The Line Between Here and Now

by Andrea Kane

  “Oh, God.” Amanda pressed her palms to her cheeks. “I don’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it,” Patrick said, patting her shoulder. “Because it is.”

  * * *

  Hutch and Mike, still dressed as EMTs, carried the stretcher out of the ambulance and rushed it inside. Paul lay still, his face partially concealed by the oxygen mask, a blanket pulled up to his chin to help do the job.

  It was only in the closed elevator that Hutch said, “Okay, time to get up and get into this.”

  Paul rose, yanked off the mask and shrugged into the hooded parka Hutch handed him.

  “You obviously can’t put up the hood. You’d stick out like a sore thumb,” Hutch said, shrugging out of his uniform. “But keep the jacket zipped. The hood will bunch up around your neck and hide a chunk of your face. Mike and I will walk ahead of you, so we’ll block you from view. And remember what I said. We’ve arranged to have the waiting room cleared, supposedly for cleaning. We’ll guide you straight to the PICU and to Amanda. The rest is up to you.”

  * * *

  Amanda was in the waiting room with the Forensic Instincts team when the approaching bustle of movement made her snap around. Two men in suits were striding down the hall toward her. They stopped inside the waiting room, and the taller man gave her a wink. Then, they veered off, going over to join the FI team on the sidelines.

  Left standing alone, Paul stared at Amanda, unzipping his parka and pulling the sides apart so that she could make out his whole face.

  The action wasn’t necessary. She already knew who he was.

  He just stood there for a moment. Then he made his way toward Amanda at the same time as Amanda ran forward to meet him.

  They hugged each other fiercely, holding on to each other for strength and comfort as much as for a reunion.

  “I’m so sorry,” Paul murmured, when he finally stepped back, gripping Amanda’s shoulders in his hands and searching her face. “If I’d had any idea… If I’d even guessed.” He gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. “And you had to go through this all by yourself. There’s no way I can ever make that up to you.”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” Amanda told him fervently. “Be a healthy donor match for our son. Please. Help me save his life.”

  Paul sucked in his breath, squaring his shoulders to take on the responsibility that should have been his from the start. “If I am a viable match, will that be enough?”

  Amanda shook her head. She’d gone through every detail with Dr. Braeburn, every possible best- and worst-case scenario. As much as any layperson could understand, she did. Her son-their son-had a huge uphill battle, even if all Paul’s infectious disease testing checked out, and he was the donor. Paul’s peripheral blood stem cells would have to be purified. The purity would have to be high enough and the quantity of stem cells sufficient enough for transplantation. Then, once the peripheral stem cell transplant took place, there was always the chance of graft versus host disease, if Justin’s body rejected Paul’s cells. She couldn’t allow herself to consider that, not after all they’d gone through to find Paul. He was here. God wouldn’t have brought them all this way just to fail now. Paul had to be the answer.

  Still, he was entitled to know everything-including exactly what he was getting into.

  “This won’t be just a simple blood test,” Amanda explained, “not after you’ve been officially ruled a donor. You’ll have to get four days of injections to stimulate your blood marrow so it will release more stem cells into your blood. The fifth day will be the transplant itself. They put you on a special machine that collects and separates your blood. Then, there’s a stem cell purification process that takes place in a sterile lab. Dr. Braeburn can explain the whole process to you.”

  Paul waved away the entire matter. “I’m not the issue. I’ll do whatever has to be done. But, once that’s over, once my cells are in Justin’s body, what are his chances? How long will it take till we see results?”

  “A few weeks.” Amanda clenched her fists at her sides as she spoke. “We need engraftment to occur. That means your donor cells have to successfully take, so to speak, at which point Justin will begin to develop an immune system. Then he can start to fight off all his infections.” A watery smile. “We have to pray. But now that you’re here, I believe in miracles again.”

  Paul’s expression softened. “As do I.” He glanced past Amanda, and down the hall. A hint of awe flashed in his eyes. “Is he… Is Justin…in there?”

  Amanda felt her heart swell, and she nodded. “He looks so much like you,” she said. “He has your eyes, not just the color, but your shape and your eyelids. Oh, and your eyelashes. Remember how I used to tell you how every woman would kill for those thick lashes of yours? Well, now they’re Justin’s, too. And his nose, Paul. It’s a tiny version of yours. He even has your dimple.” She touched Paul’s cheek with her fingertip. “He’s got so much of you in him. He’s curious about everything. He’s easygoing-until he really wants something. And he’s always moving. He kicked me nonstop my entire last trimester. I’m sure he’s going to be a marathon runner like his father. I’m sure…” Amanda fell apart, her body racked with sobs as her stoic veneer shattered.

  Only this time, she had someone to hold her.

  Paul wrapped his arms around her and gave her a fierce hug. “We’re going to make this right, Amanda. I’m going to make this right. You’ll see. Our son is going to be just fine.” Emotion clogging his voice, Paul asked, “May I see him? Even through the window?”

  “Of course.” Amanda stepped back, dashing away her tears. “I’m sorry. I just still can’t believe that you’re here. That you’re alive. That you’re real. That you didn’t intentionally stay away.”

  “I didn’t,” Paul stated fervently. “If you believe nothing else, believe that. I have so much to fill you in on. But later. After I’ve done everything I can for Justin.”

  Amanda took Paul by the hand. “Come on. Come meet your son.”

  * * *

  As they disappeared down the hall, Casey turned to Marc. “Everything’s in place,” she murmured. “The FBI delivered, as promised. Now it’s our turn. Go ahead and take care of what we discussed.”

  Marc nodded. “With pleasure.” He sauntered off, leaving the PICU and taking the elevator to the hospital lobby.

  He’d already selected the deserted spot in the alleyway where he was going to make his phone call. And, in his pocket, he already had what he needed: the spare burner phone he used for just these types of occasions, along with a voice scrambler.

  Calling the FBI tip line was going to be Marc’s pleasure. The information he provided would take care of Lyle Fenton and his mob buddies.

  With a grin, Marc set the scrambler in place.

  Damn, he loved his job.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Hutch and Mike took off to report in. But the FI team stayed on, hanging out in the waiting room to hear the results of Paul and Amanda’s conversation with Dr. Braeburn.

  “I really am good,” Claire announced.

  Ryan did a double take and stared at her. “Did I just hear my voice come out of your mouth?”

  “Nope. That voice you heard, along with the words, were mine. Everything I sensed was accurate. The binary energy? Paul’s double life. The running? Not just Paul’s disappearance, but the marathon that made it necessary. The covert phone calls I kept picking up on the other side of Paul’s bedroom? His undercover work. And the sense of being followed? Mostly, the FBI. The times when I sensed danger? Fenton, keeping tabs on our search for Paul.” Claire eyed Ryan victoriously, like the cat who swallowed the canary. “You can’t argue with success.”

  Patrick gave an exaggerated groan. “God, I think he’s rubbing off on her.”

  An interesting choice of words, Casey thought.

  Quickly, she glanced at Claire, then Ryan. She watched Claire avert her gaze, her cheeks tinged with pink. And she saw Ryan, who would customarily be del
ivering one barb after the next, remaining uncharacteristically silent, an odd expression crossing his face.

  These two had so slept together, it wasn’t funny.

  “You know, Patrick, I think you’re right,” Casey said. “They’re definitely rubbing off on each other. So tell us, guys, when did this start?”

  Claire blanched. “What?”

  “This sudden self-confidence that smacks of Ryan-only a tad less arrogant.” Casey was the picture of innocence. “When did it start?”

  “I’m just acknowledging how right-on my awareness was this time,” Claire said, recovering herself. “I’m pleased that I was connecting. That doesn’t mean I’m professing to be a world-class genius, as do others we know.”

  “Like you, I only speak the truth.” Ryan had clearly regained his composure, as well. It was business as usual.

  “I speak it. You flaunt it-and exaggerate it,” Claire corrected him.

  “Nah. Gecko and I were definitely the heroes of the day.” Ryan grinned. “Although you didn’t do too badly. I don’t begrudge you a few self-congratulations.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Acknowledgment, Ryan. Not self-congratulations. I didn’t win the lottery. I helped locate a man who’s desperate to save his child. I did my job.”

  “Yes, you did,” Casey said quietly, bringing the conversation around to the grave situation at hand. “We all did. But it’s not enough.” She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked up to regard her team soberly. “Technically, our jobs are over. But they’re really not, are they?”

  The rest of the team grew equally sober.

  “No, they’re not.” Patrick answered for all of them. “And they won’t be until this crisis comes to a successful conclusion. We’re professionals-damned good ones. But we’re also human. We care. We’re emotionally invested in this case. That’s one of the things I most admire about working with this team.”

  “Ditto,” Ryan said.

  “We’re not even close to being out of the woods.” Claire made the statement with a faraway look in her eyes. “I don’t understand all the medical jargon. But it’s complicated. And it will be a long road till it’s over.”

  “And when it is?” Casey asked. “What will the outcome be?”

  A frustrated shrug. “I wish I knew. The energy I’m picking up on is overwhelmingly emotional-on so many levels-and it’s coming at me from all sides.”

  Marc rejoined the group at that moment. Briefly, he met Casey’s gaze and gave her a quick nod. The call had been made, the wheels set in motion. As they spoke, FBI agents would be descending on Fenton’s home, his New York offices and his maritime operations in Bayonne. And that was just the start. The dominos would begin to fall, one by one. And, by the time they’d all crashed down, the Bureau’s interviewing rooms would be as full as the AUSA’s docket.

  Casey nodded back.

  “I ran into Hutch in the lobby,” Marc informed the team. “Evidently, he and Mike put the necessary items in Paul’s bag to help disguise his identity. Since he’ll be at the hospital for at least three days-more, if he’s a donor match, he needs to be unrecognizable. That was part of the deal. This way, he can move freely to the lab for blood and diagnostic tests, and stay in the PICU with Amanda and Justin without worrying about anyone spotting him.”

  “He won’t be leaving Sloane Kettering,” Claire responded. “Not for a long time. Whether or not he’s a match, he won’t leave Amanda’s and Justin’s sides. Not after all they’ve been through to become a family. He’ll be here to see Justin through this crisis. Damn the Bureau.”

  * * *

  Standing with Amanda outside Justin’s window, Paul was thinking exactly that. Right now, everything he cared about was right in front of him. He saw all the apparatus, all the tubes helping Justin with his struggle to survive. But he also saw his son. His son. Amanda was right. He could see himself in the tiny person whose eyes would occasionally open as if he was somehow aware that someone new had been added to his life.

  Paul could actually feel his chest constrict. The emotion, the fierce sense of protectiveness, the entire feeling that seized him was indescribable. And, in that moment, he knew he’d move heaven and earth to make sure his son lived a healthy, normal life.

  While they waited for Dr. Braeburn, Paul filled Amanda in on his real name, his job with the FBI and the fact that he was involved in a deep undercover operation throughout their time together. He couldn’t share the details. Nor did they matter. All that mattered now was Justin.

  Dr. Braeburn came out of his office and approached Paul and Amanda. He’d already explained all the specifics to Paul, starting with the preparation Paul would undergo for the four days prior to the transplant. Then came the day itself. The apheresis-the actual technology during which Paul’s blood would pass through an apparatus, collecting and separating out the cells necessary for the transplant and returning the remaining blood to his circulatory system-was a four-hour procedure, followed by a ten-hour purification process to enrich the stem cells as much as possible before the blood was ready to transfer to Justin. The transplant itself would be done right in the PICU and was an IV infusion of Paul’s purified stem cells into Justin’s body.

  At Paul’s insistence, Dr. Braeburn had reviewed what to hope for afterward, although he warned Paul not to accept the timetable as ironclad.

  “Each case is different,” he’d explained. “Engraftment can take place anytime between ten and twenty-eight days. So I don’t want you losing faith if it takes longer than the two-week period I’ve suggested. Also, I know Amanda’s mentioned graft-versus-host disease to you. We’re hoping that won’t happen, but we’ll have our experts in several pediatric subspecialties-hematology, gastroenterology and dermatology-monitoring Justin for fever, rashes, diarrhea and anything else that could indicate GVHD. We’ll also have our infectious diseases specialists monitoring him for infections of any kind.”

  Paul couldn’t help himself. He had to ask the question that Amanda had sidestepped with him earlier, only because she so desperately wanted to put it out of her mind. She knew the answer. But to hear it said aloud-again-she just couldn’t bear it.

  Still, she understood. Paul had to know.

  “If I’m a healthy donor match,” he asked Dr. Braeburn, “and if the transplant takes place, what are Justin’s immediate chances for survival?”

  Dr. Braeburn regarded him soberly. “If Justin weren’t as sick as he is right now, I’d say close to ninety percent. But I won’t lie to you. Given his physical condition, his chances are a little better than fifty-fifty.”

  Amanda’s insides twisted, and she turned away, tears clogging her throat.

  “But we’re not going to focus on odds,” the doctor continued. “We’re going to focus on a positive outcome. If the engraftment takes place and clears the pneumonia-which I’m hoping it will-Justin’s long-term survival rate will increase to ninety percent, after which there’s every reason to believe that he will live a full and healthy life.”

  For the umpteenth time, Amanda found herself silently praying. But she also knew that, between now and then, there were so many hurdles to conquer, so many “what-ifs” to face.

  “It will be all right,” Paul murmured, as if reading her mind. His fingers closed around hers. “We’re going to beat this, Amanda. Justin’s going to beat this.”

  She nodded, determined to stay as strong as she’d been before Paul’s return. She’d coped with this all alone. Now she’d cope with it together with Justin’s father.

  One step at a time.

  Paul was anxious to take step one.

  “Everything’s been arranged,” Dr. Braeburn informed Paul. “Once your blood’s been drawn, you’ll go through a battery of tests, just to make sure you’re healthy and there’s nothing to rule you out as a donor. Then, you’ll come back up here. Amanda will show you the visitation protocol, and the sterile attire you’ll have to wear before going inside. After that, you’re welcome to spend time
with your son. I know you want to hold him, but that will have to wait. The fewer people who handle him right now, the better.”

  “I understand.” Paul nodded. He looked ashen.

  “Let’s get you tested,” Dr. Braeburn said gently. “We’ll take it from there.”

  * * *

  The FI team was waiting when Amanda and Paul-now with blond hair, glasses and two-inch lifts in his shoes-emerged from the PICU and into the waiting area. Paul paused, gave Amanda a quick kiss and squeezed her hands hard. Then, he waved at the FI team and headed purposefully off toward the elevator.

  Amanda walked over to join the team.

  “I was instructed by Agent Hutchinson to stay here with you,” she told them quietly. “My being by Paul’s side would make him more recognizable. This way is safer.” She gazed anxiously after Paul. “I wish I could be there. I wish they could tell him the results on the spot. I wish…” She broke off and gave a hard shake of her head. “I’m not letting myself think that way. I’m just going to be grateful that you found Paul, and believe in my heart that it’s a good sign. I have to think positively, for Justin’s sake.”

  “That strategy has worked up until now,” Marc reminded her.

  “You’re right.” Amanda’s expression changed. “Your team and I haven’t had a chance to talk. We do now. How guilty was my uncle? Where do things stand on that front?”

  “Listen to me, Amanda.” It was Casey who spoke. “You’re a very intelligent woman. You realize this situation goes a lot deeper than any of us realized. Let’s just be grateful that Paul was one of the good guys.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” Amanda’s gaze was steady. “And I need to know. Obviously, Paul is an undercover FBI agent assigned to a high-level case. So who was following us? Was it other agents sent to prevent you from finding Paul?”