Magdalene (51 page)

It was a wonder the boy wasn’t dead.

Oh, my God.

If he had—

Mitch—

My husband and I could take care of
ourselves, but this was our
child
lying on the bed in front
of me with a concussion, lucky to be alive much less lucid.

“Ma’am?” I looked up to see one of the
officers offering me a box of tissues.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

They didn’t bother to ask about
intoxication. The nurse had checked his blood alcohol level when he
was brought in and, no surprise to me, he hadn’t had a drop.

“Anything else you want to cough up?”

“Well,” he reluctantly admitted. “I was
really tired.”

They cited him. Left. Trevor fell asleep and
I went in search of Hayleigh’s room.

She lay on the bed and when I entered, she
turned her face to the wall, away from me.

“Hayleigh,” I murmured.

She hiccuped and put her hand to her nose,
but still wouldn’t look at me. I could only sit beside her and the
second I touched her other hand, to wrap it in mine, she burst out
in sobs.

“I want to help you get away.”

It took a while, but her sobs started to
clear up, letting me know she’d heard me and understood. She
couldn’t control the residual hiccups. “Wh—why?” she whispered. “I
did a—an evil thi—thing.”

“I don’t believe you to be responsible for
that.”

“I shou—should’ve—could’ve said no.”

I sighed. Unless this girl got years of
therapy, beginning now, she would always ascribe youth and
powerlessness to weakness, no matter what I said.

“If you could go anywhere in the world,
where would you go?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” she whispered.
Her hiccups were subsiding. “He would find me. He always does.”

Ah, so she’d tried. And failed. I wondered
if Mitch knew that.

“What if I were to send you somewhere?
Somewhere you’d be safe, with people who can protect you?”

“No one can protect me,” she said
tonelessly.

“Look at me,” I said in my boardroom voice,
which had compelled some of the most important people in the
country to obey—never mind one broken little girl. “There are more
powerful people in the world than your father.”

She paused, as if the thought had never
occurred to her. “But everyone likes him. No one would ever believe
me.”

“I believe you. The bishop believes you.
Sister Kelly and Sister Seaton believe you.”

Even though Hayleigh regarded me with some
suspicion, her body began to relax. “But—”

“But.
You
don’t know the people I
know.”

“Where would you send me?”

“My ex-husband.” If anyone could heal a
teenage girl’s soul, it would be Gordon. “His husband, Nigel.”

Her eyes widened at the unconventional
phrasing, and she gulped.

“You trust Bishop Hollander?”

“Yes,” she breathed with a fervency that let
me know just how much she depended on him.

“Enough to trust the woman he married?”

She gulped. “I think—yes. What about my
mother?”

“Let’s worry about you first, and then we’ll
worry about your mother.” After all, Hayleigh could have been
killed, and Greg would have known that. I couldn’t guarantee he
wouldn’t take Hayleigh’s disappearance out on Amelia, but this was
a desperate moment.

“Um... How’s Trevor?” It cost her to ask,
but she needed to know.

“He’s fine. Just sleeping it off right
now.”

It was as if the air had been let out of
her. “Oh, I’m so glad.”

“I’m going to leave now and make some calls.
Will you be okay?”

“I think so.”

Prissy first. “I’ll call Louise,” she said
briskly once I’d finished outlining my plan. “With any luck, we can
get Amelia out tomorrow.”

Gordon next. “Of course,” he said
immediately.

“Hoping to get the mother there in the next
few days.”

Sheldon last. “I’ll be right there, Ms. St.
James.”

“She’ll need food and blankets.”

“I’ll take good care of her.”

My work was done.

Fast.

Trevor was still dozing when I seated myself
beside his bed. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the
floor for a long time, deliberately keeping my mind clear.

“Well, well, well.”

I looked up to see Sitkaris in the
doorway.

“New mommy to the rescue. Where’s
Mitch?”

“Not here,” I murmured. “I guess you’ll have
to settle for fucking around with me instead. For a price.”

Rude.

A calculating smile spread across his face.
“You’re a mercenary bitch,
Sister
Hollander,” he said
conversationally. “I like that about you.”

“Don’t you want to make sure your daughter’s
okay first?”

“She’ll be fine,” he said dismissively. “She
knows better than not to be.” He rocked back on one heel and swept
me with a glance, head to toe and back again. “You’re beautiful
even when you’re filthy and in rags. Maybe more so. Right now, my
car. How much?”

“Four million dollars.”

He scoffed. “I can’t come up with that kind
of cash right now and you know it. Is that what Mitch is paying
you? He’s no cover boy and can’t be so good you’d fuck him for
free.”

I arose calmly, approached him until I was
nose to nose with him. I pressed close against him, slid my hand up
the inside of his thigh. His breath caught, but still managed to
look smug. I cupped his balls through his pants, caressed his
growing (and impressive) erection. Stroked him until his nostrils
flared and his breathing quickened. “
I
,” I whispered, “would
pay
Mitch
for the privilege of fucking him,” and
squeezed.

Hard.

He yelped and fell to the floor, curled up
and clutching his manparts.

A nurse rushed to his aid, but he couldn’t
speak and I doubted he would admit to having had five long
fingernails dug deep enough into his cock and balls to sever the
nerves. (I hoped.) An orderly helped the nurse get Sitkaris into a
wheelchair and looked at me askance.

I examined my blood-red manicure.

Cruel.

“Cassie,” Trevor croaked. I turned and
realized he’d seen and heard the whole thing. I felt my face flush
and I opened my mouth to try to repair the trust I’d just broken,
but he gave me a crooked grin and slurred, “You’re awesome.”

I stared at him for a split second, then
chuckled. “And you’re on drugs. Go back to sleep.”

After an enthusiastic application of soap
and hot water to my talons, I left Trevor’s room to keep tabs on
Sitkaris, who was lying in his own cube, growing lethargic on
painkillers. I smirked every time I strolled by. He could do
nothing but weakly snarl until he, too, went to sleep. The nurses
watched me suspiciously. They were pretty sure I’d done something
to the man, but didn’t know what and couldn’t prove it, hadn’t
heard any accusations of assault from the wounded, and didn’t know
whether to call the cops or not.

At three, Sheldon appeared and made a stir
as he strode through the emergency room with the confidence of a
man used to protecting people. Of course, Sheldon, at six-six,
pitch black, bald, and gorgeous, tended to make a stir everywhere
he went.

I slipped into Hayleigh’s room and helped
her back into her clothes.

“Hayleigh,” I whispered. “The man who’s
taking you to Gordon, my ex-husband— He’s my bodyguard.” That
confused her, but it didn’t matter. “His name is Sheldon. He’s
saved my life twice. Trust him the way you would trust Bishop
Hollander, all right?”

She nodded frantically, uncertain but
willing to take the risk.

I distracted the nurses by peeking in on
Sitkaris while Sheldon helped her limp out of the common area, his
big body shielding her from detection. She stumbled, but Sheldon
caught her, and once they were out of the nurses’ sight, he swept
her up into his massive arms and moved swiftly to get her out.

At three-thirty, the radiologist came to
deliver the news that Trevor’s CT was normal and he was cleared to
go home. It was four by the time I hit the Walgreen’s drive-thru
pharmacy, got him home, and tucked into bed.

He was almost asleep when his head hit the
pillow. I pulled his covers up to his chin. Brought him a glass of
water. Sat on the side of the bed and smoothed his hair back a
little, wondering what it would have been like to raise a boy
child. I didn’t dare hum, as he was in enough pain already.

My throat clogged up when, just before he
dropped off to sleep, he sighed,

“Thanks, Mom.”

* * * * *

Oil and
Tears

It seemed to Mitch that his life was
crumbling around his ears, but it would’ve whether he’d married
Cassandra or not. He would rather it happen when he had someone
strong to lean on, who was as close as the edge of his bed, than
handle it alone, his only real support a thousand miles away.

He parked next to Cassandra’s car and headed
into the house, up the stairs, opened Trevor’s door. There he was,
his precious son, splayed out on his stomach, snoring. He entered
the room and touched the boy’s face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, unable to say
more for fear he would break down.

He left the door open when he exited the
room, a long-discarded practice from when he and Mina were
hypersensitive to every snuff and sniffle their children made
during the night. He didn’t need to; he simply found it reassuring
to do so. He jogged down the hall to his own room to find a
beautiful woman clad only in a pair of black lace panties walking
around his bedroom turning off lamps, humming to herself.

“How is he? What’d the doctor say?
What
happened
?”

She looked at him, surprised. “He’s in bed,
sleeping.”

“I know. I checked there first.”

“You didn’t have to come home early. I have
everything under control.”

Mitch stared at her, then away. Now that
most of his fears were put to rest, he had to shift gears, to
think, to remember, to capture the oddity of what she’d said.

She was still talking. “...uised ribs,
concussion. The doctor said he’d be fine, but he needs to stay home
and rest for a couple of days. If I had my way, it’d be a week or
more.” Mitch was fading in and out of the conversation as he tried
to process her incredulous story. “...can deal with that
motherfucker or I can, but it needs to be done.” He knew that, but
he couldn’t think. “...set it all up to get to you, but he’s simply
gone too far. Made that poor girl do such a thing— Trevor was doing
seventy. If he hadn’t been so aware, so prepared for what she might
do, both those kids would’ve been killed.”

A hand clamped around Mitch’s chest. He’d
declared war on Greg by confronting him about his part in the Jep
Industries embezzlement scheme, and Greg was perfectly happy to
engage him in that war, as he’d expected.

What Mitch hadn’t expected was that Greg
would go so far as to put lives in danger to win. In a way, he
could see why he might risk Trevor, but Hayleigh too? Was he
that
evil?

Mitch! Listen to me. What he’s doing to the
sisters in this ward—

Louise, who would do that? What’s in it for
him?

He
enjoys
it, Mitch. That’s what
I’m telling you.

You say he engages in these elaborate
schemes, but there’s very little payoff for all that work. What is
it? What’s he getting out of it?

It’s just for his personal amusement, to set
it all in motion and watch it play out when everybody’s at each
other’s throats. Then they all go to him to vent and get comfort,
and he just plays them a little more.

I just don’t get how that’s enough
motivation. People need more than that.

Or maybe they didn’t.

But Greg had twenty-five years’ worth of
motivation to go after Mitch, starting with his preempted marriage
to Mina, then losing his job at Jep Industries along with all the
stolen cash, and his inability to get past Mitch on his climb up
the church ladder.

More power with which to play his games.

The damage Greg could do as a bishop...

Mitch shuddered.

“Mitch?”

He focused on her fully then. “Why didn’t
you call me?”

“Trevor said he called the mill and left a
message. Obviously you got it because you’re here. But I was home.
He knew that and called me. I saw no reason to wait until someone
could pull you off the line when I could deal with it.” She studied
him, her head cocked to one side. “Are you angry with me?”

He shook his head to clear it. “I
don’t—know. I’m not used to this. Somebody just...taking care of
something without me, without some kind of authorization or...check
writing. I thought— I went to the hospital as soon as I got the
message and... He was just...
gone
. They said his mother took
him home, but— Uh, his
mother
is— And then I find out
he
might have—”

“He has a concussion. That’s all. He’ll be
fine.”

“But I— I wasn’t there for him. Again.”

Cassandra sighed and tugged at the sleeve of
his coverall, and he went to the bed when she nudged him that
direction. He sat, disoriented, feeling as if he had left a task
incomplete and couldn’t figure out where he’d stopped. “Talk to
me,” she whispered, sitting close beside him, rubbing his arm
though he was still wearing his greasy clothes.

“I, uh...” He slumped over, his elbows on
his knees and his head hanging down. He had no context for this. “I
don’t know what— I wasn’t there for my kid. But
somebody
was. Immediately. It’s...strange. I’m not mad. I’m— I don’t know
what I am. I’m going to have to learn to get used to this. It’s
easy when I— When you and I are—”

“Fighting?”

He nodded. “I can...think. It’s focused.
Right now, everything’s so scattered and I’m— Confused.”