9 Hell on Wheels (23 page)

Twenty-eight

Today is Wednesday—the day
of the joint funeral for Rocky and Miranda Henderson, but I didn’t go. Instead I was at Hoag Hospital studying the newborns on the other side of the nursery window. In the front was Bubba, a lovely baby boy, rosy and pink, weighing in at seven pounds and some change. His official name was Parker Thornton McHugh—a big moniker for a kid to live up to. The original Parker Thornton was Jolene’s grandfather, a judge from Minnesota who’d passed away two years earlier.

The circle of life,
hakuna matata
, and all that crap.

“Cute kid,” said a familiar voice behind me.

I turned to see Steele standing about two feet away. He was dressed in one of his expensive suits, not the sweats I’d last seen him wearing. His face was still faintly discolored but almost back to normal. He was walking straight but not yet working out in the gym or running. He was back to work, although I wasn’t. From the kindness in his eyes, I could tell he didn’t mind. My own face was taking its turn at imitating a gargoyle. Scraped and bruised from Mrs. Tanaka’s kick, it was tender, but the nose wasn’t broken. It was the second time in a year that I’d taken a bad blow to the face, and my sturdy short nose had held strong again.

I turned back to look at the babies. “Are you and Michelle going to have one of these one day?”

“Who knows?” he answered with a shrug. “Do you think the world is ready for another Mike Steele?”

I chuckled softly. “Sure, as long as the little guy comes with a warning label on his backside.”

Steele put a hand gently on my shoulder. “The police want to ask you more questions, Grey. You up to it?”

“Yeah, why not.” I’d already been questioned for three days straight by the San Diego police, the Huntington Beach police, and deputies from the Los Angeles location that serviced Altadena.

“You look about to drop,” Steele noted. “I can tell them you’ll do it later, after you’ve rested.”

I shrugged. “Now, later—makes no difference. I can’t sleep anyway.”

In a rare show of affection, Steele drew me into him and held me tight. He smelled good, like fine soap and good wool. “Let’s go upstairs. That’s where they’re waiting.”

When Steele and I entered the waiting room, Dev was there with Detective Martinez. They both got up and approached me. “I know you’ve been through the mill, Ms. Grey,” Martinez said to me.

“Mrs. Stevens,” I corrected him, staring him in the eye. “My name is Mrs. Gregory Stevens.”

“Of course, Mrs. Stevens.” He paused. “I’d like to go over just a few more things regarding the case.”

“Can you give me a few minutes first?” I asked him.

He looked at his watch, obviously in a rush to be done with me, but said, “Sure. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

“Come on, Bill,” said Dev. “Let me buy you a cup of lousy hospital coffee.” Without waiting for an answer, Dev steered the detective toward the elevator.

When Dev glanced back at me, I gave him a small smile of thanks, then moved forward, heading down the hall to a hospital room I’d come to know as home. Steele came with me, keeping his hand on the small of my back for support.

When I entered the room, Renee Stevens looked up. In her hand was a plastic cup with a straw. She held it out to me, her eyes red and drooping. “Would you like to do this, dear?” Like me, she’d had almost no sleep since Sunday. Greg’s father was in a corner, asleep in a stiff chair. The poor guy was going to have a backache when he awoke.

I nodded and took the cup, positioning the straw close to Greg’s mouth so he could take a drink. He shook his head. “I have two good hands, sweetheart. I can hold it myself.” His voice was weak but even. He looked from me to his mother. “You two need to stop treating me like I’m an invalid. The doctor told you I’m going to be okay.”

Yes, Greg would be okay in time. The bullet had hit him on the right side of his chest, nicking a lung and causing it to collapse, but the bullet did no other major damage, and they were able to retrieve it during surgery. A miracle, especially when you consider how close Greg had been to the gun when it went off.

After I’d screamed, I’d fallen on him, trying to staunch the bleeding with my hands. His blood, as precious to me as my own—no,
more
precious to me than my own—was coming out of him at an alarming rate.

“Hang on, honey,” I had told him, tears streaming down my battered face. “Hang on.”

“I’m okay,” he wheezed. “Really.” He winced with pain and went pale.

“No,” I screamed. “No, you will not leave me! I forbid it!”

“Everyone leaves—don’t you know that, you silly woman?”

I looked up. The comment had come from June Tanaka. She had gotten to her feet and trained the gun back on Kevin, lest he try something again.

Without thinking, I lunged at her, gun or no gun. I didn’t care about my safety. I didn’t care about anything but the good man on the floor with a bullet in his chest. I had to get him help but couldn’t as long as Mrs. Tanaka was in control. I aimed for her legs, hoping to topple her again. She jumped back, laughing, and aimed the gun directly at my head.

“No!” Kevin yelled. He surged forward, trying to ram her again. The movement made her take her eyes off of me for an instant. It was all I needed. She couldn’t cover both of us in movement. I tackled her to the ground. The gun went off, the bullet hitting the wall well above Kevin’s head, then fell from her hand. I climbed on top of her. Grabbing her hair, I slammed her head into the wood floor over and over.

Someone pulled me off of her. I was breathing hard and half crazed. Then I remembered Greg. Shaking off the hands that held me, I crawled over to him and cradled his head in my arms. He opened his eyes, looked into mine, and whispered, “You look like hell, sweetheart.”

“Wait till you see the other guy,” I whispered back before dissolving into a hot mess.

The hands that had dragged me off of June Tanaka belonged to Dev Frye. He’d been called by Martinez, who was worried Greg and I would get into trouble hanging around Kevin’s place. He’d given the address to Dev, who was a lot closer, so he could check it out and make sure we behaved. Had we minded our own business, Kevin Spelling would most certainly be as dead as Ann. She’d been found in the Tanaka residence with a bullet in her brain.

June Tanaka is sitting in jail with multiple charges of murder and attempted murder hanging over her head. I’m not sure what will happen to her. Steele and Seth both think she’ll be incarcerated somewhere for the criminally insane. Kevin, heartbroken and devastated by the loss of Ann, quit the Lunatics for the season. He visited Greg yesterday and told us he had decided to sell his townhouse and move to Arizona or Texas, both places where there were active quad rugby teams.

A noise from the corner alerted us that Greg’s dad was awake. “Odelia,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “You’re back. Did you see your friend’s baby?”

I nodded but didn’t take my eyes off of Greg. “I sure did. He’s beautiful.”

Steele gestured to the Stevenses. “Come on, folks. Let me take you to lunch. There are some lovely places nearby.”

Renee looked at us, then smiled at Steele. “I think that would be a lovely idea, Mike. Thank you.” She turned to me. “Would you like us to bring you back something, dear?”

“Sure,” I said, still not looking at them. “Steele knows what I like.”

“A burger for me, please,” joked Greg. “Extra cheese and onions.”

Ron Stevens patted his son’s shoulder with affection before they left. “Soon enough, son. Don’t rush it.”

“Where’s Grace?” Greg asked.

“She and Clark are at our house, getting some rest and taking care of the animals. They’ll be back later. Seth and Zee are having us all over for dinner tonight.”

“After that,” Greg said, “I want you to go home and get some rest yourself. That’s an order.”

“We’ll see.” I left the bed and walked over to the bank of flowers lining the counter that ran against the wall. “These are new,” I said, fingering the petals of a beautiful lily arrangement.

“Those came while you were out,” he said. “And don’t change the subject.”

I opened the card. It said simply:
Get well soon! Love, S & W
.
I knew it wasn’t from Smith & Wesson. “It’s from Sybil and Willie,” I told Greg.

A nurse walked in while I was admiring the arrangement. In her hands was another large vase of flowers. “Room for one more?” she asked cheerfully. As I turned sharply, she shut the door behind her.

“Elaine?” I asked with shock.

The arrangement moved to the side to reveal the face of Elaine Powers. “Bet you didn’t know I was the Florence Nightingale type, did you?”

Greg tried to sit up. “Elaine Powers?” he asked, just as surprised as I was.

She put the flowers down on a small table and went to Greg. “Don’t trouble yourself, sport. I just wanted to meet you and see how you were doing for myself. But you’ll have to excuse me if I say hello and scoot. I noticed Detective Frye hovering nearby. Not to mention Mike Steele, who can identify me.”

I stepped forward. “Did Carlos and his mother get to their destination?”

“They sure did. They are now snug as two bugs in the bosom of their family.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You didn’t mention them, did you?”

I crossed my heart. “Not a peep. We found a way around it.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Now I best shove off.” She pointed a finger at Greg. “You stay on the mend. You have to take care of my girl here.”

“You bet,” he said, giving her a small grin and salute.

Before she could protest, I wrapped my chubby arms around Elaine’s neck and gave her a tight hug. “Thanks for coming by, Elaine. Thanks for everything.”

She disentangled herself from me and stepped toward the door, opening it. Her face was flushed. “You take care of yourself, Dottie. You hear?”

the end

Acknowledgments

To the usual suspects: my agent, Whitney Lee; my editors at Midnight Ink, Terri Bischoff and Rebecca Zins; and everyone else at Midnight Ink/Llewellyn Worldwide who had a hand in making this book, and all those before it, a reality.

Special acknowledgment to the United States Quad Rugby Association, especially Dan McCauley and Team Sharp Edge. You guys rock!

For more information about quad rugby, visit the USQRA website at
http://usqra.org
, and check out the documentary
Murderball
.