by Metsy Hingle
Still holding her hand under the running water, he kept pressure on the cut for another minute or two until the bleeding slowed. Then he smoothed his thumb over the laceration and was relieved to note it wasn’t as deep as he’d initially thought, given all the blood. “It looks like a clean cut,” he told her as he shut off the water and wrapped a dish towel around her hand. Because her color was still off and he felt guilty as hell, he said, “I sure hope my telling you I used to be a cop didn’t shake you up that bad. I mean, if you’ve got a string of unpaid parking tickets you’re worried about, your secret’s safe with me,” he added.
“No. I don’t have any parking tickets,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “It wasn’t anything you said. I…I was just clumsy.”
He only wished he believed her. “Well, just for the record, I resigned my badge five years ago. Nowadays I’m just an average Joe working the oil rigs and trying to save enough money to buy myself a sailboat and take a year off to sail it around the world.”
“That sounds nice—to be able to just go away like that.”
“It will be if I ever get enough set aside to actually do it. Okay, why don’t you sit down now,” he said, and led her to a kitchen chair. “Do you have a firstaid kit?”
“In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
“Keep the towel on that cut while I get some bandages.” He looked at her ashen face. “Still feeling light-headed?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Try putting your head between your knees,” he instructed as he pressed his hand to the back of her head and guided her down. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Michael raced to the bathroom. It was small like the rest of the house. Clean, neat, utilitarian, he thought as he opened the no-frills white chest and removed the plastic kit. Certainly not the lavish bathroom he would expect for a woman who’d stolen a fortune in cash and jewels. Once again, the image of Lily struck him as a picture out of focus. Either the woman was a hell of an actress or Webster had lied to him about how much money she’d stolen. But the man hadn’t been lying about wanting her back. He’d seen that same love-struck look when Pete had told him he’d fallen in love with Giselle.
Giselle had been one hell of an actress, he reminded himself. He’d bought her sob story about the abusive boyfriend, taken her under his wing and even introduced her to Pete and his family. And all the time, she’d been playing him, looking to hook up with one of them so she could tip off her boss about the drug sting on which he and Pete had been working.
Maybe Lily was playing him, too, he reasoned as he headed back to the kitchen with the first-aid kit. She lifted her head and looked at him as he approached. And Michael’s chest tightened at the weariness in her expression, the haunted look in those green eyes. There was a fragility about her, a sadness, that made him think she bore more resemblance to a broken doll than to a conniving female.
He knelt down in front of her and opened the firstaid kit. After removing the antiseptic, he set it aside and unwrapped the towel. As he’d initially thought, the cut was clean and it didn’t appear deep enough to have severed any tendons. He doused a cotton ball with antiseptic, then glanced up at her. “This is probably going to sting a bit,” he warned. “Ready?”
She nodded.
Michael dabbed at the laceration. When she sucked in a breath, he blew on the cut, hating to cause her pain. Quickly, he tore open a Band-Aid and placed it over the cut. “You’re probably going to have a small scar, but I don’t think the wound is deep enough to have done any real damage. You’ll still probably need to get a couple of stitches—”
“No stitches.”
Michael lifted his gaze to her face. “Hey, if you’re scared it’s going to hurt trust me, once they give you a shot you won’t feel a thing. Growing up, I was a regular in the E.R. My mom probably had to take me a dozen times. She blames me for every one of her gray hairs. Anyway, once they gave me the shot, they could have sewn my fingers together and I wouldn’t have felt it.” He stood, closed the first-aid kit. “Why don’t I go get Timmy and I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“No,” she said firmly. “No hospitals. No stitches.”
“Lily—”
“Michael, I’m fine. You said yourself the cut’s not bad.”
“Yeah, but I’m no doctor. And that’s more than a scratch you’ve got there. You should have it looked at. Stitching it would probably minimize the scarring.”
“I don’t care about the scar,” she told him, and stood. “And I’d just as soon not spend the money if I don’t need to.”
“Then I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do since I’m the reason you cut yourself in the first place.”
“I hardly think my clumsiness is your fault,” she told him.
“Lily,” he began, intent on reasoning with her.
“I mean it, Michael. I’m not going to the hospital,” she insisted, the sternness of her expression matched by her voice. “I’m okay. Other than a little sting, I hardly feel it. Besides, I really need to get this mess cleaned up before Timmy wakes up. He might cut himself on the broken glass.”
“All right. No hospitals. But you sit down and I’ll clean this up.”
“But, I—”
“This time I mean it,” he said, tossing her words back at her. “You’ve got about as much color as that sink over there. Besides, you’re better off not using that hand for a while or it might start bleeding again.”
Although she didn’t argue with him, Michael suspected she wanted to. He could see that combative spark come back into her eyes and was grateful to see it again—especially after seeing that terror-stricken look when he’d told her he’d been a cop. Guilt and regret nagged at him. Worse, the more time he spent with her, the more worried he was that he was getting in too deep. Annoyed with himself, he asked, “Where’s your broom?”
“In the utility closet over there,” she said, pointing to the tall, skinny, white cupboard in the corner.
Michael retrieved the broom and dustpan and went to work cleaning up the broken glass. By the time he’d finished, Timmy woke up, calling for his mother.
“I’ll get him,” Michael told her.
“No. I’ll do it,” she replied, and hurried from the room.
When Lily returned to the kitchen holding a sleepy-eyed Timmy, Michael felt that pang again as he watched them. She loved her son. He didn’t doubt it for a second. It was there in every look, every touch. Yet Webster had claimed she’d been a neglectful mother.
Webster had lied. He had to have lied, Michael told himself. And if he’d lied about what type of mother Lily had been, what else had he lied about? Or was he looking for excuses again? Michael asked himself.
“Look, Mommy have boo-boo,” Timmy said. “I kiss and make better,” Timmy said, and placed his lips to his mother’s bandaged hand. Then he held Lily’s hand out toward Michael and said, “You kiss, too, and make better.”
“Timmy,” Lily admonished, color creeping up her cheeks. “Michael’s already made it better. He bandaged Mommy’s hand for her.”
“Him kiss, too,” Timmy insisted.
“You’re right, cowboy,” Michael said. Taking Lily’s hand, he pressed a kiss to the bandaged cut.
“Better?” Timmy asked his mother.
“Yes, sweetie. It’s better. Now, why don’t we thank Michael and tell him goodbye. We’ve taken up enough of his day.”
Reluctantly, Michael allowed Lily to lead him to the front of the house. When she opened the door for him, he turned around and asked, “You’re sure you don’t want me to hang around, help you with Timmy or something?”
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“What about dinner? You probably shouldn’t use that hand. I could come back later and take the two of you out to get something to eat.”
“Thanks. But I have to pass. Goodbye, Michael.”
“’Bye, Mikull,” Timmy mimicked.
And as he head
ed for the Bronco and slid behind the wheel, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was really wrong. He retrieved the cell phone that he’d deliberately left out of sight inside his glove box. Noting the slew of messages, he punched in his code and listened to them as he drove away.
After listening to a string of increasingly irate messages from Webster, Janie’s voice came on. “Hi, Michael, it’s Janie. I know you’re busy, but I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call when you get this message.”
How long had it been since he’d checked in with Janie and the kids? A week? Ten days? Closer to three weeks, he realized—before he’d come to New Orleans. With this realization came a wave of guilt for not having called to see if they were doing okay. Janie had been in an odd mood when he’d left Florida. He’d known her company had been downsizing and that she’d been worried about losing her job. It had been one of the reasons he’d wanted her to take the money he’d gotten as a retainer from Webster.
Webster.
The man was a real piece of work, Michael thought as the phone beeped to signal the end of Janie’s message and the next one from Webster.
“Sullivan, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But I had better hear from you. And it had better be soon,” Webster added and, given the man’s tone, he was one very unhappy camper.
He thought about Lily and Timmy the entire way back to his hotel. And when he pulled the Bronco into the parking lot and shut off the engine, he was no closer to deciding what he was going to do about them. “Dammit!” He smacked the wheel with the side of his hand.
Grabbing his cell phone, he exited the truck and fished out his room key. He made the short walk down the dimly lit corridor of the no-frills hotel until he reached his room. Once inside, he tossed his keys and phone on top of the dresser. Maybe a run would help clear his head, he decided. As he was about to grab some running shorts and a sweatshirt, the cell phone sounded.
He glared at the thing and was about to ignore it when he noted the familiar cell number and snatched it up. “Hey, Janie,” he said, smiling. “I just got your message a few minutes ago and was going to call you.”
“Hi, Michael. How’s the case going?”
Michael’s smile died. Janie never called to ask him about a case. “What’s wrong?” He sat down on the bed. “Has something happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“The boys, are they—”
“Petey and Micky are fine. No one’s hurt. No one’s sick. I probably shouldn’t have even called you.”
“What is it?”
“I got laid off from my job last week,” she finally said.
“I’m sorry.” And he was. He knew that she’d enjoyed her job, had liked the feeling of independence it had given her. Although she did allow him to help some with extras for the boys, she’d prided herself on supporting them. “If it’s money you’re worried about, I have some put aside. And there’s the money in the account I set up for the boys with the retainer I got for this case,” he said, and nearly choked because once he used that money, he would have no choice about turning Lily in to Webster.
“I don’t need the money, Michael,” Janie insisted. “I got a nice severance package. Enough to take care of me and the boys until I find something else. That’s not why I called.”
“All right,” he said, and waited because he knew there was more to come, and he suspected whatever it was he wasn’t going to like it.
“I’ve decided to leave Florida. I’m moving back to Oklahoma. In fact, I’m in Oklahoma City now.”
“Oklahoma? You haven’t been back there since you and Pete married.”
“I know. But maybe I should have. I have family here—a couple of cousins and an aunt. I also have a lot of old friends. I’ve been keeping in touch with one of those friends for a while now. Actually, he’s a guy I used to date before I met Pete. His name is Hal. Anyway, Hal told me about a job opening here in the D.A.’s office for an experienced legal secretary. I flew out for the interview two days ago and they’ve offered me the job. And I’ve decided to take it.”
“But what about the boys? What about school? Surely you’re not going to uproot them right now,” he said as he tried to absorb what she’d told him.
“Actually, they’re pretty excited about the move. They’ve just found out they have a mess of cousins around their age here in Oklahoma. It’s a lot different from the beaches and sunshine in Florida, but sometimes change is good. I think it’s the right thing for us to do, Michael. It’s time for me to start looking toward the future. Maybe it’s time you did, too.”
Until recently, the only thoughts he had of the future were to make sure Janie and the boys were secure, that and to maybe get himself that little sailboat. He’d even convinced himself to take a job he hadn’t wanted in order to secure the Crenshaws’ future. Only now, it seemed they were moving toward the future without his help and without him.
“Michael? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just trying to digest all this. Tell me, this old boyfriend of yours. Hal, was it?”
“Yes,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Hal Phillips. He’s a C.P.A. and has his own firm here.”
“He a nice guy?”
Janie laughed. “Very nice. You’ll probably think he’s dull because he’s not the daredevil that Pete was, and he’s not like you. He’ll never be a white knight or a superhero. But he’s sweet and he’s honest and he makes me laugh. He claims the reason he’s never married is because I broke his heart when I left for Texas and married Pete. He got in touch with me after Pete died to offer his condolences, and we’ve been exchanging Christmas cards and e-mails for a while. A few months ago, things began to change—or maybe I did. Anyway, Hal says he’s just been waiting for me all this time. He makes me feel special.”
“You are special,” Michael told her. “So when are you moving?”
“In about a week. That’s why I called. The boys and I are flying home in the morning to pack, get transfer papers from their schools and handle all the personal stuff. Then we’re flying back out here next Friday afternoon. I’ve already found us a place. It’s a wonderful house and I’ve worked out a deal where I can lease it and apply the payments toward the purchase if I decide to buy it.”
“That’s great, Janie.”
“But we want to see you before we leave Florida, to say goodbye. Will you be finished the case you’re on by then?”
Michael thought about the situation with Lily, knew he could wrap it up now if he wanted to. “I should be,” he told her. “But either way, I’ll make sure that I see you guys. And I expect to be invited to visit.”
“Oh, you will be. You will. What?” she asked, evidently distracted by someone. “The boys want to talk to you, Michael. So hang on.”
Michael listened to the two boys chatter excitedly about their cousins and the new place where they were going to be living. And when he ended the call a short time later, Michael felt more alone than ever.
Stretching out on the bed he thought about Lily, debating what to do. She was a job, he told himself. One he needed to wrap up so he could move on. If she was in trouble, that was her problem. Not his. But, try as he might, he couldn’t get that image of her terror-stricken face out of his mind.
Don’t be a sucker. Take the money and walk away. It’s the smart thing to do.
But he wasn’t going to do the smart thing. Whatever it was—that sense of responsibility, the belief his father had instilled in him about his duty to right injustices, that thing inside him that had made him want to become a cop in the first place—kicked in again. Maybe Janie was right, he thought, he had some noble streak. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t allow him to walk away from Lily and Timmy now. He had to find a way to get her to trust him with the truth and try to help her.
So when Webster rang his cell phone again later that evening, this time Michael answered it. “Sullivan,” he said.
&nbs
p; “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night, Sullivan,” Webster told him, rage making the man’s voice far less refined than it had been on previous occasions.
“I know. I just got your messages.”
“You said you found Elisabeth. Where is she?” he demanded, apparently ready to forgo reading him the riot act to find out where his wife was.
“It isn’t her,” Michael said, the lie tripping off his tongue.
“What do you mean it isn’t her? You said you’d found her.”
“I made a mistake. I located a woman with a little boy that I thought was your wife, but I was wrong. It wasn’t her. In my excitement, I called you before I had confirmation on her identity. I shouldn’t have.”
“I was under the impression you didn’t make mistakes, Sullivan. It’s the reason I paid you that outrageous retainer. You assured me I would get results. But so far all I’m getting for my money is excuses. Need I remind you that you have very little time left to complete your end of our bargain?”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then you’re also aware that you’ll return my money in full and eat your expenses if you don’t find her,” Webster reminded him.
“I know what our deal is, Webster. Don’t worry, I haven’t spent your money. If I don’t find her, you’ll get it back.”
A lengthy silence followed, then Webster said, “Considering that my wife is young and not very bright, I find it difficult to believe that she’s managed to outwit someone with your abilities, Sullivan.”
Michael’s hand closed into a fist as he listened to Webster. “Believe what you want. But maybe she’s a great deal more clever than you give her credit for.”
“Clever enough to elude a man that was touted by sources inside the FBI as having the instincts of a bloodhound?”
Once again, Michael wondered how it was that Webster knew he’d worked with the FBI on some very hush-hush and sensitive cases. “Evidently so. But since you’re unhappy with my performance, why don’t I return your retainer now and let you hire someone else.” And even as he made the offer, Michael told himself he was a fool.