by Sharon Sala
“I want to make a deal,” he said.
The cop snorted beneath his breath as he opened the squad car and shoved Gus inside.
“Watch your head, sir, or you’ll be needing some more stitches.”
Gus ducked, then settled into the back seat with a thump. He might have a knot on his chin, but his mind was still working.
“You get the D.A. on the phone. Ask him if he’s interested in Romeo Leeds.”
***
Ryan hadn’t been able to stop hugging Tory. Every time he looked at her, he had an overwhelming urge to thank her again. He kept thinking that if she hadn’t been there, Brett would be dead.
Tory was still shaking from the adrenaline rush, and although the doctor had urged her to have an examination, she refused to budge from Brett’s side. Ironically, Brett had slept through the entire thing, including her screams.
Ryan took a washcloth to Tory’s face, wiping a small streak of blood from her cheek where she’d bitten her own lip in the struggle.
“My God, woman. You could have been killed,” he muttered, as he tried to swipe at the spot.
Tory took the washcloth and wiped it herself.
“If he’d killed Brett, it wouldn’t have mattered,” she said coldly, and handed the washcloth back to him.
Ryan shuddered. There was a guardedness to this woman that he couldn’t get past. He kept wondering what hardships had forged the wall behind which she stood. What had she endured to make her so tough? And then he abandoned the thought. It didn’t really matter how she’d been raised. What mattered was that Brett was still safe and she was alive. And they’d doubled the guard on Brett’s door.
Tory moved to Brett’s bed, unable to stop touching him, needing to be reassured that he still drew breath. Her tenderness with his brother was impossible for Ryan to miss. He patted her shoulder, speaking softly near her ear.
“I was coming to see if you wanted some supper,” he asked. “Are you hungry?”
Tory paused, considered the question and then turned. To his surprise, she grinned.
“Oddly enough, I am. I guess it was all that exercise.”
Ryan grinned back. So, he thought. She has a sense of humor.
“Got any preferences?” he asked.
Her grin widened. “Anything but that vending machine tuna sandwich. It’s deadly.”
He glanced at Brett, then back at her. “Will you be all right until I get back?”
“Yes.”
And he knew that she would.
***
Sharing space with people had never been Tory’s long suit. Sharing an apartment with Brett had been a learning process, but she’d been so in love with him that it had been easy. Sharing the apartment with Ryan and Cynthia, and without Brett to run interference, was the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life. But she would have had it no other way. They had gone out of their way to try to make her feel like part of the family. It wasn’t their fault she didn’t know how to coexist.
Today Ryan was going back to Enid, and that meant she and Cynthia would be alone together. One less person in the one-bedroom apartment should have been good news, but she was nervous. Cynthia Hooker saw straight through pretense. Tory supposed it was part of being a mother, although she wouldn’t really know. She didn’t remember anything about her own.
Tory was anxious to get back to the hospital, but she considered it her duty to wish Ryan a safe journey home. He was packing the last of his things while Cynthia hovered.
Ryan zipped his bag shut, then looked up. “That’s it.”
“Did you get all your shaving things from the bathroom?” his mother asked.
“I think so.”
“Let me make sure,” Cynthia said and headed that way, leaving Ryan and Tory alone.
Tory was quiet. In Ryan’s opinion, too quiet. Even after she’d foiled the attempt on Brett’s life, he still didn’t know what made her tick. She was the most reserved, self-isolating woman he’d ever met. But she loved Brett, and Brett loved Tory, and for him, that was all that mattered.
Tory was immobilized beneath Ryan Hooker’s stare. She resisted the urge to check her clothing for something undone, although she knew she was fine. Her jeans were clean. Her T-shirt was new and fresh. The laces on her tennis shoes were tied, and her hair was up and out of her face, pulled back in the neat ponytail she usually wore. And with all that, she still felt like a child who was about to be sent back to wash the egg from her face.
“Thank you for everything,” she said softly.
Ryan grinned and tugged at a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her hairdo.
“You’re very welcome.”
Tory got the message and almost smiled. So, she’d sounded a little formal.
“Brett is going to miss you,” she added.
“Thanks to you, he’s going to be fine, remember?”
Tory nodded.
Ryan shifted gears. “He still doesn’t know what you did, does he?”
“No,” she said. “And I see no reason why he should. It would only worry him. Besides, the police think Leeds is long gone. Even if he’s not, Brett will be the least of Leeds’ worries. It’s Gus Huffman’s testimony that will put him away and I hear he’s done plenty of talking.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But sooner or later, Brett’s bound to find out.”
“We’ll worry about that when it happens.”
Ryan grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”
Tory looked away, unwilling to let him know how pleased she was by his compliment.
“I’ll just be glad to get him home,” she said.
“If Mom starts driving you nuts, send her home.”
Tory’s mouth dropped. “Oh, I couldn’t do that!”
At that point Cynthia came back into the room. “What can’t you do?” she asked.
Ryan turned with a grin. “I just told Tory that if you start driving her nuts, she should send you home. She said that she couldn’t.”
Tory’s embarrassment showed, but Cynthia Hooker’s only response was a grin.
“You listen to me, Ryan Hooker, I know how to mind my own business… and my manners, which is more than I can say for you.” And then she winked at Tory. “We’ll get along fine. As soon as I know I’m not needed, I’ll be gone.”
“This is Brett’s home. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Tory said.
Neither Ryan nor Cynthia missed the reference to the apartment being Brett’s home and not their home. They exchanged a look but remained silent.
A few minutes later Ryan was gone, and soon afterward, Tory left for the hospital, leaving Cynthia alone with her thoughts. She no longer worried about her son’s recovery, but she couldn’t help but be concerned about the extent to which Tory Lancaster kept to herself. She had learned to care for the young woman, but she didn’t want her son’s heart to get broken.
***
Brett was in high spirits. He’d just gotten a call from the D.A.’s office that was better than a week’s worth of antibiotics. Harold Tribbey had come through for them with flying colors. Manny Riberosa had been found guilty of murder, and Gus Huffman was still talking, although Romeo Leeds was nowhere to be found. While there was a warrant out for his arrest, Brett wondered if it would ever be served. Romeo Leeds had undoubtedly skipped the country. Brett leaned back on his pillow with a satisfied smile on his face. Sometimes the good guys did win. And then the door opened, and his smile widened.
“Tory, baby, I didn’t think you would ever get here. Did you bring it?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder as the door swung shut and then pulled a white paper sack out of the bag on her shoulder.
“I saw a doctor down the hall. I think they’re about to make rounds.”
He reached for the bag, then grabbed her wrist instead, pulling her closer, then inhaling slowly as their lips met. The connection sent a heat wave of longing throughout his body. His fingers cupped the back o
f her neck, urging her closer, then closer still. He heard her gasp; then he heard her sigh. When she murmured his name between breaths, he physically ached with the need to be in her.
“I miss you,” he said softly, and felt her tremble.
“Oh, Brett, I miss you, too.”
This was getting too serious and way out of hand. Brett took a deep breath and a mental step back. No need starting something he couldn’t finish.
“How about those doughnuts?” he asked, and dug into the sack, taking a big bite out of one with raspberry filling.
Tory smiled, but Brett’s next question wiped it off her face.
“So how are you and the family getting along?”
“Did you know Ryan left today?”
Brett chewed thoughtfully, considering the fact that she hadn’t answered.
“Yes, I know, honey. He called me before he left.”
“Oh.”
He took another bite. “What do you think of Mom?”
She smiled. “She loves her family very much, doesn’t she?”
Again she’d circumvented his question by asking another, and he knew Tory well enough not to press.
“How’s the article coming?”
She looked away, then back again. “I haven’t done much since you… since we’ve…”
Brett dropped the doughnut back into the sack and took her hand. “Tory, look at me.”
She did as he asked.
“I’m going to be fine. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“And your deadline is, what… two weeks away?”
“More like one now.”
He grinned. “Well then, get your pretty ass home and get busy. I don’t need you to hold my hand while someone else pokes holes in my butt with a needle. There are guards on my door that I do not need, and I am no longer unconscious on an hourly basis. Do what you have to do, okay?”
Tory sighed. He had no idea how much he’d needed those guards, but she wasn’t about to be the one to break the news. Besides, it was all she could do to go home at night. Leaving him alone during the day, too, would make her crazy.
“But I—”
“No buts, Victoria. I love you. When I come home, I’d like to think there was nothing standing in our way of making love but my mother, because I can always send her home. At that point, I would like your undivided attention, at least for a while. Okay?”
She nodded and then kissed him again. This time, when she straightened, they were both breathing hard.
“Brett?”
“What?”
“Do you know when that might be?”
“When what might be baby?”
“When you might get to come home?”
He laughed and then winced as the stitches pulled. “These come out tomorrow,” he said, tapping his chest. “And then a day or two in therapy. After that, I can come back on an outpatient basis for the rest of my rehabilitation.”
She touched his arm. “I’ve been afraid to ask. Will you… I mean, will it…”
His eyes darkened. “I’ll be fine. One hundred percent fine,” he said, and watched her sigh with relief.
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll go.”
When she paused at the door then looked back, he blew her a kiss, then dug the doughnut out of the sack.
“Eat fast,” she warned him. “The doctor is just one room down.”
There was a smile on her face all the way to the elevator. When he’d stuffed the rest of the doughnut into his mouth, he’d left a trail of powdered sugar all over his belly. She didn’t have the heart to tell Brett that when the doctor came in, he was bound to get caught.
***
Another thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon as Tory shut and locked the doors leading out to the balcony. Cynthia was taking a shower, and the television was off. The silence was a welcome respite from the endless chatter of a house-guest. She glanced at the pictures strewn over the coffee table and sat down heavily. As always, her gaze slid right back to the man in the crowd, and her heart gave a thump before it hit a regular rhythm.
“Why?” she muttered. “What in hell is so special about your face? Why can’t I let you go?”
But there were no answers, either from the man or the picture. Not even from the enlargements that she’d made. All she had was the image of a used-up old man with a tattoo on his cheek—and a scorpion, at that.
She tossed the picture aside and picked up her notes. It was time to get down to business.
***
Rain fell from the sky without the usual accompaniment—no thunder, no lightning, no wind. It splattered upon roofs and flowed into gutters, washing away the heat of the day and the grime from the streets.
Miles away in the hospital, Brett lay without sleeping, listening to it rain and remembering another night and Tory’s nightmare that had followed a storm. His gut clenched as he thought of her, alone in their bed.
Please God, watch over her while I can’t.
And then he closed his eyes and gave in to sleep.
Cynthia Hooker slept comfortably on the living room couch, oblivious of the weather or anything else. Her rest was deep, her sleep, dreamless, unaware that in the next room Tory was wrestling with her demons, and this time, she was all alone.
The jumping rope slapped the hard-packed dirt like little dry bullets, churning up the dust as the child skipped to the beat of the rope and the rhyme.
“Pease porridge hot. Pease porridge cold. Pease porridge inapot, nine days old.”
She didn’t know what it meant, but everyone said it when they skipped rope, that’s how she knew it was the right thing to say. And then she stumbled on the rope and missed a step.
“Shoot,” she muttered, and flung down the rope, tired of the game. She gave the rope a final kick and then looked around, suddenly realizing that Sweet Baby was no longer in sight. Her heart skipped a beat as she began to look around, unable to remember where she’d last had her dolly.
The back door slammed, and she looked up. Someone was standing on the porch and dangling Sweet Baby from the railing. She could see the yellow yarn pigtails and the blue gingham dress from here.
“Don’t drop her!” she cried, and started to run.
She ran and she ran until her side started to hurt, and she was still no closer to the porch than she’d been when she started. She looked again and then started to cry. They’d thrown Sweet Baby up into the air.
She stopped, staring up in silent horror as the dolly reached the top of her arc and then started to fall, tumbling pigtails over heels toward the ground below.
“No!” she screamed. “Don’t throw her away! Don’t throw her away!”
The scream woke them both at the same time, and Tory knew before she got out of bed that Cynthia would be in the room within seconds. She was proved right when seconds later Cynthia burst into the room and turned on the lights.
“Victoria! Are you all right?”
Tory slumped to the side of the bed and covered her face, unwilling for Cynthia to see the tears on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry I woke you. It was just a bad dream.”
Cynthia had raised three children, and not once had she ever heard a nightmare with an accompanying scream such as that one had been. It had been a cry from the heart. A shriek of despair such as nothing she’d ever known. Her heart was still pounding as she sat down beside Tory and took her hand.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re uncomfortable with me here.” When Tory would have argued, Cynthia shushed her by gently smoothing the hair from her face and patting her arm. “No, it’s okay. We both know I’m right.” And then she tilted Tory’s chin. “Look at me, Tory.”
Tory did, but unwillingly. She didn’t want this conversation to be happening. Once she’d had a foster mother who’d pretended to be nice, and the next thing Tory remembered, they’d shipped her off to another place because she was too much trouble.
Cynthia hardly knew where to start, but for Br
ett’s sake, as well as theirs, the relationship had to start somewhere.
“You know that talking about bad dreams makes them go away.”
Tory sighed. Brett had tried this, too. It hadn’t helped then, and it wouldn’t help now. But Cynthia had no way of knowing that.
“I can’t talk about them,” Tory said.
“I’ve heard a lot of things in my life, and I can tell you that nothing surprises me anymore,” Cynthia reassuring her.
“No, you don’t understand,” Tory explained. “I can’t talk about them because, once I wake, I never remember them.”
Cynthia frowned. Anything that would elicit a scream such as the one she’d heard couldn’t possibly be forgotten. Either Tory was hiding the truth, or the truth was buried so deeply inside of her that even she didn’t remember. She patted Tory on the knee.
“Do you have them often?”
“Only recently,” Tory admitted, and then wondered why she hadn’t thought of that before.
“Do you know what triggered them? You know… has something frightened you recently, or did you see something that made you remember something from your childhood?”
Tory shrugged. “I don’t remember much about my childhood,” she said. “Foster homes aren’t all that memorable.”
Cynthia had known about that part of Tory’s life, but hearing the monotone timbre of her voice made her worry. No emotion. That was it. It seemed as if Tory were afraid to show emotion.
“What happened to your parents?” Cynthia asked.
Something whispered in the back of Tory’s mind. A warning or a memory—she didn’t know which—but the question brought her off the bed and onto her feet.
“I don’t remember anything or anyone before the second grade. For all I know I never had any. All I remember are the foster homes. I think I’ll make some cocoa. Want some?” She headed to the kitchen without waiting for Cynthia’s answer.
Cynthia sat on the side of the bed, watching as Tory left the room. Even though she knew Tory was only going as far as the kitchen, she was moving too fast to be casual. Running. That was what it looked like to Cynthia. Tory Lancaster was running away.