* * * * *
He lay still for a few seconds. Had he imagined it? Had he dreamed the phantom touch, as light as summer air across his mouth? He opened his eyes slowly, meeting her uncertain gaze as she watched for his reaction.
Her pulse pounded so hard against the light cotton fabric she wore, he could see the faint movement of the soft beige material over her breasts.
Was he still breathing? Was she?
There was no doubt in his mind about anything—not where Lindy was concerned. He'd forgotten what this kind of trust felt like. Years of disillusionment and disappointment had dulled the hunger inside him. Now, it roared to life, tempered by the rediscovered tenderness that Lindy had awakened in his heart.
"I guess…that says it all." He drank her in as she leaned over him, so close their breath was the same. He hated to think that one earlier instant of self-indulgence on his part might lead to her death, but for the life of him, he couldn't wish it hadn't happened. From the moment Abe Silverman had set them up, pointing them to the back window booth, and they'd sat down, Jesse had felt a change heading his way. When Lindy turned her smile on him, he had realized how totally dark his existence had been for the past four years. Pathetic, to think all it took was this young woman to breathe life into him again, with a mere brush of their lips.
But he didn't want her to believe he could work miracles for her. Miracles were only one-way in this case, and she shouldn't labor under the illusion that he could do one damn thing for her. The way she was looking at him now, he thought he ought to be honest with her.
"Lindy, you know…I'm not really Superman…"
She squeezed his hand, and as he looked up at her, he wasn't sure if she was going to laugh or cry.
"I guess that means we're both in deep trouble then," she whispered. "But at least, we're in this together."
Yeah. He'd been afraid of that.
* * * * *
Jesse watched as Rod Macklin headed back into the bedroom carrying an extra sawed-off shotgun, a small roll of wire, a hammer and nails.
"What's he doin'?" Mr. Silverman asked edgily. "They're ruinin' my place. What's he doin' with all that crap?"
"My guess is, he's going back to booby-trap the ceiling between here and the daycare," Caspar muttered.
"The ceiling?" Mr. Silverman looked startled, as if that possibility hadn't occurred to him.
"Well, yeah. How else would they get over here?" Johnson threw his partner a questioning glance.
"Underground—" Mr. Silverman broke off, sitting up to lean forward with a grimace as he shifted. "You guys didn't know?"
"About what?" Caspar asked, irritated.
The deli owner shook his head. "The tunnels!" he whispered, excitement pushing his voice to a dangerously audible level.
Johnson's brows drew together and he shushed Mr. Silverman with a grim look. "You want everyone to hear?"
Abe shook his balding head. "No. I just thought you guys knew about—"
"That's an urban legend anyway, Abe," Caspar said dispiritedly.
Mr. Silverman chuckled. "I wish I could get those cuffs off, John. I'd show you what an 'urban legend' looks like—up close and personal."
"You've seen them?"
"Hell, yes, I've seen 'em!"
"How do you get to them?" Johnson interjected.
"In the back bedroom, there's a trap door. See, that really did used to be my bedroom, when my old man ran the deli. The tunnels weren't so old then and were every boy's dream. My brother and I, we'd sneak off down in there through that door—"
"What about your parents? They didn't care?"
"They never knew. They'd put a big room-size rug down over the floor. But, being boys, one night Carl and I accidentally discovered the door while we were digging trenches for our toy soldiers." He smiled at the memory. "We waited until they'd gone to bed, then we took a flashlight and went exploring."
"How far do they go?" Caspar asked.
"Back then, they went everywhere. Everywhere young boys might want to get to. And it was our secret. I think we enjoyed that more than anything else."
"But, really—how far do they go?" Johnson asked.
"Far enough, Tony," the old man said quietly. "To safety. And that's far enough."
Jesse lay listening to the quiet conversation. Tunnels. He'd heard the rumors too. Mr. Silverman knew what he was talking about. He'd lived here long enough to separate fact from fiction. He'd said the tunnels led to safety. And that's far enough. But would they be able to get out of here in time? He glanced at Tony and John. No way he could leave them. If he got out, anyone still left in here would die.
Mrs. Montgomery sat beside Tommy, who was still unconscious. Hardin had laid him out hard. A worried glance passed between her and Lindy as Mrs. Montgomery stroked Tommy's hair back.
"Hey. You." Hardin walked toward them, pointing a finger at her. "Yeah, you." He stopped in front of where she sat beside Tommy. "Leave that boy alone. He got what was coming to him, and then some. Any man won't claim his own kid—he ain't worth much."
He stared down at Tommy, nudging him with the toe of his boot. "Got a lot to learn," he said, shaking his head. "Think maybe he took a step in the right direction today—don't you, Jess?" He turned to look down at Jesse suddenly, a wolfish gleam in his mercurial gray eyes.
Jesse started to sit up, then remembered Nash, and sank back down to the floor.
"You are weak as a cat, boy, as I live and breathe!" Hardin took a step back, feigning surprise. "Gosh amighty." He shook his head. "And somebody beat the livin' hell outta you, Jesse."
"What do you want, Hardin?" Jesse forced himself to lie nearly flat so that Nash couldn't see his face. The boy'd be hard put to recognize him, anyhow, if he looked as battered as he felt. With any luck, Nash would be too preoccupied to hear Hardin talking to him.
"I want this old bitch to come look after these brats. Somebody needs to occupy 'em. They're gettin' antsy." He jerked his head at where the children sat, fixing Mrs. Montgomery with a hard stare. "Go see about it. And I don't want to hear any whining. Keep 'em happy—whatever it takes."
She stood up, slowly looking Tabor Hardin up and down.
"What're you lookin' at?" he sneered.
She shook her head in disgust. "White trash."
"Hey!" He reached out and grasped her arm tightly, clearly expecting to intimidate her.
But Althea Montgomery was not easily frightened. She lifted her head, trailing her flinty stare from Hardin's angry eyes to where his fingers gripped her upper arm.
"Did you have a mother, Mr. Hardin?" Her voice was soft, laced with true curiosity. She met his eyes again. For a minute, they grappled with one another in a wordless battle, and finally, Hardin released his hold on her dark turquoise velour jacket, stepping back. He smiled, but this time, there was an uneasiness that hadn't been there before.
"Go on," he ordered. "Go see to those kids."
With one last, long glare, the older woman turned away to go to the children, as if it had been her decision rather than Hardin's order that directed her steps.
"Crazy old bitch," Hardin muttered. He walked toward where Lindy sat between Tommy and Jesse, squatting eye-level with her. "That leaves you, sweet little Linden, to play nurse." His expression turned hard. "Just like I told her," he nodded toward Mrs. Montgomery's back, "you better keep your patients in line. I don't want to hear any whining from them, either."
"Then give me something to help them! Some supplies!" Lindy put her hand on Tommy's arm. "Look at him! He's still unconscious and it's been over an hour since you hit him. Look at Mr. Silverman and Jesse—"
"And Johnson, over here," Hardin added seriously. "Those cuts're probably pretty deep, knowing Leon like I do." Mocking laughter lit his eyes.
Jesse sighed heavily. From the flashing hate in Lindy's eyes, she was getting ready to say something to Hardin that might send him over the edge. Hardin's smile faded. Capriciously, he turned somber, as if to set things right
again.
"What do you need, pretty lady? Lord, it's enough to make me shoot myself in the shoulder to think it might worry your head about me, some."
Jesse tensed beside Lindy. But Hardin had only asked what she needed. Rough undercurrents flowed around them, but Lindy focused on the question.
"What I need are medical supplies. Bandages, ice packs, antiseptic—"
"I think that can be arranged." A secretive smile played across his face. Hardin had something up his sleeve. His eyes went to Jesse. "An old friend of ours has volunteered to provide those very things."
"Forget it, Hardin," Jesse ground out.
"Ryan Lucas," Hardin continued. "Why, the last time I talked to him, he seemed real anxious to send those supplies in."
Jesse swore under his breath.
"Whaddaya think, Jesse? A wager, perhaps? You gotta have some luck somewhere!" Hardin shook his head, chuckling. "You're a gambler—I just know you are. Here's the question. Will the head man bring those things in himself if I ask him pretty please?"
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"
Hardin laughed aloud. "Yeah, Jess. I agree. I think he'll do it, too."
Chapter Eleven
Tommy came to with a jerk, lifting his head with a groan. Lindy shoved a plastic mixing bowl under his chin, just in time, as he swiftly emptied the contents of his stomach. She rose to get a wet paper towel for him to wipe his face, and a small glass of water. She was aware Leon Jackson watched her, but she ignored him, returning to sit between Jesse and Tommy again.
Mrs. Montgomery lined the children up behind Nash, and they started toward the makeshift bedroom.
"Hey, you old bitch!" Jackson yelled from where he stood beside what used to be the front door.
She faced him with a steely glare.
"Where are you goin' with them kids?"
"To the bathroom, Mr. Jackson."
He nodded slowly. "Ah. Okay. Don't be long in there."
"Some things can't be rushed." She turned her back on him regally as he started to say something else, effectively cutting him off.
Lindy took a relieved breath as Mrs. Montgomery and the children went into the bedroom. Tommy pushed himself up into a sitting position leaning his back against the counter. His eyes were dull and defeated, the pupils dilated unevenly. His brown hair was matted, his face bruised.
Jesse looked at Lindy with a clear question in his expression. She glanced at the bedroom door and nodded. They were gone. The door was shut. Mrs. Montgomery would be awhile with the kids. Jesse slowly pushed himself up next to Tommy, throwing him a quick glance. "You okay?" Jesse's tone was man-to-man.
Tommy nodded. "Yeah."
"You know…it's all right to be scared."
Tommy smiled faintly, wincing as his split lip stretched. "Mr. Nightwalker, I'm not scared. I'm petrified. But…not like you all think."
Caspar glanced at Johnson, then asked, "What do you mean, son?"
Tommy's hands trembled as he brushed the long lock of hair out of his eyes. "I never thought about dying. When you're eighteen, you don't think about crap like that. Too depressing. Now—" he hunched his shoulders, his voice unsteady, "—after Jennifer…I'll think about it every day of my life."
"It's hard to lose someone," Mr. Silverman began. He stopped and looked quickly at Jesse. "I was thinking about my son…Bobby…" They were all silent a moment, then he said, "Thirty years later, and it's still like yesterday." He shifted to get comfortable, grimacing.
"You have to learn something else, even more important, Tommy," Jesse said. "How to live. How to go on."
Tommy glanced away. "See…that's just the problem. I'm going to have to live…to remember that maybe I—I wasn't such a prince." His face twisted as he fought back tears. "I didn't treat her so good. And…I think maybe…Hardin might be right." His head came up, his eyes beseeching Jesse to deny the truth in his statement. "Maybe he did save Jen from a miserable life…with me."
Jesse shook his head. "Hardin's not God. No one knows what would've happened between you and Jennifer." He took a deep breath. "Tommy, you have a daughter to see to now. Don't climb up on the cross here—martyr yourself—to free your conscience. Keep…clear…"
Lindy glanced at Jesse as he broke off, holding himself steady against the pain. He stayed silent a moment, and she knew he was thinking of his own situation.
"Keep clear thoughts about what you need to do…for her…for Riley. She needs you."
Tommy's lips curved upward slightly. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"
"I have one at home who's two," Johnson replied. "They just get prettier with age."
Tommy turned troubled eyes to Jesse once more. "What if I don't get out of here? I might never see her again."
Jesse's expression hardened for an instant. "Remember that talk we had about you being a team player?"
Tommy looked down. "Yeah, I remember."
"You aren't the only one with something to lose, Tommy. Everyone here has something—or someone—at stake."
"It might mean…that I don't get out…so someone else can."
Jesse remained silent.
"Squeeze play?"
"Some of us are going to get thrown out at home plate." Jesse held the boy's gaze.
He nodded in understanding. "Not before we clear the benches though, right? Kick some ass."
Jesse smiled. "It'll be a free-for-all like you've never seen."
* * * * *
As the minutes ticked by, Jesse found it hard to think of anything but the tunnels Abe Silverman had mentioned—and Lindy Oliver's kiss. Maybe…Maybe Mrs. Montgomery had taken that conversation to heart. Maybe right now, she was opening the trap door, helping the kids into the darkness below.
They would be afraid, though. He didn't think she'd be able to talk them into climbing down into the subterranean darkness, especially when she didn't know what waited down there.
No, he pretty much figured she was doing what she'd told Leon Jackson—taking the kids to the bathroom. Any minute, they'd be back and Nash would see him, his beloved "Uncle Jesse." Then, Hardin would be well-equipped in his arsenal of weapons. Better equipped than he ever imagined. He'd have not only his girl, but his son as well.
His girl. Jesse's girl. Where can I find a woman like that…?
The words to the old song played through his head crazily. Lindy Oliver wasn't his girl; that was a crazy thought to begin with. But more than anything…he wanted it to be true.
He'd only just met her; even though, he realized now, he'd had his eye on her for quite some time. He smiled fleetingly, remembering how she'd stared at his butt while they stood in line this morning. So, maybe she'd been thinking about what it would be like to be 'Jesse's girl' too. And she had known his name before Mr. Silverman introduced them.
She tried to take care of him, doing what she could for the wound in his shoulder; but then, she had done the same for all of them. Still, it seemed she'd stuck closer to him, trying to be there for whatever he needed at every turn. The way she'd looked at him with her heart in her eyes; he hadn't misread that. He'd told her he couldn't protect her, but that wasn't what she'd expected from him—not now—not since he'd so unthinkingly kissed her under the table. He wet his lips.
His heart beat in the wound, reminding him to get his head out of the clouds and try to come up with an idea—any idea—to get them out of here safely.
That brought him back to the tunnels again. It was an interconnecting maze, so Abe Silverman had said, that could take a person miles and miles—how far, no one but the city planners and engineers really knew. But, Jesse realized, it could be a labyrinth of death, too, especially being hampered with eight five-year-olds. For all he knew, the tunnels might have collapsed, or be filled with water. They couldn't risk it—not yet, anyway.
Lindy made her rounds, getting glasses of water for Caspar and Johnson, seeing what she could do for the others. After a moment, she knelt beside him. "Are you awake?"
Jesse opene
d his eyes. "Yeah. Are you?"
She smiled at the tease, and his heart did a funny twisting tumble.
"Nurses never sleep."
Jesse shifted, bracing himself in place with one leg bent, the other straight out in front of him. "I'd say you're on your way to becoming a doctor. Interning here at Silverman's M.A.S.H."
Lindy looked down. "I don't want to be a doctor, though. Just a writer."
"Gotta roll with the punches. Consider this some hands-on research."
"Unwanted, though it may be."
"Lindy, look, I know you're scared. Who wouldn't be?"
"You. You're not afraid." Her eyes caught his and held them for a long intense moment before he gave her a slow smile, as far as his battered mouth would allow, and squeezed her fingers.
"I have got you so fooled," he murmured. Her lips curved up, and he looked away. "I'm scared, Lindy. Plenty. When Nash comes out of that back room there'll be nowhere to hide—"
"As if you would hide from anything…from anyone."
"It'll all be over then," he continued. Nash was sure to run to him, to call him 'uncle'. "It doesn't matter about me. I figure…Hardin's going to take his fun where he can find it for as long as possible."
Lindy looked away, her eyes dark with dawning horror. "That's why you offered yourself to him, because you knew he already planned to…to…" It seemed she couldn't bring herself to actually say the words, but in the end, Jesse did it for her.
"Torture me?"
Lindy's head shot up, her eyes bright with excess moisture. A fist clutched around Jesse's heart, so tight and raw he couldn't ignore it. So this was what it took to finally bring Lindy Oliver to tears. Not the danger of flying bullets or fear for herself as the hostage of a savage son-of-a-bitch like Tabor Hardin; not the death of the young mother she'd tried so valiantly to save; not the stress of being the glue holding their small group together in the face of the horror around them. No, all it took was the suggestion of what Hardin might do to him, and Lindy was ready to cry.
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