Liberty or Death (41 page)

He pressed a button and spoke quickly and briefly into his shoulder mike, passing the information along, then described our location and asked for some medical assistance. I wasn't really paying attention. I took a step toward Andre, he took one toward me, and we kind of collapsed in a heap at their feet. Andre on top, half crushing my chest, one arm flung over me, and one leg over mine. "Don't mind us, guys," I choked out. "We're always like this when we've been apart a few days." I closed my eyes and let everything go, feeling nothing but the nearness of his body, his breath on my neck, his precious weight pinning me down.

I had been running, staggering, lurching, limping, crawling toward this moment ever since Dom had come up the stairs a week ago and given me the bad news. My mother called me stubborn. My pediatrician had called me determined and resolute. Jack Leonard used the word "headstrong." It was my favorite. It made me feel brainy and brawny. If being stubborn, determined, resolute, and headstrong were what it had taken to get to this moment, then I was deeply grateful for being all of them. I was simply, deeply grateful just for being here.

They let us stay together in the emergency room. Hard not to, when we had everyone including the governor on our side. Most of them modestly left when the nurses took off my shirt, but not Roland Proffit and not Jack Leonard. It wasn't anything they hadn't seen before. A nice, serviceable navy-blue bulletproof vest, blood-soaked and a little the worse for wear. Jack beamed like a proud father. Even with the vest, the bullet had left me black and blue and bloody. The doctors and nurses fretted and clucked and sent me off for X rays of my chest and ribs. Fretted and clucked and stuck me with needles. Soothed and clucked as they patched me with bandages and shot me full of delicious, lassitude-inducing drugs. Poor Andre didn't get such good drugs. They mistook him for a pincushion, stuck him full of needles, and began pumping him full of fluids.

Finally, when medical science had done all it could to alleviate our suffering, they wheeled us into a double room, tucked us into beds, and left us alone. Two minutes later, I'd made the perilous journey from my bed to his, planted myself at his side, and fallen asleep, held firmly in place by the weight of his arm.

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

I was awakened by some rude people who were talking loudly quite close to my bed.

"It's a match made in heaven, if you ask me."

"I don't know about heaven... but you're right. They're perfect for each other."

"If it weren't for the chaos that they cause, I'd use 'em on every case. Look how many things we cleared up last night... armory break-ins, thefts from private gun collectors, murder, more murder, kidnapping. More kidnapping. Attempted murder."

"I don't know, Jack. I'm not sure you can call shooting Thea attempted murder..."

"Juggernauticide?" Jim Ferret suggested. "And temporary insanity isn't a crime. It's a defense."

"Can you two please shut up," I said. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry, Princess..." This was a new voice. "We wanted you to enjoy your breakfast while it was hot."

"Dominic Florio, hospital food and enjoy don't belong in the same sentence. And what are you doing here? This isn't even your state, never mind jurisdiction."

"But you, dear lady, are my personal responsibility. After all, I'm the one who helped get you into this mess."

I looked over at Andre, filthy, unshaven, and still deeply asleep, nestled into the contours of my body, and felt a surge of something. Amazement. Gratitude. Love. It did more to restore me than any medical treatment could have. I lowered my voice and said something polite and welcoming. "It's always great to see you guys, but if you wake him up, I'll kill you."

"I told you," Dom said. "First thing in the morning, she's always a charmer."

"Put a sock in it, Florio," I said sweetly. I tried sitting up, but the day after an injury is always the worst. That's when things that don't hurt in the midst of an adrenaline rush scream and complain and carry on. I got as far as lifting my head and gave up. "Can someone ask this bed to sit up please?" Dom raised the bed a little. Andre didn't even stir. He was sleeping through all of this. Or was it sleep? I put my hand on his chest, felt the warmth and the rise and fall, and told my heartbeat to settle down. He was right here and he was alive.

I wanted to talk with them, to have them fill in the pieces, but I wanted to let Andre sleep. I wanted to let Andre sleep and I didn't want to leave him. Not even to go as far as the next bed. It was a quandary I wasn't sufficiently restored to sort out yet.

I stared at the trio of them helplessly. Jack Leonard still hadn't slept. That was obvious. The skin beneath his eyes was puffy and blue, he hadn't shaved, his arms hung limply from his slouched shoulders like burdens too heavy to lift. He looked asleep on his feet, as though, if I poked him, he'd fall into the nearest chair and begin to snore without preamble. But it was a peaceful exhaustion. The incredible tension which had hummed around him the other night was gone. He smiled wanly at my scrutiny and ran a hand over his military short hair. "I might sit down, if you don't mind?" He dropped into a chair and sighed. A big sigh. Gratitude at being freed of the burden of staying on his feet.

Jim Ferret looked like he'd gotten a piece of the action. There was a bandage on his forehead, scratches and bruises on his face, and blood on his shirt. One arm was in a sling. Like Jack, he looked worn-out. But he was still smiling, a mischievous look that was very different from the serious demeanor he'd worn when he sent me out to meet my dreadful fate with only a faint hope of rescue. "Who would have thought," he said, "that beneath that girlish exterior lurked an Annie Oakley?"

"Calamity Jane is more like it," I suggested. "Are you okay?"

"Hey," he shrugged. "I'm a hero. Who could ask for anything more?"

The more we could ask was that this hadn't happened at all. Maybe they had better coping mechanisms than I. Cop School 101:Dealing with the awfulness. I was hunkered down on a tiny island in the midst of a great dismal swamp. If I moved a fraction in any direction, I'd fall into a great black wallow of despair.

Beside me, Andre snuffled loudly, muttered something, and flopped over onto his stomach, snaking an arm around me and pulling me close. They all leaned forward eagerly. Their chat with me was mere politeness. What they'd all come for was a male-bonding experience. Well, all except Dom. I knew he was here for me. "Patience, guys," I said. "He needs his beauty sleep."

"Yeah," Jim said. "And given how he looks now, it's gonna take a lot of sleep. Besides, poor guy's still got a wedding to go through. Nothing's harder on a man than that."

If it hadn't hurt to move, and if I'd had anything handy that was light enough to lift, I would have thrown something at him. "Why don't you guys come back later, when he's awake?"

"Hey!" Dom protested. "You can't send me away. I came to feed you breakfast. I'm here to cut your toast." Truth was, I didn't want him to go. Dom was my lifeline to balance and sanity. Jack and Jim were both good men, but they'd been through this with me. They were both tainted with memories. The best man of all snored softly at my side, but he'd been there, too. He came with his own baggage. In the end, it was Florio who would hear my confession.

"And I'm here to assist," Jim said. Over in the chair, Jack's head had slumped back. He was sound asleep.

"Poor guy," I said. "We've got a spare bed..." I said it lightly, though there was nothing that moved me like a brave and tired man. The one beside me. The ones in this room. All the good men who'd worked around the clock this week. We were all speaking lightly. It was too soon to get into the stuff we really needed to talk about. Everyone was too weary. Too bruised. But there was one thing I had to know. "The little boy. Lyle. Is he all right?"

"He's fine," Jim said. "A little shaken up, but fine. Clyde Davis got him out of there as soon as he could..."

But I needed more reassurance. "He's fine? You're sure?" Jim nodded. "Where is he staying?"

"He's with his father."

"Oh."

"It's a mess," Jim agreed. "Harding was staying in jail because that's where he thought he'd be safest. And he only cared about being safe because of his family. Because of Lyle. He thought there was a deal—an agreement to protect each other's families. As long as he stayed in jail, he was safe, and his family was always safe. He saw the militia as another military organization, and that meant playing by the rules. Once they snatched his kid... it had exactly the opposite effect from what they expected. It was supposed to ensure his silence and make him eager to get out. Instead, it made him talk. Almost too late. I think you saved the boy's life."

"Clyde Davis saved the boy's life. I couldn't even save my own life. That was just a fluke, really."

Jim and Dom both looked at me like a pair of indulgent uncles regarding a feeble-minded but much-loved niece and shook their heads. "You wore the vest," Dom said. "It saved your life."

I lay there for a moment, silently contemplating the enormous pain where the bullet had struck. Today it felt like I'd been impaled on a mortar shell. I couldn't breathe or move without pain. But I should have been lying in a morgue with a bullet through my head. They could talk till the cows came home and I'd never feel heroic. Lucky, maybe. Profoundly disenchanted with human nature. And confused, but not heroic.

"Clyde Davis. There's a story there, right, Jim?" He nodded. "You remember what you said to me, about trying to turn one of them? Well, I picked Clyde. It didn't look like it had worked, but then so many odd things happened. He was kind, he acted like one of them, he seemed to be on my side, and then he was back with them again. I didn't know what to think, not that there was much chance for clear thinking. I thought he might be one of yours and was afraid he'd blow his cover."

"A good man who didn't know which way to turn. We were working on him. Looks like you finished the job."

I closed my eyes and was back in that farmhouse kitchen, sitting in my chair, staring at the four of them around the table, doing my provocative lunatic act—the one I hadn't been able to control. Roy Belcher saying "Just shoot the bitch." Bump raising his gun. Clyde's hand coming out too late. Me jumping up. The sudden, enormous punch to my chest that had lifted me right off my feet.

"He tried to keep them from shooting me but he was too late. It all happened so fast. If he'd succeeded, they might have shot him." I put my hand on the bandage. It probably would hurt for weeks. More ugly pictures for the inside of my head. I ought to see a shrink. It was time. Too many bad things had happened, too many black memories piled up like soot in my brain. I wished I could just take my head to a car wash and have the whole inside scrubbed out with those big, goofy brushes, dried with warm blowers, waxed to a brilliant shine, and buffed, so that I came out all fresh and new. Restored and optimistic. I was afraid that if these guys left, if I was ever left alone again, I wouldn't be able to fight off the black despair. I had lost my baby. I had shot a man. I would never be the same woman I was a week ago.

"Don't bottle it up inside," Jim said. "You need to talk about it."

"After breakfast," Dom said. "Come on, Princess. Time to eat."

I knew Dom was reading my mind. He may not have been there to change my diapers or beam at my first steps, but he's been there to watch me learn to walk like a grown-up. He's watched some of my brave, faltering steps toward wisdom and courage. Watched me obsess about love and commitment, about fear and honor and truth and loyalty. He's seen me struggle through hurt and abandonment, through lies and betrayal, through the terrifying realization that someone wanted me dead and was willing to take the necessary steps to make that happen. He's watched me pull myself together, recover, and go on. He probably knew what I needed better than I did.

"Dom, I..."

He bent and kissed my forehead. "I know, Thea. Black thoughts. Jim's right. You've got to talk about what happened, but not now. Keep 'em away as long as you can. Until you've rested. Till you can talk with Rosie and we can get you back home to your mother..."

Rosie I understood, but my mother? "My mother?" It seemed like an odd idea, since my mother and I are seldom on the same wavelength and since my mother's specialty is criticism of everything I do, especially the dangerous situations I get into.

"Who knows more about losing babies?"

"I feel like such a failure."

"Your standards are too high," he said. "You've already done more good things than most people do in a lifetime. Over and over, you manage to come through. You're an incredible woman and you always think you've failed. Open wide."

I opened wide and he sailed in a delicious forkful of poached eggs and buttery toast, and it wasn't even cold. I chewed and swallowed. "This is not hospital food."

"Of course not. What do you take me for? Am I not the one and only Dominic Florio? Rescuer of maidens in distress? Purveyor of fine breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for those incarcerated in hospital-type institutions?"