Never Say Goodbye (19 page)

Seth stood, and Scott followed. The older man was slightly shorter than Scott, and much more wiry in build. But there was strength in his muscles, and character in his face. Their eyes met, Seth's startlingly blue, Scott's deep brown. And though they came from entirely different backgrounds, each man recognized in the other a kindred spirit. Each knew that their shared values and mutual respect would provide a solid foundation on which to build. And Scott also knew that he could never form a partnership with a finer man. He held out his hand, and Seth took it in a firm grip.

“Thank you.” The words were simple but heartfelt.

“It's my pleasure, Scott. Good people deserve good things. I'm just doing my part.”

 

Scott flipped on the evening news, then headed for the kitchen. Jess had called to say she'd be a little late, and she'd sounded so tired that in a moment of madness he'd offered to start dinner. Though he'd gotten very good at most household chores, cooking was definitely not one of them, he acknowledged ruefully. Still, he could at least get the salad going. After all, how much damage could he do to lettuce?

As he absently withdrew the ingredients from the refrigerator he thought back to Jess's reaction when he'd told her about Seth's offer, and a smile tipped the corners of his lips. She'd clearly been delighted for him—and proud. It had been a good moment. One that had led to a spontaneous kiss—of joy and congratulations and celebration rather than passion, but a good kiss nonetheless. One that was comfortable and natural and warm. The kind that couples often shared after years of marriage. The kind
they
had once shared—and which had sometimes led to other ways of celebrating. This one hadn't. But it was another step forward. And it gave Scott hope that Jess was on the verge of stepping out of the past and into the future—with him. Though he would be moving in two days, he was optimistic that before long their separation would be history. That they could once again…

“…identified as Juan Ruelas, who was released from prison in April after serving ten years of a fifteen-year sentence for involuntary manslaughter. More on this story when we return.”

With a frown, Scott left the salad fixings on the counter and moved into the living room. He knew Juan Ruelas. They'd served together. The man had been a loner, rarely talking to other inmates, but for some reason he'd taken a liking to Scott. Maybe because they both came from St. Louis. But more likely because Scott was willing to listen when the man wanted to vent about his growing-up years in the slums, about his absentee father and alcoholic mother, about stealing food when he was nine years old because there was nothing to eat in the house, about his bitterness toward a society that seemed to offer little hope and even fewer opportunities. He would pour out his feelings in a rush of words, like water suddenly released from behind a dam. Scott could do little to ease his pain—except listen. But that had often seemed to be enough.

Scott had known Juan might be released in the spring and that he, too, planned to return to St. Louis. He'd meant to follow up, to let the troubled man know that he still had a friend if things got tough. But his own transition back into society had been fraught with more challenges than he'd anticipated and he'd never gotten around to looking Juan up. Now it appeared to be too late. Though he'd missed the first part of the teaser for the news, if Juan was the lead story he was in big trouble.

The commercial break ended, and the anchorman came back on the screen. “Earlier this afternoon Judge Walter Johnson was taken hostage at his office in the county courthouse by a man he sentenced to prison ten years ago. According to witnesses, Juan Ruelas
gained access to the courthouse about four o'clock this afternoon through a service entrance and made his way to Judge Johnson's office. He released the judge's secretary, who told police that Johnson had two handguns and that he appeared extremely agitated. He is demanding one hundred thousand dollars in cash, an airline ticket to Mexico and safe passage to the airport in return for the release of Judge Johnson. The police have been negotiating with him by phone, but so far there has been no progress. We'll keep you informed as developments occur.

“In other news tonight…”

With a troubled frown Scott reached over and slowly turned off the television. The police would get nowhere with Juan. He hated authority figures of any kind, particularly those in law enforcement, whose mere presence seemed to incite his already volatile emotions. Only someone he trusted would have a chance of reaching him, of convincing him to give up this crazy scheme. Only someone like Scott.

“Is something wrong?”

He turned, startled, to find Jess hovering in the doorway. He hadn't heard her come in, but he could tell from her expression that she'd been standing there long enough to sense that something was
very
wrong. Her hand was white-knuckled on the door frame, and every line of her body was tense.

Scott drew a shaky breath.
Dear God, why?
he cried in silent anguish as the full impact of the news story suddenly hit home.
Just when I'm about to regain my life, I'm faced with a situation where I might lose it. And yet I can't just walk away. Not when another life
hangs in the balance. A life I might be able to save. If Juan is as agitated as it sounds, there's no one else who even stands a chance of calming him down enough to talk him out of this plan. It's up to me. And I could very well fail. Please, Lord, give me the courage to do what I have to do. And please help Jess understand why I must.

Slowly Scott walked toward Jess—and the closer he came, the more scared she got. There was pain in his eyes. And fear. And resignation. But there was also love. Deep, abiding love that reached all the way to the depths of her soul. She clung to that love as Scott reached out and took her cold hands in his.

“Did you see the story about the judge?” he asked quietly.

She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice.

“I served with the man who took him hostage. In a sense, I became his confidant. He's a troubled soul, Jess, with a lot of anger inside. I don't know what made him do this, but I do know that he must be desperate. And he's not going to listen to the police. He'll only listen to someone he trusts.”

The knot in her stomach tightened convulsively, and her voice was strained when she spoke. “His social worker, maybe?”

Scott shook his head regretfully. “Unfortunately, no. He or she is part of the ‘system' Juan hates. It has to be a friend.”

Jess drew a shuddering breath. She knew where this was leading. Had known almost since she'd stepped into the room. “You can talk to him by phone, can't
you?” There was a touch of desperation in her voice now.

Scott saw the fear in her eyes, and it matched that in his heart. He wished he could just walk away from this, pretend he'd never heard the news story. But it wasn't in his nature. “We can try that first,” he said carefully, knowing that wasn't what she wanted to hear, but reluctant to make any promises he might not be able to keep. Because he doubted that a long-distance conversation would have much impact with Juan. But he would try. For Jess's sake. And his own.

Jess took refuge in the protective circle of Scott's arms as he made his call to the police, drawing comfort from the solid strength of his lean body. She watched him as he spoke, his voice calm, his resolution firm. And although she was deathly afraid, she was also proud. Of his caring. His convictions. His compassion.

And suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted, she realized that all her doubts about this special man were groundless. Over and over again during the past few months he'd demonstrated how his life had been transformed by the power of God's grace, had proven that he was a man worthy not only of forgiveness—but of love. Jess had simply been too blind—or perhaps too hard-hearted—to recognize that the changes in Scott were real, just as his remorse was. And now that she had, it might be too late.

Scott replaced the receiver and turned to her, taking both her hands tenderly in his. “They're sending a squad car. I'll be back as soon as it's over,” he said gently.

She shook her head. “I can't just sit here and wait for the phone to ring. I'm going with you.”

He frowned. “I'll feel better if you're here.”

“But I won't. I'm going.”

The stubborn set of her chin told him that argument was useless. And he didn't want to spend these last few moments arguing, anyway. Silently he reached for her, and she went willingly into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Oh, Scott, why did this have to happen now?” she asked brokenly, her voice muffled against his shirt.

“I don't know,” he admitted, his lips in her hair, his own voice none too steady.

They clung to one another silently, all too aware that in a few minutes Scott would walk into a situation fraught with danger and uncertainty. And equally aware that he might not walk out. For Jess, it was like a replay of the nightmare events of four years before. Now, as then, her life was in chaos, pummeled by forces she didn't control. But this time, instead of closing herself off from the Lord she reached out to Him, praying for the strength and courage to accept His will.

When the doorbell rang, a sob rose in Jess's throat and she instinctively hugged Scott even more tightly. Only at the second, more insistent ring did he ease back and look down at her. Tears were running freely down her face, and the anguish and fear in her eyes tore at his heart. “I have to go,” he said gently.

“I know,” she whispered brokenly. She reached up to lay her hand against his cheek for a moment, then cupped his neck and drew his head down to hers. And
in the instant before their lips met in a last, desperate kiss, he heard her whisper four beautiful words.

“I love you, Scott.”

 

“We told him you were on the way. He's on the line. Good luck.”

As Scott took the phone from the officer he glanced toward the cordoned-off courthouse, where a man's life hung in the balance.
Please, Lord give me the words—and the courage—to see this through,
he prayed fervently.

“Juan?”

“Hey, Scott, is that really you, man?”

Juan's voice was so agitated that Scott hardly recognized it. He had seen the man rant and rave on numerous occasions, but from his high-pitched, frenzied tone it was clear that Juan was over the top today, high on either drugs or fear. Though his heart was hammering in his chest, Scott kept his voice as calm as possible when he responded. “Yeah. It's me. What's going on?”

“I got me a judge.”

“So I hear. What do you want a judge for?”

“I don't want him, man. He's just a ticket out of here. I'm heading for Mexico.”

“I thought you were going to go straight when you got out.”

“Yeah, well, it didn't work out that way,” he said bitterly. “Nobody wants an ex-con around. They treat you like dirt. Like you still got the smell of prison on you. Ain't no such thing as a second chance, man.”

“There might be, if you let the judge go. I can talk to the police for you.”

A brief, harsh laugh came over the line. “Who you tryin' to kid, man? They'll throw me back in that hole and I won't never see the light of day again. I can't go back there. This is my only—” A click sounded on the line, and Juan stopped talking for a moment. “Hey, man, what was that noise? Is somebody listening in?” he asked suspiciously.

“No. It's just me and you.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not talkin' on the phone anymore. You wanna talk, you come up here. Alone.”

The line went dead.

Slowly Scott handed the phone back to one of several police officers who were now clustered around him. “He wants me to come up.”

“No!” The panic in Jess's voice—and eyes—was almost palpable as she reached out to clutch his arm.

“I agree with the lady, Mr. Mitchell,” one of the officers said. “That guy's on the edge. And he could slip over at any moment.”

“He won't hurt me,” Scott said with more confidence than he felt.

One of the higher-ranking officers stepped forward. “I don't think it's worth the risk. We could end up with two dead men instead of one,” he said bluntly.

Scott heard Jess gasp, and he reached for her hand and held it tightly. But he didn't look at her. If he did, his courage would fail. “He won't hurt me,” Scott repeated. “I know Juan. He trusts me. And there's a chance he'll listen to me. If he doesn't, you're no
worse off than you are now. You really don't have anything to lose.”

The officer looked at him skeptically. “You mean you think he'll just let you walk out of there after your little chat?”

Scott's gaze locked with his. “I'm betting my life on it,” he replied steadily.

The man studied him for a moment, then brushed a weary hand across his eyes. “I don't know what else to try, other than rushing the building. And we're bound to have some casualties if we do that.” He sighed and turned to one of the officers. “Okay. Get Ruelas on the phone again. Tell him his friend is coming up.” Then he turned back to Scott and pointed toward the building. “It's the corner office. Second floor. The one with the broken glass. He took a potshot at us earlier. I guess he wanted to let us know he was serious.”

As Scott glanced toward the window that had been shattered by a bullet, his courage faltered. Dear God, he didn't want to do this! But the cup had been given to him. He had no choice but to accept it. Slowly he turned to Jess, and his gut clenched painfully as his gaze took in her pale face, trembling hands and shock-filled eyes. He reached for her and pulled her close, cradling her head with his hand as he pressed her cheek to his chest, wanting to spare her this but knowing he couldn't.