Always Look Twice

by Dawson, Geralyn

  ‘‘Five North.’’

  Annabelle waved her thanks and headed for the elevator, where she waited for the car to descend, tapping her toes, impatiently slapping her denim-clad thigh. Mark’s hand hovered at the ready to reach for his gun as a man in a suit approached them. ‘‘Mr. Callahan?’’

  Mark relaxed. ‘‘Yeah.’’

  ‘‘You’re all clear here.’’

  ‘‘Thanks. I’ll—’’ He broke off abruptly when Annabelle took off for a door marked STAIRS. ‘‘Sonofabitch.’’

  Mark and Tag sprinted after her, not catching up until they’d climbed to the fifth floor and she stopped abruptly at the swinging metal doors below a sign marked ICU. Tag asked, ‘‘Annabelle?’’

  ‘‘I’m scared.’’

  ‘‘No, you’re not. You are never scared.’’

  ‘‘I am this time.’’ She put her hands against her chest as if holding back a terrible pressure. ‘‘This is my fault.’’

  Mark scowled and took her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘‘Don’t be stupid. You know better.’’

  ‘‘They’ll blame me. I blame myself.’’

  ‘‘The only person to blame for this is the a-hole who is doing it. That’s the truth, honey, and they’ll see it. If they don’t, I’ll explain it to them.’’

  Her teeth gnawed worriedly at her lower lip.

  He leaned down and wiped that sign of worry away by giving her a quick hard kiss. ‘‘Go see your family, Annabelle. We’re right here with you.’’

  She nodded, blew out a heavy breath, then opened the door that led directly into the ICU waiting room.

  The place was crowded with people, but Mark picked out the Monroes right away. Two women who bore a startling resemblance to Annabelle sat on either side of an attractive older woman. The man standing behind her was a masculine version of Mark’s ex-wife. The expressions on the faces of all four as they caught sight of Annabelle gave his heart a little twist on her behalf.

  Her mother’s eyes softened with relief and love. One sister smiled with welcome; the other’s face went stony with anger. Her brother looked like he’d choke her if given half the chance.

  Mark took a protective step closer to Annabelle.

  ‘‘Oh, baby.’’ Her mother lifted her arms. ‘‘I’m so glad you are here.’’

  Annabelle crossed the room in three long strides, dropped to her knees before her mother, and buried her head on the older woman’s lap. ‘‘Mama, I’m so sorry.’’

  The angry sister—the youngest, Mark guessed— snapped, ‘‘Well, I certainly hope you are.’’

  ‘‘Come on, Lissa,’’ said the other sister.

  ‘‘Don’t ‘Come on, Lissa’ me. I’m not the problem. I’m not the one who worried Mom and Dad half to death by disappearing for months on end with my job. I’m not the one who broke their hearts by deciding to live in Hawaii.’’

  ‘‘Save it, Lis,’’ her brother said, glaring down at Annabelle. ‘‘Not in front of Mom.’’

  ‘‘Not anywhere,’’ the first sister fired back. Mark decided he liked her.

  The brother added stonily, ‘‘We’ll visit with her at home.’’

  Mark’s fingers literally itched to reach out and pop him one. Under other circumstances, he might have done it. He opened his mouth to put in his two cents’ worth when Annabelle’s mother said, ‘‘Stop it. All of you.’’ She stroked Annabelle’s hair. ‘‘Your sister served her country—her father and I are proud of her for it, and you all know it. What happened isn’t her fault. She didn’t set that explosion. So just hush. We will stand together as a family here. No squabbling, especially in public. That’s the way your father would want it.’’

  At that, Annabelle lifted her head, glanced at her sisters and her brother, and repeated, ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

  The angry sister, Lissa, appeared to crumple. ‘‘Me, too. I’m sorry, too. It’s just been . . . scary.’’

  ‘‘How’s Daddy?’’

  Her brother spoke. ‘‘Better. They’re running a couple tests now. . . . That’s why we’re all in the waiting room. You’ll be able to go in and see him soon.’’

  ‘‘Does he know what happened?’’

  ‘‘We don’t even know what happened,’’ the sister who’d smiled said. ‘‘Or who these . . . interesting . . . men are who accompanied you.’’

  Annabelle glanced back over her shoulder as if she’d forgotten Mark and Harrington were there. ‘‘Oh . . . um . . .’’ She climbed back onto her feet, then gestured to Mark, then Harrington. ‘‘Mark Callahan, Tag Harrington, meet the Monroes. My mother, Lynn, my brother, Adam, and my sisters, Lissa and Amy. Guys, Mark and Tag are colleagues of mine. They’re gonna help us find out who did this to Daddy.’’

  Adam Monroe stepped out from behind his mother and, ignoring Mark, shook Harrington’s hand. ‘‘Sorry to involve you in family drama. Everyone around this is a little uptight right now.’’

  ‘‘Understandable,’’ Harrington said, waving it off.

  Mark wasn’t quite so willing to let it go. He didn’t like this guy and judging by the look in his eyes, Adam Monroe didn’t care for him much, either. It made Mark wonder what, if anything, he might know about Mark’s situation with his sister.

  But that was a discussion for another time. Annabelle was all that mattered now and she was why he inserted himself into the fray. ‘‘Annabelle hasn’t exactly had it easy lately herself. In fact yesterday—’’

  ‘‘Mark,’’ she interrupted, glancing over her shoulder, her brown eyes big and pleading. ‘‘Don’t. It’s okay.’’ Then brother and sister wrapped their arms around each other for a hug, proving the fact of her assertion.

  Her sisters greeted both Mark and Harrington with a handshake. Mrs. Monroe stood up and gave them both a hug, saying, ‘‘Thank you so much for bringing my baby girl home safe and sound.’’

  For a split second, Mark catapulted back in time, back into his own mother’s arms. Dear God, he missed her. How different his life would have been had she not died so young. He cleared his throat, met Lynn Monroe’s gaze—Annabelle had her eyes—and made a solemn promise. ‘‘I intend to make sure she remains safe and sound.’’

  At that point, a group of a dozen or so people entered the waiting room and Mark and Harrington were introduced to aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors who had returned from the cafeteria with a positive report on the quality of the supper menu. Annabelle’s siblings urged their mother to go have a meal herself, but Lynn refused and a gentle argument ensued, interrupted a few minutes later when a nurse opened the unit’s inner doors. ‘‘Mrs. Monroe? We’re done. Two of you can come back now.’’

  Lynn held her hand out to Annabelle. ‘‘Come with me, baby. Your shining face is just the medicine your daddy needs.’’

  Annabelle cast one quick panicky glance toward Mark, then followed her mother. As Mark stood and watched the metal doors swing behind her, an elderly woman—Great-aunt Polly—said, ‘‘So, young man. How long have you been sleeping with our Annabelle?’’

  A giant wave of guilt rolled over Annabelle as she entered the ICU cubicle where her father lay sleeping, hooked up to tubes and electrodes and machines that hummed and beeped. On the left side of his head a bandage covered a shaved section of his salt-and-pepper hair. One arm was folded across his chest, a line taped into place on the back of a hand whose skin appeared black-and-blue and paper thin.

  ‘‘Oh, Daddy,’’ she murmured.

  His eyes opened, blinked. He looked around, found his wife, and smiled wearily. ‘‘Lynnie.’’

  Lynn Monroe stepped next to the bed and gently took his hand, then motioned to Annabelle. ‘‘Look who’s here, honey.’’

  Annabelle blinked away her tears. ‘‘Hi, Daddy.’’

  Light brightened his blue eyes. ‘‘Little Bit. You came.’’

  ‘‘Of course I came. How are you feeling?’’

  ‘‘Not too bad, considering.’’ He thumbed the motor control on h
is bed and raised his upper body into a seated position. Then, his voice stronger than before, he cleared his throat and added, ‘‘I knew I could get you home if I blew myself up.’’

  She closed her eyes and shuddered as she imagined the scene. ‘‘Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry this happened. It tears me apart to know . . . well . . .’’ She swallowed hard. ‘‘You are in that bed because of my job. If I had known then what I know now, I would have gone to beauty school like you wanted.’’

  ‘‘Oh, stop it. You would have been a disaster at cutting hair. Now, what I would like is an explanation. Your mother was skimpy with details. Someone is going around killing people you worked with?’’

  Annabelle brought her parents up-to-date with a short, succinct report that provided the information they needed and deserved while leaving out details that would cause them extra worry. She ended by saying, ‘‘We are going to find the people responsible and make them pay. And in the meantime, we’ll keep everybody safe. I promise, Daddy. You have my solemn word. I brought team members with me and we’re hiring extra security for everyone in the family until whoever did this is caught.’’

  ‘‘Even Aunt Polly?’’

  A smile flickered on Annabelle’s lips. ‘‘Even Aunt Polly.’’

  ‘‘You better pick out your toughest man to guard her.’’

  Annabelle had a quick mental vision of Mark attempting to tell Aunt Polly what to do. She would shake her finger in his face and stomp her cane to punctuate her comments. Then she would do what she wanted to do anyway. ‘‘Or the man with the most patience.’’

  Frank Monroe nodded. ‘‘You do have a point. You say you brought people with you?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Who is in charge? I want to meet him.’’

  Annabelle glanced at her mother, then said, ‘‘Visitors are limited to family, aren’t they? Maybe once you are out of ICU.’’

  ‘‘Tonight, Annabelle,’’ Frank Monroe instructed. ‘‘Now.’’

  She hadn’t expected to have to introduce Mark to her father and she wasn’t prepared for it. She attempted to put him off by saying, ‘‘I don’t know that either Mark or Tag is any more in charge than I am, Daddy. If you want—’’

  ‘‘Mark? Wasn’t your team leader named Mark? Mark Callahan?’’

  ‘‘I guess the concussion didn’t hurt your memory at all, did it?’’

  ‘‘Go get the man, Little Bit.’’

  Annabelle had never disobeyed that tone of voice in her life.

  She returned to the waiting room, but Mark was nowhere to be found. She looked at Amy. ‘‘Mark?’’

  Aunt Polly piped up. ‘‘He couldn’t take the heat and got out of the kitchen.’’

  ‘‘He went down to the gift shop to buy me a pack of gum,’’ Amy explained.

  Annabelle shot a querying look to Tag, who stood guard at the ICU outer door. He fought a grin as he shrugged. ‘‘Your aunt is a pistol, Anna-B.’’

  He didn’t have to say more. Experience had taught her long ago that Aunt Polly had never met a question too personal to ask. It was obvious that Mark had run for cover.

  ‘‘I like him,’’ Amy said.

  ‘‘I don’t,’’ snapped Adam and Lissa simultaneously just as Mark shoved open the waiting room door and stepped inside.

  He gave Amy a tight smile as he handed her the pack of gum. ‘‘Thanks,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ Mark responded before glancing at Annabelle. With his jaw set and his body vibrating with tension, he asked, ‘‘Are you ready to leave now?’’

  ‘‘No. My father wants to talk to you.’’

  Mark nodded, then hesitated. He shifted his gaze toward Aunt Polly. ‘‘Is she related on your father’s side of the family or your mother’s?’’

  ‘‘My dad’s. Why?’’

  Aunt Polly said, ‘‘He’s afraid that your daddy will see what I saw.’’

  Mark took her arm and led her out of the waiting room. ‘‘Let’s go, Annabelle. Now.’’

  Aunt Polly’s voice followed them. ‘‘. . . that you and that young man are having S-E-X.’’

  Annabelle closed her eyes and groaned.

  ‘‘You might have warned me, Annabelle,’’ Mark said through gritted teeth.

  ‘‘What did you say to her?’’

  ‘‘Nothing! Not a damned thing! What is she . . . some sort of witch?’’

  ‘‘Just shoot me,’’ Annabelle muttered. ‘‘Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.’’

  ‘‘You know, right now is probably not a good time to be using that particular expression.’’ Mark dropped his hold on her arm and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘‘I need a Sitrep here. What does your father want from me?’’

  ‘‘Reassurance, I think.’’

  ‘‘About our sex life?’’

  ‘‘About his family’s safety.’’

  ‘‘Oh. Okay, that I can do.’’

  Annabelle led him past the nurses’ station, holding up her hand to ward off their protest. ‘‘He’s the man guarding the family. I’m just going to introduce them and leave.’’

  Mark wore a solemn expression as Annabelle presented him to her father. The two men spoke briefly about Frank Monroe’s injuries and anticipated recovery, and then her father asked Mark how he intended to guarantee the safety of the Monroe family.

  ‘‘I brought one of my best men with me, sir, and I’ve also retained the services of the best personal-security firm in Texas. I’ve worked with them in the past and I can assure you that they are good people. They’re due to arrive before morning, and they’ll make sure nothing more happens to your family.’’

  Annabelle’s mother said, ‘‘This is all just a nightmare. Why would anyone do something like this?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know, Mom, but we’ll find out.’’ Annabelle held up a finger, gesturing ‘‘one more minute’’ to the nurse.

  Mark said, ‘‘Mr. Monroe, I’d like to hear your description of what happened the other night.’’

  ‘‘So would I,’’ Frank observed. ‘‘Unfortunately, I can’t recall a blessed thing after saying grace over our meal two days ago.’’

  ‘‘Would it help to hear it from my perspective?’’ Annabelle’s mother asked.

  ‘‘Yes, certainly,’’ Mark replied.

  While Lynn Monroe couldn’t describe what had happened in the kitchen, she did fill in enough of the blanks for Annabelle to note the similarities between this explosion and the one that killed Jeremy Russo. ‘‘Mama, have you had any unusual visitors to the farm recently?’’

  ‘‘Bart Torbush is damned unusual,’’ her father offered.

  Annabelle grinned at her father’s mention of the local Methodist preacher, while her mother scoffed, ‘‘Oh, Frank.’’

  It was good to see that his sense of humor was still intact. ‘‘I meant any visitors you didn’t already know. Any strangers.’’

  Her parents looked at each other. Frank said, ‘‘The photographer.’’

  ‘‘A woman?’’ Mark asked.

  ‘‘No. A man.’’ Annabelle’s mother frowned. ‘‘I considered him myself, but he was such a nice man, at the farm two full days before the accident.’’

  It wasn’t a freaking accident, Annabelle thought.

  ‘‘It’s not difficult to delay a detonation, Mrs. Monroe,’’ Mark said. ‘‘With a thorough investigation, the authorities should be able to pinpoint a trigger. If they can’t, we have access to people who can.’’

  Annabelle asked, ‘‘Who was he? Why was he there?’’

  ‘‘His name was something plain. . . . Hmm.’’ Lynn Monroe thought a minute. ‘‘Johnson. Bob Johnson. He said he was doing a coffee-table book about farm-houses. It’s supposed to be published next year by a New York publisher. He spent the better part of two days around the place taking pictures both inside and out.’’

  Mark asked, ‘‘Did he carry a camera bag around with him?’’

  ‘‘Yes, tw
o of them, in fact.’’

  ‘‘Were you with him all the time?’’

  ‘‘Oh, heavens no. We showed him around, then went about our business.’’

  ‘‘Can you describe him for us, Mama?’’

  ‘‘I can try.’’ She thought a moment, then said, ‘‘He’s about your age, Annabelle. About your height, Mr. Callahan. He wore cargo pants and a T-shirt and a photographer’s vest. Sneakers on his feet.’’

  Frank Monroe added, ‘‘He wore an earring. A gold stud. I thought that meant he’s gay, but he talked about his wife and children, and your sister says that earrings aren’t a gay thing anymore.’’ Shooting a sharp look at Mark, he added, ‘‘What about you? You got an earring, boy?’’

  ‘‘No, sir,’’ he said with a smile, before meeting Lynn’s gaze. ‘‘Do you recall complexion type? Hair color? Eye color?’’

  ‘‘He had fair skin and his hair was cut very short—a flattop, we called them back in my day. His eyes were brown. I remember because I noticed his eyelashes. The man had the thickest, longest lashes.’’

  ‘‘What are you doing noticing another fella’s eyelashes?’’

  Lynn lifted her gaze to the ceiling and sighed. ‘‘Adam met him, too. You might see if he remembers more.’’

  Annabelle asked, ‘‘And you never saw a woman with him?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  At that point the nurse lost her patience and stepped into the room. ‘‘I’ve allowed this to go on long enough. One of you must leave now.’’

  ‘‘My cue.’’ Mark spoke up, shifting toward the door. ‘‘We can finish this later, ma’am.’’

  Annabelle’s mother studied her husband and gently brushed his hair away from his brow. ‘‘Actually, I think it’s time we all leave. You are tired, honey. I am, too. We both can use some rest.’’

  ‘‘You’ll go home like you promised?’’ he asked, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. ‘‘You won’t try to spend the night up here again? You need a good night’s sleep.’’

  ‘‘I’m going home. Adam has offered to stay the night here, and I’ll be back here first thing in the morning.’’