He used my silence to kick off again.
"What the hell were you thinking of? Are you really that dumb?"
Maybe I should have let it pass but I wasn't in the mood for this. I was back in hospital. Never somewhere to bring out the best in me. Even the private room didn't help. I was already impatient and tetchy before he showed up and now he was aggravating my mood.
Pulling my robe around me, I rose from the bedside chair and stepped towards him. “Well strange as it may seem, I didn't want you getting killed."
"It's my job to take those sorts of risks, Mikey."
"That's okay then," I snapped. "When we finally bury you, I can always console myself with the thought that you were just doing your job."
He stepped towards me, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I could have handled it. Have you any idea how close you came to having your brains blown out? Always presuming you have any. Do you know how lucky you are?"
I didn't feel lucky. My head still throbbed from where Wainwright's bullet had grazed my skull, my hair had been shaved off, and the bandage around my head made me look like something out of 'The Mummy'.
I said, "He was about to put a bullet through you. What else was I supposed to do?"
Suddenly, it was all too much. Tired, exhausted, and drained of energy, I couldn't cope with this.
Through a blur of tears, I cried out, "Why are you treating me like this? What did I do that was so wrong?"
All those strange mixed-up emotions that had built up inside me over the past few days were becoming too much to contain. Like the pressure of water building up against the wall of a dam, I could no longer hold back the torrent that was about to be unleashed. The dam wall was crumbling. And as it fell away, a flood of pain and anguish poured out and I could no longer control it.
Crying openly, I sank onto the edge of the bed and shouted out, "I love you, you fucking idiot. And I didn't want to have to go to your funeral. Is that okay with you?"
He blanched. "Say that again."
"With the greatest of pleasure. You're a fucking idiot."
"The other bit."
I hadn't meant to blurt out my feelings like that. It was so pointless. Blinking back my tears, I said, "Why? You want me to make an even bigger fool of myself? Would that make you happy?"
"I just want you to talk to me." His voice was breaking up.
"That's rich coming from you." Choking back my sobs, I said, "When do you ever talk to me? I spent half my life trying to read your mind."
"You don't make it easy, Mikey. I don't know what you want."
Now the dam had burst, the raging waters were in full flow, unstoppable, spewing out a storm surge of all those pent up feelings I had repressed for far too long.
"I wanted you to forgive me." I spluttered out the words. "I wanted you to tell me everything was all right. Just like it used to be. I wanted you back, and I didn't know how."
"For God's sake, Mikey." He stepped over to the bed and sank down beside me.
Leaning towards me, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, holding me tight against his chest. His hand cupped the back of my neck. "There are times I could cheerfully throttle you," he murmured.
My cheek was wet against his neck. "I didn't know what to do."
He pulled back and held me at arm's length. His expression had softened. "Here's an idea. Radical though it may seem, why don't we try talking to each other?"
"I wanted to. But then I found out about Brandon. And it was too late."
"Brandon's gone back to London. I won't be seeing him again." He reached up and ran a thumb under each of my eyes, wiping away the tears.
I said, "I don't understand."
He shook his head. "You know, Mikey, for someone in your line of work, you can be surprisingly dense at times." He slipped an arm around my waist. "Why do you think I'm so angry with you for nearly getting yourself killed? You think I would have found it any easier to deal with?"
I stared at him, uncomprehending, not sure what to say.
"I've had a lot to think about over these past few days. You coming back here. And then Brandon."
He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts and continued, "When he told me how he felt, what he wanted, I knew I had to let him go. Whatever vision of the future he imagined for us, it wasn't one I shared. We talked it over. And in the end, we both decided it would be for the best if we went our separate ways."
"He seemed so certain."
"I never made him any promises and I guess we had different needs. But it did make me think long and hard about what I did want."
"And what was that?"
He leaned away from me and stared directly at me, searching my face as if looking for something. "God knows you've not made it easy for me, Mikey. And there are times you've driven me to distraction. But there's never been anyone else. And when I thought I'd lost you ..." He closed his eyes and screwed them tight shut. "You have no idea what that was like."
I stared into his face, pained by the anguish I saw there. How had I got it so wrong? I was confused. "These last few days, you've been so distant. I thought you were pushing me away."
He turned away. "That night we spent together. I thought ... I hoped ..." He turned back to face me, his expression tense. "I tried to get you to open up. Tell me what you wanted."
He rose from the bed, crossed to the window, his back to me. "I didn't have an easy time of it letting you go. And when you came back, all those old feelings got stirred up again."
A pause.
The clashing sound of a trolley bed rattling across the courtyard drifted up from below, blending with the distant hum of traffic.
I waited in silence until he was ready to speak again. He slipped his hands into his pocket, the muscles in his broad shoulders rippling under the dark grey shirt.
Turning away from the window he said, "I couldn't go through all that again, Mikey. If you weren't serious ..." He broke off. "I couldn't go through it again."
I rose and crossed toward him. "I'm so sorry. I caused us both so much pain." I raised a hand and stroked his face. "So many wasted years." The tears welled up again.
He pressed his hand against mine and then took it in both his own and squeezed it. "What's past is past."
"And now?"
"I don't know about you but I don't want to go on living a life full of regrets. And if there is a chance for us, I'd like to take it."
"I ran away once before. It was the most stupid thing I ever did. I'm not running away again."
"Then it starts here. We start being honest with each. We talk through our problems. We find a way to make it work. Okay?"
"Okay," I said.
A moment later, I was back in his arms.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Lowe slid the statement across the desk. "Just needs signing, Mr MacGregor, and we're all done."
We were in his office. Again. It was becoming a habit.
I read through the document. "So where do we go from here?"
"He'll be charged with attempted murder."
I added my signature to the bottom of the statement and pushed it back to him. "On top of all the other charges, you have to wonder if it's worth the bother. Did he make a full confession?"
Lowe signed as witness and said, "In the case of Black, I'm not sure 'confession' is the right word. That would imply an expression of remorse. I think 'boast' would be a better word."
During that final showdown at Brandon's place, Wainwright had been no match for Nathan. Overpowered and restrained, he had been taken into custody, and once the full extent of his crimes had been exposed, he'd been left with no option but to come clean, pleading mitigating circumstances in the hope of moderating his punishment. But even then, he'd had no regrets about killing Black.
Lowe filled me in on the details. During his confession, he'd related how he had followed Laura to Black's house through the woods and when she had failed to come out, he'd peered through the window. Enrag
ed at seeing her violated, he had forced his way in, beaten Black almost senseless and then strangled him in a final fit of fury.
And then the chilling details of Laura's abuse had been revealed. How Black had befriended and groomed her during her visits with Erin. How he had taunted her with the memory stick when she tried to break away from him, blaming her for leading him on and threatening to use the photos to expose her, convincing her that she was the one who would suffer the consequences. How she had stolen the memory stick from his desk drawer on that last day, hoping that by destroying it, she could get away from him. And how she had later passed it on to my father.
Ironically, Wainwright had found a far more effective means to end Black's abuse of his daughter. But, unfortunately, the consequences of his actions had also been far more extreme. The added psychological damage to his daughter being one of them. It had not occurred to him that far from protecting his daughter, he had damaged her fragile psyche even more, added to the psychological harm many times over.
"What about Laura," I asked. "How is she coping?"
Lowe's face fell. "Taking the girl's statement was no joyride. Social services were on hand to help her through it. But even so, I don't know how she'll get over it. There are always losers."
He sounded so dejected, I was almost sorry I'd asked. "Hey, come on. You have better things to occupy your mind right now."
He brightened up at that.
"And while we're on the subject, given that you've just got engaged to my closest friend, do you think we could drop the Mr-bloody-MacGregor thing? It's Mikey. Okay, Richard?"
He grinned. "Sounds good to me."
And then he became serious again. "And how about you and the Chief?"
"What?" That came out of nowhere.
"Karen told me you used to be - you know - more than just friends."
I was stuck for words. What was I supposed to say to that?
He said, "It's cool. I don't have a problem with it."
"Okay."
"The boss is a very private person. Not one for talking about his private life. But I used to see him around with that guy, Brandon. He never tried to hide anything."
I tried to keep the regret from my voice when I answered. "He always was a better man than me."
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
I checked both sides of my head in the mirror. My new razor cut hairstyle didn't look so bad.
"Does this suit me?" I said.
From behind me, Nathan said. "It's an improvement on your recent headgear. You looked like something out of ..."
I cut him short. "Thanks, but I don't need to know that."
It was the afternoon of Karen and Lowe's engagement party and Nathan had dropped by to pick me up on the way.
I'd brought up the subject of his staying over again. But he was still being cautious, wanting to take things a step at a time. Not that I minded so much. At least now we were both on the same wavelength. And the future was looking more positive.
The local Estate Agent had sent someone round that morning to erect a 'For Sale' sign at the front of the house. Brandon, it seemed, had cut his losses and chosen to move on. My bags were packed and in the boot of the car, ready for my drive back to London straight after the party.
Nathan was helping himself to a pre-party can of beer from the fridge, a luxury he allowed himself on one of his rare days off duty.
He said, "Was your agent okay with you staying on a while longer?"
I was still checking out my reflection. Perhaps this new hairstyle was a bit too severe.
"I told him I was being detained by the police."
In the mirror, I saw Nathan roll his eyes.
"Well, it's true," I said. "You did detain me."
He grunted. His usual way of showing disapproval.
"It's okay, I said. "He's cool. He knew I'd need a few days to recover. And I told him about the party. I'll have to drive back straight after though. I've a lot of catching up to do."
Nathan dropped onto the couch, opened the can and took several long swigs. I sat down beside him.
"I never got a chance to ask," I said. "What made you come over that day? How did you know I was in trouble?"
"I didn't"
I must have looked confused. He said, "I wanted to talk to you about us. I didn't want to let you go without trying to put things right."
"So you had no idea what was happening?"
"None." He took another swig of beer. "When I reached the house, I could hear you talking with someone. I was just about to leave again."
"What changed your mind?"
"It was only then I realised you were in trouble." He drained the can and crushed it in his fist.
"How?"
He rose, crossed over to the waste-bin by the sink, and dropped the can in it. "Two reasons. First, I heard a crash. The shelving unit. So I knew something must be wrong. I couldn't see what was happening - the blinds were drawn - so I went round to the back and found the door ajar."
He glanced at his watch. "Are you ready? We should get moving."
"Sure," I said and grabbed my jacket from the back of the nearby armchair. "And the second reason?" I stood and put on the jacket.
"Well, that was the clincher," he said, heading for the door. "You interfered in the investigation all the way through. And as we both know, Mikey, whenever you choose to interfere in something that doesn't concern you, it usually leads to trouble."
I stopped short on my way to the door. "That's not what happened." I was indignant.
"Right. So being threatened at gunpoint by a homicidal maniac isn't trouble then?" He ushered me out of the door and closed it behind him.
I locked the door and handed him the keys. "Well, yes," I conceded. "In that particular circumstance."
He pocketed the keys and said, "Point made."
"It had nothing to do with ..." I stopped myself short and gave up the argument. I was wasting my breath. He'd always had a remarkable talent for finding ways to blame me for my own misfortunes. And for once, I had every reason to be grateful for his misguided presumption. I might not have been here to argue the point otherwise.
We drove to the Fairview in separate cars. Nathan was staying over that night and driving back home in the morning. And I was heading off to London later that day.
We met up again in the car-park behind the Fairview.
I crossed over to his Astra as he locked up and said, "What will happen to Laura?" She's been on my mind."
"That's up to social services. She has some other family. Grandparents. So I suppose they'll be involved."
"That girl. What she must have been through."
"So much for a father who wanted to protect his child. He ended up destroying everything she had."
"I hope it works out for her."
On that sombre note, we made our way to the party.
Karen was brimming over with curiosity about my decision to stay on for her celebration. I knew she would be.
"You came together?" she said, greeting us at the door. Ever hopeful.
"We met in the car park," said Nathan.
The disappointment on her face was obvious.
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Might have something to tell you later, " I whispered. "But this is your day, so it can wait."
Before she had a chance to object or press me for an explanation, I left her in the company of Nathan and went to find Lowe to congratulate him again.
It was a good day. A normal day. Just what we all needed. More days like this and the horrors of the last couple of weeks would fade. And life was good too, opening up to a future of welcome possibilities.
Half listening to a local man who had cornered me by the drinks table and was now singing the praises of my radio show, I sipped my wine and watched Nathan sharing a joke with Lowe and some of the men under his command over by the buffet table. He was chewing on a chicken leg and looked more relaxed than I had seen him in a long time. The sound of his laughter carried ac
ross the room. My throat tightened. What kind of fool must I have been to let him go?
I checked my watch. Time I was heading home. Though, hopefully London wouldn't be home for much longer. I made my excuses to the exuberant local and said my goodbyes to Karen and Lowe, avoiding more of Karen's questions about my plans, and interrupted Nathan to let him know I was leaving.
He made his excuses and walked me out to the car.
He'd grown serious again. Something was on his mind.
We reached the car and he said, "You know I've never been one to rush things."
"And you don't want to rush us." I slow-punched his arm. "It's okay. I get it. And some things are worth waiting for."
"It's been a long time. And maybe we need to take things a step at a time. Get to know each other again."
"I'm okay with that. And who knows, I may even find you've improved over the years."
"I wouldn't bet on it."
"I'm not going to."
"I know I ...I know I'm not one of the easiest people to get on with. I know I can be a bit - you know - heavy-handed at times."
"No," I said, in my best sarcastic tone. "I would never have guessed."
He bristled at that. "Listen, Prince Charming. You're not so easy-going yourself. You can be a real pain in the arse sometimes."
"I never pretended otherwise."
A heartbeat later, we were smiling at each other.
"Are we always going to be arguing like this?" he said.
"Probably."
His face creased into a grin. "I guess I'd better get used to it then."
"I guess we both had."
I reached up and ran the back of my hand down his face. That strong handsome face. And an overwhelming surge of emotion welled up inside me. A mixture of sadness and joy. Sadness for the lost years. For the self-denial. For being too much of a coward to stand up for what I wanted. And joy for the great good fortune at having, at last, found my way back home.
My eyes watered.
His smile changed to a look of concern. "Hey, why so sad?"
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