Tuesday Morning Collection, The: One Tuesday Morning, Beyond Tuesday Morning, Remember Tuesday Morning

by Kingsbury, Karen

  “I hate that.”

  “Yeah.” He made a sarcastic sound that wasn't even close to a laugh. “Talk about having an incentive to get to work.”

  Now Clay understood something else. When Reynolds showed up on the scene, a minute after Clay had shot the carjacker the other day, his words had been something of a surprise. You did us all a favor. Wasn't that it? Yes, that was what he'd said. You did us all a favor. Reynolds worked by the books, arresting criminals, forming cases against them, testifying in court. But when a killer made a fatal move in a gun battle with a cop, Reynolds wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.

  “For three months we kept trying, me and Wanda. She was hurting so bad, and there was—” he gave a sharp shake of his head—“there was nothing I could do to help her. Finally one day I asked her if she wanted me to leave.”

  Clay already knew what Reynolds was going to say and it made him sick. Two people who loved each other so much, who shared a faith in God, torn apart when they were both hurting the most.

  “She said yes. Seeing me every day, remembering what happened, it was too hard for her.” Reynolds's eyes were distant again. “I told her I felt the same way; if she wasn't going to let me help her, I wanted out too.” He shrugged. “So I finished my service in California and she moved to Queens. Soon as I had the chance I started college classes and I didn't look back until I had my law degree. Figured I'd fight the bad guys in courtrooms, where I could lock 'em up longer than the jerk who killed my boy.”

  “Didn't work out that way, huh?”

  Reynolds chuckled, and the hurt in his eyes dimmed. “Not for a minute. The whole thing was a game, Michaels. Just one big stinking game.” He straightened himself and buckled his seat belt. “I like it better in uniform. At least we get 'em off the streets for a while.”

  A flight attendant came on this time, telling them to prepare for landing. Clay let the details of his friend's story play again in his mind. “You and Wanda? You've kept in touch?”

  “For a little while.” He looked at Clay. “She married a firefighter, FDNY. Guy wasn't around much, at least that's what Wanda's mother said. She told me Wanda never stopped loving me; she just didn't know how to show me after Jimmy died.”

  Clay frowned. “Her husband was FDNY?”

  “Yeah.” Something more serious crossed his expression. “After the terrorist attacks, I had to know if the guy was one of 'em.” He paused. “He was. Lost right up there in the South Tower. Every day since then I've wanted to call Wanda, just to tell her I'm sorry. Sorry about doubting her, sorry about running that day when I came home, sorry about Jimmy. Sorry about her husband.” His voice was shakier than before, broken. “Sorry about all of it. But I never made the call.”

  “Instead you're going to see her in person, is that it?”

  The plane was coming in for a landing. Reynolds glanced out the window at the skyline of Manhattan. “I'm not sure.” He looked at Clay again. “You're a praying man, is that right?”

  “I am.”

  “Then pray for me. So I'll know if I should look her up, or if seeing me again would only make things harder for her.”

  They didn't say anything else until they touched down and the pilot welcomed them to New York City. That's when the idea hit him. He turned to Reynolds as he pulled his travel bag from the floor beneath the seat in front of him.

  “Hey, we're off tomorrow morning, right?”

  “Right. Orientation begins at four o'clock. I guess a few of our shifts will be with the night crew.”

  “Right, so I have an idea for the morning.”

  “Okay.” Reynolds looked like he was back to himself again, with one small change for the better. His guard was down. “What's your idea?”

  “Ground Zero.”

  Reynolds hesitated. “Hmmm.” He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Might be a good place to pray.”

  “That's what I was thinking. We could take the ferry over early.”

  “Hey, I just remembered. One of the guys from the downtown precinct was telling me there's this little chapel there, right across the street from where the towers stood. St. Peter's, something like that. All sorts of letters and pictures from the attacks.”

  “Now that—” Clay patted his friend's back as they stood to make their way off the plane—“would be a good place to pray.”

  ELEVEN

  Jamie was looking forward to seeing Aaron on Monday.

  She boarded the ferry at nine o'clock and took a seat inside. A storm had kicked up the night before and it was still sprinkling. The forecast included snow later in the week, and Jamie thought they might be wrong. With the weather outside, it might snow before lunchtime.

  The inside of the ferry had two levels. Jamie took the first, which was practically empty; few tourists were willing to brave a day like this. Jamie settled into a corner seat and held her bag to her waist. Whitecaps covered the harbor, evidence the ride would be rougher than usual.

  For the tourists' sake—if there were any—the captain was saying something about the sights, the part about the Statue of Liberty welcoming the masses, and Liberty Island being a symbol of freedom. Funny how she'd never really listened to the spiel before Jake died. When the two of them crossed the harbor, they were too caught up in their own conversation to notice much else.

  Now she knew it by heart.

  The ferry rocked and rolled, but Jamie wasn't worried. She'd crossed over in far worse conditions.

  She looked around at the other people on the first level. Across the way were two guys—one blond, one black. They were good-looking, tall and well built. Jamie wondered if they were coaches, maybe, or tourists meeting up with their wives.

  Not far from her, three guys in their early twenties sat in a circle. They might've been college kids, but they looked a little shady. Probably actors. Lots of Broadway dreamers lived in Staten Island and commuted to Manhattan for a shot at a role. Now that she'd noticed them, though, she saw something else. Every now and then, one of them would smile at her or do something to catch her attention, and then whisper to his buddies.

  Strange… Did she spill something? Was her zipper undone? She glanced down at her white turtleneck sweater and dark jeans. No, everything looked fine. Just as she was about to look up she felt someone standing near her table.

  “Excuse me.” The guy couldn't have been even twenty-one. He had a baby face with freckles and a crew cut—but there was something hard about his eyes. “Are you on vacation?”

  “Me?” Jamie looked around to make sure he was talking to her. Maybe it was some sort of practical joke.

  “Yeah.” He glanced back at his buddies. Both of them were smiling at him, egging him on. “We're here with our history class, headed for the Statue of Liberty.” He grinned, and two dimples cut into his face. “We, well, we wondered if you were a tourist. You know, by yourself. Maybe you might want to join us.”

  Jamie resisted the urge to laugh out loud. It wasn't a practical joke at all. This college kid was hitting on her! Her face grow hot. “You're serious?”

  “Sure.” The guy looked toward the bathrooms. “You're by yourself, right?”

  “Yes.” Jamie wasn't offended. If anything, it made her feel good.

  But before she could say anything else, the guy pushed into the spot beside her and put his arm around her. “Don't say a word, got it?”

  At his low, hissed words, Jamie's heart slammed into double time. How could she have been so stupid? She never should have said she was alone. She should've gotten up as soon as he started talking to her.

  “I'm armed, but I don't want to hurt you, see?” He kept smiling, but his fingers jabbed into her shoulder.

  She winced and tried to jerk free, but the guy's friends stood and came over. One of them took the seat on her other side.

  “Hey there, baby doll.” This one had dark hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and Jamie's fear increased. God, help me … they've got to be on something. His sweatshirt said OSU Football.<
br />
  “Leave me alone.” She hissed the words at the newest member of the group. “Go back to your seats or I'll scream.”

  “Do it, witch, and I'll shoot you straight through the heart.” The freckle-faced kid laughed, and the rough sound made Jamie's skin crawl. “We killed two people earlier this morning. We'll kill you if you don't do what we say.”

  Jamie doubted he was telling the truth, but just then she felt something jab into her ribs.

  “We're serious, lady.” It was the third guy, the one with the baseball cap. “You're ours for the day, whatever we want to do with you. Got it?”

  “Yeah, and don't make a scene, or we'll shoot everyone on board.”

  “God …” Jamie closed her eyes and tried to be still. It wasn't possible. Her mind was racing too fast to make a plan. “Get me out of here, God.”

  The crew cut laughed hard at that. “Oh yeah, God'll show up here. Sure thing.”

  His buddies joined in the laughter, and Jamie looked around the first level. Couldn't someone see she was in trouble? Or was the laughter from the three men convincing the other passengers that she was part of their group, a bunch of friends having a great time together?

  “Wait till you see what we've got planned for you, baby.” The football sweatshirt sneered the words up against her ear.

  His breath smelled like marijuana, and she jerked away, repulsed. God … help me out of this. Her heart raced so fast she couldn't catch her breath. The most logical way out was to scream or make a run for it. But what about the gun?

  It was one thing to take her chances on her own. So what if they shot her? Seconds later she'd be in heaven with Jesus, being welcomed home by the husband she missed so badly. But she didn't have only herself to think about.

  She had Sierra.

  And because of that, she couldn't scream, couldn't make a run for it. Instead she had to think. The only passengers in sight were the two men across the way. If only they'd look at her, she could send some sort of signal with her eyes. Her captors wouldn't notice—two of them were slurring their words; none of them were paying her that much attention now that they had her trapped.

  Come on, God. Make one of them look at me. Please …

  At that moment, the blond man stood and headed toward them. He looked back at his black friend and pointed to the restrooms. This was it, the chance Jamie needed. He had to walk right past her! If only he'd look at her. He was tall with a square chin, and he looked strong enough to handle all three of the punks circled around her.

  Jamie stared at him, blinking as hard as she could, willing him to look.

  “So whatcha going to do to her when it's your turn?” The crew cut rattled off a string of expletives. He was so loud, he didn't see the blond man coming up along the aisle to his left. “My turn might not leave much. I better go last.”

  Suddenly the blond man stopped, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at the four of them. “Police, everyone freeze!”

  Jamie couldn't believe her eyes. She had to be dreaming, but she wasn't. A second later the black man pulled out another gun and jogged over.

  “You punks better get your hands up!” He glared at them. “Which one of you has the gun?”

  All three of the young guys instantly put their hands in the air. “Hey, man,” the crew cut kid forced a laugh. “We're just havin' a little fun. Come on, nothin' to get riled over.”

  “Sure.” The blond officer pointed the gun straight at the guy and looked at Jamie. “Do you know these men?”

  “No!” The word was more a cry than an answer. Jamie jerked away and hurried up next to the blond officer. She pointed at the dark-haired kid. “Be careful! He's got a gun!”

  “We saw it.” Her protector took her hand with his free one and guided her behind him. “Stay there; I'll cover you.”

  With the blond still aiming his gun at the young men, the black officer moved in and grabbed the gunman. “Give me your weapon. Now!”

  “Hey—” He managed a nervous chuckle, his hands still in the air. “It's like my man Jason said, we're just havin' a little—”

  “Give me the gun!” The officer's voice left no room for negotiation.

  Jamie could barely see the drama unfolding. Was it really happening? Had three guys tried to abduct her in broad daylight? And who were the police officers? Angels?

  Her heart was still racing, but she felt safe behind the blond man. He was much bigger than she, and with his body covering hers, she knew she was safe. Calm, Jamie … be calm. God's with you; it's okay. She pictured Sierra and felt tears sting her eyes. If things had been different …

  Jamie squeezed her eyes shut until the bad thoughts went away. She opened them and stared at the officer a few feet away. The situation was under control; the kid was going to give up his gun. God had given her a miracle, one that was still playing out in front of her.

  “I said, give me the gun!” The black officer was angry now. His voice told all of them he was sick of the charade.

  “Whatever.” It was the dark-haired kid. He snarled at his friends. “Look, I'm not going down for this.” He lowered one of his hands to his pocket.

  “Slow!” The blond barked. He still held Jamie's hand.

  “Okay, man, okay.” The kid pulled the gun from his pocket and reached it out, slowly. His hand shook. “Take it, already.”

  “Shut up!” The blond officer barked at him and turned to the others. “Any other weapons before we search you?”

  A round of muted “No, sirs” came from the trio. All three of them had their hands in the air; none of them were laughing.

  “Hold the cover.” The black officer glanced at his partner. Then he slipped his own gun back in his pocket, spun the dark-haired kid around and slammed him against the ferry wall. With rough, sharp movements he ran his hands along the kid's sides. “You have the right to remain silent.” He jerked his hands up and down the guy's chest. “Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law …”

  Jamie's hands and knees were shaking now, probably from the adrenaline. What were the odds that the only two other people on this level of the ferry were police officers? Thank You, God … thank You. Her heart rate was barely slower, though.

  The blond officer leaned his head back, keeping his eyes on the other two kids. “Did they threaten you?”

  “Yes.” Jamie tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. “They … they said they'd kill me if I screamed. They were going to rape me.”

  The officer turned to his partner. “Did you hear that?”

  “Loud and clear.” He finished frisking the kid and shoved him onto the bench. “Keep your hands in the air.”

  He repeated the process with the other two, and found no weapons on either of them. Even so he took his gun out and kept it aimed at the trio. With a glance over his shoulder, he grinned at his partner. “Go tell the captain we've made us some friends down here.”

  The blond officer laughed. He was still holding her hand, and now he motioned for her to follow him. They were halfway up the steps when he looked back at her. “I'm Officer Clay—”

  The horn on the ferry blared, and Jamie strained to hear him.

  “… from Los Angeles.”

  “Clay Miles?” The wind was whipping on the upper deck and she had to shout to be heard.

  “Yes,” he stopped at the top of the stairs and faced her. Even then it was hard to hear. “What's your name?”

  “Jamie Bryan.” She was safe now, and the fact that he still had her hand in his felt … actually, Jamie couldn't figure what she felt. The man was tall, obviously strong, and rugged looking. All that and he'd just saved her life. “I don't know what to say.”

  Officer Miles let go of her hand and pointed to the captain's office. “Let's talk in there.”

  She nodded and followed him into the glassed-in area at the top of the ferry. He explained that he was a Los Angeles police officer and then told the man what had happened. They were almost at the Manha
ttan shoreline, but the captain called dispatch and found out the guys were wanted. They'd held up a convenience store at gunpoint before boarding the ferry. Police lost track of them and were about to contact the captain—in case they were aboard.

  The captain held out his hand to Officer Miles. “Nice work.” He shook his head. “You're on vacation from LA, is that it?”

  “No. We're here for detective training in Manhattan. NYPD.” He leaned against the glass wall and looked at Jamie. “We saw the suspects approach this woman, and my partner saw the gun.”

  Jamie wanted to run over and hug him. Instead she steadied her knees and gripped the back of the captain's chair. “They …” She looked straight into the officer's eyes. “You saved my life.”

  He grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “I guess the training started sooner than we expected.”

  The captain was on the phone, making arrangements to have an NYPD officer at the docks when the boat pulled up. He was saying something about stalling until the unit was on location.

  “So, Jamie Bryan—” Officer Miles gazed out at the choppy water—“why're you going into Manhattan by yourself on a day like this?”

  “I'm a volunteer. At St. Paul's.” She met his eyes again. What was it about him? She'd never seen him before. At least, she didn't think she had. But something in his eyes made her feel as if she'd known him all her life.

  The officer raised his eyebrows. “St. Paul's? You won't believe this. That's exactly where we were headed.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” He angled his head and studied her. His eyes were beyond kind, the perfect compliment to the tough guy she'd seen a few minutes earlier. “We have the morning off. Orientation's this afternoon.”