Chasing Adonis (14 page)

She sighed. All these dark and morose thoughts didn’t sit
well on her brain or in her stomach. Still, she remained focused on tragic
subjects. What kind of tomorrow awaited her? Even after this second trial
ended, how could she ever be certain that the stranger she met on a train or
the clerk at her local pharmacy wasn’t a hired killer sent by Cherry to finish
the job? Would she ever feel safe again?

“You’re not hungry?”

She started at his innocent question then shrugged to cover
her reaction. “I guess everything’s closing in on me right now. It’s a lot to
take in. I’m giving up my apartment, my job, my entire identity. And I may
never get it all back.”

The fork’s tines prodded at the melted mozzarella inside the
egg dish, and she compared the cheesy strings to her life—capable of stretching
too far and snapping without warning.

“You could still change your mind about testifying.”

She dropped her fork, and it clattered against the plate.
Shane winced at the sound, and a dozen heads swerved in their direction.

Embarrassed, she leaned across the table to whisper, “No! I
owe Terry that much. I can’t turn my back on my responsibility, no matter what
it costs me.”

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ve got guts,
Adara.”

 Ha! She had guts, all right—the kind that would spew
all over the floor if she didn’t keep control of her terror. Unfortunately, her
knees knocked so badly, she could start a conga line moving to the rhythm. How
could she distribute her attention to her stomach, her legs, and most important
of all, the man who sat across from her, looking at her with such admiration?
If only she really did have guts, she’d swoosh the dishes off the table and
throw herself at Shane. With his lips against hers, she had no doubt she’d find
all the courage she needed.

~~~~

Shane wouldn’t allow Adara to enter her apartment until he’d
checked every closet and cabinet for potential danger. So she stood in her hallway,
torn between aggravation and appreciation for his presence.

“Okay,” he said, waving her in. “It’s safe.” He sat down on
her couch. “I’ll wait here while you pack.”

Her lips tightened as she walked past him and toward the
bedroom in the back of the apartment. “I’m a little inexperienced at this. What
does one pack when running away from criminals?”

“Bare necessities,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Enough clothing for at least a week at a time, but no more than ten days’
worth. Sensible shoes. And keep the cosmetics to a minimum. You’ll be spending
most of your time indoors anyway so excessive makeup is a waste of effort and
space.”

Adara bit her tongue until it hurt. Another poke at the
ultra-feminine looking woman who doesn’t have sense enough to leave her
favorite purple eye shadow at home when faced with a life-threatening crisis?
Did he really think she was that stupid? Well, she couldn’t just let that
comment go without giving something back to him.

“I guess that means I shouldn’t pack my g-string and
pasties, huh?”

A weak retort, but he practically swallowed his tongue, so
she achieved some small satisfaction. Her mind was too numb for a battle of
wits. With a saucy wink, she headed into her bedroom and pulled a battered
suitcase out of her closet, laying it on the bed. Once she unzipped it, she
flipped the lid atop the pillows and turned to her bureau. Upper drawer: bras
and panties. Ten of each found their way into the case. Second drawer: socks
and a few nightshirts covered the underwear. Bending into the third drawer, she
surveyed its array of chinos and jeans with an eye toward comfort and
convenience.

She folded two pairs of faded blue jeans and one pair of
dressier black chinos over her arm and was just about to turn around to place
them in the case when an arm snaked about her waist, and a sweaty hand covered
her mouth.

“Don’t move,” a throaty voice growled in her ear.

Her body stiffened automatically, but with concentration,
her martial arts training kicked in, and she forced her muscles to relax.

“Good girl,” the voice said, and she smelled his smoky
breath rising up from her neck. “Now, we’re gonna climb out this window, down
the fire escape, and into the van my pal’s got running in the alley. You make
one sound that brings your cop friend in here, you’ll both die. You got me?”

She nodded, and his grip on her waist eased slightly. It was
the break she needed. With lightning speed, she sent an elbow into her
attacker’s ribs while simultaneously delivering a solid back kick to the middle
of his shin.

He released her with an “Oomph.” In one graceful move, she
spun around and crashed a fist into his face, crunching his nose with a
sickening splintery sound. While his hand reached for his nose in reaction, her
knee met his groin in perfect aim.

The moment he fell to the floor, she screamed, “Shane!”

Chapter Thirteen

Adara’s shriek froze the blood in Shane’s veins, but the
rest of his body spurred into quick action. Practiced reflexes pulled his
service revolver from his holster while he raced down the hall and into her
bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He
blinked, but the scene remained the same.

She stood near the bed, fists poised at the ready and her
legs in a stance of looming attack. At her feet, a man clutched his knees to
his chest and moaned in agony.

“He’s got an accomplice outside,” she shouted, pointing to
the open bedroom window. “In a van.”

Assured she was unharmed, Shane reached for his restraints
and slipped them on the writhing man’s wrists. With Adara’s safety now
guaranteed by the tight white strips, he rushed to the window and leaned down
in time to see a battered commercial van speed away with a screech of tires.

Turning to face the room again, he announced, “Looks like
your partner decided to leave you behind.”

“Screw you!” the man spat out.

Adara still maintained her fighting posture, one foot
pressed into the small of the man’s back, and Shane nodded in her direction.
“At ease, soldier.”

She instantly relaxed and stepped backward, but her eyes
remained locked on her attacker.

“Where’s your phone?” His question drew her attention away
from the scum on the floor.

“In the kitchen.”

He handed her a business card. “Call this number, ask for Lou.
Tell him what happened, and have him send a cruiser. Wait in the living room
‘til they get here.” Reaching down, he yanked on the scum’s wrists to pull him
to his feet. “My new friend and I have some talking to do.”

Once Adara left the room, Shane tossed the restrained man
into a chair across from the bed. “Who sent you?”

Not surprisingly, the man said nothing.

“Was it Cherry?”

Silence.

“Fine. Have it your way. You won’t remain a mystery once you
get to the precinct. Something tells me once we acquire some nice clear
fingerprints, we’ll have your name and a detailed record to go along with it.”

“Screw you,” the man repeated. “I’m not saying anything ‘til
I get a lawyer.”

Shane shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The minutes ticked by while the two men glared at one
another, saying nothing.

~~~~

A short while later, Lou appeared at the apartment with two
uniformed officers. While the patrol cops escorted their suspect downstairs,
Adara filled Lou in on the details of her tussle with her attacker.

Shane noted the glazed look in her eyes and the lack of
emotion to her speech pattern as she told of breaking free of the man’s grasp
and downing him with a punch and kick combination. The story came out concise,
yet robotic. Like Tyler’s behavior the day his mother died.

When she finished her tale, she flopped onto the couch and
remained there, saying nothing else.

Lou leaned forward and whispered low, “Get her out of here,
Shane. Fast. She’s no good to anybody if she’s dead. Did Jake find a place for
her yet?”

He nodded. “The Seven Knights Motel on Route 9. We just
stopped here to pack.”

“Well, finish packing and vamoose.” Lou walked to the door,
and in a louder voice, said, “Ms. Berros, I’ll keep Detective Griffin here
informed of anything we find out. Good luck, ma’am.”

She never responded, merely remained on the couch, staring
at the television against the far wall. Shane glanced at the box to see what
show demanded such interest—it wasn’t on.

“Beep me when you got something,” Shane murmured, closing
the door behind Lou’s retreating figure. He then returned his attention to
Adara. “Hey,” he said softly as he sat down beside her. “You okay?”

She nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the black screen.

He’d seen this before with other crime victims. A kind of shocked
disbelief regarding what happened combined with a fear of what to do should it
ever happen again. For Adara, it was probably ten times worse because she had
more reason to believe such an attack would recur.

“You did good in there.” He took her hand and stroked it,
but still received no reaction. Time to bring out the big guns. “I mean it.
And…I owe you an apology.”

Ta-da! Amazing what a simple, “I’m sorry” could do to a
woman’s spirits. Her eyes blinked, finally focusing, and she turned to look at him
with keen interest.

“You do? For what?”

“In the hospital. When you told me you could have a man
writhing on the floor in fifteen seconds flat, I kinda dismissed your
abilities. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

A tremulous smile made her lips quiver, and he wanted to
swoop in closer and stop the trembling with his own mouth. He leaned away from
her instead, giving them both a little breathing room.

“That’s okay. A lot of men have trouble with a woman who’s
capable of taking care of herself.”

Ouch. That was a little harsher than he deserved. But he
chalked it up to her frazzled emotions. Besides, he genuinely wanted to talk to
her about what she’d done in that bedroom.

“I assume you used some kind of karate moves on him.”

She nodded. “Combination sixteen.”

“How long have you been studying martial arts?”

“About eight years now.”

“And how long did it take you to get your black belt?”

“The first one? About five and a half years. But that’s
because I took six months off toward the end of my training.”

“You did? Why?”

“My mother passed away.” The admission came out in a
mournful sigh.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand in a gesture of sympathy,
and she squeezed back, communicating acceptance.

“I never should have taken that time off. When I finally
went back, I realized how much the training helped me deal with her loss.”

Shane sat up a little higher on the couch. “Did it?”

“Mmm-hmm. There’s something about it—I can’t really explain
it to someone who doesn’t prescribe to the martial arts mindset, though.
There’s a sense of giving yourself over to a higher power, of accepting
challenges on a spiritual level.” She smiled. “Besides, when you’re angry over
something, what better way to deal with that anger than to punch and kick at a
heavy bag, right? It’s an outlet for all the bottled-up emotions.”

“Do you think a child could get the same kind of results out
of it?”

“My sensei teaches a lot of children. In many respects,
they’re better than adults. They’re more flexible and a little less fearful. It
would depend upon the child, of course. But, yes, I think a child could
definitely find it beneficial.” Her eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “Why?”

“My nephew. He lost his mother recently also.”

“Oh. Now, I’m sorry. This was the five-year-old you told me
about?” He nodded. “What happened?”

“His mother was a victim of a murder/suicide.”

Her mouth opened in a wide o of disbelief, and tears
shimmered in her eyes. “Oh, my God. That poor baby. And you’re thinking he
might benefit from martial arts training?”

“I honestly don’t know what to think. I know he needs some
kind of help. I mean, he’s getting psychotherapy, and he’s making progress, but
it’s not enough. He’s not the same kid he was before this happened. I can’t
seem to reach him. And an outlet that will give him the release you describe…”

His voice trailed off as he pictured Tyler in his mind: the
haunted eyes, the gaunt cheeks. Mom was right. The boy needed more than a
replacement father and an appointment twice a week with a psychotherapist.
Could Adara’s karate classes hold the key?

“What about the boy’s father?” she asked. “What does he
say?”

“His father was the perpetrator of the murder/suicide. Tyler
is my responsibility now.”

Her eyes widened for an instant, but she managed to tamp
down her surprise before he could call her on it. “Oh. In that case, it might
be wonderful for him.” 

“Tyler’s small, though. I mean, even for his age. He only
weighs about thirty-eight pounds.”

“Then he’ll probably have an advantage. I’ve watched the kids
in sparring tournaments. Sometimes the smaller ones succeed because their size
distracts an opponent. I’ve seen girls take on boys who are at least a foot
taller and outweigh them by a good fifty or sixty pounds. The only punch they
can’t throw well is the hammer.”

“The hammer?”

Rising to her feet, she quickly rotated her left arm in a
circle, stopping her fist level with her shoulder blade. “It’s an overhead
move, and when your opponent is taller, it’s of no use to you.” She sat down
again. “But there are lots of other katas a smaller person can perform with
ease. And because they’re chest-level or so with their opponent, they strike
the right targets more easily.”

He watched her closely, enjoying the way her eyes lit up,
like a tigress who’d found delicious prey. Every motion filled with such grace,
prima ballerinas should hand over their tutus in disgust. Clearly, she loved
the martial arts and found untold power and peace in the skills.