From Ashes to Honor (19 page)

H
e arranged to transport her from Fells Point, two times a week as prescribed for rehab at Johns Hopkins. And to assure the use of an ambulance when needed, Austin had traded favors, swapped shifts, promised to mow lawns and do dishes if he had to. Nothing was more important than getting her home, where she could recover in quiet comfort, without hourly disruptions of her sleep as nurses checked her vitals and new patients were checked in to nearby rooms.

The day after Thanksgiving he'd rooted around in her purse, and after fumbling around in her office to figure out the copy machine, printed out duplicates to satisfy the hospital's billing department and save Mercy from having to deal with money issues upon her release.

Eversly had promised to give him a heads up when Mercy was well enough to leave, so that he could prep her place for a patient with a toes-to-thigh cast on one leg, another that went from thumb to elbow and taped-up ribs. And the instant he got the word, Austin raced to the grocery store to stock the fridge and pantry, then scrubbed the townhouse from top to bottom.

Hard to believe a cat had set all of this in motion. How had Woodrow slipped past her, when she guarded the door like one of those harlequin-uniformed soldiers outside the Vatican? It was a nice cat—as cats went—but nice enough to drive her into the dark, alone, in the middle of a gully-washer?

Austin would just have to wait for an answer to that one.But to put her mind at ease, he'd found a picture of the fat orange feline on her desk. The kid behind the counter at the copy shop had snickered when he saw it. "What's its name?" he'd wanted to know. And when Austin told him, he snickered again. "Looks more like a
Garfield
than a Woodrow," he said before running off fifty full-color leaflets.

Austin brought them to the high school and, with the help of her students, spent an entire Saturday afternoon knocking on doors in Fells Point. She'd gone all weepy on him when he told her no one had seen or taken Woodrow in, but quickly pulled herself together when Austin added that the teens had tacked "Missing" flyers to every shop window, fence and telephone pole in the area.

"He's resourceful," she'd said, blotting her eyes with a paper napkin. "He'll find his way home. I hope."

The only other time she'd gone damp-eyed had been when the doctor removed the bandages from around her head. Eversly had been forced to shave the incision site, leaving a bald spot the size of her fist. She'd tried hiding under her pillow, but gave up when one-handing it proved more than she could manage, thanks to bruises and muscle strain in her good arm.

To her credit, she'd recovered quickly from that, too.

They were less than two blocks from Aliceanna Street when she said, "Have I told you how much I appreciate everything you've done?"

He glanced at his watch. "Not in the last five minutes, you haven't." He chuckled. "You're slipping, missy."

She laughed quietly. "I'll just blame this li'l bump on my head."

Little bump, indeed. The beasts who'd attacked her left a three-inch scar just under her hairline. Skull fracture, subdural hemorrhage . . . another half-inch lower, and they'd have hit her temple. Even Eversly said that her guardian angel had been working overtime that night.

"It'll seem weird, not having Woodrow around. Thanks for all you did to try and find him."

"Maybe we'll get a call from someone who's seen him." He shrugged. "And who knows? He might just make his way home on his own."

"I hope so, because he's been a constant companion, almost from the day I moved in. I'm going to miss him if—"

Her tears prompted him to say "Let's keep a good thought, huh?"

She nodded and let him blot her eyes. "I know. You're right.I just wanted you to know. I think you're really, really sweet, going to so much trouble for Woodrow."

"Not as sweet as you."

She smiled. "And I appreciate all you're doing for
me,
too."

"Happy to do it." And he meant it, too.

"Well, it bears repeating. This is so nice of you. I'm—"

McElroy groaned, met Austin's gaze in the rearview mirror."You guys wanna save the lovey-dovey stuff for
after
I leave? I haven't had breakfast, and all this sugar is making me wanna hurl."

Austin gave Mercy's hand a gentle pat as his partner wheeled the ambulance into her driveway. "Let me get the door unlocked and clear a path for the gurney," he said, patting it again.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

Austin's nerves jangled so badly, he nearly dropped the keys. He could hardly wait to see her reaction to everything he'd done.

The hinges squealed quietly as he swung the door inward.No problem, he thought, pocketing the keychain, because he'd have plenty of time to oil it while Mercy napped.

Once he and McElroy cleared the entry, they rolled her into the living room, where Austin had made up the sofa bed. He hoped she'd like the magazines he'd bought and stacked on the end table beside a box of tissues.

Together, the men gently moved her from the gurney to her makeshift bed, and McElroy wasted no time hot-footing it out of there. "Call me if you need anything," he said, saluting as he back-pedaled toward the door.

And before Austin or Mercy could respond, he closed the door behind him.

"Why don't you try and catch a few Zs," he said, drawing the curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows. "That ride home had to be tiring. And while you're sleeping, I'll start supper.And oil the front—"

"Austin . . . ?"

"Hmm?"

"When did you have time to do all of this?"

Man, she looked cute, propped against the pillows in her pink PJs and fuzzy robe. One of her former students had heard about the attack, and, seeing what happened to Mercy's hair, volunteered to put her talents to work, camouflaging the bald spot. The stylist clipped it into a chin-length bob and parted in the middle, so that the stitches were barely visible. Yeah, Mercy was cute, all right. He watched her take it in—the lighted pine garland he'd swagged from the railing, the six-foot wreath that twinkled above the fireplace, the ceiling-scraping Douglas fir that dominated the living room.

"You were with me at the hospital almost 24/7. Did you get any sleep
at all?"

"'Course I did. But don't change the subject, missy. You need to rest up after that bumpy ride home."

"I've never had a Christmas tree before."

"What?
Never?"

"Well, not one of my own, I mean. Dad always insisted on a tree, of course, and made me help him decorate it, too."

Austin breathed a sigh of relief. Fixing the place up this way had been a risk, considering how she felt about religion in general, and God in particular. But he didn't feel like getting into a theological debate right now. "I'm gonna fix you a cup of herbal tea. What's your preference, orange spice or blueberry?"

"Surprise me." She grinned. "You seem to have a knack for that."

"Back in a jif—"

"Austin?"

What now? he wondered.

"I'm just curious."

He watched her glance around the room again, then focus on his face. "Why did you choose this color theme?"

"Because your favorite color is purple." He grit his teeth.
Oh, Lord, tell me I'm not mistaken.
"Right?"

"Well, yes, it is. But I don't remember ever discussing star signs, or favorite foods and movies and songs, or any of the other endless trivia that usually dominates first—"

If she hadn't cut herself off, would Mercy have said "first dates"?

"How'd you figure out what my favorite color is?"

"Oh, I dunno," he said. "Maybe because your bath towels are purple and your bedspread is purple and even the pot holders in your kitchen are purple?" He paused. "Or maybe I'm just a psychic genius."

"Oh, really. Well, then, Mr. Mind Reader, what am I thinking right now?"

He sat on the arm of the sofa farthest from her and did his best not to blink as she drilled his eyes with those chocolate-brown eyes of hers. The truth? She could be thinking the Percocet had started to kick in, or that she wished it
would.

Austin grimaced and pressed his fingertips to his temples."You're thinking that you don't believe for a minute that I can read your mind."

She started to giggle, then winced. "Please. Don't make me laugh."

He handed her the remote. "What
I'm
thinking is you're exhausted. So why don't you surf for an old rerun on that gigantic widescreen of yours. A sitcom, maybe, with a mindless plot that'll make you drowsy." He'd almost made it to the hallway when her soft voice stopped him.

"Austin?"

Grinning, he said it out loud this time. "What
now?"

She used her chin as a pointer. "Is
that
where you plan to sleep?"

Sensing her need to live an organized and orderly life, he'd taken care to hide the twin-sized cot behind the other L of the sectional. Evidently, Mercy had found the only "can't see it from this angle" he hadn't tested. "Yeah."

"You're welcome to use the guest room, you know. I gave it a thorough cleaning after Leo left for—"

"No way. I'm staying close by to make sure you don't decide to practice your Jitterbug or squeeze in a few jumping jacks in the middle of the night."

She laughed . . . and winced, then said "Blueberry."

Taking care of her would be a lot of things, he thought as he held the teapot under the spigot, but boring wouldn't be one of them.

T
wo days after bringing her home, a Baltimore City Police detective called to see if Mercy was up to looking at a few mug shots. "Will Campbell, Baltimore Police," he said, flashing his badge. "Thanks for agreeing to this."

Austin remembered him from the hospital, when he'd brought a grizzled old woman with a sketch pad and a pencil and freckle-faced kid from the district attorney's office into Mercy's room. While the detective took her statement and the young lawyer snapped pictures, the woman held up the pictures and frowned as Mercy insisted she didn't recognize the faces in the drawings. When the trio left an hour later, they didn't have much more information than when they'd arrived.

Even now Austin had found that puzzling—and disturbing—because all of her injuries had been inflicted head-on.Surely she'd seen her attackers. Was she afraid that identifying them might incite a payback beating, or had the blow to her head knocked all memories of the event from her brain?

"You guys didn't waste any time rounding up those thugs, did you?"

"The mayor's leaning on us, and leaning hard, because more than half the victims have been tourists. With this attack, we're in double digits now—and we've made network news.That ain't helpin' build a campaign fund."

"I don't imagine it is."

"We've picked up a couple dozen of these two- and threeman assailants. Could be the same ones, could be copycats.All we know for sure is that those bozos down at the prosecutor's office can't run 'em through the system fast enough."

Austin gestured toward the living room. "She's in here."

Campbell tucked a mustard-colored envelope under one arm, stuck out his free hand. "Thanks for agreeing to do this on such short notice, Dr. Samara."

"Please, call me Mercy," she said, shaking it. "I just hope I can be of some help."

The detective gave her a quick once-over, and slid a small spiral tablet from his jacket's breast pocket. "How are you feeling?"

"A little achy here and there, but that's all."

"Well, that's no surprise." His clicked his ballpoint into action. "They sure did a number on you, didn't they?" He paused and sat on the edge of the sofa. "Any bad dreams about the incident?"

"No."

A one-word answer, given that fast? It told Austin there
had
been nightmares. Told Campbell the same thing, if his furious scribbling was any indicator.

Mercy sat up straighter and pointed at the folder. "Are those the photos you want me to look at?"

"Yes, ma'am." He opened the metal clasp that held the flap in place and slid a few inches closer to her side. He glanced around the living room, and when his gaze settled on a food tray, he cleared plates and silverware from it. "Mind if I spread the pictures out on this thing? I think it'll make it easier for you to see them, all at one time."

He didn't wait for her to agree. Instead, he shook his wrists and snapped the mug shots onto the tray, looking more like a Vegas dealer than a police detective. "There," he said, gently placing it on her lap. "Now just take your time, and if any of these guys look even a little bit familiar, just say the word."

Austin watched as her brows drew together in a serious frown. Hands trembling, she picked up the photographs, one at a time, then returned each to the tray. He watched her lick her lips, too. "Coffee? Soda?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine."

"How about you, Campbell?"

The cop held up one hand. "Thanks, but I'm meeting my wife for lunch soon as I'm through here." He smiled. "It's our anniversary."

"Really," Mercy said, mirroring his smile. "How long have you been married?"

"It'll be eleven years on Saturday."

She gave a nod of approval. "How nice. Children?"

"Twins. Boy and girl, age seven."

"I don't suppose you carry pictures—"

"Are you kidding?" Campbell laughed. "If I didn't, my mother would forget I'm pushin' forty and turn me over her knee." He withdrew his wallet and opened to the photo gallery."This is Samantha," he said, pointing at a dark-haired girl, "and Steven."

"Goodness," Mercy said. "They're complete opposites!"

"That's what everyone says." He slid the wallet into his back pocket.

"I hear that happens all the time with fraternal twins."

"Uh huh."

"Sorry if it seems I'm stalling." She glanced back at the mug shots. "This is just—"

Even from Austin's angle—upside down and with the glare of the window obscuring a few faces—the young men looked frightening, soulless, ready to kill at the drop of a hat.

"No apologies necessary," Campbell said. "We're not in any hurry." He met Austin's eyes for a second, then quickly added, "Today." And clearing his throat, he said, "If this is too much, too soon, I can come back another time, when you're feeling a little stronger, because I don't want to—"

Mercy held up a hand. "No, no. I'd just as soon get it over with. I'm fine, really."

But Austin had heard the tremor in her voice, and from the look in Campbell's face, he'd heard it, too. He connected with the cop just long enough to know the man had also noticed her shaking hand.

While Mercy went back to studying the photos, the detective adjusted the Windsor knot of his tie. "How long have
you
two been together?"

Mercy had been holding a mug shot in each hand, and her giggling nearly made her drop both. "You mean, 'together' as in
married?"

"Yeah."

"We're not!"

He looked from Austin to Mercy and back again. "Could-a fooled me."

To gain quick access to her hospital room, Austin had told the staff at Hopkins that he and Mercy were engaged. It wouldn't matter to Campbell one way or the other, especially now that she'd been released. So why did he feel the need to send the same message to the detective? "We're—ah, I'm workin' on her," he said, surprising himself, and, judging by Mercy's raised eyebrows, surprised her, too.

Campbell shrugged, proof in Austin's mind that mild curiosity and a desire to fill the uncomfortable silence with chatter was the only reason for the man's question. As if he needed more proof, Campbell pulled back the cuff of his white shirt and glanced at his watch. He pointed at the mug shots. "Any of those men look familiar to you?"

"No, I'm afraid not." Mercy traded the pictures for two she'd already studied. "But I'd hardly call them men. Why, from the looks of them, they could very well still be in high school.Barely more than boys."

"If you're going by their birth dates,
maybe,"
Campbell barked, "but that's about the only way they're
boys."

He huffed in disgust. "We have sworn statements from witnesses that indicate
all
of the offenders have been kids. Not just boys, either. Half of the attackers have been young women." He paused. "And believe me, I use the term loosely, because when the girls were involved?" he shook his head. "Let's just say their victims ended up in far worse shape than you." Another huff."I'd bet my next paycheck that the last one will never be able to move her jaw again."

Austin watched Mercy's eyes widen with a mix of fury and fear. Good thing she hadn't heard what Campbell and his cronies had said about the gang as they were leaving the hospital.He'd been too worried about Mercy that night to be more than mildly curious, but now, he wished that he'd pressed the cop for more details.

Campbell cleared his throat again. "You're sure you don't recognize any of them? I know it was dark and cold and raining cats and dogs, but—"

"No." She shook her head. "I'm positive. Those weren't the boys who—" She bit her lower lip, shook her head again, harder this time. "No. No, I don't recognize any of them."

"Sometimes," Campbell said, gathering up his snapshots, "people remember things long after an assault. Fragments of what happened might come back days, weeks, even months later. That's why I asked if you've been having weird dreams.Maybe you remember scars or moles on the attackers' faces.A tattoo. A piece of jewelry. A baseball cap. A lisp." He stood and dropped them back into the envelope. "If you think of anything, anything at all, call me." He fished a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. "I sure hope your recovery is fast and easy from here on out."

"Thanks, Detective Campbell. You've been very patient and understanding. I'm sure it's frustrating for you that I can't remember much, because all you're trying to do is catch the bad guys so they can't do the same thing to anyone else. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help." She looked at his card, then put it into the basket Austin had placed on the table beside her.

"You have nothing to apologize for. And please, call me Will. If you need to call me, that is." He winked and started for the door, then stopped near the window wall. "Looks like we might just get that winter storm they're predicting."

Austin followed his gaze. Sure enough, dark clouds had gathered overhead, painting the sky an icy gray. "Last I heard, they were calling for a couple of feet."

"I hope we get a full-blown blizzard."

"I love being snowed in, too," Mercy said.

"One good thing, crime statistics drop during snowstorms."He chuckled. "Guess even criminals like to cuddle up when it's cold outside." He tipped an imaginary hat. "Hope the little woman has stocked up on milk and toilet paper. And junk food for the twins. Nothin' I hate worse than the grocery store in Baltimore after the weather bureau predicts bad weather."

"I know," Mercy agreed. "It's as if they believe we'll be snowed in for months!"

"Well, guess I'd best make tracks. With any luck, not literally."Laughing, he walked toward the hall. "No need to see me out. If I can't find my way back to the door, what kind of cop am I, right?"

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Mercy said, "Well,
that
was embarrassing."

He sat across from her. "What was?"

"All those kids in the pictures? What's with those too-hardfor-their-age faces? I mean, honestly, hiding under their hoodies with those gigantic diamond studs and tattoos and eyebrow rings, how's a citizen supposed to tell one from the other?"

"It's no accident that they dress alike. Makes it tougher for victims to identify them."

She growled under her breath and punched the sofa cushion with her good arm. "Well, it's just so
frustrating!
Like when all those first responders came to me for help after 9/11, and there wasn't a doggoned thing I could do but encourage them to talk it out. I felt useless and helpless and—"

"Quit being so hard on yourself. You did what you could then—I'm living proof of that—and you did what you could today."

The reminder of the disaster brought memories of his own to the fore, and for the first time since delivering her home from the hospital, Austin wanted to leave. Just long enough, anyway, to clear his head.

"How 'bout grilled cheese, tomato soup, and a salad for lunch?" he said, standing.

"I'm really not hungry."

"It's lunch time. Hungry or not, you need to eat to keep up your strength. Besides, you can't take your meds on an empty stomach. I can make ham and cheese, BLTs, even an omelet— all with a salad—your choice." He slapped his palms together

once and grinned. Not an easy feat, considering the way her cuts and bruises reminded him of the dead and injured he'd unearthed at Ground Zero. Good thing he couldn't get to that bottle of Jim Beam.

"So, which will it be?"

"I need sleep just as much as I need food." She scooted down, into a slightly more prone position. "I think I'll take a nap, instead."

"You'll rest a lot easier with a full stomach." Arms crossed over his chest, he said, "You can make a choice, or I can make it for you."

Mercy rolled her eyes. "All right, then. Fine. I guess I'll have a BLT. At least that way I'm getting the salad and the sandwich all rolled into one, and I can get to sleep faster."

He'd made it halfway to the kitchen when she added, "Thanks, Austin. You're . . . ."

Turning, he waited for her to finish the sentence, and as her dark eyes locked on him, every muscle in him tensed.

". . . I didn't mind at all, finding out that you had fibbed— about our relationship, I mean—to the people at Hopkins. Or that you led Detective Campbell to believe we're . . . um . . .you know . . . ."

No, he didn't know. Did she expect him to finish her statement by admitting he was crazy in love with her? That he'd give anything to stand beside her at an altar and profess before God and all present that he wanted her to share a home and kids and everything else that went into the whole "happily ever after" package?

Leave it to her to further confuse and confound things, because now, in addition to figuring out how he'd tamp down his ugly 9/11 thoughts, he'd have his feelings about her to contend with. Because how likely was any of
that
to happen when she wouldn't share the most important element of his life?

Austin realized he realized he'd been staring, gap-jawed and panting like a dog who'd been offered a pork chop—at arm's length. How could he expect her to profess undying faith in God when
he
hadn't been to church in months, and the only time he'd picked up the bible these days had been to dust under it?

Snapping his mouth shut, he gave a little wave and walked into the kitchen—

—where he burned the bacon.

And the toast.

Nearly hacked the tip of his finger off, slicing a tomato, and bled all over the lettuce.

It took two tries, but somehow he managed to assemble a gorgeous triple-decker sandwich. As he arranged triangle sections around a mound of low-salt chips, he considered snapping photo of it, so he could show it to Bucky over at Captain Harvey's next time he and McElroy stopped in for a quick lunch. Bad idea, he thought, filling a tumbler with ice and lemonade, because Bucky might resent the competition and quit putting extra bacon on his orders.

He reached for the plate and glass, but froze. Both palms pressed on the counter, Austin stared out the window.

What would he talk about when he went back into the living room with her lunch? Gilded invitations and honeymoon packages?