Shower Of Stars

by Nancy Herkness

  For a moment, Jack leaned in even closer, and Vandermade involuntarily shifted back. Miguel took one step toward the two men, then relaxed as his friend straightened.

  “I'd like to see you try,” Jack said as he strolled back to the chair and sat down. “This conversation has become a waste of my time. Let's make the exchange. Get the meteorite.”

  “Where's the original video?” Vandermade said, folding his arms across his chest.

  “In a safe-deposit box. Where else would it be?” Jack asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “You expect me to give you the meteorite before I get the original? And how many other copies are there?” Vandermade asked. “I'm not a fool, gentlemen.”

  “Perhaps I didn't make the terms of the exchange clear.” Jack stared at Vandermade for a long moment. “You give us the meteorite you stole, and in exchange, we will promise not to release the video to the police or the media. However, the original recording will remain in my possession.”

  The billionaire stood abruptly, his fists clenched, his face almost purple. “You've made a very powerful enemy today,” he said, his voice shaking with rage. He twisted and stabbed his finger on a button set into the mahogany surface behind him. “Bring the meteorite to my office,” he barked.

  As they waited, the only movement in the room came from the pulsing vein in Vandermade's forehead. Finally, the paneled double doors swept inward, and two men in dark suits side-stepped into the room, carrying the glass and steel cube between them. They took it to a round, leather-topped table and lifted it carefully onto the smooth surface. Vandermade flicked his fingers at the men, and they went swiftly out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind them.

  Peter strode over to the table. “At least your goons had the sense to steal the meteorite in its case. You didn't open it, did you?” he asked sharply as he searched for the light switch.

  “They'd have to use an acetylene torch,” Miguel said. “I built that case, and they'd never figure out how to open it.” He walked to the table and ran his fingers along one edge of the cube. The interior light came on, and Sahara-Mars gleamed darkly in its frozen flight.

  Jack watched the scientist devour it with his eyes, and a sympathetic smile played around his mouth. “Well, gentlemen, we have what we came for. Miguel?”

  Miguel swept the case off the table and walked to the doors Peter held wide.

  “Curt,” Jack said, turning back toward the desk, “I hope I never again have the misfortune of being in the same room with you.”

  Then he strolled through the doors, leaving them gaping open behind him.

  ***

  The Land Rover rolled up to the glass doors at the entrance to the Rose Center.

  A phalanx of security guards met it, but Miguel refused to hand over his precious burden, so the three men entered the sleek, modern foyer surrounded by a cordon of uniforms. Museum-goers turned to watch the silent procession as it passed under the giant silver sphere of the planetarium and up the steps to the Hall of Planet Earth.

  Another group of guards stood at the top of the steps to keep visitors out of the hall, parting to let the meteorite and its escort through. Miguel walked to the pedestal and set the case on top. Pulling a small set of tools from his pocket, he made several adjustments, punched a series of numbers into a keypad and stepped back.

  Sahara-Mars once more spun glittering in the brilliant light of a simulated sun.

  “Let 'em in,” Jack said to the guards holding back the considerable crowd.

  As the curious onlookers formed a line between the velvet ropes, Jack and Peter stood and watched. One young boy read the plaque aloud to his older brother, “‘Inside this meteorite could lie the answer to the question: is there life on Mars?’ How cool is that?”

  “It's an alien egg,” his brother said, flapping his hands like jaws. “It's going to hatch and eat us all. Watch out!”

  “You dork,” the younger boy said, scornfully. “It's not that kind of life. It's like amoebas or something.”

  Jack watched the boys examine his meteorite. “I have a brother,” he said, after taking a deep breath.

  “I do too,” Peter said. “He likes to pretend I don't exist, so I go out of my way to annoy him whenever possible.”

  Jack turned to stare at the man beside him.

  “Yeah, I know you're my brother,” Peter acknowledged. “I figured it out years ago.”

  “Why the hell didn't you say so?”

  “Why the hell didn't you?”

  Jack's gaze shifted back to Sahara-Mars. “Because who would want a brother who'd murdered his father?”

  “That's ancient history, and the bastard got what he deserved,” Peter said. Suddenly he grinned. “Besides, you dork, I want a brother who catches stars.”

  “What?” Jack glanced sideways.

  “That's what Mama told me my big brother did. She'd take me outside for every meteor shower we could see and tell me that my brother was out there catching all those stars falling to earth. For years, I visualized you as some sort of cosmic baseball player.”

  “I don't believe this! Why didn't Mama tell me you knew?”

  “Because I wasn't going to force myself on you.”

  “We're both dorks,” Jack said, a matching grin lighting his face as he grabbed his not-so-little brother and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  Miguel strolled up, his eyebrows arched in inquiry. “Are we celebrating the return of Sahara-Mars or something more private?” he asked.

  The two men turned toward him. “It's a family reunion,” Jack said.

  “It's about time,” Miguel said, shaking Peter's hand. “Jack would never admit this, but he's been following your career with brotherly pride. Even when you were complaining loudly about his commercialization of scientific materials.”

  Peter shrugged. “I didn't get to break his toys when we were young, so I had to find ways to make up for it when I got older. By the way, where did you get the name 'Lanett'? It makes you sound like some shady cardsharp.”

  “The bus I took out of prison passed through it. Population 7,897. It seemed pretty snappy to a juvenile delinquent.”

  “Let's go have lunch and celebrate,” Miguel said, chuckling.

  “Great idea! Especially if Jack's buying.”

  “We have a lot of lost time to make up for, little brother,” Jack said, his tone serious as he gripped Peter's hand. “And we'll do it, but there's something else I have to make up for first.”

  Miguel locked eyes with his old friend. “Would that something have happened last night?”

  Jack nodded. “I owe her an apology…and a thank-you,” he added, glancing at Peter.

  “I'm glad you've come to your senses, amigo,” Miguel said, smiling. “Go mend your fences. I'll take care of your hermanito here.”

  “Remind me to tell you to stay out of my business the next time I see you,” Jack said. “In the meantime, I owe you a thank-you too.”

  As Jack cut through the shifting crowd of meteorite gazers, Miguel said to Peter, “I think your brother has finally decided to rejoin the human race.”

  Twenty-Five

  Charlie had been very grateful that Sallyanne was out when she got home. She'd gone straight to her bed where she'd tossed, turned and cried all night.

  This morning she just felt spent.

  After picking up Sallyanne and getting the scoop on the slumber party, she retreated to her room with Major padding along behind her. When she stopped in front of her dresser to stare at her reflection in the mirror, he flopped down on the bedroom rug with a long-suffering sigh.

  Puffy eyes. Hair carelessly twisted into a lop-sided bun. Still wearing her pajama shirt tucked into a pair of ratty blue jeans. She noticed the gleam of her so-called wedding ring, and her breath caught on a sob. She slid it off her finger and held it up at eye-level, tilting it back and forth to watch the criss-crossing lines flicker in the morning sunlight. Then she tossed it onto the dresser where it settled with a small
vibrating clatter.

  “Face it, Charlotte Elizabeth Berglund,” she said to the mirror, “you just don't inspire long-term commitment in the male of the species.”

  She thought she'd learned that lesson. Certainly Nick and her husband Greg had done their best to instill it in her. Of course, she'd hoped Jack would be different, that he would have the strength and good taste to appreciate her unique qualities. She snorted at her reflection. “Where'd I get that idea?”

  Charlie couldn't bear the pain in her own eyes so she turned away, her hands pressed to her gut as she tried to physically soothe the agonizing ache of Jack's rejection. A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and she doubled over. An image of Sallyanne floated through the haze of misery, and she found the strength to stand straight again. She glared at the mirror. “You've got a daughter to worry about. Moping is not an option,” she said, heading for the shower with a determined stride.

  She would get dressed and take Sallyanne shopping at the local bookstore.

  That would cheer both of them up.

  As she lathered her hair, she allowed herself to consider the fact that Jack hadn't called, even to let her know what had happened with his visit to Curt Vandermade. “Cold-hearted creep!” she said aloud as she ran her fingers through her hair to rinse it.

  “Are you sad about something, Ma'am?” Sallyanne asked when Charlie joined her for a glass of milk in the kitchen.

  Charlie's heart gave a little lilt every time Sallyanne called her “Ma'am.”

  “No, sweetheart, I think I'm just coming down with a cold,” she said.

  “Take some vitamin C,” the little girl said wisely. “It works real well.”

  Major sat up abruptly. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he looked toward the door into the living room.

  “What is it, Major?” Charlie asked, heading into the other room. Everything seemed fine. “He must have had a nightmare,” she said to Sallyanne, as she patted the big dog's head. He sat down, but his eyes were open and his ears were cocked forward.

  Sallyanne carried her glass to the sink, then went to retrieve her book bag from beside the front door. Charlie was wiping down the table when she heard the little girl cry out, “Papa!”

  Charlie raced into the living room, but she was too late. Sallyanne had already unlatched the French door. Don McGraw was stepping inside as she skidded to a halt. “Don, you're not supposed to be here,” she warned, wishing the police guard hadn't left when they assumed Don was on the plane to Tennessee.

  “My little girl thought I didn't want to say good-bye to her,” he said, sweeping Sallyanne up into his arms and hugging her. “I couldn't let that stand.”

  “I sympathize, but we have a legal agreement,” Charlie pointed out. Major punctuated her statement with a growl. She laid her palm on top of his shoulder to calm him.

  “Well now, don't they say possession is nine-tenths of the law?” Don said with a smile as he held his daughter against his chest. “I believe I am now in possession.”

  “What does that mean, Papa?”

  “It means you and I are going to be together, honey pie.”

  “You're squeezing too hard,” Sallyanne said as she started to squirm. “Please put me down.”

  Don let her slide to her feet, but kept his arm firmly wrapped across her chest.

  “I'm going to call the police,” Charlie said, starting for the telephone.

  “I wouldn't do that, missy.”

  She turned to see him pull a hunting knife from behind his back.

  Sallyanne screamed. Major hurled himself forward and Charlie shrieked, “Down, Major!” as she saw the knife flash toward the dog's head. Don's hold on Sallyanne loosened, and Charlie yelled, “Run, Sallyanne! Run to Isabelle's!”

  She just had time to see the child stumble off the porch when she felt Don's arm snake around her waist. He yanked her back against him and held the knife to her throat as he dragged her away from the door.

  “You shouldn't have done that, pretty lady. Now we're going to have to go see Isabelle, aren't we?” He spoke right into her ear.

  Charlie stood very still. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Major's body stretched out on the floor. She couldn't tell if he was breathing, but she couldn't see any blood. Don pressed the knife closer against her neck and let his free hand roam up to close around her breast.

  “Maybe I'll take you with us. You'd make a real fine whore until Sallyanne gets old enough to make some money for her papa.”

  When Charlie didn't respond, he slid his hand downward between her legs. She tried to twist away but he laughed and forced his hand between her thighs. “Or maybe you'll decide to pay me the money I asked you for,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed his fingers hard against the denim of her jeans. “Except the price has gone way up.”

  “I'll pay you,” Charlie whispered. The knife was so tight against her throat she was afraid to speak any more loudly.

  “We'll discuss my terms later. Now let's go see Isabelle.”

  Don let go of her crotch and started to move her toward the back door. A flicker of shadow on the throw rug caught her eye. Please let it not be Sallyanne, she thought. Then the French doors crashed open, the glass shattering.

  Jack Lanett stood braced in the doorway.

  Charlie almost flinched at the expression of lethal intent etched on his face.

  “Let her go,” he said in a deadly flat voice.

  Charlie felt Don shift behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then her brain kicked into gear, and she began to run through every extreme survival course she'd ever participated in. Of course, any self-defense course she'd taken advised a woman not to try to defend herself when a man was holding a knife to her throat…

  She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at Jack. He might be a coldhearted creep, but she was glad to see him right now.

  Jack's gaze never wavered from Don McGraw's face. “I called the police before I came in, McGraw. They'll be here soon, and I'm not moving until you let her go.”

  Don pressed the knife even harder against her throat. Charlie gagged.

  Jack twitched at the sound.

  She felt something warm tickling her throat and realized with a shock she was bleeding. That did it. She wasn't going to let him slit her throat without a fight. She did a quick mental calculation, blinked at Jack twice, then cut her eyes down and to the left in hopes that he would understand her signal. Please understand, Jack!

  Taking a deep breath, she slammed her head back into Don's face and thrust her hands up between his right arm and her neck. As she pushed outward with all her strength, she jammed the heel of her sandal down on the arch of his foot and threw herself to the left and downward. The handle of the knife struck hard against her head as she fell. She rolled behind her favorite armchair and lay there with pain radiating through her forehead.

  “You goddamn bitch!” she heard Don McGraw scream.

  The sounds of a scuffle drifted through her consciousness. Then Jack was looming over her with the knife gripped in his right band.

  “Charlie? Are you all right?” Jack's voice seemed to come from a distance. “Charlie! Answer me!”

  “I'm fine,” she managed, her palm pressed to her temple.

  “Are you sure you're fine?” He sounded worried.

  She did her best to smile up at him, but when she moved her vision went black around the edges. His expression went from concern to fury, and he disappeared from her line of sight.

  “Don't kill me! I wasn't going to hurt her. I just—” There was a frightening thud and then silence.

  “Charlie!” Jack was kneeling beside her, his hands gently probing her head and neck. “Where are you hurt? Christ, you're bleeding.”

  “It's just a cut. It's my head that hurts.”

  “Let me get some ice.”

  Finally, Charlie heard sirens, their wail slicing through her aching skull.

  “You've got to get up,” Jack said, as he used his left han
d to hold a dish towel filled with ice against her head. “Come on. I'll help you.”

  He wrapped his right arm around her rib cage and hauled her up to a sitting position. “Ow!” she complained.

  “Come on. Up!”

  Now he supported her against his body and straightened, bringing her with him to a standing position. Her head was pounding, but her vision had cleared. “Major!” she said, seeing the dog still sprawled on the rug.

  “He's breathing,” Jack said as he walked Charlie closer. “Did Don stab him?”

  “There's no blood,” Charlie said. “He must have hit him with the handle of the knife.” She looked curiously at Don McGraw where he slumped unconscious against the wall. “What did you do to him?” she asked with an utter lack of sympathy.

  “I had to knock him out so I could take care of you.”

  Suddenly, reaction to the violence crashed into her, and she collapsed against Jack, sobbing. “Oh God, Jack. I thought he was going to hurt Sallyanne. I thought he'd killed Major. I was afraid he was going to stab me. I was so glad to see you, but I was so terrified.”

  “Shhhh.” He dropped the ice and held her against him with infinite tenderness. “Shhhhh, sugar. It's all right now. It's over.”

  Charlie let go of her head and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, trying to wrap herself in the warmth and safety of his body. His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hair and murmured soft words of comfort. Then he said, “The police are here, sugar. There are a lot of guns pointed at us so move slowly. They don't know who I am.”

  Charlie opened her eyes and lifted her head slowly.

  Jack stepped back and raised his hands, his gaze never leaving her. She turned to face five men in dark uniforms with guns aimed straight at Jack.

  “Don't shoot. He's the good guy,” she said. “The one you want is over there.” She moved her arm in slow motion to point toward Don's slumped body.

  “You sure, ma'am?” one officer asked, his rifle still locked on Jack.

  “I'm sure,” she stated firmly, and sighed in relief as four muzzles were slowly lowered, and the fifth swung toward Don.