Tucker (The Family Simon) (22 page)

“You can’t call bullshit.”

“Sure I can.” She headed for her bedroom. “But Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Havana seemed like an oven compared to the frigid New York he’d left behind, and yet Tucker was cold as hell.

He was cold, tired, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Abby. About the fear he’d seen in her eyes and the anxiety in her voice. About all the unfinished things between them. The things he needed to face.

The things he needed to say.

And Marley. God, his head was so fucked up right now. How did he even process the idea that she might be alive? That after all this time, she’d been here in Cuba? How the hell did that happen? Where was the rest of her crew? Alex her research partner. Gabe the pilot.

“We’re almost there.”

He nodded to his brother Teague and clenched his hands, rolling his shoulders a bit because they were tight as hell. Seated in the back of a van, Jack was on the other side of him and in the seats ahead were Marley’s parents.

“It has to be her,” Kate Danvers whispered fiercely, turning around, eyes watery and so full of hope.

Tucker didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and glanced away. He wanted it to be Marley—Christ there was a time when that thought consumed him. And yet there was a part of him that was scared shitless at the thought.

He gave himself a mental shake. He wasn’t going there. Not now. Not until he knew for sure. And yet the guilt inside him pressed hard, making it tough to focus and breathe, but it was so goddamn hard because he was afraid of losing everything.

He loved Marley’s parents. Of that there was no question. But the Abby factor was pretty much front and center. It was the elephant in the room, and Kate had already tried to bring it up.

While they were waiting in Montreal for their flight, she’d quietly asked him what his feelings were for Abby. He’d politely told her that he didn’t want to discuss Abigail with her, and that he hoped she would understand.

“You’ll have to make a choice,” she said, voice small and shaky.

Tucker had shut down that conversation before it began. In his mind, there was no point until they knew the truth.

The van came to an abrupt halt, and he exhaled. Tucker glanced outside, eyes shielded from the sun by a pair of aviators. He saw some photographers milling about, but it was nothing like it would have been, had this been in the United States. The paparazzi would have been insane.

For one brief moment, he thought of Abby. Of the paparazzi who were no doubt circling The Essex House like a bunch of vultures. But he’d heard from Coop, and he knew his cousin was with her.

Cooper would look after her until he got back.

“You ready to do this?” Jack asked quietly, yanking on his ball cap, pulling it low over his eyes.

Tucker cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the van and a middle aged man approached them. Wearing business casual clothes, his bald head shone under the sun and he smiled hesitantly, offering his hand to Tucker.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Simon. I’m Romero Sanchez, the administrator of this hospital. We’ve been expecting you.”

The man’s English was perfect and his eyes kind. He nodded to Tucker’s brothers and then shook Jason Danvers’ hand before taking a step back and motioning toward the entrance. “Please follow me.”

Like everything else in Havana, the hospital was a little rough around the edges, worn but in a comfortable sort of way, with a hint of an era long gone. The palm trees and colorful paintings brightened up the place, and overhead large fans slowly turned, stirring the air.

Their somber group trailed behind Mr. Sanchez, and a few minutes later, they found themselves gathered in what looked like a conference room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Marley’s mother nearly rushed the man. “When can I see my daughter? Please. You have to let us see her.”

The woman was running low on fuel, and Tucker knew she was going to lose it if things weren’t sorted out soon.

Mr. Sanchez patted her hand. “I understand. But there are some things we need to do before that can happen. Procedures as it were.” He glanced over to Tucker. “We haven’t made a positive ID yet.”

Kate tugged on his arm and her desperation was palpable. “But I don’t…we were told she was here. I
need
to see her.”

“Please,” Mr. Sanchez said kindly. “Let us get everything in a row…How do you Americans say? Our ducks so to spea,k and then you can see her. I promise you Mrs. Danvers, we are wanting to make sure that everything is in order. Now if the husband can follow me, we’ll take care of a few of those things, and then we can proceed.”

Tucker waited, his face set in stone, his expression blank. But inside. Christ inside, his body was raging. He was all kinds of fear and frustration, and he just wanted to get this done and over with. He thought of Abby, but almost immediately pushed it away. He couldn’t go there right now.

Not yet.

“Can I get any of you coffee or tea?” Mr. Sanchez asked.

“No,” Jack said, stepping forward. “Maybe some water?”

“Of course. I will have some brought to you.” Mr. Sanchez turned to Tucker. “Let’s go, yes?”

They walked in silence and took an elevator up and exited on the fourth floor. “Is she here?” Tucker asked.

“Please come,” Sanchez said, and Tucker could do nothing but follow in the man’s footsteps, aware that were many eyes on him.

Mr. Sanchez stopped at a door several feet from the nurses’ station and gave a quick knock before entering, gesturing for Tucker to follow. It was a small room with dull grey on the walls and a large fake palm tree in the corner. A framed photo of a boat was the only splash of color in the room.

Behind the desk sat a man, eyes glued to a computer screen. Large wire-framed glasses magnified his eyes, but with his thick dark hair, Tucker was guessing he wasn’t much older than himself.

When Tucker entered the office, the man pushed back out of his seat and hastily made his way around the desk to shake Tucker’s hand.

“Mr. Simon. I’m Doctor Garcia. I have some things that I need you to look at.”

Tucker waited while the doctor opened a cabinet beneath the window and retrieved a plastic bag. Carefully, he opened it and laid out the items on his desk.

“Do these belong to your wife?”

Tucker moved closer, mouth clamped together so tight that pain radiated up his jaw.

There was a navy satchel, a bit worn around the edges with a broken clasp, and a long strap that was frayed. There was pink brush, missing some of its teeth, and still holding on to a few long strands of blond hair. A tube of clear lip gloss. A box of tissues. A box of surgical gloves. And a battered, worn-out, black leather wallet.

And a long, thin gold chain from which dangled a platinum wedding band. It was plain. Unassuming. Kind of like its owner.

The sight of it made his blood run cold.

“Jesus,” he whispered moving closer.

The wallet was open and the ID plain and visible. Marley stared back at him, her DMV photo unsmiling, which was pretty much what his looked like. Hell, they used to joke that she looked like a prisoner of war and that he looked like a terrorist.

Jesus. Christ. This was Marley’s.

“Where is she?” His voice was harsh as he looked up at the men. “Where is my wife?”

Mr. Sanchez spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. “So you can confirm that these are your wife’s belongings?”

Tucker shook his head. “Yes. But I don’t understand.” Christ, that was an understatement. “None of this makes sense. Where is she and what the hell happened to her? Where are the people that she was with? Where’s the goddamn plane?”

“Mr. Simon.” It was Sanchez speaking now. “Your wife came to us less than a week ago. She was hit by a vehicle here in Havana and brought in. Unconscious, with multiple injuries. We were only able to ID her because of these items.”

None of what he was hearing made any kind of sense. “I need to see her.” He tried to push past Mr. Sanchez, but the doctor’s words stopped him.

“Mr. Simon. Your wife has had some serious trauma. You must be prepared.”

“What kind of trauma?”

“There was some swelling on the brain, so we had to cut into her skull to alleviate the pressure. We’ve put her in a protective coma, a…a drug induced coma, and we are very excited at how she’s responding. The swelling has gone down, and we feel that we will be able to bring her out of this coma state very soon, but…”

This was killing him. “But?”

The doctor moved toward the door. “Come with me. But please be prepared. There is swelling and bruising and bandages—“

“I understand,” Tucker interrupted.

He followed the men up one more flight of stairs to the ICU, and they didn’t stop until they reached the last room at the end of a narrow hall. Mr. Sanchez nodded. “Please. You can go.”

Tucker didn’t wait. He pushed open the door and nodded to the nurse near the bed. She glanced behind him and then moved out of the way, disappearing into the hall and leaving him alone.

Tucker stared at the woman on the bed. God, she looked so small. So alone. He stared at her for so long that his eyes burned. He should feel something.
Something
. Shouldn’t he?

Slowly, he made his way closer, noticing the tube in her arm and a long thicker tube in her mouth. Beside her were several machines, one that allowed her to breathe and one that monitored her heart rate…or maybe her brainwaves.

Shit, did any of that matter?

Tucker took that last step until he was standing over the bed and for a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing out heavily as his brain caught up to what his eyes could see.

Part of her head was heavily bandaged, while the other part of her skull had been shaved and cut open. The bruising along her jaw and neck was pretty graphic, and her nose was broken as well. The swelling still pretty substantial.

On first glance, Tucker couldn’t tell if this was Marley or not. And Jesus, why the hell wasn’t he feeling
something
? Some spark? What the hell was wrong with him?

Running his hands through stubble on his jaw he spoke.

“Marley.”

Just one word. One word that echoed in the room and sounded so loud that he glanced around.

Tucker stood there for so long that his legs began to cramp. The doctor finally came in, his eyes gentle as he reached for the chart at the end of the bed. Beside him, the nurse moved to the other side of the bed and gingerly lifted Marley’s hand so that she could re-arrange the—

Wait.

Tucker leaned in closer, his heart starting to pound and roar in his ears. “Hold on,” he said to the startled nurse. Moving around the bed so that he could stand beside her, he glanced down at the limp hand and he didn’t know what he felt. He only knew that…

“This isn’t my wife.”

Shaking his head, he looked at the doctor. “Please. This isn’t my…this isn’t Marley.”

“Sir,” the doctor began, his voice still calm. “I know it’s a shock for you to see her like this, but I promise as soon as we bring her out of the coma—“

“No you don’t understand.” Tucker moved back. “My wife had a tattoo on her ring finger. It was a joke really, but it was there.”

The doctor and the nurse watched him intently and he knew they were probably wondering if he was finally losing it.

“You don’t understand. Marley’s job was….it could be messy. She worked with marine animals and most of the time, she didn’t wear her wedding ring while working. She wore her ring on a chain. I used to bug her about it, and one day she surprised me with this tattoo on her ring finger. Said that no one would ever think she didn’t belong to me.”

Tucker paused as that memory washed over him and finally something sparked inside him. Deep, wrenching, sadness.

“This woman isn’t Marley.” He pointed to her hand. “There’s no tattoo. It was pretty damn intricate and even if she had it removed, which she wouldn’t, there would be something there…some un-perfect piece of that tattoo. It’s just…It’s not her.”

“I see,” the doctor said slowly.

“Fuck if I do,” Tucker replied, more frustrated than ever. “I don’t understand any of this.”

Jesus. Kate and Jason were going to be devastated all over again. With a ragged breath, he shook his head. “Who is this woman and how the hell did she end up with Marley’s stuff?”

Chapter Twenty-six

By six o’clock, Abby was going crazy.

“Let’s go to The Black Dog,” she said to Cooper. They’d played two games of scrabble, a round of
Would You Rather
(and lord, the things that Cooper Simon would rather do). Wow.

And right about now, she was going to climb the goddamn walls. Abby pulled out her cell for what had to be the twentieth time and felt that now familiar pain in her heart. There was nothing. No text message and no missed call.

“He’ll call,” Cooper said.

Abby glanced up. They were on the sofa, staring out across the darkness that coated Central Park like a blanket. Overhead, stars shone in a clear sky and in the distance, the lights of the city twinkled.

“I know.”

But she didn’t know. Abby was scared shitless, and right now she didn’t know anything. It was driving her crazy.

Eden and Noah had called earlier—they were coming to New York tomorrow—but again, they knew nothing other than what Abby already knew. That Tucker had landed in Havana with his brothers and Marley’s parents.

That was hours ago.

She reached for the remote.

“Don’t do it, Abigail,” Cooper made a grab for it, but she jumped up, hit the power button and held her breath when the news channel erupted onto the screen.

“Oh God,” Abby wailed. But what had she expected? The Tucker Simon Missing Wife Saga as it was being called, was headline news.

Abby’s photo was plastered across the television. She blinked her eyes, hating the sight of such a private moment caught on film, but it did nothing. The image didn’t magically disappear.

She saw her red coat. Her red boots. Her special Valentine’s Day outfit. The one she’d put together for what was supposed to be a special night. Had it been only a few days?