A Love for Safekeeping (14 page)

“Thanks,” Kyle said, stepping out of her way. Wanting to be with Jane, not in another room, he was tempted to flash his badge, but he pushed away the urge.

When Jane vanished behind the double doors, Kyle followed the sign to the waiting room. As always on a weekend, the room was crowded with concerned families, waiting for news. He slid into a chair, bracing his
elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him, and reviewed the evening.

Earlier in the evening, Jane had been fine, no sign of illness. It was one of those quick flu viruses or food poisoning, he was sure. He reviewed the contents of their plates. Like he’d told the nurse, he and Jane had eaten basically the same food. He felt fine. So could it be food poisoning or—?

As the thought hit him, blood hammered in his temples.
No! Dear Lord, no!
He rubbed his hand across his face, then kneaded the tension knotting in his neck. It couldn’t be.

T
ime dragged as Kyle waited and wondered. Doctors and nurses entered and exited the waiting room, talking in soft voices to families while he stared at the door.

An hour passed, and he’d heard nothing. Earlier he’d wandered back to the admissions area, but they asked him to remain in the waiting room. “We’ll let you know as soon as we can,” they’d told him.

But Kyle was not good at waiting. And today he had no patience. The smell of coffee, too old and too strong, hung in the air, and frustrated, he rose and poured a cup. He returned to his chair, staring at the black brew more than drinking the potent liquid.

Another fifteen minutes passed. Finally a doctor came through the door, scanning the anxious faces, then spoke. “Family of Jane Conroy?”

Kyle jumped as if on a pulley. “I’m with Jane Conroy,” he said, stepping to the doctor’s side.

“Family?”

“No, a friend. We were together tonight when she got sick. Is she all right?”

“Miss Conroy has a bad case of food poisoning. We gave her an emetic to induce vomiting, then decided it was also necessary to pump her stomach. She’ll have a sore throat, I’m afraid.”

Fear welled in Kyle’s mind. He hesitated a moment, then barreled ahead. “Look, Doctor, I’m a Redmond police officer, and I’m concerned about this. Jane has had a stalker problem.”

As he spoke, Kyle pulled out his wallet and showed the doctor his ID. “Someone has been tormenting her, frightening her, at first. But I suspect the person is planning to harm her.” He flipped his wallet closed and slid it back into his pocket. “Could this incident be caused by poison, rather than food poisoning?”

The doctor thought a moment. “Certainly it’s possible.”

“Could you have the emesis tested?”

“I’ll send a sample to the lab.”

Kyle felt his shoulders relax. “Thanks.”

The doctor nodded. “If you’d like to see her, you can go in now. I want her to wait a few more minutes to make sure she’s okay. Then you can take her home.”

His mind swimming with questions, Kyle followed the doctor down the hall.

The next morning, Jane opened her eyes and pulled herself from the fog. She looked at her room. Her bed. Then she remembered the nightmare hadn’t been a dream.

Confusion rattled her, and she swung her feet to the floor, trying to sort the painful memories. The nausea. The fear.

She drew a deep breath and the rich aroma of coffee beckoned her. But how?

Grabbing her robe, she hurried down the hallway, following the enticing scent and hesitated seeing Kyle sitting at her kitchen table.

He leaped up when she walked through the doorway and in a heartbeat, stood beside her. “You’re okay?”

“My throat hurts,” she said, feeling the raspy pain as she breathed.

“That’s because they pumped your stomach.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I slept on the sofa,” he said, pouring her coffee.

She sat beside him, letting the warm liquid wash over her aching throat, but his concerned face pained her more deeply.

Quietly they waded through the night’s events, and though he didn’t say, she knew he feared the worst.

“Jane, last night, I was lost. Seeing you so ill and wondering if…and thinking how it might be…” He lowered his head and drew in a wavering breath. “I know how a woman must feel when her cop husband leaves fearing he may never came home again. But I love you. I can’t lose you.”

His eyes pleaded with her, and the ache settled deeper in the pit of her stomach. “Kyle, not now. We’re both concerned—”

His head rose, and his gaze locked with her. “No, Jane, this is the time. You must tell me why you can’t let the past go. Why are you afraid to love me?”

Could she put her feelings into words? And would he love her when he knew the truth? She drew in an uneven breath. “Years ago, Kyle, I promised myself never to fall in love with anyone even vaguely connected with the police.”

“Why? Too much stress and worry?”

If that were only it. “Too much like my past. Too many bad memories.” She focused on the coffee mug.

“Tell me about it, Jane. Please. Maybe saying it will ease whatever it is you’re dealing with.”

The role of pastor and confessor rose in her thoughts. Instead, a pastor’s son would hear her confession…but only God could give her absolution.

Jane searched her thoughts. “I don’t know where to begin or what’s truth from fiction anymore.”

“Just talk. We’ll sort it out,” Kyle said.

She peered into his kind, loving face, wondering if he’d feel the same when she finished.

Closing her eyes, she delved into her disorganized thoughts. “My dad was a tough man. Growing up, I saw a lot of his anger, usually vented at my mother. He brought the stress home. Nothing physical, except slamming and pounding his fist. Angry words, vile words, silence, rage. You know.”

Kyle didn’t respond, but his eyes remained attentive and compassionate.

Jane filled her lungs with air, released it in a quivering blast, and continued.

“Sometimes I tried to defend my mother. That’s when he aimed his anger at me. He threatened me, but never hit me.” She faltered. “Often, I wished he’d die.”

Hesitant, she surveyed Kyle’s face, fearing what she’d see. She saw only love.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she rubbed her knuckle below each eye to catch the moisture. “I’m ashamed of that, but it’s the truth. I prayed that he’d die. But I wanted God to give him a few more minutes of
life…right at the very end so he’d beg for forgiveness. I thought then he’d really know how much he hurt us.”

Kyle’s voice was tender. “And did you forgive him, Jane? In your thoughts?”

“Always.” The word quivered from her. “But I’ve felt rotten facing my wishes and prayers. How can God forgive me? How can you forgive me?”

Kyle slid his hand over hers, and when he spoke, she could almost hear his father’s voice. “We pray ‘Forgive us, as we forgive others.’ So you’re already forgiven, Jane. It’s God’s promise.”

“But the commandment says, ‘Honor your father and mother,”’ she explained, her voice raspy. “I was angry at my father because he treated my mother badly. I broke one commandment trying to do what another says. I told lies to protect my mother—that I’d burned the chicken, that I’d broken the screen door, that I’d been home all evening when I’d been out with friends. I couldn’t win.”

Kyle rose, and pulled Jane into his arms. “Remember dad’s sermon a while ago? Jesus came to earth to call
sinners,
not the righteous.”

The verse tore through Jane’s mind.

“If we were perfect, Jane, would we need Jesus?” His gaze captured hers. “Probably not. We’d get to heaven on our own—without Jesus. But we’re sinners. We all break God’s law. The question is, are you sorry for your sins?”

“You know I am.” Jane wiped the telltale tears rolling from her eyes. “Sorrier than I could ever say.”

“Then God knows your heart. Oh, Jane, my love. He knows all our hearts.”

In her sigh, a sense of relief swept over her like cool water in a barren wasteland.

He pressed her against him, resting his cheek against her hair, and she could feel his heart beating against hers. She was surrounded by a peaceful calm.

Knowing the Christmas holiday began midweek, Jane forced herself to return to school on Monday. But more than before, she looked at her co-workers and friends with fearful eyes. Was the food poisoning really another coincidence?

When Wednesday arrived, she rushed through her classes, anxious to get away for a few days. Before she could escape the building, Jane’s heart sank when she saw Skylar standing in her doorway.

As he strode into her room, he began his statement. “I was notified by central office that Mr. Malik has filed a suit against you and the district with the American Civil Liberties Union.”

“A civil suit?” She rose. “Based on what?”

Skylar pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’ll have to talk with Kirk Brown at central office.”

“Today? Everyone’s gone for the holiday, haven’t they?”

“He said see him on January 4. He’ll arrange for you to talk with the district’s lawyers.”

“I’ve done nothing, Mr. Skylar.”

“Don’t convince me. Convince the lawyers.”

Civil suit. Jane’s chest tightened, her breathing restricted. She couldn’t imagine what Sam Malik had on his mind. Everyone knew how much she liked Lena. She looked at Skylar, realizing that nothing she could say would appease him, either.

He turned on his heel and walked out.

Jane stared at the empty doorframe. “Have a merry Christmas yourself, Mr. Skylar.”

Christmas Eve day, Jane sat on the living room floor wrapping gifts. The telephone’s ring made her uneasy. She hesitated to answer, but when she heard Kyle’s voice, she uttered a thankful prayer. Yet the tone of his voice told her the calm would be short-lived.

“The photographs had no fingerprints. Same with the box. I’m sorry. Nothing they can do.”

“It infringes on my privacy,” Jane said, “and—”

“Taking photos without permission happens all the time. Think of the paparazzi.”

He was right. Her mind felt packed with cotton. No room for a shred of intelligent thought.

“But you have proof now, that someone is really stalking me. The photographs prove it, don’t they?”

“Right. The department kept the photos as evidence.”

He left a lengthy stretch of silence. “Jane…”

Hearing his downcast voice, she froze.

“The hospital report isn’t good, either.”

She held her breath.

“But now we have something substantial. The results showed…you were poisoned.”

He tripped on the words. They struck her like a knife, stabbing her with fear. “Poisoned. You mean
food
poisoning?” She knew the truth, but she didn’t want to.

“Poisoned…isopropanol.”

Breathless, she choked on the words. “But how? Who?”

“I don’t know. In your food or drink.”

“I ate the same things you did.” Then her heart skipped a beat. “Dale gave me a pecan tart.” She stared at the receiver, her mind searching for answers.
“And the chocolates. Lena gave me a box, and I ate a couple. What do you think, Kyle?”

“I don’t know, Jane. Was the candy box wrapped?”

“I think so.” Her memory seemed to be failing her. Too much. Too awful. Then a ray of hope brightened her thoughts. “But, Kyle, this is different. I didn’t get a note this time. Nothing.”

Only his deep sigh shivered through the wire.

She stared at the silent telephone until his voice made her deepest fear a reality. “If the poison had been fatal, you didn’t need a note, Jane.”

She sank into the chair, her limbs shaking without mercy. He was right, but she had another thought. “Kyle, there wasn’t a note with the photos, either.”

Silence.

“Kyle?”

Fear rose up her back as awareness struck her.

“I found a note, Jane.”

His words jolted her like ice water down her back. “What…what did it say?”

He faltered. “‘See Jane live?”’

She waited. That was it? “See Jane live…”
Live
wasn’t frightening.
Die
was. Still, the torment went on. And what would the next note say? The receiver trembled against her cheek. “Kyle, I can’t take this anymore.”

“But there’s a positive side to this, Jane.”

“
Positive
side. What could be positive about this? Nothing.” The words tore from her. Every ounce of frustration and fear sizzled through the air. “Nothing. I’m tired of living in fear. I can’t stand this.”

“Calm down, Jane, please.”

She covered her face with her free hand, her tears running over the telephone mouthpiece. “I want to
hide, run away, do anything.” Her sobs caught in her throat. “Dear Lord, please help me.”

“Jane, hear me out,” he said. “Now you have the department’s attention. Poisoning someone is a crime. We have a case now. I’ll pick up the box of chocolate and send them to the lab.”

His words made a slow path through her confused, frustrated mind. He was right. If she had the police’s attention, it was the first good thing that had happened.

“Jane, are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m on the desk today. I should have waited until I could come over to tell you.” His voice was filled with remorse.

“I know you meant well.” She thought about what he had said, sending a gleam of hope into her dark thoughts. “Having a real tangible case is good. Maybe now something can happen. I’m at the end of my patience, that’s all.”

“Who could blame you?” Silence hung on the line. Then she heard his sigh. “I wish I could be with you tonight. I hate to leave you alone on Christmas Eve.”

“Betsy and Perry invited me for dinner, and I’m joining them for worship. I’ll be fine. And Perry said he’d pick me up.”

“I’m glad. And I’ll see you early tomorrow. We’ll have the whole day.”

The whole day.
The words caressed her ear. Yet how many Christmases had she and her mother sat alone? Too many.

She pressed the telephone into the cradle with trembling fingers. Poison. Like ice, the word left her frozen and numb. Her persecutor was not playing games. She realized that now. Someone wanted her dead.

“Hark! The herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king!” The music echoed through the church rafters.
Last night with Betsy she couldn’t rid herself of worry. Today with Kyle at her side, she felt safer, and Jane struggled to push the past months’ fears from her mind and concentrate on the wonderful Christmas message.

Paul rose to deliver the sermon, and Kyle wrapped his hand in hers. His reassuring presence comforted her, and her mind cleared, giving her focus on the lesson. Here in God’s house is where she could find peace, leaving her burdens at the foot of the cross. Yet, as always, Jane had to work to let go. She clung to her past like plastic wrap to a glass dish.

On her way to the Mannings’ after church, Jane recalled something Betsy had said that triggered her memory—the rumors about Jane’s father. The end of her senior year was disturbing, and she’d blocked out the incident that blackened her father’s reputation and haunted his career. Had she recounted that situation in her diary?