by Susan Lund
It would be good for him to spend time with his boys and get his head away from the cases, but Tess missed him intensely. They'd spent most of the past few weeks together and she'd come to rely on seeing him every day.
"Feel like going into Ellensburg to Walmart?" Mrs. Carter asked. "I have some things to get for Thanksgiving."
"Sure," Tess said, happy to get out of the house.
They drove to Ellensburg, and Tess spent her time in the electronics section, checking out the small recording devices. She usually used her iPhone to interview subjects for her articles in the Sentinel, but she had wanted to buy a dedicated recording device. She saw a small voice recording device and had the tech guy show her how it worked. It was small enough to fit in her pocket.
"I'll take it," she said.
"Have you seen this?" he asked and pulled out what looked like a ball point pen. "This little baby can sit in your pocket next to your other pens and listen in to whatever people are saying when you activate it."
"Really?" She picked it up and turned it around in her hand. It felt like an expensive pen. "How does it work?"
He showed her, pressing the top so that it clicked like a ballpoint pen would. "This is what Omarosa used to record people on The Apprentice."
"I'll take that, too," she said with a laugh. If nothing else, Michael might find it amusing.
She met Mrs. Carter at the checkout, and they returned to Paradise Hill. It was her first full day away from Michael in weeks and she was already feeling sad.
"Do you feel like going to see Kirsten and little Lou when we get back? We could have some coffee. Kirsten said she baked a coffee cake to have with it."
"Sounds good," Tess said, glad to keep as busy as possible until it was time for her to leave for Seattle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nash drove Michael to Julia’s house.
“Thanks,” he said when they stopped. “I really appreciate this.”
“How you going to get back?”
“I’ll take a taxi, I guess,” he replied. “Can’t drive yet.”
“Give me a call. I can pick you up.”
“Thanks,” Michael said. “I’ll be glad when this damn shoulder’s healed. You’re a life saver.”
“Don’t mention it,” Nash said and drove off.
When he went to the door, the babysitter, Joanne, greeted him cautiously.
"Can I see some ID?" she asked when he came to the front door and knocked.
He held out his FBI badge and she smiled and let him in. "Sorry, but I wanted to make sure it was really you."
"That's okay," he said, and entered the house. "It's good to be cautious. How are the boys?"
"They're asleep. They don't know about their mom. I didn't get the call until after they were in bed, and I didn't want to wake them up and get them all upset about her."
"I got a call that she's out of surgery and in recovery, so she'll be under observation overnight and then on the surgical ward. She should be fine, barring any post-surgical complications."
He paid her and then waved goodbye. He felt lucky that she had been willing to stay until he arrived, even though it was pretty late, but she was an older student and wanted the money.
Since there was nothing to do but wait to find out how Julia was, he grabbed some blankets from the hall closet and bunked out on the sofa in the living room. He didn't want to sleep in Julia's bedroom; that was creepy, and he wasn't sure if she was seeing someone. He balked at the idea that he'd be sleeping where someone else had slept with his wife, even if he no longer loved her.
He had loved her once.
He fell asleep with the television on, tuned to CNN, waking in the middle of the night when Nate woke up and came looking for his mother, only to find the bed empty and his dad on the sofa.
"Where's mom?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Hey, buddy, come here," he said, and pulled Nate into his arms for a hug. "Your mom is in the hospital. She had a car accident and had to have surgery but she's getting better now."
"Is she going to die?" Nate asked, his eyes huge.
"No, she's not going to die. She had to have an operation, but she'll be home soon. Grandma Wilson is coming to stay with you on Wednesday. Until then, I'll be looking after you, okay?"
Nate nodded and rubbed his eyes again. "I want a drink of water."
Michael took Nate to the kitchen and poured him a glass of water, which Nate drank down. "Can I stay up with you and watch TV?"
"No," Michael said. "You have to be rested so you can go to the hospital and see your mother, so you need to go back to sleep."
Michael led a still-sleepy Nate back to his bedroom, tucking him in and kissing him on the forehead.
"Night-night. Sleep tight," he said.
Knowing the routine by heart, Nate finished, "Don't let the bedbugs bite.”
Michael smiled. "And if they bite?"
"Squeeze 'em tight, and they won't bite another night."
Michael smiled and kissed Nate's head once more, then left him, closing the door behind him.
He poked his head into Connor's room, but he was still fast asleep, one leg hanging off the side of the bed. Michael went inside and moved his leg back under the covers, and Connor rolled over, not waking. He was such a deep sleeper that practically nothing could wake him once he was asleep.
Michael tried to fall back asleep, but it took a while, his mind occupied with worries about Julia and how her recovery would go.
He realized how much he missed the boys and wished he could have them living with him. Maybe one day, they'd all be living in Seattle, and he could actually share custody but until then, he'd have to pick the boys up and cart them back to Seattle every third weekend. It wasn't much, but it was all he could get.
Michael got an early morning call, waking him out of a dead sleep. He grabbed his cell and checked the call display. It was Chief Hammond.
"Hey, Chief. What can I do for you?"
"I popped into the office this morning before lunch and saw that the file was gone."
Michael made a face and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I took the case files home last night to do some work; I meant to bring them back this morning but I'm in Tacoma. Julia was in a car accident and had emergency surgery. I had to come to look after my boys. Sorry."
"Oh, no problem. Sorry to hear about Julia. Hope she's okay."
"She had her spleen removed but otherwise, she's recovering. I'm really sorry about this, Chief. I'll ask Tess to bring the file over when she gets up."
"Don't mention it. I'll see you when you get back. I should let you know that prosecutors are going to charge Daryl Kincaid with Patrice's murder. They'll be charging him tomorrow, so I wanted to give you a heads-up before it hits the news. No doubt the entire population of Paradise Hill will be buzzing about the case."
"Keep me posted," Michael said. "I probably won't be able to get back to Paradise Hill until Wednesday."
"I will. You take care of yourself, young man. This is all you need, given that you're supposed to be on medical leave."
"I'm fine," Michael said. "Honestly, if I didn't have something to keep my mind occupied, I think I'd be much worse."
"That’s good. I feel guilty enough asking for your advice, but you know the ins and outs of how the FBI works. We're not experienced enough with federal cases to know the protocols, so I'm really glad for your help."
After he said goodbye to Chief Joe, he sent Tess a text, asking her to drop the files off at the police department for him, since he wouldn’t be back for several days. Surprisingly, she was also up early and responded.
TESS: Yes, I saw the files and thought about you getting in trouble. I hope Chief Hammond isn't too mad at you.
MICHAEL: No, he was fine about it. I said you'd drop the file off this morning so please if you can, run by the station with the files.
TESS: I will. I hope Julia is on the mend and that the boys are doing okay.
MICHAEL
: I'll call you later, when I get some news. Promise me you won't go out alone, okay?
TESS: I promise. I won't go anywhere by myself. If I go out, I'll take your mom.
MICHAEL: Good. I miss you.
TESS: I miss you, too.
He put his cell away and went to the bathroom to have a quick shower. The boys were still sleeping. Luckily, they were at an age where they were just starting to sleep longer, and he had an hour or so to spend getting ready for the day while they continued to sleep.
When he was done with his shower, he fixed coffee and then fried some bacon he found in the freezer, deciding to put on a good breakfast spread for the boys. He was just scrambling eggs when Nate came out of the back, rubbing his eyes.
"Good morning," Michael said as Nate sat on the stool at the kitchen island. "Do you want some pancakes or some bacon and eggs?"
"Can I have both?" Nate asked, a large yellow Transformer toy clutched tightly in his hand.
"You most certainly can. Coming right up."
Michael dished out a plate with a pancake, two rashers of bacon and some scrambled eggs, pleased to be cooking for the boys. It made him feel better to be able to look after them. He hadn't seen them since he’d left for Paradise Hill. He should have driven to Tacoma to see them two weeks earlier, but he'd been recovering from the attack, and hadn’t been able to. Luckily, his arm was much better, and while he still couldn't move the shoulder much, he could use the hand.
So much had happened in such a short time…
When he left for Paradise Hill, he’d never expected to meet Tess again or fall in love. He didn't expect to be caught up in a serial murder case—one that would use all his skills as a Special Agent on the CARD team.
Whatever the case, he was glad to be in Tacoma seeing his boys and being able to care for them while Julia was recovering in the hospital.
Finally, Connor woke up and came ambling out of the bedroom, his pajamas wrinkled, his dark hair a mess.
"Where's Mom?" he asked, glancing around.
Before Michael could answer, Nate did. "She's in the hospital," Nate said, forking a piece of pancake into his mouth. "She was in a crash."
"Is she gonna die?”
Michael went over to Connor, bending down so that they were eye to eye.
"No, sweetheart, she's going to be fine. She's just getting fixed up, and she’ll be home as soon as she's better. Until Grandma comes on Wednesday, you're stuck with your old dad to look after you. How about a hug and kiss?"
Connor finally wrapped his arms around Michael's neck, and they hugged and gave each other a kiss on the cheek.
"Come to the counter and have a seat," he said, leading Connor over to the kitchen island and the stool next to his brother. "What do you want? Pancakes? Bacon and eggs?"
"Yes," Connor said and grabbed a fork, his expression eager. "With maple syrup."
He fixed Connor a plate and spent the next half hour drinking his coffee and chatting with the boys. He peppered them with questions about their friends, and how school was going.
"Can we go see Mom?" Nate asked when he was finished with his food.
"Yes, we can. I have to call to the hospital and see when we can go up and see her, but we will. We’ll have to take a taxi, because I can’t drive."
Michael got the boys dressed, their teeth brushed, and hair combed. While they played with toys in their bedrooms, he called the hospital to see how Julia was doing.
"She's on the ward and will be able to see visitors at any time. Family can visit twenty-four hours, if you want."
Michael thanked her and then checked his email. There was one from his calendar confirming his next therapy session, which was supposed to be on the following Monday. He’d have to call the office and inform them that he would be in Paradise Hill for a couple of weeks but would be back in Seattle then and could resume sessions at that point.
It wasn't that he disliked the therapy. He knew he needed it. Now, with his injury, he'd need to adjust to the reality that he might never be able to be a field agent again and would be desk-bound. Unless he could get proficient with his left hand and could be physically dexterous enough to pass the yearly physical, he would have to settle for some other job with the FBI.
That was fine, if it was his fate. He could accept it. He'd like to be a profiler, work on active cases, consulting on the evidence and drawing up a profile of the killer. He could always be an expert witness, based on his experience on the CARD team. He might even consider teaching and could consider going back to do his master’s degree in criminology or forensic psychology, depending.
The future was wide open, even if he couldn't be a field agent.
The taxi drove up and the driver beeped to announce his arrival. Michael bundled up the boys and they went to the taxi, which took them to the hospital. They stopped at the gift shop on their way to their mother's room on the surgical ward and picked up a card and some flowers. Then they went to the coffee shop, where all three signed the card, adding Xs and Os next to their names on the card.
They took the hallways and stairs to the surgical ward and finally found her room. It was a private room and she was asleep on her bed, the head raised. She looked pale against the sheets, her dark hair pulled back and her forehead bandaged. An IV threaded from the bag on a pole into her arm, and a monitor beside her bed bleeped with every heartbeat. The boys seemed mesmerized by the monitor, and hesitated, fearful.
"Maybe we shouldn't wake her up right now," Michael said. "There's a playroom down the hallway that we passed on our way in. Do you boys want to play there until your mother wakes up?"
They nodded without saying a word, Nate's hand tightly squeezing Michael's.
He took them to the brightly colored playroom, with images of Dumbo and Mickey Mouse as well as other famous cartoon characters painted on the walls. There was a play structure, with a mini-slide and a toy train set with a large track. The boys were quiet as they went to play with the toys, probably still unnerved by the sight of their mother on the bed.
It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Coyote Ridge Corrections Center was a two-hour drive from Paradise Hill. Eugene didn't visit the old bastard much, but he felt it was time to go and rub it in. He had put in a request to see his old man earlier in the week and it had been granted for Sunday afternoon or evening. He could visit until seven thirty at night and so that's what he planned—drive out there in the late afternoon and stay until visiting hours were over.
Then he'd drive back to town, park his vehicle, ride his bike to where his spare vehicle was, and drive up to Cooper Lake to spend some time with little Elena.
In fact, he decided to spend the night there, leaving earlier while it was still dark and driving to the station before anyone else arrived, having a shower at the staff room, and getting an early start on deliveries.
But first, he had to visit his parents at the local Baptist church, sitting with them for the eleven o'clock service, to keep up appearances. All through the service, he planned out what he'd do that night with Elena, not for a moment feeling the least bit guilty about it. He had no sense of guilt. No remorse.
In fact, he reveled in it—the irony could almost make him hard.
When service was over, he, Chief Joe, and his mother went to the diner for Sunday brunch, and made plans for Thanksgiving.
"We'll be working at the Mission at noon," his mother said. "Do you want to join us, help out? We can always use another hand."
"I just might," Eugene said with a smile. Not that he cared for the indigent types that frequented the Mission on Thanksgiving, but him showing his face there for an hour or so would put him in excellent standing with the community.
"Do you have the boys on Thanksgiving?" his mother asked, her expression hopeful.
"Not this year," he said and made a sad face. "They'll be having dinner with Phil and Kirsten. We get them for Christmas dinner though."
"That's good.
I'll be glad to have them. It isn't Christmas without children."
"No, it isn't," Eugene replied, not really giving a shit, but he knew it was a necessary part of being the good son and father. He didn't feel the emotions, but he understood others did and expected it of him as well.
Eugene never had a real Christmas or Thanksgiving until he moved in to live with the Hammonds, first as a foster child and then their adopted son. Before them, he had barely existed, living in the run-down mess of a home with Daryl and Allison, two drugged-out, drunken shits who had neglected him so badly he had sores all over his body from lice and bed bugs, and was underweight, his teeth rotten.
He didn't know what real love was either. Had never felt it.
Ever.
He looked at his own boys and thought they were damn lucky they had no idea what he'd gone through.
None of them did.
He was getting his, though, one girl at a time.
He said goodbye to his parents, with a promise to come by on Thursday for Thanksgiving dinner, so he wouldn't be alone—poor loser.
Then he spent a couple of hours at home, preparing for his trip to see Dear Old Dad Daryl—rub it in a bit, see the fear in the old man's eyes.
He arrived at Coyote Ridge, parked his vehicle, and then went through security, signing in so he could visit with his father. The workers all knew him through Chief Joe and were sympathetic that he had the millstone of Daryl Kincaid as his biological father around his neck.
"Come to see your father?" Travis Reynolds, one of the guards, asked as he was let into the waiting area.
"The sperm donor," Eugene said sarcastically. "My real father is Chief Hammond."
"He's a good man," Reynolds said. "You're lucky you got him."
"Damn straight," Eugene replied.
