The Rescuer (10 page)

Meghan used the pil ow she had brought along to cushion her head against the window. "Do you want help staying awake?"

"Go ahead and sleep while you can. I'm fine for now."

"I sleep more now that I'm blind. It's subtle but I've learned to love naps." She closed her eyes and let herself relax. Stephen was one of the few men she trusted to drive safely for the conditions.

She was going to help Stephen through the next few months, even if it meant postcards JoAnne helped her read and phone cal s to keep him current on news at home. He wanted to leave, but what he real y needed was to stay. He'd figure that out eventual y.

Tiredness overwhelmed her and she didn't fight it. She slept.

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"Meghan." Stephen rubbed her arm. "We're outside Silverton."

She awoke with a start, her dream fil ed with music.

He'd changed the radio station she realized groggily.

Whatever this station was, it was nice. "Do you need directions? Dad said he'd leave the porch light on."

"I remember it's two right turns then watch for a huge rock."

"The rock moved a bit when someone ran into it, but it's stil a safe marker. Are you getting tired? Should I find you a hotel room? Silverton has its first real y nice tourist hotel and restaurant now."

"I've gotten a second wind; I'l be okay through the dawn." She heard the blinkers come on. "The night has cleared, the sky is ful of stars, and there's a ful moon over the western sky."

"It sounds like a good night to drive."

The car slowed. "There's the rock." The pavement changed to gravel in the long driveway to her parents'

house. Stephen parked. "I'l bring your bag."

Meghan gathered up her water bottle and pil ow, opened her door, and let Blackie out of the car. The gravel driveway had a distinct edge and a moderate downward slope. It took her only a few steps to place her position and walk confidently up to the house. She stepped inside, reaching back to hold the door open for Stephen. "Just set the bag by the stairs. Are you sure you wouldn't like some coffee?"

"I'm fine, Meg. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

He was ready to move on. She smiled at him, determined to make it easy for him. "I'm home; this is comfortable terrain. Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome."

She put out a hand to find Stephen's chest, then stepped for-86

ward to hug him. "Promise me, no heights until you stop with the fainting."

He laughed and ran his hand across her hair, ruffling it in a gesture that was as affectionate as it was simple.

"No heights. It was nice having company tonight."

"You're welcome." She wanted to make the hurt of this day go away but couldn't. She rested her head againlt his chest. "It's going to be okay," she whispered and felt the emotions shake him. He was close to losing it and he wouldn't want her to witness that. She squeezed him and then let him go. She didn't try to put words to her good-bye; Stephen absolutely hated goodbyes.

He stepped outside and she stood in the doorway, waving when she heard him put the car into gear.

"Come back soon, Stephen," she whispered, listening to the car pul out of the drive.

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monday, december 17 CHICAGO

Kate tugged open her desk drawer, looked with longing at the chocolate bar and regretful y pushed it aside, knowing her queasy stomach would never handle it. She reached for the bag of crackers that came with the soup she'd had at lunch. She wanted the man currently in jail for kidnapping to catch a bad bout of the stomach flu as payback. He'd held a busload of children hostage because he wanted to kil himself and do it with media attention. At least one of the kids had the stomach flu. By the time Kate talked him into releasing them, she'd caught the bug and hadn't been able to shake it off for the last week.

"Try this." Her FBI agent husband set a bottle of Diet 7

Up in front of her and then perched on the edge of her desk. He didn't bother to tel her to go home. They'd already battled that out this morning before she left.

One weekend in bed sick had convinced her she'd rather be on her feet. When she could stay standing, that was. The light-headedness hit at the most unfortunate times. Dave didn't have to tel her she wasn't worth much on the job today. She'd voluntarily put herself on desk duty for the day. They had a deal: She would work as a hostage negotiator until 88

they had a family, and then she would have to suffer a pedestnan career in homicide, robbery, or fraud. A child deserved to have both parents come home from work. And a hostage negotiator role was a bit too much risk to accept-even for her. This day of paperwork was turning her mind into mush and reminding her why she so disliked those safer options.

She twisted off the top and took a long drink then leaned back in her chair to look at him. The man looked fine, but he was smothering her with al his care. "I thought you had a day in court."

"It got bumped to tomorrow; the lawyers are arguing motions. It's kind of hard for a mob boss to get away with murdering his wife when it's obvious from the evidence that he did it. But he can stal the trial a bit."

The crime was four years old, or was it five? She lost track of time. It was a case of Dave's from before she knew him. A mob boss kil ed his wife for having an affair-a pretty straightforward conviction assuming evidence didn't get tossed on a technicality. Dave and his team were too good at their jobs to have that happen. "What is this, his second or third trial?"

"He bribed a juror the first time. His lawyer died of a heart attack in the second one. He won't get so lucky a third time. What time did Marcus say he was coming into town?"

"I told him we'd pick him up at seven." Marcus was making a twenty-four-hour visit at her request so they could hash out plans-someone had to go after Stephen. It was one thing to be traveling to get some space, another to stay away over the Chnstmas holidays. She wanted him home.

"Would you like me to make myself scarce so you two can talk?"

"Stay around. I have a feeling I'm going to need the backup. Marcus has a different opinion than I do and it could be an interesting discussion."

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"Stephen is okay." Dave nudged her hair back behind her ear and tipped up her chin. "He's an O'Mal ey. He may not often go this far afield, but it's not like he doesn't have your phone number."

Would Dave tag along if she decided to go knock on Stephen's motel room door? He probably would, just so he could sympathize with her brother. "Some space is one thing; hurting and hiding is another. It's time to give him a shove back to the land of the living."

"I'l fix barbeque ribs on the gnl for dinner to soften Marcus up, and we'l see if you can keep down a salad.

You won't succeed in changing Marcus's mind, but for what it's worth, I'm on your side."

"You just don't want to spend the next couple weeks listening to me worry about Stephen."

Dave smiled. "You worry very nicely. It's kind of cute."

He picked up the last cracker. "Eat; you need to keep something down today."

"I want my coffee back, and my sugar."

His eyes narrowed. "Stil that rocky?"

She drank more of the Diet 7 Up. "This stuff is one step away from being medicine. Find me some goldfish crackers, okay? Those little yel ow things."

Dave laughed. "It wil ruin your image."

"Probably. But no one wil dare say anything to my face."

He glanced around the open office packed with desks and men. "Sure they wil -" he looked back at her-"just not until you feel better."

ARIZONA

Stephen checked the straps tying down the cover on the fishing boat, confirming it was stil tight and secured for the night.

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Arizona in December was an odd combination of cool weather, occasional rain, desert, and huge reservoirs that had some of the best fishing in the Southwest.

He'd bought the boat and trailer last month from a couple at the nearby campground, and he planned to sel it next month when he was ready to move on. It was cheaper than renting a boat since he planned to use it each day.

He picked up the bucket of chicken from the front seat of his truck-a replacement for his car that had died in South Dakota. He lifted a hand to the motel owner, who was washing windows in the office, and walked down to room number eight. The motel wouldn't bankrupt him, so he'd put down semitemporary roots here.

The carpet was worn and the furniture old, but the linens were fresh, the bed neatly remade. The owner's wife had brought down his mail and set it on the round table along with a promised piece of her raspberry cobbler.

Stephen dropped his keys on the dresser and stepped out of his shoes, setting his dinner on the table, and out of habit turned on the TV He didn't care much about local news, so he flipped to cable news to see what was going on in the world.

The national news wasn't interesting: a multicar pileup in Georgia, a line of ice and winter storms in Colorado, and a steady rain across Florida, causing some flooding. He clicked over to a rerun of Quincy.

Stephen fixed a plate for dinner. Chicken was a change from his own catch of fish, even if it was about the hundredth chicken meal he'd had since this trip began.

He stil hadn't decided if he wanted to go back for the O'Mal ey Christmas gathering. The fact he was debating it when normal y a family gathering was the highlight, told him the memories that had driven this journey were far from settled. He would be there for the weddings in June and July-Jack, Rachel, 91

and Marcus in quick succession-then al of his family would be married except him.

It was time to make some decisions he'd been avoiding for months. He didn't want to go back to Chicago, back to being a paramedic. That life was distant now and he didn't miss it. But if not Chicago, then what? Keeping the O'Mal eys out of trouble was a mission that had run its course.

He was getting tired of traveling. He'd visited national parks and Indian reservations, seen a lot of wildlife, walked through numerous art gal eries, and studied beautiful homes. He'd met fishermen and hunters and retired couples and teens longing to head to the big city. He'd ridden horses, done some white-water rafting, tried his hand at skydiving, and got some practice at waterskiing. He had needed the downtime, but there had just been too much time to think during the long drives.

He could join a construction crew and earn some serious money for the summer, but what would he spend it on? He could buy a home in Chicago and fix it up to live in long term, but it would have him bouncing around a huge place alone. He could start a business of his own-carpentry, construction-but it just didn't spark any interest.

He was bored. And lonely

No O'Mal ey handled bored very wel . He set down his dinner plate and went to wax the truck.

He wished the loneliness had as easy a solution.

CHICAGO

Marcus O'Mal ey took his soda into the living room, impressed with the efforts Kate had gone to for this brief visit. She cal ed; he came. He would have come anyway on Dave's word that Kate was stil feeling pretty rocky after the bus hostage crisis. Children slid under her defenses like no other victims, and she bore the

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weight of those cal s for months. And she had never been able to handle being sick.

He sat on the couch and looked across at Kate, curled up on one of the chairs. He'd been the guardian of the O'Mal eys for over two decades. He'd walked through some very dark days with Kate and there was no one he trusted more. It had been hard since Jennifer died, for they both had been feeling their way through the weeks and months. "What's the family grapevine say?"

"That if Stephen isn't coming home, we skip Christmas as a family. No one wants to meet without him there."

He turned his glass in his hand, studying the ice. "Is that why you think we need to tug him back?" He looked up and caught an expression briefly crossing her face that he couldn't interpret. His eyes narrowed.

Emotional control defined Kate and how she handled her life, her job, and that had been a very fascinating flash.

"It's time. His place is here, not miles away. Christmas wil be miserable for him if he spends it alone."

"I know."

"I don't want that for him."

"He wants it for himself. He wants to feel again, Kate, and when he hits Christmas alone he's got an excuse to feel miserable. Tug him back here, and he'd just have to pretend he's okay"

"He doesn't need to rescue us from the hurt."

"Doesn't he?" Marcus set aside the glass. "He protects you and he always has. Protecting you from his grief-it matters to him."

He watched her rise. Kate had very few tel s that gave away what she was thinking, but a break in eye contact, pacing- something more than a disrupted family gathering was behind her desire to have Stephen back in Chicago. "Something going on with Meghan?"

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She glanced over, startled.

"She's the one other person he's been sending some letters to. I know the two of you have talked a few times. Did he say anything that has you concerned?"

"No."

"Then relax. Stephen was like this the year after his parents died, when he didn't want anyone close. Give him a year away. He'l be back for the weddings."

She leaned against the bookshelves, sipping a cup of tea Dave gave her, pensive in a way he didn't remember seeing m a long time. "Okay, Marcus. I won't chase him down."

"What else is going on?"

She looked over and shook her head. "Nothing."

"You sure?"

She came over to settle back in her seat. "Do you think he'l bring someone to Jack and Cassie's wedding?"

"Maybe Ann and the boys. It would be logical since she's already on the invitation list. Stephen wil settle down when he's ready, when the desire for roots is larger than the fear of having them torn away by tragedy. Drink your tea," Marcus encouraged.

"Your flight is at ten tomorrow morning?"

"Yes."

"I'l drive you to the airport. Dave's got a court appearance."