Evidence of Mercy (24 page)

He could see that she wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. “Don't you want to sit up?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It's not as simple as that, Lynda. Sitting up is a major ordeal. If I ever get all the way up, I'll never take it for granted again.”

Her face softened. “I'm sorry, Jake. I didn't mean to be insensitive.”

Now he felt like a heel. “It's okay. Actually, I asked them to leave me in the chair. I wanted to look out the window.”

Lynda peered out at the parking lot below them. “So how is it?”

“Makes me feel more like a prisoner, frankly,” he said quietly. “I'm stuck in here, and there's a whole world still out there.”

“A whole bunch of cars, anyway. Oh, look. Is that a red Porsche parked over there? It looks just like yours.”

Jake struggled upward to see it. “Where?”

“In that last row, off by itself.”

Jake spotted it, and his face changed. “Yeah, it does look like mine. What do you know?”

“Me?” she asked with a grin. “Nothing. I don't know anything.”

He looked up at her, his eye narrowing and saw her teasing grin. “Lynda, that wouldn't be mine—”

She nodded slowly. “I had Mike move it today. He said he came in and saw you.”

Jake gazed hungrily down at the car. “He didn't tell me he brought my Porsche.”

“It's a surprise,” she said. “We were going to wait until you could see it out the window, but here you are.”

His smile faded, and a look of longing came over his face—not for the car but for the life he'd had when he could drive it.

Lynda looked down at his chair. “Does this thing roll easily?”

“It's supposed to,” he said.

“Then how about if I take you for a walk? We can go say hello to the car.”

Jake grinned. “I'd like that. But what about your ribs? You're not supposed to push anything heavy, are you?”

“I'm doing a lot better,” she said. “I'm getting my strength back. Don't worry.”

“I don't want you hurting yourself for me, Lynda.”

“Would I do that?”

“Of course you would. You already have.”

“What does that mean?”

Jake's look was soft as he met her eyes. “Mike told me how you pulled me out of the plane. Nobody told me. I don't know how I thought I'd gotten out, but it never occurred to me that you'd done it.”

“You would have done the same thing for me.”

She started pushing him toward the door, and he mulled those words over.
Would
he have done the same thing? If she had been unconscious and he'd been the one awake, would he have risked his life to take the time to save her?

He doubted it. And if he
had
, he no doubt would have told her about it the moment she came to. He didn't like doing things he didn't get credit for.

But she'd done it and then hadn't mentioned it; she probably counted her heroism as such a natural thing that it hadn't occurred to her to tell him.

Shaking off the thoughts, he tried to be flip again. “So—has anybody tried to kill you today?”

She smiled. “Not today. I think it's all over now that they have Doug locked up. I'm starting to relax a little.”

“So you feel pretty sure he did it?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Well—I still find it hard to believe. I mean, it's just weird that he would try something like that after all this time. But I guess things fester. Who knows what prison was like for him? Maybe he spent the whole time plotting his revenge on me.”

As she spoke, she pushed him down the long hall and onto the elevator then to the first floor and through the courtyard where patients were scattered about under trees and strolled down sidewalks while the Florida sun shone down warmly and the autumn breeze cooled.

“How do you feel?” she asked after a moment.

Jake was smiling. “Fine,” he said. “I'm feeling just fine.”

“We can go back in any time you want.”

“Not yet,” he said. “I really do want to see my car.”

She pushed him out onto the parking lot and through the rows of cars. He closed his eyes and let the sun beat down on his face and thought how good it was to be out of that controlled, air-conditioned environment.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw his car. Slowly, he smiled. “Not a scratch on it.”

“No, it looks pretty good, for a Porsche.”

He laughed as they got closer, and he touched the fender with featherlight fingers, as if greeting a cherished lover. “Man, what I wouldn't give to sit in it again.”

Lynda's smile faded. “Well—I could go try to find an orderly who'd be willing to lift you in.”

Jake shook his head. “No. I can't sit all the way up, remember? I'll save it for later.”

The look she gave him was sweet and surprised. “Jake? Do you realize that's the first positive thing I've heard you say?”

“That I can't sit up?”

“No, that you'll save it for later. You know you're getting better, don't you?”

He sighed. “I guess so. I'm just not very optimistic about how much better I can get.” He rolled to the window of the car, peered in at the plush, sleek seats that used to feel so natural beneath him. “Thanks for bringing it here, Lynda. It made the effort of sitting up worth it.”

“Good,” she said. “I'll leave it here for a while, so you can look out and see it any time you want.”

He smiled. “That'll be good.”

She wheeled him back to the courtyard where other patients and family members milled around. They found a shady place under a tree, and she sat down on a bench opposite him. Jake relaxed and looked up at the sky. It was cobalt blue, cloudless, a perfect day for flying. He wondered if he'd ever be able to experience that feeling again.

“Do you miss flying?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Yeah. I miss it pretty bad.”

“What are you gonna do about your plane? Get another one?”

“No. I was going to sell that one, remember?”

He brought his gaze back to her. “But you loved it so much.”

“Maybe too much. Anyway, I've kind of reconciled myself to giving it up for a while.”

“What a waste,” he said, his gaze returning to the sky. “You can fly and don't want to while I'd give my right arm to fly—and can't.”

Lynda followed his gaze to the sky.

“They replaced me, you know,” he went on. “I got flowers from my boss at TSA. I called him to thank him, and he said that he'd had to find a replacement. He said they were looking into a supervisory job on the ground if I wanted it, but I told him no thanks.”

“Well, couldn't you at least consider it?”

“Right now, I'm not up to considering anything. I don't want to take a desk job, and I don't want to be on disability, and I don't want to be grounded for the rest of my life.”

“You can get a medical waiver to fly with one eye, Jake, if you get use of your legs back. Maybe you can't fly for TSA, but you'll be able to fly again someday.”

“But I loved my job.” His voice caught, and he let out a heavy breath. “I guess I thought that maybe . . . by some miracle . . .” His words fell off, and she saw the tears gather in his eye as he shook the thought away.

After a moment, as if one dread reminded him of another, he spoke again. “We're having the unveiling Monday.”

“What unveiling?”

He pointed to the bandage on his face. “The bandages. They're taking them off for good.”

“Jake, that's wonderful.”

Those tears seemed to well deeper. “Is it? I have a gash that goes through my eye to my cheekbone, Lynda. It was bad enough to blind me. I don't even know how many stitches I have. Do you honestly think I'm looking forward to seeing myself?”

“It'll be okay. You have good doctors.”

“It doesn't matter how good they are if I have only one eye and a mug that would terrify children.” He looked away, as though doing so could divert her attention from his tears. “You know, I was a good-looking guy. Women liked me. It was my greatest strength.”

“I guess that's a matter of opinion.”

“What? You didn't think I was good-looking?” he asked skeptically.

“Oh, there is no question that you were. But that wasn't your greatest strength. It never is. Maybe you needed to stop relying on your looks so you could find what you're really made of.”

He felt his face reddening. “In other words, I was arrogant about my looks, so I needed to lose my face? Is that what you're saying?”

“No. What I am saying is that looks are just temporary, anyway. Don't you think it's time you go deeper into yourself to discover other strengths?”

“Wow,” he said. “What did the doctor do? Ask you to prepare me for looking like the Elephant Man? Did he tell you to teach me to be beautiful on the inside?”

“No. Your face is going to be fine, Jake. You lost an eye. But you can still see. You're not blind.”

“I'm blind enough to lose my job even if I get my legs back! What am I gonna do for a living?”

“Not everyone who works in the airline industry is a pilot, Jake—there are other positions, even at TSA. And if that doesn't appeal to you, you'll find something, Jake! You're an intelligent man. It's going to be all right.”

Her reassurances seemed to make him angrier, and he looked off into the trees and shook his head dolefully. “Sometimes I wish I could have your kind of naivete.”

“I'm not naive,” she said. “In fact, I think I'm pretty savvy.” She touched his hand, and he recoiled. “Jake, look at me.”

He moved his disgusted gaze back to her. “What?”

“You're scared, but it'll be all right. In fact, I'll be here when they take the bandages off if you want. Do you want me to be here?”

He breathed a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah. You can give me another pep talk like this one after I see myself. You always make me feel so much better.”

“I'm sorry, Jake,” she said. “I haven't been trying to depress you, really. Do you want me there?”

His shoulders wilted, and he rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said quietly. “I'll probably need somebody in my corner.”

“Okay, I'll be here. And you'll see. You're probably even better looking now than you were before.”

“Yeah,” he said, not believing a word. “The scar will give me character, right?”

“Right. I happen to really like men with scars.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I didn't notice any scars on that detective friend of yours.”

She frowned. “Who, Larry?”

“Yeah,
Larry
.”

For a moment, she stared at him blankly, and he hated himself for sounding like a jealous lover. He wasn't jealous. He was just ... curious. “So you two are getting pretty close, aren't you?”

She seemed to struggle with the smile creeping across her face. “There's something about having a maniac trying to kill you that makes you depend on the detective on the case. Call me crazy. I don't think I'll be seeing that much of him now, though, since they caught the guy.”

She couldn't tell if Jake accepted that or not or if he even wanted to. Finally she stood up. “Are you ready to go back in?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a hot date with Oprah. Can't miss that.”

“Do you want me to bring you some books Monday? Or a radio? Or a hamburger?”

“Why don't we get these bandages off first, and then I'll decide if I have an appetite.”

She looked down at him, wishing for the right words. “Are you that scared, Jake?”

He thought for a moment then said honestly, “Scareder than I was when we were about to crash. On Monday, I might just hit bottom.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

W
earing his shaded glasses and a fake mustache with his hair moussed back, Keith pulled into the parking lot outside the Schilling Building where Lynda worked and slowly drove through it, searching for her car. If only he could find it, he could wait for her to come out then follow her to wherever she was staying now. He could get her out of the picture once and for all and find Paige and Brianna in the bargain.

But her car wasn't there. It wasn't going to happen today. He tried not to let it discourage him.

But the clock was ticking, and recent developments hadn't helped his case any. If he knew Lynda Barrett, she'd find some way to use his arrest against him in court, even though he'd gotten off. She was slick that way. That's why she was dangerous. He never should have shown up that day at Brianna's school, but after the crash, he'd felt so sure he wouldn't meet with any resistance. If Paige didn't have a lawyer to run to, she would start feeling defeated and give in.

He'd always made her give in before. All those visits to the emergency room when he'd convinced her to tell the doctors that she had fallen down the stairs or been in a car accident or a dozen other creative stories he'd come up with, she had always complied.

Until Brianna had gotten hurt.

That, he admitted now, was his biggest mistake, but it wasn't as if it was all his fault. They'd been arguing, he and Paige, and she'd mouthed off to him, forcing him to crack her with a back hand across the face. Brianna had started crying—that loud, shrill, eardrum-piercing screaming that drove him up the wall—and someone
had
to shut her up.

It was his duty as a father to teach her to control herself.

But, as usual, Paige had gone off the deep end. And Lynda Barrett had empowered her to leave him, once and for all, and take his little girl.

But if he could get rid of Lynda now, he knew he could reason with Paige again. She
knew
he was a better parent. He made more money and could give Brianna nicer things. He could teach her self-control, teach her right from wrong. He could discipline her much more effectively than Paige, who let her run wild most of the time. And he was certain that he loved her more.