Law of Attraction (25 page)

Anna grabbed the rack and swung it at D’marco, just as he was coming up on her. The rack crashed into the side of his head; bowls and mugs hit his skull and each other with resounding cracks. He slammed back into the refrigerator. Magnets, pictures, and coupons scattered all over the floor. D’marco slumped back against the appliance, dazed, and Anna turned to the back door.

She threw open the dead bolt, slid the chain lock out, and started fumbling with the key in the doorknob. She turned the key—too late. D’marco came up behind her and covered her wrists with his huge hands. He pulled her off the doorknob, and turned her to face him. Her back was pressed against the door, and her hands were caught in his viselike hold.

She looked at the huge man looming above her. He was breathing heavily and bleeding from cuts to his head where the dish rack and
dishes had hit.

“Lady—” he said.

She kicked him in the groin. He folded over with a grunt and pitched forward onto her. She stumbled backward under the weight of him, and they ended up crumpled in a pile against the door, his body half covering hers.

Anna tried to squirm out from under him, but she was like the Wicked Witch of the East caught under Dorothy’s house. Grunting in pain, D’marco grabbed her wrists, and pinned them on either side of her. With effort, he sat up and straddled her, keeping her arms pinned to the kitchen floor.

She was trapped.

Anna stared up at the escaped prisoner. A mixture of sweat and fresh blood was running into his eyes and dripping onto his denim jacket, where old blood had already dried into a black stain. He was breathing hard and grimacing, his face contorted in pain.

She had never been so terrified. She was too scared even to cry. If he was going to kill her, she hoped it would be something quick.

Keeping her pinned, he took a moment to catch his breath. Finally, he spoke.

“You one hell of a hard woman to talk to,” he said.

Anna stared at him.

“I’m just wanting five minutes with you,” he said. He shifted, securing her arms with his knees so he could wipe the blood from his forehead onto his sleeve. “You always play this hard to get?”

She looked at him in disbelief. Finally, she said, “You could’ve just made an appointment.”

“Shit, I tried that, Ms. Curtis.” Davis practically laughed. “You ain’t takin’ my calls. You sendin’ my letters to my lawyer without readin’ ’em. What’s a felon supposed to do?”

Anna wondered if it was possible he was joking with her. No, she thought, feeling the hard kitchen tile pressing against her skull and shoulder blades, this was definitely not a joke.

“I ain’t killed Laprea,” he said. “I loved her.”

“Oh—okay,” she said, as earnestly as possible, like that was the end of it. Prosecution over.

“I know how it look,” he said, surprisingly matter-of-factly. “I ain’t never treated her right. I hate that. I’m gonna carry that the rest of my life. She was my babies’ mother, and I loved her. I just get kinda crazy
when I drink.”

Anna nodded, trying to convey empathy. Is he going to let me go, she was thinking. Are the cops coming? How long can I humor him?

“Look, Ms. Curtis, I did hit Laprea that night. Okay? But I ain’t killed her. Last I saw, she was runnin’ down the street, away from my building. I stayed there, went back to my apartment, drank too much, and passed out on my couch.”

“I see,” Anna said, still not understanding why he was telling her this.

“I know that sound crazy,” D’marco said, reading the confusion in her face. He rearranged himself so he wasn’t pressing so hard on her arms. “But I heard she was fuckin’ a cop—sorry, having relations with a cop. That’s what we was fightin’ about. After she run down the stairs, I told her, she should just
keep
running, and don’t come back without that cop, ’cause I’d peel his wig. She said she
would
get him, and then I’d be done. That was the last time I ever seen her. She musta gone to him, to that cop. You gotta find him, Ms. Curtis. He’s the one that killed her.”

“Who’s the cop?”

“That’s why I’m here. I want you to find out.”

“D’marco, I’m the
prosecutor.
Just tell your defense attorney this; I’m sure he’ll work on it.” She bit her tongue. She should be humoring him, telling him she’d do whatever he wanted.

“You think I ain’t done that already?” D’marco raised his voice in frustration. Calming himself, he continued, “My lawyer’s good—but he ain’t never had an innocent client. He don’t believe me. He’s working on this, but only ’cause I keep telling him to, and he ain’t gettin’ nowhere. His heart ain’t in it. He thinks I should just plead.” D’marco shook his head. “Even if he did believe me, no cop’s gonna talk to him. Police hate defense attorneys. But they talk to
you.
And you can pull MPD records and shit. I know it ain’t your job to get me off, see. But you were the only one wanted to listen to me that day after my hearing, in the cellblock, till your boss stopped it. And I know you cared ’bout Laprea. You want to find out who really killed her. Even if you hate me.”

Anna opened her mouth with the reflexive female instinct to deny that she hated him, but she never got a chance.

24

A
crash from the front of her apartment startled both D’marco and Anna. She looked up to see two young men wearing sweatshirts and jeans running in and pointing guns around her house. What now? she thought. Then she saw the badges hanging around their necks. They were police officers.

The two cops yelled almost in stereo, “Police! Put your hands in the air!”

D’marco sprang off of Anna and bolted for the back door. He wasn’t going back to jail voluntarily. The officers raised their weapons and aimed at his heart. Shit, Anna thought, scooching herself into the corner. It would really suck to survive D’marco only to get shot by the cavalry come to rescue her.

The officers didn’t take the shot; she was too close. D’marco threw open the back door, ready to run into the alley behind her house. He would disappear into the city.

Except when D’marco opened the door, he found Detective McGee pointing his gun a few inches from his face.

“Not this time, Princess.” McGee smiled at D’marco. “Lie on the ground, hands behind your head.”

D’marco didn’t move.

“I know about your jail break today, Mr. Davis,” the big detective purred. “When
I
shoot you, I promise you’ll be too dead to escape from another ambulance. Now get the fuck down!”

D’marco lay on the kitchen floor.

Jack burst in through Anna’s front door, and his eyes flashed around the apartment, sizing up the situation. He saw that McGee had D’marco under control; he saw the two other officers lowering their weapons and going over to help McGee; he saw Anna crouched in the corner, frightened but alive. He blew out a breath and strode over to her.

“Anna, are you okay?” Jack knelt down in front of Anna and
gathered her hands into his.

“I’m fine,” she said, watching the felon being handcuffed on her kitchen floor. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated, reassuring herself as much as Jack. She looked at the Homicide chief. “Will I get a Special Achievement Award for this?”

Jack laughed as he helped her to her feet and looked her over. His eyebrows knit together at something on her stomach. She looked down at herself. Her T-shirt was dotted with bloodstains; so was her kitchen floor.

“It’s his blood, not mine,” she explained.

She could feel her hair sticking out of her defunct ponytail; she could smell her own sweat from her run and the struggle. She was a mess. But she was alive.

The terror of what happened finally caught up with her. Adrenaline had propelled her when she’d thought she was going to die, but now that the danger was gone, she started to shake uncontrollably.

Jack opened his arms and she gratefully stepped into them, resting her head on his chest as the fear worked its way out of her system. She was glad that Jack didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around her while she caught her breath and slowly stopped shaking.

As she calmed down, she became conscious of Jack’s chest under her cheek. His muscular pecs rose and fell as he breathed. He felt strong and solid. Anna’s fear drained away, replaced by the desire to stay in the safe circle of his arms as long as possible. She remained pressed against him for another minute, feeling his hands gently stroking her back, the warmth of his body flush with hers. She closed her eyes and heard his heart thudding under her ear. Jack had been scared, too. She looked up at him. Perspiration beaded his forehead.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked gently.

“Yeah.”

Their faces were closer than they’d ever been. She wondered if the butterflies in her stomach were from what had just happened with D’marco or from Jack’s nearness.

A clanking, shuffling sound made Anna look away. The two sweatshirted cops hauled D’marco to his feet and led him toward the front door. McGee was reholstering his gun and looking at Anna and Jack curiously. Anna became acutely aware that this was her usually stern boss she was pressing against. She let go of him and quickly stepped
back.

“How did you get here so fast?” She tried to normalize her voice as she spoke to Jack. “Who are these officers?”

“After I heard you screaming, I started calling officers I knew lived or worked near here. These guys live around the corner. And McGee must have broken every traffic law on the books.”

“Thank you so much, Officers,” she called. “Thank you, Detective McGee.”

“Anything for a little overtime,” McGee deadpanned.

She walked toward the sink to get a drink of water, but hobbled a step, crunching over the broken dishes and surprisingly unsteady on her feet. Jack kicked a chunk of a mug to the side, steered her to the kitchen table, and made her sit down. He asked her where her cups were and filled a glass with water. “Drink up,” he instructed. She gulped down the whole thing. She felt like she could drink all of Lake Superior, she was so thirsty from her run and the struggle with D’marco. Jack refilled the glass and handed it to her again.

She was bringing the glass to her mouth when the sound of sirens pierced the air. A moment later, two uniformed police officers came running through her open front door.

“Police!” they yelled, pointing their guns around the apartment. The uniformed officers looked around in surprise at the apartment full of men. There was a tense moment, with everyone yelling that
they
were the police, until McGee and the two cops in sweatshirts held up their badges, and one of the uniformed officers recognized McGee. Greetings were called; guns were lowered.

“Those must be the officers that 911 dispatched,” Jack said. Then, under his breath: “Fucking 911.”

Anna rarely heard him swear. She realized Jack was more upset than she was.

25

I
t took a while to clear everyone out of her house. There was paperwork to be done, photos to be taken, a crime scene—surreally, her apartment—to be processed. Anna watched the strange sight of a technician lifting bloodstains from her kitchen floor. She had to give a statement to the detective who was investigating D’marco’s escape and assault. So, Anna thought wearily, this is what it feels like to be on the other side of a PD-252, the victim statement form. She was exhausted. Part of her wanted all of the officers to get out of her house so she could get some rest; another part was dreading the moment she’d be left alone.

Finally, everyone left except Jack. She was grateful for his company as he helped her clean up her apartment. He worked quietly by her side—sweeping up the broken mugs, mopping D’marco’s blood off the floor, checking that her locks were all working—until her house was back in order. When there was nothing left to be done, she slowly walked him to the door. She didn’t want him to go.

“Thanks, Jack. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me anymore.” He put a hand lightly her shoulder. “Are you going to be okay here tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “Tonight’s probably the safest I’ll ever be. After the neighborhood saw all those police officers leaving my house, no one’s going to mess with me.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Good night, Anna.”

“Good night, Jack.”

He squeezed her shoulder and turned to walk out. She was sorry when his hand left her arm. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the moment she would be alone in the apartment. She would call Jody, she thought, and keep her sister on the phone as long as she could. Everything would be fine, Anna knew. There was no danger. But she was still spooked.

Maybe he saw the look on her face. Jack turned back to her.

“Look, Anna, I don’t feel right leaving you here alone like this. I have to go now—Olivia is waiting and the nanny needs to go home. But I have a guest bedroom. Would you like to stay there tonight? I think it might be better for you than being here by yourself.”

Anna paused. She wanted Jack to think she was tough and fearless; she was reluctant to admit that she was nervous. Then she glanced at the empty house behind her. The memory of D’marco pinning her to the back door was fresh and raw. She felt a vague sense of menace from the suddenly quiet apartment. Now was not the time to put on a tough-guy act. She smiled up at him.

“Actually—that’d be great.”

•  •  •

Jack lived in Takoma Park, a sylvan neighborhood straddling D.C.’s northeastern border with Maryland. As the cab drove Jack and Anna through the streets, she gazed at the colorful bungalows and Victorians.

“The homes are like dollhouses,” Anna murmured. She glanced at a sign. “Historic district?”

“A lot of the houses were built around the turn of the century. They were summer homes for people living downtown. Back then, this was the boondocks.” Jack pointed to a house flying a UN flag, a rainbow flag, and a peace sign flag. “This became a bit of a hippie enclave in the seventies. Some people still call it Granola Park. The city declared itself a ‘nuclear-free zone’ and has its own policy prohibiting trade with Burma.”