"For starters," he said, "it's an unworkable idea. We both travel and are rarely here."
"I'd take a leave of absence from the airline. Next obstacle?"
she said with an irritating flippancy.
"I don't"
He'd been about to say that he didn't love her. At the very least, he believed a kid deserved to be brought into the world by two people who loved each other.
A victim of divorce when he was less than two years old, John didn't remember living with a complete family. Until he was old enough to be independent, he had been shuttled back and forth between two distracted individuals to whom he was an afterthought, an inconvenience, and a reminder of their failed attempt at marriage.
His parents had diligently pursued their respective careers and had been successful. His father had attained tenure in the humanities department of an Ivy League university. His mother held a vice presidency in an architectural firm.
But as parents they had been abysmal failures. Beyond obligatory rails on holidays, he had little contact with them now.
They certainly didn't exercise any influence over his life, nor did they care to. Their infrequent conversations were polite but distant. From birth, he had been treated as an intrusion into their busy lives. That self-perception hadn't changed in forty-three years.
Consequently, he had developed a jaundiced regard for hearth and home. His dysfunctional family hadn't prepared him for long-term relationships, nor had it instilled in him a desire to be a father. Quite the contrary.
He had nothing against children. In fact, he felt compassion for them. More often than not, defenseless kids were stuck with rotten parents. So, if you knew from the start that you were likely to be a lousy parent, why have a baby?
Through his studies in psychology, he had learned what a handicap parents could be to a child's emotional development.
They could turn a perfectly good baby into a maladjusted adult at best, or into a serial killer at worst. To err this grossly, parents didn't necessarily have to be abusive or malicious, just selfish.
That's why he had refused to have a baby with Lisa he wasn't that selfish. He seriously doubted that he and Lisa would grow old together. It was irresponsible to have a child when you knew with a measurable degree of certainty that you would make his or her life miserable.
Added to that was the fiasco that had prompted him to resign from the FBI. As though reading his thoughts, Lisa touched on that sore spot: "Does this have anything to do with what happened out in New Mexico?"
"No."
"I think it does."
"It doesn't."
"If you would only talk to me about it, John, you'd feel better."
"I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want a baby. Period. End of discussion."
"You selfish son of a bitch!"
She pouted for several days before deigning to speak to him again. He didn't trust her not to get pregnant without his consent, so he scheduled a vasectomy and used condoms In the meantime.
Before he could have the surgery, Lisa got pissed over the condoms and exited his life forever. Shortly after that, he had been called to Denver to escort a witness back to South Carolina.
And now here he was, giving a baby a drink of water by letting him suck the tip of his finger. Three weeks ago, under threat of death, he wouldn't have gone near a baby. He wouldn't have touched one or even talked to one. What he was doing now wouldn't have been within the realm of possibility.
"Life's a bitch, huh, Kevin?"
The baby now seemed content and satisfied. John checked his watch. Shit. Twenty-three minutes had passed since Ken dall had left. He couldn't let her get back before he did. As long as she believed that he still had amnesia, he held the advantage. If she found out that he'd left the house in search of a Telephone!
In his rush to give the baby a drink, he had forgotten the reason why he was here. He turned off the water and rushed back to the living room. There it was, sitting on an end table, an old-fashioned black rotary-dial telephone.
John laughed out loud as he picked up the receiver. Then he realized that the line was dead. He jiggled the button, hoping that, like the water pipes, the telephone needed to be primed.
But it was no use, and now he was wasting time.
With Kevin tucked into the sling, John closed the front door securely behind him. "Sorry about the window glass," he muttered to the absent owners as he eased himself down the steps and picked up the crutch he'd left on the porch.
At least the return trip was downhill, but the heat was brutal, and his muscles, normally toned by two or three strenuous workouts a week, felt like jelly being spiked with nails.
When he reached the mailbox at the end of the drive, he leaned against it and sucked air into his burning lungs. The metal box was hot, and after a few seconds it felt like a brand against his arm.
Leave a note in the mailbox, you dumb jerk!
The discomfort was worth that burst of inspiration. He could write a note tonight, then sneak out and place it in the mailbox. He would address the note to the postman and tell him to summon the local authorities. He would also write down the telephone number of his office, and Pepperdyne's, in case the postman thought it was a prank and wanted to check him out. Then he would raise the red flag on the mailbox. With any luck, the postman would notice it tomorrow and stop.
Even better, he might catch the postman on his route.
Now that he had another plan in mind, he felt energized.
He covered the distance back to the house in half the time.
Even so, as he reached the porch he heard her car turning into the lane.
He dropped one of his crutches in the living room and limped down the hallway and into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and pressed his head against it. His muscles were screaming in protest. His breathing was as loud as a thrashing machine. His clothes were sopping wet. And he stank.
If Kendall saw him like this, she would know he was up to something.
Although he was trembling with fatigue, he lifted Kevin out of the sling and laid him on the bath mat on the floor.
"We're in this together, right?" He pushed the stopper into the tub drain and turned on the water.
He heard her footsteps on the porch.
"John?"
Working frantically, he stripped to the skin and stuffed his sweaty clothes into the hamper, then he went to work on Kevin.
"John?"
"Yeah?" He had Kevin stripped down to his diaper.
"Where are you?"
"Kendall?") Off came Kevin's diaper. "Are you back already?"
John lowered himself into the tub, keeping his cast out of the water. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to bend forward far enough to duck his head beneath the faucet and thoroughly wet his hair, then he reached for the naked baby lying on the bath mat.
"You're a real sport," he whispered as he leaned back and laid Kevin on his chest. "I won't forget this, pal."
"John, what are you doing? Where's Kevin?"
"What? I can't hear you, Kendall. The water's running."
"Where's Kevin?"
"He's in here with me." He splashed water over the baby, who cooed in delight and happily slapped his palms against John's chest.
"He's with you?"
"Of course. Where'd you think he was?"
She tried the doorknob. "You locked the door."
"Oh. Sorry," he lied.
"Open the door."
"I'm already in the tub. And it's a hell of a feat to get in and out of it with this cast on."
"I'm coming in."
He had guessed she would. He'd heard the panic in her voice, and it made clear to him that even though they were lovers, she didn't entirely trust him.
And she was smart not to.
Given an opportunity today he would have turned her in.
If the house had been occupied, if the telephone had been working, if he had been able to flag down a car, federal officers would be on their way now to take her back into custody.
He had failed today, but he would try again tomorrow, and the next day, and for as long as it took. Without his weapon, and with his busted leg, he could offer her little protection if any members of the Brotherhood came looking for her.
The government needed her testimony to put the Burnwoods away. Moreover, she didn't stand a chance against the secret society of vigilantes unless she had the government's protection. He planned to get it for her, although she would hate him for it.
The flimsy lock opened with a hairpin. Kendall burst through the door, then drew up short when she saw the two of them reclining in the tub. They made quite a sight he with one leg dangling over the side of the tub and Kevin looking small and smooth and pink against his chest.
"You're just in time to join us," he said, smiling up at her guilelessly "Although it might be a tight squeeze. Can you turn off those faucets for me? I think the water's deep enough "
"What are you doing?" Her voice was shrill with anxiety, as though she ha dn't heard a word of his glib greeting.
Looking puzzled, he seated the obvious: "Taking a bath.
"With Kevin?"
"Why not? I thought he would enjoy cooling off, too."
"I came in and the house looked deserted. I didn't know where you were. Kevin wasn't in his crib. I thought . . . I don't know what I thought."
She sat down heavily on the commode lid. On the verge of tears, her face was pale and her lips had lost their color.
Bending her head down, she massaged her temples. She was very upset, and John didn't think it was solely because he and Kevin had been momentarily out of her sight.
Something had happened in town.
What? She was even more shaken now than she'd been a few days ago when she had butchered her hair in an attempt to disguise herself. He needed to know the latest update. How had she captained the information? What had she learned to make her so upset?
She dropped her hand into her lap and raised her head
"Please don't scare me like that again, John."
The way she was looking at him, and her tremulous tone of voice, made him feel like a bastard. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Before he went entirely soft, he reminded himself that, pathetic as she looked with her stricken expression and ragged hair, this woman had committed two federal offenses kidnapping, and fleeing to avoid giving testimony.
It was his sworn duty to use whatever means necessary to bring her in unharmed. Granted, his methods weren't exactly orthodox, but the training manual hadn't covered these particular circumstances. He was doing the best he could.
He hadn't asked for this assignment. It had been thrust on him first by Jim, then by Kendall. So if he had to make up the game plan as he went along, that was just too damn bad.
Keeping his recovered memory a secret, bonding with the baby, and making love with Kendall were, in this instance, job requirements.
Good speech, McGrath. If he recited it often enough, he might even believe it himself.
Chapter 30
Ricki Sue impatiently picked at the loose cuticle on her thumb. When old] man Bristol himself had approached her desk and discreetly asked her to follow him, she had pretended that a summons from a senior partner was a daily occurrence.
Ignoring the curious stares of clerks and paralegals, she held her shoulders; straight and her head high as she followed Bristol's waddling; gait down the carpeted hallway to the conference room, where he held open the massive door for her.
"Wait in here,, please, Miss Robb. They'll be with you shortly."
Yeah, ricki Sue thought.
She had been in here for over half an hour and "they" hadn't yet appeared. The conference room was seldom used and had all the gaiety of a mausoleum. It was cold enough to store meat. From gilded frames, austere portraits of partners long deceased stared down at her, their forbidding expressions lofty and judgmental.
She had a fleeting impulse to flash the sour posses, then thought better of it. She wouldn't put it past the partners of Bristol and Mathers to keep hidden cameras on their employees. They had caught Kendall, hadn't they?
Ricki Sue wouldn't have admitted it even under torture, but she was nervous. FBI agents had already questioned her several times, more than anyone else in the firm, because obviously they knew that she was Mrs. Burnwood's special friend.
She had told them nothing, of course. And she would continue to play dumb even if they rammed bamboo shoots under neath her fingernails.
Suddenly the door whooshed open and a man strode in, trailed by two others. All were dressed in dark suits and white shirts, but there was no question as to which one was in charge.
His demeanor as well as his walk were straightforward and purposeful.
"Miss Robb? I'm Special Agent Pepperdyne."
He introduced the agents accompanying him, but Ricki Sue was so taken by Pepperdyne's air of authority that she paid scant attention to his cohorts. Besides, she had already met them. They were the ones who had questioned her before.
Apparently she rated the top gun this time. Pepperdyne.
He was kinda cute, and he certainly knew how to make an entrance. She wished old man Bristol had given her time to check her hair and put on fresh lipstick.
Without preamble, Pepperdyne said, "I'm running out of time, Miss Robb, so let's cut to the chase."
He sat on the corner of the conference table and tossed a heavy file folder onto its glossy surface. Several documents spilled out, but Ricki Sue didn't need to read them to know what they were.