Lisa Gardner: Alone

Vaguely she was aware of movement. Bobby was on his feet. Yelling something. She couldn't hear. The room had lost sound. The moment had lost crispness.

Umbrio now had his hand on her hip. He was crawling his way up her body, leering at her with a mouth of bloodstained teeth as his right hand reached for her throat.

She fumbled frantically. And then she found what she'd been looking for, stashed beneath the sofa.

Umbrio's fingers were closing around her neck. Bobby was rising beside him, arm swinging back. And Catherine shoved the barrel of the nine-millimeter right into Umbrio's mouth. For one split second, he appeared very, very surprised. Then she pulled the trigger.

Richard Umbrio was quite literally blown away. He collapsed as a massive weight upon her smaller body. And Catherine started to weep.

Bobby pulled the body away. His arm went around her, cradling her against his chest.

"Shhh," he murmured.

"Shhhh, it's all right now. It's over. It's all done. You're safe now, Cat, you're safe." But it wasn't over. It wasn't done. For a woman like her, it would never be done. There were still too many things Bobby just didn't know.

She cried, feeling her first real tears streaking down her face. Bobby stroked her hair. And she cried harder because she knew, better than he did, that it was only the beginning of the end.

the police came. Hotel security, too. They burst through the door in a flash of badges, guns, and shouts. In contrast, Bobby quietly surrendered his gun to D.D." who took the nine-millimeter from Catherine as well. Medics came for the judge. An EMT tended Bobby's shoulder. The coroner's assistants carried Harris and Umbrio away.

They were still inventorying the damage when a uniformed officer finally located Nathan.

The little boy appeared in the hallway, clutching a rumpled puppy against his chest.

He saw Catherine, who'd been forcefully detained on the sofa despite her pleas to look for her child.

"Mommy?" he said clearly, in the growing din.

Catherine stood. She moved toward her son. She held open her arms. He released the puppy, flying into her embrace.

"Mommy," Nathan said, and burrowed his head against her shoulder.

Bobby smiled at them both. Then D.D. finished reading him his rights and led him away.

January was an ugly month. Thermometer hovered around ten degrees. The wind contained a cruel bite that went straight for the bones.

Bobby didn't mind it that much. He strode down Newbury Street, wool cap pulled low, scarf tight around his ears and the rest of him buried deep in his down jacket. Tiny white lights twinkled merrily on the rows of trees lining the street. Store windows still boasted bright holiday colors and hints of frivolous retail treats.

New Englanders were a hardy lot, and even on a day like today, people were out and about, enjoying the city and taking advantage of fresh winter snow.

Bobby had reached a benchmark of his own today. He'd had his last meeting with Dr. Lane.

"So how were the holidays?" she'd asked him.

"Good. Spent it with my father. We went out. Two bachelor men, no sense cooking."

"And your brother?"

"George never returned Pop's call."

"That must have been hard on your father." "He wasn't wild about it, but what can you do? George is a big boy. He'll have to come around on his own."

"And you?"

Bobby shrugged.

"I can't speak for George, but Pop and I are doing okay."

"Which, of course, brings us to your mother."

"You always want to talk about my mother."

"Industry habit."

He'd sighed, shaking his head at her persistence. But of course they were going to talk about his mother. They always talked about his mother.

"Okay. So, I asked my father some questions about her, like you and I discussed. Pop did his best to answer. We, uh, we actually had a conversation about that night."

"Was that difficult?"

He spread his hands.

"More like… awkward. You know the truth? That one big apocalyptic night? Neither one of us remembers it too well. Seriously. I was too young. Pop was too drunk. And maybe-I'm guessing here-but maybe that's why we can move on and George can't. He still sees what happened. Honest to God, even when we try, Pop and I can't."

"Has your father tried contacting your mother?"

"He said he did, years ago, as part of his program. He reached her sister in Florida. She said she'd give my mom the message. He never heard anything again."

"So you have an aunt?"

"I have an aunt," Bobby said matter-of-factly, "and two living grandparents."

Dr. Lane blinked.

"That's news."

"Yeah."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Oh boy," he rolled his eyes, laughing a little at the trite phrase, but it was a strained laugh.

"Yeah," he admitted finally with a sigh, "yeah, that's a tough one. To know you got family out there and they've never even tried to reach out… it hurts. How can it not hurt? I tell myself it's their loss. I tell myself a lot of things. But okay, it sucks."

"Have you thought of contacting them yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And I don't know. I mean, I'm thirty-six. Seems a little old to be reaching out to Grandma and Grandpa. Maybe if they don't want to reach me, I should take the hint."

"You don't really believe that, Bobby."

Another shrug.

"So what's really going on?" Dr. Lane had gotten to know him pretty well.

He sighed, stared at the floor.

"I think maybe it's a matter of politics. My mother's in Florida. George is in Florida. We never hear from him, we never hear from her. I think maybe the family split. George abandoned Pop, but gained Mom. I didn't abandon Pop, so…"

"You think as long as you're close to your father, your mom won't contact you."

"That's my guess."

Dr. Lane nodded thoughtfully.

"It's possible. Although I would suggest it would be healthier for you and your mother to have your own relationship, regardless of your father."

Bobby grinned wryly.

"Well, you know, feel free to write her a note." His smile faded. He shrugged again.

"Life is what it is. I'm trying to do as you suggested-focus on controlling the things I can control, and letting go of the things I can't. I can't control my mom, I can't control my grandparents, I can't control George."

"That's very wise of you, Bobby."

"Hell, I'm a regular sage these days."

She smiled at him.

"So, moving right along. Work?"

"Start next week."

"Excited?"

"More like nervous."

"That's to be expected."

He considered things.

"I was cleared for shooting Jimmy Gagnon and I was cleared for killing Copley, so that's all good. But I broke with the ranks. My involvement with Catherine, the way I handled the investigation… I burned a lot of bridges there. Part of being on STOP is being a team player. There are a lot of guys who now doubt my ability to be part of the team."

"And what do you think?"

"I miss the team," he answered firmly. "I miss my job. I'm good at it, and if I have to prove myself again-well, I'll prove myself again. I'm not afraid of a challenge."

"But I'm curious, Bobby. Do you consider yourself a team player?"

"Sure. But being a team player shouldn't be an excuse for acting stupid. If the whole team is leaping off a cliff, should you join them, or, for the sake of the team, should you stand up and say, "Hey, guys, stop leaping? With all respect to D.D. and the other investigators, they didn't understand what was going on with the Gagnons. I did. So I followed my conscience. And I'm fine with that. Frankly, that's what a good cop should do."

"Why, Bobby, you've come a very long way."

"I'm trying."

Her voice grew quieter, so he knew what she was going to ask next.