This wasn’t happening, she endeavored to convince herself. However, the strength of his grip, as he ripped and pulled at her lower lips, left her lurching. As hard as she tried to hold back her tears, they fell forth and down her cheeks. No one but her own husband had ever touched her so intimately.
The salad she’d had for lunch crept up into her throat, and before she’d realized what was happening, Maxine threw up all over her bare chest, splattering Randy as she heaved.
“Stupid filthy whore!” Randy shouted as his the back of his hand swatted over her face—once, twice…a third time before spun around on his heels. “Stupid fucking bitch. Maybe Drew deserves you after all…”
So scared and stunned and debased…she couldn’t say a word. She just wanted this nightmare to end. As she watched him wipe himself off with Drew’s own towel, she struggled with the knot at her wrists. If only she could loosen the bind, she thought she might have a chance to at least defend herself.
“Look, Maxine…I don’t want to have to kill you before Drew gets here…”
With those words, he pulled a small handgun, complete with a silencer, from his pocket and waved it in front of her face.
Slumping in her chair, Maxine closed her eyes and just allowed the tears to fall as she thought of her mother, praying that she’d intervene soon with a miracle from above.
# # #
It was a rather warm June evening, and under normal circumstances, Trevor would have maybe taken a couple of extra minutes on his quick walk to the deli while on his break. However, with some sort of security threat hanging over Drew’s head now, he didn’t want to be gone from his post for long—even though he had backup with Maxine’s bodyguard.
Coffee in hand, he hurried along West Forty-Fifth Street, hoping he didn’t spill the whole damn cup on himself. He needed every drop of caffeine to keep him awake for his second overnight job handling security at one of the city’s hospitals.
However, when he opened that familiar door, he found the foyer empty.
“This is weird…” Trevor muttered under his breath. “What the hell…”
Randomly, he began to open closets and the door to the tiny bathroom just off the entrance. However, as he turned around to head upstairs for a quick check, he stopped in his tracks and dropped his cup of coffee in shock.
Beneath the stairwell, Maxine’s bodyguard soaked in a puddle of his own blood. He’d been shot multiple times in the chest. In fact, he must have been clutching his heart as he took his last breath, as one hand covered his heart and the other held the gun that he’d pulled too late to protect himself.
“Oh…no…no…” Trevor brushed his fingers through his hair, knowing not what else to do. “This isn’t happening. This just…”
Turning away, he simply couldn’t face the gruesome scene before him—and he’d seen a lot in his thirty years. First, he had to lock the door. He couldn’t chance someone strolling in from the outside to witness that mess. After pulling out his phone, his thumb raced to call the police. Meanwhile, though, he had to warn Drew…and he had to get to Maxine!
Feet and heart racing, he hurried up those creaky old steps. He knew she wasn’t safe for a second. All the while, he barked commands to the 911 dispatcher on his phone.
“I said there’s a dead body at this theater. We’ve got people in danger backstage here—there’s someone with a gun on the loose,” he spat. “Please, send someone right now….”
At the top of the stairs, Drew and his own personal bodyguard stood, both wrinkling their faces in fear. Nearly catching Trevor from tripping over his own two feet, Drew gave his thick arms a quick squeeze.
“Buddy, what’s going on? What’s got you so upset?”
“Where’s Max? We have to get to her!”
“Trevor….what’s…”
Trevor had already pulled out the key from his master set and shoved it in the lock. Not a single second could be wasted if Maxine was in danger.
Meanwhile, Drew nearly found himself faint with fear like he’d never known. Maxine was his sole reason for existence. If something were to happen to her, he couldn’t live with himself. He had to find her, and he had to keep her safe.
“Drew! Oh, Drew…help me….” Maxine’s words were mere gasps, begging for his protection.
Initially, Drew didn’t even realize that it was Randy Mansfield in his dressing room. He could only see Maxine, bare to all of them, struggling against some monster who gave a quick pull to the rope around her neck.
As he crossed the small room in two long strides, Drew watched as Maxine’s eyes widened with desperation and terror, all the while calling out to her husband.
It was then that Drew met her tormentor face-to-familiar face, and he sprang forward without a thought for the repercussions as he took Randy’s neck in his own hands for a squeeze.
Fury filled him, body and soul, and Drew wanted nothing more than to see this fucker dead. While Maxine’s desperate pleas played over and over through his mind like a needle on a scratched vinyl record, he could see nothing but the bloody rage and retaliation that brought them all to that tumultuous moment.
As Randy squirmed beneath Drew’s tight lock, Trevor shoved himself between them, while both he and the bodyguard shouted for Drew to move out of the way.
So enmeshed in his own rage, Drew wasn’t paying attention to Randy as he struggled with something in his jacket pocket. He certainly wasn’t about to let Drew win this game.
“He’s got a fucking gun, Drew!”
Shots were fired, and Drew staggered backward to the corner, mouth gaping as he looked around the smoke-filled room. Blood splattered everywhere, and he wasn’t sure if some of those pools were his own. However, he had to reach Maxine…he had to hold her…had to remind her that she was safe.
“Little one…little one, please….” he begged as his fingers untied the knot at her neck. “Maxine….Maxine…”
“Drew…” she breathed, her head lolling back and forth. “Ohh...are you…are you hurt?”
Looking down at himself, all he could see was blood, but he felt no pain.
“No, little one…” he lifted her hair and kissed her bruised neck. “No…”
The bodyguard quickly moved to the side as the police stormed up the stairs right alongside the paramedics. Those cops in Hell’s Kitchen were the best. They wasted no time in forging into a crime scene.
And Drew circled Maxine in his arms and held her tight. Swaddling her with the robe, he took care to make sure that she was covered, even though he wanted to personally inspect every inch of her body for injuries.
“I am so sorry, little one…I should have never told you to come down here tonight,” he insisted. “I should have—”
“You’re here…saved me.”
“Maxine…oh, what did he do?”
“Oh, Drew…” she burrowed her head into his splattered shirt, hoping to avoid his questions for the moment. “I love you…”
Rocking her in his arms, he whispered, “And I love you, little one…more than ever…”
With a glance to the side, he could see Trevor huddled on the floor. His shoulder must have been hit, and Drew reached over to touch his hand.
“Help is coming, my friend,” Drew said through his own tears as his eyes held Trevor’s, mirroring the fear of his friend. “I’ll make sure you get the best care.”
Wearily, Trevor shook his head. “Shot…”
It was then that the details settled into Drew’s thoughts. Trevor had stepped in front of him just as Randy pulled out that pistol. No matter what he said, Drew felt as if his words were inadequate. This man took the bullet that was intended for his own chest.
“You saved my life, Trevor. I’m not going to let you go so easily. Just be strong, buddy. We’re going to help you.”
However, the shock of the ugly reality slapped them all in the face.
“We’ve got two bodies. The M.E. should be here any second…” one of the investigators called the st
ation in his request for backup.
Randy’s lifeless form curled on the floor right beside Trevor. Drew’s bodyguard fired one direct shot to his heart, striking him dead instantly.
While relief filled Drew in that their nightmare had finally come to an end, he knew that not even therapy would help him shake his anger. Randy had hurt Maxine—to what extent, Drew had yet to find out. He’d also shot Trevor—an innocent bystander who stepped in to help a friend in need. Death was certainly a fair payback for Randy’s cruelties.
Pandemonium ensued throughout the backstage area with everyone wondering if Drew was safe—and if that armed intruder was still on the loose. Feverish echoes of distraught voices cluttered the usual ambient noise.
“Little one, we have to get you to the hospital, too…”
Nodding, she finally looked into Drew’s saddened eyes. “You’ll go with me?”
“I’m not fucking leaving you for a second.”
“Oh, Trevor!” she wailed as she watched the paramedics lift him to a stretcher. “He can’t go by himself…”
At that moment, Drew loved her more than ever. While she fought her own very brave battle that night, Maxine’s concern for those she loved always superseded her own pain. Bruised and battered, she couldn’t ignore Trevor’s suffering.
With a gentle shove, she nudged Drew, but he was reluctant to let her go. In fact, he could have held on to her for all of eternity, just to make sure that he kept her safe.
“Go to him, Drew…”
As far as Drew knew, Trevor had no next of kin, and someone had to make some decisions for him. Reluctantly, Drew pulled away from Maxine and carefully made his way to the tight hallway. While he had no intention of allowing Maxine to go alone in the ambulance, he still had to tend to Trevor—to assure him that everything would be fine.
“Whatever he needs—I’ll cover. Money’s no object here,” Drew told the paramedics. “I wouldn’t be here right now if this guy hadn’t stepped in front of me.”
“I’ll be…” Trevor struggled to speak. “…okay…Freddie…”
It took a few moments for Trevor’s words to sink in, and as realization struck him like a lightning bolt, Drew reached out and touched his cold hand. “Did you…call me…Freddie…?”
“It’s me, Freddie…it’s me…”
That moment froze in time and burned a memory into Drew’s mind as he looked into those warm brown eyes that had been so hauntingly familiar to him.
All along, he felt as if he’d crossed paths with Trevor before. Something about him always brought Drew conflicting feelings of comfort and familiarity. Never once did he ever find himself in any sense of unease with him. However, he couldn’t place his finger on why he harbored such a strong connection with this man.
Now, as the precious seconds mattered more than ever, he’d finally uncovered the closure he needed.
Still, he couldn’t process—couldn’t fathom—the words just exchanged. For so long he’d been searching for answers that he’d almost lost hope of discovering.
Trembling, Drew clutched Trevor’s hand as if he were holding on for dear life. “T.J.?” Drew asked. “It’s…it’s you?”
“It’s me, Freddie…it’s T.J.—from Brooklyn…”
Chapter Thirty-Two
June 1989
With a hold on ever so tight, Maggie McKenzie nearly had to give her little boy a tug on his hand as he tried to skip along ahead of her. He had grown so strong, thriving on all fronts—from academics to his after-school activities—and she was so proud of how far he’d come in just three years.
That hot summer night when she and Declan received the call from the police, Maggie was the last to believe that her baby had finally been found. She could still see Declan’s face so clearly in her mind as he paced the length of their kitchen, nearly wrapping himself in the phone cord while he took in every detail the investigator passed along.
Within minutes, it seemed as if they were on their way to meet their attorney, Sean, at the hospital, and their chauffeur broke nearly every traffic law in the city to get them there. They’d hustled a sleepy Adam off to their trusted neighbors, a retired couple who just adored that ornery red-headed boy, and then dashed away to hopefully—at very long last—bring home their baby Drew.
The thunder of Declan’s fist against the double doors that led them through the emergency room still echoed in her mind while a doctor and two nurses attempted to keep those anxious parents calm. It would be weeks before they had any sort of paternity tests back on the boy. However, no one in that hospital that night could deny that he bore a strong resemblance to the woman who so desperately prayed that she was his mother.
Under piles of blankets with his little head poking out from the folds, the little boy blinked in fear. However, Maggie immediately recognized those gaunt blue eyes and that mane of curly hair that had probably never been trimmed.
Skeletal, he looked as if he didn’t weigh much more than the baby she once held in her arms. Declan attempted to relay the details under which Drew had been found while they drove to the hospital, but Maggie could remember none of them at that moment. They had time to talk later after she’d fed, clothed and loved this child who had been so cruelly abducted from them.
Time would never erase the memories of that evening. She could vividly recall how her open arms were met with Drew’s sharp pull away, as he nearly jerked the IV from his tiny arm. Declan had reminded her to take things slowly, but Maggie’s maternal instinct couldn’t be fought. As she sat down beside her little boy, she ran her fingers through his hair. Maggie spoke softly to him even when he refused to answer her back—and treasured the reward when he finally offered her his tiny, dirty hand to hold just as he’d drifted off to sleep.
Of course, from that moment on, she vowed to shield him from harm’s way for the rest of his life.
However, Maggie also realized that there were times when she had to let him go.
Although she wanted to hold him in her protective vise for all of eternity, Drew was still a little boy, and he wanted to live a full life now that he had the opportunity. She had to make a certain peace within herself. She had to allow her little bird to fly, but within the parameters she and Declan set forth.
Within the confines of that tiny playground on the Upper East Side that overlooked the East River, she finally released his hand.
Fly, little bird…but not too far!
Those tiny blonde curls, so wild and wooly because Drew refused to get a haircut, bounced upon his head in the breeze. For one moment, she could relax. This was exactly how his little life was meant to be—running around gleefully and playing with friends. While it took a while for Drew to reach that point, she couldn’t ignore the progress in his recovery. Now, if he’d only start appreciating his own brother as much as he loved other children…
“T.J., it’s me!” Little Drew’s giggles nearly filled the whole playground. He didn’t realize that some city agent from Foster Care was there with that child he’d known as his brother. He had no clue that the McKenzies were truly the only people who cared about that chubby, brown-haired boy with the sad brown eyes while his mother withered away in hospice care as AIDS ravaged her body. He just wanted to play with his friend. “It’s Freddie from the house in Brooklyn!”
The first time Drew saw the boy after the whole incident with Louise and Fred, he worried that T.J. wouldn’t know him by his new name. Ever resourceful, he asked Maggie and Declan if he could introduce himself as “Freddie” to his toddler friend—just in case, he told them, that T.J. didn’t remember.
“Freddie” stuck between the boys who were now eight and five.
“So, Declan and I would like to move forward on the adoption,” Maggie said to the social worker while the boys climbed on the monkey bars. “We’ve been waiting for the paperwork for weeks now…”
Pulling her tattered sweater around herself, the young social worker, fresh out of City College, shrugged. She didn’t’ know how
to answer. With the backlog of paperwork on her desk alone, she couldn’t imagine when she’d get through it all to dig out a set of adoption papers. There were simply too many children who needed urgent help in the system. Little T.J. was doing just fine as he was.
“How’s his mother doing?” Maggie asked, knowing she wasn’t about to get an answer to her question on adopting T.J.
“They say she won’t be here by week’s end,” the young woman answered, her hesitant smile now curling downward into a frown. “But Trevor’s safe. He’s in a better place now.”
Maggie didn’t want to hear the words “better place.” She wanted to take that little boy home with her that very afternoon. Drew’s days always brightened when he had the chance to reconnect with T.J., and she wanted to offer that little guy a fighting chance, just as her own child had. Stupid city regulations weren’t working in her favor.
“Is there anything we can do to speed things up?” Maggie begged. At that point, bribery wasn’t beneath her. “Perhaps a significant contribution in Molly’s name to your department?”
“I can certainly find out for you, Mrs. McKendrick.”
“McKenzie is the last name,” Maggie corrected her, frustration mounting. “I would be happy to send our lawyer along…and certainly, we’re ready for a home visit. Whatever it takes.”
“Oh, definitely, Mrs. McKendrick,” the woman mindlessly repeated, thinking of everything she had to do back at the office while she was stuck out here, minding this child’s playdate.
There was no use in fighting with words that fell upon deaf ears, but Maggie vowed to try to get that child the help and love he deserved. For the day, though, she only had a few hours, and she wanted Drew to enjoy this rare afternoon with this precious little boy.
Little did she realize that over the coming years, T.J. would be shuffled around from house to house. He was a mere number to the city.
When he was thirteen and finally ran away, no one even thought to look for him. He lived on the streets for quite some time until a deli owner caught him stealing. In truth, T.J. wanted to get caught. He’d heard stories of the juvenile detention centers, and with winter approaching, he didn’t want to spend another season out in the frigid New York City cold.
KNOTTED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Three Page 51