Protector. Part 48

Emily rolled on her side facing Jane, resting her head in her hand. "Maybe I don't want to sleep." A sporadic "boom-boom-bang" sound erupted outside the house. Emily turned, startled for a second. "What's that?"

"They're setting off fireworks in the park across the street."

Emily rolled the little white pills between her thumb and first finger. "The nurse said these would help me forget my problems. But I think she was lying."

"Why?"

"She looked down and to the left when she talked to me. She kept covering her mouth with her hand. But it was more than that. It was the sound of her voice when she said, 'Here, take these and you'll feel so much better when you wake up.'" Emily pitched the pills across the room. "I'm never gonna forget it, am I?"

"No. It'll always be with you. Sometimes the memory will stand next to you; sometimes it'll fall into the background. But it'll never completely leave you. You can take all the pills and drink all the booze but it'll always be there when you wake up."

Emily considered Jane's words. "Were you and A.J. good friends?"

"I didn't really know her well enough to be her friend. Our job was to sit in the car and do night watch on the house. I went inside the house once to introduce myself. She smiled at me from across the room. She seemed like a real nice kid."

"You tried to save her life, didn't you? That's how you burned your hand."

"Yeah."

"You know, I knew A.J. better than anybody else. We were like twins. We'd think the same thoughts. We were connected." Emily paused. "Just like you and I?" Jane was taken aback by Emily's statement. "And you know what I know?"

"What's that?"

"She doesn't hate you because you couldn't save her." Jane was silent. "Okay?"

"Okay," Jane whispered.

Emily held Jane's hand. "I'm sorry I ran away from the house. I'm sorry I trusted Heather and her mom. But more than anything, I'm really sorry that you got kicked." Tears welled up in Emily's eyes. "That must have hurt you a whole lot."

Jane felt a tear stream down her cheek. "Yeah. It did." Outside, several pop-pop-pop explosions signaled a gigantic display of color and light. A mushroom of green, blue and red quickly flared into the night sky, followed by a breathtaking gold and silver fountain of cascading fireworks.

Emily took in the glowing spectacle, then turned back to Jane. "Happy Independence Day."

Late Monday morning, July 5, Weyler drove Jane and Emily back to Denver. Once back at Headquarters, paperwork was signed, reports were taken, and logistics were arranged for transporting Emily into the custody of her aunt and uncle in Cheyenne. Weeks earlier, the child's possessions had been collected from her home, packed into boxes and set aside for later s.h.i.+pment until her situation was determined. While it broke department protocol, Jane insisted upon driving Emily to Cheyenne. To expedite matters, Mike had driven Jane's Mustang to DH. The family was expecting Emily at their Wyoming house by 8 p.m. The last official doc.u.ment was signed and sealed at 6:15 p.m., prompting Jane and Emily's frenetic exodus out of DH five minutes later.

The ninety minute drive to Cheyenne was somber and filled with few words. Emily spent most of the trip clutching her Starlight Starbright navy blue vinyl case and tiny travel bag as she stared out the window. A wide, lonely expanse of dusty land lay in front of them as they crossed the Wyoming state line. At 7:45 p.m., Jane rolled her Mustang in front of the narrow, one hundred and fifty foot, dirt and gravel driveway that led to Emily's new country home. The modest one-story, rural house stood against the stark summer sky as the setting sun draped a warm orange glow over the melancholy scene. Jane turned off the engine and looked around the area, noting the stone cold silence that painfully lingered in the air.

"Well," Jane eventually said, "here we are."

Emily stared straight ahead, almost afraid to look at the house. "Can't we drive around some more? It's not eight o'clock yet."

"You'll feel the same way in fifteen minutes. Why stretch it out?"

Emily looked down at the floor mat. "How come I can't live with you?"

"Emily, you know why-"

"No, I don't!" Emily replied, somewhat defiantly.

"There's a lot of reasons. The top one being I'm not a blood relative."

"Blood?"

"People you're related to by blood ties. Like your aunt and uncle."

Emily turned and eyed the long driveway and unpretentious house. A look of scorn came over her. "I only see them once or twice a year. I've slept in that house three times in my entire life. I've spent more time with you in the last month and a half than I've spent with them in my whole life. They don't know how I like my eggs cooked. They don't know what music I like. They don't know my favorite candy. They don't know anything about me." Emily started to softly cry.

"When we first met, I didn't know anything about you."

Emily turned and looked Jane in the eye. "Yes, you did." It felt like a loaded reply to Jane. "You knew everything about me. You knew what I was thinking. And what I felt inside." Emily knew it was time to finally say it. "You knew me before you knew me."

Jane was stunned. She felt her mouth go dry. "What are you talking about?"

Emily stared out the front window. She'd practiced this in her head many times but she still wasn't sure how it would sound. "When I was in my bedroom closet . . . before I remembered what happened to my mom and dad . . . I fell asleep. At least, I think I fell asleep. I had a dream . . . even though it didn't feel like a dream." Jane felt the hair on her arms tingle. "I saw you." Emily's breathing became more rapid. "You were standing across from me on this . . . hot . . . metal . . . round thing. I didn't know what it was then. But the light was blinding. And I was scared because you were pointing a gun toward me. And I could feel . . . his arm around my neck and I could smell the heat off the metal. I looked down . . . and I saw the face of a wolf staring back at me." The fear of that moment gripped Emily. "And then I looked back up at you and I . . . I heard your voice in your head and it was saying that you didn't think you could save me. But I knew you could! I knew you were the only one who could do it." Tears welled in Emily's eyes as she turned to Jane. "It wasn't a dream because it came true." Jane's heart raced. She kept telling herself that this couldn't be happening-that it was too bizarre. Emily reached out to Jane. "When I saw you in the stairwell that day, I couldn't believe it. You were in my dream and now you are real. I'd found you. Just like you found me, but you didn't know it yet." She turned to the house. "They'll never know me like that. They'll never feel what I feel or think what I think. They'll never know what I've seen. You're the only person in the whole world who will ever really know me."

Jane swallowed hard and tried to get hold of herself. "There's no way you could live with me. I don't know what my future holds. But whatever I decide to do, there's always going to be a lot of grit in my life. That's no environment for a kid to grow up in. Anyway, I'm n.o.body's mother."

"You were mine for awhile and you were good at it!"

Jane looked outside the window, desperately trying not to lose it. "The last six weeks were like a controlled game. Living the real, day-to-day with me is completely different."

"Is what we had been broken?" Emily asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I don't know. Maybe it was a moment in time that opened up . . . Maybe it was . . ." Jane realized that intellectualizing was futile. Jane reached out and stroked Emily's long brown hair. "Emily, all I know for sure is this: there will not be a day that goes by when I don't think about you."

"For true?"

"For true."

"I want to know how to picture you so I can feel like you're still with me."

"Why don't you just picture me standing beside you."

"How are you gonna picture me?"

Jane thought about it. "Growing up. Going to school. Laughing with your friends. Being happy.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to feel happy again. How can I be happy when I saw them on the floor?"

"Emily," Jane said with a serious tone, "look at me." The child turned to Jane, her eyes sad and lost. "You might not be able to understand these words, but I want you to say them every single day for the rest of your life. I want you to say, 'I had this experience, but it didn't have me.' "

"I had this experience, but it didn't have me."

"That may not make any sense to you right now, but one day, it's gonna click and you'll feel . . . a sense of freedom. It would be so easy for you to blame Chris for ruining your life. But, take my word, it'll just end up destroying you. Don't feed the memory. You do that and you give him so much power-power he doesn't deserve. If you do that, his memory will take over your life until you can't figure out where he ends and you begin. Don't let him live inside your head and tell you lies about who you are. Don't let him define who you become. And no matter how much you want to, don't picture him as some kind of towering monster. Think of him as if he were a small, dry leaf that's easily crushed when you walk over it. If you can do that, he will never have power over you."

Emily really thought about Jane's advice. "You know what?"

"What?"

"When I grow up, I don't want to be what I want to be. I want to be who I am."

Jane smiled. "Well said."

"When I talked to my aunt on the phone today, she told me that I'm supposed to go see a therapist."

"I think that's a good idea."

"You do?" Emily said, seeking Jane's approval. "I thought you didn't like therapists."

Jane s.h.i.+fted in her seat. "Perhaps I spoke too quickly. There's nothing wrong with sitting down and talking to someone about what happened to you."

"Are you going to sit down and talk to someone about what happened?"

Jane smiled. "Have you and Sergeant Weyler been communicating?"

"No. I just thought-" Emily reached over and brushed her finger across Jane's scar. "I just thought that maybe if you could talk to someone who knows things, maybe they could make this not hurt so much."

Jane clasped her hand around Emily's palm as her emotions got the better of her. "Do you think that's possible?"

"I think pretty much anything is possible. Even the things that don't make sense are possible."

Jane's attention was drawn toward the house as Emily's aunt and uncle exited their front door and peered down the long driveway at Jane's car. Emily turned, looking more irritated than happy to see them. "Come in with me," Emily said.

"No," Jane replied, wiping away her tears. "You need to walk up that driveway alone." Emily threw her arms around Jane's neck, holding on to her tightly. Jane, in turn, wrapped her arms around Emily. "You have my home phone number and my work number," Jane whispered into Emily's ear. Emily nodded, still holding on to Jane for dear life. "You call me whenever you want. Okay?"

"Uh-huh," Emily said, sobbing on Jane's shoulder.

Jane pulled Emily away from her chest so that they were eye-to-eye. "They're waiting for you." Emily lowered her head. "You don't have to look back," Jane whispered in Emily's ear. "I'll be right here."

Emily reluctantly let go of Jane and sadly collected her Starlight Starbright vinyl case and small travel bag. She opened the door, hesitated and then turned back to Jane. "I love you."

"And I love you," Jane said, her voice cracking. Emily got out of the car and closed the door. She stared up the gravel driveway, clutching a bag in each hand. "Go on," Jane quietly urged the child.

Emily softly cried as she walked forward. Slowly, she made her way toward the house. Jane got out of her car, never once taking her eyes off of Emily. She peered across the Mustang's s.h.i.+mmering roof as Emily neared the house. The child suddenly stopped walking and bowed her head.

"Don't," Jane whispered. "Keep going, Emily. Don't look back."

Emily lifted her head and continued her journey up the driveway. Her aunt and uncle ran toward the child and cradled her warmly in their arms. Emily's aunt looked toward Jane's car and waved. Jane returned the gesture, taking in the familial scene. Once they were inside the house, she climbed back into her car and lit a cigarette. After several long drags, she turned on the ignition and drove down the road.

Jane could have headed straight home. But thirty miles down the road, she pulled off the rural highway, got out of her car and lay on the hood of her Mustang staring into the night sky. For the first time in her life, she had no clear mission planned-no sense of where she was meant to be. But she felt something close to her-like a heavy page turning. The sounds of the warm night echoed in the distance. The soft hum of trucks in the distance blended with a lone red-tailed hawk circling above her three times before disappearing into the distance. Jane lay there for three hours waiting for an answer that never came.

She got back in the Mustang and drove south toward Denver. Lighting a cigarette, she checked the time and flicked on the radio, turning to the familiar station.

". . . And so it is, my peripatetic voyagers of the unconscious mind," Mooney said with his characteristic warm resonance. "Like all cycles, my time with you has come to an end." Jane felt a twinge of sadness at Mooney's announcement. "Your regular host will be back tomorrow from her time off and I will wander off toward my next uncommon foray into the marvelous unknown." Jane smiled at his atypical tangle of the English language. "To fall into that place and allow the current of synchronicity to sweep me toward my destiny, ah, now that is true bliss. My, my . . . I think I just got a chill. But then again, did you ever have an experience that gave you a chill and then wonder if you were just standing in a draft? How do we connect the dots between what we know from what we can't understand? Do we chalk it up to a strange moment in time? Or do we trust, quietly holding that experience against our heart and protecting it in that sacred s.p.a.ce when, for one implausible instant, we saw the face of G.o.d in our own reflection?" Jane let Mooney's voice wash over her. "If not now, my friends . . . then when?" There was a long, thoughtful pause. "When?"

Jane drove into the night and let the towrope slip gently from her hand.

Here's an excerpt from Laurel Dewey's next novel featuring Jane Perry.

REDEMPTION.

On sale in hardcover from [image]

on June 16, 2009 "Barmaid!" Jane Perry yelled above the din of the smoke-lacedbarroom. "Two more whiskeys for me and two tequilas for my friend!" Jane came to an unsteady halt in front of the waitress, her back to Carlos. "You got that?" Jane said, her eyes asking another question.

The waitress cautiously looked at Carlos before quickly locking back on to Jane's iron gaze. "Yeah. I got it." The waitress headed back to the bar.

Jane nervously lit her fifth cigarette of the hour and surveyed the spa.r.s.e crowd mingling in the center of the bar. The dim lighting painted heavy pockets of darkness across the tables and chairs, making it difficult to discern faces. A dozen beer-splattered Christmas garlands hung carelessly against the nicotine-soaked walls. It was the bar's inept attempt to define the holiday season, but the cheesy decor reminded Jane of topping a dead tree with a broken angel. The Red Tail Hawk Bar was located on East Colfax in Denver, Colorado-a location that supported seedy establishments and attracted drug deals, b.l.o.o.d.y brawls, and twenty-dollar hookers. The clock with the beer keg image read 4:45. Within thirty minutes, Jane knew the grimy hole would be packed with hard-core drinkers and enthusiastic partiers, all looking to find a warm refuge from Denver's December chill and to extend their stoned post-Christmas revelry. Her jaw tightened, a sign that the stress was taking its toll. The deal had to go down tonight, and it had to go down exactly as Jane planned it. Wearing a mask of bravado, she turned around. "You said 4:30. We're fifteen minutes past that. I'm not used to waiting!"

"Chill out, Tracy," Carlos replied in a lazy tone, his oily, black hair obscuring his pockmarked, swarthy visage. "I told you I'd hook you up. This is a busy time of year. Santa may have stopped sliding down chimneys two days ago, but Cameron and Nico are still in business."

Jane drunkenly moved around the pool table. "s.h.i.+t, man, I'm jonesin'."

"Have another shot," Carlos suggested, motioning over to the approaching barmaid and her tray of shot gla.s.ses.

"Two tequilas," the barmaid said, setting the shot gla.s.ses in front of Carlos, "and two whiskeys," she managed to stammer as she slid two shots in front of Jane and surrept.i.tiously tilted her head toward two men who had just entered the bar.

"Is that them?" Jane asked Carlos, dismissing the waitress and angling her pool cue in the direction of the front door.

Carlos squinted against the poor lighting. "See? I wasn't f.u.c.kin' with you!" Carlos raised his hand, catching the eye of Cameron and Nico, who made their way through the syrupy darkness.

Jane felt her heart race as the two Columbians moved toward the pool table. They were as imposing as she expected. Both were in their late thirties, but their road-ravaged faces made them appear fifteen years older. They seemed to drag the darkness of the bar behind them as they loomed closer. Cameron was the lead guy, but Nico was clearly an equal partner.

"Hey," Carlos said, proud to be part of this nefarious deal. "How's it goin'?"

"It's goin'," Cameron said, sizing up Jane.

"This is Tracy," Carlos said. "She's real happy to see you guys!"

"Are you?" Cameron replied, his black eyes boring holes into Jane's face.

"You got the stuff?" Jane asked, crus.h.i.+ng her cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

"You think I'm stupid enough to bring a quarter kilo inside a f.u.c.kin' bar?" Cameron quietly replied with a sharp timbre to his voice.