“Man on the flying trapeze. Ever hear…that old song?” Weakly, Luke indicated the swaying tubes hanging over him from the stands on either side. He was being monitored and medicated, even twenty-five hundred feet above mean sea level.
“Can’t say I ever did. You can fill me in on what I need to know once we get you settled. Shouldn’t be much longer now.” It was hard to read an expression when three-quarters of a man’s face was covered in bandages.
“Chopper. Swing in…swing out.” Luke grimaced, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side.
Tyler said gruffly, “Pipe down, friend, we’ll talk about it later. Meanwhile, how about I bring you up to speed on what’s been happening lately?”
“Yeah…you do that. Feels like I’ve been…gone a year, at least.”
Tyler quickly changed his mind about revealing too much. His intention had been to distract, not to agitate. “Weather’s been real funky. Had a hell of a rain a few weeks ago—couple of twisters came through, but didn’t do much damage.” Other than sidelining their friendly D.A. with a bad case of amnesia while Frank Del Brio, the new mob boss, pulled in a few political favors designed to manipulate the justice system more to his liking. Hardly the kind of news designed to cheer up a man who’d just had a bomb go off in his face.
Tyler still didn’t know the details of what had gone wrong with Luke’s mission. Last he’d heard, they had a surefire plan for getting Phillip Westin out of the hands of the guerrillas. All that would have to wait, though, until Luke’s prognosis looked a bit more hopeful. “I guess you don’t know about Flynt’s new family.”
“Flynt? A family? What happened?” A glimmer of the old Luke came through despite the bandages and the pain medication.
“Well, there was this baby, see… We were playing one Sunday morning. Ninth tee. The usual foursome, only you weren’t there, so we pulled in Michael O’Day. You know Michael.”
“The family…you said Flynt’s…got a new family.”
Luke was tiring. The move had not been easy; they’d had to jog more than two miles over rough terrain, carrying him on a stretcher, to reach the clearing where the plane awaited. “Yeah, well, y’see, there was this baby in a basket. I mean, that’s the last thing you expect to find on a golf course, right? A baby girl with a note on her. Wonder we didn’t miss her.”
Carefully monitoring the instruments, Tyler tailored the story to fit Luke’s level of endurance. “She’s a girl, like I said. Cute as a button. Flynt’s got her, at least until we can figure out where she belongs.”
Luke grinned, then began to chuckle, but broke off with a cough. Alarmed, Tyler gripped his hand. “Easy there, old buddy, we’ll be on the ground in five minutes. Double that and we’ll have you secured to a real bed instead of this stinking canvas contraption.”
After a moment Luke Callaghan started to speak, caught his breath, then tried again. “Did I ever tell you…about that night…”
“Shhh, it can wait. Hang on now, this field doesn’t look like it’s in great shape. Might be a rough landing.”
Luke felt hands gripping his shoulders, sensed when Ricky Mercado came back to help steady him for the landing. The medication was beginning to wear off. To counter the pain, Luke thought about the last time he had seen Ricky’s sister, Haley.
It had been at a homecoming celebration for the 14th Marines. They’d all been celebrating a bit too much when someone had suggested a midnight boat ride. Had Haley been the first to climb aboard? Probably. There’d been something almost…brittle about her that night, or so it seemed now, looking back.
“Easy there, friend, we’re almost down.” Tyler’s soothing voice reassured him even as his hands gripped his shoulders.
Luke closed his mind to the pain. He thought about that night at Lake Maria. He’d agreed to hold the celebration at his own estate. He remembered the laughter, the teasing, the flirting—the way they’d all piled into the small boat because Haley was there, and they’d all been in love with Haley, beautiful Haley Mercado.
That was the night she had disappeared. Drowned.
God, don’t think about that, not now!
And so as he felt the flaps engage and the air speed begin to fall off, Luke thought instead of a night many months after they had been first charged, then eventually cleared, in the disappearance of the woman they’d all loved.
The Saddlebag, long a favorite watering hole, had been crowded that night. He’d needed a drink…needed something, anyway. He had found it in the person of a cool, beautiful blonde who had reminded him of—
But that was crazy. Haley was dead, they’d all known that.
All the same, there’d been something about the woman who’d refused to give him her name. Said she lived in London, and had come to the States on personal business.
Luke had not been interested in her business, only in her body. Maybe it had been the beers—he’d had a few more than his usual quota. Maybe it had been—
Hell, who knew why it had happened? All he’d known was that the lady had been more than willing—even eager—and he’d been more than ready to oblige. It occurred to him now that that was exactly the kind of encounter that could lead to giveaway babies like the one Flynt had reportedly found.
But he’d taken precautions…hadn’t he? He always took precautions.
He frowned, trying to remember. Still, all he could recall was how much the woman had reminded him of Haley—something in the way she moved…
He was way off base here. There was no connection. All these medications he’d been given had messed up his mind. All the same, what if Haley had lived?
Then there would have been no mysterious blonde from London.
Man you’ve got to cut it out, Luke told himself.
He needed to focus on regaining his sight, because he still had some unfinished business back in that bug-ridden hellhole of a jungle prison camp. He would go back to Mission Creek to recuperate if that was what it took, but one way or another he was going to get the commander out of that stinking cell. He owed him that much and more.
The light plane touched down, bounced twice, then rolled to a halt. Before Luke could brace himself again, the doors opened and medics swarmed inside. Eyes closed, a smile on his face, he translated the words they spoke, which were the rough equivalent of, “There you go, sir, we’ve got you safe now.”
“Mom, look at her, she knows me!” Pete was as excited over the new foal as he had been the first one. “Bowser likes her, too.”
Miss Sara’s little girl was called Brownie. Her papers and Bowser’s papers would show something a bit more dignified in keeping with their lineage, which was respectable, if hardly spectacular. At least Ellen knew that much about registering the birth of her babies.
Seated on a three-legged stool, she worked at mending a bridle. It wasn’t her favorite task, but like so many others, she’d learned to do it. Necessity brought out a surprising number of hidden talents.
“Boy, I wish Spence could see her. I bet he’d really like her.”
Hearing the wistful note in her son’s voice, Ellen laid aside the strap of worn leather and sighed. She had tried to explain that Spence was an important man, with a lot of important business that would have kept him too busy to contact them for these past few days. When she had tried to describe just what it was that a district attorney did, Pete had summed it up in his own terms. “Getting the bad guys.”
It was as good a description as any.
Clyde and Booker had not been back. Jose had said before he and Donita left to spend the Christmas holidays with family in Laredo that he might be able to find a couple of reliable hands if Ellen didn’t mind hiring old men.
At this point Ellen would have hired anything on two legs that could lift a bale of hay—or even a split bale.
“They’re not real old, they’re what you might called ‘well seasoned.’ Trouble is, most big outfits don’t want geezers on the payroll. Claim they’re not cost-effective.”
“These guys are on Medicare, and if you don’t mind, they could fix up a place in the tractor shed.”
“Well, sure. I mean, I suppose so. They can work, can’t they? I mean, they’re not that old?”
Jose grinned, revealing a glint of gold. “No, ma’am, they’re what you might call the perfect age. Got all the hell-raisin’ out of their systems, now they’re ready to settle down and work. Takes some longer than others to figure out that work’s where a man finds real satisfaction.”
So Ellen tentatively agreed to interview the two men who would be showing up sometime tomorrow. She wished she knew more about men in general. Wished Jose and Donita hadn’t had to leave. Wished Spence had never recovered his memory and—
Oh, no, she didn’t wish that. She had more than her share of shortcomings, but selfishness wasn’t among them.
“Mom, if I get a dog for Christmas, could I call him Stormy?”
That was Pete. No beating around the bush, hinting at what Santa Claus might bring him. He was young for his age in some ways because she’d had a tendency to baby him, but at eight, he was too old for fairy tales. Ellen only wished she could make the same claim.
Actually, she’d just seen a cute puppy out at the pound yesterday. It would cost more than she could easily afford to get his shots brought up to date, as she’d just bought a practically new bike from the thrift shop, but when she’d seen the pup’s funny face and that stub of a tail wagging madly, she’d fallen in love.
“Stormy it is, then. If we get a dog.”
“Aw, Mom, I’m too old for surprises.”
Ellen reached up and caught her son, tugging him down onto her lap. “You’re ancient. You’re so old you’re getting mossy.” She plucked a stalk of hay from Pete’s hair and tickled him. He had grown up too quickly. She used to spend hours rocking him, singing—taking such comfort from the feel of his small, warm body. Jake had accused her of waking him from a sound sleep just to rock him, and she hadn’t denied it.
She wouldn’t trade a single moment of his childhood for any amount of treasure. He was all she had now, and they would do just fine. And if she spent a part of each night remembering—wishing for something more, then she could just unremember and unwish. Get real, as one of her friends from school used to say.
“Mom, do you know Spence’s address? I made him a picture so he wouldn’t forget us, but it doesn’t have a frame or glass or anything, so we could mail it, couldn’t we?” Pete’s small face puckered into a frown. “Mom, did you get something in your eye? ’Cause I know how to get it out. See, you grab hold of your eyelashes on top and pull ’em down over the bottom ones, and it sort of squeezes out whatever’s in there. I could help you if you want me to.”
Fifteen
On his own ranch some thirty-five miles north of town, Spence glanced around one last time. He’d been there for the past few days, after winding up his affairs in town. He was alone now, his housekeeper and manager having just left to do last-minute Christmas shopping. Elnora had packed what she called his survival kit, an assortment of holiday delicacies, for him to take with him. The pup was waiting for him outside, yapping her head off. He didn’t know how much of that Ellen would put up with. The collie pup had seemed quiet at the pet shop.
His suitcase was ready, sitting beside the front door. He’d already packed more than enough for several days, including his best boots, his work boots and a pair of sneakers. He had no intention of stepping into Jake Wagner’s shoes in any but the figurative sense.
He almost wished he’d waited on the packing, though. Maybe he was taking too much for granted, showing up on her doorstep, bag and baggage. For all he knew, she might consider herself well rid of him, considering she hadn’t been too happy with the arrangements he’d made for her safekeeping.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said decisively as he scooped up the large box containing smoked turkey, sweet potato casserole, cookies, fruit-cake and the world’s richest chocolate pie, Elnora’s specialty. One way or another, he told himself as he shifted the bike and the dog carrier to make room for the food box, things would work out. They had to, because a life without Ellen and Pete wasn’t worth living.
What had that woman done to him? He asked himself for the hundredth time since he’d left her at a low-rent resort called Greasy Pond. He only hoped it worked both ways, because if it didn’t, he had the case of his life to prove.
He should have called first. Should have called three days ago. After securing the bike so that it wouldn’t topple over, the food box so that it wouldn’t slide, he poked a treat through the gate of the dog carrier. “You’re going to love these people, Lady,” he said to the wistful canine face that peered through the wire at him.
Then, sliding in under the wheel, he dialed Ellen’s number on his car phone. And listened while it rang, and rang, and rang. “Come on, sweetheart, answer the phone…tell me you’re as eager to see me as I am to see you.” She must be out in the barn. One of the first things he was going to do was run the phone line to the barn and into every room in the house, then buy her half a dozen cell phones if that was what it took to keep track of her.
He let it ring ten times. Okay, so he’d show up unannounced and play it by ear. Probably be better anyway—catch her off guard, before she had her defenses locked in place. He’d run into those defenses before and damned near come out a loser.
Without a backward glance, Spence Harrison drove away from the ranch he’d bought with the idea of retiring after a few more years to raise horses, play poker and undertake the occasional covert mission with his old friends should the occasion arise. But fighting corruption took a lot out of a man who wasn’t getting any younger.
Spence knew he should have called Ellen to let her know he was coming. Not to ask permission, just to give her warning, in case she didn’t want to see him again. But he’d been going flat-out for the past forty-eight hours, contacting the appropriate people and arranging to turn over the rest of the evidence he’d compiled against the mob, and then doing it. On top of that there had been the covert meetings, alerting key people that the new acting D.A. was corrupt and steering them in the direction of indisputable evidence.
Only when all that was done did he leave everyone from the attorney general on down in stunned disbelief by turning in his resignation, effective immediately. He’d cleared out his files, all the while networking with Tyler and Flynt as to Luke’s condition and how best to effect the rescue of Commander Westin.
It occurred to him that, with the exception of those few weeks when he’d been out of circulation, he’d been going flat-out ever since Judge Bridges had managed to get him admitted to the Virginia Military Institute. God, that had been—how many years ago? The judge had threatened to toss him in the slammer and throw away the key if he got any grade below a B on a single course.
After that had come the military, the Gulf War, including captivity. Once he’d mustered out of the marines he’d gone after his law degree with an idea of repaying the judge for his unwavering faith.
During all that time, his personal life had been put on hold. And now he desperately wanted a personal life—a family, a home and a career that wasn’t fueled by caffeine and adrenaline.
Had he left it too late? For a supposedly intelligent man, one who was widely known for his incisive intellect and his delicate hand at negotiations, he might have screwed this one up before he could even make his case. If she said no, he was busted. Flat-out washed up. Never in his life had he begged for anything, not even when he’d been charged with reckless endangerment after Haley had disappeared, supposedly drowned when an overloaded boat full of beer-drinking revelers had overturned in Luke’s private lake one dark night.
He’d managed to get through that—they all had, with the judge’s help. God knows why, but the judge had believed them—believed in them.
This time
Spence was prepared to do whatever it took. Bended knee—the whole routine. He’d bought a ring. Nothing ostentatious because that wasn’t Ellen’s style. For Pete he’d bought the pup and a bike that was a little large for him now, but one he’d grow into. Something to live up to, to look forward to—that was important for kids. If he’d had a single goal back when he was Pete’s age other than being the biggest, toughest rat in the pack, it might not have taken a head-on collision with the law to turn him around.
Rambling thoughts, increasingly tense, used up the minutes as the miles flew past. Little had changed since that day almost a month ago when his whole life had been turned upside down in one split second. With the window down, he sped past field after field of produce, orchard after orchard of citrus fruit, and pasture after pasture of beef cattle. The mingled smells of grass, grapefruit and cattle manure was as good as it got, he told himself. Mission Creek was a fine town, no better and probably no worse than any small town where bloodlines and blood feuds went back for generations. He wasn’t a part of all that. Had been for a while—although not the bloodlines—but he wouldn’t be sorry for a change of venue.
When he pulled into the yard, he realized things looked pretty much the same as when he’d left. Compared to his own small, well-managed operation, Ellen’s place was downright shabby. Small house, attractive despite the chipped paint, the leaning antenna, the shaggy, overgrown shrubbery and patch of weeds out back that was supposed to have been a kitchen garden, only Ellen said she’d never had time to spend on it.
For a woman who had grown up in Ellen’s circumstances, she had a pretty firm grip on reality. One of the first things Spence had done when he’d got back to town was check out Leonard Summerlin in case he suddenly needed to relocate Ellen and Pete. The report had summed him up as an international investment broker and aging playboy, recently remarried, reported to be undergoing treatment for prostate cancer. Evidently Summerlin had inherited money and used it to make more. Nothing wrong with that. He’d been a good parent as far as anyone knew, but a lousy role model. Whatever had happened between Ellen and her father—she’d told him some of it, but he had an idea there was more—Spence intended to do all he could to mend fences, especially now that the old man might be facing a challenge to his health. Knowing Ellen, she’d never forgive herself if her father died before she could forgive him.
The Quiet Seduction Page 19
