Fiona felt the stirrings of panic. She’d heard that tone of voice before, suffered the wrath of a male in need of exerting power and control. That instance had brought on this damage after a coma and weeks in a hospital. She had to stall for time, think of a way out of this situation. “I dropped a cabinet order off at the Hager’s. You can check.”
“How do I know you aren’t up to no good now?” Fiona felt when he shifted closer. “Maybe you have buddies out here. You’re from Boston, gangsters, right? Doing something illegal, Miss Cavanaugh?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Fiona clipped the title, “Sergeant.”
“You’ve interfered with my job. Made some wet-behind-the-ears-kid take over my murder case,” Warren said. He grabbed her by the shirt and shoved her into the truck. He backhanded her hard. “You made a fool out of me.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow as blood pooled in her cheek. “You do that well enough by yourself. Being a brute only confirms it. Let me remind you that you blew us off when we broached the hobo possibility to you.” Guess he’s not worried about accusations of police brutality, she thought.
Her head felt like a sledgehammer pounded a dozen spikes through her skull. Her vision hadn’t returned. She might as well give him a reason, she thought. Better he kills her outright, rather than shoot, rape, and beat her as Jimmy had done. On the positive side, there would be no audience to Warren's personal entertainment. “Is this really because of Randall handling Ethel’s case?” Fiona smirked. “Or because you can’t control Tessa’s heart, and who she gives it too?”
“It’s not right. People will talk.” Fiona couldn’t see but suspected his features contorted in distaste at the admission.
“Which reason pisses you off, Warren? I suspect people talking. Do you believe folks will blame you? If not this matter, there will always be something else to gossip about in town. Tessa loves Jo, and Jo her. You don’t have to like it. But, if you love Tessa, you’ll accept and continue to love her.” Self-destructive as it was, Fiona couldn’t help but add the jibe, “Is it that we’ll be in-laws?” Fiona felt Warren shift before her jaw exploded with pain.
Without the closeness of his body and the hold on her shirt, Fiona would probably have dropped to the ground. She thought she vaguely heard another vehicle approach, but her stomach was roiling, her skull throbbed in excruciating pain, and Fiona fought desperately to maintain consciousness. Weak as she was, it wouldn’t benefit her to taunt an angry man, but Fiona never prided herself on intelligence, that being Margaret’s forte. “This is about perceptions of your manhood, isn’t it?”
Warren released his hold, and Fiona dropped to her hands and knees. Then, three things happened in quick succession. Warren kicked her in the stomach, Fiona vomited on his boots, and Fiona heard tires braking on gravel just as Brigid yelled. Warren jerked her to her feet and slammed her into the truck again.
Despite her best intentions, Fiona passed out.
“What the hell?” Brigid said. The car’s headlights landed on the scene beside the road, by Fiona’s truck, and she knew true fear. Warren had the front of Fiona’s shirt bunched in his fists, and her body pinned against the side of her truck. The pain etched on Fiona’s features, even before Warren backhanded her across the cheek, caused bile to rise in Brigid’s throat. Fiona dropped, Warren kicked her, then pulled her up and slammed her into the truck.
“That son-of-a-bitch,” Nicholas snarled and brought the car to a sliding stop mere inches from the truck’s bumper.
Brigid’s feet ate up the distance in large swallows. “What the hell are you doing, Warren?” She could see Fiona wasn’t conscious.
Warren didn’t glance away from Fiona, but Brigid could see the smirk on his face. “I’m doing my duty as a man of the law, with evidence of possible criminal activity transpiring. Trying to get answers, and the perpetrator is uncooperative.”
She wedged herself between them, her back against Fiona. She pushed with all her strength against Warren’s’ chest. Brigid didn’t even budge him, but Warren released Fiona and took a couple of steps back. Nicholas joined them, whispered into Fiona’s ear, and wrapped an arm around her waist. Fiona was not responsive. Crap. Brigid felt when Nicholas took Fiona’s weight onto himself. “She’s not a criminal, and hasn’t done anything wrong,” she said.
“How am I to know that?” Warren shot a glower toward Fiona. “Came upon a truck, engine off, on an empty road, and I’m not supposed to get suspicious?” He looked at Brigid then. “It’s bad enough,” he jutted a chin toward Fiona, “her sister, is panting around my sister like a lovesick puppy. Now I’m to turn a blind eye to criminal behavior?” There, Brigid realized, was the real reason Warren abused Fiona. He blamed Fiona, at least punished her, because Tessa loved someone he didn’t approve of—another woman. “She resisted my attempts to question her.” So that would be his defense. His word against Fiona’s, should the matter get to that point, which it wouldn’t.
“Are you arresting her?” Nicholas asked, his tone casual despite the circumstances. “If not, we’d like to get her home.”
Warren glanced at each of them, shrugged, and said, “Yeah, she doesn’t look too good. Don’t want her getting sick in my car.” He curled a lip in disgust. “Already puked on my boots.”
Nicholas carried Fiona and placed her in the backseat of Nicholas’s car. Brigid followed. Richard jumped from the front seat into the rear, tears building in his blue eyes. He plopped down by the far door and tapped his palms on his thighs. “Aunt Fiona can rest here,” he said. Careful shuffling, a quick moan from Fiona, and she lay in a fetal position with her head on Richard’s lap. Nicholas held the passenger door open for her.
Just before Brigid got in, Warren walked to the front of the car. Blocking the beam of one headlamp, he created a monstrous shadow on the road. “Hey, what about the damn truck?”
“We’ll come back for it after we take care of Fiona,” Brigid said, not hiding her anger and frustration with him.
“Nope, can’t do that,” Warren said, crossing his arms over his chest, then twisted to glance at the truck and then back at Brigid. “Looks like an abandoned vehicle to me. Anything could happen to it here, all by itself.” He shrugged. “Guess I could get it towed.”
Nicholas tensed as if prepared to attack him. Brigid placed a hand on his forearm. “You follow me in as I drive Fiona’s truck.”
Teeth gritted, Nicholas said, “I’ll drive the truck, Brigid. Richard and Fiona need to know you’re okay. This way, you’re all together.” He glanced at Warren. “We need to do this together. I don’t trust him if we’re separated. You drive in front, and I’ll follow closely.”
Brigid gave a reassuring smile, but she felt anything but heartened. She rushed to the driver’s side of Nicholas’s car and got in. Nicholas hadn’t budged from the open passenger-side until her door closed. He made a pushing down gesture with his thumb. She nodded. “Richard, lock your door.” As he reached up and pushed down, Nicholas reached inside and locked the other back door then the passenger door before closing it tight. She worried Nicholas would confront Warren, but he stayed out of reach and hurried to the truck.
Once started, Nicholas stuck an arm out the open window and waved her forward. Warren stared at her through the windshield, a wicked smirk on his lips. Brigid didn’t hesitate. She placed the car in gear and, ignoring the fact Warren stood in front of the car, gave enough gas to confirm her intent to move forward whether Warren stayed in his current position or not. He shifted enough to avoid the car slamming into him. She glanced at him in the rearview mirror, noted when Nicholas pulled directly behind, and said, “Hang on everyone, we’re going home.”
If only I truly were, Brigid thought wistfully. She would’ve laughed at the thought but bit her bottom lip to contain the chance it would turn into a sob. She loved Colorado, loved Fiona and Margaret, enjoyed, and loved teasing Jo. Right now, though, Brigid wished with all her heart to be with her mother, arms wrap
ped around, as her mother whispered in her ear that everything would be okay.
Focused on driving as quickly as possible, but without giving Warren another reason to stop them, Brigid drove the car home, silently chanting, “Please let this be okay.”
Margaret was in a panic. Fiona should have been home by now. Hell, she never should’ve taken the vehicle out alone. Fiona was usually much more responsible and agreed to be more so after the diagnosis. Margaret understood Fiona never held her personal care the same importance as she did of others she cared about. But why would she go out alone? What couldn’t wait? And so many things were changing with Fiona. Margaret feared being left behind, no longer of use to her.
Had Fiona done something stupid because of her illness? Fiona was now emotionally distant from everyone, especially after the prognosis and her decision not to have the surgery. Margaret didn’t fault her, not really. She couldn’t imagine how she’d react when faced with a possibility that surgery could leave Fiona with brain damage, a drooling hunk of flesh sitting— A sob burst from her lips, and she slapped her fingers over her mouth to stanch anymore from escaping.
“What’s wrong? Have you more news?” Jo asked.
Margaret, lost in thought, hadn’t heard Jo enter the parlor. She shook her head. “Not since I called the Hager’s. They said she left hours ago.” Jo had noticed the missing piece of furniture. If she hadn’t, they wouldn’t have had a place to start looking for Fiona.
“Nicholas and Brigid should be returning soon,” Jo said. She shoved her hands in her pockets. Margaret noted how much like Fiona Jo was. You’d never guess they weren’t blood related. “He and I can go out looking for her.”
“You mean we can go,” Margaret corrected.
“Someone should stay if she returns when we’re out,” Jo said.
“Brigid will be home then.” Margaret shook her head to staunch the tears that threatened to fall. “I can’t wait around doing nothing. She may need me.”
“I’m sorry, Margaret, you’re right,” Jo said. When Jo pulled her into a hug, Margaret couldn’t keep from crying any longer. “Jeez, I’m sorry.” Jo started to pull away, but Margaret held her tighter, buried her face on Jo's shoulder.
Margaret didn’t know how long she latched on to Jo, but the sound of tires braking too hard, and then the crunch of metal had them releasing each other and darting for the front door.
She considered herself an even-tempered, rational woman, but when Margaret stood on the porch and took in the scene before her, all her resolve flew out the window.
Brigid was getting out of Nicholas’s car and unlocking all the doors, apparently having fully stopped by clipping the front gate. Nicholas pulled up behind his car in Fiona’s truck. Where in the hell was Fiona?
On the point of panic, all sound replaced by a mind-numbing vacuum of silence, Margaret stood helpless when it turned into dread. Nicholas reached into the backseat, cradled a body awkwardly into his arms before extricating himself and his burden from the car. Dear God, Fiona. The sound came roaring back. Jo jumped into the now-empty truck and raced away. Brigid lifted a distraught, crying Richard from the car and cradled him against her chest, calming him with words whispered in his ear. Nicholas’s long strides had him up the walk and on the porch. Automatically, Margaret shifted aside to allow his passage into the house, afraid to ask the question screaming in her mind. Is Fiona dead?
Nicholas paused at the bottom of the staircase. He looked at her expectantly before Margaret realized he silently begged a direction. “Up. Last on the left.” He was halfway up the stairs, his hip clipping the banister under the weight of Fiona in his arms and then righted himself before she finished speaking. Margaret quickly followed, hearing Brigid enter the house, close the front door, and head for the kitchen. She felt a bit of relief that Richard’s crying had turned into sniffling hiccups.
In their room, Nicholas placed Fiona on the bed and removed her work boots. Margaret stopped in the doorway. He wouldn’t be removing her boots if she was dead, right? Nicholas must have recognized her hesitancy and apprehension. He glanced at her with a weak smile. “Unconscious, but alive.”
Margaret nodded and moved forward. She stopped at the foot of the bed, hands clasping and unclasping. She wanted to stretch out beside Fiona and touch her, hold her. Margaret knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t allow anyone to witness just how much she loved Fiona. Margaret suspected Nicholas recognized the way things were between them, but they never openly talked about it. His next words confirmed Nicholas understood and wasn’t appalled.
“I sent Jo to get the doctor. Brigid is making tea and coffee. Busywork from Brigid will keep Richard calmer, too.” When Nicholas stepped beside her, it took a concerted effort on her part to look away from Fiona’s prone body toward him. “The best thing for Fiona right now is the comfort of loved ones. I understand how guarded you need to be for others, and don’t know how demonstrative you might be with her, but she’ll be shocked and frightened when she wakes up.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bed. “If it were me hurting, I’d want to wake up with the woman I love beside me, holding me.” He gave a mischievous grin. “At least until the doctor arrives.”
“Thank you, Nicholas,” she said. His usual intense gray eyes held only warmth and understanding.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” he said. He headed for the door, where he paused. “I’d like to stay for the doctor’s report.”
Margaret noted his concerned expression, but there was something else beneath. Did he believe Margaret would reject his concern, push him away? “Of course, Nicholas. You’re her friend and always welcomed in this home.”
Oddly to her, his face brightened considerably in his relief. “Thank you, Margaret.” Nicholas grasped the doorknob. “I’ll bring the doctor up as soon as he gets here.” He pulled the door closed behind him. There was something odd, but curious, about Nicholas. Margaret decided she liked him. Besides, he accepted Fiona and Jo for their eccentricities and befriended them anyway.
Deciding she hadn’t much time, especially given the speed which Jo drove off, Margaret wasted no more time crawling onto the bed and stretching out beside Fiona. She slung an arm across Fiona’s waist for a quick squeeze to assure herself her wife truly was there and breathing. She started to undo the top couple of buttons on Fiona’s work shirt but was distracted by the sight of dried blood in Fiona’s nose. The slight smearing of blood beneath her nostrils indicated someone had swiped blood away. Had Fiona? Had Nicholas done it hoping to lessen Margaret’s shock with Fiona’s injuries? Was the bloody nose part of her illness or had—
She scanned Fiona from head to foot. On her cheek, the bruising from a strike. Her clothes were in good condition if not entirely free of sawdust. Did someone hit her? Who? Margaret should have thought to ask Nicholas what had happened, how they’d found her. It would have to wait. This time was for them. Questions would only stir the emotional turmoil.
Margaret raised herself on her elbow and leaned over Fiona. She placed a gentle kiss on Fiona’s usually expressive lips, now pale as the rest of her. When her lips trembled, Margaret pulled back to find Fiona’s eyes opened, but her gaze unfocused.
Tears spilled down the sides of Fiona’s face, pooling in her ears. “I’m so sorry, Margaret.”
“Shush, honey. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
Fiona gave a watery croak of disbelief. “I tried. I tried to be careful. I didn’t know he’d find me.”
“Rest now. We can talk about this later. Jo went to bring the doctor. Is there anything I should know about before he gets here?”
“Remember I love you,” Fiona said with a sob, her body tensing.
“I never doubt that love,” Margaret said. Well, she didn’t doubt too much. She shifted and rested her head on Fiona’s shoulders. She reached up to cup Fiona’s cheek and jaw, brushed the pad of her thumb across Fiona’s lips. “I’m just relieved you’re safe and here with me.”
“Honey, let me touch you. Before the night is over, everyone will be clamoring to check on you, so I don’t know how long we’ll be alone. Especially like this.” The silence was Fiona’s compliance. Margaret felt some of Fiona’s tension recede. All too soon, footsteps sounded on the stairs. “I believe the prodding and the parade of well-wishers are ready to commence,” Margaret said. She kissed the side of Fiona’s cheek. Margaret climbed from the bed and pulled a chair to the bedside next to Fiona. “Are you ready?” she asked, right before the knock.
“Will it matter?” Fiona mumbled.
“Unfortunately, no.” She opened the bedroom door.
The doctor insisted on examining Fiona alone, assuring Margaret it would only be a few minutes. Minutes or hours, Margaret had no intention of moving farther than the hallway outside the bedroom, which she now paced. Nicholas followed with his gaze as he leaned against the wall beside the door. Jo paced too, only her tread was more forceful and erratic. Margaret tried to offer comfort, but Jo’s mood was too mercurial and volatile. Brigid opted to take Richard into her room so he wouldn’t have to sleep alone. Margaret imagined Brigid needed the comfort of Richard, too.
After nearly an hour, Dr. Colby left the room, softly closing the door behind him. “Doctor?” Margaret’s voice cracked. Nicholas stood erect, and Jo quit her pacing.
The doctor, voice barely above a whisper, said, “I’m pleased you were able to provide such a comprehensive medical history for me, Mrs. Cavanaugh. Regrettably, I can’t conclude anything different than what the specialist stated. Miss Cavanaugh’s blindness is probably permanent after this accident. Otherwise, she appears in exceptional health. I’ve given her a sedative to help sleep off the tension and disgruntlement. Not much I can do for her. Matter of time now.”
Matter of time? Disgruntlement? Margaret’s knees gave out, and she would have fallen to the floor in a heap if Nicholas hadn’t caught her. Was the doctor truly that insensitive? Or was Margaret herself being overly sensitive?
Speak Easy Speak Danger Page 17