All disclaimers in chapters one and five.
Okay, folks, here's the last two parts; I was only able to post them because I'm at my parents' for the weekend and they let me get online from there. I *still* can't get Net access at my apartment. Enjoy and r/r if you like. :)
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Nine
34th and 7th
7:45 p.m.
Michael hated waiting.
He was standing outside the limo with Special Agent #1. Inside the limo, Dr. Morris was talking on his cellphone, in the midst of a private conversation. And in the black SUV nearby, Dr. Ross was talking to Lisa and Heather, telling them a story that - he hoped - would straighten things out.
Leaning against the limo, Michael glanced at the bandage on the other man's cheek. "So what happened to you?"
Special Agent #1 turned and glared at him. His gaze flickered to Michael's elbow resting on the limo. Sighing, Michael straightened up again. Things were starting to get back to normal.
*****
"So all this - was a hoax?" Lisa said in disbelief.
Lydia took a deep breath. She, Lisa, and Heather were sitting alone in the SUV, while Lydia nursed a fresh cup of coffee. "Yes and no. First off, the ambulance records you received must have been forgeries. There's no way that the hospital would have released actual records to anyone but your husband's immediate family. It's against policy, and they'd be looking at serious liability issues - especially the way the White House has been trying to push medical privacy legislation."
"Then why would a man pretending to be Dr. Morris show up at my door?" Lisa demanded. "Not only that, the same man was leading the charge when those agents burst in on the train. You can't tell me that was a coincidence."
"You weren't the only one getting fed false information." Lydia pursed her lips, thinking. "Well, Q-Ball does work for Dr. Morris, but I'll get to that in a minute. Much of the project in question is classified, so I can't give you hard details. What I can tell you is that your husband was listed as an organ donor, and as such he was a legitimate participant."
"In what?"
"I can't tell you that." Before Lisa could start ranting, Lydia added, "Because, in spite of all the frustration this must be causing, the Pentagon funded some of the research we were doing - some of it highly sensitive."
"Uh-huh," Heather said in disbelief. "What about Mr. Newman?"
Lydia was ready for this, having compared stories with Michael. "Mr. Newman actually did work for the I.R.S. a few years back before he came to work for us. Dr. Morris has continually found that amusing for some reason, so I'm not surprised he told you that just to annoy Newman."
Heather frowned, but Lisa's eyes lit up with understanding. "So then why all this cloak-and-dagger crap?" Heather asked.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Lydia replied. "Sometime in December, Dr. Morris disappeared and Mr. Newman's apartment was broken into. Turns out that someone in the Pentagon had fed some misleading information to a Bernard Leflin Sr., telling him a ridiculous story that unfortunately caused Leflin to go after both Morris and Newman."
"Ridiculous doesn't even seem to cover it," Lisa muttered. "He had Mr. Newman and my husband confused."
"Only because of name similarities. What I think his 'source' did was take some official reports, black out half the paragraphs, switch some things around, and replace 'Newman' with 'Wiseman.'" Lydia frowned. "When Leflin discovered he'd been lied to, he committed suicide."
She took a drink of coffee before continuing. "Leflin Incorporated has a number of government contracts, and a lot of connections. My father happened to be great friends with Leflin Sr., and I knew his son personally. Bernie Leflin could *never* just let something go."
"So he came after us," Lisa finished.
"Not quite. We think he had a source deliberately feeding him, and you, misleading information. Leflin Incorporated practically owns Edward Bernstadt's law firm. And while all you received was a bunch of ambulance records, Morris was tricked into believing that someone had leaked the exact details of the research to you. Possibly because it indirectly pertained to your husband's organ donation."
"What organs did he donate anyway?" Heather muttered. "Geez."
"Heather," Lisa said warningly.
Lydia looked pained. "I'm not sure of that; I'd have to check the actual records. What I can tell you is that most of this insanity is a result of several gross misunderstandings. Someone was trying to give the impression of a major security leak in order to halt the entire project without actually disclosing information - and framed Mr. Newman. He caught on to Dr. Morris' suspicions too late to persuade him otherwise."
"Well, if it wasn't disclosing information, then why did he panic when I mentioned my husband?"
"Probably thought you were referring to something more than forged ambulance records. From what I've heard, Morris was going nuts over the supposed leaks - and the real leak was planting evidence that pointed towards you. I suppose the reason that Q-Ball showed up at your door was to discredit what Morris thought you were being told. If you didn't believe the information that was being leaked, then you wouldn't pursue it, and the problem would be solved without anyone being hurt. That was the theory, anyway, but the real leak decided to screw that up as well."
"Why us?" Lisa exploded. "We haven't done anything! I knew Michael was listed as an organ donor, for crying out loud!"
"That's what we're trying to figure out." Lydia scowled. "We've caught the leak, and when I get my hands on him--" She paused, taking a second to compose herself. But the moment of anger had actually helped; Lisa and Heather seemed to soften, at least towards her. "I suppose the main reason you were wrapped up in this is because of Leflin Senior's mistaken crusade. That whole misunderstanding must have pointed him towards Leflin and the Espotek lawsuit."
Lisa was silent for several seconds, thinking. Lydia took another gulp of coffee, watching the other woman carefully. "Is there anything else you want to know?"
"What's going to happen to us?" Heather blurted out.
"You're going to get a ride home, and if my guess is right, Morris is on the horn trying to see about getting your front door and a couple windows replaced. That's all." Lydia sighed. "Believe me, we want to put this mess behind us as much as you do."
Lisa stared out the window, peering at the limo. "What about Mr. Newman?"
"Well, after Morris rants at him for a solid hour, I assume he'll be back to work." Lydia set the almost-empty coffee cup in a holder and folded her hands in her lap. "Mrs. Wiseman, let me assure you - this project is classified not because of some ominous threat or the machinations of a bunch of men in black. We're involved in highly sensitive research and investigation that could benefit a lot of people some day - and to keep our funding intact, the security of the project has to be also. We also have to be contracted out to handle some bizarre problems from time to time to keep our funding," she added off-handedly. "The minute a major security breach happens, the funding is gone. But here, that didn't occur. You haven't been told anything true that you weren't aware of already, and I'll make a point of that when I submit my report on the mass chaos of these past 36 hours. Right now, there's no point in holding you here or disrupting your lives any more than they have been already. I admit that there's nothing we can do about frayed nerves--" Lisa managed a small smile at that-- "but we can at least replace your windows and make a few calls to calm down some people. You're free to go... unless you actually want to hang around here."
Lisa didn't respond immediately. She continued staring out the window, thinking. Lydia bit her lip, praying that the woman would be satisfied, that Lisa Wiseman was as sick of the insanity as she was. "All right," Lisa finally sighed, throwing up her hands. "I just want to get out of here."
Lydia smiled. "I'll see if I can't get an agent to drive--"
"But," Lisa interrupted sharply, "I want to talk to Mr. Newman first."
*****
8:00 p.m.
Curiosity was a dangerous tendency, but Roger's day couldn't get any worse than it already was. So once he was sure that traffic wasn't going anywhere - and that the car alarm was indeed turned on - he wandered down the rows of cars, trying to get a glimpse of the action.
It was obviously centered around Madison Square Garden. There was a huge crowd blocking the intersection; the sheer numbers of people were making it impossible for traffic to get through. A block or so behind him, Roger could see movement; the police were taking it upon themselves to herd the motorists around a detour route before they could start rioting.
As he scanned the scene, something caught his attention. There was a pair of dark vehicles pulled up at the curb of one of the intersecting streets - and while there were no other cars on that block, it was cordoned off. Now why block off a perfectly good outlet?
As Roger approached, he realized why; the street was one-way, and led towards the sea of blocked traffic. Obviously, they were trying to keep anyone else from adding to the gridlock. He was about to turn and go back to guarding his Mercedes when he suddenly saw a familiar face near one of the black cars. Was that Mr. Newman?
Instinct told him to go hide in the car. But for once, Roger told his flight instinct to shove off.
*****
The window of the limo rolled down to reveal a very grim-looking Dr. Morris. He cleared his throat loudly, and Michael and Special Agent #1 broke off their glaring contest and stood at attention - or something close to it. "The HAZMAT team did a clean sweep of the office building. They found Charlie Smalls, but not the mastermind of this whole scheme."
Michael groaned and closed his eyes. "What about the money?" Special Agent #1 asked.
"The $15 billion was accounted for. It was strewn across a corridor, but it was all accounted for," Morris replied. "Apparently, there was an exit through an unused portion of the city sewer system. Fortunately, the toxin's been contained."
"So what now?" Michael asked, dreading the answer.
"Right now, there are several teams sweeping the area in search of the Eggman. But our part in this whole fiasco, I'm pleased to say, is done. The ransom money is accounted for, and the immediate threat has been neutralized." He stared levelly at Michael. "*Your* part in the matter is complete. And you did very well, Mr. Wiseman. For now, we will leave the capture of the Eggman to the FBI."
"Speaking of neutralizing threats," Lydia said, coming up to them, "Mrs. Wiseman is perfectly amenable to pretending this never happened - provided we repair her door, windows, replace any broken or damaged furniture, and make a few calls to relieve her of the burden of irate employers or school administrators."
"That sounds reasonable," Morris said.
"However," Lydia continued, "she wants to speak to Mr. Wiseman privately."
Morris glowered. "I'm not sure that would be advisable."
"Doc," Michael groaned. "For the last time, she doesn't know anything. And I'm not going to do anything that'll get her and Heather in danger if I can help it. You know that."
Morris was silent for a few seconds, thinking. "Are you still wearing the mike and earpiece?" Michael nodded. "Keep them on. I want to listen in to be sure you don't let anything slip."
Sighing, Michael conceded. "All right, all right." He turned to where Lisa and Heather were standing beside the van, heading towards them.
Lydia watched them go, then opened the limo door and sat down beside Dr. Morris. "In the meantime, you and I have some matters to discuss."
"Such as?"
"For one thing, the matter of payment." She grinned as the window rolled up. "What, you thought I did this out of the goodness of my heart?"
*****
34th and 7th St.
7:55 p.m.
When Michael reached Lisa, he wanted to say something profound, something that would express what he was feeling without giving everything away. "Hi," he managed instead.
She looked him up and down, noticing the bandages on his hands and his forehead. "Hi."
He noticed that she was nervous, more so than he'd expected. "What's wrong? Um, aside from the obvious."
"We're supposed to be getting driven home by an agent," Lisa told him. "Are you sure that's safe?"
"Well, I--" Michael hesitated, unsure what to say. Lisa's gaze flicked past his shoulder, and she stopped, staring at something behind him. Grateful for the interruption, Michael turned around.
Special Agent #1 noticed Roger's approach at about the same time. He was striding forward purposefully, with the look of a man who for once had his cowardice in check and was desperately trying to keep it at bay. "Excuse me!"
Of course, when two burly agents blocked his path, some of the cowardice leaked through. "I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to move along," one of them said, grabbing Roger's arm. "Traffic will be moving at any moment."
"I'm - I'm sure it will," Roger said sarcastically, glancing back at the unmoving lines of cars. "Listen, there's just someone I need to talk to back there."
Michael glanced at Roger, then at Lisa, as an idea popped into his head. "Let him through!" he shouted.
The agents stopped and stared at him, and Special Agent #1 glared. "Trust me," Michael told him quietly.
After a moment, the bald agent nodded, and the agents released Roger. "That's better," Roger muttered, brushing his jacket off and striding towards Michael and Lisa. "Where on earth have you been?" he demanded of Lisa.
"Amtrak," Heather replied. Lisa elbowed her. "What?"
"Hey, I've got an idea," Michael said as if it had just occurred to him. "Why don't you go home with Roger?"
Roger closed and opened his mouth like a fish, but no sound came out. Special Agent #1 raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Lisa looked at Michael with dawning comprehension and relief.
"I mean, if you're both headed the same way, it makes sense," Michael continued. "And if you get an escort, you'll get a shortcut out of the traffic."
Lisa shot him a grateful smile. "Would you, Roger?"
"Well, of course, I--" Roger broke off and grabbed Michael's arm, pulling him aside. "What did I miss here? Weren't you just *running* from these people?"
"Everything's fine now, Roj," Michael reassured him. "Whole thing was a misunderstanding - a really big misunderstanding," he amended. "But it's more or less straightened out now."
"Uh-huh." Roger noticed the bandages. "What happened to you?"
Michael touched the fading bruise on his forehead, wincing a bit; it was a lot better than it had been an hour ago, but it still stung. "Had my head slammed into a wall." At Roger's skeptical look, he added, "*Big* misunderstanding."
Roger stared at him for a second, then looked out at the traffic nearby. "So... we could get an escort."
"Yep."
"Well, then, why not?" Roger was suddenly at ease again, his mood lifted by the prospect of staving off Ruth's fury.
"Not right this second," Lisa interrupted. "Mr. Newman, I still have to talk to you."
Special Agent #1 scowled, but reluctantly conceded. "Pull your car onto this block," he told Roger. "We'll open up the roadblock for you."
"Fair enough," Roger answered, looking at the agent suspiciously. "I suppose." He leaned towards Lisa. "Don't take too long. You never know."
"Thank you, Roger," Lisa said sincerely.
"You're welcome." Roger gave Michael a Don't-Do-Anything-Stupid look before hurrying back to the immobile sea of cars. Special Agent #1 sighed and walked back to discuss something with the other agents, leaving Michael alone with his wife and daughter.
Lisa was silent for a moment before turning to Heather. "Heather, get in the car, please?"
"Mom!" Heather complained.
"Get. In. The. Car."
Heather didn't need any further prompting. She knew that tone too well. Michael smiled as his daughter sullenly climbed into the SUV, slamming the door behind her. He and Lisa were abruptly left alone together, with the semblance of privacy - the mike beneath his shirt was what separated it from the real thing. Michael had removed the earpiece, not wanting Morris to distract him, but he had kept the mike on.
No one spoke for a few seconds as they both stared at each other, studying each other: Lisa looking at the bandages, at the bruise that was still visible on his forehead, trying to make sense of the situation, Michael taking in every detail of Lisa's face, determined to affix it to his memory for when Morris inevitably shipped him off to Antarctica or someplace like that.
He finally broke the silence. "Uh, the Doc said you wanted to talk to me." At her puzzled look, he added, "Why?"
"I don't know," Lisa murmured, looking away. "I've had things explained to me - sort of. Some things. A lot of things still don't make sense, but - was that really your name?" She hesitated. "Michael, I mean?"
"Yeah," Michael replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Yeah, it is."
Lisa nodded, absently brushing a strand of hair out of her face before finally looking him in the eyes. And then she slapped him.
But there was almost no force behind it, no anger, and instead of the sharp smack of palm against cheek, the sound was softer, more muted. It was more of a stage slap than the real thing, like swatting a fly. As Michael stood there, puzzled, Lisa frowned. "Well, I didn't think I could really do it."
Frustrated, she combed her hair back with her fingers, looking around for a moment. "You know, I should be angry. Sure, I got an explanation, sure, we're fine now, but none of this explains your earlier behavior. The date you never showed up for. The flowers. That thing at Thanksgiving. Showing up at that party. Getting *shot.*"
She stopped, looking at him, as if that had just occurred to her - that three months after the shooting, he was perfectly fine. Lisa shook herself and continued with her rant. "I can't figure you out. I can't figure *me* out. I don't know why I haven't found a cop and gotten a restraining order right now. I ought to be furious with you, Mr. Newman, but I'm not."
Michael realized that he'd been holding his breath, and let it out in a sigh of relief. "You're--" He had to subdue the hope in his voice. "You're not?"
Lisa looked down at her hands, clutching the hem of her blouse. "Not as much as I ought to be." She met his gaze. "But you *did* get us out of this mess as far as I can tell. You did help us out at Thanksgiving. And you did save my life."
"So..." Michael wasn't sure where this was going.
"Mich--" She caught herself. "Mr. Newman, I'm asking you to stay out of my life."
"Okay. I'm completely confused."
Lisa smiled a bit at that. "I'm not angry. And I am grateful. And I suppose that you just happened to be at that party when Roger and I were there. But it would be safer for Heather and me - safer for all of us - if you tried to stay away as much as possible."
"Yeah, I guess so." Michael looked down at the pavement.
"I'm not saying I never want to see you again--" Lisa began, and Michael abruptly looked up. Realizing how that had sounded, she collected her thoughts. "I have been furious with you, and then I've been grateful, and then furious again. Let's just say they've balanced each other out. I just - I have to get back to a normal life. Get Heather back to a normal life. Every time you show up, things just get crazy."
"You don't know the half of it," Michael sighed, and Lisa chuckled. Encouraged, he went on. "When you say 'try,' do you mean you won't get mad if it's by accident?" Lisa looked at him oddly, trying to conceal her amusement. "Say, if the Doc's car breaks down in your neighborhood again, or we get on the same bus, or if we get stuck in heavy traffic--"
He didn't get a chance to finish before Lisa leaned in and kissed him.
To the observer, it wasn't much of a kiss. Lisa simply leaned in and pressed her lips to his, a brief, gentle kiss that lasted only a second or two. But it effectively silenced Michael. "That," Lisa said quietly, "was for keeping your promise."
Dazed, Michael blinked, unable to recall just what he wanted to say. He couldn't seem to get the words out.
A horn honked. Roger's Mercedes was pulling up to the curb, and Heather was getting out of the SUV. "Goodbye, Mr. Newman," Lisa said before turning and walking away.
Michael still couldn't say anything. He watched her go, watched Heather glance over at him with a knowing grin - she'd probably seen the whole thing - before hurrying after Lisa, ready to tease her mother to no end. He barely noticed Dr. Morris coming up beside him.
"Eight o'clock," the doctor observed, "and all's well."
"Uh-huh," Michael replied, not really listening.
"It seems things are going back to normal."
"Uh-huh."
"Your family will be fine, Mr. Wiseman," Morris assured him. When Michael didn't answer, he glanced over to see the dazed expression on the other man's face. Morris stifled a laugh before nudging Michael in the shoulder. "Let's get going."
"Going?" Michael jolted back to reality. "Where?"
"Home, of course," Morris replied as he headed back to the limo and opened the door. "With a quick stop by an operating table first."
"Aw, Doc..."
"No whining," Morris scolded him as Michael reluctantly climbed into the limo. "When I said things are going back to normal, I meant *everything.*"
"You really know how to take the fun out of everything."
"I take pride in that ability."
The limo drove away.
*****
Police Department
New Rochelle, NY
8:45 p.m.
When Ruth Bender had first been brought in for disturbing the peace, her reaction was to scream and threaten everyone she could with bloody murder. It was infuriating the way she'd been treated, and the looks on the officers' faces when she'd made her one phone call to a United States Senator were perversely satisfying. Unfortunately, Uncle Jimmy hadn't been able to get her out since he was tied up with other things, and Ruth had returned to screaming.
That had gotten old after about four hours. She'd moved on to muttering to herself and pacing the cell, glaring balefully at the other overnights behind bars. They would flinch, having learned that the psycho in the designer suit was best left alone. After a few hours of pacing in her stockinged feet - heels weren't made for pacing - she'd had to sit down.
Now she was sitting on the bench, back against the wall, staring dully at the floor. She had been thinking, since there hadn't been much else to do. Unfortunately, her thoughts had turned to Roger. And despite her best efforts, there was this nagging little voice that insisted that he had a point as well, even if he was lousy at making it.
God, she was tired. Tired of fighting, of screaming. She'd be on the receiving end of that when Amanda came home. At first, she'd wanted to make Roger crawl... but he did that all the time. Right now, all Ruth wanted was for it to be over. Would she agree to sell the house? Probably not. Unless Roger found an alternative that was to her tastes. Ten thousand up front was quite a good offer.
But that would be letting him win.
There was a creak and the sound of footsteps. Ruth didn't look up at first. She'd probably be there for the rest of the night. To her surprise, though, the feet stopped in front of her cell. Ruth looked up. She was actually glad to see him for once.
Roger shifted uncomfortably. "Ruth."
"Roger."
He looked around, at the drab walls, at the empty cells, and, most importantly, at the iron bars separating her from him. "We need to talk."
*****
tbc...
Okay, folks, here's the last two parts; I was only able to post them because I'm at my parents' for the weekend and they let me get online from there. I *still* can't get Net access at my apartment. Enjoy and r/r if you like. :)
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Nine
34th and 7th
7:45 p.m.
Michael hated waiting.
He was standing outside the limo with Special Agent #1. Inside the limo, Dr. Morris was talking on his cellphone, in the midst of a private conversation. And in the black SUV nearby, Dr. Ross was talking to Lisa and Heather, telling them a story that - he hoped - would straighten things out.
Leaning against the limo, Michael glanced at the bandage on the other man's cheek. "So what happened to you?"
Special Agent #1 turned and glared at him. His gaze flickered to Michael's elbow resting on the limo. Sighing, Michael straightened up again. Things were starting to get back to normal.
*****
"So all this - was a hoax?" Lisa said in disbelief.
Lydia took a deep breath. She, Lisa, and Heather were sitting alone in the SUV, while Lydia nursed a fresh cup of coffee. "Yes and no. First off, the ambulance records you received must have been forgeries. There's no way that the hospital would have released actual records to anyone but your husband's immediate family. It's against policy, and they'd be looking at serious liability issues - especially the way the White House has been trying to push medical privacy legislation."
"Then why would a man pretending to be Dr. Morris show up at my door?" Lisa demanded. "Not only that, the same man was leading the charge when those agents burst in on the train. You can't tell me that was a coincidence."
"You weren't the only one getting fed false information." Lydia pursed her lips, thinking. "Well, Q-Ball does work for Dr. Morris, but I'll get to that in a minute. Much of the project in question is classified, so I can't give you hard details. What I can tell you is that your husband was listed as an organ donor, and as such he was a legitimate participant."
"In what?"
"I can't tell you that." Before Lisa could start ranting, Lydia added, "Because, in spite of all the frustration this must be causing, the Pentagon funded some of the research we were doing - some of it highly sensitive."
"Uh-huh," Heather said in disbelief. "What about Mr. Newman?"
Lydia was ready for this, having compared stories with Michael. "Mr. Newman actually did work for the I.R.S. a few years back before he came to work for us. Dr. Morris has continually found that amusing for some reason, so I'm not surprised he told you that just to annoy Newman."
Heather frowned, but Lisa's eyes lit up with understanding. "So then why all this cloak-and-dagger crap?" Heather asked.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Lydia replied. "Sometime in December, Dr. Morris disappeared and Mr. Newman's apartment was broken into. Turns out that someone in the Pentagon had fed some misleading information to a Bernard Leflin Sr., telling him a ridiculous story that unfortunately caused Leflin to go after both Morris and Newman."
"Ridiculous doesn't even seem to cover it," Lisa muttered. "He had Mr. Newman and my husband confused."
"Only because of name similarities. What I think his 'source' did was take some official reports, black out half the paragraphs, switch some things around, and replace 'Newman' with 'Wiseman.'" Lydia frowned. "When Leflin discovered he'd been lied to, he committed suicide."
She took a drink of coffee before continuing. "Leflin Incorporated has a number of government contracts, and a lot of connections. My father happened to be great friends with Leflin Sr., and I knew his son personally. Bernie Leflin could *never* just let something go."
"So he came after us," Lisa finished.
"Not quite. We think he had a source deliberately feeding him, and you, misleading information. Leflin Incorporated practically owns Edward Bernstadt's law firm. And while all you received was a bunch of ambulance records, Morris was tricked into believing that someone had leaked the exact details of the research to you. Possibly because it indirectly pertained to your husband's organ donation."
"What organs did he donate anyway?" Heather muttered. "Geez."
"Heather," Lisa said warningly.
Lydia looked pained. "I'm not sure of that; I'd have to check the actual records. What I can tell you is that most of this insanity is a result of several gross misunderstandings. Someone was trying to give the impression of a major security leak in order to halt the entire project without actually disclosing information - and framed Mr. Newman. He caught on to Dr. Morris' suspicions too late to persuade him otherwise."
"Well, if it wasn't disclosing information, then why did he panic when I mentioned my husband?"
"Probably thought you were referring to something more than forged ambulance records. From what I've heard, Morris was going nuts over the supposed leaks - and the real leak was planting evidence that pointed towards you. I suppose the reason that Q-Ball showed up at your door was to discredit what Morris thought you were being told. If you didn't believe the information that was being leaked, then you wouldn't pursue it, and the problem would be solved without anyone being hurt. That was the theory, anyway, but the real leak decided to screw that up as well."
"Why us?" Lisa exploded. "We haven't done anything! I knew Michael was listed as an organ donor, for crying out loud!"
"That's what we're trying to figure out." Lydia scowled. "We've caught the leak, and when I get my hands on him--" She paused, taking a second to compose herself. But the moment of anger had actually helped; Lisa and Heather seemed to soften, at least towards her. "I suppose the main reason you were wrapped up in this is because of Leflin Senior's mistaken crusade. That whole misunderstanding must have pointed him towards Leflin and the Espotek lawsuit."
Lisa was silent for several seconds, thinking. Lydia took another gulp of coffee, watching the other woman carefully. "Is there anything else you want to know?"
"What's going to happen to us?" Heather blurted out.
"You're going to get a ride home, and if my guess is right, Morris is on the horn trying to see about getting your front door and a couple windows replaced. That's all." Lydia sighed. "Believe me, we want to put this mess behind us as much as you do."
Lisa stared out the window, peering at the limo. "What about Mr. Newman?"
"Well, after Morris rants at him for a solid hour, I assume he'll be back to work." Lydia set the almost-empty coffee cup in a holder and folded her hands in her lap. "Mrs. Wiseman, let me assure you - this project is classified not because of some ominous threat or the machinations of a bunch of men in black. We're involved in highly sensitive research and investigation that could benefit a lot of people some day - and to keep our funding intact, the security of the project has to be also. We also have to be contracted out to handle some bizarre problems from time to time to keep our funding," she added off-handedly. "The minute a major security breach happens, the funding is gone. But here, that didn't occur. You haven't been told anything true that you weren't aware of already, and I'll make a point of that when I submit my report on the mass chaos of these past 36 hours. Right now, there's no point in holding you here or disrupting your lives any more than they have been already. I admit that there's nothing we can do about frayed nerves--" Lisa managed a small smile at that-- "but we can at least replace your windows and make a few calls to calm down some people. You're free to go... unless you actually want to hang around here."
Lisa didn't respond immediately. She continued staring out the window, thinking. Lydia bit her lip, praying that the woman would be satisfied, that Lisa Wiseman was as sick of the insanity as she was. "All right," Lisa finally sighed, throwing up her hands. "I just want to get out of here."
Lydia smiled. "I'll see if I can't get an agent to drive--"
"But," Lisa interrupted sharply, "I want to talk to Mr. Newman first."
*****
8:00 p.m.
Curiosity was a dangerous tendency, but Roger's day couldn't get any worse than it already was. So once he was sure that traffic wasn't going anywhere - and that the car alarm was indeed turned on - he wandered down the rows of cars, trying to get a glimpse of the action.
It was obviously centered around Madison Square Garden. There was a huge crowd blocking the intersection; the sheer numbers of people were making it impossible for traffic to get through. A block or so behind him, Roger could see movement; the police were taking it upon themselves to herd the motorists around a detour route before they could start rioting.
As he scanned the scene, something caught his attention. There was a pair of dark vehicles pulled up at the curb of one of the intersecting streets - and while there were no other cars on that block, it was cordoned off. Now why block off a perfectly good outlet?
As Roger approached, he realized why; the street was one-way, and led towards the sea of blocked traffic. Obviously, they were trying to keep anyone else from adding to the gridlock. He was about to turn and go back to guarding his Mercedes when he suddenly saw a familiar face near one of the black cars. Was that Mr. Newman?
Instinct told him to go hide in the car. But for once, Roger told his flight instinct to shove off.
*****
The window of the limo rolled down to reveal a very grim-looking Dr. Morris. He cleared his throat loudly, and Michael and Special Agent #1 broke off their glaring contest and stood at attention - or something close to it. "The HAZMAT team did a clean sweep of the office building. They found Charlie Smalls, but not the mastermind of this whole scheme."
Michael groaned and closed his eyes. "What about the money?" Special Agent #1 asked.
"The $15 billion was accounted for. It was strewn across a corridor, but it was all accounted for," Morris replied. "Apparently, there was an exit through an unused portion of the city sewer system. Fortunately, the toxin's been contained."
"So what now?" Michael asked, dreading the answer.
"Right now, there are several teams sweeping the area in search of the Eggman. But our part in this whole fiasco, I'm pleased to say, is done. The ransom money is accounted for, and the immediate threat has been neutralized." He stared levelly at Michael. "*Your* part in the matter is complete. And you did very well, Mr. Wiseman. For now, we will leave the capture of the Eggman to the FBI."
"Speaking of neutralizing threats," Lydia said, coming up to them, "Mrs. Wiseman is perfectly amenable to pretending this never happened - provided we repair her door, windows, replace any broken or damaged furniture, and make a few calls to relieve her of the burden of irate employers or school administrators."
"That sounds reasonable," Morris said.
"However," Lydia continued, "she wants to speak to Mr. Wiseman privately."
Morris glowered. "I'm not sure that would be advisable."
"Doc," Michael groaned. "For the last time, she doesn't know anything. And I'm not going to do anything that'll get her and Heather in danger if I can help it. You know that."
Morris was silent for a few seconds, thinking. "Are you still wearing the mike and earpiece?" Michael nodded. "Keep them on. I want to listen in to be sure you don't let anything slip."
Sighing, Michael conceded. "All right, all right." He turned to where Lisa and Heather were standing beside the van, heading towards them.
Lydia watched them go, then opened the limo door and sat down beside Dr. Morris. "In the meantime, you and I have some matters to discuss."
"Such as?"
"For one thing, the matter of payment." She grinned as the window rolled up. "What, you thought I did this out of the goodness of my heart?"
*****
34th and 7th St.
7:55 p.m.
When Michael reached Lisa, he wanted to say something profound, something that would express what he was feeling without giving everything away. "Hi," he managed instead.
She looked him up and down, noticing the bandages on his hands and his forehead. "Hi."
He noticed that she was nervous, more so than he'd expected. "What's wrong? Um, aside from the obvious."
"We're supposed to be getting driven home by an agent," Lisa told him. "Are you sure that's safe?"
"Well, I--" Michael hesitated, unsure what to say. Lisa's gaze flicked past his shoulder, and she stopped, staring at something behind him. Grateful for the interruption, Michael turned around.
Special Agent #1 noticed Roger's approach at about the same time. He was striding forward purposefully, with the look of a man who for once had his cowardice in check and was desperately trying to keep it at bay. "Excuse me!"
Of course, when two burly agents blocked his path, some of the cowardice leaked through. "I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to move along," one of them said, grabbing Roger's arm. "Traffic will be moving at any moment."
"I'm - I'm sure it will," Roger said sarcastically, glancing back at the unmoving lines of cars. "Listen, there's just someone I need to talk to back there."
Michael glanced at Roger, then at Lisa, as an idea popped into his head. "Let him through!" he shouted.
The agents stopped and stared at him, and Special Agent #1 glared. "Trust me," Michael told him quietly.
After a moment, the bald agent nodded, and the agents released Roger. "That's better," Roger muttered, brushing his jacket off and striding towards Michael and Lisa. "Where on earth have you been?" he demanded of Lisa.
"Amtrak," Heather replied. Lisa elbowed her. "What?"
"Hey, I've got an idea," Michael said as if it had just occurred to him. "Why don't you go home with Roger?"
Roger closed and opened his mouth like a fish, but no sound came out. Special Agent #1 raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Lisa looked at Michael with dawning comprehension and relief.
"I mean, if you're both headed the same way, it makes sense," Michael continued. "And if you get an escort, you'll get a shortcut out of the traffic."
Lisa shot him a grateful smile. "Would you, Roger?"
"Well, of course, I--" Roger broke off and grabbed Michael's arm, pulling him aside. "What did I miss here? Weren't you just *running* from these people?"
"Everything's fine now, Roj," Michael reassured him. "Whole thing was a misunderstanding - a really big misunderstanding," he amended. "But it's more or less straightened out now."
"Uh-huh." Roger noticed the bandages. "What happened to you?"
Michael touched the fading bruise on his forehead, wincing a bit; it was a lot better than it had been an hour ago, but it still stung. "Had my head slammed into a wall." At Roger's skeptical look, he added, "*Big* misunderstanding."
Roger stared at him for a second, then looked out at the traffic nearby. "So... we could get an escort."
"Yep."
"Well, then, why not?" Roger was suddenly at ease again, his mood lifted by the prospect of staving off Ruth's fury.
"Not right this second," Lisa interrupted. "Mr. Newman, I still have to talk to you."
Special Agent #1 scowled, but reluctantly conceded. "Pull your car onto this block," he told Roger. "We'll open up the roadblock for you."
"Fair enough," Roger answered, looking at the agent suspiciously. "I suppose." He leaned towards Lisa. "Don't take too long. You never know."
"Thank you, Roger," Lisa said sincerely.
"You're welcome." Roger gave Michael a Don't-Do-Anything-Stupid look before hurrying back to the immobile sea of cars. Special Agent #1 sighed and walked back to discuss something with the other agents, leaving Michael alone with his wife and daughter.
Lisa was silent for a moment before turning to Heather. "Heather, get in the car, please?"
"Mom!" Heather complained.
"Get. In. The. Car."
Heather didn't need any further prompting. She knew that tone too well. Michael smiled as his daughter sullenly climbed into the SUV, slamming the door behind her. He and Lisa were abruptly left alone together, with the semblance of privacy - the mike beneath his shirt was what separated it from the real thing. Michael had removed the earpiece, not wanting Morris to distract him, but he had kept the mike on.
No one spoke for a few seconds as they both stared at each other, studying each other: Lisa looking at the bandages, at the bruise that was still visible on his forehead, trying to make sense of the situation, Michael taking in every detail of Lisa's face, determined to affix it to his memory for when Morris inevitably shipped him off to Antarctica or someplace like that.
He finally broke the silence. "Uh, the Doc said you wanted to talk to me." At her puzzled look, he added, "Why?"
"I don't know," Lisa murmured, looking away. "I've had things explained to me - sort of. Some things. A lot of things still don't make sense, but - was that really your name?" She hesitated. "Michael, I mean?"
"Yeah," Michael replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Yeah, it is."
Lisa nodded, absently brushing a strand of hair out of her face before finally looking him in the eyes. And then she slapped him.
But there was almost no force behind it, no anger, and instead of the sharp smack of palm against cheek, the sound was softer, more muted. It was more of a stage slap than the real thing, like swatting a fly. As Michael stood there, puzzled, Lisa frowned. "Well, I didn't think I could really do it."
Frustrated, she combed her hair back with her fingers, looking around for a moment. "You know, I should be angry. Sure, I got an explanation, sure, we're fine now, but none of this explains your earlier behavior. The date you never showed up for. The flowers. That thing at Thanksgiving. Showing up at that party. Getting *shot.*"
She stopped, looking at him, as if that had just occurred to her - that three months after the shooting, he was perfectly fine. Lisa shook herself and continued with her rant. "I can't figure you out. I can't figure *me* out. I don't know why I haven't found a cop and gotten a restraining order right now. I ought to be furious with you, Mr. Newman, but I'm not."
Michael realized that he'd been holding his breath, and let it out in a sigh of relief. "You're--" He had to subdue the hope in his voice. "You're not?"
Lisa looked down at her hands, clutching the hem of her blouse. "Not as much as I ought to be." She met his gaze. "But you *did* get us out of this mess as far as I can tell. You did help us out at Thanksgiving. And you did save my life."
"So..." Michael wasn't sure where this was going.
"Mich--" She caught herself. "Mr. Newman, I'm asking you to stay out of my life."
"Okay. I'm completely confused."
Lisa smiled a bit at that. "I'm not angry. And I am grateful. And I suppose that you just happened to be at that party when Roger and I were there. But it would be safer for Heather and me - safer for all of us - if you tried to stay away as much as possible."
"Yeah, I guess so." Michael looked down at the pavement.
"I'm not saying I never want to see you again--" Lisa began, and Michael abruptly looked up. Realizing how that had sounded, she collected her thoughts. "I have been furious with you, and then I've been grateful, and then furious again. Let's just say they've balanced each other out. I just - I have to get back to a normal life. Get Heather back to a normal life. Every time you show up, things just get crazy."
"You don't know the half of it," Michael sighed, and Lisa chuckled. Encouraged, he went on. "When you say 'try,' do you mean you won't get mad if it's by accident?" Lisa looked at him oddly, trying to conceal her amusement. "Say, if the Doc's car breaks down in your neighborhood again, or we get on the same bus, or if we get stuck in heavy traffic--"
He didn't get a chance to finish before Lisa leaned in and kissed him.
To the observer, it wasn't much of a kiss. Lisa simply leaned in and pressed her lips to his, a brief, gentle kiss that lasted only a second or two. But it effectively silenced Michael. "That," Lisa said quietly, "was for keeping your promise."
Dazed, Michael blinked, unable to recall just what he wanted to say. He couldn't seem to get the words out.
A horn honked. Roger's Mercedes was pulling up to the curb, and Heather was getting out of the SUV. "Goodbye, Mr. Newman," Lisa said before turning and walking away.
Michael still couldn't say anything. He watched her go, watched Heather glance over at him with a knowing grin - she'd probably seen the whole thing - before hurrying after Lisa, ready to tease her mother to no end. He barely noticed Dr. Morris coming up beside him.
"Eight o'clock," the doctor observed, "and all's well."
"Uh-huh," Michael replied, not really listening.
"It seems things are going back to normal."
"Uh-huh."
"Your family will be fine, Mr. Wiseman," Morris assured him. When Michael didn't answer, he glanced over to see the dazed expression on the other man's face. Morris stifled a laugh before nudging Michael in the shoulder. "Let's get going."
"Going?" Michael jolted back to reality. "Where?"
"Home, of course," Morris replied as he headed back to the limo and opened the door. "With a quick stop by an operating table first."
"Aw, Doc..."
"No whining," Morris scolded him as Michael reluctantly climbed into the limo. "When I said things are going back to normal, I meant *everything.*"
"You really know how to take the fun out of everything."
"I take pride in that ability."
The limo drove away.
*****
Police Department
New Rochelle, NY
8:45 p.m.
When Ruth Bender had first been brought in for disturbing the peace, her reaction was to scream and threaten everyone she could with bloody murder. It was infuriating the way she'd been treated, and the looks on the officers' faces when she'd made her one phone call to a United States Senator were perversely satisfying. Unfortunately, Uncle Jimmy hadn't been able to get her out since he was tied up with other things, and Ruth had returned to screaming.
That had gotten old after about four hours. She'd moved on to muttering to herself and pacing the cell, glaring balefully at the other overnights behind bars. They would flinch, having learned that the psycho in the designer suit was best left alone. After a few hours of pacing in her stockinged feet - heels weren't made for pacing - she'd had to sit down.
Now she was sitting on the bench, back against the wall, staring dully at the floor. She had been thinking, since there hadn't been much else to do. Unfortunately, her thoughts had turned to Roger. And despite her best efforts, there was this nagging little voice that insisted that he had a point as well, even if he was lousy at making it.
God, she was tired. Tired of fighting, of screaming. She'd be on the receiving end of that when Amanda came home. At first, she'd wanted to make Roger crawl... but he did that all the time. Right now, all Ruth wanted was for it to be over. Would she agree to sell the house? Probably not. Unless Roger found an alternative that was to her tastes. Ten thousand up front was quite a good offer.
But that would be letting him win.
There was a creak and the sound of footsteps. Ruth didn't look up at first. She'd probably be there for the rest of the night. To her surprise, though, the feet stopped in front of her cell. Ruth looked up. She was actually glad to see him for once.
Roger shifted uncomfortably. "Ruth."
"Roger."
He looked around, at the drab walls, at the empty cells, and, most importantly, at the iron bars separating her from him. "We need to talk."
*****
tbc...