That was it. There was no more.
Lauren was released, thrown forward to her knees. She stumbled and crawled until her arms were thrown over Eli who was rolled into a ball of pain. One. Two. Three and four doors slammed shut. The engine was fired, the car slammed into reverse and then the street went dark again.
“Eli?”
Lauren cried gently. She lay over his body, knowing there was nothing she could do for his pain, praying it was not so bad that he couldn’t get up and out of there. “Eli?” She raised her head and then her voice. “Someone! Help us!” But Damien’s homeboys were gone, off into the night, enough trouble chasing them already. “Someone?” Lauren whispered knowing that no one would come.
They stayed there, curled together, licking their wounds. Lauren and Eli rocked, alone on the spot where Wilson Caufeld died, and Damien Boyd had run from the sound of gunfire. Backs had been turned on Wilson that night, eyes closed, hands were put over ears. As Lauren lowered her cheek to Eli’s back, she knew that ended as of now. She’d watch her back, but she’d never turn it to Eli Warner or Wilson Caufeld again.
24
“Your kitchen is so neat. The ice trays were actually filled.”
Eli heard Lauren from the other room, but he didn’t open his eyes until she was standing over him. Even then, opening his eyes was a chore.
“Don’t. Don’t do anything that hurts.” She slipped onto the sofa and put her fingers over his eyes, closing them. He relaxed at her touch only to brace himself as she shifted her weight on the sofa. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Shhh. Here.”
Ice pack. That went on his jaw. Fingers. Those went through his hair. Soft, wonderful hair that wasn’t quite wavy but not really straight.
“What do you use on your hair?” She pulled her fingers up and let his hair sift through them. “Most women would kill for this hair you know.”
“Better than...guys who tried...tonight,” Eli mumbled.
Lauren chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. Ever been stomped with high heels?” Eli shook his head carefully. There was no way he didn’t hurt like hell and she thought he was crazy for trying to act like he didn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be brave for me.”
“I not.” He swallowed hard. He seemed to have a two-word maximum per breath and contractions weren’t part of the deal. He adjusted his icepack, his hand over hers. “Brave. For me.”
Lauren laughed out loud and leaned down, burying her lips in his hair, talking against it because it felt marvelous on her mouth. “You’re a funny man, Eli. In more ways than one.” She sat back up again. “I have a warm bath ready. You sure your ribs aren’t broken?”
He shook his head. “Okay.”
“Ready to try to get up?”
Lauren eased herself off the sofa, barely moving the cushion as she did. Gently she snaked her arm under his back and lifted. He did his part, but she didn’t let go even when he was on his feet. He could have actually found his own way, but Lauren couldn’t let him go, and Eli had no good reason to ask her to.
The bathroom was steamy, and she shut the door quickly so it would stay warm. With exquisite care she undressed him, kissing him now and again, comforting him the way she should. Tonight, she was caretaker, magician, someone stronger, but only because the hurt was on the inside. She hurt because she had let him stand alone so long.
“Careful now,” she said, helping him step into the tub. She steadied him as he lay back. Wordlessly Lauren ministered to him. Soap on a cloth, she washed his body; cloth dipped into the water and water dripped and waved over him until she saw the pain wash away. Lauren smiled, seeing she cared for him well. It was a new experience. There were people in her life to lean on, to bury, but no one to care for. Wilson needed nothing but her company. Her mother had been so young and competent when she died. Allan...Lauren shook her head. She’d rather think of anything but Allan.
“You didn’t lie about my mother, did you, Eli?” Another wave of warm water over his shoulders and another. His eyes were closed so he didn’t see the melancholy smile on her lips when he stayed silent. “I didn’t think so.” The sound of the water lapping over his aching muscles as she moved methodically soothed her too.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay. Really.” More soap, but this time she used her hands. Small hands running over his broad shoulders. Slipping down across his chest while she talked. “After tonight I don’t think I’ll be talking about it anymore. You were right, Eli. People just do things. Sometimes they think about the things they do, sometimes they don’t, sometimes they punish themselves for their mistakes.”
“Sometimes they punish,” Eli swallowed. The bath must be working. He got four words out. “...others.”
Lauren nodded. Yes. Sometimes people who had done wrong hurt others, and there was a possibility that Allan Lassiter had done just that to Wilson Caufeld. Though those reasons were still unclear, Lauren had no doubt they existed.
“What about you? Remember you told me you lived with someone who taught you about honesty? What was that all about?” She rinsed her hands and dried them, sitting with her back to the tub while Eli lay quietly. “A wife? Did she cheat? Did you? No, never mind. None of my business. I just want you to tell me your war stories, so I’ll feel better about mine.” She tilted her head back and smiled. He was watching her. Eli lifted his hand from the water and touched her face. Lauren took that hand in hers and held it there, tight, cupped against her cheek though water trickled onto her shirt.
“Mother, too.” Eli let his hand drop. Lauren turned, slipped to the floor, and put her back to the tub. She rested her head against the porcelain and closed her eyes. Tired, but not too tired to listen to the story he told so slowly and painfully. Perhaps that’s what made the tale so poignant. Tears came to her eyes imagining Eli the boy, so desirous of warmth and love, so rejected. She sighed deeply.
“We’re a pair aren’t we, Warner?” Lauren pushed herself off the floor.
“Orphans.”
“Nope.” She set her jaw, that square jaw Wilson found so attractive. “Not anymore, Eli.”
“Believe me...” He swallowed, “now?”
“Yes, Eli,” she said and reached for him, supporting him until he could stand, helping him back out of the tub. She rubbed him with a huge towel. She kissed his back and wrapped him in his bath sheet. He pushed it away and wrapped his arms around her as if that were the only comfort he needed. He didn’t shiver, and Lauren closed her eyes.
“Warm. Thank you,” was all he said, and Lauren knew she had accomplished something magnificent.
Finally, she had him in bed. Aspirin was administered. Covers were pulled tight. The lights were off.
“Will you stay?” he asked while she still bent over him.
“Yes,” she answered. She kissed his lips and that kiss was lingering. He smelled of soap and sorrow.
“Sorry.”
“About what?” she whispered against his lips.
“Your mother. Caufeld.” He hesitated. “Lassiter.”
“I know. But it’s all right. It was time for me to know, Eli.” Pulling back, she smoothed the covers on his bed. So many, many covers to keep him warm. Lauren stood back. She saw his eyes glitter through the dark. She didn’t touch him when she said: “I was going to tell you something before your friends came. I went to Damien Boyd’s arraignment. Indicted in a day, arraigned in four, Edie pulling out all the stops. Mark Jackson was looking so damn smug.”
“Lassiter there?”
Lauren shook her head. “Nowhere to be found.” Eli’s eyes closed. That defeat hurt more than anything those men had done to him. This, though, Lauren could cure. “But Damien Boyd is being defended by Bernard Gold.” Eli’s eyes opened. Lauren gave him a huge dose of medicine. “Bernard used to work for Allan. He never made partner. Allan said he was incompetent. He couldn’t get another job, so he hung out his own shingle. He was barely making it until Allan kindly recommended him to Damien’s case. Bernard
’s thrilled. He’s sure the publicity alone is going to shoot him right over the top. Bernard may have his fifteen minutes of fame on this, Eli, but consider this. With an incompetent attorney defending him, Damien’s bound to go down fast.”
“Think that’s interesting?”
“Isn’t it? Considering that Allan handled Damien pro bono.”
“Too much coincidence.”
“I’m still not sure he pulled the trigger,” Lauren said and smoothed his hair.
“Probably didn’t,” Eli said and turned on his side. Lauren knelt on the ground so she wouldn’t disturb him as he drifted off to sleep. He murmured, “Gotta prove it.”
“Gotta figure out why,” Lauren whispered back, kissing him once again before she left him to mend.
Back in the living room, Lauren covered herself with a blanket and settled herself in Eli’s chair. She curled up and laid her head back hoping to rest. Instead, she stayed awake for hours listening to the sounds of a different night than she was used to. Not so quiet. Not so secure. When sleep came, it was deep and satisfying because she knew exactly where she stood. When morning came and Eli still slept, Lauren let herself out of his apartment.
God help her, she knew exactly what she had to do.
25
Traffic had been bad from the minute Lauren turned onto the San Diego Freeway. Three cars and a packing crate of toilet paper had done battle. The toilet paper won. When Lauren inched past the scene there were two police cars, an ambulance, the three damaged cars and the undamaged crate on the side of the road. At least one news helicopter hovered overhead and gave those not involved the option to look up or over and hopefully ahead so there wouldn’t be another mishap anytime soon. A car length after she cleared that crash, four lanes opened, the pace picked up and she flew until she hit the Santa Monica Freeway. There it slowed again for no good reason. Lauren crawled along with everyone else and tried to keep her anxiety under control. Finally, she transitioned and exited on Broadway.
She parked on Temple at an outdoor lot that charged thirteen dollars a day or a dollar-fifty for every twenty minutes. She locked up, took her ticket, and started to walk. Yesterday seemed forever ago. She had slept in her clothes: jeans, worn cowboy boots, and a shirt over a tank. She had showered and let her hair dry on the way downtown. Now she pulled it back and slipped a rubber band around the cloud of curls. Wisps and tendrils had crimped around her face and over her shoulders. She looked gorgeous. She tried not to look scared.
Walking tall, or as tall as she could, Lauren hurried, keeping her eyes open for anyone who watched, searching for anyone who waited ahead. But no one was interested in her. Lauren passed a diner, so small it could seat only four at the counter and two at a table near the window. Eggs were cooking. They smelled good. She passed by, half standing on tiptoe as if that would make the red light change faster when she reached the corner. Three cars made right-hand turns. She looked the opposite way, saw a clear path, and darted across the street only to slow as she cut across the park. Something was going on. People were gathered outside the Federal Courthouse. They milled about, some lounged, most complained. Two news crews were on scene.
“What’s going on?” Lauren asked a woman whose nose was buried in a paperback novel. The woman looked up and pushed on her sunglasses. Lauren had the sense that she was surprised not to find herself alone.
“Bomb threat,” she muttered.
“Independent Militia?” Lauren asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe. I work in the cafeteria.” Lauren nodded, accepting that as an excuse for ignorance. It seemed as good as any. Checking her watch, Lauren wandered to the far edges of the crowd to watch.
The vantage point was excellent. The LAPD bomb squad was there. Lauren tagged at least two FBI agents but knew there were probably fifty more inside the building. She saw dogs restrained by their handlers and wished she had thought to bring a hat, more to hide her face than shade her from the sun. She looked for Edie but identified only a smattering of assistants from the U.S. Attorney’s office. Lauren steered clear of them all.
Leaning back against the wall behind her, she let her gaze wander and that’s when she saw her. The one woman Lauren hadn’t really thought about in all this, the woman who, for a while, had been the only one to interest Lauren. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the wall and made her way diagonally through the crowd, cutting north again and coming around the woman she wanted to talk to.
“Mrs. Stewart?”
To her credit, Carolyn Stewart didn’t startle easily.
“Ms. Kingsley.” She seemed on the verge of saying something more but thought better of it. Lauren moved beside her and stood shoulder to shoulder. It was a calculated risk, but given the bomb threat, Lauren imagined surveillance on Carolyn Stewart had been relaxed for the moment. She prayed she was right.
“Did you call it in?” Lauren asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carolyn said evenly.
“Sure, you do,” Lauren laughed. “Look, I don’t really care. You know I’m not assigned to your case anymore. I just need to know if there’s really something in there. If there isn’t, then I can go do what I came to do. If the threat’s bogus, tell me. Nobody else has to know. I need to get into that building and I’d like to know if I can do that without getting blown to kingdom come.”
There was the beat of a two-step before Carolyn answered. “No. You won’t meet your maker.”
“Thank you,” Lauren sighed. “Okay. Anyplace I have to worry about your people being? Hostage stuff, anything like that?”
Carolyn Stewart laughed ruefully. “My people.” Carolyn shook her head. “The only people I have are my husband and my son. The Independent Militia has exercised their right to be completely independent. They’ve all gone, denied they even know us, all my great and brave soldiers.”
Lauren turned and faced Carolyn Stewart. The other woman only turned her head.
“When?” Lauren asked.
“It started after Caufeld was killed. Nick Cheshire didn’t help. They thought the FBI had taken him out, and then Henry told us he was a plant. More of them got nervous.” She shrugged. “There’s been a steady decline ever since. I think George knew it would happen. I think he knew they didn’t have any guts and that’s why he took Henry with him that day. That’s why he changed plans. He knew it was just us against all of them.”
“God, that’s so sad,” Lauren whispered.
“What? That the three of us are willing to stand alone?”
“No, it’s sad that everyone turned against you. And it’s sad that in the end you and I are just alike. All this work, all this heartache, and we’re just alike.”
“I don’t know how you figure.” Carolyn looked away again, fascinated probably that one phone call from her could still disturb the equilibrium to this degree.
“Alone. People we care about dead,” Lauren looked to the courthouse, “or close to it. I suppose I should be grateful that Judge Caufeld went fast. What you’ve got ahead of you will be ten times worse. Maybe you should stop fighting.”
“Are you going to?”
Lauren shook her head. “No.”
“Are you going to hurt people doing what you’ve got to do?” Carolyn asked.
Lauren nodded. “Probably.”
“Then you’re right. We are alike.”
“But I wouldn’t have let my child get involved. I would never let my child be hurt.” Lauren took off her glasses. She put her hand on Carolyn Stewart’s arm. “He’s a good kid, and he’s torn apart by loving you and your husband. I talked to him, you know.”
“He told me,” Carolyn answered.
“Then you know he just wants you to love him. Help him if you can.”
Carolyn’s chin tilted downward. Lauren thought she shook her head once, but the movement was almost imperceptible. Her voice was strong, yet somehow dispirited when she spoke again.
“Henry’s suffering. I won’t let him suffer much
longer. I promise I’ll help him get to where he should be if I can.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help. I really do.”
“Thank you.” Carolyn looked toward the bomb squad van. There were more men than there had been a minute ago. They were giving up. “It won’t be much longer now.”
Lauren thought about touching Carolyn Stewart. Instead, she melted away, becoming part of the crowd as the go-ahead was given for the building to be opened. She kept her head up and her eyes open and forgot that if she could see them, they could see her.
Wilson Caufeld’s chambers were cleaned out. Not a scrap of paper, not a book, not a paper clip remained. The computer was still on his desk and Lauren ran for it. She flipped the switch. It seemed to take forever to light but finally the menu pulled up. Thankfully, they’d left the chair too. She sat down and began to type. Nothing but the software. All the files had been erased or copied then erased.
“Damn!” She slapped the desk and pushed the chair back hard.
“What are you doing here?”
“Barbara,” Lauren exclaimed. Weak with relief she ran to the other woman only to stop short. Barbara hovered in the doorway as if she weren’t sure if she should come or go. There were no welcoming arms held out, no smile on her face. Lauren regrouped. She forced a smile to her face. “I wondered where you were. I came to help. I thought we’d left quite a mess in here. Looks like you’ve been working overtime.”
“I know you didn’t come to help, Lauren. I think you better go right now.” Barbara looked down and then threw her head back. “Look, I know what’s been going on and I just can’t believe it. I really thought Allan was the one I had to worry about all these years.”
“Barbara, please.” Lauren moved cautiously away from the desk and toward Wilson’s secretary. She held out her hands to show she had no tricks. “I don’t know what you heard, but you don’t have to worry about me at all.”
The Mentor Page 31
