What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  The motor fired to life on the first try, and he dropped the hood to find Beth grinning at him from the driver’s seat. “You’re wonderful,” she said as he climbed into the car.

  Adjusting his seatbelt, he glanced over his shoulder at Nicole, drowsing in her booster seat. The five-year-old clutched an old, ragged stuffed bunny. John shook his head, remembering what the bunny had looked like brand new. He’d bought it for her, a couple of Christmases ago. “Don’t you ever wash that thing?”

  Beth laughed, steering onto the street. “Have you ever tried getting it away from her? Just wait until your son gets here. That kid is going to get a double dose of stubborn from you and Lanie.”

  “Yeah.” He looked away, uncomfortable talking about this with her. Work. A nice, safe subject. Nothing with emotional teeth there. “Did you request a copy of that incident report?”

  She glanced at him, eyebrows lifted. “I did. And stop trying to change the subject. How did Lanie’s doctor’s appointment go today?”

  “Okay, I think.”

  “You think? John, I swear, to hear you, someone would think you didn’t even know she was having a baby.” She reached over and patted his knee. “You’ve got to get your act together or you’re going to forget to show up at the hospital while she’s in labor.”

  The brief contact spread comfortable warmth through his body, and he shrugged away. Think about something else. Baseball. The Yankees in the World Series. Autopsies. Remember that last body, the guy who stepped in front of a semi. Lanie. Think about Lanie, for God’s sake. You know, the woman who’s having your baby, the woman who’s everything you’ve ever looked for—smart, beautiful, independent, sassy as hell.

  Except she wasn’t the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. She wasn’t the woman he’d sworn to protect with his life. She wasn’t the woman he’d loved without hope for years.

  “John?” Beth’s quizzical voice brought him out of the reverie. She glanced at him, a wide grin curving her full bottom lip, and heat flushed his cheeks.

  “I was thinking.” He hated the defensiveness in the mumbled words.

  She laughed, shaking her head. “I won’t ask what about. God, do you two ever make it out of the bedroom?”

  “Yeah.” But not very often. Because when I’m with her, she makes me forget about you. He watched the dark silhouettes of trees and houses whiz by. He’d never understood why Beth wanted to live in the country, in the middle of nowhere, after spending her entire adult life in the constant movement of Manhattan and El Paso. Although, he’d grown to like living on the beachfront with Lanie, having the peace of the Gulf in his backyard.

  Beth slowed to make a turn onto McCollum Road, the sparsely populated cut-through to the beach area. “You know, I’m really glad you found her. She’s perfect for you. Didn’t I tell you that you’d find the right woman one day?”

  “You did.” The night she’d told him it was over, right after he’d poured out his heart, offered to be Nicole’s daddy and tried to get her to forget the man who’d ruined her life.

  “You don’t have to sound so happy about it—”

  Her sarcastic rejoinder faded as the car lurched and sputtered. Beth’s low curse filled the darkness. The engine coughed one last time and died. As she steered to the shoulder, she slammed her palm against the wheel. “Damn it, not again.”

  With a low chuckle, John released his seatbelt. “Face it, Cameron, the car’s possessed.”

  “She’s just temperamental.”

  He tossed her his cell phone. “Do me a favor. Call Lanie on her cell and tell her where we are while I look under the hood.”

  “You’re so domesticated, O’Reilly.”

  The teasing chafed his already raw nerves. Lifting the hood, he surveyed the engine. What the hell was he supposed to look for? A loose battery cable, no problem. Anything more complicated than that? He didn’t have a clue.

  He dropped the hood, the latch snapping closed. “Hey, when you get Lanie, ask her if Burnett’s there—”

  “Don’t move, O’Reilly.” Doug Mitchell’s gruff voice, instantly familiar, sank into John’s consciousness, and the hair lifted on his body. He’d known this would happen one day. He’d known Mitchell would come back—for Beth. The distinctive click of a round being chambered in a semiautomatic handgun strangled the breath in his throat.

  He reached for his own gun. “Beth! Lock the doors and stay in the car!”

  As his fingers closed around the butt of his gun, stunning pain slammed into the back of his head. He slumped, trying to shake off the disorientation, hearing Nicole’s panicked crying.

  He tried to push up to his feet, his head throbbing. He had to get up, had to stop Doug Mitchell before he finished what he’d started three years ago. Had to stop him before he killed Beth. He reached again for the gun that was no longer there. “Mitchell, you son of a—”

  Mitchell’s foot connected with his ribs. The bones gave with a sickening crack, agony exploding in his chest. Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he pushed to his feet, launching himself at Mitchell’s black silhouette.

  The gun butt smashed into his face, and he sank to his knees. Still struggling to rise, he gasped for breath while fury and pain gripped his body. Another kick pushed the air from his lungs.

  “John! Doug, don’t do this!” Beth’s scream mingled with Mitchell’s curses in the still, cold air. Darkness sucked at John, and he heard two things before the blackness pulled him under—Beth calling his name, followed by gunshots.

  Half-listening to the conversation swirling around her, Lanie checked her watch again. Forty-five minutes. Where the hell was John? Probably still at Sally Gilbert’s, talking shop with Beth.

  Lanie leaned forward, rubbing at her lower back in an effort to ease the mild ache, her constant companion for the past month. The dull throbbing continued, and she stood. “I’m going to step outside for a minute.”

  The oceanfront deck that jutted over the beach was deserted in the frigid evening air. Emerson’s boasted three levels, and as usual, people packed the place tonight. However, few dared to venture out of the restaurant’s warm cocoon.

  Lanie pulled her cell phone from her small purse and dialed John’s number. The voice mail picked up, his clipped Manhattan accent wrapping around her. “John… You’re late. Call me.”

  After disconnecting, she punched in Sally Gilbert’s number. Sally answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Sally? It’s Lanie Falconetti. Is John still there, by any chance?” She leaned against the railing, watching the white-capped waves roll ashore. The baby moved, a strong jab to her ribs. She rubbed at the spot, the knobby outline of a foot beneath her fingers.

  “No, he left with Beth about thirty minutes ago.” Worry entered Sally’s voice. “You don’t think they broke down again, do you?”

  Unease shivered over Lanie’s skin. “I doubt it. They’re probably just talking shop. I’ll try Beth’s place. Thanks, Sally.”

  Ending the call, she hit number seven, Beth’s home phone stored in her speed dial. No answer. Where were they? She tapped the phone against her lips. She’d give him five minutes then she’d corral Steve or somebody and go look for them.

  “God, it’s freezing out here.”

  Startled, Lanie jumped at Caitlin’s husky voice. She glanced at her cousin, who leaned on the railing next to her. Caitlin pulled her jacket closer and rubbed at her arms. Lanie smiled. “Then what are you doing out here?”

  “Checking on you while you check up on him.”

  Lanie didn’t like the implication in her cousin’s words. “I’m not checking up on John. He’s late, and his partner drives the flaming car of death. I’m worried, that’s all.”

  One of Caitlin’s perfectly shaped brows rose. “Do I detect a note of defensiveness there, deputy?”

  “No. You detect a note of annoyance.”

  “With me or the absent detective?”

  “Cait, stop interrogating me. He’s late. He�
��s late a lot. It’s no big deal.”

  “I never said it was. You are tense, though, Lane.”

  Lanie sighed, tucking her phone back into her purse. “I don’t know why I’m so irritable. Chalk it up to hormones or something.”

  “Chalk it up to your Falconetti temper, and maybe a change in circumstances,” Caitlin teased. “I mean, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d actually commit to a man.”

  “Who said I was committed?” Lanie wanted to call the words back the instant they left her lips. Who was she kidding? She’d been committed to John O’Reilly since the first time she went to bed with him.

  “You’re having his child. I’d call that a pretty big commitment. The next thing you know, you’ll be sporting a wedding ring.”

  Hardly. Lanie remembered John’s offhand offer of marriage when she’d told him she was pregnant. She’d refused, thinking she didn’t need the ring or the paper. He loved her, even if she didn’t have the words. She was sure of it—the emotion was there every time he touched her. And if sometimes a niggling doubt raised its ugly head, whispering she should have taken the offer… Well, she squashed it ruthlessly.

  John loved her. She loved him. They would share a child, a family. That’s what mattered most.

  “Lane? You still with me?”

  Lanie blinked, hating the teasing, knowing expression in Caitlin’s green eyes. That was the problem with having a cousin who was closer than a sister would be—she couldn’t hide anything. The baby jabbed her again, and she winced. The kid was going to break one of her ribs before he was born. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me? Like write a profile or chase down some psychopathic serial killer?”

  “I’m on—”

  “Lanie.” Steve strode across the deck, his never-serious face set in grim lines. Foreboding trickled down her spine, especially when Caitlin stiffened, too.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He stopped in front of her, his dark gaze intent. “Preston just located Beth Cameron’s car, disabled, on McCollum Road.”

  Lanie relaxed, a relieved sigh escaping her. “Well, that explains why he’s late again—”

  “Beth and the little girl are missing.”

  The apprehension returned, grabbing her spine with an icy hand. “What? Where’s John—”

  Steve darted a look at Caitlin, who edged closer, her hand warm at the small of Lanie’s back. “He’s being taken to Cutter General. Estimated arrival is in five minutes-”

  “Oh God.” Lanie covered her mouth, nausea pitching in her throat. Her other hand slipped to her stomach, curved around her baby. “What happened? Is he—”

  “I don’t know what his condition is. But he’s alive.”

  Hysteria tried to take her voice. “Steve, damn it, what happened?”

  “He’s been shot.”

  Chapter Two

  Lanie hated the antiseptic smell of a hospital. The harsh mingling of disinfectant and illness triggered memories of sitting and waiting, hoping her mother would get better, realizing she never would. The detested scent wrapped around her again, and the same fear grabbed at her chest while she stared at the doors of the emergency unit.

  Somewhere, John lay on the other side of those doors marked No Admittance—his ribs cracked, a gunshot wound to his shoulder. She pressed icy, trembling fingers to her lips in a futile attempt to suppress a horrified moan. He could have died, and she’d never told him she loved him, never told him how much he’d changed her life.

  “I’m going to get some coffee.” Beside her, Steve shot to his feet. He never could sit still, and Lanie was surprised he’d managed to stay in the chair as long as he had. “You want something? Juice, milk?”

  She wanted to run this night back like a bad movie and start it all over again. Pitch one of those feminine fits John detested, insist he call the auto club for Beth and come with her to Emerson’s. She wanted him safe and whole, with her. Without removing her gaze from the gray double doors, she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Will you be okay until I get back?” Steve hovered, hands jammed in his pockets.

  She shot him a look, part of her wishing again that Caitlin had accompanied her to the hospital. One thing her cousin never did was ask stupid questions. “I’m fine.”

  Steve didn’t question the lie and sauntered down the hall. Lanie clenched her fingers in what remained of her lap. Lord, how long was this going to take? The minutes without news stretched, making her want to scream. Please, please, someone come through those doors and say he’s going to be all right.

  Tension keeping her nerves taut, she pushed to her feet and paced to the window. Below, the parking lot stretched to the road, bright halogen security lights reflecting off the car tops. From the fourth floor, she could see beyond the busy street to the oceanfront district. Emerson’s remained brightly lit, and if Lanie tilted her head to the side, she could just make out the tiled roof of her house. Out of sight was McCollum Road, which would be flooded with patrol units and swirling red and blue lights.

  Arms hugged around her stomach, she rested her forehead against the cool glass. Where were Beth and Nicole? And who wanted them badly enough to shoot John to get to them?

  The bitter aroma of vending machine coffee preceded Steve into the waiting area. He joined her at the window, and Lanie lifted her head. Taking a cautious sip of his coffee, he shot her a smile. “Come on, Falconetti. Buck up. He’ll be fine. He’s a tough guy.”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes against a burning wave of tears. She’d gotten a glimpse of John as he was unloaded from the ambulance, and the images blazed on her closed lids—his straight nose bruised and swollen, a cut still bleeding at his hairline, his wonderful blue eyes closed, dark lashes fanning across the unnatural pallor of his skin. A shudder traveled through her.

  Please don’t let him die.

  In her womb, the baby—John’s son—stirred, and Lanie pressed her hands to that promise of life. Steve was right. John was the quintessential tough guy. Invincible. Superman. A smile trembled at her lips as she remembered how pleased he’d been with the framed comic book art she’d given him at Christmas. Her fingers drifted up to toy with the infinity pendant, his gift to her.

  Forever.

  He’d never said the words, but the significance of the pendant whispered volumes. At the time, Lanie had thought the I love you’s unimportant. Now she ached to hear the words, ached to whisper them against John’s ear.

  She would, she promised herself with fierce hope. As soon as he woke up.

  The double doors whooshed open. “Lanie?”

  Hope fluttering in her chest, Lanie spun to face her other perfect cousin, the one who’d graduated with honors from med school. “Sheila? Is he okay?”

  Sheila tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "He’s having his shoulder stitched up. The wound isn’t a through-and-through. It’s a hotline, more of a graze than anything else. The pain killers knocked him out, but you’ll be able to see him in a half-hour or so.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Lanie sagged against the wall, aware of Steve’s supportive hand at her shoulder. “Can’t I go in now?”

  Sheila shook her head. “When they’re finished with his stitches. It will only be a few more minutes.”

  “Oh.” Lanie wrapped her hands around her stomach. How could the idea of minutes feel more like years?

  A soothing smile curved Sheila’s mouth. “Dr. Lott will put him on IV antibiotics and tape his ribs. He has a mild concussion, but his CT scan was clear. No bleeding. The man must have an incredibly hard head.”

  Lanie laughed through attacking tears. “You have no idea.”

  “He has four hairline fractures to his ribs, not to mention his nose, but there’s no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery. We shouldn’t have to keep him but a couple of days.” Sheila reached out and brushed tears from Lanie’s face. “Hey, none of that. I promise, he’s going to be fine.”

  She’d be more convinced
when she could see him, touch him, hear his voice. “Promise you’ll come and get me as soon as he wakes up?”

  Sheila hooked her pinkie through Lanie’s, the way they’d done as children. “Promise.”

  John swam in a thick grayness, somewhere between light and dark. His body felt as though he should be in pain, but the sensation hovered just out of reach. The cold was real, and shivers racked him.

  “John?” A lyrical voice soothed over his nerves, a familiar touch stroking his jaw. He turned toward the warmth. Lips brushed his. “I love you.”

  He struggled to open his eyes. “Beth?”

  Warm fingers linked through his. “No, it’s me.”

  Weighted lids lifted, and the grayness receded in the piercing fluorescent light. He recoiled then focused on the face above him. Warmth and peace trickled through him. “Lanie.”

  “I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.” She blinked, tears sparkling on her long, dark lashes. What had happened to bring that look of strain to her face? Her fingers danced over his jaw again. “I love you, O’Reilly.”

  The reality of her words slipped away as remembrance flooded his mind—Beth’s screams, Mitchell’s curses, the bullet burning his shoulder. He struggled to sit up, and the lurking pain tore through his chest. “Beth. Oh my God, Beth. Got to find her—”

  Lanie’s hands pushed at his arms. “Stop. You can’t—”

  He thrust her away, his arms heavy and uncoordinated, agony shooting through him with each movement. He ignored it. “Damn it, I’ve got to find Beth.”

  “Everyone’s looking for her. John, you’re going to pull out your—”

  A sharp stinging tore through his hand, and he stared at the blood spurting from his skin, the intravenous line lying useless on the bed now. He shoved to a sitting position, his head swimming.

  “Oh hell.” Lanie tried to push him back again, reaching for the call button at the same time.

  “He’ll kill her. I’ve got to find her.”

  “John. Stop it.” Lanie took his face in her hands, her hazel gaze holding his. He stilled, breathing hard, impatience and terror pounding under his skin. “The FBI is here. The Texas Rangers, too. They’ve sealed off the county, and a door-to-door search is underway. They’re going to find Beth and Nicole. I promise.”