by JP Ratto
“Yes. Tom Keeler may not be around to testify to anything. He—”
Todd Grayson put up a hand. “I don’t want you to say anything more.”
A full minute passed before Grayson spoke again. “Douglas, I don’t know the circumstances that led to your decisions, nor should I be expected to.”
Grayson rose out of his chair and walked to a window overlooking Central Park. It was a clear night and white streetlights glittered between the treetops. “I would hate to ever have to give up this place. You know you’ve made it when you own a view like this, Douglas.”
As the senator turned slowly to face him, Cain stood. “You know what your problem is, Counselor? You’re a good lawyer…and that’s all. You can’t see down the road to what happens after you take a hammer to a problem. This is where we part company.”
Cain’s face blanched at the cold, impersonal way Grayson delivered the words. His legs folded. He fought to steady himself as their years together flashed through his mind. The dangers Cain endured to ensure Grayson’s misdeeds didn’t reach daylight, the stress and sacrifices made to get Grayson to this point—steps from the White House. Though Kerrigan had warned him, he never thought Grayson would cruelly dismiss him.
Cain cleared his parched, constricted throat. “Todd, please don’t do this.”
Grayson shook his head. “I can’t take the chance. We’re in the eleventh hour of the campaign.”
“I’ve gone the distance to keep you a viable candidate. We can get through this.”
“I’m sorry, Douglas.” Grayson left the room. Cain followed the senator to the foyer.
“Todd, you owe me for all I did to keep Sheila Rand from ending your career.”
Cain waited anxiously as Grayson appeared to take a moment to consider what he’d said. Grayson bent over to pick up Cain’s briefcase and handed it to the lawyer.
“All part of the job, Douglas. You knew the deal.”
“The job?”
“Yes. I don’t need to remind you that the confidentiality of our business dealings extends past your employment.” Todd Grayson opened the apartment door.
Cain didn’t know what to say. He turned away like a whipped puppy and left.
Chapter 33
Jane’s adrenaline soared as she dashed closer to the building. She wondered if the soft pounding she heard was from her feet hitting the hard turf, or if Logan was close. Reaching the picnic area, she was a few yards from the back entrance of the school. She slowed her pace, but still hit the doors hard. Grabbing the handle of one door, she yanked.
Oh no, it’s locked!
She pounded on the door more out of frustration than because she thought someone inside would hear her. Sensing another person, she ran to the gazebo and crouched behind it. She peered over the low railing and ducked when she saw Logan. Jane watched him tug on the entrance doors and then turn to scan the area.
Still crouched, Jane inched around the gazebo as far from Logan as she could and ran back onto the field. She heard Logan call her name. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him coming fast. Logan shouted to her again. He was close. She looked frantically for the person she thought she saw earlier.
On the other end of the field, she saw the quick flash of a light before it disappeared.
No, don’t go!
Running as fast as she could, Jane screamed for help.
***
I heard a girl scream and my heart pounded in my chest. It sounded like she was on her feet and moving fast, which was a good thing. The flash of a figure crossed in front of me thirty yards away. It looked female; her long running strides were gazelle-like. I thought she must be athletic, perhaps a track runner. Before I could turn to chase after her, I caught sight of another figure—taller, bulkier. It had to be Logan. Closing the distance, I could see more details. Looking more like a man than a boy, he appeared predatory. My face reddened with anger as I added a burst of speed. If I were an animal, I might have let out a guttural growl.
I needed to stop the bastard from reaching my daughter.
I was on a path perpendicular to the two racing figures. When I was within a few feet of Logan, and before he could pass me, I leapt toward him, knocking him to the ground. He’d noticed me seconds before I pounced and had no time to prepare. It didn’t stop him from trying to fight me off. He wasn’t as tall as I am, but he was muscular and knew something about wrestling.
Grunting and snorting like a mad bull, he managed to push me to my side. He smelled of marijuana, but the strength he exerted made me think he had used cocaine. His burst of energy waned, and I quickly regained control and rolled him onto his back. When he attempted to butt his head into mine, I pulled my punch to his cheek, more to get him to stop struggling than to hurt him. It worked.
In many ways, tomorrow would not be a good day for Logan.
***
Stunned but relieved by the stranger’s intervention, Jane had stood a few yards away and watched the two men wrestle. Though it was too dark to see details, she could tell the man was middle aged and in good physical condition. She winced when he punched Logan and knocked him out.
Inching closer, she stopped when her rescuer rose to his feet and turned toward her. He stared at her without speaking, which, at first, made her uncomfortable. Then he smiled—a warm, reassuring smile that made her confident she was no longer in any danger.
Holt pulled out his phone, glanced at Logan’s still figure, and then at Jane. Raising a finger to her to indicate he’d be with her in a minute, he made a call. His voice was deep and authoritative as he spoke to the police. She thought she heard him say he was a detective. The person on the other end had a lot of questions. As the detective answered them, he looked at her and smiled again.
When he turned away, Jane took the time to study him. She’d never seen him at the school and she knew most of the residents who lived within walking distance. What was he doing on the field at just the right time to rescue her?
The detective ended the call and walked toward her. She watched him finger comb his light brown hair and brush dirt from his jacket and jeans. He stopped two feet in front of her, extended his arm, and gently touched her shoulder with his large hand. “Are you okay, Jane?”
The warmth of his hand on her brought her emotions to the surface, and she could only nod for fear of breaking down.
He removed his hand and nodded back. “Good. Jane, I’m Lucas Holt. I can’t tell you how great it is to see you.”
***
I’d imagined for over fifteen years what I’d say to my daughter when I finally saw her again. Nothing is ever how you imagine it, and I inwardly cringed that “how great it is to see you” was the best I could come up with.
I gave myself a break as the meeting was under special circumstances, and she had no idea who I was. In the moment I saw her, after I knocked out the punk who would have done God knows what if I hadn’t stopped him, I felt we had never been apart. Maybe it was because I’d looked at her picture every day since it came in the mail nearly two months ago. She resembled Susan even more in person with her long chestnut-colored hair and brown eyes. Her nose was a mix of mine and her mother’s, and fit nicely with her other features, including the slight cleft in her chin. Just like mine. It took all my self-control not to take her in my arms for a crushing hug. Then I noticed a swelling on one side of her face. I knew the bastard had hit her. I raged inside and wanted to rouse Logan so I could beat him unconscious again.
“Mr. Holt?”
The sound of her voice made me realize I’d been staring at her and was deep in thought when I should have explained that we had to wait for the police to arrive. I glanced at Jane, who I could have sworn looked as though she had concern for me. My anger must have been plain as day.
I gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry—”
“No need to be. I want to thank you for…doing what you did. Logan is…”
She paused and crossed her arms over her chest. It was colder s
ince the sun had set. The wind blew around us without obstruction on the open field. “Are you cold? I opened my jacket to remove it, but she put her hand on my arm to stop me.
“No, I’m fine. It’s just…”
She turned her face away. I noticed her shiver and saw a tear slide down her cheek. My gut wrenched at the thought she was in emotional, if not physical pain.
“I need to find my brother. Can you help me look for him?”
“Jane, your brother is in the hospital.”
I heard her gasp. “Is he okay?”
“Your parents are with him. I’ll take you there when we’re done with the police.”
“Oh. What should I tell them?”
“The police?”
She nodded.
“Tell them what happened. He assaulted you, didn’t he?”
“He tried.”
“He hit you.”
“Yes.”
“Then you should press charges.”
When I heard her sniff and bow her head, I knew she was crying.
Shit. I was acting like a detective and should have been acting like a father.
I moved to her side and put an arm around her. Gathering her close, I wordlessly offered comfort. She pressed one wet cheek against my chest and wept.
As she released the pent up anxiety and worry for her brother, I whispered that everything would be all right. Finally, everything will be all right. I refrained from holding her too tight when what I wanted was never to let her go. An onslaught of emotion welled within me, and I couldn’t help my own tears from escaping. I was glad for the darkness.
Jane pulled away at the shouts from the opposite end of the field. Police approached with EMTs striding past them. I could see Maddie keeping pace with one of the officers. I swiped my damp face and waved the small flashlight I carried.
Once the EMTs began to tend to Logan, I guided Jane away from the scene and toward Maddie, who ran the last few yards to meet us.
“Jane, this is Madeline Grange. She’s a Pennsylvania sheriff. Maddie is a good friend and will stay with you while I talk to the police.”
Jane and Maddie acknowledged one another. Walking away, side by side I noticed Jane was only an inch or two shorter than Maddie’s five-nine. Susan was petite, and I thought my daughter got her height from me.
It took fifteen minutes to convince the police to let us go without filing a report. I knew Jane didn’t want to press charges and didn’t push the idea. Logan would be in plenty of trouble for underage drinking and possession of drugs—I watched the police find a small packet of weed along with the pint of vodka in his pocket. That was just a start. From what Connor had said, I suspected Logan sold drugs to the other students.
I caught up with Maddie and Jane. They turned to look at me when I approached, and I was met with two beautiful smiles. I supposed Maddie had already put in a good word for me. I suggested we take the rental car to the hospital.
As we trudged along the field, I noticed Jane still appeared shaken. I slowed my pace and offered my arm for her to grab. She accepted and slipped hers around mine. I glanced at Maddie, who winked at me and gave me a subtle nudge with her hip. I held Maddie’s hand with my free one and escorted them off the field.
Chapter 34
Douglas Cain stood on the street outside the Central Park South apartment building taking slow, deep breaths to control his anxiety. He walked east on Fifty-Ninth Street until he reached The Old Irish Tavern. The unassuming, yet upscale restaurant was a place he and Todd could have a drink and not be bothered by political junkies looking for autographs.
A burly man pulled open the heavy oak door and, with a thick Irish brogue, said, “Evening, Mr. Cain. A beautiful, refreshing night, isn’t it, sir?”
“If you say so, Denis.”
The twenty-four foot bar was veneered with imported dark wood. A television placed discreetly so only bar patrons knew it was available, was always tuned to the latest soccer game. If you asked, the bartender would give you the latest copy of the Irish Independent.
Cain sat on a sturdy stool at the furthest end from the entrance and took out his phone. Bobbie will be pissed I’m so late.
He reached voicemail. “Hi, Hon. It’s me. Todd called me for another meeting. I know you’re tired of hearing that, but you’ll be happy to know it ends tonight…” He paused when his voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Don’t wait up. I love you, Bobbie.”
“What’ll it be, Mr. Cain?” the bartender wiped the clean space in front of him.
“Hi Ian, I’ll have a Manhattan with Maker’s Mark.”
“Excellent. Coming right up.”
Cain watched the bartender go through the motions of mixing the drink, but his mind was elsewhere. Grayson wouldn’t even wait to see how my plan for Keeler worked out. He just dumped me like a servant who had asked him for a day off.
Ian placed the drink on a coaster in front of Cain and walked away.
Cain took a long sip, emptying half the glass. This is what I get for putting him ahead of my own interests. No good deed goes unpunished. Well, screw the bastard.
Three Manhattans later, Ian came around the bar and stood by Cain. “I’ve a cab waitin’ for ya, Mr. Cain. It’s on the house.” Cain appreciated that Ian knew not to help him off the stool, just be available. They walked out together, side by side.
Unsure of his footing, Cain made an effort to move his heavy legs. His head angled, he leaned to look Ian in the eyes. “You know, Ian, you’re the best damn bartender in New York City.”
“Ah, you’ve always been too kind to me, Mr. Cain.”
***
During the cab ride, Cain thought of Holt and Keeler in Elmira. He fumbled for his phone and checked for messages; there were none. He had also hoped for a message from Todd saying he had come to his senses. Can one fucking thing go right today?
Cain dropped his briefcase in the foyer, staggered down the hall, and into his home office. He shut the door and sat in a wingback chair. If he went to bed, he would become dizzy and vomit. Even worse, he’d have to explain things to his wife.
Remembering his conversation with Kerrigan, he was not only angry—he was scared. If Kerrigan was right, he would be brought in for questioning—and soon. Cain wondered what Keeler would tell the police if they bring him in—if he isn’t dead. Did I cover all my tracks?
His muddled mind raced back and forth trying to deal with all his problems at once. It was all too much. He didn’t know what to do next. He leaned his head back against the chair, hoping a deep sleep would overtake him.
Cain sensed, rather than heard, a presence. He opened his heavy eyelids, feeling the beginnings of a hangover. Roberta stood in the office doorway.
“Couldn’t even make it to bed, could you, Douglas?”
He blinked several times when she turned on an overhead light. Why is she dressed to go out? What time is it? He barely heard his wife’s angry speech. The answers came in a stream of thoughts beginning with him forgetting their anniversary and realization that, on the floor next to her, was a suitcase.
Chapter 35
On the ten-minute drive to the hospital, I let Jane use my phone to call her mother. Loretta Turner waved as we entered the emergency room and Jane ran to hug her. They both cried. Witnessing the deep affection mother and daughter had for one another, I mourned Susan and the fact that she had never experienced that bond.
I’m so sorry, Susan.
Once again, my guilt emerged, and I wondered if I had the right to disrupt the Turners’ family dynamic. My chest tightened at the thought of losing my daughter again. She already had a family and, from what I could see, my presence might be unwelcome.
Maddie must have sensed my turmoil. She discreetly took my hand and leaned in to whisper, “Lucas, she needs to know who you are, and you have every right to be in her life.”
I slid an arm over Maddie’s shoulders. Gathering her close, I pressed my lips to her warm temple and kissed her. “Thank you.”<
br />
My doubt suspended, the heaviness in my chest eased—until I realized I had yet to be introduced as Jane’s biological father. Jane’s father—not Marnie’s father. I felt another wave of sadness that my Marnie was now Jane. I couldn’t expect her to use her birth name. She’d been Jane for nearly all her life. I decided to look at it as a move forward and out of the past.
I gave Maddie a brief hug and moved away. Loretta walked toward us as Jane disappeared through a door to see her brother.
“Mr. Holt, thank you so much for saving Jane from a terrible situation. She told me a bit about what happened. I’m so grateful.”
“No need to thank me, Mrs. Turner. Under the circumstances, I would do anything to protect her.”
Loretta Turner’s eyes moistened. “Yes. A father’s duty.”
“A father’s love, Mrs. Turner.”
“Of course.” Loretta glanced at the door Jane had passed through and back at me. “Mr. Holt, I think it’s best if I break the news to Jane. I already told Hugh, and he didn’t react as I thought he would. Perhaps if he wasn’t so worried about Dylan, it might have been different. I think when he meets you, it will sink in.”
“I’m not here to replace the people in her life; I want to be a part of it.”
Loretta gave me a slight smile. “Thank you for that. I don’t know how long it will take or how she will react. Do you want to come back tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? I’d hoped for years to find my daughter. I wasn’t waiting another day. “No. I would rather wait here. No offense to you, Mrs. Turner, but my baby girl was ripped from my life over fifteen years ago. You can’t imagine what I’ve gone through. I need to do this tonight.”
Loretta Turner remained silent, her eyes fixed on mine. I could see her mind working. She wanted what was best for her daughter. Was I being selfish to insist that Jane be told the details of her past that night? I had presented Loretta with copies of a birth certificate and other documents. Jane’s blood type matched Marnie’s. A DNA paternity test would be necessary to prove I was her father. But I was certain I’d found my daughter and refused to wait for that.
