Sarah Armstrong - 02 - Blood Lines (33 page)

“But your music,” Cassidy argued. “Justin, you have your music. You’re brilliant. Sarah told me you’re some kind of a genius. You could have an amazing career.”

“‘Could have’ being the operative words here,” he said. “Could have but probably won’t have. You know how many classical musicians really make it? Hardly any. I’m not dying that way, unknown. I’m not. It won’t happen.”

The knot around my waist fell away and the cord went slack on my lap. I had one chance, only one. I needed him distracted. Cas
sidy looked at me, as if she knew, and his eyes followed hers. Peterson stared at my face, and then his eyes trailed down.

Just then, from outside the door, a voice blared on a bullhorn.

“Mr. Peterson, we have this area surrounded,” David ordered. “You have thirty seconds to open up, and then we’re coming in.”

Startled, Peterson turned toward the door.

If I’d had more time, I might have thought of something brilliant, or at least something with a whiff of a chance of working. But I didn’t, so I did the only thing that occurred to me. His back turned to me, I jumped up, dragging the chair with me, and bore down on him, knocking Peterson from behind, aiming for his kidneys. He faltered and fell, sprawled out on the floor. In the scuffle, my gun dislodged from his belt, clanking hard against the floor and skittering across the speckled beige linoleum toward Cassidy. She grabbed for it, but her chains jerked tight. Groaning, Peterson lunged for the gun.

“Justin, no,” Cassidy shouted, kicking the .45 across the room. Peterson changed direction, crawling toward it, but I yanked my arms up behind me, the chair clattered to the floor, and I pulled my lizard-skin boot back and let loose a kick that caught him hard on the side. He doubled up in pain.

“Shit,” he cried out, as I pushed past him. He staggered to get up, to come after me, just as I threw myself down onto the floor, aiming for the gun.

“David,” I shouted. “Hurry!”

Diving nearly on top of me, Peterson strained to roll me to the side. My wrists still tied, I couldn’t hold him off long. Underneath me, the gun barrel lodged against my back. I pushed up far enough to clutch the grip and held tight, then screamed, “Damn it, David. Get the hell in here. Now!”

The sounds of Cassidy’s cries and the battering ram pummeling
the door echoed off the cement walls. I jerked my leg up and caught a lucky break, aiming where it hurt.

With a guttural cry, Peterson rolled on his side, holding his groin. I tried to get up, but he instantly came back at me, grabbing my neck and squeezing. I dug my heels against the floor. Straining, I held my ground, my throat closing up as I struggled for air. Another booming assault on the door from the outside, as Peterson squeezed tighter. I tried to knee him again, but this time he dodged my blow, and I felt my consciousness waning. Behind me, wrists throbbing, I grasped the gun. I felt the trigger.

“Stop!” Cassidy shrieked, pleading. “Justin, stop! Don’t hurt Sarah. Please, don’t hurt her.”

I kicked harder, and then, as the battering ram toppled the door, sending it cratering to the floor, I heard David shout my name. Peterson let go of my throat and delivered a sharp blow to my chest. Gasping for air, I rolled to the side and heard a single gunshot. A searing pain sliced through my back and left arm, and high-velocity blood spatter covered the floor beside me. David’s face peered down at me, when everything went blank.

M
om, wait until I show you what Cassidy did to Warrior,” Maggie said, with a giggle as I sat in my favorite rocker on the porch at the ranch. “I’ll get him!”

Two weeks after that night in the Houston tunnels, the bruises had faded and the stitches were gone, but the scars were still healing. In the scuffle, my gun had discharged, skimming through my back muscles but hitting my left arm full on, midway between my shoulder and elbow. In addition to the rod and screws that held together what was left of the bone, I now had a card in my wallet I’d carry into airports for the rest of my life, explaining why I set off metal detectors.

As Maggie promised, she emerged from the stable moments later with Cassidy leading the foal. Mom and I had kind of adopted the kid. She slept in Maggie’s trundle bed, now that everyone was home, and they’d become fast friends. Even Strings liked her. He’d taken to bringing over his guitar to accompany the superstar while she and Maggie sang. Most of their numbers were Cassidy’s compositions. I
discovered I liked them without the full percussion section and a stadium full of shrieking kids.

Despite his risky beginnings, Warrior, too, was faring well, steadily gaining weight and inching taller. The sunlight glistened on his back. Solid black and growing stronger every day, he was beautiful.

“Look,” Maggie said. “Doesn’t he look too cute?”

Cassidy made an exaggerated bow, showing the foal off. The girls had braided Cassidy’s sparkly hairpins into his sparse mane, making him look more like the filly Maggie had anticipated than a colt.

“You better not take a picture of him that way,” I said, with a laugh. “When he’s a full-grown stallion, he may not find this amusing.”

“Oh, Mom,” Maggie said. “It’s just fun, that’s all.”

“Besides, maybe he’d like it,” Cassidy added, with a laugh. “A little bling never hurt anyone, even a tough-guy horse.” I chuckled along with her, but had to stop because it made my arm ache.

Surviving what threatened to be certain death made the air on the ranch smell even fresher. Or maybe it was the jasmine blooming on the porch railing, or the scent of Mom’s pot roast simmering in the kitchen. In truth, I didn’t care what made the sky a perfect blue or the smile on Maggie’s face shine the way it did. A fluke had saved Cassidy and me. A security guard who saw the limo with the bullet holes in the window enter the garage had the good sense to call H.P.D.

I felt blessed just to be alive.

“Now, that’s what I call one beautiful colt,” Mom said, as she and Bobby walked out to join us, the screen door banging behind them. “You girls should rent yourselves out to the circus. You could earn a living dressing up the horses for performances.”

“Heck, I’d buy a ticket,” Bobby said, with a hoot. “I’d buy two, Maggie, one for your gram and one for me.”

Mom gave him a playful nudge with her elbow.

Cassidy laughed, but then turned serious. “I’ve been thinking, it’s time I get back to my real job,” she said. “I called Rick and he’s going to book a jet. I need to get to L.A. and figure out what to do next.”

For just a moment, Maggie looked crestfallen, but I was proud of Cassidy. It was time. None of us could wall ourselves up. We all still had lives waiting to be lived.

“You’re right,” I said. “We’ll miss you, and you’re always welcome to visit, but we understand if it’s time for you to go home.”

“Sarah, I know you may not agree with this, I know it may not help, but I’m going to ask the prison to let me bring in someone to help Justin, like a therapist,” Cassidy said. I started to protest, worried that it was better to cut all ties with Peterson, but she quickly went on. “Despite everything, he’s my brother. And someday he’s going to get out of jail. Maybe I’m doing it for me. I want him to get better, but I figure I’m safer if he’s not so angry when he gets out.”

While I figured it was probably a waste of time and money, the kid had a point. At least she could try. “That makes sense,” I said. “I’ll see if I can get the name of a therapist for you, someone who works with prisoners.”

At that, I moved a bit in the rocker, and tried to get comfortable. If I sat too long in any one position, my arm throbbed. But that too would pass. Like Warrior, I felt better every day.

We sat there for a while, Mom and I rocking, Bobby sitting on the steps, while the meat simmered and the girls talked softly, lavishing affection on the foal. I wasn’t listening, maybe just daydreaming, until Maggie walked up and stood next to me, with a strange, apprehensive look. “Mom,” she said. “Cassidy and I think there’s something I really need to explain to you.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, it’s about Mr. Garrity,” she started.

“Maggie,” I chastised. I hated to see her ruin what was turning into a beautiful afternoon talking about a lost cause. “We’ve been through this. David and I are just friends, and I don’t want you to worry about anything. There’s no reason to be concerned.”

The morning I woke up in the hospital, Mom, Maggie, Bobby, Cassidy, and David were all there. I remember thinking that anyone passing by would have thought he was part of the family. He didn’t linger long. Once I was on the mend, he stopped visiting. I hadn’t heard from him except for a get well card since I’d left the hospital.

Maggie looked uncertain, and Cassidy nudged her. I wondered what this could all be about when my daughter took a deep breath. “Mom,” she said, again. “This isn’t one of those times you should worry about me. This is one of those times when you’re supposed to listen to me.”

“Oh,” I said. “I see.”

“So, you need to listen, and then, if you’re mad, you can yell at me and ground me,” Maggie said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. “You have my full attention.”

Ringing David’s doorbell, I realized there was probably a lot I hadn’t thought through. He could be with someone else, at that very moment, and I’d be interrupting. What would I do then? Mumble something about stopping in to talk about work, I guess, but since we were no longer working a case together, that would be pretty odd, or “lame” as Maggie would say. When he didn’t answer immediately, I momentarily thought about turning and running back to the Tahoe. Then I thought about how I’d stopped and bought a new tube of lipstick on the way. I couldn’t find my usual, and this one
was called Tawny Taupe. I ran my tongue over my lips. It seemed a shame to waste it.

I rang the bell again, and waited.

“Sarah, I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, when he opened the door. He had on a pair of jogging shorts and a T-shirt, looking like he was getting ready for a run. His hair was falling over his forehead, and I reached up with my good arm and pushed it behind his ears. He frowned.

“I’d been meaning to come out to the ranch and check on you, but thought maybe I shouldn’t,” he said.

“Are you going to invite me in?” I asked. “After all, I’d like to sit down. This arm is still pretty sore, and I’m a little weaker than usual.”

A curious look, his eyes narrowed on me, he stepped back, and I walked in. I momentarily thought that life shouldn’t be so complicated. People should be able to talk about the important stuff without worrying about getting hurt. Of course, that was just another of those perfect-world wishes, the kind that should be and never are. I sat down on his old corduroy couch and waited for him to join me, but he didn’t.

“Maggie and I had a talk this afternoon,” I said. He didn’t react, and I paused. Then I said, “She mentioned a conversation the two of you had last year, about the time you stopped calling.”

Looking puzzled, he sat on the couch’s thick, round arm. Just being in David’s place brought back memories, but I was too nervous about the troubled look on his face to relax enough to enjoy them.

“I’m not sure what she told you, Sarah,” he said, cautiously. “But Maggie’s been through a lot the last couple of years. I understand completely that she’s not ready—”

“Well, that’s the thing,” I interrupted. “David, I’m not sure how you feel about me now, after all this time. But we’ve been through
a lot. And sometimes, that brings people together. Sometimes they drift apart afterward, while other times, it forms a bond.”

He was smiling. Here I was, pouring my heart out, and David was smiling at me, as if pleased by my predicament.

“I guess I’m rather amusing?”

“Not really,” he said, with a soft laugh. “It’s just not like you to try to explain yourself. You’re more of a doer, Sarah, not much for small talk.”

Why are men so aggravating, especially when a woman’s trying to make herself understood?
I thought.

“Okay,” I said. “I admit I’m not the best at talking about feelings, it’s not my thing, but in this instance, it seems necessary.”

David slid down the arm of the couch, and scooted over until he sat beside me. He put one arm around my waist and wrapped the other over my shoulder. When he pulled me toward him, I winced.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, loosening his grip. “The arm?”

“Still a little sore,” I admitted.

That little bobble seemed to leave us hanging, so I figured, as much as I disliked it, that I’d better try to talk again. “Now, David, the reason I’m here is that Maggie told me what she said to you last year, about you and me.”

“I kind of already had that figured out,” he said. “And I’m glad that she did.”

He was still holding me, although a bit more loosely, and he buried his face in my hair. It still had some faint purple streaks in it from Germaine’s color job. She’d lied. It hadn’t all washed out. But David didn’t seem to mind. He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re still using the same shampoo. I remember that scent. What is it?”

“You don’t want to know,” I said.

“I do,” he prodded, snuggling against my neck. “What does it smell like?”

“No. You really don’t want to know,” I said, and he laughed. Exasperated, I said, “Now can we forget about my hair? I’ve prepared this entire speech.”

“It’s horse shampoo, isn’t it?” he said.

I frowned, and then shrugged. It was hopeless. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I’ve been using it since I was a kid. Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” he said, still grinning. “In fact, I should have known.”

“Now, what do you mean by that?” I asked, getting even more aggravated. “Sometimes I think you assume you know what I’m going to say before I say it.”

“Sometimes I do. For instance, what you’re here to tell me is that Maggie told you she asked me not to see you anymore, that she wasn’t ready for you to get serious with anyone,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” I said, frowning.

“And then you were going to tell me that she’s changed her mind. She’s all right with it now?”