Page 22 of So Smitten

“I think I can’t wait to get out of here,” Michael replied. “The last time I was in Atlanta, I stayed in a nice hotel and visited nice places with nice people and great food—outstanding food. Saw a Falcons game and enjoyed some Georgia Peach Pie. I miss that Atlanta.”

“Well, Philly has its rough places too, I suppose,” Faith allowed.

“All cities do,” Michael agreed, “but I don’t have to visit them.”

“Except when gang leaders are murdered,” Faith said.

“That’s the job.”

They fell silent then. Turk slept in the back seat, and Michael envied the dog's ability to sleep anywhere at any time. He wished he had that kind of freedom.

Well, there was a way. He was a little less than five years away from twenty years, and then he would be fully vested in his pension. He hadn’t considered retirement before, not seriously, anyway, but now that he was married, he wondered if advancement was really something he was cut out for. The Boss certainly didn’t seem happy. Then again, it was hard to tell with the Boss. For all Michael knew, he wasn’t capable of anything other than a scowl.

But did Michael really want to end up like that?

He looked over at Faith, who also rested. His face softened as he regarded the woman he loved as his best friend and at one time as more than a friend. The past two years had been very hard on them. Several times, Michael wondered if their friendship would survive. Even now, he wasn’t sure about that. Faith had admitted finally that she was deeply affected by Trammell and West, but she had also admitted that she wouldn’t stop hunting West, regardless of the consequences.

And what happened after that? At times, it seemed to Michael that West’s existence was the only thing that kept Faith going. What would she do when the only remaining pillar of her existence was torn down, and by her own hands? Would she once more become the woman he knew, as she said she would, or would she be nothing more than a bitter, cynical shell? Michael had seen it happen to others before. Many of them didn’t live long enough to grow old.

The problem was that West really was a threat. Michael had dismissed the urgency of his threats before, thinking him nothing more than a garden variety crackpot who was leaving letters behind like many killers did because of a warped and inflated ego that couldn’t recognize how utterly foolish he seemed.

Now he knew better. West was still out there killing, and he was almost certainly doing so to torment Faith, exactly as she claimed he was. He had threatened David, he had threatened Michael, and he had threatened Ellie.

Michael’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Ellie had flatly refused to discuss an extended vacation with him. “I am done letting Frank control my life,” she had said. “If he really wants to kill me, he can come try it. I have the shotgun, and I’ll be more than happy to show him I know how to use it.”

The shotgun was Ellie’s one concession for her personal safety. It was a short-barreled twenty-gauge Remington, not the most powerful weapon but plenty for close-quarters self-defense and easier to handle than a twelve-gauge model, especially for someone as petite as Ellie.

Not that it would save her if West got the drop on her, as he almost certainly would. It worried Michael to be so far away from her. West, for all his bluster, was a coward. He lured Faith out to him rather than come to her. He wouldn’t risk facing Michael. That, he believed, was an empty threat. Michael would admit that he wasn’t the detective Faith was, but he was more than a match for most men in a fight, armed or unarmed, and most of his fantasies these days were about catching West alone and forcing him to pick a fight with someone his own size.

He smiled grimly as he imagined driving his fist over and over into West’s face, hearing the satisfying crunch of cracking bones as he taught West why threatening and hurting the two most important people in his life was a very, very bad idea.

In moments like this, he could understand why someone would hate enough to kill another the way Mariano and Harris had been killed.

They reached the address a few minutes later. It was a working-class neighborhood, but not nearly as rundown as Hansen or Grant Street. Faith woke just as Michael parked the car, and Turk woke immediately after.

“That the house?” she asked.

“That’s it,” Michael said. “Let’s try to be nice and calm at first. If we can get through this without a fight, that will be better than not.”

Faith frowned at him. “I know that,” she said, a little testily. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I wasn’t accusing you,” he protested. “Sometimes I talk to calm myself down. You know this.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, grow a pair, will you? That’s the job.”

Michael glared at her for using his own words against him. “I should have dumped you and partnered with Rosa after all.”

“Maybe I’ll partner with Rosa,” she retorted. “He looks like he could use someone experienced to show him the ropes. If you know what I mean.”

Jeffrey Rosa was the newest agent at the field office. He was an attractive young man, and on a few occasions, Faith had caught him looking at her.

“Maybe we should ask David what you mean,” Michael jibed.

“And maybe we should tell Ellie about your little infatuation with Chavez,” she retorted.

The second-newest agent, Gloria Chavez, was a very attractive young woman, and on a few occasions, Faith had noticed her regarding Michael with a somewhat other-than-professional eye.

They cut the banter as they approached the house. Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and drew his handgun.

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