by Terri Reid
“Well, I still insist,” her mother replied. “I need to see her before she gets released. I can be there in an hour.”
“But, Mom,” Brooke began.
“Okay, one hour,” Amy interrupted. “I’ll see you then.”
Brooke stared the disconnected phone for a moment and then swore softly. Would she always be manipulated by her parents? She should call her mother back and just tell her no. She should be firm and direct. But, her softer side argued, her mother was worried about Niki. That was just like her mom, always concerned about people. How could she be angry about that?
Moose, a stick hanging out from underneath his large jowls, butted up against her, demanding attention. Reaching down, she stroked his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Moose,” she said. “I guess I have to go to the hospital earlier than planned.”
She walked back to the house, Moose following faithfully by her side and entered the kitchen. Art was standing next to the counter, buttering a piece of toast and placing it on a plate already filled with a small omelet. He turned and smiled at her. “I made breakfast,” he said, placing the plate on the table.
“That’s an omelet,” she replied, surprised, as she sat down at the table. “Isn’t that hard to make?”
He studied her for a moment. “You’ve never made an omelet?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve seen Berta make them,” she said. “But they always look too tricky.”
Art put his plate down on the table across from hers and shook his head. “All they are is fancy scrambled eggs,” he said. “I’ll show you how tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for breakfast.” She reached over, picked up half a piece of toast and gave it to Moose, who was sitting next to her chair, his face level with the table.
“You know, it’s not a great idea to feed a dog at the table,” he remarked casually, cutting a piece of omelet with his fork and popping it into his mouth.
“Really? Why?” she asked as she reached across the table for the small jar of preserves. With her arms outstretched forward, she didn’t see the assault coming and was surprised when Moose leaned forward and, with one swipe of his tongue, cleaned the rest of the toast and her omelet off her plate. Tossing the food back in his mouth, he chewed a couple of times and then swallowed, licking his lips happily.
“That’s why,” Art said, biting back his smile.
Brooke looked from Moose to Art and back to Moose again. “He swallowed it whole,” she said, astonished.
“Pretty much,” Art said, handing her the other half of his piece of toast.
She took it gratefully. “Thank you,” she said.
“Want half of my omelet?” he asked, already cutting it in half. “It really is too big for me.”
With a sigh, she nodded. “Thank you. But first I want to get a new plate.”
A few moments later Art slipped half of his omelet onto her plate and then looked at Moose. “Moose, down,” he commanded.
The big dog looked hungrily at Brooke’s plate and then back at Art. “Moose. Now,” Art said firmly.
Moose slid his front paws forward slowly, sinking under the table and sighing audibly when he reached the floor. Brooke grinned. “I guess I have a lot to learn about owning a pet,” she said.
“You’ve just got to show them who’s in charge,” Art replied.
Brooke closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the conversation with her mother. “Speaking of not letting people know who’s in charge,” she said. “My mother called when I was out with Moose. She wants to meet me at the hospital in about 45 minutes.”
“Why?” Art asked.
“She wants to visit Niki,” Brooke said with a shrug. “I was going to go this afternoon when she was released…
“We can go this morning,” he replied, quickly finishing up his breakfast.
“You don’t have to…” she started.
His incredulous look stopped her mid-sentence. “So, let’s just get this straight,” he said mildly, though the intensity of his eyes did not match his voice. “You and I are partners right now. We have both agreed to solve Bruce’s murder. You don’t owe me anything, and I don’t owe you. We are both equal partners.”
She started to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her.
“As partners we’re equal,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean we’re the same. You have someone who either wants to make you think you’re imagining things, or wants you dead. I’m a trained law enforcement officer. So, I get to protect you. When I run into legal issues, and I need a brilliant attorney, you get to protect me. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agreed. “But it’s just me meeting my mom at the hospital.”
Art nodded. “And what if it was Reece’s idea?” he asked.
Her stomach twisted, and she sat back in her chair, suddenly aware. “You’re right,” she finally said. “I hadn’t even considered…”
He felt guilty turning her simple meeting into a possible threat, but he just couldn’t risk it, just in case. “Don’t worry too much,” he said. “It could be just a simple meeting. But now we’re prepared for either.”
Chapter Fifty-five
“Your mom wants to do what?” Niki asked, once Brooke and Art explained their reason for a before release visit. “I’m sorry, honey, but your mother has never been friendly to me. Why the change of heart?”
Brooke shook her head. “Maybe down deep she realizes that Reece had something to do with your attack?” Brooke surmised. “Maybe she just feels bad about what happened?”
“Or maybe she’s following Reece’s orders and getting you out in the open,” Niki suggested.
“Bingo,” Sam inserted. “Nothing personal, Brooke, but your step-dad is one cold operator, and I would put nothing past him.”
Brooke nodded. “Well, I guess we all just need to be on our guard.”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and a volunteer entered with a huge bouquet of roses. “This is for Niki Jhang,” she announced. “Where would you like it?”
Niki stared at it. “That thing is nearly a fire hazard,” she teased. She looked around the room. “Where can I put it so we don’t knock it over?”
Art moved away from the counter on one side of room. “You could put it here on the counter,” he suggested.
“Yes. Perfect,” Niki said, pointing to the area. “Over there please.”
The volunteer quickly put the oversized arrangement down and hurried from the room. Art reached over, pulled the card from the plastic carrier in the middle of the arrangement and handed it to Niki.
Opening the card, she gasped in disbelief and tossed the card on the floor. “I can’t believe it,” she said in disgust. “Of all the unmitigated nerve…”
Another knock stopped her outburst, and all eyes turned to the door.
“Niki? It’s Amy Callahan,” Amy called from the other side of the partially opened door. “May I come in?”
Brooke sent an apologetic look towards Niki, and while Brooke went to the door, Art and Sam slipped into the Niki’s private bathroom to hide. “Mom,” Brooke said, opening the door wide. “Come in. I was just telling Niki you were coming.”
“Oh, Niki,” Amy said as she walked into the room, bypassing her daughter and going straight to Niki’s bedside. “When Brooke told me what happened to you, I was beside myself with worry.” She placed a motherly hand on Niki’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”
Niki smiled at Amy. “I’m still a little sore,” she admitted. “But overall, considering what could have happened, I’m doing really well.”
“Well, I’m sure I would think about suing your apartment complex,” Amy suggested. “And Brooke could help you.” She turned to her daughter. “Wouldn’t you, dear? I mean, they should have had more security. They should have gates.”
Niki nodded. “Well, I’m going to concentrate on getting better first,” she said. “Then I’ll think about legal recourse.”
&n
bsp; Amy nodded in agreement. “Of course,” she said. “That’s very wise.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the three of them searched for something else to say. Brooke watched Amy and Niki glance around the room, not comfortable meeting each other’s eyes, and then felt a moment of panic when both of them started zeroing in on the little card on the floor.
“Oh, you dropped your…” Amy began, moving towards the card.
“Oh, that must have slipped off the bed…” Niki said, looking hopelessly at Brooke.
Brooke dashed forward, scooped it up and walked over to the other side of Niki’s bed. “I don’t know why they send flowers without attaching a signature,” Brooke said, slipping the card into a tall stack of Niki’s papers. “It’s so frustrating.”
“There was no signature?” Amy asked.
“No, this beautiful arrangement of roses arrived just before you did,” Niki said. “And there was a get well soon note. But no signature.”
Amy glanced over at the roses. “Well, this seems so gauche,” she said hesitantly. “But I’m fairly sure they are the ones your father had his secretary send over.” She sent Niki a rueful smile. “He was devastated to hear what happened to you, but his schedule just wouldn’t allow him to come visit.”
Niki forced a smile on her lips and shook her head. “Oh, no, Mrs. Callahan,” she replied. “There is no need to apologize. The flowers are just…simply…overwhelming. I feel like I’ve just won a race or something.”
Amy’s smiled faltered slightly. “Oh, well, yes,” she murmured. “How adorable.”
Brooke met Niki’s eyes over her mother’s shoulder and shook her head. “Well, Mom, I think Niki needs to get some rest before she’s released,” Brooke suggested.
Niki nodded slowly. “Yes, they always like you to be well rested before they send you out on the streets,” she replied dryly.
Amy looked from Niki to Brooke, appearing befuddle. “Oh, well, yes, dear,” she said. “You should rest.” She smiled at Niki in what she hoped would be a motherly fashion. “I’ve never seen you look prettier or more vibrant.”
Niki grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Callahan,” she replied. “That makes me feel so good about myself.”
Amy shrugged. “Well, dear, you should feel good about yourself,” she replied lightly. Then she turned to her daughter. “Brooke, would you mind walking me out?”
“Oh, no, problem, Mom,” Brooke replied, and then she turned to Niki. “I’ll be right back.”
Chapter Fifty-six
The bathroom door in Niki’s hospital room opened as soon as the hall door closed. “Is she for real?” Sam asked.
Niki nodded. “I’m afraid so,” she said.
Art went to the door and peeked out.
“What are you doing?” Niki asked.
Art looked over his shoulder. “I’m going to follow Brooke,” he replied.
“But she’s only walking her mom out,” Niki argued.
“And when do you think the best time for something to happen would be?” Art asked.
Niki’s jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re right. You’re right,” she said anxiously. Go. Go!”
Art slipped out the door and hurried down the hall towards the elevator bank. He saw Brooke with whom he assumed was her mother conversing in the small lobby in front of the elevators.
He looked around. The floor was deserted. He wondered if they had cordoned off the floor because Judge Callahan’s wife was visiting. He rolled his eyes; VIPs were a pain in the ass.
The elevator door opened, and Mrs. Callahan stepped inside. Art started to move forward when he realized that her mother was holding the door open and continuing her conversation with Brooke. He stayed in the hall, watching them from several yards away.
“Where are you going to stay when Niki is released?” Amy asked. “I don’t feel good about you staying in that place by yourself.”
“I won’t, Mom,” she tried to assure her mom. “I’m looking at getting a place where we will both be safe.”
The elevator sounded a warning bell.
“Mom, I think they need the elevator,” Brooke encouraged.
“Oh, sweetheart, they can wait another minute while I make sure my daughter is fine,” she said. “Why don’t you come home and live with us for a little while? You know how much Berta enjoys cooking for you.”
“Mom, if I ate Berta’s cooking for any amount of time, I would double in size,” she said with a smile. “But thank you for the offer.”
The elevator bell sounded again, and then Amy’s cell phone vibrated. She looked down at it and shrugged. “Well, I guess I must be off,” she said. “I love you, dear.” She stepped back into the elevator, waving at her daughter until the door closed fully.
Brooke stood there, continuing to wave, hoping that it would just close already. As soon as one door closed, the elevator next to it opened. With a smile on her face, Brooke stepped back to let the occupant out. She glanced into the elevator car, screamed and stumbled back against the opposite wall, cowering in fear. Standing before her in a police uniform with a gun pointed at her heart was the man who had killed her father. “No, please, no!” she cried.
The man glared at her, then pressed the elevator button, and the door slowly closed.
Art dashed down the hall, his heart in his throat. Whatever Brooke had seen in the elevator had terrified her. As he ran towards her, he saw her slowly slide down the wall, her hands over her head, shielding herself, and sobbing uncontrollably. “Brooke,” he said softly once he reached her. She flinched as he knelt beside her. “Brooke, it’s me. It’s Art. Brooke, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
She turned to him with eyes that weren’t seeing him at first. “It was the bad man,” she said, her voice not her own, but the same voice he’d heart last night when she had her nightmare.
Art moved a little closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you. I promised I’d protect you.”
She took a shuddering breath that shook her whole body. “He had a gun,” she stammered. “He had a gun, and it was pointed at me. He was going to kill me.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks, and suddenly, she looked up and recognized him. “Art?” she whispered.
Pulling her against him, he held her tightly, trying to control the tremors going through her body. “He can’t hurt you,” he said more forcefully. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I was so afraid,” she cried. “I thought I was going to die.”
“It’s okay now,” Art said, stroking her back. “He’s gone. He’s back on the elevator. He’s not here anymore.”
Her breathing started to calm, and her body stopped shaking. She laid her head on his shoulder and took deep breaths. “Am I losing my mind?” she asked. “Art, am I going crazy?”
He shook his head, still holding her tightly. “No, you’re not,” he said. “But someone sure wants you to think you are.”
He stood up slowly, bringing her with him. “Can you make it back to Niki’s room?”
“Yeah, I can,” she said, grateful for the strength of his arms. “And then what?”
“And then we figure out who this guy is, and we go after him,” he said.
She stopped and looked at him. “Wait. What?” she asked.
“The bad man that you were not supposed to remember,” he said, “the one buried deep inside your memory. Well, he’s obviously out now, and you remember and can identify him.”
She took another deep breath, nodded slowly and smiled. “Yeah, I guess I can.”
“And he’s not dealing with a three year old anymore,” Art said.
Pressing her lips together in determination, she nodded, feeling more strength flow through her body. “He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with,” she announced.
Art chuckled softly, squeezing her shoulders. “No, he doesn’t,” he said. “And he should be afraid. Very afraid.”
Chapter Fift
y-seven
“Girl, what happened to you?” Niki asked when Brooke and Art came back into the hospital room.
Art, his arm still around Brooke’s shoulders, led her into the room. “She just found out why Reece sent her mom to the hospital to see you,” Art said. “Shock therapy.”
“What the hell?” Sam asked.
Brooke took a deep breath. “I just saw the man who killed my dad,” she said softly. “He appeared behind the doors of the elevator, a gun drawn and pointed at me.”
“What?” Niki exclaimed, trying to climb out of bed to get to Brooke. “Oh, honey.”
Sam moved to Niki’s side and held her gently in place. “Whoa there. You’ve got some ribs you should be pampering,” Sam said. “You just stay put, and we’ll bring Brooke on over here.”
Brooke hurried over next to Niki and let her friend enfold her. “Oh, sweetie,” Niki said. “That must have been horrifying.”
Brooke felt tears form in her eyes and realized they weren’t from fear or reaction, but relief and gratitude. She knew she was safe, protected and cared for. For the first time in her life, she understood what it was like to be loved, unconditionally. And with that security, she could let go. The tears flowed softly, like a gentle rain, washing away some of the emotional pain from the last few days. Niki cried, too, along with her friend, holding her in her arms and comforting her.
Sam stepped away from the crying women to stand next to Art. “What are we supposed to do now?” he whispered.
Art shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he whispered back. “It seems a little awkward just standing here, watching them cry.”
“Yeah, but it would be even more awkward if we went over and joined them,” Sam replied. “Maybe we ought to, you know, step out of the room and leave them alone.”
Art looked at the still-weeping women and then at the door. “Yeah, as long as we’re right outside the door, they’ll both be safe,” he said. “Let’s go.”
