Blood and Fire (38 page)
Authors: Shannon Mckenna
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Action & Adventure, #Contemporary
Silence met his announcement. Every second of it burned like a lit fuse, crawling closer to that stick of dynamite that was himself.
“Jesus,” Sean murmured. “I thought our problems were weird.”
Kev twisted to stare at Bruno. “You know he’ll have my signal triangulated, right? He’ll pinpoint your location, if he hasn’t already.”
Bruno stared, still helpless.
“Why in God’s name did Julio give my number to a cop?” Kev muttered. “What was he thinking?” He turned to Bruno. “We’re barely a half hour from Cray’s Cove. Petrie is going to know that, real soon. There’s enough about all of us in the files for him to figure out where we’re going. You can’t go to Tam’s. You have to go a different direction.”
“They don’t know about Rosaline Creek,” Bruno argued.
“It’s just a matter of time,” Davy said. “Forget air travel. Get a car, get out of the state before the net falls.”
“Find that jewelry box, or you’ll be solving your mystery and conducting your love affair from inside a jail cell,” Kev finished.
“Manhunt?” Bruno stared around at them. “I can’t just disappear,” he protested. “I can’t do that to her! I have to see Lily!”
“No, you don’t.” Con’s voice was hard. “If you give a shit about her, you don’t. Man up. Do the hard thing. If nothing else, you’ll draw them away from her. And if she’s worth a damn at all, she’ll understand. We’ll look after her for you.”
Bruno’s whole body clamped like a fist around a scream of frustration. “Don’t give me your McCloud do-the-hard-thing macho bullshit,” he snarled. “I have to talk to her.”
He pulled up Aaro’s number again. The line was busy. Still. Jesus wept. Aaro was a pathological loner, so socially challenged, h seemed practically autistic, and all of a sudden, he’d decided to be chatty.
Bruno slunk down still deeper into the seat and just repeated the call, at ten-second intervals. Obsessively.
“No, no. With the pinkies. Work them into the outside bits . . . yeah, like that, and then . . . turn the whole thing inside out. Excellent!”
Rachel held up the correctly inverted Cat’s Cradle stretched out between her two hands, and beamed triumphantly. Lily grinned back, tickled that she’d remembered the sequence of knots she hadn’t done since fifth grade. She used to do Jacob’s Ladder, too, but that attempt had turned into a snarl of shoelace that had them both giggling.
They’d reached a small hospital on the outskirts of the next town in good time. Val had been out the door with Tam in his arms, loping toward the door of the Urgent Care entrance before Lily even got her seat belt unbuckled. By the time the rest of them had gotten Rachel’s shoes and jacket onto her and trooped inside, Tam and Val had long since disappeared into the ER’s inner sanctum.
And at that point, there was nothing left to do but find a row of benches, hunker down, and think of ways to keep Rachel occupied. They’d left in far too much of a hurry to think of toys, books, dolls, puzzles, or a fancy electronic device that would stream kids’ TV. Zia Rosa was no help, sitting there with her eyes squeezed shut, muttering prayers. Aaro was even less help, surprise, surprise. He paced around their benches like a chained wolf, muttering savagely into his cell. “. . . of course not . . . if you ladies hadn’t insisted on haring off to Seattle . . . oh, for Christ’s sake . . . nobody’s blaming anybody for anything! . . . Yeah, just get back here! We’re sure as hell not going anywhere . . .”
The floor show had been for her to devise, so Lily picked a lace out of her shoe and started teaching Rachel to play Cat’s Cradle.
Aaro was on the phone with Edie for the second time, trying to explain the fastest route to Rosaline Creek. It was clear from the tone of his voice that the stress level did not help their mutual comprehension one little bit. A nurse walked in, carrying a clipboard. She was a young, dark-haired woman in green scrubs, pretty in a fresh, scrubbed sort of way. She scanned the room with a thoughtful frown, and her eyes settled on them. “Are you the folks who came in with Tamara Steele?”
Aaro stopped pacing and snapped his phone shut. “Is she OK?”
The woman glanced down at her clipboard. “She’s stabilized,” she said, her voice careful. “We’re doing all we can.”
Rachel’s hands dropped into her lap, still tangled with her shoelace Cat’s Cradle. She burst into tears.
Lily pulled Rachel onto her lap. Tucked the curly black head under her chin so that waving fuzzy black fronds tickled her nose. “It’ll be OK,” she whispered to Rachel. Wanting so badly for it to be true.
But who better than she knew how untrue it could be? Rachel knew, too. All of them did, even Aaro. She didn’t know Aaro’s story, but she didn’t need to. She knew he had one. She could feel it, vibing off him. All of them knew about stories with bad endings.
Just then, Zia Rosa concluded her cycle of prayers and opened her eyes. They widened as she saw the nurse.
“Ehi!”
she burst out. “But you are the nice lady from the baby store! How are you?”
“Ehi!”
she burst out. “But you are the nice lady from the baby store! How are you?”
The nurse looked blank for a moment, and then her face lit up. “Oh, wow! Yes, it’s you! How ce to see you again! What a coincidence!”
“And how are little Hayden and little Phillip?” Zia’s face lit with a sentimental smile. “I met her at the baby store in the mall,” she explained to Lily. “With her twins. Boy and girl. Sweetest little
bimbi,
looked just like Bruno and Magda when they were little. My goodness, you didn’t say you were a nurse, too! You must be a busy woman!”
bimbi,
looked just like Bruno and Magda when they were little. My goodness, you didn’t say you were a nurse, too! You must be a busy woman!”
The nurse laughed. “I am. The twins are great. They’re with their dad, watching too much TV. We were visiting Jim’s parents when we met you at the mall, but we actually live here, in Craigsville Heights.”
Rachel slid off Lily’s lap. “Are you going to save Irina?” she asked.
The nurse looked down at her. “Excuse me, honey? Who’s Irina?”
“My little sister,” Rachel explained. “She’s inside Mamma.”
“Ah.” The woman stroked Rachel’s curly head. “We will do our very best for Irina, sweetheart.”
Zia Rosa peered at the laminated nametag that hung around the woman’s neck. “Sylvia Jerrold, LPN. I thought your name was Kate.”
“Ah.” The lady chuckled. “My husband calls me that. My middle name is Katherine. Jim likes the name Kate better.”
“Well, Nurse Sylvia Kate. Is there a chapel here at the hospital?”
The woman hesitated for a moment. “Ah . . . ah, yes, um . . .”
“I have to say a prayer to San Gerardo Maiella,” Zia Rosa explained. “It works better in a consecrated church. Will you show us?”
“Can I go, too?” Rachel tugged at Zia’s sleeve.
“No,” Aaro snarled. “You stay here, until I have backup. I can see all entrances and exits from here and keep an eye on the parking lot.”
Zia Rosa drew herself up to her full height. “Tam needs an intercession from San Gerardo,” she said haughtily. “My
nonna
prayed to him when her children were born, and they were all born healthy
.
”
nonna
prayed to him when her children were born, and they were all born healthy
.
”
The nurse tucked the clipboard under her arm and gave Aaro a soothing smile. “The chapel is just down at the end of this corridor,” she offered, tentatively. “You can see the door from here, if you poke your head out of the waiting room. It’s, ah . . . it’s really quite safe.”
“No,” Aaro ground the word out. “Don’t make me sit on you, Zia.”
The old lady’s lips began to quiver.
“Oh, no.” Lily wrapped her arm around Zia Rosa’s shoulders. “Just pray to Saint Whoever right here, OK? I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“I am not falling for this manipulative shit,” Aaro said stiffly. “Cry all you want, Zia. The saints can wait for my backup.”
Rachel burst into tears, too. The nurse edged away. Lily didn’t blame her. They must come across as a pack of raving lunatics.
“I’ll, ah, just let you folks work these things out for yourselves,” the woman said. “I’ll let you know more about Ms. Steele as I have more information, so, ah, alrighty, then! Bye! Later!”
The woman scurried away. Aaro’s phone rang. He yanked it out.
“Yeah?” he barked into it. “Of course we are.” His eyes slid to her. “Bruno,” he told her. “And yeah, I’ll pass him over to you, but give me a second . . . uh-huh . . . Tam’s fine, far as we know. A nurse came out, told us she was ste, whatever that means. Val’s with her . . . yeah, Lily’s here. What’s got you all wound up?”
Trying to soothe Rachel and Zia Rosa while eavesdropping on Aaro’s conversation was a challenge, but Lily tracked Aaro’s every word.
“They’re your
what?
” Aaro’s voice rose. “That’s insane!”
what?
” Aaro’s voice rose. “That’s insane!”
Lily tugged Aaro’s sleeve. “What’s insane?”
Aaro waggled his finger at her, universal sign language for “shut up and wait, you idiot.” “All three of them? That’s not possible, right? That’s not even humanly possible! They must have got it wrong! Right?”
Then Lily saw the man. Or smelled him, actually, before she saw him. He reeked of whiskey, an odor that she viscerally hated, it having been Howard’s drink of choice. She could smell it at fifty yards.
The guy weaved toward them, muttering. He was tall, with stringy dark hair dangling out of a gray ski cap and a puffy down coat. He clutched a photograph in a glass frame in both hands.
She saw him, but her attention was fragmented by Rachel’s sobbing and by trying to gauge Aaro’s reaction to whatever Bruno was saying.
Aaro tensed as the man approached. “Hold on,” he barked into the phone. “Call you right back.” He stepped out between Lily, Zia, and Rachel and the stumbling new arrival.
“Have you sh-sheen my Caroline?” the man asked, his voice slurred. He lurched closer, eyelids fluttering, eyes blurry.
Aaro held up his hand. “That’s close enough, buddy.”
“But have you sh-sheen my Caroline?” His reddened, imploring eyes fixed each of them in turn. “I’m looking for Caroline.” He held up the photo. “This is her. She’s my—”
“Keep back,” Aaro warned. “I don’t want to hurt you, man.”
“But this is her picture. She’s . . . oh!” The guy’s shuffling foot caught on the rubberized floor mat. He pitched forward, stumbling. The picture flew from his hands. The frame shattered on the floor, an arc of glass shards. The guy lunged for it with a shout, scrabbling on the floor.
Rachel took advantage of Lily’s slackened grasp and wrenched away. “I’m going in to Mamma!” She darted toward the door.
Aaro’s hand shot out, grabbing Rachel’s arm. Just then, Lily realized that the man’s hands, holding the shards of frame, were dripping with blood. The man realized it at the same moment.
He shrieked. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he stumbled, pitching forward like a falling tree. Right toward her.
Alex let go of Rachel and lunged to block him, too late.
The guy landed hard, sprawling across Lily’s chest and lap, bouncing, sliding. Immensely heavy, limp and horrible. It was a chaotic blur, yelling and flopping, a nasty sting in her arm. The smell of liquor made her stomach lurch.
The weight lifted. She gasped for air, heart thudding wildly. The man was stretched out on the ground, Aaro crouched on top of him. Aaro’s knee crushed the guy’s chest, and his fingers were clamped around the guy’s throat. The man twitched and writhed, grunting and gabbling, but he was immobilized.
“You OK, Lily?” Aaro asked, without taking his eyes off the man.
“Ah . . . ah . . .” Lily looked down at herself and dragged in a hiss of distaste. Oh, gross. He’d sliced her forearm with a piece of glass. The same arm that had gotten cut back in New York. This cut wasn’t deep, though, just messy. It dripped down her fingertips. Her sweater and jeans were wrecked. “I’m OK. I got cut with a piece of glass. No big deal.”
Aaro cursed in that language that he used only for cursing.
Zia Rosa gasped.
“O Madonna santissima!”
She dug into her purse, rummaged for tissues, and started mopping Lily’s arm up, muttering madly in Italian as she dabbed and swabbed.
“O Madonna santissima!”
She dug into her purse, rummaged for tissues, and started mopping Lily’s arm up, muttering madly in Italian as she dabbed and swabbed.
The nurse came running out. “Oh, no. Jamison, you idiot!”
The guy named Jamison made helpless choking sounds, flopping ineffectually. Aaro’s iron grip did not waver.
“You can let go of him,” the nurse told Aaro. “He’s harmless.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my friend who’s bleeding,” Aaro said icily. “The guy’s a goddamn menace.”
“No, really,” the nurse insisted. “He lives in a halfway house up the road. He has mental health issues, but he’s not dangerous.”
“Sad case, my ass. Call the cops. The judge can decide.”
“Just let me clean him up and call his social worker,” the nurse said briskly. “Then I’ll stitch that right up for you. I’m so sorry about this. Jamison’s a screwup, but harmless. I’ve known him for years.”
Jamison began to snivel. “Caroline?” he choked out. “Caroline?”
Aaro looked pained. He lifted his strangling fist away, rose from his battle-ready crouch, taking his weight off the hitching, gasping man.
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