Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (13 page)

“We’re going to question him about my brother when he wakes
up,” she said without missing a beat.  The way she said it, she made the proposition
sound reasonable, even logical, and for a split-second I had to remind myself
of the penalty for kidnapping. 

“And then?”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean, what are you going to do with him after you question
him?  Are you going to re-sedate him and sneak him back into the hospital? Are
you going to let him go free?” 

“It depends.”

“Felicia, there was a reason the guy was in the hospital. 
Doesn’t that mean anything to you?  Don’t you realize you are probably
jeopardizing the guy’s life by bringing him here; by taking him away from
whatever treatment he was receiving?”

“They were killing him there,” she asserted.

I threw my hands up in frustration.  “How can you say that? 
You don’t know anything about the guy.  That is so . . .” I fumbled for words .
. . “you’ve conjured this whole thing up from nothing!”

“I know what I know.”

The woman was impossible.  She was one of those people who can
take a position that makes no sense whatsoever, turn it around, and make it
sound completely rational.  The kind of person that it’s useless to argue with
because even when you
know
you’re right, they can make you question the
logic and rationality of your position.  My oldest sister was the same way, and
it took me a long time to realize the futility of arguing with her.  She’d win
out of sheer stubbornness to surrender her position. 

I left the room and redialed Niki.  The call went through but I
got his voicemail.  He called back in 10 minutes.

“Hey asshole.”

“I’m stranded at Felicia’s farm.”

He laughed.  He always laughed.  “Stranded how?”

“The Guadalupe came up and we can’t get back across.  Can you
set me up with a helicopter that can hold my whole family?”

“Yeah.  I’m sure I can come up with something, but it’ll have
to be tomorrow.”

It was going to be a long sleepless night.  “First light,” I
said, and Niki laughed again.

“Hey, it’ll give you a chance to get to know your cousin
better.”

“Maddie’s cousin,” I corrected.  “And I already know her better
than I care to.”

“She called me the other day to handle a matter for her, but I
was out of town.  I had my brother call her back, so I guess he took care of
it.  He disagrees with your assessment. 
Stunner
, I think is the word he
used.”

As much as I’d have liked to take issue with the statement,
something told me the other matter took precedent.  “Back up.  What exactly did
Eli do for Felicia?”  I knew the answer even as I asked.  And I don’t know why
I hadn’t wondered before how Felicia had managed to abscond with the Faker. 

“I don’t know what she needed,” Niki said.  “I just got back in
town, and Eli left yesterday so I haven’t talked to him.  Why don’t you ask
her?”

I breathed out heavily.  “I don’t need to.  She kidnapped
Rafael Mendez.”

“The guy you had me run a check on?  The one where nothing
turned up?”

“One and the same.  He’s lying unconscious in the next room.   What
was Eli thinking?” I said irritably.

“Hell, I don’t know.  I didn’t know what she wanted; I just
told him to help her out. You know, being your cousin and all.”

“Maddie’s cousin.  I’m not related to the woman.”

“So she had my bother kidnap Mendez? I think I like this
chick.”

“You can have her.”

“Sorry.  I’m taken. But maybe she and Eli . . .”

“Damn it, Niki.  Quit playing matchmaker and help me figure out
a way to avoid a prison sentence on this thing.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Collins.  You always overreact in these
situations.  For starters, if Eli was responsible for kidnapping your man, you
don’t have to worry about getting caught.  Although I have to say, I’m a bit
surprised that he actually did it.  We tried that once before and it was
disastrous.  Swore we’d never do it again.  But then, if your cousin’s such a
stunner . . .

“Call her my cousin one more time and I’ll beat the crap out of
you next time I see you.”  It was not an idle threat and Niki knew it, but the
truth was, we both enjoyed a good fight.  I almost wished he’d say it again so
I’d have something to look forward to.  Instead he laughed.

I don’t know if it was because he could find humor in the
situation or because of something else, but talking to Niki Lautrec made me
feel a little less uneasy about my plight.  As illogical as it would seem, he
had a calming effect on me.  And he was probably right.  If his brother was the
one that helped Felicia perpetrate her felony, he would have thrown in enough
red herrings to send the authorities in the opposite direction.  And although
that was pacifying to some extent, it didn’t solve the immediate problem.  The
fact remained that we were sleeping under the same roof with a complete stranger
who could be afflicted with anything from arthritis to psychosis, and who could
wake up any time, unmedicated, unsupervised, and unrestrained.  Had it been
just me, it wouldn’t have mattered, but I was pissed that Felicia had put my
family in a potentially dangerous posture. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t something that Niki could help with,
so I got off the phone to contemplate my next move.

I had been watching a clump of Daddy Long Legs spiders
pulsating in the corner of the living room up by the ceiling.  The house was
quiet but it was still raining outside.  The last time I’d looked at the clock
it was 12:42 a.m., and some time after that, in spite of my best efforts, I
dozed off. 

I awoke with a start, aware that I wasn’t alone in the room.
Had I awakened with more finesse, I could have feigned sleep and had the
element of surprise in my favor.  As it was, that wasn’t an option.  I’d jumped
up and was on my feet before I’d actually opened my eyes.  

The Faker was standing in the doorway holding on to the door
jam with one hand; the other hand was dropped down by his side, his fingers
clutched around a 9” butcher knife.  He looked a hell of a lot bigger than when
he was lying in bed.  Big and hairy.

Had I thought it through, I may have chosen a different course
of action; but seeing how my wife and children were sleeping in the next rooms
. . . I lunged.  At least that’s what I tried to do.  I had every intention of
taking down the Faker in one fell swoop. But, ah, the best laid plans.  Unbeknownst
to me, at some point while I slept, some clown had tied my shoelaces together. 
So instead of a lunge, I plunged.  I landed sprawled out over the coffee table,
but close enough to the Faker where I could yank his legs out from under him.

In hindsight, I confess the maneuver wasn’t very bright.  The
blade could have amputated any number of limbs or digits, much less poked out
my eye or stabbed me in the heart.  But it had been such a bad start to the
contest in the first place that poor judgment overruled.  The Faker came down
on top of me with a thud and knocked the wind out of me, but I managed to grab
his wrist and I twisted with everything I had.  What was left of the coffee
table fell away in four different directions.   Not only did the Faker not
yield his weapon, but he somehow maneuvered himself around from lying on me to
sitting on me.  He clipped my ear with his free hand.

We were making a hell of a racket, and I heard a door open in
the background and I silently willed whoever it was to stay away.  So much for
my powers of telepathy.  Felicia appeared in the doorway.  She looked different
upside-down. 

“Go!” I growled.  “Get Maddie and the kids out of the house!”
It’s hard to talk with a man sitting on your chest, and it was an effort to get
the words out. 

Felicia surveyed the scene, then picked up a paperback and started
smacking the Faker in the back of the head with it.  “Get off of him!” she
demanded. 

I’m sure the Faker had no intention of complying, but the
distraction provided the reprieve I was looking for.  He turned towards
Felicia.  With one hand still clenching his wrist, I wrenched loose the knife
with my free hand.  My grip had been cutting off the circulation in his hand,
and his palm was milk white, his fingers now spread eagle.  I held the knife in
my left hand, surprisingly steady for what I’d been through, and brought the
tip of the blade to the man’s throat.  He froze.

“Okay.  We’re going to get up very slowly and very carefully,”
I told him.

“Don’t,” the Faker started to say but his voice caught.  He
cleared his throat and finished the thought.  “Don’t cut me,” he said, this
time clear and deep. 

“You started it,” I said, not moving the blade from his neck. 
Of course I had no intention of slicing the guy, but he had no way of knowing
that. 

“
You
started it,” he asserted.  “You jumped me.”

“
You
had the knife.  Now, let’s get up together. 
Slowly.”  We went to move, but I’d forgotten that my feet were shackled.  “Damn
it.  Felicia, untie my damn shoe laces!”

“What?”

How much plainer could I say it?  “My shoe laces,” I repeated. 

She walked around us and looked down at my feet and started
laughing.  The Faker’s eyes shifted to the right and down and I could see him
fighting a smile. 

“That’s a good trick,” he said.

“Shut up.  Hurry up, Felicia,” I said, and she squatted down
and untied my shoes.

“Why is that man sitting on you, Daddy?” Oliver said. I hadn’t
heard him come in and his voice was like a blow to the head. 

“Oliver, go wake up Mom and all of you get out of the house. 
Go to the foreman’s house.”

“But Dad . . .”

“Do it, Oliver!” I said, not taking my eyes off of the Faker. 
Oliver turned and ran and I could hear him waking up Maddie in the next room.

“Who are you people?” the Faker said.

“Shut up and get off of me.” 

We got up clumsily. I was only half-hearted with the knife. 
With my legs free and my adversary unarmed, I knew I could take him in
hand-to-hand combat.  Plus, I’d used that very knife earlier in the evening, so
I knew for a fact that the weapon I was wielding was as dull as a river rock. 
I ended up passing it off to Felicia and telling her to get rid of the thing,
and I shoved the Faker into a chair.

Maddie came in rubbing her eyes.  Her hair was all rumpled and
she looked incredibly sexy. I didn’t like the thought of another man checking
out my wife in her new Victoria Secret get-up and I stepped in front of him to
block his view. 

“What’s going on?” Maddie asked.

“The guy came at me with a knife,” I told her.

“I did not. He came at
me,
” he told Maddie.  He said it
like a tattle-tale. The Faker moved his head around me to get a better look at
Maddie.  I shifted to the right and he moved to the left. 

“I beat him to the punch,” I clarified. “I woke up and he was
standing there with a knife.”

“You had a knife?” Maddie asked.

“Hey.  I woke up and I didn’t know where I was,” the Faker said
defensively. “So I found a weapon in case I needed one.  Then Tarzan here wakes
up and jumps me.  That was a nice table too.”  He shook his head like he was lamenting
the loss.

“What can you tell me about Jackson Whitaker?” Felicia said out
of the blue.  It stopped the conversation short.

The Faker looked from Maddie to Felicia and back to Maddie and
recognition spread across his face.  The guy smiled and said, “You’re those girls
from the hospital.”  He sat back and looked around the room. “How did I get
here?”

“I rescued you,” Felicia said like a proud mother.  I wanted to
spew.

Now the Faker was checking out Felicia.  He looked her up and
down, and I did too, just to see what he saw.  She was in silky blue pajamas
that actually complimented her hair.  And there was a gleam in her eye, no
doubt from the anticipation of finally getting to interrogate her prisoner. 

“What were you in for?” I asked.  It sounded like I was
referring to a prison sentence so I added, “at the hospital?” 

With some effort, he drew his eyes away from Felicia.  “I’m not a psycho, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It just so happened, that was
exactly
what I was worried
about.  “Well, that’s good to know.”

Felicia stepped up to the Faker with an outstretched arm.  “I’m
Felicia Armstrong.  And this is my cousin Maddie Collins and her husband, Sam.”
The two shook hands.

The Faker nodded at Maddie, then raised his butt off the seat a
couple of inches and offered me his hand.  “Rafael Mendoza.  No hard feelings?”

He had a good firm handshake.  “No hard feelings,” I agreed. 

He slumped back down, leaning his head against the chair, not
so much to relax but seemingly more from fatigue.

“Rafael Mendoza?” Felicia said.  “That’s not the name you had
at the hospital.”

The Faker ignored the comment.  “You got anything to drink?” he
asked Felicia.

She looked perturbed, which for some reason, I found thoroughly
amusing. “Water, juice, milk?” she asked.  The Faker was evidently waiting for
better offers.  Felicia continued. “Tea? Soda? Coffee?” 
No response
. 
“Well, what
do
you want?” she said irritably.

He kind of shook himself out of a trance.  “Water’s fine.”

Felicia rolled her eyes.  “Why didn’t you say so? That was the
first thing I offered.”

“You have a beautiful voice.  I wanted to hear you talk.”  He
pulled the line off with no problem – something straight out of Romeo and Juliet.

“Oh,” Felicia said, clearly taken aback.   “I’ll get you some
water then.”  She turned to leave, hooking Maddie’s elbow and dragging her out 
of the room with her.  I could just picture them, whispering in the kitchen.

Oliver reappeared with the orange kitten.  He walked straight
over to Romeo and carefully placed the kitten on his lap. 

“Hey, kid.  What’s your name?”

“Oliver.  I’m five.  How old are you?”

Normally I would have put a stop to Oliver’s line of
questioning, but I was curious to know the answer myself. 

“Thirty-five.  This is a fine kitten you’ve got here.  What’s
his name?” 

“Sherlock.  But he’s not mine.  He’s Felicia’s.  But I have two
cats at home.  How come you have so much hair?”

The Faker scratched his bushy cheeks and chin as I shooed
Oliver back to his room.  “Go on back to bed now.  We have a big day tomorrow,”
I told him.

The Faker held up the cat.  “You want Sherlock back?”

“That’s okay.  You can sleep with him,” Oliver said. 

Maddie intercepted Oliver at the doorway and went with him to
tuck him in.  Felicia came in with a big glass of water and placed it in the Faker’s
hands, then sat down on the end of the couch. 

“Jackson Whitaker was my brother.  That day that I saw you . .
. that I talked to you . . . I’d gone to the hospital to see him, but they
wouldn’t let me in.  Did you know him?  Did you know my brother?”  She sounded
so desperate, that I actually felt sorry for her.

The Faker set the glass on the floor and scooted to the end of
his chair.  “Is it
Miss
?”

“Excuse me?”

“Miss or Mrs.?”

“It’s Miss,” she said, then she shook off her confusion and clarified,
“Felicia.  Call me Felicia.”

“Felicia.” He cast his eyes down and shook his head.  “I knew
your brother.  But, my dear, he died well over a year ago.”

I’m sure the shock on my face matched that of Maddie’s and Felicia’s. 

“But that’s impossible,” Felicia said.  “He was there when we .
. .”  Her voice trailed off.  She looked from me to Maddie, and back to me. 
“That’s why they didn’t let us see him.” Her voice was a mixture of anger and
sadness, and there was a vulnerability there that made me want to look out for
her.  “He wasn’t there,” she said quietly.

“But why would they do that?” Maddie asked me.  “Why wouldn’t
they have just told us he was dead?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But believe me, I intend to find
out.”

From a lawyer’s perspective, this development, if it was true,
could only work in our favor, but I could hardly bring that up at the moment. 
Plus, I found that I couldn’t completely dislodge myself from emotional
involvement in the whole thing.  It would have been much easier if I wasn’t
related to my client, but the fact was that this involved Maddie’s cousin, and
for some reason I was furious.  It felt like I had been personally wronged. 

“Will you tell me about him?” Felicia asked Mendoza, sounding
like she about to cry.

“Everything I know,” Mendoza said, taking her hands in his. He
looked Felicia in the eye, and smiled warmly.  “He had your eyes.”

Whether it was true or not, it was exactly what Felicia needed
to hear.  We sat enthralled while Mendoza gave a brief narrative on Jackson
Whitaker.

“Jackson was abandoned at Serenity a year after a football
injury left him a quadriplegic. I never learned of his family’s circumstances,
but he intimated that his mother was not well, and that she was incapable of
taking care of his medical needs.  And although there was an absence of blood
relatives in his life at Serenity, the staff and other patients that came and
went took on the role of his brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles. Everyone
loved him, including myself.

“Jackson’s body was useless to him, but his mind was
brilliant.  He had a thirst for knowledge matched by no one I have ever met. He
obtained an assistive computer device that allowed him to turn pages on his
Kindle by blinking his eyes so that he could read unassisted, and sometimes he
would go through four or five books in one day.

“He was a kind and gentle soul, with a quick wit and a
wonderful sense of humor.  And he just had this presence about him. You didn’t
think of him as an invalid. It was almost like he was super human.”

Mendoza choked up and stopped abruptly, then he took a deep
breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking off whatever emotion had gripped him. “I’m
not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby the day your brother died.”

“How did he die?” Felicia asked despondently.

“Pneumonia.” 

“And it wasn’t recently?” she asked, and Mendoza shook his
head. Felicia looked at me.  “I want vengeance,” she said.