Saving Alyssa

by Loree Lough

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “YOU’RE LOOKING A little peaked,” Max said. “Did you overdo it in physical therapy today or something?”

  “Nah. I’ve had this low-grade fever, almost from the start.”

  “But they just changed your meds again. Yesterday, right?”

  “Yeah. And if this doesn’t work, it means more exploratory surgery to look for the source of the infection.”

  “Listen to you…you’re starting to sound like one of them.”

  Noah cringed. “Oh. Man. See there? I have got to get out of this place!”

  They enjoyed a moment of easy laughter, and then he said, “Worst part about it is it means more time with them. Which means more time away from Alyssa.”

  “I know.” Max nodded slowly. “But she’s handling it like a trouper.”

  “Yeah, but I know my girl. She’s trying hard to hide it for my sake, but she’s scared.” And he could hardly blame her, because he knew how close he’d come to dying. He still wasn’t out of the woods, and that scared him, too.

  “She’ll be okay. She’s a good kid and she has a great dad….”

  He knew Max. That tone of voice meant she had more to say. Some might call him crazy for inviting trouble, but he said, “Let me have it.”

  “When are you going to do something about Billie?”

  “Sometimes I wonder if this happened because the powers that be think she’d be better off without me.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “I know. Most of the time, anyway. But when I think of all the mistakes I made, all the things I did to bring me to this point…”

  “You know that old joke—patient says, ‘Doc, it hurts when I do this.’ And the doctor says, ‘Then don’t do that.’”

  “Who doesn’t know that one?”

  “Well, there’s a lesson in there, genius, if you listen for it. If rehashing the past depresses you, knock it off! It isn’t as though you don’t have plenty of other things to concentrate on. Good things, like…you’re making slow but steady progress. A miracle in itself, all things considered.”

  He’d heard that half a dozen times since the accident. Years from now, when all this was a distant memory, he might ask to see the pictures. If he was here years from now. And wouldn’t that be the ultimate irony, he thought, to have spent years in hiding from what O’Malley might do to him, to be taken out by a germ.

  “You have Alyssa, the bike shop, and before you know it, you’ll be as hale and hearty as you were before….” Max frowned. “Y’know, in the interest of accuracy, I’m not sure whether to call it an accident or an explosion.”

  “How about penance?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Look. I know you’re in pain, and I know you want to get out of this awful place, but self-pitying talk like that isn’t helping matters.”

  Self-pity. He didn’t like admitting it, but Max was right. And he told her so. “Maybe what I need to do is get it all out there in one fell swoop. I’ve never done that before.”

  “There you go again, waxing all dramatic.”

  “Huh?”

  “You have a law degree and don’t know Shakespeare?”

  “A law degree, but no license to practice law, ever again, thanks to trying to take the easy way out of bankruptcy and foreclosure by climbing into the sewer with vermin.”

  It all poured out, fact by ugly fact, starting with the deal his former boss had put on the table after presenting him with the damning telephone recording, where then-Senator O’Malley had soothed his fears of getting caught by detailing the payoffs and “people who mysteriously went missing.”

  Without Noah’s testimony, the prosecutor had explained, O’Malley’s team of lawyers would claim it was someone else’s voice on the tape. He was their only hope for conviction, and after securing their promise to reduce his sentence to time served, community service and revocation of his law license, Noah had agreed to testify…or serve years in federal prison.

  But O’Malley had friends in high places, and heard about the deal. “Keep your mouth shut and do your time,” the senator had said, “or bad things could happen to good people.” Like an idiot, Noah had reported the visit to his boss, who didn’t believe a word of it. A week later, when Jillian died in a car wreck, his self-righteous boss refused to believe the fatal accident—weather-worn brake line on her nearly new, garage-kept vehicle—had been sabotage. It wasn’t until an armed thug in a ski mask tried to abduct Alyssa at her preschool that they’d taken Noah seriously.

  “Wow. Maybe it’s a good thing they don’t give us all the gory details when assigning us to people like you,” Max exclaimed when he’d finished.

  He knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice, but that didn’t make it easier to hear her lump him in with all the other criminals she’d babysat during her career.

  “I would have been better off serving time.”

  “Even in your weakened, fevered state,” Max said mockingly, “you don’t really believe that. If you had survived prison—and what were the chances of that, bearing in mind how many guys were in there because you put them there—you would have been under O’Malley’s thumb, doing his dirty work, forever.”

  When she was right, she was right.

  Max got up and threw her jacket over one arm. “Gotta go,” she said. “My turn to watch the brat.” And winking, she added, “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you see the video of her doing her thing onstage last night. I took the disk from my camera to Costco so you could see pictures of her in the play, and I’m picking them up on my way back to your place.”

  He didn’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, it would be great, seeing the performance he hadn’t been able to attend in person. On the other, who knew how many other pictures there were of her, floating around out there, falling into the wrong hands?

  “Another instance of my weakness,” he grumbled. “I just hope saying yes to that play doesn’t come back and bite us in the butt.”

  Max groaned. “Okay, Mr. Sunshine, I’m outta here.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Wow. You are warm, aren’t you?”

  He felt worse now than when he’d first come to, but maybe Max had a point. Positive thinking couldn’t kill him. “This too shall pass.”

  It had better, he thought as she left the room. But just in case, he should probably update his will. A good time to remind himself how this whole downward spiral had begun. He reached into the nightstand and grabbed his wallet. Even that small exertion made him wince, and he flopped back against the pillow until the worst of the pain passed. Then he removed the newspaper clipping he’d been carrying for nearly four years, folded into a two-inch square and tucked into a photo sleeve between a picture of Alyssa and his driver’s license. If Max knew he’d been carrying it all this time, he’d never hear the end of it. But even if she knew, he’d insist on keeping it, because it was the bare-facts reminder of what he’d done…and what he’d been before entering the witness protection program. He’d read it so many times that the article felt more like cloth than paper. Taking care not to tear it, he unfolded it and read:

  Assistant D.A. Accused of Planting Evidence

  By Riley Smith

  CHICAGO (APB)—Judge orders mistrial and sentences Assistant D.A.

  Criminal Court Judge Abe Burns yesterday ordered a mistrial in the case of Bartholomew Miller, alleged serial rapist accused of attacking the 16-year-old daughter of Hon. Sen. Henry (Hank) O’Malley. At the same time, Burns sentenced Asst. D.A. Nate Judson for allegedly tampering with evidence.

  “I draw no pleasure in reaching this decision,” Burns said, slapping Judson with an 18-month jail sentence—the stiffest allowed under Illinois law. “Officers in the criminal justice system have a duty not only to administer justice, but to follow the letter of the law and demonstrate to society that every defendant will receive a fair trial.”

  Judson was freed hours later pending an appeal, court officials said.
<
br />   Second trial for Miller

  The judge’s dramatic move came at the start of the trial of Miller, 30, also charged with drug trafficking and the rape of women employed by his escort service. Burns declared a mistrial in the case after Judson allegedly failed to provide defense attorneys with transcripts of statements by witnesses, all of whom recanted their testimony and stated that sex with Miller was consensual, court records show. A separate trial earlier this year, charging Miller with kidnapping, assault and battery, and rape, ended in a hung jury.

  Questionable evidence

  Miller’s second trial had just begun when, according to court documents, Judson produced a hand towel that he claimed Miller used to clean himself after allegedly attacking the senator’s daughter. Judson further claimed, court records show, that while preparing for trial, he found the hand towel during a second sweep of Miller’s apartment. Consequently, defense attorneys demanded a mistrial, arguing they had been blindsided by the revelation, and accusing Judson of planting the new evidence.

  Out of earshot of the jury, the judge agreed with the defense. In a six-page decision, Burns described Judson’s claims—that he had suddenly discovered the hand towel—as “implausible and improbable.” The judge noted that neither the police officers who initially searched the apartment, nor the evidence clerk who logged items from the apartment, made any reference to the hand towel, which Judson claimed had been overlooked during the first search of Miller’s apartment. Burns also noted that two of Judson’s fellow prosecutors, both of whom helped prepare for the case, were unaware of the hand towel until it was suddenly produced and introduced into evidence on the second day of the trial.

  Constructive contempt

  The judge then ordered a mistrial and cited Judson for constructive contempt, described under Illinois law as “an act…tending to obstruct or interfere with the orderly administration of justice.”

  It was not immediately clear whether prosecutors would have enough cause to bring Miller to trial a third time. The judge’s order barred prosecutors and defense attorneys from discussing the case with the media.

  Duly humbled, Noah put the article back where it belonged, dropped the wallet into the drawer and slipped into a deep and fitful sleep.

  *

  BILLIE HAD GROWN accustomed to watching him sleep, and took comfort from listening to his slow and steady breaths. It felt good, knowing the pain meds were working, providing a few minutes of much-needed, healing rest.

  On days like this, when Noah’s body writhed in pain, she felt helpless. Maybe music would soothe him….

  Billie called up a song on her phone, one by his favorite singer, Bonnie Raitt, and hit Play. Instantly, the room filled with the husky, sultry tones of the blues singer’s voice, singing with a depth of emotion that reached out to someone, somewhere who couldn’t love her as she loved him. Billie closed her eyes, remembering how that same song had had the power to reduce her to a sniveling mess when she’d thought of how Chuck had given up on her.

  The lines were still hauntingly meaningful, but now, thanks to the passage of time, maturity and the quiet affection of the big man beside her, she could simply enjoy the beauty of Bonnie’s voice, and the eloquence of the poetic words.

  Noah’s agitation increased. Should Billie wake him, put a stop to whatever thoughts were causing his distress? Call for a nurse to administer another dose of painkiller?

  “…living a lie,” he whispered.

  Billie leaned closer. “What’s that?”

  “…lies, just…lies and more lies…” He levered himself onto one elbow and, facing her, opened his eyes.

  But it was immediately apparent that he wasn’t seeing her. Had he slipped back into the coma? “Oh God, no,” she said, grasping his hand. “Don’t leave me again, Noah.”

  “Love you,” he rasped, “so much.”

  Billie froze. Was he just rambling, the way he had soon after the operation? And was he talking to her…or someone else who’d slipped into his semiconscious, fevered mind?

  She’d never been jealous of another woman. Not even the one who’d added the final straw that broke up her marriage. But she envied Jillian, because Noah had loved her, truly loved her, and Billie didn’t know if it was possible for him to love anyone that way again. The only certainty: she would settle for whatever sliver of his heart he was willing to give her.

  Random words spilled from his lips. O’Malley. Testify. Federal charges. Prison. He fell back onto his pillows, his breathing ragged.

  Then arbitrary phrases, like not an accident and almost kidnapped. Something that sounded like lipstick. And one grammatically correct, perfectly enunciated sentence that made her blood run cold:

  “I would have been better off serving time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NOAH HAD NEVER felt more grateful for an old recliner than right now.

  He was finally well enough that Max, Billie and Troy no longer felt the need to hang around, making sure he had everything he needed, right within reach. The doctor hadn’t cleared him from climbing stairs more than once a day, but that, too, would come in time.

  For two nights in a row, he’d been able to tuck Alyssa in just like he had before the explosion. And now, as she slept contentedly right down the hall, he kicked back in the chair and flipped through the TV channels. Bypassing black-and-white reruns, replays of Ravens games, a Civil War documentary on the History Channel, he stopped in time to catch the awkward Thanksgiving scene in Scent of a Woman. It brought back memories of his own Thanksgiving, weeks ago in the hospital, when facing a bland meal served by staff who’d rather be anywhere else. It had seemed it would be grim, indeed.

  But thanks to Billie, the day had been anything but grim. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d slipped coolers of hot and cold foods, a small folding table and chairs, linens and fancy dinnerware past the guard.

  And though Troy had been released weeks before, he’d returned daily to enforce long walks through the maze of hallways, and seemed to feel no guilt, trouncing Noah at chess, checkers and cribbage. That morning, they’d taken advantage of the sunny day to walk outside for a change. He remembered Troy getting a phone call, and his sudden desire to head back to Noah’s room.

  Tricky, Noah thought now, remembering the small crowd that had gathered there to surprise him: Billie, Alyssa, Max, Troy, his twin and sister-in-law, Billie’s parents, and even Jason, the once-troubled kid Noah had hired to help run the bike shop.

  He had first met Jason when he’d hired Hunter, Deidre’s grandson-in-law, to replace the stairway leading from the back alley to the apartment. The kid had seemed surly and rebellious, but by the time Stone Contracting had returned to rebuild the stairs, his attitude had softened considerably. No one would have guessed that Jason had been mere days from juvie when Hunter had taken him under his wing.

  A little “good example” went a long way, Noah thought. And no one offered better evidence of that than Noah himself…though in his case, having time to reflect on his past had wrought permanent changes.

  It hadn’t been all that long ago when Max had told him to quit feeling sorry for himself, to count his blessings. Admittedly, they were many, and he was smiling at the realization when a commercial piqued his interest….

  “Up next,” the announcer said, “Nobel-winning journalist Clancy Flynn interviews the nation’s most notorious inmates.”

  First up, Charles Manson, whose wild eyes and fearsome mind-set had not been tamed by prison life. Next, Terry Nichols, famous for his role in the Oklahoma City bombing. Then former FBI agent Robert Hanssen, convicted of passing classified information to the Russians. And the once-esteemed Senator Hank O’Malley, former federal judge and one-time contender for president of the United States.

  In his late sixties now, O’Malley had not aged well. Gone was the cultured gentleman whose financial prowess had kept his name on the Forbes 500 list right up until his conviction. In place of the distinguished politician who
’d been the go-to guy on all the news channel talk shows was a cold-eyed thug who seemed more than comfortable with inmate jargon.

  He talked about the trial. How he’d been framed. “If this could happen to me,” he snarled, tugging at the stiff orange sleeve of his prison-issue jumpsuit, “it could happen to any of you.” After detailing the lies told by a crooked D.A. that had put him in his predicament, O’Malley leaned close to the camera and glared into the lens.

  “Didn’t get away with it, did ya, Judson? You might not be in a penitentiary, but you’re in prison, all the same. Witness Protection is a joke. You know I have the means and the wherewithal to find you. It’s only a matter of—”

  The tape stopped and Flynn’s face filled the screen. “We apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for that abrupt interruption. Now a word from our sponsors, and when we return, my interview with Matthew Hale, founder of the Neo-Nazi World Church of the Creator.”

  Noah’s pulse thundered in his ears. He’d been giving a lot of thought to telling Billie everything, because he wouldn’t feel right about asking her to marry him without coming clean about his past.

  Well, you can’t do it now, can you?

  Because as long as O’Malley lived and breathed, he was a threat to anyone close to Noah.

  Might be time to move on, he thought. Wouldn’t be easy, now that Alyssa was wholly adjusted to her new life. But she was a tough kid. It would require time and patience, but she’d accept and adapt, just as she had following the move from Chicago.

  He thought about Billie, and all the ways she’d shown him how she felt. Oh, he’d miss her. Miss her like crazy! But after hearing that interview, he was certain that leaving, starting over, was his only alternative.

  If only he could be so sure about his own adjustment to life in the new place, wherever it was…without Billie.

  *

  BILLIE HAD SPENT the day sorting through her Christmas decorations. Items in the boxes in the middle of the living room would decorate her home, inside and out. Those stacked near the door were for the bike shop, and the ones beside that, for Noah and Alyssa’s apartment. The largest carton contained the seven-foot artificial tree Chuck had bought the year before their split. Billie didn’t know why she’d held on to something that served as yet another painful reminder of their failed marriage, but it would be perfect for the father and daughter for whom Santa’s deliveries defined the holiday.