Locked In

What-ifs: What if I remained like this for the rest of my life? What if I was permanently confined to a wheelchair? Disabled in some other way? Couldn’t fly our beautiful taildragger Cessna-Two-Seven-Tango? Couldn’t ever hike on the cliffs at Touchstone? Or ride my horse, King Lear, at Hy’s and my ranch?

The questions brought me to the edge of panic. The silent scream threatened to rise again, but I fought it off. Then, in its place, I felt a simmering of rage. How could this have happened to me? Who had shot me?

The lid came off the kettle of my emotions; rage reached full boil.

If I ever get out of this place, I’ll hunt him down and kill him!

And I would get out of here. I’d reclaim my life. Nothing could stop me.

Yeah, right. Only paralysis and an inability to reach the world and the people I loved…

More water leaked out of my eyes.

Damn roller coaster: self-pity, fear, panic, rage, determination, self-pity again. And I couldn’t do a thing to control those feelings.

I couldn’t control anything at all any more…

Walking through the thick fog along the Embarcadero…The pier, empty and spooky… On the catwalk, opening the door to my office… A sudden rushing motion, my head smacking into the wall.

And then the harsh fall onto the catwalk. Metal biting into my skin. The pop, the searing pain. Metal…

My eyes popped open, staring at the ceiling, which was dimly illuminated by a night-light.

Flashback to the night I’d been shot.

CRAIG MORLAND

The videos he’d taken from Harvey Davis’s condo indicated a major sex scandal within city government-only he couldn’t understand who was involved.

For once he was glad Adah wasn’t home-some dinner with an old college friend that would probably go on long past midnight. He didn’t want her to see any of this, not until he’d had time to evaluate it properly. The apartment did seem empty, though-a result of their elderly and obese cat, Charley, having died the previous winter. They planned to adopt another, but first Adah had been getting settled in with running the agency. Then they’d taken a series of weekend driving trips: to Carmel, Yountville, the Alexander Valley wine country. And his caseload had been heavy. Still, it was time…

But not this weekend.

The doorbell rang. Craig moved on stockinged feet to the peephole and looked out. Mick. He’d called earlier and left a message on the machine that he’d concluded the Celestina Gates investigation and was now free to help on city hall. Craig went back into the living room, and after a few moments Mick’s footsteps tapped away down the tiled steps.

It wasn’t that Craig was jealously guarding his case or that he didn’t find Mick a good investigator. But what he had planned was a delicate operation, and an additional person might attract attention. Since he’d worked for McCone, he’d become accustomed to going it on his own. Besides, what he planned to do was illegal and could compromise the agency.

God, he suddenly thought, maybe Mick had come here with bad news about Shar! He grabbed the phone and dialed the Brandt Institute. Ms. McCone was resting comfortably. No change.

He leaned back and thought about his boss. Initially there had been a veiled antipathy between them-typical fed-versus-cop-versus-private-investigator crap. And he hadn’t liked it that she’d sensed his strong attraction to Adah early on and been highly protective of her friend. But then he’d moved to town and she’d immediately hired him, finally worked out the arrangement that kept him and Adah in San Francisco. Now, he knew, Shar was hoping the two of them would make it permanent, as she and Ripinsky had done.

Well, maybe they would, when Shar was well enough to attend. He was more than ready. Besides, it would be a hoot to introduce Adah’s flaming liberal parents, Barbara and Rupert Joslyn, to his conservative WASP mother and father. Extremists, all four-and he suspected they’d get along famously, bonding in their shared disapproval of their children’s lifestyles and career choices.

Enough. He needed to pack a bag and catch some sleep. By the time Adah returned from her women’s night out he’d be on his way to Big Sur, where Supervisor Amanda Teller and State Representative Paul Janssen had scheduled their clandestine meeting.

MICK SAVAGE

He’d come to the Institute to commune with his aunt after Craig had pretended not to be home when he’d rung his doorbell. Did the former fed really think Mick didn’t know he was there-or didn’t he care? Either way, Mick had put his own fix on the situation.

Now he sat in the armchair in the quiet, dimly lighted room beside Shar’s hospital bed, listening to the beep of the monitors. Hy hadn’t been at the Institute when he’d arrived-exhausted, the nurse had said, and he’d finally gone home. She’d been kind enough to allow Mick some time with his aunt; it was an exclusive place and apparently didn’t observe traditional visiting hours.

He’d been confined to a place like that last November, when he’d gotten drunk and stupid and thought he could somehow fly out of his misery on his Harley. But his injuries hadn’t been life-threatening, and he’d been conscious, alert when he hadn’t taken the strong pain meds-able to use his laptop to help Shar with a case she’d been working.

But Shar-her stillness frightened him. Her face, below the bandages on her head, was serene, unlined, as if she were many years younger. Maybe that was what was so unsettling: serenity wasn’t Shar’s thing. Keen concentration, purposefulness, action, yes. Laughter, tears, anger, and the occasional white-hot rage, too. But not this, never.

She’d always been his favorite aunt. He loved Aunt Patsy, but she was so flaky she made him nervous, and those three kids of hers, each by a different boyfriend-forget it. But Shar had been solid as a rock, taking him seriously, treating him like a man when he was only a kid.

Like when he’d pulled that stupid stunt of running away to San Francisco at Christmastime because his parents wouldn’t give him a moped, and she’d found him and taken him home for Christmas dinner. Later, after his high school in Pacific Palisades had nailed him for hacking into their system and selling fellow students’ confidential information, his folks had temporarily paroled him to Shar, and he’d ended up going to work for her permanently. When his mother had found another man and his dad had taken up with Rae, Shar had made him see that sometimes changes were for the best. And after the drunken Harley incident, she’d held his hand until the meds wiped the pain away.

He wondered if she was feeling any pain now.

Or maybe she was dreaming of something pleasant. Probably of flying the plane. Aside from being with Hy, he knew that was what she loved most, and more often than not they flew together.

Hy. The nurse had said he was exhausted. Not a word you usually associated with the man, but the emotional drain must be enormous. How long before it turned to rage and he did something violent? Hy had been a lot of things in his lifetime, and one of Shar’s descriptions of him stuck in Mick’s mind: He’s still dangerous.

If anything would make Hy dangerous, it was this assault on Shar. What if he identified and went after the shooter by himself? The person was bound to be dangerous, too, could get the upper hand. Hy, streetwise and well trained as he was, still was not invincible.

Now Mick felt really scared. He couldn’t bear to lose both of them.