The chief sat in his chair behind the big desk, setting the tone. Gage knew it meant this was going to be something more formal than just a friendly chat. He braced himself inwardly.
"Kit came to me about you the other day. I told her I'd look into it as soon as I got back from the chiefs' meeting tomorrow. But I see now that it can't wait."
"Kit … came to you?" Damn, Gage thought.
"This is not about Kit," de los Reyes said, heading him off with surprising force. "She did what she felt she had to. And she was right." He leaned back in his chair. "You look like hell, Gage."
"I … haven't been sleeping too well."
"You're staying at the Gregersons', right?"
"Yes. They had room, and Kelsey offered…" He ended with a shrug.
"A nice, quiet place, from what I've heard. Conducive to relaxation." Gage studied his hands, not having an answer to that. "But you're not relaxing."
"Maybe I'm still a little … rattled."
"Hmm," de los Reyes said, steepling his hands in front of him. "Martin has backed off since his arraignment and the addition of attempted murder charges. And the DA says our case is rock solid. Martin has apparently decided killing you is not the way out of his troubles, so you're out of protective custody. The clerk in the judge's office who leaked word on the warrant is on suspension pending an investigation. Your home is being repaired, your car being replaced, with help from the city. Everything's being put back the way it was."
Not quite everything, Gage thought grimly.
"And unofficially," de los Reyes said, "should we be so fortunate as to toss Mitchell Martin into state prison, I'm sure I can find someone who will explain to him how easily a man can be reached, even in prison."
Gage stared at the man across the desk. He knew what was behind the carefully chosen words, that he'd just been given a promise that Martin would know that if anything happened to Gage, he would be presumed responsible. And that he wouldn't be safe from retribution just because he was in prison. It wasn't politically correct, he supposed, but it was the reason anybody at Trinity West would go to the wall for this man.
"Thank you," he said, rubbing his gritty eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'll … breathe easier now."
"Will you?" de los Reyes said. "I've seen people where you are, Gage. Some come out of it. Some don't. This isn't a lifetime career for everybody. And you've put in a lifetime in eight years."
Gage's hands came down. What did that mean? he wondered, and looked at de los Reyes, searching for an answer in his face. He remembered Kit's statement that the man knew everything that went on under his command, and now, looking into gray eyes that were unusually light, lighter than Laurey's smoky gray, he didn't doubt it. And he knew that nothing would get him in more trouble with Miguel de los Reyes than to lie.
"I'm tired," he admitted. "And lately I've been wondering a lot about … whether it's worth it."
The chief was silent for a long moment. Then, with his gaze fastened intently, almost unnervingly, on Gage, he said with quiet resoluteness, "I hesitated to do this, Gage, but I see no choice in the matter now. You've been pushing too hard for too long. I know why—" Gage's head came up again, and he saw both knowledge and compassion in the pale eyes; he did know. Gage lowered his gaze again as the man went on "—but that doesn't change what I have to do. I'd hoped that now, with this case stabilized, you would do it yourself. But now it's an order, Gage. You're on leave until the Martin trial begins."
"What?" Gage exclaimed. It wasn't the order that startled him; he'd been half expecting it, knowing Kit wouldn't have forgotten his promise to take time off, a promise he hadn't yet kept. It was the amount of time that had shocked him. "They set the trial date for three months from now!"
"Exactly." De los Reyes smiled, an odd combination of amusement and concern. "Contrary to what you might think, as good as you are, Gage, we can survive without you."
"But—"
"You need to find some balance, Gage. You're walking too close to an edge that could crumble out from under you, and I like and respect you too much to want that to happen."
"Okay, I'll take some time," Gage said, almost desperately. "But not three months!"
"It's not negotiable, Gage."
"But—"
"See you next year," de los Reyes said. And his tone left no doubt that the subject was closed.
* * *
He was going, Gage thought wearily, out of his mind. He should be relaxing, with all this free time, but instead he felt more wound up, more tense and more confused than he ever had on the job. He'd never realized until now how much of an outlet it had been. He'd never realized until now exactly how much of his life it had been.
Face it, Butler, he muttered silently, sourly, it is your life. And it has been for a long time.
He was going to have to do something—anything—to take the edge off, before he flew apart into a million pieces. At first he'd tried to expend some of his edgy energy in repairing his house, but the work was coming along quickly, and the foreman of the crew had tossed him out the third day he'd shown up.
Maybe he should move, find somewhere else to stay until the house was done. Sometimes being around Kelsey and Cruz was a bit … much. They were so crazy in love it almost hurt to watch them. And when Quisto and Caitlin had arrived for Thanksgiving dinner tonight, it had been even worse; Caitlin was radiantly pregnant and, watching her, Gage felt a pang he didn't completely understand. But it wasn't until Ryan and Lacey had arrived, bringing the new baby, that Gage had broken and run for it.
He knew he would never forget the night little Amanda had been born. It had been one of the few things that had stirred him out of the lethargy that had overtaken him. Lacey had a rough labor, and when it was over, big, strong Ryan Buckhart had broken down and cried. And Gage had no sooner convinced himself, with some relief, that this was the kind of pain not caring let you avoid than Ryan had shown them his tiny daughter, smiling with pure, glowing joy, and Gage realized that not caring kept that away, as well.
He'd escaped to the quiet of the pond just above the house, welcoming the chill of the November air. And trying not to wonder what Laurey was doing on this holiday that focused on the togetherness of families, a togetherness he'd not known since he was ten. He could ask Caitlin, he supposed, he knew they'd kept in touch. It was how he had known she'd gone back to Seattle.
His mind veered off that course. He didn't want to think about her being gone, and he wanted to think even less about her coming back to testify at the trial; he didn't know how he would survive that.
He stared at the still water of the pond, wondering idly if it was deep enough to drown in. His mouth twisted at one corner; three inches of water was enough to drown in, if you were determined enough.
A light came on below, near the house, drawing his gaze. Sam, he thought, checking on her zoo. The child was amazingly dedicated to the small creatures she rescued; no holidays for her. While Kelsey and Cruz had been more than kind, it was Cruz's little girl who had astounded him with her youthful wisdom and understanding. More than once she'd hugged him, or climbed up on his lap to snuggle, for no apparent reason. She was always bringing him things, leaving him little notes and drawings in an apparent effort to cheer him. He didn't quite know why she did it, and sometimes her attempts caused more pain than they eased, but he hadn't been able to ask her to stop.
He would go down there now, he thought. Some of the feed she used for her critters was stored up out of reach of some of the local marauders who were capable of foraging on their own, and Samantha clambering up the ladder to get at it made him a bit nervous.
He heard her quiet, soothing humming as he neared the garage tool room that had been remodeled into a habitat for the menagerie of injured animals; the girl was a premier veterinarian in the making, Gage thought.
He stopped in the doorway when he realized this wasn't a regular feeding but a holiday one: fresh lettuce and scrubbed carrots for the two rabbits, tin
y pieces of fruit for the birds … he didn't want to even speculate about Slither, or what a king snake would eat for Thanksgiving. Sam was unaware of his presence, and he took the chance to watch her, a smile curving his mouth despite his mood.
But then something about her gentle, careful tending of her charges struck a familiar note, and the smile faded. He suddenly understood her attention to him; she approached him the same way, as if he were some wounded creature she was trying to heal. Somehow she had sensed it, that he was torn apart inside, and was trying the only way she knew how to help. A wave of sudden emotion swamped him. Tangled, confused emotions, the kind he'd been battering down for two weeks.
He backed away before she saw him, because he wasn't at all sure he wasn't going to crack right here and now.
In fact, he wasn't sure he hadn't cracked already; voices kept echoing in his mind. Wasn't that one of the first signs? He'd been able to keep them at bay while working, but now … now nothing seemed able to quiet them. Kit, Ryan, the chief, their words hammered at him.
It can't go on, Gage. Do I have to go to the chief and have him make it an order before you get some help?
I've been there, buddy. I grew up without having a human being in the world who gave a damn about me. And I'll tell you, it's a damn cold way to live.
You're walking too close to an edge that could crumble out from under you, and I like and respect you too much to want that to happen.
And Laurey, the most painful of all…
It's time to let go of the past. You couldn't save her. And saving the entire planet won't make up for it… It's gone beyond dedication, way beyond. You work too long, too hard, to the exclusion of all else. You wear that jacket like a hair shirt. And as if that wasn't enough to keep your guilt close, you live in the house where she died, so every day you're reminded that you couldn't save her. So you're reminded that the best you can do is kill yourself trying to save all the rest. That's not dedication, Gage, that's obsession.
Obsession.
Obsession.
The word spun in his mind like an endless loop, and he saw Laurey, looking at him with such pain, such compassion, such … love.
It had been love. He saw it now, so clearly, what she'd been trying to do that day in the ashes of his house. She'd been trying to break through, trying to make him see. And he saw why. She loved him.
She loved him, and he'd killed it, unthinkingly crushed it as surely as that explosion had destroyed the pitiful vestiges of an isolated life.
He was running, and he didn't know to where. In fact, he wasn't even sure where he was; somehow he'd left the Inn behind and was on a narrow road he didn't recognize. He slowed, then stopped. He looked around, but all was darkness. There was no moon, and even the stars seemed faint. Shaking, he sank to the ground on the edge of the gravel road. The silence seemed to descend around him; even the distant hum of traffic seemed to vanish. There was nothing to distract him, nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to turn to to fight off the tide of memories.
They came at him, battering him, in all their ugly fury. Relentlessly, until he was rocking back and forth, moaning under his breath. But his desperate "No, no, no," was useless in this silent, dark place, and he knew that he was seeing the essence of where his soul had been living, in this hell of his own making.
Laurey was right. Debby would not have wanted this. She had lived her short life joyously, in the sunlight, not in darkness, and he knew, with a gut-level certainty that he'd fought against for nearly twenty years, that she would hate what he'd done to himself in her name. She would have told him to let go of the grief. She would have told him that he had to find the most joy in life he could, because he would have to do it for both of them. Debby had loved him. She would not have wanted this.
He sat there, still shaking under the impact of those revelations. And for the first time ever he cried for his sister.
* * *
Laurey shook off her umbrella before she tossed it into the back seat of her car. The area around the Madison Street
office of the magazine was quiet, nearly deserted on this Christmas Eve. She wouldn't be here herself if she hadn't spent the night with a girlfriend whose apartment was within walking distance. After the rather rowdy office party, where for one of the few times in her life she'd downed enough alcohol to take her beyond a buzz and all the way into tipsiness, it had seemed the thing to do rather than risk the drive to her apartment in the University of Washington district, locally known as U-Dub. Now she drove carefully on the slick streets, thankful it was only water and not the treacherous black ice she had to deal with. With the minimal traffic, she was quickly onto the freeway and headed north.
Of course, she thought as she drove, many things seemed rowdy to her these days. Not just that party, but the people all over town, the traffic in the streets, even the people in the office seemed unduly cheerful. The gaily decorated stores were as bad, and the seasonally enthusiastic Pike Place Market, usually one of her favorite places, was unbearable.
But then, almost everything was unbearable to her now, and had been for every minute of every day of the six weeks since she'd left Gage standing in the ruins of his house. The Thanksgiving spent with her parents had been excruciating; every sign of holiday cheer only probed a wound that had yet to heal. She wondered if it ever would, or if she would be forever doomed to regret that he hadn't loved her back, that he hadn't even wanted her love, that she hadn't been enough for him when measured against his beloved badge. But most of all she regretted that she hadn't been able to reach him, that Gage would go on and on in that endless cycle of guilt and punishment, that he would drive himself harder and harder until it killed him. Or some other slime like Martin did it for him.
The only thing she didn't regret was loving him in the first place. No matter what had happened, she wouldn't give up those memories for anything. He'd taught her more about love and passion than she'd ever known, and that was a lesson she couldn't feel sorry about, even if it made her current pain worse.
She only wished he could have learned it, as well, could have learned that although there was risk involved in caring, and even more in loving, the gain was worth the cost. She wished—
Stop it, she ordered herself. Wishes were useless things, even at this time of year, when they were supposed to be granted. She concentrated on the last of the drive and parked with care when she reached home, one quarter of an older house that had been divided into apartments. She gathered up the gag gift she'd acquired in the office exchange—a rather garish, plastic bird of paradise plant, complete with a bright orange-and-yellow flower that reminded her painfully of the flowers in front of Gage's house—her briefcase and umbrella, and walked to her door.
There was a loud scraping noise from the small private patio beside her door. She spun around. The bird of paradise hit the wet cement at her feet. And at the sight of the soaking wet man who stood there, her hand shot to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to stop a cry.
"Hello, Laurey," Gage said.
* * *
Chapter 19
« ^
He was still shivering, but he shook his head at her offer of anything more than hot coffee, a towel for his sopping hair and the chance to take off his wet jacket and shoes. The bruises were gone, she noticed, then chided herself; of course they would be, it had been six weeks. It was just that he'd been battered in one way or another half the time she'd known him, it seemed.
And then it hit her, for the first time since she'd known him, he was wearing a different jacket. Not the leather one his sister's murderer had worn. She shivered in turn, then steadied herself, forcing herself not to read any great significance in the absence of the haunted garment.
"How … long were you waiting?" she asked, eyeing his towel-tousled hair.
"I…" He stopped for a particularly harsh shiver. She ignored his earlier refusal and draped the blanket throw from the back of her couch over him. He let her, as he managed to ask, "Thi
s time?"
She stepped back, then sat on the chair opposite the couch. "You were here before?"
"I … got in yesterday. I came straight here, but … you didn't come home." There could have been a world of implication in those words, but there wasn't; he was speaking simply, tiredly. "I finally went and slept in the rental car for a while, but I couldn't see the door from there, so this afternoon I came back and waited here."
"In the rain?"
His mouth quirked. "This time of year, I gather it's pretty tough not to do everything in the rain around here."
"We reap the benefits," she said.
"I know. It's … beautiful. I never realized how beautiful." Were they just going to sit here discussing the weather and the beauty of this place? she wondered.
"Why are you here?" she asked, not caring if she sounded abrupt; she'd been too shocked by his unexpected appearance. "And on Christmas Eve?"
He looked uncomfortable. "I sort of … forgot about that. I … needed to see you. To talk to you."
"If it's about the case, I already let Kit know where to reach me if they need me to testify."
He looked startled. "You … did?"
"Yes. Didn't she tell you?"
"No." He grimaced slightly, lowering his eyes to his feet; his socks were wet, too, but he'd kept them on. "But I haven't been to the station in a while."
It was her turn to be startled. She would have figured he'd have to be on his deathbed to stay away, and while he was wet and cold, he certainly didn't appear ill. "You haven't?"
"I was … on a leave of absence."
She gaped at him. "Why?"
"Chief's orders."
"Oh." What should she say to that? Offer condolences, she supposed. "I'm sorry."
His head came up, and he looked at her then. And she saw something in his eyes that nearly took her breath away. Something warm and alive that looked heartrendingly like hope.
"I'm not," he said softly. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me. All that time off … I had nothing to do but think. About what everyone had been telling me for so long. About what you told me. And … about what you didn't tell me."
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