Sheriff’s Runaway Witness

temper, cops don’t answer questions, they just ask them.

“No,” he said through clenched teeth, “just the guy who delivered him. You gonna tell me how he is, or what?”

Her room seemed filled with people. Policemen-except one was a woman-asking questions, taking pictures, writing notes, talking on their radios or cell phones. Nurses talking to each other in low voices; Rachel could hear them talking about her but didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything, she was sunk so deep in pain and despair. Pain gripped her like a vise, and it was worse than anything she’d ever known, worse than childbirth, worse than the night Nicky died. She could only wrap her arms around herself and curl herself around the pain, too full of pain even for breath. The nurses kept trying to put the oxygen mask over her face, but she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to live.

My baby’s gone…

Murmuring in the hallway…the nurse’s voice, speaking plainly, sounding distressed: “We’ve told her her baby’s fine, but she won’t believe us.”

“Then why don’t you just go and get him and let her see for herself?”

That voice…with an accent…sounding a lot like John Wayne.

The nurse again: “We thought…he’s still being monitored…so many people…”

“Too many people? So clear ’em out. Come on, guys, that’s enough. You can do this later. Can’t you see the lady’s had about all she can take?”

She lifted her head and gave a hoarse cry, cried out his name. “Jethro?” It was all she could manage; her throat was raw from weeping.

She tore off the oxygen mask, and this time no one stopped her. She watched him come toward her, swimming his way through people, nurses and policemen, all making for the door now, though in no particular hurry. Then he was beside her, and she just naturally lifted her arms to him and he gathered her in, tenderly, as if he understood how wounded she was. As she clung to him, shaking, she felt his hand cradle her head against him, felt his body tense as his head turned, and his voice rumbled next to her ear as he called over his shoulder, “Somebody go get that baby-now.”

She heard a nurse say huffily, from somewhere distant, “Well, I’ll have to ask the doctor…”

And John Wayne’s voice grating, “You just do that, sweetheart.”

Then all was still. She heard only the thumping of a strong heartbeat against her ear, and felt peace settle around her like a soft warm blanket.

J.J. didn’t try to utter comforting words or in fact make any sound at all, just settled himself on the bed beside her and held her tightly, and after a few minutes he felt the tremors and tension in her body ease. Her head stirred against his hand, and he moved that hand to her shoulder, giving her the option to pull away from him if she wanted to.

Which she evidently didn’t. She nestled her cheek more closely against his chest and tightened her arms around him. She sighed, and after a moment, sniffed loudly, then whispered, “He’s really okay? Tell me the truth.”

J.J. uttered a garbled sound, cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, he is.”

A shudder ran through her. “I heard the bassinet fall. I thought-”

“He wasn’t in it. I guess they’d taken him to the NICU for observation, or something. Just to be on the safe side. You know-since he was born in, uh, less than ideal circumstances.”

“I was asleep. And then…” Her voice was muffled and liquid, and she turned her face against his shirt as if to shut out terrible images.

“Did you see who it was who attacked you? Was it Carlos’s men?”

“Who else would it be?” she said angrily, then made a small sound, a gasp, and jerked away from him, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. Above them, her eyes were huge and frightened as they searched his face. “How did you- How do you know that?”

He was saved from having to answer her by a discreet knock on the door. He called, “Come in,” and the door opened.

A nurse entered slowly, smiling, bringing with her a rolling stainless steel cart which carried a clear plastic box. Inside the box, all wrapped up like a miniature mummy with a little blue stocking cap on his head, was the infant he’d last seen naked and sticky and swathed in one of his own emergency blankets. “I brought your baby,” she sang softly.

J.J. got out of the way and Rachel scooted back against the pillows and watched with he could only call hunger while the nurse wheeled the cart right up next to the bed. She never took her eyes off that baby, not for a second, and watching her, J.J. got an achy feeling in his throat. Surprised the heck out of him, too. But the truth was, he’d never seen anything quite like the look on Rachel’s face when the nurse put that baby in her arms. As embarrassing as it was to find himself all choked up over something so sappy, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. No way around it-it really was beautiful, and come to think of it, right then he thought she was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

It was while he was standing there watching Rachel Delacorte cuddle and coo over her son, and thinking how beautiful she was, that it hit him.

What he was looking at was nothing less than his own redemption.

It must have been there in the back of his mind all along, he thought, and was maybe the reason he’d raced like a crazy man trying to get to her in time to save her life. What he had here was in all probability an eyewitness to the unsolved murder of two federal agents. If he could get her to tell what she knew…if he could convince her to testify-and keep her alive long enough to testify-he could close this case. And if he could close this case…if he could close one of the biggest open murder cases in the country in years…well, that ought to be enough to get him his old job back, shouldn’t it? Yeah…and he could finally get out of this godforsaken hellhole and back to being a homicide detective where he belonged.

But it wasn’t the time to start talking to her about testifying in open court against a murdering mobster. First, he was going to have to get her to trust him. Which, he realized, might not be all that easy.

Assured now that her baby was safe and sleeping in her arms, she lifted her eyes once more to him. And it didn’t make him happy to see that they were filled with questions, suspicion…fear. He told himself it was no different from what he was used to dealing with, and the only reason he minded was because it meant his job- getting her to roll over on her mobster in-laws-would be that much tougher. He tried to ignore flashbacks to the way she’d been with him a few hours earlier, when he’d held that baby in his own two hands, all squirmy and slippery and alive, heard him take that first breath, make that first sound, then placed him on his mother’s belly and guided her hands to touch him, cradle him. Tried to ignore the regret he felt now, remembering it all. The way she’d trusted him then. Trusted him in a way nobody had ever trusted him before. The truth was, he’d liked the feeling, and losing it-well, he hadn’t expected to mind it this much.

“How did you know?” Her voice was low and tense, and her eyes weren’t giving him any quarter. “About Carlos. How could you know?”

“I’m a detective-it’s what I do,” he said dryly, and instantly regretted it. Stonewalling was automatic for him, but she didn’t need that; she needed the truth.

He took a step closer and felt worse than he’d thought possible when she shrank back into her pillows, away from him. He stopped and held up his hand. “Look, it’s not what you think. I saw the envelope, okay? The one you were hiding under your clothes. When you, uh, when I helped you take off your clothes in the car. Remember?” He hoped reminding her of the fact that he’d helped her might buy him points, ease her mind. But she didn’t say anything, just watched him, tense and still, the way he imagined she might keep her eyes on a rattlesnake she’d come upon unexpectedly, coiled up in her path.

He moved another step closer. At least this time she didn’t flinch, which he considered progress.

“Anyway, I saw your name on the envelope. After I left you here at the hospital, I had my office run your name.” She closed her eyes in what looked like defeat, and he added with a sympathetic smile, “Hey, like I told you, I’m a detective-well, used to be, anyway, and I am still a cop.” He paused, then added gently, “It’s my job, Rachel. Really. Among other things, I wanted to see if there was anybody we needed to notify.”

Her eyes flew open and she gave a sharp gasp. “You didn’t-”

“No. No, I didn’t. And whatever you might be thinking, I’m not the reason those goons found you. Your father-