Saving Faith (49 page)

“Just name it.”

He handed her the flowers. “Could you see that Faith gets these? I’d appreciate it.” Lee shut the door and walked off.

Reynolds gripped the flowers and looked at Lee as he trudged away, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets. She saw his shoulders quiver. And then Brooke Reynolds lay back against the seat as the tears trickled down her face.

 

CHAPTER 59

Nine months later Lee was staking out the hideaway townhouse of a man soon to be involved in an acrimonious divorce proceeding with his many-times-cheated-on wife. Lee had been hired by the very suspicious spouse to collect dirt on her hubby, and it hadn’t taken him long to fill up bag after bag, as Lee watched a parade of pretty young things flounce through the premises. The wife wanted a nice-size financial settlement from the guy, who had about five hundred million bucks’ worth of stock options at some high-tech Internet outfit he had cofounded. And Lee was very happy to help her get it. The adulterous husband reminded him of Eddie Stipowicz, his ex-wife’s billion-dollar man. Collecting evidence on this guy was a little bit like hurling rocks at little Eddie’s bloated head.

Lee took out his camera and shot some pictures of a tall, blond, miniskirted number sauntering up to the townhouse. The photo of the bare-chested guy standing at the door awaiting her, beer can in hand, a goofy, lascivious smile on his fat face, would be exhibit numero uno for the wife’s lawyers. No-fault divorce laws had seriously depressed the business of PIs running around digging up dirt, but when it came time to split the marriage loot, the slimy ooze still carried weight. Nobody liked being embarrassed with that stuff. Especially when there were kids involved, as there were here.

The long-legged blonde couldn’t have been more than twenty, about his daughter Renee’s age, while the hubby was pushing fifty. God, those stock options. Must be nice. Or maybe it was the man’s bald head, diminutive stature and soft pooch. You couldn’t figure some women.
Nah, must be the dough,
Lee told himself. He put the camera away.

It was August in Washington, which meant just about everybody, other than cheating husbands and their bimbos, and PIs who spied on them, was out of town. It was hot, muggy, miserable. Lee had his window rolled down, praying for even the slightest movement of air, as he munched on trail mix and bottled water. The hardest thing with this type of surveillance was the lack of peepee breaks. That’s why he preferred bottled water. The empty plastic containers had come in handy more than once for him.

He checked his watch; it was close on midnight. Most lights in the apartments and townhouses in the area had long since gone out. He was thinking about heading on, himself. He had gotten enough stuff in the last few days, including some embarrassing shots of a late-night romp in the townhouse’s outdoor hot tub, to make the guy easily fork up three quarters of his net worth. Two naked girls who looked young enough to be thinking about the senior prom, frolicking in the bubbly water with a guy old enough to know better—this probably wouldn’t sit too well with the upstanding stockholders of the husband’s nice little high-tech concern, Lee imagined.

His own life had taken on a routine bordering on obsessive monotony, or so he had dubbed it. He got up early, worked out hard, pounding the bag, crunching the stomach and hoisting the weights until he thought his body would raise the white flag and then present him with an aneurysm. Then he went to work and kept at it nonstop until he barely made it to dinner at the McDonald’s late-night drive-through near his apartment. Then he went home, alone, and tried to sleep, but found that he was never able to actually accomplish total unconsciousness. So he would prowl the apartment, look out the window, wonder about a whole bunch of things he couldn’t do a damn thing about. His life’s “what if ” book was filled up. He’d have to go buy another one.

There had been some positives. Brooke Reynolds had made it her mission to send as much business his way as possible, and it had been quality, good-paying stuff. She also had had a number of ex-FBI agent buddies now in corporate security offer him full-time employment with, of course, stock options. He had turned them all down. The gesture was appreciated, he had told Reynolds, but he worked alone. He was not a suit type. He didn’t like eating the kinds of lunches that required silverware. Traditional elements of success would undoubtedly be hazardous to his health.

He had seen Renee a great deal, and each time, things had gotten better between them. For about a month after everything had shaken out, he had barely left her side, making sure that nothing would happen to her because of Robert Thornhill and company. After Thornhill had killed himself his concerns had faded, although he was always on her to stay alert. She was going to come and visit him before school started up again. Maybe he’d drop Trish and Eddie a postcard, telling them what a fabulous job they’d done raising her. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Life was good, he kept telling himself. Business was good, he was in good health, his daughter was back in his life. He wasn’t six feet under helping to fertilize grass. And he had served his country. All good shit. Which made him wonder why he was so unhappy, so out-and-out miserable. Actually, he knew, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Wasn’t that a kicker? Story of his life. Know the blues, but just can’t change them.

A car’s headlights flicked across his side mirror. His gaze immediately went to the car that had just pulled up behind him. It wasn’t a cop wondering why he had been parked here for several hours. He frowned and looked over at the townhouse. He wondered if his naughty tech mogul had noticed him and called in some reinforcements to help teach the curious PI a little lesson. Lee hoped that was the case. He had his crowbar in the seat next to him. This might actually be fun. Kicking the crap out of somebody might be the depression antidote he needed; get those endorphins going. At least it might get him through the night.

He was surprised when only one person emerged from the passenger side and headed his way. The person was small, slender, hidden inside an ankle-length coat with a hood, not exactly your recommended attire for a ninety-degree thermometer and one hundred percent humidity. His hand tightened on the crowbar. As the figure came up to his passenger door, he hit the door lock. The next moment, his lungs had locked up and he was gasping for air.

The face looking in at him was very pale and very thin. And very Faith Lockhart. He unlocked the door and she slid in.

He looked at her, finally found his voice down near his knees. “God, is it really you?”

She smiled, and suddenly she didn’t seem so pale, so drawn, so frail. She slid off her long, hooded coat. Underneath she had on a short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts. Her feet were in sandals. Her legs were very pale and thinner than he remembered; all of her was. Months in a hospital had decimated her, he realized. Her hair had grown out and was longer, though far from its original length. She looked better with her real hair color, he thought. Actually, he would have taken the woman bald.

“It’s me,” she said quietly. “At least, what’s left.”

“Is that Reynolds back there?”

“Nervous and upset that I talked her into it.”

“You look beautiful, Faith.”

She smiled in a resigned fashion. “Liar. I look like hell. I can’t even bear to look at my chest. God!” She said the words in a joking manner, but Lee could sense the anguish behind the light tone.

He very gently touched her face with his hand. “I’m not lying, and you know it.”

She put her hand around his and gripped it with amazing strength. “Thank you.”

“How are you really doing? I want facts, nothing but.”

She stretched her arm slowly, the pain in her face so evident from such a simple movement. “I’m officially retired from the aerobics circuit, but I’m hanging in there. Actually, each day it gets better. The doctors expect a full recovery. Well, in the ninetieth percentile anyway.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I couldn’t let that happen.”

He slid over to her, put his arm around her. She winced a little as he did this, and he quickly backed off.

“I’m sorry, Faith, I’m sorry.”

She smiled and put his arm back around her, patting his hand as she did so. “I’m not that fragile. And the day you can’t put your arm around me is the day I call it a life.”

“I’d ask you where you’re living, but I don’t want to do anything that could put you in danger.”

“Helluva way to have to live, don’t you think?” Faith asked.

“Yes.”

She leaned against him, resting her head against his chest. “I saw Danny right after I got out of the hospital. When they told us Thornhill had killed himself, I didn’t think he was ever going to stop smiling.”

“Can’t say I felt any different.”

She looked at him. “How are
you,
Lee?”

“Me! Nothing happened to me. Nobody shot me. Nobody tells me where I have to live. I’m doing fine. I got the best deal of all.”

“Lie or the truth?”

“Lie,” he said softly.

They exchanged a quick kiss and then a longer one. The movements were so easy, Lee thought, their heads turning at just the right angle, their arms going around each other with no wasted motion, like pieces in a puzzle someone was sliding together. They could be waking up at the beach house, the morning after. The nightmare never having occurred. How was it possible that one could know another person for such a short period of time and have it feel like several lifetimes? God would only let that happen once, if ever. And in Lee’s case, God had taken it away. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. He pressed his face into her hair, soaking up every particle of her scent.

“How long are you here?” he asked.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing fancy. Dinner at my place, a quiet talk. Letting me hold you all night.”

“As wonderful as that sounds, I’m not sure I’m up to that last part just yet.”

He looked at her. “I’m being literal, Faith. I just want to hold you. That’s all. That’s all I’ve been thinking about all these months. Just holding you.”

Faith looked as though she might start crying. Instead she brushed away the lone tear that had tumbled down Lee’s face.

Lee glanced in the rearview mirror. “But I guess that’s not in Reynolds’s agenda, is it?”

“I doubt it.”

He looked back at her. “Faith,” he said softly, “why did you step in front of that bullet? I know you care for Buchanan and all, but why?”

She took a shallow breath. “Like I said, he’s unique, I’m ordinary. I couldn’t let him die.”

“I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Would you have done it for me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You sacrifice for people you care about. And I care a great deal about Danny.”

“I guess the fact that you had all the means to disappear—fake ID, Swiss bank account, safe house—and instead went to the FBI to try and save Buchanan should have clued me in on that.”

She clutched his arm. “But I survived. I made it. Maybe that makes me just a little extraordinary, in a way?”

He cupped her face with his hand. “Now that you’re here, I really don’t want you to go, Faith. Like I would give everything I have, do anything I can, if you wouldn’t leave me.”

She traced his mouth with her fingers, kissed his lips, stared at his eyes, which even in the darkness seemed to have the blinding heat of the sun behind them. She never thought she would ever see those eyes again; maybe the fact that she might, if she were to survive, had been the only thing that had saved her, had not let her die. Right now she wasn’t sure what else she had to live for. Other than the apparently depthless love of this man. And right now it meant everything to her.

“Start the car,” she said.

Puzzled, he looked at her but said nothing. He turned the key in the ignition, put the car in gear.

“Go ahead,” Faith said.

He pulled the car away from the curb and the vehicle behind them immediately did the same.

They drove along, the car following them.

“Reynolds must be pulling her hair out,” Lee said.

“She’ll get over it.”

“Where to?” he said.

“How much gas do you have in the car?” Faith asked.

He looked surprised. “I was on a stakeout. Full tank.”

She was settled against him, her arm curling around his middle, her hair tickling his nose; she smelled so wonderful he felt dizzy.

“We can drive to the lookout spot off the GW Parkway.” She looked at the star-filled sky. “I can show you the constellations.”

He looked at her. “Been chasing stars lately?”

She smiled at him. “Always.”

“And after that?”

“They can’t keep me in Witness Protection against my will, can they?”

“No. But you’d be in danger.”

“How about
we’d
be in danger?”

“In a second, Faith. In a second. But what happens when we run out of gas?”

“For now, just drive.”

And that’s exactly what he did.