Page 35 of Rogue

Downtown Port Angeles looked rather like uptown, midtown, and every other residential part of the city. A varied collection of single and two-storey timber fronted cottages with paved driveways and big front gardens. The whole place had the feel of a quaint little suburbia where everyone and their dog knew your name and your business.

In other words, what I’d call hell.

Fortunately, I wasn’t here to admire the view. I wanted answers, and according to Ned’s scribble, Miss Porter lived at 13 King’s Way. The name meant nothing to me but courtesy of my phone’s Maps App, it didn’t take long to navigate the warren and turn the Porsha off West 10 Street. For all the grandeur of its name, King’s Way proved to be just another quiet little street ending in a cul-de-sac with about half a dozen single storey cottages around it.

Number 13 was the first on the left. A single storey cottage painted baby blue, with a wraparound porch, likewise painted cedar red, and a 2004 Ford Explorer Sport Trac 4x4 on the drive.

I parked the Porsche up behind the pickup, killed the engine, climbed out and marched up to the house, not caring if she was alone or if someone was in there with her. If I was lucky, maybe she had a boyfriend over and I could work out some of this frustration on his face.

Until then, her door would do. I knocked three times, banging my fist against the wood hard enough to make it rattle in the frame. Then I waited.

Damn her, I got her that fucking job back, so what was her problem? What was she playing at?

I knew I needed to breathe. I was pissed off and had to calm down, but I wasn’t in the mood for all that crap right now.

“Coming!” Jane’s voice called from inside.

Footsteps approached from the other side of the door. A chain rattled. Then the door opened and Jane Porter stood there in a pair of tight little white shorts and a blue and red checked shirt, her hair tumbling down her back in a wash of raven waves and smiling as she read something on her phone. “Mrs Wilde, I’m afraid this isn’t really a great time, ‘cause I just lost my job and I- you!” Her smile dropped when she looked up and saw me standing in her doorway.

Praise where praise is due, Miss Jane Porter was not slow to react. No sooner did she see me than she was slamming the door in my face. It’s not exactly an original move, though. Nor was it the first time someone had tried it. I shouldered my way through before she could shut it all the way. She almost went with it, skidding backward, but I caught her wrist and twisted her round, driving her back against the wall. The door swung closed behind us as I slapped a palm over her mouth to keep her from screaming and stepped in close enough to pin her there, caging her with my body.

I expected her to fight. To lash out and squirm, or kick, bite and scratch at anything she could reach with all that fiery spirit she’d shown when Roy and his mates had surrounded her. Instead, she just stood there, with her arms hanging at her side and eyes as large as dinner plates.

“Scream, and I’ll gag you, understand?” I warned, keeping my voice low and level but looking dead into her eyes so she knew I meant it.

She nodded slowly. Or, at least, gave as much of a nod as she could with half of her face in my hand and nowhere to move. Still, I had to give her points for effort.

“Good,” I said, forcing a little smile to soften my expression as I eased my hand back a little. “You know, you should really check who’s at the door before you open it.”

“Please…” she whispered, her voice shaky, clearly too unnerved for levity. “What… what do you, I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Why did you quit your job?”

“What?” She blinked, as if that was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“You heard. Why did you quit your job at the bar? Last night you said you needed it, so I got it back for you. Now I hear you’ve quit, and I want to know why.”

My question seemed to steady her, however, and she visibly hardened under my interrogation. “Because of you, you asshole!” she spat back, suddenly all fire and venom. “Because of what you did.”

“Me? What did I do?” It was my turn to play dumb. Admittedly, it helped that I didn’t have a clue what she was going on about.

“Don’t bother. I saw Ned’s face! You beat him to a bloody pulp!” She accused, beating her hands on my chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t just go around beating people to get what you want! And why? To get me my job back after you fucked it all up! Do you think I’d accept anything from you after what you’ve done?”

Oh fuck!

That’s what this was all about. The beating the Russians had given Ned. Of course she’d think that was my handiwork work, why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t known he’d had company when I arrived and sounds like she hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask.

No wonder she’s pissed off.

I backed away a step, giving her some space, raising my open-palmed hands in a universal show of innocence while trying to calm the fuck down. “Hey, hey, cool it, I didn’t do that.”

“Fuck off!”

“Really, Scout’s honour, he was like that when I found him, and anyone at the bar will tell you I didn’t do that to him.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? How?”

“Because he looks too damn good.” Probably not the best choice of words, but I couldn’t help myself. Fine ass or not, her attitude was really grating on me.

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