When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

  “I can try,” Quint said grimly.

  “I’ll park your car for you, miss,” the policeman said to Rachel, this time addressing her with an almost-ingratiating courtliness. “You go with him to the paramedics down there at the ambulance. They need help real bad.”

  Immediately, Rachel got out of the car and turned it over to the policeman. She automatically hurried after Quint.

  “They’re already on a first-name basis with Carla, not a good sign,” he muttered, racing toward the vehicle with its red lights flaring.

  “She commandeered the ambulance?” Rachel was still pondering that. “How? I mean, why?”

  “How and why are questions that Carla and Dad seldom have answers for.”

  In her brown stacked heel pumps, Rachel found it difficult to match his pace and fell slightly behind him. She was beginning to have second thoughts about her impromptu presence here—and third thoughts as well. The young policeman had gallantly absconded with her car, she didn’t know the Cormacks, and Quint certainly did not want her around. Officially, they weren’t even speaking to each other though they’d just exchanged a few words.

  “Careful, she’s armed,” a paramedic hollered to Quint as he drew near to the ambulance.

  Rachel arrived moments later. “Carla has a gun?”

  She stared at Quint, aghast. What a nightmare this must be for him, and it only seemed to be getting worse! She immediately forgave him for using her and the other Saxons for verbal target practice on the drive over here. So what if he’d taken out his anger, fear, and frustration on the nearest person available? Who happened to be her!

  She was sometimes guilty of doing the same thing, Rachel admitted to herself. If asked honestly to describe her own behavior in a crisis, sweetness, patience, and forbearance would not be the first characteristics to leap to mind.

  “No, there’s no gun,” the paramedic replied tersely to her query. “But she’s got a loaded syringe in each hand. We tried to give her some sedatives, and she wrestled them away from us. She’s locked herself inside and is threatening to stick anybody who comes near her.” The paramedic wiped his brow. “She won’t let us into our own ambulance and God only knows what she’s doing in there. She won’t talk to anybody, she just keeps screaming.”

  The uniformed emergency personnel milled about, looking worried and uncertain. Yet another round of screams came from within the ambulance.

  “Somebody do something!” implored a nurse.

  Quint began to bang on the back door of the ambulance with his fists. “Carla, open up. Do you hear me? Open this door and put down those damn syringes. Now, Carla!”

  The screaming stopped. The sudden cessation of noise was almost disorienting.

  And then: “Is Frank with you, Quint?” a female voice shrieked from within. “I called the office earlier and Helen said he wasn’t there. But he was supposed to be; he left for work this morning.” The voice grew higher with hysteria. “Where is he, Quint? Where’s Frank? I was doing the wash when I smelled smoke. Oh God, Quint, they said Dustin is inside the house!”

  “Carla, open the door,” Quint’s voice lowered, his tone soft and coaxing. “I know how scared you are, honey. We need to talk. Come on, Carla, let me in.”

  The back door swung open and a weeping brunette flung herself into Quint’s arms. “Oh, Quint! What am I going to do? My baby, we have to find my baby!” Carla flung her needle-weapons to the ground and nestled closer to Quint.

  The EMTs scrambled to pick up the syringes before climbing into the ambulance and reclaiming it.

  Rachel watched Carla Polk Cormack, curvy and voluptuous in snug jeans shorts and halter top, hanging on to Quint; she watched him enfold the woman firmly in his embrace. An unfamiliar yet thoroughly sickening sensation hit her squarely in her middle.

  “Is that the husband?” someone standing nearby asked Rachel.

  She supposed she must appear to be some sort of authority-figure-in-the-know, her conservative brown suit, cream silk blouse, and sensible shoes setting her apart from the other onlookers, who were dressed in shorts, tank tops, and sandals.

  Well, she did have some information to impart.

  “He is her stepson,” Rachel said coolly.

  She didn’t add that Carla was five years younger than Quint, and that the two of them seemed to share a very close bond. She didn’t have to. Wasn’t a picture worth a thousand words? Certainly the image of Carla clinging to Quint while he physically comforted her spoke volumes.

  Those spectators dedicated to watching the fire remained oblivious to everything else, but the newly revealed information about the couple spread quickly through the restless group who’d gathered to observe the ambulance takeover.

  Rachel left as the snickering and innuendos began, but she overheard some remarks as she made her way through the crowd.

  “Stepson, huh?”

  “She’s sure not like the wicked stepmother from out of them fairy tales.”

  “Maybe she is a wicked stepmother. But I mean wicked in a whole different way, if you get my drift.”

  Everybody got it.

  Rachel searched the street, hoping for a glimpse of her car or the policeman who had parked it. She had to get out of here!

  “Omigod, I know you! You’re Rachel Saxon.”

  Rachel turned to see a Sheely approaching her. She didn’t know which, but it was definitely one of the red-haired Sheely sisters. The girl was carrying a wriggling, disgruntled blond toddler in a bright blue sunsuit.

  “I’m Sarah Sheely. I met you at your cousin Wade’s apartment last summer, but you probably don’t remember. Your cousin is good friends with my brother Tim and sister Dana,” Sarah continued to list her reasons for addressing Rachel, while the child she held made a concentrated effort to escape from her grasp. “And—um—my sister Katie works at your law firm,” she added nervously.

  Rachel felt like a dragon lady. Was she really so unapproachable that one needed credentials to speak to her? “Hello, Sarah.” She tried to sound friendly, not forbidding as she stared at the little boy struggling in the young woman’s arms. “Is—that Quinton Cormack’s child?”

  “Yeah, this is Brady, and he shouldn’t be here,” Sarah replied frankly. “A fire is no place for a two-year-old but I had to bring him along because I couldn’t leave him alone and the neighbors said I had to come over here and try to calm Carla down. She was going beserk in their living room.”

  “Having seen her at the ambulance, I understand their desperation,” Rachel murmured.

  “I have to talk to Quint. I’ve been trying to, but he’s totally busy with Carla,” Sarah complained. “I couldn’t even get near him. Some nurse just pushed me out of the way.”

  “The emergency rescue team would fend off anyone who tried to take Quint away from Carla at this point. She might regroup and hold their ambulance hostage again.”

  Rachel heard the note of sarcasm in her voice and was instantly ashamed of herself. Carla’s son was in danger and she’d sounded … jealous was the word that instantly sprang to mind, but Rachel rejected it, appalled. She was not jealous of Quint’s attentions to his terrified young stepmother!

  Purposefully, she started the thought all over again. Carla’s son was in danger, and that ambulance crack she’d made had sounded … less than sympathetic.

  “I feel very sorry for Carla,” Rachel recited dutifully.

  “Well, things are about to go from bad to even worse for the Cormacks unless I get Quint to either take Brady or stop Austin.” Sarah looked morose.

  “Brady down. Brady go! Go down now!” Brady demanded, bucking and rearing and nearly unbalancing the petite Sarah.

  “Stop it, Brady! Bad boy!” his nanny scolded.

  The child began to howl, keeping his arms and legs in constant motion, even more desperate to be free.

  Sarah appeared ready to cry, too. Still clutching the vigorously protesting Brady, she turned tear-filled eyes to Rachel. “What am I going to do? I
saw Austin headed down the street with his BB gun and I know he’s going to shoot out the windows in that vacant house at the end of the block, but I can’t drag Brady down there ‘cause I’ll need both my hands to—”

  “Austin is Carla’s older child,” Rachel recalled, trying to make some sense of Sarah’s desperate monologue. “And he has a BB gun? Which he uses to—er—shoot things?”

  The girl nodded, sniffling. “Quint talked to Austin about not, well, vandalizing property after the cops caught him shooting out streetlights, but now Austin’s real upset, and who can blame him? I mean, his brother and his dog are in his house that’s on fire and—”

  “Could you get the BB gun away from Austin, Sarah?” Rachel cut straight to the point. “Before anything happens?”

  “Sure. I have four brothers, plus I’ve been baby-sitting for half of Lakeview since I turned twelve. I know exactly how to handle Austin Cormack.” Sarah’s confidence was unshakeable.

  “Then why don’t I take Brady while you—uh—disarm Austin,” Rachel suggested quickly. “I agree that having the police catch him shooting out windows would be more than this family can cope with right now.” She looked at the small, wailing, flailing figure of Brady Cormack. “Do you think he’ll let me hold him?” she asked uncertainly.

  “He’ll have to!” Sarah dumped the toddler into Rachel’s arms. “I’ll go after Austin. Thanks, Rachel.” She took off down the street.

  Brady stopped crying the moment he landed in Rachel’s arms. The two of them eyed each other tentatively.

  “Hi,” he said, his lower lip quivering.

  Rachel melted. He was only a baby! And she liked children; her little niece was one of her very favorite people. “Hi, Brady,” she said softly. “Do you want down? Do you want to walk?”

  While that had definitely been his goal when restrained by Sarah, now Brady appeared to be reconsidering. He remained still as his little hand touched Rachel’s cheek, then he curled his fingers around the small gold stud she wore in her ear.

  “Earring,” said Rachel.

  “Ear-ring,” Brady repeated. “Lunch?” he added hopefully.

  “You want to eat an earring for lunch?” Rachel launched into the type of nonsense game she played with her small niece. “I think I want a hamburger and french fries and a soda for lunch.”

  Brady laughed appreciatively, catching the humor. Quick as lightning, he closed his teeth around Rachel’s earring. “Eat ear-ring for lunch.” He licked her ear like a puppy.

  “I bet that tastes yucky,” Rachel said jovially, not minding the baby drool on her ear and neck.

  “Yucky!” Brady sang out. He bounced up and down in her arms, beaming from ear to ear.

  Rachel smiled, too. He really was an adorable child, as cute as her little niece, which was very cute indeed. He had thick blond hair, dark brown eyes, and a deep dimple in his left cheek. Rosy cheeks and tiny white teeth and a darling smile. She felt ridiculously happy to be holding him and hoped that Sarah took her time confiscating Austin Cormack’s weapon.

  “Do you want down?” she repeated the offer, remembering his earlier determined efforts to achieve freedom. “Do you want to walk?”

  “No!” Brady settled himself more comfortably against her. “Carry me,” he ordered grandly.

  “Yes sir. Whatever you say, sir.” She grinned at his two-year-old confidence. He’d expressed his wish and expected it to be fulfilled. And she was touched by the trust implicit in his toddler command. That she would take care of him. That he was safe with her.

  She would, and he was.

  Rachel carried Brady up the street, winding her way through the spectators, talking to him about the things around them. The trees, the flowers. A baby in a stroller. A cat sitting in the front window of a house. She was careful not to mention the fire or anything to do with it.

  And then they came upon her car, parked along the curb just a few yards away. “That’s my car,” she told him, pointing at it.

  The window was rolled down and she could see her keys dangling in the ignition. It wasn’t until then that it occurred to her how completely shaken the young policeman had been by Carla Cormack’s ambulance antics. One of Lakeview PD’s own officers had unwittingly extended an invitation to a potential car thief by leaving her car unlocked with the key handily available. Rachel imagined how ridiculous that particular stolen car report would read and murmured a silent thanks there was none to file.

  Explaining her own willingness to simply hand over her car while she traipsed after Quinton Cormack wouldn’t have been easy either. She pictured Aunt Eve’s bemused expression and Wade’s droll one as she attempted to justify her uncharacteristic impulsivity to them. Thank heavens, no explanations or justifications were necessary to anyone!

  Except herself, perhaps? Rachel blocked that thought.

  “Blue car,” Brady said knowingly, as they reached her car.

  “That’s right, Brady. My car is blue.” Rachel was impressed. He was only two and he already knew his colors? Her niece was three and still struggled with them.

  “Ride in blue car?” Brady suggested.

  Rachel stared at the grim scene down the street, which would probably become far worse. Sarah was right, a fire was no place for a two-year-old. Little Brady didn’t belong here, where he might see or hear something horrible that could traumatize him for life.

  “I don’t have a car seat for you but I could buckle you up in the back.” She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Brady or speaking her thoughts aloud. “That would be safe if we drove someplace close for lunch, wouldn’t it?”

  “Lunch!” exclaimed Brady, his face wreathed in ecstasty.

  She couldn’t disappoint him now! Rachel glanced at her watch. It was past noon and the child was hungry. There really could be no harm in taking him to lunch.

  “Okay, Brady, let’s have lunch.”

  4

  “Hey, Sheely, it’s Thursday. You know what that means, Happy Hour at Riggin’s, two beers for the price of one. Meet you there at five-thirty?” Wade Saxon phoned to extend his usual weekly invitation to Dana Sheely.

  “I can’t meet you there, Saxon.” Dana glanced at her watch. It was four-fifteen, rather early for Wade to be calling. Over an hour’s notice? He seldom made plans this far in advance. “Sorry.”

  “So am I.” Wade heaved a resigned sigh. “Which one of your sibling pests borrowed your car this time?”

  “Brendan, and he’s not a pest. He has football practice after school and a new girlfriend who needs a ride home from cheerleading practice.” Dana smiled. “A guy has to have wheels, y’know.”

  “A direct quote from Brendan, no doubt, that weasely little moocher. Okay, I’ll pick you up at five-fifteen, Sheely.” He sounded vaguely martyred.

  “And I didn’t even have to ask.” Dana chuckled. “You’re a real pal, Sax.”

  “Don’t I know it. Be on time, Sheely. I don’t want to hang around that hellhole you call an office. It’s like being trapped in an erupting volcano every time a train goes by.”

  “Why not try to see things from a different angle, Saxon? Every time a train goes by I pretend I’m on a thrill ride at Disney World. People pay those big park entrance fees to experience what I can enjoy for free, twice an hour.”

  “There’s that scary Sheely optimism rearing its nasty head again.” Wade groaned. “Try to keep it in check, huh, Sheel? See you later.”

  He hung up before Dana could reply.

  At five-thirty-five, they walked into Riggin’s, a popular sports bar in nearby Cherry Hill. The place was quiet and uncrowded as Dana followed Wade to their usual corner table. It offered the best view of a gigantic TV screen that was currently broadcasting a baseball game. Since the Phillies weren’t playing, Dana had no interest in watching.

  A waitress immediately came to the table, and Wade waved away her offer of a menu and placed their order. The Happy Hour special, two beers for the price of one, and an order of Nachos Grande. Wade a
lways paid for the first round, Dana paid for the next, and they split the cost of the nachos. Had the Phillies been playing, they might stay longer and divide the tab as need be. Thursday Happys at Riggin’s had become something of a ritual.

  Dana slipped off her tan suit jacket and adjusted the cuffs of her pale blue blouse. She lifted her eyes to find Wade watching her instead of the TV screen, unusual behavior for him. Wade was an avid baseball fan; he didn’t limit his interest in the sport strictly to the home team, as she did.

  She arched a questioning auburn brow. “Something wrong?”

  “Was that John Pedersen I saw leaving your office building when I arrived to pick you up?” he asked, far too casually.

  She knew him too well to be fooled by his display of faux indifference. And she knew him too well to lie to him. “Yes. Mr. Pedersen had an appointment with me about restructuring their company pension plan.”

  “John Pedersen had an appointment with you?” Wade’s hazel eyes widened, and he made no attempt to hide his incredulity.

  “I was assigned to the pension department when I worked in Philadelphia, remember? It used to be my area of expertise.” Dana gave a weak smile. “Not anymore, though. Thank heavens Quint gives me all kinds of other cases to handle. Makes my job much more interesting since the ins and outs of pensions can be—well, dull.”

  She shifted in her chair. The intensity of Wade’s gaze was making her uncomfortable. This was not a subject she’d wanted to discuss with him. Given their positions in rival law firms, she probably shouldn’t be discussing it with him. But stonewalling him felt all wrong.

  “I’ve had several meetings with Pedersen, and we’re on the verge of finalizing their new plan,” she admitted.

  “Congratulations, I think.” Wade drummed his fingers on the table. “Interesting that Pedersen would seek you out. Not that I doubt your talent, but you aren’t even a lawyer. If Pedersen was so keen on a new pension plan, Aunt Eve could’ve handled it. She has a respectable track record in almost every area of law.”