Enemies and Playmates

by Darcia Helle

  Alex strode back to his chair. “The children’s games are over,” he said. “I am out of time and long out of patience. Whatever it takes, there will be no more loose ends.”

  Lauren woke cramped and achy on her makeshift bed on the old couch. Still, it was better than lying on her comfortable mattress, listening to her parents fight. She stood and stretched out the kinks, then headed for the coffeemaker.

  While the coffee brewed, she switched on the television. She folded her blankets as a diaper commercial played. The mother and baby on the screen made her think of Gina. The unwanted image of Gina and her father in bed popped into her mind. She dropped the pile of blankets on the end of the couch and wished that photo could be removed from her memory.

  The smell of coffee wafted out to her. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a steaming cupful. As she stepped back into the living room, her house, her father’s house, filled the TV screen. Next came a video of her father in handcuffs being led down the driveway. Even in handcuffs, shortly after sunrise, he looked impeccable. Well dressed, reserved. A perfect contrast to the demon inside him.

  “Oh my God,” Carrie murmured. “Your father.”

  Lauren turned to find Carrie in her flannel pajamas staring at the TV. Lauren nodded. “Yeah,” she said. She was surprised at how detached her voice sounded.

  Carrie sat down to listen to the newscaster. Lauren heard the words “ongoing investigation”. The reporter offered a few facts, some speculation. It all sounded far away, as if she was trapped in a tunnel. Her stomach churned and the coffee suddenly tasted sour.

  Lauren headed for the bathroom and a quick shower. School was not an option today. She’d be bombarded with questions. People would stare, whisper behind her back. Jesse had been right. It wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

  She dialed her mother’s cell phone. “Have you seen the news this morning?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Kara said.

  “Feel like company?”

  “I would love that.”

  Marc had already left for work by the time Lauren reached the condo. She and her mother sat in the cozy living room with coffee and donuts. “How did you feel,” Lauren asked, “seeing him in handcuffs?”

  Kara shook her head. “He looked too good. Barely six a.m. and he’s wearing an Ermenegildo Zegna suit, like he’s off to do a photo shoot for GQ.”

  “I know. Unbelievable.”

  “I’d like to see him in a prison uniform. I don’t imagine they’re custom fit.”

  Lauren chuckled. “You’re right there. That’ll be a shock for him.”

  “I am glad it’s done,” Kara said. “I just hope the charges stick. You’re father has a lot of friends.”

  “I doubt he’ll be able to get out of this.”

  “He’s going to be beyond angry, you know. So be careful. Jesse too.”

  “We will.”

  They both fell silent for a moment. Then Kara said, “I spoke to Gina’s mother yesterday.”

  That surprised Lauren. The two women had been friends for as long as Lauren had known Gina. But, for some reason, she thought their friendship would have ended with the news of the affair. And the pregnancy. “That’s good,” Lauren said. “How is she?”

  “Managing,” Kara said. “Gina has decided to keep the baby. Sandy is afraid she might be doing so with the hope that Alex will fall in love with it and want to be a family.”

  “We had a long talk last night. She doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “She knows the truth now,” Lauren said. “I had to tell her what he’s really like. She’s hurting. And scared. But I think she’s getting a grip on the reality of things now.”

  Kara breathed a heavy sigh. “Raising a baby alone is going to be hard for her. Perhaps it would be best for her to give the baby up for adoption. She needs to focus on herself. On putting her life back together.”

  “I don’t think Gina could handle giving it up,” Lauren said.

  “Yes, that’s not an easy choice. I’m not sure what I would do in her position.”

  “No matter what she decides, her life will never be the same. It’ll never be what she’d planned.”

  “And how are you handling all of this?”

  “I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I -”

  Lauren stopped mid-sentence, her eyes fixed on the stranger standing mere feet away. As if the intrusion wasn’t scary enough, the man was wearing a black ski mask that only revealed two large angry brown eyes. One gloved hand gripped a short black handle with a long glistening steel blade protruding from the top.

  Lauren’s voice was frozen somewhere deep in her throat. She glanced quickly at her mother, whose eyes mirrored all the fright she was feeling.

  He attacked them quickly, without a word. Lauren blocked her face, shrieking as the blade tore into her hands. She was aware of screams, though she wasn’t sure whether they were hers or her mother’s.

  He shoved Lauren backward. She slammed her head against the end table. Glass shattered. The room swam around her. She tried to grab the chair for support but her hand slid off, leaving a bloody trail behind.

  Kara had been trying to get to Lauren. The intruder grabbed her hair. He yanked her hard and she fell to her knees. The knife blade danced through the air and drops of blood fell like rain.

  Lauren scrambled across the carpet. Blood splattered in her peripheral vision. Her mother moaned. She weakly called out for Lauren to run.

  Lauren made it to the kitchen. She frantically searched the drawers for knives, anything large and sharp that she could use to protect herself and her mother.

  A smothered but torturous scream from the living room sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her stomach lurched. She tasted bile.

  “Forget it.” His voice was muffled beneath the ski mask.

  Lauren yanked the drawer out and heaved it as his face. He easily sidestepped the drawer. It clattered to the floor beside him. Unfazed, the intruder strode toward Lauren. She threw whatever she could grab. The toaster, a coffee mug. Her hands left a trail of liquid red. A moment later she was cornered, stuck between the wall and his bloody knife.

  “Stop!” Kara stood in the doorway behind him, holding a shiny chrome gun with a pearl handle. Her blouse was torn, drenched in blood. Droplets fell to the floor around her.

  The intruder half-turned. Time froze as he stood there, the knife blade inches from Lauren’s face, his gaze fixed on Kara. Lauren dropped to the floor and four bullets rang out. Then silence.

  Lauren slowly raised her head. The man’s body was sprawled across the kitchen floor. His blood had splattered everywhere. Wet sticky goo clung to her face.

  Lauren rose on shaky legs. “Mom…”

  Her mother lay in the doorway. She clutched the gun in her hand. Too much blood pooled beside her still body.

  “Mom!” Lauren stumbled across the room, falling to her knees as she reached her mother. “Mom, please, can you hear me?”

  She raced to the living room, snatched her cell phone from the coffee table, and dialed 911. Then she collapsed back beside her mother. She held her mother’s limp hand. And she prayed.

  29

  Jesse handed a group of photographs to the woman across his desk. He said, “As I told you, she’s alive and well.”

  Mrs. Hartman sifted through the pictures. Her eyes registered disbelief as she gazed at her pretty, blonde, eighteen-year-old daughter dressed in a tight denim mini skirt and a cropped t-shirt that showed off her pierced bellybutton. “I can’t believe this is Marybeth,” Mrs. Hartman said. “What happened to my little girl?”

  “I’ve talked to her a few times,” Jesse said. “She’s not interested in going home. She said she likes her new life as Sunshine.”

  “Oh dear. So the police were right. She did run away.”

  “Apparently, yes.”

  “Will she at least talk to me?”

  “She promised me that she’d c
all you soon.”

  “Where is she living?” Mrs. Hartman asked.

  Jesse leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Hartman’s sad eyes gazed at him intently. She had perfect creamy white skin. Her pale blonde hair, the same shade as her daughter’s, was pulled into a careless ponytail. She was about thirty pounds overweight and a few decades behind in fashion. He could picture her baking cookies for the neighborhood kids. Not the type of woman you’d expect to raise a teenage drug-addicted prostitute.

  “She doesn’t actually have a permanent address,” Jesse said. “Right now she’s living with… well, with friends, I guess you’d say.”

  “Could I go to her? I need to see her.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it. The neighborhood’s not exactly a friendly place.”

  “Oh dear. She’s not safe. Why is she doing this? I don’t understand.”

  Jesse was trying to come up with some sort of reply when his intercom buzzed. He excused himself, lifted the receiver, and said, “Yeah, Dawn?”

  As Dawn spoke, the room closed in around him. He punched the button for the outside line. “This is Jesse Ryder.”

  He listened, thankful he was already sitting. He was sure his knees would not have held him up. He said, “How bad?”

  For a few moments he listened to a nurse from the emergency room. Lauren and Kara had been attacked by a man with a knife. The details didn’t totally register. But Lauren was alive. And she’d been asking for him.

  “I’m on my way,” Jesse told the nurse.

  “Are you all right?” Mrs. Hartman asked.

  Jesse turned. He’d forgotten she was sitting there. “I… uhh…” He got to his feet, saw the fear in Mrs. Hartman’s eyes and wondered if it was a reflection of what he was feeling. He said, “I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hartman said. “You don’t look well. Something is terribly wrong.”

  Jesse nodded absently as he reached for his jacket. This whole thing was his fault. He should have backed off. He should have left Covington alone. What the hell had he been thinking?

  Jesse stepped out of his office. Dawn was already on her feet by his door. She said, “Is it Lauren?”

  “Yeah. Mrs. Hartman -”

  “Just go,” Dawn said. “And drive carefully.”

  Jesse somehow managed to make it to the hospital without causing an accident. The emergency room bustled with activity. He jogged past the reception desk, opened the door to the treatment area, and found a nurse. “Where is Lauren Covington?”

  “Cubicle four,” the nurse said. “But you can’t go in right now. The doctor is -”

  Jesse stopped listening as he scanned the curtained petitions. He spotted one with the number four above it and strode over. He parted the curtain and stepped inside. A young Indian doctor and an older gray-haired nurse stood on one side of the bed. The nurse held a bloody hand, Lauren’s hand, while the doctor stitched it. She wore a hospital gown speckled with blood. Her eyes were closed. Tubes hung over her, pumping blood, drugs, and fluids into her body.

  Jesse stood still for what felt likes hours. He stared at the caked blood in Lauren’s hair and the streaks on her face, fighting to control the tears that threatened his eyes. He needed to keep himself together for Lauren’s sake. She was going to be okay. She had to be.

  Voices floated toward him but the words didn’t register. Lauren opened her eyes. She spotted Jesse and almost smiled. In a voice that was impossibly small, she said, “Jesse, thank God you’re okay.”

  Here she was, lying beneath a bloodstained sheet on a hospital gurney, and she was worried about him. He forced himself to the empty side of the bed. The doctor shot him an irritated glance but said nothing. He couldn’t take her hand, wasn’t sure where he could touch her. He wanted to say something strong and comforting. All he could manage was, “I’m so sorry.”

  “My mother… is she…”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Jesse said. He didn’t know that. Hadn’t even asked anyone yet. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to tell Lauren otherwise. “Just rest.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Jesse touched the side of her face. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he’d pushed too far. Sorry that he hadn’t been there to protect her. But all he said was, “I love you.”

  Lauren slipped in and out of consciousness. Various members of the medical staff worked quickly, while giving Jesse reassuring speeches about her recovery. The standard speech, probably given dozens of times a day. Nothing they said could ease the guilt and rage burning inside him.

  Could Lauren’s own father actually be responsible for this? Would he pay someone to do this to his own daughter? Jesse recalled a conversation he’d had with Dominic Forenzi not that long ago. Covington had wanted his wife dead. If his wife, why not his daughter as well? Especially when she was so blatantly working against him.

  Jesse took Lauren’s doctor aside. He was short, dark-skinned, and spoke with a heavy accent. His eyes were the kindest Jesse had ever seen. Jesse said, “Was Lauren…” His voice faltered. He didn’t want to ask this question. He had to know the answer. He cleared his throat, started again. “Was she raped?”

  “No, no,” the doctor said. “Thankfully not.”

  Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. “Do the police have any idea who did this?”

  “Sure do,” the doctor said. “Mrs. Covington shot him. He’s dead. Have to say I’m happy not to have to work to save the bastard’s life.”

  “Do you know the guy’s name?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “You’d have to ask the detectives handling the case.”

  Jesse thanked the doctor and left him to his work. Too much of a coincidence for this not to have come from Covington. Would the cops be able to find proof? Had Forenzi been released and done it himself?

  Forenzi’s words stuck in his mind. He wants me to plant his wife beside you. Why hadn’t he done something to prevent this? And why hadn’t whoever did this come after him first?

  Another doctor stepped into the cubicle and Jesse was forced to back away. He watched from the corner of the small space. Every once in awhile Lauren’s eyes would flicker open. She’d search for him, panic in those green eyes. Once she’d found him, she’d close her eyes again, seeming to find temporary peace.

  Jesse wrestled with the emotions haunting him. He’d let Lauren down. He hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t expected Covington to carry out his threats after the arrest. He certainly hadn’t expected Lauren to be in danger.

  A nurse parted the curtain. She glanced at Jesse, then said to the doctor, “The police are waiting.”

  “She’s in no condition to speak to them yet,” the doctor said.

  The doctor spoke in a gruff insistent tone that left no room for debate. The nurse nodded and let the curtain fall closed.

  Lauren’s breathing slowed. The heart machine attached to her beeped rhythmically. Her eyes had remained closed for some time now. Sleep was the best thing for her.

  Jesse had learned that Lauren had received close to one hundred stitches in her hands and arms. Defense wounds, the doctor had assumed. She also had a puncture wound on her left side that required six stitches, as well as several gashes that required a stitch or two. No internal organs had been damaged. One of her fingers was severed badly and may have limited motion when healed. The doctor claimed it was too soon to know for sure.

  The nurse stepped over and quietly told Jesse that Lauren had been sedated. She’d sleep for several hours now. They were preparing a room and she’d soon be admitted.

  Jesse took in the information like it was coming through a deep haze. He said, “What about her mother? Kara Covington.”

  “We can’t give you that information,” the nurse said.

  Jesse swallowed back his temper. He said, “Because I might sell the information to the Chinese?”

  The nurse frowned. “It’s confidential. You’re not family. I’m sorry.”

  “F
ine. Can you at least tell me where she is?”

  The doctor stepped out of the cubicle. The nurse watched him, then said to Jesse, “Technically, no. Though I suppose you might find someone to help you on the second floor surgical wing.”

  Jesse kissed Lauren’s cheek and promised her he’d be back before she woke. He walked out of the cubicle to find two police detectives standing by the nurse’s station, staring in his direction. The older one was balding with a sagging middle and penetrating eyes. His name was Ron Bennett. Jesse had run into him a few times during his brief stint as a cop. The younger one had a stiff stance, pumped up muscles, and a look that said he had a hard-on for power.

  Jesse approached, directing his words at Bennett. “You’re here about Lauren and Kara Covington?”

  Bennett nodded. “Ryder, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s your interest in this?”

  “Lauren’s my girlfriend.”

  The younger cop suddenly stood even straighter, which Jesse hadn’t thought was possible. His eyes narrowed as he sized Jesse up. Jesse ignored him. The first suspects were always husbands and boyfriends. So of course they’d scrutinize him. He didn’t care, as long as they did the same to Covington.

  “Any idea what happened this morning?” Bennett said.

  Jesse gave Bennett a condensed version, keeping it short and sticking to the highlights. He said, “Call Eldridge. He’ll back up what I’m saying. You’ve got to look closely at Alex Covington for this.”

  The younger detective, his name already lost to Jesse, asked a few pointless questions. The “Where were you at nine a.m.?” nonsense. Jesse answered because it was easier and smarter than breaking the guy’s nose.

  “The perp is dead,” Bennett said. “Kara Covington shot him. Saved both her and her daughter’s lives.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Jesse said.

  “So maybe it’s a robbery gone bad.”

  Jesse gave Bennett a look. The guy was already searching for a way to write this off. Easier on the paperwork. Sure as hell easier than stepping into the fray and trying to take down Alex Covington.