Sid looked as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. “What?”
“Marty’s wife was shot this morning.”
Sid backed against the wall. “Not Francis. Where was she?”
“Here in Slidell. Whoever it was came in and shot her in bed without ever waking Marty. He’s in pretty rough shape. The killer knew where they were, Sid. And Marty didn’t tell anyone.”
“Wait a minute.” Sid narrowed his eyes and stared at Stan. “Somebody shot her and Marty didn’t wake up? That don’t seem possible.”
“It happened,” Stan said.
Sid obviously wasn’t buying. “But the bed woulda jerked, and the body woulda flailed at least a little.” He frowned. “Was there a fire this time?”
“Sure was. That’s what woke him.”
“A bullet didn’t wake him, but a fire did? Huh-uh, Stan. I don’t think so.”
“He must have used a silencer,” Stan said. “Come on, Sid. You aren’t suggesting that Marty’s our man. What did he do? Set up the whole serial killer thing so nobody’d suspect him when he killed his own wife?”
Sid lifted his eyebrows, as though that was a possibility.
“No way,” Stan said. “You don’t know Marty. He’s not a killer.”
“Name somebody in the fire department who is,” Sid challenged. “Can you, Stan?”
“No,” Stan said. “I can’t.”
“Gotta be somebody, man. And I don’t buy this business about your wife gets shot while you’re sleepin’ in the same bed and you don’t even wake up.”
Stan hadn’t considered Marty to be a suspect—not the man he’d just seen grieving over his wife, who worried about her body and all the pictures being taken. But then he also couldn’t explain why a killer would weep and pray, as Susan had said.
“I don’t think it’s Marty,” he said finally. “I think he’s covered during at least some of the other murders. But listen: I found cards that some of the firemen had sent when Francis’s father died, so some of them had known earlier where her mother lived. It wasn’t a big stretch to figure out they’d be hiding there. And there’s something else, too. Yesterday, after Mark was shot, they found a Newpointe bunker coat at the scene.”
Sid dropped his head back against the wall again and closed his eyes. “We gotta find him…stop him before he comes back for Susan. He might think she can identify him.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on Stan. “Okay, look, if it ain’t Marty, look at Dan Nichols. He’s the one got caught at the flower shop the other night, walkin’ around with a crowbar in his hand.”
“I’m considering him,” Stan said. “And Craig too. He’s the one who got lured in with our bait the other night. But he’s also the one tap-dancing to keep both stations running.”
“Question all of ’em, Stan. Just take ever’ one of ’em in and question ’em one at a time.”
Stan knew that Sid’s insistence came from fear and frustration, not from doubts about his ability to do his job. “Well, I’ll get back to you. I need to get back to the office and put all this together. Let me know if Susan remembers anything else, will you?”
“Stan, you find him! ’Cause if I find him first, I ain’t gon’ be askin’ no questions!”
“I’m working as fast as I can, Sid,” Stan promised.
Chapter Forty-Five
Good news came that afternoon, when the doctor evaluated Mark and decided that he could be moved into a private room. There was a cot in there for Allie, so she could sleep beside him that night. Dan had gone home, and T.J. had come to replace him. The hulking cop had set up a chair outside the door in the hallway, where he could screen everyone who tried to come in.
As Allie tried to make Mark’s room as comfortable as she could, she felt much the way she’d felt when they’d bought their first house together. Flowers had begun arriving early that morning, so she quickly reworked the arrangements to her satisfaction and placed them around the room where Mark could see them. Then she fluffed his pillow and filled his pitcher with ice water.
Because they all felt that Mark was out of the woods, Jill had broken her fast, and Allie intended to as soon as Jill brought something back for her to eat. As they waited for Mark to be brought from ICU, her parents sat on the couch, watching her do her best to domesticate the sterile little room. They had something to say, she realized, but their reluctance in saying it warned her that it was something she didn’t want to hear. Finally, she sat down on the bed and regarded them both. “What is it, Mom? Dad?”
Her parents looked at each other and seemed to silently agree to tell her what was on their minds. “We just hate for you to have your heart broken.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Her father seemed to consider his words carefully. “We understand why you would be so devoted to Mark after such a trauma,” her father said. “Really, we do understand. But now that he’s going to get better, we hate to see you acting like everything is fine between you. Like you’re still married—”
“We are still married.”
Her mother took the baton. “But honey, as soon as he gets out of here, he’s going to go back to his apartment and that woman, and you’re going to go back to yours.”
She sighed heavily. “I really don’t want to talk about that.”
“We just want you to be safe, honey. We don’t want your heart broken, or your life threatened by some killer. We were thinking…”
Her father touched her mother’s hand, taking over again. It was uncanny how they finished each other’s sentences, completed each other’s thoughts. “We were thinking, honey, that you should fly back with us this afternoon. Mark will be fine. He has all sorts of friends who can take care of him, and that father of his—”
“I’m not going,” she cut in. She couldn’t find anything else in the room to do, so she reached for the remote and turned on the television. She hadn’t seen the news since yesterday in the hotel room; the ICU waiting room had no television. “I’m staying here with my husband.”
“And what if he just uses you until he’s better?”
She couldn’t believe their persistence. “Uses me? How?”
“To take care of him. He’s not exactly in a position to tell you to hit the road.”
“He’s never told me to hit the road,” Allie said with weariness. “I told him to, so he did.”
“But that woman—”
“Mother,” she said, using the name she called her only when she was getting angry. “I’m tired of hearing about this. I never should have told you all those things. It’s my fault that you feel the way you do about him, but—”
“…identified as Francis Bledsoe…”
The name blaring from the television grabbed Allie’s attention, and she quickly stood, gaping up at the set in the corner of the room. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
“…victim number five in the bizarre case of the Fire Wife Killings. Victim number four, Mark Branning, himself a firefighter at Newpointe’s Midtown Station, is still hospitalized after a bullet to his head, and victim number three, Susan Ford, is still in critical condition. Francis Bledsoe was found shot through the head in her mother’s home, while her husband, firefighter Marty Bledsoe, slept beside her. The killer is purported to have started afire, as he did in almost every other case. Sources tell us that Bledsoe woke after the fact and saw the fire. It was moments later that he realized his wife was dead in their bed.”
“Oh, God, what is happening?” Allie cried, sinking to the floor. “Not another one! Not Francis! She had kids! She had those sweet little twins!”
Her parents were at her side in an instant, kneeling beside her and holding her while she wailed out her anguish and pain.
“What’s happening? He’s killing us all!”
“You’re coming home with us today,” her father said. “I won’t take no for an answer. Mark will want it, too, if he really cares about you.”
She shook away from them, got up, and tried to pu
ll herself together. “I’m not going anywhere, do you hear me? He found her! He found her at her mother’s. He found us at the airport. He’ll find me wherever I go, so I might as well be here, with my husband!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Allie, listen to us!” her mother shouted. “Stop being a martyr. You won’t do Mark any good if you’re dead!”
“I have a bodyguard!” she argued, red-faced. “I’m doing what’s necessary. But I made vows to my husband, and I intend to keep them. He took a bullet that was intended for me, Mom. Don’t you understand that? I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. I’m going to stay with him and take care of him, and nothing—not you or Dad or some stupid wild killer—is going to make me leave him now. So either get that through your heads, or go on home. I have enough to deal with!”
Her parents backed away, and finally, her mother said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
Her father nodded. “We’ll leave you alone for a while, honey. Eat something, okay? You’ll feel a lot better.”
She watched, sobbing, as they walked out of the room. Wilting on the bed, she began to pray—short, disjointed prayers that she feared made no sense, but she knew God heard. He knew she prayed for Marty Bledsoe and their little twins, for Mark to get well so they could renew their vows, for her parents to understand, for herself to cope, for Stan to find the killer, for the killer to have a conscience…
When she had finished, she washed her face, brushed her hair, and tried to hide the evidence of her tears before Mark was brought in. He didn’t need to know about Francis Bledsoe. He needed to concentrate on getting better.
Not long after, they wheeled Mark in and moved him onto his bed. He saw Allie and smiled. “Hey…”
“It’s not much,” she said, her eyes glimmering, “but it’s home.”
“You mean they’re actually gonna let us be together for more than fifteen minutes at a time?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
He grinned. His voice was gravelly, groggy, as he asked, “You think we can handle that? I’m better in small doses, they tell me.”
She knew he was kidding, playing with her, but the challenge made her feel awkward. When he reached out for her hand, she took it and came close to the bed. The nurses worked around her, hanging his IV bag, taking his blood pressure.
He smiled up at her, but suddenly his smile faded. “Your eyes are red. Is that from fatigue, or have you been crying?”
“Fatigue,” she said quickly.
“You slept in a chair last night, didn’t you? Man, that’s cruel. With all the beds in this place, you would think…” His voice faded out, and he began to shake his head. “No. That’s not fatigue. Your nose doesn’t turn red when you’re tired. You have been crying.”
She feared that the tears would come again. Desperately, she tried to blink them back. “I was just thinking about everything that’s happened,” she said, giving him a half-truth. “I guess now that I know you’re out of the woods, I was able to let go and have a good cry.” She reached over and stroked the hair that started behind his bandage. “Wonder what you’re going to look like when the bandage comes off?”
“It won’t be pretty.”
The nurse left them, and his eyes grew serious as he looked up at her. “I really appreciate your staying here with me, Allie. I didn’t know for sure if you would.”
“Of course I would.”
“So how’s T.J. treating you? You two getting along?”
“Sure, we’re fine. He mostly sits out there flipping through magazines, but he’s careful not to let just anybody in. Dan was more fun.”
“You just know him better. But T.J. will do a good job. Make sure you don’t go anywhere without him.”
“I’m not going anywhere at all. I don’t want you left alone.”
“Hey, the killer is after you, not me. I got in the way, remember?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Still, I think I’ll just stay here.”
“Fine with me. Come here.”
When he opened his arms, she bent down and went willingly into them, and clung to him for several moments, basking in the warmth of his strength. Tears filled her eyes again as she thought about how close she had come to losing him. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” she whispered.
He loosened the hug, letting her pull back enough to look at him. His eyes were soft, sweet, as he gazed up at her, and she wondered what he was thinking. Did he, too, want to renew his commitment to their marriage vows?
“I’m sorry you ever married me,” he whispered.
Her expression crashed. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “If you hadn’t married me, you wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe you’d be off happily married to some rich guy with a big house, a minivan, and a couple of kids by now.”
“What about you? Where would you be?” she asked soberly.
“Probably right where I am, since that maniac wants to kill my wife no matter who she is. On the other hand, there’s probably nobody else in the world I’d ever take a bullet for but you.”
“Sure there is,” she said sadly. “That’s the kind of guy you are. There are probably lots of people.”
“Nope. Just you, kiddo.” His eyes locked with hers for a long moment, and he reached up and stroked his finger through her hair, pushing it back from her face, sweeping it behind her ear.
The overwhelming urge to kiss him swept over her, drawing her toward him. Her heart pounded, and that old chemical ache that had drawn them together when they met began to pump through her again. She felt the slightest pressure of his hand on the back of her head, pulling her down to him…
Their lips met, and her heart soared like a bottle rocket in a fourth of July celebration, as all the love she’d felt for him and stifled, all the misery of their separation, all the joy of his survival, all the regrets of her part in their marriage, culminated in a moment of bliss even more poignant than their first kiss. The kiss lingered for several moments. Neither wanted to end it, and his fingers stroked the roots of her hair, as her knuckles moved across his stubbled jaw.
When at last the kiss ended, she pulled back a fraction of an inch and looked into eyes that were dark with longing for her. Joy burst through her heart that he could look at her that way again.
“How do you manage it?” he asked in a whisper.
“What?” she whispered against his lips.
“To give me a coronary workout when I’m flat on my back?”
She grinned, but his eyes remained serious.
“I meant it the other night,” he said. “When I told you that I’d missed you. I know you didn’t believe it then, but it’s true, Allie. I’ve missed you.”
He pulled her into another kiss, and a sense of supreme well-being, intense contentment, filled her.
“Knock, knock.” It was her mother, back from her walk, and Allie sprang up as if she had been caught at something.
“Hey there, Mom, Dad,” Mark said, surprised to see them. “Allie didn’t tell me you were here.”
Her mother assessed the situation, then shot her father another of those wordless, but eloquent, looks. “Uh…yes. We’ve been here since yesterday,” her father said in a cool tone.
Her mother stepped closer to his bedside, but still hung back a noncommittal distance, as if she didn’t want to be mistaken for someone who cared too much. “We’re glad you’re feeling better,” she said, as if he’d had a head cold.
Allie hated the chill coming from her mother, the chill she didn’t want Mark to feel, so she changed the subject. “Mark, can I get you anything? Water? A popsicle? I could call the nurse, and get her to bring one.”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He looked back at her parents, who still stood there, so cold and uncommunicative. “Why don’t you guys sit down? The remote control’s probably around here some—”
“No!” Allie said, too quickly. “No television, Mom. Please.”
Mark gave he
r a suspicious look. “Why not?”
“Because…” She felt like a thief caught in the act of stealing. But she didn’t want Mark to know about Francis Bledsoe, not until he was better. “I just want some peace and quiet.”
“But I’d like to watch the news,” Mark said. “They might have some word on the hunt for the killer.”
“They don’t,” she lied. “Mark, don’t you want to rest?”
He stared at her for a moment, then looked at her parents and saw the volumes written on their faces. “What’s going on? Has something happened? Was someone else shot?”
Allie glared at her parents to keep them quiet.
“Allie, tell me! What’s going on?”
She wilted. “Mark, you really need to ignore the news. You need to concentrate on getting better. You can’t do anything about the killer from in here, so there’s no point in—”
“Who?” Mark asked, turning to her parents. “Who’s the latest victim?”
Her father started to speak, but Allie stopped him. She took a deep breath. “It’s Francis Bledsoe,” she said, her mouth trembling with the words. “She was killed last night.”
“Aw, no!” He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his eyes. “No, Allie, not another one. How many is that?”
“Including you and Susan, five. But there is good news, Mark. Susan woke up, and T.J. said that she’s been able to give them some pertinent information about the identity of the killer. He won’t say what that information is, but it must be a strong lead.”
He let out a heavy breath, then slid his hand down his face. “Well, good for Susan. I’m glad she’s gonna pull through. But how’s Marty?”
“I don’t know. I just heard about it all myself.”
“His kids,” he whispered in horror. “Those poor little kids.”
Her mother got up and stepped close to the bed, her face suddenly softer. “Mark…we’re worried about Allie.”
“That makes three of us.”
“We want her to come home with us. Today.”
Allie’s eyes filled with fire as she turned on her mother. “Mom, I’ve already told you,” she said through her teeth. “I’m not going.”
Private Justice Page 23
