THREE TIMES A LADY (35 page)

Only time would tell.

At precisely eight o’clock in the evening, Dana took the stage in the middle of the baseball diamond following a short introduction from the public-address announcer.  From her seat in the middle of the large wooden platform, she scanned the crowd. 

More than a thousand people, easy.  Just below the stage, dozens of members of the press lined the fishbowl, cameras focused squarely on Dana.  Still no sign of Preston yet, though.

Brent Price turned in his seat to face Dana and smiled warmly.  ‘Special Agent Whitestone,’ he said, his voice echoing over the PA system in the stadium.  ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview.  I guess the main thing we all want to know is what can you tell us about the Censor?  What can you tell us about Nicole Preston?  What makes this woman tick?’

Dana cleared her throat.  ‘Thanks for having me, Brent,’ she said, trying her best to ignore the unsettling feedback of her own voice in her ears.  ‘It’s a pleasure to be here tonight.  Anyway, Nicole Preston – or the Censor, as the press has taken to calling her – is a serial killer who’s been targeting famous people around the country.  She’s already killed four people that we know of and she’ll undoubtedly kill more in the near future.  Preston is an egomaniac, has delusions of grandeur.  Killers like her
never
stop until they’re caught.’

Price templed his fingers in front of his body and nodded, obviously playing up his time in the national spotlight for all it was worth.  No big surprise there, though.  From all appearances, he intended to parlay this once-in-a-life opportunity into a glitzy new job in New York City – or anywhere else in the country not named Cleveland.  ‘I see,’ Price said.  ‘And what exactly is the FBI doing to catch this woman?’

Dana cleared her throat again.  She was just about to answer Price when a gunshot suddenly cracked through the night.  A split-second later, a speeding bullet whizzed past her right ear.

Everything devolved into pure
pandemonium
after that as the screaming crowd stampeded toward the exits like a herd of terrified buffalo.  Whipping out her Glock from the shoulder holster underneath her FBI blazer, Dana scanned the crowd frantically.

Nothing but chaos.

Another bullet whistled past her head, zinging by her left ear this time.  Dana scanned the crowd again, her breath hitching in her throat.  She saw plenty of guns out there, but they all belonged to the undercover feds working the stadium.  Finally, on the third shot from the crowd, Dana caught a muzzle flash coming from the fishbowl holding the press. 

A huge chunk of stage exploded in a shower of splinters at her feet.  A man with media credentials slung around his neck lifted a huge black pistol and aimed the barrel directly at the centre of Dana’s forehead. 

A
Mickey Mouse
watch was strapped around his left wrist.

Confusion flooded through Dana’s brain.  A dozen thoughts raced through her mind at once, bumping into each other before shattering away into more confusion.  Chief among them:
How the hell could she get off a clean shot with so many people around?

Before Dana could outthink herself, her instincts took over.  Aiming her gun and pulling back her finger on the Glock’s trigger, she felt a familiar power explode up her arm as the firearm went off with a tremendous bang. 

Thankfully – unlike her confidence – Dana’s aim hadn’t suffered one little bit over the past year.  Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. 

The bullet from her Glock tore off the top of the man’s head cleanly at his hairline.  An absolutely perfect shot. 

A moment later, his bloody scalp came to a tumbling stop alongside the third-base foul line, a good fifty feet away from where it had initially begun.

Nicholas Preston – a terribly confused soul who’d legally changed his name to ‘Nicole’ at the age of thirty-one – had time enough for just one more thought before the bullet from Dana Whitestone’s gun blew off the top of his head.

I’m going to be famous for this.

It was everything he ever could have dreamed of.

And a whole lot more, too.

On the plane ride out to Chicago later that night in the Department of Justice’s thirty-million-dollar Gulfstream IV, Dana reflected again on the events her life, especially those of the past year.  Once again, things had been rough on her – no debating that simple fact – but once again she’d made it through to the other side of the seemingly un-crossable chasm
alive
.

Above all else – no matter what anybody else said about her – Dana was a
survivor
.

And that was nothing to sneeze at.

Four hours later, she stepped inside the childhood home of Nicole Preston.  In the master bedroom, she found a diary sitting in the top drawer of a nightstand beside the bed.  Settling down onto the neatly bed on top of the plaid comforter, Dana opened up the well-worn red-leather cover and began to read:

18 November 1982

  I don’t know what to do about Timothy any more.  He thinks he’s a girl and has started calling himself Nicole.  I believe it’s the female version of his imaginary friend, Nicholas.

  It all started when Timmy was seven years old.  We were playing in the house one day when he slipped on the floor and banged his head against the bathroom sink.  He was never the same after that.  I’ve always blamed myself because I was chasing him at the time, playing a game of tag.

  When Timmy was thirteen years old, I came home from work one day to find that he’d chopped off his own penis with a meat cleaver.  I barely managed to get him to the hospital in time to save his life.

  I know that my son hates me, and this makes me sad beyond words. 

  What happened to the cute little boy whose precious little face appeared in all those televisions commercials? I’ll never know. 

One thing I do know, however:

I miss my son with every last inch of my soul, and I want him back desperately.

Dana closed the diary and wiped tears from her eyes.  A moment later, her cellphone rang in her pocket. 

She dug it out, flipped it open and placed it to her ear.  ‘Hello?’

A male voice came across the line.  ‘Dana, it’s Gary Templeton.  I need to tell you something.’

Dana frowned.  Templeton’s speech sounded slurred, like he’d been drinking.  And she knew better than anyone how badly alcohol could cloud your judgment, how it could make you say and do things you normally wouldn’t say or do.  Still, slurred or not, it was nice to hear Templeton’s voice.  It had been a long time. 

‘What do you need to tell me, Gary?’ Dana asked softly.

Templeton paused.  Then he cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m in love with you, Dana.  I’m sorry for telling you over the phone like this, but I’ve
always
been in love with you.  Ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.’

Dana smiled and let the Cleveland cop down as gently as she could.  ‘Thank you for telling me this, Gary, but I think it’s best if we just stay friends for now.  Is that OK with you?’

A click sounded in Dana’s ear. 

Dana frowned again and took away the phone away from her face, checking the battery indicator to make sure the damn thing hadn’t died on her.  Five strong bars.  She placed the phone back to her ear.  ‘Hello?  Are you still there, Gary?’

No response.  The connection had been cut from his end of the line.

Dana flipped closed her phone and sighed.  It wasn’t easy, but that was just the way the world worked sometimes.  Sometimes the people you fell in love with didn’t love you back.  And if they
did
love you back, you’d better yourself among one of the lucky ones.

Thankfully, though, that wasn’t something Dana needed to worry about right now. 

Because she
already
counted herself among the lucky ones.

A week later, Dana flipped over onto her stomach on Fort Myers Beach down in sunny Southwest Florida, working on her tan and listening to her iPod while thoroughly enjoying the last day of her vacation. 

Dana reached back and tugged at her yellow bikini bottoms to make sure that she’d maintained full coverage throughout the body-flipping manouevre.  Tomorrow morning, she’d board a plane back to Cleveland and retrieve Oreo from Maggie Carter’s care.  The old woman had already assured Dana it would be OK.  After that, she’d get on with her life as a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

After all, that was what she’d been
born
to do, wasn’t it?

The hot sun pounded down from high overhead in the blindingly blue sky above, and it took Dana several moments to realise that her cellphone was ringing beside her.  She looked down at the caller ID and frowned, not recognising the number.  Cleveland area code.

Dana removed the iPod earbuds from her ears and flipped open the phone.  Wiping away sand from the mouthpiece, she held up the phone to her ear and said, ‘Hello?’

A woman’s voice sounded on the other end of the line.  ‘Hello, ma’am, my name is Shelley Margolis.  I’m a case manager for Child Protective Services in Parma.  I’m calling to ask if you still have any interest in adopting Bradley Taylor Thomas.  He’s been asking about you for two solid weeks now and he says that he wants
you
to be his new mother.’

Dana’s stomach lurched.  Her hands trembled.  She nearly dropped the phone to the sand.  She couldn’t have been any more shocked if her parents had just strolled hand-in-hand up the beach and took a seat on her blanket beside her.  ‘Of course,’ Dana said quickly, feeling her throat tighten painfully.  ‘What exactly would I need to do, Miss Margolis?’ 

Adrenalin flooded through Dana’s body as Shelley Margolis ran down the laundry list of requirements for adopting a child.  There would be background checks and home visits and a million other little things Dana would need to go through.  And no doubt the child-care advocates would want to make sure that they got Bradley’s adoption
exactly
right this time, considering the unspeakable horror to which the little boy been subjected at the hands of the belt-happy judge, who in turn would now be spending the next fifteen years of his worthless life rotting away in prison from the crime of aggravated child abuse.

Dana continued to struggle for breath the entire time Shelley Margolis ticked off all the requirements involved.  Somehow, though – despite the complete lack of oxygen reaching her lungs – she managed to mumble one-word answers in response to the case manager’s questions. 

‘So, I’ll see you next Saturday at noon then?’ Margolis asked.

Dana sucked in a sharp breath that finally sent oxygen rushing through her system.  The cool blast of air into her lungs steadied both her nerves and her voice.  ‘Yes, of course, Miss Margolis.  I very much look forward to seeing you then.’

    The connection switched off and Dana placed the phone back down on the sand beside her, shaking her head in utter disbelief.  After everything that had happened to them, pretty soon, two broken people might just get the chance to make each other whole again.  And any way you cut the bread, that wasn’t a bad payoff.

Not a bad payoff, at all.

Dana sniffled as the first tears of joy began to form in her eyes.  Before she knew it, the tears were streaking down her cheeks in a wet rush of emotion.  This time, though, she didn’t
care
if anyone saw her crying.

Standing up, Dana brushed the sand off her body and began gathering up her things.  She wanted to get home
tonight
to start preparing for Saturday’s first visit.  Though she hadn’t known it, she’d waited her entire
life
for this day to arrive, and she didn’t want to wait a single moment longer now.  After all these years of being alone, Dana had the chance to be part of a family again.  A
real
family.  After all these years of being alone, she just might become a
mother
.  And if everything went well enough for the two of them, Dana would become mother to the handsomest little boy she’d ever seen in her entire life. 

A regular
GQ
model, if ever there’d one.

THE END