Don't Go (41 page)

“Gotcha!” John backed Mike into a corner and raised the poker.

Mike was trapped between the sink and the refrigerator. Suddenly he spotted a knife block behind the toaster and yanked out a knife. It was only a steak knife, no match for the poker.

John whipped the poker at Mike. He jumped out of the way, but the counter hemmed him in. The poker caught him in the stump.

Mike cried out in agony and fell at John’s feet, dropping the steak knife. Gigi kept throwing herself at the laundry room door. The banging sounded like grenades going off. Ordnance. Troops in contact. He was back in Helmand. He was going to die.

John stood above Mike and aimed the pointed end of the poker down, like a bayonet.

Mike forced himself into the present. The steak knife was inches from his hand. He’d used a scalpel under pressure. He knew how to screen out distractions. It was his moment of truth. He said his homemade prayer.

John plunged the poker downward. Mike rolled out of the way at the last minute, grabbed the steak knife, and severed John’s Achilles tendon with a loud
snap
!

John howled, dropping the poker. He collapsed to the floor, folded into the fetal position, and held his calf. Mike scrambled backwards, knowing John’s pain would be unbearable. His Achilles would roll up like an old-fashioned window shade.

Mike jumped to his feet. Blood streamed down his face. He wiped it but it kept flowing. He felt dazed and dizzy. The knife slipped from his blood-slick grasp. John rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled away, toward the family room, trying to get to the entrance hall.

Mike picked up the poker and went after him. John hoisted himself to a stand and hopped toward the front door, dragging his wounded leg. Blood gushed from the cut in his jeans, turning them black. Gigi threw her body against the door, again and again, barking and barking.

Mike stalked John with the poker. John reached the entrance hall, but Mike caught up with him, lowering the poker. He wasn’t a podiatrist for nothing. He took a mighty backswing and whacked John in the lower leg, shattering his tibia with a satisfying
crack
.

John collapsed as if shot, writhing and caterwauling on the floor.

Mike felt the poker slide from his grip. John went abruptly silent and still, passing out from pain or shock. Either way, a murderer wasn’t getting away. Mission accomplished.

Mike’s eyes filled with blood. His arm felt like it was falling off. His knees went suddenly wobbly. His stomach churned. The entrance hall began to spin, whirling around him.

He dropped to his knees, then toppled forward. He fell face down on the hardwood floor. He needed an ambulance and so did John and Karen. Gigi kept barking and throwing her body against the door. The mastiff would break the door off its hinges. She’d attack him when she got out of the laundry room.

Mike reached to his pocket for his phone, then remembered he’d left it in the car. He tried to look around for a phone, but blood ran into his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. He felt light-headed. His blood spread in a pool over the hardwood. If the cops didn’t get here soon, he’d bleed to death. Gigi body-slammed the door, which sounded like it was splintering.

Mike tried to think. There had to be a phone in the kitchen, but he was closer to the front door. He could crawl to the door and from there to the street. A passing car or snowplow would see him. Or the cops, they had to get here soon.

Mike dragged himself forward, using his right arm and his legs to propel him. He inched toward the door, smearing a gruesome trail. He passed John and kept his eyes on the front door. He didn’t know how he’d get the strength to stand up. He’d have to find a way.

The door lay only six feet ahead, but his body was failing. He was so tired. He couldn’t go another inch. He knew it was blood loss. He needed to rest. He laid his head down. Chloe must have died like this, her lifeblood leaking away, waiting for help that never came. He prayed she didn’t know Karen had let her die.

Suddenly Mike heard a noise, outside. It was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, then its door slamming closed. Finally, the police.

He filled with hope. Footsteps clattered on the wooden porch and hurried to the front door. He looked up, and a face popped into the window, but it wasn’t the cops.

It was Stephanie.

And she was taking off her coat, wrapping it around her hand, and breaking the window.

Chapter Seventy-eight

Mike regained consciousness in a hospital bed, his thoughts foggy. He was alive, and for that he thanked God. The room was dim and empty, and a half-light on the wall illuminated the high-backed chairs, a bed table on wheels, and a plastic pitcher next to a stack of upside-down paper cups. The door was to his right, open a crack to reveal a strip of fluorescent light in the hallway. He heard the sound of nurses, talking.

Mike was in pain, but it felt muted in a familiar way. He knew he was back on painkillers, though they wouldn’t get the best of him, ever again. A plastic sensor capped his index finger, reading his vital signs, and the monitor screens glowed blue, with changing white numbers. His blood pressure and heart rate were normal. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, so he knew they’d set it. He felt fresh gauze covering his forehead, so he assumed they’d closed his wounds.

He glanced to his left, groggy. The other bed was empty, its mattress bare under the window. Snow fell steadily, swirling around the streetlights, and the sky was as black as onyx, so he knew it was nighttime. His eyes closed, then opened again. His brain struggled to remember how he’d gotten here.

Stephanie.

Mike closed his eyes, remembering that much. She had broken the window, and he wondered if she’d hurt her hand. Exhaustion swept over him, and he drifted into sleep thinking of her, so when he woke up again, it seemed almost natural that Stephanie would be there, sitting in one of the chairs. She was working, making notes on a brief in her lap, her head down.

It was daytime, and the hospital room was light, with a shaft of sun streaming through the window. The metallic rattle of a cart emanated from the hallway, but Stephanie seemed not to hear it, reading with a critical frown. Her hair caught the light, shining a rich, dark red, and she had on a gray-green cable sweater and jeans that made her look less corporate, especially in pink snow boots.

“Hi,” Mike said hoarsely, after a moment.

Stephanie looked up with a grin, her green eyes bright. “Well, hello there, sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?” Mike tried to orient himself. The clouds in his head were clearing, and he felt more normal than before. He had to breathe through his mouth, and his head ached, but not more than he could handle.

“It’s about noon.” Stephanie shifted the chair closer to the bed, her papers on her lap. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad.”

“Want some water or anything? It’s almost time for lunch.”

“No, thanks.” Mike wasn’t sure if Stephanie was here as his lawyer or his friend, but it didn’t matter. He liked it. “It’s nice when you’re not yelling at me. What a difference a day makes.”

“Ha! You redeemed yourself.” Stephanie beamed. “You fought for truth, justice, and the American way.”

Mike would’ve laughed, but his throat still hurt from being intubated. “No, not me.”

“Yes, you, dude.” Stephanie capped her pen and slid it onto the side of her papers. “The MacFarlands are in this very hospital, two floors down, and when they recover, they’re both going to be charged with Sara’s murder.”

Mike felt a bittersweet twinge. It still wouldn’t bring Sara back, or Chloe. “How did they prove it?”

“They didn’t have to. The MacFarlands confessed, and the scuttlebutt is that the Quarles family pressured them into it, to avoid a trial and bad publicity. By the way, the D.A. told me that John’s email was Mac702.”

Mike felt a pang, torn. “Does Don know?”

“I’m sure he does, and by the way, I talked to the D.A., and he isn’t going to prosecute you for the fraudulent scripts, under the circumstances.”

Mike wasn’t thinking about himself. “I heard Karen say she’d been to my house that night and that she let Chloe die.”

Stephanie recoiled, horrified. “That’s terrible!”

Mike’s gut twisted. “Can we do anything about that, legally? Isn’t that a crime?”

“I’d try, for sure. I’ll get a full sworn statement from you, tell the D.A., and see if we can get her to confess that, too.” Stephanie thought a minute. “If she won’t, though, they might not be able to charge her.”

“Why?”

“They can’t prove criminal negligence unless they can show that if Karen acted, Chloe would be alive.” Stephanie frowned with regret. “We’ll try, but if not, your consolation is that Karen will be going to jail for the maximum, already. Can you live with that?”

“If I have to.” Mike appreciated Stephanie’s honesty, even if it wasn’t the answer he wanted. “I’m learning that law doesn’t always lead to justice.”

Stephanie paused. “By the way, the media vultures are camped outside, plaguing me to put you in front of a press conference. I declined and made a statement on your behalf.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re a great guy, upstanding citizen, blah blah, doctor, blah blah blah, Army vet. The D.A. made a statement singing your praises, too. So you’re a hero, dude.”

“No.” Mike shrugged it off.

“Yes.” Stephanie brightened. “You are. It’s official.”

“What does that make you, then?” Mike smiled. “You saved my life.”

“I’m a heroine, but I knew that already.”

Mike chuckled. “Did you hurt your hand when you broke the window?”

“Not at all.” Stephanie flexed her fingers. “I didn’t even break a nail. Did you see how I put my coat around my hand? I got that from the movies.”

“Joking aside, thank you.” Mike met her eye. “Thank you for coming when you did. You really did save my life.”

“You’re welcome, but you haven’t paid your bill yet. I’m just a collection agent.”

Mike smiled again. Stephanie couldn’t take a compliment, an intriguing mix of bravado and modesty. “What made you go to the MacFarlands’, anyway?”

“As soon as I hung up the phone, I knew you weren’t going to listen.”

“When did the police come?” Mike had passed out and remembered almost nothing.

“They were right behind me, they got delayed by a tractor-trailer accident. Your friend Officer Torno sends his regards, and your old partner, Jim Haggerty, was here with his wife, last night. He also asked when you’re coming back to work.”

“For him? I’m not. I’m finished selling things.” Mike had thought about it last night, when the pain had kept him awake. “I have to be able to practice again, even do surgery, and it’s time to open my own office. I want to be my own boss.”

“Go for it. If I can do it, anybody can.” Stephanie smiled, and they both turned at the knock that came from the doorway.

Don was standing in the threshold in his green Hambera Construction jacket, and a sad smile spread across his chubby face. “Mind if I come in for a quick visit?”

“Please, do, pal.” Mike shifted up in bed, gesturing at Stephanie “This is Stephanie Bergen, my lawyer. Stephanie, Don Hambera.”

Stephanie extended her hand to him. “Pleased to meet you, and I’m so sorry about your loss. Sara sounds like a wonderful person.”

“She was, thanks.” Don kept his chin up, then turned to Mike. “How you doing? You gonna be okay?”

“Good as new. Be out of here in no time.”

“Thank God.” Don sighed audibly, and his big brown eyes teared up. “I have to thank you. It helps so much to know that MacFarland’s going to be punished for what he did to Sara, and to all of us. I’m so grateful you got the bastard.”

Mike’s throat caught. He still felt guilty for setting the events in motion, and he’d live with that forever. “I’m glad I could do something, anything, to help. We figured it out together, though. We made a pretty good crime-fighting team.”

Don nodded, sniffling. “We should keep the friendship thing going, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Mike smiled. “Do you golf?”

“No.”

“Me neither. We’ll just hang with the kids.”

Don chuckled, then it faded. “Listen, Bob and Danielle are out there, in the waiting room. They told me what happened with the custody case and all, and well, they want to come in and see you.”

“Really?” Mike asked, surprised. He felt ambivalent about Bob and Danielle since court. “Is Emily with them?”

“No, they didn’t bring her because they didn’t want to upset her. She’s with a sitter.” Don frowned. “They want to know do you want to see them. Don’t say no on my account. I have to go anyway.”

“What do you think?” Mike turned to Stephanie, who rose and tucked her papers into her briefcase.

“I think you should see them. The more you talk to each other, the better for Emily, and we need to make nice if we want to get unsupervised visitation. Why don’t you let me get them?”

Mike thought a minute, then gave her his answer.

Chapter Seventy-nine

Danielle gasped from the threshold as soon as she saw Mike, her forehead collapsing in a deep frown. “Oh, you poor thing!”

“Mike, Jeez.” Bob came up behind her, only slightly less shocked, in street clothes, his trenchcoat over his arm.

“Folks, come in, please.” Stephanie pulled over two chairs. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll wait outside.”

“No, Stephanie, please stay,” Mike blurted out, without thinking. His emotions were all mixed up. Bob and Danielle were family, but they were still the people who’d taken Emily from him.

“Okay, great.” Stephanie flashed him a smile and stood off to the side. Danielle sank into a chair, lost in her puffy white coat, which she had on with jeans and furry Sorrel boots. Bob sat next to her, smoothing his trenchcoat in his lap.

“Mike, well, we don’t know what to say first.” Bob’s skin mottled under his fresh shave. “Thank God you’re okay, and what you did, figuring out it was John MacFarland, it’s just amazing. You were right all along. We shouldn’t have given you such a hard time. We’re very sorry.”