Don't Call Me Hero (10 page)

The guys on base used to play war-simulation video games between assignments. I never understood it. I got enough of that on a daily basis without spending my free time engaged in gunfire, too. To pass the time I read books, fiction mostly. I wasn’t a great reader in high school, but the stories became my escape from the desert—like something straight out of
Reading Rainbow
.

A female dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “E-Three, this is Central. What’s your twenty?”

“Central, this is E-Three,” I responded. I peered through the darkness for street signs at the closest intersection. “My twenty is First and Main.”

“E-Three, I’ve got a disabled vehicle near Jefferson and Cook. Code 1.”

“10-4, Central. Be advised E-Three is en-route.”

I bent the top corner of the page I had been reading and tossed my book into the glove compartment.

The streets were wet with an inch or so of standing water, and the water level rose the closer I drove to my destination. I slowed the patrol car to a slow crawl when I came upon a dark luxury vehicle parked on the side of the road. The headlights were on and the wipers swished back and forth.

I pulled my vehicle off to the opposite side of the street where the standing water was less deep. “Of all the crumby nights,” I grumbled to myself as I unfastened my seatbelt.

I made the call to dispatch to let them know I’d reached the disabled vehicle. I hopped out of the squad car and, burying my head into the lapel of my jacket, I rushed over to the passenger side window of the black Mercedes. When I reached the car, I realized I knew the driver. Intimately.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

The woman sitting inside the car pressed her lips together, but she didn’t respond.

“I’d suggest finding a different place to park, Madam Prosecutor,” I yelled through the closed window. “I don’t trust that river if the rain keeps this up.”

The window lowered. “I’m not parked here on purpose, Detective,” Julia snapped. “I certainly know better than to park my car by a swollen river.”

“Oh.” My hair was now plastered to my face. “Then what are you doing out here?” I yelled over the rain.

Julia leaned closer to the open window. “I was on my way home …” She trailed off and frowned. “Detective, get in the car.”

“Why?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, dear, we’re in the middle of a monsoon.”

I heard the power locks pop open. Normally I would have insisted I was fine where I was, but the rain continued to fall down in thick, unending sheets. Self-preservation won over my stubborn pride. I yanked the front passenger door open and slid inside, slamming the door closed behind me.

“Mind the leather,” Julia sniffed, no doubt regretting inviting my soggy body into her luxury vehicle.

“So you were just about to tell me why on earth you’re out this late, and why you’re parked on the side of the road.”

“I don’t have the luxury of working banker hours, Detective. I was in court for most of the day, and I still had work to do afterwards. I was just driving home when I drove through what I
thought
was a mud puddle; it turned out to be a lake,” she said sourly. “I didn’t get very far until my engine died.”

“My car works. I’ll drive you home.”

“You really expect me to get out of my car in this weather?” Julia said dully. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and continued to stare straight ahead. The inside of the windshield was starting to fog up.

“It’s just
rain
. I don’t imagine you’ll melt.”

Julia continued to sit, immobile in her vehicle, petulant like a pouting child.

I made an audibly frustrated noise. I became all arms and elbows as I tried to peel off my damp jacket. The task was made more difficult in the confines of the car.

“What are you doing?” Julia sounded annoyed and put-off.

I pushed open the passenger side door and launched back into the rain.

“Detective Miller!” Julia yelled crossly as the mist of the storm came through the open door.

I slammed the door shut and shuffled around the front of the vehicle as the unrelenting storm pelted me with a fresh assault of water. Hardly waterproof, I held my jacket over the driver’s side door like a shield.

Julia remained firmly planted in her car for another moment longer. The weather had taken such a nasty turn, I could practically see my breath in the air.

Through the windshield I saw Julia’s mouth moving in a silent curse. She reached into the backseat and grabbed her leather briefcase. She turned up the collar of her grey trench coat even though the extra inches of fabric would do little to protect her from the deluge.

When she finally opened up the driver’s side door, I hopped backwards to get out of the door’s trajectory before returning to my place, using my jacket as a makeshift umbrella for her.

Julia tucked her head deeper into her upturned jacket lapel and shuffled along in her high heels while I did my best to usher her to the police car while keeping my jacket above us both. Julia got the majority of the now-soggy coat, and the left side of my body became saturated from the rain.

Julia jerked open the passenger side door of the Embarrass squad car. I was thankful I hadn’t routinely locked the vehicle when I’d gone to investigate the disabled car. I could only imagine her annoyance if she’d found the door to be locked and she’d had to stand outside in the rain for even a moment longer.

With Julia secured in the front seat, I scrambled in front of the hood to reach the driver’s side. I felt like a drowned rat by the time I was back behind the driver’s wheel.

“Mind the leather,” I echoed her earlier command.

The squad car had seen far worse than raindrops, but Julia didn’t comment. She fluffed at her wilted locks and ran a finger under each eye to check for runny mascara.

I started up the car. It made a small whine in protest before the engine thankfully turned over. “Where am I taking you?”

“To my house, obviously.”

“I don’t know where that is,” I admitted.

Julia rolled her eyes at what I was sure she interpreted to be my complete incompetency. “Down this road, take a right at the four-way stop.”

I shifted the car out of park and began to drive in the direction Julia had provided. We were the only car on the deserted county road. I grabbed the in-car radio handset. “Central, this is E-Three.”

“Go ahead, E-Three.”

“Be advised on the disabled car. I’ll be driving the citizen home now.”

“10-4, E-Three. I see you en route at 1:13.”

“The citizen?” Julia repeated when I’d returned the handset to its holster.

“Do you want all the little old ladies in Embarrass to know I’m driving you home? I thought you liked it when I was discreet.” I couldn’t hide the bite in my tone.

“Fine,” she snapped.

We drove without talking for another five miles with only the occasional squawk of the police radio interrupting the quiet.

“You really live all the way out here?” I asked, breaking what I thought had become a stifling silence.

“It’s hardly a strenuous commute,” Julia sniffed.

The wipers worked furiously, and I leaned towards the windshield to better see the black road. The inside of the windshield had started to fog up and the defroster wasn’t blasting out any air. I wiped away at a patch of fog. The night was inky black and a thick cloud cover obscured the stars and most of the moon. Even without the torrential downpour, it would have been hard to see.

“Is this vehicle even safe to drive?” Julia asked tightly.

“Hey, at least the engine works,” I shot back, defensive about the squad car even though I’d been on the police force less than a week.

With Julia’s exasperated help, I eventually pulled up in front of a regal-looking red brick home. Two white columns framed either side of a blue front door.

“You really didn’t have an umbrella in your car or briefcase?” I lamented, looking out my car window. The rain refused to let up.

“No, Detective Miller. No umbrella. What about you?”

“I think there’s a plastic rain poncho in the emergency kit in the trunk.”

“I’ll risk the rain,” came her disgruntled response. Julia pushed open her door and was out in the rain before I could turn off the car. Her designer heels clacked on concrete as she stalked up the walkway that led to the front entrance.

+ + +

The city prosecutor’s home was nicer than any of the houses people owned back in St. Cloud. It was also significantly grander than any of the residences in Embarrass, including the Mayor’s home. The front foyer was massive, complete with vaulted ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and a grand staircase that reminded me a little bit of
Gone With the Wind
. The floor was white marble with an elaborate medallion inlay design directly beneath the overhead chandelier. I knew I had to be gaping.

“Shoes.”

I hopped on one foot as I struggled to pull off my knee-high leather boots. They were a tight fit even without being soaked through and clinging to my jeans. When I had succeeded, I carefully lined them up on a welcome mat next to a pair of rain boots and muddy running shoes.

Julia disappeared through the first door on the right. I didn’t know if I should follow. I peered up the imposing staircase. “You live in this great big house all by yourself?” I called out. I wasn’t surprised that my voice echoed in the caverns of Julia’s home.

“Last time I checked.”

I turned my gaze away from the staircase, surprised to see Julia standing in the doorway from whence she’d originally entered. She leaned against the doorjamb. My eyes traveled down the meticulously tailored suit which had been hidden beneath her grey trench coat, and down to her stillettoed feet.

The suit was magnificent, just like the woman who wore it. I couldn’t help wondering if she chose undergarments with the same kind of care as she did the rest of her wardrobe. Suits had the potential to be boxy and masculine, clinging to the wrong body parts while hiding others that should have been on display. But Julia wore her clothes; they didn’t wear her. The fitted black suit jacket cinched at her waistline. The dramatic lapel was ribbed with a thin white pinstripe. A single strand of white pearls lay against her collarbone. Under the open jacket was a white blouse that fit like a second skin. I hated button-up shirts on myself. My body wasn’t proportioned the right way, and the front buttons always left unsightly gaps that made me feel sloppy, unfinished, and exposed. But there were no gaps in Julia’s shirt despite the way the material stretched across her chest.

The blouse was tucked into straight-legged dress pants, the material matching the black of her jacket. At her waist was a black leather belt of medium thickness with a shiny silver buckle in a dramatic geometric shape. Black stiletto heels with a vaguely reptilian texture spiked out at the bottom of her pants. Everything about the outfit screamed money, professionalism, and refinement.

I felt underdressed in my signature Henley top, skinny jeans, and now without my knee-high brown leather boots. I had never cared much for fashion or the proper fit of clothes. My wardrobe was classic and comfortable without looking sloppy, and personally I liked the way my trim but muscled biceps looked in the long-sleeved cotton tops.

“Hi.” I felt a little shy. “I like your house.”

“It was my grandparent’s,” Julia explained. “But when my grandmother passed, it went to me.”

“But this is a mansion.”

“I’m well aware of that. But as you’ve probably experienced firsthand, real estate in this town is hard to come by.”

Julia disappeared into the room once again and this time, I followed.

A great fire burned in a massive fireplace in the den. I crossed the room to inspect the fire, drawn to its heat like a moth to a flame. It was real, not one of those push-button gas fireplaces that flickered around fake wood and did little more than provide atmosphere. The heat of the flames felt good on my face.

Julia pulled two crystal tumblers from an ornate, built-in cabinet. Partitioned lead glass parted to display a collection of light pink Depression glass and other expensive-looking glassware. She pulled a decanter of amber liquid from a hutch. “Have a drink, Detective?”

I turned from the fire. “No. I shouldn’t. I’m on duty.”

“Neat or on the rocks?” Julia ignored my statement and poured the liquid into both glasses, two fingers of bourbon in each.

“Neither. Still on duty,” I resisted.

Julia continued to disregard my words. “You seem like a woman who takes her bourbon neat.” She handed me one of the glasses.

Despite my earlier refusal, I took the proffered glass.
I don’t have to drink it
, I told myself.
I’ll just hold it to be polite.

Julia lifted her drink to her lips and watched me over the rim of her glass. When she set her beverage back down on the hutch, her red lipstick remained on the rim.

“If you won’t have a drink, at least stay long enough for your clothes to dry,” she said. “My conscience wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt if you got sick on account of saving me.”