He woke slowly, the familiar intense ache in his right side there once again and his head swimming. He could feel the IV needle in his arm, the electrode patches on his chest and the oxygen cannula under his nose. He could only marginally open his eyes; everything was blurry and he stopped trying to focus.
"Well, Mr. Stone, welcome back," a pleasant female voice reached his ears and he could feel a soft, reassuring touch on his upper chest. "Everything went perfectly and you're doing great. You just rest and I'll let Dr. Kline know you're awake." He felt another gentle pat on his left forearm and he closed his eyes and drifted off again.
# # # # #
Beer bottle in hand, Steve stood on the small wooden porch and stared at the calm lake. He had lucked out – there was one small cabin still available when he had arrived very early that morning. He had driven through the night, too keyed up to even have to worry about falling asleep behind the wheel, then had spent the rest of the day buying supplies and settling in.
He was trying to keep busy, doing anything to keep his mind from wandering back to those harrowing moments on the sidewalk in front of the De Haro house and the sinking feeling that his life had suddenly taken a direction he didn't want it to go.
Draining the last of the beer, he stepped back into the cabin, dropped the empty into the case by the door and glanced around the large one-room structure. With a fridge and stove but no telephone, he knew it was just the refuge he needed to begin what he assumed was going to be the arduous task of starting his life all over again.
It wasn't something he looked forward to with any degree of pleasure.
After a few seconds of indecision, and with a quick backward glance out the screen door, he crossed to the duffel bag on the floor and rooted around till he found his bathing suit. Tossing his clothes on the bed, he donned the trunks, grabbed a towel and headed towards the water.
Hoping the lake had retained some of the summer's heat, he hoped he could use up whatever remaining energy he had so he would fall asleep without his mind racing. Something told him deep peaceful sleep would be a scarce commodity in the coming days.
# # # # #
"Mike, everything went just like textbook, if we'd had a textbook for this kind of procedure," Kline said with a laugh.
The fact that the doctor looked so pleased and relieved brought no small amount of relief to still woozy police lieutenant. He tried to grin and failed miserably, bringing another chuckle from the genial middle-aged surgeon.
"Still a little dizzy, hunh?
Mike nodded carefully, trying not to compromise his fragile equilibrium.
"Yeah, we had to keep you under a little longer than expected, but it wasn't a problem and it won't adversely affect you in any way. It just means it's going to take a little longer to get the anesthetic out of your system. You should be fine in a half-hour or so."
Mike nodded again, blinking slowly.
"We'll have you moved up to a private room shortly, and we're gonna keep a close eye on you for the next 48 hours but if all seems well after that, home you go. And, if there are no complications, and I'm not expecting any, believe me, most likely you can be back to work in two weeks. How does that sound?"
This time Mike was a little more successful when he grinned.
# # # # #
The sun was down when he awoke, sprawled on top of the double bed, still in his clothes. The strain of the last 36 hours, the long drive and the vigorous swim had finally taken their toll, and though he had only laid down for a brief catnap it had somehow stretched into the majority of the day.
Groping around in the dark till he found the bedside lamp, he switched it on, frowning at the dim light. He would have to get brighter bulbs if he had any hope of doing any reading after sunset.
He got up slowly and looked around. He was hungry but really didn't feel like cooking at the moment. Remembering the small lakeside town he had driven through on his way to the cabin, he found the car keys, locked up the cabin and headed towards civilization.
# # # # #
The main street of the small town was lined with bars and, though it was September, there were still a good number of college students in attendance, it seemed. Walking past the bars with the loudest bands and rowdiest revelers, Steve stopped in front of Charlie's Joint, intrigued by the quiet aura that seemed to emanate from the large dark wood front door and the curious menu, not to mention the cheap beer, advertised on the sidewalk chalkboard.
He was nursing his second beer, and working his way through a small plate of surprisingly tasty shish-kebobs, when a good-looking brunette plopped herself down on the bar stool beside him. "Bob," she called to the bartender, "glass of house white, please?"
"Sure thing."
He was taking a sip of beer when she suddenly turned to him. "Haven't seen you in here before." Her voice was deep, throaty and instantly sexy and he could tell she was at least his age, if not slightly older.
Steve turned to her with a warm smile, not at all upset at being addressed. "No, I, uh, I just got in today."
"Ah," she said with a slow nod. The bartender put the glass of wine on the bar in front of her and, after nodding her thanks, she picked it up and turned to Steve. "Welcome," she said lightly, lifting her glass in a small salute.
He did the same with his beer bottle.
"Gonna be here long?" she asked, not taking her eyes from his face.
With a short laugh, slightly taken aback but intrigued by her cheek, he cocked his head slightly. "You mean in this bar tonight – or in the area?"
"Good point," she shrugged with a small laugh of her own, "I should be more specific. Area."
He hesitated a moment before answering. "Oh, a few days maybe, maybe a little longer."
"Ah ha," she snorted, turning to face the bar again, "a man with a plan. You gotta love that." Then she laughed.
Steve, staring at her under a furrowed brow, began to laugh as well. He held up his bottle once more, bringing it close to her wineglass. "Steve Keller."
She turned to look at him again, her face alight. "Glad to meetcha, Steve Keller. I'm Beth Daniels." She clinked her glass against the bottle.
They both laughed and took sips of their drinks. And for the first time in weeks, Steve thought he might start to enjoy life again.
# # # # #
"How are you feeling, Daddy?"
The soft familiar voice penetrated the fog in his brain before he was even aware he was waking up. He opened his eyes, blinking several times before he could focus, but he managed to squeeze her hand. He felt her lips against his cheek.
"How long have you been here?" he asked hoarsely as he found his voice, turning slowly towards her.
"I just got here," she grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't miss any school, I promise."
"Good girl."
"I talked to Dr. Kline. He said it went perfectly and you can go home in a couple of days."
Mike nodded slowly and her brow furrowed.
"Are you in a lot of pain?"
He tried to take a deeper breath before he answered her. "A bit."
Knowing her father as well as she did, she reached for the button to alert the nurse. When Mike didn't stop her, she swallowed nervously then smiled to cover her growing fear.
Within seconds, a middle-aged nurse came through the door, her eyes immediately falling on her patient. "Mr. Stone, you're awake again. How's the pain?"
With a small gasp, Mike breathed quietly, "It's, ah, pretty bad," and Jeannie gripped his hand tighter.
"I can do something about that," the nurse – Baxter according to her badge – said calmly, reaching for a syringe and vial on the bedside table. As she filled the syringe she glanced across the bed towards Jeannie and smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry, this is normal, and that's why we have pain killers." She stuck the needle into the IV line and pushed the plunger. "He'll be fine in a couple of minutes."
Nurse Baxter dropped the now empty syringe in the wastebasket. She looked at Mike, who had closed his eyes. "Mr. Stone, you're gonna start feeling a lot better in a few seconds." He nodded slowly and both women watched as his pinched, pained look began to soften. His breaths became slower and deeper and as he relaxed, so did his daughter.
He opened his eyes, his appreciative gaze sliding from his daughter to the nurse. "Thank you," he whispered with a smile, and Nurse Baxter smiled back, patting his arm.
"You're welcome," she said, glancing up at Jeannie as she turned for the door. "Enjoy your visit."
As the door closed, Jeannie turned back to her father, her brows furrowing in concern. He raised his eyebrows and grinned ironically. "Well, they did say it was gonna hurt. Hopefully only for a day or so, right?"
Nodding and smiling grimly, Jeannie slumped onto the stool. How much more could her dad endure right now? she thought sadly.
# # # # #
"So, whata you do, Steve Keller?" Beth asked conversationally. "No, wait a minute –
let me guess." She turned towards him on the bar stool and looked him up and down: a handsome young man with longish wavy brown hair, stunning green eyes and a dimple on his chin, wearing tight jeans, a blue-and-white checked shirt and boots. "Hmmm," she growled, brows furrowed then looked into his amused eyes. "Got it – lawyer. Am I right?"
Steve's grin got a little wider but he shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Close."
"Close? What do you mean close? What's close to a lawyer? Law clerk, paralegal, law professor?"
"Wrong direction," he chuckled and she stopped, staring at him with a baffled smile. When she didn't say anything, he relented. "I'm a cop."
"Go on!" she said forcefully, voice full of disbelief and she turned back to the bar, taking a sip of her wine.
Laughing, Steve signaled for another round. "Honest to god, a cop."
"I don't believe you," she said amiably, shaking her head. "Prove it." When his features folded into a perplexed frown, she continued, "You must have a badge, right, if you're a cop? So show me your badge."
Inhaling deeply and turning to nod to the bartender as he laid a cold beer and glass of wine in front of them, Steve hesitated.
"Ah ha, I knew it, you're not a cop, you're just trying to pick me up," Beth charged with a triumphant nod.
"Well, I won't deny the latter but I can prove the former," he chuckled as he picked up the fresh beer.
She turned to him once more. "You have a badge?"
"Unh-humh," he nodded, "it's in my car." He had brought his badge, I.D. and gun, all locked in the glove box.
"Prove it," she demanded, slamming a palm on the bar and standing up.
With another chuckle, he slid off the stool and headed for the door, a giggling Beth trailing behind him. Crossing the dirt parking lot, they approached his car and he felt her hang back.
"Holy shit, you have a Porsche?" she gasped. "How old are you, Steve Keller?"
Unlocking the passenger side door, he glanced back at her, still laughing. "Twenty-six."
"Twenty-six?" she repeated incredulously. "And you have a Porsche?!"
He had reached into the glove box and now turned to her with his badge case open, the gold star and I.D. card visible. Still stunned, she took a step closer to him and reached for the case, tipping up the bottom so she could read the card in the dim glow from the parking lot pole light. "San Francisco? You're a cop in 'Frisco?"
"San Francisco," he corrected automatically, and for a split second Mike's voice echoed in his ears and his smile disappeared. He swallowed heavily and her eyes snapped to the sudden melancholic look that briefly washed over his features.
Intrigued, but keeping her thoughts to herself, she released the case and took a step back, looking at the car once more. "They sure pay you cops a lot in San Francisco, don't they?"
He snorted quietly at her use of The City's full name as he put the case back into the glove box, locking both it and the door again. "The car is used and I'm paying it off in installments. It's gonna take awhile."
"Oh," she said with a chuckle, smiling. "So what kind of a cop are you, Steve Keller? Do you ride around in one of those panda cars or, ah, what do you call it? Oh yeah, plainclothes?"
They had started back across the parking lot towards the bar. He had stuck his hands into his front pants pockets and suddenly seemed a bit reticent. He cleared his throat and dropped his head before finally saying, "Well, I was in homicide –"
"No shit," she cut him off, "you're a homicide detective? I mean, like, isn't that like the highest you can go, I mean if you're into solving crimes and that kinda stuff, right?"
With an embarrassed half-smile, he nodded. "Yep, sure is." He opened the front door and stepped aside so she could enter the bar ahead of him and they were back on their stools before she spoke again.
"You said 'was'," she said quietly, leaning slightly towards him. Her tone and her expression had turned thoughtful and concerned. And she watched as the life drained from his face and he blinked slowly and deliberately, as if trying to wipe away a dark and disturbing memory.
She sat back slightly and watched as he seemed to fight some demons deep inside. He needed to talk, she could sense, and she hoped that she could be there for him when he did.