Black Jack: A nail biting, hair-raising thriller (Jack Ryder Book 4) (34 page)

L
iz can’t find rest
. She goes for a run at the track on base. The sweat is springing from her forehead. She is alone on the track. No one in their right mind would run in the middle of the day in the baking sun in Florida.

Liz doesn’t care. She wants it to be hard. She wants to sweat and exhaust herself, she wants to get some of all that anger inside of her out.

So far, there has been nothing in the local media about Billy the Kid or anyone talking about what happened to him at the resort. Liz smiles to herself when thinking about how much pain she inflicted on the guy. It fills her with so much pleasure, she has goose bumps in eighty-six degrees.

The sucker. Thought that he could get lucky, huh? I guess I showed him. Oh, I showed him good.

The other girls were scared when they were driving back to base.

“What if he tells the police?” Kim asked.

“What if he is found by a cleaning lady or something?” Jamie asked. “And she calls the police?”

But they were wrong for worrying. Liz always knows what she is doing. She knows a guy like Billy will never admit to anyone that a bunch of girls humiliated and degraded him like that. It is just like back in the schoolyard. Boys never tell if a girl beats them up. They know they will never hear the end of it from the other kids if they do.

“Take it easy, guys,” Liz had told them. “It’s me, remember? I’ve got this. Anyone who wants out can simply say so.”

That quieted them down. They all knew what happened to the last girl who had tried to leave the group.

Liz has no idea what happened to Billy the Kid after they left him. Maybe he died? Nah, then she would have heard about it. It would have been on TV, and there was nothing the next morning or today. Part of her wants the media to tell about what she did. She likes it when they shiver in fear of what she can do. It isn’t like they would ever know it was her. She is very good at covering her tracks. It is easy for her. Almost too easy.

She likes being in control. She likes having all the power. It almost went wrong once, but she always lands on top. She is that good at what she does. It is almost a sport for her.

In this moment, while running the track in the burning heat, Liz is feeling a great thrill go through her body. She saw the girl. Early in the morning, Liz took a drive up the coast, burning some rubber, speeding across A1A like she loves to do when she is not on duty, and right there, she saw her. She saw her walking across the street along with all the other idiots from back then.

Mary. Mary Mills.

Seeing her, Liz sped up with the intention of killing her right there on the spot, simply run her car into her floppy body. Oh how much she desired to do it, to finally finish her off, but in the last moment she had decided not to.

Not like this. Not yet. When she goes, it has to be spectacular. Your best work to date.

She isn’t surprised that Mary Mills is back. Of course she came. Liz was waiting for it. Of course she came down to help that stupid brother of hers. Of course she is here.

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,

All dressed in black, black, black,

Liz laughs out loud while running and pretending to be punching someone.

I’ll grab you hard, hard, hard

And give you smack, smack, smack

Liz speeds up and storms towards the finish line, pressing herself to the utmost, her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to burst. She throws herself on the grass, panting for her breath, then looks at her watch. She has beaten her personal best. She is in even better shape than when she was in her twenties and travelled all over the world as a soldier. She feels invincible, unbeatable. She is a freaking goddess.
The goddess of revenge
.

And she is ready to settle the score.

“
C
ould
you please keep the dog in your room?”

My dad is standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Salter and I are sitting at the kitchen table, eating the salad I have created from what little I could find in the kitchen. I am not much of a salad eater, so I have poured a lot of cheese on it and found some pieces of chicken that I prepared and put in. I am planning on going grocery shopping afterwards to get us some real food.

I look down at Snowflake, who is sleeping under my feet. Salter walked him for a long time, so he is exhausted.

“He’s not really bothering anyone, Dad.”

“Laura doesn’t like him being in here,” he says.

Of course. Laura. She came in here briefly and gave us one short look, then ran to tell. Tattletale.

“I know, but he needed to get some water and food as well, and I thought it was better to keep his bowls down here instead of on the white carpet upstairs, where he will only spill and stain.”

My dad sighs and rubs his forehead. “Alright. Just take him to your room when he has eaten and you’re done. I’ll take care of Laura. Could you please remove the surfboards from the yard as well?”

“Oh, those. Well, I kind of told Joey he could keep his board here, since he wants to go surfing with Salter tomorrow morning, and then Alex and Sandra asked if they could leave theirs as well. It’s just till tomorrow.”

“Well, we can’t have them all over the yard, Mary,” my dad says. Again, I can hear this isn’t coming from him. He never used to care when people left their boards in our yard, so they didn’t have to carry them so far. But, of course, Laura has changed that as well.

“It looks terrible. All the neighbors can see them.”

“Come on, Dad! One of our friends just lost his wife this morning in a terrible tragedy. We’re all pretty shaken up here. Can’t it wait till tomorrow? They plan on stopping by and surfing early anyway before work, and I’ll tell them to take their boards home afterwards, all right? I think we have more important things on our minds right now. Like your son. Remember Blake?”

My dad stares at me, then turns on his heel and leaves with an angry grunt. Salter looks at me.

“Eat your food,” I say. “After this, we’re going to Publix to buy some real food for this house. I can’t survive on salad alone. I am a woman in my growing age. I need calories and so do you.”

Salter laughs, then finishes his salad. I drink my carrot juice, holding my nose so I won’t taste it.

“Maybe I could spend the day with Dad instead?” Salter asks cautiously.

“You mean to tell me you’d rather be with your father, whom you never see, than spend the next couple of hours with your mother whom you
always
see, buying groceries?” I ask with a smile.

I mess up his hair. He hates when I do that. I think it’s a little early for him to be vain, so that’s why I keep doing it. He has just recently gotten a new haircut and a lock of hair keeps falling into his face, making him look cool. I like it, but I don’t like that he is getting so teenage-like. It is too early. I, for one, am not ready.

“All right, kid. I’ll call your father and drop you off on the way there. You’ll miss out on the samples, though. They have some good ones down here. And you won’t be able to pick what we eat for dinner either.”

“I think I’ll live,” he says.

I chuckle, yet feel a pinch of sadness. Grocery shopping is our thing to do usually on Saturdays. We love it. Eating all the samples that the nice ladies hand us, buying a delicious dinner and ice cream for dessert, then killing a bag of chips while chasing the aisles for the things that are actually on our list.

I enjoy having him as my life companion, and I’m not ready to let him go. At least, not yet. It is my greatest fear that he will ask me if he can move in with Joey. It would simply kill me.

“Mom, call him,” he says, and pushes my phone closer to me.

“All right, all right. Hold your horses, cowboy.”

W
hen Peter comes home
, Penelope is holding the baby in her arms while she throws up violently. Peter is startled to learn that their baby is sick once again.

“What happened?” he asks.

Penelope looks at him. “I don’t know. She just started to throw up all of a sudden. And I think she has a fever.”

“We better take her to the emergency room again,” Peter says. “She looks all pale.”

Penelope nods and shows him she has packed a bag with diapers and extra clothes, in case they have to stay the night.

“We’re not going to need that, Penelope,” he says. “It’s probably nothing. I think it needs to be really bad for them to want to keep her overnight.”

But Penelope insists on bringing the bag, and soon they rush out to the car, and just as they get in, the baby vomits once again, all over the car seat.

Penelope immediately tries to wipe it off, but Peter stops her. “It doesn’t matter. We need to go. Nothing is more important than our baby right now.”

Penelope looks into the eyes of her beloved husband and nods. “Of course not.”

When they arrive at the hospital, a doctor and a nurse take care of the baby after only a short waiting period, during which the baby throws up once again. Penelope feels such a relief when they examine her. Peter puts his arm around her while the nurses take her temperature.

“She’ll be fine,” he whispers. “Don’t worry.”

“What about your case?” Penelope says.

“Well, the hearing is tomorrow,” he says. “I put Greg and Mark on it. They can gather the things we need.”

“Don’t you want to go and call the office and hear how they’re doing?” she asks, hoping he won’t. “There was a payphone down the hall. I can stay here and hear what they say.”

“No. They’ll be fine. This is more important.”

Penelope sighs deeply. Yes, the baby was the most important thing now. She is so relieved he also feels that way.

“I can’t seem to find anything wrong with your baby,” the doctor says, when he is done listening to her heart, checking her ears and throat. “She has a little fever and she is a little dehydrated. I would like to, however, keep her for the night. Just for observation and to make sure she keeps hydrated.”

Penelope looks at Peter, who seems baffled. “Keep her overnight?”

“I assure you, it’s nothing but a precaution,” the doctor says. “If she continues to throw up all night, she will need lots of hydration. She is, after all, still only a very young baby. We can’t be too careful.”

“Of course not, Doctor,” Penelope says. “See, I told you we were going to need that bag. I even packed some clothes for you as well.”

Both parents sleep in chairs in the baby’s room at the hospital. The baby vomits another time violently before she finally finds rest. Penelope and Peter stay by her side and hardly sleep all night. Every time the baby makes the smallest sound, Penelope calls the nurses and asks for the doctor to come and see her. Peter tells her she is just too worried and the doctors assure her the baby is in good hands. Penelope listens to everything they tell her, and even writes little notes in her notebook afterwards. She is determined to know everything there is to know about this to make sure she is prepared.

The next morning, the baby wakes up feeling fine. She is cooing and smiling in her bed. Peter wants to pick her up and hold her in his arms, but Penelope stops him.

“No. Not until the doctor says it’s alright,” she says.

Peter looks at her like she has lost it. Still, he decides to wait.

A nurse enters the room and looks at the baby. “Aw, she is such a cutie. How is she doing this morning?”

“She still seems very pale,” Penelope says. “I hope she’s not going to vomit again.”

“The poor thing. Does your tummy hurt, little baby? I feel bad for her,” the nurse says, taking her temperature with a thermometer. “I hate it when they’re this young. Being in a hospital bed when you’re this young is no fun, is it? No, it isn’t. You should be at home in your own comfortable bed with your mommy and not all these tubes and machines everywhere that go beep-beep-beep.” The nurse tickled the baby on her tummy. The baby responds with a huge grin.

“I know,” Penelope says. “It’s tough. But it’s for the best. She was really sick yesterday. I’m not sure she’ll be better today. I fear the worst. She threw up a lot. It was bad, right Peter?”

Peter nods. “It was pretty bad.”

The nurse looks at Penelope. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? Ah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Penelope let out a light laugh. “This is not about me.”

“I bet neither of you got much sleep last night, huh?”

Penelope shakes her head. “No, you’re right. It’s hard when your little one is sick.”

“It’s the worst. I tell you that,” the nurse says. “My oldest has leukemia. He is home now, but you never know when you’re going to spend a night like this holding his hand, you know? And all the medicine he has to take constantly. Argh. I tell you. It’s tough on a mother. I feel for you. I really do. Sometimes I think we mothers feel the pain as much as the child.”

The nurse put her hand on Penelope’s shoulder and she feels suddenly a lot more relaxed, like the anxiety that is constantly eating at her suddenly is drowned out for a little while. It feels good. Penelope feels calm. She can’t remember feeling like this ever since the baby came into her life.

“It hasn’t been easy,” she says.

“Oh. I know,” the nurse says.” No one ever notices the mother when the child is sick, but she is suffering as well, you know.”

“So true.”

“Anyway. I sure hope your baby will be better,” the nurse says and waves at the girl who gives her a big toothless grin. “She seems to be doing very well this morning.” The nurse looks at the thermometer in her hand. “There is no fever. That’s a good sign. The doctor will be with you shortly on his rounds. I’m sure she is ready to go home.”

Home? Now? But…but what if she gets sick again?

Penelope looks at the baby in the bed, feeling all of a sudden terrified once again. The thought of having all the responsibility on her shoulders, alone, is weighing her down. She doesn’t know how to do it. She really doesn’t.

Peter comes up behind her. “Did you hear that? She said the baby seems better. That’s great news, huh honey?”

Penelope swallows hard. “Yes, dear. That is wonderful news. Wonderful indeed.”