by J. E. Taylor
Steve raised his eyebrows as he looked at her stomach, faking surprise. “Her scar’s gone.”
“Yes, and that isn’t all.” Dr. Nevins shook his head. “It’s the damndest thing, but all her muscles have lost the atrophy they previously had.” He offered Steve a slight smile.
“What about brain activity?” Steve asked, looking between his wife and the doctor.
Dr. Nevins shook his head. “Physically she is in better shape than she’s been for years.” He glanced at the chart. “But there is still no sign of the slightest brain activity.” His eyebrows creased and he raised his eyes to Steve’s.
“I’ve filed an injunction against removing life support,” he announced, watching as the doctor’s features became guarded.
“I’m aware of that. But even with these physical developments…” Dr. Nevins trailed off and glanced at Jennifer. “The likelihood of a full recovery is still a long shot.”
Steve nodded and pulled out a business card that listed his cell phone number. He handed it to Dr. Nevins. “I have to leave town for a couple of weeks. If there are any more changes, please let me know.” He glanced at Jennifer, leaning over, planting a kiss on her lips before he headed out of the room.
Chapter 30
“Steve!” Jennifer yelled, but her voice dropped flat in the darkness.
She swore she heard his voice but now standing alone in the black landscape, she wasn’t sure. Ever since that woman came to the hospital room, she’d been locked in this prison.
This hell.
This was much worse than being a living ghost.
Blind and without sensation was a far greater punishment than seeing him every day. Even now, she’d give anything to see the constant pain in his eyes.
To see him.
To see anything.
Chapter 31
An hour later, Steve pulled the BMW into the York Harbor Inn and sat in the car looking at the hotel. He took a deep breath and stepped out, popping the trunk and retrieving his laptop and duffel bag before heading inside to see if they had any rooms available.
A small room similar to the one he and Jennifer rented a lifetime ago greeted him and he tossed his luggage on the chair. Steve slipped his shoes off and stretched out on the bed, pressing his palms on his eyelids. The grueling week caught up to him and sleep dragged him into oblivion.
The sunrise spread rays of light through the hotel room, bringing Steve awake as twilight turned to full morning. When he moved, his muscles protested, stiff from lying in the same position all night. He rolled off the bed and stripped off yesterday’s suit, creating a clothing trail to the bathroom.
Stopping halfway to the shower, he stared at his unblemished torso in the mirror. The absence of scars still astonished him and he wondered how long it took Chris to get used to the missing scar on his face. Maybe he’d ask when this was all over.
He stepped into the hot water and let a low groan escape. The water felt like heaven on his tired skin, relaxing the knots in his muscles. He took his time getting dressed and opened his laptop while the coffee was brewing. He hadn’t looked at his private email box since he left Quantico and after pouring his coffee, he logged in. Spam emails diluted his account and he deleted all of them until only a few emails remained. Those were from Jack and his parents.
He opened the first one from his parents. They sent a response to his ‘I’m back at Quantico’ note, stating they were proud he was getting back on his feet and if he needed anything to let them know. The next email from his parents was sent the day they died. He clicked on the link and the email opened.
Steve shot out of the seat away from the computer and the coffee cup slipped out of his hand, bouncing on the carpet. His screen filled with a still snap shot of his father tied to the bed with his throat slit wide open and his mother’s face buried in his lap, her hair drenched with his blood.
Swallowing the sudden taste of bile lining his mouth and throat, he reached for the mouse with hands that shook, scrolling down to the second email. He stared at the timestamp. Fifteen minutes after the first one and he couldn’t bring himself to open it, knowing it was a picture of how his mother died.
The next email was from Jack’s cell phone and he opened it.
“Oh, Christ,” Steve whispered. His hand flew to his mouth, covering both the shock and the possibility of vomiting.
Jack had multiple stab wounds in his chest abdomen and both legs as well as a gaping wound in his neck. His eyes wide with pain and fear stared sightlessly at Steve. Grey duct tape covered his mouth and his arms were bound to the headboard in the same crucifixion style as his father.
There was one more email sent a couple of days ago from an address he didn’t recognize with an empty subject line and he hesitated before he moved the mouse over the entry. He clicked on it and gritted his teeth at the words that leapt from the screen.
Hope you’re having fun. I am. Kyle.
A numbing sensation traveled from his trembling fingers up his arms and into his chest, jump-starting his heart into a rage. Fiery fuel pumped in his veins in pulses he could feel in his temple. Edges of red obstructed his vision and his hands clenched. He turned, walking away from the computer, squashing the temptation to heave the laptop across the room.
“I am going to rip your heart out with my bare hands,” Steve said to the ocean view before he sent a glare back at the laptop. Returning his gaze out the window, he reined in his fury.
Once he was sure he had control, he approached the machine and shut it down, slipping it into the bag and packing the rest of his things. He checked out of the hotel and headed to Chris’s house.
At the gate, he punched in the code instead of pressing the buzzer, pulling up to the house. He already telepathically announced his arrival and the door opened as he strode up the walkway.
CJ wasn’t smiling. He put his hand up, stopping Steve in his tracks with an invisible wall. “You’re taking my Dad away,” he said.
“CJ, back off.” Chris came from behind. “I’m going because I want to catch this guy just as much as he does.” He grabbed CJ by the scruff of the neck and pulled him into the house.
Steve felt the invisible wall dissolve and he stepped inside, closing the front door behind him. He cloaked his thoughts so none of the family could hear the murderous rage enveloping him. “I need your father,” he admitted. Because you wouldn’t give me... He stopped the angry thought midstream, clenching his jaw and glancing up at Chris.
Chris sent him a warning look that needed no words.
“I’m sorry. I had a bad morning. I need your Dad to help me catch the man who killed your brother,” Steve said to CJ.
“You don’t need him,” CJ argued. “I don’t want him to go.”
Chris squatted and turned CJ toward him. “I need to go, CJ. I love you and Tommy and your mother very much and I’ll miss you just as much as you’ll miss me.” He put his palm on his son’s cheek. “If it wasn’t for Agent Williams, I wouldn’t be able to see you right now,” he added for good measure and planted a kiss on CJ’s forehead.
Steve stood, shifting his weight, trying to calm the anxiety raking his skin. He wanted to start hunting now and the drive to the city loomed. The sooner they started, the sooner Chris could get back home to his family.
“Daddy, please don’t kill anyone,” CJ pleaded.
“I’ll do my best,” Chris said and exchanged eye contact with Steve. He stood up and led CJ into the kitchen.
Steve waited by the door as Chris said his goodbye to his family.
* * * *
“You be good for your mother, understand?”
The two boys nodded in response.
“I want you to tell me you understand,” he clarified.
“We will,” CJ and Tommy said in unison.
“You’d better, because if I find out you gave her a hard time, there will be some serious punishments. Got it?” He stooped down and gave each boy a hug.
“Dad, please come b
ack,” CJ whispered in his ear.
Chris pulled away and looked at his son. “Why wouldn’t I?” He touched CJ’s face.
CJ shrugged and threw his arms around his father. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you both.” He looked at Tommy who was standing a foot behind CJ. He was watching his father with a serious expression, looking more like his biological father than Chris ever imagined he would. He released CJ and pulled Tommy into his arms. “Watch over your brother,” he whispered.
“I always do,” Tommy answered, pulling away.
Chris stood and turned to Jessica. He let his gaze graze over her body once more and couldn’t help the grin that surfaced. “I’ll miss you.” He stepped toward her and planted a kiss, running one hand into her hair and the other around her waist, pulling her close. As always, the kiss took his breath away. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear and then broke free of her grasp.
“I love you, too,” Jessica replied, trying not to cry at his departure.
Walking away from his family was the hardest thing Chris had ever done and he locked his emotions away, letting his thoughts drift over the years they’d had together. The good, the bad, the laughter and the tears mingled in a frantic slide show, rendering his mind a complete blank to those around him. The best years of his life were here and he knew he wasn’t coming back. His soul screamed for him to turn around, to stay, to hold on to a life he knew was over but the promise of eternity Eric laid at his feet kept him walking. He was not at all anxious to go to hell.
He pulled the already packed vintage candy apple red Corvette out into the bright morning sunshine and stopped parallel to Steve’s BMW.
“Nice wheels.”
Chris gave a nod and glanced in the rearview mirror at Jessica and the kids standing on the front stoop. They were crying and he felt his heart tug. “Try to keep up,” Chris called to Steve and pulled out, leading the way to New York.
Chapter 32
Chris pulled the Corvette into the garage with Steve following. He smiled at the familiar attendant. “Jason, I thought you’d be off running some corporate conglomerate by now,” he said.
Jason approached the corvette with a matching grin. “I’m getting my masters,” he answered. “And this job pays damn well.”
Chris nodded. “I’ve got a friend following me; you’ll like his car just as much as this one.” He peeled off a couple of hundred dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to Jason. “We’ll take them up ourselves.”
“Where’s your wife?” Jason asked, pocketing the cash.
“She’s in Maine. The kids are still in school,” Chris said.
“How long you staying?”
Chris shrugged. “We’ve got a job to do, so it could be a while.” He thought about the last time he had been in New York and peeled off a couple more bills. “Keep your eyes and ears open for me. Okay?” He handed the money to Jason.
Jason stared at the cash and back at Chris, remembering the last time as well.
“The guy in the car behind me is with the FBI. I’m helping him with a case.”
Jason took the bills and nodded. “Will do,” he said and waved him on.
Chris pulled into one of the spots reserved for the penthouse and Steve pulled in next to him. He popped the trunk and retrieved the two suitcases he packed. One had clothing, the other had electronics and his camera equipment. He pushed the elevator button and waited as Steve stepped beside him with two suitcases and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You had a bad morning?”
Steve huffed. “Yep.”
Chris glanced sideways at him. “You can tell me about it after we get all your shit upstairs.”
Steve whistled when he walked into the penthouse. “Nice.” He glanced around at the luxurious surroundings. It was warm and welcoming, quite the opposite of what Steve thought of his host.
Chris chuckled. “Not what you expected?” he asked brushing past Steve to the master bedroom. He dropped his suitcases and showed Steve to the other bedroom. “Eric and the boys were the last ones to stay in here,” he said and swung the door open. He waited while Steve put his suitcases down and they went to collect the rest of Steve’s possessions.
“Are you hungry?” Chris asked as he put the last of the boxes down in the living room.
“Yes.” Steve answered, placing the hard drive on the coffee table. He opened the doors to the balcony and stepped out. The view of Central park and the city south of where he stood was breathtaking. “So this is how the other half lives.” He glanced over his shoulder at Chris.
Chris shifted and shrugged. “Money isn’t everything.”
Steve laughed. “This, coming from the billionaire.”
Chris smiled. “Chinese?”
“Sure.”
Steve watched Chris disappear and returned his gaze to the incredible view. It was eons nicer than Charlie’s view and that was stellar. Blood money. The thought shook him up and he turned meeting Chris’s stark stare.
“That’s how I got all this,” he said. “Food will be here in about twenty minutes.” He turned and disappeared from the doorway and the sound of papers rustling caught his attention. Chris was digging through his research.
His audacity irked Steve. “What do you think you’re doing?” He crossed the room reaching for the documents in Chris’s hand.
Chris glanced at him, stopping him in his tracks. “I need to see how far you got.” He made no move to put the papers down. He leaned back on the couch and assessed Steve. “Are you going to tell me what got you in such an uproar this morning?”
Steve disappeared down the hallway, coming back moments later with his laptop. With a few keystrokes from Chris, he had access to the wireless network in the apartment and he logged into his email, turning the laptop toward Chris. “The last four emails,” he said.
Chris started with the latest one and went down, studying the pictures. “All from their phones, except this last one,” he said. Chris ran a trace on the email address and his brow furrowed. The URL it came from was non-existent. “This guy knows his way around the cyber world,” Chris said.
The doorbell interrupted the conversation and he handed the laptop back to Steve.
“Sir, your food.” The doorman handed Chris the bag of Chinese food.
“Thank you, Fred.”
“How’s the Mrs.?”
“She’s doing well. She’s back in Maine with the kids until school lets out.”
“Well, you have a nice evening.”
“You too, Fred.”
Chris stepped back into the living room with the bag and nodded toward the kitchen. Steve walked into the small galley kitchen and Chris pulled the boxes out of the bag, setting them on the table. He grabbed two plates and set them down. He sat, scooping half of the containers onto his plate and grabbed a pair of chopsticks.
Steve took the seat opposite Chris, emptying the contents onto the second plate looking around. He glanced up at Chris. “Any silverware?”
Chris tossed a pair of chopsticks to Steve.
“No, I mean silverware,” Steve said.
“I want to see how lame you actually are with those things,” Chris said and picked up a lump of rice, plopping it in his mouth.
“Come on.”
“It’s a sin to eat Chinese food in New York with silverware. If you can shoot a bull’s eye at a hundred yards, you can do this.”
“Jenny tried to teach me more than once and it didn’t go well.” He went to stand and an invisible hand pushed him back into the seat.
“Chopsticks or go hungry,” Chris said. “And don’t even think about using your hands.”
“Asshole,” Steve grumbled and put the chopsticks in his hand. He couldn’t control the sticks with his awkward hold.
“First, you’re doing it completely wrong,” Chris said. “The bottom stick always stays still. Use the index and middle fingers to move the top stick like this.” He demonstrated by picking up a piece of chicken and po
pping it in his mouth. He looked at Steve, slightly dipping his head and sending silent commands.
Steve’s jaw dropped when his hand formed the proper hold and picked up a piece of chicken bringing it to his mouth. He stared at Chris as the piece of chicken dropped into his open mouth. None of the motions he executed were of his own free will.
Chris offered a sly smile and released Steve. “Think you can handle it from here?”
Steve slowly repeated the movement, his muscles remembering the motion and he picked up another piece of chicken. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered as he chewed the second piece and successfully scooped up some rice.
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case,” Chris mumbled catching Steve’s attention.
Steve narrowed his eyes, studying his host. He continued eating, attempting to analyze Chris Ryan. He combed through Eric’s memories, singling in on the turning points in Chris’s life. “Your father was a cop?”
Chris nodded.
Steve mulled over the catalog of events and it kept coming back to one thing. “How many people died because of you?” Steve asked.
“I’m not disclosing that to you. You are with the FBI.” He pointed the chopsticks at Steve.
“And anything you say or do could be used against you in a court of law?”
“Something like that.” He met Steve’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not the same person I was back then.”
“Yes, you are. You’re hiding behind the guise of husband and father, but there is definitely darkness still embedded in your soul.”
Chris considered the comment. “You may be right. But isn’t that why you brought me along for the ride?”
Steve looked down at his food. He didn’t want to admit anything to the man across the table, the promise he made to Eric weighing heavily on his mind.
Chris felt the conflict in Steve. He finished his meal and put the dishes in the sink, retreating into the living room to set up Steve’s hard drive. The right half of the living room was comprised of a desk and computer equipment. He brought the hard drive over and hooked up the wires to one of the dual monitors he had in place and booted it up. He stopped when he heard the water in the sink go on.
