Evidence of Mercy (19 page)

“You look fine. Uh—before we go . . . can I talk to you for a minute?”

Lynda stopped what she was doing and braced herself. “Sure. What is it, Larry?”

He looked dead tired, and Lynda realized he hadn't slept all night. “I thought you should know that Keith Varner was caught hanging around your house today, asking questions about where Paige and Brianna are. Apparently, he saw them both on the news.”

“Oh, no.”

“Judge McMillan called and reported it, and we picked Keith up for questioning. We had to consider the possibility that he could have set the fire.”

“Keith? But that still wouldn't explain the crash—Paige wasn't anywhere near it,” Lynda said quickly. “And besides, why would he try to kill his own daughter?”

“Good question,” Larry said. “One that probably lets him off the hook. His answers were reasonable when we got right down to it.”

“You let him go, didn't you?”

“Had to. That hotshot lawyer of his rode in on his white horse, and we didn't really have any evidence against him. And it's possible that he
was
just trying to make sure his kid was all right.”

“You didn't tell him where they are.”

“No, of course not. We didn't give him a clue.”

Lynda pulled out a chair and slowly fell into it. “He's assuming she's still with me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was just on the phone with Sally, and she told me that his lawyer has filed a motion for a temporary hearing to get custody of Brianna pending the final hearing. He thinks she's in danger.”

Larry plopped into a chair and rubbed the stubbled jaw that was in desperate need of a shave. “I thought this might happen. He was already talking about it when he left.”

“He won't get her,” Lynda assured him. “I'll be there myself. I have all of Paige's medical records already, showing fractures and injuries that he caused. Oh, if only formal charges could have been filed against him for violating his restraining order, so I'd have something concrete to mention in court.”

“Sorry. So far, all he's guilty of is looking for his daughter. We can't arrest him for that. Chances are that's all he's done.”

Lynda shook her head. “Except beat and terrorize his wife. I don't know how much more Paige can take.” Lynda took a deep breath and tried to think like a lawyer. “Part of this is probably his attempt to draw her out or make me tell in court where she is. If he accuses her of putting Brianna in danger by staying with me, then he thinks I have to tell him where she is to prove she's not. But it won't work. I know every judge in this town. If I tell them she's not staying with me, they'll believe me.”

“Problem is, McRae knows them, too.” Larry gestured to the phone. “You want to call Paige and break the news before we go? I can talk to her if she has any questions.”

“She's not there,” Lynda said glumly. “I asked her to do a little shopping for us. I'll take the phone with me. She's supposed to call when she gets back to the room.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

J
ake had tried all day long to reach Lynda or find out how she was, but the people at her office had been deliberately vague. Though he could understand their caution, he had been desperate for information.

Now she stood before him, keeping her promise to visit him even though she was on the tail end of her second trauma in a week—a fact that moved him more than he cared to admit. She looked pale and bruised and weak, but she was, nevertheless, one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen.

But it wouldn't do to tell her that, so he hid his feelings behind flippancy. “You look worse than I do,” he said.

“Thanks.” She walked closer to the bed and leaned on the rail to look down at him.

“Sit down, Lynda,” he said quietly. “You don't need to stand for my benefit. I can see you fine if you sit.”

Acquiescing, she pulled a chair across the floor and sat down. Her eyes were tired and dejected, and he longed to see in them the fiery spirit he had grown accustomed to.

Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand. Closing her eyes, she brought his hand to her face and squeezed it. For an instant, it made him feel needed, as if his existence gave her strength, as if he had some purpose other than lying flat in this bed. “You're in trouble, Lynda,” he whispered.

“Tell me about it.”

He could see from her eyes that she wasn't taking this lightly. “What did the doctor say?”

“He said not to do any more leaping from two-story buildings for a while.”

“I'm serious.”

She smiled. “I'm okay. Just tired and sore. He told me to get plenty of rest and try not to exert myself.”

“So, what are you doing in here?”

She closed her other hand over his and looked down at it. “Visiting a friend.”

He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated it, how it changed his day, but something inside him kept him from saying it.

“Have they found out who did this? Do they have any promising leads?”

“They're working hard on it,” she said. “I guess I can't complain.”

“But it could happen again. Are they protecting you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Twenty-four hours a day. Larry's right outside.”

As if to take the focus off her, she stood and leaned on his bed rail again. “So how are
you
doing?”

“Not so good today,” he said. “I've had visions of you wasting away somewhere from smoke inhalation or living in some homeless shelter or making yourself an open target for some insane sniper.”

He could see that his concern pleased her. “I should have called,” she said. “I guess I didn't realize it was all over the news.”

He grinned. “That's okay. My phone was kind of broken anyway, remember? They replaced it today.”

She laughed softly, and he joined her as his eyes swept over her. It felt good having her so close, and he wondered if it were Lynda Barrett he was growing attached to or just the idea of having anyone he could touch.

To be honest, he really couldn't say.

“So how was physical therapy today?” she asked.

“Oh, peachy,” he said. “My therapists are a laugh a minute. We're still working on getting me upright.”

“You have to start somewhere, Jake.”

He breathed a laugh. “What's the point?”

She thought about that for a second. “Don't you want to sit up?”

He shrugged. “I'm just trying to be realistic. It's such a simple thing, but when I try it, my system goes haywire.” He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “I'm trying to accept. That's what the shrink told me to do.”

“You're not being realistic
or
accepting,” she argued gently. “Realistically, you've got your whole life ahead of you. All you can do is work with what you have and make it the best it can be. And pray. Hard. I've been praying for you, Jake.”

“No offense, Lynda, but if there is a God, it doesn't look like he's on your side.”

Instead of the fight he expected, she wilted. The defeated look that crossed her face startled him, and he hated himself for putting it there. Lowering herself back into her chair, she said, “Maybe you're right.”

He frowned. “So you're backing down from your beliefs now?”

She shook her head, and he saw the tears reddening her eyes. “No,” she said. “I'm not backing down. I guess I'm just confused. Is God really dealing with me through all this? Maybe it's just a really loud wake-up call.”

She saw the emotion cross his face, and finally, he whispered, “I'm sorry, Lynda. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to rile you—to see some of that famous Barrett passion in your face again.”

She kept those haunted eyes on him for a moment, but finally, the humor in what he'd said seeped in, and a rueful grin returned to her face. “I'm still going to pray for you, Jake. I'm going to pray that you'll stop being a jerk.”

He smiled.

“I'm also going to pray for your therapy,” she said. “Maybe if you get more mobile, you'll have a better disposition.”

“Don't waste your time praying for me,” he said. “I've got this under control.”

“Is that why you can't sit up?” she asked. “Is it better to keep telling yourself that you'll never walk?”

That question irritated him, but she didn't seem to care. He let go of her hand. “Do you think I
want
to lie here like this?”

“No, I don't,” she said, standing up again. “So don't do it. Work hard and do what the therapists tell you, and stop thinking how this is the end of your life. Start thinking of it as a beginning.”

“The beginning of
what?”

“The beginning of your learning how to be a human being.” When he gave her a surprised look, she went on. “You know, you weren't my idea of a terrific guy when you had functioning legs and a flawless face.”

“So you think being paralyzed is going to build character?” he asked, growing angrier. “Hey, I didn't need to have my world ripped out from under me to know how to be a human being.”

She looked regretful. Setting her elbow on his rail, she dropped her forehead into her palm. “I'm sorry, Jake. I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut. I really didn't come here to lambaste you.” She slid her hand down her face and lifted her brows as she gazed at him over her fingertips. “I was really just trying to get that famous Stevens passion back in your eyes.”

He didn't find that amusing, as she had. For a moment, he was quiet, focusing his eye on the ceiling to keep from meeting hers. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “I'm not a charity case. I don't even know why you're here. Tell the truth,” he said glumly. “They hired you to give me an aerobic workout, didn't they? You come in here, get my blood boiling, then leave. It's probably covered under my health insurance.”

“Right,” she said with a wink. “It's all a clever conspiracy. And they wanted to find a lawyer to get your blood boiling because we're so good at it.”

He smiled now. “I thought so.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “I went by your hotel on the way home yesterday and got all your stuff and paid your bill and checked you out. Luckily, your things were still in my trunk when the fire hit. The garage was all that was left standing. Larry Millsaps left the boxes at the nurse's station since I'm not supposed to carry anything heavy. They'll be bringing them in later. Maybe you'll feel better having your own things.”

“I don't know,” he said. “I was getting kind of attached to these air-conditioned gowns.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I appreciate your doing that for me. What about my car?

“It's been parked at the airport since the crash,” she said. “It's just fine, locked in the hangar until you're ready to move it.”

“Terrific,” he said. “I hope it's safer than your plane was.”

“We'll move it wherever you want.”

Jake looked at her, his eye soft, searching. “Do you feel guilty about the accident or what? Why are you doing all this for me?”

“Because I care about you,” she admitted with great effort.

“Why? You hardly know me, and what you knew before the accident, you didn't even like.”

“I see a lot of potential there,” she said with a coy smile.

He didn't find that amusing. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, Lynda, but crippled and half-blind, the only potential I'm likely to reach is the potential for suicide.”

Her face changed. “That's the second time you've mentioned that, Jake. You don't mean it, and when you say it, I feel just as threatened as I felt after the fire last night.”

“Why would that be a threat to you?” he asked.

“Because I've started getting attached to you, Jake, and I don't let go of my friends that easily.” Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I had you figured for a guy with at least a little bit of integrity,” she said quietly. “The guy who landed my plane wasn't a coward.”

“The guy who
crashed
your plane did what he had to do. But don't worry. It's not like I have a gun under my pillow or a knife in the drawer. I can't get out of bed to hurl myself out the window, and I don't have free access to the drugs they're giving me. I'm trapped here for now.”

“If I can go out there and fight for my life, Jake, you can do it in here. And if you think I'm going to sympathize with your fantasy to rig up a noose, then you need to call a neurologist because you have brain damage, too.”

Someone knocked on the door, but Jake only kept staring at her, his own misty eye taking seriously the fire he had restored to hers.

He heard the door open. “Sorry to interrupt. How are you, Jake?”

Finally breaking the lock he had on her eyes, Jake saw Larry and nodded.

“I'm gonna have to take you on home, Lynda,” Larry said. “Tony has a suspect in custody. He thinks he might be the one who's been after you. I have to get to the station to question him.”

“Really?” Lynda wiped her eyes. “Who is it?”

“One of the guys on your list,” he said. “Doug Chastain.”

“Doug?” she asked. “But—what evidence is there?”

Jake frowned. “Who is this guy?”

Larry checked the notes he'd jotted when Tony had called. “He's a mechanic who lives in the area, and he already has one prior arson conviction. We traced the gas can we found back to where he works.”

“You're kidding,” Lynda said.

Larry tried to hurry her to the door. “This might be the guy, Lynda.”

Her face suddenly hopeful, she turned back to Jake. “I'll be back tomorrow, Jake,” she said. “And I'll call you tonight and let you know what they come up with. That is, if you don't break your phone between now and then.”