by Diane Burke
She had to warn Cain. But before she could utter a sound, he’d already left.
Cain grabbed a pistol out of the glove compartment of his car and raced in the direction of the shots fired. As he ran into the woods, branches slapped his face and arms. The underbrush wrapped around his ankles and threatened to trip him with each step.
But he’d spent his childhood exploring the woods surrounding Promise and the experience served him well. He paused, staying low and perfectly still as he listened for what direction his opponent had gone. The man he tracked was crashing through the brush, moving haphazardly, sounding like an elephant on a rampage and making it very easy for Cain to locate him and follow.
He knew he should feel exhausted—totally spent both emotionally and physically—but anger pulsed through his body and pure adrenaline kept him moving forward, stealthily, cautiously, as he circled around and actually found himself ahead of the person he was tracking.
Cain watched the man approach. The shooter kept glancing over his shoulder as he stumbled and pushed his way through the brush.
Cain waited for him to draw closer. When the man was within easy firing range, Cain threw a rock, creating a loud echoing crack as it connected with a tree about twenty feet to their left.
The shooter spun toward the sound and fired three times in succession.
Cain stood up and fired once.
The man yelled, the impact spinning him around, and he fell to the ground clutching his shoulder.
Cain was on him in a minute, grabbing the weapon out of his hand and standing on his extended arm. The shooter tried to sit up but Cain placed the barrel of his weapon against his forehead. “Go ahead. Give me a reason to squeeze this trigger.”
The man lay back down, raising his other arm over his head.
More crashing through brush sounded in the woods. When Cain turned his head, Deputy Blake appeared on the scene, gun drawn. He gestured Cain away, forced the suspect on his stomach and handcuffed his hands behind his back.
“Good job. The sheriff has the other guy cuffed and sitting in the back of his patrol car.” Blake dragged the suspect to his feet and the three of them headed back in the direction they’d come.
Sheriff Dalton met them at the edge of the woods. He read the suspect his rights and guided him into the backseat of the squad car, where his partner, already handcuffed, waited.
Cain looked for Sophie and was just in time to see the taillights of the ambulance disappear in the distance.
EIGHTEEN
The nurse entered Sophie’s private hospital room—which didn’t seem private. There’d been a steady stream of staff and visitors. It was the twenty-four-hour police guard sitting outside her door screening everyone that entered that made Sophie skittish.
They’d caught the arsonists, hadn’t they? So why the police guard?
Cain had told her that the sheriff had arrested the suspected arsonist, who had tried to flee the scene, as well as the fellow that had shot at them. Knowing that he had always been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to trust his leg to do what he wanted in a crisis, it had held up just fine during the pursuit. Sophie smiled remembering the look on his face when he’d repeated the chase scene to his parents and Holly—indulging in a little well-deserved boasting during the tale.
The sheriff had the men in custody. The evidence had been turned over to the federal marshals. Tape recordings implicating individuals in his father’s crime family to loan sharking and murder. Copies of fraudulent accounts covering up their money laundering. It was over, wasn’t it? So why were there guards at her door?
Sophie couldn’t help the feeling of dread in her stomach that the worst was yet to come.
Nurse Crabtree approached the bed. The woman’s name never failed to get a smile out of Sophie. No one could be less like their name. She’d been nothing but kind, friendly and helpful—she’d even bent the rules and allowed Cain to stay well past the limited visiting hours. Last night when he had been standing by her bed to say good-night, Nurse Crabtree had grinned at Sophie, made a thumbs-up gesture behind Cain’s back and mouthed the words, “He’s a hunk.” Sophie had barely suppressed her laughter.
“Now, remember what I told you,” the nurse said as she approached the bed with a mirror and brush in her hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She held the mirror against her chest. “I’m going to give you a quick peek and then I’ll go get your discharge papers. But I don’t want you getting yourself all upset. Everything you see…everything…will heal.”
Sophie, fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, inhaled deeply. She must look even worse than she thought because Nurse Crabtree had spent the better part of the past fifteen minutes assuring her that it wasn’t that bad. What was that old saying about protesting too much?
“Your nose was broken. You needed several stitches when the doctor removed some deeply embedded wooden slivers from your left cheek. Your right cheek has a significant burn, which will probably require a skin graft, but we have two excellent plastic surgeons on staff.”
Plastic surgeons? Ohh, this was quickly going from bad to worse.
“Smoke inhalation caused some swelling, puffiness and even some discoloration in your face,” the nurse continued. “That will probably be what bothers you the most.” She patted her hand in an effort to reassure her. “But everything will heal and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
The nurse looked Sophie in the eye. “Ready?”
Sophie nodded.
But she wasn’t ready. She would never have been ready to see the monster mask that stared back at her. With trembling fingers she took the mirror from the nurse’s hand and brought it closer.
Two blackened, purplish eyes stared back at her. A wide, white bandage covered her nose. Her lips—cracked and horribly swollen—resembled a collagen procedure gone bad. And her skin. The nurse hadn’t been wrong about that. Sophie didn’t know which looked worse, the dark stitches running diagonally across her left cheek, the gauze covering the right side of her face or the nasty, mottled coloring of her skin. She barely recognized her own reflection.
Slowly, she raised her other hand and touched her hair—what she had left of it. Several sections of hair had been burned away leaving scattered bald spots across her scalp. What had once been shiny, long ebony strands of her hair had been broken off, many of the ends singed by the heat. Now lifeless, drab hair framed her face like a hanging tattered rag.
Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Sophie blinked in surprise as she stared into the mirror and watched the liquid seep into the bandages on her face. She thought you had to be human to cry, but this couldn’t be a human face, could it?
The nurse placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She spoke softly and tried to comfort her. “I know it’s a shock…but it isn’t permanent.” She dabbed a tissue against Sophie’s eyes. “I promise. Each day the swelling will lessen. Hair grows back. Bandages come off.” She leaned over and made eye contact with her. “It could have been worse, Sophie. Try to remember that.”
The nurse’s words humbled her. She was right. God had spared her life. And none of her injuries were life threatening or permanent. She needed to give her human nature a kick in the pants and offer up some prayers of gratitude.
But her human nature was winning at the moment. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from flying to Cain. He’d spent most of the past twenty-four hours by her side. The entire time he’d never given her the slightest hint—not one wince or grimace or comment that he had been looking at a monster.
And Holly and Mrs. Garrison—they’d both come to visit. They’d been upbeat, positive, teasing.
Holly had even cracked one joke after another. “Just to see if those collagen lips of yours can move,” she’d said. “Can you imagine that some people pay thousands of dollars to beef those puppies up and you got them for free?”
Thinking about it, Sophie realized that mother and daughter were old pros at keeping the look of horror out
of their eyes. They’d had to do it for over a year and a half during Cain’s rehabilitation.
Her tears flowed freely now. She would never have let them visit if she’d realized how horrific she looked—not just to avoid her own embarrassment but to spare them their painful memories.
“Are you okay?”
Sophie nodded.
“Good girl. I knew you could handle it.” Nurse Crabtree patted her shoulder. “I’ll be back in as soon as the doctor signs your discharge papers.”
Sophie took another glance in the mirror as the nurse slipped out of the room. She was surprised she was being discharged so soon. Was she really doing well enough to go home?
Unable to inhale deeply without pain, she kept her breaths to short, shallow pants. Still suffering from the effects of the damage from smoke inhalation, the back of her throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper and her voice was nothing more than a painful, hoarse whisper.
She hadn’t been allowed to see her father yet but had been assured by the hospital staff that he was safe and doing well. Dominic Gimmelli had been lucky—his injuries consisted of a few first-and second-degree burns, multiple bruises, smoke inhalation and exhaustion.
But he was alive.
God was good. He’d not only returned her father to her but had protected them both and gotten them out of that inferno alive. She bowed her head and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
Sophie put the mirror down and shut her eyes. She was grateful to be alive—truly she was—but her face…
She fought the waves of self-pity tormenting her and, again, tried to turn a positive spin on the situation. She was alive. Her father was alive. The worst was behind her—right?
The rise and fall in the volume of the hospital’s paging system combined with a sudden whoosh of air told her someone had just entered the room. She didn’t want to see anybody right now. She might never want to see anybody ever again. Resigning herself to the fact that nobody cared what she wanted, she turned her head and opened her eyes.
“Dad!”
Sophie’s eyes drank in every inch of him, noting the bandages on his hands and arms, the swelling and bruising on his face, even the bald spot on the left side of his scalp where he was missing a thick patch of hair. But, all in all, he looked fine. He looked better than fine. He was alive and standing in her hospital room instead of residing in the grave she had more than once imagined him in over the past month.
Dominic Gimmelli, accompanied by two men in suits, approached her bed.
“Hello, princess.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.
“Some princess,” she whispered hoarsely as she moved out of his hold and lay back on the bed. “How can you stand looking at me?”
He leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers, and locked his eyes with hers. “That’s all I want to do, honey. Look at you. Be with you. Having to leave you behind was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever had to make.” He clasped her hand. “But it’s over now, pumpkin. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Over?” Sophie’s eyes darted from one of the men beside her father to the other, her unasked question hanging in the air.
“Sophie, these men are federal marshals. Agent Lance Dickerson,” he said, indicating the man on his left. “And Agent Tom Broward.” Her father turned toward the men. “Can I have a few minutes alone with my daughter?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gimmelli. We have strict orders not to leave you out of our sight. For your protection, you understand.”
Dominic sighed and nodded.
Agent Broward dragged two straight-back chairs in from the hall and placed them in the far corner of the room. He withdrew a handheld gaming device from his suit pocket, which he handed to his partner and withdrew a small radio with earpieces and a paperback book from the other. “We’ll be leaving the hospital just as soon as the medical arrangements are completed. In the meantime, just pretend we’re not here.”
Dominic Gimmelli nodded at the federal agents and then pulled a chair of his own close to Sophie’s bed.
“Leaving? Dad, what are they talking about?”
“Shh, it’s okay, Sophie. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Sophie gritted her teeth. First Cain and now her father. If she never heard those lame words again, it would be too soon.
Her father looked older than she remembered. Fatigued. Weary. Defeated. Could four weeks in hiding do this to a person—or were the past twenty-two years on the run finally taking their toll?
“I messed up, Sophie.” His face contorted as he tried to hold back tears and he dropped his head. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Pain seized her heart. “Dad. Don’t.” She lifted his chin so she could look him in the eyes. “We’re alive…and we’re together…and all the rest…” She waved a hand in the air. “All the rest will work itself out.”
Her father sat up straight. His eyes glittered with telltale moisture but he had regained control of his emotions.
“You are so much like your mother. I look at you and I see her…in your eyes…the way you tilt your head…. I hear her in your laughter…. She’s always there, inside you, shining through you. Thank God you got very little from my gene pool.”
Sophie remained quiet, giving her father the time he needed to gather his thoughts, to tell his story in his own way. When she saw him continue to struggle, she prompted him.
“Talk to me, Dad. I’m a big girl. You don’t have to protect me anymore. Just talk to me.” And then she held her breath and waited.
Before he could speak, a commotion at the door caught their attention. The door cracked open and Sheriff Dalton stuck his head inside. Speaking to the federal agents, who’d looked up when the door opened, he said, “There’s someone out here who’s being pretty insistent about coming in.”
The marshals glanced at one another.
“I’m not trying to tell you guys your business but I’m just thinkin’ it would be easier on all of us to let him in. He’s not going away quietly, I can promise you that, and I really don’t want to be forced to arrest him.”
“Sophie?” The door edged open a bit wider as Cain tried unsuccessfully to shoulder his way past Sheriff Dalton, who did not seem to appreciate Cain trying to squeeze through the doorway without permission and shoved back.
“Cain?” Sophie strained her neck trying to see past her father to the scrimmage scene in the doorway as the two men struggled against each other.
The marshals nodded. With a frown on his face, the sheriff moved to the side and allowed Cain to enter the room.
The aroma of homemade pot roast preceded him as he entered and placed a Styrofoam container on the nearby hospital tray table. Cain gestured toward the package. “It’s Tuesday. I thought you might be hungry.”
Sophie wanted to laugh. Her lips strained at the effort and the sound was more a chortle than a laugh but, somehow, it was comforting to know that even in the midst of total chaos some things stayed the same—like pot roast day at Holly’s diner.
Cain’s eyes swept the room. He nodded in the direction of the federal marshals and then turned and offered a hand to her father.
“Mr. Gimmelli,” he clasped the older man’s hand in his. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“You’re the young man that pulled us out of the fire.” Dominic Gimmelli took careful assessment of Cain as he returned his handshake.
“Sheriff Dalton and I did, yes, sir.”
“I haven’t had the chance to thank you.”
Their eyes locked and Sophie watched in fascination as they sized each other up. Almost like two dogs sniffing each other, determining territory and deciding to find a peaceful way to share the same turf. She shook her head. Men are nothing more than tall boys.
Cain shot a glance at Sophie. “Am I interrupting?”
“Depends.” Sophie’s father stood up and looked Cain squarely in the face. “I have to ask, son, what makes any of this your busi
ness?”
“Dad!” Sophie blurted, “There’s no need to be rude. I hired Cain to find you when you disappeared.”
Dominic digested the information. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for my daughter…and, obviously, for me.” He continued to stare at Cain. “But as you can see, I am no longer missing so I am assuming your business with my daughter is over. What is going on in this room is no longer your concern. You’re free to leave—with our gratitude, of course.”
Cain straightened his shoulders and actually looked like he was digging in his heels. “Sophie is my business, sir. I believe I’ll stay awhile.”
Sophie sighed audibly. She tried to squeeze a degree of authority into her hoarse, whispery voice. “If the two of you don’t start acting like men instead of children, I’m going to throw both of you out on your ears.”
The men turned their attention to Sophie.
“I mean it. Haven’t we all been through enough?”
Her father had the decency to look chagrined and sat back down in his chair.
“Okay, Dad, time’s up. You have a whole lot of explaining to do.”
NINETEEN
Dominic Gimmelli cut a glance at Cain and then back to Sophie.
“It’s okay,” Sophie assured him. “Cain’s the one who helped me find out most of the information anyway.”
Her father mumbled under his breath and squirmed beneath their scrutiny as Sheriff Dalton and both federal marshals joined the circle at Sophie’s bed. If Dominic had hoped to have a private, intimate conversation with his daughter it wasn’t going to happen. Sighing heavily, he clasped Sophie’s hands and locked his gaze with hers.
“I was a guest teacher at the local college the summer I met your mother. I didn’t realize, at first, that she was seventeen. I automatically assumed if she was taking a college course she was older. I didn’t realize anyone can enroll in a summer art class.” He shrugged, a sheepish grin evident on his face.