Crime & Passion 3: A Fraudulent Encounter

Dax rushed home from work, changed out of his uniform into a pair of jeans and a polo shirt, threw on a heavy jacket to ward off the chilly December air, then he darted out the door. He hated the fact his weekly grief support group changed its meeting night from Wednesday to Monday. The new day wasn’t good for him for several reasons. The biggest was that he usually worked late on Mondays because he liked to read through all the weekend officer reports before he left for the day in case there was something he needed to deal with right away. Though it was only two days’ worth of reports, the weekends tended to generate more calls than the average weekday. Due to the change in his meeting schedule, he had to rush to finish the reports in order to get to his appointment on time.

The hour-long drive didn’t help any. But he’d grown fairly comfortable with this group and had no interest in starting over by switching to another group of strangers just so he could meet on a night other than Monday. Plus, this group of twelve regulars included five protective service members—people that could genuinely relate to what he went through. Additionally, this particular counselor worked a lot with police, fire, and military personnel. The man knew what he was doing.

Dax pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and secured a spot in the third row. The lot was much fuller than on Wednesdays. A bit of anxiety raked through him as an inkling of bumping into someone he knew crossed his mind. What were the odds of that happening? He intentionally drove to a different city for his grief counseling so nobody from home would know his secret. It happened to be the city he’d worked for before Sturgeon Bay, but being a much larger municipality, and considering the fact he’d moved away almost four years ago, he figured he could get away with it—without running into someone he knew.

He slid out of his truck and headed for the door, glancing over the nearly-filled parking lot. Why did his group have to change nights? Everything had been perfect the way it was.

Once inside the lobby, Dax headed toward the room with the kitchenette to get a cup of coffee and spotted his buddies, Deputy Jed Parker from a small county to the south and Captain Pete Larkin from a nearby city. Both men held a cup of coffee in one hand and a cookie in the other. Jed and Pete had joined his grief group right around the same time he had. They’d quickly become friends. Dax filled a paper cup, snapped on a lid, and grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the tray before he headed toward his usual room with the other two men in tow.

He rounded the corner and pushed through the first door on the left.

“Dax, wait, our room changed,” Pete exclaimed.

Too late. He was halfway through the doorway by the time the words registered.

At least ten surprised gazes latched onto him, but it was one specific, bright emerald, horrified gaze that clamped onto his and held.

His pulse pounded as he stared into those familiar eyes. Sweat beaded on his temples. He hunted down horrible people—killers—for a living and didn’t ever recall his pulse hammering this fast and hard, ever. His secret was out. The whole world would soon know he sought counseling.

Dax tore his gaze from Natasha Kane’s and swung it around the room. “I’m so sorry, ladies. My room…” He swallowed down the golf-sized lump in his throat. “My room must have changed,” he finished and spun so fast to exit the room his vision blackened for a couple of beats.

“I tried to stop you,” Pete said.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Jed consoled. “They hadn’t started yet.”

They. Was there anyone else in that room who recognized him? How in the hell was he going to be able to face Natasha at work tomorrow? Yeah, he could avoid the finance director for a day or two since they didn’t work in the same department, but eventually, he’d have to face her, and now she knew his deep, dark secret—he was broken. Chiefs aren’t supposed to be broken.

“Come on. We gotta go,” Jed directed.

Like the motions of a robot, Dax followed his friends to their new room. The rest of the group was already there and seated in the circle of chairs. Mac, their counselor, stood off to the side, writing something in a notebook. He looked up and welcomed everyone as he walked toward his chair.

Dax sat and lowered his hands to his lap, swiping his sweaty palms over his pantlegs.

Voices echoed in his head generically. He knew he should be actively listening, but his focus would only allow him to think about all the ways he could avoid Natasha for the rest of his life. Knowing that would be impossible, his focus shifted to what he should say to her the next time he saw her. Did he need to say anything? After all, she was there, too.

His circling thoughts paused for a moment as that realization sunk in…why was she there? She was a nice woman who seemed to have her life in order. He closed his eyes in an attempt to recall the vision of what he’d seen during the brief time he was in that room. ~All ladies. Hmm.~

Dax willed his attention back to Emily Ryerson, a firefighter who’d recently lost her brother in Kabul. He felt sorry for her, and though he’d never met her brother, the man being a Marine garnered a great deal of respect from him. The guy gave his life protecting this country.

Losing a loved one was hard, no matter the cause or circumstances surrounding the death, but some situations could make it unbearable.

He placed his hand over his aching chest. Losing Jillian the way he did made it impossible to get past it. Murdered in front of him by a drug-dealing thug he’d pursued. Tears burned the back of his eyes, and his heart pumped hard like his blood was the consistency of peanut butter.

“Dax? Are you all right?” Mac asked, his steel-gray gaze fixed on him.

The guy was certainly in tune, that was for sure.

“Do you want to say something?” Mac continued.

Did he? When he started with this group, he was a lurker, but he’d been opening up more and more lately, and it helped. But tonight? No—he didn’t feel like sharing. The only thing he had on his mind was to figure out a way to keep his secret so his coworkers didn’t see him as weak.

But it was too late, Natasha had seen him.

Dax ran his hands over his thighs. “I’m fine. I don’t have anything.”

Mac’s concerned gaze hung on him for a moment before he nodded and shifted it over to Pete.

When their session ended, Dax bolted out of the room still unsure as to whether or not he wanted to see Natasha to ask her to keep this confidential, or not see her and pretend it never happened. The woman was a trusted and loyal department head, so part of him wanted to believe those behavioral traits would carry over into her personal life, and he probably had no need to worry. But still, she now knew.

Like a coward, he opted for avoidance. He practically ran out of the building, hopped into his truck, and headed for the highway ramp less than a quarter of a mile from the facility. He’d just gotten up to speed when ahead he noticed a small SUV with the hazard lights flashing. The vehicle moved slowly, then pulled off to the side of the road. He slowed down and craned his neck in that direction as he passed by.

His pulse hammered. Even in the darkness, he recognized the vehicle as Natasha’s.

Shit! There was no way he could leave her stranded by herself. Who knew how long it would take for local law enforcement to show up in a city of this large size?

Dax flipped on his blinker, then shifted over to the right lane to take the next exit. He’d do a small loop, come back up on the highway, and pull up behind her—hopefully without scaring her to death. Wait, he had her phone number, as he did for all department heads since it was a requirement of the city’s emergency action plan. Once off the exit ramp, he pulled over to call her to let her know what he was going to do.

“Hello,” Natasha answered.

Stress laced her tone.

“Hi, it’s Dax, from work. I just drove past you. I’m going to circle back around and pull up behind you. I wanted to let you know so you didn’t think it was a random truck.”

“Oh. That’s not necessary. I’ve…”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll be right there,” he interrupted.

He put his truck in gear. There was no way he’d let her sit there alone in a broken-down vehicle in a big city.

After he sifted back onto the highway, he flipped on his hazard lights and parked behind her SUV. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic. He slid out of his truck. The cold December air stung his cheeks and ungloved hands. He quickly walked to her vehicle and slipped into the passenger seat.

She looked frazzled. “Thank you. I’ve never broken down before, so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

The vehicle ran so he wondered what the issue was. “What happened to make you pull over?”

“It just won’t get up to speed and makes a grinding noise. I couldn’t get over thirty miles per hour.”

“Have you called the police yet?”

“Yeah. I googled the non-emergency number, and the woman from dispatch is calling a wrecker for me. But she said they don’t take passengers, so I have to find a ride home.”

“That’s odd. Usually, they take occupants if need be. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter because I can take you home.”

Truth be told, that was the last thing he wanted to do—spend almost an hour in his truck with the woman he wanted to avoid.

“Did dispatch say how long the wrecker would be?”

She shook her head. “She’s going to call back.”

The phone in Natasha’s hand chirped, causing her to flinch and nearly drop it. “Hello,” she answered through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hi, this is Melanie from dispatch. A wrecker from Sanchez Auto will be to you in about ten minutes. He knows he has to tow your vehicle back to Sturgeon Bay.”

Dax was relieved to know the wrecker would come so quickly. In his experience, the wait was usually much longer. Must be a slow night.

“Okay. Thank you,” Natasha replied.

Less than a minute after the call from dispatch a squad pulled up behind his truck. Dax welcomed the flashing lights as that would be an indicator for passersby to slow down.

A young officer came to the window, so youthful Dax suspected he was fresh out of the academy.

“Good evening, I’m Officer Holgrem.” His breath fogged on the cold air.

“Hi,” Natasha replied as the officer leaned toward the window and took a peek at the inside of the vehicle.

“Sir, I take it that is your truck?”

“Yes, I’m Chief Mertz from the Sturgeon Bay Police Department. I happened by and recognized Ms. Kane’s vehicle. We work together. I’ll be driving her home once the wrecker gets here.”

The officer of medium height and build shifted his skeptical gaze to Natasha.

Looking for validation from her, Dax presumed. He would have done the same. For all that Holgrem knew, he could be a serial killer or something of the like.

“If you’d like, I can show you my identification, but I’ll need to reach into my pocket,” Dax offered.

“Yes, but slowly,” the officer replied as he pointed the beam of his flashlight onto Dax’s hand.

Dax made sure to move slowly as he leaned to the right, and reached back with his left hand to retrieve his identification from his jean pocket. He opened the wallet and extended his arm in front of Natasha, holding his badge and ID closer to the officer.

“Thank you, sir.”

Dax nodded.

Natasha confirmed she’d be riding home with him.

“Okay. I’ll sit behind you as long as I can. Hopefully, I won’t get another call in the meantime and my lights should slow the traffic down.”

Dax hoped that would work. He felt like a sitting duck with cars whizzing by at seventy miles per hour.

“Thank you,” Natasha replied. Relief emitted in her tone.

Little by little, he noticed her tense muscles loosen.

“Have you heard from the wrecker service yet? Do you know how long they’ll be?” Holgrem asked.

“Not directly, but the woman from dispatch called and said they’d be about ten minutes,” Natasha replied.

“No problem,” the officer said as he nodded, turned, and headed back toward his squad.

As if on cue, the tow truck arrived. The driver wasted no time loading up the SUV.

Dax supposed the man didn’t care to spend more time than necessary on the highway with fast-moving traffic.

Natasha instructed the driver as to the dealership she needed her vehicle taken to, and the guy ran her credit card and took off.

He and Natasha climbed into his truck and he pulled into the traffic lane.

The officer cut his lights and did the same.

Excruciating silence filled the first ten minutes of the ride. Dax wondered if he should bring up the counseling topic and ask for her discretion, or if that would just be assumed.

In fear it wouldn’t, he finally started with, “About tonight…” He risked a glance at her, but her gaze was focused on the highway where his should be. He swung his gaze back to the road.

She sighed slightly causing him to look at her again. Her gaze was fixed on him. “It’s nobody’s business what either of us did tonight.” She turned her head and refocused on the road.

“I agree.”

Another ten minutes of painful silence ensued.

Dax pulled in a long, slow breath. The slight scent of vanilla had filled the cab. He’d noticed her scent before. It suited her. Light, not overbearing, refreshing.

Though he fought the urge to take another peek at her, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she nervously rubbed her hands together, then wove her fingers among each other, and then plopped her hands onto her lap.

He turned his head to face her. “Are you okay?”

She glanced at him. “Yes, just disappointed that my car broke down. This is why I buy new, so I don’t have to deal with this sort of thing. I just don’t need any more crap to deal with.”

What other crap was she dealing with? Focused back on the road, he recognized he didn’t know much about her. To him, she seemed to have a pretty simple life. Single—well, divorced—no kids, a job she’d been at for a while. But, one never really knew what others were dealing with in their lives. After all, there had to be a reason she’d been at the counseling facility tonight. Just like him, there was probably more to her story than she let on.

“I hear you. I’m sorry. At least it should be covered under warranty.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“I can pick you up for work tomorrow if you’d like.”

After a brief hesitation, she replied, “No, that’s okay. I’ll text my brother. He only lives a couple of blocks away from me.”

He nodded.

To avoid more silence, and keep his idle mind from going down the rabbit hole it was about to in regard to if Natasha knew why he’d sought counseling, he asked, “How’s Cocoa?”

Her fidgety hands stilled, and she glanced at him. “My cat?”

“Yes. You mentioned him in a meeting not that long ago.”

“Oh, I’m surprised you remembered that. He’s a good boy. A little sassy, but good. Do you have a pet?”

“No. Not currently. I’ve had a couple of Labradors through the years. I had to put Winston down a couple of years ago. We…” We. A lump rose in his throat at the thought of his~ late wife.~ He choked down the obstruction. “I got him when he was just a pup and had him for fourteen years. He was a good, loyal companion.”

“I’m sorry.” Compassion laced her tone.

Was she referring to Winston or his late wife? Though he never spoke of Jillian, he was sure Natasha knew of her. Everyone at work did since it was noted when he first came to the job. But the question begged if she knew the story of how he couldn’t even protect her?

His heart seized. The tightening of his chest was unbearable.

He was the reason his wife was dead.

Dax gripped the steering wheel harder. Any harder and it would probably crumble.

A few minutes later, he pulled up to the curb in front of Natasha’s house. He quickly scanned over the neighborhood. Lights were on in some of the homes. Others were dark. This was a quiet area of town that rarely required police presence.

Natasha fumbled for the truck door handle.

He flung his door open, and the interior light illuminated. “I’ll get it,” he said.

“No, that’s okay,” he heard her respond.

Ignoring her, he quickly stepped around the front of the truck to her side. No way he wouldn’t see her to her door—to safety. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch.

He opened the door for her and she slid out of the vehicle as she shouldered her purse. Side by side they walked on the narrow sidewalk toward her front door. The moment he placed his foot on the first of three porch steps, the motion light turned on, illuminating her entire postage stamp front yard instantaneously, making him deeply aware of the position he’d put himself in. His pulse pounded, and sweat beaded on his temples even though the chilly December air washed around him. He—they—were on display for the whole world to see. If a neighbor looked out their window right now, or someone drove by, it would look like he brought her home from a date. The rumor mill would surely kick into gear. Shit. That was the last thing he needed.

The creak of the storm door drew his attention, causing him to refocus on the task at hand, which was to see his coworker safely into her home and then get out of sight before anyone noticed him.

Natasha shifted through the keys on her keyring. Why did she have so many keys? In his mind, he grew impatient but held hope she wouldn’t notice. She was a nice lady, and his emotional problems weren’t her fault.

She tried the first key and it didn’t work. The next didn’t either.

Her fingers shook, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, I don’t remember the last time I had to key myself in. I should have grabbed the garage door opener from my car. That’s how I usually get in.”

“You don’t lock the door that goes from the garage to the house?” he asked. Didn’t she know how unsafe that was?

“Uh…no. I figure the overhead door is shut and that’s good enough.”

Her flush let him know she was embarrassed by her answer to his question. Thinking back, his tone had been a bit accusatory and now he wished he hadn’t said anything.

She refocused on the keyring, and in her attempt to select another key, the entire ensemble slipped from her hand and clinked against the cement.

Instinctively, he bent down to grab the keys. She did the same almost as quickly. Her fingers brushed over his. She pulled back like she’d touched a hot stove, catapulted into a standing position, and shuffled her feet to regain her balance. Her body went rigid.

He was still crouched down when their gazes met for the brief moment she allowed. Fear shot through her gaze. It was then he realized that something in her past had done a number on her. Her self-esteem was zero. Had she suffered abuse of some kind? Physical? Emotional? Who had done this to her? Her ex? Parents?

As to not rattle her any further, he rose slowly, selected the third key on the ring like she’d been attempting to do, slipped it into the slot, and unlocked the door.

“There you go,” he said as he handed her the overloaded keyring.

“Thanks,” she replied in not much more than a whisper.

“See you tomorrow,” he added as he spun to walk away.

“Chief.”

Chief. So formal.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I really appreciate all your help tonight.”

This time, her emerald gaze stayed on him. The hint of longing in it jolted his heart and simultaneously sent a tsunami of guilt to crash over him, stealing the air from his lungs.

Jillian had been gone for nearly four years, and not once in all that time had that old familiar feeling of the heart surfaced. He swallowed hard. Until now.