Survive the Night (Lost, Inc.)

by Hinze, Vicki

  She did. She had. That’s the highest form of praise Madison McKay had ever given her. Total, unconditional faith in her competence.

  “What?” Madison asked, perplexed.

  “Nothing,” Della whispered.

  Clearly oblivious that her words meant so much, Madison started walking toward the building. “Room’s on the second floor.”

  Paul clasped her shoulder. “She’s right, you know. A lot’s broken our way and you will get him.”

  “I know. I just want things to get—”

  “Easier?”

  She looked up at Paul. “Yes. Exactly. It’s been a hard three years and I’m weary. I need a little bliss. Actually, I wouldn’t mind more than a little bliss.”

  “You’ll get it. That’s a promise. This, too, shall pass.”

  Madison looked back at Della. “If I had to face half of what you’ve dealt with, I don’t know if I’d still be upright. You’re my hero.” Madison took a sip of her sweet tea. A bit dribbled and she quickly swiped it up. For some reason she was in Mrs. Renault’s car and it was as impeccable as the woman who owned it. “When I grow up, I want half your strength.”

  Stunned, Della smiled. She had no idea Madison felt that way. “You already have more.”

  “No, actually, I don’t. I’m learning, watching you.”

  Della didn’t know what to say to that. She wouldn’t have thought it for a second. Madison was always quick, decisive and steadfast. She always seemed to have it together and to know exactly what to do, acting with confidence, and she was certainly self-reliant and assured. These comments seemed so out of character for her, but in a way, were they really? How many times had she said, “Fake it till you make it”? Madison was faking confidence and strength—well, kind of, anyway. She was acting on leaps of faith, trusting that strength would come. Acting as if she already had it, trusting she’d get what she needed.

  There was a lesson in that.

  There was—probably several of them.

  They entered the wide front door. A compass had been inlaid in teak in the center of the lobby floor. Straight ahead was a check-in desk. To the right was a wide spiral staircase and to the right of it a wooden elevator. Taking the stairs, they headed up to the second floor and then walked down the soft gray hallway to room 205. “Here it is,” she said, a little surprised. From the hallway, it seemed nothing was amiss.

  Madison knocked on the door. “Ian?”

  “It’s okay.” Though muffled, Doc’s voice carried into the hall. “It’s Madison McKay.” The door opened.

  “Della. Paul.” Doc motioned them inside. “Sorry about the cottage.” He studied her. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Seeing Paul’s head jerk in her direction, she recalled his aversion to the word. “I’m okay, really,” she amended.

  Four officers stood in the room. All were stoic, intense and busy. One took photographs, another dusted surfaces of tables, lamps, the remote for the television. The other two stood staring into a closet, jotting notes on two separate pads. Della got a weird, sick feeling. Nothing seemed odd in the room itself. Whatever Doc had called them here to see was clearly inside the closet that had captured all their interest.

  Paul stepped forward. “What did you find?”

  “Is Della really okay?” Doc asked in a stage whisper. “I mean, can she take a shock?”

  “She can hear you, and she can take a shock.” She answered for herself. “She’s absorbed a mountain of them, and she’s still aboveground and upright.”

  Madison nodded.

  “The housekeeper found this and reported it to the manager. He took one look and called the police.”

  Della followed Doc’s hand signal and looked into the closet. Taped to the back wall were a dozen photographs of her and her son. Her at her wedding...at the hospital, holding Danny for the first time...playing with him on the floor before the Christmas tree...and they were all mutilated. Neither she nor Danny had eyes!

  “These are of you and Danny, right?” Doc asked. “They seem to be, but Tamela Baker looks a lot like you. We couldn’t be sure.”

  “They’re Danny and me.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  If each photo hadn’t evoked a specific memory in her mind, even she wouldn’t be able to say without a doubt. All the faces were slashed. She stared at them in horror until she couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Rage flared in her belly, burned as hot as the fire at the cottage. She’d begged, begged, for three solid years for one photo. Just one, and he’d done this? A keening sound escaped from her throat.

  She looked away, determined to squelch it. And on the floor of the closet below them sat something that raised the threat again with a vengeance.

  A pair of neon-blue aquatic shoes.

  * * *

  Della and Paul dropped Madison off at her home on the bay, switched from Mrs. Renault’s sedan to Madison’s Jag and then took it to the ranch, where their protective detail should be waiting.

  Paul hadn’t pushed Della to talk on the long ride home. She was grateful for that. Seeing those photos of Danny and her slashed...it was just the last straw. She’d hit her limit on endurable body slams. If one more thing happened, she was apt to pop her cork, as Miss Addie liked to say, or more likely, collapse into the fetal position and just stay that way.

  When they arrived at the ranch, Jake met them just inside the gate.

  At the head of the driveway near the ranch house, Warny stood waiting, shotgun in hand. She braced herself for gunfire and falling tree limbs—they were in a strange vehicle—but he didn’t shoot. Did he recognize Madison’s car?

  Paul stopped the Jag and they got out.

  “Out of ammo?” Della attempted a little levity.

  His face seemed carved of stone and lined with worry. “Madison called and warned me you were in her car. The detail’s been detained but should be here shortly. Bad wreck on the interstate.”

  “Ah.” Madison knew of his tree-shooting penchant. Not surprised. Word traveled fast in a small community like North Bay.

  “Jack Sampson told me about the fire. He says you were unconscious and you had to escape from the ambulance on the way to the hospital. You okay, Miss Della?”

  “Fit as a fiddle, thank you.”

  “Jack kind of feels responsible since he hired the tire-slasher. Wants you to know he’s real sorry about that and he and his family are hunting down that Jeff Jackson. He says Jeff’s the same guy.”

  She had to smile. “It’s not Jack’s fault, Warny. When you talk to him, tell him. The man fooled me, too, and I was...” She couldn’t make herself say it. “I should have known better.” If she’d listened to her instincts, she would have. But she’d been so hesitant to blame him because she’d been falsely blamed. Sometimes it was hard to find the line between being fair and foolish.

  Paul petted Jake. “Everything okay here?”

  “Right as rain. Jake and me’s been patrolling since Jack called. We ain’t seen a thing.”

  “Good news.” Paul seemed as eager for it as Della felt. “Thanks, Warny.”

  “She’s swaying on her feet, son.” Warny motioned to Della. “Best get her settled in afore she drops like a stone.” He looked down to the alert rottweiler. “Jake, you watch her, boy.”

  He barked.

  A half hour later, Della was bathed and shampooed and free of the stink of smoke and the fire. She dried off and changed into a clean T-shirt and pajama pants and then lay snug in bed in the buttery-yellow room.

  Exhausted from the heart out, she closed her eyes, expressed her silent gratitude for her life. For Paul sensing something was wrong, for getting her out of that burning house. And for helping her recognize Jeff’s voice and not blurt out anything that got anyone hurt. She was grateful for much more...for having Madison follow them in Mrs. Renault’s car and get them away from Jeff. And for giving Paul the foresight to get that IV needle out of her arm. She was grateful...for everything.

  Images of t
hose horribly disfigured photos filled her mind and haunted her. “Go away,” she whispered. Maybe Cray would catch Jeff and she could remember something not terrible. “It doesn’t have to be something good, just something not terrible.”

  A vision of Danny and her on the beach building a sand castle formed in her mind. She grabbed it and held on, wishing Paul could see it, too, and then lost herself in the joyful memory of that day.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast, Cray called and Paul talked with him, then rejoined Della and Warny at the kitchen table. The smell of sausage omelets and homemade biscuits still filled the air.

  Warny buttered his third, then smeared on strawberry jam. “I like your cooking, Miss Della.”

  She smiled. “It’s fun to have someone to cook for again.”

  “I still can’t believe you like it, but I think I’ll get used to it fast.” Paul grinned, but as he returned to the table, his smile faded. “They haven’t found Jeff,” he told her. “The file photos from Tennessee came in. Cray’s having an officer drive them out.”

  She nodded. Sipped her coffee.

  “Della, I wish you wouldn’t look at them. Let me. You don’t need to see—”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I need to see them.”

  Warny took his dishes to the sink, limping badly. “What’s wrong with your leg?” She hadn’t noticed him limp last night, but he hadn’t really moved much, either.

  “Knee’s out again,” he said. “Thunder stumbled yesterday and banged me against a tree. I woke up near lame this morning.”

  “Do you need to see the doctor? I can call—”

  “Naw, the vet was out checking the horses, so he took a look. Said to stay off it and ice it down. No riding today.”

  “Go sit in the recliner and kick your feet up,” Paul said. “I’ll bring you an ice pack.”

  “I got my own recliner, but I’ll take the ice pack. I’m reading me a book I want to get back to in the barn.”

  “I can get your book.”

  “I want my chair—in my barn, son.”

  “Let me fix you an ice pack, then.” Della pulled out a ziplock bag and filled it with a mixture of crushed and cubed ice, then rifled through the freezer and found a bag of frozen peas. “These work better.” She passed the peas and then the ice pack. “They conform to the shape of your leg.”

  He looked skeptical.

  “Miss Addie uses them all the time.”

  “All righty, then. Thanks.” Warny took them both and then headed to the back door, pausing to scan the monitors.

  “Everything look okay?” Paul asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll exercise the horses till your knee gets better.” The air smelled of rain.

  He nodded. “Best get to it, then. Thunder gets stiff if he ain’t walked before ten.”

  Paul smiled. “As soon as I help Della with the kitchen.”

  Warny left, and Jake got his bites from them both. “You go on,” she said. “I can get this.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “If Warny thinks you’re cutting it too close, he’ll go exercise Thunder anyway, and you know it.”

  “He will.” Paul’s expression softened. “It’s best. I want to be back before the rain gets here.”

  “And before the photos come.”

  “That, too. The alarm will be off, so stay alert.”

  “I will.” Thoughtful, she set her dishes on the counter and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. “You are such a blessing, Paul Mason.”

  “I’m blessed.” He kissed her, closing his arms around her and pulling her close.

  Jake barked.

  Paul frowned at him. “Warny made him do that. I know he did.”

  Della laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”

  “Guard.” Paul grabbed his hat, checked the monitors then headed to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Remember, you’re alone with no protection. Stay alert.”

  “The detail should be here any minute. And I’m armed.” She smiled, giving the dog a pat. “We’re fine, aren’t we, Jake?”

  He wagged his tail.

  Paul went outside and Jake went barreling after him, whining and whimpering at the back door closing, shutting him inside. Paul had been gone a lot lately and Jake hadn’t gotten out and run. Now he was champing at the bit to join Paul.

  Della’s heart couldn’t take the sad pleading in his eyes. “All right.” She opened the door. “Go to him, boy.”

  Jake took off like a shot, his stride long, his ears slicking back.

  Della watched him go. “Now, that’s a happy puppy.” She smiled, couldn’t not smile, and it occurred to her that despite all their trials and challenges, she was happy, too. She braced for the guilt that always followed, but it didn’t come.

  Maybe finally she was healing. She finished cleaning the kitchen and set the cast-iron skillet she’d made biscuits in back into the oven to dry.

  When she turned to put the dish towel on the counter, she gasped.

  A uniformed officer stood in the kitchen, holding a brown manila envelope. His hat shadowed his eyes and concealed too much of his face. “Don’t you knock?”

  “I did. No one answered,” he said in a low gravelly voice. “I was afraid something was wrong, so I came to check.”

  He hadn’t knocked. She would have heard it. “Everything’s fine. Thank you.” She reached out for the envelope. “This is the information from Detective Cray, correct?”

  “I’m supposed to give it to Mr. Mason.”

  A cold chill swept up her back. Her gun was in the bedroom. She needed a weapon. “Paul?” she called out.

  No answer, of course.

  She feigned surprise at that. “Just a minute, let me get him.” She took two steps. “Paul.” She raised her voice. “The protective detail’s arrived with the info from Detective—”

  He spun her around by the shoulder, shoved back his hat. “He’s not here and you’re not getting this information, Della.” The .45 in his hand was aimed at her.

  “Jeff.” Her heart beat harder, faster. She mentally talked herself calm. Don’t panic. He’ll kill you. Don’t panic. “What do you want?”

  “My son.”

  She hiked her chin. “Me, too.”

  The veins in his neck bulged. “I thought it would get better with time. It hasn’t.”

  “No.” She borrowed a line from Miss Addie, slowly scanned, looking for something to defend herself with but spotting nothing. “It doesn’t get better,” she told him. “We just get better at dealing with it.”

  “I knew you’d do this.” He waved the envelope. “It was just a matter of time.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play stupid. That might work with Mason, but not with me. I know you.”

  Having no idea what to say, she stayed silent. Fear coiled inside her. He wanted her dead, but worse, he wanted her to suffer. Why? How could he not know she had suffered? She still suffered.

  “It took you longer to figure it out than I thought it would. Course, you haven’t seen the pictures, so I guess that’s why.”

  “I saw the photos you left at Delta Pointe.” She frowned at him. The smell of biscuits had been so good earlier. Now the scent seemed heavy and cloying. “Why did you cut our faces, Jeff? Why would you do that to Danny and me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t even go there.” He did think she was stupid. What did he fear she would see in the pictures? What did he fear she would figure out? What did he not want Danny or her to see? Or was it that he didn’t want them to see him? She didn’t have a clue.

  “You won’t get pictures of him.” His big body shook. “Not now, not ever.”

  “Why not? Did you destroy all of them? Blind our son in all of them, Jeff? Why did you do that? What are you trying to stop Danny and me from seeing?”

  His eyes wi
dened.

  “That’s it. You blinded us so that we couldn’t see it. The man you really are. That’s what you were doing. That’s why you’re terrified of me seeing the photographs in that envelope. You’re terrified enough to kill me to keep your secret. But what makes you think the truth is still a secret, Jeff?” She frowned at him and faked knowing what he obviously thought she knew. She changed tactics to confuse him. “What I still don’t get is Tamela. Why get involved with a woman who has to remind you of me? You hate me, so why would you do that? Had to be because you needed her to ship the package, which makes me wonder why she would agree. Did you threaten her, too, Jeff?”

  “I’m marrying her.”

  “See? Now, that’s just odd. Why are you marrying me all over again? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “She’s nothing like you. With you, the military came first. I got what was left. Danny, too.”

  How dare he! How dare he! “I was a good wife and a good mother. Don’t you dare say I wasn’t.”

  “You were never there. If you’d been there—”

  “I’d be dead and Danny would be alive,” she finished for him. “Do you think I haven’t wished that a thousand times? Do you think I don’t know it?” She paused, calmed the shrill from her voice. “But this isn’t about that. Not really. Tamela certainly isn’t—”

  “You forget what this is about. Just forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “If it doesn’t matter, then why are you trying to kill me over it?”

  “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  “Jeff, let’s be real. You’ve put considerable effort into killing me. You’ve just failed.”

  “That’s not true.” He raised the gun and took a two-handed aim.

  No fear. The minute he thought he’d won, he’d pull the trigger. “Oh, really?” She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her shaking. “What was in that syringe? Arsenic? Cyanide? Tamela was determined to give it to me.”

  “She did give it to you. I watched her.”

  “And that perplexes you—that it didn’t kill me.”