Ransomed Dreams (10 page)

She remembered how she had held the book, staring at Luke, astonished at what he had produced. He explained how he once heard her talking about the cherished possession. When he didn’t notice it among her things, he had it tracked down.

Until that moment, Luke had been a mere shadow performing his duty. Whether out of guilt or because the government paid him to do it, he protected her and Eliot and saw to their needs. As she held the Bible, though, the result of his act of kindness, he took on color. Green twinkled in his irises.

Like now.

She turned away from it. But the truth she saw in them flashed in neon lights before her: Luke cared. He really did.

Was that really why he broke his promise and came?

* * *

Once they were airborne, the flight attendant served them drinks. Obviously still rattled by Luke’s earlier behavior, the woman ignored his apology and spilled hot water on Sheridan’s tray.

Accepting a wad of napkins from her, Sheridan wanted to commiserate with her. “He’s always like this—just one big disruptive force.”

The woman grunted in reply. Sheridan half expected a federal marshal to appear in the aisle.

But he cared. Somewhere deep in his black heart he cared.

“Luke, I want to explain about me and Eliot.”

“Save it. You need to rest.”

“Inhaling sand isn’t all that bad, not once you get used to it. Topala isn’t in the Dark Ages. It’s been good for us to live there. It was exactly what we needed.”

“Needed. Maybe that time is over?”

“I’m talking. It’s none of your business.”

He smiled. “Sorry.”

She pulled the blanket up to her elbows. In the dark cabin, most passengers were settled in for the middle-of-the-night flight, but she needed to talk. Sleeping was out of the question. Luke didn’t need it himself. He could function for days on little or none.

She took a sip of tea and set the cup back on the tray. “Thirty years ago, Eliot and Noelle honeymooned in Topala.”

His brows rose. Noelle was Eliot’s first wife, a fact he knew. “Really?”

Ha! He did not know about the honeymoon. She gave in and smirked at him. “Really. They were booked into a Mazatlán resort. On their second day, they drove up to the village to sightsee and ended up staying there for something like ten days. Which probably explains that little lapse in your goody bag of information.”

He ignored the jab. “Did you and Eliot ever visit there?”

“Don’t you know that either?”

“Uncle!”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I win?”

“It’s yours.”

“All right.”

It was a game they used to play, after his eyes changed color. Whenever she pestered hospital staff for things for her husband, at times totally obnoxious, Luke would whisper, “Inside, they’re crying uncle. You win.” It diffused her anxiety, gave her breathing space.

“No,” she said now. “I never went to Topala with Eliot before. It was their place.”

“Weird choice for you to move there?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly. It’s not like I knew Noelle. When she was killed in a car accident, they had been married for ten years. I didn’t meet him until years later.”

He nodded. Of course he would have known that tidbit.

“We wanted a home that was not overtly connected with our past. Eliot thought Topala fit our needs. It was obscure and quiet. We stayed awhile in Mesa Aguamiel and met Mercedes there. Then we found the house, bought furnishings, added things to accommodate Eliot’s, uh, situation.” She heard the quotation marks around the word
situation
and felt a stab of guilt. Her pride was ridiculous, especially with Gabe the angel who could see right through her. “Handicapped. He’s handicapped. I can’t seem to say the word.”

“It’s got to take some getting used to.”

“Yeah. Anyway, you probably know that he was born in Mexico?”

“Sure. The Montgomery family is legendary in some circles. They’ve made history with him, his father, and his grandfather being ambassadors.”

“As you can imagine, he always felt at home in foreign countries, especially Mexico. Language and culture were not issues. Compared to the U.S., living expenses are cheap. Not that money was a major concern, but given his medical expenses, it weighed in on our decision.”

“He’s old blue-blood money, right?”

“The Montgomery pockets run deep.”

Eliot’s family money seemed almost freakish in its supply. Great-grandfathers on both sides had invested wisely and taught their children, who taught their children well. Eliot was the only child and the only grandchild. His family—grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles—had been deceased for some time.

“When I first learned how much money I was marrying into,” Sheridan said, “I was stunned. I figured Queen Elizabeth must be a distant relative. He’s never flaunted his wealth. He’s always been generous. I bet you would never know he was obnoxiously rich if you hadn’t been told.”

“Probably not. So you chose Topala.”

“Y-yeah.”

Luke did his slow blink.

“We did.” She paused, remembering how her protests made no impact on Eliot. In truth, Topala felt too remote, too much like a closet that had no back door.

“It took me a while,” she admitted. “I thought we should stay in Mesa Aguamiel. It was bigger, offered more amenities. I should say it offered amenities, period. But Eliot was like a crazy man insisting on getting us as far off the map as possible. It was only about three months after the shooting when we started discussing. We were both still living out of the nightmare. Topala was the best choice at the time.”

“Understandable. The smaller the city, the safer it would feel.”

“Yes.” She felt suddenly exposed. Why had she told him all that personal information? The government knew where they lived, but they could not know the emotions that went into their choice. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Sheridan, I will not repeat any of it.”

She swallowed, hoping he told the truth.

“I promise.”

Could she trust him?

It was too much to ponder. Exhaustion finally hit her. She transferred her cup to his serving tray and locked her own in place. Curling her legs beneath herself, she tilted the seat, faced the window, and leaned back against Luke’s arm. The touch settled her.

In the past it had helped her sleep, on airplanes, on hospital waiting room couches, in limos. Maybe it would again.

Chapter 18

Chicago

After their mother died, when Sheridan was thirteen, Calissa had changed from sisterly ally to authoritarian. Trying to fill the hole in their family, she set absolutes for the young teen about clothing, schedule, activities, and friends. Sheridan battled her at every turn but, in reality, had little say in the matter. Their father saw to that. He backed whatever Calissa said, sometimes with violent tongue-lashings. Sheridan figured she had both of them to thank for honing her strong will.

Those bitter memories pounced the moment the plane landed at O’Hare. She had shoved them from her mind long enough to call Mercedes’s aunt in Mesa Aguamiel; she promised to get the message to Eliot that Sheridan had reached Chicago. Not being able to talk directly with him agitated her as well.

By the time she and Luke got their bags and met the limo driver, her headache neared migraine proportions. Finally the interminable trip ended . . . at the hospital.

The hospital? Not exactly where she wanted to be.

She watched the limo pull away from the curb, their baggage in its trunk. “Tell me he’s coming back.”

“He’s coming back.” Luke pointed a thumb at the entrance. “Ready?”

“No. Why are we here? Why not Calissa’s office or condo? or a hotel? I need a shower.” She had slept on the plane, but not all that well.

“Calissa thought it best that you see Harrison first.”

“Calissa thought. Calissa thought. When I was fourteen, she thought debate club sufficed for extracurricular activities. When I was fifteen, she thought I was still too young to date. When I was seventeen, she thought 10 p.m. should be my curfew.”

“Your point being . . . ?” His lips twitched.

“When I was thirty, she thought Eliot was the worst possible choice for a husband.”

His smile faded.

She heard his unspoken question loud and clear. “No, that is not why I married him. I had quit listening to Calissa long before that. Being back here just brings it all up again. All her control. All her . . . Oh!” She exhaled in frustration and disgust.

“Okay,” he said evenly, giving her space to calm down.

She pressed her lips together. Spouting off was not helpful. Her head pounded. She wasn’t ready. She needed more coffee, a change of clothes. She needed to fill her lungs with fresh air down by Lake Michigan.

She needed to stop listening to the old tapes in her head. She was a grown woman, no longer accountable to her sister’s directions or responsible for her well-being. And she was certainly not accountable to a dying man’s opinion.

“All done?” Luke said, as if reading her mind.

She glared at him.

“Okay, then. Shall we go inside?”

“Like I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

It was a conspiracy. She was convinced of that. God or the government or her father or her sister had forced her to this moment, this place in time. Forty-eight hours ago she was content. Consumed by her husband’s needs, yes, but content to exist within the status quo. Then her sister spoke, and now Sheridan stood outside a Chicago hospital, bone weary, dependent upon Luke Traynor, and questioning, out of the blue, her marriage.

“No, Luke, I don’t have a choice. Calissa will not give up until I hear whatever it is she thinks I need to hear.”

His eyes softened. “Think of it as taking a vitamin.”

“More like a nasty antibiotic that’ll make me nauseous.” She turned away. “Let’s get it over with.”

“One more thing.”

The automatic doors swished open. She waited to move through them but did not look at him.

He said, “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. For as long as you need. For whatever you need.”

“You’re working for Calissa.”

“The job ends today, right after I escort you inside.”

For a moment, she could not breathe. If he had said that sixteen months ago, she would have lashed out in anger, the perfect cover for her fear that she wanted him to stay. And now?

Now there was no fear. She felt only intense loneliness. She felt her life was pointless, without purpose. She felt flattered and feminine because Luke Traynor had gone to a whole lot of trouble to find her.

She shook her head and walked inside the hospital. She should be afraid. She should run for the hills.

Well, she would do just that. Once she got through the family reunion and Luke got his payoff information, she would find her way back home to Mexico all by herself and as soon as possible.

* * *

Sheridan walked through the long corridors, Luke wordlessly at her side. The standard hospital odors comforted her. If she couldn’t breathe in a Lake Michigan breeze, she’d take instead the pungent mix of clean and filth. To her it had always meant hope for the hurting people who crossed her path. As a social worker, she often watched those folks trade sickness and disease for help and healing in hospital settings.

That perspective probably saved her during Eliot’s long hospital stay when she all but lived at his bedside. Even now she drew an odd strength from it. She was on familiar turf, despite what waited at the end of the hall.

Calissa paced there, arms folded across her midsection, a cell phone clasped in one hand. The phone’s power would be on, against ICU rules.

Larger boned and an inch or two taller than Sheridan, Calissa Cristina Cole cut an imposing figure. Public persona in place, she wore a black pantsuit and pumps, a white blouse, no doubt silk. Diamond stud earrings, probably a gift from her longtime friend Bram, sparkled even at this distance. Her hair was short and spiky, its symmetry akin to the needles on a cactus. The style with its blonde frosts on the naturally blonde hair added youth to her forty-seven years and yet did not detract from a mature confidence.

“Sher!” Calissa strode down the hall, her arms outstretched.

Sheridan stepped into her fierce hug. She sensed the strings attached to it and cringed inside. How soon before Calissa would tell her what she wanted?

“Let me look at you.” Calissa held her at arm’s length, peacock blue eyes sharp as laser beams focused as if they could pry into Sheridan’s brain. “You’re exhausted. I am so sorry to have dragged you all this way. Thank you for coming, hon.”

In the time it took her sister to reel off the comments in her distinct, articulate voice, Sheridan rehearsed a number of replies, none of them appropriate. How was it Calissa could make her feel thirteen again? “You know, you have the ability to persuade a zebra to give up its stripes.”

Calissa’s chuckle was forced. She stretched her hand toward Luke. “Old sister joke. Hi.”

“Hello, Calissa.”

“Thank you for, uh . . . for escorting Sheridan.”

“Not a problem.”

Sheridan eyed her sister closely. She never faltered over words. There were new lines etched around her mouth, a new sadness.

“Well.” Calissa rubbed her hands together and took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“To tell him good-bye.”

“Liss,” Sheridan said, her tone stuck in a teenage whine. She held out her hands, palms up. “Can I have a little more information here?”

“About what? This is why you came. Our father is dying. You need to tell him good-bye.”

“I don’t need to, and that is not why I came. I came because of your note. Because you have something to tell me.”

Calissa opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound happened. Her face folded in on itself, creases appearing first in her forehead and on down until her mouth closed around a whimper.

Stupefied at the sight, Sheridan could not move. Her sister, the epitome of self-control, breaking down?

Against all reason, in spite of his rash temper, Calissa adored their dad. She always had. Where Sheridan had only memories of conflict and harshness, Calissa carried remembrances of a congressman who welcomed his oldest daughter’s input on political issues even when she was a kid. Adding to that all the years of working alongside him and impacting the government meant her sister must be hurting deeply.