Far Gone (37 page)

“I assumed you’d be out for a while.”

“No reason.” She sipped her coffee. “Just a few stitches, really, so the doctor cleared me to work.”

She felt people’s gazes on them. She knew what they were thinking, too, especially the ones who’d had their start in police work. She looked like a woman whose husband/boyfriend/pimp had beaten the shit out of her, like one of those women who called 911 in a moment of panic and then, when the cops showed up, turned around and begged them not to arrest the guy. She’d always thought those women were stupid and cowardly, but she understood them now in a way she hadn’t before yesterday, when she’d been at the mercy of a man’s fists for the first time. Now she knew they weren’t cowardly—they simply had more faith in pain and retribution than they did in the system.

Jon was looking at her now, and she saw the worry etched on his face. He’d just helped apprehend one of the worst homegrown terrorists in American history. She’d expected him to look triumphant this morning. Maybe even smug. Instead, he looked stressed. Ragged. Even the suit and tie didn’t help. Maybe he’d been up all night, too.

“Listen, Jon.” She cleared her throat. “I need to thank you. For yesterday.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I mean it.”

He gave a sharp nod, and she knew he understood. “I don’t know if you heard or not,” he said. “Ross and Randy Leeland were arrested early this morning at a border checkpoint in Del Rio.”

Randy Leeland was in custody. She felt dizzy. She leaned against the counter and let the news sink in.

“They’ve lawyered up already, but we’re not too concerned about that. Both of them had bomb residue on their clothes at the time of their arrest. Apparently, they were in charge of the truck bomb this time—possibly with Driscoll’s help—while Hardin carried out the attack against Kirby.”

“So what was their game plan?” she asked.

“We’re not sure yet. Looks to me like they didn’t think they’d get caught. When everything fell apart, they decided to make a run for the border.”

“And Mark Driscoll?”

“Still missing, but I don’t think that will last long. His face is all over the news.”

The mention of news triggered memories of yesterday’s chaos—the crowds, the helicopters, the TV cameras.

“The team’s about to meet,” Jon said, “but maybe you want to sit this one out?”

She glanced at the conference room, where all of her colleagues had gathered. Maxwell was eyeing her with concern. Torres glanced over, and the instant shock on his face underscored just how awful she must look.

It was going to be a long day. But she was glad she’d come. Randy Leeland was in custody. Hearing that one kernel of information firsthand made it worth the effort to be here.

“Elizabeth?”

She looked at North. “I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”

“You sure? No one’s going to think less of you if you need some time.”

“I don’t. I’m fine,” she told him. She almost meant it.

♦

It was a dead, motionless sleep, and Andrea awoke feeling slightly drunk. Her muscles ached. Her mouth felt sandy. Her head seemed swollen and heavy.

And someone was in her kitchen.

She dragged herself out of bed and pulled on the jeans lying on the floor before shuffling out to investigate. She’d expected to see Gavin foraging through her pantry for Pop-Tarts, but instead, she found him at the sink, rinsing a mug.

Bits of information pelted her all at once: the scent of coffee, the laptop sitting open on the counter, the basket of laundry on the floor beside her stacked washer-dryer.

Gavin’s damp hair.

When had he showered? She’d been so comatose she hadn’t even heard him.

When she finally made it home last night, she’d been on the verge of collapse. But then she’d mustered the energy to sit up with Gavin into the wee hours, flipping news channels and filling him in on what had happened. Finally, she’d had to shut it off. Shay Hardin had dominated her thoughts for far too long. Andrea wanted her life back.

She eyed the basket again. “You did laundry.”

“Yep.” He shut off the water. “That load’s clean, just has to be folded.”

She leaned against the counter and stared across the kitchen at him. He was showered and scrubbed, and something was definitely up.

“I’m heading out,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind I used your computer to look up bus schedules.”

“How’d you get my password?”

He rolled his eyes at her as he put the milk back in the fridge.

So he was taking the bus. Okay, then. That would save her the drive. “Do Dee and Bob know you’re coming?”

“I’m not going to Pearl Springs,” he said. “I’m going to Midland.”

“What’s in—” She stopped short, realizing.

“Vicky’s going through a tough time. Her whole world’s imploded. I need to be with her.”

Andrea looked at her brother, finally awake enough to really
see
. His shirt was neatly tucked in. He’d shaved. And the despairing look in his eyes had been replaced with hope.

Andrea cringed inwardly. He was going to travel three hundred miles to visit a woman whose life was fraught with problems and complications, all because of the absurd idea that he was in love with her. This plan had disaster written all over it.

And it finally hit her, in a sudden burst of clarity.

This isn’t my problem.

Gavin was an adult. She wasn’t his parent and never had been, no matter how many times she’d tried to fill that role. With every fiber of her being, she believed he needed to finish school and get a job, but instead, he was determined to go to Midland. It was a disaster for sure, but it was
his
disaster. She’d bailed him out for the last time.

Gavin picked up the sticky note beside her computer and tucked it into his back pocket.

“So I need to get going,” he said. “The twenty-two comes at eight fifty.”

He was taking a bus to the bus depot. He didn’t need a ride from her.

And he was watching her now, clearly expecting something—probably a lecture.

Andrea cleared her throat. “Have a safe trip.”

He gave her a funny look. And then he walked over and put his arms around her. She leaned her head against his bony chest and heard the thump of his heartbeat and felt a tug of fear. She didn’t know when she’d see him next. Or where. Their lives were diverging and had been for a long time.

He planted a kiss on top of her head, and she walked him to the door. He didn’t have any luggage, only himself and the promise of Vicky.

“Thanks for letting me crash here.” He stepped out the door and turned to look at her. “And for everything else, too.”

“You really love her, don’t you?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. I do.”

She watched him walk down the steps and forced herself to close the door. She went back into her silent apartment and stood beside her window, looking at the street streaming with morning traffic, and she felt the familiar anxiety percolating.

She had no job. No schedule. She didn’t even have a brother to pester. Really, she didn’t have anyone in her life who truly needed her. For a brief instant, she might have had Jon, but that had been an illusion, as fleeting as a cactus flower after a desert rain.

What she’d had that
was
lasting, her career, was over now. Done. And it was her own fault. She’d given in to her fears and let it slip away without a fight, and there was no way to get it back. Frustration and regret burned inside her chest.

Andrea turned and eyed her phone on the kitchen counter. Possibilities whirled through her mind, and every last one of them made her intensely uncomfortable. But even worse than her discomfort was the stinging memory of Jon’s words:
You’re scared, and so you’re running away.

She’d ignored his phone messages last night. Much like she’d ignored Nathan after the shooting.

Jon was right. And the absolute certainty that he was right was what pulled her toward the phone. Scrolling through her call list, she found the number, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her heart thudded crazily. What was she doing? This wasn’t her. This was the act of someone desperate. It wasn’t something she’d ever dreamed she’d do in a million years.

The call connected, and she waited through the gatekeeper. Her pulse pounded. What would she say? What if he refused to talk to her or blew her off?

He picked up. At the sound of his voice, she found her
cojones
.

“Hello, Senator Kirby. This is Andrea Finch.”

chapter thirty-two

ANDREA RAN AT DUSK.
The air was damp and warm, and she could taste the first hints of summer as she curved south from the lake and set a course for home. Traffic hummed around her. The evening mist became a sprinkle and then a soft drizzle that soaked through her T-shirt as her feet pounded the pavement. The rain cooled her skin, and she imagined it rinsing away all of the ugliness and pointless yearning, all of the regrets that had covered her like a layer of road dust for the past three weeks.

She neared her building and turned on a last burst of speed. She ran hard, sucking air until her lungs burned and her muscles throbbed. She reached her sidewalk and pulled up short as she saw the solitary man standing in the halo of a streetlight, gazing out over the parking lot.

A sharp pain pierced her heart. Never in her life had she seen anyone look so alone. She felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him.

She approached, and he glanced her way.

“Hey,” she said.

“Where’s your Jeep?”

“In the shop. I drove my tires bald.” She stopped beside him and tried to get her breathing back to normal.

Three weeks since she’d seen him. Twenty-one days. Plenty of time for one or both of them to get past the stubbornness.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as he stared down at her. His suit jacket was wet with rain, and he’d loosened the tie around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a glint in them that reminded her of how he’d looked at the height of the case. He seemed edgy and sleep-deprived, and she felt a twinge of satisfaction that she wasn’t the only one.

“You look like hell,” she said.

He sighed heavily and glanced out at the cars again. “It’s been a rough week.”

He turned back to look at her, and she waited. Was he here for work or personal reasons?

“We arrested Mark Driscoll today.”

“I heard.” She ignored the ripple of disappointment.

“Just north of Seattle. He was trying to slip across the border. Our lab technicians think he’s a match for the UNSUB in the bank-surveillance tapes, so looks like he was Hardin’s front man. The charges against him are stacking up.”

“You came here to tell me that?”

“No.” He gazed down at her. “Will you have dinner with me?”

Her heart gave a kick. She searched his face for clues, but this was one of those times she couldn’t read his expression. “I need to shower first.”

“Don’t.” He touched her arm, and she felt it to the tips of her toes. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll go to the Pig.”

“At least let me put on a dry shirt.”

He stayed at the base of the stairs while she dashed up to her apartment. She stripped off her sodden clothes and took a superquick shower. She threw on a tank top and jeans, refusing to analyze what she was doing as she stuffed some money into her pocket and headed out the door. She joined him on the sidewalk, and they walked toward the food trailers.

Friday-night traffic buzzed around them, and the rain-slicked streets were a kaleidoscope of colors. An awkward silence settled between them.

“There’s something I need to get off my chest.”

She looked at him.

“That day at the Capitol.” He stopped and gazed down at her, and the look in his eyes put her on the defensive. He tucked his hands into his pockets. “After we found the truck.”

“Yeah?”

“All around us, everyone was evacuating, and I kept looking at you, and I wanted to drag you to the other side of a barricade.” He paused. “And it was making me crazy because I knew you wouldn’t go.”

“You wouldn’t go, either.”

“Yeah, but it hit me all of a sudden, like a lightning bolt.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had this realization, standing beside that truck bomb. I can’t make you do a goddamn thing.”

She stared up at him. “That was the lightning bolt?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily. “When I left you at my house that morning, I was driving away, and I was thinking about the arrest and what I had to do, but part of me was thinking about you. I knew you’d be mad. I even knew you’d be hurt, but still, I kept driving because I told myself I could fix it later. I’d say I was sorry, you’d forgive me, and that would be it.”

Frustration swelled inside her, and she felt the sting of betrayal all over again. “So that’s what you had to get off your chest?”

“No.” His eyes looked impatient now. “The idea of not touching you again, not talking to you anymore—” He picked up her hand. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to walk away from you.”

Her throat closed. Tears burned her eyes, and she laughed. “God, North. I never thought you were a romantic.”

“I’m not.” He lifted her hand and gently kissed her palm. “I just know what I want.”

The determination in his eyes was her undoing. Her heart squeezed, and she looked out at the traffic as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I took your advice,” she said. “I called in a favor and got a new hearing last week. I got my job back.”

He gazed down at her, and she could see that this wasn’t news. He’d been checking up on her. “I’m not surprised. You helped thwart the assassination of a senator. And anyway, you’re a good cop.” He squeezed her hand. “I knew they’d take you back.”

“Well,
I
didn’t.”

They started walking down the street toward the food court. Emotions swirled inside her.

“I’ve thought a lot about what you said. About how I was running away.” She cleared her throat. “I realized it’s kind of a habit of mine.” She cut a glance at him. “I’ve never had anyone fight me on it before.”