The Target (22 page)

Detective O'Connor rose. “I'm really sorry, Mrs. Santera, but we're no closer to finding out who took your little girl and abused her. It really bums me out.”

Molly nodded as she rose to face him. “If we're right about what happened, the danger's over simply because Louey's dead. I don't want to live with that, but I guess I'll have to learn how to. Emma's safe now, thank God. But I want that monster who abused her, raped her, and beat her. I want him. I want him to burn for what he did.”

“I promise, Mrs. Santera,” Detective O'Connor said, taking her hand, “we're just getting started with this.” Molly thought there wasn't much hope in his voice.

After Detective O'Connor left, Molly looked around and said, “I've got to get things together for a small memorial service for Louey. I owe it to Emma. He was her father.” She and Sherlock left the living room, speaking quietly to each other.

“It's just down to us two,” Ramsey said. “I'm depressed.”

Savich said, “Miles never brought any coffee.” He leaned his head back against the sofa. “How's your back, Ramsey?”

“What? Oh, it's fine. I only took two aspirin yesterday.”

“I didn't want to tell Molly, but we really don't have much,” Savich said. “MAXINE agreed with Detective
O'Connor, indicates there's a high probability that Rule Shaker in Las Vegas is behind all of it. But MAXINE needs facts, and we're short on them.”

“You were here, and I appreciate it. Let's go scare up some coffee.”

“You know, I was thinking that Sherlock and I might as well fly to Paris,” Savich said. “We've still got five days.” He laughed. “Doubtless Mr. Lord will be relieved to see us law-enforcement types out of his digs.”

“I still wish we could catch the guy who abused Emma.”

“I'm sure O'Connor isn't lying to make Molly feel better. No one likes that kind of scum on the loose. We'll all keep working, but for now, well, we can hope that it's over.”

R
AMSEY AND
M
OLLY
were standing in his bedroom, he by the window, she at the door. It was early morning, and the house was still quiet. His suitcase was open on the bed, some of his clothes packed. He looked up to see her standing there.

“You're leaving, then?”

Ramsey shrugged, looking over at the suitcase on the bed. “Yes, I think so. I couldn't sleep, decided I might as well start to pack.” He paused. “Did you know I was trying to write a novel? It seems like a million years ago.”

“No, I had no idea.”

“That's why I was there at that isolated cabin in the Rockies. I took a leave of absence for five months. I had to get away from all the media hype, all the reporters. One guy even stuck his head in my bathroom window one morning when I was shaving. I nearly sliced my own throat. That's when I decided to leave town for a while. I decided to write the novel I'd thought about for the past year.”

“What's it about?”

“A courtroom novel, about a judge in the federal court system. It's a subject I should know well enough, a subject I'd like to say a few things about.”

“I see. So you want to go back to Colorado? To write?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He fiddled with a loose thread on his pale blue sweater, remembering her kiss on his shoulder. He looked at her. “Actually, I was wondering when you would be going back to Colorado.”

“I hadn't really thought about it, not yet. All this is still sinking in. I'm willing to accept intellectually that this awful man, Rule Shaker, from Las Vegas, is behind everything that's happened, but there's still that monster who abused Emma. I won't ever forget that. I've got lots of money. I think I'll spend some of it trying to find him myself.”

She looked defensive, as if she expected him to argue with her. He said, “I'd do the same thing. In fact, I'm going to be putting the word out as soon as I get home. Pedophiles have networks; they seem to either know one another or of one another. I've got several friends who spend a lot of time on the Internet. I'll see where that leads.” He drew a deep breath. “Savich will keep the fire lit by alerting all the FBI field offices. He's not happy about this either.”

She looked down at the soft nap of the carpet beneath her feet. “Well, I guess I should thank you, Ramsey. Emma will miss you.”

He looked up at her, at the dark shadows in her eyes, and that dancing line of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He said, “I told Savich that your hair isn't at all the same color as Sherlock's, although most people would just say you've both got red hair. I told Savich your hair was the color of a sunset I saw once in Ireland.”

The nap lost her attention. She blinked up at him. “A sunset in Ireland? When were you in Ireland?”

“Two years ago. I was staying in Ballyvaughan. Nearly every day I went to the Cliffs of Moher. You really can't describe how awesome they are, because you just say something like they're rugged cliffs with waves crashing and billowing up against the rocks, that they dip and then push right to the very edge of the sea, but that really doesn't
tell you.” He shrugged again. “You see what I mean? You haven't got a clue really how it actually makes you feel just to be there, to look over the water into the distance where there's no sign of anything.”

“I'm beginning to,” she said.

He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it straight on end. “Dammit, you're nice, Molly.”

“Tell me about this sunset.”

He looked mildly embarrassed. She grinned at his hair, though he was now smoothing it back down. He hadn't shaved yet. He looked tough and hard and she saw him in that moment with Emma on his lap, holding her against his chest, his big hands stroking her back, her face against his shoulder. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt, his feet bare. She had intruded. He was going to leave.

It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. He had his own life. Hers and Emma's had intersected his briefly and violently. It was time.

He was going to leave.

It wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't going to try to change it. He said quietly, “I'll never forget this one evening I was at the Cliffs of Moher. The air was crisp and dry and the sky perfectly clear. No Irish rain that day. I sat there and watched that red ball of sun slowly sink into the Atlantic. You almost expected the water to hiss and boil when the sun sank into it. People around me were talking and laughing and joking around, until that precise moment. Then there was a hush and everyone was silent and still. Just staring at that red ball sinking under the horizon.” He shook his head, bemused at the memory. “I'll never forget that sight as long as I live.” He paused a moment, then looked at her. “I remember the next day it rained so hard it was like payback time for that incredible sunset. You know, Molly, I was just thinking that maybe you'd like it as well, both you and Emma. Not the rain, although that's beautiful too, no, the sunsets.”

“Emma and I? Go to Ireland?”

“Yes. With me. I don't want to leave you.”

The morning light was dim and gray. Her expression wasn't clear to him, as she kept her head down. After a very long moment, she raised her head and looked across the room at him. She said, smiling, “Yes, I'd like that. I'll bet Emma would too.”

He felt a shock of pleasure. The strength of it surprised him. He smiled back at her. “Savich and Sherlock are going to Paris. They're leaving from O'Hare this morning.”

“They're very good people.”

“Do you think we could go to Ireland soon? We could all just get away for a while. I think it would be good for Emma.”

“I don't have our passports. They're at the house in Denver.”

“Mine's in San Francisco. We could pick them up and meet in New York. Or back here in Chicago. Or best yet, I could go with you and Emma to Denver and then all of us could go on to San Francisco. How about that?”

She started laughing, her hands splayed in front of her. “I didn't know you a month ago.”

“No, you didn't. On the other hand, we've probably been through more in the past weeks than most people have in a decade, or at all, for that matter.”

“You really think my hair is the color of that sunset?”

He gave her a slow smile. “Yeah, that's what I think.”

“Is your back really all right?”

“Yes. Your arm?”

“It still throbs sometimes, but it's not too bad. These stitches aren't the kind they have to take out. They'll resorb by themselves, Dr. Otterly said. I couldn't believe you went to the gym with Savich, though. You could have hurt yourself more.”

“My back has barely blistered. Besides, I was careful. Savich taped me up pretty well so I wouldn't stress anything, and so I could swim.” Then he grinned at her. “Yeah, I was stupid.”

She laughed at him, shaking her head. “I didn't say that.”

He just smiled at her. “I'm worried about Emma. Is she asleep?”

“I hope so. She wakes up a lot. Three times this last night. Still the same dreams. And she dreams about the car exploding.”

“I suppose we need to ask Dr. Loo about taking Emma to Ireland this soon.”

“We can ask her this morning how Emma's doing, if she thinks a trip would be good for her. I can't think of anything better.”

He was surprised how giddy he felt that she was going to go to Ireland with him. It was as if a knot he felt in his belly were loosening. It had just come out of his mouth, unplanned. He really hadn't thought about it at all.

Well, maybe without knowing it. He hadn't really wanted to be separated from either Molly or Emma.

“What time is her appointment?”

“Ten o'clock this morning.”

“Let's see what she says before we make definite plans, then.”

Molly straightened the sash on her robe, a glamorous peach silk thing that she'd obviously borrowed from Eve Lord, her stepmama. He wondered what she'd look like without it. She gave him another smile. “Ireland, huh? Did you go there alone before?”

“No,” he said. “I didn't.”

“No,” she said, “I don't suppose you'd do anything alone unless you wanted to.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Even with a burn on your back, Ramsey, a lot of women would find you an appealing kind of guy.”

“Thank you. Go back to bed, Molly. It's too early to be up and about yet.”

“What about you?”

“Yeah, now that we've made some plans, I think I'll sack out for another hour myself. I'm not nervous and uptight anymore. It's a miracle.”

She nodded, then her smile fell away. “Oh yes. I've made the arrangements for a small memorial service for Louey this afternoon, here on the estate. I even found a Presbyterian minister to come and give a service.”

“It's good,” he said. “It's good for Emma.”

“I hope so.”

 

“
E
MMA
,
are you ready to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' for me?”

“Yes, Dr. Loo, I think so. But I haven't played a piano seriously for a long time.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.”

Emma straightened her new piano on the low coffee table. Dr. Loo sat in a chair, Ramsey and Molly on a love seat opposite her.

“Don't forget the variations, Emma,” Ramsey said.

This time Emma didn't hesitate. She took a deep breath, one that sounded appallingly adult, and played with one hand the simple notes of the song, beginning with F. Once she'd played through the tune, she added the left hand. It sounded classical, like Mozart. The next time through, she changed it to a jazz sound, then to a definite John Lennon feel.

Dr. Loo blinked. She looked shell-shocked. When Emma finished, she leaned forward, took Emma's small hands between hers, and looked her in the eye. “Thank you, Emma. You've given me great pleasure. I hope someday to hear you perform at Carnegie Hall.”

“What's Carnegie Hall?”

“It's where great artists from all over the world come to perform. It's in New York City. I heard Liam McCallum play the violin there. It was an incredible experience. You could be there too, Emma.”

“Yes,” Molly said, “I think she might.”

“My papa never played at Carnegie Hall,” Emma whispered, not looking up from her keyboard. “But he was a great artist, Mama said so.”

“Yes, he was,” Molly said. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears. Ramsey sat forward. “I have one of your dad's CDs, Emma. Even though he didn't make it to Carnegie Hall, everyone in the world can hear him. All his music will live on.”

“That's what Mama said.”

“And when was the last time your mama was wrong?” Ramsey said, lightly stroking his fingers over her French braid, one that he'd done himself. It wasn't bad, hardly crooked at all, and the plaiting looked pretty smooth.

Emma raised her face then. She thought really hard. “It's been a long time,” she said finally. “Maybe two months ago.”

Ramsey laughed.

“Now,” Dr. Loo said. “It's time we talked about you going to Ireland with your mama and Ramsey.”

Emma said, “I don't know what Ireland is, Dr. Loo.”

“It's a beautiful wild country that's across the ocean. It's a place to enjoy, Emma, a place where you can look at things and maybe see them in a different light. It's a place where you can stop being afraid, where you can play your piano, where you can run in the mornings with Ramsey and play Frisbee with your mama, and have picnics. It's very beautiful, Emma. You can sit on the rocks and dangle your toes into the water. It's so cold you yip in surprise. You'll be with two people who love you and want you to be safe and happy. What do you think?”

Emma drew back between Ramsey's knees. “Will that bad man be there?”

Ramsey rubbed his hands lightly up and down her thin arms. “No, he won't. We'll never let him get close to you again. I promise, Emma.”

Emma turned to face him. “He's close, Ramsey. He's real close now. He killed my daddy. He wants me now.”

“No, Emma, he doesn't. He's very afraid, and he's running and hiding now because he knows the police are after him. I'd like him to be caught. Then he'd be in jail for the rest of his life. Everyone is trying really hard to catch him.

“I do know one thing for sure, Emma. We won't ever let him come near you again. Do you believe me?”

Emma looked up at him for a very long time. Molly was aware that she was holding her breath. Emma continued to be silent, but she finally released her breath, letting it out slowly and quietly. She looked at Dr. Loo, who just smiled and shook her head slightly.