Time to Heal (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Karen Young

  Wild-eyed, watching both Rachel and Michael as though they were aliens, he put out both hands to hold them off. “Stay away from me!”

  “Okay, Kevin, it’s okay. Look.” Rachel took a cautious step back. “See? I’ll just stand here. Can we talk now?”

  Kevin stared blindly, his eyes narrowed in an effort to focus. “They have knives! Jeez, they have knives!”

  “No, Kevin. Nobody has knives.”

  “And guns! Guns and knives!” He threw his arm up. “I don’t want to die!”

  “Kevin, listen to me. Nobody’s going to die. Nobody’s going to hurt you. There are no knives, no guns, I promise.” Rachel stepped forward instinctively, both hands outstretched.

  “You’re lying! Everyone always lies.” His voice dropped dramatically as his expression changed. “But I’m in charge now. I can hold them all off when they get a load of this!”

  Before she had a chance to evade him, he grabbed a handful of her blouse and yanked her almost off her feet, pinning her against his side. She cried out in surprise, vaguely aware that he was fumbling at the small of her back. She thought dazedly of rape, but it was only a fleeting idea, one among a rush of horrifying possibilities that crowded her mind.

  Then she realized he was groping for something on his own person. Her eyes flew to Michael’s and her terror increased tenfold. Michael should be with the deputies in the safety of the waiting room. Why hadn’t he heeded her? Only as she felt the savage nudge of cold steel against her temple did she realize that Kevin had a gun.

  JAKE CLOSED THE DOOR behind Parker Jamison, the editor of the Tidewater Journal, and stood for a moment kneading the side of his neck. His muscles were as tight as rawhide. He thought briefly of phoning Rachel at the hospital. Mike would still be at school. They could talk awhile. He dropped his arm to his side and inhaled wearily. Fat chance.

  To distract himself, he focused on Parker Jamison’s visit. Parker was a friend as well as a business associate. He’d stopped by to discuss ideas and dates for the political ads that would run in the Journal now that the campaign was under way. Liz had been in on the meeting, but she’d left ten minutes before for an appointment with the photographer to view the proofs for a series of photographs that would appear in the Journal along with the ads.

  He went to his desk and sat down. The campaign was heating up and so was his town. His county. Deep in thought, he scanned the notes he’d made during his conversation with Parker after Liz left. They had nothing and everything to do with his campaign. According to Parker—from sources he’d told Jake he would not divulge—a major drug distribution outfit was operating somewhere along the coastline of Florida and very likely within Jake’s jurisdiction in Kinard County. Parker’s information dovetailed neatly with DEA intelligence Jake was getting from Rick Streeter.

  Jake leaned back and put his feet up. It wouldn’t surprise him if Parker’s information was eventually traced to someone at the DEA in Miami. Idly he toyed with the idea of calling Rick and alerting him to the possibility of a leak within his unit. When it came time to execute the operation, a breach of security could mean somebody’s life.

  Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temple. He’d had another disturbing visit from Joe Crenshaw. Joe was concerned that too many kids were showing up at Tidewater High School high as a kite. He didn’t have any evidence, but he told Jake he suspected the source of the drugs was very near the campus. How else were so many kids getting the stuff before the bell rang for first period? He’d come to Jake instead of the local police chief because he worried that J.B. Gonzales might use the information politically. As Jake knew, the problem was county-wide, not confined within the city limits. If he was forewarned, Crenshaw had said, maybe Jake would be able to spike J.B.’s guns before the situation became a political hot potato.

  Jake drummed his fingers on his desk. What the hell was he going to do?

  His phone buzzed. Drawing in a deep breath, he picked it up.

  “Line one, Jake.”

  “Jake? Helen Falco.”

  “Helen. How are you?”

  “Oh…” She sounded slightly breathless. “Fine, I’m fine. Jake—”

  He tensed at something in her tone and sat up a little. “What is it, Helen?”

  “Oh, Jake…” Her voice faltered. “Jake, it’s Rachel.”

  He frowned. “What about her?”

  “And Michael.”

  His heart began to pound. He held the receiver with one hand and braced himself against the arm of his chair with the other. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I’ve already called the police. They’re here now.”

  “Why, Helen? What’s going on?”

  “We have a boy—about fifteen, I’d say. He’s totally out of control, Jake. PCP or something. I’m guessing, of course, but he’s hallucinating, he’s wild.”

  “Helen, for God’s sake! What does this have to do with Rachel? Or Michael?”

  There was a pause. “Oh, Jake, he has them. Both of them.”

  “He has them?” Jake shook his head blankly. “What—”

  “Rachel was trying to calm him. She’s so good at that, Jake. Just a few words, usually, and she has them as docile as babies. But this one, Kevin something—”

  “What about Rachel?” Jake demanded fiercely.

  “He was babbling about guns and knives, extremely agitated…paranoid, actually. He thought we were going to hurt him.”

  “What about my wife!” he shouted. “My son!”

  Helen drew in a broken breath. “He has them both, Jake.”

  “How? How can he have them? You said J.B.’s men were there, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but… He has them in the supply room, Jake. They’re locked in, just Rachel and Michael and the boy.”

  With a curse, Jake surged up, sending his chair crashing backward. “Jake—”

  “Are they hurt?”

  “I don’t know. They—”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll—”

  “Jake!”

  Something in her tone stopped him. “What?”

  “He has a gun, Jake.” A sob shuddered from her. “He’s in the storeroom with them and he has a gun.”

  LATER, JAKE never remembered the trip from headquarters to the hospital. In the course of his career, both as sheriff of Kinard County and in the DEA, he’d lost count of the number of dangerous situations he’d managed successfully. In none of them was there ever anything personal at stake. He squeezed his lower jaw, seeing Rachel’s face, Michael’s trusting gaze. To a lawman, a hostage situation was the most feared, the most delicate, the most dangerous. He cursed his helplessness. These past few months his whole damn life seemed out of control. Scotty had been snatched from him, his marriage was disintegrating, his town swimming in drugs. Now Rachel and Michael… He realized it was possible for a man’s blood to freeze while he still functioned.

  Rachel, Rachel…Michael… Please, God, don’t let them be hurt.

  He pulled to a screeching stop at the hospital in a sea of Tidewater P.D. vehicles, flashing blue lights, squawking radios and general chaos. Before he cleared the front end of his car, J. B. Gonzales met him.

  “Jake, I know this is tough, but it’s in city jurisdiction and we’re handling it. You’re gonna have to stand back.”

  “City jurisdiction?” Jake stared at him in consternation. “J.B., that’s my wife and my son in there, and nothing short of an A-bomb will keep me back.”

  “Jake!” J.B. grabbed at him, but he’d already stepped through the narrow yellow police barrier, snapping the plastic and sending it fluttering crazily to the pavement. Cursing, J.B. stalked along beside him. “We have a hostage situation here, Jake. You can’t just go charging in there.”

  “Watch me.” His face grim, Jake took the steps beside the emergency-room ramp two at a time. His hand slammed into the glass door, pushing it open. “Helen told me they’re locked in a supply room. Has that changed?”

  “Well, no. It appe
ars—”

  “Appears?” In the act of assessing the scene, he stopped and looked into Gonzales’s indignant face. “Why don’t you know? Have you got someone else managing this?”

  “Don’t mess with me, Jake!” But J.B. was talking to air. Jake had already started across the waiting room. J.B. hurried after him. “Of course, I’m in charge here! I don’t have to be inside to take care of things. I’m doing it by radio with the commander of the SWAT team.” Finding himself beyond the known secured area for the first time, he looked around warily. “As you see, we’ve followed procedure here. We’ve evacuated everyone except the two officers who originally apprehended the suspect.”

  “Where’s the room?”

  “Uh…well, I’m not sure. Langley!” He beckoned to one of half a dozen men stationed in the hall. All had their weapons drawn, but it was apparent to Jake that, SWAT team or not, everybody seemed stymied as to what to do next.

  “Where is my wife, Langley?” Jake asked as the officer approached.

  “Sheriff.” Langley nodded politely. “There’s a small storage room right off the third treatment cubicle. It has a metal door with a tiny window in it at about eye level and a dead bolt lock. Problem is, we can’t approach because he…Kevin, the boy, is armed and close to panicked.”

  Jake stared in the direction of the room for a second or two. His lips barely moved as he spoke. “Have you spoken to my wife since he took her?”

  “Yes, sir, we have. She called out that we should keep back. She and your boy, Mike, are okay, she said. She wanted a few more minutes with Kevin.”

  J.B. stepped closer. “Now, Jake—”

  Jake ignored him, still focused on Langley. “Do you know what he’s on?”

  Langley shook his head. “PCP or something like it, according to the orderly and Mrs. Falco.”

  Jake rubbed at the day’s growth of beard on his face and felt his hand tremble. “She’s… She doesn’t know what she’s up against,” he muttered. “PCP’s vicious. He could blow at any minute.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Langley said, looking respectfully determined. “But I think your lady seems remarkably composed, considering. And your boy, too. Just from the time they holed up in there until a few minutes ago, I could tell the difference in the kid, Kevin. He’s a lot calmer. At first he was yelling and banging around, knocking stuff over. As you say, just ready to blow. Smith and me—” he nodded in the direction of his cohort, still stationed in the hall “—have been right outside the storeroom, just out of sight. As you can hear for yourself, all’s quiet in there right now.”

  A commotion at the door caught their attention. To Jake’s dismay, it was the media. Crowding just outside the entrance was a local news crew complete with minicam. With a sweep of the camera, the electronic eye taped the waiting room, J.B., Jake and the armed policemen for the six o’clock news and posterity.

  The red-haired anchorman from Channel Six spotted Jake. “Sheriff McAdam, is it true your wife and son are the hostages?”

  Jake ignored him, turning to the police chief. “Get rid of them, Gonzales,” he ordered tersely. “I don’t want anything to harm my wife and son. A TV camera might spook the kid into doing something crazy.”

  J.B. looked annoyed. “This is a free country, Jake. We aren’t going to be able to shut out the media.”

  Jake glowered at J.B. “When in your political life have you ever wanted to shut out the media, J.B.?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I know you’ll grab any opportunity to get your name on the six o’clock news.” He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice to keep the exchange between Gonzales and himself. “You’d better be careful, Chief. As you are so anxious to point out, you’re in charge here. If anything, I repeat anything, goes down here today except the successful rescue of my family, no amount of media coverage is going to make you look good. And if the people of Tidewater don’t string you up, then I promise you I will.”

  They exchanged a look stripped of all pretense of liking or respect. Jake stared fiercely until J.B. looked away. Then with a sound of disgust, Jake wheeled and strode down the hall.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  “To see if I can communicate with my wife,” Jake snapped, not looking back.

  Langley hurried after him. Neither paid any attention to the chief of police, who turned, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair. He cleared his throat, readying himself with a smile for live television.

  “Sheriff, I don’t know if I’d get too close,” Langley warned, matching his stride to Jake’s. “That kid doesn’t seem inclined to negotiate.”

  “Is there a phone in that storeroom?”

  “Well, no, sir.”

  “Windows?”

  “Not much of one, sir. Just a skinny pane.”

  “Then how are we going to find out anything if we don’t get close enough to talk to him?” Jake demanded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Approaching the storeroom, Jake flattened himself against the wall. With practiced efficiency, he drew his weapon. The violence inside him was fearsome in its intensity. He motioned the other cop, Smith, aside and leaned forward to see for himself. With a swiftly indrawn breath, he cursed in frustration. The window was draped with something. He curbed an impulse to kick the door down. He needed to see for himself that Rachel and Michael were unhurt.

  His gaze traveled around the hall, seeking something, anything, that might get him into the storeroom. There was no air-conditioning duct, no air-intake vent. With his back against the wall, he looked at the door. “Kevin! Kevin, can you hear me in there?”

  It was Rachel who answered. “Hello, Sheriff,” she said calmly. Jake’s throat tightened at the sound. If they’d been passing on the street, she couldn’t have sounded more casual.

  “We’re fine in here, as I told Officer Langley a while ago. Kevin’s thinking the situation over. He didn’t really intend to cause a stir like this, did you, Kevin?”

  Jake heard an indistinct reply and stirred restlessly.

  What about Michael?

  “Dad…” Michael’s tone was tentative.

  Jake struggled with a renewed surge of emotion. “You okay, Mike?”

  “Yes, sir. Fine. Uh, Dad, maybe you and your people should kind of back off for a little while. Miss Rachel’s talking to Kevin right now. He’s cool.”

  Jake swallowed with difficulty. He took heart from the sound of their voices. Surely they couldn’t manage that tone if Kevin was ready to blow. He stared at his hands gripping his weapon. Or did they even realize how quickly somebody high on a mind-altering substance could go from calm to crazy?

  Suddenly through the door came the muffled sound of a struggle, then Rachel’s sharp cry. Jake’s heart plunged to his belly. His mouth dry with fear, he tried the door with one hand, but it was locked. Michael shouted. Something fell with a loud crash. Then he heard a single gunshot. The sound galvanized Jake as nothing else could. He forgot procedure. Nothing mattered but getting to Rachel and Michael. He kicked wildly at the base of the heavy door while slamming into it with his shoulder. With a crash, it came open.

  He took in the scene frantically, lowering his weapon only when he saw that Kevin lay on the floor and Michael and Rachel seemed unhurt.

  “Jake…” Her eyes swimming with tears, Rachel looked at him from where she knelt beside Kevin’s unconscious form. Michael stood over them holding the gun wrapped in a white hospital washcloth.

  “I had to hit him, Dad.”

  Adrenaline and relief were like a rushing river in Jake’s head. He looked at Michael. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheekbone. “What the hell happened?”

  “We thought he was calming down when he suddenly stuck the gun up under his chin like he was going to…” Michael was suddenly squeamish about actually saying the words.

  Langley and Smith shouldered around Jake, taking in the scene. Langley went down on one knee beside Rachel, and Smith hel
d out his hand for the gun, which Michael handed over readily.

  Jake managed to holster his weapon a heartbeat before Rachel rose and launched herself at him, choking back sobs. His arms went around her, strong and embracing. He held her tight, his body quaking with relief. With a sigh, he breathed her name, drank in the sound of his own name whispered brokenly. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured in her ear, lovingly stroking her hair and the slim, fragile shape of her spine.

  Over her head, he focused intently on Michael. The boy was standing tall and taut as though movement might be more than he could manage. Jake’s throat closed with a mighty rush of feeling. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Beneath his hands, he could feel the aftermath of fear still coursing through Rachel. With his eyes, he could see the same vulnerability in Michael. He held out his arm and beckoned. Michael jerked forward and then he was holding them both tight. His wife.

  His son.

  Safe. Both of them.

  Closing his eyes, he breathed a prayer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AT FIRST, Rachel thought she could handle the whole thing without collapsing into Jake’s arms and allowing him to do and say all the things that would make the horror of the past hour bearable. Over the past few weeks, she’d developed a sense of independence and an even stronger sense of her own identity. In spite of the adversity in her life, her self-esteem had blossomed. But an hour as a hostage had melted her newfound assurance like so much wax in a flame. It felt so good to be held close by Jake. He was so big and solid and safe. She’d been so scared.

  And Michael. She still went cold at the thought of harm befalling Michael while he was in her care.

  With a whimper, she turned her face into Jake’s shirtfront. She was trembling almost uncontrollably, now that the danger was past, and Jake’s hand felt warm, necessary, as he stroked away her shudders. Would it really matter if she leaned on him for just a minute or two?