’d bet my badge, if I had one, that they are being sold back on the street." He didn't know why he was tipping his hand to Kate. He should clam up. He reminded himself that the less she knew the better.

"That verifies your theory that it's an inside job."

"Yes."

"Who?"

He couldn't tell her that he had a gut feeling that Crowley was in it up to his hair roots, and that made him feel bad. Actually, Kate had her suspicions about Crowley already. Mack knew that Crowley had explosives experience in Vietnam, had access to the jail, and had known about the deal that placed him in Kate's program. Plus, he was once the commander of the SWAT team and was a crack shot.

He had gone to Crowley with his suspicions only last month–that he suspected that drugs which were already confiscated were making their way back onto the street. Crowley listened in rapt interest and told Mack to keep investigating.

Yeah, right. Soon after, Tom Murray was shot, and, while sitting in jail, Mack realized that he was the real target.

But Mack couldn't go off half-cocked, making wild accusations against his captain, a highly decorated law enforcement official who was about to be sworn in as chief. He needed more evidence. He had to be sure. Besides, Marty was his friend.

"I don't know yet," he told Kate, purposely keeping her in the dark. "But let's check into a hotel. You pick it"

"How about the one out on Route 10. The Eagle," Kate replied.

"Out of the county?"

"I think that's better, considering the circumstances."

"You're the boss," Mack said.

"Yeah, right."

When they got to the hotel, the clerk told them that the only room left had a king bed. He didn't mind in the least, but Kate seemed to be a little nervous about the whole situation.

They registered as Mr. and Mrs. John Jones.

Being shot at and then going on two undercover operations was probably more than a little overwhelming to a civilian. Maybe she was jumpy about the king bed situation. He could always take the couch, although he hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

Maybe he was more nervous than she was.

It was a motor hotel, so Kate parked the car in front of the room while he unlocked the door. He eyed the room. It was standard hotel fare–nothing fancy, but it was clean. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. He clicked the channels until he heard:

"Sergeant John Mackowitz is still at large. It is believed that he did not perish in the fire that destroyed his house and that in fact he may have set it. Also missing is Katherine Kingston, the operator of the Your Home is Your Jail project, who is responsible for keeping track of Sergeant Mackowitz while he is awaiting trial. Authorities believe they he has taken her hostage. Anyone with any information is asked to call Captain Martin Crawley at—”

"What?" Kate's face was alabaster white, and the tote bag of clothes slipped out of her hand and dropped to the ground. "I can't believe it."

"With me is the Honorable Peter Nash, Rose Lake County Court Judge. Judge Nash, what can you tell us about Sergeant Mackowitz and Katherine Kingston?"

"I received a call from Kate Kingston not too long ago, and I'm confident that Sergeant Mackowitz will not harm her. I expect a call from her any time now." Pete Nash looked pointedly at the camera. "She should call me any time now. However, I cannot comment further."

“Why that jackass! He knows that I didn’t kidnap you. Why didn’t he say that?” Mack sputtered.

The reporter then showed photos of her and Mack. It was the picture from her probation ID. Mack's picture was the same one they always used–the one of him being arrested by Captain Crowley the night he was accused of tipping off drug sellers and getting Tom shot.

“Crowley knows that you didn’t kidnap me, too, Mack. We just saw him at the restaurant.”

Mack looked deflated. Boneless. “Maybe this was taped earlier,” he said, half-heartedly.

Kate went to the phone. "I'd better call Pete and tell him where we are."

"No. Don't."

"I have to. I'm not going to have my business trashed. Besides, they should stop all their speculation." Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought to hold them back. "I don’t want my reputation trashed...or yours either."

"I know. Your Victorian home on the lake." He opened his arms and she walked into them. He held her tight. "And I'm blocking the door of it."