Behind The Mask. Metsy Hingle
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can’t, how about Uncle Mike the Karate King?” And to lighten the moment, Michael made the ridiculous hi-ya sound again and began chopping at the air—sending both boys into fits of giggles.
“All right,” Janie said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get those teeth brushed and hit the sack. I’ll be there in a few minutes to tuck you in.”
“’Night, Uncle Mike,” Petey said. Evidently forgetting about guys not kissing, he wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck and kissed his cheek.
“’Night, partner,” Michael said, and hugged both boys in turn.
Once the boys had left the room, Janie said, “I’m sorry they put you on the spot that way. I hadn’t realized they might misconstrue things.”
“They’re just kids, Janie.”
“I know. But maybe I haven’t been fair to them. I mean, after what happened with Pete, and that mess with you in the department…well, leaving Houston and starting over here in Florida seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t.”
“You did what you felt was best at the time.”
She looked up at him out of those big doe eyes. “We both know I left Texas because I needed to get away from the memories of what Pete had done to me, to our family.”
“Pete loved you, Janie.”
“Is that why he betrayed me? Is that why he broke his oath as a police officer and tried to double-cross those drug dealers so he could get money to run away with Giselle?”
Michael went to her, took her in his arms. “He was confused. The thing you have to remember is that Pete realized he’d made a mistake. That’s why he called me that night. He wanted out. He wanted to fix things, make them right with you.”
As long as he lived, he’d never forget that night, that phone call from Pete telling him that he’d planned to leave Janie and the boys for Giselle. He had told Giselle that the buy with the Russian was a sting. The two of them were supposed to take the money and run, only now he was having second thoughts, but he’d left things too late. Not even Michael could fix it for him this time.
Michael could still hear himself insisting Pete tell him when he’d set up the exchange. He should have known Pete had lied, but by the time he’d figured it out, and arrived on the scene, things were already out of control. Pete had gone down trying to save Giselle. It didn’t matter that he’d managed to take out the dealers, he hadn’t saved Pete. He’d let Giselle get away—on the condition that she kept her mouth shut about Pete’s involvement—and with the promise if she ever said a word he would kill her. “He wouldn’t have gone through with it, Janie.”
She looked up at him, pressed a sisterly kiss to his lips and stepped back. “You’re a good man, Michael Patrick Sullivan. But you and I both know that you’re lying.”
“Janie—”
“Stop making excuses for him!”
“I’m not,” he argued.
“Yes, you are. Michael, you’ve made a career of covering for Pete. Even back when the three of us were in college, you were covering for him. When Pete broke team curfew and almost got kicked off the football team. And when Pete partied too hard and missed his English final, you were the one who sweet-talked the professor into letting him take the makeup. And then you locked yourself up with him all weekend to cram.”
“He was my friend. Friends look out for each other.”
“Don’t you see?” Janie said. “From the time you two were kids, you’ve been bailing Pete out of trouble. Well, Pete’s dead. He doesn’t need you to cover for him anymore.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he insisted.
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” he told her. “That night…that night he wouldn’t have gone through with it. I knew Pete, Janie. He wouldn’t have gone through with it.”
Janie sighed. “I knew Pete, too. He was funny and sweet and lovable. And he was also weak, irresponsible and a little selfish.” She held up her hand, cutting off his protest. “It’s true. I may have loved Pete, but I wasn’t blind to what he was, Michael.”
“You think I am?”
“I think you don’t want to believe that the kid you took a blood brother’s oath with at ten grew up to be less honorable than you did.”
“I’m not a saint,” he fired back, annoyed by the implication.
“No, but you have a sense of honor that Pete never had. If things had been the other way around and you’d been the one who’d been killed that night and had left a wife and two babies behind, do you think Pete would still be hanging around, trying to take care of your family for you?”
The Pete he’d known wouldn’t have hung around. Not because he didn’t care, but because he’d always found it difficult to deal with other people’s problems. Feeling the need to defend his dead friend, he turned around and said, “Pete was a good man.”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t. But he’s dead, Michael. You need to quit blaming yourself for his mistakes.”
“I should have seen what was going on, that Giselle was using him,” he argued, and stalked over to the window to stare out at the dark street.
“He didn’t want you to see. Just like he didn’t want me to see. He knew what he was doing was wrong. The mistakes were Pete’s. Not yours. I never blamed you, and you need to stop blaming yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he told her.
She came up behind him, touched his back. “You have to. It’s time you moved on with your life, Michael. It’s time we both did. I didn’t realize until tonight how selfish I’d been until I listened to the boys ask you to be their father.”
“They’re just kids. Besides, you couldn’t be selfish if you tried.”
“It was selfish of me to encourage you to leave your job and move here away from your family when things were so strained between you and your father.”
“My decision to leave the Houston P.D. had nothing to do with you. Neither did my problems with my father.”
“But you might have stayed in Texas and worked things out with him if it hadn’t been for me and the boys. We both know the real reason you moved to Florida was so you could look out for us—the same way you were always looking out for Pete. I shouldn’t have let you do that. It was selfish.”
“It wasn’t your choice. It was mine. I wanted to be near you and the boys. And the only selfish thing you’ve done is not offer me some more of those chocolate chip cookies you made.”
Janie hesitated a moment, then said, “All right. Go on into the kitchen and find yourself something to drink while I make sure my little monsters are in bed. Then I’ll see if I have any cookies left.”
As much at home in the Crenshaw house as he was in his own, Michael put the teakettle on for Janie and a pot of coffee on for himself. While he waited for the water to heat and his coffee to brew, he piled a half-dozen of the chocolate chip cookies onto a plate.
When Janie joined him a short time later, she smiled at the sight of the tea fixings. “It’s kind of late for coffee, isn’t it?” she asked as she selected her tea and poured the steaming water into the cup to steep.
“I could use the caffeine. I’ve got a lot of prep work to do tonight if I hope to leave in the morning.”
“More corporate espionage? Or another one of those millionaire investors who skipped town with his clients’ money?”
“A runaway wife.”
Janie arched her eyebrow as she added sugar to her tea. “I thought you’d sworn