The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller

by Lillian Francken

  "Pardon me," Jenny said.

  Jenny stared into Gideon's eyes. They were almost black, but a grayish hue softened them somewhat. It was as if he were looking into her soul in that instant and she could not stop him.

  "I didn't see you," Gideon said weakly.

  The woman in the picture was finally a living, breathing human being. Gideon wanted to hold on to her, to feel the warmth of her skin, feel the softness of her hair, but did not dare for fear she would call out.

  Suddenly Gideon felt a cold chill go through his inner core. This dream girl had been at the hospital the day Delaney died; her name was found in a dead girl's pocket. Could this sweet, innocent vision in front of him be something more than she appeared? Gideon could still feel the electricity flow through his body as he stood there motionless.

  "May I pass?" Jenny asked politely.

  Gideon leaned back against the row of books letting Jenny pass, and as she did, he caught the scent of jasmine. He shut his eyes while his knees went weak. There was nothing in his memory to compare to what he was feeling. It was clear she had no recollection of him, and it troubled him not knowing why he carried her picture. Gideon just watched as Jenny slowly edged her way closer to the exit. Then suddenly she turned and looked at him. His heart stopped.

  "I'm going back to work now," Jenny said softly, and then turned around and disappeared out the door.

  Gideon did not say anything, just stood there gawking as he watched the door shut behind her. When he finally came to his senses, he retraced her steps, tried to recall the aisle she went down before he'd lost her. He thought it was down the MA. Gideon stopped where he thought she'd been and pulled out the big book he remembered Jenny looking through. It was a book on Maryland. It puzzled him that she would be interested in the small state. There would be no way to know why, unless he asked her point blank. Gideon snapped the book closed, put it back on the shelf, and then left.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, back at MacDougal Alley, Jake leaned on a lamp post at the outer edge of the alley. There had been no suspicious activity other than him standing there with no place to go and nothing to do. A few people looked at him with interest, but then in a city like New York no one cared.

  Jake turned when he heard the horn. "She hasn't been back," Jake said. He noticed the beads of perspiration on Gideon's forehead.

  "I know. I talked to her already."

  "That was quick," Jake said.

  "I don't know how she found out, but she knew I was tailing her."

  "We sure know our job, don't we?" Jake mocked.

  "All I did was ask a few questions. Once I was satisfied, I stayed in the park until she came out."

  "I thought you had a picture of her."

  "I wanted to see for myself what she looked like. I backed off as soon as I got a look at her."

  "Now what?" Jake asked. He stared at Gideon in the driver’s seat and wanted to say more, but did not dare.

  "You stay here." Gideon showed him the picture again. "She hasn't changed much."

  Gideon was about to drive off when Jake quickly asked. "Did she know you?"

  "No. It didn't seem like it," Gideon said, not looking at Jake.

  "Still doesn't explain how you got the picture, does it?"

  Gideon took the picture out of his wallet, looked at it for a moment, and then glanced up at the sky. The noise from the street suddenly stopped and for an instant he was not in New York. His hands were tied. He was kneeling on the jungle floor. A loud explosion echoed in his ear and all he saw was blood. Gideon looked down at his hand and the picture he held. Blood was everywhere. He clutched the photo as if by doing so it gave him life, and then a piercing pain went through his body.

  "Are you okay?" Jake reached over and shook Gideon by the arm.

  "What?" Gideon asked. The street took a quick spin. He focused, but saw nothing.

  Gideon's head almost collapsed onto the steering wheel. When he glanced down at his hands, they were no longer covered in blood. The piercing pain in his right temple was still there but not quite as severe as before. Raising his hand, he touched the scar from the wound he'd suffered years ago. Whatever he had been suppressing had something to do with John Hamilton. If only he could remember. Gideon realized the visions were getting stronger and more frequent. He feared whatever his mind was shielding him from would come back, and maybe he would not be able to deal with it.

  "You don't look so good," Jake finally said.

  "I'll be okay. Just give me a few minutes."

  "What do you want me to do, seeing as you blew your cover with the girl?"

  "I'll go talk to Bronk. We might just have to talk to the girl and get her to tell us what we want to know."

  It was just an excuse to leave Jake. What Gideon really wanted was to talk to Beth. So much of what he had been through in the past four years, she understood. Even though it was not enough to stick by him, Gideon had the unmistakable need to talk to her now.

  Gideon drove up to Beth's apartment building. He did not wait for the doorman to open the door or announce his visit. He just walked in and used the phone to call Beth.

  They only talked a minute, but in that short time Beth sensed Gideon's urgency. Arthur was still at work, the girls were in school, and she did not have the heart to send him away, not this time.

  Gideon took a deep breath, pressed the elevator button and waited. When the door opened, the small enclosure loomed in front of him. He stood for a few moments, but this time stepped in. Quickly he pressed the button, and then breathed deeply until the sensation passed. Gideon patiently waited for the little box to stop its ascent.

  When the door finally opened, Beth was there to greet him. Her face was full of concern as she stared at the man she once shared her life with. Beth was no longer angry about the unannounced visit a few nights earlier or the late night call he'd made.

  "What's the matter?" was all she asked, searching Gideon's face for clues. Although the divorce decree severed their marriage, she still cared for the man in front of her. She just was not willing to stand by and watch him destroy himself.

  "I saw her," was all Gideon said. Beads of perspiration dripped down his forehead, he shook while unable to move.

  "Did she recognize you?" Beth asked. She had to know. A part of her felt the woman in the picture was someone he'd met and fell in love with over in that God-forsaken country. A nurse, a newswoman, she did not know, only speculated. The other part wanted to believe Gideon that he did not know who she was. But the fact always remained: he refused to destroy the picture and it eventually destroyed their marriage in the process.

  "No," he whispered finally.

  They stood there for a moment, Beth reached up and touched Gideon on the cheek while trying to soothe the pain he felt, but she was ill-equipped to handle the inner demons that were surfacing.

  "Why don't you come into the apartment." Beth took Gideon's hand and held it for a moment.

  "What about Arthur?"

  "He's at work."

  "Won't he mind?"

  "Don't worry. I'll take care of that."

  Beth led Gideon down the long hall. She opened the door to the apartment she shared with her new husband. It was unlike the one-room flat she'd shared with Gideon during their college days. Those were good times, times Beth would not trade for all the furs on Fifth Avenue. But now she had two daughters to think about and plan for. Gideon was never there for her when she needed him most, but that did not mean she ever stopped loving him.

  Gideon stepped through the doorway onto the plush, royal-blue carpeting. The walls were pastel blue, almost white, but there was enough color in the French provincial furniture and paintings scattered around the room to add interest. Beth had always liked the finer things in life and the living room clearly showed Arthur was able to provide her with that.

  "I don't want to cause you any trouble," Gideon said turning to Beth.

  Beth would not lecture him today. For some reason tod
ay was unlike other days when they'd argued about the picture in his wallet. She could tell Gideon was clearly frightened by the experience of finally meeting the woman in the sketch. For the first time in four years, she realized Gideon had actually been telling her the truth about the picture. He honestly did not know who she was, or why she meant so much. All he knew, but was not willing to admit, was that looking at the picture helped him through all the pain he felt inside.

  Gideon walked over to the couch and sat there while Beth disappeared down the hall. He could hear running water. Beth walked up behind Gideon and put the cool wet rag on his forehead. He shut his eyes, letting the pain melt away. And then he felt Beth's fingertips gently touch the scar on his temple.

  "Gideon, will you be okay?" Beth asked finally. She was concerned, and although their lives were no longer joined together, they still had the girls to consider.

  "I don't know," Gideon replied. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

  Beth walked around the couch, and then sat next to Gideon while putting her arms around him. "Do you want to talk about it?" It was the first time she really wanted to listen, unafraid of what he had to say.

  Gideon finally glanced up at her. "It's getting worse. And it scares me."

  "Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

  "There's blood everywhere." Gideon shook while wiping his hands as if to get rid of the feel of warm sticky blood, but nothing helped.

  "Did you ever think about counseling?"

  "Colby would love that."

  "To hell with Colby. Ever since you came back from that hellhole, you've been half a man," Beth said, staring at Gideon and finding it difficult to believe he was still trying to deal with the pain in his own way. She quickly added. "You know what I mean, too."

  "I can't admit to him I have this problem."

  "He's going to find out sooner or later. I'm surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed already because of it."

  They sat there for the better part of the afternoon, talking for the first time in years about what it was they had been unable to talk about while they were married. It was not until almost four thirty that Beth glanced up at the clock and reminded Gideon her husband would be home soon. It was a subtle hint for him to leave and he understood. Gideon had caused Beth enough pain in the past few years. He did not want to cause her more.

  Before walking him to the door, Beth turned to Gideon. "If you want the girls this weekend, pick them up at seven on Friday."

  She did not say more; Gideon knew she understood his need to be with them. They were the only ties he had left to the normal life he could never have. She would not deny him that—not now, not ever.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jenny had a hard time concentrating that afternoon. She avoided talking to Steve about what was going on and pretended it was just like any other day. But as hard as she tried, the fact that she was being followed still bothered her.

  She glanced up at the clock, and then looked at Steve, who was busy working on reports for the Dean. Getting up, she walked over to the window and searched the park for the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  "You've been edgy ever since you returned," Steve finally said. He watched Jenny standing near the window.

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Jenny turned while pretending not to know what he meant.

  "Tell me you haven't been thinking about it?" He shook his head, and then waited for her to answer.

  Jenny avoided looking at Steve. "It's still hard to accept he isn't returning."

  "Did you ever think maybe the man lied?"

  "Yes, but why? It just doesn't make sense."

  "Why was he in the hospital in the first place?" Steve asked.

  "Cindy said something about the attempt on Ambassador Wayne's life."

  "He wasn't the one who shot him?"

  "No, they killed that guy. The paper didn't say anything about Delaney. Cindy thought he had helped save Wayne's life."

  "It's too bad he didn't live."

  "I know," Jenny said with a faraway look in her eye.

  "Maybe you should contact the government and tell them what this man said. They could confirm it."

  "Sure, then I'd have to explain being in his room when he died. I don't want to go through that."

  "You might have to, to get this mess cleared up."

  Jenny turned to Steve. "I don't even want to think about it."

  "There's more, isn't there?"

  "No. What makes you think that?" Jenny asked looking away for fear he could tell she was lying.

  "Something's eating at you." Steve put down his pen, and then started tapping his fingers on the desk. "Would you like to go for a bite to eat tonight? We could talk this through."

  Jenny did not know what to say. She just stared at Steve, and then shook her head. "No. Not tonight." Although she had technically been a widow for a number of years now, inside she still did not feel like one.

  "You know, Jenny," he paused for a moment before continuing, "I care about you an awful lot."

  Jenny glanced at him. "Steve, don't say it."

  "I always knew you loved John, and I respect you for that. It must have been hard waiting all these years. But it hasn't prevented me from caring for you deeply."

  Jenny stood frozen in silence. She stared at Steve as he got up, and then walked over to her at the window. He touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand, looked longingly into her eyes, and then pulled her into his arms.

  Jenny broke free of him and ran to the coat rack. Grabbing her jacket she turned. "I've got to go, I'll see you tomorrow." Somehow, she just was not ready for Steve's declaration.

  "Jenny, please. Let's talk."

  A tear rolled down her cheek as she rushed out of the room. She did not want to deal with anything: not John's death, not Delaney, or even the poor girl who did a favor for a patient. All she wanted was to forget the last few days ever happened. Once outside the office she stood there for a moment and almost broke down.

  Jenny took a few deep breaths, and then started down the hall. As she walked out of the Admissions Building, she glanced across the street. It was full of park-dwellers. Some students sat on blankets studying while others played games. But the strange man who followed her to the library was nowhere in sight. When she turned onto MacDougal Alley, Jenny was too busy watching her back to see the man standing in front of her near the lamppost. They collided. Her jacket and purse went flying. The stranger grabbed her arms to break the impact.

  "Don't touch me," Jenny snapped. She stepped back quickly and glared up at the redheaded stranger.

  "Lady, you bumped into me. Watch where you're going," Jake said, his quick thinking telling him to go on the defensive. It was what New Yorkers expected of strangers.

  "I'm sorry," was all Jenny could say. She picked up her purse, reached for her jacket, and then glanced up at the man. Normal people did not just stand around on MacDougal Alley leaning on lampposts with nothing to do.

  Jenny quickly walked down the alley, up the stairs, and into the building. She unlocked her apartment door half-expecting to see Trish. But no one was there to greet her. She did not turn on the lights, just went to the bedroom where she took out John's letters and sat down on the bed and read them all. It was something she'd done often in the past five years when depression set in. Somehow it helped ease the pain and for a little while, she could pretend John was still alive and that there was just five months left of his tour. Jenny read the last letter over again. John talked about the men, a new assignment, and the promise to cut his tour short. She'd never understood what he meant and feared that maybe it was his desire to get home that had caused all of this. Jenny cried with the realization she would never feel the touch of him again, and that all the things she'd taken for granted were really gone.

  It was late. The evening shadows filtered into her room and danced on the hardwood floor as curtains swayed in the breeze. Jenny lay back on the bed, not wan
ting to move, not wanting life to go on anymore. It was a light tap on the front door that caused her to stir. Jenny stood up, straightened her skirt and walked into the living room. She stood on her tiptoes and strained to get a look at the man through the peephole. She expected one of the men who had been following her to finally make their presence known, but it was neither of them. Jenny slowly opened the door.

  "Can I help you?" she asked. Only a small chain separated her from the stranger standing outside her door.

  "Are you Jenny Hamilton?"

  "Yes," she answered softly.

  He was massive in the ill-fitted gray suit. Jenny knew instantly he was a cop even before he took out his badge and flashed it in front of her. She had been expecting it all day, and wondered where the other two men were.

  "Inspector Bronk, NYPD," he said as he put the badge back in his pocket.

  Jenny shut the door, undid the chain, and then opened the door wide. She stepped aside as Inspector Bronk walked in.

  "Is there a problem?" she asked. It was an understatement and she knew it. Ever since she'd walked into that hospital room her life had turned topsy-turvy. Now here she was, asking a stranger, a cop no less, if there was a problem!

  "You tell me?" Bronk glanced at Jenny with his bushy eyebrows raised. He was evaluating the young woman in front of him as an experienced interrogator would. Gideon had told him a little about what happened at the library. Bronk knew from years of experience that Jenny Hamilton was not going to be easy. The young, innocent ones never were. Judging by what she'd said to Gideon in the library, she knew she was being tailed.

  "I haven't done anything wrong." She raised her hands as if waiting to be searched.

  "It isn't like that."

  "Then," she paused as she turned to him, "what is it you want from me?"