The Night Cafe (33 page)

Saddleback Memorial Medical Center
San Clemente, California

T
he pain in her side was the first thing Hannah noticed when she came to—in a hospital, she realized, opening her eyes to a yellow striped curtain pulled around the gurney on which she lay, head elevated. Wincing, she reached up to touch her ribs under the thin cotton of a short gown. Her fingers gingerly probed the lump she felt there. It hurt like the dickens, but it didn’t seem as if any bones were broken. She splayed her hand across the swelling, offering up fervent mental thanks to the inventor of the Kevlar-lined bulletproof vest. That had to be a whopper of a bruise, but black and blue beat dead, which is what she would have been had Kyle Liggett’s point-blank shot had the intended effect.

A light snore sounded nearby and she looked over to find Russo dozing in a chair. His cheeks and chin shadowed by stubble, he looked as exhausted as she felt.

Her head ached something wicked and her nose was stuffed up like the worst cold ever. The skin on her face also felt stretched and taut over cheekbones that seemed to have grown larger overnight. She must look god-awful. When she reached up with her other hand to explore her face, something pinched her skin.

Russo’s hand shot out. “Careful,” he said, laying her hand back on the mattress. “You’re hooked up to an IV line.”

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Sorry, I guess I nodded off. Have you been awake long?”

“Not long. Where are we?”

He got to his feet, stretched wearily, then moved in close and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “San Clemente. You’ve been here about four hours. It was the closest E.R.”

“Oh, right, I remember—sort of.” There’d been sirens and flashing lights. Running feet and loud voices. “You were there in the ambulance.”

He nodded. “They tried to keep me out, but I pulled rank, told them you were in my custody. You’re still in the E.R., but they’re moving you up to a room pretty soon.”

She glanced around, but although she could hear voices beyond the curtain, they were alone for the moment. “So everyone here thinks I’m a criminal?”

“Nah, I fessed up. Told them you’re actually the hero of the day. How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit by a Mack truck. My head hurts like a son of a gun.”

“You’ve got a nasty concussion, among other things.”

“Other things?”

Russo hunted around until he found a stainless steel spit pan, then held it so she could see her reflection. Hannah grimaced. Her nose was swollen to twice its size, the cotton-packed nostrils explaining the stuffed-up feeling. Her face was puffy, and both eyes were ringed with what she knew would turn into whopping shiners.

“I’m going to start calling you ‘Rocky Raccoon,’” Russo said.

It all came back to her now—the to-the-death battle with Liggett in the sandy field next to the San Onofre nuclear station. Seeing stars when his fist smashed into her nose. The pain when his bullet slammed into her rib cage.

“What about Kyle Liggett?” she asked.

“Dead.”

“Did I shoot him? I remember fighting with him, but I can’t remember if I got off a shot or not.”

Russo nodded. “I think you did—you, the FBI agents in the helicopter, the Marines who landed on the beach. Me, too, for that matter. We all showed up just as you went down, and at that point all hell broke loose. I guess we won’t know until the autopsy how many bullets he finally took.”

“What about the bomb he was transporting?”

“Defused. The Camp Pendleton disposal team said it was a highly explosive conventional weapon heavily packed with radioactive materials. The feds are saying the nuclear power plant was never in any real danger—”

“Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but the onshore winds would have carried fallout from the bomb nevertheless. Maybe not enough to pose a serious risk, but who knows? There are a couple of million homes in the dispersion zone and they would have had to order at least a temporary evacuation while they assessed the danger. And after that, no matter how many reassurances they got, how many people would want to go back and worry about whether they or their kids were going to get cancer five or ten years down the road?”

“That was probably the point,” Hannah said. “To create panic and uncertainty. It’s the purest kind of psychological terrorism. Do we know—”

Just then the yellow curtain swung open and her mother and sister burst in. One look at Hannah and her mother burst into tears.

“Ma! It’s okay,” Hannah said. “Don’t cry. I’m all right.” She winced as her mother threw herself on her, weeping, but she gritted her teeth rather than cry out.

Nora came around to the other side of the gurney and took her hand. “Oh, Hannah, you look awful.” Then she glanced over at Russo. “What did the doctors say?”

He repeated what he’d told Hannah about the concussion, then turned back to the stretcher. “I phoned your sister to let her know you were here.”

“I called Cal’s house to tell them, too,” Nora said. “I hope you don’t mind, Hannah, but it’s all over the morning news. Your name hasn’t been mentioned so far, but it’s bound to come out and I didn’t want Gabe to be frightened.”

“No, that was a good idea,” Hannah said, dreading what would happen if this misadventure of hers, too, became a schoolyard story. It would be more grist for the mill of Cal’s complaints. “So, this is my sister, Nora,” she told Russo, “and my mom, Ida Demetrious.”

“I see the resemblance, all around,” he said, his gaze traveling from sister to sister to mother.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, Detective,” Nora said. “Surely your questions can wait until Hannah’s feeling better.”

Russo opened his mouth to explain, but Hannah’s mother beat him to the punch. “I don’t think the detective is here on official business,” she said, looking just a tad mischievous.

Hannah raised an eyebrow—or tried to, but even that hurt. Not much got past Ida Demetrious, she thought, bemused. And naturally, since her mother knew her baby wasn’t a terrorist, she would assume it would be obvious to everyone else, including this dogged detective.

Nora looked confused for a moment, but finally the penny dropped. “Oh! Really?”

Inwardly Hannah groaned.
Oh, lord. And so it begins
. “John’s a friend.” Glancing at him, she added, “A good friend.” Might as well head them off at the pass.

The arrival of a nurse and an orderly forestalled any more questions, subtle or otherwise. The nurse shooed the visitors off, suggesting they go to the cafeteria for coffee. “It’s going to take a while. The E.R. resident wants to look her over again and then we’re taking her for X-rays. After that, we’ll be moving her upstairs to her room. She’s going to be on Three West. You can meet her there. For now, though, you need to scoot. You, too, Detective,” she added firmly. Clearly the
she’s-my-prisoner
line wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

It took over an hour before Hannah was finally settled in a sunny room on the third floor, by which time her roster of visitors had grown to include her neighbors. Everyone seemed to have introduced themselves, and Russo had brought them all up to speed on how Hannah was and how she’d landed in the hospital. At that point it was just a matter of filling in the blanks. Apparently the near-disaster at the San Onofre nuclear power station was the lead news story on every TV and radio station.

“Travis pulled out all the stops to find out where they’d taken you,” Ruben said. “Of course, there is
nothing
that Mr. Information can’t uncover. I went over to your place to get some things I thought you might need. Found some really cute Garfield jammies.”

Hannah groaned. “Tell me you didn’t bring those.”

“No, I wouldn’t be that cruel. I’m sure the press is going to be all over you and we want to be sure you’re ready for your close-up. But that face…” Ruben crossed his arms and rested his chin on his hand, looking dismayed. “Honey, there is not enough makeup in the world to camouflage that.”

Just then, from down the hall came the squeak of rubber on tile announcing the arrival of Gabe, who burst around the door. His very pregnant stepmother showed up a few weary steps behind. Hannah waited, dreading the appearance of her ex as well, but Christie, it seemed, had brought Gabe down alone.

Gabe was stopped in his tracks by the sight of his mother. “Mom? Holy cow, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetie. It looks worse than it is. Come on up here and give your old mom a smooch.”

“But carefully, Gabriel,” Nana said. “Mama’s got a sore side and a bad bump on the head.”

“I will.” He climbed very gently onto the bed.

Hannah hugged him, then shifted over so he could nestle in under the crook of her arm. She kissed the top of his head. “See? Just bruises, that’s all.”

“Christie says you’re a hero. You stopped a terrorist who wanted to bomb California.”

“Not just me. Lots of people stopped him, including Detective Russo here and the FBI and the U.S. Marine Corps. Even a nice policeman from England,” Hannah added, feeling a twinge at the memory of poor old Will Teagarden.

“Wait till I tell the guys at school.”

“Oh, maybe that’s not such a good idea, honey.”

“Gabriel’s proud of his mom,” Christie said. “And so he should be.”

Hannah looked up, surprised.

Russo pulled up a chair for Cal’s wife. Christie settled in gratefully, then turned to Hannah. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in, but Gabe was anxious to see you.”

“No, I’m really glad you came.”

“Hannah, Cal told me about the meeting with Gabe’s assistant headmaster. I agree with her. It’s high time things changed, and if I have anything to say about it, they will. You have my word.”

“Thanks, Christie. I appreciate it.” Hannah hugged Gabe again. “We’re all going to do better, aren’t we?”

He nodded, then peered down at something on the floor next to the bed. “What’s in the box?”

“Box?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Travis lifted onto the end of the bed a large, flat cardboard box covered with FedEx stickers. “This came for you yesterday. Ruben signed for it. We weren’t sure if it was important, so we brought it along.”

“Who’s it from?”

Nora peered over Travis’s shoulder to look at the return address. “Oh, Hannah,” she breathed, “it’s from Rebecca’s gallery.”

Hannah’s heart sank. “I guess you’d better open it.”

Travis handed it to Nora and Russo pulled out a penknife to help her slit the packing tape. As they tipped the box sideways, an envelope slipped out, then a bubble-wrapped painting in a frame. Russo cut the tape around the bubble wrap and they peeled it off.

“Oh, my gosh,” Hannah said when he held up the painting for her to see. It was the Southern California beach scene with the little boy. “He reminded me of you,” she told Gabe. Then she looked up at Russo. “It’s the piece I thought was missing after the attack at the gallery. I’d told Rebecca I liked it and she offered to throw it in along with my fee for couriering Koon’s painting down to Puerto Vallarta.”

“Open the note, dear,” her mother said.

When Hannah ripped open the envelope, a check made out to her fell out first—her fee for carrying the painting—and then a handwritten note on a pretty card.

Dear Hannah
,

I’m so grateful to you for taking this job. Who knows? Maybe this will be the beginning of a whole new career for me as an art buyer. Don’t fight me on this gift. I know you loved the painting. It’s small thanks in light of your help.

Enjoy!

Rebecca

With a lump in her throat, Hannah handed the note to her sister. As Nora read it, tears spilled down her cheeks, and she looked at Russo. “Why?” she asked. “Why was she killed?”

“Probably for the same reason August Koon was,” he said wearily. “According to what the feds have been able to piece together about Liggett’s and Gladding’s final days, this operation had all the hallmarks of a grand final gesture—particularly on Gladding’s part. They found meds among his personal effects suggesting he had advanced cancer—probably terminal, from the amount of morphine he was on. He felt aggrieved that Washington had turned its back on him after years of using his contacts, and he wanted his career to go out with a bang—literally. Liggett, meantime, was just a sociopath with a messianic complex. In the end, he even killed Gladding for not giving him enough respect. Before that, though, neither wanted to risk leaving loose ends that could trip them up before they were finished what they’d set out to do.”

“And the painting I carried?” Hannah asked. “Was it the stolen van Gogh?”

Russo nodded. “The restoration experts have taken a preliminary look and it seems Teagarden called it exactly right.”

“Why did he follow me last night?” Hannah asked, frustrated and heartbroken. “There was no need for him to get mixed up in any of this once he’d recovered the painting. He could have returned it to Yale University and gone back to doing what he did best. He was no match for that monster Liggett. Why didn’t he just leave well enough alone?”

“I think you know why,” Russo said quietly. “He’d grown very fond of you, Hannah, and he was an old-school kind of gentleman. Not the kind to let a girl walk into trouble alone.”

Hannah took Russo’s hand in hers. “Old-school gentlemen—a lot of that going around, it seems. Best backup I could have asked for.”

There were murmurs of agreement all around.