Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series) (19 page)

“Then it’s her I need you to work on,” he said. I practically choked on my scone.

“She’s not exactly my best friend,” I said evenly, trying to hide my real feelings. Such as:
she’s a total bitch and I hope she gets locked in a psych ward and stays there for a really long time
. “She thinks it’s gross that I’m going out with her dad,” was all I let myself say.

Ian shrugged. “It’s a lot better than dating the leader of a brutal cartel,” he said.

Dating.
Huh. If only that were all. I just nodded at him.

“I’m just asking you to try,” Ian said, smiling at me. “I’m so happy you’re back. John was a total wreck when you left. You two need each other,” he said, almost to himself, shaking his head. “And about Catherine. I happen to know that if anybody can do this, you can. You’re very capable,” he said.

“Don’t overestimate me,” I mumbled, in between bites of scone.

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Ian said, and he and John sounded more alike than ever. “Now, go take a shower and go to bed. You and John sleep in. Jake’s got Catherine — he’s been bored without an assignment, so he’s happy to have a high-priority one — and I have a couple of the other guys on perimeter patrol. We’re safe until at least ten am.”

“You know they followed us, though, don’t you?” I asked. “It was in Tennessee. John and the guys beat the daylights out of them.”

“I know, I know,” Ian said, standing up and patting me on the shoulder. “We know Catherine is a flight risk. Luckily, we have a bunch of ex-Navy Seals around, dying for a little action. They’ve been bored stiff around here for the last couple of weeks,” he said. “They might even shoot a couple of noisy squirrels, just to keep it interesting.”

“Great,” I said. More things getting shot.

“They eat all my birdseed,” Ian said, taking in my expression. “They have it coming. Now go — I’ll clean up. I’m up for the day now, anyway. So I’ll be on the lookout, too.”

I stood up and hugged him. “Don’t go see her without talking to John,” I said, pleading. I shook my head. “She’s not the same girl.”

“She couldn’t be,” Ian said, looking out the window into the brightening landscape. “We left her down there too long. That’s another thing to not underestimate: the power of a parent’s, or grandparent’s, guilt,” he said. “That’s strong stuff.”

“I won’t,” I whispered to him. For a second, I pictured my mother on the couch, passed out, hiding from god only knew what demons. “I won’t.”

I was tired. Tired of thinking, tired of worrying, tired of trying to figure things out. I blocked Catherine from my thoughts and decided to take a hot shower. The bedroom we were in had quite possibly the nicest bathroom in the whole world. The floors had heated tiles; the vanity was a beautiful grey marble and the mirror above it was ornate, silver and massive. The toilet had its own room with a door to close. The shower had two shower heads on opposite walls and a bench that could sit four people — at least. I wasn’t really sure why that was in there, but if I let my mind wander for a second, I could think of several ways John and I could make use of it.

I shook my head, trying to clear the lust out of it which was creeping in like steam on a mirror, making it difficult for me to see straight. John was sleeping and I needed to let him rest. I took a quick, hot shower and washed my hair with that amazing shampoo they always had. Then I got out, dried myself off, and gratefully found some hair gel and a blow dryer with a diffuser on it under the sink. Ian must have stocked the bathroom for me and I loved him for it. I took my time blow-drying my hair. Actually, when you had hair this long and unruly, you had no choice but to take your time drying it. It takes
forever.
I read somewhere once that people reported feeling the most bored and disconnected when they were grooming themselves. Even though I was happy to be back with modern amenities, I
totally
got that.

Finally I was done with my hair. I brushed my teeth and went out to the bedroom. It was about seven in the morning. The shades were drawn but I could see John on his stomach, his favorite sleeping position. He looked peaceful in his sleep; this was probably the first time he’d actually relaxed since he’d picked us up in Mexico. He’d left a pair of Red Sox pajamas on the bed for me; I pulled them on and gratefully climbed into bed next to him, nestling against his warmth.

I don’t know how long I slept. Not long. I woke up to him thrashing and yelling in his sleep.
So much for him being relaxed,
I thought. My poor baby.

“NO!” he yelled, thrashing from side to side. I tried to calm him down by rubbing his chest gently, but I was powerless over the imaginary demons torturing him.

“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF HER!”

“Honey, wake up,” I said. He didn’t respond. Then more loudly: “John. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.” He opened his eyes a little and I could tell that he was dazed, not recognizing the room. I peered down at him. “Honey, you just had a bad dream. It’s okay,” I said.

He sighed and rubbed his face. “They had her,” he said, pulling me down onto his chest. “They had her and they were bringing her back. And she was smiling at me while they pulled her away. That was the worst part: she was smiling at me, and I didn’t know if it was because she was happy to see me one last time…or if it was because she was happy she was never going to see me again.”

I laid on his chest and twined my hand through his. We sat there for a moment in the quiet, and I could feel a powerful sadness rolling off of him.

“John,” I said softly. “I don’t have a child, so I don’t know how bad this really hurts. I can only imagine. But she’s back —”
and it’s all my fault
— “and now you at least have a chance to help her. If you hadn’t gotten her back, she would be doing god only knows what for the rest of her life.”
I.e., torturing people and using drug and blood money to buy ridiculously expensive shoes.

“Isn’t it better to feel the pain your feeling now? Better than never having seen her again?” It was a legitimate question, even without my own self-interest in the answer at stake.

If I could have a do-over, would I still have gone down there to find her?
Not in a million years,
my inner voice piped up, and I had to agree with her.
I would have left the crazy bitch alone.
Really, though, my answer depended on John’s answer.

“I’d rather have her here, safe,” John said. He sounded completely sure, but then he went quiet. He waited a minute before he spoke.

“But to look into your own child’s eyes, to not know that person anymore…To believe that they may have become someone unrecognizable, who’s capable of horrible things…That is a sort of pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

“John, I know you’re glad she’s back, and I am, too, but I’m sorry,” I said. “I did this. She told me she wanted to be left alone and I didn’t listen. I didn’t think she was capable of making that judgment.”
I could have saved you so much pain, including pain you don’t know about yet.

“I would want her back even if she were pure evil,” he said, finally, reassuring me. “And she isn’t. She’s bad, sure, but my daughter’s still in there somewhere.”

I hoped he was right.

“One thing I
wouldn’t
change,” he said, sounding even more grave, “is how I feel about you going down there to find her. Aside from how mad I was, and how crazy stupid it was of you — it makes me sure of you, Liberty. He was quiet for a second. “It makes me sure you know your own heart. And that’s exactly what I need from you.”

He leaned up and looked me in the eye. His face, all chiseled and lined with sadness, still made my heart race. He kissed me quickly on the lips, making me want him.

“I do. I know what I want,” I said, and reached up and put my lips to his. His parted, and I let my tongue connect with his, surely, confidently, letting him feel with his body what I meant with my words.
I love you.

“Do you want to go get breakfast?” I asked. He shook his head, no, and he was suddenly looking at me with hooded eyes.

“Want to take your mind off things?” I asked, playfully, suddenly feeling naughty. I pulled back and smiled up at him. “‘Cause I was thinking…”

“That bench in the shower?” John asked, his eyes gleaming wickedly. I could feel his mood lightening, his sadness abating, his body pressing against me.

I nodded.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He stood up and scooped me off the bed, carrying me into the bathroom. Where we made excellent use of the bench.

“Pancakes, please. And more eggs, bacon.
Please
,” I said.

“Jesus Liberty, you’re starting to sound like Matthew,” John said, and Ian chuckled while he put more food in front of me.

“You need coffee,” John said, pouring me a cup and winking at me behind his father’s back.
Oh yes, I did.
I was tired from the grueling and intensely hot working over he’d just given me upstairs. I blushed up to my roots and refused to look him in the eye as I realized I was sore, sitting here on the barstool. If I looked at him, I might start getting hot flashes. And start making excuses to get him to take me back upstairs, even though I was feeling deliciously used up.

“Careful,” John said, putting a steaming mug of coffee down in front of me. “It’s
hot.
” He whispered this playfully into my ear and I swatted him away, although I was delighted that he’d shaken off his nightmare enough to be funny.

We’d all sat down to eat when Sean came in. “Mr. Quinn,” he said formally, shaking Ian’s hand. Sean was more reserved than a lot of the other guys, which probably just meant that he had some manners, as the other guys tended to have none. Ian showed him to a chair and John poured his coffee.

“What’s up?” John asked. “I thought you would have been heading to Charleston by now.”

“I’m going to PVD in ten minutes,” he said. It was about a half hour to the airport in Providence. “I just wanted to touch base with you before I left.”

“Go ahead,” John said, and I noticed that he put his fork down without touching his eggs.

“I talked to Jake about Catherine,” Sean said, and he looked like he felt sorry about it. The smattering of freckles he had over his nose gave him a youthful, earnest appearance. They made him look as if he were only capable of telling the truth. In this case he seemed to wish he didn’t have to. “She hasn’t slept. She was just pacing and looking out the window. She wouldn’t talk, and she wouldn’t eat or drink any water. Which was different from when we were on the road,” he added.

“Did she smoke?” John asked, and I saw Sean stiffen uncomfortably.

“She’s chain-smoking,” he said, and shrugged. “You want me to tell them to cut her off?” he asked.

“Not yet,” John said, getting up and going to the window. He looked out at it, across the field to the barracks. “But tell her if she eats and drinks something, she can keep them. Otherwise, take them away.” He turned to face Sean. “You better get going,” he said, and Sean stood up and nodded his goodbyes.

“She’s
smoking?
” Ian asked John. He was obviously shocked by the prospect.