by A Rosendale
He lifted grimy fingers to her soft hair. “Alma. You’re alive. I thought it was a dream.”
She smiled. “Not a dream. I’m here. And you’re here. I thought you were…”
“I should be dead. But that was too simple for Johnson.”
Her confusion was interrupted by a violent shiver that drained his face of color. “You’re burning up,” she told him.
“Infection,” he muttered weakly.
“You need a hospital.”
He shook his head. “Too dangerous. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom closet. Tylenol…” The effort drained his energy.
Alma found the kit and carried it back. She held four acetaminophen to his lips followed by a bottle of water from her bag. “Do you think you could manage a shower? You’re kind of a mess. Did you stash any clothes here?”
He nodded and motioned for her to help him stand. He leaned heavily on her on the way to the bathroom. It took the both of them to get the filthy clothes off. Alma’s gaze wandered from the dark bruise she remembered to the bright pink wound on his ribs. She bit her lip and looked at his face. The gash was a dark, angry red. She was surprised he could see out of his left eye, the wound was so close to the corner.
Dirk leaned heavily on the tiled wall and took in her concerned expression. “You want to grab some clothes and a towel from the closet for me?”
The question served to distract her and she left the bathroom while he washed. He couldn’t remember everything from the past few days, but was sure he’d gathered most of this grime wandering Boston city streets. He’d spent one night with a former informant, Dave, in his homeless community. How he’d gotten there was a mystery. The last clear memory he had was of leaving Johnson’s mansion.
Exhausted, but clean, he shut off the water and took the towel Alma offered. He struggled into boxers and a loose T-shirt, but waved away the jeans for now. Using her as support, he shuffled back to the bedroom to find a nest of blankets.
“That looks more comfortable than the hardwood floor,” he complimented.
“Nothing but the best for my resurrected husband,” Alma quipped. Her effort at humor was strained, but appreciated. She helped him lower to the blankets and pulled covers over him. She noted with triumph that the acetaminophen had brought his temperature down significantly; she could touch his forehead without burning.
* * *
“Hey.”
The quiet greeting eased Dirk’s confusion. He’d woken in the familiar bedroom, but with no idea what he was doing there on the floor. He felt cold, but sweat beaded on his forehead and neck. The fever was back and made it difficult to focus his thoughts.
“Here.” Alma helped him sit up against the wall and lifted another handful of pills to his lips.
“Thanks.”
“I have chicken broth, too. I think you should try to get something down.”
“Where…”
She smiled. “Mrs. Cortez.” She lifted a bowl to his lips to slurp warm liquid.
“Where’s Cooper?” he asked after swallowing.
“With Dr. Miles.”
“Miles?”
“When I realized you’d kept the apartment, I convinced Wyatt to come to the city to check it out. We wanted to keep Cooper safe, so I asked Miles if he could stay with him. He was more than willing.”
“Where’s Ramsey, then?”
“Spying on Johnson. We’re suppose to rendezvous back at Miles’s tomorrow night.”
Dirk shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come. Johnson…”
“Johnson doesn’t even know we’re here.”
“He told me you were dead.”
“He lied. Both of the men he sent after us are dead, but we’re all okay. It was probably just another means of hurting you.”
Dirk nodded his agreement and sipped a little more broth.
“How are you even alive? I heard…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was dead, too. Johnson’s doctor managed to get to me before it was too late, I guess.”
“How did you get here, away from him?”
“When he said he was sending someone after you and Ramsey in North Dakota, I knew I had to get to you. Then he told me you were dead. I hoped he was lying, but…” He sighed. “I needed to be sure. And if I could get away, I could eventually go back and finish him.” He lifted his right hand and tapped his thumb and forefinger together. The skin was raw and bruised. “I unscrewed a lamp that was bolted down and broke it over the guard’s head, and then knocked out the doctor he had with him. I know I got off the grounds, but I really don’t remember much between then and now.”
She lifted the bowl again before he waved it away entirely. He placed a clammy hand on her cheek.
“God, I love you, Alma. I can never apologize for the mess I’ve gotten you in. I’ve dragged you through hell.”
She laid a hand over the one on her cheek and offered a tired smile. “I love you, too, Dirk. I can’t believe you’re here.” A light chuckle slipped from her lips. “I once told you I’d go through hell to be with you. Here we are, I guess.”
Her humor did nothing to lift his spirits.
She cleared her throat. “What do we do now?”
He shook his head at a loss. “I don’t know.”
With a frown, she said, “It’s okay. Just rest now. Get your strength back.”
* * *
The moon shone down through a dusty window, creating dark shadows in the room. Dirk searched them intently before relaxing into the blankets again. Alma was snuggled up to his side, fast asleep. Despite the persistent aches in his head and chest, he could almost imagine they were at home in bed.
He stared up at the half-moon and sighed. His thoughts revolved around Cooper and he suddenly hoped his son was staring at the sky too. He’d suggested calling Miles and checking on them, but Alma had talked him down, concerned that Johnson would have the means to track it. He wanted for his son to know he was at least alive. He hated that he was still causing the boy pain.
Chapter 73
“More soup?” Dirk questioned with a gentle smile.
Alma shot him a teasing glare. “This one has stars in it at least.”
He rolled his eyes and sat up against the brick wall. Although his hands trembled a tad, he was able to hold the bowl and spoon. While she cleaned the dishes afterward, he struggled into jeans. They were supposed to depart for Miles’s townhouse shortly.
Dirk was leaning back against the windowsill when there was a loud bang at the front door. He’d only taken two steps across the bedroom when Alma appeared in the doorway. An ebony arm was wrapped around her neck from behind and the silver of a pistol reflected the light.
The big guardsman nudged her into the room. A huge knot was blatantly apparent on the man’s shaved skull and the murderous glint in his eye reflected the pain a lamp over the head could cause.
Behind the man and his captive came Johnson’s rotund form sporting a brilliant smile.
Dirk’s feverish pulse amped faster. “Please, please, let her go,” he begged. A voice that had been gaining strength over the past thirty-six hours sounded weak and imploring.
Johnson let out a full-belly laugh. “She just asked the same thing of you,” he chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, this is perfect!” He turned to face Alma, whose face was stone cold, her eyes slate gray. “It is so good to see you again, Dr. Decker!” He grabbed her by the chin and kissed her lips.
Alma kicked him in the knee. The guard struck her on the side of the head and when Johnson recovered, he slapped her.
Dirk bristled and took another step closer.
“Now if we could just nail down the rest of your party… Where are they, Dr. Decker?”
“Go to hell,” she spat.
The fleshy hand that met her stomach choked the next several breaths from her lungs. Dirk reached out to strike Johnson, but the man grabbed his arm and yanked him forward so their faces were inches
apart. With a cruel glare, he twisted the arm, sending Dirk to his knees. The next thing he knew, a grass-scented cloth was being pressed to his face.
“Stop!” Alma shouted, struggling.
Johnson glared from behind Dirk’s collapsing body. “I’m willing to let you walk out of here with us. Don’t change my mind.”
* * *
Ramsey knocked once, waited a second, knocked again, this time twice, waited once again, and knocked a final three times. He could hear footsteps in the townhouse before a voice asked, “What’s the dog’s name?”
It was a weak security question, he thought. “Bailey.”
A series of locks turned and light spilled onto the front sidewalk. Ramsey entered quickly and allowed Dr. Brandon Miles to secure the door again.
“Wyatt!” Cooper greeted as he and Bailey appeared from the living room.
“Hey. You doing okay?” He’d not been one hundred percent on board with trusting the academic stranger. But the affection in the man’s eyes had been blatantly apparent when Alma turned up on his doorstep. Ramsey and Cooper had shared a look of utter shock when the gray haired, bespectacled man had kissed her on the cheek. Then Cooper had scowled, an expression Ramsey recalled from the boy’s accusation last week. He did not like his mother having any sort of sentiment with another man.
Cooper nodded and patted Bailey on the head.
“Where’s Alma?” he asked Dr. Miles.
He shrugged, concerned. “We haven’t seen or heard from her since you two left yesterday morning.”
Ramsey frowned. He was even late for their rendezvous time. He’d been waiting for Johnson to return home to the mansion he’d staked out for the last thirty-six hours. He’d pushed his time there, but didn’t want Alma to worry when he didn’t return on time, so he’d abandoned post to meet her.
“Wyatt?” Cooper asked quietly.
“I’m sure everything is okay,” he lied.
Chapter 74
“You sorry son of a-” Alma struggled against the muscular man who held her in a tight bear hug while Dirk’s unconscious body was roughly dragged upstairs.
“Now, now, Dr. Decker,” Johnson interrupted. “Such sailor’s language does not befit a woman of your exceptional academic standing!” He smiled genially and stepped close to her. While his man held her, he frisked her jacket and jeans pockets. Smile widening, he slowly lifted a cellphone and pressed the power button.
“Let’s see who you’ve been sharing your trials with, Professor.”
The guard shoved Alma into an overstuffed armchair. She tried to scramble for her phone, but he gripped her shoulders from behind so she couldn’t rise. Johnson sat in a matching chair across from her.
“Hmm, recent calls,” he muttered as he tapped the screen. “Ah! Dr. Brandon Miles, three days ago. How interesting! How is the chair of Boston University’s marine studies department? Close to retirement these days, isn’t he?”
Alma glared. “I wanted to tell him Dirk had passed away.”
“Oh. Looking for a friendly shoulder to cry on, huh?” he teased cruelly. “Well, did he provide the solace you were looking for? Travers ‘died’ just over a month ago and you’re already seeking a replacement?”
Her stare turned icy and Johnson hid the chill he felt from her gaze. “You are more cretinous than I thought if you think I would ever replace Dirk,” she growled.
“Then why were you calling Miles if not for some sympathy?”
“Just that: friendly sympathy.”
“Then your son isn’t with him now?”
Alma thought her heart stopped completely. She couldn’t form a response, certainly not a clever lie.
Johnson smiled. “Yes, dear, I know about the child. I’ll admit, Travers hid the information quite well. Even when I was sure, he made me second guess my source.” He looked above her at the guard. “Go collect him, Lusana.”
“What of the professor?” The voice was so deep it made Alma’s chest vibrate.
Johnson shrugged. “Try to avoid his involvement, but kill him if necessary.”
Alma flinched at the casual order. She again tried to rise, but Lusana reached forward with lightening reflexes to restrain her. Once she was pressed back into the cushions he turned to leave.
“Oh, Lusana? If Agent Ramsey happens to be around, please collect him as well.”
Alma reeled from everything he seemed to know. She bristled with inactivity. A simple phone call would send Ramsey, Miles, and Cooper flying to safety.
“I want to see Dirk.”
The smile didn’t fade. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You need to treat him. That fever will kill him.”
He nodded. “I’m well aware.”
She scowled.
“I’m willing to treat you amicably, at least for a time, Dr. Decker. But if you test me…” He studied the creases at the corners of her steel gray eyes, the freckles on her cheeks. “You understand?”
“I understand,” she said in a tone that matched the hue of her irises.
“Excellent. Then, if you will, I’ll show you to your room.”
* * *
The ledge outside the window was just wide enough for her toes. Fingers raw from grasping rough granite, she inched along the mansion. The grass three stories below beckoned, anxious to embrace her broken body. ‘At least then I won’t have to worry about Dirk,’ she thought, then cursed herself for the dark notion. She wasn’t sure how she knew the next window was his, but it was as if his presence were emanating from the panes. Her fingers groped at the sill, cracked and bloody. They slipped. Her arms wind-milled in an effort to stay perched on the ledge. As she fell backward into space, Dirk’s face filled the lamp lit window. It was the last thing she saw before everything went black.
Alma jolted awake. Her heart pounded rapidly in her ears while cold sweat sent chills over her. The clock on the dresser across the room read 4:13 am in neon green digits. Wind whistled outside the mansion as she tried to catch her breath.
A knock on the door startled her and she jumped. A second later, a key jiggled the lock. She grasped the bedclothes to her chest although she was fully clothed. Johnson flipped on the light, revealing a brilliant smile on his chubby face. His cheeks were flushed and she could smell the scent of alcohol on his breath from across the room.
“Please join me downstairs, Dr. Decker.”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. Let me clarify. Join me downstairs now!”
Begging her hands to stop shaking from the effect of the nightmare, she tossed back the covers and followed him.
“Mom!” Cooper’s voice was loud and scared. He broke away from Lusana and darted across the large hall and into her arms.
She held him tight against her, eyes shut tight. A thump on the far wall made her look up. “Wyatt!”
He was leaning heavily on the wall, sweat beaded his forehead and blood stained the left shoulder of his shirt. His hands were bound behind him.
Cooper gripped her arm as she crossed to the FBI agent’s side.
“I’m alright,” Ramsey muttered when they were within reach.
Alma frowned in concern and faced Johnson. “Let them go.”
He smiled and didn’t respond.
“Then let me treat Wyatt’s wound,” she demanded.
“My doctor will be by in the morning. I’m sure Agent Ramsey will survive ‘til then.” He waved at Lusana, who yanked Ramsey from his perch against the wall and shoved him toward the stairs.
Cooper turned and buried his face in Alma’s shoulder. She hugged him against her and shot daggers at Johnson.
“You soulless bastard! He’s just a child! He has nothing to do with this! Let him go!”
That same self-satisfied smile. “Oh, Dr. Decker, we’ve still got fun to be had!”
Lusana returned then and grabbed Cooper by the arm. The boy doubled his grip on his mother’s arm, tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Let him stay with me!”
Alma begged.
Johnson grabbed her by the shoulders so his guard could pry mother and son’s fingers apart.
“No!” she screamed, fighting against him while Cooper did the same in Lusana’s arms.
When the boy’s cries had faded into the halls of the mansion, Alma turned in Johnson’s arms and aimed a knee at his crotch.
He turned just in time and laughed out loud as he held her at arms length. “I know your defense well, Dr. Decker. My man that tried to audit your class back when you taught at BU, he told me about your resourceful kick to the crotch that sent him crawling home to ice his junk for a week.”
Alma’s eyes grew wide at the revelation.
“Oh? Travers never told you I sent resources after you?”
She set her jaw and stepped out of his grasp. “He only said you threatened me.”
“Hmm. Not entirely forthcoming, huh?”
She glared at him. “I trust Dirk unconditionally. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”
“Oh really?” He motioned to the neighboring sitting room. Without waiting for her acknowledgement, he crossed the tile floor to a dry bar, splashed vodka into a crystal glass and sat down in a red armchair.
Alma watched him warily.
“Please, feel free.” He waved at the bar.
She poured a finger of scotch and sat across from him as the sun rose.
* * *
Fire shot up his arm, yanking him brusquely from darkness. Dirk tried to move away from the pain, but his arms were held fast to the bed. The sensation was as familiar as the face watching him and he knew the doctor had just administered a fresh dose of antibiotics. A white bandage crisscrossed the man’s forehead.
While the heat faded from his arm, the doctor pressed small metal dots Dirk’s forehead, arms, and hands. Thin wires attached them to a handheld machine.
“What…” he inquired groggily.
“These electrodes were originally developed for mental patients back in the day. We’ve used them here and there for neurologic disorders since, in much lower doses, of course.” He tapped the controller in his hand. “But I assure you, for a perfectly healthy individual such as yourself, this may be quite painful.” He smiled. “I told you not to mess with me, Travers.” With that, he pressed a button on the pad.