Mike picked up the poker and went after him. John hoisted himself to a stand and hopped toward the front door, dragging his wounded leg. Blood gushed from the cut in his jeans, turning them black. Gigi threw her body against the door, again and again, barking and barking.
Mike stalked John with the poker. John reached the entrance hall, but Mike caught up with him, lowering the poker. He wasn’t a podiatrist for nothing. He took a mighty backswing and whacked John in the lower leg, shattering his tibia with a satisfying crack.
John collapsed as if shot, writhing and caterwauling on the floor.
Mike felt the poker slide from his grip. John went abruptly silent and still, passing out from pain or shock. Either way, a murderer wasn’t getting away. Mission accomplished.
Mike’s eyes filled with blood. His arm felt like it was falling off. His knees went suddenly wobbly. His stomach churned. The entrance hall began to spin, whirling around him.
He dropped to his knees, then toppled forward. He fell face down on the hardwood floor. He needed an ambulance and so did John and Karen. Gigi kept barking and throwing her body against the door. The mastiff would break the door off its hinges. She’d attack him when she got out of the laundry room.
Mike reached to his pocket for his phone, then remembered he’d left it in the car. He tried to look around for a phone, but blood ran into his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. He felt light-headed. His blood spread in a pool over the hardwood. If the cops didn’t get here soon, he’d bleed to death. Gigi body-slammed the door, which sounded like it was splintering.
Mike tried to think. There had to be a phone in the kitchen, but he was closer to the front door. He could crawl to the door and from there to the street. A passing car or snowplow would see him. Or the cops, they had to get here soon.
Mike dragged himself forward, using his right arm and his legs to propel him. He inched toward the door, smearing a gruesome trail. He passed John and kept his eyes on the front door. He didn’t know how he’d get the strength to stand up. He’d have to find a way.
The door lay only six feet ahead, but his body was failing. He was so tired. He couldn’t go another inch. He knew it was blood loss. He needed to rest. He laid his head down. Chloe must have died like this, her lifeblood leaking away, waiting for help that never came. He prayed she didn’t know Karen had let her die.
Suddenly Mike heard a noise, outside. It was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, then its door slamming closed. Finally, the police.
He filled with hope. Footsteps clattered on the wooden porch and hurried to the front door. He looked up, and a face popped into the window, but it wasn’t the cops.
It was Stephanie.
And she was taking off her coat, wrapping it around her hand, and breaking the window.
Chapter Seventy-eight
Mike regained consciousness in a hospital bed, his thoughts foggy. He was alive, and for that he thanked God. The room was dim and empty, and a half-light on the wall illuminated the high-backed chairs, a bed table on wheels, and a plastic pitcher next to a stack of upside-down paper cups. The door was to his right, open a crack to reveal a strip of fluorescent light in the hallway. He heard the sound of nurses, talking.
Mike was in pain, but it felt muted in a familiar way. He knew he was back on painkillers, though they wouldn’t get the best of him, ever again. A plastic sensor capped his index finger, reading his vital signs, and the monitor screens glowed blue, with changing white numbers. His blood pressure and heart rate were normal. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, so he knew they’d set it. He felt fresh gauze covering his forehead, so he assumed they’d closed his wounds.
He glanced to his left, groggy. The other bed was empty, its mattress bare under the window. Snow fell steadily, swirling around the streetlights, and the sky was as black as onyx, so he knew it was nighttime. His eyes closed, then opened again. His brain struggled to remember how he’d gotten here.
Stephanie.
Mike closed his eyes, remembering that much. She had broken the window, and he wondered if she’d hurt her hand. Exhaustion swept over him, and he drifted into sleep thinking of her, so when he woke up again, it seemed almost natural that Stephanie would be there, sitting in one of the chairs. She was working, making notes on a brief in her lap, her head down.
It was daytime, and the hospital room was light, with a shaft of sun streaming through the window. The metallic rattle of a cart emanated from the hallway, but Stephanie seemed not to hear it, reading with a critical frown. Her hair caught the light, shining a rich, dark red, and she had on a gray-green cable sweater and jeans that made her look less corporate, especially in pink snow boots.
“Hi,” Mike said hoarsely, after a moment.
Stephanie looked up with a grin, her green eyes bright. “Well, hello there, sleepyhead.”
“What time is it?” Mike tried to orient himself. The clouds in his head were clearing, and he felt more normal than before. He had to breathe through his mouth, and his head ached, but not more than he could handle.
“It’s about noon.” Stephanie shifted the chair closer to the bed, her papers on her lap. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad.”
“Want some water or anything? It’s almost time for lunch.”
“No, thanks.” Mike wasn’t sure if Stephanie was here as his lawyer or his friend, but it didn’t matter. He liked it. “It’s nice when you’re not yelling at me. What a difference a day makes.”
“Ha! You redeemed yourself.” Stephanie beamed. “You fought for truth, justice, and the American way.”
Mike would’ve laughed, but his throat still hurt from being intubated. “No, not me.”
“Yes, you, dude.” Stephanie capped her pen and slid it onto the side of her papers. “The MacFarlands are in this very hospital, two floors down, and when they recover, they’re both going to be charged with Sara’s murder.”
Mike felt a bittersweet twinge. It still wouldn’t bring Sara back, or Chloe. “How did they prove it?”
“They didn’t have to. The MacFarlands confessed, and the scuttlebutt is that the Quarles family pressured them into it, to avoid a trial and bad publicity. By the way, the D.A. told me that John’s email was Mac702.”
Mike felt a pang, torn. “Does Don know?”
“I’m sure he does, and by the way, I talked to the D.A., and he isn’t going to prosecute you for the fraudulent scripts, under the circumstances.”
Mike wasn’t thinking about himself. “I heard Karen say she’d been to my house that night and that she let Chloe die.”
Stephanie recoiled, horrified. “That’s terrible!”
Mike’s gut twisted. “Can we do anything about that, legally? Isn’t that a crime?”
“I’d try, for sure. I’ll get a full sworn statement from you, tell the D.A., and see if we can get her to confess that, too.” Stephanie thought a minute. “If she won’t, though, they might not be able to charge her.”
“Why?”
“They can’t prove criminal negligence unless they can show that if Karen acted, Chloe would be alive.” Stephanie frowned with regret. “We’ll try, but if not, your consolation is that Karen will be going to jail for the maximum, already. Can you live with that?”
“If I have to.” Mike appreciated Stephanie’s honesty, even if it wasn’t the answer he wanted. “I’m learning that law doesn’t always lead to justice.”
Stephanie paused. “By the way, the media vultures are camped outside, plaguing me to put you in front of a press conference. I declined and made a statement on your behalf.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you’re a great guy, upstanding citizen, blah blah, doctor, blah blah blah, Army vet. The D.A. made a statement singing your praises, too. So you’re a hero, dude.”
“No.” Mike shrugged it off.
“Yes.” Stephanie brightened. “You are. It’s official.”
“What does that make you, then?” Mike smiled
. “You saved my life.”
“I’m a heroine, but I knew that already.”
Mike chuckled. “Did you hurt your hand when you broke the window?”
“Not at all.” Stephanie flexed her fingers. “I didn’t even break a nail. Did you see how I put my coat around my hand? I got that from the movies.”
“Joking aside, thank you.” Mike met her eye. “Thank you for coming when you did. You really did save my life.”
“You’re welcome, but you haven’t paid your bill yet. I’m just a collection agent.”
Mike smiled again. Stephanie couldn’t take a compliment, an intriguing mix of bravado and modesty. “What made you go to the MacFarlands’, anyway?”
“As soon as I hung up the phone, I knew you weren’t going to listen.”
“When did the police come?” Mike had passed out and remembered almost nothing.
“They were right behind me, they got delayed by a tractor-trailer accident. Your friend Officer Torno sends his regards, and your old partner, Jim Haggerty, was here with his wife, last night. He also asked when you’re coming back to work.”
“For him? I’m not. I’m finished selling things.” Mike had thought about it last night, when the pain had kept him awake. “I have to be able to practice again, even do surgery, and it’s time to open my own office. I want to be my own boss.”
“Go for it. If I can do it, anybody can.” Stephanie smiled, and they both turned at the knock that came from the doorway.
Don was standing in the threshold in his green Hambera Construction jacket, and a sad smile spread across his chubby face. “Mind if I come in for a quick visit?”
“Please, do, pal.” Mike shifted up in bed, gesturing at Stephanie “This is Stephanie Bergen, my lawyer. Stephanie, Don Hambera.”
Stephanie extended her hand to him. “Pleased to meet you, and I’m so sorry about your loss. Sara sounds like a wonderful person.”
“She was, thanks.” Don kept his chin up, then turned to Mike. “How you doing? You gonna be okay?”
“Good as new. Be out of here in no time.”
“Thank God.” Don sighed audibly, and his big brown eyes teared up. “I have to thank you. It helps so much to know that MacFarland’s going to be punished for what he did to Sara, and to all of us. I’m so grateful you got the bastard.”
Mike’s throat caught. He still felt guilty for setting the events in motion, and he’d live with that forever. “I’m glad I could do something, anything, to help. We figured it out together, though. We made a pretty good crime-fighting team.”
Don nodded, sniffling. “We should keep the friendship thing going, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Mike smiled. “Do you golf?”
“No.”
“Me neither. We’ll just hang with the kids.”
Don chuckled, then it faded. “Listen, Bob and Danielle are out there, in the waiting room. They told me what happened with the custody case and all, and well, they want to come in and see you.”
“Really?” Mike asked, surprised. He felt ambivalent about Bob and Danielle since court. “Is Emily with them?”
“No, they didn’t bring her because they didn’t want to upset her. She’s with a sitter.” Don frowned. “They want to know do you want to see them. Don’t say no on my account. I have to go anyway.”
“What do you think?” Mike turned to Stephanie, who rose and tucked her papers into her briefcase.
“I think you should see them. The more you talk to each other, the better for Emily, and we need to make nice if we want to get unsupervised visitation. Why don’t you let me get them?”
Mike thought a minute, then gave her his answer.
Chapter Seventy-nine
Danielle gasped from the threshold as soon as she saw Mike, her forehead collapsing in a deep frown. “Oh, you poor thing!”
“Mike, Jeez.” Bob came up behind her, only slightly less shocked, in street clothes, his trenchcoat over his arm.
“Folks, come in, please.” Stephanie pulled over two chairs. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll wait outside.”
“No, Stephanie, please stay,” Mike blurted out, without thinking. His emotions were all mixed up. Bob and Danielle were family, but they were still the people who’d taken Emily from him.
“Okay, great.” Stephanie flashed him a smile and stood off to the side. Danielle sank into a chair, lost in her puffy white coat, which she had on with jeans and furry Sorrel boots. Bob sat next to her, smoothing his trenchcoat in his lap.
“Mike, well, we don’t know what to say first.” Bob’s skin mottled under his fresh shave. “Thank God you’re okay, and what you did, figuring out it was John MacFarland, it’s just amazing. You were right all along. We shouldn’t have given you such a hard time. We’re very sorry.”
“Yes, we’re sorry.” Danielle nodded, her eyes filming. She tugged a balled-up Kleenex from her pocket.
“Thanks,” Mike said, uncomfortably. “How’s Emily?”
“Good, fine.” Danielle wet her lips. “We wanted to explain why we asked you to leave the house the other day. We’d like to clear the air.”
Mike stiffened, feeling every ache in his face and body. “You explained it in court.”
“Yes, I know, but we didn’t get to say that we know you love Emily, and I guess, well, we just got scared.” Danielle frowned. “You were talking about taking her to Connecticut, and we didn’t think you were in good enough shape to do that, so we felt like we had to act, quickly.”
Bob rested a hand on Danielle’s forearm. “My wife is covering for me, but I don’t need her to. It was all my idea. I know I was wrong and I can admit it. I tend to solve things legally. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”
Mike felt something give way in his chest, a sort of a surrender, because he understood them. “I’m sorry, too. For scaring you, and for the way I acted.”
“Thank you.” Bob nodded curtly, pursing his lips.
“Yes, thanks.” Danielle blinked wetness from her eyes. “And there’s something we brought you.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a white envelope, and opened it up. “I’m sorry I went snooping in your room, that was wrong. I was looking for your pills, but I found these things, and they belong to you.” Danielle plucked from the envelope the heart milagro that Segundo had given him, the silver crucifix from Chloe, the gold coin from Lieutenant Colonel Davy, and the battered photo of Emily, then she set them out on the bed table, one-by-one. “When I saw this picture of Emily, I knew you had carried it with you, all through your time in Afghanistan.”
Mike’s throat caught at the sight of the trinkets. Each one meant so much to him, and he picked up the photo of Emily as a baby, her features still unformed. “She was young here.”
“I know.” Danielle nodded, with a sniffle. “She’s getting bigger every day.”
“She is.” Mike swallowed hard. “So, can I see her, on a visitation schedule? Unsupervised?”
“I don’t think so,” Danielle answered flatly, then turned to Bob. “Honey, what do you think?”
Bob cleared his throat, eyeing Mike. “We’re not giving you unsupervised visits.”
“What?” Mike asked, stricken. He held the photo between his fingers as if he’d never let it go.
“This is how we see it,” Bob answered, calmly. “It shouldn’t have taken a courtroom for us to hear each other, but it did. I think you heard Danielle and me when you did what you did in court, that is, letting us have custody.” He paused, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “But we heard you, too, and that’s why we want to ignore the court’s order. In fact, we’re going to apply to modify it. Emily is your daughter, and we’ve decided that no matter what the judge ruled, you should have complete legal and physical custody of her.”
Mike blinked, astounded. “Really?”
“Yes.” Bob smiled, in a regretful way. “We know who you are, inside. You lost your way coming back, but you’re on the right path now. So what we’d like to do is work with yo
u to help Emily transition to living with you full-time, where she belongs. We can go as fast or as slow as you like. You call the shots.”
“Thank you so much.” Mike felt like cheering, but he would settle for not blubbering in front of everyone. He caught Stephanie’s eye, and she was beaming.
Danielle sniffled. “But I’m hoping that you’ll let me babysit when you go back to work. And that you’ll stay in Pennsylvania, at least for the foreseeable future.”
Mike felt so happy. “Of course I will. I listened in court, too. I wouldn’t take Emily from you guys, ever. I think the three of us should raise her together. We’re her family. How does that sound?”
“Wonderful!” Danielle’s eyes shone. “And from now on, I won’t be so bossy about the baby. I know I have been, and I’m sorry about that. And, oh yes, most important of all, we decided that she has to call me Aunt Danielle, not Mommy. Otherwise, it’s confusing. Chloe was her mother, her only mother, and I know she’d be so proud of what we’re doing today.”
Bob nodded, clearing his throat huskily. “I agree, and for my part, Emily has only one Daddy. That’s you, Mike. You’re her Daddy, not me. You.”
Mike realized that Emily had never called him that. He hoped she would someday, but he’d have to earn it, and now he’d have a chance. His heart filled with joy at the sound of the simple word.
Daddy.
Chapter Eighty
“Daddy!” Emily called out, running across the grassy lawn, holding something in her fist.
“Watch where you’re going, don’t fall!” Mike called back. Emily had grown like a wildflower, already too tall for a pink dress that fit at the beginning of summer, and her curls had gotten lighter.
“She’s not going to fall.” Bob shifted some boxes in the trunk of his car.
“I know, because I’m watching,” Mike told him, with a smile.
“You can’t trip on a lawn.”
“There could be a hole from a groundhog.”
“We don’t have groundhogs.”
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