The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller (15 page)

CHAPTER 14

Jenny quickly passed the main building. She was careful not to
turn around, but by the time she reached Leonard Stern Hall she could not
control herself. She looked back, got one last glimpse of the stranger before
running across the street to the Library. The only thing in his favor was the
fact that he was not the man in the hospital room. Jenny did not know if it was
that fact or not, that gave her an almost casual attitude as she walked up to
the information desk, and once she had what she wanted, took the stairs up to
the fifth floor.

Jenny glanced at her watch. She only had forty minutes left
before having to get back to work. She hoped it was enough time to find what
she needed. Jenny walked over to the card catalog, found the atlas and looked
up Maryland, and then narrowed her search down to the Catoctin Mountains.
Somewhere within that mountain range lay the answer to what Delaney had wanted
to tell her. She studied the maps as fast as time allowed. Nothing added up:
the only places of interest were Camp David and a few local resorts, hardly
worth getting killed over.

Jenny shut the book, too engrossed in what she was doing to
notice or even care about the stranger who had followed her earlier. She
hurried down the long row of books, then quickly turned a corner and walked
down a narrow aisle. All the while she kept glancing around and suddenly she
found herself in the middle of a maze of tall shelves. She turned, trying to
remember which way to the exit. For a moment she lost her bearings and then
quickly tried retracing her steps. She turned sharply, bumping into the tall stranger.
Jenny looked up. The intense, dark eyes stared down at her. He had his hands on
her arms as if to prevent her from leaving and then slowly she felt him release
his hold. Her heart raced as a small group of students edged their way past
them. Jenny wanted to cry out, but all she did was step back.

"Pardon me," Jenny said.

Jenny stared into Gideon's eyes. They were almost black, but a
grayish hue softened them somewhat. It was as if he were looking into her soul
in that instant and she could not stop him.

"I didn't see you," Gideon said weakly.

The woman in the picture was finally a living, breathing human
being. Gideon wanted to hold on to her, to feel the warmth of her skin, feel
the softness of her hair, but did not dare for fear she would call out.

Suddenly Gideon felt a cold chill go through his inner core.
This dream girl had been at the hospital the day Delaney died; her name was
found in a dead girl's pocket. Could this sweet, innocent vision in front of
him be something more than she appeared? Gideon could still feel the
electricity flow through his body as he stood there motionless.

"May I pass?" Jenny asked politely.

Gideon leaned back against the row of books letting Jenny
pass, and as she did, he caught the scent of jasmine. He shut his eyes while
his knees went weak. There was nothing in his memory to compare to what he was
feeling. It was clear she had no recollection of him, and it troubled him not
knowing why he carried her picture. Gideon just watched as Jenny slowly edged
her way closer to the exit. Then suddenly she turned and looked at him. His
heart stopped.

"I'm going back to work now," Jenny said softly, and
then turned around and disappeared out the door.

Gideon did not say anything, just stood there gawking as he
watched the door shut behind her. When he finally came to his senses, he
retraced her steps, tried to recall the aisle she went down before he'd lost
her. He thought it was down the MA. Gideon stopped where he thought she'd been
and pulled out the big book he remembered Jenny looking through. It was a book
on Maryland. It puzzled him that she would be interested in the small state.
There would be no way to know why, unless he asked her point blank. Gideon
snapped the book closed, put it back on the shelf, and then left.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at MacDougal Alley, Jake leaned on a lamp post
at the outer edge of the alley. There had been no suspicious activity other
than him standing there with no place to go and nothing to do. A few people
looked at him with interest, but then in a city like New York no one cared.

Jake turned when he heard the horn. "She hasn't been
back," Jake said. He noticed the beads of perspiration on Gideon's
forehead.

"I know. I talked to her already."

"That was quick," Jake said.

"I don't know how she found out, but she knew I was
tailing her."

"We sure know our job, don't we?" Jake mocked.

"All I did was ask a few questions. Once I was satisfied,
I stayed in the park until she came out."

"I thought you had a picture of her."

"I wanted to see for myself what she looked like. I
backed off as soon as I got a look at her."

"Now what?" Jake asked. He stared at Gideon in the
driver’s seat and wanted to say more, but did not dare.

"You stay here." Gideon showed him the picture
again. "She hasn't changed much."

Gideon was about to drive off when Jake quickly asked.
"Did she know you?"

"No. It didn't seem like it," Gideon said, not
looking at Jake.

"Still doesn't explain how you got the picture, does
it?"

Gideon took the picture out of his wallet, looked at it for a
moment, and then glanced up at the sky. The noise from the street suddenly
stopped and for an instant he was not in New York. His hands were tied. He was
kneeling on the jungle floor. A loud explosion echoed in his ear and all he saw
was blood. Gideon looked down at his hand and the picture he held. Blood was
everywhere. He clutched the photo as if by doing so it gave him life, and then
a piercing pain went through his body.

"Are you okay?" Jake reached over and shook Gideon
by the arm.

"What?" Gideon asked. The street took a quick spin.
He focused, but saw nothing.

Gideon's head almost collapsed onto the steering wheel. When
he glanced down at his hands, they were no longer covered in blood. The
piercing pain in his right temple was still there but not quite as severe as
before. Raising his hand, he touched the scar from the wound he'd suffered
years ago. Whatever he had been suppressing had something to do with John
Hamilton. If only he could remember. Gideon realized the visions were getting
stronger and more frequent. He feared whatever his mind was shielding him from
would come back, and maybe he would not be able to deal with it.

"You don't look so good," Jake finally said.

"I'll be okay. Just give me a few minutes."

"What do you want me to do, seeing as you blew your cover
with the girl?"

"I'll go talk to Bronk. We might just have to talk to the
girl and get her to tell us what we want to know."

It was just an excuse to leave Jake. What Gideon really wanted
was to talk to Beth. So much of what he had been through in the past four
years, she understood. Even though it was not enough to stick by him, Gideon
had the unmistakable need to talk to her now.

Gideon drove up to Beth's apartment building. He did not wait
for the doorman to open the door or announce his visit. He just walked in and
used the phone to call Beth.

They only talked a minute, but in that short time Beth sensed
Gideon's urgency. Arthur was still at work, the girls were in school, and she
did not have the heart to send him away, not this time.

Gideon took a deep breath, pressed the elevator button and
waited. When the door opened, the small enclosure loomed in front of him. He
stood for a few moments, but this time stepped in. Quickly he pressed the
button, and then breathed deeply until the sensation passed. Gideon patiently
waited for the little box to stop its ascent.

When the door finally opened, Beth was there to greet him. Her
face was full of concern as she stared at the man she once shared her life
with. Beth was no longer angry about the unannounced visit a few nights earlier
or the late night call he'd made.

"What's the matter?" was all she asked, searching
Gideon's face for clues. Although the divorce decree severed their marriage,
she still cared for the man in front of her. She just was not willing to stand
by and watch him destroy himself.

"I saw her," was all Gideon said. Beads of
perspiration dripped down his forehead, he shook while unable to move.

"Did she recognize you?" Beth asked. She had to
know. A part of her felt the woman in the picture was someone he'd met and fell
in love with over in that God-forsaken country. A nurse, a newswoman, she did
not know, only speculated. The other part wanted to believe Gideon that he did
not know who she was. But the fact always remained: he refused to destroy the
picture and it eventually destroyed their marriage in the process.

"No," he whispered finally.

They stood there for a moment, Beth reached up and touched
Gideon on the cheek while trying to soothe the pain he felt, but she was ill-equipped
to handle the inner demons that were surfacing.

"Why don't you come into the apartment." Beth took
Gideon's hand and held it for a moment.

"What about Arthur?"

"He's at work."

"Won't he mind?"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of that."

Beth led Gideon down the long hall. She opened the door to the
apartment she shared with her new husband. It was unlike the one-room flat
she'd shared with Gideon during their college days. Those were good times,
times Beth would not trade for all the furs on Fifth Avenue. But now she had
two daughters to think about and plan for. Gideon was never there for her when
she needed him most, but that did not mean she ever stopped loving him.

Gideon stepped through the doorway onto the plush, royal-blue
carpeting. The walls were pastel blue, almost white, but there was enough color
in the French provincial furniture and paintings scattered around the room to
add interest. Beth had always liked the finer things in life and the living
room clearly showed Arthur was able to provide her with that.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble," Gideon said
turning to Beth.

Beth would not lecture him today. For some reason today was
unlike other days when they'd argued about the picture in his wallet. She could
tell Gideon was clearly frightened by the experience of finally meeting the
woman in the sketch. For the first time in four years, she realized Gideon had
actually been telling her the truth about the picture. He honestly did not know
who she was, or why she meant so much. All he knew, but was not willing to
admit, was that looking at the picture helped him through all the pain he felt
inside.

Gideon walked over to the couch and sat there while Beth
disappeared down the hall. He could hear running water. Beth walked up behind
Gideon and put the cool wet rag on his forehead. He shut his eyes, letting the
pain melt away. And then he felt Beth's fingertips gently touch the scar on his
temple.

"Gideon, will you be okay?" Beth asked finally. She
was concerned, and although their lives were no longer joined together, they
still had the girls to consider.

"I don't know," Gideon replied. He leaned forward,
resting his head in his hands.

Beth walked around the couch, and then sat next to Gideon
while putting her arms around him. "Do you want to talk about it?" It
was the first time she really wanted to listen, unafraid of what he had to say.

Gideon finally glanced up at her. "It's getting worse.
And it scares me."

"Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

"There's blood everywhere." Gideon shook while
wiping his hands as if to get rid of the feel of warm sticky blood, but nothing
helped.

"Did you ever think about counseling?"

"Colby would love that."

"To hell with Colby. Ever since you came back from that
hellhole, you've been half a man," Beth said, staring at Gideon and
finding it difficult to believe he was still trying to deal with the pain in
his own way. She quickly added. "You know what I mean, too."

"I can't admit to him I have this problem."

"He's going to find out sooner or later. I'm surprised
you haven't gotten yourself killed already because of it."

They sat there for the better part of the afternoon, talking
for the first time in years about what it was they had been unable to talk
about while they were married. It was not until almost four thirty that Beth
glanced up at the clock and reminded Gideon her husband would be home soon. It
was a subtle hint for him to leave and he understood. Gideon had caused Beth
enough pain in the past few years. He did not want to cause her more.

Before walking him to the door, Beth turned to Gideon.
"If you want the girls this weekend, pick them up at seven on
Friday."

She did not say more; Gideon knew she understood his need to
be with them. They were the only ties he had left to the normal life he could
never have. She would not deny him that—not now, not ever.

CHAPTER 15

Jenny had a hard time concentrating that afternoon. She
avoided talking to Steve about what was going on and pretended it was just like
any other day. But as hard as she tried, the fact that she was being followed
still bothered her.

She glanced up at the clock, and then looked at Steve, who was
busy working on reports for the Dean. Getting up, she walked over to the window
and searched the park for the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"You've been edgy ever since you returned," Steve
finally said. He watched Jenny standing near the window.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jenny
turned while pretending not to know what he meant.

"Tell me you haven't been thinking about it?" He
shook his head, and then waited for her to answer.

Jenny avoided looking at Steve. "It's still hard to
accept he isn't returning."

"Did you ever think maybe the man lied?"

"Yes, but why? It just doesn't make sense."

"Why was he in the hospital in the first place?"
Steve asked.

"Cindy said something about the attempt on Ambassador
Wayne's life."

"He wasn't the one who shot him?"

"No, they killed that guy. The paper didn't say anything
about Delaney. Cindy thought he had helped save Wayne's life."

"It's too bad he didn't live."

"I know," Jenny said with a faraway look in her eye.

"Maybe you should contact the government and tell them
what this man said. They could confirm it."

"Sure, then I'd have to explain being in his room when he
died. I don't want to go through that."

"You might have to, to get this mess cleared up."

Jenny turned to Steve. "I don't even want to think about
it."

"There's more, isn't there?"

"No. What makes you think that?" Jenny asked looking
away for fear he could tell she was lying.

"Something's eating at you." Steve put down his pen,
and then started tapping his fingers on the desk. "Would you like to go
for a bite to eat tonight? We could talk this through."

Jenny did not know what to say. She just stared at Steve, and
then shook her head. "No. Not tonight." Although she had technically
been a widow for a number of years now, inside she still did not feel like one.

"You know, Jenny," he paused for a moment before
continuing, "I care about you an awful lot."

Jenny glanced at him. "Steve, don't say it."

"I always knew you loved John, and I respect you for
that. It must have been hard waiting all these years. But it hasn't prevented
me from caring for you deeply."

Jenny stood frozen in silence. She stared at Steve as he got
up, and then walked over to her at the window. He touched her cheek gently with
the back of his hand, looked longingly into her eyes, and then pulled her into
his arms.

Jenny broke free of him and ran to the coat rack. Grabbing her
jacket she turned. "I've got to go, I'll see you tomorrow." Somehow,
she just was not ready for Steve's declaration.

"Jenny, please. Let's talk."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she rushed out of the room.
She did not want to deal with anything: not John's death, not Delaney, or even
the poor girl who did a favor for a patient. All she wanted was to forget the
last few days ever happened. Once outside the office she stood there for a
moment and almost broke down.

Jenny took a few deep breaths, and then started down the hall.
As she walked out of the Admissions Building, she glanced across the street. It
was full of park-dwellers. Some students sat on blankets studying while others
played games. But the strange man who followed her to the library was nowhere
in sight. When she turned onto MacDougal Alley, Jenny was too busy watching her
back to see the man standing in front of her near the lamppost. They collided.
Her jacket and purse went flying. The stranger grabbed her arms to break the
impact.

"Don't touch me," Jenny snapped. She stepped back
quickly and glared up at the redheaded stranger.

"Lady, you bumped into me. Watch where you're
going," Jake said, his quick thinking telling him to go on the defensive.
It was what New Yorkers expected of strangers.

"I'm sorry," was all Jenny could say. She picked up
her purse, reached for her jacket, and then glanced up at the man. Normal
people did not just stand around on MacDougal Alley leaning on lampposts with
nothing to do.

Jenny quickly walked down the alley, up the stairs, and into
the building. She unlocked her apartment door half-expecting to see Trish. But
no one was there to greet her. She did not turn on the lights, just went to the
bedroom where she took out John's letters and sat down on the bed and read them
all. It was something she'd done often in the past five years when depression
set in. Somehow it helped ease the pain and for a little while, she could
pretend John was still alive and that there was just five months left of his
tour. Jenny read the last letter over again. John talked about the men, a new
assignment, and the promise to cut his tour short. She'd never understood what
he meant and feared that maybe it was his desire to get home that had caused
all of this. Jenny cried with the realization she would never feel the touch of
him again, and that all the things she'd taken for granted were really gone.

It was late. The evening shadows filtered into her room and
danced on the hardwood floor as curtains swayed in the breeze. Jenny lay back
on the bed, not wanting to move, not wanting life to go on anymore. It was a
light tap on the front door that caused her to stir. Jenny stood up,
straightened her skirt and walked into the living room. She stood on her
tiptoes and strained to get a look at the man through the peephole. She
expected one of the men who had been following her to finally make their
presence known, but it was neither of them. Jenny slowly opened the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Only a small chain
separated her from the stranger standing outside her door.

"Are you Jenny Hamilton?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

He was massive in the ill-fitted gray suit. Jenny knew
instantly he was a cop even before he took out his badge and flashed it in
front of her. She had been expecting it all day, and wondered where the other
two men were.

"Inspector Bronk, NYPD," he said as he put the badge
back in his pocket.

Jenny shut the door, undid the chain, and then opened the door
wide. She stepped aside as Inspector Bronk walked in.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. It was an understatement
and she knew it. Ever since she'd walked into that hospital room her life had
turned topsy-turvy. Now here she was, asking a stranger, a cop no less, if
there was a problem!

"You tell me?" Bronk glanced at Jenny with his bushy
eyebrows raised. He was evaluating the young woman in front of him as an
experienced interrogator would. Gideon had told him a little about what
happened at the library. Bronk knew from years of experience that Jenny
Hamilton was not going to be easy. The young, innocent ones never were. Judging
by what she'd said to Gideon in the library, she knew she was being tailed.

"I haven't done anything wrong." She raised her
hands as if waiting to be searched.

"It isn't like that."

"Then," she paused as she turned to him, "what
is it you want from me?"

"To talk, that's all."

"Have a seat." Jenny said, motioning to the couch.

"Not here. Down at the station if you don't mind."

"What if I do?"

"It's up to you where we talk, but I think it would be
better down at the station." The way he said it, she could not refuse.

Jenny went to the closet and pulled out a light jacket. It
bothered her that the police wanted to talk to her. She was not even sure it
was about Delaney. Maybe it was that jaywalking ticket she'd never paid, but
that was highly unlikely given the last twenty-four hours.

Jenny followed the inspector out of the apartment building
simply because she did not know what else to do. She quickly glanced down the
street, there was no red-headed stranger standing on the corner anymore. The
neighborhood kids were out playing street games while two young boys sat on the
stoop across the alley smoking and laughing. No one took notice of Jenny or the
inspector as they got into the unmarked police car.

Jenny glanced at the big man next to her. He did not say a
word while maneuvering through traffic, and she wondered how much of the last
forty-eight hours she would have to fess up to. The lights from the city
flickered through the windows blurred by a light mist.

Finally, after twenty minutes, they pulled up to the old
station house. Bronk parked in the rear, and then quickly walked over to the
passenger door while Jenny just sat there, not wanting to move. Bronk opened
the door and reached in.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Am I in trouble?"

Bronk shrugged his shoulders. "That depends."

Jenny had a terrible aching pain in the pit of her stomach and
it was getting worse by the minute. She stared up at the inspector. It finally
sank in, the trouble she could be in. Jenny did not know what else to do but
follow his lead and keep her mouth shut.

Bronk guided Jenny through the precinct doors, up the stairs,
and through the low life of the city. She cringed and wondered if that was what
Inspector Bronk thought of her, a low life. If she'd screamed out in the
hospital room, maybe none of this would be happening.

When they reached the landing on the third floor, Jenny was
suddenly flanked by a couple of men. Bronk was too far back to help.

"Hey, mama," the greasy looking black man in purple
pants and a paisley coat said while cupping the bottom of Jenny's chin.

His hand was warm, and the smell of cheap cologne turned her
stomach. Jenny froze, too scared to move as the man's hand worked its way
slowly down her neck.

Bronk was on top of him before he could make another move. He
pinned the man to the wall, yelling orders.

"Somebody get this creep in holding!" Bronk turned
to Jenny, while men came running and hauled the scum away. Bronk looked down.
"You okay?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jenny said, fighting back tears.

Bronk took Jenny by the arm, and then pulled her along because
she no longer had the capacity to move on her own. He opened a door. They went
into a large room somewhere on the third floor.

When she saw the words "Homicide" her heart sank
deeper into the crevice of her chest. They maneuvered through desks that were
scattered about and walked quickly to the glass enclosure in the corner. The
blinds were pulled, but Jenny could see a light on inside. She stared at the
door, it read: Sylvester Bronk, Chief of Detectives. It had taken the Chief of
Detectives to bring her here. She wondered why not the two men who followed her
during the day, but then she was in no position to ask questions.

"Sit here." Bronk turned to Jenny while pointing to
the row of chairs outside his office.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," he replied with raised eyebrows. "I'll
only be a minute. Holler if you need help."

"Gee, thanks," Jenny said.

Fear encompassed her being; she did not want to be left alone,
but under the circumstances had no choice. She could come clean and tell him
what she knew. Maybe they'd give her protection, from what she was not sure. So
far the man from the hospital had not made his presence known. Jenny was not
even sure it was him at Cindy's apartment, and convinced herself it was her
overactive imagination. Maybe he was long gone. Delaney was dead. And then she
remembered the envelope and the lists that meant nothing to her. If he knew she
had them, maybe he would come after her and kill her like he had Delaney.

Jenny sat outside Bronk's office for what seemed an eternity.
She looked down the hall at the people scurrying about, and found it difficult
to determine who was who. The undercover detectives looked as devious and dirty
as the criminals they brought in for booking.

Jenny sat with her back to the door. She heard mumbling from
inside the office. Bronk was not alone, but the noise in the outer room made it
impossible to hear what was being said behind the closed door.

Twenty minutes went by. It angered Jenny at being left to
wait. She was almost ready to get up and leave when the doorknob turned. She
looked and waited for a few more minutes. Finally, the door opened. It was not
Bronk who walked out, but the stranger from the library. Jenny stared up at
him.

Gideon took a chair across from Jenny. He never took his eyes
off her. It was as if he was searching for some hint of recognition, but none
came. His whole being shook as he stared at the young woman. He did not know
what it was about her that made him feel that way. Certainly there was no
reason to fear her, yet she scared him. It was not a fear for his personal
safety, but for what she represented that caused him the most concern.

After a few minutes, the door opened again and Bronk looked
out. He glanced at Gideon, and then turned to Jenny.

"Mrs. Hamilton, would you step in here."

Jenny got up. Before she entered the room she turned to
Gideon, who was already standing. She watched as he stepped closer to her, and
then she turned and followed the inspector into his office while Gideon walked
in after her and shut the door behind him. Jenny sat in the chair near the
desk. Bronk walked around the desk, set his massive frame in the wooden chair,
then leaned back while Jenny nervously fidgeted with her purse string.

Jenny just sat for the longest time and when no one spoke she
finally turned to Bronk. "Why did you bring me down here and then make me
wait? Am I under arrest?" she asked, but before he could reply she quickly
added, "Maybe I should have an attorney."