“Not with her around.”
“Variables are a part of scientific exploration,” Hannah reminded him. “Every researcher deals with the vagaries of the uncontrollable. But if your father is more content, your stepmother might be happier. Although I don’t exactly see her as the happy-go-lucky type. You know that, don’t you?”
A tiny smile quirked Dominic’s mouth. “I get that.”
“So…”
A police bullhorn interrupted their exchange.
Fear replaced Dominic’s softened features, and Hannah knew she had two immediate tasks: to reestablish calm with Dominic because she had no idea what else he might have secreted in that coat, and to let the authorities outside know all was well.
He started to stand.
Hannah stopped him. “Stay low.” She grabbed her cell phone. “Let me talk to them. I’ll explain that we’re fine, that all is well.”
His stark terror belied her gentle words, but she held his hand while she dialed 911, hoping to stave off a weapons-drawn confrontation.
Hannah was in trouble. Big trouble.
Jeff raced to his car, Megan’s worried voice hounding him. Why had he encouraged her to go back to teaching? Why didn’t he put his foot down and condemn the foolish risk of his grandmother’s plan? He’d seen the fear in Hannah’s eyes, the stark reality of Ironwood imprinted on her face as she told her story.
He’d failed her by not taking her side, and now her well-being lay in the hands of a depressed teen with a gun, according to Megan.
Fear and anguish gripped his heart, his soul. Fear that something would happen before he could get to her, and angst that he didn’t have sense enough to protect her. Put her first.
Protect her, God. Yes, I’m angry, we’ll discuss that later, but please, please, please. Protect her. Guard her. Uphold her with Your righteousness, cradle her in the palm of Your hand. Please.
A blockade stopped him two blocks short of the library. The rain and wind drove the dark mood of the situation. The police had set up a command center at the convenience store on Route Nineteen. Jeff parked the car, barreled out and headed for the store.
“Hey. You. Back in the car, buddy, and head south. The road’s closed.”
Jeff raised his arms in the air. “My fiancée is in that library with the kid. I’m not going anywhere, Pete.”
Pete Monroe peered closer, recognized Jeff and gave a quick nod. “Come with me.”
He took Jeff into the store. What looked like commotion outside was well-organized within, but all Jeff heard was six words.
“We’re in position.”
“Then let’s go.”
He grabbed a detective’s arm. “You’re going in? When she’s in there with a kid brandishing a gun? Are you crazy?”
An older man stood off to the side, his hands twining, his expression dark with terror.
The detective met Jeff’s gaze with forced calm. “We’re not going in, we’re just announcing our presence. The blinds are drawn, we’ve got a tactical team coming so we can snake a camera in from the side vent. But they won’t be here for a few minutes, and maybe the kid will negotiate.”
“He’s my son. He’s got a name. It’s Dominic,” the father spouted from across the aisle. “Dominic Fantigrossi the third.”
The detective nodded, his face grave. “I know that, Professor, and we’re not trying to be insensitive. It’s just a matter of working this out with no one getting hurt. Not Miss Moore.” He directed his look to Jeff and Jeff read the concern in his eyes. “Or Dominic.”
A part of Jeff wanted to ream out the older man, wondering just what a parent did to a kid to make him react this way, but another part remembered a boy whose father broke every civil and moral law known to mankind twenty years before…
He could have been a Dominic. For whatever reason, he chose to bury himself in work, striving to excel, but he remembered the embarrassment, the pain, the humiliation of being Neal Brennan’s son.
Oh, yeah. He could have snapped back then and knowing that was the only thing that kept him on his side of the room, away from the distraught father.
Protect her, please. Watch over her. And the kid. Please.
The detective’s face darkened as he listened to whatever was being said through his earpiece, then he glanced Jeff’s way, his jaw set. “We’ve made contact with Miss Moore. She wants to talk to you.”
Jeff’s heart leaped at this unexpected turn of events. “Have her call my cell.”
The detective shook his head. “We’ve got to use ours for monitoring.” He pointed to a communications setup beside the cash register. A cable snaked from the box to a van outside. Jeff moved closer just as the phone rang. He snatched it up, trying to disguise his fear. “Hannah?”
“Jeff. I need your help.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“Call them off.”
Jeff surveyed the room full of cops and winced. “I can’t, honey. Tell me your situation.”
“I’m having a congenial meeting with a student. End of story.”
“He’s got a gun, Hannah.”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t. It’s locked up in the DVD return box. And it isn’t loaded. Never was. You tell the sheriff that what I’ve got is a scared kid and a teacher who isn’t much better right now, having a normal conversation about teenage choices. If they lose the guns, they’re welcome to come inside and see.”
“You’re okay? Really?”
“Really, truly.” The strength in her voice said she was doing all right, considering. “You think I’m going to risk the future of my scarecrow, Jeff? Are you crazy?”
Her reference to the scarecrows sent him a solid message that she was fine, negotiating on her own, unforced.
“Have the police take the gun and stand down, then send one calm guy in and we’ll get Dominic home. He’s scared, he’s been depressed and no matter what happens, I’m not going to let anything happen to this kid, accidentally or self-induced. You got that, Dominic?” She’d obviously redirected her attention to the boy nearby, but kept her voice loud enough for Jeff’s benefit. He heard the kid mutter an indistinct “yes.”
Jeff gave the detective monitoring the call a thumbs-up.
The detective turned toward the professor. “You had no other guns in the house?”
“None.” He shook his head, vehement. “That one was my father’s, he left it to me. I don’t use guns, I don’t have bullets for it, even.”
“And it’s registered?”
“Yes.”
The detective paused, inscrutable, then he contacted the officers surrounding the building. “I’m going in alone once we’ve secured the weapon. If everything’s fine, I’ll give the signal.”
He didn’t reiterate what would happen if everything wasn’t all right, if Hannah had been coerced into making that call. But Jeff knew Hannah, her voice. She was mad, not scared. Nervous, not frightened. And frustrated that the situation had gone out of control.
But she was alive and talking, sounding wonderfully normal, and Jeff wanted nothing more than to keep it that way. When he started to follow the detective, a broad-shouldered deputy blocked his way. “Sorry. You’ve got to stay here.”
“But—”
The deputy folded his arms and braced his legs, his face firm. “Let us do our job.”
He was right, Jeff knew that, but he hated waiting in the wings.
Pray.
He paused, thought, accepted the cup of coffee the store clerk handed him and closed his eyes. Keep her safe, Heavenly Father. Please. And, Lord, forgive me for getting her into this, for encouraging her, for letting my grandmother push her into a situation like this. Forgive us for stealing Your role, for messing with Hannah’s life, her safety, her security.
He could only imagine what she must have gone through, the terror, the flashbacks, the pain of reliving Ironwood.
And it was their fault for setting things in motion, encouraging her to get back into the classroo
m. None of this would have happened if she’d just been Hannah Moore, the Jamison librarian, quietly living her chosen life of obscurity.
Regret shaded his heart and soul. True love didn’t take unnecessary risks or embrace harm. And yet he’d done just that, always striving to improve things. His mother, his life, his job, his company.
Was he ever satisfied with the status quo?
He’d have said yes regarding Hannah, but now he realized he’d tried to fix her, too. Right up to the point of endangering her life, her heart, her fragile psyche. What kind of a self-absorbed fool was he?
The worst, he realized as moments ticked on. Instead of trusting God to guide Hannah’s path, he’d helped his grandmother direct her back into danger. And whatever price he had to pay for his know-it-all actions, so be it. Just as long as Hannah was all right.
Dear God in Heaven, please let Hannah be all right.
Chapter Nineteen
Hannah was going to go ballistic if someone didn’t start listening to her. Dominic’s face had paled with the initial police bullhorn announcement, and despite her best efforts to maintain calm, his nervousness was mounting.
She leaned in and held his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have any other weapons.”
He shook his head. “Nothing. And I didn’t even have bullets for the gun. I don’t even know where to get bullets for that old gun.”
“Good thing.” Hannah paused, dropped her chin and uttered a prayer. “Dear God, we’re in a situation here. Help the officers see we’re okay, that everything’s all right, that no one’s going to get hurt. Keep everyone calm. Guide us. Shelter us. Protect us from harm.”
Dominic arched a brow when she finished. “I thought teachers couldn’t pray around students.”
“Dude, do you see a school here?”
A little smile softened his face. “Good point.”
“That’s why I’m the teacher, you’re the student. And if you get into trouble over this whole mess, I’ll help you. But you’ve got to get hold of yourself. Depression and anxiety are not good soul mates. Try prayer. God. Church. Helping others. Put yourself out there, Dominic, and put others first. It’s amazing how that realigns your perspectives.”
“I can’t believe you’re talking this way when we have a SWAT team aiming guns at us.”
Hannah waved that off, pretending nonchalance. “Jeff will set them straight. He knows when I’m doing all right and when I’m not.”
“Since Ironwood?”
Hannah shifted a brow up. “You know about that?”
He nodded, sheepish. “I think that’s why I came to you, because you’d understand. No one else seemed to. But since the day I saw you in the candy store, I kind of felt like you saw me. Knew me.”
Hannah had felt exactly the same way. “We can thank the Holy Spirit for that one.”
“You think God wants to help me?”
Hannah met his gaze. “God is helping you. He put us together, He gave us a chance to talk, to get to know one another. And He’s probably given you other chances, Dominic, but you’re too stubborn for your own good.”
He didn’t deny it. “I am.”
“Which is where humility comes in. God blesses us in so many ways. Our job is to embrace and accept those ways. But first we have to recognize them.”
“The glass being half-full.”
“Exactly.” A knock at the door drew Hannah to her feet. “I’m going to go let this officer in. I think you’d be smart to lie down, show them that you have no weapons and no ill intent, okay?”
Her instructions made him look fearful, but then he nodded and did as she asked. “Okay.”
Hannah walked to the door and opened it. A lone officer stood outside, wet and bedraggled. She ushered him in, noting how he appraised the situation. Instead of handcuffing Dominic, he reached down and offered the kid a hand up. “Dominic, I’m Detective Parsons of the Allegany sheriff’s department. How are you doing?”
Dominic sent a look of surprise from the detective to Hannah. “Okay, I guess. Aren’t you going to arrest me?”
“For?”
“Weapon possession?”
The detective gave him a benign look. “I don’t see a weapon. Do you?”
“No, sir.”
“And did you have ammunition for a weapon on your person today?”
“No, sir.”
“And did you secure the unusable antique in a safe spot when asked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then.” The detective raised his hands. “I’ve got to do a pat down.”
“Okay.”
The detective ascertained that Dominic wasn’t carrying anything else on his person, then checked his coat. “All clear.” He stepped back and leveled a firm but kind look at Dominic. “Are you suicidal?”
Dominic paused, then shook his head. “No. I was upset, and wondering if the world might be better off without me before, but…” He shrugged and shifted his jaw toward Hannah. “I’m better now.”
“And you, Miss Moore?”
“I’m fine. And Dominic knows he did the right thing by seeking help today, and the wrong thing by…”
“Taking my father’s gun, loaded or not. I think I just wanted someone to take me seriously.”
“You got your wish, kid.” The detective passed a hand over his face, glanced up as though seeking divine inspiration, then keyed his mike. “We’re good to stand down. Can you send the father and fiancé in here, please? With escort?”
“My father’s here?” Dominic looked surprised and afraid, with good reason, Hannah supposed. And since Dominic Senior was married, the fiancé…
She could only hope they meant Jeff.
“Your father alerted us,” the detective told Dominic. “He informed us that you and the gun were missing. He explained you were upset and possibly suicidal. When we realized you were here, alone with Miss Moore and she wasn’t answering her phone…”
The door swung open. Dominic Senior entered first, his face wet, his color ashen. He grabbed his son in a hug and cradled the boy’s head as if he might never let go.
“Hannah.”
Hannah turned, overjoyed to hear Jeff’s voice, see his face. He moved forward, studying her, his gaze raking her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. He reached out and hugged her, then backed off and nodded, his voice level. “You’re okay.”
“Yes. Thank you for intervening for us.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable, but she understood that. She’d brushed him off pretty thoroughly, refusing contact, ignoring his calls. No matter what happened, though, she’d always be grateful for his quick support today.
She turned toward the Fantigrossis and waved a hand toward the desk. “Can we talk?”
Dominic’s father stared, wide-eyed. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“After all this?” His arm indicated the detective, the scene outside, the weapon, his son.
“I think it’s best.” Hannah didn’t dare look at Jeff just then. No way could she manage a professional meeting with a distraught parent and kid and an emotional one with Jeff at the same time.
In typical teacher fashion, she put the kid first and took a seat. Jeff moved off toward the children’s section, removing himself from the situation. His cool distance broke her heart, but that had been her option, right? To ease away from his work-first mentality. Right now it felt like the worst choice she could have made, but…
She sat and motioned toward Dominic Senior. “Your son says you’re sending him away.”
The older man swallowed hard and nodded. “A prep school in Connecticut, yes.”
“Because?”
The father frowned, then sighed. “Living with my wife and me is not easy for Dominic.”
“Or you,” Hannah suggested, keeping her voice easy.
“Any of us,” the older man admitted. He met his son’s gaze across the short expanse of space. “Your actions confuse me.”
Young Dom
inic snorted. “They always did.”
The older man shook his head and laid a hand on his son’s arm. “That’s not true. When you were little we had a lot of fun. You loved to go places with me, talk with me. But after your mother died—”
“You buried yourself in work and never came home.”
The accusation pushed the older man back in his seat. He paused, thoughtful. “I did, yes. I buried myself because I couldn’t face you and your grandparents, see the look that said if I’d been a better person, your mother would still be alive.”
Young Dominic frowned. “It wasn’t your fault. I knew that. Mom was different. Different from anyone.”
“But—”
Dominic edged closer to his father. “There are no buts. Even as a kid I realized she was fragile. There were times when she was happy, but they didn’t last long, and then she was just gone. And you were gone, and Grandma was so angry and every little thing I did was wrong.”
A look of understanding brightened his father’s features. “You didn’t blame me?”
“No. I thought you stayed away because you blamed me, that I wasn’t good enough or smart enough. I mean, what kind of mother prefers death over her kid?” Young Dominic raised his shoulders in question.
“You had nothing to do with it,” his father insisted. “She loved you, as much as she was able. It was life she hated. She couldn’t handle things that came her way.”
“I felt like it was my fault.”
“I did, too.”
The man and boy eyed one another, pondering the words. Dominic broke the silence first. “I can’t go to Kessler. I won’t. I’ll go to counseling or therapy, and I’ll join the science team if Miss Moore will still let me….” He flicked a look to Hannah, expectant.
“No guns?”
He flushed. “No. Sorry. That was stupid.”
“No argument there.” She glanced toward his pocket where a white corner indicated the sheaf of papers. “Do you have something to show your father, Dominic?”
Dominic sighed, withdrew the papers and handed them over. His father studied the drawings and the specs, an eyebrow upthrust, nodding as he went through them. “This is your work?”
Mended Hearts Page 18
