Kathleen Creighton: Eve’s Wedding Knight

“We have to take ‘em,” Jake muttered through wire-tense jaws. “We have to take ’em now.” His eyes burned; the image on the monitor screen seared on his retinas. Eve’s eyes, like black holes, staring into the camera’s lens…into his soul. He heard Birdie’s words… “I can’t even imagine not having her around…”

His partner’s voice came as a distant rumble. “We can’t Not until he’s cleared the premises. Not with the children-”

“He’s going to kill her.”

“He won’t hurt her until he’s sure he’s home-free. By that time…”

“What about those two?” Ricky’s heavy voice boomed through the mike. “You ain’t gonna just leave ‘em here, are you? You want me to…” He waved his gun hopefully.

The look Sonny gave him was one of extreme pain. “Idiot. What’re you gonna do, off somebody with the whole FBI as eyewitnesses? Place is probably crawlin’ with feds. They’re probably listening to us right now.” He put his arm around Eve’s shoulders and snugged her to his side as he snarled disgustedly, “Let’s get outa here.”

“They’re witnesses.” Ricky was disappointed.

“What difference does it make? Once we’re out of the country, who the hell cares? Come on, come on-let’s go.” He pushed past the two thugs and headed for the doorway, yanking Eve with him. He paused there to murmur something in her ear, and the sensitive microphone picked up the words. “About time you and me had our honeymoon, don’t you think so, baby?”

They were in the doorway, then gone from the screen; an instant later the hallway monitor picked them up, making for the stairs. From the room they’d just left came the sounds of muted sobbing.

Jake let out a breath like a pressure valve exploding and bolted for the attic stairs. Behind him Birdie was speaking into his wire. “All units…subjects are leaving the house. We have a hostage situation. Do not attempt to apprehend. Repeat-do not apprehend!”

They met Summer and Mirabella in the hallway, stunned and clinging to each other. Jimmy Joe was emerging from another room where he’d been supervising the children’s Christmas preparations. Riley, drawn from his study by the commotion, fortunately just late enough to avoid a confrontation with the fleeing suspects, was charging up the stairs two at a time.

“Stay here,” Jake said tersely as he brushed past them all, “we’ve got it under control.”

Behind him Birdie muttered, “Look after them,” as the arriving menfolk prepared to gather their respective spouses into their arms and head off the curious children.

From outside the house came the muted roar of a powerful engine, followed by the shriek of abused tires. Jake burst through the mudroom and out the back door just in time to see the rear end of the white limousine disappearing down the curving drive, its taillights a red glow in the freezing mist.

Right behind him came Birdie, breathing hard. Jake dashed out onto the wet walk. The next thing he knew, he was gyrating wildly, flapping his arms and grabbing at air, anything to stay upright. He figured it had to be only the grace of God that kept him from going down hard, flat on his butt.

Behind him, he could hear Birdie cussing and muttering. Jake’s heart and his hopes both plummeted, as he groaned from the depths of his despair, “Ice.”

Eve huddled in the limo with Sonny’s arm like a steel band around her shoulders, while a dark world flashed by outside the windows. She felt nothing. No -she felt cold. Colder than she’d ever been in her life. Cold to the very depths of her being.

It was strangely quiet. What sounds there were came from a great distance: the squeal of tires…Sonny yelling at someone to “Be careful, you’ll get us all killed”…the wail of sirens.

Even her mind was silent. She didn’t think about being afraid, or about the fact that she was going to die. She didn’t think about Jake and the life they weren’t going to have together after all, or the sisters she’d just found again after so many years, or the parents she loved, or her children that now would never be born. But though silent, her mind was not still. It flashed random images and impressions from her life-thousands of them, each one there for an instant and then gone, too quickly to think about at all. Her life, over it seemed, in the blink of an eye.

From a vast distance she heard shouts. And suddenly forces were being exerted on her body that wrenched it from her control. The burden of Sonny’s arm disappeared from her shoulders, and for one strange and magical moment she felt buoyant… weightless… free.

Then she was flying through the air, arms and legs all going in different directions, like a rag doll, and her head was filled with sounds… a cacophony of sounds, hideous sounds. Sounds from the depths of hell itself. Ear-splitting cra-acks and sickening crunches, screams and groans-not of human agony, but of tearing metal and twisting steel.

And then there was silence…

“Ah, Jeez,” said Birdie. “Ah…Jeez.”

“Sonuvabitch.” Jake went on saying it, over and over as he braked carefully and pulled onto the grassy verge.

They were in Riley’s Mercedes. Riley had offered it, since the keys were handy, it was equipped with all-weather tires, and Jake’s vehicle had been parked too far away to be accessible. He pulled it to a stop just short of where the turf had been torn and slashed by the tires of the careening limousine, wrenched open the door and dove into the fine, spitting sleet. He left Birdie talking to his wire, calling for an ambulance, while he plunged heedlessly over the side of the embankment.

In the faint light of the Mercedes’ headlights reflected in the freezing drizzle, he could just make out the wreckage of the limo, upside down among the trees. Slipping and sliding, he made his way to it, his heart cold and hard as iron in his chest. He could not-would not-allow himself to think about what he might find when he got there.

She would not be dead. She couldn’t be dead. Please God, he prayed, don’t let her be dead. Anything you want me to do, I’ll do, just…don’t let her be dead.

He was down on his knees in the ice and brambles and broken glass trying to get his head and shoulders through a window opening when Birdie came crashing down the slope to join him. He’d found a flashlight somewhere. “Driver’s DOA,” Jake told him tersely. “Eve’s in here. I’ve got a pulse.”

“Thank God…” Birdie was picking his way around to the other side of the wreckage.

Up on the icy road, backup was arriving. Sirens bleeped and went silent, brakes chirped, doors slammed. Jake heard the muffled thump of at least one fender-bender.

“This guy’s breathing,” Birdie called from the front passenger side. The flashlight stabbed through the windows of the wreck, randomly searching. “Where the hell’s Cisneros? Hey-we got a door punched out over here. You don’t suppose that rat-bastard got away?”

“To hell with Cisneros,” Jake grated through Jaws rigid with fear and hope and steadfast resolve. His hand was clasped firmly around Eve’s wrist, and her pulse was slow and steady against his fingers. That was all that mattered.

“Anyway,” said Mirabella, “the doctors say it was probably the neck collar that saved her life. Isn’t that incredible?”

She was sitting on the edge of Charly’s hospital bed, with Summer beside her. On the other side of the bed, Troy sat with his arms around his wife. Riley and Jimmy Joe had been there earlier, but just moments ago had gone off on some mysterious errand, leaving the children in the competent hands of Troy’s mama, Betty, who had driven down from northeast Georgia as soon as the roads were clear that morning to see her new granddaughter. Mary Christine, seven pounds, two ounces and all of twelve hours old, slept soundly in her mother’s arms, swaddled in a red Christmas stocking.