Saving Alyssa (Mills & Boon Heartwarming) (18 page)

“I'm hungry,” Billie said.

“Me, too.”

“Ice cream? Or brownies?”

Alyssa made an attempt at a smile.

“I know,” Billie said, “how about ice cream
on
brownies!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“H
ARDLY
 
SEEMS
 
FAIR
,
does it?” Troy said.

Billie gripped the wheelchair handles tighter, but said nothing. Noah looked so fragile, lying there. Not at all the strapping, broad-shouldered man who could easily hoist a bike with just one hand, or rearrange a stack of heavy cartons without breaking a sweat.

“He saved my life. I was in and out of it,” her brother said, “but I sorta knew what was going on. I wanted to tell him to get away from me, but I couldn't get the words out.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I'm not a moron, Billie. I understand the whole ‘accidents happen' thing. That doesn't make it easier, knowing Alyssa might become an orphan. And for what? To save my sorry—”

She walked around to the front of the chair and knelt beside him. “Troy. Please don't talk that way. Especially when Mom is around.”

Their parents had canceled their cruise to make sure their son was okay, and Billie was glad for their company.

“Can't you look on the bright side? You have a new home, beautifully decorated, thanks to me. No charge for running up and down the highway, picking up all the stuff that blew out of your car, by the way.”

“Weird. I said something like that to Noah, right before we hit the road that day. And you're all heart,
by the way.
”

“Oh, don't be such an old sourpuss,” she said, mussing his hair.

He swatted her hand away. “Where are Todd and Dani? I thought they were coming into town today.”

“Tomorrow.” She'd told him that, half a dozen times. But the doctors said that repeating himself, problems with short-term memory, even his surly attitude was normal after a head injury like his.

“Well, tell them to turn the lights off when they leave a room. I'm broke.” He grunted. “
And
broken.”

She'd told him that Jeff had agreed to pay his salary until he was well enough to go back to work, but Billie told him again.

“Work? What a joke. I put in six lousy days before...”

Troy's gaze focused on Noah, and he took a deep breath, wincing when the chest brace put pressure on his broken ribs. “Get me out of here.”

Rising slowly, she just looked at him for a long, silent moment.

“Is everything all right?” their mom asked as she entered Noah's room.

“Troy is tired,” Billie said, wheeling the chair into the hall. “He wants to go back to his room.”

“Let me take him. Your father went to the Courtyard Cafeteria. He's supposed to call my cell phone once he sees what's on the menu today.” She leaned forward and kissed Troy's cheek. “Maybe Dad can bring you something, so you won't have to eat that awful hospital food.”

“Not hungry,” he said. “Can we go to my room now?”

Billie and her mother exchanged a worried glance.

“Sounds like my boy needs a nap.”

Troy shook his head, and their mom shrugged helplessly.

“Are you coming, honey?”

“No, I think I'll sit with Noah for a while.”

When they were gone, Billie slid the bedside chair closer. “You'd better get well, and do it fast,” she said, patting his bandaged forearm, “because you need to talk some sense into that fool brother of mine.”

It was disconcerting, watching Noah. If she positioned herself just right, it seemed as if he was looking at her. But the blank, lifeless stare told her that, although his eyes were open, Noah wasn't seeing anything. She was beginning to doubt the theory that comatose patients could hear and understand what was going on around them.

“So I'm thinking it's time to bring Alyssa here, so she can see for herself that you're alive and breathing.” Not much else, she thought, but it was something to be thankful for, at least.

She walked to the window and, cupping her elbows, described the scene outside. “You should see the traffic. Where
are
all those people going? Not here, I hope.”

Billie leaned on the sill. “I wonder what it cost the developer to plant all those trees and shrubs,” she said, tapping the glass. “And there must be a thousand mum plants out there.” Laughing, she said, “But you're a man. You probably wouldn't know a chrysanthemum from a dandelion, would you?”

She told him about the park benches and water fountains, and the decorative trash barrels positioned here and there. “You know what's missing? One of those glider swings. Not the wood-slat kind...a green metal one, like my grandmother used to have on her back porch. Can you hear it now?
Squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak...
”

Billie sighed and watched the people down on the ground level. From five floors up, it was hard to tell if they were students of the university, professors or visitors headed for the trauma center.

“Sor-r-ry.”

She whirled around. Surely she'd been hearing things. Because how could he say “Sorry,” or anything else for that matter, with a breathing tube down his throat?

Billie stepped up to his bed, rested both palms on his bandaged arm. “Between you and Troy nearly dying, I swear, you're driving me nuts.”

For the first time since the trauma team had put him in this room, his eyes moved. Blinked. And locked on hers.

Billie would have raced into the hall to find his nurse, but he slowly shook his head, once. At least, she thought he had.

“Well, I hope you're happy,” she said. “You've succeeded at driving me nuts. I would have bet my next design contract that you said sorry
,
and
you moved your head just now.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “And you're going to know it for sure when you hear that I almost prefer that vacant stare of yours to this. Almost...” Billie wasn't smiling when she whispered, “...because it feels like you're reading my heart and my mind at the same time.”

His eyelids drooped, then slowly closed, and a tiny tear tracked down his cheek.

Billie plucked a tissue from the dispenser on his tray table. His eyes had watered a lot that first day, and the nurse explained that happened occasionally to patients with a sensitivity to the tape that held their eyes closed during surgery.

Gently, Billie blotted the tear. “I shouldn't be surprised. A guy who risks his life to save someone else has to be pretty darned sensitive.” She held her hand against his cheek a little longer than necessary. “On the way here tomorrow, I'm going to buy one of those electric razors and clean you up.” Leaning close to his ear, she added, “Although I kinda like the rugged, unshaven movie-star look. And if you tell anyone I said that, you'll be sorry.”

Noah's eyelids fluttered slightly, and she couldn't be sure if it was because he wanted to open them—and couldn't—or a dream had begun forming in his poor, bruised head.

“I better go. I promised Alyssa I'd teach her how to make tuna salad, Billie style.”

On her way to Troy's room, she ran into her dad, who was carrying a cardboard drink tray and a white paper bag.

He handed her the bag, and as they walked down the hall, he threw an arm over her shoulders. “You're lookin' a little weary and worn, kitten. You doin' okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good.” She looked up into his mustachioed face. “You and Mom sleeping okay over at Troy's?”

“You know me,” he said as they entered Troy's room. “I can sleep standing up, like a horse.”

“Eats like a horse, too,” his wife teased, relieving him of the drinks tray. “Ate every morsel of food in Troy's kitchen.”

Billie looked at her brother, who was staring out the window, not paying attention to his family.

She helped herself to a soda. “That's what it's there for, but restocking is a good idea. Todd and Dani will be here tomorrow morning, right?”

“Around noon,” her dad said, “unless they hit traffic.”

“And then you'll move over to my place?”

“That's the plan, if it's still all right with you.”

“Of course. There's a key under my mat.”

She heard Troy shifting and sighing in his chair, and she knew that meant he was itching to get rid of their parents. Poor guy wasn't accustomed to so much parental interaction.

Their mom walked over to kiss his cheek. “Well, we'll get out of your hair. Try and take a nap, will you? You look horrible.”

“I just had major surgery—two of 'em,” Troy said, “four days ago. Of course I look horrible.”

“Oh, now, you know I didn't mean anything.” She kissed him again. “We're leaving. Take a nap, all right?”

“Have fun,” Billie teased. “Take lots of pictures of Troy's new house.”

When they were gone, she looked at her brother, who was slouching, battered and bruised. He seemed beyond sad, and her heart ached for him. There were so many reasons Noah just had to get better, and one of them was sitting in a wheelchair near the window.

She opened the paper bag, withdrew a wrapped sandwich. “Bacon, lettuce and tomato on toast. Triple decker, sliced in triangles, secured with blue-and-red-fringed toothpicks!”

“Looks good,” he said. “Thanks, but I'm not hungry.”

“If you don't eat, how do you expect to get your strength back?”

“Yeah. Right. Like BLTs are health food.”

Well, at least he was smiling. Sort of. She sat beside him and helped herself to a sandwich wedge. She'd almost finished it when he said, “All right. I give up.” He held out one hand, and Billie unceremoniously plopped a quarter into it.

“Noah looked at me today,” she said.

“He never stops looking. Poor guy's eyes are—”

“Troy, I'm serious.” Billie leaned forward. “He turned his head—not much, but he turned it and
looked
at me. And after a minute or so, he closed his eyes.” She fidgeted with the cellophane decoration on a toothpick. “I was talking about how, between the two of you nearly dying... Anyway, a tear escaped his eye.”

Her brother stopped chewing. “A...a what?”

“A tear.”

“It's probably because he hardly ever blinks. Or maybe it's clogged tear ducts or something.”

“It could just as easily be a sign that he's coming out of the coma.” In her excitement at the possibility, she grabbed his arm, gave it a little shake.

“Ow! Yeesh,” he said, wincing.

“Oh. Sorry.” She patted his arm, gently this time. “But...that's great news, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it would be great.”

A nurse stepped into the room. “BLTs,” she said, one hand on her hip. “Really?”

Billie stood behind Troy's wheelchair as the nurse waved an orderly into the room. “Jerry here is going to help you onto the gurney, and then he'll take you down to X-ray.”

She looked at Billie. “By the way, there's a tall redheaded woman in your fiancé's room, and she's asking for you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Y
OU
'
RE
 
LOOKING
 
A
little peaked,” Max said. “Did you overdo it in physical therapy today or something?”

“Nah. I've had this low-grade fever, almost from the start.”

“But they just changed your meds again. Yesterday, right?”

“Yeah. And if this doesn't work, it means more exploratory surgery to look for the source of the infection.”

“Listen to you...you're starting to sound like one of them.”

Noah cringed. “Oh. Man. See there? I have
got
to get out of this place!”

They enjoyed a moment of easy laughter, and then he said, “Worst part about it is it means more time with
them.
Which means more time away from Alyssa.”

“I know.” Max nodded slowly. “But she's handling it like a trouper.”

“Yeah, but I know my girl. She's trying hard to hide it for my sake, but she's scared.” And he could hardly blame her, because he knew how close he'd come to dying. He still wasn't out of the woods, and that scared him, too.

“She'll be okay. She's a good kid and she has a great dad....”

He knew Max. That tone of voice meant she had more to say. Some might call him crazy for inviting trouble, but he said, “Let me have it.”

“When are you going to do something about Billie?”

“Sometimes I wonder if this happened because the powers that be think she'd be better off without me.”

“That's insane.”

“I know. Most of the time, anyway. But when I think of all the mistakes I made, all the things I did to bring me to this point...”

“You know that old joke—patient says, ‘Doc, it hurts when I do this.' And the doctor says, ‘Then don't do that.'”

“Who doesn't know that one?”

“Well, there's a lesson in there, genius, if you listen for it. If rehashing the past depresses you, knock it off! It isn't as though you don't have plenty of other things to concentrate on. Good things, like...you're making slow but steady progress. A miracle in itself, all things considered.”

He'd heard that half a dozen times since the accident. Years from now, when all this was a distant memory, he might ask to see the pictures. If he was here years from now. And wouldn't that be the ultimate irony, he thought, to have spent years in hiding from what O'Malley might do to him, to be taken out by a
germ.

“You have Alyssa, the bike shop, and before you know it, you'll be as hale and hearty as you were before....” Max frowned. “Y'know, in the interest of accuracy, I'm not sure whether to call it an accident or an explosion.”

“How about penance?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look. I know you're in pain, and I know you want to get out of this awful place, but self-pitying talk like that isn't helping matters.”

Self-pity. He didn't like admitting it, but Max was right. And he told her so. “Maybe what I need to do is get it all out there in one fell swoop. I've never done that before.”

“There you go again, waxing all dramatic.”

“Huh?”

“You have a law degree and don't know Shakespeare?”

“A law degree, but no license to practice law, ever again, thanks to trying to take the easy way out of bankruptcy and foreclosure by climbing into the sewer with vermin.”

It all poured out, fact by ugly fact, starting with the deal his former boss had put on the table after presenting him with the damning telephone recording, where then-Senator O'Malley had soothed his fears of getting caught by detailing the payoffs and “people who mysteriously went missing.”

Without Noah's testimony, the prosecutor had explained, O'Malley's team of lawyers would claim it was someone else's voice on the tape. He was their only hope for conviction, and after securing their promise to reduce his sentence to time served, community service and revocation of his law license, Noah had agreed to testify...or serve years in federal prison.

But O'Malley had friends in high places, and heard about the deal. “Keep your mouth shut and do your time,” the senator had said, “or bad things could happen to good people.” Like an idiot, Noah had reported the visit to his boss, who didn't believe a word of it. A week later, when Jillian died in a car wreck, his self-righteous boss refused to believe the fatal accident—weather-worn brake line on her nearly new, garage-kept vehicle—had been sabotage. It wasn't until an armed thug in a ski mask tried to abduct Alyssa at her preschool that they'd taken Noah seriously.

“Wow. Maybe it's a good thing they don't give us all the gory details when assigning us to people like you,” Max exclaimed when he'd finished.

He knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice, but that didn't make it easier to hear her lump him in with all the other criminals she'd babysat during her career.

“I would have been better off serving time.”

“Even in your weakened, fevered state,” Max said mockingly, “you don't really believe that. If you
had
survived prison—and what were the chances of that, bearing in mind how many guys were in there because you put them there—you would have been under O'Malley's thumb, doing his dirty work, forever.”

When she was right, she was right.

Max got up and threw her jacket over one arm. “Gotta go,” she said. “My turn to watch the brat.” And winking, she added, “If you're a good boy, I'll let you see the video of her doing her thing onstage last night. I took the disk from my camera to Costco so you could see pictures of her in the play, and I'm picking them up on my way back to your place.”

He didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, it would be great, seeing the performance he hadn't been able to attend in person. On the other, who knew how many other pictures there were of her, floating around out there, falling into the wrong hands?

“Another instance of my weakness,” he grumbled. “I just hope saying yes to that play doesn't come back and bite us in the butt.”

Max groaned. “Okay, Mr. Sunshine, I'm outta here.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Wow. You
are
warm, aren't you?”

He felt worse now than when he'd first come to, but maybe Max had a point. Positive thinking couldn't kill him. “This too shall pass.”

It had better, he thought as she left the room. But just in case, he should probably update his will. A good time to remind himself how this whole downward spiral had begun. He reached into the nightstand and grabbed his wallet. Even that small exertion made him wince, and he flopped back against the pillow until the worst of the pain passed. Then he removed the newspaper clipping he'd been carrying for nearly four years, folded into a two-inch square and tucked into a photo sleeve between a picture of Alyssa and his driver's license. If Max knew he'd been carrying it all this time, he'd never hear the end of it. But even if she knew, he'd insist on keeping it, because it was the bare-facts reminder of what he'd done...and what he'd been before entering the witness protection program. He'd read it so many times that the article felt more like cloth than paper. Taking care not to tear it, he unfolded it and read:

 

Assistant D.A. Accused of Planting Evidence

By Riley Smith

CHICAGO (APB)—
Judge orders mistrial and sentences Assistant D.A.

Criminal Court Judge Abe Burns yesterday ordered a mistrial in the case of Bartholomew Miller, alleged serial rapist accused of attacking the 16-year-old daughter of Hon. Sen. Henry (Hank) O'Malley. At the same time, Burns sentenced Asst. D.A. Nate Judson for allegedly tampering with evidence.

“I draw no pleasure in reaching this decision,” Burns said, slapping Judson with an 18-month jail sentence—the stiffest allowed under Illinois law. “Officers in the criminal justice system have a duty not only to administer justice, but to follow the letter of the law and demonstrate to society that every defendant will receive a fair trial.”

Judson was freed hours later pending an appeal, court officials said.

Second trial for Miller

The judge's dramatic move came at the start of the trial of Miller, 30, also charged with drug trafficking and the rape of women employed by his escort service. Burns declared a mistrial in the case after Judson allegedly failed to provide defense attorneys with transcripts of statements by witnesses, all of whom recanted their testimony and stated that sex with Miller was consensual, court records show. A separate trial earlier this year, charging Miller with kidnapping, assault and battery, and rape, ended in a hung jury.

Questionable evidence

Miller's second trial had just begun when, according to court documents, Judson produced a hand towel that he claimed Miller used to clean himself after allegedly attacking the senator's daughter. Judson further claimed, court records show, that while preparing for trial, he found the hand towel during a second sweep of Miller's apartment. Consequently, defense attorneys demanded a mistrial, arguing they had been blindsided by the revelation, and accusing Judson of planting the new evidence.

Out of earshot of the jury, the judge agreed with the defense. In a six-page decision, Burns described Judson's claims—that he had suddenly discovered the hand towel—as “implausible and improbable.” The judge noted that neither the police officers who initially searched the apartment, nor the evidence clerk who logged items from the apartment, made any reference to the hand towel, which Judson claimed had been overlooked during the first search of Miller's apartment. Burns also noted that two of Judson's fellow prosecutors, both of whom helped prepare for the case, were unaware of the hand towel until it was suddenly produced and introduced into evidence on the second day of the trial.

Constructive contempt

The judge then ordered a mistrial and cited Judson for constructive contempt, described under Illinois law as “an act...tending to obstruct or interfere with the orderly administration of justice.”

It was not immediately clear whether prosecutors would have enough cause to bring Miller to trial a third time. The judge's order barred prosecutors and defense attorneys from discussing the case with the media.

Duly humbled, Noah put the article back where it belonged, dropped the wallet into the drawer and slipped into a deep and fitful sleep.

* * *

B
ILLIE
 
HAD
 
GROWN
 
accustomed to watching him sleep, and took comfort from listening to his slow and steady breaths. It felt good, knowing the pain meds were working, providing a few minutes of much-needed, healing rest.

On days like this, when Noah's body writhed in pain, she felt helpless. Maybe music would soothe him....

Billie called up a song on her phone, one by his favorite singer, Bonnie Raitt, and hit Play. Instantly, the room filled with the husky, sultry tones of the blues singer's voice, singing with a depth of emotion that reached out to someone, somewhere who couldn't love her as she loved him. Billie closed her eyes, remembering how that same song had had the power to reduce her to a sniveling mess when she'd thought of how Chuck had given up on her.

The lines were still hauntingly meaningful, but now, thanks to the passage of time, maturity and the quiet affection of the big man beside her, she could simply enjoy the beauty of Bonnie's voice, and the eloquence of the poetic words.

Noah's agitation increased. Should Billie wake him, put a stop to whatever thoughts were causing his distress? Call for a nurse to administer another dose of painkiller?

“...living a lie,” he whispered.

Billie leaned closer. “What's that?”

“...lies, just...lies and more lies...” He levered himself onto one elbow and, facing her, opened his eyes.

But it was immediately apparent that he wasn't seeing her. Had he slipped back into the coma? “Oh God, no,” she said, grasping his hand. “Don't leave me again, Noah.”

“Love you,” he rasped, “so much.”

Billie froze. Was he just rambling, the way he had soon after the operation? And was he talking to her...or someone else who'd slipped into his semiconscious, fevered mind?

She'd never been jealous of another woman. Not even the one who'd added the final straw that broke up her marriage. But she envied Jillian, because Noah had loved her, truly loved her, and Billie didn't know if it was possible for him to love anyone that way again. The only certainty: she would settle for whatever sliver of his heart he was willing to give
her.

Random words spilled from his lips.
O'Malley. Testify. Federal charges. Prison.
He fell back onto his pillows, his breathing ragged.

Then arbitrary phrases, like
not an accident
and
almost kidnapped.
Something that sounded like
lipstick.
And one grammatically correct, perfectly enunciated sentence that made her blood run cold:

“I would have been better off serving time.”