Chapter 4

He was, in fact, five minutes late. Jeff Quincy, the patrol captain, had been just as incredulous as the patrol supervisor, and had used up half an hour being convinced that this wasn't some kind of mistake. When it turned out that the woman was the wife of a city councilman, it got more interesting, but the gun and the bullet hole in the dashboard pretty much told the story. This would be extremely difficult to sweep under the carpet.

It helped that the woman insisted she had only been trying to defend herself, as "that corrupt cop" tried to extort money from her at gunpoint. It didn't hurt that two witnesses had identified themselves to the detectives who responded to the scene, either. Their story matched Bob's, though neither one had seen her pull the gun. They were, however, quite positive that Bob never pulled his, even after they heard a gunshot.

As he arrived at the gym, he saw Lacey, waiting for him. She was already dressed for play.

"Sorry," he panted. "Got held up at work."

"You'd think criminals would be smarter than to try to stick up a cop," said Lacey, smiling.

"Ha, ha," said Bob. "Be ready in a minute."

An hour and a half later, they were sitting against the wall of the court again, gasping for breath. She had won six games, he had won five. He was impressed.

"I'm ... embarrassed," he panted.

"You ... should be..." she panted back. "I was ... only ... playing ... at half ... speed."

He grinned. "You should ... have brought ... your friends after all," he gasped.

A look of pain flitted across her face.

"Haven't ... got any ... left," she said. She breathed deeply several times. "They all act ... like I have AIDS or something."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"There is the support group," she said sadly. "But I don't think any of them are into racquetball." She brightened, but not much. "I did find an apartment."

"Good," he said. "Lock your doors."

She looked at him, her mouth open.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Habit."

"Thank you," she said suddenly.

"What for? You won fair and square."

"No, for caring," she said. "Of everybody, you've been the nicest to me. You treat me like I'm normal."

"You are normal," he said.

"You know what I mean," she said.

"You're welcome."

"I'm having some trust issues ... with men." Her voice was dull.

"Gee," he said. "I wonder why?"

"See!" she said, smiling a little. "You're willing to talk about it. Everybody else just tells me to forget it and move on, like it was just a broken fingernail or something."

"It's uncomfortable to talk about," said Bob. "They want to put a Band-Aid on the owie, so they can think about something less troublesome."

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know I trust you. You're the only man I think I can trust right now."

Bob groaned. "Thanks a LOT!"

"What?" she looked hurt.

"You trust me? That's the kiss of death! Next you'll be telling me you just want to be friends!"

She blinked, then laughed. "Are you FLIRTING with me?!"

He shook his head. "Wouldn't be ethical. You're vulnerable right now. Add that to drop dead gorgeous and kickass talented on the racquetball court and I'd be a heel to take advantage of you."

Her eyes narrowed and then her brow furrowed.

"You didn't let me win."

He laughed. "You got THAT right! Nobody's beat me six games in one session in YEARS!"

"You know what happened to me. You know about my ... past. But you just treat me like a friend." She looked confused.

"See?" he chuckled. "There's that word ... already."

"You treat me like a normal woman," she said, not smiling.

"You are a normal woman."

"Other men who know ... there aren't many ... but they won't even look at me," she said. "Yet here you are ... flirting with me."

"OK, maybe a little," said Bob. "It's probably just an aftereffect of almost getting shot, so don't pay any attention to it."

"Shot?"

He told her about the councilman's wife.

"You're KIDDING!" she squealed. "She tried to kill you over a TRAFFIC TICKET?"

He shrugged.

"You're taking this awfully calmly," she said.

"No I'm not. It drove me to flirt with you. I'm almost out of control." He grinned. Then his grin faded. "Really, I'm sorry ... about the flirting. I know you don't need that."

"That's all right," she said. "At least from you."

As Lacey walked to her car, she thought about what had just happened. For an hour and a half, her mind had been clear. Trying to keep up with Bob on the court took all her concentration. It had been wonderful to do something that made her forget. And afterward, sitting there. She had said it was all right for him to flirt with her, but she wasn't sure about that. It had felt good, for a few seconds. Then everything had rushed back into her mind.

She shuddered, and took inventory again, for possibly the thousandth time. Her body was healing. Soon, there would be no trace to show what had happened to her. She had spent almost an hour, sitting in front of a mirror, staring between her legs. It didn't look any different. It didn't feel any different. The pain when the man had first forced himself into her had been excruciating. There had been no natural lubrication to ease his entry, and it had felt like he was tearing strips of skin from inside her. It didn't look that way, though. Of course, then her body betrayed her and the lubrication came, bringing with it horror in her mind as she felt her body coming alive under his thrusting hulk. She had hated herself then, not knowing what to think—thinking that she was so perverted that she was actually approving of this horrible man and the horrible thing he was doing to her. Thankfully, most of the details were just a haze in her mind. But that orgasm couldn't be forgotten.

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