Page 34 of The Guardian

Richard took a step backward. "This is the first time I've seen you. I was at the site all day."

Lost in her emotions, Julie didn't register his denials.

"I'm not going to put up with this!"

"Put up with what?"

"Just stop! I want you to just stop!"

Richard looked toward the faces surrounding them, shrugging as if trying to enlist their sympathy.

"Look-I don't know what's going on here, but maybe I should just leave-"

"It's over. Do you understand that!"

Mike pushed his way through the crowd at that moment. Julie's face was red, but she looked scared, and for an instant, Richard's eyes met Mike's. In the briefest of flashes, invisible unless one was looking for it, Mike recognized the same smirk on Richard's face that he'd seen when he'd first walked into the bar-a look of challenge and defiance, as if daring Mike to do something about this.

That was all it took.

The fury that had been building since the afternoon exploded. Richard was standing when Mike plowed into him, driving his head into Richard's chest like a football player making an open field tackle. The momentum momentarily lifted Richard from the floor and sent his upper torso crashing onto the bar. Bottles and glasses shattered on the ground, and screams broke out in the crowd.

Mike grabbed Richard by the collar and cocked his arm, and though Richard's hands went up, he was off balance, which allowed Mike's first punch to connect with his cheek. Richard crashed into the bar again and was holding on to it to keep from falling. When his head came up-more slowly this time-there was a gash beneath his eye. Mike hit him again. Richard's head whipped sideways. It looked almost as if the events were happening in slow motion as Richard hit a stool and bounced off, tumbling until he hit the floor. When he rolled over, blood was streaming from his mouth. Mike was set to lunge again when a few men reached out to restrain him from behind.

The fight had lasted less than fifteen seconds. Mike struggled to free himself before he realized the people behind him were holding him not so that Richard could have his chance, but because they were worried Richard might be hurt even further. As soon as they let him go, Julie took his hand and led him out the door.

Even the band members knew enough not to try to stop them.

Twenty-seven

Once outside, Mike leaned against the tailgate, trying to collect himself.

"Give me just a minute," he said.

"You okay?" Julie asked.

Mike brought his hands to his face and exhaled, speaking through his fingers. "I'm fine. Just crashing a little."

Julie moved closer, tugging at his shirt. "That's a side of you that I haven't seen before. But you should know that I was handling it okay on my own."

"I could see that. But the look he gave me really set me off."

"What look?"

Mike described it, and Julie shivered. "I didn't see that," she said.

"I don't think you were meant to. But I guess it's finally over now."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Behind them, a few people had stepped outside and were staring in their direction. Julie's thoughts, however, were elsewhere. What was it that Richard had said? That he'd been working? That he'd been at the site all day? She hadn't listened when he'd said them, but the words were coming back now.

"I hope so," she said.

"It's over," Mike said again.

Julie smiled briefly, but she was clearly distracted. "He said he wasn't the one watching me today," she said. "Or making the calls. He said he didn't know what I was talking about."

"You didn't really expect him to admit it, did you?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't expect him to say anything."

"You're still sure it was him, though, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She paused. "At least I think I'm sure."

He reached for her hand. "It was him. I saw it in his face."

Julie stared at the ground. "Okay," she said.

Mike squeezed her hand. "C'mon, Julie. You don't want me to start worrying that I just beat up a guy for nothing, do you? He's the one. Trust me. And if he does anything else, we'll go to the police and tell them everything that's happened. We'll get a restraining order, we'll press charges. We'll do whatever it takes. Besides, if he wasn't the one, what was he doing there tonight? And why did he get so close without saying hello? You were only a few feet away."

Julie closed her eyes. He's right, she thought. He's absolutely right. Richard wouldn't have gone there. Hadn't he said he didn't like it? No, he was there because he'd seen them go in. He'd known they would be there because he'd watched them. And of course he would lie about it. If he'd done everything else just this side of pyschoville, why should she expect him to tell the truth?

But why had he let himself be seen this time? And what did that mean?

Despite the warmth of the air, Julie felt suddenly chilled.

"Maybe I should go to the police anyway. Just to get a report filed."

"It might not be a bad idea."

"Will you go with me?"

"Of course." Mike reached up and touched her face. "So, you feeling better?"

"A little. Still scared, but better now."

Mike ran his finger over her cheek before leaning in to kiss her.

"I told you I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, and I'm not. Okay?"

His touch made her skin tingle. "Okay."

In the bar, Richard was finally able to get to his feet. Among the first to reach him was Andrea.

She had seen Mike jump from the stage and begin pushing his way through the crowd. The guy she was dancing with-another winner, she acknowledged, though the neck scar was kind of sexy-grabbed her hand and said, "C'mon . . . fight." They followed the path Mike had taken, and though they were too late to see the fight start or end, she did see Julie leading Mike away by the hand while Richard used the lower rungs of the stool to pull himself up. He was being helped by others, and as spectators rehashed what had happened, she caught the gist of what went on.

"He just attacked the guy . . ."

"This guy was minding his own business when this lady started screaming at him, and then this other dude barged in . . ."

"He wasn't doing anything . . ."

Andrea saw the gash on his cheek, the blood at the corner of his mouth, and stopped chewing her gum. She couldn't believe it. She'd never heard Mike so much as raise his voice, let alone attack someone. Pout, maybe, head off to stew, maybe, but never something violent like this. But the proof was right here in front of her. Richard was right in front of her, and as he staggered to his feet, her next move registered at once. He's hurt! He needs me! She cast off the guy she'd been dancing with and practically lunged toward Richard.

"Oh, my God . . . are you okay?"

Richard looked at her without answering, and when he wobbled, Andrea reached out, slipping her arm around him. Not an ounce of fat on him, she noticed.

"What happened?" she asked, feeling flushed.

"He came up and hit me," Richard said.

"But why?"

"I don't know."

He wobbled again, and Andrea felt him lean on her.

His arm slipped over her shoulder. Muscles there, too, she noted.

"You need to sit down for a minute. Here-let me help."

They took a tentative step, and the crowd started to part. Andrea liked that. It seemed almost as if they were in the final scene of a movie, just before the credits roll. She had just begun batting her eyes for effect when Leaning Joe, hobbling on his prosthetic leg, suddenly showed up to help Richard as well.

"C'm

on," he barked. "I'm the owner here. We need to talk."

He began leading Richard to the table, and when he suddenly changed direction, Andrea was jostled to the side and forced to let go. A minute later, Leaning Joe and Richard were talking over a small table.

From across the bar, her moment ruined, Andrea pouted as she watched them. By the time her date came back to her side, she'd already decided what she had to do.

All in all, it was a day that Julie would rather not relive.

Sure, it was good to test the engines, so to speak. She'd pretty much gone through every emotion possible since she'd crawled out of bed that morning, and every single one seemed to be in fine working order. Overall, she thought, if she were ranking the days, this one would have been number one in fright (bypassing the first night she'd slept beneath a highway overpass in Daytona), number three in despondency (the day Jim died and the funeral still occupied the first two slots in that sorry category), and number one in overall exhaustion. Throw in a smattering of love, anger, tears, laughter, surprise, relief, and the day-long push and pull of worry when imagining what would come next, and it was definitely a day she'd remember for a long, long time.

In the kitchen, Mike was tapping decaffeinated coffee grounds into the filter. He'd been quiet in the car and was still quiet now; he'd asked for aspirin as soon as they got home and had chewed four tablets before filling a glass of water to wash them down. Julie sat at the table. Singer chose that moment to lean against her until she gave him the attention that, no doubt in his mind, had been in relatively short supply lately.

Mike was definitely right. The whole thing must have been planned, and not only that, Richard had anticipated how she would react. He must have. His answers, his lies, had come too quickly, too naturally, too smoothly, for it to be otherwise.

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