Envy the Night

That one almost put her on her knees, driven either by laughter or tears. Yes, Dad, it’s a problem. You have no idea just how much of a problem I’m looking at right now.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said. “Everything’s all right. We had a bad day. It’s done, though.”

She sat on the bed, and he turned in his chair so he could keep his hand on her leg, some of the confusion and fear draining from his face. She was here now, he could reach out and touch her, and even if he didn’t understand the rest of it, that was enough.

Had Nora been in a less hostile mood, Frank would have inquired as to why she parked in the back corner of the lot. It wasn’t the ideal position as far as he was concerned; any watchers would probably be in front of the building or on the main road, and back here Frank couldn’t see shit, had no hope of knowing what was going on. Also, the front of the building had wide banks of windows looking out on the parking lot, which meant that any attempt on their truck would be visible to those inside. Not so from their current position.

She wasn’t in a mind-set that welcomed debate, though, so he’d decided to just let her go inside and talk to her father, hope for the best. He hadn’t seen the Charger when they pulled in. The part of his brain that was most connected to his father’s ghost whispered that of course he wouldn’t see the Charger, there was no way these guys would still be using it, but he tried to shut that voice out. It was a matter of minutes now. That was what he was down to in Tomahawk. Minutes. Wait for Nora to finish here, then go rent a car, and be two or three hundred miles away by the time the sun went down.

Two or three hundred miles west. That’s what he decided as he sat in the passenger seat and waited for her to return. Most of his wanderings had been devoted to the East Coast or the Midwest. Why not give the Rockies a shot? Some state like Montana or Wyoming might feel more like home to him than any place had in a long time. It was a wild region, populated with private people. A damn fine mix, as far as he was concerned.

You’ve got acres of trees on the north side of the building, offering protection for a watcher as well as a clear view of the entrance to the nursing home.

The ghost was back, offering reminders Frank didn’t want to hear. There was no need to worry about this place, act like some commando preparing for a raid. It was a nursing home, and chances were the pair from Miami didn’t even know Nora’s father was a resident.

Now that you’re in the back corner of the lot, you can’t see a damn thing, but if someone’s in those trees, they saw you come in, and they’re making plans for action. You can’t make a counterattack plan, because you have no idea what the hell’s going on, and won’t until it’s too late.

It was like a chorus that caught in your brain and refused to be cast aside. He could almost see his father leaning against the side of the truck, gesturing around the parking lot with one of the cigarettes he was always promising to stop smoking. Frank tried to will the memory away, keep thinking of the Rockies, of places he’d never been and where he had no history, wide-open places with wide-open possibilities.

You’re already beaten, son. You let yourself get separated from the only person you had to take care of, the only body that needed guarding. How the hell are you supposed to help her from the parking lot if something goes down inside?

Frank drummed his fingers on the armrest, tried to think of a song to hum. Ten minutes had passed now. How long would she take? Probably not much longer. She wanted to get rid of him. Was disgusted by his, what, cowardice? Was that what she thought? Hell with her if she did. She was nothing but a stranger anyhow. Different place, different circumstances, he’d have been attracted to her, sure. Would still be tasting her lips from the previous night, remembering the way her hair had felt against his neck. This wasn’t the place, though, and these weren’t the circumstances.

You can’t see her. Don’t even know what room she’s in, don’t know a damn thing about the layout of that place, haven’t bothered to get out of the truck and into a protected position in case there’s trouble, or even clear your gun—my gun—from the holster.

He kept drumming his fingers awkwardly, the sound uneven, no rhythm at all. Why couldn’t he think of any songs?

Nora spent twenty minutes with her father before she stood. It hadn’t been enough time for either of them, but she had Frank waiting in the truck and Renee, Vaughn, and Ezra waiting on the island.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, Dad. First thing in the morning. Okay?”

His face dropped as if an invisible hand had slid over it and tugged the eyes down, the mouth into a frown. She knelt beside his chair, squeezed his hand.

“Everything’s okay, Dad. I promise. And I will see you,” she kissed his cheek again, “in the morning.”

She released his hand—it was always hard to leave, but this was an entirely new feeling—and walked to the door without looking back. If she looked into his face again, saw the disappointment and worry and confusion, always the confusion, she knew she’d fall apart, end up in tears on the floor. Better to leave with her head high and her stride purposeful, have him thinking everything was okay and she was in control.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she closed the door behind her, hearing a soft click as it latched. The hallway was empty, and she turned to the left and started back toward the entrance, made it about three steps before the door to a vacant room across from her father’s swung open and a hand encircled her mouth and pulled her into the room. She saw a gun in her face, and even though she couldn’t see the man who held it yet, she knew it was the one whose hand had left bruises on her arm two days earlier.

“Three things,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “First, there’s a nurse in the room next to your dad’s. Second, anybody screams or causes a problem, I’m going to begin shooting. Third”—he paused as someone laughed in a room a few doors down—“I’m the only person in this building with a gun. So if the shooting starts, a lot of people are going to get hurt. Including the old man you just left in that room.”

Frank had wanted to come in with her. Frank and his gun had wanted to come in. She’d left him in the parking lot instead. But how could she have known . . . the newspaper. She’d seen the warning and ignored it, wondered who would possibly have given that paper to her father. The answer: someone who wanted to make sure Nora came by to see him. She could hear Barb’s voice on the voice again: We’re not sure how he got it. This guy had been waiting here for a while. Probably all morning. They were smart, too. When she didn’t turn up at her house last night, they’d had to go in search of a way to find her. It wouldn’t have taken much research to learn that the only personal connection Nora had to Tomahawk was in this nursing home.

The hand on her mouth released slowly, air filling her lungs again.

“Good girl,” he said. “It would have been very bad if you’d screamed. Very bad.”

He was talking in a strong whisper, and he reached out and twisted the lock, trapping them inside.

“We’re going to be leaving through that window,” he said, gesturing at the large open window with the screen already removed. “Thanks for parking where you did. Makes this a lot easier.”

She swallowed, thinking of how clever she’d felt, parking in the rear of the lot to hide the truck. It was hidden, all right. Hidden from anyone who might come to her aid.

“First thing you need to do is make a phone call to your friend in the truck,” he said. “You tell him that a very good shot is watching him through a scope right now. You tell him to take that gun out from under his jacket, hold it in the air for a second, and then put it in the glove compartment.”

She didn’t respond. He smiled at her. His face and clothes were as she’d remembered, but the ornate belt buckle was gone. Maybe he thought it stood out too much. Maybe he’d gotten Jerry’s blood on it.

“If you don’t have Frank’s cell phone number,” he said, “I can provide it. Yes, honey, we’re all caught up on the research. Now, do you want to call or should I?”

She called.

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