One Night in Boston (24 page)

7:00 a.m.

A blinding light and the television blaring to life woke Dillon as electricity surged back into his apartment.

“Shit.” He reached out and rolled clear off the couch. Where the hell was he? What time was it?

The storm. The transformer blowing out. Ditching the Deveau Ball. Oh, yeah.

He untwisted his boxers, found the TV remote, and silenced the infomercial. Another remote dimmed the lights above him. He rubbed his hair and ambled to the wide windows that overlooked the city.

Where hours before he’d seen only darkness, now pinpricks of light and color dotted the landscape. The sun struggled to break through the few remaining clouds, and Dillon realized with surprise that he’d slept almost nine straight hours. It looked as though the rain had let up, though wind still rattled the panes. He mentally thumbed down his list of clients, wondering how much damage each had seen and hoping repairs wouldn’t set him back too far.

Then he realized the other sound that had pulled him from sleep: his cell phone ringing. Where had he left it last night? He fished around the couch cushions, the pockets of his jeans, and the top of his entertainment center. Finally he found it under the ottoman. It beeped, indicating a missed call. Dillon slid his thumb to the voicemail button, but before he had a chance to play the message, the phone rang again.

He didn’t recognize the number that came up on the screen, but he answered it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Dillon Murphy?”

“Who’s calling?” Only a few people had his private cell number, and he sure didn’t recognize this southern accent on the other end.

“Eden Fife. I’m a friend of Maggie Doyle’s…”

Dillon made it downstairs in less than ten minutes. Stopping only to brush his hair and teeth, he pulled on a t-shirt, found a pair of shorts, and stuffed his feet into Nikes that waited by the door. On his way out, he glanced into the mirror. He rubbed one hand over his chin and wished he had time to shave.

Dillon took the stairs two at a time and headed for his truck, taking in great gulps of the cool dawn air. Jesus, but the storm had signed its name everywhere he looked. Tree branches, overturned flowerpots, and piles of trash lay strewn around the manicured lawns. He dodged his neighbor’s patio umbrella and righted his own garbage cans before jumping into his pickup. With a quick glance over one shoulder, he headed out of the complex, barely able to make sense of what Eden had told him on the phone. Her voice still burned in his ear, this friend of Mags’ who’d woken him out of a fitful sleep.

…your sister’s been in a car accident…

…came here to Boston looking for you…

…at the hospital right now…

The irony left Dilllon cold. Hadn’t he been thinking of Mags, remembering her, half of yesterday? Normally he didn’t believe in karma or any other psychic crap about everything happening for a reason, but what was he supposed to think? Had there been some vibe in the air, some hint along the skyline that his sister had arrived? Where else had all those memories come from?

He slammed on the brakes at the first intersection, where the traffic light blinked in lieu of its regular red-yellow-green pattern. A tired-looking cop stood in the center of the street, one palm out.

C’mon…
Dillon smoothed both hands over his hair and tucked it behind his ears.

Questions buzzed at his lips. What the hell was Mags doing in the city after all this time? Looking for him? Why? Where had she been for the last five or six years? He tried to sift through the pieces of conversation. Eden hadn’t said much, just asked him to come to the hospital as soon as he could.

…they want a family member, to release information and take her home…

But he didn’t even know where home was for Mags, not anymore. And why him? Was he the only one she had left? What happened to Hillary? Guilt drifted over him, reminding him how long it had been since he’d called or written his stepmother. Things just got so busy, once the business took off. The last time he’d tried, a few months back, he found himself talking to a recorded voice that informed him the number had been disconnected.

As if she dropped off the earth
, Dillon thought.
Same as Mags
. Angry with himself for letting them both go, he revved through the intersection and skidded across puddles. The last time his little sister came home from a hospital, she’d refused to see him or talk to him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen this time. This time, he had a chance to make it up to her. He had a chance to atone for whatever mistakes still remained chalked up in the loss column against him.

Dillon tightened his grip on the wheel and took every corner as fast as he could, counting down the minutes and the miles until he could see her again.

*

Jack sat in the far corner of the waiting room, cell phone under his chin. He jotted the figures on a page he’d torn from an old magazine.

“Thanks. Fax the contracts to my home office. You have the number?”

He hung up, made one more call and then checked his email, thankful for the Blackberry that wired him to the world no matter where he was. Three messages from the office, and one forwarded from the Bay Bank. He read it over, scanning the details, and then glanced at his watch. Perfect.

Jack looked around for a vending machine. He could use a cup of coffee, even that stale hospital crap, after a night like tonight.

“Cafeteria’s down the hall and to the left,” the receptionist said in a singsong voice when he asked.

Too-bright lights made him squint on the way in, and it took a moment for him to get his bearings. Tables sat in random spots around the room, scratched and scarred with years of people’s nervous fidgeting. Some chairs were pushed in under tables, while others lined up in neat rows or sat tossed to the side. All seemed to tell stories of the people who’d sat in them before. Waiting. Thinking. Weeping. Loving. Losing.

Jack headed for the automatic coffee machines on the other side of the room. A couple of teenagers glanced at him, taking in the ruined tux and dark circles under his eyes, he imagined. He wondered why they sat there or who they waited for. Maybe they worked at the hospital, somewhere in the bowels of the building. Maybe they helped keep the place running for all the dozy-eyed people who wandered in and out every day.

He filled a Styrofoam cup and drank the coffee black, searing his throat and not really caring. He tried to sit down, but the chair dug into his back and his thighs. He stood up instead and filled the cup a second time. Somewhere behind his eyelids he felt his brain wake up, a little lurch helped by the caffeine.
It’ll all be settled soon
.
No way to go but forward from here.

The teenagers vanished through some side door, and Jack stood alone in the cavernous space. One fluorescent light began to buzz above him, giving the whole place a sort of horror-movie vibe. A stooped man pushed a wheelchair through the door, wheezing with the effort. A shriveled woman hooked up to oxygen slept in the chair.

Jack looked away and checked his watch. He’d been killing time for nearly thirty minutes; surely Eden had arrived by now.

I’ll meet you there,
she’d promised.
Just let me make one phone call first.

He strode back down the hallway and into the waiting area. A few more people had filled the chairs, but no one he recognized. He glanced around, looking for a swath of blonde hair, listening for a Virginia accent. Nothing. Where the hell was she? How long did it take to make a goddamned phone call and catch a cab across town? Jack walked back to the desk. Sometime while he’d been down in the cafeteria, the shift must have changed. Now a bald black man with a thick neck and shoulders sat behind the computer.

“Yes, sir?”

“Maggie Doyle. She was brought in from a car accident a little while ago. I’m checking to see if you have any new information.” He cleared his throat. “I need to see her.”

“Better get in line.”

The voice, smooth and threatening, came from behind him. Startled, Jack turned to see a sandy-haired man about his own age. Lean and muscular, the guy looked like he spent most of his days in the sun. He reminded Jack of some kind of wildcat, golden-haired and wary-eyed and solid as rock. He rested one elbow on the desk and slid both thumbs through the loops of his jeans.

“You aren’t any kind of family, far as I can tell.” He gave Jack a once-over.

Jack’s hackles rose. “No, I’m not.”
Not yet, anyway
, he wanted to add. “But Maggie is my—”

“She’s my sister,” the man interrupted. A ponytail flopped over one shoulder as he shook his head. “And if anyone’s going to see her, that’d be me.”

“You’re Dillon.” Jack’s shoulders dropped down from where they’d hunched up around his ears. He stuck out his hand. Jesus, there were about a hundred things he wanted to ask the guy.

Dillon waited a long minute before returning the handshake. “Still don’t know who that makes you.”

“Jack Major. I…ah…” How the hell was he supposed to define himself in relation to Maggie? “I knew Mags back in school. We ran into each other at the Deveau Ball last night, and I…um…happened to be following her when the accident happened.” He waited for big brother to ask why he’d been tailing Maggie, but the question didn’t come.

“Yeah, think I remember hearing about you. Been a while, though.” Dillon’s tongue poked into the corner of one cheek as he considered something else. “You’re some big-shot corporate guy here in the city, aren’t you?”

“I work for Bullieston Software.” He paused. “Eden call you?”

Dillon nodded.

“Is she here?”

“Don’t know. Never met her. Only talked to her on the phone.” An odd smile zigzagged across his face. He fell silent, still sizing Jack up.

Jesus, we’re like two animals circling each other
, Jack thought.
Aren’t we on the same side? Aren’t we both here for Maggie
? But as he looked into Dillon’s face, he saw something simmering just under the surface: a near-feral devotion, a protective instinct. He knew then that he would feel the same way if some stranger showed up in a hospital demanding to see his little sister.

“Listen, man, I’m just here because I’m concerned.” Jack took one step back and raised both palms.

“You still her boyfriend?” Dillon cocked his head to one side. “Or did you have something to do with the car accident?”

“Jesus, no,” Jack said and then wondered which question he was answering. He hesitated and wondered if he should mention what Eden had revealed to him on the phone. Did Dillon have any idea why Maggie had come to Boston? Did he know what she faced, what she needed to do in order to save everything she owned before time slammed the door shut?

“Have you spoken to Mags? Recently, I mean?”

Dillon scrubbed his chin with a calloused hand. “No. It’s been a long time, unfortunately. Too long.”

Jack wondered who else Maggie had cut out of her life. At least now he had a good idea why.

“You still didn’t tell me what you’re doing here,” Dillon went on. “If you’re not dating her and you weren’t involved in the wreck, then…” He waited for Jack to finish the sentence.

I’m in love with her
, Jack wanted to say.
I want to marry her—again. For good. Forever.
But he held his tongue. Timing was everything, he’d learned long ago, especially when dealing with people who weren’t on your side. Yet.

“It’s a business matter,” he began. “Sort of a sticky thing, actually. I thought we’d be able to talk it out at the ball, but—”

Dillon shook his head. “You’re not here for business. Not at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.”

You’d be surprised
. Jack wondered for a moment how Carl was making out with the bank. He changed his tactics. “You’re right,” he admitted. “It’s not all business. I need your help in convincing Maggie to listen to me.”

Dillon whistled. “Mags always was a tough girl to convince of anything.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

The guy’s guard seemed to crack a little, and Jack took advantage of the pause. “Anyway, Eden told me you’re in the landscaping business. I’m hoping you can do me a favor.”

“What does that have to do with Maggie?”

The man at the reception desk interrupted them. “Mr. Murphy? Your sister has been moved to room six-oh-two. If you’d like to go up and see her now, you’ll need to take a visitor’s badge. Take the elevator to the sixth floor. Nurses’ station will be directly in front of you when you get off.” He gestured across the lobby.

Dillon nodded and clipped on a badge. For a minute he hesitated, looking at Jack with a steady gaze. “Come on, then,” he said, and moved away from the desk. “Tell me what you need.”

Jack ran a hand over his hair, took a badge, and followed.

*

“You’ve got a couple of visitors waiting outside to see you.” Rosy-cheeked, Nurse Bella pulled the room’s two chairs close to Maggie’s bed. Her wide bottom jiggled with the effort. “Would you like them to come in?”

Maggie opened her eyes and shifted in the bed. The hospital gown rode up on her thighs. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway, just reliving the last twenty-four hours in excruciating detail.
Who is it?
she wanted to ask. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up.