Last Breath (8 page)

The doctor appeared behind me. I stepped from his path. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“As well as can be expected.” He patted his coat pocket. His gaze fell to the tray on the floor, then bounced away. “I'll be back to check on her tonight.” His shoes squeaked as he hurried down the hall.

Wendell and I exchanged a knowing look.

Back in the room, I hurried over to Mom. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“He hurt you?”

“Everything hurts me.”

I stared at the wooden chair, sudden rage shooting through me. For a crazy minute I wanted to yank up the chair and hurl it through the window. This wasn't
right
, having to stay here, Mom being in so much pain.

“Shaley.” Mom tugged on my shirt. “Chill. They'll get Cat.”

My eyes burned. “I hate this for you.”

“I know.”

Mom gestured toward the chair. “Sit down. I'll tell you about going to the party with Gary.”

Hope glimmered inside me. If I couldn't fix the present, at least I could learn more about the past. “Sure you're up to it?”

“Yeah.”

I sat. Half of my mind still fixed on Cat, imagining him slinking the halls. But then Mom gazed beyond me, a wistful expression settling on her face as if she peered into a time she wished had never gone. I felt myself being pulled back into the past I so longed to know.

“I remember pacing my room that December night,” Mom began. “Waiting for Gary to pick me up. Thinking the time would never come …”

Part 4

Rayne 1991

14

F
inally—the sound of a car outside. Gary Donovon had arrived.

I edged back my bedroom curtain to see a black truck pull up to the curb outside our house. The door opened and Gary got out. He was wearing beige pants and a tucked-in long-sleeve blue shirt. I'd only seen him in jeans at school.

My breath hitched. He looked so
good
.

Gary headed up the sidewalk with that confident-yet-unassuming walk of his. I dropped the curtain. Didn't want him to catch me watching.

My heart beat a little too hard as I crossed my room. On my dresser in a small, clear vase sat the white rose. I'd used the red ribbon to tie the cellophane like a skirt around the vase. I grinned at the flower as I passed.

This guy was too much.

The doorbell rang.

“Ra-aayne!” my mom called.

“Coming!”

I couldn't remember when I'd been so excited about a date. (Even if I'd told Gary it wasn't a real one.) I'd gone out with lots of guys, and never had any trouble getting their attention. But Gary was … different.

As I entered the short front hallway, I glanced down at myself—in tight jeans and a pink, silky shirt. I'd changed outfits five times.
Hope he likes it.

I opened the door and stood back. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” His eyes grazed down my body and back to my face. “You look beautiful.”

How could I not smile at that? “Thanks. Come on in.”

Gary stepped inside. I closed the door.

How different it felt, standing next to him. I was used to facing him across a desk. He was a good six inches taller than me. His height made me feel good. Feminine.

I nudged his arm. “Come on, I'll introduce you to my mom.”

“Okay.”

Mom was lounging on the couch in old jeans and a faded sweatshirt, no makeup. Worn out from working in her backyard garden all day. She didn't bother to stand as I made the introductions.

“Nice to meet you.” Gary held out his hand, and she shook it.

“Likewise.” She gave him her
I'm-the-big-bad-mom
frown. “You gonna take care of my daughter?”

“Absolutely.”

“She's the only one I got, you know.”

Gary threw me a glance. “I'd say you got the best.”

Mom drew back her head. “Oh, listen to him, Rayne. Flattery and all.”

“No, ma'am. Not flattery. Just fact.”

The way he said it—not cocky, like some fast-talking salesman. Just quiet and firm.

Approval gleamed in Mom's eyes. She turned to me. “Twelve o'clock. Not a minute late.”

“I know, I know.”

Gary and I whisked out the door.

Parties at Nikki's house were always fun. She had a large rec room basement that we could take over while her parents stayed on the main floor. We'd laugh and eat and play CDs, and laugh some more. We had a regular group of friends who always came—about ten girls and their dates. But to me that party with Gary was like none other. All through the evening I felt so
aware
of him, even if we weren't at each other's side every minute. As he talked to other people, when he went to the table for food, as he moved around the room, vibrations seemed to link us. I knew he felt it too.

And he got along easily with everyone. Wasn't quiet, didn't seem shy. All my friends liked him. So why did he keep to himself so much at school?

“You have fun?” I asked as we walked to his car just before midnight. Christmas lights shone from houses up and down the street. The air had turned chilly. I shivered.

“Cold?” He put his arm around my shoulders. It felt good. Right.

“Thanks.”

How could this guy have sat in front of me in French class all semester and never shown a bit of interest? And how could he get along so well with everybody at a party but seem so reserved at school?

He opened the passenger door of the truck for me, then walked around the front and got in. The engine roared to life. I watched him out the corner of my eye as he put the truck in gear and started down the street.

“Gary?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come with me tonight?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Why did you want to?”

He pressed his lips, his right palm sliding up and down on the steering wheel.

“I mean, all semester you've talked to me only when we had to do one of those stupid French conversations.”

“That's the only time you talked to me too. Seemed to me you were pretty busy with all your friends.”

My mouth opened to deny it, then shut. It occurred to me, even with the tons of people I knew, how small my world was. Because I only saw what I was used to seeing.

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's nothing to be sorry about. You're just popular, that's all.”

I rubbed the side seam of my jeans. “I've wanted to talk to you for months. You just didn't seem interested.”

One side of his mouth curved. He shot me a glance. “I was plenty interested.”

“Then why didn't you …
do
something?”

We stopped at a red light. He inhaled a long breath—and that's when I knew. I could see it written all over his face—the hesitation. He had something to hide.

“Guess I've just got too much going on in my own life. Like I told you, I work a lot, plus I keep an eye out for my grandmother. She doesn't … we don't live in the best area. I want to make sure she's safe.”

Why didn't he think she was safe? What had happened? Questions crowded my tongue, but I bit them back. I didn't want to come across like some Spanish inquisition.

The light turned green. Gary surged the truck forward.

I touched his arm. “Well, I'm glad you came with me tonight.”

He threw me a smile. “Me too.”

For the rest of the way home, I changed the subject, chatting away about this and that person at the party, making small talk. But I could tell Gary knew what I was doing. Beneath the light conversation ran a darker current—his secrets and my determination to find out what they were.

At my house he walked me to the door. I leaned against it, looked up into his face. “You going to talk to me in French class now?” I said it half-teasingly, but the undercurrent still ran.

He gave me that lopsided smile of his. “Yeah.”

“Well. That's something then.”

Gary held my eyes, his expression turning serious. I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. He placed a palm against the door, leaned down—and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft. Incredible. A deep longing reached from his soul to mine, a longing that went way beyond physical touch. As if he wanted to tell me things about himself … but couldn't.

The kiss wasn't long, yet in a way it seemed forever. When Gary pulled back, I knew we would be together for a long time. Whatever he was hiding, it didn't matter. We could work our way through it.

How wrong I would turn out to be.

Part 5

Monday 2009

15

T
he day had come.

Before checking out of his hotel room, he picked up the phone to make a plane reservation to Denver.

“Operator. What listing please?”

“United Airlines.”

“Thank you.” The line clicked over to the recorded number. He pulled the hotel pen and notepad forward on the nightstand and wrote down the digits. Firmly, he punched them in.

Put on hold for an agent, he sat on the bed and waited, tapping one hand against his knee.

He needed a plan when he got to Denver. Rayne had to have all kinds of protection around her now. How was he going to get to her?

“United Airlines, this is Sarah. How can I help you?”

He booked a flight leaving at 3:45, arriving in Denver at 5:30. He'd pay for the ticket in cash when he arrived at the airport.

He hung up and checked the digital radio clock. Just past nine. He had things to do before catching the flight. Buy clothes. Get to the bank for more cash. And he needed a cell phone.

Quickly, he stuffed his meager possessions into the paper bag he'd carried out of prison. He stepped from his second floor room to the oven-like heat of a Phoenix June morning and hurried down the long outside corridor to the stairs.

On the street he walked three blocks before spotting a cab to flag down. In the back seat he closed his eyes, remembering prison. The noises, the smells. The danger. Never knew who'd shank you in the back.

He'd die before he went back there.

The cab slowed. He opened his eyes and saw the bank. Snatching up his paper bag, he slid from the car and paid the cabbie.

Inside the bank, he waited for help at one of the customer service desks. An attractive thirtyish woman with blonde hair beckoned for him to take the seat across from her. He stared at her, thinking of Rayne.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I need an ATM card.”

“All right. Do you have the number for your account?”

“Can you just look it up for me?”

“Sure. I need to see some ID.”

He pulled a worn wallet from his back jeans pocket and took out his driver's license. “Here you go.” He slid the white piece of paper in front of her.

She smiled, reading his name on the license. “Franklin Borden.”

“Yeah.” He smiled back. “That's me.”

16

T
wo brisk knocks sounded on Mom's hospital room door. I turned around in my chair near her bed. “Yeah?”

The door opened part way and Ross stuck his head inside. “The cavalry's here. With food.”

Disappointment carved through me. Mom's story had so transported me, I almost forgot the present. Now reality came flooding back—my hunger, Mom's injury, Cat.

Officer Hanston had never called me back.

“Come on in, Ross,” Mom said.

The door opened fully and he stepped inside, clad in jeans and a black Rayne T-shirt, his scraggly hair in a ponytail. He carried two full McDonald's bags, which he handed to me. “Didn't know what breakfast stuff you'd want, so I got one of everything.”

“Thanks.” I took them from Ross's hand, my hunger doubling at the enticing scents wafting from the bags. Sinking down on my bed, I pulled out a breakfast burrito and unwrapped it.

Ross walked over to Mom. “How ya doing, Rayne?” He sat down in the chair I'd been using, half his profile to me.

I took a bite of the burrito and tasted the salty, velvet explosion of eggs and cheese.

Mom managed a smile. “I'm doing okay.”

“Less pain?”

“Long as I don't move.”

He patted her casted arm. “I sent Wendell down to bring up your suitcases, Shaley's too. The car's at a delivery door. Reporters are still camped out at the main entrance.”

“Thanks. What's happening with the band?”

“They're coming to see you soon.” Ross turned to me. “Wendell told me you saw that photographer around here.”

I swallowed a bite, reaching for my phone. “Yeah. I need to find out if they caught him.”

Mom and Ross waited while I called Officer Hanston. They hadn't found Cat yet, he told me. Officers were still looking. I shot Ross a weary look and shook my head. “Okay, thanks. Please call me when you get him.”

I ended the call and sighed. How could Cat hide so well? Everything within me still wanted to go out and find him myself. This was
stupid
, having to sit in this room and do nothing.

Ross gave me a look like he knew what I was thinking. “Sit tight, Shaley, they'll get him.”

Yeah, yeah.

Breakfast didn't taste so good anymore. I finished the burrito and halfheartedly fished in the first McDonald's bag. I pulled out a blueberry muffin.

Ross cleared his throat. “When everybody gets here we need to have a meeting.”

Mom's mouth twisted. “What's there to talk about? The tour's over.”

Ross nudged his bottom lip upward, puckering his heavy chin. “Rayne, you can't blame yourself for what happened.”

“If I'd just stayed in the limo …”

“Oh, sure,” I retorted. “How about if Cat had stayed away from us, like he was supposed to?”

Mom shook her head. “Shaley. Tell Ross what Jerry said.”

“Jerry?” Ross raised his eyebrows.

“Later, Mom.” I didn't want to have this conversation right now. Or ever. I picked up the blueberry muffin.