by Gayle Wilson
"So you were alone in the apartment? With Tate, I mean."
"When I killed him?"
Morel nodded.
"We were alone. Is there... Is there some problem with what I did?"
Mac had told her that if he hadn't stopped her that first day, the police would have charged her with attempted murder. But surely after he'd assaulted Mac and broken in—
"There's no problem, Mrs. Patterson, I assure you. We're just trying to piece together everything that happened. The press is going to be very interested in learning how Samuel Tate was killed. I'm afraid that the media attention is going to be even more intense than what you were exposed to before."
"Are you going to tell them about...? Look. I don't care for myself. I don't owe anybody an explanation for how I live my life, but Mac... Mac tried to get me to go back upstairs." If she had, she realized, she might be dead right now. They might both be. "I don't want him to be reprimanded or publicly embarrassed because of something that wasn't his fault."
"I don't think anybody's looking to place blame or cause either of you embarrassment. The department as well as the FBI is relieved to have Tate off the streets. The fact that you are the one who made that happen, considering your connection to him..." Morel shrugged. "You can see why this is going to appeal to the media. I'm afraid there's very little we can do to shield you from their interest in this story."
She shook her head. "I don't expect you to shield me. Captain Morel. I do expect you to take care of your own. Take care of Mac. Other than that..." She hesitated, realizing again how little else mattered. "Other than that, I don't give a damn what you or the department does. Just see to it that Mac doesn't suffer, or by God, I'll make sure the press asks all those questions you don't want to answer."
"Mrs. Patterson—"
"Like how Tate got around all your supposed safeguards. Or how he found out exactly how your 'workmen' dressed and what kind of trucks they drove and when they arrived."
"If that's intended to be a threat—"
"You bet your ass it is. You take care of Mac, and I'll take care of your department's reputation. What's left of it. Otherwise..."
She let the rest trail, knowing she'd pushed this as far as she should. Mac had warned her that Morel was capable of digging in his heels, even when it wasn't to his advantage.
"Detective Donovan is a valued member of the N.O.P.D." Morel's tone was as smooth as the one he had used to address the media during the height of the previous frenzy about Tate being released. "One who was instrumental in bringing a serial killer to justice. Believe me. Mrs. Patterson, I'll be the first to acknowledge that publicly."
"And privately?"
"As I'm sure you know, Mac and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye. I doubt that will change. But neither will anything else. Whatever I am. I' m not a vindictive man."
Or a fool, Sarah thought, looking into his eyes. Morel would do whatever he needed to do to protect the department. And in this case, that meant keeping her happy, which meant that at the very least Mac's position was safe.
She had little time to enjoy that momentary satisfaction. The door of the private waiting room where they'd been directed to avoid the hordes of reporters haunting the hospital's corridors opened.
Despite his scrubs, the man who entered looked far too young to be a doctor. And considering the time frame the nurse had given her for the surgery—
"Mrs. Patterson?"
Sarah nodded, not trusting her voice. Had he come to tell her that Mac hadn't made it? That in the course of what she had already been told would be a long and delicate procedure—
"How is he?"
At Morel's question, the doctor's gaze shifted to him. "Are you a relative?"
"I'm Detective Donovan's superior."
The man nodded. "Then I can tell you that the surgery went well. Much better than anyone expected, actually. He's already been taken to recovery. Someone will come for you," he said, his eyes shifting back to Sarah, "just as soon as he's taken to the NICU."
"NICU?" Morel repeated.
"Neurological Intensive Care. As with any head injury, your officer will be carefully monitored for the next few days."
"But...?" Sarah stopped, almost afraid to put her question into words.
"No buts. He's doing good. Real good. You hang in there now, you hear?"
She nodded again, swallowing against the unwanted rush of emotion. "Thank you."
"You bet. They'll come and get you as soon as they get him settled."
Sarah hadn't realized that she'd fallen asleep. And she wasn't sure what had awakened her. But when she opened her eyes. Mac's were open, too, and he was looking at her.
She stood, taking the single step that separated her from his bed. The staff of the intensive care unit had tried to throw her out after visiting hours, but she'd refused to leave.
She knew all about rules and regulations. She also knew far too much about loss. And that there wasn't a cop in the greater New Orleans area who would have forcibly removed her from this room.
She was almost afraid to touch Mac, surrounded as he was by wires and monitors. His eyes, looking remarkably focused, considering everything, tracked her approach.
"Hey," she whispered, bending down to brush her lips over his.
She took his hand, avoiding the clip around his finger. Its warmth was comforting. As was the slight squeeze he managed in response.
His mouth moved. She leaned down again, trying to pick up what he was saying.
"You okay?"
She straightened, relieved that the question made sense, even in this context. He hadn't asked why he was here. Maybe that was a sign he remembered something of this morning's events, although the nurses had cautioned her that he would probably suffer some memory loss due to the injury.
"I'm fine."
He appeared to nod before his eyes closed again. His tongue rimmed his lips, undoubtedly dry after the anesthesia. While she was trying to decide whether to leave him to ask for some ice chips, his eyes opened again.
"Tate?"
This time sound accompanied the movement of his mouth. Her eyes filled with tears she blinked to clear.
"He's dead, Mac. It's over."
She had characterized Tate's reign of terror over her life as a long nightmare. It had been. But now...
Now there was something better in her future. The fact that Mac was cognizant enough to ask that question proved it.
"Good." Only one word, and as soft as the last had been.
With it, her tears threatened again. This time because she knew it would be.
Epilogue
"My friend Ricky likes him, too. We take him to the playground in the afternoon after school and throw the ball for him. Ricky brings a tennis ball from home. It's easier for Toby to handle."
Sarah glanced at Mac, wondering if he, too, saw what she considered to be marked differences in Dwight. Were those the result of the department's financial support or the family's access to more social services?
Whatever the reasons, the child's hair was now neatly trimmed, and he had a new jacket. One that actually fit.
Of course, it was probably too much to expect Mac to pick up on those subtle signs of change. He'd only been out of the hospital for a little over two weeks now.
According to the doctors, the prognosis was for a complete recovery. And that was happening faster than anyone had had any right to expect.
"You taking good care of him?" Mac asked, stooping to scratch behind the dog's ears.
"I walk him in the morning, real quick because of school. Then we play outside most afternoons. Us and Ricky. Then my mother and me take him out before I go to bed. Usually that's just to the lawn outside the apartment, but he doesn't seem to mind."
"And your mom?" Sarah asked. "Does she like Toby better now?"
"She still fusses some about the dog hair and stuff, but she doesn't really mind. He keeps Nana company. She likes him, too. She can't remember his name, but she k
nows he belongs to us."
At that Mac's eyes lifted to hers. Sarah knew what he was suggesting, but she quickly looked away, smiling at Dwight instead.
"I'm proud of you for taking such good care of him, Dwight. I knew I could depend on you."
"Yes, ma'am." The boy beamed, seemingly unmindful their original agreement that he keep Toby was to have been of short duration.
"How's school?" Mac asked. "Making good grades?"
"I like it better than my old school. The kids are nice to me. And so is my teacher."
They already knew Dwight had found a friend. Someone named Ricky, who brought Toby tennis balls to play with.
Sarah wasn't sure she could credit all that to Toby's influence, but it was clear the boy was happier here than he'd been before.
Mac got to his feet. She watched the process, amazed at how far he'd come in such a short time. He raised his brows as he looked at her, tilting his head slightly.
When Sarah had called today to tell Mrs. Ingersoll they wanted to come over, Dwight's mother mentioned how attached they'd all become to Toby. Especially Dwight. She'd even gone so far as to express her concern about how he'd deal with Sarah taking the dog back.
//"that's what you intend to do, she'd finished, her intonation as questioning as Mac's expression.
Was it what she intended? Right now, Sarah wasn't sure what she wanted to do about Toby. It was clear that he, too, was happy here. And even clearer that Dwight was flourishing in this new environment and ecstatic to be able to claim ownership of the dog, even temporarily.
"Sarah?"
Mac's question exacerbated the ongoing internal debate. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do.
Not because Mac didn't have his own affection for the big mutt, but because he believed it was the right thing to do. To give Dwight, who had had so little, permanent ownership of the animal that seemed to symbolize the positive changes these last few weeks had brought to his life.
Except she was finding that it wasn't easy to give Toby away. He'd been Danny's dog. Chosen by him. Named by him. And loved—dear God—so loved by him.
Toby was the only connection she had to him now. The only physical link to another little boy who had once been her whole world.
She looked at Mac. her eyes again filling with tears that had been too near the surface lately. At Morel's insistence, both she and Mac had seen a psychologist to help them deal with what had happened that day. Despite the counselor's assurances that her emotional reactions to everyday events were perfectly normal right now, she still felt like an idiot. Or a coward.
While the media extolled her courage on a daily basis, she, at least, knew the truth. All she wanted to do these days was to have Mac hold her while she cried and cried and cried.
There had been so many things during the past three years she had thought would be impossible for her to do, yet she'd gritted her teeth and found the resolve to do them. But this... This was too hard. Too unfair.
"Dwight, I'm glad you've enjoyed keeping Toby." she began. "I really appreciate it."
The boy's eyes had suddenly lost the joy that had shone from them. But Dwight too. knew too well life's unfairness.
He nodded, manfully controlling his own emotions as he bent, once more putting both arms around Toby's neck. He buried his face in the thick ruff of the dog's coat, hugging him as if he couldn't bear to let go.
He did finally, standing up and holding the leash out to her. "Thank you for letting me keep him. He's a very good dog."
"He belonged to my son." She said the words as if they explained anything. As if that made what she was doing right. "Toby's all I have of his now."
"I know. He's yours. My mother and I talked about it. That this was just temporary." He said the word carefully, as if he'd recently learned it. "Just until you got everything settled at your apartment."
She glanced at Mac, hoping for remission for the guilt she felt. That wasn't in his eyes, although love and acceptance were.
And there was something else she recognized. Not because it was familiar, but because she felt the same emotion for him. Whatever she decided today. Mac would never, by word or deed, indicate that he thought she'd done the wrong thing.
She had every right to try to hold onto the little she had left of what her life had once been. How could anyone blame her for that?
She reached out, taking the lead from Dwight's hand. "We'll bring him to see you, Dwight. As often as we can."
That was something else that was new in her world, she realized. Speaking in the first person plural.
The boy nodded, his eyes again dropping to the dog. Toby looked from one to the other of them, as if trying to figure out what was going on. His tail no longer wagged as it had almost nonstop since their arrival.
"You ready to go home, Tobe?"
His ears perked at the familiar diminutive, but then his eyes went back to Dwight.
"Go on." Dwight spoke directly to the dog. "I'll see you again real soon. Me and Ricky will throw your ball for you. You don't have to be sad. Toby. It "II be okay. It'll all be okay."
The brown eyes fastened on Dwight's thin, pale face, trying to understand what he was saying. Just as they had always fastened on Danny's.
Sarah again thought how different the two boys were. Her son had been tanned and robust. Vibrant and full of life. So confident that he was loved and always would be.
He had been. He always would be. And she didn't need Toby to help her remember Danny.
It was time to let the bad memories go. To remember only the good ones. Danny's love for Toby was certainly one of those. And the right thing to do—
She looked at Mac again, the same love shining from his eyes that shone from the dog's as he looked questioningly at this child, who needed him more than hers ever had. When she smiled, a little tremulous, Mac answered it, understanding exactly what she was thinking.
She turned back to Dwight. knowing this last sacrifice was not only necessary, but empowering. Freeing.
"Your mom said that she really wouldn't mind if you wanted to keep him. Would you like that?"
"Keep Toby?" Hope and disbelief mingled in his tone. "Forever?"
'Til death do us part...
She wasn't sure why that bit of the marriage vows echoed in her head. Maybe because that's all anyone could ever count on. A minute. Or an hour. The transient, wonderful joy of each day's living.
'Til death do us part. And beyond.
She nodded, the love she felt for all of them, the living and the dead, crowding her throat too thickly for words.
It seemed they weren't necessary. Whatever answer Dwight had sought, he found in her face. He knelt again, wrapping his arms around Toby's neck.
Over the tableau the two of them made, she met Mac's eyes. When he nodded, she knew that whatever mistakes she'd made in her life, this hadn't been one of them.
"Let's go home," he said.
Wherever that was, with Mac there, finally it would be.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1213-2 VICTIM
Copyright © 2008 by Mona Gay Thomas.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. MIRA Books. 225 Duncan Mill Road. Don Mills. Ontario. Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter wenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
