Heartwood

by L. G. Pace III

  A hand tapped my shoulder and I whirled ready to rip someone a new ass. The wary face of Dr. Greene was standing a noticeable few feet away. He had tapped me and stepped back. Fault the doc on some things, but he was no fool.

  “Hey, Joe.”

  “Doc...what are you doing here?” The tone set his eyebrows skyward. It was a bit harsh but I was clinging tenaciously to my calm and surprises were not helpful.

  “I told you I wanted to help and you told me to go home. I respect your feelings on that. But your father contacted me and asked if the offer was still open. He said he had need of my expertise.”

  I glared across the room at my father. It was typical bullshit for him to do something invasive like taking liberties with my psychologist. Striding over to him with Dr. Greene in my wake, I leaned on the conference table, which gave a noticeable creak. The air of menace I had hanging around me set the other security men on edge. Only Seth and my father seemed at ease.

  “Do you want to explain to me why you called Dr. Greene here?” I growled the words out with barely contained rage.

  “Absolutely. Doctor, thank you for coming. I have some files I needed you to look over.” Grabbing two big red binders off the table he slid them in front of the doc and motioned him to sit.

  Dr. Greene sat and opened the first folder, a look of curiosity on his face. A moment later he looked up in abject horror.

  “Where did you get these?” My father gestured at the techs on the other side of the room. “You hacked them? I can’t look at these! It’s unethical.” Dr. Greene looked like he was turning...well...green.

  “Doctor, the ethics of this situation are a bit murky. Those files contain valuable insight into a very disturbed individual.” My dad paused, letting those words sink in. “The life of a wonderful young woman and a baby boy hang in the balance. Are those lives less important than one patient’s confidentiality?”

  Dr. Greene looked back and forth between my father and I. Looking down at the folder he shook his head.

  “I’ll do it. What are you hoping to find?”

  “Anything that will help us find him doctor. And when we do find him we need to know how to deal with him.” I turned and stalked to the far side of the room, fighting to keep my anger from boiling over. I had nowhere appropriate to direct it, and I was afraid I’d offend someone who was trying to help me.

  It was all just too fucking much. The footage of that motherfucker holding my son would haunt my dreams. And Molly...I’d never seen her look so stricken. The one thing that kept ringing through my head over and over was what the FBI agent had said about the first 48 hours and their chances.

  Three hours later, I was watching the footage of Molly again. Zip had cleaned it up for me. Her face looked wounded, and I was fantasizing about what I’d do to Draven if he’d injured her in any way. I was getting pretty Guantanamo Bay in my head when Dr. Greene gave a hysterical high pitched laugh.

  “Do you all know how illegal it is for me to have this file?” He whipped off his glasses and shook his head.

  My father walked over and sat next to him.

  “What can you tell us doctor?” Dad asked, his tone all business.

  Dr. Greene gestured to pages he had spread out on the table in front of him.

  “Well, Draven Cirone is one messed up individual: Narcissistic tendencies, self- esteem issues stemming from abuse from his mother and siblings after his father died. Youngest child syndrome combined with what sounds like a personality disorder. It’s obvious from the notes of his sessions that he was attempting recovery before he met Molly and he was devastated by her loss. He seemed ambivalent about his second divorce; however, losing his son took him down a dangerous path. His obsession to get his child back, no matter the cost, left him on fragile mental ground.”

  “Poor fucking baby,” I growled. The doc ignored me and went on.

  “There are files here from three different doctors. One when he was young, another when he was in college and the prison appointed doctor. From his notes, I doubt the last doctor even read the patient file. He probably was more than happy to let Mr. Cirone tell him what he needed to hear to clear him. When you see the entire picture, it’s chilling: severe Narcissistic Personality Disorder, massive abandonment issues, propensity to violence, highly intelligent but very unstable. If I had been treating him, I would have recommended that he be institutionalized for a long, long time.”

  “So how do we deal with him when we find him?” This question came from Seth, who had come up as the doctor was talking.

  “In his current state of mind? He’s capable of anything. He should be treated as very, very dangerous.”

  “Fast and quick then.” Seth nodded. “If we can, take him out. We will take a sniper shot with a clear back range for the bullet. Otherwise, close combat and subduing.”

  The no nonsense way he said it should have been comforting. Instead, it made me want to take his head off. My heart was pounding in my ears and I was close to my breaking point. Walking away was my only option. I tried to calm down but nothing I did was helping. I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin. I needed to take action...I needed to find Molly.

  The computer screen next to me beeped and a list of names appeared. The program they had been running to decrypt the bank information had completed. On the screen were seven names. The third down the list caught my eye.

  Dashul Shields.

  One of the stories Molly had told me about Draven came screaming out of the back of my mind. It was a conversation we’d had the first time we went out for dinner somewhere that required a reservation.

  “Name?” The hostess asked. I’d been admiring Molly’s dress and how it exposed her bare shoulders. She’d elbowed me, and nodded to the hostess.

  “Oh. Sorry. Jensen. And we’d like to sit outside if you have a spot.”

  Molly giggled. Since my name didn’t strike me as unusually funny, I asked her what she was laughing about.

  “I just love that you’re so down to earth, Joe.” She’d looked a little shy, and busied herself with her purse.

  “Okay...” More confused than ever, I turned my attention full on her captivating wide-set eyes. “What brought that to mind?”

  “You’re not showy. You don’t try to be impressive, you just are.” Her eyes lingered on mine, but she clammed up when the hostess came back to seat us. Once seated at our table, she went on. “My ex used to make a production about everything. Especially when we went out. One time, he punched a valet in the nose. Just for taking my hand to help me out of the car.”

  “Really?” I crinkled my forehead in disbelief. Violence and I weren’t exactly strangers, but even to me that seemed a bit over the top.

  “He was such an ass,” Her beautiful voice replayed in my head like a favorite tune committed to memory. “Dan and I used to laugh about how pompous he was. He refused to make reservations under his own name. He thought he was that big of a deal on the Seattle culinary scene. All because someone recognized me once and sent a bottle of wine over to our table, compliments of the house. Draven seemed proud of me at first, but after that he always used an alias. Like people were going to hound us as if we were celebrities and we’d have no privacy.”

  “Wow.” I remember thinking at the time that Molly deserved the recognition. I’d had a hard to imagining her with someone besides me, and I had yet to meet Draven, or hear about his abusive ways from Robin.

  “It was ludicrous. Like anyone cared. If you’re not on a cooking show, no one gives a crap. It’s not exactly a glamorous life. But Draven always had his own little version of reality.” I remember the way her eyes clouded over after that remark, and her face transformed to one of intense distaste.

  “Even his alias was douchey.” She seemed to force a smile, as if she was trying to lighten the mood. “Dashul Shields. It sounded like a villain from a James Bond film.”

  The world seemed to stop turning, and I felt a surge of energy radiate through me. We’d
found him. The arrogant ass just couldn’t help himself. I was doubt free. Who the hell would name their kid Dashul?

  Taking less than three seconds to think, I grabbed at the nearest rack and then ran out the door. I heard Dr. Greene shout after me, but I ignored him. Jumping behind the wheel I managed to keep it under the speed limit and avoid causing any major accidents. Once I turned off onto Hwy 969, I put my foot on the floor and raced toward my goal.

  “Hang on, Baby Girl. I’m coming for you.”

  THINK, MOLLY.

  Think.

  My option were pretty limited when I considered the facts. One thing was perfectly clear. Draven was certifiable.

  There was no talking my way out of this. I would not let him have me. I was not going anywhere with him. He would not take my son.

  I had to fight.

  The next time he walked into the room, one of us wasn’t coming out. He was a lot bigger than me...but I was Molly Fucking Jensen, and I knew how to hurt someone if I had to.

  Logan’s safety troubled me, but not as much as the thought of Draven raising him. Imagining my baby being in the demented clutches of that violent asshole...no way that was happening.

  We weren’t getting on a fucking plane with this monster. We’d have been better off if I’d fought him the moment I saw him in my kitchen...even if he’d killed us both.

  That thought made me furious at myself, but it was true. I was done with being cowardly, and the time for feeling sorry for myself was over.

  I crawled to the bedside, desperate for some eureka moment to happen to me. I needed ideas.

  That’s when I started to pray.

  It felt ridiculous. I felt like a hypocrite. But the level of my desperation was so beyond anything I’d experienced that I reverted back to my childhood Sunday school ways. I was praying before I realized I was doing it, and though I usually thought it was superstitious mumbo jumbo, my heart was 100% behind every frantic word.

  Dear God, please help me. If not for my heathen ass, at least for my baby boy.

  Keep Logan safe.

  Please, Lord. I need ideas. I promise to do better. I promise not to be such a fuck up if you just help me out here.

  If you’re listening up there, give me time to figure out how to get out of here.

  I gave it my all...on my knees beside the bed, my hands clasped in front of me. My head ached, my face hurt, and I just wanted to lay down and sleep. But I didn’t. I couldn’t afford to.

  As I bent my face toward my clasped hands, I bumped my eye against my knuckles and winced. I gently touched my eyelid, and could feel that it was swelling shut. It didn’t matter much. Since he’d hit me, I’d been seeing floaters and shadows...so it wasn’t much use to me anyway.

  I slumped down suddenly, knowing this was my darkest hour. The single bare light bulb overhead cast shadows around the room, and I squinted to test my vision in my unmolested eye. That’s when I noticed the loose leg.

  The heavy legs of the bed frame were connected by large, clunky screws. It was no wonder the bed creaked like it did when Draven was all over me in it. One of the legs hadn’t been attached correctly. Drae was a lot of things, but he was not mechanically inclined. If he wanted something done, he paid someone else to do the manual labor.

  Even I could see that the screw had been misaligned. Knowing Draven, he’d given up 3/4 of the way into screwing it in. I reached out and tried to twist it with my hand, but it was no good. My knuckles were still swollen and weak. I was close to dissolving into hopeless tears, when I heard my Daddy’s favorite saying in my head. It was so clear in my mind, it was as if he was there whispering it to me.

  “God helps those who help themselves, Mollybelle.”

  I set my jaw, determined to find a solution. I needed a tool of some sort, like a butter knife, or something that fit the notch well enough to get the leverage to make it turn.

  I crawled around the floor looking for a nail or anything that might work to fit into the groove. Finding nothing, I returned to the bed, ready to use my teeth on the screw. As my hand came to rest on the bed frame, the dim light twinkled off the prong holding the black diamond of my engagement ring. I froze, fixated on the ring...not the engagement ring, but the narrow wedding band next to it.

  When we’d discussed wedding rings Joe had insisted on having them made out of an unusual metal. Remembering the conversation, had me on the verge of tears again. Naturally, that conversation had taken place where some of our best did these days. In bed.

  “Titanium, babe.” His cocky expression somehow came off as cute, though I wanted to pummel him for his stubborn stance.

  “I think we can spring for bands made out of gold.” I chided him. “We aren’t exactly hurting for money right now.”

  Wrapping his arm around my waist he pulled me close. Entwining his fingers with the fingers of my right hand, he pulled it up in front of his face.

  “We both work with our hands.” He kissed my hand delicately, and I blinked at him blankly resisting the urge to ‘duh’ him. “Titanium will hold up better. Gold and silver scratch and ding really easily. Titanium is the heartwood of metals.”

  “What does the mean?” I narrowed my eyes in genuine confusion. He’d named his upcoming charity event Heartwood, but I thought it was just a pretty title. I didn’t realize it was an actual term and it had me curious.

  “When I’m working on something very intricate that has fine detail, I always use heartwood. It’s from the oldest, strongest part of the tree. It’s what adds stability to the trunk so that the tree can continue to stand as it grows and branches out. The stronger the heartwood, the taller and bigger the tree can grow.” His voice was soft, and as was always the case when he spoke about his work, there was an undertone of excitement. He never made me feel stupid for not understanding every facet of his job like Draven did. I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed this about him. Nick and I had discussed Joe’s patient nature, and Nick said it was one of the traits that made him a great master carpenter to apprentice with.

  The excited look in his eyes was enough to overcome my objections.

  “You’re the boss.” I drawled wryly with a shrug.

  “Well, I’m the boy and you’re the girl, so...” I huffed and slapped his arm playfully. With a hearty chuckle, he wrestled his way on top of me. Soon we were rolling around and kissing. I snuggled happily against him, breathing in his scent.

  “Joe?” I murmured.

  “Yeah, baby?” His response was soft, as he ran his fingers up my spine.

  “You’re my heartwood.” It was meant to be a joke, but I felt the sarcastic smile melt off my face when I glanced up and saw the fierce, complex look in his eyes. It was gone in a flash, and a sexy half-smile appeared on his lips.

  “I’ve got your heartwood right here.”

  Now, shivering on the cold wood floor of a dilapidated farmhouse, I stared down at the titanium band. I felt my heart leap. The band edge was thinner than a gold band would have been. Now I just had to get it off over my swollen finger.

  This was going to hurt.

  Knowing I had no time to dick around, I bit into the side of the mattress to muffle the scream that threatened to escape me. It hurt more than I expected, but I forced it off anyway. Tears sprang to my eyes, but it came off of my abused finger. The engagement ring never moved, but my titanium band was a hair bigger, since they were nearly impossible to size.

  I gasped greedily, pulling air into my lungs as if I might drown in the agony. When it subsided a minute later, I turned the ring over in my hand.

  “Good call, Joe.” I croaked.

  I set my jaw, and got back to the task at hand. Inching under the bed, I held the ring unsteadily in my right hand. Focusing, I worked to fit the band into the notch of the large bolt. After three tries I finally managed to line up my shaking hand with the groove. It fit perfectly. I closed my eyes and stifled a victorious sob.

  Thank you, God. If you’re listening up there, thank you.r />
  Apparently God was tuned in to Molly radio, because Draven didn’t come into the room while I spent what seemed like hours working the screw. I dropped the ring twice, and one time it almost rolled all the way to the grate in the floor. In the last few seconds, I could hear him moving around on the lower level, and I thought I might choke on my heart which seemed to be blocking my windpipe. The screw finally came out of the hole, separating the leg from the rest of the bedframe.

  As it came off in my hand, the bed shifted and I scrambled to grab it. My hand closed on the frame just before it would have thudded into the floor. I sat frozen for a minute, listening to see if I had made too much noise.

  Thunder rumbled nearby and I realized a storm must be brewing outside. I prayed that it was enough to cover the sounds I was making. I started counting in my head. Other than intermittent thunder, it was quiet for over two minutes. Then I heard the TV switch on, and I exhaled.

  Setting my teeth, I forced my scratched up ring back on my finger. I did my best to be quiet, ignoring the sharp pain that accompanied the action. It had to be done. There was no way I was leaving this house without it, and I needed Joe with me for what was about to go down, in spirit at least.

  Climbing awkwardly to my feet, I inched over to the spot beside the door. Leaning back against the wall I waited. Time seemed to drag out endlessly. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard Logan start to fuss in the room next door. Then I heard Draven’s footfalls on the stairs. I stood off to the side, the heavy bar held in both hands as if it were a baseball bat and I was waiting for a pitch.

  Swing away, I thought and came perilously close to cackling deliriously. Draven paused in the hallway and my mind raced.

  Had he heard me? Was he going to hurt Logan?

  He walked to my door and I heard him hitting numbers on the pad. The door swung open and he walked in, fixedly looking down at his cell phone. I could not have asked for a better target. Swinging as hard as I could, I felt the leg reverberate in my hands as I connected with Draven’s mouth, knocking out several teeth.