All The Stars In Heaven (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

Jay lifted a hand to his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asked.

“Awful.” His back ached like crazy, and his shoulder throbbed. He had a headache that wrapped around his head and down to his neck. But all of that didn’t matter quite so much when Sarah, sitting two feet away from him, came into focus. She had her knees drawn up to her chest, hair tousled as she leaned against a twenty-pound bag of pinto beans.

“Were you here all night?” Jay asked. Somewhere in the cobwebs of his mind he seemed to remember holding her hand and feeling her next to him. But that would’ve been impossible; the narrow air mattress was barely wide enough for him and kept him a scant inch above the concrete floor.

“I slept on the Charmin.” She inclined her head toward several packages of toilet paper spread across the floor a few feet away. “Now that I’m as famous as you, Kirk and Christa don’t want the boys to know I’m here either. There’s some kind of alert out.” She attempted to smile. “My picture was on the
Today
Show.
Mrs. Larson would’ve been so proud.”

Jay groaned. “Any news?”

She met his eyes, her own tearing up. “We were right. They released Archer’s name this morning. He’s in a coma.”

Jay brought his hands to his face, the pain of last night and the reality of Archer’s condition hitting hard. “Arch is just a kid. He hasn’t even grown up yet.”

“I know.” Sarah reached out, gently rubbing Jay’s good arm.

He lay there, wishing the news away, wishing the last twenty-four hours were nothing but a bad dream.

“Is your shoulder hurting?” She leaned over him, forehead wrinkled in concern. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“I’m fine,” he lied.
My pain is nothing compared to what Archer must be going through.
Jay’s eyes burned as he imagined the scene, how terrifying it must have been for Trish and Archer.
I’ve got to do everything I can to help Kirk figure this out; I’ve got to keep Sarah safe.

“I’m going to get Kirk. You don’t look fine,” Sarah said.

“Don’t do that. I’m okay.” Jay sat up to prove his point. “I come from tough Scottish stock. One of my ancestors was once stuffed down a well and shot in the shoulder—
twice.
He not only lived to tell about it, but the very next day he walked across the prairie to the nearest town,
carrying
his future bride. She’d been bitten by a rattlesnake.”

“And we think we’ve got big problems,” Sarah said.

“That’s the attitude.” Jay carefully rotated his shoulder. “How are
you
feeling?”

“Awful too.” She met his gaze then looked away, staring at the cans of mandarin oranges stacked in front of her. “I keep thinking of Trish . . . and after you fell asleep last night—”

“You mean after someone forced that Tylenol PM down my throat?”

“It was for your own good,” Sarah said.

“Hmmph.” Jay tried to lighten their somber mood. He could tell Sarah was on the verge of crying, and he felt the same. “Go on. After I was forcibly subdued—”

“Kirk talked to me. He told me how real undercover units work, the training I’d have to have, the procedures we’d go through.”

“And?”

“I feel like a complete idiot.” She drew her knees up closer, resting her chin on them.

Jay reached out, stroking her arm. “You didn’t know.”

“But I should have. It seems so . . . obvious.”

“Not to someone who has never watched
Law and Order
or even
Charlie’s Angels.
”

“It’s not just that I feel stupid about that—though believe me I feel bad enough for not knowing anything.” She turned her head to face him. “I feel like an idiot for the way I ran out on you at the restaurant. I was so upset that you’d used drugs. And here I’ve been buying them myself for
two
years
—getting them for my father
just like
you were getting them for your mom.”

“It’s a little different,” Jay said. “But I did tell you we’re a lot alike. Our pasts are eerily similar.”

“The only thing eerie now is whatever’s going on with my dad and Carl.”

“And Archer.”

“Yes,” Sarah agreed. “And Trish.”

“She really loves him,” Jay said. “And you know, he drove me crazy a lot, but he wasn’t that bad of a guy. I never would have—”

“I know that.” Sarah reached over and took his hand. “Even if I hadn’t been with you last night, I’d still know.”

“Was that just last night?” Jay asked. “It feels like a couple of years ago at least.” He sighed heavily. “But it helps a little, knowing you believe me.” He ran his hand across his stubbled chin. “Though I probably
look
like a criminal right now.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that for too long.” Sarah rose from the floor and brushed off her jeans. “Enjoy your rest today, because I overheard Kirk and Christa talking this morning. Christa has big plans for you—for us—tomorrow.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Christa breezed into the kitchen. “Now that Kirk’s taken Jeffrey Christmas shopping, and James is at the neighbor’s party, we can get down to business.” She walked to the sink and turned on the water.

Jay took another bite of Christmas Crunch cereal and grimaced.
Too sweet.
He could see sugar crystals floating in his milk. Still, it was better than the oatmeal he’d eaten yesterday morning, noon,
and
night. Jay had started to suspect that Christa hoped he’d turn himself in to the police, on the basis of wanting a better meal plan. But last night Kirk had assured him that wasn’t the case at all. She was more concerned with the possibility that Jay would upset his system after the trauma of being shot. As for Kirk—despite his tenuous position as a police officer harboring a suspect—he insisted Jay shouldn’t take the risk of turning himself in. Privately, when the women weren’t around, Kirk had been honest enough to say he thought Jay’s life might be in danger if he were in jail.

So here Jay stayed, worrying that his presence put everyone else at risk.

“Who wants to go first?” Christa asked. She pulled a sponge from beneath the counter, dumped some cleanser in the sink, and began scrubbing. “I figure hair is a good place to start with making you less recognizable. We can do a cut, color—just about anything you can imagine. If you’d like, Sarah, I have some magazines you could look through for different styles.”

“Uh-oh,” Jay mouthed to Sarah. He brought a hand to the back of his head, wondering if there was any possibility he could avoid Christa’s scissors.

“I don’t know much about hairstyles,” Sarah confessed. She lifted the mug of hot chocolate to her lips again, a haunted look on her face as she sipped.

Christa continued scrubbing. “No problem. I do. Any idea how short you’d like to go?”

“Not really.” Sarah pulled her braid over her shoulder and looked at it. “But I don’t really want to color it.”

“You have beautiful hair,” Jay said. “You shouldn’t color it or cut it short.”

“Just like a man to say that.” Christa tossed her own short hairstyle freely as she turned to face them. She pointed the sponge at Jay. “Have you ever taken care of long hair? It can be a real pain.”

“As a matter a fact, I have.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not too difficult when you wear a ponytail.”

“But it’s cold in the winter,” Sarah pointed out.

“Don’t you mean hot in the summer?” Jay asked. “I always enjoyed having my hair longer during the winter months. It covered the back of my neck and kept my ears warm.”

“It’s not warmer when it’s wet,” she argued. “Whether I wash it in the morning or at night, it takes hours to dry and my head is always cold.”

Christa asked the obvious question. “Why don’t you blow it dry?”

“I’ve never had a blow-dryer.”

“
Never?
” Christa’s mouth hung open with the last syllable. “I know owning four like I do is a little excessive, but . . .Why didn’t you say something? I assumed you liked wearing your hair the way you did, or I would have offered one of mine.”

“My dad always insisted that all I needed was a brush.” Sarah held the end of her braid up. “And rubber bands. I’ve never owned a hair dryer or a curling iron. He was very particular about that.” She pulled out the elastic and began unraveling the braid.

Silence descended on the kitchen. Jay could see Christa trying to digest the awful reality of Sarah’s life the way he had when they’d first started dating. It was unfathomable to think of all the basic things she had missed. Things like getting new clothes and glasses more than once every five years, learning how to drive, going out to movies, having friends. Owning a blow-dryer. Each time he was with her he discovered something new she’d missed. With each discovery, he became more determined and excited, thinking about all the experiences he could share with her for the first time—if he was ever free to do
anything
again.

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Where are those magazines?”

Christa pointed to a cart beneath the covered window on the opposite side of the room.

He took the entire stack, returned to the table, and set the magazines in front of Sarah. He couldn’t do anything to help Archer right now, but maybe this would help Sarah. “You should do anything you want with your hair. You’ll be beautiful however you wear it.”

“I want it short enough that I
can’t
braid it,” she blurted, surprising them both. She looked apologetically at Jay. “What I mean is that I’ve worn it this way my whole life. I’d like something different—maybe like yours, Christa, or maybe curly?”

“We can do that.” Christa walked over to the cart and pulled a black cape and a pair of scissors from the middle drawer. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a ton of time. My guys aren’t great shoppers, and that party is only supposed to go two hours. Besides, Kirk is leery of being gone too long. Though I say it’s best if we act normal—go ahead with our regular plans.”

“I agree,” Jay said. “Is there anywhere else he can take Jeffrey when they’re done shopping?” He sensed how important this was for Sarah, and he didn’t want her to feel rushed. Most kids got their first haircuts by the time they were five, and it was a big deal then. Being close to twenty-five made it a momentous occasion.

“I suppose they could visit Santa again,” Christa said. “Jeffrey
has
changed his list a half dozen times.”

“Perfect,” Jay said. “You want to call Kirk?”

“He’ll be thrilled.” Christa rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea what the line is going to be like today?”

“A little.” Jay flashed her a conspiratorial grin. “A little
long.
”

“Your hair is what’s long,” Christa shot back as she crossed the kitchen to the phone.

“I’ll go first,” Jay offered, suddenly not caring what Christa did to his hair. “That way Sarah can take her time looking through the magazines.”

“All right.” Christa called Kirk and explained that she needed him to be gone another couple of hours. Jay could tell from her one-sided conversation that Kirk wasn’t thrilled with the idea of revisiting Jolly Old Saint Nick.

“Done.” Christa placed the phone back on the counter. “You. At the sink.” She pointed her scissors at Jay. “Let’s wash that mess and see what can be done with it.”

“It’s not a mess.” Jay ran his fingers over the top of his head, wondering what Christa had in mind. “This is nothing compared to how I used to wear it.”

“It
looks
messy,” Christa said, sounding like a mom twice her age.

“Sarah doesn’t think so, do you?” Jay glanced her direction.

She pulled her gaze from the open magazine in front of her. “Well, it’s . . .” She pressed her lips together and squirmed in her chair. “A bit scruffy.”

“
Scruffy?
” Jay tried to sound hurt. “This whole time you’ve thought I’m scruffy?”

“Not the whole time,” she said, concern in her eyes. “When you comb it for your internship it looks better—not that it was bad to begin with. What I mean is—”

“He needs a haircut,” Christa summarized. She turned the water on and pulled out the spray nozzle.

Jay stuck his head in the sink. “Watch the shoulder. Hey! That’s cold.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Christa scolded but moved the handle toward hot. “Better? If this hurts your shoulder you can wash your hair in the shower instead.”

“I’ll shower when you’re through.” Jay closed his eyes as she squirted the shampoo.

“I didn’t dislike it.” Sarah continued trying to explain away her scruffy comment. Jay smiled in spite of his discomfort. She still hadn’t quite figured out when he was teasing her.

He turned his head toward her. “And this from the girl who can’t remember when she had
her
last haircut.” He winked.

She caught on, an embarrassed smile warming her face. “On second thought, I think a buzz would be perfect.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Christa said. “About a quarter inch from his scalp.”

Jay closed his eyes as she turned on the water again. A haircut might change his appearance a little, but it wasn’t going to change anything else. Archer was still in the hospital. Sarah was in danger.
I’m a mess.

Jay waited for Christa to finish applying some other goo in his hair and to rinse that out as well. Finally she handed him a towel. Using one hand, Jay scrubbed his head for a few seconds then straightened, a wry grin on his face as he looked over at Sarah, who was absorbed once again in the style magazines.

“All I know is that this is the second time in my life I’ve cut my hair for a girl. And I hope—” He caught her eye as she looked up at him. “Things turn out better this time.”

* * *

His haircut—slightly more generous than a buzz—and the highlights Christa had insisted on adding—were finished by ten-thirty. When Jay returned from checking his new look in the bathroom mirror, he found the two women huddled over a page in one of Christa’s magazines. It was quickly shut as he entered the room.

“What do you think?” Christa asked.

She didn’t sound like it really mattered to her one way or another. “It’s not quite even. The right side curves more above my ear.”

“It does not. Come here,” Christa ordered.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s teasing,” Sarah said.

“It’s great.” Jay ducked as Christa’s scissors snipped the air around him.

“Then get out of here,” Christa said. “Go watch TV or read Charles Dickens or something.”

“What? I can’t stay? Sarah got to when it was my turn.”

“That was different.” Christa pushed him toward the living room. “Do
not
come back in this kitchen until you’re invited.”

“Can’t I at least see—”

“No!” they shouted.

“Women,” Jay huffed. He slunk off toward the couch. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
all day.”

And he did—for an hour, at least. But it was difficult to absorb the feel-good message of the movie, thinking about Archer fighting for his life in the intensive care unit. At eleven-thirty, Christa stood in the kitchen doorway and tossed him a sandwich.

“What’s the funny smell?” Jay wrinkled his nose at the odor coming from the kitchen.

She ignored his question. “Do you mind going downstairs? I’m going across the street to get James. It’ll be hard enough to keep him from seeing Sarah.”

“No problem.” Jay was halfway out of his chair when the doorbell rang.

“The neighbor must have walked James home.” Christa pointed him toward the kitchen, which he’d have to walk through to get to the stairs. “Don’t peek. Sarah wants to surprise you.”

Jay put his hands over his eyes and made an exaggerated show of bumping into things as he made his way through the stinky kitchen.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” he whispered, walking past the table where Sarah was sitting.

Though his eyes were covered, they started to water and burn. Whatever they were doing in here was bad, and he was starting to fear the outcome. He opened the door to the basement, only too happy to head downstairs. He’d just made it to the bottom when Christa called him.

“Jay, come quick.”

Startled by her abrupt order, his heart hammered in his chest.
Something’s happened to Archer,
he thought as he retraced his steps.
Or the police are here.

“What is it?” Jay asked as he entered the kitchen.

Sarah had towels draped across her shoulders and curlers in her hair. Christa leaned over the table, looking pale and terrified. “James . . .” she said. “This was on the porch.” A crumpled sheet of paper shook in her hands.

Jay took it, exchanging a confused look with Sarah, who stood and put her arm around Christa. He flattened the paper and read the handwritten note aloud.

We’ll trade. Sarah for the boy. You have five minutes. Make sure she comes alone.

He glanced at Sarah and saw his own shock reflected on her face. He ran through the living room, parting the blinds to look out front. A dark sedan was parked across the street. A man squatted beside it, talking with James.

“My baby,” Christa whispered. “What do I do?”

“Just what he asked,” Sarah said, coming into the room, removing the towels. She pulled her sneakers from the basket. “Is Kirk’s gun here?”

Christa nodded. “He has several. They’re all locked up.”

“Can you get to them?” Sarah asked.

Christa nodded.

“I need something small enough to fit in my coat pocket. A nine millimeter would be good. Make sure it’s loaded.” Sarah bent over, curlers clicking as she pushed her foot in to the sneaker.

“You can’t go out there,” Jay said. “They’ll—”

“Take James if I don’t,” Sarah finished. “Go,” she ordered Christa, who hesitated in the hallway. Christa ran toward the bedroom. Sarah shoved her foot in to the other shoe, tied the laces, and stood to face Jay. “I don’t have a choice. Mrs. Larson is
dead.
Archer was shot. You were almost killed. None of this ever would have happened if I hadn’t left home.” Her voice caught. She turned away, taking her coat from the rack. “He’s a helpless little boy.”

Jay helped her into the coat. He turned her to face him and pulled her close. “It’s not your fault. None of it.” He held her tight.

She buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

Christa returned, a gun in her hand. “This is the smallest.”

Sarah stepped back from Jay’s embrace, wiped at her eyes, and reached for the pistol. “A Ruger P90; that’ll work.”

“You—uh—know guns?” Jay said.

“A little.” Sarah chambered a round and flipped off the safety. She put the gun in the right pocket of her coat, and a tremulous smile formed on her lips.

“Trust me.”