Familiar Stranger (19 page)

But he wasn't.

When the gatekeeper and a couple of teachers came by, he slipped into the shadows, unwilling to be questioned as to why he was still at the field.

The lights went out. The last car drove out of the parking lot. Davie was alone.

He could have walked home by himself and would have, except then Frankie would have been in real trouble for abandoning him. So he waited, knowing they would be in trouble for being late, but at least they would be in trouble together.

A half hour passed, and then another. It started to rain. He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and hunched his shoulders against the downpour. Everything that had been so familiar under the lights on the playing field now took on ominous tones. Familiar buildings became sinister shapes, waiting to morph into swamp monsters and ghouls. The only benefit to the downpour was that it hid the continuous stream of tears running down his face.

"Hey, kid."

He spun, his heart in his mouth. Frankie was standing before him with a sheepish expression on his face.

"I waited, Frankie, just like you said."

It was one of the few times in his life that Frankie Wilson was truly ashamed. Gently, he cuffed his little brother on the side of the head and then gave him a brief bearlike hug.

"Yeah, kid, you sure did. I'm sorry, okay?"

Davie smiled. It was going to be okay. Yeah, they were going to catch hell from their folks, but it didn't really matter. Whatever happened, they were in it together.

"What are you gonna tell Mama?" Frankie asked, as they walked through the rain toward home.

"Nothing," Davie said.

Frankie felt even worse. "She's gonna be real mad at us."

"Yeah, I know."

Frankie paused beneath a streetlight, staring at the rain running out of Davie 's hair and down his face.

"You aren't gonna snitch?"

Davie frowned and shook his head.

"Why?" Frankie asked. "I probably would." Davie shrugged. "You're my brother."

An ambulance sped by the Chicago hotel with sirens blaring. Disoriented, Frank bolted from bed, his heart racing with the image of his brother's face in his head. Just for a moment, the magnitude of what he'd been planning to do overwhelmed him and he let out a cry and covered his face. The sound shattered within him, bringing him to his knees. He could hear his mother's voice as clearly as if she was standing by his bed.

You are your brother's keeper.

Thou shalt not kill.

Blood is thicker than water.

He moaned. Could he really do this? The first time had been in the heat of the moment, wrapped up in the day-to-day combat and the anger that had dragged him into a war he didn't understand. And he'd fueled that anger all these years with the need for revenge. He wanted to destroy him, that was certain. He wanted him defiled as he'd been—his reputation in shreds as his had been. But could he rip the heart from a man who was his blood?

Then he fingered his scars, remembering why they were there, and that his little brother had set him on fire. It didn't matter to Frank that David had thought him dead—that he had been trying to hide the evidence that would mark his brother a traitor.

He stood abruptly and strode to the wet bar, pouring himself a very stiff drink. He tossed it back without hesitation then poured himself another. By the time the liquor hit his stomach, his brief moment of uncertainty had passed. He moved to the window overlooking the city and to his surprise realized it was raining. Too restless to sleep, he turned on the television and then lowered the volume as he surfed through the few available stations. With nothing but CNN and some pay-per-view movies for company, he retrieved his laptop and decided to check his messages.

Using the bed for a desk, he crawled onto the mattress and centered the laptop between his legs. The television was on mute on the other side of the room, and only now and then did he even bother to look up to see what newsworthy event CNN was covering. When the You've Got Mail sign flashed across the computer screen, he refused to anticipate the contents of the box. With a click of the mouse, e-mail began to download. As it did, he glanced at the television screen across the room and then hit the mute button to reinstate the sound.

A spokesperson for some local police department was making a statement regarding the deaths and capture of suspects involved in a week-long crime spree somewhere in the state of New York. He was reiterating the well-being of one of the victims when the laptop signaled the end of the download.

Immediately, Frank hit mute again and looked at the screen. As he did, he missed hearing the location of the incident and the name of the man who was credited with the rescues. He didn't know it yet, but fate was already dealing him a handful of bad cards.

He scanned the list of messages, and as he did, his heart skipped a beat. Quickly deleting all but the one from Reunion, he began to read. As he did, a cold smile spread across his face, puckering the burn sears on his cheek and neck.

"At last, little brother, you finally got some balls."

He fumbled for the remote and turned off the TV. There were things to do and arrangements to make. He rolled out of the bed, dragged his suitcase from the closet and began to pack.

It was almost over.

But Frank Wilson was due for some more delays. He caught a few hours sleep and by daylight was on his way to the airport. By the time he got to Chicago O'Hare, it was just before seven in the morning and the gentle rain of the night before had turned into violent storms. Planes were grounded until further notice, and the airport was a melee of angry and unruly travelers.

Cursing the weather and people in general, he bought himself a cup of coffee and a doughnut, then settled down to read his newspaper. Time was still on his side.

* * *

The small Canandaigua Airport was a madhouse of voices and people. David stood at the windows overlooking the runway, watching the big silver plane coming in for a landing. As the wheels touched down, his heart skipped a beat. His daughter was on that plane, and for the first time in his life, he was going to see her in person.

Shifting nervously, he watched the plane as it began to taxi toward the terminal. A voice over an intercom announced the arrival of flight 447 at gate 9, and people began gathering, anxious for that first sight of their loved ones. David wondered what it would be like to stand with those people—to see the look of recognition on Bethany's face and feel her arms around his neck as she greeted him with delight. But as he'd learned long ago, he kept his thoughts to himself, masking emotion behind an expressionless exterior.

A few minutes later, the first of the passengers appeared at the gate, then more and more, until a steady stream of travel-weary travelers straggled from the ramp into the terminal.

He shifted his position so that he could better see the faces, his anxiety growing as the line continued and still no sign of the woman he'd seen in Cara's pictures.

Then suddenly she was there, walking beside a tall, sandy-haired man who was carrying one sleeping child while Bethany held hands with the other. Her shoulder-length hair was dark and straight like his, and she was taller than he'd expected. She was slim and graceful and when she smiled, he could see the beginnings of a dimple in her left cheek.

Without thinking, he moved toward her, wanting to hear the sound of her voice. Although there were at least a dozen people between them, he could hear her talking to her husband about how good it was to be on firm ground and laughing at something her oldest daughter just said.

God in heaven, he didn't think this would be so hard.

He paused a few feet away and watched as they passed by. As they did, a small stuffed rabbit fell out of the oldest girl's backpack. He pushed through the passengers and snatched it from the floor, then caught up with them a few feet away.

"Excuse me," he said, and briefly touched Bethany's shoulder. "This fell out of her backpack."

Surprised, Bethany turned, saw the rabbit in the stranger's hands and smiled.

"Oh, my! Thank you so much, that's Rachel's favorite toy." Then she looked down at her daughter and lightly touched her on the head. "Rachel, would you like to thank the man for finding Henry?"

David felt himself smiling as the little girl nodded. "So, his name is Henry?"

She nodded.

"Well, it's a good thing I saw him jump out, right?"

Her eyes widened appreciably as he handed her the toy. "He jumped?"

Without breaking a smile, David nodded. "It looked like it to me. Better hold him tight."

The child clutched the rabbit against her chest.

"Thank you so much," Bethany repeated. "Losing Henry would have been nothing short of disastrous."

"You're welcome," David said. Resisting the urge to touch the children, he nodded a goodbye to her husband as well as Bethany and disappeared into the crowd.

Bethany looked at her husband. "That was fortunate, wasn't it?" she asked.

Her husband nodded, still looking in the direction that the man had gone.

"You know, he reminded me of someone, but I can't think who," he muttered.

Bethany shrugged. "Come on, Tom. I'm anxious to get home and check on Mother."

"Yes, you're right," he said, and then headed toward the baggage claim.

A short while later, they were on the road home, unaware that the man they'd just seen was on a plane of his own and bound for the nation's capital.

Chapter 11

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A
ll day, Cara found herself listening for the sound of David's voice, although she knew that he was gone. Never in the three years she'd been widowed had she felt so alone. A gut-wrenching fear had settled itself in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn't find a way to get past it. She could only imagine what he was going to have to face, but could not wrap her mind around the truth of it. His brother wanted him dead. Dear God, how much more was he destined to withstand?

She'd prayed for him until her mind was spinning and the words numb upon her lips. She had nothing left to do but wait, and it was the uncertainty that was driving her mad. In desperation, she cleaned her house from top to bottom, even preparing some extra food, knowing Bethany and her family would arrive before the day was out.

During the cleaning, she'd run across the envelope of pictures she'd taken on their day at the lake. It had almost been her undoing. Looking at the images of a happier time and wondering if they would be all she had left of him had sent her into another wave of weeping. Unwilling to put the pictures away, she searched out some empty frames and framed the best of the lot, adding them to the mantel with the others of her family. Only after she stepped back to look at them as a whole did the pain begin to subside. It was as if the pictures had given credence to his reappearance into her life.

Then she rubbed the diamond solitaire he'd put on her finger, shamed that her faith was so shallow. The pictures were wonderful, but she didn't need them, or the ring, or any tangible reminder that David Wilson was alive. As long as her heart beat, he would never be forgotten. With one last look at David laughing and holding up a very small fish, she blew him a kiss and walked away.

Four hours later, Bethany was at the door.

* * *

"Darling, how wonderful to see you again," Cara said, as she stepped aside to let her daughter in.

Bethany took one look at the spreading bruise on the side of her mother's face and burst into tears.

"Oh, Mother, your poor little face."

Cara quickly embraced her daughter. "Honey, it's not as bad as it seems, I promise."

Bethany was forty years old and almost a head taller than her mother, but at that moment, she felt like a child again. The horror of knowing how close she'd come to losing her was too horrible to contemplate.

"I can't believe that this has happened," she said, as her gaze searched the familiar contours of Cara's face. "Are you sure you're all right? Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, I'm fine, and you can come inside and sit down with me. I want to hear all about your trip." Then she looked over Bethany's shoulder, suddenly realizing the rest of the family was nowhere in sight. "Where are Tom and the girls?"

"They'll be along later," Bethany said. "I left them at home unpacking." She traced the curve of her mother's cheek with her fingertip, barely grazing the purpling flesh. "I couldn't wait to see you."

Cara smiled and did a dainty pirouette.

"Well, you see me. How do I look?"

Bethany frowned. "Actually, except for that awful bruise, you look wonderful." Suddenly, she remembered the man named David and looked around. "Where is this David person? I want to meet him."

Cara's smile slipped, but she wouldn't give in. Not now. Not in front of Bethany.

"And you will, but not today," Cara said. "He was called away on business quite suddenly. Actually, he left very early this morning, so you've just missed him." Then she remembered the pictures she'd put on the mantel and took Bethany by the hand. "However, I can show you a picture. I took some when we went fishing the other day."

Bethany followed her mother into the living room and was startled to see that her mother had put up not one, but three snapshots of the man on the mantel—and right in the middle of the family grouping. For once, she kept her thoughts to herself and smiled as her mother handed her the first one.

"This was taken last Tuesday at the lake … or was it Wednesday?" Then Cara smiled, "Oh, I don't remember, but we had the most marvelous time."

Bethany scanned the image and then started to look at the others when something about the first one clicked. He hadn't been smiling when she'd seen him, but she would bet her best pair of earrings that she'd seen him before. She grabbed her mother's arm.