Chapter 5

Copyright 2002 by Elizabeth Delayne



She’s fine—resting. I wanted you to know that before I tell you the rest.”

Holding his cell phone, Derek paced behind the competition area where the volunteers were disassembling the setup. Venders behind him were packing up. People had moved in long the sand to enjoy the last few rays of the day.

Ruling out what had happened with Amy, the day had been a success. There had been no fights to break up, little complaints from the vendors, and only minor need of his staff and their first aid skills.

But he would never forget watching her go under.

He’d brought her out of the ocean himself, her arms weakly clinging to him. She was disoriented, shaky. She’d coughed up the water she’d swallowed when she’d panicked in the water, then wretched up the rest.

Despite the signs, he didn't believe that Amy had been using. She wouldn’t have turned to drugs, not when she lived her life to prove to everyone otherwise.

Unless the pressure was too much.

He dismissed the thought again as soon as it formed.

He needed answers. His roll was here, at the beach. It had been Andrea and Chloe who left with Amy in the ambulance. He’d sent Mitch and another officer on behind them to see what answers they could get.

And he was here, at his post, unable to follow one of his own to the hospital.

He still remembered the way she’d clung to him when her hands weren’t quite steady ...

And the fear he'd seen in her eyes when she'd looked up him.

“What do you have?”

“We were right when we said she was showing signs of overdose. The doctor thinks she’s got traces of major prescription drugs in her system. Heavy—duty. Sleeping pills, some form of acetometiphen most likely. The doc doesn’t think she was taking them. If she had not of been running off of adrenaline, and when she hit the water cramped up, those drugs would have settled into her system, moved through to her brain.”

Derek sat down on one of his team's coolers and stared out into the oceans. It fit his suspicions, but he didn't have the answers to the questions knowing so opened. Who - why - how. “So where did the pills come from?”

“Amy said that some water she drank after her first heat had a bitter taste to it. Chloe tossed it in the trash at one of the vendors ... Mikes Dogs and Chips.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder at the crowds walking along the now uncluttered boardwalk. The bottle would have been the only thing that they could have tried to scavenge fingerprints from. “The venders have pretty much gone home.”

“Who knows? Maybe Mike still has his garbage or knows where the bag is, what it looks like. I don’t know. She said she went into the trailer—knew him pretty well. Amy has enough in her system for a blood check, but the bottle’s the only thing that can give us a trace of evidence.”

“Her roommate wouldn’t have gotten rid of the bottle because she knew what was in it?”

“No—not from Chloe.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, but I’ll follow through.”

“Any other ideas? If it was drugs—who would have done this?”

“It could have been anyone. A competitor, maybe, though this isn’t that kind of race. More likely someone from the town. This stuff has happened before.”

“This serious?”

"Someone once tried to burn down her dad's house ... nearly got to her mom's convertible. Amy was still living there. She was home alone. No one could figure out if it was because of her or one of her dad's crazy fans."

"Other than that ... she was roughed up by Matt's friends one time ... and some of Jenny’s friends played vicious pranks on her. Girl pranks. That was back when she was in high school.”

“Nothing recently?”

“No-or not that she's said.”

Derek frowned.

“Mitch, we have a mountain of circumstance to consider here. If Amy was hurt because of her father, then that raises the likely hood that Maureen Childs died because of Lance Carpenter. I don’t like those odds.”

“Have you talked to Anna?”

“She has it noted in that notebook she carries." His hand tightened around his phone. "If those drugs remained in Amy's system, or if she had taken in more, it would have killed her. It doesn’t matter whether whoever it was intended that to happen or not. I’m not going to play around with it, or put off to her past.”

“No—but she’ll want you to.”

“And if the person has gotten away with it before, they might have been careless this time. I’ll see what I can do to find that bottle.”

“And I’ll see what I can find out on this end.”



Mitch found Chloe as she came out of Amy’s room.

She looked tired, he thought, insecure. He was used to an almost eternal optimism, not fear. “How’s Amy?” he asked and fought back the primal urge to reach out and comfort, to protect.

Her eyes shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “She’s sleeping—again. She looks all right when she’s asleep. Whatever’s inside of her just keeps knocking her out. Andrea and I were just laughing because she just slipped off in the middle of a sentence. The doctor—she wants to keep Amy overnight.”

She didn't look like she'd been laughing, he thought.

“I’m sure it’s just precautionary,” he felt the inward switch slide from friend to officer. Chloe was not just uncomfortable. There was a trace of panic in her eyes.

Something was wrong. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed her hair. She had colored it, from a rich brown, to a brownish blond, now much more like Amy’s. It was shorter, but still deliberately, he thought, like Amy’s. When he had questioned her before, he acknowledged now, he had not moved away from friendship.

He swallowed back a surge of questions, and nodded toward the waiting room. “How ‘bout we sit down for a minute, calm down.”

She shifted, folding her arms across her chest, and allowed him to lead her into the small coven area. He resisted putting a hand to her back, unsure if his touch would have gentled with comfort, or hardened with determination.

He refused to think such things of Chloe, even as the idea formed in his mind.

Her roommate wouldn’t have gotten rid of the bottle because she knew what was in it?

“You colored your hair,” he said mildly as he chose a seat next to her.

She reached up and absently touched her hair. “I needed a change. Something different.”

The answer was flippant, but unsteady. Her eyes shifted from his.

Why, he wondered, did he feel like Chloe was lying to him?

“It’s like Amy’s,” he murmured, watching her face.

She looked at him, then looked away. “I’ve always liked it. And guys go for the blonds. My hair was too dark to shoot for something like Andrea's.”

“I thought you were giving up guys?”

“Not giving up, just ... taking my time to learn about me. And waiting for something better to come along.” She looked away again, her lips drawn in a hard slash. “I tend to pick the biggest losers.”

He leaned back in the chair, tired of watching her. It was difficult to know that she was uncomfortable around him. Even more difficult, he realized, to know she was lying to him.

“Did Amy make her bottled water up this morning?”

“I don’t think so. She usually pulls one from the freezer.”

“Are there any others?”

“I suppose so. We usually keep the freezer full in the summer. Come on Mitch, you've been there. You know,” she rubbed her fingers against her temples. “I’m trying to remember which type of water bottle it was, but neither one of us are that picky. Maybe even a soda bottle. We just refill whatever bottles we use and throw them in the freezer.”

“How long had you been with her stuff before she came back?”

“I don’t know—she was competing. I saw Andrea first, and she told me where Amy had spread out, so I found her bag, dropped off my own, then tried to watch, but—“ she broke off and looked at him, then down and away. “I couldn’t see, so I settled in.”

She was still lying to him, he thought.

“I thought you and Amy were allies, comrades.”

“And you don’t now because I didn’t watch the race? I hadn’t planned to come today, but I was bored and restless and I colored my hair—and then I was afraid that I had really messed up ... maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but—” she turned and studied him, then slowly stood. Her face, already pale, lost all color. “You think I could have done it.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s not just that you think I might have, but you think I could have. Amy’s my closest friend. She’s helped me—and she's loved me, more than anyone in my entire life. I know I can survive because I know she does, but I—you can’t think—I can’t believe I was so wrong—about you.”

She turned in flight, but Mitch was up in a flash. He grabbed for her arm. She spun around to face him, jerking her arm away.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t want anyone to touch me.”

Her eyes were panicked now. Working on the force, he’d come across that look before—distrust, anger, fear, shock—and it slowly dawned on Mitch why Chloe was uncomfortable. Amy had never said exactly why Chloe had been in the hospital the last time, months before she was saved, but he’d known in his gut. Once loud and flirtatious, then shy and quiet and afraid.

Eventually, she’d settled in, settled down, and opened back up. He’d forgotten how he’d once seen her.

Chloe had been raped.

I tend to pick the biggest losers. And apparently, Mitch realized, he fell into that category. Now the fear was turned on him.

Because of him.

“Chloe—”

“Don’t,” she stepped back, again, away from his hand, her face pale. He closed it into a fist and let it fall to his side. Her voice jerked, broken with ragged breaths, as she spoke.

“I was stupid—so out of my head stupid. I colored my hair because you just—I wanted ... and you didn’t even want to say goodbye to me. You didn’t even want—“

She turned and fled. Mitch let her go, not knowing how to go to her, not knowing how to reach her.

He had not trusted her, he realized, and that fact in itself had violated the trust she had in him. He had never, really, understood what her belief in him, what her trust in him meant.

Now he had quite possibly destroyed the fragile gift that had waited between them.

You didn’t even want to say goodbye to me.

He wouldn’t let her be alone. She needed someone. He wanted it to be himself. For the first time he admitted ... he really wanted to be the one to comfort Chloe.

Knowing he alone had spoiled things, he went to Amy’s room to find Andrea.



“Where is she?” Amy said as she fought against the weariness, afraid that if she slept again she would leave her friends in the middle of a greater crisis.

Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but turned when the door opened.

It was Vince Jamison, a friend of Amy's father. He was a dashing man, she thought, more than handsome-women were crazy about him.

And he was as crazy about himself.

"Hey girl--how you feeling?"

She tried not to bristle. In his doctor mode, he was much more open and friendly then he had ever been beyond the walls of the hospital. But that was Vince.

"How do I look?"

He chuckled and stepped to her side, checked her pulse against the second hand on his watch. "I saw your dad while I was doing my rounds. He said to tell you he's going home to grab a few things so he can come back for the night. He's worried about his girl."

"He's always worried about his girl-"

Just not enough to care. Tonight, Lance Carpenter might make plans to have dinner with her tomorrow-but he would call in an excuse. He always did.

Amy looked toward Andrea, thinking more about Chloe than her father.

"Tired?" Vince asked.

Andrea rolled her eyes. "She can't be anything but."

Vince tapped Amy's nose. "I'll be around. You rest."

Amy attempted a smile at his attempt of humor. "I'll try."

When he was gone, Amy looked at Andrea-and put the visit with Vince out of her mind. "Chloe?"

“I found a room for her. An office of one of the therapists that we work with. I had her lay down.” Andrea pushed back her hair with a steady hand. Amy was grateful that someone seemed to have things under control. “I’m taking her home. To my place. She’s not handling the hospital well.”

“She shouldn’t be here. Where’s Mitch?”

“Off beating himself up. He deserves it—every ounce of anger and remorse he’s turned on himself-but it’s still hard to watch him. He didn’t think. Hasn’t thought since he started falling for her.”

“You’re really confident on his feelings for her.”

“If you could see him now, you would know.”

“He’ll fix things,” Amy reached to flip the edge of the bed down. “You go take Chloe home. I’ll go find Mitch.”

“Amy—you're not getting out of bed.”

“What would you be doing? Just because I’m at the hospital doesn’t mean I’m out,” she lowered her feet to the floor and closed her eyes to steady herself as she wrapped her hand around the cool pole that held her I.V. “Hand me that thing they call a robe.”

“Mitch just left.”

Amy jerked her head up and fumbled back, against the bed. Derek stood, a silhouette in the doorway. He had changed into worn jeans and t—shirt. "I passed him on his way in."

“Speaking of which ... it’s time I find my way out,” she looked at Amy and attempted to smile. She reached out, ran a hand over Amy's hair. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell Chloe—” she darted a look at Derek, then shook her head. “Just take care of her.”

As Andrea left, Amy lifted herself back onto the bed, then fumbled with the covers.

“I got it—" Derek stepped forward, "don’t move.”

“I can handle it."

He tugged the sheet from her hand. "What else is new. Let me do it. I'm still dealing with the fact that I pulled you out of the ocean today."

Because she understood the grip a rescue could have on you, Amy leaned back, and took the time to watch him. Maybe she hadn't done it enough.

She studied him as he settled the sheet and blanket around her. It was the end of a very long day. She could see it in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Derek straightened the cord to the I.V. bag and said. “Checking on you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. It’s been a bad day all around.”

“Why, because you came in second place?” he said and Amy appreciated his attempt at humor.

Amy smiled and slid her hands under the covers, grateful for the warmth. Whatever was inside of her was keeping her cold. “That too. My dad was here for a bit. That’s always a little unpleasant.”

“He was worried about you.”

“These days he’s always worried about me-it's a little late for that. There was a time when he should have and didn't ... so it's a little hard to take now. He said you called.”

“If that’s an accusation, I had a responsibility to call your closest relative,” Derek sat down in the chair that had already been pulled close.

“It’s not..." she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to deal with the weariness. "It shouldn't be. I’m glad he was here. That he came to check on me. It’s a step.”

She just new better then to get used to it.

“He's a good dad ... he used to be the best dad. Now ..." her fingers worried the blanket, her brows knitted together. She couldn't help either. "I know ... you've heard things, but it's ... just complicated. It's hard for us to deal with each other at times.”

“Well, it’s obviously not you that’s hard to deal with.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then shook her head. “I’ll let that pass. I guess I haven’t been fair to you either.”

“If that’s true, is there a reason?”

She shook her head. “No ... I don’t know. I’m really tired,” she said, and let her eyes close.

“I’ll go then.”

“No—” she said, then turned her head and opened her eyes to look at him. "Don't. I didn't mean..."

It was so quiet, she thought, and in the dim lighting of the room, he seemed ... strong. So big and strong.

And someone, in some way, had tried to ... no, not to kill her. She wouldn't think that.

“I've been out so much, I can't sleep. Not yet.”

His gaze sharpened and he reached out to take her hand. “How afraid are you right now?”

“You’re perceptive.”

“And you don't usually ask for things. You going to answer my question?”

“I’m shaken. Very shaken,” she let her eyes slide closed again. It just took to much to hold them open. “So is my dad. I want to go home.”

“You would.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“With room service here and such great decorations. You would just have to be difficult enough to have things your own way."

“Derek—”

“The answer is no in any case.”

“I’m 23 years old. I can check myself out, in any case,” she held up a hand to word off further argument. “I’m sorry. I’m irritating myself. I’ve already been round with my dad about it. It’s hard to see him worried about me.”

“Well, for the record we all are.”

She smiled slightly. “Then I have the best on my side." She stared at him for a few minutes, remembering the first time she had seen him, sitting across the room. She still didn't know if he was what she had expected.

"You’re very young for a captain.”

“Where did that come from?”

“I’ve got all this stuff in me ... but I’ve wondered,” she felt his fingers rub her knuckles. He still held her hand.

“If it’s a reason you’ve been suspicious of me, well ... I guess I would be too.”

“But you’re here and you’re a captain.”

“Yes. It’s not a secret, and for the record the police commissioner is aware of the issue. I was honest when I interviewed. There was a big scandal back in Willis County—that, among the other things was a question of concern not only for the team here that hired me, but for the other places I interviewed in as well. A lot of police officers were fired.”

“Willis County. I remember,” Amy put in. “My professor had a round table discussion over it when it made the news last year.”

Derek nodded. He seemed ... relieved, maybe, instead of embarrassed. How much of it was still eating at him, deep inside? Had he been able to talk about it, with people who didn't judge him ... and why didn't she, now?

Whatever the case, it wasn't-couldn't be-her responsibility.

"It was big. Drug possession. Bribery. Some major cover—ups. Sloppy work."

“Several captains and other high ranking police officers were let go. Some are doing prison time. I had just been promoted and I thought it would be several years before I reached Captain. I would have rather put in my time.”

“They wanted someone whom they could control, someone who might feel indebted to them—instead of bringing in fresh blood. I wasn’t the only one they promoted. I don’t think any of us were happy with it, though some took it better than I did. I saw it as another problem with the system. Something that needed to be changed before things could really be fixed.”

“But you took the promotion.”

“I wasn’t given a choice,” Derek said and frowned over the obvious bitterness in his own voice. “So I put in some time and I got out. Found a job that had the level of responsibility I thought I was ready for—and something I could grow in to. I guess my only regret is that I stepped on your toes in the process.”

“I've been thinking that ... maybe my toes were in the wrong place,” Amy admitted as she yawned. “I don’t know. I don't know what I want. Ham talked about it a lot ... and it was safe—something my dad didn't want for me. If I can’t follow in Ham’s footsteps, I can always follow in his.”

“Professional baseball player?”

She smiled sleepily. “Financial advisor.”



Amy finally fell asleep, but it took much longer than Derek would have expected. She became giddy toward the end, almost happy to have him there with her. He had no doubt that if she remembered the conversation in the morning, she would regret it. He just hoped she would not retaliate by strengthening the walls she seemed bent on keeping between them.

It was such a cliché, but he liked her when her defenses were down.

So he sat and watched her sleep, lifting up the fear, frustration, and feelings that were mixing together in his gut. He was not sure about what to do with any of it.

What would she say if she knew his feelings for her were growing beyond that which he'd felt before ... when he'd nearly been engaged. More had fallen to pieces in the last year besides his precinct.

Finally, he stood, acknowledging the part of himself that wanted to stay and watch over Amy. It was not his time, and it might never be. Tonight he would leave the chair open for her father, and he would pray that more then physical healing would take place overnight.

He stopped at the door and looked back. She looked at peace, without the worry line that always seemed to plague her between her brows.

It was time for him to move on; in more ways then one.

HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!







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