by Linda Style
He continued to glare at her. Then finally managed, “Okay. Now get out of the damned car.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“IT’S ABOUT TIME.” Abe sat on the edge of his hospital bed, fully dressed and looking meaner than a snake.
Luke sauntered over, his nerves still taut from his conversation with Jules. Now he had to deal with his father, too. “You look great, Pops.”
Dr. Martinez came into the room. “I haven’t discharged you yet, Abraham.”
“Well, do it, then. I’ve been ready to go for days.”
The doc walked over, placed his stethoscope on Abe’s chest. “Take a big breath and let it out. “Good.” He placed the instrument on Abe’s back and repeated the procedure. “Okay, young man. I’m going to give you a couple of prescriptions and I want you to take all the medications as prescribed. Don’t stop just because you’re feeling better.”
The physician kept shooting glances at Luke as he talked, apparently thinking Luke could monitor his father. Man, was he wrong.
Jules, who’d gone to the ladies’ room, walked in and went over to the bed. “You look fantastic, Pops. How do you feel?”
His old man harrumphed loudly. “I feel the same as I did when I came here.”
Jules kissed Abe on the cheek, then stepped back. “Maybe. But you didn’t look as good when we brought you in.”
“Does he have restrictions of any kind?” Luke went to help his father off the bed, but Abe shrugged him off.
“No restrictions. He just needs to quit smoking and take the medication.”
“Hear that,” Luke said to his father, for all the good it would do. Abe did what he wanted when he wanted. Luke was surprised he’d actually stayed in the hospital.
“Okay. You’re ready,” the physician said. “You take care of yourself, Abraham.”
As the doctor walked out, Abe slipped off the bed and carefully put his weight on first one leg and then the other.
“Who are the flowers from, Pops?” Julianna walked over to the table by the bed and smelled the purple-and-yellow bouquet. “They’re beautiful.”
Abe waved a hand in dismissal. “I don’t know. I don’t like flowers. The smell gives me a headache.”
“So why’d you leave them in the room?” Luke asked, then picked up the tiny card stuck in the middle of the arrangement and read, GET BETTER. S.H. Gritting his teeth, he tossed it into the wastebasket next to the bed.
“Let’s go,” Abe insisted. “I’ve had enough of this place. The food is bad and the room is always cold.”
“What about the flowers? Let’s take them along.” Jules picked up the vase.
“He doesn’t want them. Leave them here,” Luke snapped as he followed his father out the door. When she caught up, Jules was carrying the flowers, and her expression dared him to say a word about it.
Silence filled the car on the ride from the hospital to the ranch. Luke’s mind spun trying to sort out everything that had happened. He’d gotten a lead on the Willis case that could be big. Or it could be nothing. One thing was certain, it was more than they’d had before.
He had no clue if this Thatcher guy was in any way connected to the threats Jules had received. But if he was their serial killer and they screwed up…
And Jules had a plan. He almost laughed. The woman was insane. Or she had some killer cojones.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Jules reached out and turned on the radio to a soft jazz station. Her favorite kind of music. He remembered how she’d liked to soak in a tub of bubbles with a good book and listen to jazz playing in the background.
His groin tightened. He’d never been able to resist a naked woman in a tub of bubbles. But he wasn’t going to let memories or good sex cloud his judgment.
What Jules had said about the similarities between the Willis case and Michael’s triggered every bitter, vengeful emotion he’d experienced five years ago. Feelings a cop couldn’t afford to have. But if this guy was one and the same, and they could somehow get him…
Adrenaline shot through his bloodstream like an injection of speed.
But as he turned onto the road to the ranch, his sanity returned. He couldn’t allow Julianna to act as bait to lure the guy in. He absolutely couldn’t. Even if it meant catching Michael’s killer. He’d already lost the two people he’d loved most in life. But at least one was still alive. There was nothing Jules could possibly say that would convince him to do anything that would put her life in danger. Nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“THE FLOWERS CAME from Stella,” Julianna said after Abe had gone to bed for the night. “Her initials were on the card.”
Luke shrugged, then picked up the remote and clicked on the television, surfing channels until he landed on CNN.
It was 9:00 p.m., time for her to start working, but talking to Luke had to come first, as difficult as she knew that would be. They’d had no time before now because Luke had been on the phone most of the morning. First he’d talked with Jordan and Rico, and then with some people who’d called about the job at the ranch.
He’d had one guy come out to see him, but Abe had made such a big stink, the man had all but left a streak on the road in his hurry to escape. Luke and Abe had argued and finally Luke stalked out. He was gone for the rest of the day and had come back only a few minutes ago.
Julianna went over and sat next to him on the couch. “So, if you don’t want to talk about Stella and your father, let’s talk about my plan.”
He pressed the Up arrow for the volume on the remote and the newscaster’s voice blared. She snatched the remote from him and hit the power button. Luke’s eyes widened.
“I said I want to talk. You agreed.”
He turned back to the blank television screen. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I think there is and for once in your life I want you to listen to me.”
His head practically spun around to look at her. “For once in my life?”
“Yes. I think my idea is a good one. I wrote something in the article that might force the issue.”
Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he rubbed his temples. Took a deep breath. Finally, he asked, “What did you write?”
“This guy thinks he’s smart and can outwit the police, so I insulted his intelligence. I intimated that he’d already slipped up and that it was only a matter of time before he was caught.” She cleared her throat. Luke wasn’t going to like the next part, so she had to hurry through it to finish. “So, the next time he calls, I’ll egg him on some more, tell him I think he’s a crank caller, all talk and no action. I’ll play on his vanity. I already told him I didn’t believe he knew where I was and it seemed to tick him off. If he really does know, that’s where my plan comes in. We give him the opportunity to prove it.”
Luke’s eyes lit up. “How so?”
His question wasn’t much, but at least he hadn’t gotten up and left the room. “I do something predictable on a regular basis, like feeding the chickens or going out alone to the stable to tend the horses every day at a certain time. If he is watching as he says he is, he may do something.”
“Like kill you.”
“No. I’ll be protected. I’ll wear a wire every time I go to the stable. You’ll be nearby and hear everything that goes on. And I’ll carry a gun.”
“You hate guns.”
“I know. But this is different. I’ll use it if I need to.”
“The last I heard you didn’t have a clue how to handle a weapon of any kind. Except to hit a guy over the head for no reason.”
She stifled a grin. “You can teach me.”
Almost before she got out the words, Luke pitched back on the couch laughing. “A gun-toting pacifist. That’s a picture.”
She had to admit, it was the last thing she’d ever have imagined doing. But some things called for change. She waited until he calmed down, then said, “I’m serious. Dead serious. And if you don’t w
ant to help me, I’ll find someone else who can.”
Luke sucked in some air. “Who? My father?” His frown deepened. “Which brings up another issue. How does he fit into your plan? Endangering other people’s lives because you have a mission is ridiculous.”
“Hearing you talk about me like I don’t have a mind of my own is what’s ridiculous.” Abe’s voice came from the doorway. “If I can do something to help, I will.”
“And how long have you been standing there?” Luke snorted. “Do you always listen to other people’s conversations?”
“Only when I hear my name mentioned.” He came in and sat in his worn leather lounger. He seemed to be moving around a little easier.
“Well, I’m not putting either of your lives in danger and that’s that.”
Julianna looked from Luke to Abe. “I don’t know about you, Abe, but I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”
Abe laughed. “Ain’t needed permission for more years than you’ve been alive, sweetheart.”
Luke’s face reddened. “You’re both crazy.”
“Crazy enough to want to see a killer go to jail,” Julianna said. “And I can’t believe you don’t feel the same way.”
Luke bolted to his feet, blood thundering in his ears. Yeah, he felt that way. With every fiber in his being he felt that way. But it wasn’t enough to make him want to put Jules and his father within a killer’s reach.
“If he’s going to come anyway, why not be prepared,” Jules said.
“Because we don’t know he’s going to do anything. Neither of you have my experience. You need to listen to me. This isn’t some action movie where you can take things into your own hands and the bad guys always lose. You’d be risking your lives. Someone, one or both of you…or all of us, for that matter, could get killed. And even if you two don’t care about that, I do.” His blood still at boiling point, he took a deep breath and stalked from the room.
Heading for his bedroom, every muscle in Luke’s body burned with rage. How could Jules be so unrealistic? So stupid. And his father. He was a sick old man who couldn’t even take care of his ranch. What could he do to help?
Three hours later he was still awake, his mind whirling like a blender on high speed. But the more he thought, the more Jules’s stupid idea seemed to make sense.
And he was an idiot. A delusional, sleep-deprived idiot. He rolled from the bed and walked down the hall to get a glass of milk. Passing the den, he saw a soft glow of light radiating from under the door. Jules was still up…probably writing. Getting herself into more trouble.
If only he could talk some sense into her. He paused by the door, then remembered that talking to Jules when she had her mind set was like talking to a statue. He went to the kitchen and on his way back with his milk, he turned and headed for the living room.
He dropped into his father’s chair and flicked on the floor lamp next to it. He glanced at the magazines in the basket. Several copies of The Achilles’ Heel were on top. He reached, then drew his hand back. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to read about abducted children. He didn’t want to read about Michael.
He didn’t want to…but he had to.
He picked up the stack and went through each magazine, searching for the first article Jules had written. The one about their son.
As he flipped through the magazines, he noted that “The Missing” was the name for the whole series, but each story had another title of its own. Usually it included the name of the child. When he came across one that was called “Michael’s Story: with love, from his mother.” Luke’s heart lurched. She’d used a fictitious last name, but not the first. He started reading and noticed immediately that the story was told in a different way from the others he’d glanced at. It was in the first person.
By the time he’d finished reading three pages, his heart was about to crack. Jules told of Michael’s abduction from the first moment she’d noticed him gone, describing her panic, disbelief and fear in moment-by-moment detail.
[I couldn’t believe he was gone. I wouldn’t believe it. I kept telling myself he had to be hiding, or playing a game.]
As one realization after another hit Luke, his heart ached for Jules. She’d been alone. He hadn’t been there for her. When she’d told him her feelings, he’d said he understood, but had he really? She’d said he couldn’t possibly know what it was like to be responsible for losing their son. How many times had she told him that? How many times had he told her it wasn’t her fault, and that it could happen to anyone. He’d seen it in his job more than once.
But this was their son, she’d said. She wasn’t just anyone. She was his mother.
[With every second that passed, with every negative reply from the department-store manager, panic clawed at my insides. But I had to stay in control. I had to find my son. I called 9-1-1 and continued calling out, “Mikey, Mikey.” I kept calling and calling. The security guards came. Someone else phoned the police. When I finally realized that Michael, my four-year-old son, my only child, wasn’t in the store at all, a bone-chilling fear ratcheted through me. A kind of fear I could never before have imagined.
I ran out the door to search every inch of the mall, but the corridors seemed like tentacles reaching out in all directions. Oh, God. What should I do? If I left and Mikey came back, I could miss him. But I had to look. I ran…searching, calling out his name in every shop, asking everyone if they’d seen him, store clerks and people doing their shopping, people sitting on benches, eating at the food court. “Have you seen a little boy in a red shirt and blue shorts? Did a boy wearing a Dodgers’ baseball cap come by here? Please won’t someone help me look for him?” Somewhere in my purse I found a photo and went back again, tears streaming, covering the same walkways, the same shops, asking the same questions of the same people and showing the photo]
.
Luke’s gut knotted. His throat cramped. A tear fell onto the page and then another. He could feel Jules’s panic as if it were his own, her pain, her guilt, he felt it all. And by the time he read the last paragraph, tears flowed like rivers down his cheeks.
[I see Michael every day in my fantasies—and at night in my dreams—and in the eyes of all the children I meet. I still search for the person who took my little boy away. I will always search. I have nightmares about what he did to my child, and I won’t give up until he’s behind bars. Not a day goes by that I don’t blame myself. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my little Michael and wish it had been me instead.]
Luke’s chest spasmed, his grief for their loss, his pain for Jules so intense, he couldn’t stop the inconsolable sobs that wrenched from within.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE NEXT MORNING, Julianna heard Luke long before she saw him coming from the bathroom. He’d showered, but he looked drawn, his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept.
Because he wouldn’t listen to her idea, she was at a loss as to what to say or do, so she just kept on heading to the kitchen. Abe had volunteered to help with her plan, but realistically, she couldn’t endanger Abe. She had to think of something, maybe someplace he could go until all this was over. But Abe leaving the ranch now was about as likely as him winning the Boston Marathon.
Pops was already in the kitchen when she got there. The aroma of coffee tantalized her. Abe liked his coffee strong enough to grow hair on your knuckles, and she’d gotten to enjoy it that way, too.
“Coffee’s ready,” he said. “Been up for a couple of hours and had breakfast, too. But I can whomp up a batch of eggs if you want.”
“I’m not very hungry, Pops, but thanks anyway.” She poured herself some coffee and popped in a couple pieces of toast. “This will be just fine.”
As she set the plate of toast on the table, Abe said, “I hate to say I agree with Luke, but he’s right. You could get hurt if you go through with this idea of yours.”
“I know that, Abe.” She placed her hand on his. “But I need to try. This…per
verted lowlife could be Michael’s murderer. It would be worth my life to take him down.”
Abe’s rheumy eyes sparked. “Michael’s—you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. But there are too many similarities for me not to entertain the possibility. Regardless, the man is going to continue to threaten me unless something is done. But in all good conscience, I can’t put you at risk.”
“You let me worry about that,” he said. “If you’re going to insist on doing this, then I’m going to help. Just tell me what I can do?”
Could she? Could she even consider including Abe in the plan? It wasn’t his mission, it was hers. If something happened to her, so be it. But not Abe. “The one thing you can do to help is let me find a place for you to stay for a little while. A vacation spot. Maybe someplace beachy and warm.”
Abe frowned, then pushed to his feet, his chair scraping on the adobe-tiled floor. “I may be an old man, Julianna, but I’m not dead. I don’t have a lot of years left and dammit, if there’s something I can do, by God, I’m going to do it. And that doesn’t mean going somewhere to rot on a beach.”
Luke was right. The whole thing was ridiculous. A bad plan. Not a bad idea, but a bad plan since it would inevitably involve other people. She couldn’t justify that. Especially not Abe. Luke, yes. He had law enforcement experience. He had a stake in the outcome. In more ways than one.
“I heard you say you wanted to learn to shoot a gun. I can teach you.”
Julianna’s spirits perked. “Really?”
“Best teacher around. Taught Luke when he was a boy. He’s won some shooting contests, you know.”
“I heard about his shooting skills, but not the contests.” Luke had never told her. Funny how little she actually knew about the man she’d been married to for five years.
“I was a crack shot with a rifle in Vietnam, and I still am.”