Steve Rush

Chapter One

No room existed in my heart for mercy or forgiveness. I had no intention of welcoming either. For me, Ridge Warner, belief in Angel Meade's death provided false serenity. The sight of her empty casket and the message she conveyed on the venue screens alerted me to the possibility of more attacks. It compelled me to seek a redo—not of our wedding three days ago, which had been expunged from legal records as if it never happened, but a redo of Angel's funeral.

My thoughts bounced off a shrinking triangle’s walls—Angel’s cancerous exposure; my former girlfriend, FBI Special Agent Suzette London, who suffered burns to her face and neck compliments of Angel; the tornado’s sights and sounds when it ripped life from my parents on my eighteenth birthday. Attempts to file those memories met rejection.

Angel’s insults taunted me all the way to the finished basement in the new home she and I once planned to live in. Redwood panels covered reinforced concrete walls locked in stress-free silence. Travertine tiles decorated the floor. No furniture.

A recessed blast-proof safe hidden behind a panel in the rear wall secured my gear. I opened the safe and selected a SIG Sauer pistol and two Glocks, extra magazines for each, four boxes of ammo, two SMF knives, and two night-vision goggles. Those went in a backpack. I stashed a Daniel Defense rifle and other essentials in a duffle, stowed the backpack and duffle in the safe and stuffed a fixed-blade tactical knife inside my waistband.

My call to advisor Charlie Matthews on my way back to the garage routed to his voice mail. I told him where I was going and asked him to call me.

I paused in the kitchen at the sight of someone’s shadow transfixed on the mudroom tiles inside the back door. I pulled out my knife and crept to the sliding glass door and out on the rear deck.

An unfamiliar blue SUV parked askew behind my car, nosed out. The driver’s door stood open. No one occupied either of the front seats. Tinted windows obscured my view of the rear occupant space.

I crept along a row of evergreen shrubs to the garage. No one there, but someone had closed the mudroom door. I rounded the SUV. The engine ticked. No one hid inside. I opened the right front door. The new-car smell overpowered a hint of cologne. Key in the ignition switch. I removed and pocketed the key and key fob.

Sobs and motion on the rear deck attracted my attention. Angel’s mother shrank over the outside rail, still in the black dress she had worn to the funeral. A fitted knit blazer lay across the handrail. Despite her height of near six feet, she appeared crushed to five. I rushed to her.

“Dana?”

She set a glass of crimson liquid on the handrail and clamped her arms around my neck. Her body shuddered. “He took off right after you left. The man knows no shame.”

I needed not ask whom she meant. Robert Meade ranted at me for opening the casket to show Angel wasn’t there moments before she exposed his infidelity. Her discovery of Robert’s affair triggered everything in the past week.

I placed my hands on Dana’s sides. She held on to me when I nudged her away. “Hold me.”

I slid my arms to her back. “Why did you come here?”

“I trust no one else.” Dana rested her head against mine a moment before she kissed my cheek and backed away. She studied me from head to feet. “I’m sorry, Ridge. You must be on your way out.”

“It can wait if you need to talk. What’s in the glass?” I figured to learn the degree of her resolve by her answer.

“It’s Hibiscus Chamomile tea.” She turned. Stared at the glass. Lowered her head. “I guess you didn’t find Angel, which is why you and Charles Matthews ran out of the chapel, wasn’t it? The monument in the video’s background gave away her location.”

“Did you hope to find her here?”

Dana lifted her head. Her gaze met mine. She shrugged. “Maybe if I found her, she might open up to me. My calls go to her voicemail. She hasn’t answered my texts.” Dana stared behind me toward Pikes Peak. Tears streamed her cheeks. “She’s never ignored me this way. Maybe she is taking time to make some adjustments. What do you think?”

“I—”

She put her left hand on my arm. “No, Ridge. It was wrong of me to ask after the harm she caused you.”

I felt the warmth of a mother’s touch. It reminded me of how much I missed mine. “Mothers have the right, Dana. Ask me anything.”

She shivered. I lifted the blazer and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it across her chest.

“Do you plan to kill her?”

Sadness and concern in Dana’s eyes squeezed my heart. She knew nothing about what transpired after the funeral. I saw someone flying Angel’s hang glider and watched whom I believed was her plunge toward the ground. I needed evidence of Angel’s demise.

“I have no plan, but I will defend our lives.”

Dana frowned and gave a terse nod. “I’m not afraid for me, but for you. It’s like animosity filled an abyss in her soul and she will pursue you until one or both of you are dead.” She wiped the creases beneath her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Stay. I’ve not moved in.”

“What about you?”

“I have a room at the lodge.” I pulled the key to her car from a pocket. “I’ll put your vehicle in the garage and give you the code for the security system.”

#

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Ridge Warner?”

A Memorial Hospital security guard caught up to me in the corridor after I turned the corner and neared Suzette London’s room. He stood three inches taller and weighed thirty-to-forty pounds fewer than me and I have no excess poundage.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t allow you to go in there.” He motioned to her door.

“If I ask, are you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know why, sir. I was told to not let you in.”

I refused to accept his stance and marched to the nurses’ station. A woman in a floral-print scrub top looked up. “May I help you, sir?”

“I hope so. My name is Ridge Warner. I’m here to visit Suzette London and security told me I am not allowed in to see her.”

“Just a minute, Mr. Warner.” The woman rolled her chair away from the desk. She turned and addressed someone through an open door. She turned back to me. “The charge nurse will be with you shortly.”

The wait lasted longer than my definition of shortly. A pert female came out of the adjoining room. She stared at me with eyes the color of granite.

“The patient has expressed her wishes, Mr. Warner. There’s been a note placed in Ms. London’s chart. You cannot visit her.”

I knew better than to ask about the restriction. Patients need not provide any reason. I wanted an answer. “Do you have any objection if I sit in the hall?”

“No problem. Stay out of her room.”

The nurse with the floral scrub top provided a chair for me to sit in. I planted myself there at seven-thirty p.m. I had no line of sight into the room. Someone entered every thirty minutes for the first three hours.

At ten-thirty a tap on my shoulder brought my head up to a familiar face. This time I made certain to glance at her ID badge hanging on a lanyard around her neck—Amy, a nurse I recognized from an earlier visit.

“Why are you sitting in the hall?” Amy asked.

I got to my feet and stepped farther from the door. “I’m not allowed in.” I kept my voice low to prevent Suzette from hearing me.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree.” I considered Suzette’s perspective. I guessed she must have seen the burns to her face and neck. No other explanation existed for her refusal to allow me in.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait right here.”

“It might be a while.”

“I don’t care. I’m staying.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

I shook my head. Thanked her.

Amy nodded. She shoved into Suzette’s room.

I turned the chair sideways and rested my head against the wall.

Amy came out of Suzette’s room less than a minute later. She told me she’d let Suzette know I was out there.

I fell asleep and awakened with no idea how long I had slept. My surroundings looked, smelled, and sounded the same as before I dozed. The same ecru walls, polished floor, antiseptic odor in the air and multi-toned beeps of patient monitors.

My mouth tasted like burnt coffee. I straightened in the chair. My buttocks were numb from sitting. I rotated my wrist and looked at my watch. 2:29 a.m. Not long enough for sufficient rest. Long enough for my body to plead for more.

Foot traffic in and out of rooms dwindled to an average of one an hour, dependent on each patient’s necessity. One nurse entered Suzette’s room at three o’clock and not again until shift change at seven. The oncoming staff eyed me with curiosity, but said nothing to me. I guess they figured I had my reason for being there.

#

The charge nurse sauntered into the room at ten o’clock. It was the morning after Suzette’s third night. Suzette stood at the sink, hairbrush in hand.

“I have good news. The doctor signed your release forms. You’re going home.”

“None too soon. I am beyond ready.”

Suzette ran the brush through her hair. A few wet strands clung together, pulled at her scalp. She set aside the brush and stared at her appearance in the mirror the same way she had when she first saw her disfigurement. She’d spent every waking hour since then thinking about it, trying to figure out a way to accept the permanency of the scars soon to form.

Lost in thought, she failed to hear or see the door open. A technician entered.

“I hear you’re going home. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Everyone here has been great in their care of me.” The skin gripped her cheek when she smiled. It reminded her of what she now looked like.

“I imagine your friend will be glad to have you out of here.”

“Friend?”

“Yeah. Handsome guy. He’s in the hall.”

Please no. Not now. Not today. “I didn’t tell anybody I was getting out.”

“Oh, nobody called him to come. He’s been out there.”

Suzette guessed Ridge must have expected her release this morning. He arrived early so as not to miss her. “How long?”

The tech brushed her hair away from her left eye and gazed wide-eyed. “You don’t know, do you?”

Suzette shook her head. “Know what.”

The tech motioned toward the door. He’s been sitting in the corridor ever since he got here two evenings ago.”

Chapter Two

A flurry of activity in and out of Suzette’s room meant one thing: discharged. I pondered if I should pick up the chair, return it to its rightful place, and leave the hospital before Suzette saw me. She had her reason for not seeing me and I respected it.

The difficulty I encountered was walking away. Walking away with too many unanswered questions, and the main one ripped me apart inside. If I left now, I would leave behind the one person I needed in my life more than any other.

Another thing my mother taught me: prefer others.

I picked up the chair and toted it to the nurses’ station. I turned back up the hall full of uncertainty when the door opened to Suzette’s room. She stepped out into the hall facing the opposite direction wearing the black tactical clothing she had on when she was transported. She turned. Six feet away. What now?

Tears spilled onto her cheeks. They shined in twin streaks.

I waited.

Suzette extended her left arm toward me, palm up.

I stepped forward.

She threw her arms around my neck. Tears trickled beneath my collar. I held on and waited for her to speak.

“Take me home with you.”

The burns on the left side of her face and neck highlighted by tears showed signs of healing. Suzette attempted her best smile. A futile attempt to conceal the shame she must have sensed because of the burns.

“Security denied me access to your room.”

“I was afraid, Ridge.” She pulled the scarf around her neck up to her cheek. “I look atrocious.”

I took her hand and eased the scarf away from her face. “No matter what, Suzette. We agreed it’s the way we approach our future.”

“It still is. Nothing’s changed except—” Suzette staunched whatever exception she had in mind and kissed me. She winced but followed through with another.

A technician rolled a wheelchair to where we stood. “You were supposed to stay in your room.” Suzette waved her off. The tech motioned to the chair. “Hospital policy. I have to take you as far as the front door.” She gestured to me. “I need you to bring your car around to the front.”

“Will you please give us a minute?” Suzette said.

“Make it quick. You’re not the only patient waiting to get out of here.” The woman lingered. Her hands riveted to the wheelchair’s handgrips.

Suzette and I stepped three strides away. She squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry for my selfishness, Ridge. I didn’t know you stayed out here.”