“Why do you have your hood up?” he said. “Is it so I can’t see your face? Who are you and why do you want morphine?”
She struggled and pulled back but he gripped harder.
“Please, mister . . .”
He reached for her face with his other hand to peel the hood back but she ducked under his arm. The shopping basket fell to the linoleum but didn’t spill.
Then she noted that the pharmacist hesitated, that something or someone had diverted his attention. Suddenly her sweatshirt was lighter because the weight of the gun had been removed. Robert shot the pharmacist four times in his neck and chest. She screamed as his grip released on her wrist and she ripped her hand back. The pharmacist sagged out of view behind the counter, leaving a snail’s track of blood on the wall behind him.
Robert said to her, “Shut the hell up and help me find the morphine.”
16
JOE AND MARYBETH WERE IN BED BUT NOT SLEEPING. HE’D arrived home after nine to find—pleasantly—that she’d saved him the last of the spaghetti and garlic bread they’d had earlier for dinner. While he ate, he’d outlined his day with Nate, the governor, and Coon. She nodded as he talked, seeing where it was going and becoming frightened by the inevitability of the situation ahead. Sheridan had already packed a Saddlestring Lady Wranglers duffel bag with clothes and placed it near the front door.
After they’d cleaned up the dishes, they’d continued the discussion about involving Sheridan, in his office with the door closed. He’d thought about the situation over and over while driving home, and each time he came to the same conclusion. He was more than willing to be talked out of the idea and hoped Marybeth could come up with a better way.
If another text came in while Joe was out in the field looking for April, it would be impossible for him to coach Sheridan into getting her foster sister to reveal her whereabouts. And even if Sheridan was able to get solid information, she’d have to relay that to Joe at a distance—providing he could be reached and was not himself out of range of a cell tower—and hope he was in the vicinity of where the call came in. If those were the only obstacles, though, they could try to get around them. Marybeth could be there with Sheridan if a call came in, for example. She’d probably do a better job of coaching than Joe could do anyway.
But the fact was April had chosen to contact Sheridan. Not Joe, not Marybeth. And if April agreed to meet somewhere, it would be with Sheridan.
Marybeth talked it out, which is what she did. Joe listened. His wife came to the same conclusion he had, and they looked at each other with trepidation.
They went to bed before eleven but it was perfunctory.
OUTSIDE, A COLD WIND rattled the bedroom window. Dried leaves that had been hanging from the cottonwood branches broke loose and ticked against the glass.
Marybeth rolled over and propped her head up by folding her pillow over on itself. She said, “I wish I could think of another way than to let Sheridan go with you, but I can’t.”
Joe grunted. While he welcomed the idea of his oldest daughter’s companionship, he was terrified by the possibility that he couldn’t keep her safe. This was his dilemma. This had always been his dilemma: keeping his family safe. Although there had been some horrific events and even more close calls, for the most part he’d been successful. Except once: April.
Joe turned to his wife in bed. “The last time she saw me, I was standing across the road with the local cops and the FBI who attacked the compound. I’m sure I looked like I was on their side. What is she supposed to think of me?”
“Your actions can be explained,” Marybeth said, “but not without gaining back her trust. And that won’t be easy, I don’t think. Not after all this time. And I’m sure I’m painted with same brush as far as she’s concerned. It makes my heart ache to think of that poor girl being out there for six years thinking that the family that took her in betrayed her in the end. It just makes me want to
“Our only hope is she trusts Sheridan to at least listen to her, and later to us. I can see from April’s perspective that she assumes we chose not to try and find her after the fire. She probably doesn’t even know we were convinced she was dead.”
Joe stared at the ceiling, listened to the wind pound the window.
“If we somehow get through this,” Joe said, “if everything falls into place somehow and we can talk to her . . . would you want to take her back?”
“In a heartbeat, Joe.”
He smiled.
“But of course it would be up to her.”
After a long silence, Marybeth said, “Lucy wants to go, too.”
Joe groaned.
“I’m not letting her, no matter how angry she gets. I know I’ll hear plenty of, ‘She’s my sister, too,’ but she’ll just have to live with it.”
Marybeth turned over on her back as well to stare at the same ceiling. Joe hoped she could gain more wisdom from the view than he had been able to get.
Joe said, finally, “How could April get caught up with a Chicago mobster? How could it even be April?”
There was a light knock on the door before it opened. Sheridan stood in profile from a hall night-light. Her phone glowed blue in the dark. She whispered, “It’s her.”
From: AK
