Standoff (12 page)

I was three months old. I don't remember it."

He smiled wanly. "I meant other than being on the receiving end."

"I knew what you meant. That was a joke. But the answer is still no."

"Well then, of the three of you, Katherine will be the most knowledgeable. Position her correctly and she'll act

on instinct. At least I hope she will. A few minutes on each breast."

"Right," Tiel said with a brisk nod.

She knelt down beside Sabra and applied the scissors to the shoulder seams of her sundress. "From now on, I suggest you start wearing tops that button up the front. Or something loose that you can lift up and drape over

Katherine. One time, on a long flight to Los Angeles, I sat next to a mother with an infant. She breast-fed the baby all the way, and no one except me knew it, and I did only because she was in the seat beside me. She was completely covered the whole time."

The chatter was intentional, meant to distract Sabra and relieve her bashfulness. When she was finished ripping out the seams, Tiel peeled down one side of her bodice. "Now lower your bra strap and pull down the cup.

Here, let me hold Katherine." Sabra looked around self-consciously

"No one can see," Tiel assured her.

"I know. But it feels weird."

"I'm sure it does."

When Sabra was ready, Tiel handed Katherine back to her. The newborn had been making soft, mewling noises, but the moment she felt the fullness of Sabra's breast against her cheek, her mouth began rooting for the nipple.

She found it, tried to latch on, couldn't. After several attempts, the baby began to wail. She flailed tiny fists, and her face turned red.

"Everything okay?" Doc called.

"Fine," Tiel lied.

Sabra sobbed in frustration. "I'm not doing it right.

What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, nothing," Tiel said soothingly.

"Katherine doesn't know how to be a baby any more than you know how to be a mom. You learn your roles together.

That's what makes it so wonderful. But I've heard that a baby can sense the mother's frustration. The more relaxed you are, the easier it will be. Take a few deep breaths, then try again."

A second attempt was no more successful that the first.

"Know what? I think it's your position," Tiel observed. "It's awkward for you and for her. Maybe if you could sit up."

"I can't. My bottom hurts too bad."

"What if Doc supported your back? It would relieve the pressure down there and enable you to cradle Katherine more comfortably."

"He'll see me," she protested in a tearful whisper.

"I'll fix it so he won't. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Earlier she had noticed a rack stocked with souvenir T-shirts.

Before Ronnie could even ask what she was doing, she dashed to it and snatched one from the display. It was dusty, she noticed, but there was no help for that. Just as she was about to turn away, she yanked a second shirt from the rack.

By the time she returned with the T-shirts, Katherine was well into a wailing fit. Everyone else in the store was maintaining a respectful silence. Tiel spread one of the extra-large T-shirts over mother and baby. "There. He won't be able to see a thing. All right?"

"All right."

"Doc?"

He was there in a blink. "Yeah?"

"Could you please get behind Sabra and support her back, like I did during the birth?"

"Sure."

He knelt down behind the girl and helped ease her into a semi-sitting position. "Now, just lean back against my chest. Come on, relax, Sabra. There. Comfortable?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Thanks."

Tiel raised a corner of the T-shirt just enough to peer beneath it. Katherine had stopped crying and was once again on her instinctive search. "Help her, Sabra," Tiel instructed softly. Sabra acted on instinct too. With only a little maneuvering and finessing, a tight suction was formed between breast and baby, and she began to suck vigorously.

Sabra laughed with delight. As did Tiel. She dropped the corner of the shirt and smiled at Doc.

"I assume everything is okay."

"They're pros." Tiel's bragging brought a wide smile to

Sabra's chalky lips. Tiel asked, "Had you decided ahead of time to breast-feed?"

"Truthfully, I hadn't really thought about it. I was so preoccupied with worry that somebody was going to find out about the pregnancy, I didn't have much time to think about anything else."

"You can try it, then if it doesn't work out, you can switch to bottles. There's no shame in bottle-feeding."

"But I hear that nursing is better for the baby."

"That's what I hear too."

"You don't have kids?"

"No."

"Are you married?"

It seemed that Sabra had forgotten Doc was there. Her back was to him, so to her he was like a piece of furniture.

Tiel, however, was facing him and keenly aware that he was listening to every word. "No. Single."

"Have you ever been?"

After a slight hesitation, she replied, "Years ago. For a short time."

"What happened?"

The grayish green eyes didn't waver. "We, uh, went different directions."

"Oh. Too bad."

"Yes, it was."

"How old were you?"

"Young."

"How old are you now?"

Tiel laughed nervously. "Older. Thirty-three last month."

"You'd better hurry up and find someone else. If you want to have a family, I mean."

"You sound like my mother."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want to have another husband and kids?"

"Someday. Maybe. I've been awfully busy establishing my career."

"You could be a single mom."

"I've considered it, but I'm not sure I'd want that for my child. The jury's still out."

"I can't imagine not wanting a family," the girl said with a gentle smile for Katherine. "That's all Ronnie and I talk about. We want to have a big house out in the country.

With lots of kids. I'm an only child. He has one little stepbrother, and they're twelve years apart in age. We want a large family."

"That's an admirable ambition."

Unobtrusively, Doc signaled Tiel with his chin that it was time to switch sides. Tell assisted Sabra, and soon

Katherine was happily sucking away at the other breast.

Then the girl surprised them by angling her head back and asking, "What about you, Doc?"

"What about me?"

"Are you married?"

"My wife died three years ago."

Sabra's face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."

"How'd she die? If you don't mind me asking."

He told her about his wife's illness, making no mention of the conflict that followed her demise.

"Any kids?"

"Unfortunately no. We had just begun talking about starting our family when she got sick. Like Ms. McCoy, she had a career. She was a microbiologist."

"Wow, she must've been smart."

"Brilliant, in fact." He smiled, although Sabra couldn't see it. "Much smarter than me."

"You must've loved each other a whole lot."

His smile gradually faded. What Sabra couldn't guess, but Tiel knew, was that his marriage hadn't been flawless and trouble-free. During the investigation into the circumstances surrounding Shari Stanwick's death, it was disclosed that she had engaged in an extramarital affair.

Bradley Stanwick knew of his wife's unfaithfulness and generously assumed his share of the blame. His work schedule was demanding and often kept him out late and away from home.

But the two had loved each other and were committed to making the marriage work. They were in counseling and planning to stay together when her malignancy was diagnosed. Her illness had actually brought them closer together. At least that's what he had claimed to his accusers.

Tiel could see that, even after all this time, reminders of his wife's adultery still pained him.

When he became aware that Tiel was watching him, the wistfulness in his expression vanished. "That's enough for now," he said, speaking more brusquely than he probably intended.

"She's stopped sucking anyway," Sabra said. "I think she's gone to sleep."

While Sabra was readjusting her clothing, Tiel took the baby and changed her. Doc eased the girl back into her original position, then checked the diaper he'd placed beneath her. "Better. Thank God."

Tiel cuddled the baby close and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head before returning her to her mother's arms.

The telephone rang. The hour was up.

Everybody snapped to attention. Anticipated for an hour, the ringing telephone was jarring, because it represented the course of their future. Now that it was imminent, all seemed loathe to hear Galloway's response to

Ronnie's demand. Especially Ronnie, who appeared more nervous even than before.

He looked over at Sabra and tried to smile, but his lips couldn't hold the expression for long. "Are you sure,

Sabra?"

"Yes, Ronnie." She spoke quietly but with resolve and dignity. "Absolutely sure."

The boy wiped his hand on his pants leg before lifting the receiver off the hook. "Mr. Galloway?" Then, after a momentary pause, he exclaimed, "Dad!"

CHAPTER

9

WHO'S THIS?"

When the latest arrival was escorted into the FBI van,

Galloway had ignored Russell Dendy's rude question and instead stood up to shake the man's hand. "Mr. Davison?"

"You've got to be kidding me." Dendy had sneered with disgust. "Who invited him?"

Galloway had pretended Dendy wasn't even there. "I'm

Special Agent Bill Galloway."

"Cole Davison. Wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Galloway."

Judging by his appearance, one would guess Davison to be a rancher. He wore faded Levi's and cowboy boots. His starched white shirt had pearl snaps in lieu of buttons.

Upon entering the van, he'd politely removed a straw cowboy hat that had left a deep indentation in his hair and a pink stripe across his forehead, which was several shades paler than the lower two-thirds of his suntanned face. He had a stocky build and walked with a bowlegged gait.

He didn't ranch. He owned five fast-food franchises

and lived in Hera only to escape "metropolises" like Tulia and Floydada.

Galloway had welcomed him with a "Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Davison."

"I'd've come whether you asked me to or not. Soon's I

heard my boy was holed up here, I was anxious to get here. I was on my way out the door when you called."

Dendy, who'd been fuming in the background, had grabbed Davison by the shoulder and spun him around.

He thrust his index finger into the other man's face. "It's your fault my daughter is in the mess she's in. If anything happens to her, you're dead and so is the miscreant you spawned—"

"Mr. Dendy," Galloway had interrupted sternly. "Once again I'm on the verge of having you physically removed from this van. One more word and you're out of here."

The millionaire, ignoring Galloway's warning, had continued his harangue. "Your kid," he'd declared, "seduced my daughter, got her pregnant, and then kidnaped her.

I'm going to make it my life's mission that he never sees the light of day or breathes a breath of freedom. I'm going to make certain that he spends every single second of his miserable life in prison."

To Davison's credit, he had kept his cool. "It appears to me you're partly to blame for all this, Mr. Dendy. If you hadn't come down so hard on those kids they wouldn't've felt the need to run away. You know's well as I do that Ronnie didn't take your girl against her will. They love each other and ran away from you and your threats, is what I

think."

"I don't give a fuck what you think."

"Well, I do," Galloway had said, shouting over Russell

Dendy. "I want to hear Mr. Davison's take on the situation."

"You can call me Cole."

"All right, Cole. What do you know about this? Anything you can tell us about your son and his frame of mind will be helpful."

To which Dendy had said, "How about some sharpshooters?

A SWAT team? Now that would be helpful."

"Using force would risk the lives of your daughter and her baby."

"Baby?" Davison had exclaimed. "It's come?"

"From what we understand she delivered a baby girl about two hours ago," Galloway had informed him. "Both are reportedly doing okay."

"Reportedly," Dandy had snorted. "For all I know my daughter is dead."

"She's not dead. Not according to Ms. McCoy."

"She could've been talking to save her own hide. That lunatic could have been holding a gun to her head!"

"I don't think so, Mr. Dendy," Galloway had said, striving to remain calm. "And neither does our psychologist, who was listening to my conversation with Ms. McCoy. She sounds in perfect control, not like someone under duress."

"Who's this Ms. McCoy?" Davison had wanted to know.

Galloway explained, then he'd regarded Davison closely. "When was the last time you spoke to Ronnie?"

"Last night. He and Sabra were about to go over to the

Dendys' house and tell her parents about the baby."

"How long have you known about the pregnancy?"

"A few weeks."

Dendy's face had turned beet red. "And you didn't see fit to tell me?"

"No, sir, I didn't. My son confided in me. I couldn't betray his trust, although I urged him to tell you." He had

turned his back on Dendy and addressed the remainder of his remarks to Galloway.

"I had to run up to Midkiff today on account of a deep fryer going out. I didn't get home until late this evening.

Found a note from Ronnie on my kitchen table. It said they'd come by hoping to catch me. Said they had run away together and were headed for Mexico. Said they'd let me know how to reach them when they got where they were going."

"I'm surprised they would pay you a visit. Weren't they afraid you'd try and talk them into returning home?"

"Truth is, Mr. Galloway, I told Ronnie if they ever needed my help, I was pleased to offer it."

Dendy had attacked so quickly no one saw it coming, least of all Davison. Dendy landed on Davison's back with all his weight behind him. Davison would have fallen forward, had not Galloway caught him and broken his fall. As it was, both men landed hard against the wall of the van that was lined with computer terminals, TV monitors, video recorders, and surveillance equipment. Sheriff