Michael clearly struggled with the pain. Miranda stroked his face and his good arm. "It’s alright, honey. They’ll give you something once we’re there. I promise."
Michael groaned. "Don’t cry—I’m going to be okay."
"I’m not crying."
He touched her face with his good hand. "Then why is your face wet?"
She wiped her face. He was right. "Please. Don’t talk right now. Save your strength."
Michael went into surgery as soon as they arrived at the hospital. Miranda paced in the lobby while he was in. It seemed like a whole lifetime. Long enough for her to review a whole lifetime, at least.
The surgeon came out at last. "Misses Abbot?"
She turned automatically. "Yes?"
"We got it. And I have to say, your husband is a very lucky man. The bullet missed his lung by about half an inch. He’s going to need some time to recover, but he’s very strong. Does he work out?"
"Yes."
"His good muscle tone helped. The injury could have been a lot worse if he didn’t."
Miranda smiled. "I’ll tell him that. When can I tell him that?"
"He’s sedated right now, but you can sit with him."
The doctor led Miranda to the room where Michael was recovering. She thanked the doctor before he left, then looked at Michael. She’d never seen him really sleep before. When they’d shared a bed, he’d always woken up first. He looked so handsome. She wished he’d wake up and say something mean or stupid. But he wasn’t going to soon enough for it to be of any use to her. She had to choose—she always had to choose—and now it was clear what her choice had to be.
She sat by his bed and took his good hand. She kissed it and held it against her face. So much she wanted to tell him right now, but even in sleep, she couldn’t trust herself. She kissed his mouth gently. "Sleep well, my love." Then she put her head on the bed next to him and closed her eyes too.
~~~
"You could compromise the entire thing," Robert said to Richard, still not looking at Jessie. They were in the station, and they could see the man formerly known as Andreas Wolfe sitting in the questioning room.
"Are you getting his DNA or not?" Richard asked through gritted teeth. "Even you couldn’t screw this up once you get that."
"Then let’s try that it violates pretty much every piece of police procedure—"
"As did your undercover tactics," Jessie said at last. Robert looked at her now, and his eyes seemed to recede into his face. "If you want to make that work, then make this work. And shut up before you say anything about your amateur, scumbag blackmail threats. Get a reporter from the Globe—screw that, the Herald—in here right now and I’ll tell them everything myself, but one way or another, you’re going to do what Richard said. Now."
Robert stood still. "His lawyer hasn’t arrived yet," he finally said.
"Then I guess this isn’t going to be official anyway," Richard said.
"Fine," Robert said at last. "But I’m going to be right outside the door, listening in—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jessie said, rolling her eyes. "We’ve all seen Law & Order."
Robert opened the door to the room. The man looked at them, but his expression didn’t change. Robert closed the door as he left.
The man gestured with his handcuffed hands. "Please," he said pleasantly, "have a seat."
"I prefer to stand," Jessie said quietly, "if you don’t mind."
"No reason to be uncomfortable."
"Fine," Richard said, dragging a chair next to him, "I’ll sit." He sat so close to the man that he could see the faint scars on his face.
The man smiled. "So what can I do for you, Mister Hendrickson?"
Fine. They’d do it this way. It wasn’t going to make a difference. "I think you need to explain a few things. Let’s start with what you were going to do with Miranda."
"Miss Harel? I thought I’d give her a ride to the hospital."
"Hmm," Richard said, running his eyes all over the man’s face. "And that’s why you had a gun with you?"
"You never know what you might run into."
"Right. So why did you shoot Michael?"
"That was an accident," the man said in a tone of earnest sincerity. "It happened during the struggle. I had no intention of hurting him."
"You might have punctured his lung," Richard said, although at this point he was pretty sure that wasn’t true. "As a doctor, you must know how serious that can be."
"Very. I do hope that’s not the case. His breathing function would be compromised, to say the least."
"I don’t want the least," Richard said, holding the man’s eyes. "I want details. I’m something of a scientist myself. How would that work? What would happen to the air in his lung after it was punctured? What would they have to do to repair it? And I want all the terms, doctor."
"I’m afraid that isn’t my specialty."
"They didn’t cover that at Oxford?"
"It’s been so long. Do forgive me."
Richard nodded. "Certainly. Not really what I came here for anyway. Maybe you can explain that bit about the poem?"
"Really, Mister Hendrickson. I merely wanted to make sure that the lullaby, which seemed to so negatively affect your cousin before, had been neutralized. I apologize if my means were a bit unorthodox."
"Oh, Richard!" Jessie said loudly. "This is useless! God, how come you never learn? Even you Richard, no matter how hard you try."
Richard looked at Jessie. She was shaking her head. "You just can’t make anything work, can you? Zainab, your dad, Sophie—even my Mom. No matter how hard you try. It’s always just going to blow up in your face."
Richard raised his eyebrows and looked down. "I’m sorry, Jess. I never wanted to fail any of them."
She shrugged. "Some things are just losing battles, you know? You’re doomed for failure even before you get in. It all depends on what you’re up against. I mean, you tried with Sophie, I remember. But who were you up against? Michael? God, doctor, you have no idea how many people are going to come in here and pat you on the back after what you did. You only got a taste of that man’s sins. He married his cousin, he tried to rape me. God only knows what he did to Sophie. You know who’s going to be the most grateful of all? Alex Sheldon." The man didn’t move. Jessie smiled. "I mean, talk about that saying: with friends like that you don’t need enemies! Alex supposedly raised Michael—and Miranda—but I can’t think of anyone who hates him more."
"I can," Richard said in a sing song tone with a smile.
Jessie smiled and waved her finger. "You’re right! How could I have forgotten? Aunt Lucy is probably going to kiss you when she finds out. A big wet one." She leaned in. "Would you like that? If she got that close to you? She’s very attractive, and not just for her age."
"You look a lot like her Jess," Richard said matter-of-factly.
"You know what? I think I do. At least, I finally think that’s a compliment. Your mom certainly has a lot of backbone, I’ll give her that." She sighed again. "Not like my Mom. Your first failure."
"It’s like you said, Jess. I was just outclassed by my competition."
"You were in love with her, weren’t you?"
Richard shrugged guiltily. "Jess, your Mom was beautiful."
"Now, that I think I did get from her, but don’t pull a Michael on me now."
"No worries."
"Thanks." She turned to Doctor Wolfe. "Good for you—you got that one."
"I guess you caught me," Richard said, slapping the man on the shoulder. He didn’t flinch. "I mean, yeah. She made quite a few excursions into my prepubescent fantasies." He sighed. "There I was, riding in to save the damsel in distress from an ogre." He smiled wickedly. "And she was always so grateful."
"Was she grateful?" Jessie whispered, not looking at the man in the chair as Richard leaned over him. "Tell the truth now, it’ll make you feel better. How much gratitude did my Mom show you?"
"Jessie..." He looked down at the flo
or. He knew the man could see the expression on his face. Good.
"Tell the truth," Jessie repeated.
"She was the first kiss I ever had."
Jessie giggled. "Wow, you Hendricksons...or maybe you got that from the Bartolomes, I don’t know." She stifled her laugh. "So, when did you get that kiss?"
Richard looked up and smiled. "As soon as she came back."
"From...?"
"From the Cape. From the weekend with your father." He rocked back and forth on his heels. "After she told me everything was all taken care of."
"All taken care of. Excuse me, doctor. I think I do need that seat." She pulled out a chair and put her elbows on the table. "God, what must that have been like?" She turned to the man. "Could you tell us that?" She turned back to Richard. "How far was he thrown again?"
"I’m not sure, but Mom and that Teague idiot did say it was a bigger explosion than usual. It must have been pretty far."
Jessie put the fingers of one hand together and pointed them up, then crashed them down in an arc. "Splat!" she said when they hit the table. She giggled, and so did Richard.
"I’m sorry," she said after a minute, turning to the man. He stared at her coldly. "So what might that have felt like?"
"Incredibly painful," he answered. "I can only imagine."
Jessie smiled. "Do you think it hurt as much as what he did to my Mom? All those times?" She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Do you think it hurt as much as what he did to me the last time I saw him?"
"Once again, I really think you need to rethink your assertion—"
"They never did find the body," Richard said, looking up at the ceiling as if he were thinking something. "But there’s no way he could have survived. He’d need to be a good, strong swimmer, and poor old Uncle Tommy just didn’t have it in him. He was a poor physical specimen."
"It was my understanding," the man said slowly, "that he was very athletic."
"That’s what he wanted people to think," Richard said, leaning down. "But between you and me, Doc, I think he bullied people into letting him win. I don’t think he could ever have gotten anything done without that Bartolome name."
"Must have been pretty lousy in bed too," Jessie opined, not taking her eyes off of him now.
"And why would you say that?" the man asked calmly, folding his hands on the table.
"Because why else would he need to be such a bully?" She got out of her chair and walked over to him. "Why else would he need to beat all his dates up?" She knelt down. "It was the only way to make them do what he wanted. It’s not like he was skilled enough to convince them otherwise."
The man smiled down at her. "You know, some women like that."
She leaned in again. "But most don’t. And most don’t like to be black and blue."
Now he bent forward slightly. "But how do you know your mother didn’t?"
She shook her head. "I don’t. Except that the two people who talked about it said she didn’t." She hopped up to sit on the desk. "And that’s why he beat me up, isn’t it? Because he couldn’t even beat her into submission anymore, but maybe he could beat her kid into making her submit."
The man looked up. "You’re giving your father a lot of credit for premeditation that maybe he doesn’t deserve. Sometimes, parents just lose control."
"He wasn’t a parent," Richard hissed as he stood over him. "He didn’t care one bit about his child. He never asked about her, I never saw him play with her—"
"She clung..." The man took a deep breath, then collected himself. "Didn’t you say that she—Josie—clung to her daughter? When would he have had a chance?"
"He didn’t care," Richard repeated. "He only saw her as a means to an end."
"I was just the trap," Jessie said lightly, "to pull the poor little fly into his web."
"Does that even make sense?" the man asked with a little bit more heat. "If he was such a monster, why marry her? Why not let her on her way?"
"Because I was proof," Jessie said, struggling to maintain control. "Because she could use me as proof of what he’d done and blackmail him for the rest of his miserable life."
"I thought you assumed your mother loved you."
"I’m telling you what he must have thought."
"I think you’re wrong."
"Then why do you think he married her?"
"I think he liked the idea of a child," the man said. "I think he liked the idea of a family. The Bartolome name would be carried on. Maybe he’d get a little...respectability? And wasn’t she a beautiful woman? And intelligent? Probably would look good on his arm. And so young." He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Quite a prize, I’m sure."
"And maybe it was believable that the only person stupid enough to marry him was a twenty-year-old," Richard offered. "Who else would have him?"
"Well, I guess even she changed her mind," Jessie said to Richard. "But he wouldn’t let her go, and now he was coming after me. So she killed him. Splat!" she said, diving her fingers into the table again.
"Awful though," Richard said quietly. "Because she was dead just one year later."
Jessie’s face looked pained. "God, Richard. Are you sure it was—?"
Richard nodded grimly. "I’m positive. She was stabbed. And she was raped."
"Sick bastard," she said, looking right at the man. "Sick, twisted, pathetic excuse of a man."
"I’m sorry she died that way, honey," Richard said, walking over to hug her. "But there’s a silver lining."
"Now you sound like Zainab."
"And she’d be right. Because whoever did it was very sloppy. All kinds of DNA at the scene. Just one sample and they’ve got him."
"Are you sure?" Jessie asked plaintively. "They only need one?"
"Just one," Richard nodded. "And it’s so easy to get. Just a little swab in the mouth—one second." He snapped his finger. "I’m sorry doctor, do you know any details about that procedure?"
"I’m afraid I don’t," the man answered quietly. "But it might be of some comfort to the man in question that there is no death penalty in this state. And isn’t it wonderful how many appeals you’re allowed?"
"That’s if he confined his crimes just to this state," Richard said, holding Jessie’s hand. "Or country."
The man smiled. "Oh, you’ll be sure to find that so many other countries don’t have a death penalty."
"But is their appellate system as generous?" Richard narrowed his eyes again. "I’m sorry to stare, but can you tell us again, why did you need all that work done?"
"A car accident. Just awful."
"Right," Richard said softly. "But you weren’t alone in the car, were you?"
"I’m afraid I wasn’t."
"And what happened to the other passenger?"
"He didn’t pull through."
Jessie crossed her arms. "What was his name again?"
"I’m sorry?"
"The man in the car with you? What was his name?"
The man blinked and looked at both of their faces. "John."
"That’s common enough," Richard said. "But what about his last name?"
He blinked again. Then he fixed his eyes on Jessie. And then Jessie recoiled as he smiled. "Leighton. John Leighton."
"Small world," Jessie spat.
Richard pressed onto the table and leaned forward. Enough. "This is going to be easier on you if you cooperate. Tell me about my father. Tell us about the poem, you perverted little man."
Tom stood up. He looked Richard right in the eye. "You wouldn’t dare speak to me like that if I didn’t have these cuffs on. Consider yourself lucky, you skinny little—"
The door swung open. Lucy stood in the doorway and Robert was right behind her. She slammed the door but didn’t take her eyes off of him. "I want to make something perfectly clear," she said, and Jessie had never been so in awe of her. "Don’t you ever threaten my son again."
She didn’t need to state consequences. She never did. "Hello, Luce. Good to see you," Tom said with
a smile. Richard closed his eyes, then squeezed Jessie’s hand.
CHAPTER 34
The next sound Miranda heard was a groan. She looked up. Michael was sleepily smiling at her. She smiled back. "I had a dream," he said wearily.
She put her chin on her fist. "Unfortunately, the part about you getting shot wasn’t a dream."
"Yeah, I figured that out. But I had this dream about you kissing me."
"I think they gave you some pretty heavy sedation. Boy, the lengths you’ll go to for a high."
"Tell me about it." He touched her face. "But it was a really good dream. I think you even told me you loved me."
"It was a dream, Michael. I wouldn’t kiss you after you were such an idiot. And don’t you know how to take directions?"
"You mean that part about not doing anything stupid?"
"Yeah, that. For the record, struggling for a gun is stupid."
"And what about you? That little maneuver is cute in a club, but did it occur to you that he might have done something like shoot you?"
"I didn’t hear him unlatch the safety. I thought he was all show."
"Oh, thanks a lot." He caressed her neck. "So I guess this is all your fault."
"You could have been more specific when you called and said 'dangerous'."
"Excuse me for thinking that ‘danger’ might be a code word for you to stay away."
She shook her head. "Not if Jessie was with him."
He grabbed the back of her head. "Yeah, I know how that feels." He pulled her into a kiss that she could have easily resisted but didn’t. He pulled back after a minute. "You’re right. I must have been dreaming before, because that kiss was much better."
She kissed him again. They both jumped a moment later when the door opened. Richard and Jessie walked in. Miranda looked guiltily at Jessie, but still held Michael’s hand. Jessie looked at their hands, then shrugged. "Yeah, okay."
Richard bowed his head a little bit. "Really?"
Jessie sighed. "I suppose getting shot while trying to rescue my friend is, well, you know, enough." Jessie looked at Michael and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Michael." She paused. "But in case it wasn't obvious, if you hurt me, Miranda or anyone else again, I'll shoot you somewhere much worse than the shoulder."
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