Don't Tell

by Karen Rose

  “Stop, Tom. Stop! Max, help me!”

  Max was there in that instant, having dragged his own body across the floor. He grabbed Tom’s shoulders with both hands and yanked with all his strength. Suddenly another set of hands grabbed Tom around his waist and pulled him off Winters.

  “No, Tom.” It was David. “Not this way. Not his way.” Tom flew backwards, hitting Max full in the chest and the two fell to the floor together. Tom fought wildly, fists flailing, feet kicking, but Max held his upper body in a hard embrace while David held his feet and finally Tom stilled.

  David rolled to his back while Max hung over Tom, sweat dripping from his forehead onto Tom’s face. “Jesus God, Tom.” From the corner of his eye Max caught a flash of silver and lifted his head to find Lieutenant Ross standing in the doorway, her gun drawn. Her gaze quickly took in the room, stopping on the slumped and bleeding Winters. Then she met Max’s eyes and nodded. Her gun dropped to her side, but her hand was still clenched and ready.

  For a moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing, then Tom’s chest heaved in a strangled sob.

  Caroline lightly pushed Max to the side and gathered Tom in her arms. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” She rocked Tom in her arms, crooning reassurances.

  “I want him dead. Please, Mom, please.” Tom’s sobs were barely coherent. “Please, Mama.”

  “Me, too, baby,” Caroline whispered, her rocking taking on a hypnotic pattern. “Me, too.” She found Max’s eyes and shot him a helpless look.

  “He insisted he come, Caroline,” Max said softly. “I couldn’t find it in me to tell him no.” Max combed his hair back out of his eyes with his fingers. “He remembered this place. We never would have found you otherwise.”

  Her eyes filled, tears squeezing from the swelling eyelids. “Oh, baby.” She laid her cheek on top of Tom’s head and held him close. “You did it. You saved my life.”

  Tom’s sobs had stilled, but he allowed the rocking to continue. “I always wanted to kill him. Every time he touched you, I dreamed of killing him.” He raised his head, swallowed, traced his mother’s battered face with gentle fingers. “Every time he did this to your face. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time.” He dropped a baleful glance on Winters’s unconscious body. “I still want to kill him for every time he hurt you.” He looked back up, brushed the backs of his fingers against his mother’s cheek. And when he spoke, his young voice was hard, cold. Adult. “But I could only kill him once. That would leave me dissatisfied for the hundreds of other times. I’ll have to be satisfied knowing every con in jail will know he’s a dirty cop.” He took a deep breath, shuddered it out. “And I hope when they find out they don’t leave enough of him to scrape into a baggie.”

  Caroline stared at her son as if he were a stranger. “I never knew you hated him so much.”

  “He hurt you.”

  It was simply uttered, yet contained the emotional turbulence the boy had kept contained for fourteen years.

  Max closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest, unable to keep the images from his mind, a younger Caroline at the mercy of this monster while her young son was forced to watch. To seethe. To develop a hatred so deep … His own tears came, scalding hot. Silent.

  He felt a hand on his back and lifted his head.

  “Max.” David rose to his knees. “How badly are you all hurt?”

  Max opened his eyes, blinked hard to see David through his own tears. “Caroline needs a hospital. I could probably use an X ray or two.” He looked over at Tom, now sitting solid as a stone, holding Caroline’s hand as she leaned her body back against the side of the bed. “I think we could all use a counselor.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” David promised, his voice unsteady.

  Max grabbed David’s shirt, noticed for the first time the front of both his brother’s and Lieutenant Ross’s shirts were soaked with blood. “Thatcher?”

  David shook his head. “He’s alive. Winters shot him in the chest, but he was wearing Kevlar.”

  “Thank God.”

  David shook his head. “But one of the other detectives is hurt really bad. Winters got him in the side when he was protecting Thatcher’s little boy. The guy’s lost a hell of a lot of blood.”

  Caroline closed her eyes, wearily. “There’s no hospital around for miles.”

  David nodded. “Detective Lambert and I put him in the back of one of the backup squad cars that just showed up a few minutes ago.”

  “Great timing,” Max remarked sardonically. “Where the hell have they been?”

  Lieutenant Ross stepped forward. “They missed the turn, got lost, then lost radio contact in the hills. But they’re here now and they’re driving Detective Jolley to a place where a helicopter can meet them and airlift him into Asheville. They left a few minutes ago.” She looked down at Winters’s body. “How about him?”

  Max’s lips thinned. “He’s alive.”

  “You beat the shit out him, Max.” David didn’t bother to hide the pride in his voice.

  “I got in a few good punches. Caroline did the rest.”

  Ross stared over at Caroline in obvious admiration. “Not bad.”

  “Whoa.” David stood and walked across the room to where Max’s cane lay on the floor. “Way to go, Caroline.” He picked up Max’s cane and studied the tip, bloody and cracked. And looked back over at Max. “Ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

  Max lifted the one eyebrow that didn’t hurt. “The poetic justice of it all hasn’t failed to escape me.”

  David shook his head. “You could have just said ‘yes,’ Max.” He sobered abruptly. “Thank you, Caroline.”

  Caroline struggled, then gave up and let David lift her to her feet. “For what?”

  “For not leaving him.”

  Her hands still gripping his forearms, Caroline leaned her head against David’s chest. “I never will.”

  David held a hand out for Tom who grasped it and easily pulled himself to his feet and together, the two helped Max to his feet.

  Max took a look back at Winters, then took Caroline by the hand. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to stay in the same room with him another minute.” His jaw hardened and his face grew stone cold. “I want to finish the job you started more than I want to …” He shrugged, unable to form the words.

  “He said that once,” Caroline said, staying where she stood, watching Winters take shallow breaths. “When he’d pushed me down the stairs and came to see me in the hospital. He said he’d finish the job.” She drew a breath and winced. Then looked up at Max’s grim face. “Thank you for stopping me. I couldn’t have lived with knowing I was like him.”

  Max looked away for a moment, a muscle spasmodically twitching in his cheek. “You could never be like him.”

  Caroline raised a trembling hand to touch the twitching muscle, smoothing it. “I know. In my head I know. But it’s those darn thoughts in your heart that take over in the middle of the night. I used to hate myself for not fighting back. In my head I knew I couldn’t. That he was bigger, stronger. He held the power, all the cards. It never stopped me from thinking in the middle of the night that I should have.”

  Max swallowed. Caroline could see his throat working as he brought himself back into control. “But now you fought back.”

  She bent one tiny corner of her mouth into the best smile she could manage. Any more would hurt too much. But now that it was over, now that the adrenaline rush had crashed, the reality of their situation was closing in. She needed to show him strength, to keep him from seeing her as the battered, pathetic wreck she was sure she appeared to be. But as important as her strength was for Max, she realized, it was more important she be strong for herself. It was part of healing. Part of re-gathering her self-esteem. Her self-respect.

  She took an exaggerated look down at Rob’s unconscious body. “So I did.” It worked and Max smiled back. A start on the road back to normalcy, even though his smile didn’t quite r
each his tortured eyes. She picked up Max’s cane and handed it to him.

  Max recoiled as if the cane were a live snake. “I don’t want it anymore. I’ll get a new one.”

  Caroline examined the cane closely. Then tossed the cane to the carpet and it rolled to a stop next to Rob’s motionless body. With great drama she declared, “Consider that a divorce.”

  Max snorted a surprised laugh and Caroline turned to him. With effort she gave him a half-wink with the eye that was less swollen. “I always wanted to say that.”

  Max shook his head. “Let’s go, Caro.” As a group they turned from the room, David supporting Max so he could walk from the room on his own two feet, Tom supporting his mother.

  Caroline stopped when she reached Lieutenant Ross. “I’m Caroline Stewart.”

  Ross searched Caroline’s face intently. “So you are.” It was said with finality, acceptance.

  Caroline looked back over her shoulder to where Winters lay in a puddle of his own blood. “He’s unconscious. I did it. I’ll be glad to give you a statement whenever you like.”

  Ross tilted her head, still studying her. “I’m looking forward to hearing the whole story, Ms. Stewart, but first let’s get you to a hospital.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Asheville

  Monday, March 19

  5 P.M.

  “You were lucky.” The nurse’s tone was brusque, but her hands were gentle as she treated the cuts on Caroline’s face. “The two of you are alive.”

  Caroline looked over at Max whose lips were thin, his face pale under the growth of his beard. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain. But the nurse was right. They were lucky to be alive. Others weren’t so lucky. Max had gently broken the news of the people Rob had murdered on his way to tracking her down, including Sy Adelman.

  She was still numb. Sweet old Mr. Adelman. His body had been in the car with her halfway from Chicago and she hadn’t known. She shuddered, not for the first time since walking from the cabin. And Evie. Her mind still was unable to comprehend the vicious, senseless attack on her friend. And all the others. So many lives destroyed.

  “Ms. Stewart?” The nurse was frowning at her, concern clouding her eyes. “Did you hear me? It’s all over. You are alive.”

  Caroline managed only a weak smile, wincing when her lip burned. The nurse obviously thought she was in shock. Maybe she was. “I know. I’m just thinking about all those who aren’t.”

  “Don’t, Mom. Don’t think about them right now.” Tom was sitting in a chair in the corner, his back hunched as he watched every move the nurse made. He hadn’t left her side. Worry for her condition gave him a drawn look that no child should ever wear. But her son was no longer a child. After this weekend, any remnants of his childhood were gone.

  Still she couldn’t keep from mourning the loss, the incredible waste. “I have to, Tom. I can’t not think about them.” She flinched when the nurse touched a bruise, then made herself consider the living instead of mourning the dead. “How is Detective Jolley?”

  “He’s in surgery,” the nurse answered, blotting at Caroline’s lip. “Touch and go.” She met Caroline’s eyes. “We’re praying.”

  Caroline drew a breath. It hurt. She had two cracked ribs, one of which had come within a fraction of an inch of puncturing her lung. “So am I. How is the little boy? Nicky Thatcher.”

  “He’s fine.” It was a deep voice, husky and unsteady.

  Caroline turned her head to see a tall man with light red hair and big brown eyes filling the doorway of the little ER cubicle. With an impatient tsk the nurse pulled Caroline’s face back away from the doorway. “You’re Nicky’s daddy,” Caroline said to the wall.

  “How did you know?” He’d entered, was standing to her left, just out of her peripheral vision.

  “He has your eyes. He’s a brave boy, Special Agent Thatcher.”

  “I know.” Thatcher’s voice trembled. He cleared his throat. “He told me about how you untied him and told him to hide by the road.”

  “He did what I said then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I wasn’t sure if he was in the cabin or not there at the end.”

  “He’d run. He said he ran away when Winters carried you back to the other room; that your feet were still tied up because you untied him first. Detective Lambert found him hiding in some bushes and was bringing him back when Winters started shooting. You …” Thatcher’s voice faltered and once again he cleared his throat. “You probably saved his life. He’s upstairs in the pediatric ward, playing with a social worker who seems to think he’s come through all this amazingly. For now at least. We’ll be watching him for any signs of trouble later. He wants to see you, when you’re able. He wants to prove me wrong.”

  Curiosity had Caroline turning her head again. “About what? Ouch,” she added to the nurse, when her face was pulled back once again.

  “Then keep still,” the nurse snapped, then her eyes smiled. “Or no lollipop for you.”

  Caroline quirked up one corner of her mouth in appreciation for the nurse’s attempt to lift spirits. “Wrong about what, Agent Thatcher?” she repeated.

  “Nicky says you’re his guardian angel. He wants to prove to me that you’re not of this world.”

  Caroline found her heart warming, the little boy’s fanciful imagination taking some of the edge off her own numbing grief. “I’m sorry to have to disappoint him. I’d like to see him when my own personal Florence Nightingale here is finished with the reconstruction.”

  “I’m finished, I’m finished. Is she always so difficult?” the nurse asked Max.

  Max’s hand ran over her hair, still trembling as the events of the day continued to sink in. “Yes, yes she is.” He carefully lowered himself to sit on the side of the bed when the nurse backed her way out of the crowded cubicle. “I never got a chance to thank you, Agent Thatcher.”

  Thatcher moved his shoulders in something less than a shrug. “It’s my job.” He carefully searched Caroline’s face. “I don’t know what to call you. For two weeks you’ve been Mary Grace Winters in my mind.”

  Caroline reached up to cover Max’s hand, which had come to rest on her shoulder. “I’m Caroline Stewart. I couldn’t go back to being Mary Grace if I tried.”

  Thatcher nodded, his expression very sober. “I suppose not. When you’re ready, I have a few questions for you.”

  Caroline regarded him, now equally sober. “I gave my statement to Lieutenant Ross. Rob wanted me to give him Tom. He wanted me to tell everyone he never touched us. That I’d run away because I had another man, that I was unfaithful to him. That I was an unfit mother.” Max muttered something under his breath and Caroline patted his hand. “He was in my apartment in Chicago when Dana called from the hospital saying Evie had been … attacked.” She swallowed and pushed the image from her mind. “He wasn’t worried that Evie could identify him. He said he’d used another name and a disguise. He was just perturbed he couldn’t use the same disguise again.”

  “He didn’t know we’d found his disguises,” Thatcher remarked.

  “I guess not. We changed cars a couple times. Twice. I didn’t know Sy’s body was in the trunk of the first car.” She forced her voice to steady. She’d made it through the discourse with Lieutenant Ross without breaking down. But while Ross had been kind, she hadn’t looked at her the same way Thatcher was looking at her now with eyes so kind and compelling that they pushed her close to tears. “He, uh, changed cars again a few hours before dawn. The last one was the white van you confiscated at the cabin. I was tied up in the back when we stopped again. I thought we were changing cars again when he opened the back door and put Nicky in the back. He never touched him, other than to tie him up. At least not that I saw.”

  Thatcher’s eyes closed, his chest heaving in silent relief. When his eyes opened, he’d regained his composure. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. He kept forgetting about Nicky as the day passed. He’d remember
all of a sudden. Then he’d forget again. I kept wondering how he planned to explain away kidnapping Nicky when he was forcing me to tell everyone he was the perfect husband and father, but by that time I thought Nicky had gotten away and didn’t want to draw Rob’s attention to him. I honestly think he snapped there at the end. He didn’t seem to give any thought or worry to the policeman he shot. I don’t even know if he remembered doing it,” she finished, leaning against Max, so tired after relating all the details once again.

  Thatcher’s jaw clenched. “I hope the jury finds that argument compelling when they sentence him to the death penalty.”

  Caroline looked sideways at Tom to see if the notion had any impact on her son. His expression didn’t seem to change. He was still grim. And angry. She supposed he was entitled. She stifled her sigh and turned her attention back to Thatcher. “How is Detective Jolley, really?”

  Thatcher looked away. “He might die.”

  And he felt guilty. It was clear to see. “Not because of you,” Caroline said softly.

  Thatcher’s handsome face twisted. “I don’t agree. I was trying to save my son. I didn’t care about anything else, anybody else.” He closed his eyes. “Not even you, Caroline Stewart.”

  “So?” Caroline managed a smile when his eyes flew open, surprise evident on his face, guilt obvious in his eyes. “So you were thinking of your son. So was I seven years ago when I escaped.” Her smile disappeared as her own thoughts turned inward, to the guilt churning inside her own soul. “I took the coward’s way out then, Agent Thatcher.”

  “Caroline—” Max interrupted.

  Caroline shook her head, then closed her eyes against the resulting pain of even the smallest movement. Immediately she opened her eyes, unable to bear the new images that now haunted her mind. “Because I was thinking of myself and my son seven years ago, Rob continued to move freely. How many people are dead because I did nothing? Susan Crenshaw’s baby will grow up without a mother. That police officer, guarding your house. I heard he had little kids.” A sob choked her voice. “Their father will never come home because I let Rob go. I never …” She felt the tears running down her cheeks and made no move to wipe them away. Max brushed a tissue across her cheeks, drying them. “I was afraid he’d find me. Hurt me. Dana said it’s not always about me. I wish I’d figured that out before all these people were killed.”