Stuck On You (7 page)

She sighed in disappointment. Maybe Mack would just go to bed as he'd said. Then she could do the same. She didn't want to drive back to his house again tonight should he decide to sneak off. It had been a long, emotional day. She had just enough energy to grab something to eat and finish setting Mack up on the VV-98 before she fell asleep.

She turned off at the next exit and headed north on Tulip. Her stomach growled. Knowing, there was nothing in her office to eat, she decided to stop at Clancy's for a couple slices of pizza before she made the climb to her office.

Her office was more than an office. She was living in it, too. She gave up her apartment in an effort to cut costs, sinking everything into Your Home Is Your Jail. Lately, it felt like her jail, so she could identify with Mack. It made her feel restless and confined. Just like he might feel, if he’d stayed put for more than an hour!

Glancing at the voice verifier, she reminded herself to make sure everything was perfect with the VV-98 as it made its random calls to Mack. Well, he would think they were random, but she knew the exact times he’d be called.

Kate decided to change the calling schedule. Mack seemed as tired as she was, and she had set a couple of the calls to go off after midnight. She sighed, wondering if she was softening toward him, but then assured herself that she'd have cut the calls back on anyone in the same situation. Anyone at all.

Popping the top of a can of raspberry ice tea, Kate sat down behind the desk and took a bite out of a slice of gooey and wonderfully greasy pepperoni and mushroom pizza. She wondered what Mack was having. If his cupboards were as empty as the rooms in his home, the man was probably starving.

He'd need money to pay for take-out and the last she knew his wallet was still in jail storage. She reminded herself to get it for him, if they'd let her.

Mack hadn't said anything about not having money—but that wasn't his way. And knowing the little she knew about his parents, she didn't think there was much hope they'd stop by with a care package.

Kate shook her head. The man was old enough and smart enough to figure out how he could get a meal. He was—
is
—an undercover cop. Only the cleverest, most devious, and smartest guys were picked for that kind of job. No doubt Mack was all of that. And more.

She took out the other slice of pizza. Those Clancys had outdone themselves this time. She was just about to pick up the phone and order some mild Buffalo wings from them when the VV-98 kicked on.

"Yo?"

"This is the VV-98 voice verification system. Please repeat after me. Orange."

"Oh, for Pete's sake..."

"Goldfish."

"Kate? You there? This is beyond stupid, Kate."

She laughed. "Just say the word, you stubborn man," she muttered, walking over to the kitchenette to toss out the paper plate and plastic cup.

"Zoo."

"You got it, you ol' VV-98. This
is
like the zoo."

"Pimento."

She heard him take a deep breath. "Pimento," he said.

"February."

He took another deep breath. "Dammit, Kate. Aww...hell...February."

He finally gave in and repeated another ten more.

"The VV-98 voice verification test is now over. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Kate, I know you're listening. This is the dumbest thing I've ever done in my whole—"

Beep. Click.
The VV-98 disconnected.

Kate smiled. When he wasn't infuriating, John Mackowitz sure was entertaining.

Chuckling, she decided to have a little fun with him for making her so crazy today. She hit the control key and F7. The VV-98 called him again.

"Yeah?"

"This is the..."

"Dammit, Kate! Not again! I just did this. I need to get some sleep!"

"Book."

"Kate, can you hear me? Fix this thing!"

"Frog"

"Aww...hell...frog!"

"Pajamas."

"I'm picturing you in a black satin night gown, Kate."

Her heart started to pound.

"Island."

A big sigh. "A deserted
island
with you."

This time the sigh was her own. "You don't have to use the words in a sentence, Mack," she murmured, dreamily.

"Burrito."

"Am I supposed to be bilingual on this program?"

Kate burst out laughing.

She hit a couple more keys and skipped the rest of the words.

"...Thank you for your cooperation."

"Kate, fix this damn thing!"

Beep. Click.

Yanking the cushions off the sleep sofa, she tossed them on the floor. Then she gave the strap on the frame a pull and unfolded the bed. Luckily, it was already made and ready for her to slip inside. At least if she was sleeping, maybe she'd get a respite from thoughts of Mack.

She deleted the remaining two calls she had scheduled for him. Maybe she was soft. Or maybe she wasn't prepared to hear the deep, rich voice of John Mackowitz anymore that evening.

A quick system check showed her that the tracking device on the VV-98 was up and running fine. She turned up the volume, so the beep alarm would wake her if Mack decided to do anything stupid, like sneak out.

Clicking the light off, she snuggled into bed. The smell of garlic was heavy in the air and the neon sign of the Clancy Brothers Pizza Emporium below added a surreal orange glow to the room. To the left, her equipment hummed and sparkled with its green, red and white running lights.

Kate felt secure in the fact that she was going to make her program a personal and financial success. This was her own business, so no one would downsize her, transfer her or stick her in jobs she hated. She had just saved enough for a down payment on a house of her own, when she was permanently ousted from the Rose County Probation Department. Taking a big chance, she sank every penny of her down payment into the necessary equipment for Your Home is Your Jail.

Plus she believed in her program. There were people who were arrested and incarcerated and stayed in jail because they were just simply poor. The big-time criminals, particularly the white collar ones, who had the money and property to post bail, were out in record time.

She wasn’t clueless; there were people who belonged in jail, who were a danger to the community. But there were some who weren’t. Because she was a probation officer, she could tell the difference.

As a bonus, with hard work and Mack as her first successful case, she'd soon be able to refill her empty bank account, buy her house and sock some money away for her old age. She had it all planned so nice and neat: roots, stability, security.

The ringing of her phone startled her. It was late. Not even Charlie Chesterfield called her this late. She let the answering machine pick it up.

"Hello, Kate. I know you're there. This is the VV-98 calling you. It has taken over the body of Sergeant Mackowitz. I believe you know him.”

Kate sat upright in bed, wondering what Mack was up to.

“Repeat these words after me:
innocent
. Yes, I am innocent of all changes lodged against me.
Framed
. Yes, I’ve been framed.
Investigate
. I need to find out what’s going on and clear my name.”

He paused for a while, and Kate could hear him take a deep breath.

“
Worried
. I’m worried to death that Tom Murray’s life might still be in danger if someone thinks he knows something.”

“Your life is in danger, too, Mack,” Kate mumbled.

 “
Apologize
. I’m sorry about your program, I know it means a lot to you, but I need to find out what’s going on and why. Please understand. But you do what you have to do, and I’ll do the same. Good night, Kate.”

He was warning her. He was going to split again.

Her heart went out to him. He was in a terrible jam. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever believe that she’d feel sorry for him —not John Mackowitz. He had it all.

She tossed and turned all night, waiting for the alarm to go off on the VV-98. He even invaded her dreams.

They were in her Victorian dream house together on the bluff above Rose Lake, making love in the garden. They were taking a morning swim together, watching the sunrise. They watched the stars glitter over the lake. They were lulled to sleep by the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.

But then she felt an evil presence as if someone was in the shadows watching them...watching Mack.

And then Mack stood by the front door of the house blocking her way inside. Puzzled, she tried to get in, but he stood there smiling as if he knew a secret he wouldn't share.

The buzzer sounded from the VV-98 and Kate awoke with a start, her heart racing.

"Damn him!" She looked at the time blinking on her computer. Quarter of six o'clock in the morning. "Why won't he just do what he's supposed to?"

Yanking a coat on over her nightgown, she grabbed her purse and raced out the door.

#

Mack had it all timed perfectly. He would run down to the station, try the computer again, and get back before Kate could catch him out of his house. He'd be fine as long as she took the interstate. The road repair that was scheduled to begin today would slow her down, giving him extra time.

Jogging at a brisk gait through his back yard, he took a shortcut through old Mrs. Tucker's back yard onto Second Ave.

Mack picked up the pace as he turned down Commercial Street.
God it felt good to run again!
He loved the summer breeze in his face and the light misty rain. The scent of pine and flowers drifted on the air, and he took a deep breath, purging some of the tension from his body.

He had missed his runs and the smell of the outdoors while he was in jail. He had even missed his home. Correction—his house. There was nothing personal in it. Nothing of value. Nothing that would make it a home. It was just a place he existed in between shifts.

But when Kate was in it, it almost felt like a home.

He ran on Commercial Drive, which ran slightly below, but parallel to the Interstate. He noticed that the road crews were in place up there. Good. Water was pumping at a fast and furious pace from somewhere and traffic was backed up on the northbound and southbound lanes as far as he could see. Cops milled around directing traffic.

"Perfect! A water main break," he said, pulling his black wool cap down farther on his face so none of the cops would recognize him. The traffic would slow Kate up even more.

He jogged past the ancient row houses that had been built for the employees of the shoe factory. Currently, the abandoned shoe factory was just a shell of its former self and served as the nocturnal residence for bats, four legged rodents, and two legged criminals looking for action.

He and his partner, Tom Murray, had cleaned it out before, but it was time to do it again.

A sharp pain cut through him when he remembered seeing Tom in the hospital. He knew in his gut that the bullet Tom took in the middle of a bust gone bad was meant for him, and the shooter most likely was a cop, but no one had believed him.

Mack renewed his promise to Tom and to himself that he'd find out what was going on, and bring the criminals to justice.

A movement in the shadows of the factory drew his attention back to the moment. He saw a familiar figure lean against the old guard shack and light up either a cigarette or some weed. Drawing closer, he recognized his best informant, Plato Corlett. It was definitely weed.

Plato must have spotted him. He squatted down and picked up a stone from the driveway. Flicking his wrist, he threw it like a fastball at an old rusty rail car.
Bang
. The noise was loud, solid.

It was their signal. Plato had something to tell him.

Damn. Not now, Plato. I have to get to the station and back before sunrise. Before Kate gets off the highway.

Mack raced even faster.

Bang!

With an inner groan, Mack turned the corner.
Dammit, Corlett. This better be good.

They met at their usual location—off the street near the crumbling loading dock.

Mack jogged in place, waiting. Plato meandered over as if he had all the time in the world. The teenager might, but Mack did not. The sweet smell of marijuana drifted on the damp air, but when Plato finally reached him, the joint was gone.

"Whatcha got for me?" Mack said still jogging in place so he wouldn't cool down.

Plato slowly smiled. "I hear you been cribbin' at the jail. And you weren't in there on no official business either." He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times. "And they say you're dirty."

"Good news travels fast." Mack swiped his arm across his face, wet from the mix of sweat and rain. He made a mental note to hide his rain-dampened clothes when he got back, just in case Kate decided to snoop. "I'd like to continue this tea party with you, but I'm in a hurry. What's up?"

"We gotta talk."

"We are talking."

"This one's going to cost you, Sergeant," Plato drawled.

"Yeah? Depends on what it is."

"Seems like you might have been set up."

Mack's heart skipped a beat. Plato had some information. "So tell me something I don't know. Like who...and why?"

"You're the cop. You find out."

"You don't know shit, Plato." He turned to leave, but Plato grabbed his arm. With a stare-down from Mack, he quickly released it.

"Not yet I don't. But I will." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans and looked smug. "My team will be getting back to me soon. And it’ll cost you."

Mack didn't doubt that at all. Plato's
team
consisted of a baker's dozen of petty criminals. They were one of the more fascinating gangs in the area because they all aspired to be felons, but were too scared to commit the bigger crimes to earn that honor. They called themselves
The Greeks
, in honor of Plato being their leader, although there wasn't a Greek in the bunch, and the only Greek any of them knew was
Trojan
.