Last Breath

by Brandilyn Collins

  I thought of what she’d said—that they stopped coming eight years ago. Only then did I realize what that meant. “That means he sent them for nine years after he left.”

  “Yeah.”

  I frowned. “You’d be twenty-five by then. I was eight. I don’t remember anything about white roses.”

  “They came to my mom’s house, Shaley. That’s the only address he knew. She would call and let me know. She’d read me the words on the card. Then she would keep the rose until it wilted.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them home?” We lived near my grandmother until her death from breast cancer when I was nine.

  Mom lowered her gaze. “I didn’t want you asking questions.”

  What? “I was asking questions. I’ve been asking you about my father for as long as I can remember.”

  “Exactly. It was easier to tell you I didn’t know where he was. That was the truth. How to explain the flowers to you, how to tell an eight year old the story I’ve just told you?”

  I looked away, betrayal sloshing around inside me. To think all those years when I was little, she’d still had a tie to my father. A long-distance tie, but it was something. She told me nothing. How unfair, that I couldn’t at least have known what she knew—he was out there somewhere, thinking about us.

  I closed my eyes, fighting the emotion. I didn’t want to go there now. “Did you ever call the florist that delivered them? Try to find out from them where he was?” I’d done the same thing just a few days ago, after I received my own white rose …

  “He paid by credit card and ordered over the phone. They wouldn’t give me his address.”

  “And then they just stopped coming?”

  “Yes.” Mom fingered the top of her covers. “I didn’t even notice for a couple months. By then, after so many years, I was busy with you and the band. I’d moved on. When I realized it, I told myself he’d found someone else.” Her mouth curled in a bitter smile. “It was easier to think that than believe something had happened to him.” She sighed. “Now I know something did. Prison.”

  My heart panged. “Are you surprised he did that?”

  She focused across the room. “Those gang members taught him crime, Shaley. Not that he wanted to do those drug runs. But once he ran away, and he and his grandmother had to build a new life … maybe he thought back to all the thousands of dollars he watched them rake in, selling drugs. Maybe he figured there were easier ways to make money than earn it.”

  “But he wasn’t caught selling drugs.”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. Who knows how many crimes he committed before he was caught?”

  My gaze fell to the floor. She was right—who knew? If Jerry hadn’t whispered in my ear, we wouldn’t even know my father had sent him to us.

  May 1993—my birth month. I counted back nine months from then. “When he left you didn’t know you were pregnant.”

  Mom’s face softened. “No. I found out about a month later.”

  One month. “What if you had known? If you’d told him—maybe he never would have gone.”

  “Don’t think about that.” Mom’s voice flattened. “I wished the same thing—if only the timing would have been one month different. But that would have made things worse. He had to leave. If he’d stayed because of you, who knows what would have happened to him?”

  But one month … My lifetime of questions for a single month.

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  We’d never talked much about her pregnancy with me. Except that she’d told me not to make the same mistake. It wasn’t a good thing to do—sleeping with boyfriends. And I hadn’t.

  The light in Mom’s eyes dimmed, exhaustion creeping over her face. Too many memories and too much pain. “Think I’ll take a nap now.”

  “Okay.” I squeezed her hand and stood.

  Mom lolled her head to one side and immediately drifted to sleep.

  I stood in the middle of the room, feeling lost and purposeless. All the years I’d begged to hear my father’s story. Now I had. But I wasn’t satisfied. It brought only more questions.

  Why had he never called Mom? Why had he turned to crime?

  Deep disappointment churned within me, thickening into bitterness. So what if my father had once loved Mom? He’d turned out to be a rat. Left her in the dust. Held up a store and gone to prison. Then even sent a murderer to kill people on our tour and try to kidnap me.

  Why?

  Jealousy. Had to be. Rayne O’Connor became famous while he’d gone nowhere. I could just imagine him seeing her on TV in jail, gritting his teeth. Did he brag to all the prisoners that he used to date her?

  Or maybe he wanted to kidnap me for ransom. Figured he’d take Mom for all the money he could.

  My shoulders slumped. The tiredness I’d been holding back washed over me. I walked over to my bed and lay down on top of the covers.

  Tears bit my eyes. I felt lonely and worn out, and I hated this hospital room. I just wanted to go home.

  Turning on my side, I curled into a ball. Sleep pulled at me. I closed my eyes and gave in to it …

  The next thing I knew my cell phone was ringing me awake.

  35

  Franklin’s plane landed in Denver at five thirty. With no baggage to worry about, he was up the ramp and out of the airport in five minutes.

  Outside, the air felt hot but nothing like Phoenix. The lanes teemed with cars, doors slamming, people scurrying with luggage. Franklin looked around, getting his bearings. He spotted the area for taxis and walked over.

  A Middle Eastern cabbie waved him to a car, and Franklin slid into the back seat. His hand reached for his pocket, feeling the bulk of his cell phone.

  “Where are you going, sir?” The dark-eyed man surveyed him through the rearview mirror.

  “St. Joseph’s Hospital.”

  “No problem. I have you there fast.”

  “Can you make a stop first?”

  “Where?”

  Franklin told him. “I won’t be long. I know what I want.”

  On the plane Franklin had thought it over. He couldn’t just walk into this wild plan of his without backup.

  The cabbie eyed him. “Whatever you say.”

  He hit the accelerator and darted out into traffic.

  36

  Like a drugged person, I reached toward the table where my cell phone lay. My heavy eyes checked the incoming ID. With a sigh, I hit send. “Hi, Ross.”

  “Hi. Sounds like you were sleeping.”

  Yeah, and he didn’t sound a bit sorry about waking me. “What’s up?”

  “Your mom sleeping too?”

  I raised myself up, squinting at her. Let my head fall back to the pillow. “Yeah, she’s out. The pills and pain finally got to her.”

  “When she wakes up, tell her I called. I booked a charter flight for the band tomorrow afternoon. Couldn’t get one today.”

  “Okay.”

  “Also, Mick’s going to show up soon to relieve Wendell at his post outside your door.”

  “Uh-huh.” Man, my head felt dull.

  The line fell silent.

  “That’s it,” Ross said. “You can go back to sleep now.”

  “’Kay. Thanks.”

  I clicked off the line and closed my eyes. In two seconds the phone rang again.

  Now what did Ross want? With a frustrated growl I punched on the call. “Hel-lo.”

  “Hi. Shaley?”

  Detective Myner’s voice. I sat up.

  “Hi. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  “No problem.” He hesitated. “Perhaps I should speak to your mom.”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Oh. In that case you need to know something has come up.”

  He sounded so serious. “Okay.”

  “In searching for Franklin Borden, one of my men checked with the airlines to see if anyone using that name had taken a flight out of Phoenix. We thought it was a long shot, but we got a hit. Borden caught a fli
ght some time after three o’clock. Unfortunately, we learned this too late to intercept him upon his arrival.”

  An alarm buzzed in my head. I shot a protective glance at my mom. Still asleep. “Where’d he go?”

  The detective cleared his throat. “Denver.”

  Denver. My mouth sagged open. “You mean he’s here? Now?”

  “He landed about thirty-five minutes ago. We’ve got his photo and are checking the airport, but we’re probably too late. He’s likely to have seen television news stories about your mom’s accident, which unfortunately have named her current location. Our guess is he’s headed for the hospital.”

  My stomach turned to ice.

  “Shaley, we’re sending officers there right now. We’re going to put one outside your room, and others will be checking entrances to the hospital, plus every floor. It’s a big place. But I want you to believe me when I say we’re going to stop this guy.”

  My mind whirled. I found myself standing. Couldn’t even remember getting off the bed. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

  “You all right? An officer will be at your door in just a few minutes.”

  “I … I’m fine.” My heart tripped into a hard beat.

  “Don’t leave your room. And have your phone close by. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  I clicked off the call and stared at nothing. My brain wouldn’t focus.

  Mom. I threw her another glance, praying she’d sleep through this. Let her wake up to hear Franklin Borden had been caught, that we were safe. That it was over.

  I jerked toward the door to tell Wendell.

  37

  Franklin peered through the taxi windshield as it drove up the long entryway to the hospital. Around him loomed a huge building shaped like a squared U. The main section lay directly ahead, with a wing running down each side of the road. In front of the main entrance was a circular drive for dropping off and picking up passengers.

  The purchase Franklin had made sat in a box on the seat beside him. Best way to carry it, he figured. Not likely anyone would question what was inside.

  As the taxi neared the circular section, Franklin spotted a crowd of people near the main hospital door. His eyes narrowed. He saw reporters, cameramen, and lots of fans. Some carried signs that said “Get well soon, Rayne.”

  He pressed back against the seat. Not good. He didn’t want his face picked up on some camera.

  The driver clucked his tongue. “It’s that rock singer. You know the one?”

  “Yeah.” Franklin kept his voice even. “Drive around the circle and go back down a ways.”

  “Whatever you say, sir.” The cabbie did as he was asked, then pulled over. “This okay?”

  “Fine.” Franklin took out his wallet and paid the man. “Keep the change.” He lifted the box off the seat and got out.

  As the taxi drove off, Franklin turned back to survey the scene in front of the hospital. He’d have to find another way in. He looked around, gauging the buildings.

  Franklin spied a door and started toward it, then halted. Just getting inside wasn’t good enough. Nobody at the information desk was going to give him the room number for Rayne O’Connor.

  Sticking his tongue beneath his upper lip, he gazed at the main entrance once more. Somebody in that crowd might have inside information. Someone with a relative who worked in the hospital …

  His focus moved to the TV cameras. For the moment none of them were running.

  He did have a second option. It was the main reason he’d bought a cell phone in the first place.

  Maybe he’d use it. Maybe not.

  Raising his chin, Franklin set out down the long stretch of pavement to join the crowd of Rayne O’Connor fans.

  38

  Within five minutes of Detective Myner’s phone call, just like he’d promised, a hard-faced Denver policeman had stationed himself outside Mom’s door. He had that cop look, just by the way he moved. He took up position on the right, Wendell on the left. No way anyone was getting through those two.

  “I was in the area, so I got here quickly,” the officer told me as I talked to them in the hall. His name tag read Tripton. “Back-ups are on their way.”

  His radio crackled quietly with voices I could barely hear. He must have turned down the volume so it wouldn’t disturb the whole hospital wing.

  Wendell reached for his phone. I caught his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Ross. He should know.”

  “No, Wendell! Please.” I didn’t want Ross rushing over. Didn’t want to see the I-told-you-so expression on his face. Part of me knew I misjudged him—at a time like this, Ross wouldn’t blame me. Maybe it was just my own guilt. Still, I didn’t want him around.

  “What’s he going to do?” I gestured toward the cop. “It’s not like we don’t have enough help here.”

  Wendell hesitated.

  “Besides, Mick’s coming anytime now to take your place. Let him make the decision.”

  And when Mick got here, I’d convince him not to make the call.

  Wendell exchanged a look with the officer and put his phone away. “Teenagers.”

  “Tell me about it. I got two of ’em.”

  I shook back my hair and retreated inside. Fingers jammed to my temples, I paced the room.

  How long would this take? What if they didn’t catch Franklin Borden? Maybe he wasn’t even at the hospital. For all we knew he’d flown here to see relatives.

  Yeah right. Some coincidence.

  My mouth hardened. When they caught the man, I planned to pay him a visit. When they questioned him, I’d be there. Watching through one of those one-way mirrors, like I’d watched the San Jose police question Cat.

  No, forget that. Whatever it took, I’d be in the room with the man. I had a few questions for Franklin Borden myself.

  In her bed, Mom stirred. I tiptoed over, heart in my throat. Her eyes blinked half open. “Shaley.” Her voice slurred. “What time is it?”

  “Time for you to go back to sleep,” I whispered.

  Her eyelids fluttered, then closed.

  I curled my fingers into fists and watched her breathe.

  39

  Keeping his back to the cameras, Franklin circulated through the group of fans. He held the box down by his side. In five minutes he’d pulled the information he needed from a fresh-faced twenty-something blonde who couldn’t gush enough about how much she loved Rayne’s music. Rayne O’Connor was on the third floor, she told him. She knew somebody who knew somebody whose mom was a nurse in the hospital. Had actually been in the rock star’s room.

  “Can you imagine?” She spread her black-painted fingernails across her chest.

  Franklin gave her a tight smile. “You try going up there to see her?”

  The young woman tsked through her teeth. “Yeah, right. She’s got a private bodyguard posted outside that room.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yup. ’Round the clock.”

  Franklin kept a poker face. Bodyguard at the door. Not surprising.

  “Her daughter’s with her too,” the young woman added. “Shaley.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. She slept there.” The young woman focused over his shoulder, as if something had caught her attention. “Wouldn’t leave her mom.”

  “Have you—”

  “Hey, look at that.” Her eyebrows raised.

  He looked around—and stilled. Five police cars were coming down the entrance road. They pulled over to the curb some distance away, one after the other, and cut their engines.

  “Maybe something’s wrong with Rayne.” The young woman’s voice edged with worry.

  Franklin gripped the bag, his thoughts swirling. He arrives … and the police show up. Did they know he was here?

  Why would they even be paying attention to him? Unless they knew he was connected to Jerry Brand.

  But the news stories had said nothing about the police looking for him. Nothing about c
onnecting him to Brand.

  Maybe the police had kept it quiet so he wouldn’t be alerted. That had to be it. Hard to believe this was a coincidence.

  Franklin gritted his teeth. They’d arrest him. Question him in some dim little room. We know you sent Brand to the Rayne tour. How much did you pay him to kill those two people? To kidnap Shaley?

  A buzz spread through the crowd as people nudged each other and pointed to the policemen approaching, now about twenty feet away. The area exploded with action. Every reporter around rushed the officers, yelling questions. TV cameras switched on.

  “Why are you here?” one fan called out. “Is it Rayne?”

  The policemen never even slowed.

  Keeping his head down, Franklin eased toward the nearest hospital door and slipped inside.

  A minute. He had no more time than that. If they were looking for him—and he knew they were—every officer would be carrying a copy of his picture.

  Shaley was here. He couldn’t have asked for better news.

  He forced himself to walk at a normal pace, chin up. Like he had nothing to hide. But his eyes cut right and left.

  Franklin spotted signs for the elevators. Too much of a gamble to take one. Where else to go?

  He turned down a long corridor, plans revving in his brain. The cops would focus their search on men in street clothes. If he could get to the laundry area of the hospital, locate where they kept uniforms for new employees …

  An exit sign for a stairwell appeared some distance away. Franklin strode for the door and stepped through. He pounded down the stairs to the sub-ground levels. Somewhere in the guts of the hospital, he’d find what he needed.

  40

  Eternal minutes ticked by. I paced the room, arms tight across my chest. Again and again I sidled over to the window, peering through half-closed blinds. I saw nothing unusual on the road below me. Were more policemen arriving? There were probably all coming in the front door.