Before Gil and Val could celebrate the good news—what Val considered good, anyway—over dinner at a neighborhood Italian restaurant, a text from Beth necessitated a change of plans.
Available to talk? Please…
“Sorry, Gil,” she said, unlocking the car again moments after parking it outside the restaurant. “I need to take care of this.”
“Can’t it wait until after dinner?” he said, already a few steps toward the restaurant’s front door. “Or maybe call her? I’m starved and it’s almost seven.”
Val shook her head. “Reaching out like that, being so vulnerable? That isn’t like Beth. Especially after her freakout this morning. I need to go see her. Her place is only a few minutes from here. Please? Have a glass of wine. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Gil’s mouth set in a line, frustration evident on his face. He pleaded with his eyes, then turned away. “Give her a hug for me.”
Val mulled over Gil’s uncharacteristic reaction on the drive to Beth’s. He’d never say a cross word against her best friend, but his expression said it all. Val had to admit, Beth had gotten a little high-maintenance lately, impulsive and demanding after months where they’d barely spoken. Because of their long history, she’d let Beth trample on Val’s boundaries more than she would anyone else. She’d need to get more vigilant about that while still supporting her.
That would be an interesting tightrope to walk.
She’d never been to Beth’s latest apartment, a slick modern studio in a new development overlooking downtown from Clayton’s west hills. Tasteful decorations, some of which Val recognized from their days as roommates, gave the space a homey feel. A photo of Beth with her two sisters hiking rested on a new end table from Ikea, and a matching set of blue ceramic flower vases topped another. A Matisse museum exhibit poster from New York adorned one wall, and photos from Beth’s trip to Yosemite dotted another.
By contrast, Val never personalized her living space much, keeping only utilitarian possessions nearby. She told herself it was because she hated clutter, but even at Gil’s—especially at Gil’s—she had yet to mark her territory with anything other than clothes and a few electronics.
After greeting her at the door, Beth dragged Val to the couch and handed her a glass of red wine. Beth’s glass contained what smelled like cranberry juice.
“So, girlfriend,” Val said after taking a sip. “How are you feeling?”
“Like an idiot.” Beth shoved her hands between her knees. Dried tears streaked through her makeup and had wrecked her mascara. “Sorry for jerking you around this morning. I had cold feet, and, well…I still do. I feel bad about it.”
“Don’t.” Val rested a hand on her knee. A pang of guilt shot through her for her thoughts about Beth on the drive over. “This is a big deal, and it’s understandable that you’d struggle with this decision. I get it. I have no idea what I’d do in your shoes.”
“Yeah, you do,” Beth said with a wry smile. “You’d keep the kid. And you’d have planned it all out, with the man of your dreams.” Sadness clouded her face again, and a few tears left fresh tracks on her cheek. “I’m…alone. And it sucks.”
Val’s hackles rose again. She wanted to challenge to Beth’s cavalier assumption about what she and Gil would choose in that situation, but reconsidered. Beth meant well. She let it slide. “Wait, I’m confused. I thought you and Josh were—”
“Yeah, that was this morning. Now he’s got cold feet about being a dad. The asshole!”
Val suppressed her immediate retort: Josh is a real piece of work. Instead she said, “I’m sorry, Beth.”
“Thanks.”
Neither spoke for a long moment. Val took another tiny sip of wine. Its sharp taste made her mouth pucker. Gil’s well-stocked cellar had spoiled her. “So,” she said to break the awkward silence, “what are you thinking now?”
“That I need to stop leaning on dumb-ass ex-boyfriends for support,” Beth said. “And, while I’m at it, block all calls from my nagging, ultra-Catholic parents. Every hour she calls to lay another guilt trip on me.”
“I’m sorry.” Val set down her wine. “Should I run down the street for some Rocky Road? This might be an eat-right-out-of-the-carton sort of night.”
“That’s okay. I’ve already gained eight pounds, all of it right here.” Beth leaned to one side and smacked her butt. “And five more on my boobs.”
Val laughed. “Hey, then maybe I should try it.”
Beth sighed. “This is so much better than talking to my mom. God, that woman! Her latest guilt trip is, I’m denying her grandchildren. Because, of course, this is the only chance she’ll ever have. God!”
“Don’t let her get to you,” Val said. “Easier said than done, but—”
“That’s not even the worst of it.” Beth stood and paced the room.“When I told her I was getting an abortion, she freaked out, screamed at me for ‘killing her grandbaby.’ Then when I said I might keep it, she yelled at me for having a child out of wedlock. I’m going straight to hell no matter what I do!” She strolled over and gazed out the picture window overlooking downtown.
Val joined her at the window, taking in the view. In the distance, the Torrington River’s whitecaps bisected the city. Bright lights extended from downtown across the city’s twin bridges, uniting it with the darker, quieter east side.
“Don’t tell me your mom is trying to talk you into marrying Josh because of the baby,” Val said.
“Oh, no.” Beth paused, as if having second thoughts about sharing her next sentiment. “Josh is Jewish, so to her, that’d be even worse. Especially since he’s not the father.”
“Sorry she’s not being more supportive.” Val placed a tentative arm around her friend’s waist. “Your mom will come around, though. She always does.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Beth twisted away and returned to her seat on the couch. “I always tell her what she wants to hear, she pretends it’s true, and then I do what I want anyway. Such a healthy mother–daughter relationship.”
Val kept her retort to herself: At least her mother stayed around. Out loud she said, “Have you talked to your sisters?”
“Lainie agrees with Mom, no matter what, and Marie wants to be an aunt so bad, she can’t understand why I’d even consider abortion. In short, no help.” She shuddered out a noisy sigh. “You’re the only one in my life who doesn’t have an agenda. And I appreciate it.”
Val gulped, the weight of responsibility tugging like an anchor around her shoulders, and she rejoined Beth on the couch. “Only you know what’s best for you. Nobody else—that includes me, too. Okay?”
Another long pause ensued. Val took her friend’s hand, squeezed it tight.
“I haven’t decided anything yet,” Beth said. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“This morning I thought I had, but I just couldn’t. I will soon, though.”
“In your own due time, girlfriend.”
“I mean, I have to, right?” Beth set down her glass and patted her stomach. “This little critter’s like a ticking time bomb.”
Val winced. Too soon after the shooting.
“A few more weeks or months and the decision’s made for me,” Beth continued. “I want to be proactive. I just don’t know yet.”
“You’ve still got time. Just shut out the noise, the distractions, and—”
Beth’s phone buzzed on the glass coffee table. “Speaking of which, that’s my mom. Hold on, let me send her to voice mail.”
Val chuckled. Beth’s voicemail was where important messages went to die.
Beth tapped her phone, set it back down. “Okay. She gone.” She sighed again. “Look, I realize you’ve got better things to do. I just wanted to talk to a loving face and say sorry. And…” Beth’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Thanks. For everything.”
“Anytime.”
Beth walked her to the door and enveloped Val in a tight hug. Even for Beth, who gave the world’s best hugs—which is why Val allowed it from her lifelong friend and few others—it lasted much longer than usual.
When they ended the embrace, Beth’s smile broke through free-flowing tears. “You’re the best.”
“Second best to you,” Val said, their old refrain returning to her from the early days of their friendship.
“Bye,” they said at the same time, and when Val closed the door, her heart was smiling. And she knew that, despite her friend’s tearful state, Beth’s heart was smiling, too.
By the time Val returned to the restaurant, Gil had finished a second glass of Chianti and a few plates of bruschetta. “Sorry, I was starved,” he said after kissing her hello.
“Me too. Did you order for us?” She’d texted him on the way back over. The server’s appearance with a mixed platter of antipasti answered for him. They took their time with dinner, discussing everything except work, save for a single toast to Gil’s new assignment.
“I can’t wait to get started on this undercover thing,” Gil said. “I should warn you, though, my boss made it clear. This needs to be outside my normal shift at Dispatch. Evenings, weekends, and what would otherwise be my days off.”
“How about tomorrow when I go to jiu jitsu,” Val said, “you could tag along and chat up Tank and Stevie Ray, get the ball rolling.”
“I thought Stevie Ray was the one who invited me in.”
Val nodded. “It’d be best if they were both there. Which reminds me…” Her gut twisted into a knot.
“What?” Gil said. “I can tell something’s up by the way you purse your lips.”
“That’s my tell?” Val said with a quick smile.
“Don’t ever play poker. Now, ’fess up. What aren’t you telling me?”
Val sighed. “I just remembered. Stevie isn’t always there on Tuesday evenings.”
“What day is he there? For certain, I mean.”
Val plopped her chin down on her hand, one elbow resting on the table. “Mondays.”
Gil made a sour face. “As in, tonight.”
She surrendered a glum nod. “I’d rather not go there tonight.”
He shrugged. “You’ve made it clear that time is of the essence.”
“Yeah, but—”
“So,” Gil said, waving at the server for the check, “we’d better get there before they close.”
Val glanced at the time displayed on her phone. 8:35 p.m. The dojo closed at 9:00 p.m. “I don’t know. I’m kind of tired. And what’s with the newfound enthusiasm? Last night I practically had to beg you to do this.”
“You know me,” Gil said, finishing his dessert. “Once I buy in, I’m all-in. And I don’t want to wait until somebody else gets hurt. By the way, did you hear? The other pregnant victim at the clinic…didn’t make it. Passed away late this afternoon.”
Val froze, her spoon inches above her tiramisu, sadness weighing like a ton of bricks on her shoulders. “No, I…hadn’t. Thanks for letting me know.” She pushed the plate away, tried to sip some wine, couldn’t. “Okay then. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m sorry. I spoiled the evening, didn’t I?”
“No,” she lied. “But the shooter sure did.”
While Val drove, Gil chattered on and on about how excited he was to get started on the case, which she punctuated with an occasional “Uh-huh” or “Oh, yeah?” She wondered if he’d drank too much wine, but when she suggested waiting until he’d sobered up to hold this conversation with Tank and Stevie Ray, he laughed.
“Are you kidding?” Gil grabbed her leg and shook it. “Liquid courage is the only reason I’m considering this at all. If this wine wears off, I might procrastinate forever.”
Val considered pressing him further, but she recognized the futility of arguing with someone who’d been drinking. She’d tried that sort of thing with her father countless times, and it always failed—often making him angry. Gil was no alcoholic—in fact, she’d never seen him drunk—but he could be as stubborn as her father. And whenever she pushed her father in a drunken state, things got ugly.
Besides, she now harbored serious second thoughts about the whole idea, and regretted she’d pushed so hard for it. Gil had almost no undercover training, wasn’t fully recovered from his injury, and they hadn’t even briefed him on the case. Plus, if this all blew up on them, her relationship with the dojo could go right into the toilet. So many risks! Maybe, in his state, he would botch the effort and they’d be done with it.
Guilt stabbed her heart. She’d just wished for Gil to fail in his first undercover assignment, out of concern for his safety. As cops, they would always face danger. This was no time to shy away.
“I just realized I ought to wear a wire for this,” Gil said when she parked near the dojo’s entrance.
“We should wait until tomorrow, then.” Val reached for her keys.
Gil stayed her hand. “I’ll record it on my phone. You should go in, too. We need some sort of excuse to be here.”
That suggestion eased her mind. They wouldn’t try anything rash with both of them there, and even if they did, she could intervene within moments.
When they entered, Stevie Ray once again occupied the front desk while Tank led a group—mostly overweight men in their thirties and forties—through drills on the center mat. Stevie looked haggard, as if he hadn’t yet recovered from his fight two days before.
“Hey, Dawes,” Stevie said. “Great job on Saturday.”
“Hey, Stevie.” Val froze for a moment, realizing she’d never come up with a cover story for why they’d stopped by. She decided to go with the truth. “I talked to Gil—you guys met, right?—about your group, and he’s curious, so why don’t you two talk?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Stevie circled the counter, shook Gil’s hand, and cast a side-eye at Val. “How about I give you a tour while we chat?”
“Sounds great,” Gil said. “Stay here,” he said to Val.
Gil’s commanding tone startled her for a moment. Then he winked at her, and she understood. He was getting into the part of the dominant male…a little too well. She nodded and bowed her head, as much to hide her mirth as to play the part of the submissive woman.
Still, she’d make him pay for that remark. A ninety-minute back rub sounded like the perfect price.
A few moments later, Tank dismissed his group for the night, and he strode over, wiping nonexistent sweat off his face with a hand towel. “How’s our new women’s MMA champion doing?” he asked with a wide grin.
“One win hardly qualifies me as a champion,” Val said, but she couldn’t suppress a grin, either.
“You beat the champ. That makes you the new champ.” His smile eased. “In all seriousness, that was impressive, the way you battled back from, let’s face it, kind of a rough start. You stayed tough, didn’t quit, and it paid off.”
Val’s ears burned, recalling Gil’s theory that her opponent threw the fight. “Kalie had an off day.”
“Nah. She’s met her match,” Tank said. “She faded at the end. She’s rarely had to go three rounds. Her last four bouts ended in first- or second-round knockouts. Kalie may not have the stamina to endure a full regulation fight. You, on the other hand, seemed to get stronger toward the end. You must be in pretty amazing shape.” Tank’s leer at her suggested a double meaning to “amazing shape.”
“I try to stay fit,” Val said in a low voice.
“We’d love to have you back. We heard a lot of buzz about you from the crowd afterwards.”
Val considered the offer. She’d hated it—the jeers, the physical pain, the entire experience. She didn’t find high-contact fighting fun, even as a sport. She enjoyed the workout she got learning jiu jitsu at the dojo, and preferred to focus on low-contact defensive maneuvers.
“We’ll see,” she said after a long pause. “I might need a week off to let my body recover.”
“The best way is to get right back out there, use those muscles again as soon as possible.” Tank failed to maintain eye contact. “In fact, we’re having a special promotional event Wednesday night.” His gaze returned to Val. “All three-rounders. It’s sponsored, so the winners earn cash. Not a lot—fifty bucks each. It beats a sharp stick in the eye, though, right?”
Val thought she might prefer the poke in the eyeball. She forced a smile. “Nice. However, I was hoping to come here that night.”
Tank shook his head. “Since I won’t be available to lead the training, I’ve canceled all sessions for Wednesday. I sent an email out today.”
Val gritted her teeth in frustration. She hadn’t checked her personal email account all day. “Well, that’s too soon for me, anyway. My body needs the rest.”
Disappointment washed over Tank’s face. “Kalie will be very disappointed. She was hoping for a rematch. Without you, she may not get to fight at all.”
Dammit. She needed to stay on Tank’s good side.
“Talk to Gil.” Tank’s tone bordered on being a command, not a suggestion.
She shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
As if summoned, Stevie and Gil emerged from the men’s lockers, and Stevie waved Tank over, an excited grin on his face.
“Excuse me a moment.” Tank crossed the room and the three men engaged in an animated conversation, with lots of smiles and nodding heads. Gil, talking less than the other two, smiled at Val and gave her a surreptitious nod.
Val smiled back. Things must have gone well in the “recruitment” conversation with Stevie Ray.
Then she noticed Tank’s expression, far more dour than Stevie’s. Tank confirmed that impression by shaking his head, scuffing one foot on the floor, arms crossed.
Gil’s expression shifted, too, concern growing on his face. Stevie, for his part, looked confused, and grew more animated in his argument with Tank. Gil seemed to share his confusion, and moments later, he drifted over to Val.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Things just went south on my effort to join their Men’s Advocacy Group,” Gil said. “Apparently I’m not man enough for them.”
“That’s weird. It looked like you and Stevie were getting along well.”
“We were. Tank put the kibosh on the idea. Something about us being ‘not the right type of people.’ I guess he means cops?”
“Not cops,” Tank said, coming up behind them. Val hadn’t noticed his approach and nearly jumped out of her skin. “We love law enforcement. What we don’t love is quitters.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Gil said. “We haven’t quit anything.”
“Talk to your better half.” Sarcasm dripped from Tank’s voice. “She’ll lay down the law for you, as I suspect she always does.” He started to walk off.
“Wait a second,” Gil said. “I’m missing something.”
“He means,” Val said, “that because I turned down an ‘opportunity’ to fight again Wednesday night, that means I’m a quitter. And by extension, you are too. Right, Richard?”
Tank glared at her, even more so after she used his proper name. “We want people who understand commitment and who don’t shy from a challenge.” He sneered at Gil. “And men who can think for themselves.”
Val seethed. He meant, of course, men who told their women what to do. Men could think for themselves, but not their women. “I never said I was quitting. Just that I wasn’t sure about fighting again so soon.”
“Well, that’s when it’s scheduled,” Tank said. “It’s been in the works for months. A fundraiser, with local and cable TV coverage. It’s a big deal for us. But hey, if you’re not up for helping us…”
Gil, Tank, and Val exchanged awkward glances for a silent moment. A standoff. Val felt trapped, a situation partly of her own making. Which only made it more frustrating.
“Give us a moment,” Gil said to Tank. He pulled Val aside. In a too-loud whisper he said, “Now, honey. What’s all this about you changing your mind about fighting again?”
“I didn’t change my mind,” Val answered, also in a hoarse whisper loud enough for Tank to hear. “I just found out about it.”
“Don’t you want to help the cause?” Gil said with a knowing dip of his head.
“Of course.” In a near-silent voice, she added, “Help them all go to jail.”
Gil smirked. In an even softer voice, he said, “We’re fucked unless—”
“I know,” Val whispered. “Okay, I’ll do it. For the op.” She raised her voice. “Honey, I’m confused. You told me you didn’t want me fighting because it’s not ladylike.” She nearly laughed and hoped her tone sounded sincere.
“We want to be team players,” Gil said, full-voice, and, facing away from Tank, rolled his eyes.
“Okay, darling. Whatever you say.”
“She’s in,” Gil said, turning to Tank. “She’ll fight.”
“You mean she’s willing,” Tank said. “I’m not so sure I want her there, if she’s not committed.”
“I am,” Val said. “I want to prove that Saturday wasn’t a fluke. I want to kick some ass!”
Tank smiled. “That’s more like it. Now, this is a televised event. We need a little more showmanship from you this time. Can you work on that?”
Val forced herself not to roll her eyes. Not an easy task. Time to stroke his ego. “Sure. Maybe you can give me some pointers?”
Tank nodded. “I can. So, it’s settled, then. Be at the gym at six. First fight is yours, at seven.” He smiled and lay an arm around Gil’s shoulder. “Good work, man. This girl’s got herself a good one.”
From across the room, Stevie glared at them all, on the verge of tears. He spun away and escaped into the locker room.
As Tank strolled off, Gil nodded in the direction Stevie Ray had disappeared and muttered, “You’re breaking that boy’s heart.”
Val sighed. “As long as I don’t have to face him in the ring.”
Then she wondered if she might prefer that matchup over an angry Kalie, hell-bent on revenge in a rematch, and shuddered.