by Linda Ladd
“Can't let you do that, Mac,” Booker said, watching several officers streak to a stop behind the Mustang and jump out of their patrol cars.
“The hell you can't. You'll go back to jail if they find out you're involved in all this shit. There's gotta be a motel somewhere down this ramp. Find it, check in and I'll come back for you when I talk myself outta all this. Go on, get going, hurry it up."
Booker shook his head. “I'm tired of running. This is where it's going to end."
“Oh, man, you sure that's what you wanna do?"
Booker nodded as half a dozen police officers rounded the end of the overpass, guns drawn.
“Police! Drop the gun, drop it, drop the gun!"
Mac immediately tossed the Beretta aside and raised his hands. “Take it easy, take it easy, I'm St. Louis PD retired. The dead guy was trying to kill us."
“Get on the ground! Get on the ground now!"
Booker and Mac both dropped to their stomachs, arms spread wide, and within seconds were surrounded by cops, knees in their backs as their arms were dragged behind them and handcuffs snapped into place.
“You, too, lady, get down, get down!"
Booker lay helplessly and watched as they forced Joey out of Kate's arms and got her facedown on the ground. While they were cuffing her, she looked at him, her cheek against the pavement, eyes afraid.
“It's going to be all right, Booker, we can explain everything, tell the truth,” she cried, as they patted her down, then pulled her back to her feet.
“Mac's got a lawyer he can call, name's Dick Graysen. Don't say anything until you talk to him, you hear me, Kate, don't say anything until you talk to him,” he told her as he was jerked roughly to his feet and hauled with Mac and Kate toward the waiting police cruisers. Despite Kate's words, he knew it wasn't going to be all right. Kate had a lot of explaining to do before she could get herself out of trouble, but she had a good chance to walk free if Saracino backed up her story. Booker wouldn't be so lucky. He was on his way back to prison for a very long time. No question about it.
Thirty-Four
KATE MASSAGED grainy, bloodshot eyes and tried to estimate what time it was. It seemed hours on end since she'd been closed up in the police interrogation room. Surely it was getting close to daybreak. Sometimes she'd been left alone in the unventilated, windowless room, subjected to endless waiting after she'd told her story to Mac's lawyer friend, Dick Graysen, who'd sat at her elbow through an endless grilling session by detectives. She'd told them the basic truth, omitting only the fact that Joey really was Anna Saracino's baby, starting from the moment Misha had burst into her kitchen until Mac had shot Dmitri dead on the overpass. The cops had seemed skeptical, to say the least, but on Graysen's advice Mac and Booker were telling the exact same story.
Rubbing her stiff neck, she stretched her arms over her head and tried to stay alert. She stared into the mirrored wall directly in front of her. There were people behind it, of course, watching her. She'd seen enough episodes of NYPD BLUE to know that.
The primary detective who'd done the questioning had been an older man named Lieutenant Piedmont, and her eyes still watered from his habit of chain-smoking Marlboros. The white ceramic ashtray in front of her was overflowing with ashes and butts, and a stale odor emanated from the thin, gray haze lingering near the ceiling. But he hadn't gotten rough with her, probably because of Graysen's presence. Kate took a sip from the Styrofoam cup that had been brought in to her an hour before. The coffee was cold and tasted as if Piedmont had put out his cigarettes in it.
Kate wondered if they were still questioning Booker and Mac, working them over, meticulously comparing their stories. She'd asked if Booker was all right, if he'd been taken to the hospital for his gunshot wound, and Graysen had told her he was in the next interrogation room. He'd also assured her that Joey was being well taken care of for the night, safe and sound in the home of a city foster caregiver.
Pressing her fingertips into her aching eyeballs, she rubbed them a moment, trying not to worry about the baby, about Booker, but that's all she'd done, all she'd been able to do. She needed to talk to Booker, be with him; she didn't feel safe without him anymore. She'd come to depend on him. She sighed miserably and propped her forehead in her open palms. When in God's name was this ever going to end?
It seemed as if hours had crept by before the door opened again. Kate jerked her head up, hoping she'd get some news. Graysen appeared, a diminutive man in an expensive brown plaid sport coat and silk tan tie knotted neatly at the collar of a crisp white linen shirt. He was dark of skin, eyes, and hair, unshaven from being awakened in the middle of the night but ever relentless in the protection of his clients. He spoke rapid-fire and expected everyone else to do the same. He'd pounded home every conceivable question time and again during his first, private interview with Kate. Her low spirits leapt like a startled gazelle when she glimpsed Mac Sharp behind Graysen in the doorway. Then Booker moved into sight, and thank God, he looked all right. Kate shot to her feet and rounded the scarred wooden table, eager to talk to them.
“They're gonna give you a couple of minutes,” Graysen told Booker.
“I owe you for this, buddy. How about I buy you a steak and eggs breakfast as soon as you get us outta here,” Mac was saying as they closed the door and left Booker alone with her.
Kate couldn't take her eyes off Booker. He looked as weary as she did. He had on his red satin Cardinals jacket without a shirt, and she could see the gauze wrapped around his torso and several huge black bruises where the slugs had impacted the Kevlar vest. Without a word she walked into his arms and put her cheek against his bare chest, uncaring who might be watching them through the mirror.
“Thank God, you're all right,” she whispered, wincing as she took in his bruised, battered face. His bottom lip was split from the fight with Dmitri, and there were a couple of butterfly Band-Aids on a cut on his chin. “I've been so worried about you.” She gently touched the tightly wrapped bandage around his waist. “Does this hurt much?"
“No. The bullet barely grazed my side. The EMTs fixed me up in the ambulance, then turned me over to the cops to bring downtown in the cruiser."
Booker pulled her with him to the table and dragged two chairs close together. Kate gripped both his hands, glancing at the mirror and speaking very softly. “Are they watching us?"
“Graysen said he'd make sure no one was in there while we talked so we have some privacy."
Kate felt herself relax. “Then they've finished questioning you and Mac?"
Booker nodded. “Yeah, all night long, but our stories apparently jibed with Vince Saracino's version of what went down. We got a real break when Mac got hold of Graysen. He knows how to handle the detectives and managed to persuade them to take the Saracinos’ statements tonight instead of tomorrow. Graysen called a couple of Mac's old friends on the force to come down, too, and that probably helped us get a fairer shake than we would've otherwise.” He'd been looking closely at her as he spoke. “You don't look so good, Kate. Were they rough on you?"
Kate shook her head. “No, not really, I'm just tired. Graysen made things fairly easy, I guess. I just told them the truth in as much detail as I could remember."
“Vince and Anna told the detectives the same story we did about Kavunov coming after us, said as far as they were concerned we had nothing to do with the abduction. That pretty much gets you off on the kidnapping rap. You're gonna walk as soon as they get the paperwork done. Graysen's even agreed to give a press conference to the media exonerating you from any wrongdoing."
A great tide of relief rolled over Kate's mind as Booker continued.
“Vince played dumb and told the cops he didn't have a clue why his wife's personal bodyguards came after you and your husband so hard, said he didn't even know they were after you until Mac contacted his cousin about exchanging the baby. The cops are conjecturing there was some kind of vendetta between Dmitri and Reed, and when Dmitri heard Michael had a baby
, he decided he was the kidnapper and went after him."
So that was the story they were using, noninvolvement, which would fly since the Russians were all dead and unable to dispute their version. But Kate was more concerned about the baby. “Then they don't suspect the truth about who Joey really is? They'll start looking into the adoption now, won't they, to see if it's legal?"
“They already have.” Booker smiled a little. “Your sheriff friend in Van Buren came through for you big time, Kate. When they called down there to find out what he had on the case, he'd already done a search of your cabin and had Joey's signed adoption papers in evidence. Faxed them up here within the hour."
“Thank God."
“Michael must've gone to a lot of trouble making sure the adoption was signed, sealed and delivered by a judge out of St. Charles. Graysen had to wake him up to verify the signature but he did inform the cops it was legitimate."
Kate was surprised to learn that the false adoption papers had stood up to scrutiny, then wondered why she doubted Michael's expertise. He'd always been slick, always won his cases one way or another. Of course he would've covered his tracks well, in case Vince got suspicious and checked out Joey's true identity. Thank God he'd bribed the judge or done whatever illegality was necessary, because those false documents were going to save her from losing Joey.
“So it's over? For good?” Kate shut her eyes and felt raw emotion burn its way up the back of her throat. “When can we get Joey back? I need to hold him in my arms, Booker. I want you to take us home. Then I don't think I'll ever leave the river again."
Booker's gaze slid away from her face and stayed fastened on their entwined hands. Fear streaked through her like fire, and Kate cupped a palm on his bruised jaw and forced him to look at her. His blue eyes were shadowed, hiding the truth, but she knew, she knew, and her heart sank like a granite gravestone. “Oh, my God, Booker, they aren't going to let you go, are they?"
Booker lifted a shoulder, tried to shrug it off. “They ran my name and came up with the military warrant. It's not exactly a surprise. I figured it'd happen sooner or later."
Kate stared at him, sick inside, afraid for him, afraid of losing him. She thought of visiting him in prison, seeing him locked behind bars, and it made her sick to her stomach. “What's going to happen to you? Tell me."
“They've got MPs on the way to pick me up. I'll probably end up back at Leavenworth."
Tears brimmed up before she could stop them. “You wouldn't be in this trouble if it weren't for me. This is my fault. Oh God, I can't bear for them to take you."
“It's not your fault so don't start blaming yourself. I didn't go into this blindly. You're gonna get Joey back, that's the important thing."
“But I want more than that, Booker, I want us to be together, I don't want to lose you..."
Booker let go of her hands, stood up, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, Kate, don't feel obligated. You don't owe me a thing. My advice is to get Graysen to make sure Joey's adoption is ironclad legit, then go on with your life. I'm gonna be locked up for a long time, you can bet on that."
“Graysen's good, he can get you out of jail and back on the river with us where you belong.” They stared at each other, neither able to speak. “I'm going to get you out, Booker, I don't care how long it takes...."
Booker suddenly got agitated. “You need to get on with your life, raise the kid. You don't owe me a damn thing."
Kate stood up and faced him, her own temper flaring. “Will you quit saying that! Of course I owe you. I owe you my life, and Joey's, quit acting like that means nothing, like you don't care if you ever see us again, I know better, I know better."
A beat passed, then another. Booker pulled her against him, one hand in her hair, his words muffled against her ear. “Don't you understand, Kate, I don't know how things are gonna turn out so we can't make any plans. I don't know if we'll ever be together again. All I know is that I don't want you wasting your life waiting around for me to get out when I know full well they're gonna throw the book at me. I may be locked up for another twenty years, Kate."
“I don't care if it is twenty years,” she whispered stubbornly. “I don't care if it's forever."
They broke apart when someone tapped on the door. Graysen poked his head in. “Sorry, Mr. Booker, but they're here for you."
“Please, can you give us a few more minutes,” Kate asked quickly, “to say good-bye?"
Graysen hesitated but he finally nodded. “I'll try but make it quick."
Kate said nothing, couldn't say anything, just pressed herself against Booker, her arms clasped around his waist. Though she struggled not to cry, knew he wouldn't like it, a sob caught in her throat. His arms tightened, and she could feel his pain, hear it in the hard pounding of his heart. Booker held her a moment longer, then stepped back. “You take good care of Joey. He's a good little kid. Go on with your life like before, you'll be fine."
Kate looked into his eyes, eyes that had seen too much, had suffered too much. She raised her chin. “I'm going to get you out, Booker, no matter what it takes. I'm not going to rest until you're free."
Kate smiled at him but her eyes were swimming with tears when he pulled her back into his arms. He held her wordlessly until Graysen showed up again a minute later.
“Okay, Booker, time's up."
Kate gripped Booker's hands, hanging on as if that would keep him there, squeezing his fingers as two tall uniformed MPs moved across the room. She had to stand back as they cuffed Booker's hands in front of him and led him away. At the door Booker stopped and turned back.
“Take care of yourself, Kate. Everything's gonna be okay now, you'll see."
Kate nodded and watched the door shut behind him. Her legs crumpled and she sank down at the table. I'll get you out, Booker, she thought, I will, no matter what it takes. She forced a swallow over the giant lump in her throat, then found the wall holding back an ocean of suppressed emotions begin to crack. She'd fought so long, held herself resolutely in control throughout the long, horrible ordeal. But she couldn't do it any longer, not without Booker there to bolster her courage and help her get through it. She put her head down on her folded arms and wept with the fear she'd never see Booker again.
Epilogue
BOOKER STOOD on the front porch of his cabin and stared out through the scarlet and gold trees lining the riverbank. Afternoon sun streaming through the branches made the colors glow with such vivid beauty that his breath caught in his throat. It had been a year and a half since he'd stood in this quiet place and enjoyed the serenity of the river. The last time was the night he'd stood watch over Kate and Joey, the day he'd carried her unconscious and bleeding into his life. In the distance the river rushed and swirled and he shut his eyes, inhaling the familiar, long-coveted scents of fish and mud and fallen autumn leaves. God, he'd missed it. All the months in Leavenworth he'd thought of this moment in this place, visualized it in his mind as he tried to lock out the constant noise of prison life, the yelling and screaming, the clanging of heavy iron doors.
Booker had come home well after dark the evening before, but Kate had already been there. She'd left a vase of yellow roses on the front porch beside the cane rocker. He could smell their sweetness in the air. She'd left him food in a cooler, fried chicken, potato salad and apple pie, a pile of clean, neatly pressed clothes on the cot, and a six-pack of Coors Light. He shook his head. He'd never met anyone quite like Kate. She was indefatigable. After he'd been taken into custody, she had pursued his release with the same dogged determination she had displayed when she'd saved herself and Joey from Dmitri Kavunov. Kate Reed was a woman like no other, no question about it.
Booker had spent the morning sitting in the chair, watching leaves flutter down into the splashing currents, thinking about Kate and everything awaiting him downstream at her cabin. He had stubbornly told himself for months he was no good for her, that she didn't need an ex-con in her life, but he hadn't been fooling anyone, no
t himself, and especially not Kate. He would be with her again if he was lucky enough to get the chance; he knew that now and he'd known it then.
Suddenly compelled to see her again—it'd been a month since she'd visited the prison—he stepped over the railing and shuffled through the leaves on his way to the riverbank, his thoughts on Kate and what she'd done for him since his incarceration. She had marched into his military hearing, pumped up and outraged that the army would dare jail a war hero, much less a prisoner of war. She had testified articulately and passionately for his release, had brought in Jumbo, Mavis, Mac and everyone else she could think of as character witnesses. She had been magnificent.
To Booker's shock, the court had decided to show leniency, perhaps because of Kate's relentless campaign for his freedom, or more likely due to the fact that Denton had succumbed to heart disease since Booker's last trial and hadn't been there to press as the victim for maximum punishment. The judges had given him two years, but he'd gotten off six months early for good behavior.
Kate's letters had begun as soon as the hearing was over, one every single day. She had come to visit him once a month, always with Joey in her arms, but seeing her and being unable to touch her had tortured him as much as life in an eight-by-eight cell. She had baked him dozens of chocolate chip cookies, sent him photos of Joey and her fishing or swimming or dozing together in a giant hammock on her back deck. And he'd been grateful, so grateful to have that lifeline to the world, to the river he loved, that even now his heart clutched to think what it'd meant to him.
The canoe she'd left for him was pulled securely onto the bank. Big red letters spelling out Pop's Bait Shop emblazoned the side. Kate's invitation to float down the river and join her. Booker didn't need an invitation. He stepped in the canoe and pushed off with the paddle, caught the swift current and dipped his paddle deep into the clear blue-green water. She had wanted to drive up for him at his release but he had asked her not to. Mac had come instead, and Booker was glad. He had needed time to acclimatize himself, to get his mind in order.
