A Love for Safekeeping (16 page)

T
he next day, Jane went to the hospital early, but Paul was already there, sitting at Kyle’s side, reading the Bible while his son slept.

He rose and pulled another chair beside his. They talked softly and waited. Jane longed to tell Paul about her frightening experience. But telling anyone seemed useless, and if Kyle overheard, he would only be more frustrated. She swallowed her desire. She’d tell him after he was well.

Kyle moaned faintly, then opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Am I in heaven?” he asked, his voice stronger. “I see an angel.” He grinned.

His smile filled her. He still loved her. As if God touched her, she sensed things would be all right.

His father laughed. “Heaven on earth, maybe. You feeling better?”

“I’m hungry.”

Jane’s spirit lifted. Hunger was a good sign. She
rolled his tray of uneaten breakfast to his bed, lifted the lids and returned to the chair.

Kyle delved into the food. “Have you been here all night?” he asked. He caught a stray piece of cold toast with his napkin.

Paul laughed. “We walked her to the parking lot last night and forced her to leave.”

“That true?” Kyle asked.

Jane nodded, her pulse skipping when she thought of the parking lot.

He stretched his arm toward her. “A long, boring evening.”

“Long, but not boring. Your dad gave me something to think about,” Jane said, taking his hand and moving to his side.

“Is that good or bad?” Kyle said, giving her a tired grin.

“Good,” she said. “You know how I’ve felt about my dad.”

He nodded and squeezed her hand.

“Jane,” Paul said, his face strained, “I’ve been thinking and, well, maybe…I can help you more than I have. I, eh, know a lot of things about your dad.”

She jerked her head toward him. “I don’t understand,” she said, controlling her panic.

“It’s a long, troubling story, but your dad and I knew each other more than just those committees I mentioned before. I don’t have to protect anyone any longer…I don’t think. Tell me what’s really bothering you, Jane.”

After so many years, how could she explain her true feelings? She wasn’t sure
she
knew what they were. She’d lived in distorted recollections and guilty memories so long, her reality and fantasy had tangled. She
sorted her thoughts. “I suppose the worst were the rumors and threats.”

“You heard rumors?” Paul asked, his brows knitting. “And you were threatened?

She nodded. “Rumors that Dad was mixed up in the rackets. I was ashamed to think my dad was a crooked cop, but when he was killed, I was sure they were true.”

Paul’s face contorted, sending a haunting feeling skittering through Jane.

“But they weren’t true,” Paul said. “I know.”

Jane’s head snapped upward. She peered at him, waiting to hear anything that might help her understand.

Kyle squeezed Jane’s hand. “Explain, Dad.”

“Your father let the rumors live, trying to protect someone.”

Her pulse coursed through her veins. “He what?”

“He took the heat off someone else…or tried to.”

Kyle nodded knowingly, but Jane searched Paul’s face, not understanding.

“That’s the long story I mentioned.”

Jane eyed Kyle, then Paul. “I’d like to know….”

Paul drew in a lengthy breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded. “A man walked into the church one day years ago and asked if we could talk. He was involved in the rackets—drugs and money laundering. He wanted out. But he was scared to death.”

Kyle scowled. “A church member?”

“No. I never saw him before.”

“Why did he come to you?” Jane asked.

“No idea. He may have lived in the area. Who
knows? I contacted the police and worked out a deal for him. It was your dad who came to the church.”

The story rolled through her. “You mean the man confessed to my dad?”

“Ratted is what they call it,” Kyle said.

Paul nodded. “They promised him immunity for information. The vice squad wanted the big guys. You know, the kingpins.”

Jane drank in the story, facts she wished she’d heard years earlier. “And did they get the…kingpins?”

“Some of them. Eventually.”

Her heart tripped. “But the rumors…about my father?”

“When the police got busy, the journalists got nosy, pressing for the name of the stoolie. Your dad took the brunt of their guessing game. They knew he was involved somehow.”

Jane’s hands trembled in Kyle’s. For the first time, she understood. “So the police made up a story?”

“Yes. If they didn’t have a stoolie, then they needed a crooked cop. Redmond had some, I’m sure, but not your dad.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

Jane nodded.

“But your father didn’t deny it. It would have put the informant in danger…or me, Jane. He kept his mouth shut.”

“Is that why my dad was shot?” she asked.

“I can only guess. I think there was a connection.”

Agony seemed to fill his face, and he caved against the chair back. Though Jane wanted to stop, she needed to hear the truth.

With a heavy sigh, Paul continued. “Your dad knew
too much for his own good. It was too late for the mob to shut him up. But they could get even.”

Blood hummed in her ears. She caught her breath. “Like a vendetta?”

“That’s what I think,” Paul said.

“Sure sounds like it,” Kyle agreed.

Guilt and sorrow surfaced on Paul’s strained face.

“And they never knew about you?” Jane asked.

Fidgeting, he closed his eyes for a moment, then pressed his hands together in fists and shook his head.

“God is good,” Jane said. “I’m grateful.” She slid her hand over his knotted fingers. “What about the other guy? The informant?”

“Dead.”

“They killed him, too?” Jane understood the hidden sorrow Paul had carried for so many years and wished she hadn’t riled the stagnant waters of his memories.

“But not before the department had all the facts they needed,” Paul said.

“I’m sorry I made you remember it all. I had no idea.”

“If it helps you, then it’s worth it,” he said.

The reality of his words rose around her like ice on her sprain. Slowly the cooling impact of his words soothed and comforted her. “My dad was innocent.”

Paul touched her arm. “He was a good cop, Jane.”

“His only sin was a bad temper,” she whispered.

A faint look of amusement flickered on Paul’s face. “Well, I wouldn’t know about the
only
sin. But I imagine he was a regular sinner like all of us.”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes together to control the sobs that lay like a knot in her throat.

“You’re a good woman,” he added. “You’ve been
punishing yourself for what you thought were your dad’s sins.”

She looked at him through a blur of tears. “I have, I guess.”

“The Bible says something that I wish you’d recalled years ago. ‘Fathers shall not be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their fathers; each is to die for his own sin.’ You remember that now.”

“I will.”

“That’s good,” he said.

Kyle released a heavy sigh. “Does Mom know about this?”

“She sure does,” his father said. “I never keep anything from your mother.”

Jane listened, lost in thought. Her father was a hero, and she’d believed all those years he’d been a bad cop. The news washed over her like a balm. Her dad had still been an angry man, too vile at times and too quick to rant at her mother, but now the knowledge added a new spin to the story. It had taken the edge off, softened it as if the bright interrogation lights were dimmed. Now, for the first time, Jane saw a human being beneath the burning glare—her father.

And Paul was right. In judging her father, she had also judged herself. She had tried to bear his sins, as well as her guilt, and they had weighted her down. Her vision turned to the church window, the picture of the wounded Christ bearing the sins of the world, and she wished she’d given her weighty load to the Lord long ago.

On New Year’s Eve day, Kyle stretched out on his parents’ sofa, dressed in sweatpants and shirt. Using
wisdom, he’d agreed to spend a few days with them, recuperating. He was frustrated, though, and anxious for some privacy with Jane. He longed to know if the new information about her father would make a difference.

When his mother opened the door, he heard Jane’s voice. She bounded into the living room, and he was glad when his mother made an excuse, leaving them alone.

Kyle sat up, eased his left shoulder into the sofa corner and reached for Jane with his right arm. She rushed into his embrace.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, nuzzling his chin against her soft, fragrant hair. “Never thought a woman could wrap me around her tiny finger, but you have.”

“Kyle, I’m sorry. I have no excuse and nothing to say, except I love you, and I beg you to forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, Jane. I forgave you the moment I walked out the door. I just waited for you to tell me to come home.”

“Come home,” she said, tears wetting her lashes.

He caressed her smooth cheek, then let his kisses trail from her forehead to her nose, kissed the dampness from her eyes and ended where he longed to be—her lips.

The kiss sent a trail of longing down his limbs. Yet, against his wishes, a new awareness surged. She had spoken the words he’d wanted to hear—
I love you.
But with his fears, could he handle her love?

His eyes lingered over each detail of her face until, filled with desire, he lowered his mouth to hers, deepening the kiss.

He felt her excitement, yielding to his touch.

With a final caress, Kyle released her and said the
words on his mind. “Before I met you, I prayed each time I went to work that I’d come home in one piece. Now I have someone to come home for, and life seems too precious. I’m…not sure I want to put you through these fears every day.”

The thought of losing her reared in his mind, and he pressed her torso against his right shoulder, holding her as if she might vanish if he let her go.

“I don’t have answers, Kyle, but I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll accept anything you decide to do with your life—our life.” She ran her hand along his jaw, raising one finger and pressing it against his lips. “Please don’t say anything. Not now.”

She slid her hand to the nape of his neck and he felt his muscles flex with her touch. He wanted her more than he could say, but how? How could he resolve the fears that tore at him. His badge stood between them. His parents’ pleading faces filled his mind. Would he see the same frightened look in Jane’s?

Though she’d learned more about her father—about the past that hurt her so deeply—Kyle faced the truth. He could only offer her the same life. Without the violence, maybe, but the same day-in and day-out danger, never knowing when or where he might be gunned down.

He winced at his throbbing wound beneath the thick bandage. He released his grip on Jane, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders.

Her face echoed the same mixed emotions he felt. Fear, longing, desperation.

She lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. “In the past months, I’ve felt more complete with you than I have my entire life.”

The feeling was his own. Kyle brushed his lips
against her ear, pushing away the worry that nagged at him. He hoped that prayer and time would give him insight. “You nabbed my heart the first day I saw you…and without reading me my rights.”

“You have no rights when it comes to me.”

He caught hold of her teasing, and let it pull him from his worries. “I’m just a prisoner of love.”

As Kyle’s voice faded, his mother returned to the room, ending their private talk. “Your dad’s pulling in,” she said to Kyle. “So dinner won’t be too long. I’ve set a place for you, Jane, and don’t say a word.” She offered a warm smile and lifted a cautioning finger.

Jane did as she was told. The only word she uttered was a quiet prayer, thanking God for this loving family.

On January fourth, Jane left the central office building, feeling that someone finally understood the situation with Sam Malik better than Skylar did. She’d reviewed the situation with the administration, and she would meet the school district’s lawyers and someone from the American Civil Liberties Union.

A few days later, she sat surrounded by lawyers, Kirk Brown and legal people from the ACLU. She’d gone over her story and was surprised to learn they had already talked with parents, staff and students in their investigation.

To her surprise, Sam Malik’s charge was the opposite of what she had imagined. His suit claimed Lena suffered embarrassment and discrimination by receiving special ed support when no proven learning disabilities existed. His scheme was a hoax for money, and she’d fallen prey.

With testimony from others, she was assured that
she’d be cleared of any civil rights charges. Jane left the meeting with relief.

When she arrived home, a Happy Birthday balloon sat on her front porch attached to a package. She grinned. Kyle had been teasing her about her impending thirtieth birthday. Feeling the weight of the package, she figured he’d elicited George’s help in getting it to the house.

Scooting it through the front door, the package felt like bricks. She dropped her coat and bag on the chair and pulled off the box wrappings. The balloon floated to the ceiling before she could nab the string. She pulled off the card taped to the box, and her blood froze. The simple message said, “Happy birthday, Jane.” But the block print looked all too familiar.

With her heart as heavy as the gift, she stared at the dismal box. If it had been a bomb, she’d already be blown to smithereens since she’d jiggled the package while carrying it inside by herself. But fearful, and sickened by the situation, she hesitated to open it.

Finally she made her decision. She hurried to the telephone and, with shaking fingers, dialed. Kyle would tell her what to do.

But Ruth answered. “Kyle’s not here, Jane.” Ruth hesitated. “Is something wrong?”