Evidence of Mercy (31 page)

“It might,” Lynda said.

“I'll walk,” Jake told her. “I know I will. I'm gonna throw myself into my rehab and work with everything I've got.”

“Do you have feeling in your other foot?” Paige asked.

“Not yet. But I will.”

It was one of the first purely positive things Lynda had ever heard from Jake, so she didn't dash his hopes by reminding him that there were still no guarantees.

He came into the kitchen and closed his eyes as he breathed deeply of the smell of the turkey baking in the oven, the homemade dressing baking beside it, and the vegetables on the stove. “And to think I didn't believe in heaven. It was right here in this kitchen all along.”

Lynda smiled. “Heaven smells a lot better than this,” she said. “But I think you're gonna like it.” She stirred the peas then turned back to him. “How are you doing over there? Is everything going all right?”

“I've hit a few rough spots,” he said. “But all in all, it's good to be free of that hospital.” He looked down at his toes again, wiggled them slightly and then threw his head back and laughed. “I can't believe this. I never thought I'd feel anything there again.”

He saw Paige's face change from amusement to concern as she looked past him to the doorway, and quickly he followed her gaze. Brianna stood there, clutching her blankie to her cheek and looking sleepily into the kitchen.

For a moment, they all held their breath as she assessed Jake.

“Who are you?” Brianna asked calmly.

He glanced up at Paige then back at the child. “I'm Jake,” he said in as calm a voice as he could. He extended his hand gently, as if coaxing a deer to eat out of it. “Who are you?”

“Brianna,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. As she stepped closer, she regarded the patch on his eye. “Are you a pirate?”

He laughed. “No. I just hurt my eye, and I have to wear this until it gets better.”

“Like a Band-Aid?”

Lynda smiled; Paige just looked confused.

“What is this?” Brianna asked, touching the wheel on his chair.

“It's a wheelchair,” he said. “I hurt my legs, too, and I can't walk. So I ride around in this.”

Brianna's eyes lit up. “Is it fun?”

He smiled. “Well—”

“Can I ride?”

He looked up at Paige, surprised, and a slow smile came to his face. “Well, sure.” Patting his leg, he said, “Hop up.”

Brianna climbed onto his lap, and he began to roll her around in circles. She giggled as if she had a new toy then looked up at him and pointed to the scar. “How'd you get your boo-boo?”

He stopped and looked at Lynda again, his smile fading. “I had a real bad cut.”

“I have a Band-Aid if it hurts. A Garfield one.”

He smiled down at her. “It's not so bad.”

“Can we ride some more?”

It was as if he'd been validated, accepted by the world and by life; he did not, after all, repulse this little child. As he rode her into the living room, Lynda looked back at Paige.

“Well, what do you think of that?”

Paige shook her head. “Weird.”

“Well, I'm grateful. Children are so resilient.”

“And so unpredictable,” Paige whispered. “I don't get it. She was petrified this afternoon.”

“Well, maybe the nap did it. Maybe she was just irritable when she saw him, and he took her by surprise.”

“Guess so,” Paige said. “But I never would have dreamed she'd warm up to him this fast.” She watched, flabbergasted, as he tipped the chair back, almost making Brianna fall out, and she clutched him tightly and giggled with delight.

T
hat night, Lynda led Jake out onto the patio as Paige put Bri-anna to bed, and they sat side by side, looking out over the yard.

“I told you you weren't repulsive,” she said with a smile.

“That sure was one quick turnaround. I'll never understand children.”

“Who knows what set her off today? It doesn't really matter now, though.” She caught him looking down at his foot, wiggling the toes again. “I think you've gotten more movement just in the last few hours.”

“I have,” he said. “And unless I'm imagining it, I'm starting to feel that burning on the bottom of my other foot.”

“Really?” she asked. “Jake, maybe the swelling's going down. Maybe the traction's helping. Maybe—” Her voice trailed off as she saw him look distractedly out across the yard and rub his top lip with his finger. “What's wrong?”

“Do you think I'm getting my hopes up too high? I mean, it's such a little bit of feeling.”

“It has to start somewhere.”

“But what if it doesn't go any further? What if—”

“Hey—I was just starting to enjoy the positive, upbeat Jake. Give yourself a chance to be happy before you start knocking yourself down again.”

His smile returned like a gift, and he started to laugh quietly. “Who would have thought?”

“What?”

“That day when I looked at your plane, who would have ever thought that we'd be sitting here, actually friends?”

“I sure didn't.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Was I that bad?”

“Pretty bad,” she admitted. “I knew your type.”

“Yeah, well, you were probably right.” He looked up at the stars sprinkled across the sky. “Do you think I'll ever look normal again?”

She smiled. “When you get your eye, Jake, you'll probably start knocking the ladies dead again. I dread it, actually. I hate to see you revert to your old self.”

“My old self seems a long way away,” he said softly. “I don't know if I'll ever find him again.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

K
eith was glad there were no street lights on this deadend street; the darkness gave him the perfect cover. Ever since he'd left Brianna that afternoon, he'd been watching his back, waiting for a uniformed car to squeal up behind him, lights flashing.

Why it hadn't happened he wasn't sure, but he knew he didn't have much more time. The court date was fast approaching, and with every day that passed, Lynda Barrett would find more and more evidence against him. Already she had all of the medical reports, and she probably had records of all of Paige's calls to the police. And McRae had warned him that she was getting depositions from neighbors who claimed to have witnessed things. The idiots ought to mind their own business instead of sticking their noses into things they didn't understand.

He was getting desperate either to take Lynda out or grab Brianna and run. Either way would bring about the same result. All he wanted was his daughter.

He crept closer to the house and saw the cars in the driveway: a red Porsche that he recognized as belonging to that paralyzed pilot who was still in the hospital, Lynda's BMW, and Paige's old Chevette with new, unslashed tires. He smiled and laughed softly as he slipped his knife from his pocket. Releasing the blade, he started toward the car to slash the tires again—then caught himself. Not a good idea. If he didn't manage to get Brianna tonight, Paige would know he'd been here. As much as he'd like for her to know she hadn't bested him, he couldn't take that chance yet.

She'd figure that out for herself anyway—when he disappeared with Brianna.

He stole through the front yard, glancing from one window to another. All of the curtains were drawn, but he saw a light on in two of the rooms. One of them, he guessed, was the living room, but the other, dimmer one, probably came from a bedroom.

Knowing that Brianna always slept with a nightlight, he stole toward it and checked the screen to see if it was locked. It was, but it was plastic screen—easy enough to cut if he could be sure he wouldn't be heard. He wondered if the window was locked. From here, it looked as if it was.

The idea of cutting a section out of the glass big enough to slip his hand through and unlock the window was quickly discarded; the section he cut would likely fall in and shatter on the floor. No, he couldn't do anything that stupid.

Quietly he made his way to the front door, tested the knob, and found it locked. Not giving up, he went around to the side of the house, saw the garage apartment, and wondered whether it was empty. Maybe he could hide in there until he had the chance to catch Brianna.

He pulled a silver fingernail file from his pocket, preparing to try to pick the lock.

Voices.

He froze.

They were coming from the back patio just around the corner of the house. Two voices. A man's and a woman's.

For a moment he couldn't breathe, and he stood motionless like a bobcat caught in headlights, trying to decide which way to go.

Finally, he slipped around the garage apartment into the woods surrounding the fence. Once hidden by the bushes and shadows of the trees, he tried to figure out who was outside. But it was too dark; he could barely see the two forms on the patio. They were talking quietly. The woman was Lynda, he thought. Brianna must be inside, then.

But this man, whoever he is, certainly changed the equation a bit. Is he one of those cops who'd picked him up, here because Brianna had told them he'd been here today? Were they setting a trap for him?

Panic gripped him. Turning, he jogged silently back through the woods and came out on the block behind Lynda's house. Hurrying back to his car, he flipped through all the possibilities.

But by the time he'd settled in behind the wheel, he'd decided that he was just being paranoid. After all, even though he hadn't gone home today, they could have caught up with him at work if they'd been after him. Still, he'd better stay away for a few days, just until the heat died down.

Work, he grimaced, checking his watch. He had to get back before someone noticed he was gone. He needed to keep this job—at least until one way or another he managed to get Brianna. Then he could quit and flee the state before Paige caught up with them.

He would show her. He would show all of them. And somehow he'd make Paige sorry she'd ever filed those divorce papers.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

I
've got to get to the hospital fast!” Skidding his chair across the kitchen floor, Jake grabbed Lynda's purse and keys off of the table. “My left foot is burning!”

If not for the look of unadulterated joy on his face, Lynda would have been alarmed. “Jake, slow down. I'm coming.”

“Didn't you hear me?” he asked. “The
other
foot. It's burning!”

She caught her breath and grabbed his chair, stopping him halfway down the driveway. He turned back to her impatiently. “Are you telling me that you have feeling in
both
feet now?” she asked.

“Yes!” he said. “Now come on! I want to get to the hospital.”

Laughing, she grabbed her keys from him and ran to get into her car. By the time she'd started the engine, he was already inside, folding up his chair and slipping it in behind his seat. “Jake, do you think this means—”

“You bet it does. I'm gonna walk.”

“But—are you sure?”

When he met her gaze, she realized how good hope looked on him. “As sure as I can be. I'm gonna walk, Lynda. I know it.”

She was quiet as they drove to the rehab wing of the hospital, possibilities flitting through her mind. As they drove, she prayed that he wouldn't be disappointed, that his hopes wouldn't be shattered, that this new burning sensation did indeed mean that something was happening. Something permanent.

She got out of the car to help him when they reached the hospital, and when he was in his chair, he checked his watch. “You want me to give you a call when I'm finished?”

“That'll be fine,” she said. “Do you think it'll be several hours?”

He nodded with certainty. “I'm gonna work today until either I stand on these feet or collapse trying.”

“Jake, don't push it. You've come a long way. There's no need to get impatient now.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said with a grin and started inside.

She caught up to him. “Don't you want me to take you in?”

“Nope,” he said. “I can take it from here.”

She stopped and watched him moving farther away from her.

“Don't do anything stupid, okay?”

“Like what?”

“Like—throwing away your chair or something. You're going to give this time, aren't you?”

“As little as possible,” he said.

She got back into the car and sat at the wheel for a moment, praying with all her heart that his expectations weren't in vain.

But Jake wasn't known for his patience or for his emotional resilience in the face of disappointment.

B
uzz and Allie were pleased with the new sensations in his feet, but as Jake might have expected, his doctor was a little more reserved. “We've got to be patient, Jake,” he said. “Don't expect too much too soon.”

“But can't I expect anything at all, Doc? I mean, this all means
something
, doesn't it?”

Dr. Randall could have made a killing as a poker player, for his expression never betrayed a thought. “Well—your swelling has probably gone down significantly, which would help with the spinal shock. And the traction is, no doubt, helping with the compression. There's certainly cause for hope, Jake. But I have to emphasize that there are no guarantees.”

“Give me odds, Doc. What are the chances that I'll walk again?”

The doctor wasn't about to go that far. “I can't do that, Jake. If I gave you terrific odds, and this is as much feeling as you ever get back, you'd never forgive me.”

“But if you were inclined to give me odds, you're saying they'd be terrific?”

The doctor laughed. “I didn't say that.”

“But they
are
terrific, aren't they?”

“They're hopeful, Jake. They're better than they were when you came in. But there still are no guarantees.”