by Lynn, JB
“Where what were?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. He just kept asking and pointing the gun and he was going to shoot me and I was going to die and it smelled like furniture polish. I hate furniture polish. It—“
“You need to take a breath,” he interrupted with authority. “Take a second to focus.”
I focused on breathing. In and out. In and out.
Still crouched in front of me, he said quietly, “Look at me, Mags.”
Realizing I’d been looking everywhere in the room but at him, I dragged my gaze to meet his. He regarded me steadily.
“I want to take your hand,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to scare you. It’s your choice.” Slowly he extended his hand, palm up.
I eyed it for a long moment. I knew full well that if I refused the invitation, he’d accept it. He’d always allowed me to call the shots in our relationship.
Slowly, carefully, I slid my hand into his.
He curled his lightly around mine, offering support without trapping me. “Tell me what happened.”
“I told you. He had a gun. He wanted something.”
“He hurt you?”
I shook my head.
“What happened to your shirt, Mags?”
I snatched my hand back as I remembered how helpless I’d felt with Paul on top of me, ripping my shirt off.
Instead of trying to reclaim my hand, Patrick sank onto the floor, sitting cross-legged below me. “Take your time,” he urged slowly.
I looked away, not liking the pity in his gaze. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me,” I muttered.
“Something crappy happened to you. Should I feel happy?” he countered.
“I just don’t want pity. I hate pity.”
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Because it means I’m some kind of victim.”
“Were you?”
I shook my head.
“Really?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” he asked gently. “You think I’ll think less of you?”
Surprised, I glanced at him.
“I won’t,” he promised. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t.”
And I believed him.
“You’re going to have to tell somebody. Me, or Marshal Griswald, or another cop. You’re going to have to tell your version of things to someone.”
“What do you mean my version?” I asked defensively.
Patrick raised his hands in surrender. “Griswald’s already taken the statements of your aunt’s fiancé and the social worker.”
“Oh.” I thought about that for a second. “So you already know what happened.”
“I know what they say happened. I want to hear it from you.”
I looked away, unable to say the words aloud.
“Kowalski attacked you?” Patrick prompted gently.
I nodded, wringing my hands nervously.
“Did he rape you?” His voice was no more than a strained whisper.
I shook my head.
“You’re sure? Because if he did, there are things you should do…including go to the hospital.”
“He tried,” I admitted. “He probably would have succeeded, but Templeton clocked him with a croquet mallet.”
I half-smiled at the memory. It was the second time Templeton had unexpectedly come to my rescue. The first had been at the rehearsal dinner before the wedding of my friend Alice and her fiancé Lamont.
“Guess you were lucky he was there,” Patrick said quietly.
I nodded.
“I wish I’d have been there,” Patrick admitted grudgingly. “If I catch Kowalski, he’s a dead man for laying a hand on you.”
If anyone else had said such a thing, I’d have thought they were blowing hot air, but I knew Patrick meant every word he said.
“Can I ask you something?” I started. “If you weren’t there to save me from Kowalski why’d you show up?”
Patrick stretched out his legs against the ugly yellow linoleum. “We were looking for your father.”
“My father?”
Patrick eyed me thoughtfully. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He sat a little straighter and leaned closer. “Your father escaped from prison.”
Chapter Seven
It took me a second to figure out what he was talking about.
In that moment the cat returned. She stood behind Patrick. “Doc seems to think your girl is doing well,” she meowed.
“Good,” I said.
“Good?” Patrick asked. “You think it’s good he broke out of prison? Half the force is out hunting him and his buddies down.”
I shot a dirty look at the cat, who was licking her paw, her eyes mocking me since she knew I’d said ‘good’ to her and not the man who was ranting about my escapee dad.
“Do you have any idea how complicated your life is at the moment?”
Considering I was talking to him and a cat, I thought I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t tell him that, I just shrugged.
“The marshals are going to be all over you. They take escaped convicts very seriously.”
“I didn’t help him escape,” I told him indignantly. “If you remember, I was with you when you got the call.”
“I know that.” He spiked his fingers through his hair, a sure sign he was agitated. “I tried to get out of going to your aunt’s place, but I’ve worked with Griswald before, so there was no way I could refuse….and then we got there and we heard a gunshot…” He trailed off, turning his head to look away as though the memory caused him physical pain. “And now you’ve got Kowalski thrown into the mix, looking for who knows what….there’s no telling what he’ll do next.”
My heart stuttered. “W-what do you mean?”
Patrick turned back to look at me. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”
“What did you mean you don’t know what he’ll do next?”
Patrick shrugged. “He’s a loose cannon. He was willing to kill you in front of witnesses to get what he wants.”
I jumped out of my seat, startling both Patrick and the cat. They both jumped backwards.
“I have to go.” Panic was cutting off my air supply, so the words came out as a squeak.
“Easy, Mags,” Patrick soothed, slowly getting to his feet. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“What about Katie?” I asked.
He tilted his head to the side. “I’m sure she’s fine. The doctors and nurses are taking good care of her.”
Rushing toward the exit I asked, “What if Paul thinks she has whatever he’s looking for?”
“Crap,” Patrick muttered. “Let me give the vet my card. I’ll meet you in the truck.”
As I headed outside, he moved toward the exam room.
“Are you coming back for them?” the cat asked, jumping in my path. “That’s what she’s going to ask, when she wakes up. Or being a dog, she’ll probably say something like, ‘Maggie back me for?’ bless her heart.”
I skidded to a stop, so I didn’t accidentally step on her. “Of course I’ll be back. I just have to go and make sure my niece is safe.”
The cat narrowed her gaze to tight slits. “Isn’t that the way it always is? Humans trump animals?”
“Look,” I told the cat. “She’s in good hands. I’ll be back for her.”
“Of course you will,” Patrick said, taking my elbow and propelling me outside, effectively ending my conversation with the suspicious feline. “We’ll go to the hospital, get a guard posted on her room, and then we’ll come back for DeeDee.”
He helped me into the pick-up and then burned rubber as we raced out of the parking lot.
“She’s at Apple Blossom Estates,” I told him. “That’s over—“
“I know where she is.”
I blinked. “How?”
“I’ve made it my bus
iness to know everything I can about you. I know where your niece lives, the due date of your best friend Alice, and where Jewel is.”
“Her name’s not Jewel,” I corrected automatically. He was talking about my sister Marlene, who’d run away from home after her twin, Darlene, had been murdered, and who hadn’t been heard from since…until I’d seen her outside Katie’s room a few weeks earlier.
“What I don’t know,” Patrick said, ignoring the fact I’d corrected him, “is what Kowalski wants. What he’s willing to kill for.”
“I don’t either.”
“You’re sure?” He sounded suspicious.
“I told you, I have no idea. But the way you’re talking, I think you do know, or at least have an idea.”
He sighed heavily, taking a turn so swiftly the wheels squealed in protest. “I think it’s more than a coincidence that the day your father breaks out of prison, Kowalski…” He glanced over at my bruised face. He winced. “Kowalski hurts you.”
I thought about that for a second, remembering how just a few hours earlier in the barn, though it felt like a decades-old memory, I’d confided I’d been suspicious about running into Kowalski at the prison.
“You think this is my dad’s fault?” I asked slowly.
“I think he’s probably involved,” Patrick admitted heavily. “If you can figure out how, maybe we can stop them both.”
Sinking back in my seat, I tried to come up with a connection for the rest of the ride to Katie’s facility.
Slamming to a stop in the No Parking Fire Zone, we leapt from the truck. We raced through the quiet halls of the medical institution, Patrick following three steps behind. Rushing past the nurses’ station, I saw Vinnie, Delveccio’s nephew and hired muscle, flirting with one of the women by flexing his bicep. That meant that Delveccio was in the vicinity, but I didn’t care. I kept heading for Katie’s room, intent on keeping her safe from Paul. A shiver of foreboding skittered between my shoulders when I realized her door was closed. It was never closed.
I was so focused on the door that I didn’t notice the man in the suit standing beside it, until he caught my arm as I tried to barrel past him.
“Ow!”
His grip hurt, as he practically yanked me off my feet.
“Let me go!” I kicked him in the shin.
I’m not sure which of us it caused more pain. Kicking someone while wearing sneakers was not the brightest idea I’ve had. We both wobbled, reaching to rub our respective injuries.
“Let her go.”
The man in the suit and I both froze. Slowly, we turned to find Patrick glowering at us.
“Let her go.”
The angry, uncompromising command would have scared me even if I hadn’t known he’s a secret hired killer.
It must have spooked the man in the suit too, because his grip on my arm loosened. He didn’t let go though. “US Marshal,” he said, using his free hand to reach into his suit jacket.
Patrick moved faster, knocking my arm free of the marshal’s grip, and pinning him against the wall with an arm against his throat.
A gaggle of gossiping nurses gathered to watch the exchange. Vinnie joined them.
“Jesus,” I muttered, remembering how Patrick had pledged to kill Kowalski for laying his hands on me. “Rule Number One.”
Patrick slid a sideways glance at me, not appreciating that I was reminding him of his Don’t Get Caught rule.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Delveccio had stepped into the hallway to find out what all the commotion was about. I didn’t think it was a good idea for the mob boss to see the hitman lose his cool. “Who are you?” I demanded of the marshal. “What are you doing by my niece’s room?”
“Easy,” the marshal wheezed. “I was just reaching for my I.D.”
Patrick patted down the front of the man’s jacket. Removing his arm from the man’s throat, he took a step back, resting his hand on the butt of his gun.
There was a collective gasp from the rubber-necking nurses.
“Take it out,” Patrick ordered. “Slowly.”
The marshal did as he was told. “U.S. Marshal Frank Weller.” He held out his credentials for Patrick to study.
They looked legitimate to me. Then again, I hadn’t really bothered to look at the last set of U.S. Marshal credentials flashed my way the last time my father had taken an unsanctioned vacation from the big house.
Releasing his grip on his gun, Patrick reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his badge. “Detective Patrick Mulligan.”
“And I’m Maggie Lee,” I said, not to be left out of the conversation.
“I know who you are, Ms. Lee,” the marshal said, pocketing his identification.
“Then you know that it’s my niece lying in that room.”
“I know, ma’am. That’s why I’m here.”
I leaned against the wall weakly. “She’s in danger?”
The marshal, a tall, thin man, about thirty, watched me carefully. His angular face reminded me of a fox and I got the distinct impression he was as crafty as one. “You tell me, Ms. Lee, do you think Archie Lee would hurt his own granddaughter?”
I stared at him. “My dad?”
He waited.
“Are you crazy?” I asked.
“He was convicted of murder,” Marshal Weller reminded me.
“But he didn’t do it,” I argued.
Weller’s expression turned hard. No doubt he’d heard countless family members of criminals declaring the innocence of their loved ones.
“She isn’t here because of her father,” Patrick interjected. “She was attacked by a police officer earlier. He hasn’t been apprehended and Miss Lee was worried about the safety of her niece.”
"Her niece is safe," Weller said.
That didn't do much to allay my fears. "I want to see her."
"Just let her in," Patrick urged.
The marshal stepped aside, but before I could open the door to Katie's room, Aunt Leslie burst out.
"What's all this commotion?" Leslie asked.
"It's a long story," I started. "Is Katie...?" I trailed off as a woman about my age wearing a red dress so tight it looked as though it had been shrink-wrapped onto her curves, stepped out behind my aunt.
"Leslie?" the woman asked on a sexy whisper.
"Who the hell is she?" I demanded.
"This is Blanche," Leslie said. "My sponsor. Blanche, this is my niece, Margaret."
"It's a pleasure," Blanche practically cooed. "I've heard so much about you."
I gritted my teeth. No doubt Leslie had regaled her Narcotics Anonymous meeting with the story about how I'd told her to hand over the key to my place after she'd passed out against my front door. That had been her 'bottom' that had caused her to seek help for her drug problem.
"Your aunt says you hold a unique place in her life." Blanche said it with a smile, but I was pretty sure I detected disapproval in her tone.
"Funny," I muttered. "She's never mentioned you, Blanche." She didn't look like a Blanche. A Blanche should wear billowing chintz. I knew just looking at her that this woman wouldn't be caught in anything billowing, let alone chintz.
"Margaret!" Leslie exclaimed unhappily.
I didn't care that she thought I was being rude to her sponsor. I had other things to worry about.
"Let me get this straight," I said, addressing the marshal who was eyeing Blanche appreciatively. "You let my aunt's N.A. sponsor in, but you won't let me see my own niece? I'm her legal guardian."
The marshal bristled. "The nurses assured me that Leslie is on the approved family list."
"And I'm not?"
"You are, but with your connection to Archie Lee..."
I stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."
"He just thought having Leslie there as a steadying influence would be helpful," Blanche purred.
I glared at her. "Why don't you try following the 'Don't speak unless you're spoken to' rule?"
&
nbsp; "Margaret," Leslie gasped. "She's my--"
"She's a complete stranger to me and I won't have her talking about what's best for Katie," I snapped.
"Maybe everyone should just take a breath," Patrick interjected hastily.
I frowned at him.
“This really isn’t helping.” His expression was all but unreadable, but I could see a warning shimmering in his steady stare.
I forced myself to take the suggested breath, knowing he was right. Fighting in the hallway wasn't helping me to get what I wanted.
Pushing past Leslie and Blanche, I got into Katie's room.
She rested in the big bed, against the white sheets, looking so small and helpless. Her eyes were closed and she clutched Dino, her stuffed dinosaur.
My heart squeezed at the sight of her. Hurrying to her bedside, I bent over and brushed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here, baby girl," I told her.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused.
"Aunt Maggie is here." I took her hand in mine. She felt cold.
Releasing her, I went to the foot of the bed and unfolded the afghan Aunt Susan had knit for her. I layed it over her small, still body tenderly. "Snug as a bug in a rug." My voice was choked with tears as I tucked it under her chin.
For a moment she seemed to recognize me, but then her eyes drifted closed.
Resting my forehead on the mattress beside her, I tried to gather my strength. I wasn't sure I had much left. When I lifted my head, I saw Patrick staring at me, his expression worried.
Offering him a weak smile, I dashed away my tears as I straightened.
"Tell her," Blanche urged, pushing Leslie into the room.
"You hurt my feelings," Leslie burst out childishly.
I hung my head. "I'm sorry."
"You have no idea how hard she's working to stay clean," Blanche berated.
I stared at the tiles of the floor and counted to ten trying to maintain my cool.
"You have no right to sabotage her progress," Blanche continued.
I balled my hands into fists, fighting for control of my temper.
"Ma'am," Patrick interceded in his most professional tone. "I don't think this is the time for this. Perhaps, if you'd step outside..."
A small smile tugged at my lips. Of course Patrick was coming to my rescue.
