“You’re welcome.” She wanted to make the hurt of this day go away but couldn’t. She rested her head against his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered and felt the emotions shake him. He was close to losing it and he wouldn’t want her to witness that. She squeezed him and then let him go. She didn’t try to put words to her good-bye; Stephen absolutely hated goodbyes.
He stepped outside and she stood in the doorway, waving when she heard him put the car into gear. “Come back soon, Stephen,” she whispered, listening to the car pull out of the drive.
Eight
MONDAY, DECEMBER 17
CHICAGO
Kate tugged open her desk drawer, looked with longing at the chocolate bar and regretfully pushed it aside, knowing her queasy stomach would never handle it. She reached for the bag of crackers that came with the soup she’d had at lunch. She wanted the man currently in jail for kidnapping to catch a bad bout of the stomach flu as payback. He’d held a busload of children hostage because he wanted to kill himself and do it with media attention. At least one of the kids had the stomach flu. By the time Kate talked him into releasing them, she’d caught the bug and hadn’t been able to shake it off for the last week.
“Try this.” Her FBI agent husband set a bottle of Diet 7 Up in front of her and then perched on the edge of her desk. He didn’t bother to tell her to go home. They’d already battled that out this morning before she left. One weekend in bed sick had convinced her she’d rather be on her feet. When she could stay standing, that was. The light-headedness hit at the most unfortunate times. Dave didn’t have to tell her she wasn’t worth much on the job today. She’d voluntarily put herself on desk duty for the day. They had a deal: She would work as a hostage negotiator until they had a family, and then she would have to suffer a pedestrian career in homicide, robbery, or fraud. A child deserved to have both parents come home from work. And a hostage negotiator role was a bit too much risk to accept—even for her. This day of paperwork was turning her mind into mush and reminding her why she so disliked those safer options.
She twisted off the top and took a long drink then leaned back in her chair to look at him. The man looked fine, but he was smothering her with all his care. “I thought you had a day in court.”
“It got bumped to tomorrow; the lawyers are arguing motions. It’s kind of hard for a mob boss to get away with murdering his wife when it’s obvious from the evidence that he did it. But he can stall the trial a bit.”
The crime was four years old, or was it five? She lost track of time. It was a case of Dave’s from before she knew him. A mob boss killed his wife for having an affair—a pretty straightforward conviction assuming evidence didn’t get tossed on a technicality. Dave and his team were too good at their jobs to have that happen. “What is this, his second or third trial?”
“He bribed a juror the first time. His lawyer died of a heart attack in the second one. He won’t get so lucky a third time. What time did Marcus say he was coming into town?”
“I told him we’d pick him up at seven.” Marcus was making a twenty-four-hour visit at her request so they could hash out plans—someone had to go after Stephen. It was one thing to be traveling to get some space, another to stay away over the Christmas holidays. She wanted him home.
“Would you like me to make myself scarce so you two can talk?”
“Stay around. I have a feeling I’m going to need the backup. Marcus has a different opinion than I do and it could be an interesting discussion.”
“Stephen is okay.” Dave nudged her hair back behind her ear and tipped up her chin. “He’s an O’Malley. He may not often go this far afield, but it’s not like he doesn’t have your phone number.”
Would Dave tag along if she decided to go knock on Stephen’s motel room door? He probably would, just so he could sympathize with her brother. “Some space is one thing; hurting and hiding is another. It’s time to give him a shove back to the land of the living.”
“I’ll fix barbeque ribs on the grill for dinner to soften Marcus up, and we’ll see if you can keep down a salad. You won’t succeed in changing Marcus’s mind, but for what it’s worth, I’m on your side.”
“You just don’t want to spend the next couple weeks listening to me worry about Stephen.”
Dave smiled. “You worry very nicely. It’s kind of cute.” He picked up the last cracker. “Eat; you need to keep something down today.”
“I want my coffee back, and my sugar.”
His eyes narrowed. “Still that rocky?”
She drank more of the Diet 7 Up. “This stuff is one step away from being medicine. Find me some goldfish crackers, okay? Those little yellow things.”
Dave laughed. “It will ruin your image.”
“Probably. But no one will dare say anything to my face.”
He glanced around the open office packed with desks and men. “Sure they will—” he looked back at her—“just not until you feel better.”
ARIZONA
Stephen checked the straps tying down the cover on the fishing boat, confirming it was still tight and secured for the night. Arizona in December was an odd combination of cool weather, occasional rain, desert, and huge reservoirs that had some of the best fishing in the Southwest. He’d bought the boat and trailer last month from a couple at the nearby campground, and he planned to sell it next month when he was ready to move on. It was cheaper than renting a boat since he planned to use it each day.
He picked up the bucket of chicken from the front seat of his truck—a replacement for his car that had died in South Dakota. He lifted a hand to the motel owner, who was washing windows in the office, and walked down to room number eight. The motel wouldn’t bankrupt him, so he’d put down semitemporary roots here.
The carpet was worn and the furniture old, but the linens were fresh, the bed neatly remade. The owner’s wife had brought down his mail and set it on the round table along with a promised piece of her raspberry cobbler.
Stephen dropped his keys on the dresser and stepped out of his shoes, setting his dinner on the table, and out of habit turned on the T V. He didn’t care much about local news, so he flipped to cable news to see what was going on in the world.
The national news wasn’t interesting: a multicar pileup in Georgia, a line of ice and winter storms in Colorado, and a steady rain across Florida, causing some flooding. He clicked over to a rerun of Quincy.
Stephen fixed a plate for dinner. Chicken was a change from his own catch of fish, even if it was about the hundredth chicken meal he’d had since this trip began.
He still hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back for the O’Malley Christmas gathering. The fact he was debating it when normally a family gathering was the highlight, told him the memories that had driven this journey were far from settled. He would be there for the weddings in June and July—Jack, Rachel, and Marcus in quick succession—then all of his family would be married except him.
It was time to make some decisions he’d been avoiding for months. He didn’t want to go back to Chicago, back to being a paramedic. That life was distant now and he didn’t miss it. But if not Chicago, then what? Keeping the O’Malleys out of trouble was a mission that had run its course.
He was getting tired of traveling. He’d visited national parks and Indian reservations, seen a lot of wildlife, walked through numerous art galleries, and studied beautiful homes. He’d met fishermen and hunters and retired couples and teens longing to head to the big city. He’d ridden horses, done some white-water rafting, tried his hand at skydiving, and got some practice at waterskiing. He had needed the downtime, but there had just been too much time to think during the long drives.
He could join a construction crew and earn some serious money for the summer, but what would he spend it on? He could buy a home in Chicago and fix it up to live in long term, but it would have him bouncing around a huge place alone. He could start a business of his own—carpentry, construction—but it just didn’t spark any
interest.
He was bored. And lonely.
No O’Malley handled bored very well. He set down his dinner plate and went to wax the truck.
He wished the loneliness had as easy a solution.
CHICAGO
Marcus O’Malley took his soda into the living room, impressed with the efforts Kate had gone to for this brief visit. She called; he came. He would have come anyway on Dave’s word that Kate was still feeling pretty rocky after the bus hostage crisis. Children slid under her defenses like no other victims, and she bore the weight of those calls for months. And she had never been able to handle being sick.
He sat on the couch and looked across at Kate, curled up on one of the chairs. He’d been the guardian of the O’Malleys for over two decades. He’d walked through some very dark days with Kate and there was no one he trusted more. It had been hard since Jennifer died, for they both had been feeling their way through the weeks and months. “What’s the family grapevine say?”
“That if Stephen isn’t coming home, we skip Christmas as a family. No one wants to meet without him there.”
He turned his glass in his hand, studying the ice. “Is that why you think we need to tug him back?” He looked up and caught an expression briefly crossing her face that he couldn’t interpret. His eyes narrowed. Emotional control defined Kate and how she handled her life, her job, and that had been a very fascinating flash.
“It’s time. His place is here, not miles away. Christmas will be miserable for him if he spends it alone.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want that for him.”
“He wants it for himself. He wants to feel again, Kate, and when he hits Christmas alone he’s got an excuse to feel miserable. Tug him back here, and he’d just have to pretend he’s okay.”
“He doesn’t need to rescue us from the hurt.”
“Doesn’t he?” Marcus set aside the glass. “He protects you and he always has. Protecting you from his grief—it matters to him.”
He watched her rise. Kate had very few tells that gave away what she was thinking, but a break in eye contact, pacing— something more than a disrupted family gathering was behind her desire to have Stephen back in Chicago. “Something going on with Meghan?”
She glanced over, startled.
“She’s the one other person he’s been sending some letters to. I know the two of you have talked a few times. Did he say anything that has you concerned?”
“No.”
“Then relax. Stephen was like this the year after his parents died, when he didn’t want anyone close. Give him a year away. He’ll be back for the weddings.”
She leaned against the bookshelves, sipping a cup of tea Dave gave her, pensive in a way he didn’t remember seeing in a long time. “Okay, Marcus. I won’t chase him down.”
“What else is going on?”
She looked over and shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
She came over to settle back in her seat. “Do you think he’ll bring someone to Jack and Cassie’s wedding?”
“Maybe Ann and the boys. It would be logical since she’s already on the invitation list. Stephen will settle down when he’s ready, when the desire for roots is larger than the fear of having them torn away by tragedy. Drink your tea,” Marcus encouraged.
“Your flight is at ten tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll drive you to the airport. Dave’s got a court appearance.”
“Let’s talk more in the morning then. I’m ready for a few hours of sleep.” He stood and picked up his glass, then paused by her chair to touch her shoulder. “I’m glad you called.”
“So am I.”
He’d figure out what was going on. He took his glass back to the kitchen and went to find Dave to start some quiet questioning.
Nine
Arizona didn’t provide snow for Christmas. Stephen took a walk after breakfast on Christmas morning, and when he returned to the motel, he decided he would spend the day on the water fishing and reading a book from Lisa. It was a depressing day to spend alone, but he had chosen this over being with family. He had only himself to blame.
The phone rang as he unlocked his room. He reached it on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Stephen, Merry Christmas! I wasn’t sure I’d catch you.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Hey, lady.” He didn’t want to burst Meghan’s happiness with his less-than-compelling company. “I’m just heading out, as a matter of fact.”
“You sound down.”
So much for keeping his voice steady. “I’m just tired.” He pulled out a chair at the table.
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for the Christmas gift. The time you must have invested to carve an entire chess set—I’m honored. The queen feels like an elegant lady. And the knights, I can feel their armor.”
He sank back in the chair; he hadn’t been sure how she would take the gift. “Finding time to whittle is easy given how many hours I’ve spent watching a bobber and hoping for a fish to come by. I remember you said you loved to play.”
“There’s no need to downplay the effort. I love the gift. I’ll practice with Dad, so when you return I’ll be able to give you a decent game.”
“I’ll enjoy that, Meg.”
“Is your Christmas Day going okay?”
He looked at the remaining unwrapped gifts from his family still on the table. He was trying to avoid the bittersweet joy that would come with opening them. They could wait until tonight when his sadness had worn off. At least he hoped it would. “I’m going fishing. It’s a sunny day here and nice weather to be on the water,” he said, trying to convince himself.
“Have you opened my gift yet?”
He moved around the packages on the table. The shoebox-size gift from her had a big red bow on it. “I’ll open it tonight. I’m saving it for last.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. Call me later when you open it, okay? No matter what the time.”
“It could be pretty late, Meg.”
“That’s okay. You’ll understand later.”
“All right. What are you doing with the rest of your day?”
“Thinking about furniture. I’m buying a house.”
His hand stopped twisting the ribbon on her package. “When did this come about?”
Meghan laughed. “Suddenly. The current owners are moving to Nebraska for a job that starts January 1, and they have to sell quickly. We came to a fair price. It’s the house I’ve dreamed about for years. It’s in town, just off Main Street, so I can walk to work at the medical clinic. The house is small enough that I won’t feel overwhelmed to maintain it, but the yard will be fine for Blackie. There’s room for a craft area, an office, and a large bedroom suite. I’m not wild about the basement but I can use it for storage.”
“I’m happy for you, Meg. Are your parents comfortable with the idea?”
“Not entirely, but it’s time. You’ve got a standing invitation to see it when you come back to town.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
“Is there anything I can do to help make your day brighter?”
“You already have, Meghan. It was good to hear your voice. I’ll call you later tonight.”
“Then I’ll let you go. Take care.”
He hung up the phone, smiling, and picked up his keys. The day would pass peacefully if he didn’t let himself think about what he’d lost. He had a conference call with his family arranged for this evening; he would look forward to that. Jennifer, today I just miss your voice.
Stephen opened the rest of the gifts from his family after dinner on Christmas Day, a cup of hot coffee on the table beside him, a piece of raspberry cobbler for dessert. It wasn’t what they sent as much as the fact that they had plastered the wrapped gifts with stickers and all signed the funny Christmas card. He found his favorite salami, hot mustard, an assortment of cheeses, homemade cookies, new fishing lures, two new books, and a
stack of prepaid phone cards. He smiled at the phone cards. He was missed. He was loved. And the gifts were comfort gifts.
Stephen picked up the large flat box from Jack. He tugged out a painting, and his laughter echoed around the room. Jack had sent him the fish painting. He should have predicted it; he’d given it to Jack five years ago. It had been passed around among the O’Malleys as the white elephant gift and had finally come full circle. Stephen took down a painting on the wall and hung the fish for its one day of the year on display.
He gathered up the wrapping paper and filled a garbage bag, then straightened the gifts on the table. Taking a couple homemade peanut butter cookies with him, he stretched out on the bed and picked up the phone. He dialed from memory. “Hello,
Meghan. What am I interrupting?”
“I’m curled up in the chair between the fireplace and the Christmas tree, listening to the quiet house. I’ll probably fall asleep here before I make it to bed.”
He could see her there enjoying the fire. “A nice picture.”
“Hmm, it is. Did your day turn out okay?”
“I had a good day fishing.” He shifted to look at the shoebox beside him. “I opened your gift. I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed.” The box was full of cassette tapes made by Meghan, recording her favorite songs and providing her own intros to the artists.
“I enjoyed being the deejay. I didn’t want you falling asleep when you drove, so now you can have me for company.”
“I wish I had been a better friend to you over the years.”
“Would you stop? You’re going to make me all teary tonight.”
“The gift is great.”
“You’re very welcome.” A comfortable silence stretched between them. “I wish I could take away the loneliness that comes with today, Stephen.”
“Your voice helps.”
“Has it helped, getting away for a while?”
He thought about the myriad ways he could answer that and couldn’t put all the emotions into words. “Yes.”
“Then I’m glad you went.”
The Rescuer Page 8