Billy and Billie ran away a lot. Well, Billy did and he took his sister with him.
Billy had somehow managed to get himself a smart gene in the gene cesspool he’d been offered. At nine, he knew the life he’d been born into was not a safe life to live. Maybe he got this gene from me for I’d also figured my shitty life out early (around the age of four) and felt the same way. Billy had also somehow managed to get himself a loyal and sweet gene which meant he took care of his sister.
Billie had managed to get mostly adorable little girl genes. Which apparently were strong and coated you with Teflon so that your shitty life could bounce off you and you could only see the wonders of the world. She thought I was wonderful. She thought her father was wonderful. But mostly she thought her brother was wonderful.
Two out of three weren’t bad.
I blew out the candles, turned off the music, grabbed my purse and hightailed it out of my apartment. I was rushing hell bent for leather, my head down, my mind consumed with this problem.
This was the fourth time in half as many months that Billy had tried to run away taking Billie with him. In other words, Billy’s great escapes were escalating. Something was not right in the Bill, Billy and Billie household, more than the normal not right. It was becoming clear that I was going to need to wade in. I didn’t want to wade in with Bill. Wading in with Bill meant that shit might get stuck to me. But I couldn’t leave Billy and Billie in a situation that was worse than the normal not right. The normal not right was already pretty freaking bad.
“Whoa, Mara, Jesus!” I heard right before I slammed into Detective Mitch Lawson near to the top of the stairs.
He went down two steps, me going with him. He threw his arm out and grabbed the railing. I was moving so fast I couldn’t stop so my body collided with his. To steady myself my hands automatically lifted to clutch his shirt at his chest. His other arm wrapped tight around my waist. He managed to stop us from both tumbling backwards down the steps to possibly break bones or crack open skulls when we hit the cement sidewalk.
When we teetered to a stop, I looked up at him.
Nope, a week away and he was no less gorgeous. Indeed, that close, he was even more gorgeous than ever.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said again, trying to take a step back.
His arm around my waist tightened and not just a little, a lot. So much that even though my torso was already resting against him from chest to belly this tightening made it so my torso was plastered against him from chest to hips.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“I…” I hesitated not wanting to share anything with him. But I really did not want to share that I had a hick, stupid, lame, petty criminal for a cousin. And I further did not want to share Bill was the definition of Not A Great Father whose kids I had to rescue again. “Need to be somewhere,” I decided to say.
His eyes moved over my face and their movement was doing funny things to my belly at the same time my heart was tripping over itself due to our proximity. This was because I’d just discovered his body felt as hard and muscled as it looked while my two precious second cousins were hungry at a Stop ‘n’ Go.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Fine, I just need to be somewhere.”
“Your face doesn’t say everything is fine,” he replied.
“It is,” I lied again.
“It isn’t,” he returned.
I stopped clutching his shirt and pushed against his hard chest.
“Really, Mitch, I have to go,” I told him.
“Where?”
“I need to pick something up.”
“What?”
I stopped pushing and glared at him, beginning to lose my temper mainly because the gruff voiced guy said Billy and Billie were hungry.
“Would you let me go? I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“I’ll let you go when you tell me where you’ve got to be and why your face is pale and you look freaked.”
I lost a bit more of my temper. “It’s none of your business,” I said. “Really, let me go.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and his face changed from looking kind of curious and definitely alert to still definitely alert and kind of pissed.
“Four years, I see you and every time I see you, you’re in your own world. Goin’ to work, comin’ home with groceries or from the mall. You’re never in a rush but you’re always in your head and I can see that’s a decent place to be.”
I blinked at him, shocked he paid that much attention.
“Now you’re sprinting down the stairs, not lookin’ where you’re goin’ when you’re always careful to look where you’re goin’ and you’re in your head but wherever you are in there, it is far from a decent place to be.” I was still staring up at him but now unblinking and I felt my lips had parted. He went on, “You got a problem?”
“I –” I started to lie but stopped when his arm gave me another squeeze, pressing the breath out of me.
“And don’t lie,” he warned.
I took in a breath. Then I thought of the kids. Then I decided I probably shouldn’t lie because clearly, I was right about police detectives. Even though he didn’t know me, he had finely honed skills where he could totally figure me out and know when I was lying. He wasn’t going to let me go until I told him the truth. And I needed him to let me go for a variety of reasons.
“Family problems,” I explained honestly.
“Bad?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Annoying.”
That was a fib rather than a lie since I wasn’t certain it was bad. I just figured it was getting there.
“You need me to come with you?” he offered.
“No!” I blurted too fast and too loudly and on a desperate pull against his arm that made him give me another squeeze keeping me right where I was.
When I calmed enough to register the look on his face I realized my mistake. I should have kept cool and paid attention to him. Close attention. For he still looked very alert, he now looked very pissed and he’d added a narrow-eyed, alert, angry disbelief which I knew for sure was not a good addition.
“Now, sweetheart,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “I’m thinkin’ you just lied to me.”
Oh boy.
Mental note: if given the chance again, never but never lie to Detective Mitch Lawson.
Billy had somehow managed to get himself a smart gene in the gene cesspool he’d been offered. At nine, he knew the life he’d been born into was not a safe life to live. Maybe he got this gene from me for I’d also figured my shitty life out early (around the age of four) and felt the same way. Billy had also somehow managed to get himself a loyal and sweet gene which meant he took care of his sister.
Billie had managed to get mostly adorable little girl genes. Which apparently were strong and coated you with Teflon so that your shitty life could bounce off you and you could only see the wonders of the world. She thought I was wonderful. She thought her father was wonderful. But mostly she thought her brother was wonderful.
Two out of three weren’t bad.
I blew out the candles, turned off the music, grabbed my purse and hightailed it out of my apartment. I was rushing hell bent for leather, my head down, my mind consumed with this problem.
This was the fourth time in half as many months that Billy had tried to run away taking Billie with him. In other words, Billy’s great escapes were escalating. Something was not right in the Bill, Billy and Billie household, more than the normal not right. It was becoming clear that I was going to need to wade in. I didn’t want to wade in with Bill. Wading in with Bill meant that shit might get stuck to me. But I couldn’t leave Billy and Billie in a situation that was worse than the normal not right. The normal not right was already pretty freaking bad.
“Whoa, Mara, Jesus!” I heard right before I slammed into Detective Mitch Lawson near to the top of the stairs.
He went down two steps, me going with him. He threw his arm out and grabbed the railing. I was moving so fast I couldn’t stop so my body collided with his. To steady myself my hands automatically lifted to clutch his shirt at his chest. His other arm wrapped tight around my waist. He managed to stop us from both tumbling backwards down the steps to possibly break bones or crack open skulls when we hit the cement sidewalk.
When we teetered to a stop, I looked up at him.
Nope, a week away and he was no less gorgeous. Indeed, that close, he was even more gorgeous than ever.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said again, trying to take a step back.
His arm around my waist tightened and not just a little, a lot. So much that even though my torso was already resting against him from chest to belly this tightening made it so my torso was plastered against him from chest to hips.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“I…” I hesitated not wanting to share anything with him. But I really did not want to share that I had a hick, stupid, lame, petty criminal for a cousin. And I further did not want to share Bill was the definition of Not A Great Father whose kids I had to rescue again. “Need to be somewhere,” I decided to say.
His eyes moved over my face and their movement was doing funny things to my belly at the same time my heart was tripping over itself due to our proximity. This was because I’d just discovered his body felt as hard and muscled as it looked while my two precious second cousins were hungry at a Stop ‘n’ Go.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Fine, I just need to be somewhere.”
“Your face doesn’t say everything is fine,” he replied.
“It is,” I lied again.
“It isn’t,” he returned.
I stopped clutching his shirt and pushed against his hard chest.
“Really, Mitch, I have to go,” I told him.
“Where?”
“I need to pick something up.”
“What?”
I stopped pushing and glared at him, beginning to lose my temper mainly because the gruff voiced guy said Billy and Billie were hungry.
“Would you let me go? I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“I’ll let you go when you tell me where you’ve got to be and why your face is pale and you look freaked.”
I lost a bit more of my temper. “It’s none of your business,” I said. “Really, let me go.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and his face changed from looking kind of curious and definitely alert to still definitely alert and kind of pissed.
“Four years, I see you and every time I see you, you’re in your own world. Goin’ to work, comin’ home with groceries or from the mall. You’re never in a rush but you’re always in your head and I can see that’s a decent place to be.”
I blinked at him, shocked he paid that much attention.
“Now you’re sprinting down the stairs, not lookin’ where you’re goin’ when you’re always careful to look where you’re goin’ and you’re in your head but wherever you are in there, it is far from a decent place to be.” I was still staring up at him but now unblinking and I felt my lips had parted. He went on, “You got a problem?”
“I –” I started to lie but stopped when his arm gave me another squeeze, pressing the breath out of me.
“And don’t lie,” he warned.
I took in a breath. Then I thought of the kids. Then I decided I probably shouldn’t lie because clearly, I was right about police detectives. Even though he didn’t know me, he had finely honed skills where he could totally figure me out and know when I was lying. He wasn’t going to let me go until I told him the truth. And I needed him to let me go for a variety of reasons.
“Family problems,” I explained honestly.
“Bad?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Annoying.”
That was a fib rather than a lie since I wasn’t certain it was bad. I just figured it was getting there.
“You need me to come with you?” he offered.
“No!” I blurted too fast and too loudly and on a desperate pull against his arm that made him give me another squeeze keeping me right where I was.
When I calmed enough to register the look on his face I realized my mistake. I should have kept cool and paid attention to him. Close attention. For he still looked very alert, he now looked very pissed and he’d added a narrow-eyed, alert, angry disbelief which I knew for sure was not a good addition.
“Now, sweetheart,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “I’m thinkin’ you just lied to me.”
Oh boy.
Mental note: if given the chance again, never but never lie to Detective Mitch Lawson.
