In the Heart of the Wind Book 1 in the WindTorn Trilogy (46 page)

On the other end of the line, Virgil laughed. “Give ‘em hell, Mark.”

“I intend to.”

Patrick Tremayne
scrubbed at his hands, his nails, and ran his soapy forearms under the thick flow of water as he began to prepare himself mentally for the long surgical procedure he was about to undertake. Holding up his arms, he backed his way into the operating room and waited for his nurse to gown him. As she pushed the heavy, green, cotton surgeon’s gown over his arms, he fixed his eyes on the woman lying on the operating table.

“Is she under?” he asked his anesthesiologist through the muffled obstruction of the mask being tied over his face.

“Under and dreaming of twenty-two-year-old lovers,” the man said and laughed.

Patrick walked to the operating table and looked at his patient. He shook his head and turned to his surgical assistant.

“How many face lifts have we done on her?”

The nurse smiled above her mask. “This will be the fourth.”

A snort of disgust came from Patrick’s nose. “Vanity, vanity,” he quoted. “All is vanity.” He asked for his scalpel.

“Excuse me, Dr. Tremayne?”

Patrick frowned, turned, annoyed, as one of his nurses poked her head in through the operating room’s door. “Yes?” he snapped.

“You just received a call from your brother. He—”

“I don’t give a damn what Andrew wants. He can go screw himself for all I care!” He turned his back on her.

“Oh, it wasn’t that brother, Dr. Tremayne,” the woman hastened to say and took a step back as the renowned plastic surgeon spun around and stared at her.

“Jamie?” he gasped, and at the woman’s wary nod, he took another step toward her. “What did he say?” Patrick asked, his voice low and husky.

“Just that he’s all right and for you not to worry.”

A cold stab of fear went down Patrick’s spine. “Did he...” He had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “Did he say where he was?”

“He just told me who he was and gave me that message.”

True fear made Patrick shiver. “Did he call on the regular office line?” Oh, God, I hope not, he thought with a miserable sinking feeling. That line was not secure.

“Yes, sir, he did.” The woman stepped out of the room.

Patrick handed the scalpel to his assistant. His hands were trembling and he knew he wouldn’t be able to even start work on the soap opera actress whose face looked up at him from the table. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the warning bell going off inside.

“Dr. Tremayne, are you all right?” his anesthesiologist asked.

He nodded. “Just give me a minute.” He looked about at the masked faces. “My brother’s been missing three days now, and I’ve been worried sick about him.”

Patrick Tremayne’s surgical assistant made a mental note to call Miami. Mr. Tremayne should know what his son’s reaction to the call had been.

And the call would have to be traced.

“Thank you so
much for your help,” Edna Mae told the young man. She handed him a twenty dollar bill.

“Any time, lady,” the young man said and grinned. “You want me to call anybody else?”

“That should do it,” she answered. She closed her purse and stuck it under her arm. “Have a safe trip now.”

“You, too!”

As the old lady walked away, Bertie Klein looked down once more at the twenty she’d given him for making a telephone call for her. She’d told him what to say, dialed the number, and handed him the receiver.

“Just a little joke on some friends of mine,” she’d explained, but although Bernie had been born at night, it wasn’t last night. He knew a con when he heard one.

“What the hell?” he thought as he stuffed the twenty into his jeans. Everybody had something coming to them.

He picked up his duffel bag, pursed his lips into a happy whistle, and headed outside into the warm Miami sunshine.

“The damned call
came from right here in Miami,” Liam shouted at his eldest son. “Here, Drew! Right here at the airport!”

“I’m on it, Papa,” the lawyer whined into the phone. “I’ve got men headed there right now.” He didn’t dare tell his father that his own secretary had received a call from Jamie as well. That one from Atlanta’s airport.

“You incompetent, bumbling little prick,” Liam bellowed. “You aren’t smart enough to wipe your ass after you shit!” He slammed the phone down with such force one of the table legs on the desk cracked along its delicate curve.

“What you need me to do, boss?” Danny O. asked as his employer flopped down into the winged back chair.

“Find him,” Liam gasped. His lungs were on fire, the morphine already wearing off. He reached for the syringe and ampule in his top drawer. His hands shook so violently he dropped the syringe.

“Let me, boss,” Danny O. told him and took the ampule from Liam’s grip. “Just lean back and I’ll fix you up.”

Liam groaned as he eased back. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his being that he could wrap his hands around James’ neck and squeeze until there was no longer any life left in the son he hated.

Danny O. wrapped the tourniquet around his employer’s arm and asked him to make a fist. He probed at the slippery veins until he found one that looked as though it would bear one more injection. Quickly, he slid the needle into the vein and released the constriction around Liam’s upper arm.

“You’ve been a faithful employee, Danny,” Liam whispered as the morphine began to spread into his shoulder. “A good, faithful friend.” He opened his eyes and looked into Danny’s. “I haven’t forgotten you in my will.”

Danny shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that, boss.”

“I wanted to.” He put his hand on Danny O.’s arm. “You’ve been more of a son to me than any of the rest of them.”

“You’ve been like a father to me and Johnny. We appreciate it, boss.”

Liam nodded, wondering if Johnny was enjoying his stay in Dublin. He closed his eyes, picturing the beautiful land of his ancestors. He could see the cool green hills, the lush forests, the rolling sea and purple heather.

“I want to be buried there,” he mumbled as he settled his wasted bulk into the chair. “There in Killarney.”

“I know, boss. We’ll see to it.”

“I want bagpipes and drums at my funeral.” He slipped into a light doze. “And the Tremayne colors all about.”

Danny O. listened
until the old man’s rumblings died away, then gently spread a plaid blanket over Liam’s legs and chest. He walked to the window and drew the curtains shut, turned out the little stained-glass lamp and left quietly.

“Is he sleeping, Danny?”

Danny O. smiled at the frail, little, old lady who stood in the corridor. “Yes, ma’am. I had to give him another shot.”

Liam’s wife nodded, her face grave. “He has to take more and more of that horrible stuff in order to make it through another day.” She turned her worried eyes up to the middle-aged man. “He won’t live to see spring, Danny.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think so, either.” He gently took the old woman’s arm and led her toward the stairs. He stopped when she did.

“Find him for me, Danny,” she begged, her eyes pleading. “Before any of the rest of them do.”

Danny O. nodded. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.” He could see tears in her faded eyes and it raked at his heart. He put his hand over hers and patted the thin, cool flesh. “Don’t you worry, now.”

“They’ll kill him, Danny,” she sobbed. “They’ll kill my boy if we don’t stop them.”

“I won’t let that happen, Miss Margaret,” he promised. “I swear on my Mama’s grave, I won’t let them kill Jamie.”

After he had helped the old lady to her room, Danny stood at the balcony overlooking the vast expanse of the great room and stared out through the sweep of glass to the bay beyond.

Helping the boss lock Jamie up in that clinic had been one thing—something Danny O.’s conscience would allow. For in that clinic, Jamie was safe from the pain and abuse his father had dished out as a matter of course when he’d been living at home.

But killing the boy?

Danny O. shook his head. His eyes narrowed. Killing Jamie Tremayne was out of the question.

He’d help see to that.

“Dr. Casey
?”

Bridget looked up from the report she had been dictating. “Yes?”

“Your brother just called from the airport. He said to tell you he was fine and for you not to worry about him.”

Bridget’s brows drew together. “My brother? Which one? Andrew or Patrick?”

“Neither. James.”

“Who were you
calling?” Kip Buchannan’s father asked as the young man hung up the telephone.

Kip fished in his pocket and withdrew a twenty dollar bill. “Some old lady gave me this on the plane down here when she heard me telling the stewardess I was coming to Savannah. She just asked me to make a call for her when I got here, that’s all.”

“What kind of call?”

Kip shrugged. “Just wanted me to call...”

Hank Jesup handed
over a twenty dollar bill to the pizza delivery boy. His mouth was already watering because he could smell the musky odor of the mushrooms and pepperoni.

“Keep the change,” he said magnanimously.

What the heck? he thought as he shut the motel room door behind the kid. That twenty was the easiest bill he’d made in a while and all he’d had to do was make a call from the airport in Orlando.

Ellen looked at
her brother’s stony profile and could see the muscle jumping in his left cheek. His eyes were staring straight ahead through the wide windshield of the bus, totally oblivious to the slapping motion of the wipers as the huge blades swept away the thick fall of snow. His hands were clenched into fists on his lap and his body was so rigid it was painful to look at. She covered his left fist with her hand and smiled as he flinched and turned his attention to her.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

Kyle shook his head, then returned his gaze to the front of the bus. She saw his eyes narrow in pain, then close. Her hand tightened on his.

“He’s in good hands, Kyle. Doc will be staying with him until he gets settled in. Dr. Cean seemed like a nice lady. I think she’ll be able to help Gabe.”

“Jamie,” Kyle corrected, opening his eyes. “His name is Jamie.”

Ellen sighed and removed her hand, laying it in her lap. “What’s bothering you, Kyle?”

Her brother shrugged. “Oh, nothing important.” She watched his mouth purse into an angry line, then drew her brows together in concern when Kyle turned his head to look at her. “I just lost my best friend, that’s all.”

Ellen heard the hopelessness, as well as the anger, in Kyle’s voice. There was a bleakness in his eyes she had never seen before.

“Why do you say that? Gabe...Jamie is going to be just fine.”

“Yeah?” Kyle snapped. “And just where did you get your degree in psychiatry, Ellen?” His lips twisted in a sneer. “The man I knew is gone. The man that’s left is a stranger!”

“He’s been through a lot, Kyle,” Ellen said quietly. “It’s going to take time for him to come out of this. To get over the drug addiction and to step back into the mainstream of what his life was like before. He’s—”

“He never said one word to me the entire trip,” Kyle snarled. “Not one word, Ellen! He didn’t look at me. Hell, he didn’t even acknowledge it when I told him goodbye at the bus station.” Tears came into Kyle’s eyes. “He just stared at me like I wasn’t even there.”

“He hadn’t spoken since we were in North Carolina, Kyle. Not since he had those hallucinations. Doc tried to explain to you it was the drugs causing him not to respond. My God, Kyle, the man had enough drugs in his system that it almost killed him! You know that.”

“All I know is the friend I loved is gone.” A fat tear rolled down Kyle’s cheek and he viciously swatted it away with his trembling fingers. “The man we left in Watertown is mentally unstable. You could see it in his eyes.” Another tear slid from Kyle’s left eye. “What am I going to tell Annie? Huh? What the hell am I going to tell Annie?”

Ellen watched as her brother’s shoulders began to shake. She twisted in her seat and drew him into her arms, cradling his head against her shoulder as the sobs shook his tall frame.

“Let it out, baby,” she said. “Just let it all out.”

Kyle held onto his sister, clutching at her as though he were a drowning man. The months of planning, the days of nearly constant travel, the weariness, the fear of being caught, the fear of Jamie’s family discovering where Annie was in hiding, all combined to break down Kyle’s last vestiges of reserved strength. He latched onto Ellen and held on for dear life.

At the moment, it was all he could do.

Dr. Janice Cean
motioned her husband and Doc out of the room, then sat beside her patient and took his hand in hers. Although he hadn’t uttered one word since they had led him into the sunny room, she knew he was keenly aware of everything going on around him.