Second Shot (29 page)

Harrington colored slightly and plowed on. “Part of the reason I’m here,” he said, “is that I’ve spoken with my board and we feel we’d like to retain your services.”

I gave a short laugh. “What as?”

Everyone frowned at me, briefly united in their disapproval.

“When we flew into Boston yesterday I drove straight up to see Greg and Rosalind Lucas,” Matt said flatly “They refused to let me in.” He went back to his miserable study of the floor. “I just wanted to know my little girl was all right and they wouldn’t even let me see her.”

“On what grounds?” I asked. “You’re her father—you should have automatic rights over her.”

“They said Simone had told them I was a junkie,” he said, and now the bitterness was loud and clear. “They said they didn’t want someone like me to have any contact with their granddaughter, and that the courts over here would back them up.”

I raised an eyebrow at Sean, who shrugged. “If that’s the case, then they’re probably right,” he said calmly “They’d have to present some pretty compelling evidence, though.”

“Of course it’s not the bloody case,” Matt said, his voice rising. “So what if I’ve done the occasional bit of weed on a weekend? Who hasn’t? But the way they were saying it, I’d be shooting up in alleyways and dragging Ella into crack dens.” He broke off, took a breath, glanced at Harrington. “They seem pretty well-off people, and I know you told me the DNA test came back a match—so it looks like he really is Ella’s granddad. I don’t stand a chance of getting her back, do I?”

“Not when there’s so much at stake,” the banker said. He coughed, as if forcing himself to regurgitate what he considered to be confidential information. “Whoever has charge of Ella also has, at today’s exchange rate, around twenty-five million dollars to play with.”

Matt eyed him glumly. “Looks like I’ve got a fight on my hands, then.”

“Not quite, old chap,” Harrington said, and I thought I caught just the faintest glimmer of a smile slide across his thin lips. “I’d say
we’ve
got a fight on
our
hands, hm?”

T
en days after I was shot, I signed the necessary papers and discharged myself from hospital, much to the disgust of most of the staff there, although my departure fell just short of being totally Against Medical Advice.

My father definitely disapproved of my actions—but what else is new? In fact, my decision caused what I suspected was another flaming row between him and Sean, but neither would admit as much and—this time at least—they conducted it well out of my earshot.

By the time I made my escape I’d more or less mastered the art of staggering along on one crutch, although stairs were something to be avoided at all costs. I was beginning to be able to bear a little weight through my left leg, but walking unaided still seemed a distant dream rather than a reality. I remembered once having been able to run with a kind of wonder.

They’d unplugged me from all the machinery and declared the danger of infection in my wounds was probably past. I’d regained partial strength in my right hand and could just about raise it to my mouth, but not if it was attempting to lift a cup of coffee that was more than half full. I couldn’t dress myself without help, could barely cut my own food up and doing anything at all for more than about five minutes at a time brought on pain in the bottom of my right lung like a hot blade, and exhaustion so extreme it made my hands shake.

They gave me pills for every occasion, announced they couldn’t be held responsible if I keeled over and provided an orderly and a wheelchair to take me down to the Ford Explorer Sean had waiting. I would have loved to have scorned their transport and gone on my own two feet, but the truth was I just didn’t feel up to it. I thanked everyone who’d helped get me this far, trying to gloss over their hurt responses, like leaving before I was ready was a personal insult.

Some of the staff came down to see me off—or maybe they were just waiting to see me collapse before I made it that far. To my surprise, the surgeon with the perfect smile who’d operated on me was one of those who stood in the pale sunshine by the Discharges exit and watched me struggle the short distance between wheelchair and passenger seat. He shook my hand, frowning at the limp grip that was all I could manage to offer.

“Well, good luck, Charlie,” he said in that grave tone they must teach them in surgical college. “If all my patients had your determination, their recovery rates would be even higher than they already are. Just remember that your body needs rest. You need to be gentle on yourself sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said with a touch of bitterness that surprised me as I settled back gingerly into my seat while Sean strapped me in. “Tell that to Si-mone.”

I sensed Sean’s sharp glance, but I was watching the doctor’s face. He nodded, a little sadly, and stepped back.

My father hadn’t joined the little farewell party. He’d said his piece earlier that morning and announced he would be spending the next few days visiting one of his old colleagues who was now based in New England. “Just in case you have need of me,” he’d added cryptically.

Now, Sean slammed the door and moved round to the driver’s seat. I gave the staff a final wave and a smile and then the engine was fired up and we were rolling the short distance towards the exit.

I let my breath out slowly and leaned back against the headrest, shutting my eyes.

“You can drop the act now, Charlie,” Sean said quietly.

I opened my eyes again, reluctantly, and turned my head towards him. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the freezing temperatures and the snow outside, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. I wished they weren’t. It made him even harder than usual to read.

“What act?” I tried.

He’d been leaning forwards slightly, looking for a gap to pull out into the traffic rolling down the hill past the hospital, and he didn’t answer for a moment. Then he turned and stared right at me. I fought the urge to squirm. Even without being able to see his eyes, his gaze was cold enough to make me shiver.

“The act that pretends you’re not injured, that you’re not hurting. I’ve been there—remember?” he said at last, and there was something compressed into his voice. It took me a moment to recognize it as anger. “The act that says you’ve just had a bit of a scratch and you’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” He jerked his head at the hospital, which was to the right of us as we moved off. The collection of buildings that made up the CMMC was huge and sprawling. “Your father gave me a right bol-locking this morning for allowing you to leave that place today and I had to stand there and take it because, just for once, I completely agreed with him. You shouldn’t be out.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I can cope.”
Besides, if I hadn’t got out today, you and Neagley and Matt would have gone back to North Conway and started planning against Lucas without me..
..

We stopped again at the light just before we reached the bridge over the impressive Androscoggin River, and Sean regarded me for a moment longer, suddenly a stranger, someone I was trying to keep secrets from. Then the lights changed and he turned his attention back to his driving.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we crossed a railway line, heading for the 202. I had no recollection of the journey from Conway to Lewis-ton. The city outside the hospital, which seemed to be made up mainly of huge abandoned warehouse buildings, was all new to me.

“Back to Conway,” Sean said shortly. “We’re just swinging by the hotel to pick up Neagley and Matt. They’re going to follow us over in Neagley’s car. That way we’ll have two different vehicles.”

For surveillance. Surveillance was good, I told myself. Sitting in a car and watching I could do, if nothing else.

“We should be able to manage OK with the four of us,” I said.

“And what exactly do you think you’re going to be able to do?”

“Come on, Sean, I want to help,” I said, hearing the stubbornness in my voice as a direct result of the coolness in his. “I
need
to help.”
Damn, when did that note of pleading creep in?
I looked down at my hands and found them tightly clasped, left over right, in my lap. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”

He sighed. “In a war situation,” he said, conversational, “it’s better, tactically, to wound the enemy than to kill them. You know why?”

Of course I did. He just wanted to hear me say it. “Because it ties up able-bodied men, getting them away from the battlefield and treating them. And it’s bad for morale for those going to fight to see the wounded.”

“You’re here because we couldn’t leave you behind,” he said bluntly. “I know you, and you’d have walked to bloody North Conway if we’d tried it. But looking after you once we get there is going to mean more work for everyone else.”

“I won’t be-”

“Face it, Charlie, you can’t even go to the loo by yourself.”

My face heated. “Give me a couple more days and I’m sure I’ll have got the hang of that one,” I bit out. “And if we’re using your battlefield analogy, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He didn’t respond other than to raise an eyebrow in query.

“If it comes down to it,” I said with a certainty I didn’t altogether feel, “one way or another, I can still fight.”

S
ean had arranged to rent one of the time-share apartments that bordered the eastern slopes of Mount Cranmore, which was farther up the mountain from the Lucases’ house and had a couple of alternative approach roads. Harrington was bankrolling us on this one— at least until he’d satisfied himself that Ella was in no immediate danger.

And then?

I didn’t want to think about what happened then.

As it was, the dreams of Ella had lessened in their frequency, if not their intensity. I missed her with an ferocious anger that still took me by surprise, reaching out to claw at me unexpectedly when I was least prepared.

Every car we passed on the journey across into New Hampshire seemed to have a small curly-headed child in the rear seat.

It was dark by the time we arrived back in North Conway and pulled up in one of the designated parking spaces outside the apartment block. Neagley slotted her Saturn SUV in next to us and Matt climbed out of the passenger seat. He only seemed to have brought lightweight clothing, and the cold was biting. His teeth instantly began to chatter while he waited for Sean to help me out of the Explorer. I tried to hurry and that only seemed to make me more clumsy.

Neagley took the keys and unlocked, flicking on the lights and looking around the place. By the time I’d hobbled along the icy path to the front door, she’d done a full inspection.

“Only two bedrooms,” she said. “One double, one twin. Do we draw lots?”

“I can take the sofa,” I said quickly.

“You’re in the double,” Sean said, no arguments. “And so am 1.1 won’t have you sleeping alone.”

I felt Neagley’s eyes on me, curious, but wouldn’t answer her gaze.

Matt gave the private detective a strangely appealing, boyish grin. “I don’t suppose that argument would work with you, would it?” he asked.

Neagley gave him a straight stare in return. “Not unless you want to need crutches, too,” she said, but there was the suspicion of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

Matt, I’d discovered, had an easygoing charm that included constant mild flirting, but I didn’t get the impression it was a serious attempt. Simone, though, hadn’t taken it so lightly.

Matt’s trouble was that he’s a man,
Simone had said, back in the restaurant.
He didn’t always think with his head—if you know what I mean.

Now, watching the way he joked with Neagley, I didn’t think Simone had quite understood him.
Insanely jealous,
Matt had called her and, unwillingly, I could almost believe that about her. And that made the whole business of their breakup, of Simone’s focus on the search for her father and her death, even more of a tragedy than it already was.

The apartment was reasonably spacious and certainly well-appointed, with a large-screen TV and a huge leather sofa, and a whirlpool bath in the master en suite. Any other time, I might have enjoyed staying there.

I turned in early and lay listening to the murmur of voices in the living area for a long time, too tired to sleep. I’d grown accustomed to the incessant noise of a big hospital and the apartment seemed too quiet, too dark, by comparison.

I didn’t hear Sean come to bed. He must have undressed in the dark because I woke to find him alongside me under the blankets. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but I could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t yet asleep.

“Everything OK?” I murmured, drowsy.

“Fine,” he said softly. His fingers stroked my hair back from my face, their touch a whisper. “I’m sorry I was tough on you today, Charlie,” he said. “But Christ Jesus you gave me a scare.” And, for the first time since I’d woken in the hospital and found him there, his voice shook.

Automatically I rolled in towards him in the darkness, moving carefully, seeking the warmth and the strength of his body against mine. And it occurred to me, vaguely, that perhaps I was giving as much comfort as I was taking by the gesture.

W
hen I woke the next morning, the bed was empty. A glass of water and the first of the day’s selection of medication was waiting for me on the bedside table. Sean, it seemed, was taking his nursing duties seriously, however much he’d claimed reluctance.

I struggled into a half-sitting position and swallowed the tablets and then sat for a moment relishing my freedom from captivity. I may have been feeling like shit and wouldn’t have lasted one round in the ring with a medium-size paper bag, but at least I was out.

There was a tentative knock on the door and Neagley stuck her head round.

“Hi, Charlie,” she said. “We wondered when you were going to surface.”

I looked round, but there was no clock in the room. “Why? What time is it?”

“Nearly ten,” she said.

I gave a guilty start and threw back the covers, only for various parts of my body to bring me up short. By the time I’d finished gasping and my vision had cleared, I found Neagley was crouched alongside the bed, a guarded expression on her face.