Not hers.
He let the black void take him.
***
Michael had been here before. It was quiet and warm. And so, so bright. Soothing.
A glittering calm settled over him.
He was more curious than before to investigate the tunnel ahead. Brighter lights called to him, pulling him forward. One step and he felt a loss. Another, and the loss became greater.
Ahead stood David, awash in brightness.
The light beckoned. Tempting him with a promise of peace.
Behind him he heard his name. A frantic sound, a desperate sound.
Drew was going back. Where were they?
Miguel Ángel.
The sound of his name made him turn. Pain stabbed at him, but he heard his name again and tried to ignore it.
Miguel Ángel.
A white form materialized. A soothing whisper of air, of sound. A looming presence that prevented him from looking back at David, at the tunnel. A guardian in white, determined to push him into pain.
***
“Got him!”
Blair heard the emergency technician’s exhausted words and slumped to the rough sand.
She’d almost lost both Drew and Michael. Her cheeks felt sticky with dried tears.
The EMT shouted into his radio, something about time. How much time it would take to get to the hospital. The uniformed policeman took her elbow and tried to help her stand.
“Do you want to ride in the ambulance?”
“Yes, please.” She grabbed at the man’s arm, trying to steady herself.
“We’ve notified your brother’s office. They’ll take care of it from there.”
Blair nodded. Her mother would get a phone call. Michael’s parents would soon know. She stumbled behind Michael’s stretcher, a tech straightening an IV line. Drew was already on his way to the hospital in an ambulance, lying inside some sort of rubber thing, an oxygen mask over his face. Another ambulance pulled up for James.
The siren drowned out her thoughts. Michael didn’t move, his face pale. His oxygen mask had been hastily pulled on after a tech had stopped pumping air from a hand-held bag. Blair had seen all of this. On television. Not in life.
The ride proved too long. Twisted in the front seat, she could see each drop in the IV lines attached to Michael. He was too still.
Then they were there, pulling in next to the ambulance with Drew in it. The doors swung open and helping hands pulled the stretchers out. Blair slid from the high cab in numb exhaustion and watched men and women in scrubs whisk Michael and Drew through sliding doors and down a corridor.
The policeman who’d helped her walked up. “Need a hand?” He smiled, but Blair could see his anxiety.
She reached out to him and let him support her until she got her legs working again. Inside, the blast of the air conditioner made her clothes clammy. The policeman nodded to a nurse, who scurried away and returned with a blanket. The policeman put it around Blair. It felt warm.
“Will you be okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Someone will be here to take your statement.”
“Thank you. I’ll wait here.”
Minutes later Blair became aware of people staring at her. She pulled one arm from the warmth of the blanket and tried to straighten her hair. They looked away. A glance at her hands told her they were covered with drying blood.
More minutes, long, endless ones, and the double doors opened. A man in green scrubs, the doctor, Blair guessed, came out. “Davenport?”
“I’m his sister,” she said, standing, pulling the blanket tighter.
“We’ve taken him to surgery. He’s lost a good bit of blood. The bullet’s in his abdomen. It’ll probably take about two hours, maybe a little more. Unless there’s a lot of damage, he should be okay.”
Blair nodded. She’d call her mother.
“What about Agent Alvarez?”
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Blood loss almost got him. He’s in surgery, too.”
Running footsteps resounded through the waiting room. A blond woman in her fifties ran toward them, her face ashen.
Michael’s mother. She had to be. The cheek bones, the slant of her eyes, were feminine versions of Michael’s.
“Alvarez?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“He’s okay. Are you a relative?”
“His mother.”
“He’s in surgery to repair his arm. He probably has a concussion. Once he’s stable, we’ll move him to ICU. I’ll let you know when you can see him.” He turned toward Blair. “I’ll let you know when your brother’s out. You might want to go clean up. It’ll be a while.” He turned and headed for the doors. As he reached them he turned back. “Mrs. Alvarez?”
“Yes?” Michael’s mother replied.
“Your son has a guardian angel.”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded and sat down, her eyes frozen on the swinging doors.
“He said Michael would be okay. We just need to be patient,” Blair said, sitting down next to her.
Mrs. Alvarez looked up at her. “You’re Blair, aren’t you?”
Blair nodded.
“I had a dream, when I was pregnant with Michael. Just once, I never dreamed it again. But I chose his name based on that dream.” Her words were soft, soothing.
“His name is Miguel Ángel, isn’t it?”
“Like Michael, the Archangel. It’s pretty common in South America. His father doesn’t like it. How did you know?” His mother asked. “He won’t tell anyone.”
“I heard it.” On a whisper of wind.
Chapter 15
Rhythmic beeping intruded on Michael’s pain. Something pinched the skin below his nose. Dark swirled around and around. He drifted, aware of the beeping, aware of voices.
Memories flooded him, forced him to struggle to open heavy eyelids.
Blair.
He knew he’d said it, but his mouth wasn’t working.
Okay, she’s okay, he remembered.
Drew.
“Drew,” this time he heard his own voice.
Something warm touched his hand, a woman’s voice spoke. “He’s okay, Mr. Alvarez.”
***
Blair watched Carlos Alvarez, who’d arrived shortly after his wife. He was a striking man. Nearly as tall as Michael, with black eyes and dark hair, now graying. Now, hours later, he hugged his wife close as they listened to the doctor explain Michael’s condition.
“The head wound is nothing more than a gash. He does have a concussion, but the biggest problem is his arm. The bullet broke the bone in his upper arm and severed an artery. That’s why he lost consciousness so fast. It’ll take a while, but he should be fine. From the looks of him he’s had a rough time recently. He’ll need physical therapy, but he shouldn’t have any long-term complications if he does as he’s supposed to.”
“Can we see him?” Carlos Alvarez spoke beautiful, though accented, English.
“Yes, of course. Follow me.”
Mrs. Alvarez pulled out of her husband’s arms. “Can Blair come, too?”
“I thought Miss Davenport was related to the other agent,” the doctor said.
“She is, but she and Michael are close.”
The doctor and Mr. Alvarez both looked at her. Blair felt she should straighten her hair, brush off her clothes. She probably looked like she’d infect Michael with her filth. “I washed my hands,” she said holding up her now clean hands.
The doctor half-smiled and nodded. “Of course.”
Michael lay slightly propped up, wires and lines running from all sorts of machines to him.
A heart monitor beeped to one side, the display reassuring them that Michael was as well as could be expected.
Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez approached the bed, their hands clasped tightly together.
“Dios mío, hijo,” Mr. Alvarez said, bending to kiss Michael’s forehead. The tender move brought tears to Blair’s eyes.
> “He is so young, he has so much left to do.” His mother touched his check, then brushed his hair back, before also kissing him. “I wish he would—”
“His life, Maggie. It’s what we said. What we always told him. His life is his choice.” Mr. Alvarez said squeezing her hand. “He is strong. He will be okay.”
Michael’s mother used her other hand to touch Michael’s right one. “He squeezed my hand,” she said around a sob.
Blair looked down to where Mrs. Alvarez’s hand held her son’s. She’d been too scared before to think. None of what happened was the sort of thing she could reason out. But now, standing here, safe, with Michael’s heartbeat blipping a reassuring rhythm, it all came rushing at her.
She stepped to the other side of Michael’s bed and touched the fingers of his left hand. She thought she saw his eyes flicker, but they didn’t open. His arm was bandaged thickly, encompassing his entire shoulder.
He’d almost died. Any one of the many cases he would take during his career could kill him.
He was a born and bred risk-taker. Son of a woman willing to leave home and family to live in another country; of a man willing to do the same. Blair knew herself: her father was a Davenport, from old Virginia money, unwilling to give up his life style; her mother a woman willing to at least try to accommodate her life to please the man she loved. Now Blair knew she didn’t even have her mother’s courage because she couldn’t stand by while Michael risked so much.
Her worry for him could compromise his safety, as it had at the construction site.
Looking at him, lying there, so still, wired to unimaginable machines, she suddenly knew she’d been fooling herself.
He’d been right to end it.
Her fear for him would be his undoing.
He would not die because of her.
***
Michael cursed the wheelchair they’d forced him to sit in. He’d tried pushing with his right hand, but the single-sided effort sent him sideways.
“Mr. Alvarez, we’ll take care of the wheel chair,” one of the nurses said. “Transport will be here shortly.”
So he waited, wishing he could handle this alone. But it was too important to see Drew to wait until they’d let him go without help. If he had to wait, so be it.
Drew had a private room down the hall. Davenport money could move mountains. Michael was sharing his room with an older man who’d had carotid artery surgery. The man had been entertaining, if nothing else. He had served during the Korean War and told the most hilarious, ribald stories imaginable. He never told a real war story, but sometimes he would trail off and Michael could see the horrible memories buried behind his aging eyes.
While appreciating his roommate and enjoying the visits from his parents, brother and sisters, one person was very obviously missing. Though he’d met Beth Davenport, her daughter had not come to visit him.
After a surreal few days that had neither time nor space, days when he thought David was in the room telling him to quit being stupid, Michael woke to the realization that Blair was gone. She hadn’t come to see him.
The hurt of her first rejection came rolling back in black waves that multiplied as the days wore on and she didn’t come. Intellectually, he knew this emotion had a lot to do with his wounds and the drugs he was taking. He wasn’t thinking clearly, so he asked to be taken off all pain medication.
Because as chivalrous and right as it was to know that Blair should have a life without him, Michael knew he was basically selfish.
He wanted her.
And he knew what it would take to get her and keep her. Well, he hoped he knew.
Drew was the first step.
Michael found him dozing. The orderly who’d finally pushed him down the hall left them and Michael sat quietly for a few minutes.
Drew woke up with a start and stared at him. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. How about you?” Michael replied, shifting his left shoulder to ease the ache in his arm.
Drew smiled. “Well, they tell me I won’t need a colostomy bag, so I’m feeling pretty damn good.”
Michael smiled back.
Drew pushed a button and raised himself to a sitting position. “I’ve thought about what happened. I should have told you what I was doing to figure out how our names got into the bank records.”
“It looked pretty bad, Drew. I’m not sure I would have believed me.”
“Yeah, you would have.” He paused. “The only names that kept popping up were yours and mine. I knew you wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave information about yourself on records you’d tampered with, but there was nothing else to go on.”
“James was pretty good. How’s he doing?”
“He’ll be okay. He’s lucky Blair’s not a better shot.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t give a damn if James Meyer lived or died, he just didn’t want Blair to be the one to have ended his life.
“You read me pretty well back there. I only took the shot at James when I saw you were going for Blair.” Drew shook his head. “Then I missed the son of a bitch.”
“That was a tough shot.”
“I should have got him. Would have saved us both a lot of pain and Blair a lot of agony.”
“How is she?”
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “She hasn’t been to see you?”
“No.”
Drew looked surprised. “What did you say to her?”
“Say to her?”
“The last time Blair talked to me, she all but admitted she was in love with you. So what the hell did you say to my sister?”
Michael supposed he was glad Drew couldn’t get up. But it might have felt good to have someone pound some sense into him. “I thought she could do better than me.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What the hell were you thinking?” Drew didn’t wait for a reply. “Do you love her?”
“More than anything.” That was why he was here.
“My sister isn’t going to come running back to you.”
“She’s smart. I don’t expect her to.”
“She’ll try to get over you by challenging herself to something.” Drew seemed to assess him for a moment. “I suspect that’s how she did it before. There was a before, wasn’t there?”
From the fierceness in Drew’s eyes, Michael was glad his friend was on his back.
“Yes,” he said, shifting in the wheelchair, uncomfortable under Drew’s scrutiny. “I screwed up back then. But I won’t again.”
Five minutes later, after getting to the real point of his visit with Drew, Michael turned the chair around. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He managed to get the wheelchair through the door awkwardly until an orderly spotted him. He could have stood up and walked, but he’d been given an opportunity he wasn’t going to lose.
He’d accept the wheelchair. For now. He wasn’t going to risk a chance with Blair because of stubbornness or pride. He’d taken care of some things that might stand in their way.
He wanted a future.
***
Blair pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet. Drew’s apartment had become her focus of attention. She’d spent the first few days after the shooting at the hospital and here, helping her mother deal with a jumble of half-paid bills Drew had ignored for too long. Drew had seen his invalid status as the perfect opportunity to deal with bills and paperwork, but Blair and Beth knew he wasn’t thinking clearly yet, so they’d straightened out the problems.
Now Blair found herself cleaning. Physical activity always made her feel better, though dealing with Drew’s bedroom wasn’t something she wanted to repeat. Just to be able to walk, unimpeded, she’d spent a few hours clearing the floor of dirty clothes and old shoes. It amazed Blair that Drew could live like this when they’d grown up with such order.
Of course, the order hadn’t been of their making but the responsibility of several servants.
Still, he couldn’t have been happy like this. Sh
e shoved the vacuum down the hall. It stopped suddenly. She stood it upright and stared, then realized she’d probably stretched the cord too far. She looked back toward the wall socket.
The doorbell rang.
Hopefully it wasn’t another of Drew’s neighbors. It seemed like every woman in the apartment complex had decided she would make something sweet for Drew to eat when he got home. If he ate everything, he’d collapse from sugar overload.
She left the vacuum and went to the door, looking through the peek hole.
Michael.
Stunned, she stepped back.
She would ignore him. Silently, she backed further away.
“I know you’re in there, Blair,” he said quietly.
Why couldn’t you stay away? Why couldn’t you leave me alone?
“Blair, open the door.” He paused. “Please.”
“What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital.”
“Well, I’m not. So how about letting me in before I fall over?”
Did she detect laughter in his voice? That really made her angry. She jerked the door open. “What are you doing out?”
He looked awful. Thinner, tired. His left arm, still thickly bandaged, lay in a sling.
Only his eyes danced with light, his mouth turned up in a half smile. “I thought you were going to leave me out here at the mercy of Drew’s neighbors.”
She held on to the door for support. “You should be in bed.”
“You wouldn’t come see me.” The words held no accusation, but she felt guilty just the same.
He met her gaze, holding it too long, as if in challenge, then carefully made his way through the narrow opening she’d left between the door and the frame. Blair stepped back and watched him ease onto Drew’s couch, the whole scene so reminiscent of his arrival at Grandma Alice’s that she wanted to cry.
She’d been a fool to let him in. She felt ragged, exhausted from the effort of trying to keep herself from rushing to the hospital to see him.
She stood by the open door.
“I’m not going away, Blair.”
That made her close the door and face him. “You should have stayed away.”
“We’ve never really talked about us.”
“There’s never been an us.” She was sure her voice shook.
Against the Wind Page 19
