Winter Winds (5 page)

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone,” she said, counting to five. Counting to ten would take too long. “I do know how to do surveillance, you know.”

Fleishman raised an eyebrow in doubt, tossed his magazine onto the floor, and slid out of the driver’s seat. “Call me when you need me.”

Like it was a given she’d need him. Thanks goodness Greg Barnes didn’t think like Fleishman. Neither did Chief Gordon.

With a puff of irritation and a vague wave, she pulled out, looking wildly about for the white Saturn. She had to find it before it exited the airport or she’d lose it. There were just too many ways it could go, though she imagined it would head to Seaside. She sped past Terminal B into the chaos that was Terminal C, the major US Airways hub. There she spotted the Saturn caught behind one of the buses for economy parking, forced by the crush of traffic to wait there, exhaust fumes condensing around it in the frigid air.

She slowed, maneuvered behind the Saturn, and followed, surprised when the car turned onto 1-95 south instead of turning north toward the Walt Whitman Bridge and the Atlantic City Expressway and Seaside.

As she cruised down 95 two cars behind the Saturn, Maureen called Greg again and gave him the license number.

“Stay with them,” he ordered. “There’s a lot more than recovering stolen goods at stake here.”

Maureen shuddered, knowing that was true. She’d only been
in Seaside for a couple of weeks, but already she loved the town. The thought of someone like Neal Jankowski corrupting it was unbearable. She set her jaw. She would not fail. She hadn’t come this far, survived this much, to go down in flames.

She had wanted to be a cop for as long as she could remember. Her father was one as were her two brothers and a sister-in-law. It ran in the blood.

“You sure you want to do this?” Dad had asked when she filled in her application for the police academy.

She looked at him in surprise. “I’ve always wanted to be a cop, Dad. You know that.”

He ran his hand over her shining fall of black curls. “Sure, I know that, lovey. But it wasn’t real to me until today. It’s potentially dangerous work, and I’m suddenly thinking I don’t want my girl anywhere where she might be hurt.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Now, Dad, don’t turn chauvinistic at this late stage. And you know as well as I do that most cops never even fire their guns in the line of duty.”

“That’s no great comfort,” he said. “Because there are many who do. And many who get hurt.”

And killed
, but he didn’t say it, and she was grateful for that.

In the long run, it hadn’t been any of the Galloways who got killed in the line of duty but bright, shining, lovely Adam, her love, her life, her fiancé. And it hadn’t been in keeping the peace in New Jersey but in Bosnia.

He’d gently chided her for crying when they parted. “I’ll be back before your tears dry, sweetheart.”

And he almost was, in his box draped with a flag, the random victim of a land mine.

How her father had worried about her then. She was in her final months at the academy, and she’d thrown herself into her training to keep the grief at bay. Thanks to the rigors of training, it worked during the day, but at night she wrapped her arms around her middle and curled up in pain.

“God, I don’t understand. He loved You. And he loved me. Can You at least tell me why?”

He hadn’t. All He’d ever whispered to her was, “Trust me, Maureen.”

And she tried. Some days God seemed real, the One who cared for her above all. Other days He was as far from her as the east is from the west. She stood at graduation choking on tears of grief, anger, and loss.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. And help me be a good cop in Adams memory
.

Because she knew she was fragile, Maureen chose to seek a position on a force in a small town where the pressures would be less. She worked in the little town of Audubon, just the Jersey side of Philadelphia, for two years, then, feeling stronger emotionally and spiritually, moved to Camden, a small city looking for someone to work in the juvenile division. She spent three years in that particular emotional wringer, working with the small victims of heartbreaking crimes and their families. Then the job in Seaside opened up, and she grabbed it. For some reason, it just felt right.

“I don’t remember you worrying like this about Bobby and Joe,” she teased her father the day she moved to Seaside. “And if you say they’re boys, I’ll have to hit you.” She smiled to show she wasn’t serious.

“Well, they are,” Dad said, his black Irish eyes suddenly tearing as he ran a hand through hair as dark as hers but fringed at the temples with gray. “Your brothers are big strapping men, like me. You’re this tiny thing and skinny as a rail. I don’t think you’ve eaten since Adam died.”

“Dad.” Maureen shook her head at his exaggeration. It was almost six years that Adam had been gone, and the pain at the mention of his name had passed. Her heart was still full of what-ifs and whys, but time had worked its healing magic, something she had originally thought impossible.

“And you’re so cute,” Dad continued as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “Like your mother. What big bad perp’s going to listen to a sweet little thing like you?” He sniffed.

“Now don’t go all gooey on me.” She hugged him, and he hugged her back, his bulk, as always, making her feel secure, safe. “You taught me to pray about decisions, and I’ve done that about this choice. In fact, I’ve done it for years. And I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”
Except be Adam’s wife
. The thought came
automatically, and she pushed it aside, amazed and guilty at how easy it had become.

Dad sighed. “It’s your mother’s fault.”

Maureen had to laugh. “What?”

He nodded. “If she weren’t so independent—”

“If she weren’t so independent,” Maureen cut in, “she’d bore you to tears.”

Her father grinned. “Haven’t had a boring day since I met her.”

“Since you met who?” Mom asked as she walked into the room. “You have another woman hidden away somewhere that I don’t know about?” She walked to her husband and wrapped an arm about his waist.

“Wouldn’t dare.” He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her from side to side.

He wouldn’t want to, Maureen knew as she felt again the warmth of knowing her parents loved each other. Their marriage was just what she had wanted for herself and Adam. Sparks after more than thirty-five years.

“He’s blaming you for my wanting to be a cop,” Maureen said. “You infected me with your independent spirit.”

“I did?” Mom drew back. “Why, Sean Galloway, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said in a long while, even if it isn’t true. It was you and how handsome you looked in your uniform.”

Now Maureen grinned as she sat in the hospital parking lot. What a wonderful heritage. She’d hoped to pass it on to her own children, but in the absence of that possibility, she’d just make her parents proud.

With that thought in mind, she studied the white Saturn. She’d watched the occupants, Dori and a very handsome man, go into the hospital. Their faces had looked so serious that she almost believed they had someone in there they were worried about. Well, maybe they did; even bad guys had family members who got sick. She climbed out of her car and walked to the white Saturn. She called Greg. “Any word?”

“The owner is one Phillip Trevelyan, 3142 Oystercatcher Way, Apt. 4B, Seaside.”

“Ah.” So the handsome guy lived in Seaside. Interesting. She
bent and peered in the windows of the car to see what she could see. “What else have you got?”

“He’s a pharmacist.”

She straightened. “He’s what?”

“You heard me. He owns the pharmacy at Ninth and Asbury.”

“Across from the Christian bookstore?”

“That’s the one.”

“What do you think? He borrowed the money to buy the store from Jankowski and is working it off by running his errands? Or he’s low on funds now and likes to eat, so he’s earning food money by running the errands? Or maybe he’s just a corrupt pharmacist who makes more money with illegals than in his store?”

Greg grunted noncommittally. “His brother’s the pastor at Seaside Chapel.”

Maureen frowned, not sure what to do with that piece of information. “That’s nice.”

“Well, sit tight and don’t let them out of your sight.”

“You know, Greg, I could break into the trunk and get the goods in a flash.”

“If getting the stuff back were all there was to it, I’d say go ahead. But—”

“But it’s Jankowski.”

“Right. So be a good little shadow, and I’ll see you when I see you. Just keep in touch.”

Maureen climbed back into the Camry and slouched in her seat. Was there anything as boring as surveillance?
Look, Dad, no guns
. She made a little face.
No clue either, but we won’t talk about that
.

P
ASTOR
P
AUL
T
REVELYAN
walked in the front door of his house in Seaside, New Jersey, and froze. “Ryan! What are you doing home?”

The thirteen-year-old who had been lounging on the sofa watching TV stared wide-eyed at Trev but said nothing. His face was a study in conflicting emotions: shock, distress, antagonism, fear.

It was the fear that hit Trev the hardest.

Belatedly, the black lab who had been sprawled across Ryan’s lap jumped to the floor and raced to Trev. The dog wiggled and made little welcoming sounds in his throat. When Trev gave him the merest pat on the head, the dog butted him in the hip.

Trev looked from Ryan to the dog and grinned. He loved this dog who’d seen him through a lot of lonely times. “Hey, Jack. How’s my boy?”

Jack went wild with delight as he reveled in Trev’s energetic ear scratch.

As he rubbed the animal’s head, Trev tried to decide what to do about Ryan. The boy was supposed to be in school, not draped across the sofa watching daytime TV

“What’s up, kiddo?” Trev finally asked. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“How come you’re home?” Ryan Harper countered,
fake bravado coloring his voice. At least Trev thought it was fake. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

Trev glanced at the clock. 10:30
AM
. “Yeah, I am, but I just got an emergency call from my brother. Pop’s in the hospital. I’ve got to go to Pennsylvania for a couple of days.”

Ryan sat up at that, his teen defiance giving way to uncertainty. “What about me?”

Trev knew exactly how the boy felt. He had felt that same way when his parents had been killed.
What about me?
“Do you want to come with me?”

“How sick is he? Hospital?”

“Yeah, hospital.”

“And you’ll be visiting there?”

“As long as they let me stay.”

Ryan made a face.

“That’s what I thought.” Trev dropped his jacket on the stuffed chair. “That’s why I spoke to Todd’s mom. She said you could stay there through the weekend.”

Ryan brightened and seemed to relax. A weekend with his best friend wouldn’t be too bad, though he was careful not to admit it. “So, when are you coming back?”

“Today’s Friday. Probably sometime late tomorrow night. I have to preach on Sunday.”

Ryan looked satisfied as he collapsed once again on the sofa, slumped so far that he was almost sitting on his neck. Trev marveled at the kid’s suppleness. Ryan was a little guy, skinny, undeveloped, and he hated himself for not growing. At his age he didn’t appreciate the fine mind he possessed, wishing only for a bigger body and some athletic prowess. Poor Ryan suffered from the curse of the nerd.

Trev had seen pictures of the boy’s mother, Lucy, and she was a real looker. He expected the boy would one day be quite good-looking too. All he had to do was survive the years of growing up, an experience fraught with untold pitfalls even without the instability of Ryan’s present circumstances.

Trev fought back the wave of sympathy he felt for the lonely boy. Even when your life was in the toilet, you had to go to school. The fact that you were smarter than many of your teachers didn’t
alter the law. Neither did the fact that for you every day was an exercise in anxiety and social failure.

Hooky was unacceptable.

Ryan kept his attention firmly on the TV, apparently mesmerized by commercials for hemorrhoid ointment and denture fixative. Trev bit back a smile. Any topic was preferable to the lecture the kid knew was coming.

“Well talk in a minute,” Trev said. “I want to get packed first.”

Ryan grunted as denture cream gave way to Scrubbing Bubbles. “Whatever.”

Trev made his way to the second floor. He pulled his duffel from the shelf in his closet and threw in enough for an overnight stay.

Pop was in the hospital. Unbelievable. The man was never sick. The young Trev had secretly thought him invincible, the one man in history who would live forever. With his barrel chest and deep, hearty voice, he exuded strength and character.

When Trev’s parents died, Pop was his lifeline. He and Honey wrapped him and Phil and Dori in a giant security blanket and stabilized a world gone madly atilt. Pop taught them love and responsibility. He taught them life.

And now he was sick. A heart attack. An old person’s ailment.

Oh, Lord, please don’t let Pop become an invalid. He couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take it
.

It was almost impossible to think of Pop as an old man, though Trev knew he was. People his age were subject to all kinds of ailments—strokes, heart attacks, cancers. But that was people in general, not Pop the Indestructible.

Trev blinked against the sudden wash of tears that stung the back of his eyes. He grabbed his toothbrush and shaving tackle. Maybe this heart attack wasn’t all that serious. Maybe Phil had exaggerated.

“When did this happen?” Trev had asked as he talked to his brother on the phone in his church office.

“Last night about nine.” Phil sounded tired. “Honey and I’ve been at the hospital with him all night.”

“And you’re just now calling me?”

“Honey tried to get you last night, but there was no answer.
When she got me, I drove right up. At midnight she decided to stop calling you, to wait until morning so you could have a good night’s sleep.”