Safe in His Arms (15 page)

“What's wrong is that unless your home phone
and
your cell phone have been out of service, then you've been out all night, and you've had our Emma with you.
What were you thinking, keeping a three-year-old out until eleven o'clock?”

“Look, Mom. My cell died, and Joe and I were just—”

“You were with that man?” Donna's voice built with each word until the last one came out in a shriek. “That's your excuse for traipsing around with my granddaughter all night? I was ready to start calling police stations and hospitals, and you were on a date?”

Her mother made “date” sound like a nasty word. How could the best night of her life have been a bad thing? “Please, Mom, listen.”

But Lindsay had already heard what her mother had said, and those words were convicting her as surely as a jury handing down a sentence. Guilt became a chill that flooded her veins. She couldn't allow herself to be annoyed with her mother for checking up on her when her parents had already lost one child. Of course her mother would panic when she couldn't get in touch with her.

“I'm sorry about the phone. Really. I'd forgotten to charge it, but I didn't think it would be a problem. Anyway, Emma had been in bed for hours at…a friend's house.”

She couldn't explain why she was reticent to talk about her visit to Joe's dad's house when she'd been so pleased before that Joe had taken her to meet his family. It made no more sense than her trying to defend herself to her mother, who had no intention of listening, but she still had to try.

“Then she slept all the way home and went right back to sleep as soon as she was in her own bed,” Lindsay said.

“I don't think I want to know
where
you were.”

At her mother's unflattering insinuation, Lindsay gasped. Her mother must have heard it, too, because when she began again, she didn't push the suggestion farther.

“You can make all the excuses you want, but the fact remains that you continually make decisions that don't just suggest, they
announce,
that Emma isn't important to you.”

“You've got to know that isn't true,” Lindsay said. “Just because I went on one date—one where he happily included her—doesn't mean Emma isn't the most important person in the world to me.”

Her mother clucked loudly, the way she always did when she was disappointed in her. “You are always putting your social life ahead of her, and that tells me that Emma is
not
your top priority.”

“That's not fair, Mom,” she said, even as questions hounded her inside. Could she say she was concentrating on Emma when she'd been busy falling in love with Joe? Hadn't her attention been divided at best? Just as Jesus said that no one could serve both God and mammon, had her divided focus not been in Emma's best interest? No, she couldn't believe that.

“You know what isn't fair?” Donna said. “That Emma lost her mother. That we lost our daughter, when that isn't the natural order of things.” She'd been close to shouting by this time, but now she spoke in a quiet voice. “We should have gone first.”

Emotion made Lindsay's throat burn, and her eyes flooded with tears she hadn't cried in a long time. “I'm sorry,” she finally managed. “I know you've lost a lot. We all have. But I want you to know that, even though I'm dating Joe, I'm still focused on Emma. I love her, and Joe loves her, too.”

Lindsay paused and then plowed forward again. “Mom, I love
him.
I feel like God has a plan for us. I think that together we might be able to build the kind of life for Emma that she deserves.”

“I'm sorry, too.”

“What do you mean?” Lindsay said, wondering if her mother had heard anything she'd said and if it had made any difference.

“Your father and I have decided that it will be best if we seek custody of Emma after all,” she said simply. “We meet with our attorney on Monday.”

Lindsay swallowed. Now she knew why her mother had called in the first place. Not entirely to check up on her. Instead, the call had been to inform her it was too late for her to prove herself.

“After all?” She wished she could control the crack in her voice, but she couldn't. “Don't appointments like that have to be set up a while in advance? How long ago did you make this decision?”

“This has been coming for some time now. You had to know that.”

Lindsay had known they had concerns. She just hadn't expected her parents would go beyond minor meddling to involve the courts.

“And you have to know this isn't what Delia would have wanted,” Lindsay couldn't help saying. “She wanted me to take care of Emma. She put it in writing.”

“She would have wanted someone to put her daughter first, and your father and I are prepared to do that.”

Donna's significant pause made it clear she believed her daughter would never be ready for that. Lindsay's admission about her budding relationship with Joe probably only gave her more reason to doubt her.

They must have said other things after that because
somehow Lindsay was lowering the phone into its cradle again, but she couldn't recall any of them. Nothing mattered after her mother's announcement that she and Lindsay's father would be taking their own daughter to court to fight for custody of their granddaughter.

Crushed didn't begin to describe how she felt, but the sense of betrayal that melded with it took her by surprise. Parents wanted their children to be happy and sacrificed for their welfare and that happiness. She'd been hearing that since Emma had first been placed in her care, and she'd learned about that sacrifice every day since.

So why didn't her own parents want
her
to be happy? Joe wanted her to be happy, so why didn't the two people who should have loved her the most? She hated being so uncharitable as to think it, but how could she not? If her well-being was important to them, they wouldn't have second-guessed every decision she made as Emma's guardian, questioning at every turn whether she was qualified to care for the child.

But it was more than that. If they wanted her to be happy, they wouldn't have asked her to choose between the child she adored and the man she loved. Either way, she lost, and either loss was more than she could bear.

J
ust before sunrise, Joe parked his patrol car in front of a two-story apartment building and checked the address on the laptop computer on his dashboard. Confirming he had the right place, he surveyed the scene, finding two common exits, one on either end of the building. The only other exits were the sliding-glass doors that led to porch areas on the first level and balconies on the second.

The second-floor apartment in question was among the dark ones, its vertical blinds twisted closed. But from the tip his department had received, Joe expected to find the two little boys from the Amber Alert investigation inside with the suspect. Like in so many of these cases, the suspect was the boys' noncustodial parent.

Joe itched to rush in and find out for sure, but he couldn't go in without backup, which was already en route. Rolling down his window, he waited, but he would make sure that no one made it out of the building while he did.

A squeak drew his attention back to the sliding-glass door on the second floor. The door slid open a crack.

“Stay back. I've got a gun,” a man called out. The
barrel of what appeared to be a .22-caliber rifle slipped out of the crack as proof that the suspect was serious.

“Hey, relax, buddy,” Joe called back.

So much for waiting for backup. He would have to deal with the case the best he could and hope that someone who had his back would arrive on the scene before the situation turned ugly.

“I won't relax,” the man called out. “I'm the one making demands here.” With that, the suspect pulled the gun back inside and closed the door.

A knot of dread forming in his gut, Joe did a scan of the two exits. From the radio attached at his shoulder, he could hear additional units being dispatched to the scene, with each answering “I'm out,” so support was on the way. Still he needed to respond now. He hoped that the desperate father hadn't injured his children already, but he didn't want to risk having the man do it while he sat there in the parking lot, either.

Reaching for the laptop, Joe typed a quick email message to dispatch. He requested a hostage negotiator and then the phone number for the apartment. The place belonged to one of the man's hunting buddies who was conveniently out of town, so he could only hope that the renter still had a landline. In an instant, he had the number. He dialed it on his cell and pushed Send.

“Lord, please give me the words, Amen,” he found himself whispering, not even caring where that had come from. Those two little boys needed him to be at his best this morning, and he was ready to accept the help he needed to be just that.

The phone rang half a dozen times, suggesting the line didn't have an answering machine, before he heard the click of someone answering.

“Who is this?” the man wanted to know.

“Hey, Jared,” Joe said in the most calming voice he could muster with a throat so tight. “My name is Trooper Joe Rossetti.”

“How did you get this number? Did Rex call you?”

Not about to reveal the identity of the tipster, Joe just answered, “We had an idea you and the boys might be here. I thought maybe we could talk.”

He sent a quick email, asking for the names of the two boys, and received another response.

“What do we have to talk about?”

Joe expected to hear another click on the line to announce his failure to connect, but the suspect only waited on the line. Like others who'd gotten themselves in bad situations, the guy needed someone to hear him out, and Joe would be that friend for now. Unless he hurt the kids. Then there would be no friend anywhere for him.

“I thought you might want to talk about Blake and Hunter. You guys have had a rough few days. The boys are still with you, aren't they?” He wanted to say “still among us,” but he couldn't afford to upset Jared until he'd weighed out the situation.

“They're sleeping.”

Joe swallowed. No, there hadn't been any reports of shots fired at this location, but he'd seen enough cases to know there were plenty of other ways an adult could take the life of a child. “Yeah, I guess it's pretty early for kids on summer vacation,” he said with a chuckle that sounded more nervous than he'd hoped.

“They're
really
just sleeping.”

“Oh. Good.” Joe released the breath he'd been holding.

“You haven't done this kind of thing before, have you?” the man asked him.

“No, but could you do me a favor and not tell anybody how bad I am at it? That would be bad for my rep.”

“Your secret is safe with me. It's Joe, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No, none yet.”

“Kids are great. You'll find out someday.”

Joe wondered how much more he should tell, but this conversation seemed to be keeping the suspect calm, and that was what he had to do until the negotiator arrived. From the radio traffic, he could tell that other units were in the vicinity, but they were coming in silent. He only had to hold on a little longer.

“My girlfriend has a little girl,” he heard himself saying. It was the first time he'd called Lindsay his girlfriend, and he liked the sound of it. “When I marry her, I'll be an instant father.” He hadn't said any of this aloud yet, either, but he found in admitting his plans to a stranger how comfortable he was with the decision.

“Well, get ready because fatherhood's a powerful thing. You'll find that you'll do almost anything for that little person who looks up at you like you're a hero.”

Joe could hear the smile in the other man's voice, so he realized it was time to change the subject. “Then, Jared, why all of this?”

The man made an anguished sound. “My ex, she got custody, and she married this new jerk, and she keeps the boys away from me. My boys!”

“That has to be rough, but do you really think this is the solution?”

“It seemed like a good one at the time. Now? Not so much.”

Joe straightened in his seat. He was close to making this work. “So what's with the gun?”

“Hunting rifle,” Jared said with a chuckle. “Not even loaded. Can't have a loaded gun around kids, you know. You need to remember that in your line of work.”

“Thank you, God,” Joe whispered before speaking into the cell again. “Any chance I could get you to put that gun out on the balcony and close the slider? Oh, are there any other weapons inside?”

 

By the time the other patrol cars had pulled in next to his, Joe had Jared cuffed and was putting him into the car. The boys had slept through the whole event and were found curled together in a big guest bed. Joe had already called in social services to pick them up and return them to their mother.

He hated knowing that Jared was facing jail time and wouldn't be seeing his sons again for an even longer time, but Joe hoped his testimony might help the guy receive a lighter sentence.

The rest of his shift dragged, as he couldn't wait to get over to Lindsay's to tell her about the morning's events. Joe was excited to tell her that he had his edge back, but it was more than that. He wanted her to know that she was right and that he was grateful to her for helping him to see that he wasn't in control.

If his meeting Lindsay and their falling in love weren't reasons enough to convince him that God had always been in control, then this morning's events were a good reminder. God was always there to carry him, especially through life's rough spots, and Joe was finally ready to let Him.

 

A scream followed Lindsay that night as she clawed her way out of her dream. She clasped a hand over her mouth to make it stop.

She blinked out into the darkness that took on familiar shapes just as it had the night before. Why was this happening again? Would she and Emma both suffer from regular nightmares now? Would she even be able to be there for Emma's bad dreams now that her parents were planning to take the child away?

Emma. Lindsay's gaze shot to the open doorway. Had the scream awakened her niece? She waited for the sounds of crying or padding feet in the hall. But the house was silent. Had it even been an audible scream, or had all of that piercing sound been inside her mind?

This dream wasn't like the night before, though, when the images had traveled back with her to consciousness with disturbing clarity. She couldn't even remember what had frightened her and made her call out in the night. She didn't want to know, but maybe it was time that she did.

Stretching to the bedside table, she flipped on the lamp. Then, in the safety of its illumination, she closed her eyes and tried to recall the images from her dream the other night. They returned as they had before—the sights, the smells, an unconscious Delia, even the light on the windshield.

But this time the driver's-side door opened in her memory. It was Joe who leaned in with rain dripping off the brim of his state trooper's hat. He glanced at Lindsay and pressed two fingers to Delia's throat before he unbuckled Lindsay's safety belt and started pulling her from the car.

Then she heard a desperate voice in her head and realized with a shock that it was hers. “Please. Please. Help…my sister…first.”

 

Lindsay hadn't been able to get a word in from the time that Joe showed up at her condo after his shift, so she'd just let him inside and allowed him to talk. What she had to say could wait a little while, but not forever, and although she dreaded being the one to say it, it had to be said.

“You wouldn't believe it.” Joe was pacing around the room in his excitement. “Pretty soon I had formed this connection with him, and we were talking about kids and…things, and I was convincing him to let me take him into custody.”

“Sounds amazing.”

Her voice sounded flat in her ears, but he must have missed it because he kept on going.

“I'm no longer a liability on the force, and it's all because of you,” he told her. “You always trusted God, no matter what, and you showed me how I can trust Him, too. I don't have to feel as if I'm carrying the whole world on my shoulders anymore. I can just do my best and be assured that He'll take care of the rest.”

“That's great, Joe.”

“I even remembered one of those memory verses that you're always talking about. Luke 1:37, ‘For with God nothing will be impossible.'”

“Don't give me the credit.”

This time, either her words or her tone must have struck him as odd because Joe stopped and turned to study her. She was perched on the arm of the sofa, too restless to sit down, but he bent to look at her more closely.

“What's going on, Lindsay? Have you been crying?”

It must have been obvious that she had been because he barely paused before peppering her with questions.

“Did something happen to you? Is it Emma? Does it have something to do with your parents?”

Because her distress had so many layers, each with more acute pain than the layer above it, Lindsay was surprised that Joe had been able to key in to so many of them. Still, she shook her head in answer to his questions. She couldn't tell him about her pain over the custody battle when she felt betrayed by him, as well.

“Where is Emma?”

“She was tired when I picked her up from day care, so I put her down for a nap.”

He gave her a strange look that told her he remembered her worrying about giving the child late-afternoon naps before, but he didn't say anything.

“Then tell me what it is,” he said finally. “What has you so upset?”

Slowly, she looked up at him and stared hard at him, hoping he felt as trapped by the truth as she did. “I remembered.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, though the cautious look in his eyes suggested that he might have an idea.

“I had another dream last night, and then I remembered.” She took a deep breath and then said that last, all-important word. “Everything.”

“Oh.” His Adam's apple shifted.

“That's all you have to say?
Oh?
”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joe rubbed his temples. When he opened his eyes again, he bent in front of her and tried to take her hands. “Let me explain.”

Lindsay jumped up, grabbed her cane and stalked away from him—anything to avoid his touch. “It's too little, too late, don't you think?”

He followed after her. “I'm so—”

She turned back to him, cutting him off. “I don't
want to hear that you're sorry. Not now.” Fury and hurt became a powerful combination, causing her hands to shake as she paced. “When were you going to tell me that I asked you—no, begged you—to save Delia first? But you didn't listen. Did you just hope I would never remember?”

He opened his mouth as if to try to answer her, but she was too worked up to give him the chance.

“How could you not tell me? I deserved to know the truth. The whole truth. Isn't that the message all you law-enforcement types try to sell from the witness stand?” She shook her head hard to push the pain away, but it still clung to her with the same intensity that her injuries once had. “You were wrong to keep it from me.”

Joe released a long sigh and stepped aside to allow her to pace. “I know it was. It's just that I didn't know how—”

“I knew it, too. I knew there was something you weren't telling me.” She folded her arms and glared back at him. “I kept thinking the accident was partially my fault or something, and you'd altered the police record for me since I was the only survivor.”

“So you thought I was either a bad cop who would falsify police reports, or a loser with a hero complex who would do anything to protect you.” He chuckled, but he didn't smile.

“It's not funny.”

“I know.”

Joe swallowed, sensing that his next words would be every bit as critical to their relationship as his conversation with the suspect that morning had been to the well-being of two little boys. He stalled by walking to the
window and staring outside for several seconds before turning back to her.