Finding Grace (23 page)

There was genuine shock to his gasp when he saw the
scars and genuine anger in his low growl when he saw the fresh cuts
Florence was reasonably sure handcuffs had made. She couldn’t
understand how he could know this girl as well as he seemed to and
be surprised about the scars, but he surely was.

His question came back to her. How many times had
she heard it before? And how many times before had she wished she
had better news?

“She’s in a coma, honey, has been since she was
admitted on Christmas Day.”

“That was ten days after he snatched her from the
office in Seattle.” Tearing his gaze away from the girl like it
hurt him to do it, his deep voice louder than she’d heard it yet,
he said, “What did he do to her? That sonofa—”

She halted him mid-expletive with a sternly arched
brow. “Those men.” She nodded to the corner. “You’re going to tell
me they weren’t here to protect her? And I suppose those
restraints, they’re not because she’s a danger to herself,
either?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and he let out a sigh that
sounded more like a hiss.

Well, well, the major’s story had stunk to high
heaven, it surely had. And here was an avenging angel if Florence
had ever seen one—from the top of his shiny head to the toes of his
black boots and the feel of the grim reaper all around him—come to
set things straight and bring the child home. But she couldn’t let
him.

“I’m sorry, honey, I know you don’t want to, but you
have to leave her here. She needs to be in a hospital. Now don’t
you worry, she’s in our hands now. Her doctor hasn’t been able to
find anything wrong with her, other than the scars and those cuts
on her wrists. He’s one of the best doctors in the country. He’s
done as much as he can. It’s up to the Lord now.”

Those dark eyes, staring out of a face only a mother
could love, had a faraway look to them before they closed. More
like he was remembering something than praying, though, unless she
was mistaken.

She hadn’t been mistaken about much since her first
husband, so she wasn’t surprised when his eyes popped open and he
said, “Ma’am, I don’t mean any disrespect, but it was always my
understanding that the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“And each other, son.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I trust you? I think I know what
happened. I need to talk to this doctor of hers. Problem is I’m
not, um, exactly an official visitor.” He looked over at the
guards’ bodies. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, except that
motherf—sorry, ma’am—Darmfelder, but you have to understand
something: Under no circumstances am I leaving here without her. My
partner is talking to General Ross right now. So, one way or
another, this is going to come to an end.”

In spite of the man’s implacable vehemence, Florence
suddenly felt a whole lot better. “General Ross? He’s a fine man.
He’ll straighten everything out, including that no good little
weasel of a major. You can trust me and you can trust him.”

He shook his head. “Just you for now. And thank you,
ma’am, for taking such good care of her. Now, if you’ll go find
that doctor?”

* * * *

It had come back to Dagger, the time Grace had told
him when she’d started having visions, how she’d gone deep inside
herself to escape unbearable pain. He didn’t want to think about
the context of that pain in light of what he now knew had happened
to her, or the scars he’d just found on her wrists and ankles, or
what Darmfelder might have done to make her go there again. No, it
would be much better to think about what he was going to do to
Darmfelder.

But even that would have to wait. He pulled out his
satellite phone, saw the red light and listened to Paul’s message
before calling Hawks. “Gemini? Acknowledge…Nurse says it’s a
coma…Florence, she’s okay…Oh yeah, and real slow, once Wicked Pixie
is safe. Buzz is underway with Eagle. Shit’s gonna hit the fan
soon. Come on up for the party, but keep the camo.”

Once he’d leaned out the door and filled Mills in,
he dug in the cupboards and found some linens to wrap Darmfelder’s
men in. The shots should keep them out for another three hours at
least.

* * * *

“Self-induced? Well, I suppose it’s possible.” The
doctor didn’t look convinced. He looked nervous. His eyes kept
straying to the pile of linens in the corner and he was swallowing
an awful lot. “And it still doesn’t solve the problem of how to
wake our sleeping beauty here.”

“My
sleeping beauty,” Dagger said and took
her delicate hand, watched it disappear between both of his.

When the doctor pushed his glasses back up his nose,
Dagger saw he was sweating and his fingers were shaking, along with
the stethoscope around his neck.

“And even if—” he took a quick little breath and
Dagger knew more bad news was coming “—she does come around, there
are still no guarantees. Unlike what you see in the movies, those
that do wake often take years to fully recover. Many never do.” His
head dropped and his voice got so quiet Dagger had to lean in to
hear him. “I’m sorry, but that’s the reality.”

The poor man had said it like he thought he was
pronouncing his own death sentence, instead of what, for any
purpose worth considering, amounted to Dagger’s.

With a lot of effort, he kept his own voice low and
even. “Thank you for giving it to me straight, Doc. You’d best get
back to your office. You’ll be getting some visitors pretty
quick.”

He seemed surprised that Dagger was going to let him
go. But Dagger didn’t care any more.

As soon as the doctor closed the door behind him,
all of his careful restraint broke. He took Grace in his arms and
started talking to her.

He didn’t recognize his own voice, pleading and
angry, laced with anguish. “Goddamnit Grace, don’t do this to me.
You come back here right now. Oh God, please Grace, don’t make me
live without you. Do you hear me? I don’t know what that bastard
did to you, but he’s never coming near you again, I promise. I’m so
sorry I wasn’t there to stop him, but I’m here now. You’re safe,
Grace. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. Every day
you’re gone I die a little more inside.” He choked back a sob. “Did
you hear me, Grace? I fucking love you. Now you come back to
me.”

He forgot about all of the tubes and cables and
crushed her to him, enfolding her in his arms, in his love. Her
lips felt cool against his when tried to breathe all of his
strength into her, tried to take all of her pain into himself, each
breath, each press of his lips more desperate than the last.

It was such a light touch and he was so lost in his
despair that at first he didn’t feel her lips respond. But once he
did, he broke the kiss and saw her eyelids flutter and her throat
swallow.

A whoop escaped him before he clamped it down by
kissing her again. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes,
her nose, her chin, her jaw. For the first time, he saw the scar
that wrapped around her throat. He closed his eyes against his
anger and kissed it, too, all the while squeezing her hands and
relishing the light pressure of her squeezing his in return.

Grace had come back to him.

Dagger was so thrilled that he didn’t notice the
blinds to the nurse’s station had opened.

Chapter Sixteen

General Randall Ross turned away from the last photo
in the file Paul Weston had handed him. The reports had been bad
enough. He pushed the whole folder back across his big shiny desk
to Weston, wishing he could push it from his mind as easily and
wishing he’d skipped breakfast as well.

He paused and considered his words carefully. He’d
met Weston when he was still in the Corps, but he’d gotten to know
him during those awkward dinner parties Weston’s father-in-law
threw several times a year. It was always a relief to see Weston
there, a man he liked and respected and actually enjoyed talking
to; a man who understood the way the world was. He wished like hell
there was an easier way to say what he had to say.

“I can certainly understand why the major withheld
all of this information. But Paul—” he took a quick breath and then
another. “I’d be less than honest if I said it would have stopped
me from signing that letter. Once I saw that encryption and those
designs of hers, well…Surely you can understand the advantages Dr.
Thorne would give us, how many lives her work could save. Neither
the major nor I would deserve our commissions if we just let her
go.”

“I’d say there’s a pretty big difference, Randall,
between letting someone go and dragging them off in manacles,
wouldn’t you? A civilian?” Weston’s voice was measured, cool,
angry. “He did that. After he smoked a cigarette in my office and
made lewd and sadistic remarks specifically targeted to remind her
of the tortures outlined in that file.”

Randall thought about the photos he’d just seen and
cursed Weston for reminding him, cursed the major for fouling this
up so badly.

“We tracked her down to an ICU in Bethesda.”

That little tidbit was like a grenade hitting a
target after it had been soaked in napalm. How the hell was he
supposed to salvage the remains of this, personally or
professionally? To give himself a minute, he said, “Maybe she just
got sick.”

Weston’s reply ignored the comment. “Our jet can be
rigged with whatever medical equipment is needed. If she can be
moved, we’re taking her home.”

Our
jet
and
We’re
—so there was
at least one other man here, and a plane waiting on some air strip
at Washington National. He’d also said
taking her home
.
Sounded personal. “This isn’t just about the money for those
patents, is it, Paul?”

“It’s not about the money at all.”

So what was Dr. Thorne to Paul Weston that he would
stick his neck out like this?

“You know, Paul, I think of Katherine like a
daughter—”

Weston stiffened like he’d been sucker punched.
“Thorne’s a member of the team, Randall.” Remaining stiff, he said,
“I assume you still understand what that means.”

Oh yes, he did. It was worse than if she’d been
Weston’s lover. They’d talked about Blackridge. Weston was proud of
his handpicked team—former Rangers, Delta Force, SEALS, Green
Beret, Special Tactics—and Thorne’s being a part of that team meant
there was almost certainly more than one other member already
placed in the hospital at Bethesda right now. There wouldn’t be
many, just a few. But that’s all it would take to break all hell
loose, never mind little Dr. Thorne. He could call for
reinforcements to be sent there, and, in fact, he probably should.
But a wiser voice in his head suggested avoiding a confrontation,
for everyone’s sake.

“Yes, thank you. I do understand and I appreciate
your apprising me of your position on this, ah, situation.”

“You were under the impression that I was here to
negotiate.” Weston’s smile wasn’t warm, or compromising. “In the
interest of full disclosure, Randall, you should know that I’ve
already retained Katherine’s cousin to represent Thorne, should
that prove necessary.”

Weston didn’t have to tell him which cousin. Her
reputation preceded her as consistently as the press followed her
closely. Darmfelder’s case had been slim, even under The Patriot
Act. Combined with the some of the information in Thorne’s file and
what the major had pulled—in front of a roomful of solid
witnesses—a good lawyer could give the U.S. military one hell of a
black eye. A great lawyer, like Katherine’s cousin, could…

He let his breath out long and slow this time.

“Under the circumstances, I think it would be best
if the major met us at the hospital.”

While he spoke to the major’s staff sergeant, he
noted that the phone Weston used was of the satellite variety and
the call was short. It confirmed his suspicions.

* * * *

They arrived at the same time as the major, all
converging on the nurses’ station in the ICU. There was only one
smile greeting Randall, but it was one that did his old heart good,
and it could sure use that right about now.

“Why, Florence, what a wonderful surprise.” He
couldn’t possibly have been more sincere. “What brings you over
from cardiology?” More than grateful for an opportunity to break
the ice that had thickened between himself and Weston during the
drive there, as well as express his appreciation for the nurse, he
turned to the man and said, “Florence here had as much to do with
me getting back on my feet and out of here after that double bypass
as the surgeon did.”

“I asked to be transferred for the time being. Had a
dream on Christmas Eve that an angel had broken her wing and needed
me over here. And you know how I am about my dreams, General. I’m
glad you’re here, and not just because it’s good to see you looking
so well.” Florence smiled warmly.

“I like a woman who speaks her mind.” He winked her
and gave her arm a squeeze. “What’s going on?”

“It seems that Major Darmfelder here wasn’t honest
with us about that patient he had admitted—the little angel from my
dream.” There was no mistaking the contempt she felt when she
glowered at the major, nor the umbrage the small man took at it.
But he wisely held his peace.

Florence, as was her way, completely ignored the man
now that she’d made her low opinion of him known. Instead, she
turned to Weston and nodded in the direction of a room with closed
blinds across from the nurse’s station. “You must be his partner.
He said you were straightening things out with General Ross.”

The general took in the guard at the door and
allowed himself a small smile. The man was bigger than any of the
soldiers on Darmfelder’s staff. One of Paul’s, for sure. At least
one other was in the room—Paul’s partner, if Florence had it right.
She was smiling, so he was probably less intimidating, a
behind-the-scenes man. Paul had never really said much about
him.