Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

“Feeling better?” Reese asked, sitting down beside Hollis on the big sofa in the B&B’s front parlor.

“The energy’s coming back. Slowly. I’m fine. Still worried about Miranda, though. I should be at the clinic—”

“No, you shouldn’t. You should be here where you are, getting your strength back. Besides, I think we all know that Bishop and Miranda would rather be alone right now. To grieve.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I heard the medic say she was at least five months along. It didn’t show.”

“Those loose sweaters of hers. And the vest that was specially made to be a little longer in front.”

“She shouldn’t have been here.”

“Probably not. But they weigh risks all the time, those two. So many people were dying, and they felt responsible. They knew the bodies were bait and this was a trap, for Bishop and for the SCU. Neither one of them could walk away. It wasn’t going to stop until they stopped it.”

Hollis nodded slowly. “I know they function best as a team. I know they weigh risks. And it was their risk to take. Still… I wish I could have done more for them.”

“You probably saved Miranda’s life, Hollis. You may have even made it possible for her to get pregnant again someday. But there was nothing you could do to save that baby. The bullet did too much damage. He was already gone.”

“I know, I know. Just… I’m sorry for them. To lose their baby and Ruby—I don’t know if Bishop will ever forgive himself.”

“They did what they could to protect Miranda. The vest should have protected her. And probably would have, if she hadn’t dived to the side like that. Her training and instincts betrayed her, for once. As for Ruby… Well, maybe Bishop shouldn’t forgive himself for that.”

Hollis looked at him. “You really feel that way?”

DeMarco hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just like I don’t know whether Galen will ever be the same again after finding out the brothers from hell have been using him as a spyglass.”

Hollis winced. “Yeah, that’s definitely a rough one. I mean, I’m glad we didn’t have a traitor on the team, but to find out you have—had—three older brothers with serious mental issues would be traumatic enough without being used like that and then being shot by big brother Neil.”

“Yeah. Family.”

She looked at him again, not at all sure whether he was making a wry comment or just voicing a wry truth. She cleared her throat. “Um… listen.”

“Yeah?”

“I have a dim memory of saying some… really weird things at the hospital last night. Because I was so tired. After I healed Diana.”

He lifted a brow at her. “I don’t recall anything weird.”

“No?”

“No.”

She began to feel relieved. Suspicious but relieved. I’ll ask Diana later. Or not , “Okay, Good, then.”

He eyed her. “Something else is bugging you. What?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Would that be so bad? I could use a laugh about now.”

Hollis frowned, then said, “I’m seriously bummed to know you can get yanked out of heaven. I mean… it’s heaven . Is nothing sacred?”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was patient but amused around the edges.

“Diana’s poor mom got yanked out of heaven—apparently—and sent back here to try to stop her father. How crazy is that?”

“Pretty crazy.”

It was her turn to eye him. “You don’t believe me.”

“Sorry. Actually, it’s heaven, not you, that I don’t believe in.”

“Well, I’m not sure I believe in it either. In fact, I’m more sure now that I don’t, because if you can get yanked out of heaven —”

Hollis glanced toward the doorway and broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. DeMarco watched gooseflesh rise on her bare arm and was aware of a tangle of emotions rather than thoughts.

Astonishment. Wonder. Happiness. A kind of contentment.

And awe.

“Ruby,” she murmured.

He waited until she blinked, as though coming out of a dream, and said, “You saw her spirit. Is she all right?”

“She’s better than all right. Wow.”

Curious, he said, “You see spirits all the time.”

“Yeah.” Hollis smiled at him. “But this is the first time I’ve ever seen one… with wings.”

IT WAS THE first of June when Sonny Lenox woke up from his coma. The doctors were astonished, though when pressed they tried to make it sound as if they’d known he had at least a chance of actually walking out of the hospital. Still, three months in a coma after a car crash… Well, most patients with that kind of trauma never woke up.

Amazing, the ability of the human body to heal itself.

The nursing staff, a lot more blunt, whispered that he couldn’t possibly be right after coming out of that. Bound to be messed up.

But he was right enough only five days later to say a few words to the one TV newswoman the hospital allowed to visit him. Right enough to smile, to be able to feed himself almost from the start. To dress himself. And, with more than a little help, to walk.

He dedicated himself to the physical therapy, working hard every single day to regain his mobility and independence. He was quiet, polite, uncomplaining. The nursing staff loved him.

They were saddened, as they had been during his whole stay, by the fact that Sonny Lenox appeared to have no family or even friends; in all that time he never had a single visitor. When he came out of the coma and was able to talk to them, he told them he was alone in the world and hadn’t lived in town very long before the accident. He hadn’t even found an apartment yet, had been staying in a motel, and didn’t doubt that the manager had long ago packed up his meager belongings and given them to some charity. Or sold them, of course.

It was okay, though. He’d get along.

The nursing staff, feeling even sorrier for him, got together some hand-me-down clothing and a used duffel bag and chipped in for new underwear, so at least he’d be able to leave the hospital with something .

It required more than six weeks of intense therapy before the doctors were willing to discharge him, but by then the young man was able to smile and thank everyone, and when they wheeled him to the door he was able to get up and walk steadily away, his duffel in hand.

He didn’t look back.

In his used clothes, carrying his used bag, he walked slowly but determinedly, with a very specific destination in mind. He had to sit on a handy bench along the way several times to rest, since his stamina wasn’t what it should be. What it would eventually be. So it took him more than an hour to walk to a narrow street near downtown, a street that hadn’t yet been “revitalized” by money and interest.

There were old apartment buildings not yet condemned but close, an old church with colorful and profane graffiti on one wall, and a ramshackle mission where a small group of dedicated humanitarians did what they could to feed and house the poor.

He stood half a block away and studied the mission for a few minutes, then approached it.

Outside the front door, a young man with leaflets and an intense expression was trying to talk to the few passersby who, very clearly, just wanted to pass by. And the apparent regulars to the mission simply brushed past him, intent only on going inside and getting their meal or cot before the mission ran out of both.

The young man remained determined.

“Sir! Sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”

Sonny Lenox looked at him for a long moment, his eyes holding a curiously flat shine, and then he smiled.

“Why, yes, I have. And I’d love to give you my Testimony.”