The dark came to life, breathing and moving. I lunged blindly, and something heavy whacked my wrist. The Taser went skittering across the linoleum in the kitchen. Big hands gripped me by the neck and shoulders, and a cannonball of pain exploded as a knee drove up into my gut. Another blow from out of the dark split my lip, and then I was shoved to the ground.
I was still trying to get my wind when the light flipped on.
A huge guy loomed over me, his back to my busted door. He looked to be middle-aged, wearing track pants, a T-shirt that stretched over his bulk, and a blue windbreaker. His reddish hair was thinning on top, and he had pale-blue eyes stuffed in a ruddy face.
I scrambled to my feet, rage burning up the pain and shock.
“You want to try that shit again?” I snarled. “With the lights on?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the guy said when I took a step toward him. He moved his blue windbreaker aside to reveal a holstered pistol at his waist.
His smile sent shivers down my spine. It was the same kind of sick smile my dad wore when he announced that my mother was “in trouble.”
“Ronan Wentz, right?” the guy said. “My name is Mitch. But you can call me Officer Dowd.”
Mitch Dowd. He looked and sounded deadly casual, but I could feel the readiness tensing in him, waiting for me to make a move.
“I could have you arrested for breaking my son’s nose, but I prefer to handle things personally.”
“Fuck you.” I spat a wad of red onto my carpet at his feet. “And fuck him too.”
Mitch chuckled, though his gaze grew flatter. “I read your file, Wentz. You’re a criminal. A degenerate, just like your father.” His eyes went to the Taser lying a few feet away. “A thief too, who steals police property. I believe that belongs to me, son.”
Christ, hesoundedlike my dad.
“I want you to go over there and hand it to me.Slowly. Slowly.” He rested one hand on the butt of his pistol, one hand outstretched, waiting.
I retrieved the Taser from the kitchen and crossed the small space to him, our eyes locked. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to spring. But something besides adrenaline zipped along my nerves like an electric current.
Fear.
He looked nothing like my dad, yet the resemblance was uncanny, catapulting me to another time. My breath came short. Mouth dry. I put the Taser in his left hand. It touched skin, and the blue of his jacket blurred as his fist slammed into my eye in a blow I should’ve seen coming.
My head rang, but I took the hit with a grunt and answered by throwing a right hook that connected with his mouth. It would’ve knocked another guy flat, but Mitch hardly flinched. I took a shot to the kidney, another to the gut, and then he was hurling me across the room. I crashed, shoulder first, into the cheap wooden coffee table that splintered under me like kindling.
With a satisfied smile, Mitch ran his thumb under his lip, wiping a trickle of blood.
“This was a warning, Wentz,” he said, heading for the door. “You only get one.”
He went out, and I lay for a minute in the wreckage of the table, feeling drunk on pain and bloody memories.
Slowly, my head cleared, and I hauled myself to my feet just as Maryann Greer from downstairs poked her head inside.
“Ronan? Oh my God…”
I waved her off, but it was too late. She rushed in and put gentle, steadying hands on me as she guided me to the kitchen table.
“What in the hell happened? I heard a crash and saw a man leaving. Big one.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, slouching into the chair, keeping a hand over my eye that was already swelling shut. “You should go.”
If he comes back…
“Go?” Maryann stood over me, her blue eyes studying me. She wore jeans and an old sweatshirt, her dark-blond hair in a messy ponytail. “Fat chance. I’m calling the police.”
“He was the police.”
Gently, she moved my hand from my eye. “Sweet Jesus, whathappened? And don’t say nothing.”