A Bus Worth Missing

It all began when Coleen Warren told me she needed a ride to the Salisbury District Court House. Short on money, short on friends willing to help, she insisted she had no one else to turn to but me, her probation agent for the past year. Salisbury was over one-hundred miles as the crow flies from where we both lived, the Baltimore Metro region. Her trial date was set for the first week in August, the same week I had planned to indulge in some bodysurfing in Ocean City, about thirty miles away. Minus Coleen's request, it sounded convenient. I'd testify at Coleen's violation hearing in Salisbury and then drive to Ocean City for my planned mini-vacation, spending some of it with a buddy of mine who managed a surf shop for the summer.

Twenty-one years old, Coleen was not a dangerous offender. But she did have a drug problem—marijuana and methamphetamine. She hailed from Springfield, Missouri and had been living in Maryland ever since her arrest in that state for possession and receiving stolen goods. She served six months in a women's correctional facility before being released on probation. She had planned to return to Springfield but changed her mind when Kim, her jail mate, released at the same time, offered her a place to stay with her and her cousin. In her twelve months of supervision, she managed to stay clean (as evidenced by frequent urinalysis). She reported as directed, completed drug rehab and stayed out of trouble. The only thing she didn't do was complete her one-hundred hours of community service per the court order. The eighty hours she did complete failed to satisfy Judge Herbert Brocklin, and he summoned her back to court.

By this time, she and Kim were at odds. The apartment was in Kim's name; she paid the bills and she was about to kick Coleen out. Facing homelessness, Coleen was preparing to return to Springfield to live with an aunt after her violation hearing. The aunt said she'd wire her money for the bus trip back, provided, of course, she didn't receive jail time. Technically, her probation had expired, though the court could still impose the original sentence of eighteen months if he found her in violation. Little wonder she was nervous, if not downright terrified of being sent back to the slammer. Personally, I didn't think she deserved more jail time. She had completed eighty hours of community service already, no mean feat considering that she lacked convenient transportation and worked part time for minimum wage at a shoe boutique. And okay, I also found her hot, though I did my best to hide it. Show a female offender you're hot on her, drop your professional façade, and you risk being manipulated.

Most guys have an image of their feminine ideal, and Coleen Warren fit mine. She was, in a word, adorable. She had sparkling, blue-gray eyes and straight, light brown hair that dropped almost to her butt when she didn't pin it up. She had a cute, turned-up nose that she twitched when curious, high cheek bones and nice skin, her complexion a darker shade of pale, sort of like sour milk. She stood about five-three, shapely and well proportioned, with great calves, diamond shaped and beautifully tapered.

Outwardly, she could exude a happy, sweet innocence that belied a crusty interior formed by a difficult upbringing. Adopted from an orphanage at age eighteen months, she drifted into drug use in middle school. Then, at age fourteen, she was allegedly sexually abused by her adopted father. Allegedly, because that was Coleen's story, not her dad's, and Springfield's child protective service people could find no evidence of abuse. Still, she was removed from the home and placed in foster care until she was eighteen. Her drug use caught up with her in Maryland when she and a friend, driving through Salisbury on their way to Ocean City, got pulled over by a cop who found contraband in her friend's car. She never made it to Ocean City. Instead, she spent weeks behind bars until tried. She then did her six months incarceration before being released on probation.

Which leads me up to that first week in August when I agreed to drive her to Salisbury for trial but no further. "You're on your own after that," I told her when she reported to my office. "It's up to you to find a way back because I'm headed for the beach."

Her face lit up like neon in the night, and she wasn't shy about asking me to take her along. "I promise, Agent Bradley, I'll be out of your hair once we get there," she insisted. How she was going to make do with only twenty dollars in her wallet, no credit card and a cell phone with limited hours was beyond me. "Just drop me off when we cross the bridge," she said, "and I'll find my way from there. Springfield and my aunt can wait."

That's if Judge Brocklin didn't send her away, a possibility that had her shaking and teary on the two-hour drive to Salisbury. "At worst, he'll extend your probation," I said, trying my best to comfort her. "I doubt he'll send you to jail because you're short twenty hours of community service. I certainly won't be recommending that." Still, she cried, and when we pulled into the courthouse parking lot, I did something an agent should never do: I hugged her. In the car, she snuggled against my chest, while looking up at me with sad, frightened eyes. Somehow I managed not to kiss her, oh so tempting.

Once inside, we waited for close to an hour before her case was called. Her public defender argued for my recommendation that Coleen's case be allowed to expire, with time served. Upset at trial table, she jumped for joy when the judge did just that. Officially, she was now off supervision.

She hugged me when we got outside, grateful for my recommendation. "You did a kick-ass job, Ryan—I mean Agent Bradley. Thanks."

Our professional relationship was history, so it didn't really matter what she called me. All I needed to do was turn in the paperwork when I returned to work. Meanwhile, I looked forward to three days of sun and fun, which included bodysurfing, partying with my surf shop friend and just plain relaxing. It didn't include Coleen. Sure, she had the looks, plus something else beyond that—an erotic, seductive quality about her that had tested my professional discipline every time we met. The sexy orange sun dress she wore that day didn't help matters. She caught me more than once stealing glimpses of her smooth, luscious thighs as we drove in my green Honda CRV. But I also knew she was trouble, a troubled girl who had thus far lived a troubled life. I cared what happened to her but didn't fully trust her.

So, when we crossed from the mainland on to the island, I pulled over on Coastal Highway and said adios. She grabbed her backpack from the backseat and looked up at me, slightly hopeful. Then she said, "Now that I'm off probation, maybe we could, you know, hang out together."

"Afraid not," I said. "You were going to find your way, remember?" I knew she didn't know a soul in this town. But I also knew that it wouldn't take her long to hook up with some guy. Girls that looked like Coleen didn't stay alone for long, especially at beach resorts. "Just stay out of trouble, away from people who might get you in trouble," I advised her. "No druggies or ne'er-do-wells, all right?"

She looked down and nodded, the hope draining from her eyes. "Okay, well, thanks again Ryan for all your help." She then threw her arms around me. "At least kiss me good-bye."

I demurred. "Coleen, it might not be appropriate if we—"

"Don't you find me pretty?' she said in mild outrage. "Don't deny it. I've seen the way you look at me."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts. Just kiss me, damn it. Don't be a prude."

So I did, which didn't make bidding her farewell any easier. She tasted really good, like fresh honey, not to mention that her feminine charms aroused me in a matter of seconds. It's all I could do to pull away and wish her well. Before driving off, I watched as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed east toward the boardwalk. Parting from her was indeed a kind of sweet sorrow. But "hanging out together" as she suggested seemed all wrong, though I couldn't deny my urges—sexual, of course, but also a paternal urge to protect her, to keep her on the straight and narrow.

Coleen had been just one offender out of a caseload of over one-hundred and the hundreds, if not thousands more I'd be supervising if I stayed with the agency until retirement age. Yet I suspected she'd be one of the standouts, somebody I'd remember when I looked back years later. But I was just twenty-six, too young to think seriously about retirement and too sensible to dwell on a hard-luck chick from Springfield, Missouri who I'd never see again—not unless I ran into her down here and that was highly unlikely.

Sensible or not, Coleen was still on my mind that night when I met up with Ed, my surf shop friend. He was staying in an old boarding house around 15th Street just off the boardwalk. Prior to coming down, I had reserved a small condo on the ocean side just north of 90th Street, over sixty blocks from where the boardwalk ended. It was quieter on the north end of town, the beach less crowded. We had dinner together, walked the boards and then repaired to a bar at his end of the resort. We knocked back a couple beers over mostly mundane conversation—sports, career choices, the state of the economy in this era of the Obama administration. Invariably, as it always does with Ed and other friends, talk turned to women. Ed was dating a chick he met in the surf shop, a customer who came in looking for scuba gear and left with not only the gear but Ed when he got off work. My last "serious" hookup ended two years ago. I was still single, filled with wishful romantic notions of meeting another significant other on the beach. He shook his head and laughed when I told him about Coleen. "Hardly your type," he said. "Then again, she might be a great lay."

We parted ways just after eleven. I was tired from the drive and the beer and wanted nothing more than to return to the condo for a good night's sleep. I pulled out of the parking lot, cut the AC and dropped the windows, letting in the soothing, balmy salt air as I drove north. There weren't many cars or people on the street at this hour. Vacationers were either still in the clubs or bars, straggling on the boardwalk or, like me, headed for bed. I had gone as far as 20th Street, when I glanced to my right and saw a young girl sitting on the curb, her head down, elbows on her knees, knapsack by her side. From the orange sundress, I knew it couldn't be anyone else but Coleen. She looked up at the sight of my headlights when I pulled over. It was obvious that she'd been crying.

I climbed out and approached her. "Is this your idea of finding your way?"

She shook her head and stood up. "More like my idea of choosing to live on the street rather than letting some fucking crack-head drag me down." She went on to explain that she met a guy on the boardwalk, someone she thought she could trust. After all, he bought her dinner at Phillip's, one of the resort's most popular seafood restaurants. However, he turned out to be a drug dealer who tried to enlist her in his operation. "He said I could have all the shit I wanted and make a wad of cash besides. I told him about my probation, so he figured I'd go along with it. When I didn't, he hit me a few times, almost knocked me out. I was lucky to get away from him." The dried blood I saw on her face was the result of the punk's hand colliding with her nose, she confirmed. When she began to cry again, I reached out to embrace her. Defiant through her tears, she didn't move. "Look, you don't owe me anything, Ryan. I'm grateful you helped me through the process. Just go and enjoy your vacation and leave me be. I'll be okay. It's just that...it's just that I'm so tired and broken and..." She broke down again, and this time she accepted my embrace.

She fell into my arms, emotion pouring out of her. I told her she could stay with me if she wanted to. The condo had two double-sized beds. For me, at that moment, it wasn't about sex, but about doing what I thought was the right thing. This girl was fighting an uphill battle to save herself and I couldn't help but admire her for doing so. No, I didn't owe her anything. My job, in the professional sense, ended when we left court. But here I was, standing on Coastal Highway at a late hour with this beautiful but sad girl with a bloody, tear-streaked face and no place to go.

Reluctantly, she picked up her knapsack. "Are you sure, Ryan? Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm fine with it. You don't snore, do you?"

A smile peaked through her sad face. "No, not that I'm aware of. Do you?"

"Not that I'm aware of either."

Seventy blocks later, we were there at the Neptune, a fifteen-story high-rise. After taking the elevator to the eleventh floor, we dropped our luggage on the bed, opened the sliding glass doors and went out on the balcony. "What a fantastic view," Coleen said, leaning over the railing, her long hair blowing around her face. "You know, before today, I'd never seen an ocean. I'm a Mid-Western girl, don't forget." She smiled, then turned toward me. "Thanks for inviting me. I feel better already." She wrapped her arms around my neck, stood on her tiptoes and reached up to my five-foot-ten height to kiss me.

Once inside, I adjusted the AC and let Coleen use the bathroom to get cleaned up. Everything she brought was in her red JanSport knapsack. While she showered, I grabbed the remote, stretched out on the bed and began channel surfing. Tired as I was, I got excited anticipating what she'd have on when she emerged from the bathroom. When the water stopped, I heard her slipping into something, then brushing her teeth. A few minutes later, the door opened. She had her hair wrapped in a towel and wore a short, see-through, light blue nightie with black lace panties. She might as well been in the buff for all her garment covered. Once discreet when ogling her in the office, I showed no such discretion now. Not that I could, what with her firm, bullet-shaped boobs practically jumping out at me and her lovely legs bare almost to her hips.

"I guess you never thought you'd see my like this," she said, her face shy and funny. "I'm not trying to seduce you—it's what I normally wear to bed."

"For not trying, you're doing one hell of a job." She giggled. "Now it's my turn."

"To seduce me?"

"Ha ha. No, to shower."

She blow-dried her hair while I showered, brushed my teeth and then slipped on a pair of boxer shorts. Seeing her in her current stage of undress had aroused me, producing an erection that lasted through my shower. Almost forcing myself to relax, my cock was almost back to its restful state by the time I came out.

She stopped blowing her hair and looked me over. "Wow, you work out, don't you?" I nodded. "You know, I kind of thought that when I'd see you in the office in shirt and tie. You look great in your clothes. But even better without them." She winked. A huge Mr. Olympia type, I wasn't. But CrossFit workouts had sculpted my once smooth body into decent shape. At least now I had somewhat of a six-pack instead of that spare tire I once carried around. "Maybe

I'll start exercising when I get back to Springfield," she said after switching off the dryer. "Which reminds me...I managed to reach my aunt once I got away from that guy. She'll wire me the money when I return to Baltimore. Kim will at least let me collect the rest of my stuff. Then it's good-by Maryland."

"And good riddance, too, I imagine," I said, clicking off the remote.

She put the dryer down and sat on the bed. "Truthfully, up until now, it's been one long nightmare. So yeah, I'm looking forward to leaving."

"Well, I hope the next three days in this state go much better for you."

She took my hand. "If you can put up with me for that long, I'm sure things will go just fine." She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on my lips. Tired as I was, her shower, and especially the shampoo she used, had her smelling so good I could have licked her from head to toe.

She slipped into bed while I dried my hair, my brown, wavy hair that was starting to thin on top (coming from a family of baldies, I'd reconciled to following in their genetic footsteps by the time I was forty). Then I got in bed, the one closest to the balcony, and cut the lights. This was a first for me, sleeping in the same room with a chick in separate beds. Of course, the situation was aberrant to begin with. By all social logic, Coleen and I should never have crossed paths again. I began to wonder what the next three days would bring, when in the darkness I heard this: "Ryan, I know you're tired, but can we cuddle for a while? After what I went through tonight, I feel like being held."

Tired or not, I wasn't about to turn her down. After climbing into her bed, I threw an arm around her and squeezed up against her back. Spooning is the only way we could fit sideways in this double bed. "I feel really safe with you," she said. "And safe isn't something I've felt for very long in my insecure, screwed up life."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said, and kissed her neck.

She turned around. "You should, because it is." She then kissed me goodnight and turned around. I held her until she fell asleep and then crawled back in my own bed.

Sleep must have come fast, because the next thing I saw was light streaming through the balcony doors. The second thing was just as beautiful in its own way—Coleen sound asleep on her side, half covered by a thin yellow blanket, hair in her face. She looked so innocent, innocent and adorable and sexy at the same time. I was so tempted to kiss her, but didn't want to disturb the rest I figured she needed. Swinging out of bed, I opened the doors and stepped onto the balcony. The ocean's surface sparkled in the sunrise. The beach was practically empty save for a few strollers and joggers. Seagulls squawked and the ocean breeze blew by, filling the fresh air with its own special music. Best of all, the waves looked great, four-footers at least, and curled just right for bodysurfing. And it was still low tide.

When I came back in, Coleen was propped up on her elbow, looking comfortable and at peace, quite a contrast from when I found her. "Thanks for holding me, Ryan. I really needed it."

"My pleasure." I glanced at the digital clock on the night table: 8:40a.m. Starved, I suggested we dress and get some breakfast.

It took us just minutes to throw on casual summer duds and jump in the car for a ride to the Bayside Skillet at 77th Street. I'd eaten here before, liked the food as well as the atmosphere, with its colorful murals and plants hanging from wood beams. We took a seat outside on the deck facing the bay. The humidity was high but the air temp still hovered around seventy-five, comfortable enough. Coleen had her hair pinned back in a long pony tail. Even without makeup, she looked great. Not drop-dead gorgeous, just insanely cute. Had we met under different circumstances, I could see myself pursuing her. Maybe I still would if she weren't headed back to Springfield.

She must have sensed my thoughts while we waited for our omelets. "You have that look, Agent Bradley."

"That look? What look?"

"Kind of like you like me? Or am I being presumptuous?"

"Small talk isn't your forte, is it?"

"As they say in court, just answer the question."

"Does it matter? You'll soon be in Springfield."

"Yes, and I'll miss you."

"You don't know that. We've been together for less than twenty-four hours."

She sighed. "Look, I'm starting to like you, okay? Does that scare you?"

I took her hand. "No, because to answer your question, yes, I like you too."

An hour later, we were walking the boards, window shopping and people watching. I ducked into Ed's surf shop to say hello. When Coleen wasn't looking, he gave me the sign of approval, a circle with thumb and index finger. I decided to give him some business by buying Coleen a sweatshirt, white with OCMD and the state flag embossed on the front.