Tess Gerritsen - Double Impact

Ami climbed into her Volvo wagon and drove across town more or less on autopilot. She turned right onto Piedmont Street and slowed at the gate to allow the security guard to identify her. He motioned for her to continue and she entered the quiet neighborhood she’d called home for the past year. A sense of relief and contentment instantly started to melt away the day’s tension.

The first time Robert had brought her here and showed her the new, exclusive, high-security housing development she’d fallen in love. The homes and their small yards were stunningly picturesque. The well-planned, gated community had all the amenities one would expect in a ritzy neighborhood that catered to Chicago’s young professionals. But it was the security she’d loved most. With a new baby, safety was number one on her priority list, as well as Robert’s.

She parked in her drive, next to Mrs. Perry’s Taurus, powered the window down and just sat for a while, absorbing the feeling of home. Leaves, tinged with the first hues of fall, danced across the well-manicured lawn. It was only September, but most yards, including her own, were decorated for Halloween. Pumpkins, scarecrows and the usual cornstalks and hay bales embellished the small plots of dormant grass. A few painted wood ghosts, witches and black cats were scattered around, some bordered by freshly planted mums and pansies.

Warmth welled inside her, chasing away the lingering coldness of an ER shift. This was a wonderful neighborhood. They were so lucky to live here. Nicholas would have lots of friends to play with when he was older. Next door, the Petreys’ little boy, who’d had his first birthday last month, would go to preschool with Nicholas. Ami was glad for that. The Petreys were nice people; the father, a doctor like Robert, the mother, a schoolteacher. The perfect family. Ami surveyed the houses on her right, then her left for as far as she could see. They were all perfect families, living in a perfect neighborhood.

That reality sent a new chill racing up her spine, where it camped at the base of her skull, a precursor to the dread now filling her. Everything was perfect…except her. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be. Her past was a big black hole that left her permanently flawed. The image of Natan Olment imposed itself amid her depressing thoughts.

“Stop obsessing, Ami,” she scolded as she got out of the car and started up the walk. “This day is over, you’re home, put it behind you.”

She slipped her key into the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. “Hello,” she called. “I’m home.” At last, she thought with a sigh.

Ami could hear Nicholas squealing with delight even before Mrs. Perry rounded the corner into the entry hall, sixteen-month-old Nicholas toddling along beside her, his arms outstretched for his mommy. Ami didn’t feel whole until he was in her arms. She hugged him as tightly as she dared and inhaled the sweet baby scents of lotion and powder.

“He’s had his dinner and his bath,” Mrs. Perry reported as she did every day she cared for Nicholas. “I hope you had a nice day, Miss Donovan.”

Ami kept her pleasant smile in place in spite of a jab of irritation. She preferred to give Nicholas his bath. She’d told Mrs. Perry that time and again, to no avail. “It was fine, Mrs. Perry. And how were things here?”

“Oh, we had a marvelous day.”

The woman literally beamed, the sincerity of it banishing Ami’s irritation. How could she be angry with a woman who took such joy in caring for Nicholas? She and Robert were very fortunate to have found her. Most of the children on this street went to day-care centers-good ones, but centers nonetheless. Nicholas received one-on-one care from the grandmotherly type. A friend of Robert’s whose child had just entered elementary school had highly recommended her. Her other references had been impeccable, as well. She was perfect.

“We took a stroll in the park,” Mrs. Perry continued. “We watched Sesame Street, then read Dr. Seuss until nap time.”

Ami adopted a wowed expression for her son. “My, my, young man.” She kissed his chubby cheek. “It sounds like you’ve had a full day. Do you have any fun left in you for Mommy?” His answering gurgle and chorus of da-da warmed her heart.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Mrs. Perry gathered her purse and all-weather jacket from the hall closet. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Donovan.”

“You, too. Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”

Ami waited until the older woman had settled into her car before she closed the door. She smiled at Nicholas who was engrossed with the ID badge pinned to her nurse’s smock. “How about another bath?”

Nicholas’s dark eyes brightened at the prospect. He grinned, a wide, gap-toothed gesture, then babbled da-da again.

“Want to play in the water?” His eager bounce in her arms was all the encouragement she needed. “We just won’t tell, Mrs. Perry,” Ami whispered. “It’ll be our secret. And while we’re at it, let’s practice ma-ma.”

LATER, Ami stood next to Nicholas’s crib and watched him sleep. She glanced at the Winnie the Pooh clock. Seven already and Robert still wasn’t home. He’d probably had a last-minute consultation that ran longer than he expected, or maybe an emergency at the hospital. Psychiatric patients were even more prone to full moon dementia, she supposed.

Her attention refocused on her sleeping child. She trailed a finger over one silky, rose-colored cheek. Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much. He was the only part of the real her. The one she couldn’t remember. Ami studied his features for a time. The thick, dark hair. The long, almost feminine lashes splayed against his olive skin. Those equally dark eyes, which were almost black.

“Where did you get those?” she murmured softly. Her own hair was a light brown with so many gold streaks that it looked more blond than brown. And her eyes were blue. Ami closed her eyes and tried to imagine a man with Nicholas’s features, but she could only call to mind the shadowy image that haunted her dreams far too often.

She sighed and peered down at her baby. “Doesn’t matter,” she answered herself. “You’re my son. No matter who your father was, you’re all mine now.”

By ten-thirty Ami had grown seriously worried. Robert always called when he was going to be this late.

She clicked off the television. The newscaster had reported this morning’s shooting as an assassination attempt on American Economic Advisor Frank Lowden. Mr. Olment had inadvertently stepped into the path of the bullet intended for Mr. Lowden. The images the cameras had captured made Ami shiver. Why did they have to show such graphic scenes on television? She frowned. Where was Robert?

Feeling more alone than she had in a very long time, she reached for the telephone to call his cellular number, but a sound downstairs stopped her. She held her breath and listened, her fingers still clutching the cordless receiver, an uncharacteristic hint of fear trickling through her. This was a secure neighborhood. She never worried about intruders.

The front door opened, then closed. She tensed, ready to dial 9-1-1. The sound of the dead bolt being set into place and the clink of keys hitting the hall table announced that Robert was home.

Ami exhaled the breath she’d been holding and dropped the receiver back into its cradle. The familiar rhythm of Robert’s footfalls on the stairs chased away any lingering anxiety. She shook her head at how foolishly she was behaving. What was wrong with her tonight?

The episode with Mr. Olment in the ER, she admitted. It had shaken her far too deeply. She turned on her bedside lamp and sat up. Discussing her feelings with Robert never failed to help. He would be able to explain everything. He always did. He was her knight in tailored Armani.