On The Way To A Wedding

by Ingrid Weaver

  The nurse tucked a telephone receiver against her ear and held up her hand, signaling Lauren to wait. She spoke quickly, making notes on a list in front of her, then hung up the phone. “A doctor will see you as soon as possible,” she said, glancing up. “Why don’t you take a seat over—”

  “No, I don’t need a doctor,” Lauren said. “I need information. I’m looking for Nick Strada. He was on the plane with me.”

  Rubbing her forehead tiredly, the nurse looked down at the list. “Strada?”

  “That’s right. Lieutenant Nick Strada. He’s with the Chicago police.”

  “And he was on the plane?”

  “Yes. We were separated, and I wanted to know which hospital he was taken to.”

  Her finger traced down the printed names. “No Strada here. Are you a relative?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Sorry. I can’t release any more information until the next of kin has been notified.”

  “Next of kin?” Lauren rose up on her toes, ignoring the renewed stinging the action caused. Craning her neck, she looked at the list herself. “I know he’s all right. We walked together to where the ambulances were pulling up, but then he went into the lake to help the other survivors. I just want to know where he is.”

  The nurse sighed. “I’m sorry, miss. There’s no Strada at this hospital.”

  Frustrated, Lauren turned aside. He couldn’t have just disappeared. That cut on his forehead would need to be disinfected and stitched. And he’d been limping heavily. He needed medical attention. Maybe he was at one of the other hospitals. Or maybe, from what she’d come to know of the impatient, unconventional Lieutenant Strada, he’d decided to walk away.

  I’m in a hurry to get back to Chicago. That’s what he’d told her. And his actions had proved it. Could he really have simply gone home?

  “Lauren!”

  She glanced around, suppressing a groan. It was Gord. He’d thrown on a suit jacket and a tie over his ripped jeans and sneakers, and instead of working the camera himself, he’d called in reinforcements. The rest of the crew that usually accompanied Lauren on location was setting up in the crowded waiting area.

  Gord hurried forward. “Great news,” he said, his usually mournful face stretched into a smile. “We’ve scooped the networks. There’s a bidding war going on for the tape I shot from the chopper.”

  “How lucky for you.”

  “Yeah, talk about luck—” He broke off and took in her disheveled appearance. “Have you seen a doctor yet? They’re not still making you wait, are they?”

  “I’ve been taken care of,” she said, gesturing to her feet. “The staff here is handling things as smoothly as can be expected.”

  “That’s good. Hey, cool shoes.”

  “Thank you.” Damp leather creaked as she raised a hand to rake her fingers through her hopelessly snarled hair. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at the crash site.”

  “What am I doing here?” he repeated incredulously. “Tracking the survivors. Human interest. Drama and pathos are as good as hard news. Lauren, I envy you, being right on the scene like that.”

  “I didn’t have a chance to take any notes, Gord.”

  “We’ll put together a follow-up piece tomorrow, okay? Oh, I forgot. You’re off this weekend.”

  “Theoretically.”

  “Bummer of a way to start it, huh?”

  “Right. I’ll come down to the station, anyway. I don’t want to miss an opportunity like this.”

  “No need, I’ll handle things.” He straightened his tie and glanced over his shoulder at the crew. “Oh, your sister’s been phoning the station, wanting to know if you were on that plane. You might want to let her know you’re all right.”

  Surprise and guilt shot through her. She hadn’t given a thought to notifying her relatives, she’d been so caught up in the need to find out what happened to Nick. “Do you have your phone?” she asked quickly.

  “Sure,” he said, producing a small cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Be my guest.” He saluted sloppily and loped over to the rest of the crew. Lauren took the phone over to a relatively quiet corner and punched in her sister’s number.

  As soon as Angela heard Lauren’s voice, she broke into noisy tears.

  Lauren took a deep breath and waited for the sobbing to subside. “I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Don’t worry.”

  “Where are you?” Angela asked.

  “I’m in the emergency ward of—”

  “You’re in a hospital? Oh, Lord, how badly were you hurt?”

  “Just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious, so they’re letting me go.”

  “All right, then we’ll pick you up and bring you back here. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  The thought of having to put on a brave front for her sister and future brother-in-law made Lauren add an extra note of firmness to her tone. “Thanks, but I really am fine. There’s no need for you and Eddy to drive into town.”

  “But you do need us. My God, Lauren, I could have lost you. When Eddy and I saw the news bulletin about that crash...” Her words blended into the beginning of another sob.

  The outpouring of emotion made Lauren uncomfortable. She shifted the phone to her other ear and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I can’t talk right now, Angela. Gord has the news crew here.”

  There was a choking sound. “You’re not considering working, are you? Lauren, for heaven’s sake, that’s carrying things too far.”

  “Sorry, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  It took another five minutes to calm her sister down. When Lauren finally said goodbye, she stayed where she was for a moment, leaning against the wall while the bustle of the hospital continued around her. Despite her sister’s reaction to the idea, Lauren really should be working. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She raked her hair off her forehead again, then pulled back her arm and stared at her hand in chagrin. Her fingers were shaking. She’d been fine until now, but one call to her sister and her control was slipping.

  Angela would have Eddy there to comfort her. He’d probably held her in his arms from the time the news had first broken. The two of them were inseparable. So far. The way Angela depended on him was frightening. How could any rational woman throw away her independence like that?

  And how on earth could a rational woman want to get married?

  Pressing her lips together, Lauren leaned her head against the wall. Another one of those hysterical bubbles of laughter threatened to rise in her throat. What would it take to avoid thinking about the wedding? Even a plane crash wasn’t proving to be enough of a distraction.

  “Hey, Lauren.”

  She straightened and turned in the direction of Gord’s voice. He was walking toward her quickly, eagerness evident in his bouncing strides. “What is it?” she asked when he reached her.

  “I need to show you something.” He grabbed her elbow and tugged her forward.

  She fell into step beside him. To her surprise, they bypassed the crew in the waiting area and headed for the door. “Where are we going?”

  “Come out to the truck. I was looking at the tape I shot from the chopper and I want you to tell me what you think.”

  “Why? What do you have?”

  “If I got what I think I did, this story will be seen across the continent. Hell, maybe even the world. It’s going to make my career.”

  “I already know what the story is, Gord. I was in the middle of it, remember?”

  “That’s not what I mean. It’s more than that. I got some terrific footage of a big guy who was hauling people out of the lake.”

  “One of the rescue workers?”

  “No, I think he was a cop or something. The camera picked up what looked like a harness. You know, the kind for those shoulder holsters. And whoever he was, he gave me some great material. Real heroic kind of stuff.”

  Her p
ulse sped up. From Gord’s description, the man could have been Nick. Even if the tape didn’t show where he went, it would be a starting point. Despite her stinging feet, she increased her pace.

  Gord didn’t say anything more until they reached the equipment truck. He yanked open the back door and climbed inside, squeezing past two technicians as he made his way toward one of the monitors. “Over here,” he called, waving Lauren forward.

  She followed and took a seat on the low stool in front of the glowing screen as Gord started the tape.

  The events of mere hours ago replayed before her eyes. In the glare of the spotlight, people moved jerkily, their bodies flattened by the overhead angle. The camera zoomed in, and now the waves glittered against a mass of tangled debris on the shore. “It looks so much worse from the air,” she said. “How could any of us have survived?”

  Gord glanced at her quickly. “Hey, this isn’t bothering you, is it?”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course not.”

  “’Cause if you’re not up to this...”

  “I handled the interview at the crash site, didn’t I?”

  “Like a pro, Lauren. Okay, then. We’re getting to the part I told you about.”

  More people thrashed in the black water of the lake. Lauren felt her palms grow damp as she remembered the ordeal of towing Nick to shore. “You’re right,” she said tightly. “You managed to get some outstanding footage.”

  “Here it is,” he exclaimed, stabbing his finger toward the screen. “Watch this.”

  Lauren couldn’t have looked away, even if she’d wanted to. The camera had caught the exact moment when Nick had waded into the lake. He was readily identifiable. As Gord had said, the straps of the shoulder holster showed up starkly against the pale shirt. So did his dark hair and broad shoulders. His actions dominated the screen as he clasped a woman and her baby in his arms and pulled them back to shore.

  “Great stuff, huh?” Gord murmured.

  Lauren swallowed. “Impressive.”

  “Wait. It gets better.”

  It couldn’t have been better if it had been staged, Lauren thought, watching the way Nick continued to assist the survivors even after he was joined by the rescue team. At one point he tipped back his head, and his strong, distinctive features eliminated any question of his identity.

  “This is too good to be true,” Gord said excitedly. “The guy has a face that could go on a billboard. Look at that jaw. And those eyes.”

  His cut was bleeding again, she thought, focusing on the red streak that marred his forehead. She hoped he’d had it tended to—

  She gasped. “Where did he go?”

  “You missed it.” Gord rewound the last few seconds and started the tape forward once more. “I did the first time, too. You have to watch carefully.”

  She braced her hands on her thighs and leaned closer to the monitor. She watched Nick hand a small boy to a fireman and then stagger back into the lake. His movements had been growing slower and clumsier, and she knew that he must have been in agony by that time, considering the shape he had been in to start with.... “Oh, my God,” she said. “Rewind that again.”

  Gord complied in silence.

  Lauren held her breath as the images played across the screen. Nick staggered. His right arm flailed weakly against the glittering water before he disappeared beneath the surface.

  He didn’t come back up.

  “Oh, my God,” Lauren said again, staring at the flickering picture. She didn’t dare to blink, afraid that she would miss the moment when the dark head would reappear. But no matter how she concentrated, she didn’t see Nick again.

  “I’ve checked the rest of the footage,” Gord said, stopping the tape. “He’s gone. It looks as if he must have drowned. Wow, talk about drama and pathos.”

  “But he survived the crash,” she said, stunned to feel the heat of tears in her eyes. “I pulled him to safety. He was okay.”

  “What?”

  “He sat beside me on the plane.”

  Gord hesitated. “Do you mean that you know who this was?”

  “He told me his name was Nick Strada. He’s a lieutenant with the Chicago police. I’ve been looking all over for him, but they said they couldn’t release any information until the next of kin...” She crossed her arms, holding Nick’s jacket tightly against her chest. “No. He couldn’t be dead.”

  Gord yanked a notebook from his pocket and clicked open his pen. “Nick Strada? And he was a cop?”

  “He didn’t have to go back into the water,” she said. “There were other people already there to help. He could have stayed with me.”

  “Geez, if he was one of the survivors, then he was a real hero. The genuine article.”

  “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  He patted her shoulder in an awkward gesture of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lauren, but the tape is pretty conclusive.”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still trying to come to terms with the reality of what she’d seen. Nick? Dead? She’d never met a man who seemed more alive. Vital. Vibrant. The very air around him had crackled with energy. And passion.

  Her teeth clamped down on the inside of her cheek. All the energy and passion that she’d tried so hard to ignore was gone. Snuffed out. The strength that she’d felt in his grip, the determination she’d seen in his eyes, the masculine power she’d sensed in his leanly muscled body... How could it be gone?

  “What else can you tell me about him?” Gord asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “but I’ll need all the background information on your friend that you can give me.”

  She rubbed her face, trying to pull herself together. “I really didn’t know him. We met on the plane. Why?”

  “For the story, Lauren. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “A man is dead, Gord. A good man. How can you be so pleased about it?”

  “This has nothing to do with him personally. You know that. This is news. It’s our job.”

  Her job. Her defense against becoming involved with the world. Numbly she reached out to pick up the clipboard that was on the ledge beneath the monitor. She didn’t even read what was written on the paper. It didn’t matter. She pulled out the pen that had been stuck into the slot behind the clip and fitted it between her fingers, gripping it like a lifeline.

  “You’re shaking,” Gord said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She shook her head. “I think I’d better go home.”

  The images chased across the television screen in stark life-and-death shades. The moonlight, the harsh floodlight from the helicopter, the restless, menacing darkness of the lake all lent an otherwordliness to the slow-motion drama. Curling herself more tightly into a corner of her couch, Lauren cradled a mug of coffee in her hands as she watched Nick’s final struggle.

  He was officially listed as missing. Searchers had combed the crash site throughout the night, but no more survivors had been found. The death toll had risen to fifty-seven, and with dawn revealing the full extent of the tragedy, little hope was held out for finding anyone else alive. Especially Nick.

  How would he have felt to know his last moments were being shown in millions of households on the top-rated network morning news program in the nation? And that his very public death was being used as a tool by an ambitious videographer?

  Coffee spilled down the front of her robe, trailing a lukewarm path between her breasts. Not taking her eyes off the screen, she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue and wiped away the liquid. Her hands were still shaking. She didn’t know if it was from delayed shock, or an attack of nerves or because of all the caffeine she’d had since she’d arrived home.

  A doctor had given her a prescription for tranquilizers before she’d left the hospital, but she had no intention of taking any. She checked the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. It had been less than four hours since she’d awakened the building superintendent
and had him unlock her apartment door. She didn’t think she had slept. She didn’t really want to sleep.

  The phone rang, startling her into spilling more of the coffee. She gulped down what was left and placed the cup safely on the shelf behind the couch, listening to her recorded voice go through its message. It was Gord again, asking her to call him back to set up a time for an interview.

  Lauren sighed and leaned her head against the cushions. She didn’t want to be part of Gord Skinner’s climb to the top. His enthusiasm over Nick’s demise bothered her. And she was honest enough to realize that what really bothered her was the fact that she would be doing exactly the same thing if she’d been in Gord’s position. She would have been tracking down Nick’s family and friends, his boss, his coworkers on the force, getting background interviews, putting together a heart-wrenching story about an honest-to-goodness dead hero—

  Closing her eyes, she thought of the first time she’d looked into Nick’s face. Lord, he’d been an impressive man. And it hadn’t only been his looks, although his features could have sent half of Hollywood into fits of envy. No, the most impressive thing about Nick Strada had been the energy that had simmered beneath the surface.

  He’d been in such a hurry.

  And now he was dead.

  The newscast ended and was replaced by the cloyingly perky jingle of a fast-food chain. Lauren reached for the remote on the cushion beside her and turned off the set.

  This couldn’t be normal. It must be the aftermath of her brush with death. What else could explain the way Nick was affecting her? She’d known him for less than an hour before that plane had hit the lake. Who was he really? What was he?

  No, she already knew what he was. Or what he had been. A cop. One who carried a switchblade in his boot.

  The phone rang again. After the beep, Angela’s voice drifted from the speaker. “Lauren, if you’re there, please pick up.”

  Lauren stayed where she was and stared at the ceiling.

  “All right, I hope you’re sleeping and not down at the station,” Angela continued. “I don’t know whether you’d be up to it or not, considering what you’ve been through, so I wanted to talk to you about the shower next week.”