by Rachel Lee
“I checked the dosages,” Frank said. “It’s just some phenobarbital. Even if she drank the whole quart of water at one time, it should just make her sick. Anyway, nobody drinks a whole quart at once.”
“I don’t know,” Phil said. “I don’t want to get saddled with any corpses. And look at her ankles. Damn, Frank, what did you do to her?”
“I had to chain her ankles so she couldn’t get away. I have to admit, I never thought those cuffs would rub her so bad.”
Phil leaned forward. “She doesn’t look too good. What if she got carbon monoxide poisoning? Why’d you have to put her in the trunk?”
That did it. Arlen made a flying tackle on Winkowski and found the impact to be one of the most satisfying sensations of his entire life. It appeased a deep, atavistic need to smash the man in ways that civilization wouldn’t permit. A few short seconds later he was handcuffing the man and battling the urge to flatten his face.
“I could do it for you,” Phil said, as if he could read Arlen’s mind. “I’m going to prison anyway.”
His knee still on the small of Winkowski’s back, Arlen looked up at Phil. “I’m going to remember what you just did. How you helped.”
Phil gave a short nod. “Thanks.”
Pulling the numbness around him like a shield, Arlen stood up and looked into the trunk. Jessica looked so pale, so fragile, and her ankles were raw and inflamed. Leaning over, he brushed her hair back and felt for the pulse in her neck. Too slow, it was nonetheless strong and steady. She wasn’t in any immediate danger.
He turned in time to see Ted Wilson pull Winkowski to his feet. Forgetting all the other agents, not giving a damn, anyway, he stepped up to Winkowski and bent over until he stood nose-to-nose with him.
“You better not have laid a finger on her, Winkowski. You better not have hurt her. Because if you did, I’ll find you, and I’ll make you pay.”
“Arlen…” Ted tried to silence him, knowing the threat could get him into trouble.
But everyone, Caro Granger included, abruptly turned their backs, leaving Winkowski and Arlen facing one another in a circle of people suddenly gone blind and deaf. And, strangely, it was that gesture of support that brought Arlen back to his senses. An agent didn’t make threats like that. An agent didn’t step outside the law, no matter how he’d been provoked. Not even when others did.
Gritting his teeth, he looked Frank Winkowski right in the eye and saw the fear, mindless and overwhelming, that possessed the man. Fear made men do awful things, stupid things.
And then Arlen turned his own back on Winkowski, and he didn’t look at him again.
Chapter 13
Jessica woke in a hospital bed, the night sky clearly visible beyond the open slats of the window blinds. Before she could positively comprehend where she was or what it meant, strong arms closed around her, lifting her from a firm pillow to cradle her against a firm chest.
“It’s all right, Jessie,” murmured a familiar, oddly husky voice. “It’s okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Weakly, horrified at herself even as she did it, Jessica turned her face into Arlen’s shoulder and began to weep helplessly.
“Shh…” he soothed gently. “Shh…I swear you’re safe now, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair from the top of her head to her hips, and when his hand slipped into the back of her hospital gown to stroke satin skin, she sobbed even harder, clung even harder.
He knew he needed to leave her, but now was not the time. Another excuse. Just as he’d used the excuse that he had to give her whatever she wanted from him simply because he had deflowered her. And what an old-fashioned term that was. Jessie would probably chuckle over it.
Whatever he called it, it was an excuse. An excuse to cover the fact that he cared when he didn’t want to care, that he was involved when he had sworn to remain uninvolved. God, what would she think if she found out he was having fugitive thoughts of her belly swelling with his child, insane thoughts of starting again at an age when he was about to become a grandfather?
How could he begin to explain to her that in the past two days he had walked through the fire once again, had faced the hell he had sworn never to face again? And that he’d discovered he would risk the terror of loss again and again if only he could have the privilege of holding her one more time?
How could a man of forty-two, who was about to become a grandfather, explain to a young woman of twenty-six that he honestly believed he wasn’t too old, that he had a few more sandlot ball games in him, a few more doll tea parties, a few more years of dirty diapers and first steps and first grades and…
Aw, hell, she’d never believe it. Not after he’d made such a big deal about being finished with all that. She would think he had lost his marbles.
And he had no business telling her such things, anyway. She was entitled to a man her own age and a future that was fifty or sixty years long, not one that was only thirty or forty. She deserved to share her firsts with a man for whom they would also be firsts.
He rocked her back and forth and kissed away her tears, aching for her with a depth that was going to haunt him all his days. But he had to let go.
“I want…I want to go home,” she begged unsteadily. “I want to be in my own bed…with you…Arlen, please….”
He wanted it, too. “In the morning, sweetheart. I promise you can go home in the morning.”
“I want to go now!”
“They have to watch you. You had some—”
“Now,” she said again, a sob breaking the word in the middle. “Now!”
She was irrational, he thought, and didn’t find it strange that she should be. And he could certainly understand why she wouldn’t feel that all this was over—couldn’t feel truly safe—until she was home. That was what being home meant. He understood that because he hadn’t been home in years. Not since Lucy got really sick. Not until he had felt Jessie’s arms close around him.
“Okay,” he said, making the decision instantly. “I’ll get a nurse.”
The nurse flat-out refused to remove the IV needle because Jessica hadn’t been discharged by a physician.
Arlen had run out of patience. Every last dreg of it had drained away. Jessica had never before heard him use the tone he used now, and she hoped he would never use it on her. It was a tone so soft, so cold, so threatening, that icy fingers skittered up and down her own spine. In that tone of voice, Special Agent Arlen Coulter advised Nurse Benford that she had no legal right whatsoever to detain Ms. Kilmer against her will, and that if she chose to continue in this fashion, he would continue with her in his particular fashion. Nurse Benford never asked what that fashion might be. The man was, after all, a federal agent.
“I’ll get the house resident,” the nurse said. “Really, Agent Coulter, I can’t remove the IV without a doctor’s order. I’m a nurse. I’m not allowed to make medical decisions without a doctor’s direction.”
The house resident took one look at Arlen’s expression and was persuaded, but he didn’t give in completely. He was, after all, a doctor, and he wasn’t about to make a medical decision that could leave him open for a malpractice suit. He examined Jessica first, before deciding that in all likelihood she would live without medical intervention beyond antibiotics to prevent infection of the abrasions on her ankles. He wrote the prescription himself and told Nurse Benford to discontinue the IV.
Jessie’s clothes were filthy, and Arlen wouldn’t hear of her putting them on again. Nurse Benford, no longer in the line of fire on this one, became helpful. She brought another hospital gown and put it on Jessica like a robe. A wheelchair appeared, along with an orderly to take her downstairs, but Arlen insisted on pushing her himself.
Jessica was aware of his concern, of his fussing, of his sweet, sweet caring. She wanted to tell him that she loved him because it seemed so important, had been so important throughout her ordeal, that he know, but every time she opened her mouth to say it her breath caught on another sob. What w
as wrong with her?
It was a nice evening, he thought as he helped Jessie into the car. The air was warm, the breeze gentle, the night soft with moisture from the Gulf. There was more rain coming, he thought, but not tonight. Regardless, he was going to open the windows in Jessie’s room and let the breeze wash over her. She needed the openness, the fresh breath of the air.
Reaching out, he pulled her up against his side, under his arm, as he drove. Her sobs had softened, but still they came, soaking his shirt, tearing his heart.
“You need a decent meal,” he told her soothingly. “You’re just worn down, worn-out. You’ll feel better soon, sweetheart. I promise.”
She clung to his words, to his promise, and hoped he was right. Never in her life had she wept like this, as if her grief were so bottomless and deep that there was no way to plumb it. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She was safe. The danger was over, and Arlen’s arms were around her.
“I told you I’m a coward,” she managed to choke out brokenly.
But he didn’t believe this had anything to do with fear or cowardice. It was a straightforward, honest reaction to intolerable events. Nor was she going to get over this quickly or easily. Victims paid a price for years.
He helped her upstairs and insisted on replacing the hospital gown with a cotton gown of her own. He found it in the dresser drawer just below the drawer she had cleared out for him to use. It smelled fresh, like laundry soap and sunshine, and carried no taint of disinfectants, as the hospital gown did. It was another step away from the nightmare for her.
When he had her tucked safely under the covers, he opened the tall windows on either side of her bed and let the warm breeze glide over her.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked. He perched beside her and took her hand in his.
“I’m not sure I can eat,” she managed to say tremulously as she dashed away another errant tear. “I…seem to be…out of control.”
“That’s to be expected,” he said firmly, in a tone that left no room for doubt. “You’ve been through an ordeal. A terrible ordeal. You cry all you want to, Jessie. But it would sure make me happy if you tried to eat something.”
She sniffled. “I can’t….” Another sob caught her. “Arlen…Arlen, please…I just need you to hold me….”
So he kicked off his shoes, shucked his shirt, tie and belt and lay down beside her. Gathering her as close as he could, he held her shuddering, shaking body while sobs racked her. And finally, a long, long time later, exhaustion carried her into a natural sleep.
Arlen didn’t sleep. He held her tenderly, every whisper of her breath a caress on his skin, her warmth filling him and soothing him. He knew now with absolute certainty what a future without Jessie looked like, and as the minutes marched by he stared into that abyss.
It was still dark when Jessica opened her eyes. She felt calm now, secure and safe, as if Arlen’s sheltering presence had suffused her and driven away the nightmare of the past few days. With a sigh, she snuggled closer and thanked God for Arlen Coulter. Whatever happened, she had been blessed to know him, to share this time with him. And at the first opportunity she was going to tell him how much she loved him, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
Arlen stirred, reaching across her, and then Jessica blinked as he turned on the bedside lamp. Tilting her head back, she looked into flannel-gray eyes and felt as if the wind had been knocked from her. So warm, so intense, so caring.
“How do you feel, Jessie?”
“Much better,” she murmured, daring to lay her hand on his bare chest. Afraid he would speak of leaving now that she was safe, she seized on a safer topic. “Who was it, Arlen? Who was the agent who was working with Frank?” She had wondered so hard and for so many hours that she felt as if only an answer would end the whole affair.
“Phil Harrigan.”
“Harrigan!” She was genuinely shocked. “Why? Why did he do it?”
“He says he did it for the excitement.”
“Excitement?” Jessica couldn’t believe it. “For excitement?”
“That’s what he says. He’s obviously got something screwy in his thinking, but that’s the extent of it. He was evidently turned on to the image of himself as a double agent.” For a while he talked of what had happened, filling her in on events as if he, too, were reluctant to turn his thoughts to the future.
And then he cupped her cheek gently in his hand and turned her face up to his.
This was it, she thought. He would leave now that she no longer needed his protection. She thought her heart was going to break in two.
“Are you awake? Really awake?”
“Absolutely.” After all, she thought wildly, you wouldn’t want the condemned man to sleep through his execution.
He nodded, and the sudden strain of his face made her hold her breath in expectation of the blow.
“Jessie, I’m a selfish bastard to bring this up now, but I can’t stand it another minute.”
Her hand curled on his chest until her nails bit into her palm. She waited, feeling as hopeless as she had felt in Frank’s clutches.
“I love you, Jessie. I love you, and I don’t care how selfish it makes me, but I can’t let you go. I’ve been telling myself for weeks that you deserve someone younger, that I have nothing to offer you. And it’s true, Jessie, I don’t have a damn thing to offer you—”
Stunned, she had let him plunge ahead with this self-deprecating speech, but now she interrupted with a joy that couldn’t be contained another minute. “I love you, Arlen.”
“But selfish or not, I can’t live without…” His voice trailed off as her words penetrated. “You do?” Gray eyes searched her face hungrily. “You’ve been through a lot. I know you need time….”
“I don’t need any time, Arlen. I’ve known for weeks that I love you. I’ve known for weeks that I can’t live without you.” Tears prickled in her eyes again, and she couldn’t hold them back. She had never dreamed it was possible to feel so much love, so much joy, so much happiness. “Tell me again, Arlen. I never thought…I never hoped… Please tell me again.”
He was happy to tell her again. It was a relief to tell her again, and again, and yet again. And it was absolutely miraculous to hear her make the same avowal in return. He kissed away her tears, held her close to his heart and sent prayers of gratitude winging heavenward.
“We’ll work it all out later when you’ve had a chance to rest, Jess, but you’d better know right now that I want the whole nine yards.”
She liked the sound of that and cuddled closer. “Which nine yards?”
“Marriage.”
“Mmm. I wouldn’t settle for any less.”
He laughed softly. “You’ve been settling for a lot less than you should these past couple of weeks. I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been.”
“You haven’t been selfish. You were trying to be honest and honorable with me. I don’t think you were selfish at all.”
“That’s because you’re so damn generous.” He slipped his fingers gently into her hair and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “How many kids do you want?”
“Kids?” She squeaked the word in disbelief. That was one dream she had been prepared to surrender for him. “You said… But…how many times did you tell me…?” Her voice trailing away, she twisted until she could see his face. The expression she saw there melted her heart.
“I want to give you my children,” he said softly. “Because I want your children. But only if you want them, Jessie.” He kissed her gently on the lips and then on her damp eyelids. “I know what I’ve been saying,” he said gruffly. “I’ve been a complete and total…
“Never mind. I’m sorry it took nearly losing you to bring me to my senses, but I am in my right mind at last. The whole nine yards, Jessie. All of it, including the dog, the cat and minivan.”
Oh, how she liked the sound of that. “But what about Melanie and Andrew?” she asked as a different kind of fear stabbed her.
“Melanie will be thrilled. She’s been trying to persuade me to remarry for years. Andrew will resent it, but he’ll get over it, and it doesn’t matter a damn anyway, because I’m the one marrying you, and he’s not a kid any longer. This is between us and only us.”
She turned into him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close. “Two,” she said. “A boy and a girl.”
He laughed and squeezed her. “I’ll try.”
It had all been worth it, she thought. Every fear, every worry, every risk.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5374-6
SERIOUS RISKS
Copyright © 1991 by Susan Civil
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