A federal judge has been murdered. There is only one witness & an assassin wants her dead. Edward Cullen thought he knew the risks of the assignment. He was wrong. AU/AH
Prologue
"Can I take Mom the flowers?"
They were not allowed inside the ICU, but the nurse who had come out to the waiting room nodded anyway. Janelle knew what the boy did not, and it made her want to cry. His mother was dying. Let him take the flowers.
Edward was such a polite young man, patiently sitting alone in the ICU waiting room for the brief visits allowed each hour. He had been coming for the last nine days. A neighbor who worked at the hospital brought him in each morning, and each evening took him home.
He had brought roses with him today, three of them, carefully wrapped with a damp paper towel around the stems, foil around that. There were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. He had told her yesterday that he was tending the rose bushes during his mom's absence.
"Can I get you something to eat? A grilled cheese sandwich maybe?"
"No, thank you."
She was positive the boy was hungry, but there had been a tirade the one and only time his father had come to the hospital and found him sharing a sandwich with an orderly. Edward had politely refused the offers of food ever since.
"The chaplain is with her now," Janelle told him, and the boy's relief was visible.
"He prays good."
"You pray wonderfully too." She had seen him with his mother's Bible, struggling to sound out the words as he read.
"I try."
He pushed off the molded plastic chair, not tall enough for his feet to reach the floor when he was sitting down. "Thanks for coming to get me."
"You're welcome Edward."
She watched him walk to the glass door of the ICU, use all of his weight to pull it open.
He hadn't asked her if his mom were getting better. It was the first time he had not asked.
It was hard to breathe; her lungs kept filling with fluid. She had rallied today, and it was with a sense of urgency she knew she had to see her son. Esme heard Edward before she saw him and wiped away any sign of the straining, smiling toward the door. He had come in escorted by the supervising nurse, carrying flowers.
Her heart tugged at the sight of him, wearing his favorite baseball shirt, washed but wrinkled, and blue jeans that would need a stain remover. He had asked yesterday how to do the laundry right.
She hugged him, ignoring the IVs, marshaling her strength to make her grip firm. Her smile came from her heart. "You brought me flowers."
"I picked your roses. Was that okay?"
"Very okay. They're beautiful." She laid them on the blanket at her chest so she could enjoy them.
The chair scraped against the tile floor as Edward pulled it to the edge of her bed.
He eagerly told her about the kittens at the neighbors and the way the black one with one white paw liked chasing a feather duster. She let him talk, smiling at the right places, watching him, holding his hand. Her son. The joy of her life. The doctor had told him laughter was good medicine, and he had latched on to that and taken it seriously, coming with a story each day to make her laugh.
She would ask about his morning, but in the last couple days he had started to avoid answering that question. It wasn't going well at home, and he wanted to be her guardian and not tell her. She brushed her fingers through his hair; it would need to be cut soon. She hoped he didn't end up having to do it himself. His father wouldn't think of it.
"Mom?"
She had drifted on him; the story was over. She smiled an apology. "I'm laughing inside, honey."
"It wasn't very funny."
That drew a chuckle.
Her strength was fading and she could hear the wheeze returning.
Edward's hand in hers squeezed tight. "Shall I get the nurse?" he asked, his voice calm but his eyes were anxious.
Two minutes with him. It wasn't enough. But the reality could not be denied. "Yes." He moved to slip his hand from hers, and instead she tightened her hold. "Before… you do. I want my kiss."
He grinned. He was a boy again instead of the solemn young man. He leaned across the railing to rub his nose against, hers, then kissed both cheeks European style. "Love you, Mom."
"I love you too." She held him tight.
"I know."
He went to get the nurse.
She panted for breath. They would clear her lungs again, and soon would have no choice but to put her on the respirator. She feared she would never come off it. The doctor's reassuring words could not change what she knew in her spirit was coming. She gripped the roses and a thorn pierced her finger. Despite the fever she was shivering again.
She would be leaving Edward with only his father. It was a heavy burden to place on an eight-year-old's faith. A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She had already cried for her husband and her son, for everything lost that could have been. Tears now would literally choke her.
Esme closed her eyes and focused on living one more day.
Edward scuffed his tennis shoe against the tile floor and stared out the waiting room window, wiping furiously at the tears. He had to stop crying; they would see and they wouldn't let him visit anymore. The thought was a panic rising in his chest. He gulped back a sob and worked his jaw.
She wasn't getting better.
He had to pray harder.