“Oh, my God,” Jasmine cried while Hosea stood silent.
“But we think,” the doctor quickly interjected, “that she’s going to be fine . . . physically.”
Jasmine spun around and away from the doctor. “I want to see my daughter,” she yelled. She swung open the door and rushed into the hallway. If she had to, she would go from room to room and find her herself.
“Mrs. Bush, wait,” the doctor called out. “I’ll take you now.”
She turned around and glared at him; a “you’d better” look was all over her face. Before she could protest more, the doctor was by her side.
His strides were long, but she kept up, her thoughts only on seeing Jacqueline. It didn’t matter what had happened—her daughter was home. And she would take care of her. She would make sure that Jacquie was fine.
When the doctor stopped in front of the hospital room, Jasmine took a deep breath. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she reached for Hosea’s hand. But he wasn’t there.
She glanced to the left, then to the right. “Where’s Hosea?” she asked her father-in-law.
He looked from side to side, too. Frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe he went with Detective Foxx.”
That didn’t make sense. How could he want to talk to the police instead of seeing Jacqueline? Wasn’t seeing his daughter more important than anything?
But she wasn’t about to stand there, figuring this out. She wasn’t about to stop and search for him—not when she was this close to Jacqueline.
So she reached for Reverend Bush’s hand instead, and together they followed the doctor into the room.
Sixty-four
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
DECEMBER 2009
“YEAH, SEND HER BACK.” BRIAN dropped the phone into the cradle and grinned, wishing that he’d come up with this strategy sooner. All the money he’d spent on flowers, all the time he’d spent tracking his ex-wife down—it seemed like not a bit of that had been necessary.
Not that he regretted it—he would buy Alexis every flower in America if he could. It was just that that effort had done nothing.
But this—ignoring her—this had worked instantly. There had never been a time since their separation, then divorce, when Alexis had contacted him this much. First Saturday, then Monday, and now today. Sure, it was Wednesday, but all of their contact had been initiated by her—this was huge.
Laughing out loud, he adjusted the papers on his desk, making it look like he was in the middle of something serious, then placed a yellow pad right in front of him. When he heard the light knock on his door, he quickly slid on his reading glasses, grabbed a pen, and lowered his head.
“Come on in,” he said, keeping his eyes down.
Alexis peeked into his office. “Brian?” She said his name as if she wasn’t sure whether she should step inside.
He glanced up. “Oh,” he said, like he hadn’t been expecting her.
She frowned a bit. “I thought the receptionist told you that I was here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her inside, then looked down at the yellow pad in front of him. He slowly wrote his name, then just as slowly slipped off his glasses before he looked back up at her.
He was careful to keep his eyes on her eyes, but it wasn’t easy. Even without letting his glance roam, he could see way too much of her in that belted coat that flaunted all her curves.
He shook his head. What he’d always loved about Alexis was that her mind was so sharp and her heart was so loving—those inner qualities far eclipsed her outer beauty. But that outer beauty? That was some good stuff that could not be denied.
“What’s up?” he said, deciding not even to offer her a seat.
She stood in front of his desk, confusion suddenly all over her face. “I just . . . wanted to stop by and tell you that I saw Crime Stoppers last night.”
You had to stop by for that? He said, “Yeah, they came through. They’re gonna do something more extensive on Sunday. But last night was a great start.”
“It was,” she said, still standing, still looking as if she was waiting for an invitation to sit down. “Has anything happened yet? Any new leads?”
He shrugged. “I spoke to Hosea last night after he saw the show.”
“What did they think?”
“He thought it was good.” Brian left out the part about Jasmine, how Hosea had said that Jasmine hadn’t seen the show. He’d thought that was beyond strange, but he wasn’t about to ask the man any questions about his wife. Brian added, “I’m sure I’ll hear something from him today. The phones should start ringing.”
Alexis nodded. “I hope this helps. We’ve got to get that little girl back home.”
“We?” He raised a single eyebrow to show her that he was surprised. To show her that he no longer considered her part of his inner circle.
“Yeah, we!” she exclaimed. She paused, and added, “I mean you. No, I mean we. I want to help, too, Brian. We’re friends, so anything that I can do to help I want to do.”
He had to fight to stop it—the smile that he felt rising from his lips. A smile wouldn’t work right now, didn’t go along with his new persona. So he paused until he was sure that he could hold it back. Then, “All right,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll keep you posted.” He picked up his pen, looked down at the pad again as if what was on that paper was far more important than talking to her.
His glance away was for only a second, but when he looked at her again, Alexis’s face had already changed. Her eyes were squinted. Her lips were pinched together. Her nose was scrunched like she smelled something nasty. She was a storm brewing.
Again, it was a battle to hold back his smile. “I’ll see ya,” he said.
“What is wrong with you, Brian!” she blew up.
He frowned. “What?”
“You’re acting like I’m bothering you or something.”
He stood, walked around the desk.
She continued, “I’m trying to be a friend, and you’re treating me like—”
“I’m treating you like you’ve been treating me?”
Her mouth opened wide, but then shut tight.
“That’s what you mean, right?” he asked, standing in front of her. “I’m treating you like I don’t want to be bothered. Like I don’t want you to be part of my life. Like being around you is so difficult.” He crossed his arms. Leaned against the desk. “Yup, I’m treating you just like you treated me.”
“I did not!” she said, her teeth clenched.
“Oh, yeah,” he said coolly. “Think about it, Alexis. This is the way you’ve been treating me since we were divorced.”
“So that’s what this is? A game? You’re getting back at me?”
He held up his hands. “Oh, no. Trust me, this is no game. I’m not playing. ’Cause,” he said, now moving closer to her, “I don’t play when it comes to you.” As he moved, she did, too. Away from him. He said, “I’m very clear on what I want. And what I want is you.”
She was still backing away. “No.” But it was only a whisper. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I told you—all I have inside of me is friendship, and that should be enough.”
“I want more than that.”
“This is not only about you, Brian!” Her fury was back. “This is about what I want, too. And I don’t want to go backward.”
“See, that’s your problem.” His words paused, but he kept moving, moving. “I never asked you to go backward.” He waved his hand, as if he were wiping away all that was behind them. “I’ve only asked you to look to the future, and go forward . . . with me.”
She was pinned against the wall now, barely an inch separated them. “Let’s go forward,” he whispered, his lips right in front of hers. “Together.”
Her voice was as low as his. “No,” she said. She swallowed. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I’m scared.”
“No need.” With the tips of h
is fingers, he lifted her chin so that she had to look right at him. “I’ll never hurt you again,” he vowed.
She gazed at him, considering his words for a moment. “But there’s no way either one of us can be sure that I won’t be hurt again.”
“You’re right.”
Her eyes widened, like that was not the response she had expected.
He continued, “I can’t guarantee anything. But I can tell you the truth—and that is that I love you. And in all these years that we’ve been apart, all I’ve been thinking about, all I’ve been doing, is trying to make my way back to you.”
Now he waited. Brian could see it in her eyes, the way she was calculating her emotions and adding up their past.
And as she counted the cost, he panicked. Maybe he’d revealed his plan too quickly. Maybe he should have just let her walk out of the office today—kept her off kilter, stewing, and wondering for another few days, maybe even another week.
Well, it was too late to second-guess. He was out there—he’d played his hand. And if Alexis decided not to join in now, it was over. For real this time. Because now she knew his trick, and she’d never be fooled again.
“I . . . ,” she started, but stopped. Shook her head.
He could feel his heartbeat. I blew it. She wasn’t ready to do the right thing, and now he was going to lose her. He leaned in closer. Looked into her eyes and saw all of her pain of their past. All of her fear of their future.
She was going to tell him no.
But he wasn’t ready to lose. So he turned to what was left in his arsenal—their connection, their emotional umbilical cord. They were life for each other.
But Alexis didn’t know that—she only felt it. So Brian knew that he had to show her.
He had to lean only a little—and aim his lips toward hers. He let them touch, just barely. This was going to be a slow seduction, one that she would never forget.
Now he moved his lips from side to side, grazing hers. And he kept his eyes on her eyes. But his hands were still at his sides.
Now, his tongue . . . and then the phone shrilled. It sounded like an alarm, startling both of them.
Inside, Brian cursed. If he backed away, Alexis would do the same. So he didn’t move.
The phone rang again. And again.
And because the show had aired last night, he thought about Jacqueline.
But it was Alexis who was in front of him now. With her lips on his.
Another ring, and more thoughts of his daughter.
He cursed again and made a decision.
Backing away from Alexis, he dashed for the telephone. As he grabbed it, he glanced over his shoulder.
Alexis stood stiffly against the wall. But he saw it—the relief that washed over her.
That was when he knew that he’d lost—it was over.
He wanted to curse again. Damn whoever was on the other end. But he picked up and heard the scream.
“Brian! My baby.” And then the sound of crackling air.
“Jasmine!” he shouted, as if that would help the cell phone signal.
“Jacquie is—”
More crackling. “Jasmine!” he yelled again.
“Home! Jacquie is home!”
And then, nothing.
He stared at the phone for a moment before he slowly turned toward Alexis. “She’s home,” he whispered. “They found her. My daughter is home.”
Neither one moved. They just stared at each other. They stood as if they were in shock. And both thought about what that call meant. For both of them.
Then, as if their thoughts had registered at the same time, they smiled simultaneously, right before Alexis ran into Brian’s arms.
Sixty-five
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
DECEMBER 2009
THERE WAS NOT A WORD in any language that could describe what was brewing.
Rage—that was not enough. Fury, wrath—they were not even close.
Nothing could describe the diametric emotions that were colliding inside of him. The joy—for the return of his daughter. The pain—for what Jacqueline had been through.
She was raped . . . Most likely, repeatedly.
Those words were grenades in his heart.
Hosea pressed his lips together, tried to keep the scream inside. But it exploded anyway, bursting through his lips, reverberating throughout the car, making even the windows quake. Gripping the steering wheel, he rounded the corner onto 119th, then inched down the street until he saw an open space in front of a fire hydrant. He turned off the ignition and, with military precision, scanned the area.
The day was growing older, and the afternoon sun cast long shadows against the gray brick of the police precinct house. In front, patrol cars were parked perpendicular to the curb, and people—civilians and officers—moved in and out and about.
Right in the center sat the van, and Hosea sighed with relief. This was the vehicle—the car that would transport Harvey Jonas from the station to Rikers.
Harvey Jonas. The lowlife scum. The suspect, as Detective Foxx had called him when they’d talked.
As Jasmine and his father had rushed behind Dr. Stewart, Hosea had turned the other way.
“Hosea,” Detective Foxx had called after him as he marched down the hall.
He kept on, but the detective caught up, and matched him step for step. Silent seconds passed as they strode toward the front. It wasn’t until they were outside of the hospital that Detective Foxx stopped him.
“Where are you going?” he asked, resting his hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “I thought you would want to see Jacquie.”
Hosea shook his head. “Not yet. I can’t . . . see her yet.”
It didn’t take even a full moment for the detective to understand. “Hosea, come on. This isn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t protect her, Fred,” he said, calling his friend by his first name. “And I can’t see her until I know she’s safe.”
Detective Foxx reached out to Hosea again. “She’s safe, man,” he reassured him. “We found him with her. He’s in custody, and this time he’s not going anywhere. Trust that. Trust me.”
With a nod, Hosea looked back toward the hospital, trying to decide—should he go back in or not? “Who is he?” Hosea asked.
“The suspect? There’s not a lot to tell. We found him at his mother’s apartment on the Lower East Side,” Detective Foxx said. “She takes in foster kids, and that’s where he was with Jacquie. He was kinda hiding . . . in plain sight.”
With his forefinger, Hosea pressed the spot at the top of his nose, right between his eyes. But that did nothing to ease the throbbing. “Jacquie was that close? All of this time, she was just a couple of miles away?”
Detective Foxx nodded. “It happens that way. I’m sure he never let her leave the house.”
“So,” Hosea began, “he took my daughter to his mother’s.”
“Seems like it.” Detective Foxx sighed. “I’ve seen this too many times—a mother who knows what her child is doing and looks the other way. We’re not sure if that’s what went down, if his mother knew, but we’ll find out her role in this soon.”
Hosea opened his mouth, made a wide O, stretched his jaw. But that didn’t do it either—nothing stopped the throbbing. The throbbing.
Detective Foxx said, “But here’s the thing, man, more than his mother, it was us. The system blew it this time; we were the ones who let Harvey Jonas get away.”
Harvey Jonas.
The detective’s hand was back on Hosea’s shoulder when he said, “But we got him now. And he’s not getting away this time. I’m headed over to the precinct; Jonas is being processed, and we’re taking him by special van over to Rikers. We’re not even going to hold him for another group; we’re taking him by himself. I’m riding him, so you don’t have to worry.” He patted him on the back. “It’s over.”
Hosea shook his head, his eyes once again on the hospital’s revolving doors. “It’s not over.” He sniffed back
tears, held back rage. “My little girl . . . what she went through.” He faced the detective. “What’s going to happen to her?”
Detective Foxx exhaled. “I’m not sayin’ it’s going to be easy. But she has you and Jasmine and a whole bunch of other people who love her . . . we’ll all help her through. The thing to remember—what’s most important—is that she’s home.” And then, as if he needed to reassure Hosea, he added, “She’s safe.” Another pause. “Go back in there, Hosea. You know Jacquie wants to see her daddy. You take care of your baby, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Hosea had nodded, turned, and pushed through the hospital’s revolving doors. But the moment Detective Foxx was out of his sight, Hosea swung through the doors again and went right back onto the street.
Now he sat in front of the precinct house.
With his eyes still on the building, he reached under the seat. His fingertips searched until he felt the box. He lifted it up, rested it in his lap.
His eyes scoped the perimeter of his car. But even though people passed by, no one was close enough to see through the tint of the windows.
Carefully, he unhinged the box, then fingered the eight inches of stainless steel.
She was raped!
Then Jasmine’s howl, “But she’s not even five!”
It was Jasmine’s cries that made him cry. It was Jasmine’s cries that made him secure the scope on top of the weapon. Click it in place, then reach for the shopping bag he’d folded on the passenger seat. Gently, he placed the gun inside the bag, then he slid out of the car.
As he closed his overcoat and locked the car, he glanced around, but no one seemed to notice him. He was in Harlem. And here he was nothing but an average black man, next to an average SUV, carrying an average shopping bag, probably filled with Christmas gifts.
On the passenger side, he leaned against his car and glanced at his watch, as if he were an ordinary New Yorker, waiting to do an ordinary thing. He didn’t have to linger long.
He first saw the activity through the side-view mirror. No one else seemed to notice the way two officers trotted down the steps, their hands on their holsters, looking around the whole time.
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