Zero at the Bone (51 page)

“Jesus Christ, I almost died.”

“But you didn’t,” Churchill said, quietly. “And you’re not going to. You’re going to heal up and start over and you’re going to live a long, boring life.” Jack snorted laughter through his tears. “Boring. Sounds like heaven.” Churchill looked toward the door, his face brightening. “Well, speak of the devil,” he said as Megan walked in. Jack had to stop himself from gasping. She
did
look like she’d gone five rounds with a grizzly bear. She had cuts on her face and neck, and what skin he could see of her arms. Both sides of her face were bruised and her eyes were swollen. She was walking with a bit more caution than usual.

“Had to come see you before I left,” she said, smiling and coming to Jack’s bedside.

He reached up—carefully—and embraced her, mindful not only of his own injury but of hers.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Churchill said severely.

“Home. Signed myself out.”

“You got your doctor to agree to that?”

“Who says he agreed? I’m fine. All I’ll do here is lie in bed and moan, and I can do that at home.”

She pulled back, but Jack hung onto her hand. “Thank you,” he said, trying to communicate how much he meant those words with his eyes.

She smiled and touched his face. “Don’t mention it. The both of you lived, bad guys didn’t, that’s thanks enough.”

Silence fell among the battered trio. They looked at one another with veiled expressions. No one needed to say anything; the ghost of D that stood among them was doing all the talking.

Finally, Megan drew herself up and took a deep breath. “Well, I better be getting along. I’m sure I’ll have things to do pretty soon but for the time being there is a couch with my name on it.”

Jack smiled. “I think some serious TV-watching is in my future too.” She smoothed his hair back. “You be safe, Jack. I’ll look in on you from time to time.”

Jack nodded. “And… if you see….” He couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to.

Megan just laid her hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I will.”

236 | Jane Seville

MEGAN took the elevator, feeling like a wimp for doing so when her apartment was only on the second floor, but she thought her recent ordeal might excuse her.

There was no part of her body that didn’t hurt. She’d received several units of blood and overnight IV fluids but she was still wiped out. A long period of sleep sounded like just the thing. She’d have to lie low for awhile. People tended to remember women who looked like they’d been on the receiving end of a bison attack.

Jack’s doctors had said that he could be moved in the morning. Off to Albany, or at least that’s what Jack thought. What he’d soon be finding out was that
every
Witsec protectee was taken there. “Albany” was the code word the Marshals used in public for whatever city they’d picked to relocate their witness, so if they were overheard by the wrong person the security of the witness’s location would not be compromised. She had no idea where Jack was destined to land, and neither would anyone else outside Witsec.

Jack wouldn’t be told where they were going until they were en route.

She unlocked the apartment door. All was blessedly quiet. She went to the bathroom and examined herself in the mirror. It was pretty bad. Her face was swollen from both sides and heavily bruised, darker circles ringing her eyes, and the cuts on her neck and arms were angry and red. She already had an appointment with a plastic surgeon to clean up the damage so she wouldn’t be left with scars.

She tossed some cold water on her heated face, avoiding her stitches, and went back into the living room. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped, one hand flying to her chest as she stopped short.

D was sitting in the corner of the room, partially concealed by the armchair, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes staring blankly forward. He looked… not all there.
My God, has he been sitting there since yesterday?
All evidence pointed to yes. His clothes were stained with Jack’s blood and his face was pale.

“D!” she exclaimed, going to his side. “My God, what… how long have you been sitting here?”

He dragged his eyes up to hers. “All night, I guess.”

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “You seen Jack?”

“Yeah, I just came from the hospital.”

A little life came into his eyes. “Is he all right?” She sat down next to him, her back against the wall, and drew her knees up to mimic his position. “He’s all right. He had surgery, came through just fine.” She hesitated. “He’ll be leaving town in the morning. He wanted me to tell you… well, you know.”

D nodded. “Tomorrow, huh?” He sighed. “Guess that’s it, then.” Megan nodded. “That’s it.”

She waited, not speaking. She felt the tension leave D’s body gradually; a whispery tremor began in him, transmitted to her through their touching shoulders. His head dropped down and he seemed to curl inward. Megan slid one arm around his shoulders and folded her legs Indian-style, so she was ready when he slid sideways and went boneless, surrendering to his emotions for what might have been the first time in his life, melting into her lap and weeping as she knew he’d never done in front of Jack or anyone else, ragged sobs that bore the weight of so much pain, not just the pain of losing Jack but Zero at the Bone | 237

of losing his daughter, his life, his soul, and his idea of himself as a man. She held him as best she could, feeling like a poor substitute, rubbing his back and making meaningless

“shhh” noises. He had one arm wrapped around her knee and the other fist clamped to his mouth, useless barrier though it was to this bottled-up expression, these tears that were like the bleeding of a deep, wide tear, messy and directionless.

She did not calm him, or try to reassure him with words. He’d have to calm himself, and eventually he did. He fell into limp silence, exhaustion in every line of his body, sadness in every crease in his face.

Megan held him loosely across her lap, her head tipped back against the wall, the debt she owed this man hovering just over her shoulder, growing insistent (as it always did) when presented with a situation from which she could not save him, or a trouble she could not help.

Perhaps it was time for that debt to show its face.

He’d been quiet for a few minutes now, but she knew he hadn’t fallen asleep. She could feel the waking in his muscles, and the hitches in his breathing.

So she began.

“Before I was a person that doesn’t exist,” she said, “I was regular Secret Service.” He didn’t react, but she felt him shift a little and knew he was listening. “I worked my way up to protection detail. I was damn good at it. Eventually I was assigned to the Secretary of Defense. I lived in Georgetown with my husband and my two boys.” At that, she felt him flinch, no doubt with surprise, as she’d never referred to her family before.

“One night a man broke into our house with a gun. He tied up my husband and my boys and threatened to kill them if I didn’t tell him the Secretary’s itinerary for the next week. I couldn’t tell him, because I didn’t know. Only the SAC had that information. He didn’t believe me. He shot my husband in the leg to convince me he meant business. I begged. I got down on my knees and begged him to spare my family’s lives. I tried to invent an itinerary, but I was so terrified that I wasn’t very convincing. I didn’t know what to do.” She sighed and let her eyes close, the terror of that long-ago night at her fingertips, asking to be let back in. “He was about to shoot one of my sons when a rifle shot came through the window and killed him on the spot.” She let that sink in for a moment. D didn’t move.

“I think you know that man’s name.”

He sighed. “Cy Rugerand.”

“Yes.”

“It was just a job,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter, D. You saved not only me but my family when you killed him.”

“Didn’t know I’d saved nobody.”

“Oh, I think you did. You couldn’t have seen us from where you were but you had to know he had someone in there that he was threatening.” D hesitated a long time before answering. “Yeah, guess so.”

“If all you were hired to do was kill him, it would have been a lot safer for you to wait until he came out and shot him on the street. By doing it through the window, you were establishing a trajectory and giving away your position on the rooftop across the way, which could have left you vulnerable if any forensics were found there, plus you were making it impossible to pass it off as a mugging, or really as anything but an intentional hit. You couldn’t have been
planning
to shoot him while he was inside the house; that’s insane. No one does that because it’s too risky. You were going to shoot him coming or going, but you changed your plans when you saw what was going on.” 238 | Jane Seville

She let her hand rest on D’s arm. “You shot him when you did to save us, even if you didn’t know it was us you were saving.”

D stayed quiet.

Megan shut her eyes again and rested her head against the wall. “Nothing was the same after that. My husband left me and took our sons away. I didn’t fight for custody.

They’re better off with him and I didn’t trust myself anymore than David trusted me. I was too dangerous. I’d put them all in jeopardy, and he couldn’t live with it. Neither could I. I don’t see them more than a couple of times a year. It hurts, but they’re safe, and that’s what’s important. David remarried. She’s a math professor and she loves the boys, and they love her. I’m okay with that. As long as no one ever tries to hurt them again because of me.” She looked down at D’s profile. “I asked for a transfer out of protection and got into this. Made it my business to find out who’d killed Rugerand. When I found out it was you I did some digging and figured out who you were, and what had happened to you.” She sighed. “Almost ten years I’ve tracked you. Watching you take some jobs and leave others, seeing what kind of man you were or if you were a man at all, or just a monster who killed for money.”

She looked out the window at the afternoon sunlight. The sky was blue; it was a beautiful day. Too beautiful to be sitting here holding a blood-soaked, heartbroken man on her lap while she spilled her guts.

“I would be yours if you wanted me,” she finally said, after a long pause. “But I know you don’t. I’m okay with that. I know about that secret lockbox in your gut, the one where you keep all the sludge and tar and pain. And I know you found the person who had the key to open it. I’m still looking, I guess.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’m not looking at all. Some things are best left locked away.” D stayed where he was for a few beats, then sat up and resumed his position at her side, back to the wall. He stretched out his legs and rubbed at his eyes, then stared at his hands. “I’m in love with him,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Megan nodded. “I know. That means I’ll be watching out for him now too. Anyone you ever care about, D. Anything you ever need.”

“It was just a job,” D said, his voice rough.

She smiled. “You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter. You made a choice, and that choice saved me and my family.”

He finally lifted his head and looked at her full in the face, but whatever he planned to say died behind a horrified expression. “Oh my God, what the fuck happened ta you?”

“Petros had a go at me. I’m fine.”

“You ain’t fine; you look half-dead. You oughta be in the hospital.”

“I checked myself out.” She squared her shoulders a little. “Punched that psychopath’s ticket, though.”

D hesitated, and then smiled a little. “Killed him?”

“I’d like to take credit for superior strategy, but it was more or less a reflex.”

“How?”

“Straight razor to the throat.”

D looked impressed. “Damn. That’s old-school.”

“Well, he did go pretty medieval on my face,” she said, grimacing.

“That’s for fuckin’ sure. You want some ice or somethin’?”

“I’m okay. They gave me some Darvocet at the hospital.” He was silent for another few moments. “Megan, look… whatever debt y’owe me, you done paid it back and then some. You saved my life and Jack’s when you called Zero at the Bone | 239

Churchill. We’d both be lyin’ dead on some warehouse floor right now if ya hadn’t. That ain’t sayin’ nothing ’bout all them times you saved my life before, or how ya helped us out in Tahoe.”

“A life debt isn’t a mortgage, D. You’re not done after thirty years plus interest. It’s never over; it’ll never be repaid.”

“Well, then… I owe you one a them life debts now too. So I guess we jus’ keep payin’ each other back ’til somebody cries uncle.”

“I’m game if you are.”

“’Fraid I’m gonna be real busy fer the next foreseeable future.”

“Well, you know how to reach me.” She stood up and extended a hand to help D to his feet. “Let’s not rush off just yet. We could both use a shower, some clean clothes and some food, I’m guessing.”

D put a hand on his stomach. “I am kinda hungry. Guess… I dunno. Now I know Jack’s safe, well… it’s a load off my mind fer the time bein’.”

“I brought your things back from Jack’s car. You left it at the warehouse.”

“Right. Thanks.” He started toward the bathroom, then turned. “You give Jack back his things too?”

“Sure did.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Hate ta think a him without that doctor bag.” THEY ordered a pizza and ate it sitting on the floor by the coffee table, not talking much.

Megan was feeling a little wrung out from her confessional. She’d been rehearsing how she’d someday tell D what he’d done for her for years now, but when the time had come all her preparations had gone out the window and the facts had come spilling out in a blunt, declarative flood. She felt hollowed out; the space within herself where she’d stored all her secrets and all those words she knew she’d someday say to him was empty and echoing. It was a good kind of empty, though. Unlike the kind of empty that she knew had taken up residence inside D.

D drank half a bottle of beer at a swallow. “Goddamn,” he said. “That hit the spot.” She nodded, mouth full of pizza. “Grease and carbs always hit the spot.” He fiddled with the edge of his paper towel, a thoughtful expression on his face.