Last Breath

by Brandilyn Collins

  I’d turned my cell phone to vibrate and placed it on the floor near the suitcases. If it went off, I’d hear it buzz against the hard surface.

  Mom slept on.

  An orderly had brought her dinner. It sat on the rolling table by my bed, food still covered. The smell of meatloaf wafted from the tray.

  The clock read 6:30. A mere twenty-four hours ago Mom and I had been huddled in the manager’s office of our San Jose hotel. Jerry had just been shot by police. Bruce was dead. I’d been kidnapped and rescued. Twenty-four hours. It seemed like a lifetime. And was it only one day we’d been cooped up in this hospital room?

  Please, God, help them find my father. Bring an end to this.

  My throat felt like a desert. I stole a drink from Mom’s glass.

  For all the years I’d longed to know the truth about my father, I’d now give anything to return to that ignorance. At least then I had hope. Now the only hope I had about Gary Donovon, a.k.a. Franklin Borden, was that he’d be caught. I wanted him behind bars for the rest of his life for what he’d done. Jerry Brand may have pulled the trigger that killed Tom and Bruce, but my father had sent him here.

  And just what would have happened to me if the police and Wendell hadn’t found me when they did?

  A light knock sounded on the door. I scurried to answer it.

  Mick towered over me in the hall, his expression grim. “Just wanted you to know we’ve changed shifts out here.” He kept his voice low.

  I glanced from him to the policeman. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “You need anything?”

  “No. Mom’s asleep.”

  “Good.” He gave me a tight smile.

  I looked to the officer. “Are other policemen here now?”

  He nodded. “We got people all over this hospital, Miss O’Connor.”

  My heart turned over. The answer was supposed to comfort me, but it sounded terrifying. To think so many police were needed …

  “Okay.” My voice pinched. “Thanks.”

  I shut the door and leaned against it, trembling.

  Five more minutes passed. I wandered the room, sat down on my bed, got up again.

  I turned on the TV, muting the sound. Flipped through cable channels, searching for news. One station spritzed onto a scene of a reporter in front of an excited crowd. People waved signs—“We love you, Rayne.” “Get well soon, Rayne.”

  My eyes locked to the screen. Was that the front of the hospital? Yesterday, we’d come in through the emergency room entrance.

  “In the last fifteen minutes we’ve seen about a dozen policemen arrive,” the reporter said. “They wouldn’t tell us why they’re here, but it appears to have something to do with Rayne O’Connor. Our last word as to the singer’s condition is that she’s stable, although in a lot of pain. Reports are that her daughter, Shaley, is with her.”

  Behind the reporter a lanky figure darted from the crowd toward the hospital’s entrance. A man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, with a bushy brown afro and beard. He carried a backpack. The different shirt and disguise didn’t fool me for a minute.

  Cat.

  Rage shot through me. Forgetting everything but this, I swiveled toward the door. Nobody would stop me this time. I would catch that horrible man myself—

  A loud burr went off behind me. My cell phone, vibrating against the floor. Cat, calling me again. What did he have now, a new picture to blackmail me with?

  I dashed back for the phone. All I’d have to do is keep him on the line long enough for the police to get him …

  I snatched the cell off the floor and hit the send button.

  41

  The orderly uniform wasn’t good enough.

  Franklin had snuck into a supply room, found a uniform, and put it on. But he couldn’t locate the security badges that hung around the orderly’s necks. And even if he did, the plastic area would be empty; no photo, no name. Any officer close enough to him would notice.

  But if an officer got close, it would be too late for him anyway. His face was the bigger problem.

  Clutching his box, he slunk up multiple flights of stairs and stepped onto the third floor.

  One good thing about the bodyguard protecting Rayne and Shaley—the man’s presence outside a door would signal Rayne’s room.

  Franklin passed multiple patient rooms, some with doors closed, others open. He glanced inside the open ones as he went by. Three looked empty.

  Up ahead was a corner. He slowed, cocking his head to listen. Voices filtered around the wall, sounding some distance away. He edged close and leaned forward until one eye cleared to see.

  Another corridor of rooms. Some thirty feet down sat a nurse’s station. Two policemen talked nearby.

  Long, long down the hall, past the nurse’s station and almost to the end, two men stood at attention on either side of a door. One in plainclothes. The other in a cop’s uniform.

  Rayne’s room.

  Franklin jerked his head back. His chest turned to lead. Two men guarding the room. One a police officer. How was he going to get inside?

  Voices sounded from another connecting hallway behind him. Franklin glanced right and left. He spotted a door to a room he remembered as empty. He darted toward it, jumped inside, and pulled the door shut.

  Seconds later, the voices passed by.

  Franklin’s shoulders relaxed. He turned and set the box on the nearest bed. With narrowed eyes he focused out the window. He looked out on a side street. No sign of cops.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  Franklin had memorized the number months ago, when Jerry had given it to him over the phone. He hadn’t wanted to use it today. Too many risks involved. He’d be better at persuading in person. But now he had no choice.

  Staring at the cell, Franklin took a deep breath—and punched in the number.

  42

  What do you want, Cat?” I spat into the phone as I hurried to the door.

  Silence. I threw a glance over my shoulder at Mom. Still sleeping. “Hello?”

  “Shaley.” A man’s voice. Not Cat’s.

  My feet slowed for a second, then picked up speed again. “Whoever you are, I can’t talk right n—”

  “Wait, don’t hang up! I have to talk to you.”

  “Who is this?” I thrust my hand toward the door handle.

  “Franklin Borden.”

  I slammed to a halt. All I could do was stare at the door, my hand hanging in the air. All my rage at Cat shifted toward this loser of a father. But the rage went far deeper, darker.

  “Shaley?”

  “Mom’s sleeping. What do you want?” The words fell hard and accusing. My fingers dug into the phone.

  “I wanted to talk to you. You know who I am?”

  Both my knees went weak. I stumbled to the bed and sat down. Rational thought pushed into my brain. Get him to tell you where he is so you can tell the police! But every wretched hope I’d ever had of talking to this man clogged in my throat. “I know you left my mother seventeen years ago and never looked back.”

  “I didn’t want to go, Shaley.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Has your mom told you the whole story?”

  I couldn’t believe this. I was talking to the man who left my mother. Who left me.

  “You could have called. You could have told her where you were.”

  “I … sent her flowers.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, and then they stopped—when you went to prison.”

  “Look. There’s so much to say. This isn’t the way I’d hoped this conversation would go.”

  “What did you expect? Like you could just call me after all these years?”

  “Listen.” He spoke pleadingly. “I didn’t even know you existed until four years ago. Not until your mom’s band became famous and she was on TV. I saw an interview with her and heard her mention a daughter turning twelve that month. I was shocked. I didn’t know.”

  Bitterness sizzled in my ve
ins. “You were in prison then.”

  “True. And because of that there was no way I could even try to reach Rayne.”

  “You were there because you held up a store. With a gun.”

  “I—”

  “Doesn’t sound like a person I’d want to be my father.”

  “Shaley.” His voice caught. “I was wrong. An idiot. My grandmother had recently died, I’d lost my job. Almost lost my soul. It was a stupid, stupid move. If I’d even thought about it another second, I never would have done it.”

  Liar.

  Behind me, I heard Mom stir. I hunched over, covering my mouth with a hand. “Well, you should have taken that second.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I let you down. It’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

  My teeth clenched. “You let me down by never being there for me in the first place.”

  “Please. I’m not a bad person. I’ve just made mistakes.”

  “Mistakes? A mistake is a wrong answer on a math test. A good person doesn’t walk into a store and stick a gun in some innocent clerk’s face.”

  “I get why you feel that way. But that’s behind me now. I served my time. Now I’m asking you for forgiveness.”

  Yeah, right. “Why should I give it?”

  He sighed. “You’re young. Some day you’re going to learn people aren’t black or white. We’re all shades of gray. Even a good person can make a mistake. I’m asking you not to judge until I can show you who I really am now.”

  “I know who you are,” I hissed. “You’re the one who sent Jerry Brand here. He killed two people and tried to kidnap me.”

  “I didn’t know he’d do that! I thought I could trust him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I just wanted him to get close to you and your mother so he could tell me about you. I wanted to know what your life’s like, who your friends are. I just wanted to know about my daugh—”

  “He killed two people!”

  “I don’t know why he did that. He went crazy. He was never like that when I knew him.”

  “He was in jail with you.”

  “But he’d served his time, and he said he just wanted to build a new life. I had no idea what he would do. I’d never want to hurt you like that. Never.”

  My eyes squeezed shut. I so wished I could believe the words. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to see you. To see your mom. I’ve dreamed of that for years.”

  Something new in his tone cut right through me. He sounded so sincere. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. The little girl inside me who’d longed for a father wanted to believe. That little girl balanced on an ocean cliff, wanting to let go and fall into his words. Let his story wash away the pain …

  Your father sent me.

  I thought of Mom, the band members. Ross. So many people’s safety depended on this man being found. And now I was talking to him on the phone.

  My heart leapt again with yearning for my father. How could I possibly turn him in to the police? I could at least warn him the police were looking for him. If he left Denver now, maybe they wouldn’t find him …

  And then what, Shaley? Leave him on the loose to come after you again?

  My eyes squeezed shut. I had to face reality. Here I was talking to my father for the first time in my life—but I couldn’t allow myself to believe his lies.

  Do it, Shaley. Do what you have to do.

  I thrust back my shoulders. “Where are you?”

  “Will you see me?”

  An evasive answer. I went cold. He must be close.

  “What does that mean? How could I see you in Phoenix?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Shaley. You know I’m in Denver. The police know.”

  And one’s standing outside my door.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I had to see you. I had to know if Rayne’s all right. I saw the news on TV of her accident. And when I heard what Jerry did, I was so mad. I couldn’t believe it …”

  That tone again. I wanted to lose myself in it. Maybe he really did care.

  He’s lying and you know it.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  Did I want this man—my father—surrounded by policemen with guns pointed at him? The father I’d never even met? The police had done the same to Jerry. And Jerry was dead.

  Tears burned my eyes. Again I thought of Mom and the band members. How could I leave them in danger? How could I leave myself in danger?

  “You really want to see me?” My voice almost cracked.

  “Yes. More than anything.”

  “Then you have to tell me where you are.”

  He hesitated. “I’m at the hospital.”

  His answer knocked the wind out of me. “Oh.” Somehow I managed to sound calm. “I’m at the hospital too.”

  “Really?” Excitement tinged his voice. “Didn’t know that. Can you meet me somewhere?”

  Any hope left inside me died. Now I could prove he was lying. Even the reporters knew I was here at the hospital. He had to know that too.

  My heart fell to my toes. I stood up and moved toward the door. “Okay. But just to talk.”

  “Yes. Just to talk. After all these years that’ll be so great.”

  Quietly, I opened the door. Mick and Officer Tripton looked around. “Yeah. It will. Sorry I sounded so mean.” I stepped into the hallway and eased the door closed. My pulse was going a mile a minute. I jabbed my finger toward the phone, mouthing It’s him. Officer Tripton’s eyebrows shot up. He reached for his radio and flipped the sound off.

  “It’s okay,” my father said. “I know it’s hard hearing from me like this.”

  “So … where are you?”

  “On the third floor.”

  I nearly dropped the phone. Where on the third floor? I threw a panicked look down the hall.

  “The third floor?” I locked wild eyes with the policeman. “So am I.”

  “In your Mom’s room? I spotted the room awhile ago down a long hall—with two guards outside, one a policeman. It’s why I called. I knew they’d never let me through.”

  My mouth opened, but no words came. He’d told the truth. He didn’t have to do that. If he was trying to manipulate me into walking past those two guards—would he be that honest?

  Of course he would. He had to convince me to make up an excuse to give them as to where I was going.

  “Shaley?”

  “Sorry. I’m here. I can just … tell those guards outside I’m going to the nurse’s station for something.”

  “Good. Get to the station and I’ll tell you what to do.”

  He wants to keep me on the phone. So I won’t talk to the policeman.

  “Okay. Give me a minute to get out the door.”

  I lowered the phone and pointed down the hall. Officer Tripton nodded and tapped his radio. I backed up, hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, until I was far enough away for him to speak into it quietly.

  He gave me a thumbs up, gestured for Mick to stay put, then moved beside me.

  My legs started to shake.

  “Okay.” I willed my voice to sound calm. “I’m walking toward the nurse’s station.” I fell quiet, heart ramming against my ribs. Officer Tripton’s hand moved to hover over his gun. I looked away.

  My father was going to die.

  In front of the station, I stopped. “I’m here.”

  “Good. See the hall up and to your right? Take it. I’m in an empty room. Three sixty-seven.”

  That close. He was that close.

  My throat tightened. All the childhood dreams of a long-lost father who loved me paraded mockingly through my mind. Every one of them ended here. In the next minute.

  I felt like throwing up.

  “Okay.” I pointed for Officer Tripton, mouthing around the corner—in a room.

  On legs I couldn’t even feel, I moved forward. Turned up the corridor. Officer Tripton stayed by me. The first door on my right read 358. The room in which my f
ather hid would be on my left.

  My father.

  Not far from that room a stairwell door opened. Four officers crept out of it, crouched low and soundless, guns drawn.

  My right hand fisted against my stomach. Maybe they wouldn’t shoot him here, in a hospital.

  Of course they would. They’d be in a room away from other patients. Besides, if they threw open that door, and he drew a gun …

  What would I tell Mom? After seventeen years, her Gary had been here, right here, and I’d led the police to him, let them take him away.

  Or worse, kill him.

  Would she hate me?

  Blood whooshed through my ears. Somehow my feet kept walking. I passed room 362.

  “Where are you?” Franklin asked.

  “Almost there.”

  “Any policemen around?”

  “No.”

  Room 364 slid by. The four policemen drew near. One of them gestured to me—where?

  My fingers cramped around the phone. I shot the officer a meaningful look. “Franklin. You said three sixty-seven?”

  At the cue, Officer Tripton caught my arm. He slashed a hand through the air, waving me back.

  “Yes,” my father said.

  I melted away from the policemen, back far enough that I’d be well out of the line of fire.

  They advanced toward the door, guns ready. Five against one.

  My trembling finger clicked off the call.

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Could only watch with the terrified eyes of a child who’d desperately longed to see her father face-to-face—and had now betrayed him.

  43

  Time spun out. In those final minutes a fireball of thoughts burned through my mind. I pictured Franklin Borden waiting on the other side of that door—for me. How stupid he was. Did he really think with one phone call, after I’d seen Jerry Brand kill two of my friends and try to kidnap me, I’d just walk past the men guarding me and put my life in his hands?

  But he hadn’t sounded stupid on the phone. And the Gary Donovon Mom had loved hadn’t either.

  The lead policeman reached the door. He checked over his shoulder to make sure that the other officers were ready.

  And in that split second it hit me. My father wasn’t stupid in his head. He knew better. He was just foolish in his heart. Because he so wanted to believe.