THE HOMECOMING

by Maggie Shayne

  Garrett said, "I know this is hard, hon, but we have to know. Do you know that man?" He pointed at the suspect. "Is this the guy you saw commit that murder at The Catwalk? The one who fired shots at you and your little boy?"

  "No," she said. "That's not him. Gianni probably hired him to … ohmyGod." She came to a halt, and all eyes were on her. She was the only one looking toward the cop in the distance, who had put the shooter into the back of the car and was getting into the front. "That's him … that's the killer!"

  "It is the same guy, after all?" Garrett asked as the patrol car rolled around the diner, toward the highway.

  "Not the shooter. The cop. That's him. That cop is the killer!"

  All eyes turned toward the patrol car as it merged into traffic, picked up speed.

  The two officers tensed, looking at each other in confusion, and one of them said, "That's Officer Petronella, ma'am. Are you sure about this?"

  "That is the man who tried to kill my son and shot at me. That's the man I saw murder the undercover agent at The Catwalk. I have his confession on audio and videotape, back in the motel room." Ben headed back to get them even as she went on. "And if you get him behind a two-way mirror, I can promise you Leo, the bar's owner, will identify him, too."

  "Didn't I tell you he was dirty?" one cop said to the other. "We'd better get to this Leo fellow before Gianni does." He keyed a microphone clipped to his collar and started speaking into it as he headed for his car.

  "I'm more worried about that suspect right now," the other cop said. "If he worked for Petronella, he can testify to that in court. Hell, he'll never make it to the station." He looked at Garrett, then at Jasmine. "There's still a warrant out for your arrest, ma'am."

  "I'll keep her and the evidence in my custody," Garrett said. "When you're ready to take her statement and the tapes, we'll be at the hospital. But I promise you, once you do, that warrant will be dropped."

  The cop nodded. "She's your responsibility, Sheriff Brand. Don't leave town until this is settled. Understand?"

  Jasmine nodded. Then she and the others went to Ben's SUV and piled in. Garrett got behind the wheel, and as they sped toward the hospital, he said, "I just hope to hell they catch that bastard."

  Jasmine hovered outside the doors of the room marked Trauma 1, trying to see beyond the mesh-lined safety glass and the sea-green lab coats that surrounded Luke. A pretty young nurse touched her shoulder and said, "Come to the waiting room, miss. You'll be so much more comfortable there."

  "I'm not moving!" She didn't speak the words so much as bark them. It was at least the fourth time the perky blonde had bothered her.

  "Easy, Jazz. She's just trying to help." It was Wes's voice. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, and he sent the nurse an apologetic glance that told her it was all right, he would handle things. The nurse sighed and moved away. Wes came closer, pressed the cup into Jasmine's hand, looked past her at the windows, and saw no more than she'd been able to see before.

  "You and Ben ought to be in there," Jasmine muttered. "You could probably do as well as they are."

  He shook his head. "They know what they're doing. This is Chicago. They know how to take care of gunshot wounds here."

  "It's been an hour."

  "It might be two. You sure you don't want to come sit with us?"

  She shook her head, sighed, sipped the coffee. "What was that, anyway? What you and Ben were doing back there to make the bleeding stop the way you did?"

  Wes shrugged. "I think Ben calls it reiki. He studied lots of Eastern mysticism along with martial arts a while back. Still keeps up with most of it. As for my part, I was just using an old Comanche healing technique. I think it's pretty much the same thing, either way."

  "It was amazing."

  Wes shrugged. "Actually, stopping blood is fairly easy. I'll show you sometime."

  "I'd like that." She turned to peer through the window again.

  "He's gonna be all right, Jasmine."

  She closed her eyes, lowered her head. "Why did he do it, Wes? Why did he jump in front of me like that? What the hell could he possibly have been thinking?"

  Wes frowned at her as if she were asking an inane question. "He was trying to protect you."

  "By getting himself shot? God, Wes, I just don't get it. Who does something like that for someone else? And why, for God's sake?"

  He just looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "You remember when you saw Petronella shooting at Baxter? What did you do?"

  She paced away from the door, shaking her head. "I threw something at him, yelled at him, waved my arms."

  "Why?"

  "Why? To distract his attention away from my son, so he wouldn't shoot him."

  "And didn't it occur to you that the man would only shoot at you instead?" Wes asked.

  "I knew he would shoot at me instead. But it didn't matter. I mean, better me than Baxter."

  Wes came to where she stood, put a hand on her shoulder. "And why would you be willing to risk your own life in order to save Baxter's?"

  She blinked. "Well … I'm his mother."

  "Oh. Well. If that's all it was… Would your mother have done that for you, do you think?"

  "Shoot, my mother would have used me for a shield, given the chance." She licked her lips, lowered her head. "But I'm not like her. I love my baby. I'd do anything for him. There's nothing in the world more important to me than that child, not even my own life. I'd die for him in a heartbeat and never once regret it. That's how much I love him."

  She finished speaking, lifted her head slowly. And Wes held her gaze and nodded slowly. "And that's how much Luke loves you."

  It was like a flash of light in her eyes that was so bright it blinded her. The pain in her chest doubled, and for a second she couldn't breathe. She actually staggered backward as if Wes had delivered a physical blow. One hand pressed to her heart in a knee-jerk reaction, and she leaned against the wall behind her.

  The double doors opened. People in green rushed out, wheeling Luke on the gurney amid them. One pushed an IV pole with bags swinging and tubes attached to Luke's arms.

  "Are you family?" a male doctor asked her. She brushed him aside and tried to run along beside the gurney.

  "I am," Wes told the doctor.

  The gurney stopped at an elevator, and a nurse hit the button. Jasmine crowded her way between the people and leaned over Luke. God, he was so still, so very white. A sheet covered him from the hips down, and his chest was patched with bloody squares. Tubes in his nose. Tubes in his arms.

  "Luke…?" Jasmine whispered.

  The elevator doors opened. A nurse touched her arm. "We have to take him up to surgery now. Sixth floor. There's a waiting room up there. We're going to do everything we can, I promise you."

  "Luke!"

  They pushed him past her, into the elevator, as she stretched her hands out toward him, as if she could hold on to him somehow. Then the doors closed, and she stood there, staring. It wasn't possible that a man like Luke could love her the way Wes said he did. No one in her life had ever loved her like that. Well, no one except for Bax. But he had to love her. She was his mom. My God, the sheer magnitude of this was more than her mind could wrap itself around all at once. How could he love her that much? How could anyone love her that much? What the hell did she have that made her deserve it? And yet, it must be true. Because the man had dived in front of bullets for her. He'd dived in front of bullets for her! Shielded her with his own body. Knowing damn well he would be shot instead.

  Who did things like that?

  "Jasmine?"

  She lifted her head, blinked at Wes. "She looks shocky, Wes. Maybe we should get a doc to take a look at her," Elliot said. "You all right, Jazz?"

  She tipped her head to one side. When had Wes taken to calling her that? When had she decided she liked it? Why did it make her feel like part of his family? "They … have to operate on him," she said. "Sixth floor. We should go up."

  Wes nodded. Garret
t turned and punched the elevator button, and they stood there, waiting. "So what did they say to you, Wes?" Garrett asked.

  "They needed the consent of a family member. That's all."

  The doors opened; they all stepped inside. Jasmine watched Wes's face and saw his eyes. There was more. "That's not all," she said. "Tell us, Wes. I already know it's bad. That nurse told me they'd do everything they could. I know what that means as well as anyone. It means they're not sure they can save him."

  Wes lowered his head. When he lifted it again, he glanced at Garrett, and Garrett nodded. "She's tougher than she looks. You might as well tell us the worst of it, Wes."

  Swallowing hard, Wes said, "One bullet went clear through, punctured a lung on the way. That's bad enough, but the second one is still inside him. It damaged his heart and lodged in his back—it's near his spine. They need to get it out, because if it shifts position it could kill him or cripple him. There's no telling yet how much damage it's already done. They need to repair the tear to his heart and get that bullet out of his spine. Then they'll work on the lung."

  The doors opened again. For a minute Jasmine couldn't even move. Garrett had to take her arm and push her along to get her going. Her feet came down then, one in front of the other, but she wasn't directing them.

  Ben said, "Has anyone called home?"

  "Yeah," Garrett said. "But it's time for an update." He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.

  "I want to talk to Baxter," Jasmine said softly.

  "That's good, that'll help him feel better."

  "I don't know how. I can't tell him Luke will be okay. I can't tell him Petronella has been caught and locked up where he can't hurt us anymore. The only thing I can tell him is … that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got the only man that boy has ever loved shot." She lifted her eyes, looking at each of the men in turn. "And I need to tell you that, too. And your whole family. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry I ever darkened your door and brought all this trouble down on you. It's my fault Luke's lying in there fighting for his life. My fault. I wish I could take it back."

  Wes shook his head at her. "Luke wouldn't have had it any other way, you know. If he had it to do over, he'd do it just the same."

  She closed her eyes and, finally, let Ben lead her to a chair.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  "I think he's coming around," a voice said. It was a gentle voice, a familiar one. Luke was struggling to stay afloat in a very deep, very dark sea, but waves kept pushing him under again. Then a hand closed around his, and he gripped it as if it were his lifeline.

  "I'm right here, Luke. I'm right here."

  Slowly he blinked his eyes open. "Jasmine…?"

  "Right here," she said. He sought her out with his eyes, found her. She was a blur, but gradually she came into focus. She didn't look well. She was pale, and her hair was hanging in a limp ponytail with many strands dangling free. No makeup. She had red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

  "You okay?" he asked weakly. God, why was it so much effort to put words together?

  "Am I okay?" She smiled, but sadly. "I'm fine. You're the one who got himself shot."

  He frowned. Shot? It took moments of intense concentration to make sense of her words. Then, finally, he remembered. "Did they get him?"

  "Yeah. They got him."

  "And? What else?" he asked her.

  She said, "It wasn't Petronella. Just one of his flunkies. Petronella took off with him before I could ID him. Bastard had the nerve to show up at the scene. But it's gonna be okay. The police tracked him down in short order. He'd already shot his flunky and dumped the body alongside the highway. He's in custody now. They have my tapes—but I made copies first, just in case. I'm in the clear, and there's plenty of evidence to send Petronella up for life. It's all going to be okay. Finally."

  He sighed his relief. Thank God the risk to Jasmine was ended. They'd gotten the bastard. He swallowed hard. Then Jasmine leaned over him, cupping his head with her soft hand and lifting his head just a little, holding a glass of water with a straw to his lips. He drank, then she lowered his head gently back against the pillows again. "Damn, I'm weak. How bad off am I?"

  "You're gonna be fine," she told him, setting the water down. But she wasn't facing him when she said it.

  "Jasmine?"

  She turned, sat on the edge of his bed, pressed her hands to his cheeks and said, "You're okay. We almost lost you, Luke, but you're okay now. They operated in Chicago. They said it went well, but they wanted to keep you out for a little while. There was some damage to your spine—nothing serious or permanent. One of the bullets came close, though. They didn't want you even trying to move until you'd had a couple days to let the healing process take hold."

  He blinked in shock, trying to take stock of his body, especially his legs and feet. They felt odd. Heavy and tingling, as if they'd gone to sleep. But he could feel them, at least. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked.

  "Two days. This morning they shipped you back here, to El Paso, and took you off sedation. You're back in Texas, Luke. We've been here a whole hour already."

  He closed his eyes, feeling an inexplicable surge of contentment wash through him like a warm tide. Hell, whatever happened, he could handle it here. Home. Texas. He really had sunk his roots into the Texas soil, then, hadn't he?

  There was a tap on the door. Then it opened. "Doc said he was coming around," Chelsea said, poking her head inside. "I brought a visitor."

  The door opened wider, and Baxter came in, almost tiptoeing, his eyes wide and worried.

  Jasmine gulped back a sob and ran to her son. She scooped him right up and held him tight, covering his little face with her kisses. "Oh, Bax, honey, I missed you so much!"

  "Me too, Mom," he said, hugging her neck.

  In the bed, Luke's throat closed up tight, and his eyes burned.

  "Thanks for bringing him, Chelsea. I couldn't wait, and I couldn't leave, and I just … thank you."

  "Hey, I'd have come whether you asked me to or not. Heck, the whole clan is out there waiting to see Luke. But I'll give the three of you some time first." She ducked back outside, and pulled the door closed behind her.

  "Luke?" Baxter asked softly. He squirmed out of his mother's arms, went to the chair and pulled it up close to the bed. Then he climbed up. "You okay?"

  "They tell me I'm gonna be just fine, kiddo. Nothing to worry about."

  Very gently, Bax reached out and hugged Luke's neck. "You kept your promise," he said. "Just like you said you would. You brought my mom back home."

  "Told you, kid. I never break a promise." Luke made the effort it took to put his arms around Bax and hug him in return, but damn, it was hard work.

  "I love you, Luke," Baxter said.

  Oh, hell, that did it. His eyes didn't just burn now, they welled to overflowing, despite Luke's rapid blinking. "I love you, too, Bax."

  Jasmine stood there and watched the two embrace. She saw the tears in Luke's eyes and the adoration in Baxter's. And all of the sudden, she needed to be alone. She was so close to something. So close to finally understanding … it was nipping at her brain, and she just needed to grab hold of it and hold on.

  She backed out of the room. The two were so involved with each other by then, she didn't think either of them would notice. She ran right past the crowd of Brands lingering in the hall, located the nearest rest room and ducked inside. She cranked on the cold water tap, splashed handfuls of it in her face, battled an attack of hyperventilation.

  Both hands braced on the sink, she lifted her head and stared into the mirror. "My God," she whispered. "You love him. You love that man!"

  Chelsea sat by the bedside. "Stop worrying, Luke. She only went to the rest room."

  Luke frowned anyway, worried all the same. "She didn't look well, Chelsea." Baxter had curled up beside him on the bed, snuggled into a little ball in the crook of his arm, and fallen asleep.

  "Well, of course she didn't
. She's been holding a vigil at your bedside since you came out of surgery. They couldn't get her to leave. She flew home with you. The girl's got it bad, Luke."

  He shook his head. "She feels responsible, I imagine. It's just guilt."

  Chelsea smiled. "Ah, be dense if you want to. Why mess up a perfectly good Brand family tradition?"

  He sent her a smirk. "How come Garrett's not with you?"

  "The menfolk had to take off. Got a call from a neighbor. Seems the north pasture fence is down and we have cattle all over the place. They won't be long getting things squared away."

  He nodded. There was yet another tap on the door, and a nurse came in. "We have to take Mr. Brand down to X-ray now. It won't take long."

  Chelsea nodded, got to her feet and gathered Baxter up in her arms. "See you in a few minutes, Luke."

  "Thanks, Chelsea. For taking such good care of Bax and … and, well, everything."

  She nodded. "A fall wedding would be nice, don't you think?" She sent him a wink and carried Bax out into the waiting room.

  Luke lay back, thinking his cousin-in-law had higher hopes than he did. Damn, a fall wedding sounded good to him, too, though. He smiled crookedly as the nurse wheeled him out of his room, into an elevator. Then she pulled a needle out of a deep white pocket.

  "What's that?" he asked. "Not more sedatives, I hope. I'd like to stay awake for a while."

  The nurse smiled down at him. "Just pain meds. Don't worry." She stuck the needle into his IV tube. A second ticked by, then two, and then his head was swimming.

  "Whoa, those must be powerful … main peds … uh … I mean um…" He forgot what he'd been saying. The doors slid open, and she pushed him out. Ceiling lights flashed overhead, running past him as if they were attached to a conveyor belt. He found that incredibly funny and started to laugh, but it hurt when he laughed, and he wondered vaguely why his pain meds didn't prevent that.

  Doors whooshed open. Fresh Texas air hit him in the face. Hey, he was outdoors. Since when did they put X-ray outdoors? Whoa, now his bed was being picked up. What the hell? He tried to lift his head, to make sense of what he was seeing before the ambulance doors slammed shut on him. A man, handing a wad of cash to the nurse. The nurse, yanking off her name tag and tossing it onto the ground, then hurrying away. Hell, she was no nurse at all.