While There is Hope

And, above all, why had I said those words? I knew the answer to the last question, because they were true. At least in the fucked up reality I was currently inhabiting.

Having wiped herself with a tissue and pulled her pants back on, Hope kissed my cheek. "Come on, I need to speak to Dad." It was like a switch had been flicked inside her and what we had just shared meant nothing.

Hope tapped out a brief message, and then she was off, down the ladder. Leaving me a mess of confused thoughts and feelings. Making a Herculean effort, I pulled myself together as best I could, and followed her. As we walked back to the rental, she squeezed my hand once, but then sat silently for the rest of the trip, her legs bunched up against her chest in the passenger seat, and looking out of the side window.

Hope's phone beeped once during the drive. She glanced at it but didn't comment on whatever message she had received. Out of the corner of my eye, it seemed to me that she opened another app and was then consumed with typing for a few minutes. Having finished, she returned to quietly surveying the nighttime streets as we passed through them.

Hope's father was in a robe when he met us, his striped PJs underneath. She imparted her news briefly. The Marshal sat, his fingers joined in front of his face, clearly in the middle of some deliberation. Having reached a conclusion, he spoke to me. "Officer Kowalski, would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?"

Before I could respond, Hope interjected. "No, Dad. Bill stays. We are in this together."

Deep annoyance filled across the Marshal's face, while Hope's was a study in determination. For a few seconds the silent battle of will between the two was palpable. But the older Molinera blinked first, and his frown was replaced by a look of resignation. I sensed a long-established father / daughter dynamic. "Very well." He paused and then spoke flatly and with no sign of emotion. "The Captain you mention is known to me. My concern is... that it goes higher than him, maybe to the top." He turned his head slowly between the two of us, gauging our reactions.

"And there is something else. They have been in contact. A date has been set. It's Wednesday next week."

Hope sat forward in her chair. "You are sure this is going to work? You fucking better be."

Marshal Molinera winced at both his daughter's insubordination and her language. "There are no guarantees. But I believe this course of action is for the best, yes."

It was Hope's turn to ponder. "OK, I'll trust you. But we are going to be there. Both of us."

Her father had clearly had enough of this. "Deputy Molinera, you will do exactly as you are ordered to do. You will stay completely out of this and leave it to me. I say that as your superior officer and your father."

Hope nodded, but I could see from the way her chin jutted that she was far from in agreement. Instead she stood. "OK, Dad. I had anticipated some shit like this." Her father opened his mouth to object, but a fierce glare from Hope silenced him. "So, what I've done is to write a nice mail to the Attorney General's office. Do you want me to read it to you?"

Hope held up her phone as she spoke. She seemed to grow in size, whereas her father shrank down into his seat. "A summary is that one of her Marshals has gone rogue, and committed multiple felonies in the process. I provide details. It's very thorough. I can send it with just one touch. What should I do, Dad?"

The Marshal breathed deeply. I could tell he was trying to suppress his anger. But then he relaxed and a smile even broke across his face. "Hope, you will be the death of me, maybe literally one day. But OK, you win. Her transport will need an escort. I guess you two will provide it."

He paused in thought, looking at me. "I'll have to give Eddie a call, get him to deputize you, Officer."

"Bill will be just fine, Sir." It seemed an appropriate thing to say.

He nodded, and turned back to his daughter, before continuing. "Hope, I've got one condition..."

Hope's face was flushed, whether with emotional exertion, or in triumph, wasn't clear to me. But her voice was steady when she spoke. "Name it."

Marshal Molinera spoke very deliberately. "You don't attempt to make contact with the witness. You keep your distance. You never get close enough that she can recognize you. Ideally, she never sees you at all. Agreed?"

Hope held out her hand and said "agreed," but, instead of taking it, her father stood and embraced her. "And for God's sake be careful, Hope. I already thought that I had lost you once."

She kissed his cheek. The action reminded me of Hope and me earlier, and I felt an emptiness as she began to speak, but, despite this, her words still brought a smile to my face. "It will be OK Dad. Besides, you know what a cautious gal I am."

— — —

I'd not gone back to work. Marshal Molinera had stressed that the people who had got to Raoul and Maria might well realize their mistake, he had a point. Instead, he'd made a local Service safe house available to me and Hope. I had no idea what she had told him about us, but the place had only the one bed, a double. Maybe I was meant to sleep on the couch.

I'd been allowed one more visit with Mancini. Her doctors were happy and she was going to be released next week, just after Hope and I would be getting on a plane. My cover with both my partner and the Station was that Bianca was having some problems, ones which meant that I had to go out and help her. I shrugged while adding, "sometimes only Dad will do."

Time hung heavily. Hope and I were still intimate, though never with the same fury as our coupling on the water tower. She sometimes seemed a little distant during our love making, distracted even. I assumed it was something to do with Ashley, or maybe just me.

Hope never mentioned my ill-judged words to her. I was loath to bring up the subject, both as we clearly had other things on our minds, and as I felt that her lack of response had been an answer in itself.

Strangely to my mind, Hope was more affectionate, showing a softer side to her character that I had not seen before. We cuddled and kissed. We talked. She wanted to know all about Bianca. I even told her some things about my life with Valentina. It was like the depth of our friendship was growing, while the ardor of her initial feelings was cooling. She was much less forthcoming about herself. And she point-blank refused to open up about her ordeal, or anything related to it.

Monday came round and we were sitting together on a plane bound for the West Coast. Hope was still fuming about the time it had taken the TSA agent to allow her through, even with X-rays of her leg and her Marshal's accreditation. Wary of further provoking her ire in some unintentional manner, I told Hope that I was going to try to sleep.

Eyes closed, my mind wandered over the events of the last week. Making sense of it was beyond me, and I found myself always ending up with Hope. Thinking about how she had burst into my life, worrying about how I would cope when she inevitably left it. With such unhappy ideas filling my head, I eventually slipped into an uneasy sleep.

— — —

The compound was some distance outside of L.A., far enough for there to be Joshua Trees. It had taken two hours from the airport, and darkness had fallen by the time we arrived. Hope's father had been right, the complex's thick, terracotta walls, with glowing, slit-like windows, spoke of impregnability. It even had crenellations.

Four buildings sat at the compound's internal corners. The largest had two stories and housed the garrison. Another contained the kitchen, stores, and eating areas. The third was where we were staying, together with the local Chief Deputy Marshal, a handsome and commanding woman, around my age. Her name was Brooke Davenport. Our building also housed a communications / meeting room. And the fourth? The fourth had even thicker walls and iron gratings. It was where Ashley was domiciled, with at least two Deputies always in attendance.

Between the garrison quarters and the kitchen lay rooms containing power generators, and an armory. Facing these, between our building and Ashley's, was a substantial garage with a number of Service vehicles. These included an armored witness transporter, and three black Ford Explorers. The large, open, central area was paved to the garage. The rest was occupied by two exercise areas, and a small garden, with benches, and full of potted desert plants.

Davenport welcomed me and Hope, and gave us the tour, steering well clear of the witness accommodation. Tuesday was meant to be dedicated to briefings and making sure everyone knew their roles. Wednesday was it. Given the late hour, the Chief Deputy suggested we get some rest

Hope and I had separate rooms, which seemed advisable in the circumstances. But, as I lay staring at the ceiling far from sleep, there was a knock on my door. I made room for Hope in my bed. "I'm sorry, Bill. This is hard. Knowing she's here." I did my best to be supportive, but felt that, inside me, something was dying.

My alarm sounded at 6 o'clock, she was gone. We caught up over breakfast. Hope said that she had gone for a dawn run with Davenport. "I felt like my thigh had tightened up with the flight. Probably some yoga would have been a better idea, as it's now killing me." Hope smiled ruefully, rubbing her leg, and then went back to downing eggs and gulping coffee. I'd noticed that she never seemed to care too much what she ate. I wondered where it all went, given her skinny frame. Burned off by nervous energy, maybe.

"Well, your leg didn't stop you from kicking my butt." With that, Davenport sat down. "I thought I was pretty good, but you're still fast, despite..." She tailed off, realizing maybe this was not the happiest of subjects.

Hope laughed. "It's OK. At least I can still run. They were scaring me about maybe not walking again at first. I'll settle for a limp, and 10% slower."

Davenport visibly relaxed, it struck me having a Marshal's daughter as a guest might not exactly be paradise for her. "10%? Fuck, you must have been fast."

Hope smiled a little grimly. "Yeah, maybe. Once anyway."

Something else was clearly on Hope's mind. "So, Ash... the witness, does she eat with you?"

Davenport's brow furrowed. I assumed that Hope's father had briefed her. "No. She eats in her quarters. It may sound draconian, but after what happened on the East Coast." This time Brooke was clearly concerned about my feelings, but I waved her on. "And, frankly, what happened with you two years back... well Marshal Molinera asked my boss to be extra careful. So here I am..."

"And I appreciate it," Hope said with some earnestness. "Dad mentioned that you were excellent."

Brooke bowed ever so slightly, maybe with a hint of a glow in her cheeks. It's always nice to be appreciated, I guess. But suddenly she was business like. "Right, I normally just have coffee in the morning. I have some things to do, shall we say 8:30am in the meeting room?"

We both agreed. Davenport walked off with her beverage, Hope focused on her eggs, and I went to see if they had any bacon and potatoes. As I approached the buffet, I couldn't help looking at the witness block, and thinking about its occupant. I realized, with some amusement at myself, that Ashley was now my rival. I couldn't help but wonder what sort of a woman she really was.

— — —

CHAPTER 7 -- THE AMBUSH

Davenport had a map of the area displayed on a large TV screen and was using a wand to highlight aspects of the route and plan. Hope and I sat with ten Deputies, listening and asking questions. The more I heard, the more concerned I became. I was just a simple cop, and maybe The Service had their own way of doing things, but not a lot made sense to me.

We broke for coffee and I spoke quietly to Hope. "I don't get it, seems to me that we are putting the witness, the guys in the transport, and frankly me and you, into a meat grinder. And our only hope is the US Cavalry arriving before we are shot to pieces. And to achieve what? Kill a few bad guys? There are plenty more where they came from."

Hope's tone suggested that she was humoring me. "I don't think Dad's objective is to kill the bad guys. I think he's aiming to capture at least one of the cops we saw with the Captain. I assume with a view to turning them against him, and ultimately whichever senior officer he thinks is involved. Why he's so sure that they will be present is anyone's guess. And yeah, he's not so concerned about our safety, or Ashley's. Why do you think he didn't want me involved?"

I was appalled. "So why the fuck are we going along with this crazy plan?"

Hope looked at me as if a piece of my brain had become dislodged. "I'm here because I don't want Ashley getting killed as some fucking collateral damage. I kinda thought you were just along for the ride, a bit more stimulating than policing construction back home, right?"

I couldn't tell whether her suggestion about my motives was a joke, but I believed her own one. Not for the first time, I wondered what the fuck I had got myself into and why.

Hope could clearly see my consternation. She glanced furtively from side to side, and then spoke in a low tone. "Listen, Bill. There's something else. I don't know, but I suspect. Maybe more than suspect. But not here. Let's take a walk at lunch, OK?"

Back in the briefing session, I tried to stop asking stupid, 'but why?' questions. Time dragged until 12:30 and the lunch break. Hope and I sat on a bench in the courtyard garden. We each had grabbed a sub. She looked around her, trying not to be too obvious. "OK, I guess they could be listening in, but I doubt it. Let's talk."

I vented my pent up frustrations. "Yeah, this is a total shit-show. Do you want to explain?"

Hope took a deep breath, then started. "I think, that Dad isn't just worried about some bent cops, there are lots of them, right?" I bridled at her rather Service-centric view of the world, but said nothing. She continued, oblivious of my annoyance. "I think he believes someone in The Service is involved. I always wondered about how the guys who killed Abebe found us so easily. But I had other things to deal with back then. If I know Dad, he's been gathering evidence. This charade is somehow aimed at flushing out a rat. But how, I have no real idea."

"And he'd risk his only child?" It was an insensitive question, maybe, but surely pertinent.

Hope sounded detached as she spoke. "You don't know him, The Service is his religion. And it's not like I gave him a choice anyway."

An idea hit me. "Davenport? Do you think...?"

"I don't know, Bill. Maybe. Dad had asked for her to run this show. That could mean entirely different things. That he trusts her, or quite the opposite. She was just a Supervisory Deputy when I was shot. She was in the same judicial district as me, but I'd never spoken to her until yesterday. I just don't know."

This had not been the most comforting of discussions. I thought of Bianca and debated bailing. I had responsibilities, someone who needed me, needed me more than Hope. But I knew that I couldn't do that to her. No, I'd see it through. But I'd also made up my mind that I was going to take some additional precautions.

In the afternoon session, Davenport said that none of the people in either the transport or the lead SUV -- the latter meaning me and Hope -- would be wearing body armor. Apparently, we didn't want to tip the Cartel guys off that we suspected something.

This was the final straw for me. I was about to explode when I felt Hope's hand squeezing my knee. I subsided, and comforted myself that I would be filing a cross-agency complaint about their shoddy disregard for officers' well-being. Assuming I was still alive that is.

I didn't listen to too much more after that. I was instead preoccupied with my own, dark thoughts. I was risking my life, Bianca's future, for what? Some stupid mid-life infatuation, one that wasn't even reciprocated, except on Hope's terms. My silence continued through dinner as well. Davenport tried to engage me, but I blanked her. Whether due to the suspicions Hope and I had shared or something else, I was unclear.

As I lay in my bed later, I didn't know if I was more scared or angry. The idea of leaving seemed not just appealing but really the only sensible thing to do. What was stopping me from doing just that?

Then, as the night before, there was a knock on my door.

— — —

Hope slipped off her PJs before getting into bed. It wasn't just her face that resembled my late wife, she had Valentina's body type as well. Petite, skinny, tiny breasts, but toned, even sinewy in places. Val had been a gymnast just like her doppelgänger. I wondered what the chances were that Hope and I had met. They had to be astronomical. Then the whole situation had an air of unreality to it, of us being unwitting pawns in some fantastical, Olympian game. It was almost dream-like, or a nightmare.

Hope snuggled next to me, as I lay on my back, her lips against my neck, her warm breath tickling. I yearned for her. Yearned as I had never yearned for anyone before, not even my poor dead Valentina. But I held back. Hope knew what I felt for her, but had said nothing. Deep within me a little resentment stirred. No one likes to be rejected. No one likes to be used.

"What is it, Bill?" I had been lost in my thoughts and unaware of Hope's dark eyes watching me.

Part of me wanted to scream at her. Part of me wanted to kick her out of my bed and out of my life. But a bigger part had very different feelings; deeper ones, I knew couldn't be ignored. "It's nothing, Hope. Just jittery about tomorrow. You?"

Hope squeezed closer. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry what I said about Ashley before, and about you. I guess that was insensitive. I'm not... I'm not exactly myself right now."

With those words, my compassion won out. Compassion for a woman I loved -- whether or not my feelings were returned -- and who had been subjected to more than any human ever should. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was acting like a petulant teen."It's OK, honey. Want me to hold you?"

Hope nodded, and I turned and enfolded her in my arms. She almost whispered. "Thank you, Bill. Thank you for everything. You've been my rock."

I fought to suppress my tears and held her close. Despite my surging emotions, I tried to choose my words carefully. "It's OK, I... I... need you too."

Need was not the word I wanted to be mutual between us, but it was something. If there was anything I could do to ease her troubled heart, I'd do it, and let the consequences go fuck themselves.

She was sounding sleepy now. "Bill?"

"Yes, angel."

"Can you call me Esperanza? No one but Mom calls me that. I don't mean always, I'm normally happy to be Hope, but just for tonight, maybe. Is that OK?"

"Sure, Esperanza, whatever you like."

With that, she softly fell asleep in my arms. I lay awake, still so confused about what I wanted, and even more so about Hope's needs and desires.

— — —

The next morning dawned bright, with the promise of heat, despite the season. We'd been told to wait while the witness was loaded into her transport, but, as we headed to our Explorer, we both knew Ashley was inside the large, white vehicle idling in the courtyard. I wondered what thoughts were going through Hope's head.

With Ashley was one Deputy as driver, and a second guy who accompanied her in the rear. The remaining eight Deputies, five men and three women, split themselves between the two other SUVs. All were wearing helmets and body armor. I suddenly felt very exposed and deeply regretted acceding to Davenport's crazy request.