Outcast

4

“Pregnant? How could she be pregnant?” Annagreit Schuster wasn’t often surprised, but the news that her Maine Coon cat, Penelope, was expecting a happy event—was, in fact, in labor—came as a complete shock. Penelope never left the confines of Anna’s small, upstairs apartment in a renovated Georgetown brownstone, except to lie in the sun on the second-floor balcony. How could she have gotten pregnant?

Anna eyed the ten-pound, tabby-and-white-striped cat lying on the emergency vet’s metal examining table. Then she turned her gaze to the twelve-year-old boy standing beside her, his head hung low. “Henry?” she said. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“When I first started cat-sitting for you, before I knew better, I left the front door open and Penelope ran out. I found her before you got home, so I didn’t see any reason to tell you.” He looked up at her with guilt-ridden mud-brown eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Anna.”

Anna brushed her hand soothingly across the boy’s tight black curls from crown to nape. Henry’s widowed mother was a surgical nurse, and she was often gone when Henry got home from school. Since Anna lived across the hall, she’d offered him a job cat-sitting, mostly to keep him from ending up home alone. She’d never seen him looking so forlorn.

“It’s all right, Henry. At least Penelope doesn’t have a tumor.” Which was what Anna had thought when she’d seen Penelope acting so strangely this morning and felt the cat’s lumpy belly under the thick hair that grew on her stomach.

“If you take Penelope home and make her comfortable in a box in the closet, or any quiet place in the house, she should be able to deliver on her own,” the vet said.

“Are you sure?” Anna asked anxiously. She knew virtually nothing about birthing babies, human or feline.

“She’s going to be more relaxed in familiar surroundings. If you have any concerns at all, give me a call.”

Penelope raised her head from the examining table, looked plaintively at Anna and called out to her with the chirping trill distinctive to Maine Coon cats, which didn’t meow like other cats.

“Does it hurt?” Henry asked. “For her to have babies, I mean.”

Anna looked to the emergency vet, but before he could answer, the examining room door flew open.

“Doc, I need some help here!”

Anna barely had time to register the blood soaking the white T-shirt of the man who’d burst in, and the enormous size of the injured rottweiler in his muscular arms, before Penelope gave a chirp that was more of a shriek and bounded to her feet. Her pregnant body arched, bushy tail held high. Her pretty cat face scrunched into something resembling an alien beast, mouth wide and wicked teeth bared at this sudden threat.

“Get your damned cat off the table, lady!” the man snapped. “So I can lay this dog down.” The man’s leather coat was wrapped over the animal’s hindquarters. As he leaned forward, the coat slid off the dog onto the examining table like a black snake and then dropped onto the floor.

Penelope hissed menacingly.

The dog growled back through his teeth, which Anna saw with horror were still clamped hard into human flesh. The man’s forearm was streaming blood from numerous canine tooth puncture wounds where the dog had hold of him.

She grabbed for Penelope, who raked her hand with bared claws. Anna cried out in pain and astonishment, “Penelope!” She stared at the four distinct lines of blood Penelope’s claws had torn in her skin. Penelope had scratched her when she was a kitten, but never once in the five years since.

“Come on, lady,” the intruder commanded. “Move the damned cat!”

Anna was more cautious this time, but calling Penelope’s name had made the cat aware of her, and Penelope allowed herself to be lifted into Anna’s arms.

As soon as Penelope was off the metal table, the man bent over it and laid the dog there. Even then, the dog held on. Anna didn’t want to look at the injured animal, but she couldn’t help noticing the naked bone protruding through a bloody tear in one of its hind legs.

She noticed Henry was also staring with wide, horrified eyes at the dog’s blood and bone. “Come on, Henry,” she said gently. “We need to get Penelope home so she can have her babies in peace and quiet.”

She shot an admonishing look at the man, but his attention was focused on the dog, whose teeth were still deeply embedded in his arm.

Anna would have liked to stay and help, but she felt Penelope’s belly ripple and realized she’d better get her cat back to the comfortable traveling cage in her car and drive the few blocks home before kittens started arriving.

“Henry,” she repeated. “Let’s go.”

“I want to see how the vet gets the dog to let go of the guy’s arm,” Henry said, his eyes riveted on the scene in front of him.

So do I, Anna thought. But what she said as she backed her way out of the emergency room door was, “Come on, Henry. We need to get Penelope home. And you need to get to school.”

Reluctantly, the boy turned and hurried after her.

5

Anna couldn’t believe she was back at the emergency room—this time, one for humans. One of the deep scratches on her hand had been seeping all day. She thought it might need a stitch or two. And she needed a tetanus shot.

After she’d left the vet’s office with Penelope, she’d called her office and asked the secretary to reschedule her morning patients. Anna was one of four doctors, two men and two women, practicing together in a high-rise in downtown D.C., where they did psychological counseling.

She hadn’t wanted to leave Penelope alone to deliver her first litter. The four adorable kittens arrived safe and sound, and in time for Anna to make her afternoon appointments.

She came directly home after her last session of the day because she knew Henry would be on her doorstep the instant he got home from school. She wanted to be there when he arrived, to make sure Penelope didn’t take umbrage and claw him if he reached out to pet the kittens.

By the time Henry’s mother came home, it was dark out. Anna fixed herself something to eat and watched Grey’s Anatomy, debating whether to have her injury treated, worried that she might get stuck in an emergency room half the night.

But she knew it was better to deal with problems head-on than to let them slide. So at 10:37 p.m. she’d headed out to a twenty-four-hour urgent care facility not far from the emergency vet’s office.

She looked through the glass door of the clinic to see if there were a lot of people ahead of her and counted a mother with two young boys, a father with a babe in arms, an elderly couple, a young couple with a toddler—and the stranger who’d been bitten earlier in the day by his rottweiler.

He’d changed out of the bloody white T-shirt and khaki pants he’d been wearing. He was dressed now in a short-sleeved gray T-shirt and jeans. The well-worn black leather jacket that had fallen on the examining table this morning had been replaced by a well-worn brown leather bomber jacket, which lay tossed over a nearby orange plastic chair. He had on comfortable-looking brown loafers but no socks, even though the early October evening was chilly.

He was engrossed in a paperback. Not a good sign. How long was the wait, anyway?

Anna wasn’t sure whether to say hello to him on her way to the reception desk. He hadn’t exactly exuded charm earlier in the day. He sat slumped in his chair. The David Baldacci novel he was reading suggested he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone.

He glanced up at her as she passed by. As she opened her mouth to greet him, he frowned and returned his gaze to his book.

Anna would have felt insulted at being dismissed so absolutely, except she knew exactly how he must be feeling. Her day hadn’t exactly been a bowl of cherries, either.

Many of Anna’s patients were MPD cops, District firemen and U.S. government employees who came to see her because of stress that affected their job performance and personal lives. This afternoon, she’d seen a new patient, a young fireman who’d recently responded to a violent car crash in which a little boy—the same age and with the same hair color as his own son—had been torn limb from limb by the crushing force of metal when the child restraint straps held his body snug in his car seat.

Now the fireman had trouble driving in the car with his son without his throat swelling closed and his breathing becoming erratic. He had nightmares and had wakened his wife crying. Which made him afraid to go to sleep. He was suffering from sleep deprivation and not functioning well on the job.

Anna had known she was dealing with a classic case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, more commonly called PTSD. She’d been able to give her patient suggestions for how to deal with his condition, but the sad truth was that PTSD was insidious. Even years later, some small, insignificant thing could trigger a physiological and psychological response to the original traumatizing incident.

When Anna checked in with the urgent care receptionist, she learned she might be waiting a long time.

And she didn’t have a book.

She took the empty seat farthest from the mother and two rambunctious boys, across from the stranger. Which meant she either had to stare at him or at her feet.

She didn’t remember him being so good-looking. She knew he was tall, because she was 5’10” and he’d looked down at her in the vet’s office. She knew he was strong, because he’d come in carrying a hundred-pound dog. But she hadn’t focused on his face. She found it fascinating.

His cheeks were hollowed and stubbled with dark beard, and the cheekbones looked as though they’d been carved from stone by a loving sculptor. His lips were bowed. They looked soft in comparison to the hard muscle and sinew she saw in the rest of his body. He had black hair, expensively cut. She didn’t know how she knew that, but it wasn’t a stretch, considering the price of real estate in Georgetown.

He looked up at her as though he’d been aware of her intense perusal and glared.

Anna knew she was supposed to be intimidated into lowering her gaze. But she wasn’t. And she didn’t.

“How did you get your dog to let go of your arm?” she asked.

“It wasn’t my dog.”

He returned to his book, as though that was the end of that.

Anna’s brow furrowed. “Not your dog? I don’t understand.”

With obvious irritation, he raised his eyes—an icy blue, like glacier water—to her and said, “I saw the dog get hit by a car. The driver didn’t stop.”

She waited for further explanation, but when it didn’t come she said, “Oh, I see.”

“You see what?”

“The dog bit you, even though you were trying to help, because it was hurt and you were a stranger. That was a very kind thing to do.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he said curtly. “The dog was about to snap at a kid.” He made a point of turning the page in his book and started reading again.

She saw the white gauze bandage on his arm was stained with blood. “Henry would never forgive me if I didn’t ask.”

He looked up, clearly annoyed. “Who’s Henry?” Then he said, “Oh, yeah. Your kid.”

She smiled and said, “Henry isn’t mine any more than the dog was yours.”

At his questioning look she said, “Henry lives across the hall. He takes care of Penelope—my cat—in the afternoons.”

He made a “get to it” sign by rotating his hand.

“How did you get the dog to let go of your arm?”

“The vet injected him with a drug that put him to sleep. He was going to have to do it anyway to treat his wounds.”

“Oh.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to know? So I can read in peace?”

“Is the dog all right?” she asked.

“He was when I left.”

“You must live nearby.”

“Close enough.”

“I live a block south and two blocks east. I walked here. Wish I’d worn a coat.” Anna pulled her three-quarter-length gray wool sweater more tightly around her. “It was colder out than I thought it would be.”

Anna wished she hadn’t volunteered the information about where she lived. Especially since the stranger didn’t seem at all interested.

Which was when Anna realized that she was.

When was the last time she’d been on a date? Three months ago, at least. And why was that? She had reasonable office hours, and Penelope could easily be left for the evening. Anna had even been asked out a couple of times. She simply hadn’t been intrigued enough by any of those men to say yes.

She was intrigued now. And being completely ignored.

She looked for a wedding band and didn’t see one. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone. Except, he was so surly, she was sure he would have used that excuse to be rid of her if he could have.

She wanted to know more. She wanted to know him.

“I just thought of something,” she said. “Do you have to get rabies shots?”

“Someone who knew the owner must have seen or heard what happened, because the owner showed up at the vet’s,” the stranger replied. “The dog had been vaccinated.”

“That was lucky.”

“Lady, nothing about this day has been lucky.”

At that moment, the nurse called out, “Mr. Benedict. The doctor can see you now.”

Anna watched “Mr. Benedict” close his book and rise to leave without another word. He was churlish. And unfriendly. And morose. Almost rude. She was glad he was gone.

And regretted bitterly that he hadn’t been more interested in getting to know her.

6

Anna stepped out of the warmth and bright light of the urgent care facility into the cold night air and gasped as a hulking figure emerged from the darkness. “Good Lord!” she said, putting a hand to her heart as the stranger with the dog bite stepped into the light. “You scared me to death!”

“I stayed to walk you home.”

She wasn’t far from home, but there was enough crime in Georgetown that it was a thoughtful gesture—if a bit suspect, considering the stranger’s off-putting behavior toward her inside.

“Why would you want to do that?” she asked, drawing her sweater tighter around her.

He shrugged. “It’s late. It’s dark. You’re alone.”

“All true.” But she was pretty sure none of that had anything to do with the reason he’d stayed. She thought it was more likely he was alone. And wanted female company. Was she willing to provide it?

“You walked here, too?” she asked.

He nodded.

“All right,” she said at last.

Anna shivered with excitement and anticipation as the stranger set a large hand at the small of her back. She was surprised at the visceral reaction she had to his touch.

During the short, silent walk, she debated whether to invite him inside. For coffee. To get to know him better. If she did, he would probably think she was inviting him inside for something else. For sex.

Anna didn’t believe in one-night stands. Safe sex was tough enough to manage if you knew your partner. This man was a literal stranger. She knew his last name was Benedict, but that was all.

On the other hand, if she didn’t invite him in, she was afraid she’d never see him again. And in that case, she knew she would always regret not knowing how his lips would feel on hers.

“How’s your arm?” she said to break the silence that had descended between them.

“I can’t feel anything right now. How’s your hand?”

She raised her hand to observe the small bandage that covered two neat black stitches. “I’ll survive.”

That was the extent of their conversation.

She knew nothing more about him when they arrived at the bottom step of the stately brownstone where she lived, which had been broken into four condominium units, than she’d known when he offered to walk her home. Except that he smelled good, a mixture of musk and man. And that she didn’t want him to walk out of her life.

“Would you like to come up for some coffee?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Anna used her key to get into the entryway, then took the stranger’s large, callused hand and led him to the polished wooden stairs covered by an oriental runner. “I’m one flight up.”

She had left a few lamps on, so they were greeted by soft golden light as she unlocked her front door and ushered the stranger into her small living room.

As soon as the door closed, he took her into his arms. His ice-blue eyes looked warm as Caribbean waters when he lowered his head to bring their mouths close.

Anna felt a little off balance because of the speed at which he’d moved, but she realized this was exactly where she wanted to be, that she desperately wanted to taste his lips.

She felt her pulse thrum as he set an arm around her hips and drew her close. Close enough to feel that he was aroused.

And to feel him begin to tremble.

With desire, she thought at first. But when she raised a hand to his nape, it felt slick with sweat. Strange, when they’d been walking in the cold night air.

She leaned back to look into the stranger’s face and saw he had his eyes closed. And his jaw clenched.

Oh, God. Oh, no. Not him.

He was exhibiting classic symptoms of PTSD. Anna hoped she was wrong, but she didn’t think she was. Her heart swelled with compassion. She put her arms around his shoulders protectively, leaned close to his ear and said, “You’re all right. I’m here.”

She felt him shudder and knew that whatever he was experiencing had nothing to do with desire.

She lifted a hand to brush a dark lock of hair from his forehead. “We’re in my apartment in Georgetown,” she murmured. “My Maine Coon cat Penelope has a litter of adorable kittens in a basket in the next room. Your arm might be aching because you just had stitches where a dog bit you earlier today.”

She talked to him calmly, as she would have to one of her patients, and gradually felt his trembling stop. When he opened his eyes, he seemed surprised to see her still standing within his embrace.

He abruptly let go of her and took a step back.

Reluctantly, she took another step back herself. “Are you all right?”

He looked away and down. Ashamed, she knew. Upset. Angry with himself.

“Soldier?” she asked. “Cop? Fireman?”

He grimaced, then met her gaze and said gruffly, “Soldier.”

“You should get some—”

“I don’t need any help.” He turned and reached for the doorknob.

She took two quick steps and put her hand over his. She met his startled gaze and said, “I’d like to see you again.”

He frowned and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Then he was gone.

7

Ben recognized his body’s heightened awareness, the thudding heart, the fetid sweat in his armpits, his rapid eye movement scouting the terrain, rigid muscles tightened to the point of pain, ready to explode into action: it was the knowledge of death waiting around the corner.

He had to remind himself he wasn’t scouting some war-torn foreign city. He was merely driving his black SUV through the Columbia Heights neighborhood in Washington, D.C.

Nevertheless, he could smell danger in the wind.

“How’s your arm?” Waverly asked from the passenger’s seat of Ben’s SUV.

Ben flinched as he flexed his injured left arm, which was stuck out the window. “Fine.”

“Dog bites can get infected easily.”

“The doctor shot me up with antibiotics last night.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Like a sonofabitch.”

“You should be at home taking it easy.”

“Not an option. Not after Epifanio called and asked me to meet him. The kid’s found out something about whatever’s going down on the streets, Waverly. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Waverly’s eyes, cop’s eyes, stayed on the street. Alert. Probing.

Epifanio had borrowed a friend’s cell phone and called Ben from the bathroom at school earlier in the afternoon. He’d refused to tell Ben why he had to see him, just ordered, “Get your ass over here, man.”

“After school, right?” Ben had asked, to confirm that Epifanio wasn’t truant.

“Yeah. On the corner. Like always.”

Ben knew which corner Epifanio meant. It was the site of a convenience store near Lincoln Middle School where the 18th Street gang hung out. The kid had sounded anxious and afraid.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked. “Are you safe?”

“Sure,” the kid said.

“I can call the police and have them—”

“No cops!”

He’d sounded frightened at the possibility the cops might come for him, panicked almost, so Ben had backed off.

He’d called Waverly as soon as he’d hung up the phone and shared his concern about the boy.

“You want me to have a black-and-white pick him up?” Waverly had asked.

“I think that’ll just scare him,” Ben said. “Maybe make him run, and get him into another kind of trouble.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m meeting him after school.”

“How about if I come along?”

Since Waverly didn’t wear a uniform, Ben figured he could easily pass him off as a friend. But if things went south, he might very well need his friend’s help.

“You can come, but you’re a friend, not a cop, got it?”

Ben eyed the vacant faces of the truants and dropouts walking the streets of the broken-down neighborhood. “Never thought I’d see so many thousand-yard stares in faces so young. Hard to believe they’re just kids.”

“Kids with guns and knives,” Waverly said. “Don’t ever underestimate them.”

Ben had too recently fought in Iraq and Afghanistan against boy soldiers to discount the danger of a child with a gun. He was very much aware of the savagery bubbling beneath the surface whenever roaming gangs prowled the streets. And he had a gut feeling, an awful premonition he couldn’t shake, that Epifanio was in real peril.

As opposed to the phantoms that had plagued Ben last night. He didn’t know what had triggered the flashback in the woman’s apartment. He just wished it had happened later. After he’d sated himself with her.

She was different somehow from the other women he’d picked up over the past six months. He’d felt poleaxed the instant he’d laid eyes on her in the vet’s office yesterday morning. It could have been the oddity of the circumstances. It wasn’t every day you met a woman with a dog attached to your arm. But the flare of sexual desire he’d felt was so strong it had spooked him.

Which was why he’d avoided her at the urgent care clinic. The last thing he wanted to do was get emotionally involved. That led to loving. And loving led to pain.

He’d wanted—needed—to put himself inside her. What alarmed him was the equal need he’d felt to hold her in his arms and keep her safe.

Safe from what? What horror had she witnessed that had put that shadowed look in her eyes? He didn’t want to know.

In the end, she was the one who’d ended up holding him, keeping him safe. He’d been lucky to beat a hasty retreat without indulging the need he’d felt. Somehow he knew that having her once would not have been enough. Letting her into his life was simply asking for trouble.

Ben turned the corner onto 16th Street NW, just as Lincoln Middle School let out. The Latino, Black and Asian kids had formed into knots that Ben recognized by the gang colors they substituted for their maroon and khaki school uniforms and by their gang hand sign greetings to each other.

He saw a cluster of the brown pants and white T-shirts worn by the 18th Street gang and felt a chill run down his spine.