Ryan's Rescue

by Karen Leabo

  “Mine,” Chrissy and Ryan said together.

  “Actually, it belongs to the guy in the Firebird. We took it from him when he tried to assault us with it on the street in Washington.”

  “Your friend in the Firebird is telling a different story,” the cop said as he helped Chrissy to her feet. “Come on, young lady, can you walk to my car?”

  “I think so. What did he say?” she asked, referring to Denny.

  “He said he was lost, stopped by here to ask directions, and someone started shooting at him. I nearly had a head-on with him as he was tearing down the road, doing about seventy.”

  “He left out some of the story,” Ryan said. “Like how he followed us all the way from D.C., then shot out the back window of my car.”

  “And he shot Ryan in the shoulder,” Chrissy added. “It could have just as easily been his head. Oh, good heavens, you aren’t going to believe that scumbag’s story over ours, are you?”

  The cop surveyed the damage done by Denny’s gun, then shook his head, looking a bit confused himself. “We’ll get everything straightened out sooner or later.”

  They started out the door, but the cop paused. “Maybe I just better radio for an ambulance.”

  “Am I that bad?” Chrissy asked fearfully.

  “Nah, you’ll live,” he said, offering her a clean handkerchief, since the blood had soaked through the scrap of sheet Ryan had given her. “But I just realized I can’t put all three of you—you two, and that fella from the Firebird—in my back seat. Might lead to some mayhem.”

  Christine’s wound was superficial, though it had bled a lot. A bullet had grazed her forehead, but a few stitches was all she needed to patch it up. She had a concussion, though, which her ER doctor in Richmond was a little more concerned about.

  “Please, I’m sure it will be fine,” she told the doctor for the fifth time. Ryan was at her side, and he absolutely refused to seek treatment for himself until he was certain she wasn’t in any danger. “Will you tell him I’m not going anywhere?” She nodded toward Ryan. “He needs attention for his own wound.”

  “She’s not in immediate danger,” the doctor said gravely to Ryan.

  “Well, what about unimmediate danger?” Ryan said.

  “Ryan, the doctor isn’t going to issue you a gold-plated guarantee that I’ll never, ever die, okay? Now stop being impossible and let him look at that hole in your shoulder.” She hopped off the gurney and moved to a chair, indicating that he should take her place.

  The doctor nearly had apoplexy. “Please, we’ll have to get clean linens. Have you checked in with the desk yet?” he asked Ryan. “We can’t do anything around here without paperwork.”

  “Please, just take a look?” Christine beseeched him.

  “Oh, all right.” But first he leaned out the treatment room door. “Rhonda, can you get one of the clerks to check this man in? He needs some immediate attention.”

  Whoever he was talking to apparently answered in the affirmative, because when the doctor reentered the room, he looked a bit more relaxed. “Now, let’s see what we have here.” He picked up a pair of scissors to cut off Ryan’s bandage. “Where did this dressing come from? It doesn’t look too sanitary.”

  “It was the best we could do at the time,” Ryan answered sullenly. He clearly didn’t like the idea of being poked and prodded.

  The last of the bandage came away, and the doctor actually turned pale. “Good Lord, man, how are you still walking around? What is this?”

  “A bullet exit wound,” Ryan said matter-of-factly.“The entrance is on the other side.”

  Suddenly the doctor became much more animated. Ryan was hustled into his own treatment room. Nurses were summoned. Even the cop who’d been standing guard over them was called in to have a look. Christine stuck determinedly by his side. He was x-rayed, aspirated, vacuumed, disinfected and stitched up, surgery being avoided only when Ryan howled such a protest that Christine wondered if he thought the doctors were suggesting amputation.

  “I’d gladly take a second bullet if I could avoid this stuff,” he whispered to Christine. “The cure hurts a hell of a lot worse than the original injury.”

  He couldn’t afford to take the wound lightly, though. Infection was a very real threat, and the doctor wanted to keep Ryan at least overnight for some intensive antibiotic therapy. He predictably refused, until Christine coerced him into cooperating, refusing to even speak to him until he fell in with the doctor’s recommendations. She’d gotten him this far, and she damn sure wasn’t going to lose him now to some germ.

  “One day. I’ll stay for one day,” he groused. “And you better not leave me. People go into hospitals and don’t come out, you know.”

  She had no intention of leaving him.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who sought his company. There were detectives. The local police had checked out Christine’s kidnapping story with D.C. law enforcement officials, and finally they believed her. It was kind of hard now for them to argue that she’d made up those bullet holes just to get publicity for her father.

  When the police finished, hours later, a reporter weaseled his way into Ryan’s room. Christine ejected him quickly enough, but it was obvious that news of their adventure with Denny the terrorist would be in the newspapers by tomorrow, and on TV that night.

  Then, abruptly, they were alone. Christine was thinking about her ill-advised declaration of love when she’d thought they were about to die, and wishing fervently that she hadn’t said those words. Not that they weren’t true, but she wasn’t ready for him to know about her true feelings. Everything had happened so fast, and she was so very afraid he didn’t feel the same.

  She sat in a chair several feet away from Ryan, far out of physical reach. Though they’d been clinging to each other for one reason or another for the past twenty-four hours, she now felt awkward about touching him. Whatever had to be said between them at this point, she didn’t want it muddied up with hormones and whatnot.

  “I wish the media hadn’t found out about all this,” Christine said glumly, breaking the silence that had so suddenly descended on the room.

  “Why not?” Ryan asked. “You’ll be vindicated. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Yeah, but I wanted you to be the one to do it. This is your story, after all. You’re the one who nearly got killed for it.”

  Ryan just stared at her. “I can’t believe you just said that. You don’t get it at all, do you?”

  Of all the pain he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, nothing compared to what Christine had just done to him. How could she think, after all they’d been through, after the intimacy they’d shared, after she’d saved his life, that he continued to want to profit from his relationship with her?

  How could she love a person she thought would do that? Yet she’d claimed to love him. Her admission had been in the heat of battle, when they were outfirepowered four bullets to hundreds, but she’d said the words, and he’d believed them.

  Then why couldn’t she show a little more faith in him?

  “I don’t intend to write anything more about you or your father, Christine,” he said stiffly, his throat thick with anger. He couldn’t even bring himself to say aloud her nickname, the only name he’d ever called her by. It seemed to mock him, the intimacy between them.

  “Why not?” she wanted to know. “You’re the only one with the whole story. Who better than you to write the last chapter?”

  Damn it! Because it wasn’t the last chapter, not for him. He wanted his story with Chrissy to go on forever. If she’d ever loved him, even a little, she wouldn’t, once she read the words he’d written about her.

  Not that she necessarily ever would. He hadn’t ever faxed or mailed the contract back to Primus. He’d forgotten about it, sort of accidentally on purpose. Primus might publish the story anyway, even without a contract. They had space reserved for it, and a verbal agreement. They might just risk a lawsuit from him for the
scoop of the year.

  “If you’re so anxious to get your story to the public,” he said, “I’m sure there are a million and one reporters who would talk to you. They’re probably roaming the hospital corridors as we speak, trying to figure out how to get a crack at you. Why don’t you go give them what they want?”

  Chrissy blinked at him, looking more confused than ever. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, fine, then!” She got up and stalked out of the room.

  When he was alone, his heart feeling like a chunk of lead, he picked up the phone and dialed information for New York City. “Yes, I need the number for Primus magazine, please.”

  A few minutes later, he had a ranting Bruce Garlock on the line. “Where the hell are you?” Garlock shouted into the phone. “And where the hell is our contract? I got four blank pages to fill up, and legal won’t let me use a word of your story till I have the contract. You promised to fax it and overnight it, and you haven’t done either!”

  Ryan let the editor wind down, finish his hissy fit. Then he said, calmly, “I’m not sending the contract. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to print that story.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Ryan decided to go for the truth. Nothing short of the truth would explain his change of heart. “Bruce, I’ve fallen in love with Christine Greenlow. I can’t be responsible for bringing this...this notoriety to her and her family.”

  “But she’s not the one who looks bad! It’s her old man.”

  “I know. And she loves her old man. I can’t do it. Once she reads that story, she would never speak to me again.”

  “It’s a damn good story, man. You didn’t pull any punches but you didn’t exactly eviscerate the woman, either. If you don’t do this, some other reporter will.”

  “Exactly.” Let her take out her anger and frustration on some other reporter. Not him. The press was going to stomp all over her and Stan Greenlow; some sharp journalist would make the same connection Ryan had made between NATURE and the kickbacks. The news would get out without Ryan’s contribution.

  “Listen, Mulvaney,” Garlock said, almost growling. “You pull this stunt with me and you’ll never write for this magazine again.”

  Ryan didn’t much care. He didn’t write that much for Primus, anyway. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I know I’m creating a hell of a problem for you. I didn’t plan it that way. I couldn’t have known what would happen. The woman literally saved my life. She’s been through so much. I can’t cause her any more pain, I just can’t.”

  Bruce heaved a defeated sigh. “Thanks a heap, Mulvaney.” He hung up.

  Boy, talk about burning bridges, Ryan thought. His career might never recover from this, if the story got around that he’d reneged on an agreement to sell an article.

  Ah, hell, what career? He’d never thought much about how his stories affected the people he wrote about. But now that he’d been on the other side of the fence, he felt differently. He’d be rethinking his whole approach to journalism after this.

  Someone tapped on his partially open door, and his heart leaped of its own accord at the thought that it might be Chrissy. But it was, instead, someone he hadn’t expected to see, and he almost didn’t recognize her.

  “Josie!”

  His sister smiled fondly. She was wearing a denim jumper, black lace-up boots and socks with little flowers—a very un-Josette-like getup. Her hair was short and styled into a puff all around her face, and she was wearing makeup. “Rye. And when I think of all the times you lectured me about the messes I got myself into...”

  He had to laugh, even though it hurt. “I never lectured you,” he argued.

  “You did so, just like any big brother should.” She claimed the room’s only chair and set her purse down. “So, I hear there’s a girl involved.”

  “How’d you know I was here?” he asked, sidestepping Josette’s question. His feelings were still too raw for him to talk about Chrissy.

  “The cops called me. I’m still the official owner of the house you broke into. They were trying to verify your story about it being your sister’s house.”

  “And how did they find you? Where are you living, anyway?”

  She hesitated. “Well...I got married. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Rye. But things were just going so well for me, for the first time ever, that I didn’t want to tell anyone for fear I might break the spell. You’re not mad, are you?”

  Mad? Nah, he could never be mad at Josie. He shook his head, then grinned. He’d certainly never expected this. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “He’s an accountant, can you believe it? Me with a C.P.A.? I’d introduce you, but he’s downstairs in the waiting room with Tad. He’s so great, Rye, you wouldn’t believe. He took to Tad right from the beginning, like he was his real son. He’s going to adopt him.”

  “That’s great, Josie!” He’d never seen his sister looking this perky. The smile on her face was so foreign, Ryan couldn’t help staring. “I’m happy for you.”

  “I’m living right here in Richmond, can you believe it? So, never mind me, what’s all this?” she asked, pointing to the IV lines and voluminous bandages. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “This wasn’t my idea.” He’d checked into the hospital strictly to please Chrissy.

  Josette pressed for details, so he gave her the bare essentials of the story. He stayed away from mentioning any kind of emotional ties to Chrissy and, thank God, Josette didn’t ask about their relationship. She was curious, though—he could tell just by what she didn’t say.

  Josette left, promising to return in the morning when he was ready to check out. She would bring him to her place, she insisted, where he could recuperate and be babied for a few days before he returned to his own home. He went along with her idea. He wondered where Chrissy would go. Would she still try to stay with Michelle?

  Alone again, Ryan had no choice but to relive scenes from the past few days and wallow in the fact that he’d driven Chrissy away from him. Hell, he shouldn’t have gotten so snotty with her. He’d never told her how he felt about her. Without knowing he loved her, how could she understand that he would never exploit her for money or fame?

  He had to find her. But when he tried to sit up, his shoulder protested so vehemently that he cried out with the pain. The stupid bullet wound hurt worse than ever. Besides, he was hooked up to all kinds of IVs—blood transfusions, pain drugs, antibiotics.

  He slumped back on the bed, then pressed the button to summon a nurse. Maybe he could bribe her to find Chrissy and bring her back. He would lay it on the line with Chrissy. He would declare his feelings, his intention to spend the rest of his life with her, and see if that changed things.

  It had better, or he was going to follow her around for the rest of her life until she understood. He’d make Denny look like an amateur when it came to persistence.

  Christine wandered down to the first floor of the hospital, taking the stairs to avoid the reporters. She was so angry with Ryan that she could spit, and she wasn’t even sure why. Talk to another reporter? As if she would do that! She was his story, and she liked it that way. He was the only one she trusted to relate the facts honestly.

  So why didn’t he want to write about her anymore? What had changed? You fell in love with him, dummy. He didn’t want to involve himself any further in her life, for fear she would attach herself to him like a leech and never let go.

  But wait, that didn’t make sense. Why had he insisted she stay with him when he checked into the hospital? That didn’t seem like the action of a man who was trying to get rid of a woman. So, what else had changed? Was he afraid of being the target of NATURE’s crazed members? That didn’t sound like the Ryan she knew. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

  She decided to call her sister again. The hospital staff had given her a small private waiting room where she could avoid the press and make phone calls if she liked. It seemed the Gre
enlow name wasn’t without influence, after all. She returned to that room, settled into a soft chair, picked up the phone and placed a collect call.

  “Michelle? Christine. I guess you figured out I’ve been delayed again.”

  “Christine, honey, where are you? I’ve been worried sick. Stan has called me about fifteen times, wantin’ to know if I’ve heard from you again.”

  “Dad called?”

  “Oh, Christine, I know he can be a jerk, but this whole thing has been one big misunderstanding. He really and truly didn’t believe you were in danger.”

  “Then he thought I made it up?”

  “He thought you were trying to start up a scandal to ruin his campaign so he wouldn’t get reelected so he wouldn’t have any more excuses not to seek treatment for the drug addiction.”

  Christine paused before answering to absorb everything Michelle had said. “You know about the drugs?” That was a very closely guarded secret.

  “He told me everything. I really think you ought to talk to him,” Michelle said. “Y’all got some serious air-clearing to do.”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “And what about Robert?”

  “He can fall down a well for all I care, the bastard.”

  “All right, Christine! I was wondering when you were going to see the light. I never could stand him.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I would have, before you actually tied the knot. But I thought it would be better if you figured it out for yourself. Where are you, anyway? Where’s that guy you’ve been hanging out with?”

  “I’m at a hospital in Richmond,” she said. “I’m okay, don’t throw a hissy. Ryan’s here, too, but I...I think we’re about to part company.” For good.

  “Oh, honey, do you want me to come get you? It’s not that far.”

  “No. No, in fact, I think I’ll do what I should have done in the first place. I’ll go home.”

  “You don’t mean it!”

  “I’ll go home, and I’ll talk to Dad about getting my own place, getting a job, going back to school. I’ll move out, but I won’t do it like a little girl running away. I’ll sit down and figure out my finances.”