Mal stopped the SUV at the gates of his parents’ summer home. He sat staring at the ornate iron entrance. Memories of his childhood and teenage years, of summers spent in this place rolled forward. He'd loved coming home. He and his mother lived here during the summers. His father would visit, but his busy practice demanded he be available and close by, so he usually stayed on Long Island. A bird flew by the windshield, jolting him back into the present. He drew a breath. Time to ask what his mother needed. Depressing the tab, he lowered the window and keyed in his code to the gate. It activated immediately, sliding the heavy barriers apart.
He put the truck into gear and drove up the long winding drive. The shaded, tree lined roadway twisted over the hills until he crested and saw the house. Almost ten thousand square feet of pristine palace living. The house itself was made of limestone. The three-story high colonnade formed arches that were mimicked by the windows and doors. The vast expanse of greenspace was manicured by a dedicated staff. Pulling up to the front of the manse, he parked the vehicle in the visitor's area. He wasn't here as family.
He dropped the keys into the pocket of his worn blue jeans and stomped his busted ass combat boots on the concrete to drop the cuff that had caught on the boot top. The fifteen steps up to the front door seemed like a fucking mountain. He didn't want to be here, but he reached over and punched the doorbell. He could hear the echoes of the Westminster chimes. Through the etched glass of the front door he could see a person walking down the arched hallway that stretched from the front door to the back fountains. He stepped back from the door, clasped his hands into fists a couple times and waited for the door to open.
"Yes?" A small woman peered up at him.
"I was summoned here by my mother." His tone was clipped but civil. Barely.
She frowned and angled her head. "Who is your mother?"
"Catherine Boswell."
"You're her son... the doctor?" He could see she didn't believe him. The way her eyes traveled from his full beard, down his old Henley and worn jeans before landing on his combat boots told him she wasn’t impressed. Like he cared?
He lifted his brow in challenge. "I am. You can either let me in, or I can leave. Your choice." He lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch. If he played his cards right, he could be back at Dulles and catch a commercial plane going anywhere but here by dinner time.
"Please come in. You can wait in the drawing room while I inform Mrs. Boswell you're here."
"Is she in her rooms?" Maliki walked into his childhood home and scanned what he could see. Nothing was different. Strange that he thought the interior of the home would have changed as much as his interior had altered.
"I'll go–"
"No need. I know where I'm going." He strode down the hall with the little woman hustling to catch up with him.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to wait."
"You can ask all you want." He turned right and hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. The first door on the right was his mother's sitting room, and it was open. Mal knocked on the oak frame and entered.
"Harrison?" His mother stood from the chair where she'd been reading. "Oh, dear. You've grown a beard." The disapproval in her voice sounded loud and clear. He'd heard it before. Strange how he'd thought that would change, too.
Maliki's eyes scanned the woman in front of him. There were slight differences in her appearance. Her hair was shorter, a different style, and there were deeper crinkles around her eyes and parentheses around her mouth that hadn't been there when he'd left. Age could be fought, but not denied. Even the best plastic surgeons couldn't stop the march of time.
He crossed his arms over his chest and greeted her. "Mother. You look well."
"I tried to make him wait, Ms. Catherine."
He put his hands on his hips when the little lady who'd been tagging behind him spoke in a breathless pant.
"Thank you, Lucinda, my son is welcome anywhere in this house at any time. Please see to your duties." The smaller woman nodded and did an odd curtsey like dip thing before she exited the room.
He was ready to leave, and he hadn't been here two minutes. It was almost as if he’d been caught in a time-warp. "What did you need so badly that you hired a private investigator to find me?"
His mom took a step forward and lifted her arm, only to hesitate and drop it. "Ah... Harrison, could you sit with me for a moment? Please?"
"I've changed my name, legally. Please don't address me by his name." They both knew exactly to whom he referred.
"Oh. Well, that would explain why the detective had a hard time reaching you. What do you wish to be called?" She motioned to a chair across from the one she'd been standing next to when he knocked a mere minute ago.
"Maliki."
"Your middle name." She nodded as if approving of his choice. "Very well. Would you please?" She once again motioned to the chair and gracefully sank down into hers.
Mal sat down and crossed his leg, ankle over his knee, before he leveled a stare on her. "Well?"
"There are several things that need to be addressed, Harri... Maliki." She gave him a momentary smile.
"The floor is yours. I'll listen." And he would. He loved his mother, although theirs had always been a distant relationship. Not a bit of the fun and warmth of the families he knew now, but there was a certain type of love. He'd acknowledge that.
She cleared her throat and dropped her eyes to her fingers that were rolling a lace handkerchief. "First, I know that I can never redeem myself for my lack of support during the… incident."
Mal snorted. "The incident? Is that what you call it?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. "I've never been allowed to question your father. My life has been devoted to supporting him, his practice, the family name."
"At the cost of your only son." He wanted her to hear the price from his own lips.
"So it would seem." Her words were faint yet verbalized. "I was wrong. I regretted it when it happened, but I knew no other way." She snapped her head up and leveled a determined stare at him. "That isn't an excuse. My past is mine to shoulder, and I cannot change what I did. But I can control my future. I am sorry I hurt you. You'll never know how much I've grieved my lack of support... but this isn't about me, and I don't want to make it so. I have hurt you. I am sorry. If you allow me back into your life, I will do better. I can't promise I won't make mistakes, but I no longer want or need to be the woman I was."
He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "What's changed? Why now?"
"About three years ago, a colleague of your father’s, one of the partners in his practice, brought to my attention he was making mistakes, forgetting things like names of employees that had worked in the business for years. I hadn't noticed. I've stayed in residence here year-round since you left, only leaving when social engagements absolutely required my attendance. Together, the partners and I were able to manipulate your father into a physical examination. He believed it was for a new insurance program. We discovered your father was suffering from a form of vascular dementia. While there were, and still are, periods of absolute lucidity, it was obvious to everyone, but him, that he was ill. After two years of legal maneuvering, the partners, with my assistance, were able to remove your father from the practice."
Mal stared at her. She drew her shoulders back and looked straight at him as if daring him to find fault with her actions. He couldn't do that until he actually understood what the hell was going on. He dipped his head and narrowed his eyes. "Explain to me what you mean by you gave the partners your assistance."
"I allowed his partners access to conversations your father would have with me. Conversations that showed without a shadow of a doubt that he was incapable of continuing as managing partner for the practice. They put him over a legal barrel he couldn’t fight."
"And how did he handle that?"
"Not well. He served me with divorce papers. I fought his lawyers with mine
. A year ago, his lawyers withdrew the petition."
"What happened to make them withdraw?"
"They couldn't deny what we all knew. He wasn't well."
"What did you do then?"
"I had him declared legally incompetent."
Mal's head snapped back. "What?"
She lifted her chin. "It was necessary. As I said, he isn't well."
Mal leaned back in the chair and shifted his gaze to the window, although he wasn't seeing any of the grandeur beyond the glass.
"Where is he now?"
"Here, in his rooms."
"Vascular dementia..." Maliki racked his brain trying to remember what he knew about the progressive disease. "Strokes?"
"When I took over his care, there were none that we knew of, but we had a CT done. The doctors tested and retested and they believe he had several mini-strokes."
Mal nodded. "Transient ischemic attacks."
His mom's smile was brief. "Yes, I believe that was the term."
"His behavior changed at that point?"
"Yes."
"Has it gotten worse?"
She drew a breath and shook her head. "Since I've been able to direct his healthcare, the disease has not progressed as quickly. He had undiagnosed and uncontrolled high blood pressure. We have that under control now. However, six months ago, he had a stroke. He didn’t have full time nursing. I had arranged to have someone on the premises at night because if he became confused he could wander. That was the only thing we were concerned with at the time. So the drugs to combat the effects of the stroke were delayed. The damage was permanent."
Mal swallowed. He wanted nothing to do with his father, but he never would wish this demise on the man. "How bad is he now?"
"On good days, we can visit without him becoming too confused. His left side was affected by the stroke. He has some facial paralysis, and his left arm is very weak. His speech is slow and deliberate. He gets upset when he is forced to make a decision, so I plan his days for him. Keep him to a schedule. It helps a bit, although he forgets more and more." His mom's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry." He blinked at his comment. Was he honestly sorry? Yes, damn it, yes, he was sorry his mother was going through this alone, and he was sorry for his father. Dementia was an undiscriminating, fucking, thief.
"Thank you." She gave him a sad smile. "We've talked more in the last six months than we have our entire marriage, which is... a statement to our dysfunction."
Mal kept his mouth shut. What else could he say? I'm sorry? He'd already given her that. Instead he waited. There had to be a reason she'd sent a private investigator looking for him.
"So, the reason I called you is that I want you to come home, to be a part of this family again and... he'd like to see you." She sniffed and delicately blew her nose.
Mal blinked at her. "I'm not inclined to grant either of those requests." Years ago, he'd have loved to have had this conversation. Before he forged a life that had nothing to do with his parents.
"Why?" She dabbed at her eyes.
"I'm not the man you think I am. I'm not the person you knew."
She stared at him before she acknowledged, "I can see that, but I'm willing to accept the man you've become. Please Har... Maliki, give me the opportunity to know the man you are now."
He stood and wandered over to the window. A gardener was tending to the flowers that circled one of the many fountains that were erected in the back acreage. He didn't fit into this life any longer and he didn't want to be a part of it.
He felt her come to stand beside him. She barely reached his shoulder.
"I know I don't have the right to ask you to give me a second chance."
"You don't." He agreed.
Her head dropped and she nodded.
"But I can stay for a few days."
She tipped her head up. Joy flashed across her face. "I'll have Lucinda put fresh linens–"
"No, thank you. I have a hotel room in Paintville. I'll stay there."
She blinked rapidly at the rebuff but gave him a careful smile. "Of course. Perhaps we can start with lunch today?" She glanced down at the diamond encrusted watch on her wrist. "Cook will be ready to serve, soon."
"Perhaps tomorrow. I have an appointment in town, and I'll need to check in with my employers." Guardian wasn't an issue, but right now he sure as fuck was going to use them as an excuse. He needed to wrap his head around the massive, double-clutching shift he'd just experienced.
She put her hand around his arm, and he bent it, placing a hand on hers before walking with her toward the front door. "I long to hear what has happened in your life."
"It isn't the life I was raised to have, but I believe I've made a difference."
"A difference?" His mom looked up at him. "In what?"
"In this world. I've made a positive impact."
"Do you do charity work? Doctors Without Borders?"
Maliki dropped his head back and laughed. "No, I don't work for that organization but borders never really bothered my employer."
His mom gave him a baffled, confused smile. "I don't understand."
"I work for Guardian Security." He slowed his pace as they approached the grand stairway he'd flown up earlier.
"You're not practicing? Is that why you've changed so much, physically? Because of this job?" She stopped at the top of the stairs.
"No, I started bodybuilding when I was in the Air Force." He took a step down, but she remained on the landing.
"You served in the military?"
He nodded. "Six years. Pararescue."
"You jumped from planes?" Her eyes widened, and she fanned her free hand over her chest.
"And so much more."
She snapped her mouth shut and blinked rapidly. "You've lived." The awe in her voice was palpable.
"I have, and I've lived well." He'd launched from this place and became a man he could be proud of, and that was of utmost importance to him. "I'll be back tomorrow, Mother. Until then." He leaned down, even though she was a stair above him, and kissed her cheek before he turned and trotted down the stairs and out the door.
The fresh, warm air that greeted him smelled of newly cut grass. He shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. His mother's words and actions were a balm for a wound he knew he had but until today had no way of healing. He glanced up at the sky, brilliant blue with a few tufts of white fluff hanging to accent the splendor of the noon sun. Perhaps this trip back could begin to heal those old injuries. Perhaps.
Chapter 4
Mal drove into the parking lot, found a vacant slot and cut the motor. As he dialed his phone, he glanced around the lot, noting several SUVs with similar markings to the one Senior Deputy Campbell had driven.
"I talk to you more than I talk to my wife," Joseph growled.
"Bullshit. I'm going to stay for a week or so."
"Everything okay?"
"No. Not really. The old man is sick. Mom is offering an olive branch."
"Grab onto that motherfucker."
"Plan on it, that's why I'm taking a week or so." Mal chuckled at the grunt he got in reply. "Is there any problem from the incident last night?"
"Not on our end. I checked with Jewell first thing this morning. She's got you boxed in, cut off, and sanitized. You're golden."
"You okay with me being gone?"
There was a pause before Joseph sighed into the phone. "Keep up with your physical training. The skills classes you've been attending aren't going to wait for you, so I'll insert you in different ones when you come back. I can't guarantee Jason is going to approve you going down this road, though."
Well, damn, Joseph noticed more than he let on. "I don't know if I want to pursue it or if it is a pipe dream."
"Having the option open is smart. You have the background, minus medical school. Not everyone can be a wimpy ass office worker, right?"
"Medical school, residency and internship." Plus, countless hours of continuing education to hold h
is accreditation, but hey… who was counting.
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're smart."
"I'm fucking badass," Mal countered.
"For an office worker," Joseph shot back at him. "Seriously. Keep up with the physical conditioning. Stopping will only make getting back into the groove harder."
"I am. I ran six miles this morning. Going to look for a gym after I deal with the County Mounty who wants a statement about last night." His parents had a personal gym, but he'd be surprised if it had anything more than dust in it.
"Only six miles? Lightweight."
"Ran, not jogged, asshole."
"Whatever. This county cop going to be a problem?"
"Nah. She's in the trenches of the paperwork war." According to some of the former law enforcement types who came through training, death by papercuts was a very real form of torture for a cop.
"Got intel that the girl is expected to make it."
"I got that, too. Thanks."
"You know, her still being alive... that's down to you."
"I was in the right place at the right time, at least for her." He was glad he'd listened to his instincts and stopped.
"So it would seem. You got anything else, or are we going to keep gossiping like a bunch of silver-haired hens?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?"
"So many times. So many ways." Joseph laughed; evil laced the edges of the sound.
"It was a rhetorical question. I'll call if anything else happens."
"Definitely call. We'll chat. I can peck at the gravel with you if you need me to do that. You know that old saying… Whatever it takes."
Laughter burst from him. "Fuck you, asshole, as long as it takes."
"See, I keep telling you, Ember would object."
Mal shook his head and cut the connection. "Fucking idiot."
He made his way into the building and stopped at a counter in front of what appeared to be a dispatch center. The woman held up a finger and finished talking on the base station radio before she ambled over to the bulletproof glass that encased the small nerve center. "What can I do for you?"
Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2) Page 5
