Guilt (28 page)

The bearded man in the filthy overcoat returned, fuming. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stay out of my investigation!” He took off his coat and threw it on the ground. “Do you need it in writing? I can get a court order. Or maybe I should just hold you for obstructing an ongoing investigation.” He grabbed hold of the corner of his beard and yanked. The whole thing came off in one piece. Wincing, Neddleman added, “Jesus Christ, and we almost had him.”

*   *   *

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?” Peter asked Neddleman.

They were outside the cathedral. Chip and Annie had gone home after Peter assured them he'd be fine. The crowds had gone, and the only people left were a few genuine homeless men drinking in the entryway of the lone empty storefront across the street.

“You told me you were sure he was after the State House. How was I supposed to know you were staking him out here?” Turned out the police had combed the church the night before and found a bomb taped to the underside of one of the front pews. A far more powerful device than its predecessors, it could have killed hundreds and maimed one of Boston's historic landmark churches.

“Frankly, I didn't want you getting in the way. And this just proves I was right.”

Peter felt disgusted. If Neddleman had leveled with him, the A-bomber would have been safely behind bars. “Like hell it does. Just proves you have your head up your ass. You want my help, which by the way you've gotten plenty of, but you don't trust me.”

“It's not my job to trust you.”

“It's your job to find this guy, to do whatever it takes to bring him in.”

Neddleman didn't argue. “Damn. And we
knew
he'd be hanging around to watch.” He peeled a piece of adhesive off his chin, rolled it in a ball, and flicked it at the curb.

Neddleman's cell phone rang. He pulled it out. “Yeah?” He nodded. His eyes lit up. Whatever it was, it was good news. He listened some more. “Call if you get anything else.” He hung up.

He hesitated a moment, then said, “They found the scooter. Downtown. Maybe he got careless and we'll get some prints. I hope.” Neddleman cracked his knuckles and his face hardened with determination. “We're going to get him. Eventually.”

*   *   *

Peter lay spooned together in bed with Annie in her bedroom that night. He kissed her shoulder and hugged her so the curve of her back fit snug into his chest. The dozen red roses he'd brought were in a vase on the dresser. Annie had been speechless when he'd presented her with them.

“I was afraid they were going to arrest you,” Annie said.

“Good thing they didn't. Horizontal stripes aren't my thing,” Peter said, trying to keep it upbeat. He'd barely gotten past his fury at Neddleman for leaving him in the dark. Now he was trying not to think about how bereft he'd have been if he'd lost Annie. “The worst part is he's still out there. I don't think he'll stop now. He's craving attention, and that's what he's got. Damn. If only I'd—”

“You're not a mind reader,” Annie said, cutting him off. “You did what you had to do, so don't beat yourself up. They wouldn't even know what they were looking for if it hadn't been for you. They'll get him.”

Peter had no doubt that they would get him, as Neddleman said. But would
eventually
be before or after the bomber performed his next trick? There was no point in poring over the coulda-shoulda-wouldas, to use his mother's expression.

Peter ran his hand down Annie's side, into the curve at her waist, over the swell of her hip. This was what mattered. This, and the way he and Annie fit perfectly together. You had to figure out what was important to you and then pay attention to it—that was what he told his patients.

“This is nice,” he said. He kissed her neck. “So what's going on in the real world?”

“Real world? You mean the wedding from hell?” Annie laughed. “Abby left me a message that Luke's dropping by the office tomorrow with a couple of maid-of-honor dresses for me to try on. At least she's not making me go shopping in one of those stores.” Annie turned around to face Peter. She kissed his forehead. “Did you and Kate have a big wedding?”

“We—” It surprised Peter that this was something they'd never talked about. Kate hadn't wanted a big wedding. She'd worn a white lace Mexican dress and sandals, a garland of tiny roses around her head, and a veil made from a length of white chiffon she'd painted with flowers. No bridesmaids, no ushers, just a judge who was a friend of the family. “We got married on the Vineyard at a little inn in Aquinnah. Just my mother and father, my brother, Kate's father, her sister, Kwan and Gloria, of course, plus a few friends. It was nice.”

“That's where you went after…?”

It was awkward, finishing that thought. “After her murder” sounded melodramatic. “After her death” made it sound like a nonevent, like Kate had just keeled over with a sigh like an old tree that lost its grip on the earth.

“Not far from there. I scattered her ashes on a bluff along the Moshup Trail overlooking the ocean—funny, the place is called Zack's Cliffs.” Peter felt his throat tighten and his eyes fill with tears.

Annie kissed him, a tender kiss this time, on the mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair, and her eyes searched his. “You've never brought me flowers before. Thank you. The roses are beautiful.”

“I wanted you to know—”

Annie kissed him again. He was grateful she didn't press him for an ending to the sentence.

29

A
NNIE BARELY
recognized Jackie's voice on the phone Monday morning. “I feel terrible,” she croaked. “I have a cold.”

It was the first time Jackie had ever called in sick. Annie quickly cataloged the day's work. Chip would be out taking depositions. Annie had planned to catch up on paperwork and make phone calls. And, of course, Luke was coming over with the dresses for her to try on. One fewer witness to that indignity was probably a good thing.

“You sound terrible. Stay home. Take care of yourself. You need anything?”

“No, I'm okay. By the way, Sophie loves the horse.”

“I'm so glad. I was sorry I couldn't stay to see her open her gifts.”

“She's been playing with it and drawing it. Slept with it on her pillow. How did you know?”

Annie felt herself smiling. “Just a lucky guess.”

They chatted a little longer. Annie told Jackie that Peter had given her roses for the very first time.

“Red roses?” Jackie excused herself and sneezed. “You know what that means? Love. Passion. Yellow is friendship. White is purity.”

“Believe me, that's not the kind of thing Peter would know.”

Jackie laughed. “I wouldn't be so sure.” Her laughter was cut off by the sound of a man's voice in the background. “Listen, I got to go,” she whispered, and hung up.

What did the color of the flowers Joe sent Jackie signify? Annie wondered. Repression? Intimidation?

Annie wrote
PLEASE RING
on a piece of paper and taped it to the outside of the office door. Then she locked it and settled into her office to work. When the phone rang, she let it go to voice mail. By the time the doorbell rang three hours later, she was feeling proud of herself. She'd managed to plow through most of what she'd hoped to get done.

She opened the door. Luke was standing there in work boots, blue jeans, and a flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. He held aloft a long garment bag. She took it and gave him a kiss. He exuded an earthy, rich scent, almost like manure.

“Sorry, I hope it was okay to come dressed like this. I came from work.”

“Horses?” Annie asked.

“Actually, this morning it was elephants. One of our volunteers didn't show up and I ended up … well, you don't need to know that. Suffice it to say, when someone doesn't show, the work doesn't go away.” He gave a wry grin. Despite how outrageously handsome he was, she could definitely get used to this guy.

“Well, thanks for this,” Annie said, indicating the garment bag. She laid it down across a chair and unzipped it. She suppressed a groan. The first dress was lime-green satin with a dropped waist and flounced skirt. Perfect for Drucilla, Cinderella's ugly stepsister. At least it didn't have puffy sleeves. The second one, a pink silk number, did. In spades. The third dress was a soft lilac. It was like something you'd see on a Grecian urn, gathered bodice with the fabric twisted into a graceful S-curve, a single thin shoulder strap. Annie held it up. The flowing, two-layered skirt fell in ripples.

“That's the one, isn't it?” Luke said. “Abby thought you'd like it.”

Annie didn't want to ask how much it cost. “It's amaz—” she started. Was she being set up? Were the other two dresses put in there so that when she got to “Door Number 3” she'd be so grateful to see something reasonable that she'd shut up?

“I've got to bring back whatever you don't want so Abby can return them. You got a minute to try it on?”

Annie carried the dress into her office. She closed the shades and stripped down. The underslip slid down over her like a second skin. The dress itself was soft and silky, pure luxury. It could have been made for her. Not too short, just a little roomy in the hips. Her sports bra didn't exactly do it justice. She twisted her hair up and walked up and down the office on the balls of her socked feet. The hems of the two gossamer layers fluttered as she moved. There was no mirror in the room, but the damned dress made her feel knock-down-dead gorgeous.

The doorbell rang. Annie lifted the corner of the window shade and peered out. A big old Chevy station wagon was double-parked at the curb. Last thing she wanted to do was greet a potential client in this getup.

She wiggled out of the dress and underslip. She pulled on her jeans. As she was buttoning her shirt, she opened the door a crack. She heard Luke and another man's low voices. Then the sound of the office door closing.

“Just a delivery,” Luke called. “He was going to leave them outside on the landing.”

Annie came out. Luke was holding a vase of red roses. More passion? When it rained it poured. Annie pulled a rose from the vase and smelled it. They'd even removed the thorns from the stems.

Luke picked up the card that had fallen on the floor. “They're for you.” He handed Annie the card. “Who's Petey?”

Annie read the card. Sure enough, it said
LOVE, PETEY
. She pressed the card to her chest and doubled over, laughing. What a lunatic Peter was. She had roses at home, now more at work. And signing the card
Petey
? She wasn't sure she wanted to know what kind of epiphany he'd had about their relationship.

“Where do you want me to put these. They're heavy as all get-out.”

“Just put them over…” Annie stopped. Heavy? A flower delivery that was left on the landing? And let's face it, Peter bringing her one bouquet of roses was pretty earth-shattering. Two? That was thoroughly out of character. And she
had
seen a Chevy wagon like the one parked outside recently; she remembered because it reminded her of her father's beloved old car. But where?

Smell the roses,
an urgent voice cried out in the back of her head.

“Put them down,” Annie cried as she backed away. Luke looked at her, baffled. “Drop them! Now!”

It felt like slow motion as she lunged, knocking the vase of flowers out of Luke's hands. She watched the base crack, revealing a tangle of wires and batteries.

“Get out of here! Run for it!” Annie shouted.

She was out on the landing, Luke at her heels, when she felt the shock wave hit her from behind, and for one blinding instant she knew it was too late.

*   *   *

The organ music sounded to Peter more like a bellows. He sat beside Annie in church as the processional came up the aisle. In the lead was a man in red robes and a tall, pointed bishop's hat. A golden censer trailing curls of smoke swung from the pole he carried, but the odor was more like rubbing alcohol than incense. As the bishop came closer, Peter realized the robes weren't red cloth, they were smeared with blood. Peter watched mesmerized as blood trickled down the man's face and dripped from the censer. The figure moved steadily up the aisle, the censer swung closer and closer. The bishop took another step and Peter could see his face. It was Harvard Harry, grinning maniacally, and the wheezing organ sounded like
traitor, traitor, traitor.
A yellow canary fluttered around the censer as it swung back and forth. One more swing, and it would hit them and explode. Peter jerked himself awake.

He was in a chair in Annie's hospital room. He tried to stretch. Every muscle in his body complained. Annie looked exactly as she had when he'd finally succumbed to sleep at about three in the morning, on her back, unconscious, her skin the color of chalk, her head swathed in bandages, the tube in her nose connected to oxygen. One arm had an IV drip, the other was in a cast.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked. It felt like he had sand in his eyeballs, and his mouth tasted like he'd been chewing on an old tire. The sky outside was just turning light. When Peter had rushed over to the hospital yesterday afternoon, Luke had been awake and in stable condition in a room down the hall with Abby watching over him. He'd been behind Annie and taken the brunt of the explosion. Annie had been hit in the head by flying debris, and broken her wrist. She still hadn't regained consciousness. He wanted to be there when she did.

Peter's mother and Annie's mother had been there last night, keeping watch. At midnight he'd finally managed to convince them that they didn't all need to stay.

Annie
would
regain consciousness, Peter told himself. Her skull was intact, and her vital signs were good. He'd hounded her doctor into letting him see her MRI. No brain damage.