Because of the tension between Tucker and Dawson, Wills continued as spokesperson. “All gloves have come off. A manhunt is under way for Carl Wingert and Jeremy Wesson. Every law enforcement agency in five states is on high alert.
“Knutz would be here himself, except he’s gone into overdrive, coordinating the effort. Coast Guard’s put up choppers to patrol the beaches. First thing tomorrow morning, police boats will start searching the inland waterways. Canine units will be called up if they’re needed. US Marshals Service. State police. You name it, he’s got them working it.
“But the problem is,” he continued, tugging at his long earlobe, “we’re talking about a huge area and we don’t have a starting point. Apparently Wesson was using a bogus license when he got that traffic ticket, because none was issued in South Carolina to his SSN. We don’t know of any kinfolk they have in the area except Ms. Nolan here. Jeremy’s Marine buddies are being canvassed, but—”
“They’re the last people he would contact,” Amelia said.
“That’s what we think, too. But we gotta check. As Tucker noted, we don’t have a make and model of the vehicle they were driving.”
“Tire tracks?” Dawson asked.
“We tried, but there’s nothing but hard pavement around that vacant building. Surrounding buildings are also vacant, so there was no one to question about vehicles seen in the area.”
“Security cameras?”
“None operable, because the businesses are kaput.”
“What about traffic cameras?” Amelia asked.
“Being checked all over the city, but most only capture the license plate, not the driver.”
“Cameras on the bridges?”
“Are being checked. But lots of cars, lots of drivers. It’ll take time.”
Tucker broke a thoughtful silence by asking Amelia if she had duplicates of Jeremy’s credit cards.
“Not for years. I’ve had my own accounts since we separated.”
“We were hoping maybe he’d use an ATM or make a purchase.”
“You don’t think Carl would avoid leaving such an obvious trail?”
“Hey,” Tucker said, taking offense at Dawson’s snide tone. “We’re doing our best here.”
“That’s what worries me,” Dawson fired back. “If you had listened to Headly sooner—”
“Well, excuse me for not placing much confidence in a lawman who’s been chasing the same guy for forty years.”
Dawson was off the sofa in a blink, intent on ripping out Tucker’s flabby throat. He might have, had it not been for Amelia grabbing a handful of his shirttail to hold him back.
Which coincided with Eva’s sudden appearance in the open doorway.
Dawson worked himself free of Amelia’s grip and shouldered past the deputies in order to reach her. His arms went around her, and he bent down low to murmur into her hair, “Eva, Eva, we can’t lose him. We just can’t.”
He held her tightly while she cried into his shirtfront. But she was made of stern stuff and eventually set him away from her and wiped the tears off her face. “I was told by the policeman who met me at the airport that he’s still in surgery.”
“They took him back”—Dawson glanced at the wall clock—“over three hours ago. No word since then.”
“Did you see him before he went in?”
He shook his head. “By the time Amelia and I were allowed to leave the scene, he was being prepped in the OR. They wouldn’t let us go back.” He reached behind him for Amelia’s hand, pulled her forward, and made the introductions.
Amelia bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. “Mrs. Headly, I’m so sorry.”
Eva took her other hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“He was trying to catch the men intent on hurting me.”
“He was trying to catch Carl Wingert long before you were born.”
Amelia gave her a watery smile and motioned her toward the sofa. Eva went to it and sat down. Amelia asked if she could get her anything. Eva declined, but patted the seat next to her. “Please.” Amelia joined her and they began talking together in low tones.
Dawson turned back to Wills, who said, “We’ll keep you apprised.”
“I’ll appreciate that.”
“We’re sorry about Agent Headly.”
“Thanks.” He said it brusquely, but the remorse in their expressions was genuine, even in Tucker’s. He thanked them again with more sincerity.
The two left. Dawson, seeing that the women were involved in their conversation, stepped into the hallway. Disobeying the signs prohibiting the use of cell phones, he accessed his and punched in a familiar number. “Hey, Glenda. No, no word yet. He’s still in surgery. Got anything?”
Five minutes later, as he was disconnecting, a wiry, compact man in green surgical scrubs came through a pair of double doors. “Mr. Headly’s family?”
Dawson’s throat seized up, but he managed to nod toward the waiting area. He followed the surgeon into the room and stepped around him so that he was at Eva’s side with a supporting arm around her shoulders when the surgeon introduced himself.
“I’m sorry it took so long, but the surgery to remove the bullet was painstaking because we didn’t want to further damage surrounding tissue or nearby nerves. He’s in recovery. Not completely out of the woods, but for someone who took a hollow-point between his scapula and spine, he’s doing remarkably well.”
* * *
The surgeon provided them a much more detailed description of the wound and the repair it had required, but they absorbed little of what he said. What they heard was that, after the swelling went down, the paralysis Headly was currently experiencing in his shoulders and arms would be reversed and he should enjoy a full recovery.
Amelia knew that her relief couldn’t match that of Eva and Dawson, but it was profound nevertheless. Although Eva had absolved her of any and all responsibility, had Headly died, she would have borne that regret for the remainder of her days.
For Dawson’s sake, she was especially happy that Headly had survived.
In celebration of the good news, the three had hugged, laughing and crying in equal measure. Dawson was the first to pull himself together. He resorted to the masculine mechanism of dealing with a traumatic event by pretending he hadn’t been sorely affected by it. He cracked jokes. “He’s too stubborn to die. He wouldn’t go without giving me one final lecture.”
Eva saw through his ruse as clearly as Amelia did, but she didn’t call him on it, knowing that he was coping with his emotions in a manner that was comfortable for him. Eva placed a call to their daughter, who’d been standing by in London to learn her father’s fate. Soon after that they were told they could see Headly in recovery. Eva insisted that Dawson be allowed to go with her. He, in turn, refused to go without Amelia.
The three of them were shown into the curtained cubicle where Headly lay tethered to machines and roped in tubes. Surprisingly his eyes were open. As Eva approached the bed, he asked groggily, “Where’d you come from?”
She clasped his inert hand, and there were tears in her eyes when she bent down and kissed his lips gently. But she answered in a breezy tone. “They called to tell me that you’d been shot. I checked my calendar and it was clear. Having nothing else to do, I flew down.”
His eyes were suspiciously moist as he gazed up at her. “Just as well flush the Viagra. I can’t move my hands. Foreplay’s out.”
She laughed softly. “The paralysis is temporary.”
His unfocused eyes roved over to Dawson. “She lying?”
“No. You’ll live to screw another day.”
“Really, you two!” Eva said in mock outrage. “What will Amelia think of us?”
Headly turned his head toward her. She expressed how sorry she was for what he was suffering.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you he hit.”
“He tried,” Dawson said.
Headly closed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“Dawson saved my life.”
Headly whispered, “Are they in custody?”
“Don’t think about any of that right now, Gary.”
Despite Eva’s admonishment, he forced his eyes open and looked to Dawson, who said, “Still at large.”
“Shit.”
Eva said, “Gary, if you continue to torture yourself, I’m going to leave. I swear I will.”
No one believed her, especially not her husband, who smiled at her drowsily. “I’m damn glad your calendar was clear. Wish I could hug you.”
Dawson glanced over his shoulder at the flimsy curtain that enclosed them but provided only a modicum of privacy. “Listen, Amelia and I should split, let you two have a minute alone before they run us all out.”
“What’s your rush?” Headly asked.
“I just said.”
Headly grunted. “What’s going on?”
“Okay, if you must know, I’m hungry. On account of you, I haven’t had anything to eat today except for those crummy doughnuts at breakfast.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Even though Headly garbled some of the syllables of the last word, Dawson smiled across at Eva. “Pissy is a good sign. He’s gonna be fine.” But when he looked down at Headly, his expression turned serious. “You had me scared.” Being careful of the IV shunt taped to the back of Headly’s hand, Dawson gripped it. Huskily, he said, “Rest. Cooperate with the nurses. Take care of yourself, hear?”
The long look the two men shared was rife with unspoken meaning.
“See you in the morning.” Dawson returned Headly’s hand to his side and, after winking at Eva, turned, held the curtain aside, and motioned Amelia through.
They didn’t speak until they were out of the recovery area and walking swiftly down the corridor. “In here.” He pushed open the door leading to the stairwell. Once the door had closed behind them, he said, “He’s too smart for his own good.”
“He knew you were lying when you told him you were hungry.”
“I guess my technique needs work.”
“So what is going on?”
“I’m due to meet Tucker and Wills downstairs in a few minutes.”
“What for?”
“Glenda’s been doing some research today. She unearthed something hinky they should know about.”
“Hinky how?”
He shook his head. “Not that I’m brimming with admiration for the two, especially Tucker, but I really should share this with them first.”
“Does it relate to the shack that Willard mentioned?”
He just looked at her, said nothing.
“You won’t tell me even that much?” His silence, and the lack of trust it signified, came as a crushing disappointment. She lowered her head so she’d no longer have to look into his shuttered eyes.
After a lengthy silence, he said, “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Well, I don’t. I thought you…we…”
Placing his index finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head back until she had no choice but to look into his face. And in his expression she saw all she needed to know and more than she needed to understand.
“You thought right,” he whispered. “I, we,
did
.”
His hand slid around the back of her neck and pulled her up into a kiss so evocative and intimate that it aroused every cell in her body. Craving closeness, she clutched handfuls of his shirt and stood on tiptoe. His hand settled on her butt and secured her against him.
The kiss was bone-melting, intensely passionate, but short-lived. When he ended it, he cupped her face between his hands and stared into her eyes, then released her so abruptly she fell back against the tile wall. By the time she realized it was over, he was halfway down to the next landing, where he turned a corner and disappeared. He didn’t look back.
She stayed there for several minutes, holding her fingers against her throbbing lips, tasting him still, and trying to make sense of the last few minutes. When she replayed the scene in her mind, she realized that dialogue was missing. What had been left unsaid?
Eventually she left the stairwell. Eva was in the corridor talking with a nurse. She ended the conversation and walked toward Amelia. “I recommended they increase the dosage of Gary’s sedative. He’s fighting it.”
“He’s in pain?”
“Mental anguish. Did Dawson leave to get something to eat?”
“No, he’s meeting with the deputies downstairs. His researcher…” Noticing the strange look that had come over the other woman’s face, she asked, “What?”
“The two deputies who were in the waiting room earlier? Tucker and—”
“Wills. Yes.”
“I just left them talking to the surgeon. They wanted to know about the bullet’s trajectory. Something technical.”
For several seconds, Amelia could only stare at her with misapprehension. Then she jogged toward the direction Eva had indicated. When she rounded a corner, there stood the two deputies engaged in conversion with the surgeon.
Wills noticed her. “Ms. Nolan?”
“Where’s Dawson?”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“You weren’t meeting him? About some information his researcher…” She could tell by their blank expressions that they had no idea what she was talking about. She turned quickly toward Eva. “He lied to me.”
“He lied to all of us. And Gary knew it.”
I’m so excited! Jeremy is a daddy! His son Hunter Davis Wesson (I think of it as Wingert) was born at four something this morning. Carl didn’t remember the exact time. Men never remember the details! But he did remember that the baby weighed seven pounds, three ounces. I didn’t get to weigh Jeremy when he was born, but I think he had to have weighed at least that much!
Jeremy called Carl, which he’s not supposed to do unless it’s an emergency, like somebody’s discovered the cabin or something. (He’s paranoid about Amelia’s daddy. Calls him a shrewd old buzzard.) Carl would only talk for a minute, but Jeremy was able to tell him that the baby was born Cesarean. Both mommy and baby are fine.
Carl said maybe—just MAYBE—he’d take me to the hospital. We could pretend we were there for someone else and look at the baby through the nursery window. I’m holding my breath!
But I should know better than to get my hopes up. He wouldn’t allow me to go to Jeremy’s graduation from either high school or college. I’ve only seen him in his dress Marine uniform from a distance when he was serving as an honor guard at a football game. Carl said a drunk and rowdy crowd that big was safe for us to venture into.
I didn’t even ask if we could go to Jeremy’s wedding. I knew Carl would never hear of it. But I did ask if we could park across the street from the church and see them when they came out and got into the limo. Carl asked me if I had shit for brains. He said the wedding of a congressman’s daughter would be crawling with cops. I hadn’t thought of that. I guess maybe I do have shit for brains. Ha-ha!
My mama and daddy always said so. I thought about them today when I got the news about the baby. They’re great-grandparents. Or they are if they’re still alive, which I doubt. They’d be old now.
Over the years I’ve wondered if they followed my career. I’ve thought, wouldn’t it be funny if sometime they saw my picture on a Wanted poster in the post office? Would they be proud that I’d made something of myself even if it was as an outlaw? Or would Daddy just shake his head and mutter, “Shit for brains,” like he always did whenever I did something he thought was silly or a waste of time.
I might not have run away so young if they’d been just a little bit nicer to me and not always putting me down. I liked Carl right off because he boosted my self-esteem. He made me feel smarter and prettier than Mama and Daddy ever had.
Of course, that was years ago. He knows now I’m not all that smart. Living the way we have, I haven’t been able to take good care of myself. Pretty I ain’t!
Good Lord, where did all that come from? I was writing about Jeremy’s wedding. I read the newspaper story about it over and over again. The reception must have been something to see. Like in a fairy tale. An orchestra played. Amelia is beautiful. (Her picture was in the newspaper.)
I must say, even though she was handpicked as part of Carl’s plan, I don’t think Jeremy looks on being married to a pretty thing like her as a hardship. He says she treats him good, too.
Carl got a little put out with him the last time he visited us here in the cabin. It was Amelia this and Amelia that until Carl told him to shut up, that he sounded like a moonstruck fool. “This is no love match, and don’t forget it.” I think Jeremy does forget, though. Because he talks about her like he loves her.
Like last time he came here to see us, he told about this picnic they’d had. She’d surprised him with it. She fried the chicken herself and packed it in a big basket. (I’ve seen picnic baskets like that in the movies.) Anyhow, he said that right in the middle of the picnic, it started to rain. But instead of it ruining things, they grabbed the chicken and ran back to the car, laughing their heads off.
I thought it was a funny story, the way Jeremy told it. But Carl didn’t. He reminded Jeremy that his wife is only part of the grand scheme. Jeremy stopped laughing and got this sad look on his face. I think he likes his wife more than he lets on to his daddy. But Carl has this…what’s the word? Influence. Carl has this influence over Jeremy that’s so strong, I believe he’ll do anything for him, even if his heart isn’t in it.
I wonder how he feels about the baby? Not what he tells Carl, or even me, but what he feels deep down in his heart. I don’t know what to wish for. Should I wish that he loves his baby boy? Or that he doesn’t?
If he does love him, it’ll be hard for him to see the plan through and leave his son with Amelia. Being separated from your baby is like having a piece of your heart torn out. I know, because I’ve had years of it. Maybe it’s different for men. I hope so. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anybody.
Now I have a new worry—Afganastan (sp?). Jeremy will be shipping out soon, and he’s excited to be going back to war. He survived Iraq without a scratch. I was so thankful. Now I’ll worry myself sick every day he’s over there. Carl poo-poos my concern. He says Jeremy is a chip off the old block, a natural-born killer, who won’t be afraid of any ragheads.
I pretended not to hear that, because I hate to think of my baby boy as a man who could kill as easily as Carl has. (But to be fair, he hasn’t killed anybody in the past several years.)
What will become of little Hunter, I wonder. Will he ever know my name? I wish I could hold him just once. Is that too much to ask? I guess so, because I know it will never happen.