Free Chicago Assault by Randy Wayne White

child were murdered, any normal life I might have had died with them. The cause means everything to me, James. The day will come when the Irish rule their own God-given land. And I will not have that grand cause blighted by the likes of these Bas Gan Sagart … bastards.”
    â€œThen we’ll do it together,” said Hawker. He reached out and took her hand. “You’ll need a place to live, Megan. I want you to stay with me. And when this is over—”
    Gently, she pulled her hand away. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t even think of the future, James.” She looked at him, her eyes wide and earnest. “I welcome the invitation to stay at your apartment. But you must promise me something.”
    â€œSure, Megan—”
    â€œYou must promise that we will live there as … as teammates. Or friends, if you feel me worthy of your friendship. But never as lovers, James. You must not hurt either of us by thinking of me as your future lover.”
    For a moment, Hawker didn’t know what to say. It was as if she had read his mind. “We hardly know each other,” he started, “and I wouldn’t think of expecting—”
    â€œNever, James,” she insisted. “You must never think of me that way.” She reached over and began to massage the back of his neck again. “And please don’t think it’s because I can’t care for you, for I already do. And I think I could come to care for you more than you could ever know.”
    â€œBut why, Megan?”
    She touched her finger to his lips. “Please, James. Just promise me.”
    Hawker turned off Lake Shore Drive into the parking lot of the late Saul Beckerman’s apartment building. He said nothing. He pulled in behind his Stingray and left the Mercedes running. He got out, closed the door, and leaned into the window.
    â€œYou’ll find a key to my apartment in the mailbox, Megan. There’s food in the refrigerator and clean sheets on the bed. My landlady’s name is Mrs. Hudson. She’s Scottish, and you’ll love her. In the morning, she can help you get fixed up with fresh clothes and whatever else you might need.”
    Before he turned away, Hawker kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He could see that her eyes were moist. “Whatever problems you have, Megan, we can work out together,” he said. “But I can’t promise what you ask. I’d only be lying to you. And to myself.”
    â€œThen tell yourself the lie,” she whispered. “Because what you want can never be.…”

eight
    There was a note on the windshield of Hawker’s Stingray. He read the note, then checked his watch.
    It was 5:20 A . M .
    The morning delivery trucks were already gearing down the empty streets, preparing for a new day.
    He read the note again. It was from Felicia Beckerman.
    James, please stop by the apartment. Please. I don’t care what time it is. It’s impossible to sleep, and I dearly need to be with someone. We can have a drink.
    Hawker tried to think of all the excuses he could give her later. Tell her he’d never gotten the note; maybe it had blown off his windshield. Tell her he had had a friend pick up his car. Or tell her the truth: that he was suddenly disgusted with women in particular, and life in general.
    It’s not every night you hear the dying screams of a boyhood friend.
    And it’s not every night that you are scorned by a beautiful woman before your attentions are even offered.
    We can have a drink .
    Hawker crumpled the note and banged it off the wall of the apartment building.
    He could use a drink.
    The front doors of the building were locked, so Hawker pushed the little button over Saul Beckerman’s brass nameplate.
    He was surprised at how quickly the lock immediately buzzed open. Felicia hadn’t been lying when she said she couldn’t sleep.
    She was standing in the doorway,