Sweet Seduction Serenade (38 page)

Nick shut the door behind us and pressed a buzzer on an intercom beside the closed door across the way. A disembodied voice sounded through the speaker.

"Name, person you're visiting and ID up to the camera lens please."

"Nicholas Anscombe; Anscombe, Securities and Investigations with Evangeline Rowe for Raymond Rowe," he rattled off succinctly and held up his ID to the camera for them to identify.

"ID for Evangeline Rowe," the voice instructed.

I fished my passport out of my back pocket and held it open up to the screen. A few seconds passed, then the door clicked open and we made our way inside.

Nick quietly said to no one in particular, "We're through."

I looked at him sideways and he reached up and tapped his ear, where a device rested that I hadn't noticed before. He was clearly communicating with Eric at ASI control.

"How come I didn't get one of those?" I asked, trying to lighten the moment a bit.

Nick smiled at me, then the smile immediately vanished and he shook his head.

"Eric says he'd gladly fit you with one when we get back. Of course, my standard reply to that is
over my dead body
."

"But I'd like a spy gadgetry thingymajiggy," I added with an innocent wide-eyed look.

"Then
I'll
fit you with it," Nick ground out, leading the way across the empty space to a reception desk.

"Hello, Mr Anscombe," a large male nurse said in friendly greeting. The voice matching the speaker one, but seeming so much more alive now in person.

"Hi, Gerry," Nick replied just as familiarly. "How's he doing today?"

My stomach flipped and Nick automatically reached over to clasp my hand, no longer needing to be ready to make a quick draw now we were safely inside the secured facility.

Gerry's eyes flicked to mine, full of sympathy. "Not so good, I'm afraid. You should prepare for the worst. Some time today or tomorrow, we suspect."

Oh my God. So soon? How was that possible and why didn't I rush here as soon as we landed?

"Eva," Nick said, suddenly in my face. "Breathe, angel. We're in time." His hands cupped my face, the Fender forgotten on the floor at our feet. "Breathe," he instructed again and I took a deep breath in feeling my lungs inflate painfully. Tears threatened my eyes, burning and stinging with their hot assault. And I hadn't even seen him yet. "Ready?" Nick asked softly. I shook my head. "You can do this, cowgirl. Take your guitar and go sing to your Dad."

"Aren't you coming?" I asked, suddenly scared to be doing this at all, let alone on my own.

"Of course, angel. Where you go, I go." He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, hovering there for a second, then whispering so only I could hear, "But you need to this, you need to be the one to take those first steps."

I nodded jerkily and pulled back, my eyes blinking rapidly to clear them of the teary blur. I reached down and picked my guitar case up, took a deep breath in and asked, "Which way?"

"Down the hall, fourth door on the right," Gerry instructed softly from behind the desk, having no doubt witnessed Nick's and my entire exchange. I was sure he'd seen worse meltdowns, so I brushed my embarrassment aside and headed towards my Dad.

He looked far worse than I could ever have imagined. Grey, not just pale. Sunken eye sockets, prominent cheek bones, and paper thin, wrinkled flesh. His breathing was laboured. I could see the outline of his ribs through the low 'V' of his pyjama top. Each indrawn breath creating deep grooves between the bones. Sleep crusted slightly under his dark eyelashes, and his hair - so grey now - looked like it needed a wash. An I.V. tube came out of his arm and oxygen prongs were sticking up his nose.

And he didn't stir when we walked in.

I hesitated on the threshold of the room, then took a shuddering breath in, steadied my nerves and set the guitar case down at the end of the bed. I found a wash cloth in the attached bathroom and I wet it with warm water, then proceeded to gently wash the sleep from his eyes as I whispered my hello and told my Dad I was there.

I said soft words that meant nothing at all, just meaningless sounds strung together, while I cleaned him as best I could. I half expected him to open those rheumy eyes and demand the chamber pot or something equally as crass, but he just kept on with that laboured breathing as though I wasn't even there.

"We're too late," I said pulling back and feeling bereft. I'd finished washing his face and neck clean, and had brushed his hair flat too. "He doesn't know I'm here."

"He'll hear you, angel."

"You can't be sure," I argued.

"You can't be sure he won't either," Nick offered softly.

I stood there for several moments, my hand in Dad's limp one. He didn't squeeze his fingers tight. He didn't murmur in his unconscious state.

He was dying.

A sob escaped my lips and Nick's arms wrapped around me from behind, his face nestling into the curve of my neck and shoulder.

"Sing, angel," he prompted ever so softly at the side of my neck.

So, I did. I grabbed my guitar out of its case, I tuned the pegheads and then I looked up at my father, the man who hadn't been there for me growing up, but still meant so very much in the end. And the only song that I could think of, that could possibly convey everything I felt and thought, was
The Dance,
another Garth Brooks hit.

I could have sung something that declared my love, that said the actual words. But somehow I thought my Dad would appreciate this song. Full of a love that existed through the pain it created, not just the simplicity of a few words, but the complexity of real life. Harsh, yet forgiving, at times agony, yet bitter-sweet.

"How could I have known, you'd ever say good-bye. And now I'm glad I didn't know, the way it all would end, the way it all would go. Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance."

My tears joined the words, my voice cracked with the pain, as the song reached inside my very soul and wrung every ounce of emotion I experienced out of me. But I'd done it. I'd told him how I felt. No regrets. No looking back. He knew, even if he couldn't give me an answer in return.

Half an hour later he died...

...As though he'd been waiting for me to come and sing.

When we returned to ASI, after taking a couple of hours organising Dad's final preparations with the hospice people, Carmel was at the reception desk. There was no impassive gaze or arched eyebrows today. She greeted us both warmly, her features soft as they rested on my face. I knew she was aware my Dad had died. I knew the softening of this tough woman was only due to sympathy for a daughter who'd just watched her parent die. I was sure by tomorrow she'd be back to her normal gruff self.

When we made it through the key-code locked door and down to the lunch-room-come-recreational-room for the ASI guys, we were greeted by - I was sure - half the ASI personnel. Following behind us into large and comfortable space were our security detail; Adam, Brook and Koki. Katie and Jason were already there. So was Eric - I assumed someone else was monitoring the control room. And stomping in right behind us was Carmel. Maybe they thought I'd need numbers around me, I wasn't so sure. All I felt like doing was curling up on the sofa in the corner and bawling my eyes out until they bled.

"That was a beautiful song, darling," Katie said coming forward and wrapping a hand around my wrist with care. "I'm so sorry," she added and looked like she might cry herself. I blinked several times and nodded, realising everyone here had heard me sing to my father.

I felt a teensy bit angry at that. It had been a heartfelt moment, something so very personal and private, yet these people I barely knew had all borne witness to my pain. I realised my hands were clenched in fists as each one of those present gave me their condolences. It was obvious they all meant it. Some of them had been involved with recovering my father from Jessie's clutches and placing him in the hospice. Some of them would have spoken to him, could actually lay claim to knowing him a little. They weren't hollow words of compassion, but they fuelled the anger inside for some strange reason. My nails dug into the flesh of my palms.

"I've organised some food," Carmel announced, setting the table in the corner up with plates and glasses and pulling out several platters from the fridge nearby. "We could all do with a drink and a bite to eat. Take a seat, Eva, I'll serve you something up."

It was a nice gesture and under normal circumstances I'd be polite, accept the offer as it was given. But my emotions were raw, close to the surface and threatening to make me cry. Cowgirls don't cry. And this was all because these people didn't know when to back off. Couldn’t they see I needed space to deal with this? Couldn't they understand that it was all so new and painful, and them being here to see how badly shaken up I was, cut me to the quick?

"I'm not hungry," I announced a little surly.

"A cup of tea then," she suggested, fussing with the kettle.

"I don't drink tea," I added, crossing my arms over my chest. Nick's gaze came up from the sheet of paper he was reading that Eric had given him. He frowned slightly, letting me know I was being beyond rude, but I couldn't seem to stop it. "I think I'll go phone Cary," I said to the room at large and then headed to the door when no one stopped me.

I'd made it to Nick's office door, which thankfully was open otherwise I never would have managed to break inside, when Nick caught up with me.

"Eva," he said in a deep voice.

I held my hand up to stop the chastisement that was no doubt on the tip of his tongue. "I don't care, Nick. I need to be alone. Please leave."

He stared at me for a minute, then miraculously nodded his head. I'd expected an argument, but he simply thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet as though unsure how to proceed.

"Take your time, angel. We'll be in the rec room. Gen's bringing coffee and chocolate, maybe that would tempt you more." Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving me feeling like an absolute dork.

I sat down on Nick's guest chair in front of his desk and stared numbly at the floor. He hadn't told me off for being impolite to Carmel. For storming out of the a room full of people who genuinely cared. He'd even indicated that more people were coming; Gen. For me. I didn't know how to deal with this. These people barely knew me, yet they were acting as though I was part of their family, their inner circle.

An important part of Nick's life.

Now I felt like an enormous idiot.

I sighed and dialled Cary's number, knowing it would be late afternoon over there and I'd get him at work. His voice-mail met my ears and I almost gave in to the tears, but sucked it up and in a small voice let Cary know that Dad had died that morning and I just needed to hear his voice. Then out of simply nothing else to do - no way was I phoning Jessie to tell her that her only brother had died and telling Gabe needed to be done in person - I phoned Gus. My only other genuine friend here in Auckland.

He answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Tennessee! What's up?"

I smiled widely for the first time that day. God I loved this guy, he was such a fresh breath of air.

"Hey, Gus. I'm back in Auckland."

"I know," he said mysteriously. "You OK, sweet?"

I blinked at the phone. "You know my Dad died?" I asked, uncertainly.

"Nick just called, said you could do with a friend 'bout now. I'm almost there, Gonzo's on his way and Spike's probably beaten me already."

Oh my God. My eyes flicked to the door of the office, which Nick had closed after he left, offering me some privacy. My throat had closed over and those darn tears were trickling out of the side of my eyes. I even think my bottom lip was trembling. I may have made a pained sound, I'm not sure.

"Eva babe, you OK? I'm sorry about your Dad, Tennessee. But I'm real glad you made it back in time."

"Me too," I managed on a sniff.

"Hey now, cowgirl. No need to hold back on those tears. Even cowgirls get a reprieve when a loved one moves on. Go find that man of yours, let him hold you up for a while. No one will think less of you. Hell, they'd all offer to be your shoulder to lean on, you just gotta let them in, hon."

I let a shaky breath out and then sucked it back in. Then had to do it all over again before I could answer him.

"OK," I said eventually. "I'm going to him now."

"Thatta girl, Tennessee. He's a keeper."

Yeah. Nick was.

I rang off and slipped out of Nick's office. As soon as I made it into the hallway that led to the rec room I could hear lots of voices. Deep male voices, lighter female ones. And Spike. I stopped briefly outside the room and just listened for a moment, trying to gather the courage to face them all. After my rude departure and no doubt tear blotched looking face, I needed a stiff drink to contemplate walking back in there. I didn't have one, so I started humming under my breath, concentrating on a tune, unaware of which one, just needing the soothing sound and familiarity of a Country song on my mind.