Cold Case Reunion

by Kimberly VanMeter

  She swallowed and wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. “I miscarried at thirteen weeks.”

  Sadness swamped him for a child he’d never known existed, for the brief window his baby had been alive. He pushed against the steering wheel with locked arms, resting his head against the headrest, not quite able to process the bomb Mya had dropped.

  “I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you, but your grandfather had just died and I was waiting for the right moment. I wanted it to be happy news, but then the morning I made the decision to tell you, I discovered you’d gone.”

  “And I hadn’t left you a contact number to find me,” he said in a low voice, more than ever hating the decision he’d made. “What happened then?”

  She sighed, a sad little sound if he’d ever heard one. “Well, I figured I would raise the baby on my own. Just when I’d come to grips with the situation, I awoke spotting. A sonogram revealed the baby’s heart had stopped beating and I was miscarrying.” She stopped for a minute to collect herself, then admitted, “The news broke me. I didn’t have you and I didn’t have the baby anymore. It took a long time to get over and some days, I don’t know if I am over it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should’ve been there for you.”

  “Yes. You should have,” she whispered, not letting him off the hook, and he didn’t blame her. He was only feeling a fraction of what she must have gone through. She took a halting breath before continuing. “I kept thinking you would contact me and let me know where you were, but it was as if you dropped off the face of the planet. It took a long time before I stopped hoping every time the phone rang that it was you. I needed a distraction and I needed space. I put myself through college at Oregon State and then went into med school. Once I finished my residency, I came back here and I’ve been here since.”

  “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured, angry at the situation. “I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?”

  She offered a sad smile. “It doesn’t do any good to beat yourself up over it now. It happened. It was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”

  He couldn’t resist. He leaned over and drew her to him. She went without resistance, her lips soft against his. “I would’ve been there for you,” he murmured against her mouth, hating that he’d been the source of her tears and that she’d gone through something so painful alone. “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulled away and the shine in her eyes nearly undid him. A trail of moisture snaked its way down her cheek and he wiped it away with care. What could he say that would make this better? Nothing. He knew that, but he desperately wanted to offer something to show that he understood how deeply he’d messed up. But words failed him and he could only hope she knew in her heart.

  “We should get going. Visiting hours will be over soon,” she said quietly, dragging him back to the moment and their true purpose.

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know how to act like I don’t know that you were once pregnant with my child. It’s heavy stuff. How do you move on from that?”

  “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know,” she said wryly, a spark of humor showing through. He took heart in that and followed her lead.

  Mya thought she might be in a mild state of shock after unloading her private pain on Angelo. Of course, it was appropriate to unload on him since her ordeal had involved him, but she couldn’t quite believe she’d finally been able to tell him. She’d imagined all sorts of scenarios, but none had been close to the reality. Oddly, she felt relieved. For so long, she’d carried around the secret of her miscarriage—only Sundance and Iris had known—and now she felt as if she could actually move on.

  The rest of the trip was filled with light banter, almost as if they were simply on a drive rather than going for any specific purpose, but as they arrived at the mental health facility, the seriousness of the situation settled over them and they grew silent.

  The austere building wasn’t much to look at, with very little landscaping to break up the institutional aspect of the place. “Cozy,” Angelo said, taking it in. “Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  That’s precisely the way she felt, too. She knew Darrick’s mental state was precarious at best, and there was no telling how he’d take to seeing Waylon’s brother. It might actually throw him into some kind of psychotic episode. Mya shuddered and pulled her coat more tightly around her. “Remember, he’s not very coherent most times. Don’t take it personally if he says something outlandish or rude. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about most of the time.”

  He nodded and they entered the building. After Mya handled the paperwork, they were taken to Darrick’s room.

  Darrick was housed in a small room, with padded walls for his safety, and he was tied with restraints. It tore at her heart to see just how far Darrick had fallen. She remembered him as a boy. He’d been a good kid, always prone to laughter, with an infectious guffaw that had seemed to come from his toes. He hadn’t been terribly handsome but there’d been a boyish cuteness to him that might have matured into attractive adulthood; but the ravages of his alcohol and drug abuse had taken that possibility from him. His head was shaved—something they’d done when they’d brought him in—and his face had red, raw scratches, probably caused by his own fingernails.

  “Damn,” Angelo said under his breath, earning an I-told-you look from Mya. Here goes nothing, he thought as they closed the door behind them.

  He approached the bed with caution, keeping Mya behind him. He needn’t have worried, he realized as he got a better look at the man. Disappointment welled inside him. “He’s doped to within an inch of his life. He’s no more capable of answering questions than a turnip.” He muttered a litany of curse words. Mya stepped forward to check his pupils and his pulse. She frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “He’s way too sedated,” she murmured with concern. “His heart rate is incredibly slow and sluggish. I’m going to get an orderly. I want to see his chart.”

  She disappeared with the swift and sure stride of a woman in charge, and he took the opportunity to take a closer look at the man, trying to find a remnant of the boy he’d known.

  He remembered Darrick having thick wavy black hair that was always fashionably trimmed, while Waylon had preferred his hair long and wild. Darrick had called his brother a hippie. A faint smile touched his mouth as he remembered their heated arguments over stuff that didn’t matter in the big scheme of things, except to teenage boys who thought it had meant everything. Darrick’s skin was sallow and sagging beneath the once-healthy tan of their tribe; a ribbon of drool escaped his slack mouth where his gums revealed a few missing teeth, and the teeth that remained in his head were completely rotten. Unexpected tears sprang to Angelo’s eyes as he stared at the ruin of the man he’d known as a boy. What would Waylon have done for his friend? Would Darrick have turned out better if Waylon had lived?

  Mya returned with an orderly, her expression stern. “I want to know whose signature this is,” she said to the orderly, who looked annoyed but mildly worried at Mya’s authoritative tone. “This man is clearly over-medicated. He needs immediate medical attention.”

  The orderly stared at the chart, his mouth pursing, until he slowly shook his head. “Well, it says Dr. Overton, but he left for the day. It couldn’t be him.” He looked at Mya, swallowing as if he were afraid he was going to get fired for the mistake. “I don’t know who signed this,” he admitted. “But I didn’t administer the meds, that’s the nurse’s job. Want me to get him?”

  “Please,” Mya said crisply, returning to Darrick’s side to do another check. “And get the on-call doctor. Immediately.”

  The orderly disappeared, only too happy to escape Mya’s flashing eyes and disapproving stare. Mya in action was a sight to behold. And he was a total pervert to find this side of her completely arousing. He shifted, hating that neither his mind nor his body seemed to behave appropriately given the sit
uation. He was grateful when Mya gave him something else to focus on.

  Mya looked to him, worried. “Angelo…I think someone has tried to kill Darrick and make it look like an accident. The man is barely breathing. If we don’t get him to a hospital, he might die.”

  “Who’d want to kill Darrick?” he asked.

  “Someone who wanted to keep him quiet. Someone is afraid he’ll tell something he knows.”

  Angelo’s mouth firmed. That was sure as hell not going to happen. Even if it meant he had to stand guard over Darrick’s door all night. “What do you need to do to get him out of here?” he asked.

  “Technically, he’s under the state’s care for the moment. We’d need his father’s consent to move him.”

  “Not if he just became a federal witness,” he said. “Let me make a call.”

  Angelo stepped outside the room, ignoring the curious looks from the orderlies who’d no doubt heard about the mix-up and were wondering who was going to catch hell for it, and dialed Grace. True to form, she picked up almost immediately.

  “What’s up?” she asked, no-nonsense as usual.

  “I need to put a guard on a possible witness and I want it to be you.”

  “I’m flattered and annoyed. Since when did I sign up for babysitting duty?”

  “Someone’s tried to kill Darrick Willets. Something tells me it’s because he knows something that someone wants to keep quiet. It needs to be you because you’re one of the few people I trust.”

  “Stop, I’m getting misty,” she quipped, quoting one of her favorite Mel Gibson movies. But she relented with a snort. “You owe me. Big-time. I don’t do babysitting details unless it’s the President.”

  “Yeah, I know, you’re a badass,” he said dryly. “When can you be here?”

  “Lucky for you my detail here is finished. I can be there in about an hour. Think you can handle things until then?”

  “Yeah, I think I can handle it.”

  “See you in a few, then.”

  The line clicked off without ceremony—no mushy sentimental stuff from Grace. He appreciated her style. He wished he could go back to that, especially when it came to Mya. It would simplify things by half because then their interaction would just be about the case. But that wasn’t his reality. He was burdened by the knowledge that she’d briefly carried his child, that if fate had been less cruel, or he’d been less stupid, he’d be a father right now to a fifteen-year-old child. Would he have had a son? Or a daughter? A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed it down with difficulty. Focus, Angelo. Now is not the time.

  He returned to find Mya sitting by Darrick’s bedside, having hooked him to a machine that monitored his vital signs. “No one knows who authorized this medication and no one saw who administered it,” she said crossly. “This is unacceptable in a facility like this. If we hadn’t stopped in, Darrick’s heart would’ve stopped beating.”

  “It couldn’t have been an innocent mistake?” he asked, wanting to make sure they weren’t overreacting, though he already knew the answer.

  “No. The amount given to him does not match the amount written on the chart. It’s clearly an overdose.”

  He nodded, confident in Mya’s skills. He tried to keep the pride from his voice—but he was damn impressed—as he said, “My partner Grace is on her way back. She’s going to stand guard over Darrick’s room until he comes to. She’ll make sure that no one gets near him unless I clear it.”

  “Sounds good,” Mya approved. “In the meantime, I want him transferred out of this facility and into a real hospital. Forks Community Hospital has agreed to take him. The ambulance is on the way now.” She leaned back in her chair, clearly troubled. “You know, I feel bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, not only did I send him here, but I can’t help but remember all those times I’ve treated Darrick in the recent past, ignoring his ravings as those of a man suffering from extreme intoxication. He might have been trying to tell me something this whole time.”

  “You couldn’t have known. Anyone else would’ve treated him the same.”

  “I should’ve tried harder to listen. I feel I’ve watched as one of our own drowned.”

  He went to her and touched her shoulder—it was the only place he’d allow himself to touch—and tried to reassure her. He hated to see her carry the entire weight of the tribe on her shoulders. That should have been his job. “We’re listening now,” he said.

  She rewarded him with a smile that zeroed in on his heart, piercing it with unerring accuracy. “You’re a good man, Angelo,” she said with complete conviction.

  He gave her a crooked grin, knowing he wasn’t deserving of such unfettered praise. “Don’t go making snap judgments,” he warned with mock seriousness. “I’d hate to prove you wrong.”

  Mya gazed at him without guile and said without reservation, “You won’t.”

  Angelo thought his heart would stop beating.

  To have Mya in his life was something he could only dream of.

  It certainly wasn’t something he deserved.

  Mya needed someone strong in their beliefs, someone who shared her love of their heritage—someone who didn’t carry the stain he wore for walking away from everything, everyone that had ever mattered.

  He knew this, knew it with the certainty of a brand on his skin, and yet, he yearned to be the person who deserved her love.

  But he also knew that some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how hard you might wish for them.

  Because that was reality.

  Chapter 20

  Mya liked Angelo’s rough, army-strong partner with her close-cropped hair and U.S. Marine build. She had the kind of personality that made a wardrobe of combat boots and barbed-wire tattoos look completely appropriate, and yet she had kind eyes that shone with intelligence and insight. Mya could see right away why Grace got along so well with Angelo. It also made Mya ridiculously relieved to know that Grace and Angelo shared absolutely no romantic chemistry in the least.

  Grace walked into Forks Community where Darrick had been transferred and assessed the situation with frank objectivity. “This drooling mess is who I’m guarding?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Mya answered. “At least he’s an alive, drooling mess, which he wouldn’t have been if we hadn’t shown up. I talked with the medical staff and no one could vouch for the nurse who’d administered the overdose. Someone came in disguised as a nurse and then took off after dosing Darrick. An orderly found a balled-up pair of scrubs in the trash outside the loading dock.”

  Grace looked to Angelo. “You send it off for processing?”

  “Of course. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a hit on some DNA left behind.”

  Grace shrugged. “Anything could happen, but I wouldn’t pin your hopes on it.”

  “That’s what I love about you—your eternal optimism,” Angelo said, causing Mya to smile.

  “That or my effervescent charm,” Grace quipped right back, adding a deadpan “I’m sweet enough to cause cavities. Back to the case, though. What’s the story with this guy?”

  “He’s a local character who may know something about who killed Waylon back in the day. They’d been best friends at the time and joined at the hip. Not to mention, he’s never been right since Waylon died.”

  “Guilt, perhaps?” Grace surmised.

  “That’s what we’re thinking,” Angelo agreed. “And it’s important to keep him alive so he can tell us who might be trying to kill him and why.”

  “The problem is that he’s not completely coherent even when he’s not doped up. He’s done a lot of damage with the drug abuse.”

  Grace nodded, understanding softening her rigid stance. “Poor bastard,” she murmured, then straightened. “I’ll keep him safe. You can count on me.”

  Angelo smiled. “I knew I could. That’s why it had to be you.”

  “I’ll call as soon as he’s awake or if anything else happens,” Grace said, all business.

&nb
sp; “I’ve informed the medical staff of your involvement. Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask,” Mya said.

  Grace nodded and they filed from the room, where Grace remained stationed at the door and Angelo and Mya went outside to get some fresh air.

  “You know, I was thinking, we could work in shifts,” Mya suggested, not liking the idea of leaving Grace to red-eye the night. “I don’t mind.”

  “Grace is in her element. Trust me. No, I think we ought to get a hotel room, get some sleep, that way we’ll be fresh when Grace calls.”

  A silent thrill chased his words but she focused on keeping her expression neutral. He was likely being practical, not romantic, which was the way it should be. A pinch of guilt followed when she recognized disappointment at the idea of spending the night together for purely sensible reasons, yet she nodded resolutely. “That’s smart. There’s an Econolodge just up the road from the hospital. I saw it when we came in.”

  Angelo nodded, and while he went to tell Grace their plan, Mya took a private moment to quell the butterflies in her stomach and the intense yearning she felt to be cocooned in Angelo’s arms, safe and removed from the confusion of the moment.

  Mya bit her lip as the voice of reason filtered through her thoughts, reminding her sharply that she was being a silly, lovestruck fool. One night was a drop in the bucket compared to a lifetime of misery if she continued to harbor these fruitless feelings for a man who had not only left her once, but had no intention of staying the second time.

  And so it was pointless to pine for a man whose future was on a different path from hers. Wasn’t that one of the reasons she hadn’t gotten serious with Porter? Good, sweet, dependable Porter? Because she couldn’t imagine a future spent across the breakfast table from a man who had a tendency to slurp when he ate his cereal and who bored her to tears on road trips because he insisted on listening to political radio instead of music? And yet, here she was getting dreamy-eyed over a man who was uncommunicative, obsessive, moody and carrying more baggage than a Boeing 747. Yes, she answered herself, her breath catching in her throat as Angelo emerged from the facility, his sharp-angled features a gift from his ancestors and most certainly the kind of stuff that made women look twice if they passed in the street.