"I don't know, ask him," Jenny replied, and then turned to Trish.
"Yeah, right, as if talking to him would do any good."
"He listens to me."
"That's different. You were always able to reason with him. But when it comes to his art, I never met anyone with such a closed mind."
Jenny was lost in a world that had ended for her five and a half years earlier. This day should have been an important milestone in her life. They'd planned to have their first child by this anniversary. There were so many hopes, so many dreams, so much left undone.
"Are you listening to me?" Trish asked. In frustration she turned and walked into the kitchen.
"You talking to me?"
"No, I'm talking to the walls!"
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"Forget it. It isn't important." Trish poured two cups of coffee. She walked over and handed one to Jenny. "Are you going to work?"
"Steve said I could take the day off, but there are admission reports I should be working on for the fall term."
"I don't know why he hasn't asked you out yet."
"I'm a married woman!" Jenny blurted, taken aback by the remark.
"Look again," Trish replied while glancing around the room. "When are you ever going to face the fact? He isn't coming back."
"You sound like Benjamin now."
"It's the truth," Trish snapped. When Jenny did not answer, she continued. "So, when do you plan to start living again?"
"I guess when someone gives me answers."
Trish sat down on the couch, curled up in the corner. She held the coffee mug in both hands, savoring its warmth while inhaling the rich aroma of Columbian brew. She turned to Jenny after a long moment of silence.
"The way Steve looks at you, I'm surprised he hasn't made a move."
Jenny shook her head and smiled. "You live in a Harlequin world of make believe."
"Come off it," Trish snapped before taking a quick sip of coffee. "Don't tell me you never gave him a second thought. Steve has got to be the nicest-looking guy on staff at the University and he is not married." She raised her arms. "So why haven't you encouraged him?"
"I refuse to mix my personal life with the people I work with. Besides, there could never be anyone to replace John."
"Don't give me that crap. If I had a boss that looked that good, I wouldn't give it a second thought."
"I couldn't cheat on John." Jenny shook her head. "No way."
"You and Benjamin go out together all the time."
"That's different. He and John are best friends."
"Well why does he hang around here so much?"
"Remember, I'm not the only one living here."
Trish rolled her eyes and then snapped. "Don't talk like that, it gives me the willies." She turned to Jenny. "You don't actually think he's coming around because of me?"
"It certainly isn't me."
Trish had a faraway look in her eye, and then smiled. "Sometimes, when he's painting so intensely, he's cute. I catch him just staring at his work, forgetting I'm even in the room."
Jenny set the cup down. She turned and walked into the bedroom to get ready for work. Still, she could not put the thought of John out of her mind. It would be a long day. It always was, and the passing of time did not make it any easier for her to accept the bitter loneliness.
* * *
Rotary blades beat at the hot humid air, sending downdrafts over the jungle floor as it hovered, causing the underbrush to wave in jubilation. The pounding in Gideon's ears only got worse as beads of perspiration formed on a fevered forehead. He was near exhaustion, but there was no escaping the heat or humidity. Gideon struggled through the thick green undergrowth. His nostrils stung from the raunchy smell of decay mixed with the sweet scents of tropical flowers. He swung the machete, cutting through the thick growth. Still he had difficulty pulling himself through the dense foliage.
In the distance there was the pop, pop of gunfire. The thick verdant growth was alive with movement, as the rustling of underbrush got closer. His heart pounding, Gideon crouched in the dirt while fear encompassed his being. Suddenly, grenades exploded and men screamed in ghastly pain. Gideon was engulfed in self-preservation.
Gideon woke. The ceiling fan swept air around the room in a swish-swish reverberation that made his eardrums want to pop. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the small enclosure. Gideon focused his eyes, trying desperately to remember where he was. Finally he stared at the twirling blades above and rolled toward the shelves of white linen and cleaning materials. He looked around as he rested his head back on the pillow. His breathing was labored; the cold room sent chills down his spine. Gideon sat up, reached for his wallet, and then thumbed through the pictures quickly. He pulled out the sketch of the woman. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the vision before him. She was the only thing that ever calmed him after a flashback. So much about that time was wiped from his memory, yet not enough for him to forget.
After what seemed like an hour but in actuality was only a few minutes, Gideon finally gained control. His breathing grew less labored, his eyes mesmerized by what he saw. Her smile warmed him and all he wanted was to touch the hair that flowed flawlessly over the young woman's shoulders. It was the smile that always brought him back, warmed his heart, and made him feel all was right in the world.
Suddenly the door opened. The overpowering figure just stood there in the light. Gideon stared at the large frame in front of him. He took a deep breath.
"Thought I'd find you here," Thelma said, flipping on the switch.
Gideon shielded his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked, trying to focus.
"Almost noon."
"I've been here for seven hours?" he asked, disbelieving.
"Don't worry. I told them not to disturb you."
Gideon got up. His wallet fell to the floor. The picture stared back at him.
"Is she your wife?" Thelma bent down, quickly picked up the wallet, and handed it to Gideon.
"No," Gideon replied, not giving an explanation. How could he, there was so much even he did not know. "How is Delaney doing?"
"Who?" Thelma asked, puzzled by the name.
"I guess he's registered under John Hamilton."
"They're just now bringing him out of recovery. I wanted to let you know."
"Thanks," Gideon said as he ran his hand through his thick curly hair.
"You look like you could use a shower and shave." Thelma eyed Gideon from head to toe. She shook her head, laughing to herself.
Gideon felt his chin. It had been a couple of days since he showered or shaved last. From the looks of things, it would be a while before there would be time for either.
"What room is he in?"
"Seven fifty-three, but you don't have to worry, there's a guard stationed outside his door, and another man keeping an eye on the nurse's station, if you know what I mean?"
"Police or the FBI?" Gideon asked.
Thelma shrugged. "My friend said men would be on duty twenty-four hours a day."
"That's great!" Gideon snapped sarcastically.
"Which one are you with?"
"Neither."
"Independent?"
"No," Gideon said, shaking his head. He turned to Thelma as if she were an old friend. "I don't really trust any of those guys to do the job right. That's why Hamilton, correction, Delaney, is here in the first place. If I had my way, he wouldn't have been allowed to pull off that little charade this morning."
"I don't really care about any of this. I just came to tell you they took him to his room."
Gideon turned to Thelma. "How's the Ambassador?"
"Flesh wound, that's all. But they're keeping him here for observation."
"Great," Gideon smirked.
"I know. The nurses just love all the flatfoots hanging around, not to mention the press."
"Don't let anyone know I'm here."
"I don't even know your name."
Thelma replied. She did not know why she bothered, but the man in front of her seemed different from all the rest. There was a concern in his eyes for the man brought in, almost like he really cared.
"Thanks, Thelma, I owe you one.”
Gideon walked out of the room. He slowly walked down the hall to the nurse's station and into the lunchroom which was just off the waiting room. There was a world in motion, but all he could think about was a caffeine fix before he did anything else.
* * *
Delaney Conovers, alias John Hamilton, was ushered quickly into room 753. It was at the end of a long hall, away from the heavy traffic area of the hospital. Anyone coming or going could easily be identified. The room was comfortable, with pastel-pink walls. The floral drapes closed out the afternoon sun. Flashing lights from the monitor Delaney was wired to gave an ominous glow to the room.
Rico Sanchez took the first shift outside Delaney's door. He was Puerto Rican by decent, American by birth. Rico had been on the force six years. He had been married for three years and now had a baby due at Christmas. Rico's wife worried about the job her husband loved, but it was in his blood. Rico was not happy about pulling a double shift. He'd been up all night in the park and had just spent four hours writing reports and answering questions while trying to figure out what went wrong.
The stranger in charge who showed up in the nick of time to save Delaney's life had not been seen since earlier that morning, and it troubled Rico what agency he belonged to. No one seemed to know. But Rico had listened to the FBI men earlier that morning and learned a few sparse facts. He could not understand what all the fuss was about. They could have saved the taxpayers a lot of dough if they'd just let the traitor die in the park.
Rico glanced into the room, the heart monitor silently ticked off the beats while the man lay in a comatose state barely hanging on to life. One nurse raised the metal bar on the side of the bed, while the other tucked in the sheet. The IV hanging on the shiny steel apparatus dripped life-sustaining fluids into the seemingly lifeless body.
Rico walked into the room, and then turned to look at the young nurse standing by the window while the other nurse walked out. Cindy Malone was all of five foot two, with sassy little curls that made her pale blue eyes shine in a sea of beauty.
"Is he going to make it?" Rico asked.
"The next twenty-four hours will be critical," Cindy said softly in hardly above a whisper, and then walked to the other side of the bed and held Delaney's wrist as she took his pulse. She did not glance up at the officer on duty while she counted, and when she was done Cindy walked back to the chart and made the notation.
"Who are you talking to?" Jake Finnegan peeked around the corner and asked Rico, who was standing at the bed looking down at the man hooked up to the monitors.
"The nurse," Rico nodded as he turned to Jake. "She's finishing in here."
"Nice looker?" Jake whispered under his breath, and then poked Rico.
"Is that all you think about?"
"Tell me you weren't eyeing her!"
"At least the saliva isn't running down my chin, staining my shirt."
"Did you talk to anyone yet?"
"No. The Inspector said the man in charge would be around to talk to us later."
"Does anybody know anything about him?"
"I never saw him before this morning." Rico turned to Jake, leaning closer so no one could hear what he was about to say. "You know when he took out that knife, I honestly thought he was going to finish the job."
"I know what you mean. You hear stories about what they're capable of doing."
"Makes you wonder where he's been," Rico said, raising his eyebrows.
"For a while there, it had the makings of one of those spy movies you see." Jake laughed while still eyeing up the pretty little blonde nurse.
"You've been watching too many Bond movies again."
"Tell me you didn't think that? You should have been there holding the guy down when the knife pierced his throat."
Rico glanced at the nurse and then back at Jake. "Yeah, I know what you mean.”
It was Jake who said what they were both thinking. "I don't like being witness to their little escapades. But when he pulled out the knife and slit the guy's throat that convinced me he was on the level and meant to keep him alive at all costs." Jake motioned to the man on the bed.
Cindy walked over to the door. She turned to Jake and winked while smiling seductively. Jake could only smile back, liking what he saw. When the door swung shut Jake turned to Rico, rolled his eyes, and then walked off after Cindy to the nurse’s station at the other end of the long hall.
They'd purposely stationed the two men apart to cover more territory. Jake and Rico were to take the day shift while Delaney was a patient at the hospital or until they were told their services were no longer needed. So Jake sought out the young nurse to help him pass away the time.
CHAPTER 4
At 8:15, Jenny left the comfort of her apartment and made her way to the N.Y.U. Admissions Building, where she shared an office with Steve Fillmore, Assistant Dean of Admissions. Before entering the building, she glanced across the street. The park was filled with faculty and students on their way to the first class of the day, and city dwellers who had no place else to go. Jenny found herself captivated by the activity, but the screeching of tires and horns blaring startled her back to the harsh reality that surrounded her.
She slowly climbed the steps to the fourth floor. Now that school was in session all departments in the Admissions Building were busy working on the fall enrollment reports. Once that was done, the necessary projections for the winter session and the screening process of new applicants would start all over again. For now there was a lull in the workload except for various reports demanded by Dean Winfield.
Jenny walked into the small corner office she shared with Steve. The old mahogany paneling left from previous restoration attempts was weathered and cracked. Tattered chairs were scattered around the room, a mixture of furniture old and new, nothing matched. To Jenny it was the one place to escape the memories of the day. She glanced around. Steve had already left for a meeting in the main building across the park and would not be back for another three hours. She busied herself with filing recent applications for further review later in the week, and then she worked on the report Steve would be looking for when he returned.
It was nearly eleven when Jenny leaned back for a much-needed break. The bells from a distant church chimed loudly while the traffic below sounded like music to her ears. She got up slowly, stepped over to the window and glanced down at the park across the street. The noises that seeped through the open window filled Jenny's thoughts with anything but the piles of paper on her desk or the report that was still unfinished.
Jenny was lost in the serene charm of the Arch, watching students scurrying to their next class. She did not hear Steve enter until the door slammed shut. Jenny turned. Steve's arms were laden with manila folders, and his gray tweed suit hung open. He walked over to Jenny's desk, deposited his load, and then brushed away the wrinkles. Steve was young-looking for thirty-four; his gentle blue eyes and blond wavy hair reminded her of John some days when the sun was just right.
"I didn't think you were coming in," he said, glancing over at Jenny standing at the window.
"It was a better alternative than staying home. Besides, Trish had invited some friends in for the morning."
"She's quite the social animal."
"Keeping busy is her motto."
"You could have made it a long weekend and gone up to visit your parents."
Jenny turned and went to her desk. "Ever since Paddy died it hasn't been the same." She carefully avoided Steve's gaze. So much pain and suffering made up her life, she wondered if there would ever be an end to it.
"They need you just the same."
Jenny glanced at the pile of folders on her desk as if trying to forget what he said. "I wish it were that simple," she replied.
"I think you need each other right now."
"My father still pretends Paddy is just away." Jenny sat down, leaning back in the chair and shut her eyes. "My mother said he refuses to get rid of Paddy's Mustang. Keeps it in the barn, covered up, waiting for God knows what." Jenny sighed, she also found it hard to talk about Paddy in the past tense, and understood her father’s need to pretend.
"How many years has it been now?" Steve asked.
After a long moment of silence, Jenny whispered, "Almost five."
It was six months after John was reported missing in action that they'd received the news about Paddy. The nightly news told the world that casualties in Vietnam were at an all-time low, but people were still dying over there nonetheless. The whole world was a contradiction, and the hypocrisy had only made matters worse.
"My cousin was killed back during the Tet Offensive," Steve said while staring at Jenny.
"A lot of good men died," Jenny whispered. It hurt to say the words because she hoped above all else that John was not one of them.
"I'm just glad it's over. All the turmoil around here was unsettling." Steve pointed to the marble portals. "You should have seen the students during the protest riots in the park."
"I was a student then," Jenny said, raising her eyebrows while watching Steve's reaction, and then quickly added, "Studies came first though."
"In the end, it all had an impact on our getting out, I'm sure."
"Not soon enough, though." Jenny picked up the stack of files. She felt uneasy talking about that time in her life.
"I feel sorry for you, not knowing. Do you ever want to give up?" Steve asked.
"No," Jenny replied. Then quickly she added, "There's nothing I can do about the limbo I'm in."
"If it helps, people are still pressuring the president into action. It's only a matter of time before they'll all be accounted for."
"I wish I had your optimism." Jenny turned away from Steve, no longer wanting to continue with the conversation. "How did the meeting go this morning?"
"Usual rhetoric, budget cuts on the one hand and on the other they want to expand programs. You have to wonder who stays awake nights dreaming up these game plans."
The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller Page 4
