Chapter 4

"My word, you are quite a lot of work, aren't you?"

"No reason for you to put up with it," Frances said. "Just take me back to Carmel Ridge."

Nicole smiled at her, and Frances cringed at the falseness of it. "Not yet, love. Let's have some dinner, shall we?" Nicole kicked the old woman's shoes closer to her. "Get ready, and we'll go someplace nice."

"Nice. I'll hold you to that, Miss."

"Bianca."

"Sure… Bianca." Frances struggled to pick up her shoes and put them on. "When can I talk to Bobby? You told me we could call him."

"Bobby's… busy, love. Perhaps later."

"Maybe he's too busy to talk to that silly accent, but Bobby always calls his mother. He always finds the time."

Nicole humored her with a smile. "Later," she said again.

Alex nearly ran to Bobby's room. She had called a few times during the day, but she needed to see him. None of it was real until she could see him in person.

Logan walked quickly behind her. He had never been close to Eames, but in the time he'd spent with her today, he had made a decision to stick close to her until this was all over.

Bobby looked much the same as he had in the morning. The monitors were all there, blaring their readouts at anyone who walked in. The volume was back on for the heart monitor, now, too. She listened to its low, steady blip and slid her hand over his.

"Bobby?" Alex said quietly. "I'm back. I'm here for the night unless we get a break in the case. They say you're improving. That's good, that's just what I told you to do."

Logan leaned against the doorframe and watched her talk to him. He saw when her tension eased a little, and he realized again that she was one tough lady. Mike took a few steps into the room. "How's he doin'?" he asked.

"The nurses said he's improving. He's still here, that's what matters, right?"

"Right."

"Look, Mike, I'm gonna… stay here with him...as long as I can. Will you call me if we get a lead?"

"Sure, Eames." He stuffed one hand in his pocket and gave Goren a long look before heading out of the room.

Alex Eames folded her hands together. She put her elbows on his bedside and pressed her knuckles to her lips. Her thoughts were consumed by Nicole Wallace.

The woman was evil, plain and simple. And though Bobby knew it, he was enamored by her as much as he was repulsed. But Nicole had never hurt Bobby before, and Alex couldn't figure why she'd gone that far this time. And then she thought of Frances.

Alex had never met Frances Goren. She had learned enough in her partnership with Bobby to know the woman was intelligent and feisty. Sight unseen, Eames respected her. She'd raised Bobby, and Alex couldn't deny that even with all the difficulties, the woman had done a good job with him.

Bobby had brought her along one time to Carmel Ridge. They were in a tangled mess of a case, and he'd gotten a crisis call on his Mom and he had to see about her. To save time, he'd allowed Alex to drive them up and back on the freeway in the middle of their investigative work.

But she hadn't met Frances. Bobby hadn't even suggested it. Alex had stood by him while he spoke with the nurses and then waited on a floral sofa staring at the endless soap operas running on a television in the corner. He'd been all of an hour, and then he came back, thanked her for making the detour, and they were on their way again.

Alex had at least six different images of the woman in her mind. She didn't even know the first thing about her physical features. Sometimes she imagined Bobby's mother as a tall, dark beauty. She thought in her youth she might have been a model except for her insatiable passion for literature. After all, he must take after her in one way or another…

And other times, she pictured Frances as a frail old woman, wracked by frightful hallucinations. She would picture Bobby swooping in to rescue the old woman from her demons, so sweet and caring in his interactions with her.

But Alex knew she had conjured up Frances Goren as surely as a writer creates a fictional character. Eames was not a profiler, and this was why. When she had limited information, she tended to fill in the gaps with anything that suited her fancy, and she was always way off target.

The truth was that Frances was old, schizophrenic, demanding, manipulative, intelligent and… human. She wasn't perfect as a model, or even as a victim of her illness. She wasn't even a perfect monster. Just when the stories had started to turn Eames' thoughts there, Bobby would share some moment of intimacy, and Frances was a woman again, full of love and fire. Bobby loved her fiercely.

Alex wondered how Nicole Wallace would stand up to the old woman. She knew there were times when Frances could make Bobby crumble with only a few words. She had a feeling the woman might be able to do the same to Wallace.

Then again, that could be the death of her. Wallace was a cold blooded killer, and the only thing she could want with Frances would be to ultimately get to Bobby. Frances Goren was in mortal danger.

Alex was dozing in the chair when she heard something. She rubbed her eyes and stretched and remembered where she was. "Bobby?" she asked quietly, straightening up to look him over.

He was staring at her through half-opened eyes. Alex gave him her best smile and touched his cheek. "Hey," she said in greeting.

"Alex," he slurred.

"I'm glad to see you," she told him. "You'll be out of here in no time."

"Water?" he asked.

Alex smiled at him. "Sure," she said. She looked over at his bedside table and found the pitcher empty and the paper cup still wrapped in plastic. "I'll be right back," she told Bobby.

Alex stopped by the nurse's station and asked if it was okay to give him water. They recommended ice and prepared a cupful for her. With cup and spoon in hand, Alex went back to Bobby's room.

"You sleeping again?" she asked him, and his eyes opened again. "I got you some ice," she told him. Alex held the spoon to his lips and he took a small amount from the tip of it.

They didn't talk much, but she managed to ease his thirst. The nurse came in and asked him a few questions before leaving once again. He still had a headache, and his speech wasn't very clear. Alex had given the nurse a questioning look, but she'd ignored it and gone back into the hall.

Alex stayed beside him, chatting kindly, until he fell asleep once more. Then she went out to the nurse's station. "How is he?" she asked.

"Just the fact that he is awake and alert enough to answer questions is an improvement."

"But his speech—"

"There's still a lot of fluid on his brain," the woman explained. "With time, it will improve."

Alex suspected as much, even with her limited medical knowledge. She took a couple of deep breaths and headed back into his room.

His whiskers were growing in fast. Without proper attention, the beard was high on his cheeks, not the handsome way he usually trimmed it. She ran her hand over his hair, avoiding the place where he'd been injured. His curls were surprisingly soft, and she let her fingers linger there.

Words of love almost escaped her lips. She realized what she was thinking and drew her hand away, folding her arms tight across her chest. This was Bobby, and if she loved him, it was only as a friend, a coworker. She looked around at the equipment monitoring him and blinked away the tears that had suddenly gathered in her eyes.

Alex turned her thoughts to the mystery of it, the case. She had to find his mother before it was too late.