by Gayle Wilson
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“Promise you what?”
“That you’ll be here when I get back.”
He swallowed, wondering if he wanted to die with a lie on his lips. But if he didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she might not go.
“Jeb? You promise me, you hear?”
“I hear.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll be here. I promise.”
She nodded, still looking into his eyes. Her lips tightened, before she bent and pressed them against his forehead.
He shut his eyes, thankful for the reprieve from her scrutiny. He opened them again as she straightened.
Without saying anything else, she took Emma’s arm and began to run. He watched as long as he could see them, and when he couldn’t anymore, he lowered his head and closed his eyes.
This, too, was the same kind of journey he’d become familiar with in the last year. Just like the one that had taken place out in the river tonight. Just like the long, difficult months after he’d gotten home from Iraq.
All he had to do was what he’d done before.
Manage one more breath. One more heartbeat. And one last journey.
“THAT MAN YOUR FRIEND KILLED. He was talking about me, wasn’t he?”
Emma’s question pulled Susan’s mind from its frenzied anxiety about Jeb. She’d been so concerned with getting help for him, she’d forgotten to worry about how her daughter might interpret the things McKey had said before he died.
“I promise I’ll explain everything,” Susan said, glancing over at the small figure huddled in the passenger seat of Avalanche. “It’s just that now we need to watch for the ambulance.”
Although she had desperately wanted to go back to the riverbank as soon as she finished the 911 call, the dispatcher had assured her that help would get to Jeb much quicker if she waited at the turnoff and led them directly to him. So she and Emma were sitting in the big truck, its flashers on to signal the location for the paramedics who were on their way.
“He said Uncle Wayne was supposed to leave the baby in the SUV,” the little girl went on, her face a pale oval in the dimness of the interior. “But that he didn’t. Then he said he took that baby home with him and gave it to his sister.”
Emma left out the derogatory descriptive McKey had used for the woman she believed was her mother. Other than that, she seemed to have grasped all the implications.
“That’s right,” Susan said.
She still didn’t want to deal with this right now. The violence the child had witnessed tonight made it seem as if this would be the worst possible time to explain that everything she’d known her entire life had been a lie. And that the people she had loved—and lost—had been as guilty in what had happened as the surgeon himself.
“Then that means…” The little girl hesitated, obviously trying to work out what it did mean. And perhaps trying to come to grips with the enormity of what had been revealed tonight.
She had already heard too much, Susan realized. Now Emma needed assurance that, even though the world she’d known had just fallen apart, there was another waiting for her. One that had been waiting for her for seven years.
“It means that you’re my baby,” Susan said softly. “The one I lost when your father’s car went into the river all those years ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
Her voice broke on the last, with the realization that her long search was finally over. Her daughter, the one she had last seen holding up chubby arms begging to be held, was sitting beside her.
“Then…I’m the one you came to school to find? I’m the Emma you were looking for?”
After she’d found the picture on Wayne Adams’s desk, Susan had wondered through what act of Providence it had been Emma who had come to the fence that day. Was it possible that some unconscious memory had drawn Emma to her?
She would never know how much, if anything, a toddler that age might remember, but it didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility that it might be enough to respond to her mother’s face. And enough to trust that she would keep her safe, as Emma had tonight.
“I never stopped looking for you,” Susan said. “Not since the day you disappeared. I just had no way to know where you were. Not until…”
Not until your father’s body was recovered. She allowed the sentence to trail. There was no reason to remind Emma of another loss to add to those she’d already suffered.
“And as soon as I can,” she went on, “I’m going to take you home with me.”
“To live there? With you?”
Susan nodded, her throat aching with the promise of that.
“Forever?” The little girl’s eyes were wide in the darkness, her question only a whisper.
“Forever and ever and ever.” The tears Susan had denied so long could not be contained. With a stifled sob, she attempted to regain control. She had to. For Jeb’s sake.
“Don’t cry,” Emma said, reaching out to put her hand on top of Susan’s, which lay on the wide console between them. “It will be all right.”
“Yes, it will.” Susan attempted a smile, clasping the small, cold fingers in her own.
Then, unable to resist, she leaned toward her daughter, halfway expecting the child to recoil. With the fingers of her left hand, she stroked the baby-fine hair away from Emma’s cheek before allowing them to close around her daughter’s head to draw her close.
Emma leaned into the embrace, allowing Susan’s lips to rest against the softness of her hair, just as they had done so long ago. Conveying the same unmistakable message of love they had then.
Unspeaking, they didn’t move again until a distant siren announced the arrival of the paramedics.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“SHE’S WITH Child Protective Services until the results of the DNA test comes back. I can visit her, but I can’t take her out of the state.”
“And that’s what you plan to do?”
“Since I live in Atlanta,” Susan said with a smile, “I don’t think I have any choice.”
Maybe he wasn’t clear about all that had happened the night he’d killed McKey, but Jeb had thought she’d made a choice then. Or maybe she’d just said anything she believed would keep him hanging on until she could get help. If that had been the case, it had obviously worked.
He supposed he should be grateful, no matter what her motives were. Right now, he wasn’t. Not in the least. He was confused as hell because he’d been lying here for two days thinking some kind of commitment had been made between them.
One thing he was very clear about was that he was tired of being in the freaking hospital. He’d had his fill of them a long time ago. No matter where they were or who ran them, there were certain commonalities, none of which he liked. The loss of control and dignity. The fact that doctors treated you as if you weren’t quite bright.
He realized with a jolt of regret that McKey had been the only one who’d ever treated him like an equal. Like someone who not only had the right to straight answers, but who should have an active role in his own course of treatment.
“So when are they going to release you?”
Susan’s question seemed like an attempt to move the conversation away from the personal. Especially away from the possibility that he might ask her not to go back to Atlanta.
Maybe with the effects of the blood loss, he had gotten it all wrong. The fact that they’d made love, something that to him had signified a major change in their relationship, didn’t mean she owed him anything. Not even an explanation.
Susan didn’t seem like a woman who made that kind of decision lightly, but there had been extenuating circumstances. He had known that going in. None of which explained why he felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.
Maybe it was being back in a hospital bed. Or the knowledge that McKey wouldn’t be pulling any strings on his behalf now. Or maybe, he admitted, it was the fact that for the first time in his adult life, he wa
nted some kind of permanence in a relationship. And the woman he wanted it with was talking about taking her daughter back to Atlanta as soon as the authorities would allow it.
“Jeb?”
Suck it up, Bedford. You’ve never allowed yourself to wallow in self-pity before. For God’s sake, don’t start now. Not while she’s around. And apparently that won’t be too long.
“I don’t know,” he said aloud.
“They haven’t told you?”
“All I know is it can’t be soon enough. I thought nowadays they kicked you out as soon as they slapped the stitches in.”
Her relieved smile erased the furrow that had formed between her brows. “Yeah, well, considering you were almost dead by the time they got you here…”
He knew she’d used his phone to call 911 when she reached the Avalanche. He hadn’t been conscious when the paramedics arrived, but he could have sworn he remembered her riding into Pascagoula with him in the ambulance, holding his hand and talking to him. Maybe he’d been mistaken about that, too.
“I don’t kill easy.”
“That’s a very good thing.”
“You have any trouble with the sheriff here?”
“Surprisingly little. I was afraid they wouldn’t believe me, especially not about McKey, but when they found Diane’s body inside the house and that rifle—engraved with his name, by the way—beside his, it was clear he’d been involved.”
“I never even knew he had a place out there.”
“I don’t think he used it anymore. Not since he’d gotten so wealthy. It was pretty primitive. But then, according to the sheriff here, he had owned it for a long time.”
“I wonder if that’s where he met Richard.”
“Wherever that rendezvous was supposed to be, it’s possible Adams stopped Richard before he reached it. Even in a situation like that, on the run and essentially in hiding, I think Richard would still have responded to flashing lights coming up behind him. Especially with Emma in the car. He would probably have believed it was one of those small-town speed traps if he’d thought anything about it.”
“Wayne must have been on McKey’s payroll a long time before that night. You don’t just call up the local law and ask him to commit a murder for you.”
He’d been lying here thinking about the possibilities. Of course, he’d had nothing else to do. Nothing except think about Susan.
“That’s what the sheriff believes, too. Adams certainly could have used the money, given the typical pay of rural law enforcement officers down here. And you’d be hard pressed to find a county as poor as Johnson.”
“A little homegrown corruption must have been tough to resist,” he said. “And I doubt McKey asked him to do anything very objectionable to begin with. I’m also sure, knowing how well off the good doctor was, that he would pay well. Probably before he knew it, Wayne was in too deep to get out.”
“And Buck? You think he just inherited the job?”
“Jemison may have been in on things from the start. Or McKey may have dangled enough money in front of his nose to convince him it was to his advantage to take out his boss.”
That was another conclusion he’d come to that night. It was probably Jemison who’d murdered Adams. And he was convinced it had been murder, designed either to keep Wayne from talking as the situation began to unravel or to punish him for screwing up seven years ago.
“It would have been so easy to do,” he said aloud. “Just stand there talking to him while Wayne worked under his truck. Buck had probably done the same thing a hundred times.”
“And this time he just kicked the jack out of the way?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know all of it. Not for sure. But…we know enough.”
She nodded. The silence that followed the natural end of that line of thinking was definitely strained. Like one between strangers who have run out of pleasantries to exchange.
“When will they have the results of the DNA match for Emma?” he asked, more to ease that tension than because he really wanted to know.
“They promised them as soon as possible.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“I think, after the publicity this has generated, they really mean it.”
“You’re probably right. Considering McKey’s involvement, I’ll bet the media are all over the story.”
He hadn’t turned on the TV since he’d been in here. He hadn’t needed it. He’d had his own fantasies going. Mooning over Susan like some lovesick kid.
“And considering who you are,” she said, smiling again.
“Me? What does that mean?”
“Special Forces hero solves cold case and takes out the bad guys. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news, because I suspect you’ll hate it, but you’re quite the media darling.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Someone’s bound to offer you a book and movie deal for the story. Get approval for whoever plays me, please.”
“Shit,” he said succinctly.
If there was anything he didn’t need right now it was some idiot trying to get a headline out of this. He could imagine what his guys would say. If they saw anything like that mock headline Susan had just spouted, he’d never hear the end of it.
“You better get used to it, Jeb,” Susan said, her voice suddenly serious. “The story has already gone national. A celebrity doctor with a Fortune 500 company. Add to that a couple of unsolved murders, an abducted baby, and you, of course. All the thing needs is a little sex—” She stopped, a flush of color moving under the smooth translucence of her cheeks.
“You’re the only woman I know who blushes because she made love. We’re consenting adults, Susan. What we did is legal. Even in Mississippi.”
“But…it isn’t something I do lightly. I guess that makes me…Actually, I don’t know what it makes me.”
“Smart. Especially these days.”
He had known that night was an aberration. That had been evident in everything she’d said and done. And he had also known exactly why she’d let him make love to her. It had been a way to forget, if only for a few hours, that she had no idea where her daughter was or whether she would ever see her again.
“If I was going to do something so out of character—and believe me, it was—then I’m just glad I was smart enough to pick someone like you. Someone I could trust.”
He supposed that was a compliment. Again, he was hard pressed to be grateful. “Someone like you” felt pretty generic. And nothing that had happened between them that night could be characterized as “generic.” Not for him.
But then, he had already realized Susan didn’t feel the same way. He’d walked away from his share of relationships through the years simply because the other party wanted to make them into something he didn’t intend for them to be. He was the last person on earth to blame her for doing the same thing.
“I don’t think I can ever express how grateful I am, Jeb. If it hadn’t been for your help—”
“I don’t want your gratitude.” That didn’t come out the way he’d intended. He sounded curt. Almost belligerent.
“That doesn’t stop me from feeling it. I won’t say it again if it makes you uncomfortable, but you have to know what finding Emma means to me.”
“I know,” he said, working to erase the anger from his voice. “I’m glad everything’s worked out for the two of you. How’s she doing, by the way?”
Susan’s shoulders moved, not quite a shrug. “She’s…a little lost, I think. We’re both feeling our way. You were right about that, too. I realized it that night at the river. She had no reason to trust me. She still doesn’t. I’m working on that, but I know it’s going to take a long time.”
“Have you told her everything?”
“She heard the hardest part that night. I wondered how much she understood, but she’s very bright. Very perceptive. Do I sound as if I’m bragging?” she finished with a laugh.
“You have a right to.”
“Do I? I didn’t have much to do with shaping her into the kind of person she is.”
“They say kids’ personalities are pretty much formed by the time they’re two. You had her most of that time. And you can’t discount the role heredity played in who she is.”
“The psychologists would have a field day with that.”
“Don’t give them a chance,” he advised. “Take her home and just…love her.”
“I will.”
The few seconds of silence that followed her promise felt as strained as the previous one had. As if they were strangers.
“Take care of yourself,” she said softly.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She took a step toward the door before she turned and came back to the bed, much closer than she had been before. Then, just as on the night he’d killed McKey, she bent, laying her fingers along his cheek.
This time her lips were warm and very soft. And once again they trembled.
That tiny crack in this morning’s cool, collected facade revealed some emotion she hadn’t confessed, releasing the dam his anger and pride had built. He put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her to him almost roughly. He pressed his lips against hers, demanding, until they opened to his tongue.
The kiss was long and deep. Again, she was the one who broke it, leaning back to look into his eyes.
“Don’t go,” he said.
Her pupils dilated slightly before she blinked. He could still see the sheen of moisture from his kiss on her bottom lip.
“What does that mean? Exactly,” she added.
“It means whatever you want it to mean.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Is this?”
He leaned forward, trying to put his mouth over hers again. She avoided the kiss by backing up a step. His hand slipped off the silk of her hair, freeing her.
“Jeb?”
He didn’t respond, closing his lips, the feel of her kiss still on them. He’d made his offer. Whether or not she accepted was up to her. He damn sure wasn’t going to beg.