“You plan to stay a while?” Aubrey deduces at the lengthy game, thanking Emily with her grateful green eyes.
“We’re staging a campout,” Emily confirms.
“They didn’t get on you about visiting hours? Those nurses can be real sticklers about that,” Aubrey whispers, her eyes widening. “Really, I’ve seen them throw people out of rooms.”
Emily shifts her thumb at Tony and Max. “Look at those faces. Those Bettie’s aren’t throwing anybody out,” she clues in Aubrey about the overly-friendly welcome the handsome men received at the nurses’ station.
Tony lightly jiggles Aubrey’s foot (the uncasted, sound one), winking at her. She smiles at him, returning her attention to Emily and their card game. He talks to Marks, “You should’ve seen this one, man. Fearless. The building was burning and falling down all around her. No quit in her.”
Marks nods. “You should see her in rehab. Doc says she’ll be up and running in no time.”
“Yeah. Wait ’til she’s out of that thing in a week,” Tony refers to her cast and the profound effects of Vigilare healing. “That’ll throw ’em for a loop.”
Marks chuckles uneasily, having forgotten about that enlightening little fact. Turning to Max, he pats him on the back of his signature black leather jacket. “Sorry about your dad, man.” Max nods, a quiet thank you, his eyes shifting to the floor. Emily, aware of their conversation, slips her hand around the back of his leg as he stands there giving it a gentle squeeze.
Tony taps Max on the chest with the back of his hand attempting to turn the grievous chatter around. “Think I’ve got this one talked into heading back to Vanguard with us. Spoke with Chief Burns last night. He says you’re promoted,” he congratulates Marks. “And I’ll need a new partner.”
Marks shakes Max’s hand gregariously, giving him a celebratory slap on his shoulder. “Be an honor having you on the force, Officer Kiesel,” he tries out the soon-to-be handle. He looks around, his eyes shiftily assessing who may or may not be listening. With a soft voice, he questions Tony, “Does Chief know about any of this Vigilare business?”
“Nah,” Tony answers. “Figure it’s best to keep that under wraps.”
Marks nods approvingly. “Yeah, sorry we couldn’t get you guys any recognition for the ETNA cleanup.”
“No worries,” Tony affirms. “Saw on the tube, the feds didn’t waste any time taking the credit,” he scoffs.
“DeLuca!” Marks greets the figure in the doorway. Stepping to her, he wraps his arms around her welcoming her to the party. Tony forces himself to avoid eye contact with her, unsure of how she will react to his presence. She carries a pizza in one hand, a six-pack of lager in the other.
“Hey Mom,” Max’s face lights up, relieving her of the pizza box.
“Hi son.” She takes great comfort in the title, kissing him on the cheek. Max hugs her to him before digging into the pizza.
“Gina!” Aubrey exclaims, attempting to peek around the three large frames standing in her way. Gina extends a quick nod to Tony, heading for Aubrey on the opposite side of her bed from Emily. She sets the lager on a nearby table, bending to kiss Aubrey on the forehead.
Inspecting the gauze wrapped around the other side of her noggin, Gina comments on its blood stain. “When’s the last time they changed that?”
“He changed it for me last night.” Aubrey gestures at Marks.
“I’d say he’s a keeper,” Gina remarks, her eyes meeting Emily, a respectful exchange.
Aubrey nods, further bragging on her Lancelot. “He gives a marvelous sponge bath, too.” She giggles causing the room to burst out in laughter.
“Where’s the meat?” Max asks inspecting the pizza decorated with a thick layer of mozzarella cheese, basil leaves and ripe red tomatoes.
Gina looks at Tony, a smile gracing her lips. “It’s Pizza Margaret,” she recalls his famous fumble of her favorite Pizza Margherita. He smiles back, their eyes holding one another’s momentarily. Max wrinkles up his nose.
Tony thumps him lightly on the chest. “Just eat it. It’s good.” With Tony’s endorsement, Max digs in dishing out a slice for everyone. They play pass the paper plate, the first one respectfully going to Aubrey. Gina pulls the bottles of lager one by one from the six-pack, popping the tops on the edge of the bedside table.
Tony stealthily pulls the curtains to Aubrey’s room, sure that alcohol is against hospital policy. Sticking his head out the door, he reciprocates a charming grin and wave to the pleased faces peeking back at him from the nurses’ station. Closing the door behind him, they all take seats gathered round Aubrey’s bed. One chair short, Emily hops up. Maxim slips in pulling her back down onto his lap. Marks affectionately smiles at Aubrey, her face beaming from the love and encouragement of her friends.
Gina raises her bottle of lager causing everyone else to do the same. “Cheers to a speedy recovery.” She looks to Aubrey, a series of ‘ayes’ and ‘cheers’ in her honor. Looking around the room at the faces of those closest and most cardinal to her, she follows up, “To family.”
“To family!” a devoted agreement in unison is followed by the first celebratory sip.
Later that evening, Aubrey’s nurse quietly enters the room checking on her status. The nurse’s expression softened by the heart-warming display of loyalty presented by the group. Marks is nestled in Aubrey’s bed beside her, his arm slung protectively around her abdomen, their foreheads touching as they rest peacefully. Gina and Tony are kicked back in chairs beside them, their boots propped up on the side of the bed, their feet intertwined. Maxim lounges in the recliner on the other side of the room, Emily cuddled in his arms against his chest, her legs hanging over the side of the padded chair.
As the nurse leaves the room, Maxim stirs, the moonlight shining in through the window. “Goodnight moon,” he says, hugging Emily tighter to him.
From across the bed, he hears Gina’s voice reply, “Goodnight stars.” They chuckle contentedly, closing their eyes to drift off to dream, having come full circle.
CHAPTER 27
Six months later, Gina trains in the dark basement of the Vigilare compound hidden deep in the rugged mountainous terrain. She has taken up refuge there by herself needing time to reflect, regroup, heal. She works diligently on the heavy bag, a magnificent form of release. Her feet and hands taped, she clicks away serving up perfectly placed strikes and kicks. Her auburn hair coiffed in one long braid taps off her back as she moves effortlessly through the motions. Her black tank top is tucked tightly into black gi pants that snap effectively with each precise movement of her legs. The large metal door separating her from the garage initiates, sliding open. Taking the opportunity to rest, she props her hands on her knees attempting to regain control of her labored breathing. She rolls her eyes with the image of Dr. Patricia Ryan entering the basement.
“Not who you expected?” Dr. Ryan questions upon seeing her less-than-enthused expression.
“Just in time,” Gina says, winging a pair of sparring gloves in the psychologist’s direction.
Dr. Ryan, in her usual pinstriped power suit, frees her feet from her four-inch heels, removes her suit jacket and dons the padded gloves. “I guess a simple apology will not suffice,” she deduces.
“Nothing’s ever that simple with you.” Gina invites her to the mat. The women square off, circling one another delivering and deflecting light, controlled blows.
“I hope you understand why I did what I did,” Dr. Ryan squeezes out between maneuvers.
“An apology is one thing,” Gina says bobbing and weaving, her skill vastly superior to Dr. Ryan’s. “But if you’ve come here to make me understand, all you’re going to do is piss me off.” She sweeps Dr. Ryan’s leg from beneath her, following her down to the mat, her forearm connecting with her throat. Careful not to exert too much pressure, Gina j
umps up landing on the ends of her toes, waiting for Dr. Ryan to join her. “There’s no excuse for what you did.”
Dr. Ryan pushes herself up, lunging at Gina. Her arms wrapped around Gina’s waist, she rages like a bull. Gina gives in to the momentum taking their scuffle to the mat. Landing on her back, she plants her feet into Dr. Ryan’s abdomen propelling her into the air, turning her end over end until her backside contacts the mat firmly. Gina rolls with her, the women grappling for dominant position. “I did what I thought best at the time,” Dr. Ryan huffs, searching for oxygen as they battle. “And what’s your problem? You got what you wanted. A return to mortal life. Your Vigilare pedigree wiped clean.”
“With no help from you, I might add.” Gina assumes dominance, refraining from letting her fist follow through in the face of the attractive psychologist, slamming it down to the side of her head against the mat. Dr. Ryan’s eyes wince shut. Gina retreats, standing once again, waiting for her rival to do the same. “Amazing how it all worked out. How it came together,” Gina pants, recovering.
“You mean Maxim and Emily,” Dr. Ryan expels rising to her feet slowly.
Gina smirks, further agitating her opponent. “Don’t they make a lovely couple?”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Dr. Ryan returns her hands to combat mode. Gina wastes no time in engaging, their gloves ratta-tat-tatting. “I’m sure you don’t approve,” Dr. Ryan groans leaving her ribs open, Gina takes the shot, bending her over at a loss for air.
Gina circles around her aggressively, wishing her to return to sparring. “It’s not for me or you to approve. They found each other.” Her chest heaves, hungry for air. “As long as Emily is good to him, loyal to him, consider me happy.” She shrugs her shoulders, bouncing around, her body light and quick. “That’s what happens when you play with people’s lives. It takes on a life of its own.”
“Maybe you could talk to Emily for me.” Dr. Ryan’s breathing returns as she stands upright flat-footed, her arms prepped.
“Get off your heels,” Gina coaches, tapping the backside of Dr. Ryan’s knee with her shin, demonstrating how easy it would be to sweep her legs out from under her in such a rigid position. Dr. Ryan swings that same leg, aiming for Gina’s kidney. Deflecting the kick, Gina returns with a combination of her own, bloodying Dr. Ryan’s lip. “I won’t do your bidding. I’m sure Emily has a perfectly good reason for avoiding you.” Gina stalks around her as Dr. Ryan holds her forearm against her mouth waiting for the bleeding to subside.
“She went into the Academy with Maxim. They graduate next week.” Dr. Ryan spits blood from the corner of her mouth, the action matching the disdain in her voice. “To join Vanguard Police Department. Detective Gronkowski has been mentoring them,” she huffs.
“He’ll make a good role model,” Gina defends. Having waited long enough, she engages again, taking it to the mat. Dr. Ryan, off her balance, pulls on the back of Gina’s braid. Gina dominates delivering a few body shots, a deliberate reprimand. “Did you really pull my hair?” she sputters pushing off the mat, the genteel psychologist no match for her grappling. “There’s no hair-pulling in martial arts.” Bobbing from side to side on her toes, Gina taps her gloves against her chest urging Dr. Ryan to rise.
Dr. Ryan shakes her head, pulling her gloves off and throwing them to the side, her chest heaving. She lies there, signifying her noncompliance with further sparring. “My daughter has bigger fish to fry. She is above Vanguard PD. We do not work for the system.”
“Above Maxim?” Gina presses.
“That is a temporary thing,” Dr. Ryan pants. “Trust me, they have no future together. Not as long as I have something to say about it.”
“Seems to me, you have nothing to say about it. Emily has made her choice.” Gina picks up Dr. Ryan’s fatigued legs. “I always wanted to try this,” she says, hooking her legs through Dr. Ryan’s and sitting back on her haunches, applying a figure-four leg lock. Dr. Ryan yells, her hand beating against the mat, tapping out. Gina ignores her plea, maintaining her hold. “And just to clarify…you mess with my boy, harm one handsome little hair on his head…I will own you. Understood?”
Dr. Ryan refuses to answer. Gina cranks further on her legs. “Yes! Understood,” she affirms. Gina releases the leg lock, pacing in front of her catching her breath. Dr. Ryan sits up rubbing her knees. “I talked with Chief Burns and Judge Maybelline Carter. Your job is yours...in six months...once your sentencing is up. If you want it. Probationary, of course.” Dr. Ryan stands, her legs wobbly.
“Well, don’t expect me to thank you,” Gina dismisses. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’m attempting to clear my conscience.” Dr. Ryan dusts herself off, returning to her suit jacket and heels.
“Yeah,” Gina huffs. “Good luck with that.”
Footsteps approach in the corridor of the basement. “I brought a parting gift,” Dr. Ryan says. Gina turns, her system hit with a whole new set of feel-good endorphins as her eyes rest on Tony. “Flowers just didn’t seem to fit the bill.” Dr. Ryan passes Tony on her way out. “Detective,” she addresses him, her inflection somewhere between loathing and respect.
He nods, headed toward Gina, his walk purposeful yet contained. “How we doing?” he inquires, his voice soft and soothing.
“Better now.” She hangs her head as he approaches.
He stops, only millimeters separating their forms from one another. Instantly his breathing rate matches hers, her closeness consuming as usual. “Did I give you enough time?” he asks, his hand aching to touch her.
“Yeah.” She continues looking down, her eyes not quite ready for the effect his handsome hazels always seem to have on her. “A little too much, maybe,” she affirms, having missed him.
Her body gives in to his embrace much the same as a thirsting mouth would give in to its first drop of water—grateful, vulnerable and weak. “I gotcha,” he encourages, holding her up.
The next morning Gina prepares a stout brew of coffee, her intent to have it in bed. Her pace hurried, she fumbles a cup onto the stone-tiled floor.
“Shit,” she sputters.
“You okay?” Tony’s voice sounds from the back bedroom.
“Yeah,” she quiets him. Slow down, DeLuca. It’s not like he’s going anywhere, she idles herself, bending to retrieve the broken shards. Carefully scooping them up, she scurries to the waste basket. “Ouch!” Lifting her foot, there in her bare flesh is a missed fragment. Gently removing it, fresh crimson blood trickles. Catching herself against the counter, “Whoa,” she says, feeling faint. Her foot begins to tingle; her jugular vein picks up speed, her pulse matching her throbbing heart rate, ga-gung...ga-gung...ga-gung. She sucks in air at a hungry pace, her chest visibly surging up and down. “No...no...no,” she implores, clamping the sides of her temples with her palms, the rhythmic drum sounding. She grabs at the toaster on the counter, staring into its shiny reflective surface. Sure enough, piercing back at her are sparkling eyes of emerald green. She inhales deeply, expelling a perturbed, “Gronkowski!”
SHOUT-OUTS
Brooks Lake Fam – A heartfelt thank you to Adam Long, staff and guests at Brooks Lake Lodge. Snowed in on the mountain = zero distraction = captive focus = another book down! From a girl who has so many notions and ideas, and can most often be found chasing my tail, I am grateful for the opportunity. The place is so serene. I mean, the view, the inspiration, the focus...a writer’s paradise. I surely appreciate the new readership gained from guests and staff. I can’t thank you enough for such encouragement, which truly propels me to continue to write. Thank you for lodging and feeding me (Woot! Woot! to Anto, Angel and Mike). And for the ever entertaining conversation (especially, Chantal and Dave...lol). Oh, and Claire—one of the most genuine, capable, hard-working women I know—thank you for your Pony Express services! The manuscript wouldn’t have made
it off the mountain without you. Really appreciate it. I miss you all, and hope to see you guys soon. P.S.—Could one of you throw some snowballs for Moose every now and then? That dog cracks me up! Sure miss seeing his happy mug.
Gabino Iglesias – Thank you kindly for the ‘Hells Yeah!’ permanent smile, fist pump, and dancing around while partaking of my morning coffee causing review of Vigilare in the Austin Post. And it came out on my birthday, no less…happy birthday to me! Man, those reviews are so pivotal in spreading the word. I can’t thank you enough, Gabino. Looking forward to catching up over a little Guinness and chocolate cake!
Janet Kilgore – I adore, respect and love me some JK! Thank you for your patience and encouragement through the ever-humbling editing process. I do say, it’s so refreshing to be called “kid” every now and then. Makes me feel young! Three books down. Let’s do it again, real soon. XO!
Steve Richey – Digging that dark, menacing cover! Thanks for working me into your schedule. It’s no surprise to me that you stay busy. You’ve got mad skills, Steve. Can’t wait to see what you come up with for the third one!
Leslie L. McKee – That’s the great thing about being a NOPO grad…oh the resources JI am happy to have reconnected with you. Thanks for the reviews, proofing the original Vigilare, and for your editing/proofing input with this novel. You have a great eye! Looking forward to collaborating with you on future projects.
My Family & Friends (you know who you are J) – ‘I am a lucky girl,’ I tell myself all the time. I have the most incredibly sturdy foundation of family and friends. For that I am eternally grateful. I Love You All!
Facebook Supporters – To the Facebook.com/BrooklynJamesSinger fans, thank you kindly for supporting the cause. And to all of those who have posted a review for Vigilare and The Boots My Mother Gave Me…you should work on commission…lol. Reviews sell books! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
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