He kept his mouth shut. The baby wasn’t his concern. What Sophie did or didn’t do wasn’t his concern either.
“I got babies of my own, and that little scrap upstairs? Shoot. She’s got a hard road ahead of her. Let us know what happens with her, okay?” Tyree’s foot jiggled the chair again.
“Of course, Detective. I’ll leave a message for you.” Her weary smile was as insubstantial as wispy smoke at twilight. “As soon as I know anything.” Her fingers twisted around a straw, let it drop onto the tray.
Judah’s pager vibrated against his waist. Tyree looked down at his own belt at the same time.
“We’re done here, Judah?” Tyree checked his pager. “’Cause it looks like we’re up again. This one’s on the clock. So much for a day off. Let me go phone and see what’s going on.”
“Sure.” Judah avoided Sophie’s eyes.
He didn’t need to look at her. He was preternaturally aware of her every move.
Five minutes ago, those words had blurted out of him, and now, even with the reprieve Tyree had bought him, the words hung like knives suspended over him. One wrong move and they’d tumble down in a lethal rain.
He heard the crinkle of plastic against plastic as she consolidated the trash, saw the stringy-haired guy edge into the cafeteria again, do an about-face and leave, and he sensed Sophie’s tilt of her head in his direction.
He managed to look at everything in the room except her.
“So we’re finished here, Judah?” Tyree repeated as he glanced uncertainly from Sophie to Judah. “Because we got a problem over at the A.M.E. Church.”
Judah wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. One way or another he had to rebalance the scales.
Like Tyree, though, he knew when it was time to retreat. “The African Methodist Episcopal?”
Tyree nodded. His long frame vibrated with impatience.
“Yeah. I’m done.” Judah slid out of the chair so fast it tipped toward the floor. Grabbing it with one hand, he risked a look at Sophie.
Too much knowledge, too much understanding in her clear-eyed gaze. Every time, damn it, she managed to see him.
He ran.
Sure, it was more of a well-organized, purposeful, business-like lope, a man-on-a-mission kind of lope, his movements all full of cop rhythm, a lope meant to tell her he really hadn’t meant those last words, that he’d been having fun with her. Yanking her chain one more time.
As he turned, not for any reason except to be polite and toss off a farewell wave, he knew by the quirk of her lips that she wasn’t buying his playacting.
His face burned as he followed Tyree to the exit doors.
Halfway through the sliding doors at the far end of the cafeteria, he turned again, compelled by some instinct.
He didn’t want to think it was a need to have one last look at Sophie.
The why of it didn’t matter.
The mistake was in the hesitating. Because he did.
And like Lot’s wife turned to a pillar of salt, he froze.
For him there was no one else in the room, only Sophie seated once more, her head down on the cafeteria table, her arms wrapped around the back of her head, her feet curled tightly under her chair.
At the edge of the swirl of noise and color in that chaotic room, she was the loneliest sight he’d ever seen.
Chapter 10
Judah didn’t even realize he’d stepped back into the cafeteria until Tyree grabbed him by the arm.
“C’mon, man. We got work to do. And nasty work by the sound of it.”
“Yeah. Right.” Judah dragged his attention away from the small figure. He didn’t like the fact that he’d almost gone back inside. Weakness. Shrugging into the tattered remnants of his old anger, he forced himself to remember the bill of charges against her and was dismayed to discover that anger was no longer a comfortable fit.
He wanted the anger back.
But he was stuck with this baffling need to comfort Sophie Brennan. No good could come from this.
He preferred Doctor Tough Cookie, not this woman whose pain plucked at him and sneaked in under his radar screen.
Torn between the impulse to go back to her and the urgent desire to get the hell out of Dodge, Judah found himself following Tyree’s quick steps into the cool early evening where the sighing of the wind in the palm trees echoed his own confused sigh.
In a flat-out run, he caught up with Tyree, who’d already fired the engine and had the car rolling forward. Tyree leaned across the seat and wrenched the door open without slowing down. “Get your butt in here! Come on, man!”
Holding onto the roof with one hand, Judah crawled into the passenger seat and snapped his seat belt in place as Tyree slammed the accelerator to the floor. “Sheesh, what’re you doing? Payback for the fries? Low blow. I warned you, remember.”
“You warned me.” The car barreled forward, jolting Judah’s head back against the seat.
The gleaming white of the hospital with its sparkles of holiday red and green grew smaller and smaller in the side mirror. And then winked into darkness.
Hospital food and holidays sucked. Big time.
The fire from five bags of burning dog crap was almost out by the time they wheeled into the parking lot. They would list it, of course, as ‘canine fecal material’ in the report, but crap was what it was, and it stank. The fire truck was still there, but several of the firefighters were winding up the hoses. “False alarm,” the chief said. “No damage done.”
At the chief’s words, Tyree strode over to the charred remnants and glared at the mess. “This—mess on the front steps of my church, and you say there’s no damage done?”
One of the firemen edged away from the heat in Tyree’s face and voice, sidled back to the truck and climbed in.
The chief turned to Judah. “You know what I mean, right?”
Ignoring Tyree, Judah said, “Nope, Hank, can’t say’s I do. Looks like damage to me. I’m thinking it needs the full report. Been way too much of this kind of junk going on in Poinciana. Now me and Tyree here, we’re going to do the full run-through. You and your boys need to do the same.”
“Hell, Finnegan. When did you turn into such a hardnose?” Hank Bonniface swung back to the truck and growled out orders. “We’ve been running like ten cats scratching litter since I don’t know when. This was a nothing deal. A fat waste of time.”
Tyree’s whole body bunched up, an arrow ready to fly.
Judah grabbed Tyree’s arm, felt the tight muscle, the fury. Judah looked back at the men shooting surreptitious looks at him and Tyree. “Cool it,” Judah murmured. “They don’t mean anything. They were just trying to make a short night. They’re good guys. They work hard. You know how it’s been with all these fires being set lately. Everybody’s strung out. Bonniface’s men are simply relieved that nobody got hurt. And they’re making stupid jokes, nothing more.”
“Just a few good ol’ boys, huh, Judah? All of ’em just so damned glad it wasn’t a five-alarm burner. But it’s a church. My church. Damage was done, man.”
Judah held on. “Hey, I didn’t know this was your church, Tyree.”
“Why would you?” Tyree’s face went shiny-tight with barely contained violence. “You don’t know nothing about me, Judah. You don’t know the names of my kids, you don’t even know I drink tea, but you don’t ever ask why I throw out all that lousy damned coffee you keep shoving in my face. You never even been to my damn house. Why in hell would you know what church I go to?”
“Don’t lay it all on me, Tyree. You keep your distance, too, you know.” His anger flared to meet Tyree’s, a crackling of heat and flames as destructive in its own way as any of the recent fires in Poinciana.
“Judah. Step back.” Tyree’s flat voice held none of his usual teasing. “You don’t want to jumble with me right now.”
That fast, the facade of their partnership crumbled. It was all out in the open now, the doubts, the wondering, the effort it took Tyree to be a cop
in Poinciana. All laid out for Judah to see. He couldn’t walk on by this time. Like it or not, and he was pretty damned sure he didn’t, he was involved.
Taking the two steps forward that no man took without being prepared for the consequences, Judah stepped right into Tyree’s space.
“Back off, man. I won’t tell you again.”
“I hear you, but take a good look, Tyree.” Judah jutted his chin toward Tyree. “See me standing here? You see me moving anywhere? Because I’m not taking a step back. Got that? Me and you got to make this right. You’re my partner, and by damn, we’re going to settle things. You want to bring it on, go right ahead. Right now and right here’s as good a time and place as any. All this, this garbage that floats underneath everything you say, under what I say, all this damned history that hovers between us is going to end tonight.”
“Garbage?” Tyree’s eyes narrowed into hard slits. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not the affirmative-action detective in the department, the guy promoted because, funny thing, Poinciana didn’t even have one single black detective until me. Plenty of my brothers on patrol, but not one detective or sergeant. Lots of promises and excuses about budget and department size and seniority. But no action. Until me. You’re not the guy they’re all watching and expecting to screw up. Hoping I will? You bet they are. And my people are watching, too. I got this weight on me, man, and you don’t have a clue. So take your big talk about settling stuff elsewhere. Over to those guys on the truck, for instance.” The muscle along Tyree’s jaw bulged.
“This is between us, Tyree.” Judah struggled to find the right words, one clear word that would make the other man see that he was trying to reach out, trying to get it right for the two of them, at least, if not for the whole wide world, the world neither could control nor fix. “Everything you say is true. I get it. Sure, you make an effort to be one of the guys. You bring Yvonna’s potato salad to the station. But you don’t let anybody see who you are behind all your jokes. It’s like you’re playing a part or something.”
Tyree’s shoulders rolled forward, and a dull flush shone on his dark skin. “Yeah?”
Judah took a deep breath. “So if you want me to know who in hell you are, partner—invite me over for some of your damn beer and barbecue.”
Nose-to-nose, they glared at each other, anger and frustration steaming off them.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Tyree gave him one of the longest, fiercest stares Judah had ever received. Fury and frustration and a pain so deep Judah had no understanding of it burned at him from Tyree’s dark eyes.
Neither of them moved.
A century passed between them in the parking lot of the A.M.E. Church. The cool night air of Poinciana eddied around them as they stared at each other, not speaking, each standing his ground. So close their breath mingled, they could see each other’s dilated pupils, yet they were separated by a chasm so deep and so wide it might not be crossed.
Judah understood there were words that could never be said, things that could never be explained between men like them. Their profession shaped them and made them wary. Their natures rendered them inarticulate.
Still, something beyond words kept him, kept Tyree, rooted there in the night.
Suddenly, the big old-fashioned bell in the church rolled its heavy sound through the night and the silence, the deep tolling reverberating through them, wrapping them in that majestic sound until the very air shook with its power.
In that moment Judah felt as though someone had reached into his soul and wrapped a fist around the darkness and loneliness and misery there before moving away, leaving him bereft.
The bell shuddered to silence again.
Even in the quiet, Judah still felt the sonorous reverberations echo inside him, tolling, calling him to account for all that he’d done, for all that he’d left undone.
In that instant something shifted in Tyree’s face. “All right then. But it’s not barbecue. It’s shrimp. Sunday night. After evening services.” Tyree glowered at him.
“What do I bring?” Judah glowered right back.
“Nothing but your own sorry damned self.” Tyree stomped away toward the still-smoking piles on the church steps. “Now I got work to do. By God, somebody’s going to pay for messing with my church.”
Later, showered and changed, Sophie rested her head against the back of the chair. Angel’s warm cheek lay against Sophie’s as she rocked back and forth. Through the tipped shades of the Peds Ward, Sophie watched the heavy night settle in. Chicago nights had never had the deep black of Florida nights. In the distance she watched the twinkling Christmas lights maintenance had hung on Friday shimmer and move in the night breeze. A reminder of another world, their brightness seemed to keep the darkness outside the hospital at bay.
A snuffle and a baby snort tickled Sophie’s nose. She stifled the sneeze that would have jostled the baby awake. Sophie marveled again at Angel’s easy nature. She’d been a well-loved baby, and now, poor dumpling, she was set adrift on an uncharted sea.
“Ah, sweetie, it’s going to be okay.” With an aching heart, Sophie nuzzled Angel’s fluff of black hair. “I’m on your side. There’s love out there for you. We’ll work out what has to be done. You are not alone in this big old world. Trust me,” she whispered into the soft ear so close to her heart. “I’ll figure something out.” She touched her grandmother’s cross to Angel’s cheek. “I promise. Trust me” she repeated. “Can you do that? In spite of everything that’s happened to you? Trust me a little?”
Easing up from the chair, she tucked Angel into her crib and covered her. Since Sophie had last seen the baby, someone in the ward had washed the blanket Angel had been found in, and Sophie tucked the silky edge of it into the baby’s fist. As Angel’s fingers curled around the edge and brought it to her mouth, Sophie murmured, “Sleep tight, baby girl. Sweet dreams. May angels watch over you through the night.”
Lolly had gone home some time ago. As Sophie walked to the door and past the nurses’ station, she nodded to the nurse on duty. She gestured casually back at Angel. “I’ll make the calls to set things in motion for Baby Doe, save you the trouble, since she was my patient originally. Tell Lolly when you see her that I’ve taken care of the paperwork.”
“Thanks, Doctor Brennan.” The nurse flipped her hair back. “I’m backlogged on charts. I sure do appreciate it, you taking care of the calls. I’ll miss the little love-bug, though.”
“I know what you mean.” Sophie squished into silence the voice that whimpered that what she was doing wasn’t exactly kosher, that she wasn’t adhering to hospital policy. She smiled and headed for the elevator. Even though she’d never pulled rank before, she had to admit that there were some advantages to seniority and hospital hierarchy. To do what she was planning, she would need every single advantage.
When she reached her car, she realized that she didn’t want to go home, not to the silence.
Not to the emptiness.
Yielding to impulse, she zipped back over the bridge and skidded to a stop in a sandy parking area at the east end of the island. Music vibrated in the air, a low bass thumpa-thump that whomped right down to her bones, a beat that had her two-stepping straight through the front door and to a table.
She’d found Catfish Charlie’s not long after moving to the island. On Saturday nights Charlie opened the place to local bands. Overlooking the water, loud, and off the tourist beat, Charlie’s was her place, her version of her Chicago neighborhood hangouts. Charlie, who was really Gordon Moskal from the southside of Chicago in another life, understood and watched out for her, made her feel safe. So Catfish Charlie’s was where she went after a day of surfing, where she went when she wanted easy company.
She needed people and noise tonight.
Not these unwelcome and haunting thoughts.
An hour later with a light beer buzz making her silly and giddy, she laughed at the young man in the cowboy hat who insi
sted he could cure whatever ailed her, “ma’am,” with a fast waltz around the dance floor. Ten years or more her junior, “Cutter’s my name, ma’am,” had the relaxed charm of Southern men. He looked so hopeful, the music was irresistible, and his lanky body reminded her of Judah Finnegan in some perverse way, and so she let the boy lead her onto the dance floor and through the steps of some complicated movements set to a zydeco beat.
He was good. His energy and, yes, the glances from his appreciative eyes rollicked through her buzzing body.
“You’re right!” she gasped, finally collapsing back into her seat after five numbers, her melancholy thoughts sent a-spinning in the heat and movement.
Standing spread-legged, Cutter tipped his cowboy hat back with a forefinger and drawled in what had to be his best Chris Isaak imitation. “So, little darlin’, why don’t you and me do a little more than dance?”
“Well, Cutter, sweetpea,” she said as a giggle bubbled up, “I’m old enough—”
“Naw, darlin’, don’t you dare say you’re old enough to be my mama.” He stepped close and his lanky frame had all the tensile strength of the very young. “You can’t be my mama’s age, honey.”
If she’d been twenty-two instead of thirty-four, Sophie might have been tempted. “Cutter—ma’am” was cute and awkwardly sweet. His smile held the promise of the charmer he would become once he outgrew his puppy-dog eagerness and into his shoes, so to speak. But he was a boy, and he wasn’t Judah and—
She slammed the door shut on that errant thought.
Still, his flirting tickled her, reminded her of better times, and he was adorable, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she smiled as she answered, “No, really—”
Dead Calm Page 14
