Refuge of the Heart, page 13
In short minutes Mitch had the TV set up, the cable wire screwed into the small cable box, and an anxious little girl by his side. “Okay. Now.”
Trembling with excitement, Anna poked the button Mitch showed her. The room flooded with sound and light. Garish, crazy light. Mitch poked the remote button until he found a children’s movie, the perfect thing to keep a child distracted while he occupied her older sister. It made him glad that he’d thought to call the cable company and turn their service on. The excited expression on Anna’s face made him grateful for the small monthly bill he’d contracted for that morning. Turning, he smiled at Lena. “Am I in trouble?”
She looked from him to Anna. Her gaze softened. “No. No, it is all right. I thank you, Mitch.”
He stood and moved across the room. He gave a glance back to Anna.
She was lost in the action before her.
Mitch instigated a different scene at the opposite end of the room. He set gentle hands around Lena’s waist. “You’re welcome.” His eyes sought hers. His hands drew her in, their hold gentle but firm. His mouth dropped to hers, the kiss warm. Sweet. He smiled against her mouth. “I thought you’d be angry. Insulted. I had a whole dialogue prepared to calm you down. But actually, I think kisses work best.”
A teasing smile lightened her features. “They are tolerable.”
“Tolerable?” He pretended to scowl. “You need a better English/Chechen dictionary. My kisses are far above ‘tolerable’.”
She laughed at his reaction, then tilted her head, her eyes on his mouth. “I could, perhaps, tolerate another.”
His heart squeezed. Her look, her touch, the total virtue of her mesmerized him, belied by the strength of the woman behind it. Lowering his mouth to hers, he let her tolerate a while longer before easing away. “Do you need help with supper?”
She blinked and smiled. “I do. Anna, I think, is gross.”
“Anna is...” It didn’t take him long to puzzle this one out. “Engrossed, you mean. Involved, immersed. Not gross.”
“No?” She twinkled up at him and he realized she’d gotten him. He rubbed his hand along the nape of her neck. “Very funny.”
She laughed as she handed him a pot of potatoes for mashing. “It is good to laugh together.”
He smiled as he accepted them, refusing to question why he felt honored to be whipping potatoes by hand in a run-down walk-up on the city’s troubled south side. “Yes. It is very good.”
Nancy interrupted a case review the next morning. “Boss, McGuire’s on line one. She’s not happy.”
Mitch hit the button to connect with his A.D.A. “Casey, what’s up?”
“Jeannine Dailey.”
“Jeannine...” Mitch thought hard. “The abused woman from Lowdenville who refused to testify against her abuser?”
“And then left protective custody to go back to him,” Casey replied. “That’s the one. I’m at county lock-up where a bunch of reporters and women’s rights groups have gathered. They look hungry and I appear to be the main course.”
“What’s happened?”
“Last night’s standard homicide is anything but. It’s Jeannine. I’ve got three police reports in my hand of further episodes of abuse needing emergency room intervention over the last nine months, and each time she went back to the guy. Last night, she killed him.”
“Self-defense?”
“Not according to early evidence.”
“Cold blood?”
McGuire hedged. “Could be. Or maybe lost it completely? Mental health aspect?”
“Possibly, but that’s dangerous territory,” Mitch replied. “We had her out of that situation, we were ready to put the guy away.” He remembered the case vividly because they were on the brink of locking the long-term boyfriend in prison for aggravated assault, when Jeannine refused to testify. The abuser had banked on that, refusing a plea deal, because he claimed she’d never take the stand against him. And he’d been right.
As the only witness to the battery, Jeannine effectively kicked the case to the curb, and then went back to the guy a few months later.
“You’ve got press there?”
“In growing numbers.”
“And women’s groups? How did they find out so quickly?”
“The shelter on Raymond Avenue had been helping Jeannine. When she called them, a liaison from one of the groups with national connections took the call.”
“Did she place the call before or after she killed him?”
“After.”
Not good. Not good at all.
Despite her previous complaints against her live-in boyfriend, if she waited to call for help until after she’d killed him, she could be looking at first degree murder charges. They’d come so close to saving her less than two years before, but she’d backed out. What hold did he have over her? And did it justify murder?
No.
Mitch drew a deep breath. “Use ‘no comment’ as you face the press, same with the women’s groups. Until we know more about the case, we don’t dare say a word. Which detectives are covering it?”
“Lombardi and Monaghan from B-sector.”
“Keep me apprised. And remember, a tight lid, no matter what they throw at you. They’re going to bring up all kinds of stuff out of Jeannine Dailey’s past, but we can only operate within the letter of the law.”
“This could get ugly.”
Mitch couldn’t disagree. “It already has.”
He hung up the phone, his mind sorting what he remembered.
The county sheriff’s B-sector had answered multiple complaints against Jeannine’s boyfriend. Interventions from law enforcement had been the norm, but despite repeated attempts to withdraw this woman from the abusive relationship, she went back.
And now she’d killed him, bringing back one of the most difficult lines of offense and defense in modern courtrooms.
What could possibly tempt an abused woman back to the abuser? What kind of hold could an abuser wield that wrested self-preservation out of a victim’s hands like that? Nothing that made sense, and nothing worth murder, although many victims of abuse followed a similar pattern.
And yet...
Until Mitch had the facts at hand, all he could do was wish she’d stayed tight the year before. If she’d testified and let them put him away, she wouldn’t have his blood on her hands now. But no amount of wishing would change the current status of a volatile heinous crime perpetrated on an unsympathetic abuser.
Nancy knocked softly before she opened the door. “You’ve got a lot of people trying to get in touch with you.”
“And I’m taking a vow of silence until we know more, Nance, so feel free to pass that message on for the moment. I’ll issue a press release later on when we have more details.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Nancy?”
She turned back.
“Did you have something you wanted to say?”
Her expression said yes, but she shook her head. “No, it’s just...”
“Just?”
“I feel like if I’d done more, this might not have happened.”
“Done more?” Mitch studied her. “Nance, what could you have done? She backed out of the case and walked away. You can’t force someone to pursue a case and we didn’t have enough hard evidence without her testimony.”
“Of course not.” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “I just wish it had gone down differently, Mitch.”
“Me, too.”
She went back to her desk, but her words piqued Mitch. She wished she’d done more. He did, too. But he’d faced domestic abuse trials in the past, and too many had comparable outcomes. The mental and emotional tie to abusers often went deeper than the obvious food and shelter. But how he wished Jeannine had fled when she could.
Chapter Eleven
“That was a wonderful way to spend Thanksgiving.” Mitch announced as they climbed into the SUV on Thanksgiving afternoon, and Lena agreed. They had served over one hundred and twenty dinners. A nice crowd, all in all.
“So many people, so much food!” she declared. “It is amazing to see it all. Thank you for coming, Mitch.” She covered his hand on the steering wheel with hers. “It made it special for all to have you there.”
“Even you?” Something in his voice put deeper meaning into the two simple words.
She didn’t hedge, or shy away. “Yes.”
The touch of her olive-skinned hand, small and smooth, quickened his heart. Her almond eyes danced with merriment. “Father Dominic loves you, I think. As does Sr. Mariel. And of course the entire Rosary Society was so busy praising your name that they forgot to put out fresh rolls. You have made many friends in Ridgedale this day.”
“You can never have too many friends,” Mitch acknowledged as he made the turn onto Crystal Street. “Father told me what a blessing you are to the church.”
“They are the blessing,” Lena argued. “Those people, strangers, who gave money to bring us here. Feed us. Find me a job, help me apply to school. They did not know Anna or me, of our home and our family. They just wanted to help.”
“...He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners...” Mitch offered the quote softly because Anna had dozed off, tucked in her seat. “Isaiah, talking about his ministry to the poor. ‘The oil of gladness, instead of mourning’.” He smiled at Lena as he parked the car. “Your church is just particularly good at following directions.”
She nodded at his understanding, her eyes pleased. “I will not be long to change. You are fine with Anna?”
“Of course. Take whatever time you need. I’ll listen to football while Anna rests. Maybe take a little nap myself.” He offered Lena a quiet grin. “We’ll be fine.”
“Good.” She smiled, relaxed, and then she did it. She leaned over, swept her mouth to his in a gentle kiss, and smiled into his eyes. “I will be right back.”
She hooked him right there with a simple kiss, freely given, and as he watched her hurry into the run-down house, he paid no attention to the football broadcast on the radio. Only to Lena as she strode up the walk, quick and decisive. Head high, gaze forward, she bore her small frame with grace and dignity, despite her lack of material goods. Her goodness inspired him to reach beyond himself, and of course he’d do just that if there was time. There wasn’t, but watching Lena, being with her, completed him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. She was meant for him, body and soul. He had struggled with faith and God after suffering a loss too keen to bear, relying on the strength of man instead of God’s will.
Lena was the missing piece. In His infinite wisdom, God had set her before him, opening Mitch’s eyes to the possibility of a future. A future that seemed dim and shallow short weeks ago.
There were no specifics. He couldn’t list the qualities of Magdalena Serida and come up with an equation of why one plus one must equal two. He just knew it did.
He looked at the precious child through the rear-view mirror. Head lolling, she slept, small, peaceful and sweet. A ready-made family.
The thought hurt and comforted. He’d lost a son he’d never had the chance to know. He hadn’t held the crying infant, or rocked the boy to sleep. He’d lost his father’s namesake before any of that had been reality. But he’d imagined it, time and again. Envisioned holding baby Jack, laughing at shared jokes. Playing with him. Running trucks across a yard that was too perfect, too ideal without the play of children. He’d missed the chance for grubby fingers, dirty knees, long baths with toy boats and little plastic people that bobbed in the water. His heart had ached with the loss of what had never been. Shannon, with her winning smile and air of reserve, laughing with delight at the thought of their child.
Dreams, long since gone, stirred within him. The possibility of children filling the house he’d built as an escape from grief. Toddlers bouncing on beds, scraping knees, climbing trees. A tree fort, designed by Dad. Maybe even a tree community, like the Ewok village from Star Wars. He laughed at the thought, then clamped a quick hand to his mouth to keep from waking Anna too soon.
Self-aware amazement filled him. Sitting here, planning years into the future. A future bursting with children and toys, games and sports, warmth and love.
And all because Lena Serida had leaned across the seat and touched her mouth to his.
Mitch grinned. He had it bad.
Lena came out of the house, carefully tugging the door into place before turning her key. He studied her as she moved toward him. Her face brightened to see him watching. A tiny lift to her shoulders, a slight ridge between her eyes as if wondering what he saw, what he thought.
He climbed out, opened her door, then tucked his hand under her elbow to hoist her into the raised seat of the SUV. Her smile of thanks was reward enough. He went back to his side of the car, smiling to himself.
Having it bad was definitely good.
Heart. Slow down.
Lena issued the command as Mitch turned into a neighborhood of sprawling homes and spacious yards. Studying the secluded, gated enclave, she saw nothing out of place. Pristine perfection lay in every direction. Trees grew in many yards, but no leaves blew about or lay sodden in the grass.
A neighborhood of wealth and substance. Dismayed, she became more aware of her scuffed shoes, her shabby purse, her too-large coat. These were uncommon in this neighborhood, she was sure.
She had not thought of this. When Mitch had extended the invitation, she was encouraged by Anna’s desire to spend an American holiday with an American family.
But Lena had not envisioned...
This.
She had no care for wealth. She had no aspirations for money other than to provide for daily needs. Food and clothing. Transportation. Shelter and schooling. Even as she studied for her degree in medicine in Chechnya, the outcome had nothing to do with wages or prestige. She longed to help, to be of service. God had gifted her with a quick brain and a talent for medicine. A brain such as this should be used to assist others, care for them.
For some Americans, wealth was a matter of course.
But that abundance of circumstance raised Lena’s discomfort when so many did without, even in this great country. She swallowed hard as Mitch made a turn into a long, curving driveway that wove a path to the luxurious house.
Perhaps he would turn around if she asked. Perhaps he would not think poorly of her for not wanting to stand out, be different. Perhaps...
“We are here, Mr. Mitch! I have been waiting for this all day!”
Anna’s anticipation forced Lena to reconsider.
Her sister’s needs took precedence, always. So much had been denied this child. No matter how out of place Lena felt, she wanted Anna’s comfort in America to grow. Lena might always be a refugee, a foreigner on the run, but Anna would know the stability of American life. American dreams.
As the engine went silent, Lena took a deep breath. Uttered a prayer. Then she fixed a calm expression into place and prepared for the evening.
“Mitchell, hello. Happy Thanksgiving!” Kristine’s voice greeted Mitch as he pushed open the door, waiting as Anna and Lena preceded him into the yawning foyer. “Josh and Kait have been chomping at the bit, wondering when you’d arrive.”
He reached out an arm to intercept Kris, allowing Lena a moment to acquaint herself with her surroundings. As he hugged his sister, he watched Lena turn, eyes wide, gaze thoughtful. He wondered what she was thinking.
That was a question to be saved for later, however, as Kristine was not to be put off for long. “Mitchell, you lug.” She fake-punched her brother’s arm. “Introduce me to your friends.”
Mitch drew Lena closer and made introductions. “Kristine, this is Lena Serida and her sister, Anna.”
Kristine must have gained some maturity in the ten years since she’d overwhelmed Shannon. Either that, or Lena’s reticence was apparent. In any case, she extended a warm hand of welcome. “Welcome, Lena. And Anna.” She aimed a warm smile down to the petite girl. “Come in, please. Meet the family.”
They moved through the foyer and the lofted living room, into the dining room where the table shone in upscale glory. China gleamed, crystal stemware sparkled, and the soft reflection of old silver and brilliantly faceted chandelier prisms finished the look. Even the salt and pepper shakers glowed, the overhead light’s tiny beams bouncing off the polished silver domes below. A right turn and three steps down put them in the cavernous sunken family room.
Watching Lena, Mitch tried to see his parents’ home through someone else’s eyes. The size, the proportions of the rooms. Everything done on a grandiose scale with impeccable colors.
The family room welcomed visitors. His father wouldn’t have it any other way. Other than his father’s office, it was the only homey room in the whole house. Suddenly, from the look in Lena’s eye, he felt like he ought to apologize for that and hadn’t a clue why.
There wasn’t time to dwell. A swift-moving shape tacked their way with dogged intent. He grinned and pulled his mother in for a kiss. “Mom, this is my friend, Lena Serida. And this is my smaller friend, Anna Serida.”
“Welcome, girls.” Marilee smiled at the pair, then turned her attention to Mitch. “Mitch, would the girls like punch?”
“You could try asking them since they’re right here.”
Her droll expression said his teasing was unappreciated. “Let me re-phrase. Mitchell. Go get the girls a glass of punch.”
“That’s my mother.” He angled a look of mock concern to Lena. Anna had already moved off to see what Kaitlyn was doing. “Lena, would you like some punch?”
“I would, yes.” She gave him a tentative smile, then touched his hand, as if to assure him.
He watched his mother note the touch and read her frown, a look that said Lena had failed phase one of the ongoing search for Mitch’s new mate. He added fuel to the fire by leaning over to brush a kiss across Lena’s brow before he moved to the end of the room where the Waterford punch bowl sat in its customary place of honor. It wouldn’t do to move the set-up left or right. The holiday layout had been done this way since Mitch was a boy. Beautiful. Proper.
