Tuesday Tales: From the Word PERFECT

Here we are at the end of February. Winter is certainly erratic this year. Welcome to Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is PERFECT. I’m continuing with And Justice For All, my Romance Suspense. Enjoy.

Maggie shut the door to Morris’s office. She was shaking, filled with a combination of anger, fear, and dismay. Harry Collins. In a perfect world, they would be married now with the two children she’d always wanted. But the world wasn’t perfect—far from it. It was filled with unspeakable horror, hatred, and broken dreams. In the battle between right and wrong, good and evil, wrong and evil were definitely on the winning side. If what Harry said was even half true … No. She wouldn’t think of that now, wouldn’t risk breaking down and humiliating herself in front of him again. There would be time enough for that when she was alone in her apartment tonight.

She walked back to her desk in the bullpen and let the rest of what had just happened surface. Transferred. Temporary reassignment. No matter how she put it, she was leaving the safe environment she knew and taking a giant leap into the unknown. To make matters worse, she would be working closely with Harry. If this was Fate’s idea of a joke, she didn’t think it was funny.

It was true that she could refuse … hadn’t she considered retiring only an hour ago? But wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? This task force’s sole purpose was to track down and bring to justice the bastards who had killed Cliff and eight others.

She suppressed a shudder remembering Morris’s words. You’re the third survivor, and my money says that was unintentional. Hadn’t she thought the same thing? Wasn’t that the real reason she’d sold the house and moved into the city, into an apartment building where neighbors were close by, and 9 1 1 would bring help within minutes if she needed it. Wasn’t that the reason she’d quit jogging in the park? The reason she never went out at night? The reason she was constantly on edge, watching everyone around her, avoiding crowded places, not sleeping at night, just waiting for him to strike again.

Thoughts like these were pointless. All she’d done since the incident was hide like an injured animal and lick her wounds. Wasn’t she made of tougher stuff than that? It was time to put on her game face as her mother used to say. To paraphrase Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, there was no crying in police work. It was time to bite the bullet, get back to work and find this bastard.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.