by Lisa Childs
“I do,” he said. “I know how amazing you are. And how much I want you to be my wife.” He thought fleetingly of that serial killer that was still eluding Jared Bell. “And I promise you that I won’t let anything happen to my bride.”
“I thought you would never take a bride,” she murmured.
“I thought I would never, either,” he admitted. “Until I found you in that trunk. Ever since then you were destined to be my bride. Will you marry me?”
“It was destiny,” she said, “that you found me. And every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. I can’t wait to be your bride and your wife.”
His hand shook slightly as he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly—just like the two of them. “I can’t wait to be your husband,” he said, “and Lizzie’s father.”
Tears filled her eyes again and spilled over to trail down her beautiful face. He brushed them away with his thumbs. “Don’t cry.”
“These are happy tears,” she assured him. “Kenneth and Patricia would be so happy for us—for all of us.”
“We can stay in this house,” he said.
“Our jobs are in Chicago,” she said. “And wherever we are will be Lizzie’s home. Our home.”
“We can have two homes,” he said. “One in the city and one here. I will do whatever necessary to make you and our little girl happy.”
“You already have,” she said. “I love you.”
She was right. It didn’t matter where they lived. It only mattered that they were together—the three of them and the additional children he knew they would have someday.
“I love you,” he said. “And I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I only have one problem,” he said with a sudden and sickening realization.
“What problem?” she asked.
“My problem is that I don’t know who to ask to be my best man,” he replied.
She laughed. “That is a problem.”
He laughed, too, as happiness overwhelmed him. He had never realized how much he could love someone—until he’d fallen for her and Lizzie. He didn’t really care who his best man was. He only cared that she would become his bride. “Marry me,” he said again.
She nodded and eagerly agreed, “As soon as we can get a license.”
“There’s a cute little church not far from here,” he said. “I think you’ll love it.”
“I love you,” she said. “It doesn’t matter where we get married or where we live—as long as we’re together.”
“Forever,” he vowed.
They had that same kind of love her friends had had—the forever-and-after, eternal love. Every promise they made each other would be kept.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from SWITCHBACK by Catherine Anderson.
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Switchback
by Catherine Anderson
Prologue
Keith Christiani stared at the telephone, letting it ring three times. As he curled his fingers around the receiver, he gripped the plastic so hard his knuckles turned white. Only a chosen few had the number to his private office line. He knew who was calling. “Christiani here.”
Keith could hear breathing, raspy and shallow, underscoring the silence with almost palpable intensity. At last a coarse, cold voice said, “Did you mail the package?”
Keith shifted his gaze to the paperweight on his desk. It was a glass globe with a snow scene inside, a Christmas gift from his little granddaughter, Emily. Knifelike pain cut deep into his left temple. He squeezed his eyes closed. Just a few more hours and this would all be over. He’d fly his family to safety, then notify the authorities of where they could get the key. “Why ask? I know your goons were on my heels all day.”
“I have men watching your home, as well. That better’ve been my package you mailed. If it wasn’t, that granddaughter of yours will be stretched out in the morgue by Friday. I guarantee it.”
Keith rose halfway out of his chair. “You promised if I cooperated, you’d leave my family alone.” If they were watching his house, how could he get Em and Mallory out of there? His vision blurred and he sank back into his chair. “You mess with me and I’ll call the cops so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“You mess with me and your daughter-in-law and her brat will be dead so fast they won’t know what hit them. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it. Not even highfalutin lawyers. You know that firsthand. You went to the bank today. What the hell for?”
Keith gripped the edge of his desk. Anger, white-hot and searing, coursed through his body. “Probate.”
“And that was all?”
“I swear it.” A long silence followed Keith’s lie.
“For your family’s sake, I hope so.”
The phone clicked and went dead. Keith clenched his teeth to ward off panic. What had he done? He had been crazy to try outwitting Lucetti on his own. Lucetti was so sharp, so fanatical about detail, so paranoid about leaving evidence, that his mind functioned with the precision of a computer. The man was the worst kind of gutter slime, too smart to be caught and ruthless enough to kill a child without hesitation.
With a shaking hand, Keith dropped the phone receiver into its cradle. He had to get help, but now he didn’t dare bring the cops into this. Not as long as Mallory and Emily were still in Seattle where the man could get at them. The panic Keith had been holding at bay threatened to engulf him. Then a rush of hope filled him. Maybe, just maybe, Mac had returned. He was due back sometime today. Pressing the fingertips of one hand against his throbbing head he passed a hand over his eyes. He couldn’t remember if he’d taken his pills today or not. These past few days, he’d been so strung out, he had scarcely remembered to eat. Keith lifted his receiver and dialed Mac’s number from memory. After four buzzes, Mac Phearson’s answering machine broke in. Keith nearly hung up, but desperation forestalled him. He waited for the tone and then said, “Mac, this is Keith.”
He paused, unsure how much he dared reveal on tape. An excruciating pain shot up the right side of his neck. Licking his lips with a tongue that felt suddenly thick and rubbery, he frowned. Fragments of sentences danced in his mind. He had to remember what he should and shouldn’t say.
“There’s—um—a man, a man known as Pete Lucetti.” Keith blinked. What on earth was wrong with him? He drew a deep breath. “This Lucetti, he’s threatening to kill Mallory and Em. I’ve got to get them out of town. Tonight. I’d—uh—call the police, but he’s got a couple of cops on the payroll.” The room seemed to spin. Keith struggled for balance, propping one elbow on the arm of his chair. “Don’t know who I can trust... I’m counting on you, Mac. You’re my only—”
The pain in Keith’s head seemed to explode. He heard the phone clatter onto his desk. Then there was a shrill ringing in his ears. The room went dark, then flashed bright as if someone had popped a flashcube in his eyes. The next second, he felt himself pitch forward. A funnel of blackness sucked at him, pulling him deeper and deeper into its center. He couldn’t die. Not right now. Not before he could talk to Mac.
With all his concentration, Keith dragged himself back to semiconsciousness and reached for the intercom to call for help. His arm weighed a thousand pounds. He couldn’t feel his hand.
When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see. The ringing in his ears grew louder.
The intercom. Dear God, where was the intercom?
Chapter One
The moment Mallory Christiani stepped into the Intensive Care Unit, she saw the fear in her father-in-law’s eyes. He lay propped against two pillows, the weight of his silvery head creasing the starched cases, his sunken face cast in stark relief against white linen. She took a steadying breath, repositioned the shoulder strap of her leather purse and pasted on a smile.
The click of her heels echoed as she walked toward the bed. She was glad she’d taken extra pains freshening up while she was at the house. Her collarless blazer and matching green skirt were crisp and wrinkle free. Keith would never know she hadn’t eaten or slept since he’d been stricken yesterday.
“Dad. It’s so good to see you awake.” Mallory leaned over to kiss his cheek, holding her amber-colored hair back so it wouldn’t trail in his face. As she straightened, she took his right hand in hers. His skin felt cold. The lack of response in his limp fingers shocked her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how dearly she had come to love him, how big a part he played in her life now that they shared the same home. Keith was more a father to her than her own had ever been. “You’re looking better already, you know? Some of your color’s coming back.”
A treacherous catch in her voice nearly betrayed her. Why hadn’t she recognized his prestroke symptoms? Any nurse worth her salt would have.
Spying tears slipping down his pallid cheeks, she gave him a careful hug. “Oh, Dad. We’re through the worst, right? From here on in, you’ll be amazed at how quickly you recover.”
Keith’s blue eyes followed her as she drew away. Was there something wrong here, something more than anxiety over his paralysis? She glanced at the monitor above his head. It seemed to her his heartbeat was too rapid, but she could detect no irregularities in the configurations. If the fast pulse were anything to be concerned about, the monitor alarm would be going off. Through the glass partition, she could see the ICU nurse sitting at the desk, her dark head bent as she filled out charts. Nothing out of the ordinary, apparently.
Pulling up a chair, Mallory eased her purse to the floor. Spittle ran from the corner of her father-in-law’s mouth. Suddenly the nightmare of what had happened to him became a reality. She reached for a tissue and wiped his face, keeping her smile steady, her hands sure.
“Emily will come see you as soon as they move you to a regular room. She can’t wait. She lost another tooth, but she won’t put it under her pillow until you get home. Holding out for more money, I think. So much for believing in fairies, huh?” She laughed. The sound reminded her of two tin cans clanking. “She’s staying with Beth Hamstead until Mother and Dad get home. They’re driving back from Texas immediately, but it’ll take them an extra day. Dad lost the motor-home keys. Can you believe it? You remember Beth, the lady with all the little redheads?”
Keith’s eyes clung to hers, frantic, pleading. His bottom lip quivered as he strained to speak. Spying a flutter of movement, she glanced over to see his left hand twitching, his fingers extended like claws. A low moan erupted from him.
“What is it?” She shot up from the chair. “Are you in pain?” The green graph line was rocketing across the monitor screen. He was clearly agitated about something. Her own pulse began to race as she grabbed the nurse buzzer. “There, there, it’ll be okay. Relax, Dad. Take deep breaths.”
The approaching swish of the nurse’s polyester uniform eased the tension from Mallory’s shoulders. She turned to watch the plump woman hurry to the bed. “Problems?”
“I don’t know. He was fine and then—” She broke off. The nurse looked so unperturbed by the racing monitor that Mallory felt foolish. “I was just talking. And he became agitated.”
The nurse smiled. “He’s just pleased to see you. Right, Mr. Christiani?” She slid her twinkling blue gaze to Mallory. “A little too much excitement, that’s all.”
Another moan erupted from Keith. The nurse flashed Mallory a concerned glance and lifted her patient’s hand. After studying the configurations on the monitor a moment to be certain nothing was wrong, she said, “You’re fine, Mr. Christiani. Just too many visitors.” Turning toward Mallory, she added, “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee? Let him nap for an hour or so. We have a lovely cafeteria.”
“Visitors? I thought only immediate family was admitted.”
“Yes, but we make exceptions for clergy. Your parish priest got your message and came in about an hour ago. And a few minutes after that, Mr. Christiani’s son came in. You’re the third in a short period of time. Even brief visits from family and close friends can be wearing the first day.”
A prickle of alarm ran up Mallory’s spine. “I’m the only relative and we’re Methodists. Are you certain you’re recalling the right patient? Mr. Christiani’s son is—” She hated to remind Keith of Darren’s accident when he was so ill. “I’m a widow.”
The nurse looked nonplussed. “How odd.”
Mallory was beginning to feel extremely angry. Keith shouldn’t be having a parade of people marching through his room so soon after a massive stroke. The priest could have come by mistake, but the so-called son had clearly lied to gain admittance. Who had the man been? Why had he lied to see Keith? “What did this son look like?”
The nurse pursed her lips. “He was tall, blond, quite good-looking. The athletic type. Mid to late thirties, I’d say. He was wearing scruffy gray sweats and a blue windbreaker. He asked after you, wanted to know where you were. He seemed like a very nice man.”
A very nice man wouldn’t have lied to get into Intensive Care. Mallory racked her brain, visualizing all Keith’s friends and associates. None she knew fit the description the nurse had just given her. Glancing at Keith, she decided the less said about it in front of him the better. No wonder he was tired.
“If I’m quiet, wouldn’t it be all right if I stayed?”
“It would really be better if you gave him a rest,” the nurse replied with underlying firmness. “I know he seems distressed about your leaving, but that’s quite common the first day. Trust me to know what’s best.”
“Well... I believe I’ll go have that cup of coffee you suggested, then.” After stooping to retrieve her purse, Mallory touched her father-in-law’s hand reassuringly. His eyes seemed to beg her not to leave. She felt as though she were abandoning him. “I’ll be back soon, Dad. Okay? You take a short nap while I’m gone. When I come back, I’ll read to you for a bit. I found a great issue of National Geographic in the hall. Would you enjoy that?”
Keith’s reply was a dry sob. She forced herself to smile with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. Once outside the room she drew the nurse aside and said, “Our minister is Reverend Miller. He should be the only church visitor allowed in. And I’m the only relative except for my daughter, Em, who’s only seven.” Mallory glanced at her watch. “An hour, you say?”
“Give or take a few minutes.” The nurse seemed to empathize with Mallory’s difficulty in leaving and gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder. In a low voice, she said, “Thank you for cooperating. I’ll put the visitor information on his chart.”
The sound of Keith’s sobs echoed in Mallory’s mind as she left Intensive Care and walked down the long hall. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so helpless. She wanted to do something for Keith, make him better somehow. The shining floor tiles blurred as she blinked back tears. Seeing Keith so distressed made the visit from his so-called son all the more infuriating. Mallory couldn’t imagine who the blond man had been, and it was probably just as well. If she knew, she’d be tempted to strangle him. At least she had the consolation of knowing Keith had a good nurse caring for him, that instructions were being logged on his chart so the visitor flow would be monitored more closely from now on.
A good nurse. There had been a time when she had classified herself as one. Memories rushed through her. Pictures of her husband Darren
’s face flashed in her mind. Blood, so much blood. She lifted her chin and took longer strides. She couldn’t let these sterile surroundings get to her. It had been over a year. Long enough for the memories to fade. So why couldn’t she put them behind her? When she reached the elevator, she could barely see the buttons. Extending an arm, she jabbed blindly, biting the inside of her lip. Crying was a luxury she seldom indulged in, certainly never in public. This is what you get for going without sleep.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Christiani?” a deep voice called.
Because she didn’t want to be seen in tears, she almost ducked into the elevator without answering. But what if it was Keith’s doctor? He might not make rounds again until tomorrow. She swiped at her cheeks, then turned. The elevator doors closed behind her.
“Yes?”
At first glance, Mallory knew the man loping down the hall wasn’t Dr. Stein. He had golden hair, not dark brown, and looked to be about a foot too tall. Gray sweats and a blue windbreaker. Keith’s mysterious “son”? Anger flashed through her, and she straightened her shoulders.
As he drew nearer, she saw why the nurse had pegged him as the athletic type. Though she did so begrudgingly, Mallory had to admit she had never seen blue nylon and gray knit filled out quite so impressively. Her gaze fell to a yellow smear on the front of his sweatshirt that looked suspiciously like mustard. Her attention then plunged to his smudged white sneakers. One toe was stained orange.
He shoved a hand into the pocket of his windbreaker and withdrew a business card. As he extended it to her, he whispered, “I’m Bud Mac Phearson, Keith’s detective friend. Sorry I took so long. You must be half out of your mind.”
Still rigid with anger, Mallory said, “I beg your pardon?”
The faint aroma of hot dogs clung to him. She had a hazy impression of tanned skin, sharply cut features and full lips. She glanced down at the card but didn’t reach out to take it. The words PRIVATE INVESTIGATION stood out in boldface type.
