(Chapter 16. Brentwood, GCH, Roger Gorini's office, safe house. March
18.)
Leigh Ann looked around. Lieutenant Stephens' phone was ringing and no one seemed inclined to answer it. Oddly, the house seemed less than crowded. Most of the comers and goers were gone for once. The Drs. Sloan, all three of them, were at the hospital. The Chief's wife and son were working, and his dad was sitting with him, or so Leigh Ann had heard. Dr. Travis was at the restaurant with his daughter. Dr. Amanda Bentley-Wagner was finishing up an autopsy on a local city contractor who had been shot the night before, and her son Dr. CJ Bentley-Wagner had called earlier to make plans with his brother and father for the evening, now that he was back from his conference in Chicago. Leigh Ann envied the close bond the Chief had with his dad, and the strong relationships he and his friends had with their children. She had barely known her father when her mother had taken her away to New York, and while her stepfather had been a good man, he just wasn't Daddy.
Commander Banks had taken over the task force since the Chief had been hospitalized, and she was in a meeting in the den with Agent Wagner and Captains Cioffi and Bentley-Wagner. Charles Donovan was out with Hannah Wagner and her immunometer chasing down the latest hits on the Lieutenant's profile, and Art Cioffi was in the dining room, poring over information, trying to figure out what to do next. The Lieutenant's parents, very hospitable hosts, indeed, were in the kitchen, fixing something wonderful for lunch, if the smell was any indication.
The phone was still ringing. Leigh Ann finally picked it up.
"Stephens' residence."
"Mama?" Wailed an anguished voice.
"Emily?" Leigh Ann fairly shouted, and snapping her fingers, pointed from Cioffi to the door of the den. The young man crossed the room and went in.
"So cold. I want my mama! It hurts. Ohhhhh!" The voice at the other end of the line sounded terrified and in considerable pain.
Leigh Ann waved Olivia over. Then she heard a man's voice on the line.
"This is Giancarlo Moretti. Who're you?" Leigh Ann could hear the woman crying in the background.
"My name's Leigh Ann. I'm Chief Sloan's assistant, Mr. Moretti. Let me give the phone over to Commander Banks." As Leigh Ann spoke, she could hear the man trying to soothe the woman.
"No. I want to talk to Sloan."
Cheryl took the phone from Leigh Ann, then. The crowd, if seven could be called a crowd, waited tensely as they listened to her end of the conversation. Leigh Ann and Olivia stood off to the side whispering.
"This is Banks…Chief Sloan is unavailable, but I assure you I can handle all of your needs myself…No, Mr. Moretti, he's not going to be available for quite some time…I see…Yes, Mr. Moretti, we can protect you…You say she's ill?…Yes, I agree. It does sound like she needs medical attention…*No*, Mr. Moretti, I am *not* lying to you. Chief Sloan is…incapacitated…Her mother?…Yes, she's here…ok…"
Covering the receiver, Cheryl handed the phone to Olivia, saying, "Emily's ill. She told Moretti the only people she can trust are you, her dad, and Steve. He wants to talk to you."
Olivia looked horrified and frightened, but to her credit, she nodded, took a deep breath, and accepted the phone.
"This is Olivia Stephens, Mr. Moretti. What do you need me to do?"
As Olivia listened, her breathing became ragged. Finally, she spoke again, her voice deceptively calm.
"I want to talk to my daughter…Emmy? Oh, baby, Mama's here." Tears sprang to Liv's eyes. "I'll take care of you soon…Take deep breaths, baby, don't panic, and drink lots of fluids…Daddy and I love you sweetheart, and I promise we'll help you…Ok, I'll talk to him…Don't worry Em, I'll convince him…"
After a pause, Liv started talking again, and despite her tears, her voice had steel behind it. "Mr. Moretti, what you have described sounds like the early stages of the BioGen virus infection Emily had a few years ago. It is deadly, and if she is having a relapse, you have to get her to the nearest hospital *now*."
She listened a moment, then said, "Chief Sloan *can't* come to the phone. He's not here, and he won't *be* here for at least a week and a half. My daughter will be dead by the end of the day if you don't get her help now, and if that happens, I will come after you myself. I trust Commander Banks with Emmy's life. *Please*…" Her strength left her and her voice broke. It took her a moment to regain her composure. "Please let Commander Banks help you both…Ok, here she is, and tell Emmy that her daddy and I love her."
Cheryl took the phone and headed to the den. "Moretti, I have an address for you. If you can get Emily there, we'll take her to the hospital." As the door shut behind her, she could be heard saying, "Yes, I can absolutely guarantee the place is secure…"
Leigh Ann hid a secret smile as she comforted the Lieutenant's distraught parents.
"Two weeks! Maribeth, the trial is in ten days."
"I know, Steve. Jesse, Olivia, and I have been talking. *If* you are a good patient, *if* you cooperate, take all your meds, practice the stress management exercises we show you, and *if* you show improvement, we'll let you attend the trial for Moretti's testimony, closing arguments, and the verdict."
"Oh, goody," he said sarcastically. "Do I get a sucker, too?"
"Keep that attitude, and we'll keep you here for the entire six weeks' course of antibiotics."
Steve looked to his father, "Dad…"
"Don't drag me into it, Steve," Mark said, pulling back and holding up his hands in a defensive posture. "I happen to think they're right."
Tanis arched an eyebrow at him and said, "As of yesterday, you were on six weeks' medical leave, Steve. You might as well give over now as later."
"Tanis, that isn't necessary, I'm ok. I just needed some rest."
Chief Archer continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I suspect if I were to investigate what you were doing at Mann's Chinese Theatre, *Deputy* Chief Sloan, I would find that your 'good Samaritan' was actually a fugitive. If that were the case, I could suspend you indefinitely pending further investigation, maybe even charge you. I would suggest you follow your wife's advice."
Steve narrowed his eyes and sulked. "You know who it was, Archer."
"Yes, I do. Please, don't make me prove it, because then, I'd have to do something about it."
Steve fingered the NG-tube and squirmed as he felt it inside him. Every time it was bumped or shifted, the feeling made his skin crawl, but he just couldn't leave the damned thing alone. "How long do I have to keep this?"
Maribeth sighed, knowing how Steve was going to react. "A week," she told him. "Then Jesse will do another gastroscopy, and if everything looks ok, we'll take it out and slowly get you back on a regular diet."
"A week! Maribeth, I plan to stay here two or three days at the most, just enough to get my strength back. Then I'm leaving, even if it is against medical advice. When Gaudino's in jail, Moretti's in protective custody, and Emily's…situation is settled, I'll check myself back in, and you can do what you will to me, but, day after tomorrow at the latest, I'm gone."
"Then you might as well go straight to Olivia, because I don't *want* you coming home."
"Maribeth!" Steve was clearly shocked at his wife's suggestion. Then he winced in pain as he felt his stomach wash with acid.
"Dad, Chief," Maribeth said with deadly calm as she looked from Mark to Tanis, "could you give us a minute?"
"We'll be back later," Mark said, and he took Tanis by the arm and led her away.
"But, Mark…" Tanis said.
"Don't worry, honey, every couple years they have a row like this. Lasts an hour or two, then they make up and it's all right. I think they just do it to shake the cobwebs loose."
"But…"
"Come on. I'll buy you a coffee."
"Rogelio, I'ma just-a so worried about-a your Uncle-a Vinnie."
Roger Gorini grinned smugly. "Mama, you tell Uncle Vinnie all his problems gonna be over by the end of the day."
"You mean that, Rogelio?"
"Mama, I'd bet my life on it." With a chill, Gorini realized that's exactly what he was doing.
"Maribeth…" Steve softened his tone, hoping to plead his case with her.
"No, Steve!" She cut him off. "You don't know how many times I have been ready to leave you over the past thirty years. Well, if you don't listen to me, this might be the one time I actually follow through."
"Maribeth…"
"I mean it, Steve. I can't stand to see you run yourself into the ground over and over again! You don't bounce back like you used to, and it just worries me sick. So, if you want to check out of this hospital, you go right ahead, but don't come home to me. I'm a damned good doctor, Steve, but I'm not a miracle worker, and that's what you're going to need if you don't give yourself time to heal now. So, you go ahead and check out. Go right on over to Olivia. I hear she's done wonders for you in the past."
"Is that what this is about? Olivia?"
"No," Maribeth insisted. "This is about us. It's about you killing yourself and me not being able to do a thing about it. Every so often, you get a case that swallows you up, Steve. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you go out on that damned beach and you run for hours, and you don't talk to me. I get to watch you drive yourself to the brink of exhaustion. Then, when it's all over and you are worn to a frazzle, I am supposed to carry on with you like it never happened. I've gotten so tired of that over the years, but I have put up with it, because I love you that much, but, sweetheart, this time it's different."
"Why is it different, Maribeth?"
"Because this time, Steve, you pushed too hard, and when you finally…dropped…*she* was there for you…and I wasn't."
"It's ok, honey, I know you were in surgery. I'm not angry over that. It was unavoidable."
"Oh, get over yourself, Steve. This isn't about you." After a moment of silence, angry on her part, confused on his, she continued. "Do, you know why I've stayed with you all these years?"
Grinning, hoping to lighten the mood, he asked, "Irresistible charm and good looks?"
Maribeth smiled. He did indeed have that. Then her face turned to stone again. "No. Do you remember the earthquake in 2005?"
Steve's smile faded. "How could I forget?"
"I was so frightened, Steve. It was my first earthquake, my first disaster of any magnitude. I was terrified. For three days and nights, I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I saw your dad every now and again at the hospital, and I knew Steven was ok, Jesse and Amanda were there, but no one had heard from you. All I needed, all I wanted, was to feel your strong arms around me and to hear you tell me we'd all be ok, Steve, and you weren't there."
"Maribeth…"
"No, Steve, you had a job to do, and I don't begrudge you that. I was proud of you then, and I still am today. I have stayed with you all these years because of what happened when I found you in the tent, Steve. I saw you sitting there, and I thought you would just wrap your arms around me and make it all better."
Steve reached out for his wife as her tears started to fall, but she pulled away.
"You didn't make it all better, but when you clung to me, crying like a frightened child, I knew you *needed* me, Steve, and that knowledge made me strong. My hero, the man who was supposed to make the world safe and the road smooth, needed *me*. The next day, when you went out there again to start putting this city back together, I worried, but I knew you'd be all right, because you knew I'd be there when you came home. And that's how it's been all these years, Steve. That's why I've stayed, because you make me stronger by needing me. Then yesterday, she was here, and you didn't need me, and all my strength was gone."
She stood before him, breathing hard and trembling, clearly overwrought
"Maribeth, come here." His voice was gently commanding. She came and sat beside him on the bed. Not content with that, he took her by the arm, pulled her down beside him, and wrapped her in his arms. She nestled her head against his shoulder, all of her fight gone.
He kissed her hair, and said, "I needed you yesterday, Maribeth, and the day before that, and the whole thirty years before that. I needed you for a lifetime before I ever knew you. I need you today, and I will need you tomorrow, and for an eternity of tomorrows after that. I will need you until our bones dry up and turn to dust in the wind, because you are my strength. It just so happens that yesterday, that kid on the motorcycle needed you, not more than I did, because no one could need you more than I do, but he needed you more urgently, so I made do with the friends I had close by."
"But, Steve, you did what she said without a fight. You never acquiesce, Steve. Even when you had your heart attack, you fought us until the moment you coded. Why did you give in so easily with her? Why do you trust her judgment more than mine? What does she have that I don't?"
"Maribeth," he told her, "that has nothing to do with you or Olivia, and everything to do with…history."
When his wife made a confused little sound, he tried to explain.
"When Olivia came into my life, she was the only person in the world who could do what she did for me." Then he told his wife the same story he told her thirty years ago when she'd found his box of mementos. He told her about the shooting that should have crippled him. The experimental treatment Liv had been developing, and the study she had gotten permission to begin that very day. He told her about the promise Liv had made him that he would get better, and all the little doodads and gadgets she had developed to help make him more comfortable while he was in the hospital and in physical therapy.
Then he told her more. He explained how Olivia's gentle insistence had helped him get past the self-consciousness he'd felt about the ugly scars his injuries had left behind, and how he'd learned from her that nothing is ugly when seen through the eyes of love. He told her how, even after all she'd lost—her family, friends, and lover—Liv had still trusted God to protect him in his dangerous job, and by the power of that faith, she was strong enough to love him, in spite of the risk of losing him. She had trusted God to guide both of them, and, when Ted, an old friend suffering from mental illness who had stalked and threatened her for years, had died in her arms after Steve had shot him in her defense, she had forgiven the dying man, and more importantly, convinced him that God would forgive him, too.
"And somewhere along the way, Maribeth, she taught me the kind of faith I hadn't known since before my mom died. I learned to believe again that someone was actually listening to my prayers. I remembered what it felt like to know, deep inside, that, whatever happened, God was there to take care of me, and He would give me everything I ever needed. If it hadn't been for that faith, Maribeth, I think I would have been too afraid of being alone to have let her marry Keith. When she chose him, she promised me I'd find the love of my life one day, and sure enough, when I was ready to…fall in love again, you were there."
Maribeth giggled softly, "To catch you."
"Yes, well, your lap looked much softer than the floor would have been. Maribeth, I don't think she's smarter than you, or a better doctor than you, but almost from the day I met her, I knew she had a connection to…something protective…that is there just for me. I trust Liv because she trusts God, and I have seen Him work through her. He used her to give me the start to this wonderful life I have with you. I don't know why she and Emily have been brought into my life now." Ok, that was a half-truth, he had a strong suspicion why Emily was there, but the time still wasn't right to mention that. "But I do know there is some kind of destiny there, and I have to follow it."
Maribeth turned slightly, cuddled closer, and looked up at him. "Even if it takes you away from me?"
He smiled down at her. "It will never, ever do that, sweetheart. I promise."
Moretti looked at Emily and grinned, "Now, I see where ya get your acting talent. Your mama's good."
Emily smiled back proudly, but said modestly, "She does all right. Now, let's rock and roll."
"Ya got your toy?"
Emmy held up a small black box with an antenna at one end and a USB connection at the other and said, "Yep. This will lead them right to us, when we're ready."
Emily let Moretti drive the Viper to a parking garage in Venice where she then 'borrowed' a second vehicle. They had decided they would arrive at and leave from the safe house in the new vehicle, to keep anyone, including the cops from knowing about the Viper. A couple miles from the safe house, they hid the Viper in an alley, and Moretti took over driving the new car, an ancient PT Cruiser. Emily handed him a forty-five automatic, which he shoved in his waistband, then she huddled up in the passenger seat, wrapped in a blanket, with a nine millimeter concealed beneath her sweatshirt, and started to look sick. By the time they arrived, she was fully in character.
Steve shifted uncomfortably in bed. "Dad, what time is it?"
Mark looked at his watch and said, "About seven thirty, son, why?"
"It's started." He winced as acid flooded his stomach.
Mark saw the pain on his son's face, and upped the medication on his IV.
Moretti pulled up to the two car garage and gave the agreed upon signal. Two long blasts of the horn, two short taps, and another long blast, and the right hand door went up. He pulled in and the door went down again. Behind the left hand door was an ambulance. Immediately, cops and paramedics rushed the vehicle.
"Mr. Moretti," Agent Wagner said warmly as he approached the car, "It's good to see you again. Won't you please come into the house?"
Moretti narrowed his eyes and said, "Cut the crap, Wagner. I know you got no care for me but what I can say to put Gaudino away. Knowin' what happened with the team you put together for Em, I doubt you care much more for her. I ain't leavin' this car 'til I know she's taken care of." Emmy's plan had been for them to remain in the safety of the car as long as possible.
"Look, Moretti…"
"Stuff it, Wagner."
A young paramedic was trying to lift Emily out of the car, and in her delirium, she flattened him.
"Mama!"
Cheryl stepped forward and tried to soothe her. "Shh, Emmy. This is Commander Banks. Your mama's waiting at the hospital. She has everything there ready to take care of you." Emmy continued to thrash about, but stopped her wailing. Her grip when Cheryl took her hand, was like a vise. There was a tinkling of glass, then, and Cheryl grunted, moaned softly, and slumped to the floor, unconscious, blood trailing down the side of her face, as the bullet buried itself in the ceiling of the car inches from Moretti's head.
"SHIT!" Moretti yelled. "Wagner, you better get 'em all."
Moretti started the engine and threw the car into reverse as the young paramedic pulled Commander Banks away from the wheels. His partner tried to get Emmy, but she was still deliriously uncooperative, and in the next moment, amid shattering glass and gunfire, Moretti tore out of the garage, bursting through the door and executing a fast three-point turn in the street. When bullets started thudding into the side of the car, Moretti pulled out his gun and fired back, the loud crack of his forty-five providing an emphatic reply to the soft pops of the silenced weapons his pursuers were using. When he heard a yell, he hollered back, "Serves ya right, ya bastard!" Then he flew off into the night.
Leigh Ann looked around. Lieutenant Stephens' phone was ringing and no one seemed inclined to answer it. Oddly, the house seemed less than crowded. Most of the comers and goers were gone for once. The Drs. Sloan, all three of them, were at the hospital. The Chief's wife and son were working, and his dad was sitting with him, or so Leigh Ann had heard. Dr. Travis was at the restaurant with his daughter. Dr. Amanda Bentley-Wagner was finishing up an autopsy on a local city contractor who had been shot the night before, and her son Dr. CJ Bentley-Wagner had called earlier to make plans with his brother and father for the evening, now that he was back from his conference in Chicago. Leigh Ann envied the close bond the Chief had with his dad, and the strong relationships he and his friends had with their children. She had barely known her father when her mother had taken her away to New York, and while her stepfather had been a good man, he just wasn't Daddy.
Commander Banks had taken over the task force since the Chief had been hospitalized, and she was in a meeting in the den with Agent Wagner and Captains Cioffi and Bentley-Wagner. Charles Donovan was out with Hannah Wagner and her immunometer chasing down the latest hits on the Lieutenant's profile, and Art Cioffi was in the dining room, poring over information, trying to figure out what to do next. The Lieutenant's parents, very hospitable hosts, indeed, were in the kitchen, fixing something wonderful for lunch, if the smell was any indication.
The phone was still ringing. Leigh Ann finally picked it up.
"Stephens' residence."
"Mama?" Wailed an anguished voice.
"Emily?" Leigh Ann fairly shouted, and snapping her fingers, pointed from Cioffi to the door of the den. The young man crossed the room and went in.
"So cold. I want my mama! It hurts. Ohhhhh!" The voice at the other end of the line sounded terrified and in considerable pain.
Leigh Ann waved Olivia over. Then she heard a man's voice on the line.
"This is Giancarlo Moretti. Who're you?" Leigh Ann could hear the woman crying in the background.
"My name's Leigh Ann. I'm Chief Sloan's assistant, Mr. Moretti. Let me give the phone over to Commander Banks." As Leigh Ann spoke, she could hear the man trying to soothe the woman.
"No. I want to talk to Sloan."
Cheryl took the phone from Leigh Ann, then. The crowd, if seven could be called a crowd, waited tensely as they listened to her end of the conversation. Leigh Ann and Olivia stood off to the side whispering.
"This is Banks…Chief Sloan is unavailable, but I assure you I can handle all of your needs myself…No, Mr. Moretti, he's not going to be available for quite some time…I see…Yes, Mr. Moretti, we can protect you…You say she's ill?…Yes, I agree. It does sound like she needs medical attention…*No*, Mr. Moretti, I am *not* lying to you. Chief Sloan is…incapacitated…Her mother?…Yes, she's here…ok…"
Covering the receiver, Cheryl handed the phone to Olivia, saying, "Emily's ill. She told Moretti the only people she can trust are you, her dad, and Steve. He wants to talk to you."
Olivia looked horrified and frightened, but to her credit, she nodded, took a deep breath, and accepted the phone.
"This is Olivia Stephens, Mr. Moretti. What do you need me to do?"
As Olivia listened, her breathing became ragged. Finally, she spoke again, her voice deceptively calm.
"I want to talk to my daughter…Emmy? Oh, baby, Mama's here." Tears sprang to Liv's eyes. "I'll take care of you soon…Take deep breaths, baby, don't panic, and drink lots of fluids…Daddy and I love you sweetheart, and I promise we'll help you…Ok, I'll talk to him…Don't worry Em, I'll convince him…"
After a pause, Liv started talking again, and despite her tears, her voice had steel behind it. "Mr. Moretti, what you have described sounds like the early stages of the BioGen virus infection Emily had a few years ago. It is deadly, and if she is having a relapse, you have to get her to the nearest hospital *now*."
She listened a moment, then said, "Chief Sloan *can't* come to the phone. He's not here, and he won't *be* here for at least a week and a half. My daughter will be dead by the end of the day if you don't get her help now, and if that happens, I will come after you myself. I trust Commander Banks with Emmy's life. *Please*…" Her strength left her and her voice broke. It took her a moment to regain her composure. "Please let Commander Banks help you both…Ok, here she is, and tell Emmy that her daddy and I love her."
Cheryl took the phone and headed to the den. "Moretti, I have an address for you. If you can get Emily there, we'll take her to the hospital." As the door shut behind her, she could be heard saying, "Yes, I can absolutely guarantee the place is secure…"
Leigh Ann hid a secret smile as she comforted the Lieutenant's distraught parents.
"Two weeks! Maribeth, the trial is in ten days."
"I know, Steve. Jesse, Olivia, and I have been talking. *If* you are a good patient, *if* you cooperate, take all your meds, practice the stress management exercises we show you, and *if* you show improvement, we'll let you attend the trial for Moretti's testimony, closing arguments, and the verdict."
"Oh, goody," he said sarcastically. "Do I get a sucker, too?"
"Keep that attitude, and we'll keep you here for the entire six weeks' course of antibiotics."
Steve looked to his father, "Dad…"
"Don't drag me into it, Steve," Mark said, pulling back and holding up his hands in a defensive posture. "I happen to think they're right."
Tanis arched an eyebrow at him and said, "As of yesterday, you were on six weeks' medical leave, Steve. You might as well give over now as later."
"Tanis, that isn't necessary, I'm ok. I just needed some rest."
Chief Archer continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I suspect if I were to investigate what you were doing at Mann's Chinese Theatre, *Deputy* Chief Sloan, I would find that your 'good Samaritan' was actually a fugitive. If that were the case, I could suspend you indefinitely pending further investigation, maybe even charge you. I would suggest you follow your wife's advice."
Steve narrowed his eyes and sulked. "You know who it was, Archer."
"Yes, I do. Please, don't make me prove it, because then, I'd have to do something about it."
Steve fingered the NG-tube and squirmed as he felt it inside him. Every time it was bumped or shifted, the feeling made his skin crawl, but he just couldn't leave the damned thing alone. "How long do I have to keep this?"
Maribeth sighed, knowing how Steve was going to react. "A week," she told him. "Then Jesse will do another gastroscopy, and if everything looks ok, we'll take it out and slowly get you back on a regular diet."
"A week! Maribeth, I plan to stay here two or three days at the most, just enough to get my strength back. Then I'm leaving, even if it is against medical advice. When Gaudino's in jail, Moretti's in protective custody, and Emily's…situation is settled, I'll check myself back in, and you can do what you will to me, but, day after tomorrow at the latest, I'm gone."
"Then you might as well go straight to Olivia, because I don't *want* you coming home."
"Maribeth!" Steve was clearly shocked at his wife's suggestion. Then he winced in pain as he felt his stomach wash with acid.
"Dad, Chief," Maribeth said with deadly calm as she looked from Mark to Tanis, "could you give us a minute?"
"We'll be back later," Mark said, and he took Tanis by the arm and led her away.
"But, Mark…" Tanis said.
"Don't worry, honey, every couple years they have a row like this. Lasts an hour or two, then they make up and it's all right. I think they just do it to shake the cobwebs loose."
"But…"
"Come on. I'll buy you a coffee."
"Rogelio, I'ma just-a so worried about-a your Uncle-a Vinnie."
Roger Gorini grinned smugly. "Mama, you tell Uncle Vinnie all his problems gonna be over by the end of the day."
"You mean that, Rogelio?"
"Mama, I'd bet my life on it." With a chill, Gorini realized that's exactly what he was doing.
"Maribeth…" Steve softened his tone, hoping to plead his case with her.
"No, Steve!" She cut him off. "You don't know how many times I have been ready to leave you over the past thirty years. Well, if you don't listen to me, this might be the one time I actually follow through."
"Maribeth…"
"I mean it, Steve. I can't stand to see you run yourself into the ground over and over again! You don't bounce back like you used to, and it just worries me sick. So, if you want to check out of this hospital, you go right ahead, but don't come home to me. I'm a damned good doctor, Steve, but I'm not a miracle worker, and that's what you're going to need if you don't give yourself time to heal now. So, you go ahead and check out. Go right on over to Olivia. I hear she's done wonders for you in the past."
"Is that what this is about? Olivia?"
"No," Maribeth insisted. "This is about us. It's about you killing yourself and me not being able to do a thing about it. Every so often, you get a case that swallows you up, Steve. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you go out on that damned beach and you run for hours, and you don't talk to me. I get to watch you drive yourself to the brink of exhaustion. Then, when it's all over and you are worn to a frazzle, I am supposed to carry on with you like it never happened. I've gotten so tired of that over the years, but I have put up with it, because I love you that much, but, sweetheart, this time it's different."
"Why is it different, Maribeth?"
"Because this time, Steve, you pushed too hard, and when you finally…dropped…*she* was there for you…and I wasn't."
"It's ok, honey, I know you were in surgery. I'm not angry over that. It was unavoidable."
"Oh, get over yourself, Steve. This isn't about you." After a moment of silence, angry on her part, confused on his, she continued. "Do, you know why I've stayed with you all these years?"
Grinning, hoping to lighten the mood, he asked, "Irresistible charm and good looks?"
Maribeth smiled. He did indeed have that. Then her face turned to stone again. "No. Do you remember the earthquake in 2005?"
Steve's smile faded. "How could I forget?"
"I was so frightened, Steve. It was my first earthquake, my first disaster of any magnitude. I was terrified. For three days and nights, I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I saw your dad every now and again at the hospital, and I knew Steven was ok, Jesse and Amanda were there, but no one had heard from you. All I needed, all I wanted, was to feel your strong arms around me and to hear you tell me we'd all be ok, Steve, and you weren't there."
"Maribeth…"
"No, Steve, you had a job to do, and I don't begrudge you that. I was proud of you then, and I still am today. I have stayed with you all these years because of what happened when I found you in the tent, Steve. I saw you sitting there, and I thought you would just wrap your arms around me and make it all better."
Steve reached out for his wife as her tears started to fall, but she pulled away.
"You didn't make it all better, but when you clung to me, crying like a frightened child, I knew you *needed* me, Steve, and that knowledge made me strong. My hero, the man who was supposed to make the world safe and the road smooth, needed *me*. The next day, when you went out there again to start putting this city back together, I worried, but I knew you'd be all right, because you knew I'd be there when you came home. And that's how it's been all these years, Steve. That's why I've stayed, because you make me stronger by needing me. Then yesterday, she was here, and you didn't need me, and all my strength was gone."
She stood before him, breathing hard and trembling, clearly overwrought
"Maribeth, come here." His voice was gently commanding. She came and sat beside him on the bed. Not content with that, he took her by the arm, pulled her down beside him, and wrapped her in his arms. She nestled her head against his shoulder, all of her fight gone.
He kissed her hair, and said, "I needed you yesterday, Maribeth, and the day before that, and the whole thirty years before that. I needed you for a lifetime before I ever knew you. I need you today, and I will need you tomorrow, and for an eternity of tomorrows after that. I will need you until our bones dry up and turn to dust in the wind, because you are my strength. It just so happens that yesterday, that kid on the motorcycle needed you, not more than I did, because no one could need you more than I do, but he needed you more urgently, so I made do with the friends I had close by."
"But, Steve, you did what she said without a fight. You never acquiesce, Steve. Even when you had your heart attack, you fought us until the moment you coded. Why did you give in so easily with her? Why do you trust her judgment more than mine? What does she have that I don't?"
"Maribeth," he told her, "that has nothing to do with you or Olivia, and everything to do with…history."
When his wife made a confused little sound, he tried to explain.
"When Olivia came into my life, she was the only person in the world who could do what she did for me." Then he told his wife the same story he told her thirty years ago when she'd found his box of mementos. He told her about the shooting that should have crippled him. The experimental treatment Liv had been developing, and the study she had gotten permission to begin that very day. He told her about the promise Liv had made him that he would get better, and all the little doodads and gadgets she had developed to help make him more comfortable while he was in the hospital and in physical therapy.
Then he told her more. He explained how Olivia's gentle insistence had helped him get past the self-consciousness he'd felt about the ugly scars his injuries had left behind, and how he'd learned from her that nothing is ugly when seen through the eyes of love. He told her how, even after all she'd lost—her family, friends, and lover—Liv had still trusted God to protect him in his dangerous job, and by the power of that faith, she was strong enough to love him, in spite of the risk of losing him. She had trusted God to guide both of them, and, when Ted, an old friend suffering from mental illness who had stalked and threatened her for years, had died in her arms after Steve had shot him in her defense, she had forgiven the dying man, and more importantly, convinced him that God would forgive him, too.
"And somewhere along the way, Maribeth, she taught me the kind of faith I hadn't known since before my mom died. I learned to believe again that someone was actually listening to my prayers. I remembered what it felt like to know, deep inside, that, whatever happened, God was there to take care of me, and He would give me everything I ever needed. If it hadn't been for that faith, Maribeth, I think I would have been too afraid of being alone to have let her marry Keith. When she chose him, she promised me I'd find the love of my life one day, and sure enough, when I was ready to…fall in love again, you were there."
Maribeth giggled softly, "To catch you."
"Yes, well, your lap looked much softer than the floor would have been. Maribeth, I don't think she's smarter than you, or a better doctor than you, but almost from the day I met her, I knew she had a connection to…something protective…that is there just for me. I trust Liv because she trusts God, and I have seen Him work through her. He used her to give me the start to this wonderful life I have with you. I don't know why she and Emily have been brought into my life now." Ok, that was a half-truth, he had a strong suspicion why Emily was there, but the time still wasn't right to mention that. "But I do know there is some kind of destiny there, and I have to follow it."
Maribeth turned slightly, cuddled closer, and looked up at him. "Even if it takes you away from me?"
He smiled down at her. "It will never, ever do that, sweetheart. I promise."
Moretti looked at Emily and grinned, "Now, I see where ya get your acting talent. Your mama's good."
Emily smiled back proudly, but said modestly, "She does all right. Now, let's rock and roll."
"Ya got your toy?"
Emmy held up a small black box with an antenna at one end and a USB connection at the other and said, "Yep. This will lead them right to us, when we're ready."
Emily let Moretti drive the Viper to a parking garage in Venice where she then 'borrowed' a second vehicle. They had decided they would arrive at and leave from the safe house in the new vehicle, to keep anyone, including the cops from knowing about the Viper. A couple miles from the safe house, they hid the Viper in an alley, and Moretti took over driving the new car, an ancient PT Cruiser. Emily handed him a forty-five automatic, which he shoved in his waistband, then she huddled up in the passenger seat, wrapped in a blanket, with a nine millimeter concealed beneath her sweatshirt, and started to look sick. By the time they arrived, she was fully in character.
Steve shifted uncomfortably in bed. "Dad, what time is it?"
Mark looked at his watch and said, "About seven thirty, son, why?"
"It's started." He winced as acid flooded his stomach.
Mark saw the pain on his son's face, and upped the medication on his IV.
Moretti pulled up to the two car garage and gave the agreed upon signal. Two long blasts of the horn, two short taps, and another long blast, and the right hand door went up. He pulled in and the door went down again. Behind the left hand door was an ambulance. Immediately, cops and paramedics rushed the vehicle.
"Mr. Moretti," Agent Wagner said warmly as he approached the car, "It's good to see you again. Won't you please come into the house?"
Moretti narrowed his eyes and said, "Cut the crap, Wagner. I know you got no care for me but what I can say to put Gaudino away. Knowin' what happened with the team you put together for Em, I doubt you care much more for her. I ain't leavin' this car 'til I know she's taken care of." Emmy's plan had been for them to remain in the safety of the car as long as possible.
"Look, Moretti…"
"Stuff it, Wagner."
A young paramedic was trying to lift Emily out of the car, and in her delirium, she flattened him.
"Mama!"
Cheryl stepped forward and tried to soothe her. "Shh, Emmy. This is Commander Banks. Your mama's waiting at the hospital. She has everything there ready to take care of you." Emmy continued to thrash about, but stopped her wailing. Her grip when Cheryl took her hand, was like a vise. There was a tinkling of glass, then, and Cheryl grunted, moaned softly, and slumped to the floor, unconscious, blood trailing down the side of her face, as the bullet buried itself in the ceiling of the car inches from Moretti's head.
"SHIT!" Moretti yelled. "Wagner, you better get 'em all."
Moretti started the engine and threw the car into reverse as the young paramedic pulled Commander Banks away from the wheels. His partner tried to get Emmy, but she was still deliriously uncooperative, and in the next moment, amid shattering glass and gunfire, Moretti tore out of the garage, bursting through the door and executing a fast three-point turn in the street. When bullets started thudding into the side of the car, Moretti pulled out his gun and fired back, the loud crack of his forty-five providing an emphatic reply to the soft pops of the silenced weapons his pursuers were using. When he heard a yell, he hollered back, "Serves ya right, ya bastard!" Then he flew off into the night.
