He called his dispatcher and told her shed need to find another driver to pick up his load, then fiddled with the radio for a few minutes trying to find an all-news station. Antsy and impatient to be on the road, he gave it up and settled for a golden oldies station he knew would have updates on the hour, then rolled his Kenworth out of the truck stop and back onto the interstate, heading south.
A long hour later his cell phone tweedled, interrupting tumultuous and totally useless thoughts. He mashed the connect button and barked, Yeah!
C.J., I thought youd want to know-theyre having that press conference at the hospital. Its still going on, with all the questions and such, but theyve made their statements. The official toll is, three injured, two critically, one dead
Yeah? He stared at the road ahead, flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Preparing himself. As if he could.
C.J., honey, it was Mrs. Vasily who was killed. The mother. Mary Kelly Vasily
A cool rush of feeling blew through him, like a breeze through a stuffy house. He nodded, though there wasnt anybody to see, and his mind filled with images: Mary Kellys face, Southern magnolia-type pretty, almost lost in billows of fluffy red-brown haira tentative smile as she shook his hand and murmured polite phrases like a well-brought-up childlips forming No! as she shook her head in fear and rejectionthen quiet eyes, accepting smile. Im not blamin you, Mr. Starr.
But the feeling, that cool, lightening wind in his soul-he knew what it was, and it shamed him so that he slammed the doors of his mind to it, tried every way he could to deny it. Shaken, he tried to explain to himself why he should feel relieved when a good woman had just been killed. But he was. Relieved it wasnt Caitlyn Brown whod died.
C.J., are you there?
Yeah.
Honey, Im sorry-I know how you must be feelin. I just feel so bad for that little girl
What about the others? He made his voice hard and clipped off the words, leaving no room for emotions. You said two were critical?
One of the guards was shot in the arm-hes not serious. The other took a bullet in the chest and is still in surgery.
His chest tightened; he forced a deep breath. Caitlyn?
They just said her condition is critical. No details. C.J., theres no point in you going down there. Theres not a thing you can do except get yourself into trouble.
His vision shimmered. He blinked the highway back into focus and mumbled, I just want to talk to her.
How? Theyre never gonna let you in there, you know that, dont you? I mean, seriously-a stranger? After somebody just tried to kill her? The presidents niece? I wouldnt be surprised if theyve got the Secret Service, the FBI-
She broke off, then was silent for so long C.J. prompted, Charly? and was ready to start mashing buttons on his cell phone, thinking maybe theyd got disconnected the way cell phone calls do sometimes.
C.J., Im gonna have to call you back, okay? She sounded rushed and distracted. Justdont do anything until you hear from me. Promise? This is your lawyer speakin now.
Yeah, he grunted, I promise. He disconnected and settled back, trying hard to concentrate on driving and on not letting himself think about what critical condition might mean. Trying not to think about a fairy-tale face, silvery eyes, a light-as-a-feather touch. One thing he didnt have to try very hard to avoid was thoughts of that exquisite face and graceful body bloody and tornruined by violence. His mind cowered and protected itself from those images, like eyes avoiding the sun.
Though it seemed longer, it was barely half an hour later when his phone chirped at him again.
C.J., its me. Charly sounded out of breath and in a hurry. Hey, Im gonna meet you there, okay? If you get there-
Meet me there
The hospital. If you get there before I do, sit tight. Okay? Dont do anything until you hear from me, you hear?
Charly, whatre you up to? I dont think Im gonna be needing a lawyer for this.
Maybe, maybe not. But Ive got somebody who can get you in to see Caitlyn Brown.
The woman in the hospital bed stirred. Her fingers plucked at the sheets, rearranging them needlessly across her chest.
The thunderstorm Caitlyn murmured, and closed her eyes. After a moment she asked in a slow, drug-thickened voice, What is it you want? Absolution? You have it, okay? I told you, I dont blame you for anything. In fact, I suppose it was bound to happensomeday. When you go against violent people I just Her voice cracked and dropped to a whisper; her lips quivered. She turned her face away. I didnt expect it to come quite this way.
C.J. cleared his throat and leaned forward. There were so many things he wanted to ask herso many things he wanted to say. He didnt know where to start, so he murmured, What way did you think it was gonna come?
Her eyes crisscrossed him like searchlights, not silvery, now, but liquid and lost. Then, incongruously, she laughed, a soft ironic chuckle. Well, for one thing, I never expected to be blind.
Chapter 4
Caitlyn listened to the silence and felt anger rising. Once, she had treasured silence, regarded it as a gift, and on those rare occasions when she found herself immersed in it, had taken pleasure in the experience as she might in a warm bath, with scented oils and wine and candlelight. Now silence was her enemy, unknown menace lurking in the darkness beyond the firelight. Silence made her feel alone, and afraid.
But it was not in her makeup to give in to fear, and at the moment her only weapon against it seemed to be anger.
Say something, damn you. She shifted again, carefully. Despite the pain medication shed been given, skyrockets had a tendency to go shooting around in her skull whenever she moved.
She heard a sound-the clearing of a throat-and then the voice, Southern and soft as a summer evening. Shed liked his voice the first time shed heard it, she recalled. She hadnt expected to hear it ever again.
Sorry. Guess I dont know what to say.
Vaguely ashamed, she aimed a frown in the direction of the voice. You knew, didnt you? About me being blind. They must have told you.
There was another cough and under it a faint sandy sound. Shoes. No, bootssliding over a vinyl floor. He must be uncomfortable; hed shifted position, perhaps leaned forward in the chair. How did she know he was sitting? Because his voice came from a level near her own. She was pleased with herself for being able to deduce so much.
They told me youre damn lucky to be alive, he said, and there was a difference in the voice now. Something harder, denser. Emotion, certainly, but what kind? She made a mental grimace at the discovery that she wasnt nearly as good at deciphering emotional landscapes as she was physical. They said a hairs breadth of difference and that bullet would have blown part of your head off.
The brutality of his words surprised her. With a bitter smile she answered in kind, Yeah, but instead it only grazed me a little and hit Mary Kelly in the heart. So, shes dead, and I have some minor brain swelling that just happened to involve my optic nerve. What luck.
She heard the shifting sounds again. They said the blindness might not be permanent. That your eyesight might come back as the injury heals, or if it doesnt, theres surgery they can maybe try later on.
Thats what they say. Caitlyn closed her eyes and carefully turned her head away from the man sitting beside her. Mightmaybe. She felt so tiredand controlling her face and her voice took so much energy. If only he would go away. If only she could relax and let the tears come.
Do you remember anything about, uh, the shooting? His voice was raspy now, and again it vexed her that she couldnt read the emotions behind it.
She shook her head-bad move-and fought down the inevitable waves of nausea.
You tried to shield her-Mary Kelly. Did you know that? Oh, it was anger in his voice-definitely. It came through loud and clear, although he was obviously trying to hide it. It bewildered her, his anger, even as she felt a tiny flicker of triumph for having recognized it. You threw yourself in front of her. Thats why the bullet that struck her in the chest grazed you first.
Who told you that? The intense emotions were becoming too much for her. She felt desperately close to crying; there were strange sounds inside her head, and a panicky tightness in her chest. The police? Whatdid they saydo they know-
You knew, didnt you? You knew Mary Kelly was the target, the second you heard the shots. You tried to tell me-
The noises in her head had become a cacophony. Through them she heard footsteps, quick and purposeful, and C.J.s voice, seeming to rise and float above her.
It was Vasily, wasnt it? You told me hed kill her. You told me, and I didnt-
She felt a rush of air. Hands touched her, gentle and cool.
Look. Im sorry She heard C.J.s voice, moving away from her. Im sorry
Quiet came. And peace. With a grateful whimper she sank into the oblivion of sleep.
Summoning his courage, C.J. faced the people waiting at the nurses station.
Im sorry, he said, squinting with the effort it took to meet their eyes. I didnt mean to get her upset. I just wanted to say- He lifted a hand and let it drop. Shook his head and said it again. Im sorry. Lately it seemed as if hed been saying that a lot, both out loud and to himself.
Two of the four people there at the counter-a handsome, middle-aged couple-nodded their heads in mute understanding. It was to them hed spoken-Caitlyns parents. Of the others, C.J.s sister-in-law and lawyer, Charly, clapped him on the shoulder and murmured supportive monosyllables. Special Agent Jake Redfield of the FBI, C.J.s brother Jimmy Joes in-law, leaned against the counter and took in everything with quiet and watchful eyes. He was a melancholy-looking man with stubbled jaws, and the only one present wearing a suit.
A nurse came from the glass-partitioned cubicle where Caitlyn lay, screened from view behind a curtain. Shell sleep for a while, she said in her high-pitched voice with its thick upstate South Carolina accent. If you want to, you can go down to the cafeteria, get a cup of coffee, somethin to eat.
Caitlyns mother gripped her husbands arm as if drawing strength from that touch, and asked the nurse in her quiet Midwestern voice, Is it all right if I sit with her?
The nurse nodded. Sure. Go on in.
Watching Chris Brown walk away from him, C.J. thought he could see where her daughter had come by her looks. Not her grace, though, that quality of lightness that made Caitlyn seem, in his memory, at least, fairy-likenot quite real. Though tall and slender like her daughter, Chris Brown moved with a coltish-he could think of no other word for it-awkwardness that was in no way unattractive-and which made her seem much younger than he knew she had to be. But her face was the same flawless oval as Caitlyns, her hair almost the same shade of sun-streaked blond, but worn long and sleek and fastened at the nape of her neck with a clip of some kind. She had the same colored eyes, too-a clear and pale gray-blue-but without that heart-stopping flash of silver C.J. couldnt seem to forget.