Love at First Flight (19 page)

A buzz went through the room when the
cops discov-ered a message painted in red on the rock. “What does it say?” one
of them asked.

“'We'll find her.'“

“What the hell does that mean? 'We'll
find her?'“

“Rachelle,” Juliana whispered in a
panic. “They're talking about Rachelle, the witness in protective custody.
Someone needs to call Michael. Right now.” She tried to push herself up but the
room spun, making her nauseous. “Call Michael,” she begged Tanner.

He undipped his cell phone from his
belt. “What's the number?”

Juliana gave him Michael's cell number
and then squeezed her eyes shut as her head began to throb.

“Mr. Maguire, Officer John Tanner. We've
had some trouble at your house. You need to come home right away.”

Juliana could hear the muffled sound of
Michael yelling into the phone.

“She's hurt, but she's okay.” He told
Michael about the rock, the message, and Juliana's worries about Rachelle. “Yes,
of course. I'll be right here with her.” He ended the call and turned back to
Juliana. “He's coming.”

***

Michael's heart lodged in his throat.
Hurt but okay. What the hell does that mean
? Hurt how?
He drove like a maniac through the city. When he turned on to
Chester Street, the police lights, ambulance, and crowd gathered on the
sidewalk in front of his house turned his blood to ice.

He pulled his car into the first
available spot on the street and didn't care that he left the car door hanging
open in his haste. All he could think about was getting to Juliana.
“Let me through!”
he yelled when he
reached the outer edge of the crowd.
“Goddamn
it! Let me through!”

The crowd parted, and a police officer
who recognized Michael lifted the yellow crime scene tape for him. He flew up
the stairs and into the house, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Juliana
lying on the dining room floor covered in blood. “Oh my God,” he gasped. For a
brief nauseating moment he thought he was going to faint.

She raised a hand to him. “I'm okay. It
looks worse than it is.”

He dropped to his knees next to her and
rested his head on her chest. “Oh, baby, what did they do to you?”

“We think a piece of glass from the
coffee table nicked her forehead,” Officer Tanner said.

“Where
the fuck were you? She could've been killed!”

The young officer paled. “I'm sorry, Mr.
Maguire. I left for five minutes to go to the bathroom. They must've been
watching me.”

“Do you
think?
”

“Michael, please.” Juliana's fingers
combed through his hair. “Don't yell at him. It's not his fault.”

Michael fought back tears, and as he
gathered her into his arms he was hit with the shakes. “You could've been
killed,” he whispered.

“Michael, the message on the rock. What
about Rachelle?”

“I took care of it. We've doubled her
detail. Don't worry about her.”

A police lieutenant approached them. “Mr.
Maguire?” Michael looked up at him.

“We're going to be here a while, so
we'll put you two up in a hotel for the night.”

“She needs to go to the hospital,”
Michael said.

“We treated her,” one of the paramedics
said. “It was a surface cut, but head wounds bleed like crazy.”

“I'm fine, Michael, really. Just shook
up. I don't need the hospital.”

“Why don't you pack a bag so we can get
you settled?” the lieutenant suggested to Michael.

“Will you be all right for a few
minutes?” Michael asked her, afraid that if he let her go for even a minute, he
might come back to find that she wasn't fine, that she had been hit by the rock
rather than a piece of glass. He trembled at the thought of how close it must
have been.

She caressed his face. “I'm fine. Go
ahead and pack us a bag. Can you grab me a shirt to change into?” The one she
had on was soaked with blood.

He nodded and kissed her before he went
upstairs to pack. When he returned a few minutes later, the lieu-tenant ordered
Tanner to drive them to the Hyatt at the Inner Harbor.

“I've arranged to have two men posted
outside your door,” the lieutenant said.

Michael helped Juliana up from the floor
and held her until she was steady. “Do you need help?”

“No, I can do it.” She took the shirt he
had brought her into the tiny bathroom off the dining room.

“Can you clear the street?” Michael
asked the cops. “I don't want her photographed.” When she emerged from the
bathroom, he produced a large, hooded Georgetown sweatshirt and helped her into
it. “I don't want them to know your face,” he whispered, pulling the hood up
around her head.

They were whisked down the stairs and
into a waiting cruiser for the ride downtown. In the back of the car, Michael
held her close to him and struggled to contain the riot of emotions that
coursed through him—rage, relief, love, and fear. For the first time in his
career he was afraid but not for himself. “I need to call my boss, honey.” He
reached for his cell phone while keeping his other arm wrapped around her as
she rested her head on his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I want to focus only on you,
but I have to tell him about this.”

“Of course you do.”

Michael called Tom Houlihan at home and
filled him in.

“This is outrageous!” Tom said. “When I
hang up with you I'm calling Judge Stein. Are you sure your friend is okay?”

“Yes, she's shaken up and a piece of the
coffee table cut her forehead, but the paramedics said she's okay. They're
putting us in the Hyatt for the night while crime scene does their thing at my
house.”

“Call me if there's anything at all you
need.”

“I want you to keep her name out of the
papers, Tom. I mean it. I don't want them having her name.”

“I'll see to that personally. I'm sure
the trial will be in recess until this is sorted out.”

“I'd like to avoid that if we can,”
Michael said. “The longer this goes on, the more danger Rachelle is in. Try to
talk him into moving forward on Monday.”

“I'll see what I can do, and I'll call
you in the morning. I'm sorry about this, Michael.”

“Thanks. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Do you really think Rachelle is in
danger, Michael?” Juliana asked in a small voice. “I'm so afraid for her.”

“She's fine. She has seven cops with
her. I don't want you to worry.” He released a ragged deep breath. “What the
hell was I thinking letting you become involved in all this?”

Juliana raised her head to look him in
the eye. “I didn't become involved in all of this. I became involved with you.”

Overwhelmed by her, Michael guided her
head back to his shoulder.

CHAPTER 17

THEY PULLED UP TO THE HYATT, AND OFFICER
TANNER turned to them. “One room or two?”

Michael glanced down at Juliana.

“One,” she said.

“Coming right up. I'll be back for you
in a few minutes.”

“I've always wanted to stay here,”
Juliana said. The sleek black-glass hotel overlooked Baltimore's famous Inner
Harbor where the bombs bursting over Fort McHenry during the War of 1812
inspired Francis Scott Key to write the poem that later became the “Star
Spangled Banner.”

“But it's hard to justify a night in the
Hyatt when you live in the city.”

“Too bad you had to be nearly killed to
get here.”

“Michael, stop.” She ran a finger along
his jaw, which was tight with tension. “I'm fine.”

Tanner returned and escorted them to a
room on the hotel's seventh floor.

“We'll be right outside, Mr. Maguire.
Just holler if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

“John?” Juliana walked over to the young
policeman.

“Yes?”

“I appreciate all you did back at the
house.”

“It shouldn't have happened.” He looked
like he could cry. “I'm sorry.”

She put her hand on his arm. “When
people are deter-mined to do something like this, they find a way.”

“I'm just glad you're okay,” he said on
his way out the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

Juliana attempted to pull the Georgetown
sweatshirt over her head and gasped when it rubbed against the cut on her
forehead.

Michael came to her side. “Let me help
you.” He eased the sweatshirt over her forehead and gently removed it. Tossing
it aside, he put his arms around her. “It's good of you to be so forgiving.”

“It's not his fault, Michael. He didn't
throw the rock.” She snuggled into his embrace. “I need to take a shower.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Wait.
Stay here for a minute. Stay with me.”

She closed her arms around him and felt
a tremble ripple through him.

“When they said you were hurt,” he said,
his voice hoarse with emotion, “I don't think I've ever been more terrified in
my life. And when I saw all that blood...”

“Shh, Michael. Don't.”

He looked down at her, his eyes bright
with tears. “I love you,” he whispered. “Those words seem so insig-nificant in
light of all I feel for you. There just isn't a big enough word, Juliana.”

“I love you, too.”

He seemed to stop breathing. “You do?”

She reached up to caress his face. “I've
known it since the last time we saw Rachelle. The way you were with her... You
were amazing, and I just knew.”

Releasing a rattling deep breath,
Michael closed his eyes and kissed her slowly and deeply, as if he was trying
to put all his love for her into that one kiss.

After a long while, she pulled back from
him. “I'm going to go wash off the blood. You got some on your shirt.”

“I don't care.”

She reached up to unbutton the light
blue dress shirt he had worn to court that morning. “Take it off. I'll soak it.”

“Don't worry about it. Are you hungry?”

“I don't think I could eat.”

“Me either.”

“I'll be right back.”

He stole one more kiss before he let her
go. “I'll be right here.”

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders
and took it with her into the bathroom. In the shower, she winced at the water
sliding over the cut on her forehead. She watched the water in the tub turn red
when she rinsed her hair and washed it. The pulsating shower helped to ease
some of the tension from her shoulders and back. Stepping out of the shower,
she wrapped her hair in a towel and pulled on the thick white robe the hotel
provided. Wiping the steam off the mirror, she took a close look at the wound
on her forehead. The small cut certainly didn't measure up to the amount of
blood it had produced. A tinge of black and blue already surrounded it.

As she brushed her hair and then dried
it, she shud-dered each time she thought about how much worse it could have
been. Her legs still felt like they were made of Jell-O.

She had told Michael she loved him,
which made her stomach also feel like Jell-O—not only because it was true, but
because she still loved Jeremy. However, she wasn't thinking of him just then.
No, her thoughts were all about Michael and the way his face had faded to a
ghostly pale when he came rushing into the house to find her covered in blood.
In that heartbreaking moment, she had seen his love for her. And when he said
there wasn't a big enough word to describe how he felt about her... That had
been, quite simply, the most romantic moment of her life.

***

Michael ignored his ringing cell phone
for a tenth time, turned it off, and went to look out at the full moon hanging
over the Inner Harbor. To his right, he could make out the brick walls of
Camden Yards, home to the Baltimore Orioles.

After he'd finally managed to stop
shaking, he was hit by a wave of rage so deep and so intense it took his breath
away. That those fucking
monsters
,
those fucking arrogant
bastards
thought they would get away with this...

The hair dryer turned off, and he took a
deep breath to calm himself down. He didn't want Juliana to see the rage. That
wasn't what she needed from him right now. She loved him. Nothing else
mattered. Not tonight.

The bathroom door opened, and he turned
to her, deciding instantly that he had never seen anything more beautiful than
Juliana in the white bathrobe with her shiny dark hair flowing down around her
shoulders. Her usually vibrant olive skin had a pallor to it that made her
brown eyes seem even bigger than usual. His gut clenched when he remembered how
the bandage on her forehead had gotten there and what might have happened...

Pushing those thoughts aside, he held out
his hand to her. “I found some medicine.” He pointed to the two small bottles
of Sutter Home from the mini-bar.