“I took unpaid leave,” Mike said simply.
“You can do that?”
“At the private practice, yes. Management wasn’t thrilled, but they understood enough.”
Anna nodded, grateful. She hated the whole situation. But Mike’s determination to stay close was strangely comforting.
He moved back into her apartment—temporarily, she made clear, and he agreed. For several days he walked her to work and picked her up after. They talked a lot, lived under the same roof, but behaved like old friends, nothing more.
Then came the evening everything went wrong.
Anna stepped out of the salon and headed toward the bus stop. Suddenly an old dark sedan screeched to a stop beside her. Before she could react, a large man jumped out, grabbed her, and shoved her into the back seat.
She barely had time to gasp. In the front seat she saw the missing pawn shop appraiser.
The car sped off. Anna stared at the three men in horror: the old man, the brute beside her, and a thin driver chain-smoking behind the wheel.
“Who are you people? What do you want?” she managed to say.
“We’ve met before, ma’am,” the old man said in that same dry voice. “And since you clearly recognize me, let’s not waste time. We want one thing. Give us what doesn’t belong to you.”
“I’ve never taken anything that wasn’t mine,” Anna said.
“Maybe not you personally,” the old man said. “But your father did. Peter was a fool.”
“You mean the locket? You already have it. You were the ones in my apartment,” Anna cried.
“Sharp woman,” the brute beside her said with a nasty grin.
“Yes,” the old man said coolly. “And I apologize for the inconvenience. But we had no choice. Now then—where is the stone?”
“I swear I’ve never seen it. The locket didn’t have a stone when I found it.”
“I don’t believe you. The emerald was there when Peter took it from the jeweler’s house. I saw it myself.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Anna said, close to tears.
The driver swore and jerked the wheel. “She’s not talking. We take her out to the woods.”
“Yes,” the old man said. “The woods.”
“Why the woods?” Anna whispered, ice-cold with fear.
“Because out there,” the brute said, “you’ll get honest real fast.”
Then the driver cursed again and swerved sharply. A second later there was a heavy metallic crash.
Anna looked out the window and saw another car blocking the road. It was Mike’s car—damaged now from the impact. The thin driver jumped out of the sedan and charged at him.
Mike was already out of his own car, ready to fight if he had to. But then, in the distance, came the sound of police sirens. Within moments, armed officers were on the scene.
All three men were taken down and cuffed. Anna, shaking so badly she could barely stand, found herself in Mike’s arms. She didn’t pull away. She just cried against his chest.
For the first time in many years, she felt protected. Truly protected.
They stood by the wrecked car holding each other in silence.
“Dr. Mitchell, that was a reckless move,” the detective said, hurrying over. “You put your own vehicle directly in their path. That’s going to be an expensive repair.”
“The car can be fixed,” Mike said, tired but steady. “I couldn’t let them get away with her. I was driving up to pick her up when I saw them force her into the car. I called the police immediately, but your units were still too far back. I did what I had to do.”
Anna looked up at him. “You knew I was in that car from the start?”
“I saw them grab you,” he said. “I knew I couldn’t take three men by myself right there on the street. So I followed and waited for an opening.”
The detective gave a small nod. “Your husband’s a brave man.”
Anna said nothing. She only held on tighter. My brave man, she thought. My own.
