by Jeff Shelby
She swallowed. “Where's Elizabeth?”
“Home,” I told her. “I told her I'd come get her in just a little bit.”
She nodded again. She shifted beneath the sheets, a ragged breath pushing its way out of her mouth.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
I reached out my hand again and moved the sheet so I could find her. I covered her hand with mine and squeezed. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I didn't know anything was wrong.” Her eyes were still closed, her voice raw, broken. “There wasn't a lot of movement yesterday but I... that happens sometimes. I didn't think anything was wrong.”
“There was no way of knowing,” I said. “The doctor said so.”
A nurse came in and I straightened a little but held tight to Lauren's hand. The woman smiled at us, a sympathetic, comforting smile. She checked the monitor closest to Lauren, then examined her IV fluids.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
Lauren gave a slight nod.
“I'm just going to check on your bleeding,” she said. She was on the other side of the bed and she lifted the hospital sheet. “Looks like it's slowing. That's good.” She replaced the sheet.
She tapped at the keyboard just below a mounted computer monitor. “There are counselors available. If you'd like to talk to someone.”
Lauren and I remained silent.
She finished at the computer, then patted Lauren's leg. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She left.
I looked back at Lauren. Her eyes were closed again. The tear on her cheek was gone.
I shifted my gaze to the window. The curtains were open and the sun was shining and cars buzzed by on the road outside. Lives were going on outside the four walls of our room. But here, in this bright, sterile environment, a life had just ended.
The door was slightly ajar and I heard the unmistakable squall of a newborn. My fingers tightened on Lauren's hand and I had to force myself to loosen my grip.
That was supposed to be us. Our baby.
“I wanted to name him Joseph.”
My eyes flitted to Lauren. She was looking at me. She'd heard it, too.
Tears pooled in my eyes and I just nodded.
“He was so beautiful,” she said. Her tears flowed freely now. “So tiny but so perfect.” She took a shaky breath. “And I wanted him. I wanted him, goddammit.”
The tears streamed down my cheeks. I let them come. “I did, too.”
FORTY SEVEN
One Week Later
I drove east past Yuma, the sun already high in the morning sky, its rays barely muted by the thin, ribbon-like clouds that threaded the vast expanse of blue. The landscape looked different during the day, not nearly as desolate. The green cacti and the small birds circling in the sky brought the area to life.
About fifteen miles past Yuma, I exited the highway and drove south, a two-lane road seeming to extend forever into the horizon. Twenty minutes later, I saw a small pick-up truck parked on the side, its red paint faded and dinged, a line of rust along the top of the tailgate. I pulled in behind it and got out, leaving the car running.
Patrick Dennison rolled down the window and said, “Hey.”
“You ready?”
He nodded.
I walked back to my car, got in and drove past him. He fell in behind me on the highway. We drove for nearly thirty minutes until we started seeing signs for a town called San Luis. We passed a Wal-Mart and other retail strip malls. Then we reached the line of traffic that led to the border crossing into Mexico.
I turned right onto a side street, parking my car in front of a place that offered insurance for visitors going into Mexico. Dennison pulled the pick-up in behind me. I got out and walked back to him.
He cranked the window down. “Now what?”
“Now I'm gonna walk back to the main road and watch and wait until I see you drive over,” I told him.
“I told you I'd go,” he said, frowning. “I mean, I met you where you told me to, didn't I?”
“What'd you do with your car?” I asked.
“Like you said,” he said. “I drove it somewhere out near where we were. Three nights ago. I torched the hell out of it and waited until it was done burning. Middle of the night. Just like you said.”
I nodded. “Where'd you get the truck?”
“Like you said,” he repeated. “I hiked into Yuma and bought it from some old guy. Paid cash.”
“You talk to anyone?”
“The only person I've talked to since I saw you was the guy I bought the truck from. I did everything you told me to do.”
I nodded again. “You have the money?”
He pointed at the backpack next to him. “Yeah. Man, I'm telling you. If I was going to run, I woulda done it the next day. I did everything you told me to.”
I looked down the block. The street was empty, save for the two of us.
I hadn't been able to pull the trigger. I'd probably always known I wouldn’t be able to do it, but in the moment, with him standing there in the darkness, I'd lowered the gun and told him I wasn't going to kill him.
I had another plan.
He could just disappear instead. Take Anchor's money, drive into Mexico and never be heard from again. I'd report back to Anchor and no one would be the wiser. I knew the risks, but I couldn't pull the trigger. I didn't know what he'd do with his life, but I didn't care. I just didn't want him to impact mine anymore.
So we'd agreed that he'd get his stuff out of the campground that night. Agreed that he'd get rid of his car and buy some clunker. He'd camp out in the desert waiting for me to come back at the designated time and place. We agreed that he could take the money and head into Mexico and not contact a soul and never come back. Ever. And we agreed that if he didn't do any of that, I was going to put together a team and come after him.
And I'd tell Kathleen he'd known about Aaron all along. That he'd kept it from her for years.
It was the coward's way out, on both of our parts. But I didn't want to kill again and he didn't want to die.
“Once you're over, you're on your own,” I said. “You can't come back.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I know.”
“If you come back, I'll find you.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Drive for at least a day,” I said. “Then you can start looking for a place to settle. Or keep driving. I don't care.”
He stared at the wheel for a moment, then nodded.
“Alright,” I said. “Go.”
I walked away from the truck and headed across the street. By the time I reached the road we'd come in on, he was turning the truck on to it. He didn't look at me as he passed and I watched him settle into the line of cars that was snaking toward the border.
I knew the risk I was taking. If he ever changed his mind and came back or made contact with Kathleen, there was a good chance Anchor would find out and he would know that I'd lied. If he found out that I'd lied to him, he'd come after me. I'd made a promise to him and then lied about it.
But I couldn't kill Patrick Dennison in cold blood. Was he a bad guy? I wasn't sure. Had he done some questionable things? Yes. But I believed him when he said he wasn't sure what else to do when he'd learned Anchor had been responsible for the accidental death of his son. Yes, he'd stolen money from Anchor and Delzano, but those were areas heavily shaded in gray. I'd killed before, but it had been different. It had been personal and what those men had done was unforgivable.
Patrick Dennison wasn't in the same category as those men.
I just wasn't sure he was worth risking my own life for.
His old truck idled toward the border booth, then stopped. The agent stepped out and stood next to the truck, looking serious. I could see his lips moving, but was too far away to hear what he was saying. He nodded a couple times, then waved him through.
The truck moved slowly through the secure area, then onto the highway and disappeared f
rom sight.
Patrick Dennison was gone.
FORTY EIGHT
Lauren held a finger to her lips, then pointed at Elizabeth, who was lying on our bed next to her, sound asleep.
“She fell asleep half an hour ago,” she whispered. “It was the first day of workouts at school. She's wiped.”
I kicked off my shoes and crawled onto the bed next to her, trying not to jostle the mattress. I kissed her and sat up next to her.
“How'd it go?” she asked.
I nodded. “Good. All done.”
I'd told her I needed to go back to Yuma to tie up a few loose ends and that I'd be gone for the day. After I'd watched Dennison cross the border, I'd stayed for a couple more hours, just watching the traffic come into the U.S., making sure he hadn't changed his mind. Then I'd driven around the desert area near the campground, trying to locate his burned out truck. I couldn't find it, though, and that pleased me. If I couldn't find it, that meant it was in a remote area and would remain there for a long time. Then I'd driven back to San Diego and back over the bridge to Coronado and into the driveway of our home.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Okay. I'm tired, but I was up and around for the most of the day. I picked her up after practice. Made dinner. I'm okay.”
After the miscarriage, she'd stayed in the hospital for another day until the doctor cleared her to come home. The damage was more emotional than physical, but she'd slept a lot and been slower than normal, all things we were advised were not unusual in the aftermath of losing a child. She had good moments and bad moments, but she was tough. There'd been a few more smiles over the last few days and she'd mentioned getting back to work. I wasn't pushing and I was trying not to hover, letting her do what she needed to do, on her own timetable.
I nodded at Elizabeth. “She have a good practice?”
“She loved it,” Lauren said. “She couldn't stop talking about it. That's why she came in here. To wait for you so she could tell you.”
“So much for that.”
“You can wake her up.”
I shook my head. “No, let her sleep.”
The TV was on, the end credits of a movie rolling over the screen.
“So it's all done?” Lauren asked.
I nodded. “Done.”
“Good.”
I nodded again. “Yeah. Now I'll have to see what else she came up with on her list for me.”
Lauren chuckled. “You know, you don't have to go to work. With my job, we're fine.”
“Please,” I said. “I'd get restless. I need something to do. But something here.”
She hugged my arm. “Yeah, something here. But you'll figure it out. I just want you here. With us. And I don't want to worry about where you are or who you're with. I just want you here.”
I slipped my arm out of her grasp and wrapped it around her shoulders. I thought about Anchor and Delzano and both of the Dennisons. I thought about watching Dennison crossing the border. I thought about what might happen if he did decide to come back. Then I forced those thoughts out of my mind. There were always going to be variables, things out of my control. I couldn't spend my life thinking about the what-ifs. I was choosing to focus on the certainties in my life.
I looked at Elizabeth, then at Lauren. There was a tiny piece missing, a tiny piece we'd just lost and that ache was still fresh and raw. But I knew we'd stitch our family back together. That was a certainty.
“Me, too,” I told her. “Me, too.”
THE END
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
The Joe Tyler books are, by far, the most popular books I've written to date. There will be more. You can look for #6 sometime this spring. But I'm often asked by readers who've discovered me via the Joe books “What else of yours should I read?”
Good question!
Here's what I can tell you about each of the other three series I've written:
The Noah Braddock books. These were the books that started my career. KILLER SWELL was my first published novel. They are traditional private eye novels, compared favorably to the works of Robert B. Parker, Robert Crais and John D. MacDonald by places like Entertainment Weekly, The Washington Post and The Los Angeles Times. I'm currently working on the fifth book in the series and I'm hoping it will be available at the end of January/beginning of February. (And there's an excerpt in the January newsletter.)
The Moose River books. These books are NOT like the Joe or Noah books in any way. They are humorous cozy mystery novels designed for giggles and laughs and loosely based on my own life. No profanity, no violence, but lots of goofiness. The fourth book in the series, FOUL PLAY, should be out in the next two months.
The Deuce Winters books (written under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen.) These books – like the Moose River books – are NOT like the Joe or Noah books. They, too, are humorous cozy mytery novels with a lot of silliness mixed into the life of a stay at home dad who ends up solving crimes in a small Texas town. No profanity, no violence.
So there you have it. Hopefully, there's something there that might interest you until Joe #6 arrives. I'm working as fast as I can and I really, truly appreciate your support and enthusiasm.
Jeff