Dina Santorelli

by Baby Grand

  Jamie lay still at the bottom of the car.

  "Open the door."

  Jamie didn't move.

  "Open the fucking door!" Bailino thundered.

  "I can't," Jamie cried. "It's locked."

  Bailino reached into the front window, pressed a knob that unlocked all the doors and took a step back.

  "Open... the... door," he said again calmly.

  Jamie reached up and pulled on the handle and pushed the door. It opened slightly, but because Maddox' car had been parked on a slight incline closed again.

  "Jesus Christ." Bailino pulled the door open. "Get out."

  Jamie struggled to her feet, her legs refusing to budge, but Bailino reached in, grabbed her by the hair and pulled.

  "Please, I'm coming!" Jamie's scalp felt as if it were on fire. "Don't!"

  "It's too late for that." Bailino dragged her to the wet ground. "Let's go. Get up! Get... UP!"

  Jamie got on her knees and pushed herself up off the ground using her hands. It took all the strength she could muster to look Bailino in his eyes, which were ablaze in a way she had never seen before, not when he killed the blonde girl or wrestled with Leo, or when he raped her. There was a wildness that had replaced the methodical fury.

  "Let's go," he said, pushing her toward the Ford Flex, the end of the gun in the small of her back.

  Jamie looked around, but there was nothing and no one to help her. "I had to save that little girl," she said. "Can't you understand that?"

  "I told you I wasn't going to hurt her."

  "I couldn't take that chance." She tried to turn around, but Bailino pushed her forward and said, "Don't. Keep moving."

  "Are you going to kill me?" she asked.

  Bailino smirked. "That's a funny question to ask a man who was just told that he couldn't keep his word."

  "You just killed Leonard Maddox, the man who helped you."

  "Leonard Maddox was a second-rate spin doctor who sold out the only friends he had in the world for money, and not a lot of it. There's another little lesson in loyalty for you." Bailino turned Jamie around. "What about the man who helped you? Who's the Hispanic guy in the Escort?"

  "Just some guy who found us."

  "What's his name?"

  "I don't know."

  "Wrong answer." Bailino shoved Jamie hard in the chest with the tip of the gun, and she stumbled backward onto the wet, rocky ground. "His name is Reynaldo Rodriguez, the nephew of Rosalia Garcia, housekeeper and nanny to Charlotte Grand. Does that joggle your memory?" Bailino asked, the anger returning to his voice. "Or should I say, the soon-to-be-former Reynaldo Rodriguez."

  "He was just trying to help us." Jamie stood back up and tried to regain her footing, but it was difficult. Although one of the nurses at the hospital had treated the bottoms of her feet and given her a pair of flip-flops to wear, some of the bandages had unraveled, exposing her sores. Still, she turned and faced Bailino with as much strength as she could muster.

  "Keep walking," he said.

  "Are you going to kill me?" she asked again, without moving.

  "No, no... Now's not the time to be brave."

  "Am I supposed to die?" She felt a sort of wildness overtake her as well. "You told Joey the people who die are supposed to die. Am I supposed to die?" Jamie thought she saw a glimmer of tenderness in Bailino's eyes, but then it was gone.

  "Move" was all he said, motioning to his car, which was a few feet behind her. "Get in."

  Jamie hesitated.

  "Don't be stupid. Get into the fucking car."

  "I can't..."

  In a flash, Bailino grabbed and twisted Jamie's arm behind her back until the pain caused her to drop again to her knees. He held her there and opened the trunk, the small corner light revealing a black tarp. Bailino ripped it off, and lying there at the bottom, hog-tied and gagged, was Edward.

  "Edward!" Jamie cried. Edward's face was badly bruised, and he was red and sweating and having difficulty breathing.

  "Get in the car," Bailino said. "Now."

  Edward shook his head vehemently and muttered underneath his gag, when Bailino shot him in the shoulder, and he screamed a horrible, muffled sound, writhing in pain.

  "Nooo!" Jamie said. "I'll go. Please, please, don't. Leave him alone."

  Bailino let go of Jamie's arm, and she ran to the passenger door of the Ford Flex and climbed in. As Bailino slammed the trunk closed and walked around to the driver's seat, she reached under her shirt, into the front of her jeans, and plucked out the federal agent's handgun. She had never fired a gun before and prayed that the safety, whatever that was, wasn't on, and as Bailino opened his door she planted her feet against the dashboard, braced herself, and fired.

  The bullet hit Bailino's shoulder, and he fell back, buffered by the car door, and Jamie shot again, this time into his chest, and he dropped to the ground. She held the gun steady in front of her, watching Bailino's legs, making sure he was down for good, and climbed into the driver's seat and stepped out of the car.

  Bailino was clutching his chest, where Jamie had shot him right in the center; the other wound was gushing blood in short spurts. Jamie kicked away his gun, which had fallen out of his hands, and held hers on him as headlights passed over them, the roar of car engines and sirens replacing the damp quiet.

  Bailino's eyes remained fixed on Jamie's as he coughed and tried to speak, but his words were gurgling. He spit out a mouthful of blood.

  "Am I supposed to die?" he asked her. A small smile formed in the corners of his mouth and he started to laugh, and then choke.

  Jamie's arms shook, but she held the gun steady.

  Then Bailino turned serious, as his eyelids began to flutter. "I... I..." His breath came in staccato bursts. "I love you," he said as a series of shadows blocked his face from the glare of Maddox's headlights.

  Chapter 62

  The beeping of the heart monitor was competing with Edward's snoring for hospital-room domination, the latter winning by a landslide. The familiar drone was comforting to Jamie as she stood in the bright room, in a newly bought pair of jeans and black T-shirt, looking out the window. The glass, speckled with the remains of past rainstorms, had an unexciting view of the parking lot, but it didn't matter—Jamie had gained a late appreciation for the mundane.

  She had been told by hospital personnel that the camera crews had been camped out in front of the hospital since the night they'd first brought her in three weeks ago, and she imagined that's where they'd stay until Don Bailino was well enough to be transferred to a federal prison facility. After undergoing immediate surgery to remove the bullets and repair one of his lungs, which had collapsed, Bailino was admitted to Albany Memorial among widespread speculation that he wouldn't make it through the night. Medical experts had predicted pneumonia as well as other complications that were common among patients who had initially survived gunshot wounds to the chest, but Bailino had confounded doctors with a steady recovery. The surgeon's words had stayed with her: "The bullet caused severe tissue damage, but the integrity of Mr. Bailino's heart is intact." Now estimations were that he could be out in as little time as a month if his respiratory therapy continued to be as successful as it had been.

  Bailino's room was located on the far side of the hospital, in the west wing, under twenty-four-hour surveillance, and Special Agent Wilcox stopped by Edward's room nearly every day to give Jamie an update on Bailino's status and also to reassure her that, should Bailino survive—and all indications pointed to his doing so—she and her family would have ongoing federal protection until his trial, when, he said, Bailino was sure to go "straight to prison, no question." With her testimony, of course, Jamie thought, as she watched a pigeon try to perch on a ledge that had metal prongs. Based on Jamie's information, the police were able to find the body of Inga Tyler, the blonde girl who worked at the Exotica Strip Club, and they also took Joey into custody once he was discharged from the hospital. About a week after his arrival, Edward had been cleared to talk to
the police about what happened and managed to clear Nurberg's name in time for the young detective's funeral—a solemn ceremony attended by hundreds of law enforcement in full uniform from across the state.

  Edward's snoring stopped as he changed positions, his bandaged shoulder protruding upward as he rested on his side. Jamie adjusted the blankets over him before she sat in what had become "her chair." Like Bailino, Edward had been rushed into surgery when he arrived at the hospital; Bailino's bullet had fractured both his shoulder blade and collar bone, requiring two surgeries—for which first Governor Grand and then Jamie donated blood—and he too would be receiving intensive rehabilitative therapy once he returned downstate. Today, fingers crossed, Edward would finally be able to go home.

  Jamie checked her cell phone to see if Tricia had texted her—she had gone downstairs to get some drinks for the ride home and to call her mother to check on the kids—but there was only one text message, and it was from Bob, who was "just checking on things." Jamie had become far more interesting to Bob these days than she had been in a long time—perhaps than she'd ever been—since her photo and life story had become fodder for the morning news shows. She noticed the time on her phone and turned on the small television hanging from the ceiling, a high-pitched whirr filling the air. She flipped the stations until she saw the familiar front porch, rosebushes, and lush grounds of the Executive Mansion, her home away from home these past three weeks.

  Governor Grand, who had taken a self-proclaimed staycation following the return of Charlotte, stepped forward on the television screen to a podium positioned a few feet in front of the towering, historic sugar maple tree. He had announced to Katherine and Jamie at breakfast that morning, in the disjointed silence between bangs of Charlotte's spoon on her high-chair tray, that he was ready to resume his gubernatorial duties and had scheduled this short press conference on the mansion grounds, allowing only a handful of news media inside the gates to operate the news feed. Two days later, he and Katherine planned to announce the news of the pregnancy. They never spoke a word publicly about the kidnapping.

  "Good morning," said the governor, who was wearing a polo shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and khakis. "I will make this brief. It is with great pride that I announce the following names to the inaugural Brightest Minds Legal Roundtable of New York State, an idea first proposed nearly a year ago—and was snickered at in a way that has become commonplace in the very unilateral political climate across the nation. But since our announcement, we have received thousands of applications from lawyers and all varieties of legal authorities throughout all sixty-two counties. I've always envisioned my tenure as governor as one of inclusion, not exclusion, no matter how diametrically opposed our political stances. To you who have been selected, I hope to have many lively debates and do great things together. Congratulations to the following..." The governor pulled out a set of index cards. "From Albany County, Doug Pritcher of Mann, Thomas & Webber; from Alleghany County, Dale Berner of Aster, Walker & O'Connell..."

  Jamie lowered the volume so that it didn't wake up Edward. She picked up her phone again and thumbed through her applications, clicking onto her photo gallery. A bunch of saved photos popped into view, and she clicked on them one by one: Peter and Sara at Jones Beach; Edward barbecuing spare ribs in his backyard...

  "From Hamilton County," the governor read, "Susan Keener..."

  ...Jamie and Edward wearing matching bowling shirts; Edward sticking his tongue out; Jamie and Sara showing off red, white, and blue pedicures; a sunset at Eisenhower Park; a photo of her and her mother, her favorite one from when she was a little girl; and then there was a photo that Jamie had never seen before: a close-up of her sleeping on her side, with Charlotte Grand, also asleep, tucked under her chin, a blanket pulled neatly over them.

  "From Nassau County, Tim..."

  A text came in from Tricia: "Coming back up."

  "From New York County, Robert Scott of Worcester, Payne & Leach..."

  Jamie was sure Bob had set his DVR to record this morning's press announcement, even though he had no idea he'd been selected; the governor suggested they "let him sweat it out." She imagined he would spend the rest of the day eating in and playing the recorded segment over and over.

  "Knock, knock," said a friendly voice.

  Reynaldo, carrying a bouquet of flowers, limped in, favoring his left leg. He was told repeatedly that his leg injuries sustained during the car crash on the bridge would heal faster if he would remain on bed rest; however, Reynaldo balked, telling the doctors that he had done enough lying down to last a lifetime. In the past several days, he had even begun leaving his cane at home.

  "Hi," Jamie said, sitting up, her lips meeting his. Without either of them thinking much about it, she and Reynaldo had fallen into an easy and comfortable courtship, one that filled Jamie with warmth, as if she had drunk a hot cup of cocoa at the sight of him. She had forgotten she could feel this way with a man. The relationship was just in the budding stages and felt almost like a middle-school romance—hand-holding, flowers, a kiss on the mouth here, a hand on the hip there. It was like starting over again. Although she knew what people said about the doomed nature of relationships formed during duress—she had even written a freelance article about it once for a psychology trade publication—and on a rational level she knew she should probably just be alone for a while, considering all that had happened, she felt herself drawn to Reynaldo and decided that she was tired of feeling empty inside. She decided to let herself indulge her emotions to see where they led her.

  Reynaldo rubbed her face. "The bruises are just about gone."

  Jamie felt her cheeks turning red as Reynaldo placed the flowers on her lap. "A going-away present," he said, frowning.

  "When are you coming down?"

  Reynaldo ran his hand through Jamie's hair, curling several strands around his finger. "I'll be down in a couple of weeks, as soon as I get Pedro up to speed." He looked at Edward. "How is he today?"

  "A sleepyhead," said Jamie, mussing up Reynaldo's lush curls. He had a habit of wetting down and taming his luxurious hair when he came to see her—she could still see the wavy tracks of comb's teeth. Jamie much preferred it wild and erratic, and she made a mental note to tell him one day.

  Doctor Tucker knocked on the door. "Good morning."

  "Good morning," Jamie and Reynaldo said in unison.

  Doctor Tucker was in his civilian clothes today—a pair of khakis and a white polo shirt. He hadn't bothered with the white lab coat. He had the day off but insisted on coming in, in hopes of seeing Edward, his favorite patient, get discharged. Edward had that effect on people, even as a boy. More than one schoolteacher had pulled Jamie's mother aside during parent/teacher conferences and back to school nights to wax poetic about the young man who not only scored straight A's, but was always kind to and supportive of his fellow students.

  "Good news, Jamie," Doctor Tucker said, flipping through a series of papers on his clipboard. "As I had anticipated, your brother is stable enough to be transferred to a facility downstate, and very soon, he'll be going home."

  "That's great," Tricia said, walking in. She looked refreshed, and Jamie could tell she had applied some makeup and brushed her hair, which was now pulled back in a neat ponytail. Tricia arrived immediately after Edward had been admitted and stayed for about a week until Edward insisted that she go home for a few days, get some rest, and be with the kids. She drove back and forth three or four times since, each time escorted by one of Special Agent Wilcox's men, who would be a familiar sight in the weeks, perhaps years, to come. Tricia had arrived yesterday, spending the night on the other side of Edward's hospital bed in what had become "her chair" right opposite Jamie's. "The kids can't wait to see him."

  "Well, they won't have to wait much longer," Doctor Tucker said.

  As if on cue, two orderlies arrived, amiable men whom Jamie had seen chatting up the nurses in the cafeteria.

  "Please take Mr. Carter to Ambulatory," Doctor Tu
cker instructed. It was odd for Jamie to hear him refer to Edward by his last name; he had dispensed with the formalities not long after they arrived at the hospital.

  "Right now?" Jamie asked.

  "Yep, you're going home." Doctor Tucker looked as if he were about to break into his customary wide smile, but Jamie thought she saw something cut it short when he looked at her.

  The team of men wasted no time and lifted Edward, using his bedsheet, which they unhooked from its hospital corners, and placed him, like a baby swathed in a sling, onto the gurney. It looked as if Edward might sleep through the entire transfer—like a child who has fallen asleep in his car seat and wakes up in his crib—when he opened his eyes.

  "What's going on?" Edward asked, unsettled.

  "Easy, easy," Doctor Tucker said. "You're fine. You're going home."

  His eyes gaining their focus, Edward looked around the room. "Where's Jamie?" he asked.

  Every time Edward awoke from a nap over the past three weeks, he asked for his sister.

  "Right behind you," Jamie said, winking at Tricia.

  "I'd better go," Reynaldo said. He leaned down and kissed Jamie's cheek. "I'll call you later, okay. Have a safe trip."

  "Okay." Jamie gave him a hug. "See you soon."

  "That's right, with me laid up, I'll need you to take care of her," said Edward, smiling. He reached out and shook Reynaldo's hand. Edward seemed to have accepted Reynaldo immediately. Jamie imagined that Edward saw the same goodness in him that she had seen. Or maybe Edward was just happy that Bob was finally gone.

  She playfully rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

  "It's useless, Jamie," Tricia said. "You thought he was overprotective before..."

  "Nah, I know you can, James," Edward said. "Maybe that's what I'm afraid of."

  Doctor Tucker handed Jamie some of Edward's discharge paperwork. She had been Edward's power of attorney since the day her mother died. And vice versa.