Eli (12 page)

Eli held his gaze. Something powerful was happening between the two. Everyone saw it. “‘Because,’ his loving father said . . .” Slowly, Eli started toward him. People scooted aside so he could pass. “‘This son of mine, who was dead, has come back to life again.’”

Leon was breathing a little heavier.

Eli continued, his voice growing hoarse with emotion.

“He was lost, given up by everyone as dead. But now . . .” Eli finally arrived, stopping directly in front of Leon. The producer’s gaze faltered, then dropped to the floor. Eli gently set a hand upon his shoulder. The man looked up, his eyes filling with moisture. “But now, at long last, after all these years

. . . he has been found.”

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Tears spilled onto Leon’s cheeks. His body shuddered once, then twice. Eli wrapped an arm around him. Leon responded, awkwardly at first, then clutching him fiercely.

The crowd murmured approval as the two continued to hold one another, both clenching their eyes against their tears.

Eli whispered something into Leon’s ear. No one heard what was said, but they all watched as Leon’s body continued shuddering in quiet sobs. Others were crying now, too. Obviously their own lives were being touched. Even Conrad’s eyes began to burn as he recalled all that he’d destroyed, all that he’d left behind.

But the moment was short-lived. Suddenly, one of the slave girls ran into the room shouting, “It’s the police! The police are here!”

Panic filled the mansion as people began to scatter.

Minors were hustled toward exits; silver drug trays quickly disappeared. But the warning came too late. Within seconds the blue-clad vice squad poured into the room. And behind them came the glaring lights of a news crew. McFarland’s news crew—two cameramen and a sound man from EBN.

Conrad spun back to Eli, who remained standing at Leon’s side, watching. Conrad wanted to separate them, to pull Eli away and try to run for it, but he knew it would be useless.

There was no place to go. Besides, the real damage was already being done. Because, off to the side, one of the cameramen had spotted them together and was zooming in for a tight two shot.

“Connie . . .”

He turned to see McFarland approach.

“What are you doing here?”

Making sure his voice dripped with sarcasm, Conrad answered, “Just like you, I guess I can smell a good story.”

“Yeah.” McFarland grinned.

“What a coincidence that you just happened to arrive the same time as the police.”

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McFarland’s grin broadened. “Just lucky I guess. But that’s how it usually is with Dr. Kerston. When you know the right people, it’s easy to be lucky.”

Conrad nodded, knowing full well what had just been said.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a story to cover.”

McFarland started forward, then turned back and nodded toward the police. “If they give you any trouble, just let ’em know you’re with me.”

v

“You
what?”

“I’m, uh.” Julia cleared her throat. “I’m not prepared to order that life support systems be removed. Not yet.”

“That’s absurd!” Ernesto stood up in the ICU lobby beside his mother and sister. He was a handsome fellow, a year or two younger than Julia with strong Latin features. His sister, Beatrice, who had ridden to the hospital with him, was equally attractive—a twenty-year-old version of her mother before the trips to the Beverly Hills’ surgeons.

Ernesto continued to sputter. “You’ve seen his condition?

You know what the doctors say?”

“Actually, I haven’t spoken to a doctor yet.”

“Well, we’ll see to it that you do.” He turned to his mother. “What did they tell you?”

Roseanne shook her head, bringing a tissue to her face.

For the first time since they’d met, Julia almost thought the woman’s sorrow was sincere.

Almost.

“They say . . . he will not survive.” Roseanne took a trembling breath and forced herself to continue. “That his brain, most of it is . . . they say it is gone.” Tears rolled down her sculptured cheeks, and Beatrice moved in to wrap a comforting arm around her. It was quite a performance, and Julia almost felt guilty for being too jaded to believe it.

Almost.

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“Doctors can be wrong,” Julia replied.

“What, you’re suddenly a medical expert?”

“Ernesto,” Beatrice chided.

The man ran his hands through his short dark hair. “I’m sorry, Julia, I know this isn’t any easier for you than it is for us.” For the briefest second Julia wanted to punch him in the gut. How dare he put their feelings on the same level as hers?

He continued, “But you must understand, we need to start thinking about what is best for him.”

“He’s the one I
am
thinking of. Who are you?”

His eyes widened a fraction, making it clear he understood the barb. Julia had taken off the gloves. She was too tired and spent to play the game. But not Ernesto. Once he’d caught himself, he continued, smooth and gentle in his understanding. “I just don’t want your love to cloud your judgment. Let’s face it.” He looked to his mother and sister for affirmation. “You are his only child. Of course this is hard-est on you.”

The two nodded in agreement.

It was a nice recovery, but a bit late. Julia waited, expecting to hear more. She was not disappointed.

“You want him to stay alive and remain with us. We all want him to stay. But not like . . . not like that.” He motioned toward the ICU door. “It’s just not fair to him, Julia. You’ve read his directive.” Ernesto reached into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled out a paper. It was a copy of the same living will Julia had been reading minutes before. She watched as he unfolded the paper.
How convenient for him
to have it,
she thought
. And efficient
.

He found the appropriate spot and began to read:

“‘I do not want heroic efforts made to prolong my life, and I do not want life-sustaining treatment to be provided or continued (1) if I am in an irreversible coma or persistent vegetative state; or (2) if I—’”

“I know the document.” Julia cut him off. “I know what it says.”

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“Then you must put aside selfish emotion and do what is best for your father.”

If Julia had wanted to punch Ernesto before, she wanted to beat the tar out of him now. But she managed restraint and maintained her composure. After all she was the responsible one, the professional. And, as a professional, it was important she put aside her emotion and act in the best interest of her client. “I am not yet convinced that the coma is irreversible or that he will remain in a persistent vegetative state,” she said.

“Julia,” Roseanne tried to reason, “how can you say that?”

“I heard him speak.”

All three caught their breath.

“You what?” Ernesto said.

“You heard Connie speak?” Roseanne asked.

Julia nodded. “Not words . . . I mean, maybe they were words, it was hard to tell with the respirator in his mouth.

But I believe he was trying to communicate.”

“You’re not serious?” Ernesto said.

Julia nodded.

“It was a gasp,” he argued, “an involuntary reflex.”

“Perhaps. But until I know for certain, I believe it would be premature to discontinue the life supports.”

“You know what the doctors say. The man’s brain is gone, it’s scrambled. There’s nothing left in his skull.”

“Ernesto,” his mother admonished.

Again Ernesto’s hand was in his hair. “You can’t deny the medical facts.”

“And I can’t deny my client his rights.”

“Your client?”

Julia closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. She’d been awake nearly twenty-eight hours with virtually no sleep. “He is my father. He has given me power of attorney. And as long as I have that power, I say we need to wait and see.”

“How long? Another day?” Ernesto argued. “A week? If he gasps again do we give him a month? Just because you say so?”

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“As long as I have power of attorney, we give him whatever I say we give him.”

Ernesto held her gaze and began to nod. She knew exactly what he was thinking: Two thousand dollars a day times seven days or thirty days or 180 days . . . once her father’s insurance had maxed out, nothing eats up an estate’s money like ICU bills. And if Ernesto and Mom and Sis, there, were still in the will and if Julia decided to feed their inheritance to hospital bills—well, she knew that the loyal, grieving Ernesto would soon be thinking of something else. If Julia was the only one with the power to pull the plug . . . then there had to be some way to replace her.

And, of course, there was. It was just a matter of time before he found it.

v

“So you haven’t seen him since yesterday morning?” Conrad asked.

Suzanne took another sip of her Dr. Pepper and answered.

“He said he was going off to Griffith Park for the night.

Wanted to spend some time in prayer.”

“Griffith Park?” Conrad asked in concern.

Suzanne nodded.

“By himself? For the entire night?”

“He does that once in a while.”

“Suzanne, this is Los Angeles.”

“He’ll be okay.” She glanced out the Burger King window toward the Motel 6 across the street. Jake and a slight, skinny kid were in the parking lot working under the hood of a beater Toyota. The rest of the group were either in their motel rooms, out shopping, or catching some of the Southern California sights.

“Did he say when he’d return?” Conrad asked.

Suzanne pushed her hair back, smiling that smile of hers, the one that always made his heart swell. “Never stop being the reporter, do you?” she teased. “Always have to be asking questions.”

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He glanced at the uneaten burger before him and shrugged. “I guess old habits are hard to break.”

She reached out and patted his arm in understanding. “I know.”

His eyes darted to hers. She knew? What did she know?

Surely, she wasn’t talking about his feelings. Surely he was better at hiding them than that.

“He’ll be okay,” she repeated. “He does this from time to time, especially when he has important decisions to make.”

She withdrew her hand. Conrad glanced out the window, both relieved and saddened. His panic had been unwarranted; she had thought he was still talking about Eli. And why not? After all, that’s the excuse he always used when visiting her. It was a small lie, but one worth the telling if it gave him an opportunity to be near her.

Then there was the matter of his posting bail for the man.

Of course, he’d told himself that putting up the money was to help balance out the injustice of the raid. But deep inside he knew it was for Suzanne. She’d finally found her knight in shining armor. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked at Eli, every time she spoke his name. And, although he could not deny the jealousy, his logic dictated that if he couldn’t be the one to be with her, what better person was there for her than Eli Shepherd.

Of course he’d hinted to her about the love he saw, and of course she’d denied it.

“Connie,” she had laughed, “I’m fifteen years his senior.

What possible romance could there be between us?”

Maybe he was wrong. Part of him hoped so. But Conrad had put up the bond money just the same. Romance or no romance, the knight would not rust in jail, not if he could do anything about it.

There was, however, something he could not do: Stop EBN’s broadcast of the story . . . and their selling of it to any news organization showing interest. And there were plenty. The arrest had been forty-eight hours ago, and by now hundreds of local hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 88

88 stations had picked it up as a softer, people-in-the-news piece.

If Eli Shepherd hadn’t become a household word yet, he was certainly on his way.

“There he is now.” Suzanne motioned out the window.

Conrad leaned past an advertisement painted on the glass and saw the young man making his way down the sidewalk. “Let’s see what’s up,” she said, finishing her soft drink and rising from the table. He nodded and crawled out of the booth.

“You okay?” she asked as they swung past the drink dis-penser so she could refill her drink.

“Sure, why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a little . . . sullen, that’s all.”

Conrad cranked up a grin, doing his best to hide the sadness. Because, despite the warm rush he felt whenever she was near, there was also the hollow aching when he realized that they could never be together. “Just got a lot on my mind,”

he lied.

She nodded. But as they walked across the orange tiled floor, sticky from a recently spilled drink, and he pushed open the glass door for her, he could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d just have to work harder, that’s all.

The outside air was hot and raw with exhaust fumes. A metro bus eased to the curb in front of them, its brakes screeching as impatient cars accelerated around it. Conrad started for the crosswalk, but Suzanne grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the bus and out into the street. Fortunately, cars were stopped for the light so the couple could safely thread their way between bumpers until they made it to the other side.

“Eli?” Suzanne called as they approached the curb. “Eli?”

The young man looked up from his thoughts and broke into a smile as they joined him. Despite the fatigue in his eyes, the pleasure at seeing the two of them showed through.

“Hey.” He grinned.

“You had us worried,” Conrad said.

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Eli gave a brief nod as they continued walking toward the parking lot. “I’m glad you’re here, Connie. I’ve got some good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you stick around a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” As they arrived at the parking lot, Eli called over to the Toyota where the two men were working. “Jake?