Found Wanting

by Joyce Lamb

  Rachel was obviously struggling to absorb it all. "Who's the guy with you? A cop?"

  "Detective." She swallowed around the lump in her throat, determined not to be sick. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you --"

  A gunshot cut her off. Rachel yanked the gun toward the door.

  A minute passed, and nothing outside the door moved. Rachel's hand began to shake. "I can't believe this," she said. "I can't believe people are shooting each other in my house." She pierced Alaina with a furious gaze. "I can't believe my best friend is a kidnapper. Where is Jonah now?"

  "I did the best thing for him."

  "Where is he? Did you hide him somewhere? Does he even know what you did?"

  "I'm his mother," Alaina said, her voice faint.

  Rachel didn't appear to hear her. "How could you?" she asked, and tears ran down her cheeks. "That poor kid. He has no idea. How could he love you like he does if he knew?"

  "You don't know --"

  "You're right. I don't." Rachel pushed to her feet, awkward with the gun in her hand. "I don't know you at all."

  At a knock on the door, Rachel whirled, jerking the gun up.

  "It's Mitch."

  The relief that surged through her surprised Alaina. Battling to stay conscious, she watched Rachel let him in and scanned him up and down for any sign of blood. He appeared unharmed, but his face seemed whiter than usual as he knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on her ankle.

  The way he touched her, the way he looked at her seemed different. But the pain apparently had warped her sense of reality.

  "How're you doing?" he asked. His voice, his gaze ... both gentle, concerned.

  "Think I dislocated my shoulder. Oops." She smiled but didn't know why. She was just very glad to see him in one piece. He was, after all, her only link to Layton, and therefore Jonah.

  Mitch pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist. "Think you can stand up?"

  "I'd rather just stay here like this for a minute," she said, and wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. The fuzzy gray around the edges of her vision was encroaching on wider territory.

  Rachel eased toward the door. "I heard something. Is someone still here?"

  "Feds," Mitch said. "They're securing the area."

  "Feds were shooting at us?" Rachel asked, astonished.

  "No, the feds were watching the house. The gunman got away."

  "Feds were watching my house?"

  He didn't respond as he slid his palm, warm and slightly damp, against Alaina's cheek. "Dammit," he said softly, pulling out his cellphone. "Rachel, can you get me a blanket?"

  She stepped up behind him, his gun still dangling from her hand. "What is it?"

  "She's going into shock."

  Turning on her heel, Rachel dashed from the room.

  "No, I'm not," Alaina said, and grasped his sleeve when the bathroom started to whirl.

  Mitch gave her a tolerant smile. "Yes, you are." He pressed 9-1-1 with his thumb.

  "Who are you calling?"

  "Ambulance."

  She stiffened, and instantly regretted it as fresh pain sliced through her. In spite of it, she swiped at his phone hand. "No, we'll miss our flight."

  Mitch edged back. "You're not getting on a plane with a dislocated shoulder."

  "You can fix it."

  "Like hell. You need a doctor."

  She grabbed at his arm as he raised the phone to his ear. "No, dammit."

  He gently disengaged her grip as the floor tilted under her. She braced a hand on it, the gray sliding smoothly toward black. She only dimly heard Mitch saying Rachel's address as she clung desperately to consciousness.

  No! She screamed it inside her head. I need to go to Jonah now.

  That was her last thought.

  * * *

  When she slumped over, Mitch's heart started to jackhammer. He fumbled for the pulse in her wrist and couldn't find it. He located it in her throat -- fast and erratic -- just as Rachel appeared in the doorway. "Oh my God," Rachel said. "Is she --"

  "She fainted," he said, getting up. Pocketing his phone, he swung Alaina up in his arms, careful of her shoulder. She was dead weight, her head lolling back over his arm. "Bedroom?"

  Rachel pointed down the hall, then followed him. "What can I do?" she asked.

  He put Alaina on the bed, then took the blanket from Rachel and spread it over her. "Let the paramedics in," he said.

  Sirens sounded in the distance as Rachel hurried away and Mitch slid pillows under Alaina's feet to elevate them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grasped her limp hand in his. It was cold, and he pressed it between his palms, trying to warm it. Unconscious, she looked achingly vulnerable, and his stomach gave an ominous flutter.

  "You keep surprising me," he whispered.

  Chapter 15

  In the ER waiting room, Rachel paced while Mitch sat stiffly in a chair, checking his watch every three seconds. An hour had passed since the ambulance had brought Alaina in. The nurse at the front desk had said someone would come talk to them as soon as she had been stabilized. How long could it take to fix a dislocated shoulder, for God's sake?

  In the meantime, he puzzled over why the feds had yet to grill him or Rachel about what had happened at her home. Two federal agents, he'd nicknamed them Itchy and Scratchy, hovered around the ER exit, apparently keeping watch on him and Rachel, lest they decide to make a run for it. They were obvious rookies, young and inexperienced, assigned merely to observe, then call in the big guns when something actually needed to be done.

  Mitch got the sense they were waiting for someone, a supervisor probably.

  Rachel stopped in front of him, hands on her hips. "I didn't catch your name earlier."

  He looked up at her. She was more beautiful up close than she'd been from a distance, even with no makeup, messy blond hair and blue eyes dark with fury. He couldn't blame her for being angry. Her home had been invaded, her personal space and sense of security violated. "Mitch Kane," he said. "I'm a private detective."

  "Do you know why feds were watching my house?"

  "I'm guessing they were hoping Alaina would show up."

  Her brow creased. "Alaina. So that's her real name."

  Mitch nodded.

  "And the feds at the newspaper were there to arrest her for kidnapping Jonah?"

  "I'm not sure what they were doing there, but that's a possibility, yes."

  "Do you know where Jonah is?"

  "By now, he's with his father."

  Her shoulders relaxed some, and she chewed her bottom lip. "Good. That's good."

  Her reaction baffled him. Shouldn't she be on Alaina's side? He cleared his throat. "What has she told you about Jonah's father?"

  Rachel pursed her lips, her eyes flooding but not overflowing. "Not a damn thing. I thought I knew her. I thought ..." She trailed off, dragging a trembling hand through her short curls. "Jonah adores her. That poor kid."

  "Is it possible she told you about his father without you realizing it?"

  "In what way?"

  "Maybe she talked about a past relationship that didn't --"

  "Relationship?" Shock raised her eyebrows. "She said she kidnapped Jonah. I assumed she meant from strangers."

  "Jonah is her son. She ran away with him fourteen years ago. His father hired me to find them."

  Rachel sank onto the chair next to him. "Son of a bitch." Fisting a hand, she knocked it against her knee. "Five years we've been friends, and she never said a fucking word. How's that for friendship?"

  Irritation tightened his throat. "I'm guessing you missed the part tonight where she saved your life."

  Rachel met his gaze, her expression quizzical. "What are you talking about?"

  "The second shot, the one that blew out the front window? She threw herself on top of you. That's how she dislocated her shoulder again."

  Rachel seemed to think about that for a long moment, then dropped her head into her hands and moaned. "Oh God, I'm such a shit. What the
hell was I thinking?"

  "Rachel, she said she took Jonah from his father to protect him. Do you have any idea what that might have been about?"

  Raising her head, she pierced him with a stare that streaked from stricken to suspicious. "You said you work for him."

  "Yes."

  "Then why are you asking me questions about him? Don't you know who you work for?"

  "I'm trying to figure out who was shooting at us."

  She pushed up from the chair, as if unable to sit still. "Jesus," she breathed. "Someone was shooting at us. I still can't believe it." She faced him suddenly, horror growing in her eyes. "Grant and Lucas. What happened to them is related to this, isn't it?"

  "I think so, yes." He paused, but when she didn't respond, he asked, "Do you know who might have a grudge against Alaina?"

  "Who would have a grudge against her?" she replied, as if the idea were absurd. "She never pisses anybody off. She won't even blow her horn when some asshole cuts her off in traffic." She rubbed her hands over her face. "God, I'm such an idiot. The Alex I know wouldn't hurt anybody. She couldn't have taken Jonah without a damn good reason." She turned her burning gaze on him, and he could see she was reaching a conclusion he wasn't going to like. "I don't think I should be talking to you," she said slowly.

  "Rachel, I want to help --"

  "How did she get that bruise on her face?"

  "I didn't --"

  "And the bruises around her wrist?" She looked like she might be sick. "You tied her up."

  "You're wrong. That wasn't how it --"

  He broke off, surprised to see a former colleague striding toward them.

  Norm Potter wore an FBI power suit -- navy with a white shirt and red tie -- under a black trench coat. Gripping a cellphone in one hand, he looked the same -- red hair and freckles -- as he had the last time Mitch had seen him. Mitch realized that the two newbie agents had been waiting for his former co-worker.

  "Norm, hello," Mitch said, shaking the man's hand.

  "Mitch Kane," Norm said. "I'll be damned. It's been, what, five years?"

  Mitch nodded, conscious of Rachel closely watching the exchange. "About that, yes. You here on official business?"

  The grin on Norm's face faded. "Yes, my two agents over there," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the rookies at the door, "tell me you had some excitement tonight involving someone we've been looking for."

  Rachel said, "I'm going to check on Al ... Alaina."

  Norm's blue gaze landed on Rachel, and he pointed his cellphone at her. "Rachel Boyd, right?" he said.

  She nodded, wary.

  He thrust out a hand. "Assistant Director Norm Potter, FBI. I'm going to want to talk to you, too."

  "Fine," she said. "I'll be only a few minutes."

  Norm watched her walk away, then said to Mitch, "Why don't we take this somewhere private?"

  * * *

  Alaina was flying. She had been since regaining consciousness, her shoulder and the rest of her body blessedly pain free. She didn't even care that someone had once again replaced her clothes with a hospital gown that gaped open in the back.

  She remembered Mitch saying something about the feds watching Rachel's. They'd been waiting for her to show up.

  So it was over. Fourteen years of running, of hiding, of living in constant fear that she would come home one day and Layton would be waiting, flanked by the sheriff, the county police, the state police, the FBI ... whoever it would take to claim the child she had taken from him.

  She'd known it would happen some day. She had expected it long ago. Now that it had ... she was curiously numb. Maybe it was the drugs. Or maybe the despair was so overwhelming, so blinding, that her mind had shut down in defense.

  Next stop: Prison. Or perhaps death at the hands of one of Layton's hit men.

  After all was said and done, maybe that was what she deserved. She'd lied to her son for fourteen years. Sins of omission could be just as damaging as outright deception. Layton probably hadn't even had to reach that much to paint a heartless, cold portrait of her for Jonah.

  She had stolen Jonah from his bed in his home.

  She had denied him the comfort and benefits of a wealthy upbringing.

  She had deprived him of knowing his father, a public icon of goodness and strength, a man who on the surface was charming and kind, intelligent and warm.

  Looking back, she realized that she should have told Jonah the truth. Then he would have been prepared. He would have had a frame of reference. But how could she have told him the truth about how he came to be? It would have broken his heart, perhaps even his spirit.

  She closed her eyes against the hot tears that welled, swallowed against the fissure of grief that splintered the numbness. What would she do without him? How could she live?

  "Hey."

  Alaina opened her eyes to see Rachel standing by the bed, looking stressed, a pair of scrubs tucked under her arm. "We have to get you out of here," she whispered. "The feds are here for you." She lowered the metal bar that ran along the edge of the bed. "Can you sit up?"

  Alaina didn't move, staring at her friend in confusion. "I don't know you at all." That was what Rachel had said to her in the bathroom. She'd been disappointed in her, angry.

  Now, Rachel leaned over her, her gaze sharp and urgent as she studied Alaina's face. "Great, you're high as a kite."

  Alaina smiled, letting herself float a little higher, where the despair couldn't touch her. "Good drugs."

  Tossing the scrubs onto the bed, Rachel stripped back the blanket covering her. "Let's get you dressed."

  Wanting to please her friend, to make up for how she had let her down, Alaina tried to sit up. Dizziness instantly spun the room, and she would have sank back to the pillow if Rachel hadn't caught her arm and kept her upright.

  "No you don't," she said, taking Alaina's hand and curling her fingers around the metal railing that remained up. "Hold onto that."

  Alaina's chin wanted to loll onto her chest. "Why are you doing this?"

  Rachel didn't respond as she untied Alaina's hospital gown and pulled it away. "Damn."

  Startled, Alaina followed her friend's horrified gaze. "Look at that," she said in wonder. Purple bruises smeared across her collar bone and left shoulder. More bruises marred the right side of her ribcage. None of them looked real, probably because she didn't feel them at the moment.

  Her face pale, Rachel began unbuttoning her own blouse. "It'll be easier for you to put this on," she said, shedding her top and holding it up. "Let's start with your sore arm."

  Alaina, too high to care that she was naked from the waist up, let Rachel slip the blouse on her and button it. "There, that wasn't that tough," Rachel said as she pulled the scrubs top over her own head. "Now the pants." Shaking out the bottoms, she leaned toward Alaina. "Hold onto me."

  But Alaina stayed put as it occurred to her again that Rachel had been angry, really angry, with her. Now she was helping her escape? "You're aiding and abetting."

  Rachel smiled, her eyes brightening with amusement. "I am, aren't I?"

  "It's not funny," Alaina said, wishing the fog in her head would lift. "You could go to jail."

  "Then we'll share a cell. Now get up. We don't have much time."

  "I don't think this is a good idea."

  "Now is not the time to debate this," Rachel said.

  "Yes, it is. You haven't done anything wrong yet."

  "I'll take my chances."

  "Rachel, no. I won't let you put yourself in jeopardy for me."

  Rachel looked into her eyes. "Listen to me, Al --" She faltered, then plunged ahead, "Did you have a good reason to take Jonah from his father?"

  "Yes, but --"

  "You knew when you did it that it was the absolutely right thing to do, didn't you?"

  Alaina rubbed her eyes, trying to keep up. "Yes."

  "Then you know exactly where I'm coming from. Now put your arm around my neck and hold onto me."

 
Once they were in Rachel's car and turning out of the ER parking lot, Alaina leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  And thought about what happened the last time someone she cared about walked into Layton's cross hairs.

  * * *

  Jonah's eighth birthday was in a week, and Alaina couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he unwrapped his gift. He'd been begging for a Nintendo video game console for months. All the kids at school had one, he said. It was important for his social development, or so he said in his third-grade language.

  She'd been reluctant to buy the game. It was pricey, and while Emma paid her significantly more than minimum wage at the bookstore, she still had to be frugal. In ten years, she'd have to be able to start paying for his college education, and she knew first hand that that would be expensive.

  Emma was the one who persuaded her to get the Nintendo. Dear old Emma, not the least bit tottering despite turning seventy-five only a month before, professed to be hip to what made kids happy these days. "Besides," she'd said in her smooth-as-porcelain voice, "video games build excellent hand-eye coordination."

  Jonah had used the same argument, and Alaina grinned as she realized he had, in all his resourcefulness, enlisted Emma's help. He made her proud.

  "But don't you think that implant he'd have to get in the back of his head is a bit overboard?" Alaina asked.

  Emma's white eyebrows shot up. "Implant?"

  Alaina burst out laughing and hugged her friend. "I love you, Em."

  But the older woman wasn't impressed. She set Alaina back from her and strode out of the room, calling Jonah's name. "I want to talk to you, young man."

  Now, two days later, Alaina hummed as she climbed the steps to the apartment above the bookstore, carrying a bag that held the game, already wrapped in vibrant birthday paper with a big red bow. After the day's classes, she had borrowed Emma's car to drive to Toys R Us before Jonah arrived home from school. She planned to stash the bag in the back of her closet before reporting for work downstairs.

  Pushing through the door, she breathed in the scent of fresh-baked bread and garlic. She loved Emma's kitchen, which smelled exactly as Alaina thought a grandmother's kitchen should.