Lying Eyes (20 page)

IA thought he had.

He hadn't revealed the depths of his feelings for the feisty reporter, but the team from IA had apparently guessed.

Carlo sighed.

These would-a, could-a, should-a thoughts are eating me alive.

He didn't dare come clean and let Internal Affairs know what was going on in his head.

After tomorrow he'd be cleared to further exhaust his weary body by going for a long, slow jog, which hopefully would end his sleepless nights and appease Internal Affairs.

Could Allison find it in her heart to forgive me?

Together, we'd found something so good, so right.

Then, like a fool, he'd sent her away, never realizing until she walked out of his hospital room that he wanted her by his side permanently.

Now he spent his days longing for the gentle touch of her hand on his and his nights wondering how to fix the mess he'd made of their lives.

I was wrong.

Wrong to force her out of my life, a life not worth living without seeing Allison's taunting smile.

She had known how to push all his buttons in ways no other woman had ever dared.

Buttons he now
longed
to have Allison push.

She'd made him feel alive, not like some LAPD robo-cop with tunnel vision.

Without warning Allison's anger would explode and she'd shred his tough hide with her sharp tongue. Just one of the many things he missed about her, and one he'd never let on he enjoyed.

During the lonely days of his lengthy recovery he'd missed those sudden outbursts with a longing he couldn't staunch.

He
needed
Allison's thorough tongue-lashing the way he needed to draw his next breath.

Had her brother taught her to give back as good as she got?

I should look him up and thank him.

And Allison?

I owe her a lot more than thanks, starting with a heartfelt apology.

I can't believe I tried to shift my guilt to her.

Wonder who she's sharpening her tongue on now?

Not Hanson, I hope.

Would his friend tell him if he'd seen or spoken with Allison?

Ouch.

Damn that hurts.

Would this therapy session never end so he could still these troublesome thoughts?

*****

A
llison's first week on the job proved uneventful. She'd encountered the usual petty jealousies TV personalities fed upon, refused a dozen invitations to go out for drinks or dinner, and one blatant proposal of marriage she'd politely rejected. She intended to keep to herself until she became more familiar with her coworkers and their inevitable cliques and quirks.

An extremely pregnant Sheryl introduced Allison to Sheryl's reliable snitches out on the street, told her how best to proceed when her cameraman came to work hung over and grouchy. She'd also told Allison how to approach the station manager on a slow-news day with an idea for a human interest story: let him think the idea was his.

She and Sheryl worked well together, but at the start of Allison's second week at the station Sheryl's doctor ordered complete bed rest for the expectant mom. The staff gave her a hurried baby shower on Monday afternoon instead of Friday morning as planned, and Sheryl cheerfully waved goodbye to the local crime scene, looking more than ready to start her new career.

Her emotions were mixed about being left alone to cover the LA crime scene with only one week of training, Allison thought as her grouchy cameraman drove to the scene of a jewelry heist in Beverly Hills.

"...The housekeeper's ex-boyfriend is a person of interest in this crime," she reported later on the evening news.

*****

A
cross town, Oscar Hanson couldn't believe his eyes.

What do you know? Allison Marble is covering the local news.

Wonder if Carlo saw this?

The Captain reported he was awaiting clearance by Internal Affairs to resume work. The few times Oscar had visited him, Carlo hadn't been himself.

Oscar's futile attempts to cheer his friend had made things worse, so he had stayed away from him these past weeks.

Should I call him? Let Carlo know Allison is reporting crime for Cable News? Or let him find out for himself?

With Carlo around, Allison hadn't given me the time of day.

Had that changed?

If Carlo doesn't mention Allison when he returns to work, maybe I'll ask her out.

––––––––

T
wo weeks later Internal Affairs cleared Carlo for work with the admonition to
"Learn to forgive yourself. No one can be a superhero all the time."

Recalling the psychologist's words at the end of his shift on his first day back, Carlo slammed his office door as he headed out.

What does the prick know about guilt?

He'd probably never been shot at in his life.

Lost in thought, he turned away from his door and almost crashed into the Captain.

"Whoa."

"Sorry," Carlo said. "My mind was on something else."

The Captain eyed him intently. "Something you'd care to share?"

"No, Sir. Did you want to see me?"

"How was
your
day?"

Carlo grimaced. "How do you think? Everyone treats me like I might break. You've yet to give me a case I can sink my teeth in. You know how I hate paperwork. I was bored out of my skull."

"Well, what did you expect? This is your first day back."

"I expected my desk to be littered with new cases.
Not paperwork.
"

"Give it time, Carlo. All the cases we opened in your absence have been assigned to other members of the team. If one of those team leaders needs help, I'm sure you'll be asked. Just don't bite their heads off, too."

Carlo scowled. "So until someone does ask, you expect me to sit here and do nothing?"

"No. I've been asked to speak on the continuing drug problem at the Downtown Rotary Club meeting tomorrow. Why don't you go with me?"

"No, but thanks. I'm more of a doer than a sitter."

"Sitting might do you some good."

"That's all I've done for three months. I don't want to compile statistics on drug addiction, I want to eliminate the source. You know that."

"Patience, Carlo. Rome wasn't built in a day. Any plans for the evening?"

"A late night jog through my neighborhood. Why?"

"I don't want you sitting home alone, brooding, that's all."

"Not a chance. I'm working on strengthening my legs."

"Take it easy and, and I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe another meth lab will blow up and I can drop the case in your lap."

"We can hope."

*****

A
llison's new job required so much of her time she was yet to find a free afternoon to check out possible places to move. Before going to bed on Wednesday night she wrote a check to cover another month's rent for her apartment in San Diego, addressed the envelope for mailing, and fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

When the alarm woke her at five a.m. she groaned, not yet ready to roll out of bed, but knowing she had to. Everything in LA moved faster, even the hands of her clock.

She pulled on jogging clothes, tied her shoe strings, and drank a glass of orange juice, her thoughts on the way she used to get upset when someone from LA referred to San Diego as the
"sleepy little town by the Bay".

She now knew what they meant. San Diegans were still sleeping when the worst crimes occurred in Los Angeles. Here, most local residents hit the freeway an hour before San Diegans woke to turn off their alarms.

Outside the condo, traffic was beginning to build as Allison hurried across Fox Drive and glanced back at her complex.

Not my complex, Rachael's.

She'd be returning from Italy in mid-September. Allison had never expected to take this long to find a place to move.

I was wrong. So wrong.

She was no nearer deciding where to live than she had been on her first day at work. LA sprawled in every direction, and this was definitely not the area she wanted to make her home.

Too ritzy for me, too many limos, and fancy breeds of dogs.

She did enjoy the nearness of Century City Park, however, and as she stepped into the park and jogged off at her usual pace, Allison let the peaceful surroundings lull her restless mind.

Five miles later her steps slowed as she jogged back to her temporary home.

Once inside, she glanced at her bedroom clock, stripped, and turned on the shower.

Carlo would love this showerhead.

Thoughts of him invaded her mind at the most inopportune times.

Like yesterday. She'd foolishly hoped to run into him at the bank robbery.
Robbery isn't his specialty.

Wonder if he has trouble sleeping, too?

*****

A
t lunch on Thursday Hanson told Carlo about seeing Allison on Cable News.

Carlo's throat went dry.

If just hearing her name makes me heartsick, watching her on a television will likely kill me.

To satisfy his curiosity, he raced home after his shift and turned on the Six O'clock News.

His heart was thumping by the time Allison was introduced. She was standing in front of a burned-out church in East LA, scene of a hate crime, he supposed. The Crime Unit agreed, but two church employees Allison interviewed reported smelling overheated wiring in a back room earlier in the day.

Sadly, no one reported it, Allison told the viewers, looking as confident before the camera as she had when describing alpha males to her conference audience.

Am I as mule-headed as she said?

Internal Affairs thinks so. The Captain, too.

And today Hanson joined the growing list of people insisting I change.

How hard would it be for him to admit he'd been wrong?

Is it a question of genes?

Is it possible to learn from my mistakes? To abandon my misbeliefs, accept my shortcomings, and get on with my life at this late date?

I have to try.

––––––––

"A
llison? It's Carlo."

"I know, I recognized you voice."

Don't let my excitement show.

An almost impossible task, when every nerve in her devious body was responding to Carlo's unexpected phone call.

"How've you been?" she whispered to break the silence.

"Good. I'm good. Finally back on duty. Light duty."

"It must be driving you crazy."

He chuckled. "You've got that right. I caught your report on the church fire last night. How long have you been here?"

"Long enough for LA to start romancing me, almost three weeks."
Three weeks I could have been spending with you.
"What... do you want, Carlo?"

"To see you. We have some unfinished business I'd like to resolve."

"You did that the last time I saw you, and quite eloquently, I might add. There's nothing more to be said."

"This is not like you, Allison. Please don't let my thoughtless words harden your heart. Remember the immigrant woman from Turkey? And the cancer survivor you befriended on the train? You had time to listen to their stories. Give
me
a chance to explain."

Allison weighed the possibility for a telling moment and murmured, "When?"

"How about Saturday night? We could drive up to Malibu and—"

"No. I don't want to air our problems in some fancy restaurant. I may want to shout at you."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I want to apologize."

"Why don't you come here? If you still want to eat when I've had my say, we can order in."

"I can... do that. Where is
here
?"

"Century City."

She gave him directions, all the while thinking:

This is the stupidest thing I've ever done, agreeing to revisit healed wounds.

She ended the call.

What am I doing?

Giving Carlo a chance to right a wrong?

Or to break my heart again?

*****

F
riday turned out to be a slow news day, so Allison aired the human interest story she'd just finished editing about a young boy on a mission. She'd first noticed Jonathan selling lemons on a street corner in East LA. She bought a few and learned he was trying to raise enough money to get his father out of jail.

The day after Jonathan's father lost his job he had accidentally backed into the neighbor's fence, knocking over three sections of the hundred-foot-long fence held up by rotted posts.

When the neighbor discovered the father was not able to pay for the damages, he sued him in small claims court and he was ordered to pay the homeowner three-thousand-dollars, the cost of replacing the fence along the damaged side. Since he had no money to pay the debt Jonathan's father went to jail.

Enamored by the determined boy with what she thought an impossible goal, Allison had enlisted the help of her cameraman and returned to film Jonathan's story. In her last news segment of the day she'd aired the erudite boy's story and by the time the report ended the Station's switchboard had been inundated with calls offering help from contractors all over Los Angeles.

She drove home smiling to herself, convinced she'd done the right thing.

Have I also done the right thing, agreeing to see Carlo?

Or have I just opened myself up to more hurt?

Solving her problem with Carlo would not be as easy as getting a damaged fence replaced. The appeal of Jonathan's story had been his childish openness, his willingness to air his father's problems in public in hopes of reaching his altruistic goal.

Carlo had never fully opened up to her.

Why
did
he ask to see me?

*****

M
ost Fridays, Carlo's mother cooked dinner for him and this week was no exception.

He'd no sooner kissed her cheek than she began firing her usual questions at him. "Have you talked to Allison? Has she—"

"I have, and she will, tomorrow night."

"You're taking her someplace special, aren't you?"

"No. I tried, but Allison wants to stay in so she can rake me over the coals."