Time to Heal (Harlequin Heartwarming) (14 page)

She looked up.

It was Michael.

“H-
HELLO
, M
ICHAEL
.”
Rachel scrambled to her feet, straightening her blouse even though it really didn’t need it. Nothing was disheveled about her, yet she felt like a teenager caught necking in the backseat of a Chevy.

Michael hesitated while his gray eyes darted accusingly from her to Ron Campbell and back again.

“It’s… I’ve been taking a break, Michael. What…” She cleared her throat and got hold of herself. “What are you doing here? It’s early for school to be out.”

“Coach Gibson got an emergency call from somebody, and since it was last period, they let us go home. I jogged over yesterday, so I figured I’d do it today, too.” He shrugged. “Instead of waiting around school, you know.” He gave Ron another scorching look. “I guess my timing wasn’t too good, huh?”

Without looking at Ron, Rachel reached for Michael’s arm. “It’s not what you think, Michael. Come with me to my office and let me get my
things, then we can leave. It’s almost time for me to go home anyway.”

“Look, Miss Rachel, maybe I’d better just jog on home. By myself, okay? I’ve got a key and all.” He looked at Ron, whose glib tongue for once seemed to fail him. “Mr. Campbell here looks like he’s got something on his mind.”

Michael subtly shifted so that he loosened her hold on his arm.

She felt a pang. He was so disgusted he didn’t want to be touched by her.

“He doesn’t have anything on his mind, Michael.” Feeling exasperated and embarrassed—and guilty!—Rachel looked at Ron. “We’ll talk later, Ron.” Without waiting for his reply, she fell into step beside Michael, unwilling to let him go on thinking she was unprincipled, promiscuous. “As I said, I’ll just get my purse and we’ll leave.” She took a deep, determined breath. “I can explain this, Michael.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Miss Rachel.”

“Hold on!” She stopped and grabbed him by his shirtsleeve, forcing him to halt. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed at what you think you just saw, Michael. I’m going to try to muddle through an explanation, whether you want to hear it or not.”

He looked at a point just beyond her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

He looked so much like Jake with his jaw set like that and those gray eyes stormy as a bad day on the Gulf. “It’s not what you think.”

“You said that already.”

“I wasn’t—” she cleared her throat awkwardly “—kissing him. Exactly.”

“No, ma’am.”

“I wasn’t!”

“I’ll wait for you in the car.”

She caught at his sleeve again. “You can’t. It’s ninety-five degrees in the car.”

“I’ll stop by the cafeteria and get a cold drink to go.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes. Even though she deserved it, his reaction hurt. She hadn’t realized what a good relationship she’d built with Michael. Now, because of her stupidity, because of an asinine, screwed-up need to wound Jake, she’d jeopardized something that she suddenly realized was very valuable to her.

As for Jake, what he would think was too painful to contemplate.

“Okay,” she said numbly, giving in. Her hand clung a moment to his sleeve. With her fingers, she smoothed out a wrinkle, realizing it would probably be a long time before Michael ever trusted her enough to let her touch him again. She tried to smile. “Go ahead to the cafeteria. I won’t—”

“Rachel!”

They were both startled. Her hand still on Michael’s arm, Rachel turned, alerted by the urgent note in Helen Falco’s voice.

“We’ve got a possible O.D. We need you.”

There was a flurry of sound in the vicinity of the first treatment room—raised voices and the crash of an overturned chair. Hearing it, Michael frowned. “Maybe you’d better wait a minute, Miss Rachel. Things sound pretty wild in there.”

Rachel was already headed that way, along with two uniformed sheriff’s deputies who’d apparently lingered at the admissions desk. Working in Emergency had uncovered an unsuspected ability in Rachel for calming hysterical patients. She was especially skillful in dealing with adolescents. From the look of the youth being restrained by Helen Falco and a single orderly, all her newfound skill would be called to bear with this one.

“I think I can handle it,” she told the senior deputy, who reluctantly stood aside while she entered the cubicle. Unnoticed, Michael followed her.

One look at the youth alarmed her. His expression was glassy-eyed and unfocused and he was sweating profusely. Whatever the drug was, it was powerful and he was completely under its influence. Helen had already sent out the code for the resident on duty.

Everyone was stunned when the boy suddenly
screamed and threw up his arms to protect his face as though he were being attacked. He kicked out blindly, just missing Rachel only because Michael managed to drag her out of reach.

“Miss Rachel—”

“It’s okay, Michael.” Without taking her eyes from the crazed youth, she waved a hand in the general direction of the waiting room. “Wait for me at my desk,” she told Michael, walking toward the boy again as he somehow managed to elude both the orderly and Helen.

“Get away from me!” he yelled, backing up against the examining table.

He was trembling all over, his eyes frantic. Rachel’s heart went out to him, as she wondered what horrors he was seeing in his mind. “What’s his name?” she asked.

“Kevin Nicholson,” Michael said.

Rachel blinked, her concentration broken for an instant. “You know him?”

“No. Yes, ma’am, I guess. I see him around at school.”

“Kevin,” she began, speaking softly. “My name’s Rachel.” She managed a smile. “All these people here are friends. We don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to help you.”

“I gotta get outta here!” he cried, giving the waste receptacle a violent shove. It hit the startled orderly and sent him sprawling. Helen let out a
distressed sound, but Rachel couldn’t afford to look away from Kevin. She put out her hand, palm up. “Kevin, why don’t you come over here and just talk to me a few minutes.”

Wild-eyed, watching both Rachel and Michael as though they were aliens, he put out both hands to hold them off. “Stay away from me!”

“Okay, Kevin, it’s okay. Look.” Rachel took a cautious step back. “See? I’ll just stand here. Can we talk now?”

Kevin stared blindly, his eyes narrowed in an effort to focus. “They have knives! Jeez, they have knives!”

“No, Kevin. Nobody has knives.”

“And guns! Guns and knives!” He threw his arm up. “I don’t want to die!”

“Kevin, listen to me. Nobody’s going to die. Nobody’s going to hurt you. There are no knives, no guns, I promise.” Rachel stepped forward instinctively, both hands outstretched.

“You’re lying! Everyone always lies.” His voice dropped dramatically as his expression changed. “But I’m in charge now. I can hold them all off when they get a load of this!”

Before she had a chance to evade him, he grabbed a handful of her blouse and yanked her almost off her feet, pinning her against his side. She cried out in surprise, vaguely aware that he was fumbling at the small of her back. She thought
dazedly of rape, but it was only a fleeting idea, one among a rush of horrifying possibilities that crowded her mind.

Then she realized he was groping for something on his own person. Her eyes flew to Michael’s and her terror increased tenfold. Michael should be with the deputies in the safety of the waiting room. Why hadn’t he heeded her? Only as she felt the savage nudge of cold steel against her temple did she realize that Kevin had a gun.

J
AKE CLOSED THE DOOR
behind Parker Jamison, the editor of the
Tidewater Journal,
and stood for a moment kneading the side of his neck. His muscles were as tight as rawhide. He thought briefly of phoning Rachel at the hospital. Mike would still be at school. They could talk awhile. He dropped his arm to his side and inhaled wearily. Fat chance.

To distract himself, he focused on Parker Jamison’s visit. Parker was a friend as well as a business associate. He’d stopped by to discuss ideas and dates for the political ads that would run in the
Journal
now that the campaign was under way. Liz had been in on the meeting, but she’d left ten minutes before for an appointment with the photographer to view the proofs for a series of photographs that would appear in the
Journal
along with the ads.

He went to his desk and sat down. The cam
paign was heating up and so was his town. His county. Deep in thought, he scanned the notes he’d made during his conversation with Parker after Liz left. They had nothing and everything to do with his campaign. According to Parker—from sources he’d told Jake he would not divulge—a major drug distribution outfit was operating somewhere along the coastline of Florida and very likely within Jake’s jurisdiction in Kinard County. Parker’s information dovetailed neatly with DEA intelligence Jake was getting from Rick Streeter.

Jake leaned back and put his feet up. It wouldn’t surprise him if Parker’s information was eventually traced to someone at the DEA in Miami. Idly he toyed with the idea of calling Rick and alerting him to the possibility of a leak within his unit. When it came time to execute the operation, a breach of security could mean somebody’s life.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temple. He’d had another disturbing visit from Joe Crenshaw. Joe was concerned that too many kids were showing up at Tidewater High School high as a kite. He didn’t have any evidence, but he told Jake he suspected the source of the drugs was very near the campus. How else were so many kids getting the stuff before the bell rang for first period? He’d come to Jake instead of the local police chief because he worried that J.B. Gonzales might use the information politically. As Jake knew, the prob
lem was county-wide, not confined within the city limits. If he was forewarned, Crenshaw had said, maybe Jake would be able to spike J.B.’s guns before the situation became a political hot potato.

Jake drummed his fingers on his desk. What the hell
was
he going to do?

His phone buzzed. Drawing in a deep breath, he picked it up.

“Line one, Jake.”

“Jake? Helen Falco.”

“Helen. How are you?”

“Oh…” She sounded slightly breathless. “Fine, I’m fine. Jake—”

He tensed at something in her tone and sat up a little. “What is it, Helen?”

“Oh, Jake…” Her voice faltered. “Jake, it’s Rachel.”

He frowned. “What about her?”

“And Michael.”

His heart began to pound. He held the receiver with one hand and braced himself against the arm of his chair with the other. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I’ve already called the police. They’re here now.”

“Why, Helen? What’s going on?”

“We have a boy—about fifteen, I’d say. He’s totally out of control, Jake. PCP or something. I’m
guessing, of course, but he’s hallucinating, he’s wild.”

“Helen, for God’s sake! What does this have to do with Rachel? Or Michael?”

There was a pause. “Oh, Jake, he has them. Both of them.”

“He has them?” Jake shook his head blankly. “What—”

“Rachel was trying to calm him. She’s so good at that, Jake. Just a few words, usually, and she has them as docile as babies. But this one, Kevin something—”

“What about Rachel?” Jake demanded fiercely.

“He was babbling about guns and knives, extremely agitated…paranoid, actually. He thought we were going to hurt him.”

“What about my wife!” he shouted. “My son!”

Helen drew in a broken breath. “He has them both, Jake.”

“How? How can he have them? You said J.B.’s men were there, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but… He has them in the supply room, Jake. They’re locked in, just Rachel and Michael and the boy.”

With a curse, Jake surged up, sending his chair crashing backward. “Jake—”

“Are they hurt?”

“I don’t know. They—”

“I’m on my way. I’ll—”

“Jake!”

Something in her tone stopped him. “What?”

“He has a gun, Jake.” A sob shuddered from her. “He’s in the storeroom with them and he has a gun.”

L
ATER
, J
AKE
never remembered the trip from headquarters to the hospital. In the course of his career, both as sheriff of Kinard County and in the DEA, he’d lost count of the number of dangerous situations he’d managed successfully. In none of them was there ever anything personal at stake. He squeezed his lower jaw, seeing Rachel’s face, Michael’s trusting gaze. To a lawman, a hostage situation was the most feared, the most delicate, the most dangerous. He cursed his helplessness. These past few months his whole damn life seemed out of control. Scotty had been snatched from him, his marriage was disintegrating, his town swimming in drugs. Now Rachel and Michael… He realized it was possible for a man’s blood to freeze while he still functioned.

Rachel, Rachel…Michael… Please, God, don’t let them be hurt.

He pulled to a screeching stop at the hospital in a sea of Tidewater P.D. vehicles, flashing blue lights, squawking radios and general chaos. Before
he cleared the front end of his car, J. B. Gonzales met him.

“Jake, I know this is tough, but it’s in city jurisdiction and we’re handling it. You’re gonna have to stand back.”

“City jurisdiction?” Jake stared at him in consternation. “J.B., that’s my wife and my son in there, and nothing short of an A-bomb will keep me back.”

“Jake!” J.B. grabbed at him, but he’d already stepped through the narrow yellow police barrier, snapping the plastic and sending it fluttering crazily to the pavement. Cursing, J.B. stalked along beside him. “We have a hostage situation here, Jake. You can’t just go charging in there.”

“Watch me.” His face grim, Jake took the steps beside the emergency-room ramp two at a time. His hand slammed into the glass door, pushing it open. “Helen told me they’re locked in a supply room. Has that changed?”

“Well, no. It appears—”

“Appears?” In the act of assessing the scene, he stopped and looked into Gonzales’s indignant face. “Why don’t you know? Have you got someone else managing this?”

“Don’t mess with me, Jake!” But J.B. was talking to air. Jake had already started across the waiting room. J.B. hurried after him. “Of course, I’m in charge here! I don’t have to be inside to
take care of things. I’m doing it by radio with the commander of the SWAT team.” Finding himself beyond the known secured area for the first time, he looked around warily. “As you see, we’ve followed procedure here. We’ve evacuated everyone except the two officers who originally apprehended the suspect.”