Hand of Fate (28 page)

She was not going to be the one to say it first.

Finally, the doctor stopped looking. "Let me take some measurements," she said. "Yes, I think ..." she said, and looked down. "This is measuring at about eleven weeks. And I can't find a heartbeat." Dr. Dubruski looked at them. "I'm so sorry?'

Even though she was flat on her back, Allison felt as if she were falling. The table couldn't keep her from tumbling into the abyss.

Chapter
38 Hedges Residence

Moving like a sleepwalker, Nic shuffled up her front steps, past the overgrown camellia. Pink-tipped buds were already showing. She needed to trim it back, but just thinking about it made her feel even more exhausted. She was so tired. So tired. The string of eighteen-hour days was catching up with her. And now, with Chris Sorenson claiming that it hadn't been Congressman Glover's voice on the phone, it felt like she couldn't even put the Jim Fate case to bed. Plus, there was the little matter of Cassidy's Somulex addiction. Sometimes Cassidy got on her nerves, but seeing her so vulnerable had touched something inside Nic.

Letting herself inside the house, she locked the door behind her. With the alarm beeping, she hurried to the back of the house and entered the code on the control panel next to the back door. She left the alarm off, because Makayla would be home soon. In her bedroom, Nic took off her jacket and unbuckled her holster. She put her gun in the safe on her closet shelf, and then set her keys, handcuffs, and badge on the bureau.

She looked longingly at the double bed that no man had ever slept in. She should probably eat before she went to bed, but it seemed like too much trouble. And Mama would have fed Makayla before bringing her home.

She was taking off her jacket when she heard the front door open and her daughter cry out. Just one word, but it held a bottomless well of terror and fear.

"Mama!"

Nic ran out into the hall, her stockinged feet slipping on the oak floor. In the living room, a tall white guy was holding her daughter's shoulder in one hand. In his other hand he held a gun. Nic identified it as a SIG Sauer. And, though she hadn't seen him in nearly ten years, she identified the guy holding it as Donny Miller.

"She's tall like me," he observed.

The words flew out of Nic's mouth before she could weigh their wisdom. "She is nothing at all like you." Her blood ran hot in her veins. She wanted to take each finger that was touching her daughter and snap it off like a stick.

"Mama, he shoved the door open as I was locking it," Makayla said, as if she would get in trouble.

Miller pushed Makayla toward Nic. Nic's rage turned to ice. Her daughter ran to her and wrapped both arms around Nic's waist, pressing her head against her chest. Shaking so hard it was a wonder they both didn't fall over.

"Makayla, did he hurt you?" Panic gripped her as she felt Makayla tremble. But then she saw the smallest of head shakes.

A smile flitted across Miller's face. "So that's her name? Makayla Miller? That's pretty."

Makayla lifted her head a fraction. Now only her eyes moved, darting back and forth between Nic and Miller. Her green eyes. Just like Miller's.

Her mind moving at warp speed, Nic took stock. Her gun was locked in the gun safe. Her handcuffs and cell phone were on the bureau. There was a landline phone in the kitchen and another in he
r b
edroom. The kitchen, with its lovely knives, was so far away. And even farther was the alarm panel, with one button labeled with a little blue shield that would immediately summon the police. If Miller hadn't cut the line. If he had, then neither the landline phones nor the alarm panel would work.

The only weapon left to Nic was her own body. If she could get close to him, she could attack him with her fists and elbows, knees and shins. But if she wasn't fast enough, or if she made a mistake, then there was Miller's gun. The gun that might hurt her daughter.

The chance seemed too big to take.

"I just wanted to see her," Miller said. "I'm her father, aren't I? Just like it said in those papers my lawyer got. And you've kept her from me all these years."

Nic remembered that voice now. Flat, almost affectless.

"No, you're not." Nic spit out the words. "You're nothing. You're nobody." She looked down at her daughter, still clutching her waist. She was learning the news that Nic had always dreaded giving her, but now even that was eclipsed by something more terrible.

"Go, Makayla. Go now." She pried her daughter's arms away from her. "Run out the front door to Mrs. Henderson's. And don't look back." "Don't." Miller's voice was eerily calm.

"Run!" Nic urged, giving her daughter's shoulder a little push, trying to turn her toward the door. "He won't shoot you." She knew it in her bones.

"That's right, honey." He lifted the gun and pointed it at Nic's head. "I won't shoot you. I'll shoot your mother. The woman who doesn't want to admit that I'm your daddy."

Makayla froze.

"Don't listen to him, sweetie." Nic didn't allow any fear into her voice. "Go to Mrs. Henderson's."

"Makayla," Miller said,"don't pay attention to her. I'm your daddy. Your daddy!" He attempted a smile. "And if you do exactly what I say, no one will get hurt. Because I don't want to hurt anyone. I really don't. But if you don't do what I say, then I will be forced to shoot your mom. You don't want me to do that, do you?"

Makayla said nothing, her eyes darting from Miller to the door and then back to her mother. He continued to stare at her until she finally shook her head.

"Good. Now I want you to get your mom's cell phone and your cell phone and bring them to me. Do it right now. And don't be tempted to call anyone." He gestured toward Nic with the gun. "Or else."

Makayla took one quick look at Nic and then scurried to her mother's bedroom. He must have cut the phone line, Nic thought. Otherwise he wouldn't risk letting her out of his sight. She wondered if Makayla might still chance trying to call when she was in the bedroom, out of sight. And what Miller would do if he caught her. She didn't pray anymore, didn't believe in God, but she sent up a silent plea. Just one word. Please.

The Donny Miller who had raped her had been a coward who needed a drug and the urgings of a buddy to commit his crimes. But ten years in prison was guaranteed to change someone. And not in a good way.

The second Makayla left the room, Miller was at Nic's side in two quick strides. He put one arm loosely around her shoulders and with the other pressed the gun against her temple. She could feel every hair on her skin. Could feel where the bullet would enter her temporal lobe. Could imagine Tony Sardella looking down at her body on the autopsy table as he switched on the circular saw.

Nic did not move.

Makayla came back in with Nic's phone and then took her ow
n c
ell from her back pocket. She held them out toward Miller. Her eyes were so big they seemed to fill up her face.

"That's my good girl." He offered her another dead smile, which made everything seem worse. "Now, turn them off and take out the batteries."

Makayla did as he ordered, her hands trembling. After he instructed her to drop the phones on the floor, he crushed them with his heavy boots, the barrel of the gun digging into the thin skin of Nic's temple as he stomped.

"Now bring me something I can tie your mom up with. Scarves, belts, something like that. I need a lot."

As soon as Makayla scurried out of the room for the second time, Nic tried to look at Miller, but all she could see was the black barrel of the gun. "If you touch a hair on her head, I'll make you beg to die."

"What do you think I am? She's my daughter. Mine. Whether you admit it or not. But don't worry. I'll be merciful to you, as long as you don't do anything stupid. You are the mother of my child, after all."

She realized that whatever Miller knew, he did not know what she did for a living now. He might still think she was a waitress. He probably didn't know that she wouldn't hesitate to kill him. And that she could, if only she didn't have a gun pressed against her head.

"What are you going to do to us?" she said in an even voice.

"I just want to make up for lost time, that's all. Don't worry. I won't hurt her. I would never hurt her." He didn't say anything about his plans for Nic.

Makayla came out of Nic's bedroom. A bundle of scarves and belts filled her arms. She dropped them at Miller's feet. Automatically, he started to lean over to pick them up.

And then Nic saw what else was in her daughter's hands. Nic's
Glock. Makayla must have seen Nic key in the combination to the gun safe enough times that she had memorized the numbers.

Her daughter raised the gun, holding it out in front of her with two shaking hands.

Nic threw herself sideways, not to protect Miller, but to knock him off balance so that he couldn't shoot Makayla.

Time slowed down. Makayla's index finger curled on the trigger and pulled it back.

Boom! A bullet tore into the ceiling. Nic's concentration was so fierce that she barely registered the sound. White plaster sifted down on them.

Makayla stumbled backward, still holding the gun. Nic's vision narrowed. All she could see was Miller's gun, which he was now raising to point at Makayla.

Nic spun toward him, her raised elbow slashing through the air. It connected with Miller's left eyebrow, and suddenly blood was sheeting down his face. Swinging her right leg back, Nic arched her back and snapped her leg out from the hip, delivering a high round kick to his wrist.

The gun flew away. She heard it slide along the hardwood floor, but she knew they weren't safe. Not yet.

Nic grabbed Miller's shoulders and delivered a knee strike to his solar plexus. A deep part of her thrilled at the sound of the grunt as all the air left his lungs. She moved her hands to the back of his neck and pulled his head onto her knee, skipping in place as she drove first her left knee and then her right into his face, unloading them against his nose and cheeks. She heard the soft and splintery sound of bones cracking.

And then Miller fell to his knees, wailing and spitting blood, and Makayla slipped Nic's gun into her hand.

Chapter
39

Bridgetown Medical Specialists

We have some choices," Dr. Dubruski told Allison and Marshall. Her narrow face looked drawn, the skin stretched tight over her cheekbones. But she never looked away from them; she let them see that their pain was hers as well. "We could do a D & C. There's a slight risk associated with that. Or you can wait and let your body miscarry on its own. But some people find that too painful."

As she would in a courtroom,Allison sought clarification."Physically, you mean?" She had become all mind, no heart. She could calculate, communicate, prevaricate.

The doctor shook her head. "It's not a comfortable process, no, but I meant more emotionally. The waiting can get to some people. It can take up to two weeks."

Marshall looked at her, and Allison realized this was one decision that only she could make. "I think I would rather wait for it to happen." Part of her just wasn't ready to admit that it was really true. She hoped that if she had to wait for it, she would also come to accept it.

"Okay. But remember you can discuss it at home. If you change your mind and decide you want a D & C, just call me."

When Dr. Dubruski hugged her, Allison's arms stayed limp liy he
r s
ides. When the doctor pulled back, her eyes were wet, but Allison couldn't cry. Wouldn't. Not anymore.

All she could do now was wait.

Marshall insisted that she not try to work, so Allison told the office she was sick, without getting into specifics. He stayed home from the advertising agency the first day, but then she made him go back. It was bad enough having one of them slowly going crazy. When he left for work, she tried to pray, but her thoughts could not find a fix on anything.

The time dragged on. The only thing that distracted her was talking to Cassidy and Nicole. Cassidy reported that her doctor was doling out a reduced amount of Somulex, one night at a time, and that she had already attended four NA meetings. She also was growing desperate from lack of rest, and Allison tried to assure her that eventually she would sleep through the night.

But it was Nicole who had the most exciting story, even though she didn't say much about it. She and Makayla had fought off an armed intruder, although ultimately only he had been hurt. Closing ranks and pulling a few strings, the FBI had managed to put a damper on the news. Allison sensed there was more to it than Nicole was telling, but she was too focused on her impending loss to try to get more information.

On the second day, when the shock had lessened a little, Allison wanted to read in more detail about what would happen. But none of her pregnancy books had more than a paragraph or two. It made sense, she supposed. After all, these were pregnancy books, and a miscarriage ended a pregnancy. Nothing to see here. Please move along.

"I guess it is possible to be a little bit pregnant," she told Marshall that evening.

"What?" He looked up from the minestrone soup he had made her, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He was the person she needed the most, but how could they comfort each other when they both were in agony?